I went on a round-about roadtrip to Amsterdam the other week. Because the transport strike was still on in full-force in France, I thought I would avoid it all and arrange a rideshare. For 25€ and a five hour drive, I thought I had found the ultimate solution to my travel predicament.

Now… if I believed in omens, I would have avoided a whole lot of trouble for myself. The morning didn’t get off to a very good start. I almost thought I wouldn’t make it. There wasn’t a vélib’ rental bicycle in sight. The formerly erratic metro service had reached some consistency – in that it was consistently NOT arriving. Above ground, I found a bicycle only to have someone else rent it on the sly from under my nose. Back underground, still no metro… back to the street, where I saw a vélib’ arrive and with my elbows out I muscled on in to rent it and ride like the wind to the pick-up point. My panic was unfounded. The driver was an hour late.

When I got into the car, frozen through and trying to defrost my hands with a scalding cup of coffee offered by the driver, he revealed that we were going via Boulogne.

“Boulogne?” I queried, silently groaning on the inside, as the Bois de Boulogne was just near my travel point of origin.

“Not the Bois de Boulogne” he replied, uncannily reading my mind, “that’s what I first thought. But it’s Boulogne-sur-Mer. On the coast. Near Calais.”

Oh.

“And what time do you think we’ll arrive in Amsterdam?”

“At five, or six, let’s see how we go.”

We drove and drove across the northern French countryside, only stopping for petrol and to check out some sort of crop in a field because the driver didn’t recognise the leaves. I think it was some sort of delay-planted or growth-stunted sugar beet (if the surrounding harvests were of any indication) but the debate is still open.

By 5pm we were only just arriving to Boulogne to pick up the two desperate Australian backpackers stranded by the strike. Then – “well, as we’ve come this far” – we went to see the sea and took the 29km scenic coastal route to Calais.

And yes… I’ll admit it… it was very scenic and beautiful. I’m (grudgingly) glad to have seen it, but why couldn’t this trip have been at any other time – or just when I wasn’t in such a pressing rush to get to Amsterdam?

The story didn’t end there however (thankfully), and the ride continued arduously. Click here to have a read of the next little detour on our adventure…