So *just* called that when my husband said, "okay so while I'm going to get the car you can pack" and I said "no, wait, I have to blog this first!" And I am blogging while he's trying to figure out what sort of madwoman he married. Dude - my public needs me!! I have, like 20 followers!! Who will DIE if I don't keep them posted. (Note: please leave comments assuring me that your lives have in fact been saved by this post. I will read them to the Dane with glee.)
If I could get over my fear of calling people I would make SUCH a kick ass journalist! Bombs falling from the sky - hold that escape vehicle, I need to blog this shit first!
ANYWAY - after DAYS of waiting for the car to be done, finally, success. First, the car is too old
*pause to say bye to husband - can't kiss now - blogging! Dude - I'm on FIRE!*
for the Volvo mechanics to reach into the back room and whip out a new fuel line (cause ours was BUSTED) so they were looking for an old replacement. Couldn't find one. Went with plan B: patch the line so we can get back to DK. But they wanted to test drive it first to make sure it held.
Eh... not so much. So they were going to work on it some more. Then they found that the fuel pump was kaput. But, thank the gasoline fuel gods (I believe called Petrolia and Dieselus), they had one on hand that would work in our old decrepit excuse for a car.
What are we on, plan D? Not sure. We were dreading the phone calls.
But now it's after 5 on WEDNESDAY. Husband has articles to write and places to visit. And it is way too late to be driving to DK tonight. What to do?
Why go to Berlin, DUH!
The Dane has to see a man about a synagogue.
No, really. I'm serious about that one. I might not be serious about the fuel gods, but I'm not going to say so out loud in case they strike me dead.
So to Berlin tonight and some sightseeing on Thursday and then we drive like mad to DK because on Friday morning we have a new appointment with a new mechanic who says that he has the parts we might need and the time to fix the car before my husband has to drive back to the Netherlands on Monday, swinging through Hamburg to see a man about a harbor.
Dude, I do not make this stuff up. I think I need to add a label: so this is what happens when you marry a journalist. Or: this isn't what normal people do.
Normal people do not say things like "I need to get back to Denmark because I've got to catch a plane to Qatar," and their normal spouses do not say things like "yeah, but you have time to see a synagogue in Berlin, right? We can also go see the new Neuesmuseen, with Nefertiti's head," and normal people do not respond "but I've already seen Nefertiti's head... oh what the hell, maybe I can finally see the silver treasure of Hildesheim!"
Oh, and before I go to find cheap accommodation in Berlin, find out where and when the Neuesmuseen is and is open, where the Hildesheim treasure is currently on display (my guess: Russia), and finish packing.... the grand total cost of three days of Volvo mechanics playing "who's your daddy" with our car's innards? 525 euros.
Not bad for a car that's probably worth MAYBE 5,000 euros on a good day.
Right, we are OUTTA here!