Getting to the Netherlands was surprisingly easy. I hitched a lift with an American guy named Joe Roberts, who was, coincidently, also heading to Callantsoog. I thought that crossing the borders would be difficult, what with my lack of a passport, but we weren’t even stopped.
The road listed in ArthurMan’s message “MAP”, is a small lane with a pedestrianized area at the end of it. There are a few houses but, predominantly, the road is a walkway to the local church.
I’m not sure exactly what I’m supposed to be looking for here but I’ve seen nothing out of the ordinary inside or outside of the church. This afternoon, I checked the headstones in the graveyard but I didn’t see any names that I recognised. I’ve written them all down, just in case.
Joe has kindly offered me a room for the week. He’s staying with his great-grandmother until Saturday at which point he intends to drive back to France to cross the channel tunnel to England. I’ve told him that I lost my passport in Paris and he’s agreed to try to sneak me onto the ferry in his car. He really is a nice chap. It was a stroke of luck bumping into him.
I’m also glad to have the company. The feeling of being watched has returned since I arrived here in Callantsoog. I’m not sure whether the DPIR have finally caught up with me or whether the Nightmare People have found me or if I’m just being paranoid.
I’m so glad that the next place on ArthurMan’s list is in England. I don’t like this travelling business in the slightest.
