EURO 2012 ROAD TRIP: DAY 8:IT WAS the day we were supposed to start moving towards Gdansk, but like Giovanni Trapattoni's on Sunday, our game-plan was wrecked almost before it began.
We were a goal down after three minutes, when at the first filling station out of Poznan, the lock on the camper van diesel tank cap wouldn’t open. It had worked perfectly well so far, but now nothing would persuade the key to turn.
A quick U-turn later, we were back to the campsite seeking advice. They suggested we visit a local locksmith. By the time we found his shop, he had closed for a half-day. So 2-0 down and getting desperate, we rang the German rental van owners, hoping that the Teutonic brilliance in engineering could solve the problem over the phone. Before you could say “Vorsprung durch Technik”, however, they reminded me that the van was a Fiat. We would need to find a Fiat garage in Poznan, the man said. So it was back to the campsite to get directions. And so precise were these that, an hour and a half later, we still hadn’t found the Fiat dealer and had lost ourselves in the process.
There was no come-back. Or rather there was, in that we find ourselves spending yet another night in Poznan. Confidence remains high that, in terms of increased proximity to Gdansk, we can still get a result today. But we’re chasing the game now.
At least we still have a full set of camper van furniture, despite an incident on Monday that briefly dented our faith in human nature. Even worse, it briefly dented our faith in the inherent nobility of the Irish soccer fan, drunk or sober.
As campers do, we needed to refill the van’s clean-water tank and drain the used one. So we unplugged ourselves from the electricity supply to drive around to the on-site water station. Maybe it was carelessness, but in so doing we left our cable and extension lead, as well as the lounge chairs and table, on our pitch. When we came back, half an hour later, they were all gone.
Our next-van neighbours spoke sheepishly of “guys in black” who had taken the stuff away. This presumably meant the security men: the only people not wearing green. But when we checked, they knew nothing, and neither did anyone else in camp management.
Then we toured the campsite furtively, paying special attention to the tented areas, where furniture supplies tend to be low. No use. We inquired if anyone had seen garden furniture and electric cables walking in the vicinity. No leads there either, literally or metaphorically. But when we woke up this morning, the stuff had miraculously reappeared. Our sense of solidarity has returned, just in time for Gdansk.
All we need now is for the Irish team to find a Lech Walesa, and for someone in Poznan to fix the cap on my diesel tank.
