Today I had puzzling gas tank filling experiences. Jon returned from Zolder last night on fumes so when I took Leah to Bruges this morning I noticed the fuel light. This was fine as I had driven past the filling station in Oedelem several times so I knew right where the closest gas was.When I arrived, both pumps were occupied so I pulled in behind one of the cars, American style. The woman at the pump gave me a scolding look, the kind I've seen before whenever I'm about to make what Leah and I call one of my "International Incidents". When the woman left, I pulled in to the newly vacated spot. When the other car left, a car from the front of a nearby line of idling vehicles pulled up to the pump! I had totally cut in line in front of all these people, so if you're ever at a small gas station in Europe, look carefully to see if people are waiting.
At this point I realized I did not know how to open the gas door and scurried around looking for the button. When I could not find it I just jumped in the car and ashamedly took off. Now the fuel light seemed to be blinking more furiously so it was white knuckle all the way to the filling station in the next village. We made it and pulled up to a free pump (after carefully scanning for anyone who might be waiting). Leah retrieved the Dutch and French user manuals and I chose French. My French sucks but my Dutch is even worse.
Then a woman starts rapping on my window, I open it and she says something in Dutch. I ask her if she speaks English and she replies, "Are you tanking? Because I am waiting behind you to tank." I want to say I am tanking at filling my gas tank, tank you very much. But instead I say that I would like very much to tank as I am nearly out of gas but I cannot open the gas door. Perhaps she knows how? She looks in all the places I looked then says, do you have the manual? French or Dutch I ask.
After much searching of the manuals, she goes and gets the mechanic from the filling station, who looks in all the places we have looked and now we're all confused. Then out of the filling station come a robust fortyish female cashier. She walks briskly to the drivers door, reaches into the map pocket and presses a hidden button. Voila!
I start tanking with gusto until I realize I have 20 euros and a Visa card and no idea if they take visa. I stop at exactly 20 euros, whew.
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Spain which was really diesel. Wrong fuel for that car, but we heard "gasoline" and said "Si, gracias." In the middle of the next town we tried to make it to the castle we were staying in that night and got only half way up the hill, blocking several unhappy Spaniards behind us. We had to abandon the car for a new rental which was brought to us, but it was all very confusing. We know just how you feel. Spain hasn't asked us back.
Love, Mom