The car adventures of Jet and Lies on the péri-panique, part 2.

Well, you already know how disastrous the outbound journey was, but once we arrived in Paris, we of course had to go back again. We said to each other, “oh the outbound journey was such a drama, the return trip can only be better.” And besides, the périférique will surely be very quiet on Sunday because who leaves Paris then. We had agreed that since I drove into Paris, Jet would drive out of Paris. But well, Jet also had a near-death experience while reversing, so we are two very traumatized girls who now have to drive 600 kilometers home. We didn’t want to be home too late, so we left our hotel at 3:00 PM, nice to have all the time and so on. The reverse departure from the parking spot went well, I waited on the sidewalk for a moment so that Jet could maneuver that thing back with full concentration, which surprisingly went quite smoothly.

And off we went. Twice left, once right, and then hop onto the highway, nothing to worry about. Until, traffic jam. TRAFFIC JAM. Cars everywhere, brake lights everywhere. PANIC PANIC PANIC. We weren’t in the tunnel but still, it was scary enough. Jet bravely pushed through, and she wasn’t exactly comfortable in her seat, but it was going relatively smoothly. Until the next thing happened. The road takes a slight incline (or, in Jet's words, “JESUS WE'RE ON A MOUNTAIN”) and when the traffic stops again, we are forced to stop and then have to drive again, the engine stalls.

“Okay Jet, nothing to worry about, just let the clutch come up slowly and then just give it a lot of gas so we can at least roll again.” I spoke as if I knew even a little bit what I was talking about and as if I wasn’t also terrified. She tries to get the car going again, but instead of rolling, we stall again, and again, and again. Meanwhile, we are on the huge hill and I see that we are slowly rolling back, the driver behind us sees it and starts honking loudly. However, Jet didn’t see it and is still trying to understand the clutch, and in the meantime, I say, “uh Jet, you need to brake, we’re rolling back.”

No response.

“Jet, we’re rolling back, brake now.”

Still no response.

“JET YOU HAVE TO BRAKE NOW NOW NOW NOW.”

Just in time, she slams on the brakes, but the damage was already done and the panic was greater than ever. Shaking and trembling, we continue, but I can see that Jet is also on the verge of tears and she says with a small trembling voice, “Lies, I’m really a bit panicked now.” With the last bit of courage, we drive on and thank God there’s no more traffic jam soon, but the stress doesn’t leave Jet even after an hour and a half, who was half meditating behind the wheel to breathe calmly, so we decide to stop at a large gas station for some drinks, food, a bathroom break, and a smoke.

Once out of that car, the fear doesn’t lessen, but only gets worse. Because who is going to drive further now? Moreover, the highway we have to get back on is quite busy and we see all the cars with brake lights driving on, and brake lights have become our biggest nightmare since this trip. We take a moment to rest, I can’t stop smoking, and in the meantime, there’s also contact with home and some people left behind in Paris, whom we had already told extensively about the outbound journey and are now anxiously waiting to see how the return journey will go.

The thing is, we were getting more and more scared by the minute. All those cars on the road, all those brake lights, it’s just not happening. Minutes turn into hours and before we know it, we’ve been sitting on the side of the road for 2 HOURS. Seriously! And then Jet’s mother comes through WhatsApp with the suggestion to call the ANWB, “because maybe something is wrong with the car.” We already know that it’s not the car’s fault, but well, we have no other options and we are so completely at our wits' end that we seriously decide to call the ANWB. We are about an hour from Brussels, so nowhere near home, and you never know what they might say.

After another two hours of waiting (next to us were two truck drivers who offered us beer ten times and got drunker with every sip), a yellow van finally arrives with a mechanic who only speaks French. French. What language was that again? Si? Yes? No? Que pasa? Panic. Even more panic because WE DON’T SPEAK FRENCH and especially not now. We need a translator, a translator “who do we know that speaks French?!” “My grandma! My grandma speaks fluent French!” Jet shouts and off goes grandma’s number. We explain the situation, she translates, he responds, but as expected, there’s nothing wrong with the car and it’s really up to us.

Okay. Now we have to move on. The now completely drunk truck drivers start playing some old Balkan house music and maybe that was the final reason I said, “okay we’re going. We’re going now. I’ll drive, it’s okay, we’re going now.” And off we went, it’s now 10:00 PM, pitch dark, but the road is practically empty and that’s how we like it. With my heart in my throat, I start the car, jolting from neutral to 1 to 2 and then we drive and roll – and we drove back to the Netherlands in a straight line. Not stopping anymore, never stopping again, for God’s sake keep rolling. The roads were completely deserted, serene peace, no brake lights and no traffic jams. Half an hour before Amsterdam, we switch again because ‘if you fall off your horse, you have to get back on immediately, otherwise you’ll stay scared,“ so Jet behind the wheel one more time.

When we arrive at our office, it’s 2:00 AM. We call a taxi and let ourselves be driven home totally exhausted and worn out. By the way, Jet is now considering driving lessons, I’m not spending another euro on it and I’m just never doing it again. Never. An automatic, fine, but never shifting again. And that’s actually quite a relief, it doesn’t have to anymore! And, I’ve never been so happy with my bike.

Curious about what happened before this? Read part 1 here.