An anecdote from the Vanishing by Tim Krabbe

Steady as spaceships, the cabins full of tourists moved south over the long, broad road. Evening began colouring the rolling landscapes of the Autoroute du Soleil violet, the ribbons of cars tapered off.

Rex Hofman and Saskia Ehlvest had been travelling for ten hours, and were still about one hour removed from the end point of their first stage: a hotel in Nuits-St-Georges, not far from Dijon.

That lay a bit off the most logical route, but Saskia had found the name worth the minor detour.

Their final goal was a little house in the hills overlooking the Mediterranean, near Hyeres.

They’d driven that kind of thing before in a single day, but this time they’d stuck largely to back roads, and rather than take the peripherique they had cut straight through Paris and stopped for a drink at a sidewalk cafe when they got lost.

‘It’s a lot more fun to see the local colour change slowly,’ Saskia had said.’The local colour changes to red every time we get there,’ Rex had thought, but to his own surprise he hadn’t said that. But it was hot and far, and during the last hour the mood had become a little testy.Translated from Dutch bySam Garrett

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