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Our final day would be leisurely. We were under three hours from the ferry and had five hours to get there. Antwerp was the only real obstacle in our path. The traffic was horrendous, but we managed to sneak through the quieter way. The faced a toll, the queue of which was longer than all but one border (Moldova-Romania). Seemingly, the Dutch don’t believe in service stations so we swung off into Steenbergen, the final resting place of Dambuster, Guy Gibson. It was scorching

We knew our penultimate day would be tough. We had a long way to go and a suitable amount of time to get there. With the temperature hitting 28 around 9am, a day on the autoroute was the last thing we needed. However, Jase pushed on and we arrived in Luxembourg around lunchtime. The only thing of note being the amount of Lithuanian truckers. Loads of them. Luxembourg City is odd. Firstly, it’s another of those places that wafts its signs in the vague direction of car parks bu

Switzerland always puts on a show with its epic Alps. There’s a real contrast between the serene and dramatic. Idyllic Heidi-style villages of quaint wooden chalets bedecked with colourful blooms set against the most rugged and sharp mountains, snow-capped with waterfalls thundering down to milky-jade rivers. It began almost immediately as we saw snow wedged in shadowed saddles of the Surselva region. That snow soon looked paltry as we began the ascent of the Oberalp Pass. Wi

A sunny morning on a quiet Tyrolean road was the perfect introduction to a four-country drive. Leaving Austria, we entered Italy, but you wouldn’t know. Rocky Dolomite peaks impress to our left as we made our way through the slow Italian traffic to Bruneck/Brusio. As mentioned yesterday, Ian has beef with Italy. It can be summed up briefly as an undeserved reputation for world-class food (it’s fine, but just pasta with tomato-based sauce usually), epic landscapes (fine again,

A hand burst out of the toll booth. No words, just a sign saying €1. That’s all it took to leave Croatia. The border facilities were still there due to its recent admission into the EU, but we drove through without any further stops. If you’ve ever read a children’s book about some small, fictional European principality or nation, it’s probably based on parts of Slovenia. Rolling hills, dense forests, ornately carved hay sheds and clustered villages of borderline alpine archi

With Rosemary carrying us high into the olive-clad hills above Trigier, we got to see this part of Dalmatian coast in all its sub-kissed glory. At a service station, Ian completed the holy trinity of Balkan food. Pljeskavica in Prizren, Ćevapi in Podgorica and Mostar, and Burek in Croatia. Our first destination was a UNESCO World Heritage site, one of Croatia’s most famous natural wonders. Plitvice lakes are understandably famous and, despite staying in tourist-heavy Trogir l

Emerald rivers, mirror-like lakes, honey stalls and signs for Tito’s bunker guided us through the heart of Bosnia and into Herzegovina. We were back in the land of fervent tourism. The UNESCO World Heritage old town of Mostar was buzzing with throngs of visitors; its cobbles well worn to perilously shiny. But there are many reason why people flock here. It’s beautiful, with real old-world charm evident among its souvenir stalls. Oh, and the Stari Most, the world-famous arched

We scarpered in different directions this morning, making the most of a free day. Ian and Jim went to various parts of Sarajevo centre separately, soaking up viewpoints, history and the building atmosphere ahead of Bosnia’s opening World Cup match. Flags adorned cars, most people were wearing football shirts, Dubioza Kolektiv’s anthem was frequently played - and even a Star Wars stormtrooper was getting into the spirit. Jase drove out to the Bosnian Pyramids of the Sun, a sit

This was a day of stunning scenery as we travelled between two Balkan capitals. In deepest Montenegro, we turned off the main route and ventured along some of the country’s panoramic roads. The first twisted up and down hills, surrounded by wildflower pastures in Swiss-style landscapes. On the way up Then came the Sedlo Pass. With rugged peaks topped with glaciers and remnants of the winter snow still by the side of the road, it was jaw-dropping beautiful: vast, dramatic and

We’d seen the Albanian mountains from Kukës, but we were immediately immersed in them after breakfast at our hotel, the owner of which was a proper character. Europe’s southernmost glaciers were in view as the towering peaks surrounded the route. With Craig at the wheel, we twisted and turned up and down the hills. The roads were interesting, with large ruts appearing regularly. However, the views were astounding. At the top of one peak, we came across what could only be desc

Snow-capped mountains and volcanic peaks guided us towards Prizren, Kosovo’s second city. Parking up, we spotted Rosemary had a flat tyre. That could wait. It wouldn’t be a long job, although we would need a replacement. Prizren With a history stretching back to Byzantine rule more than a thousand years ago, its centre was stunning. A small stone bridge arched over a clear-water river. The 17th-century Sinan Pasha Mosque held sway in the old town, as we browsed trinket stalls

Southern Serbia looked beautiful as we powered to the North Macedonia border, where we were slightly stiffed for €50. The border guard didn’t accept our insurance policy as insurance and insisted we bought a green card. We explained that our insurer told us we didn’t need it, but he kept our passports and told us to come back with local insurance. Ian’s haggling was limited. There was a 15-day option for €50 and he asked if there was a one-day pass. There wasn’t. He handed ov

We’d made it to Burgas to pick up Jase. That was checkpoint two, after getting off the ferry. The next step was to hot foot it across Bulgaria and a potentially troublesome border. With Booking.com agreeing to refund our money for the non-existent hotel, our kindly host bade us adieu. It was already hot and due to get hotter. Cranes and potentially vultures provided the entertainment and we sped across the plains of ancient Thrace. Our destination was the historic province’s

On a journey through time and space, we left Constanta following signs for 23 August, 2 May, Neptune, Jupiter and Venus. Most of these were Romanian beach resorts and we stopped off at the last one, the slightly famous Vamă Veche. It has a very laidback vibe and appealed to us all. Ian called it his Zihuatanejo (reference from Shawshank Redemption). Jim said: “I don’t mind hippies when they’ve got beach bars.” Laidback Vama Veche The Bulgarian border was so easy as there were

The final day before a rest was a testing one. Ian’s navigational skills failed him on the edge of Chişinău, causing an unwanted detour down rugged back streets; and Jim forgot which side of the road to drive on, while actually driving. There was a lot of work being done on the roads and we found ourselves jolted on to terrible rough surfaces quite frequently. Then they got even worse. Huge holes, some covered with sand - you know, that secure and solid material… sand. Weavin

After a minor panic that we’d lost the V5, the Moldovan border appeared remarkably quickly. It was one of the easier ones Ian and Jim had crossed - a check of the documents and a cursory scan of the boot and we were done. There was the time Craig kept saying something inappropriate out of the window, but we’ll gloss over that! With an official vignette procured, despite trying to walk away having paid for but not received it, we were in our seventh country. The roads were ter

Ploughing through the flooded roads of Satu Mare, Rosemary longed for the mountains. She wouldn’t have long to wait. On the road north, the scenery became remarkably alpine. It would be a beautiful drive with no borders, apart from a visit to one. Sighetu Marmației overlooks the Tisa River, the same we crossed in Tokaj. It also overlooks Ukraine. It was a shame to be so close and not go in, especially for Ian, but we opted to play it safe - the news of the Russian drone in Ga

Our intention was bold. We wanted to cross two borders and make it to the eastern edges of Hungary. That would mean crossing the hilly heart of Slovakia. The Monday morning roads were busy and there was constant rain. We passed sporadic glimpses of colour, mostly the fields of blue poppies, grown for the baking industry. Crossing the border into Slovakia, we were immediately met with poor roads - including one that caused a huge roar from Rosemary’s underbelly. This was at Bo

The storm clouds were gathering as we headed into central Europe. As we followed the winding Julius Valley beside the White Main river out of Germany and into our third country, we prioritised fuel for Rosemary Ford. The scores on the doors were impressive: one tank of diesel from Selby to the Czech Republic. At an Ono petrol station, it was o-no. First, we went into the lorry lane and the nozzle didn’t fit; then the proper pump was fitful at best. Jim - who, let’s be honest,

With the sound of I’ll Never Get a Scrumpy Here by the Wurzels whirling around our minds, Rosemary Ford - Scottish registered - powered her way along the Dutch and German road system some 414 miles to Bamburg. Yes, she finished the day with a squirrel-like squeak (Ger: Fluffenshaft irritantnoizen) but that’s why we are calling this Day Two - it sounds more of an achievement. As we waited at border control, we were asked by an official if we had Scottish passports. Jim parped