The first,four, very hot days to Greece, with Brexshit fallouts.

Aristotle Philoshoper of the 4th century BC “

Anybody can become angry – that is easy, but to be angry with the right person and to the right degree and at the right time and for the right purpose, and in the right way – that is not within everybody’s power and is not easy.”

You would think that arranging a ferry from Dover, for an 02.00 departure, would be trouble free affair ; the M 1 would be quiet and also the dreaded M25. Leaving Wylde Green, shortly after 21.00 hours, gave the best part of 5 hours to make a journey that normally takes 3 1/2 hours. It was dry, too, which is always beneficial to night time driving. However, the M 1 was very busy and the M 25 seemed quieter , though, until 3 miles before the Dartford Crossing, when a sight, heartening back to the days when there were toll booths. …Flashing, warning signs.And so, at just before midnight, a slow crawl ensued. Eventually, a sign indicated that there was only once lane open, over the Queen Elizabeth Bridge. There were no workmen and save for one highways vehicle, no sign either of activity , nor obstruction.This made the final 62 miles, a dash, from there to Dover an imperative.

No sooner was the M 20 entered , when a warning sign indicated a closure of two exits!

Panic? No, wending along Kentish country lanes , in the dark , via a stretch on the M 2, is really relaxing way to begin one’s holiday.

Happy ending? Yes, even the pointless speed restrictions, before Doveri, were not enough to prevent us from boarding the DFDS ferry,with 15 minutes to spare. A calm crossing and disembarkment ensured leaving Dunquerque by 05.30, local time, with the sun already rising in the East,towards which the journey lay.

By-passing Bruges and Ghent, the good progress made was halted, every now and then on Brussels Ring Road, by an unanticipated early rush hour.

A traditional breakfast of cold, grilled sausages and hard boiled eggs was enjoyed on a service area , well out of Brussels and after a quick in and out of the Netherlands,by passing Aachen entrance was gained, into Germany.

Recent journeys in and through Germany , had been fairly smooth and uneventful, except for one year, en route to the Czech Republic, when a deer leapt over a barrier, separating traffic from some roadworks and demolished my driver’s side mirror – not even the compensation of roadkill, as it was impossible to stop.
The Autobahns are very democratic , toll free motorways and usually make for high speed transition, from all parts of the country. Driving for the best part of two days, to the Austrian border, proved to be quite arduous, in places – HGVs,an unusual number of road works – an unrelated, but nevertheless annoying feature of the Service areas, was a ” toilet toll” of 0.5 Euro ! Given the cost of their coffee, this was rip off Ryanair would be proud of.
Unusually, today ,saw two minor confrontations with ” Jobsworths”. The first on a Belgian service station, where I had to park the ” Bus”across two places; not a problem, I thought, as there were a good number of empty spaces. As we were about to pull out, a BMW parked in the place, immediately in front of me, despite there being five empty spaces adjacent. The driver got out and I caught his eye. He then approached my open cab window and began to reproach me for parking where , presumably only BMW drivers were allowed. I didn’t dignify his remarks with a reply, but closed the cab window, automatically, nearly nipping his nose. Reminded me of that old joke:- ” What’s the difference between a BMW and a hedgehog? On a hedgehog, the pricks are on the outside”.

The next confrontation occurred at the entrance barrier to the German Campsite , where I was waiting for the entrance barrier to be raised. The Campsite didn’t permit entry between 1 – 3 pm. I was there five minutes before this siesta ended. A German camper approached and in very self righteous tones, complained that if an ambulance wanted get in, we would be in the way….Refusing provocation and the urge to tell him where to stick his bicycle pump, we explained that if that was to happen in the next five minutes, we should expect the barrier to be raised, allowing us to move through and out of the way……or, we could reverse. I name BREXSHIT for this uncustomary hassle, from our fellow Europeans.

The first night’s camping was a lakeside sight, near Bad Durkheim – a pretty place, bordering the lake and vineyards. There was an overnight thunderstorm, but by morning it had cleared and a fine day was again, in prospect. 600 Km, all told, today.

Friday 7 th , the second day of the trip, was spent exclusively on the Autobahns, by passing Ulm, Stuttgart; crossing both the Rhine and the Danube,within a couple of hours and then entering Austria, after buying a compulsory ” Flèche”, for € 8.00, to be displayed on the windscreen – a toll, which allows upto 10 days’ driving, on motorways.

The sight of the Mountajns, in the Austrian Tyrol, was quite momentous and it was not too long before the road changed to two, narrow lanes, with hairpin bends, as Innsbruck was approached – the destination for the day.

There were mountains, everywhere you looked from the Campsite pitch and the weather continued to be glorious . 380 km

For the second night running, there was a hefty thunderstorm and in the morning the landscape was dramatised by layers of clouds around the mountains.

Saturday’s destination was the Adriatic Coast of Italy. The route wending through the Austrian Tyrol, over the Brenner Pass and by tunnel emerging in the Italian Dolomites, now a World Heritage area of unique beauty. Fruit growing was the main crop in the Trento region, together with vines, sometimes growing alongside the motorway ! This was along a motorway, for the most part, after driving up and around a few ” S ” bends. It was very busy, on both the North and Southbound carriageways, despite the lack of HGVs, it being the weekend. The route was via Verona, Bologna and on to the A14, Adriatic highway. All motorways in Italy are subject to a toll and we were prepared for this as we were for the inevitable deterioration in driving standards and inexplicable delays, where traffic came almost to a halt and then started up again, within seconds. This prolonged the journey across the rather featureless, flat lands of Emilia Romagna. It quietened down, South of Bologna, as a lot of the traffic had gone Eastwards. What was surprising, in the incidents of careless driving, was a coach driver changing lanes, at 65mph, without indicating . After lorry drivers, the ” Kings of the Road”, in my experience for safe driving,I ranked coach drivers, as the ” Princes” – not so here, though. There were several near misses, as Italian car drivers weaved across lanes – given the choice between a vanity mirror and and indicators, the former would always be chosen as the optional extra.

Just above Rimini, it was a relief to get off the motorway to take a quite 10 km or so, to the Camping Village Rubicone, on the Adriatic. This was to be a two night stay, allowing a day’s respite from driving. Initial impressions were that we had chosen a beautifully landscaped site, with exceptional facilities.