Czech mate for Ebay van
After the Jewish festivities last weekend we spent a few more rain-lashed days in Krakow and a very draining day at Auschwitz. So we were in a somewhat sombre mood as we crossed into the Czech Republic. That mood was immediately lightened with the arrival of beautiful sunshine, beautiful countryside and a beautiful lakeside campsite. The next day, with a new spring in our step, we headed for Brno…
Then the unthinkable happened. The cheap, tatty, American van we'd bought off Ebay broke down. In quite a big way. We were on a motorway when the engine started chugging a bit, then the power went, then something went "bang" and we ground to a halt. I managed to guide the stricken vessel to the hard shoulder and distribute the obligatory hazard triangles down the road behind us while Claire sprang into organisational mode, rang the RAC and set up a picnic on the grassy bank. There, wearing our mandatory high visibility vests, we enjoyed a selection of cheeses and some ra
ther nice bread as we were serenaded by the soothing sound of articulated lorries thundering by for the next couple of hours.
Tow Truck No.1 turned up and, upon seeing the size of what he'd been sent to recover, immediately got on the phone to head office for a chat. To be fair he did try and load us on but, as it became obvious that our van might kill his flatbed truck, he decided to tow us to a garage instead. We were taken to a Chevrolet garage in the next town. Unfortunately they only sold new European spec Chevrolets and were a bit bemused by the 20-year-old American wreck that had been left on their forecourt. So Tow Truck No.2 was summoned. Tow Truck No.2 was a bit bigger than Tow Truck No.1 and was able to take the Ebay van away without me having to nervously steer. It was piloted by a confident young chap who dragged our mobile home down the motorway faster than it had previously been driven unaided! He spoke no English and merely shrugged in answer to any questions we tried to ask/mime. As he came off the motorway and drove down increasingly smaller roads, we started to worry a little. That worry turned to fear as he pulled up by the side of the road in a tiny little village and started to unload us. There was a dog sat in the middle of the road who wasn't moving for anyone and a man wearing crocheted slippers sat in a wheelchair on the verge. We could see nothing resembling a garage. Then the man in a wheelchair rolled over to us and presented himself as "the mechanic". So we were stood in a village we didn't know the name of, with a van that didn't work, a man that couldn't walk and nobody that could speak English. The only shared language we found we had was German, of which mine is limited to half-forgotten C Grade O-Level – I'm very good at asking directions to a train station. I also started drawing things which I didn't know how to say on a notepad – a bit like a game of roadside Pictionary.
It turned out that the wheelchair-bound guy was called Slavik, was an expert in the field of American vehicles and possessed a workshop festooned with number plates, hubcaps, confederate flags and other Americana. He was assisted by what could well be the village idiot – a scruffy man with a permanent drip on the end of his nose who did not instil any confidence when he tried to pull the lever to open the bonnet but instead released the hand-brake and rolled the van backwards into Slavik's wheelchair. We stuffed a few belongings into bin bags, left the van with Slavik and got a lift with Tow Truck No.2 to a nearby town which had one hotel. That town turned out to be Lipnik and the Stalag-inspired Hotel Lipa turned out to be everything you didn't want in a hotel. In place of a mattress, the bed was made up of three sofa cushions, in place of tow
els we were given tea towels and in place of curtains there was nothing. We slept badly that night.
The next day was spent exploring Lipnik, which turned out to be a very pleasant little medieval town with lots of bars selling very cheap beer, which we enjoyed in the blazing sunshine. We had a lovely meal in a restaurant called Fantasy where the convention of menus is completely dispensed with as the owner comes to your table and tells you what he thinks you'd like. He must have been psychic because Claire ended up with Cajun-spiced salmon on herbed potatoes and I got a peppered fillet steak. And the whole meal with a couple of beers and a few gins came to £20. Restaurant Fantasy was just that!
We'd press-ganged a waiter at our hotel into being our liaison between Slavik and ourselves because he was able to speak slightly better English than I could German. After some heated telephone calls (the Czech language sounds very aggressive) it transpired that the initial problem with the van had been solved but that Slavik had found a further four problems, one of which required a part that wouldn't arrive for two days and another that, judging by the flamboyant gesticulations and explosion sound effects, could have been life-threatening. We have apparently had a very lucky escape. The RAC have been brilliant and have now furnished us with a snazzy hire car – which we have immediately driven, at hitherto unattainable speed, to Prague. While we live it up in the capital the fate of the van, and the rest of our journey, lies in the hands of a man who wears crocheted slippers. To be continued…
Then the unthinkable happened. The cheap, tatty, American van we'd bought off Ebay broke down. In quite a big way. We were on a motorway when the engine started chugging a bit, then the power went, then something went "bang" and we ground to a halt. I managed to guide the stricken vessel to the hard shoulder and distribute the obligatory hazard triangles down the road behind us while Claire sprang into organisational mode, rang the RAC and set up a picnic on the grassy bank. There, wearing our mandatory high visibility vests, we enjoyed a selection of cheeses and some ra
ther nice bread as we were serenaded by the soothing sound of articulated lorries thundering by for the next couple of hours. Tow Truck No.1 turned up and, upon seeing the size of what he'd been sent to recover, immediately got on the phone to head office for a chat. To be fair he did try and load us on but, as it became obvious that our van might kill his flatbed truck, he decided to tow us to a garage instead. We were taken to a Chevrolet garage in the next town. Unfortunately they only sold new European spec Chevrolets and were a bit bemused by the 20-year-old American wreck that had been left on their forecourt. So Tow Truck No.2 was summoned. Tow Truck No.2 was a bit bigger than Tow Truck No.1 and was able to take the Ebay van away without me having to nervously steer. It was piloted by a confident young chap who dragged our mobile home down the motorway faster than it had previously been driven unaided! He spoke no English and merely shrugged in answer to any questions we tried to ask/mime. As he came off the motorway and drove down increasingly smaller roads, we started to worry a little. That worry turned to fear as he pulled up by the side of the road in a tiny little village and started to unload us. There was a dog sat in the middle of the road who wasn't moving for anyone and a man wearing crocheted slippers sat in a wheelchair on the verge. We could see nothing resembling a garage. Then the man in a wheelchair rolled over to us and presented himself as "the mechanic". So we were stood in a village we didn't know the name of, with a van that didn't work, a man that couldn't walk and nobody that could speak English. The only shared language we found we had was German, of which mine is limited to half-forgotten C Grade O-Level – I'm very good at asking directions to a train station. I also started drawing things which I didn't know how to say on a notepad – a bit like a game of roadside Pictionary.
It turned out that the wheelchair-bound guy was called Slavik, was an expert in the field of American vehicles and possessed a workshop festooned with number plates, hubcaps, confederate flags and other Americana. He was assisted by what could well be the village idiot – a scruffy man with a permanent drip on the end of his nose who did not instil any confidence when he tried to pull the lever to open the bonnet but instead released the hand-brake and rolled the van backwards into Slavik's wheelchair. We stuffed a few belongings into bin bags, left the van with Slavik and got a lift with Tow Truck No.2 to a nearby town which had one hotel. That town turned out to be Lipnik and the Stalag-inspired Hotel Lipa turned out to be everything you didn't want in a hotel. In place of a mattress, the bed was made up of three sofa cushions, in place of tow
els we were given tea towels and in place of curtains there was nothing. We slept badly that night. The next day was spent exploring Lipnik, which turned out to be a very pleasant little medieval town with lots of bars selling very cheap beer, which we enjoyed in the blazing sunshine. We had a lovely meal in a restaurant called Fantasy where the convention of menus is completely dispensed with as the owner comes to your table and tells you what he thinks you'd like. He must have been psychic because Claire ended up with Cajun-spiced salmon on herbed potatoes and I got a peppered fillet steak. And the whole meal with a couple of beers and a few gins came to £20. Restaurant Fantasy was just that!
We'd press-ganged a waiter at our hotel into being our liaison between Slavik and ourselves because he was able to speak slightly better English than I could German. After some heated telephone calls (the Czech language sounds very aggressive) it transpired that the initial problem with the van had been solved but that Slavik had found a further four problems, one of which required a part that wouldn't arrive for two days and another that, judging by the flamboyant gesticulations and explosion sound effects, could have been life-threatening. We have apparently had a very lucky escape. The RAC have been brilliant and have now furnished us with a snazzy hire car – which we have immediately driven, at hitherto unattainable speed, to Prague. While we live it up in the capital the fate of the van, and the rest of our journey, lies in the hands of a man who wears crocheted slippers. To be continued…
old saying that goes' man with slippers, knows his onions' hope the van gets sorted!
ReplyDeleteAnother top tip... "Always listen to a girl holding a coconut" You never know, it may come in handy...
ReplyDelete