After a week in N.Y.C. we left by train for Peekskill.
At six o'clock in the station we were told that within
a couple of hundred metres walk from the station we
would find Motel Peekskill. A fine motel with a wonderful
view over the Hudson River. One thousand six hundred
metres may also be described as 'a few hundred metres',
but with a suitcase of twenty-six kilos it felt as if
we had walked for a few hundred kilometres. Early the
next morning we went to collect our Ford Get Away.
Unfortunately it wasn't ready; no tires, no windscreen,
and the hood up, so we decided to explore the village.
It turned out to be a quirky, artistic little place
with a real diner from the fifties. In the second hand
shop, "Bruised Apple", incidentally a great
name for a shop with used books and c.d.'s. I bought
Medeski Martin and Wood's latest c.d. Then into the
library to collect e-mails after which we drank loads
of coffee in the local coffee shop. A different sort
of coffee shop from the Dutch ones. Coincidentally two
camera teams were filming at the front. We asked what
was happening and it appeared that sixty-eight drug
dealers had been picked up in the neighbourhood of our
coffee shop; two Dutch people in a coffee shop during
the biggest drugs hall in New York State in years.
As unobtrusively as possible we returned to the garage
where we were told that we had to report back at 9 p.m.
But at five past nine we were still sitting in front
of a locked up lot where fifty campers were parked.
Everything from box like chassis that looked as if they
could be used as chip vans, to state of the art vehicles
at least as long as the average town bus. Ours was still
partially open. Ernst, the owner of TransAtlantic, drove
down the hill in one of the chip vans. Gaping in admiration
at the luxury of our vehicle it appeared that yet more
wonders still had to be revealed; the extension of the
bedroom/living room combination. Rather long-windedly
we tried to make clear that we were used to camping
in small tents and we were overwhelmed by all this luxury.
Ernst didn't let us distract him and continued laying
cables for the electric fire, looking for blankets,
keys for showers in buildings around the lot, to finally
delight us with the antenna for the flatscreen t.v.
The more we protested that we weren't used to so much
luxury when camping the more it seemed he was intent
on proving that we'd been doing it wrong for all these
years. "No problem. Lots of people in America travel
like this. See you at eight." And off he went.