There was once an intrepid adventurer, bold and sometimes a bit reckless, appointed Ronnix. Batavian with mysterious origins Southern, it was invested, he had to see the light, he was on a mission for his time as Jake Blues levitating (Cf. Les Blues Brothers).
Characterized by recurring dream, become troubadour, share the passion melodies with others, achieve harmonious attunements, even though he never knew what it really meant, he still traveled throughout Gaul to make the great crossing, arrive in Brittany with final destination Caledonia !
First Breton anomaly : there was no map of this country available at the supply points, unlike the maps of Rome, of Gaul, of the Hispaanie, the saleswoman was confused.
By carriage ! After feeding his pure oil, our hero ventured into the connections of his memory and headed towards Hastings, having confidence in them, thinking of the town above Dover. Error ! He headed south, Caledonia was to the north.
Braving this twist of fate and the astonishing, perhaps seasonal, heat, and with a soothsayer's thought, he said to himself that the site he was going to visit could become famous in terms of battle, Battle was right next to Hastings. (See William the Conqueror)
In his haste to reach the promised north he did not take many tablets of still images of Brittany, however large it was. !
There were few places, in the absence of a more exhaustive exploration, where to put your four wheels, our blond boy then had to resolve to pay for lodging for the night, not less than 20 sesterces (yes, more sesterces), but an enchanted setting with squirrels and above all cascading water in cozy little thermal baths ! Around Wadhurst.
A gentle awakening, two other thermal baths given the price, the traveler left this solitary place towards Maidstone to find himself… still lost in Surrey, country of a great druid named Darwin (No ana… OK see. Charles).
Ronnix thought he could get around the large, sprawling Londinium, more, the gamble was cast, the die was cast, fate bothered and him dazed, but in order not to pay additional taxes he was advised of an alternative route by a kind Breton who offered to show him the way. To do this you had to take the Blackwater Tunnel which passed right through the city., as much for the bypass. Crossing the Rub… the Thames, river crossing almost the entire island and having its source at Thames Head, joining the A12 pavement was not an easy task, especially since it was closed without reason and without deviation, they were wrong.
Diverting this Machiavellian attempt to stop him, Ronnix slipped along small secondary roads to reach a fairly large and pretty town called Chelmsford.. Like almost everywhere among the Bretons, works, and more panels in various colors (rouge, vert, even orange and green at the same time).
Waiting for news from a friend, he finally decided to stay, to the detriment of local authorities at the edge of Hyland Woods parks, soothing. Jovial discussion with a Breton walking his dog, having played a sport called golf (Luck of Cambuca), in villages such as Wissant, Hardelot, Grasse and others in Gaul.
Leave there, the road in Cambridgeshire began to please our fellow more and more, the temperature dropping a few degrees too.
Cambridge ! Pretty city (Since 1951) bordered by fields and meadows ; circulating and looking for the famous university, the tourist was told by a local that the city WAS the university, ah.
Going wrong once again, he happened to pass through the town of Newmarket, famous for thoroughbred racing and aristocratic nest for what it was.
Ely, Wisbech, not ugly, tracing to Sleaford avoiding Boston (escaped a tea party), our bold admired, time to cross a bridge, the gigantic offering house in Lincoln, but he was in a hurry. Unfortunately, at the exit, he experienced the longest traffic jam of his entire life...
English Brittany had a certain charm beyond the capital, but Ronnix's goal was only a long day's journey away and evening fell, There, oh surprise, by reed (who is hiding behind this reed ?) he still found a peaceful place to spend the night, free parking on the edge of Epworth.
Thinking back to the tobacco he had smoked a little earlier while passing through Gainsborough, it sank between half a dozen atomic fission towers (quoi, the Greeks invented it).
At the maximum speed he could reach (that is to say not faster than before – always gets overtaken by big transporters), the A1 pavement saw him slip away, ignorant Nottingham, Leeds, Newcastle… Finding yourself on the northern edge of Northumberland National Park, with an obvious change of landscape, a relief commensurate with the length of the odyssey undertaken six days earlier filled his throat a little and the vision of the rock with the inscription Scotland and the panorama before him, made him shed a little tear of joy, ô joie… En Calédonie pour la deuxième fois !
Rendez-vous bientôt pour le troisième et dernier tome : Ronnix chez les Pictes 🙂
***
Notes techniques :
Le lac Bews Waters n’est pas gratuit : 2£ le parking et on ne peut y passer la nuit.
Epworth : toilettes gratuites et vidange d’eaux brunes en face
Les sirènes de police et ambulance sont assez stressantes, bon c’est un peu le but 😉
Bisous et bisous à mes nièces dès que tu les vois ..