Lordy lordy the trip is nearly over. I suppose I'd better write something then.
I am writing this bit in the back of the car as we head up through France, so if my typing is a bitr rubish it's because of ythe brumpiness as we goo along not htat im' a crapp typrist.
We're off up to see where Smed's uncle is buried and then I will drive us to Calais. Kipper is going to drive the last leg back in the UK. Kip loves driving and consequently has done most of it. Most notably the infamous Nurburgring. We still think that we are probably the only people dumb enough to take a fully laden Mercedes the size of a type 42 destroyer around the Nurburgring. Do a search on Google - bet you don't find anyone else that has, not even Clarkson's German girlfriend.
I have done some of the driving, but although not entirely incompetent, I will be the first to admit I am not a world-class driver and I scare the boys. When I'm driving there is a tense silence in the car broken only by Smed screaming about brakes or red lights or some other trivial matter. The scooter bloke is still alive and the car is still in one piece - I call that a success.
We have been to lots of places and seen loads. But this is three blokes on tour so the emphasis has been largely on beer, the relative attractiveness of each country's girlies, cars, and bodily functions - particularly farts. Particularly Kipper's farts. We have done the touristy stuff though, pretty buildings and the like, Smed went into a RC church and although he looked uncomfortable, he didn't actually burst into flame as was expected. The architecture in Belgium was pretty; the girls though not actually ugly were somewhat plain. Smed didn't notice because "I don't look at girls, I have a pretty wife".
Bruges and Brussels have some fab buildings and were quite pleasantly surprising; as long as you turn a blind eye to the beer prices. Beer prices right the way round (apart from Czech) have been considerably higher than UK, fortunately Kipper and I can now fluently say "my friend is paying" in six different languages.
Language has not been a notable problem. Everyone seems to speak English, even some old bird who was running a back street newsagents in Prague knew the words 'packet of Marlboro'. And universally, the European phrase for "three beers please" is in fact "three beers please", just with a slightly different accent.
It may surprise people to know that our meals have not been completely liquid, there have been solid aspects. Mostly, as Smed has already pointed out, pork and cheese in various forms. Not really surprising that Kippper's farts have been a regular topic of conversation. I have been sharing rooms with Kip for the entire trip and I can now predict to within 5.3 minutes when his digestive system is going to unleash its next blast.
Czech Republic is probably top of the pops for us this trip. The beer is cheap(er) the girls are pretty and you're allowed to smoke in the pub. Prague was dead good and although the guide book mentions that "the place is riddled with thieving back-stabbing robbing low-life" we didn't get mugged once. In fairness to the Prague criminal fraternity, most of the time we've looked so shabby that it wouldn't appear we had anything worth nicking. Prague was awarded an extra day stop off which obviously says something for it, some places on route didn't warrant more than half an hour for a swift burger and then it's on to the next town/city/stretch of motorway.
Motorways as you might imagine have been a major feature of the tour. Originally the idea was to do as much on minor roads as possible. Nice idea because you get to see the bits off the beaten track that many others probably miss. Unfortunately when you're on a fairly tight schedule the winding little backroads that go up and down mountains and through goat farms eventually have to be shelved in favour of some speed. And then you find the main road is closed because the Germans want to dig it up and you're detoured back through someone’s goat farm again. In three thousand miles I suppose you've got to expect a few detours. Fortunately we have Smed's Sat Nav machine which almost consistently will find an alternative route. One of the most stressful things on this kind of trip is knowing which road you need to take and where you are and lane changes and all that jazz, the navigation computer sorts all that out (when it's working right). Unless of course I'm driving - when the computer says "take the next left" it helps if you can remember which is left and which is right. Take away one stressful thing and pop a different one in its place.
The guys have been quite patient with me really. Good job we're all reasonably laid back and know each other pretty well. Living in a mobile metal box together for ten days might have been resulted in brutal murder otherwise. I can't think of anyone else I could have done it with.
