Italian Road Trip ... again

[Owain]

One little note to add: while using the A4, we noticed that the tickets used to monitor how far you've driven and how much of a toll you should pay upon exiting were celebrating 50 years since the opening of the road in 1966. Sadly, these tickets are retained by the machines when you pay the toll so I couldn't keep one, but I remembered to take a picture on the last day that we used the road.

The slogan at the top reads: "For 50 years we have enabled to travel the goods, the people, and the future".

The slogan at the bottom translates roughly as: "Every road is the environment that it crosses, and the economy it supports".

The A4 is not the most spectacular of Italy's mighty autostrade, nor the greatest feat of Italy's impressive engineering, being long, mostly straight, and fairly flat. But it is one of the longest and most important arteries in the country, stretching right across the North of Italy, from suburban Turin to the countryside outside Trieste ......... and I have now driven all of it.

[Owain]

We left Italy along the coast road, where the old ss1 "Via Aurelia" turns into France's Napoleonic N7 (historically, and according to signage, at least). Jessica seems quite happy to be treated to Sabristic gems of information like this, prior to being driven (as closely as possible) two laps around the F1 circuit at Monaco.

As a competitive sportswoman, having been All-Ireland national swimming champion five times in the 1990s, Jess has embraced my life-long love of Formula 1 motor racing and my enthusiastic recantations of the most exciting and moving episodes of its history. I wanted to visit Monaco in 2013, when my ex-wife scuppered the plan by being on a high-metabolism diet that required her to eat every three hours, and I lost my moment of glory in Monte Carlo because we needed to find a restaurant in Italy. Anyway, this year I finally achieved my dream of driving around the F1 circuit in Monaco; at least as far as it is possible to do on the normal roads, which is basically all of it except for Casino Square. I enjoyed it so much I did it twice. And couldn't resist parking illegally at the most famous corner in motor racing history, to record the event. I'm sure I'm not the only one. Spot the Rover... No, not the Bentley, the Rover!

At this viewpoint high above Monaco, we stopped to take a look at the view, and were immediately accosted by a pair of Essex boys dressed as the Mario Brothers. They arrived in a ropey old MGF and asked me to take their picture, before letting me point out where the F1 cars head into the famous tunnel on the circuit below. We waved them on their way before making our own way down into the principality, and onto some of the most bizarre roads I've ever driven on.

First, we descended into Monaco through a long tunnel, that crosses over the border from France to the West. This arrived at an underground roundabout, fully painted and fully signposted, yet quite poorly illuminated. From here I have no idea where I drove, until I suddenly recognised myself at the piece of road between the famous Loews Hairpin and the entrance to the equally famous tunnel, whereupon my two laps of glory began. I must admit that after taking the picture of the hairpin above, I couldn't resist throwing my car round it a little more enthusiastically than I should have done.

We also parked up on the promenade which serves as the pit lane during the race. There were no signs of the pit complex at all, it presumably being a temporary structured that gets set up and dismantled against each May. Here a Swiss guy was making a meal of photographing his (very nice) new Alfa Giulia Quadrifoglio, and my own car attracted some quizzical looks from the tourists. Going to Monaco was quite an experience, even if all we did was drive around its historic circuit, take a few photos and smoke a cigarette or two.

From Monaco, we headed West along the A8 autoroute and then up the A7, to stop overnight in Orange. We were too tired to wander around the old Roman town before sinking some beers and heading for bed, something we didn't do too late because the following day we had to drive to Spain.

[B1018 A120 M11]

SPAIN???!!!???

So... I've been following the description of your latest Euro-jaunt with great interest. A trip 'all the way down' to Italy by car from the UK is something I really fancy meself (have yet to talk my wife and five-year-old son into it, though...), and I really enjoyed the details of your previous trips further upthread. One day, I may nick some of the places you've written about to construct my own itinerary. My wife and I have explored some of the places you've been to on this trip before our son was born, although not by driving all the way there from England. Like you, we went from Trieste into Istria to see what the former Italian parts now in Slovenia and Croatia were like (in a word — beautiful), as part of a longer trip taking in Hungary, Austria, Italy, Slovenia, and Croatia. And like you, we had trouble with car parks while there (I reversed into a ludicrously placed slanted girder in Croatia (somewhere in this car park), and did 500 quid's worth of damage to our German hire car... which I eventually had to pay. Grrr.).

But anyway... I thought this one was supposed to be the BUDGET trip? And already it seems you've taken in The Netherlands, Germany, Lichtenstein, and Italy. France we knew was always going to be your destination (indeed, wasn't it going to be your ONLY destination for a while to save money...?), but Spain...?

We've done European trips to France, Germany and Austria for the past three summer breaks (taking in Belgium, and the Netherlands on the way), and based on those (and the increasingly enfeebled pound of late), I can't see how your intinerary can *possibly* be working out as a budget option, even with just two of you...? I mean, don't get me wrong, it looks absolutely great... but, er... this is saving money how, exactly...?

[Owain]

A trip 'all the way down' to Italy by car from the UK is something I really fancy meself (have yet to talk my wife and five-year-old son into it, though...), and I really enjoyed the details of your previous trips further upthread.

Good - I'm glad you enjoyed them! I must admit that when I write on this thread I sometimes wonder if I'm being self-indulgent, but my intention is to share my experiences with Sabristi who might be interested in foreign roads and long drives, but who might not have the means, or the time, or the confidence, to do big trips like these. And I have hopes that those who can do it, will feel inspired to do it!

One day, I may nick some of the places you've written about to construct my own itinerary.

If you or anybody else would like tips regarding places to see or to stay, or advice on driving in Italy (the basic rule is to drive like an Italian; as fast or slow as you like, without worrying about anything!), PM me. I'll be more than happy to help.

But anyway... I thought this one was supposed to be the BUDGET trip? And already it seems you've taken in The Netherlands, Germany, Lichtenstein, and Italy. France we knew was always going to be your destination (indeed, wasn't it going to be your ONLY destination for a while to save money...?), but Spain...?

It was supposed to be a budget trip, and if I'd just gone straight to my parents' house in Brittany for three weeks, and then come straight back home, it would have been very cheap. A ferry ticket plus fuel.

What went wrong was I couldn't resist driving my fantastic old car to Italy and back for the seventh time. And surely the last time, because I need to buy something newer for these trips! Driving the width of Italy is certainly cheaper and quicker than driving the length, but I came up with the idea of visiting all the little countries I've never been to - Liechtenstein, Monaco and Andorra, not to mention Spain - and I couldn't resist. So it turned out to be a budget trip gone wrong. If I'm honest, I have absolutely no idea how much it cost. It will have been less than last year's run down the whole length of Italy, which took three weeks and cost about £2k. But this year's trip is all stacked up on my credit cards, so unless I sit down and work it all out, I can't say precisely how expensive it was. All I know is that it was a drop in the ocean compared with the cost of my new house.

NB - I'm not remotely interested in money, and I am rubbish at maths, so you could say that I am exactly the kind of person who caused the Credit Crunch. It's going to take me years to pay off the debt I've acquired because of this house! But I don't see why it should stop me enjoying myself.

SPAIN???!!!???

Anyway... Spain!!!!!

The only reason I went there was because I'd decided to go to Andorra, and because I've never been to Spain I couldn't resist just stepping over the border. It was very strange being there, because I am so used to telling the many people who've been to Spain that I've never been to Spain. Only now I have. For an afternoon drive!

We drove the length of the French A9 in a morning(-ish), and stopped for lunch at a service area near Perpignan that resembled a Catalan outlet shopping centre rather than a motorists' halt. I've always wanted to visit the Languedoc and Catalonia, but because this was supposed to be a budget trip we had little time to do anything other than enjoy the view from the car. The landscape is unquestionably Mediterranean, yet very different from Italy. We liked it, and we intend to go back.

Again were were lucky with the traffic, because although there was plenty of it heading for the South (mostly Dutch caravans and middle-lane hoggers; a rare thing in France!), the crash was on the other side. Somewhere between Montpellier and Beziers we noticed an SUV that had been jackknifed while towing a trailer. The SUV looked like it had sustained nothing more than the odd scratch, but the large boat he'd been towing was reduced to scrap. I'm sure this would have caused a few smirks on the faces of the many people caught in the long tailback on the other side, once they'd got by. It didn't slow us down, but for a few rubberneckers slowing down needlessly in front of us.

We ignored the signs telling us to take the N116 for Andorra, because we wanted to go to Spain! We crossed over the border at the point where the A9 becomes the A-7, and exited the autopista at the very first junction. Comically, we were charged a toll of €0.45 for the kilometre of Spanish motorway that we had used; Jessica paid the machine in small change.

After exiting the motorway, we followed the N-II to Figueres. The peculiar thing about Spain is that it didn't really remind me of Italy. I had expected it to feel very similar to Italy, but it wasn't. The strangest thing is that the road reminded me more of the Irish republic than anywhere else. The N-II, which has been superseded by the autopista, is a wide single-carriageway road - in some places with four lanes - and although it is no longer the principal route from Madrid to the French border it still looks as though it is. As with the Irish roads that have been replaced by the motorways, it was possible to gain a vivid impression of what this road must have been like when it was the main road from Spain to France, as it is still numbered N-II and it is relatively unspoiled.

Something that definitely did not remind me of Ireland was the selection of young women wearing thongs and advertising themselves at the roadside. At around 2pm. I don't have a problem with prostitution (I favour its legalisation), but I was still surprised to see it so openly on display.

Figueres turned out to be a town that is very easy to drive into, but much harder to get out of. I think Salvador Dali found it that way, because he is buried there. There is also a museum dedicated to him, it being his home town. We didn't see it, because we didn't know it was there until afterwards, and we were on a road trip, so there was a schedule. We were merely interlopers in Spain, trying to get to Andorra.

The funny thing is, after driving through almost a dozen countries, I had not seen a single Rover 75 until I got to Figueres. Then I saw three within about five minutes. It seems that Rovers were popular in Spain.

After driving around in circles and through residential housing estates with no signage (which always makes Jessica laugh, because she's amazed at how I remain calm even though I have absolutely no idea where the hell I am or where I am going), we managed to find the N-260. We also managed to find a filling station where I stopped to buy fuel on an impulse; diesel was around €1/litre, and my ridiculous Franco-Italian hybrid language made me easily understood by the friendly chica in the kiosk.

The N-260 is a road that I recommend Sabristi to drive! If you're ever in Spain (and I don't go there often, having been only once in 40 years), drive this road!!

Upon leaving Figueres, where it was warm and sunny, we drove through beautiful open countryside for some time, before taking in a bit of incomplete autopista (the A-26) - and heading into the Pyrenees. Through the town and into the country, I was struck by how different the Spanish drivers are from the Italians. They obeyed all the speed limits, more or less. They obeyed all the traffic lights. There was no tailgating. There wasn't even any overtaking! I drove along a long stretch of the N-260 where there were ample overtaking opportunities, and no speed cameras, with a Passat behind me. I could tell that the driver wanted to go a little bit quicker, but at the same time it seemed like he just couldn't be bothered to pass. He followed me for ages before eventually making his move the short stretch of autopista leading up to Olot.

The weather began to turn when we approached an interesting section of the road, which we were to have almost entirely to ourselves. We climbed gradually up into the mountains, and the mist and drizzle descended to give a particularly odd aspect to our journey, considering that the thermometer in my car said that the temperature was over 20C yet there were slivers of snowfall on the verge. From the point at which we were 1000m above sea level, the signage notified us every time we had gained an extra 100m. Because the road was twisty and completely empty, I began to enjoy myself for the first time since entering Spain. One moment where I thought we were going straight into a rock, and another where Jessica thought we were going over the edge of the cliff, put and end to that, and we made it to the summit of this Pyrenean pass without dying.

Our descent was marred by the presence ahead of a French-registered van, being driven painfully slowly (considering how much fun the road was). I was unable to contemplate passing him on account of having never driven the road before; if it were Italy, I am sure that an enthusiastic driver with local knowledge would have wasted no time in picking him off. As we followed him down from the mountains, I noticed in my mirror the familiar shape of a Rover 75. I couldn't quite make out if it was Spanish- or German-registered, but in twelve years of owning one I have never been given the opportunity to watch one waft its way around the curves for a prolonged period of time. This majestic beast shadowed me (almost - he didn't cut the curves like I did!) all the way down the mountains, and for the first time in my life I was treated to a really good impression of the immense road presence that the car has. It made me glad that I bought one, and that I've hung onto it!

We parted company at Puigcerdà, where he headed into the town and I turned left towards La Seu d'Urgell. It was on this stretch of road, with the rain now falling in total contrast to the dust bowl that we'd encountered upon first entering Spain, that we witnessed our only experience of Spanish automotive lunacy. After driving for many kilometres in a state of total serenity (apart from the two episodes where Jessica thought I'd overcooked it and we were about to die), all the idiots turned up together. On the approach to La Seu, I attracted and was tailgated by a clown in a battered Fiat Bravo with one working headlamp. I couldn't resist flooring it off the roundabouts to leave him eating a cloud of carbon particulates, but I refused to drive over the limit (unlike in Italy) and soon enough he came by. I let him go, and he was followed by a jeepy-type thing that passed us on a long sweeping bend. What really impressed me, was the guy in the brand-new BMW X5 who was towing a trailer. He was clearly intent on passing all three of us, and came racing by before suddenly slamming on his brakes while he was still on the wrong side of the road! What was wrong? I had to brake because all three cars - Bravo and jeepy-thing on my side and BMW on the wrong side - all braked together.

FLASH!

Ah. Speed camera. To this day, I don't know whether one of these clowns triggered it, or if it was actually me, having unwittingly crept over the speed limit because I was following them, and was distracted by their antics. Perhaps I'll get a letter in the post. If I do, it will prove how appallingly unreliable fixed cameras can be when it comes to catching the right people. But - as with the situation regarding my credit cards - I don't care.

We turned north at La Seu d'Urgell, and followed the wide, straight, and important-looking N-145 to Andorra.

[Owain]

Andorra reminded me somewhat of San Marino. It's an independent microstate that it not in the EU, and which has its own sovereign parliament and laws, yet it shares a culture with a much larger neighbour. That neighbour is definitely Spain, as there nothing French about the place at all.

This was very evident, as we drove in from the South using the CG-1, and we exited from the North using the CG-2. On both sides there are border posts with staff, but nobody seemed particularly interested in our passports. However, the southern side enables you to enter the country from Spain via a long valley, in which the capital Andorra la Vella is situated. On the northern side, you exit by climbing over the mountains, and the border posts are on the French side of the watershed.

The country also reminded me somewhat of Monaco, by being full of concrete shopping centres. Indeed, shopping seems to be the principal purpose of the place, as you can buy huge knives and vast boxes of cigarettes for a few peanuts. We stayed at the Hotel de L'Isard and spent a couple of days wandering around trying to speaking bad French (it comes to something when French is in my comfort zone!), drinking beer, and smoking Gauloises cigarettes (after I'd reassured Jessica that they were renowned to anybody who could remember the Ligier Formula 1 team). One particularly nice moment was when were were beckoned into a shop by a friendly old woman who seemed intent on getting us drunk. She clearly didn't know who she was dealing with, plying us with one Andorran liqueur after another to little effect, before producing a range of sausages. I am quite used to this sort of hospitality from Italy, which is obviously intended to get you to buy something, but which is charming because it gives the vendor the opportunity to show their pride in their local produce. Nonetheless, for Jessica it was quite an experience. She was surprisingly restrained when it came to purchasing a couple of beverages and some sausages, and seemed happy all day after that experience.

I don't know what else to say about Andorra, other than that it was a nice place, if a bit weird, and we are glad that we went there.

[Owain]

The last legs of our tour took place in France, and I'm not sure what to say about that either, other than that it surprises me how much of France I have seen.

We drove from Andorra to my parents' house in Brittany via an overnight stop in La Rochelle. We descended from the Pyrenees on the N22 and N20 - which are very scenic - before taking the new A66 to Toulouse, the A62 to Bordeaux, and the A10 and A837 to La Rochelle. It took a lot longer to drive it than to type it!

Even though we were both pretty tired upon arriving in La Rochelle, we went out to walk around the old harbour, and were attracted to this outstanding restaurant, where we went for a set menu each. Mine included raw prawns in an orange marinade as a starter, followed by a rack of lamb with a potato gratin, finished off with a platter of French cheese. I was particularly pleased with the bottle of Saint Nicolas de Bourgueil that I order to accompany it. In fact, I was so impressed by it all that I told the waiter that it was fantastic! He looked genuinely pleased. I'd imagine that most of his customers just eat, pay and leave, but the meal was a revelation to me and I did my best in my special brand of Frogliano to tell him so. It was Keith Floyd who said that the French think they know it all about food, when it is actually the Italians who do. I'd always agreed with this sentiment, and regarded French cuisine as being pretty poor up until this particular meal. Even though the prawns were raw. If you're ever looking for somewhere to eat in La Rochelle, it's worth a visit. Jessica is a proper foodie, and it seems to make her just as happy to see other people getting excited about food as she gets herself. This was no exception, and the evening will remain etched in my memory even though it was raining, and there was a dreadful band playing live in the open air at the end of the street.

The following day, we headed for Brittany. We avoided the autoroutes, and crossed over the mouth of the Loire on what Jess described as "a mad bridge" on account of its gradiant. The authorities were experimenting with lane controls, it being a three-lane single-carriageway road, and new signals had been installed to indicate which direction of traffic was permitted to use the middle lane. It wasn't us, so we crawled over the bridge in a slow-moving queue. Once on the other side, we headed up the N165 (which I remember from childhood holidays in Brittany) to Vannes. A wrong turn (largely inspired by gridlocked traffic at Vannes) saw us heading up to Elven on the N166, whereupon we followed the D1 and N767 to Pontivy.

From there, the most enjoyable part of the day's driving came on the D764-D31 to Rostrenen, where the evening sun hung low in the sky and there was hardly any traffic, allowing me to really put my foot down on what is effectively the French equivalent of a pleasingly unpoliced, unsanitised B-road.

We spent a long weekend at my parents' house in Le Croasty, which had been the intended destination of the whole trip. Ironically, it turned out to be the happiest and most relaxing time, notwithstanding the fact that we got on bicycles to spend a Sunday afternoon whizzing along a disused railway track to a disused station that has been turned into a community centre for Frenchmen who wanted somewhere to play boules.

Our return ferry was from Zeebrugge to Hull, which we reached via an overnight stop in Chartres (a surprise treat for Jessica, as La Rochelle had been), and this gave me the experience of driving in Paris on La Boulevard Périphérique (clockwise from the A6 to the A1). Apart from a wrong turn in Lille, we were over the Belgian border and across Belgium easily enough. The horrors I remember of Belgian motorways from my childhood (seeing three crashes in the space of an hour) did not materialise, and we made it back to Leeds the following day.

The only bad thing, is that we have to wait another year before the next trip.

[Owain]

By way of a postscript: the wine count.

As ever, I drank quite a lot of wine while I was on holiday, so there were quite a few bottles that never made it home. However, those that did tallied in at 105 bottles; mostly French (including Corsican) and Italian (obviously including some Sardinian, which I couldn't ever turn down the chance to buy), but with half a dozen Spanish and another half dozen Slovenian thrown in.

Then the Italian beers, Breton cider, Breton whiskey (which is much like the Irish stuff) and various Italian and Andorran liqueurs and spirits accounted for a further 22 bottles. Not my record, but not bad. Every year the guys in the customs on the Channel ports comment on how much wine I have in my car. It's better than carrying useless things like suitcases.

[RichardA626]

According to Chris's old site there were French street furniture in Andorra, randomly mixed with Spanish.

[Owain]

According to Chris's old site there were French street furniture in Andorra, randomly mixed with Spanish.

Yes - while the people seem more happy to speak Spanish (or perhaps Catalan) than French, the place does look like a half-way house between Spain and France.

This sets it apart from Monaco and San Marino, where everything looks respectively French or Italian.

[mapboy]

By way of a postscript: the wine count.

Wine Haul 2017.jpg

As ever, I drank quite a lot of wine while I was on holiday, so there were quite a few bottles that never made it home. However, those that did tallied in at 105 bottles; mostly French (including Corsican) and Italian (obviously including some Sardinian, which I couldn't ever turn down the chance to buy), but with half a dozen Spanish and another half dozen Slovenian thrown in.

Drinks!.jpg

Then the Italian beers, Breton cider, Breton whiskey (which is much like the Irish stuff) and various Italian and Andorran liqueurs and spirits accounted for a further 22 bottles. Not my record, but not bad. Every year the guys in the customs on the Channel ports comment on how much wine I have in my car. It's better than carrying useless things like suitcases.

My, that is a large haul... certainly contrasts with my parents' wine rack which holds about 10 bottles and serves as nothing more than long-term storage until such a time a bottle can be given to a new owner.

[Owain]

My, that is a large haul... certainly contrasts with my parents' wine rack which holds about 10 bottles and serves as nothing more than long-term storage until such a time a bottle can be given to a new owner.

On my first Italian job in 2010, I managed a haul of roughly 200 litres, brought all the way from Sardinia!

But that was when I was married to somebody whose dad owns a vineyard.

[Vierwielen]

By way of a postscript: the wine count.

Wine Haul 2017.jpg

As ever, I drank quite a lot of wine while I was on holiday, so there were quite a few bottles that never made it home. However, those that did tallied in at 105 bottles; mostly French (including Corsican) and Italian (obviously including some Sardinian, which I couldn't ever turn down the chance to buy), but with half a dozen Spanish and another half dozen Slovenian thrown in.

Drinks!.jpg

Then the Italian beers, Breton cider, Breton whiskey (which is much like the Irish stuff) and various Italian and Andorran liqueurs and spirits accounted for a further 22 bottles. Not my record, but not bad. Every year the guys in the customs on the Channel ports comment on how much wine I have in my car. It's better than carrying useless things like suitcases.

Although you can bring back as much as you like for personal use, HMG have published guidelines on what customs officials can allow through "on the nod" as being "for personal use". Your friendly custom-official was probably sussing you out to see if it was for personal use of for the black market. I have also read that the local police are an added hazard if you are bringing back large quantities of alcohol - they might do you for over-loading!

[bothar]

We opted instead to follow the Italian coast through the lovely little fishing village of Muggia, where we stopped for coffee, before spending a day in Koper/Capo d'Istria and Izola, if only to see how Italian they were. We followed the sp14 around the coast, and entered Slovenia at the disused border post. The landscape is almost Italian, and much of the signage is bilingual with Slovenian first and Italian second. We felt quite at home.

Almost 30 years ago to the day (probably late June) I drove through Muggia to enter Yugoslavia, I had an Italian girlfriend in those days (rather exotic in the 80s). There was definite border then, of course, although not a sense of piercing that famous Iron Curtain from Stettin to Trieste. The shop at the border wasn't encouraging, it was like something from one of those films featuring hard times in the 1950s, but Yugoslavia improved from then on. Of course entering Croatia from Slovenia in those days was just a sign by the side of the road. Istrian roads were not very notable, but the map suggested than some of the minor roads were not surfaced, when in fact they had a new layer of tarmac, so things had improved. I noted that the main road had a mimumum speed limit (probably 50 Kmh), something which I hadn't seen before. People in those parts all had TV aerials toward Italy and spoke some Italian.

Spain is much less densely populated in many regions than Italy, and with much more recent road improvement.

[Owain]

I picked up some Italian-themed key rings at the services on the A4.

My girlfriend and her daughter are moving into my house soon, and will need a key each. The others will serve the patio and balcony doors.

[Truvelo]

By way of a postscript: the wine count...

I would like to know how it's possible to get that much in a car without the wheels touching the arches. Liquid and glass are heavy materials. Not only that, but the cost as well. It doesn't look like cheap plonk.

[Owain]

By way of a postscript: the wine count...

I would like to know how it's possible to get that much in a car without the wheels touching the arches. Liquid and glass are heavy materials. Not only that, but the cost as well. It doesn't look like cheap plonk.

The car is designed to take five adult humans plus two large suitacases.

My record haul was about 200 litres in 2010. I drove back with a microlite wife (Aurora - my Sardinian ex-wife - is tiny!) and the wine equivalent of four or five suitcases.

About 100 litres is no sweat when you have one passenger and a couple of suitcases... assuming you have a proper car, like a Rover 75 or Jaguar S-Type, and not some inferior automotive entity.

[Norfolktolancashire]

Something that definitely did not remind me of Ireland was the selection of young women wearing thongs and advertising themselves at the roadside. At around 2pm. I don't have a problem with prostitution (I favour its legalisation), but I was still surprised to see it so openly on display.

They are still doing that, actually trying to stop the passing traffic! Passed that way for the first time ever northbound along the A7 to the French border.#
While watching a TV program at the B and B that night (so only understood a bit as un petit Francious!) it turns out that the whole area there around the last junction before France is a hotspot for gambling, booze cruises and sex clubs, mostly for the French.

I can best describe it as a piece of Mexican Border!!

[Owain]

I'm suddenly feeling the urge to drive my old Rover to Italy again. It's done 171k miles, and been to Italy and back seven times.

There's a newer Rover in my stable now, with much lower mileage. But for some reason I want to get in the blue one, and drive it to Italy again. One last time.

[danielfigfoz]

Lovely report, makes me rather miss my mark II Clio that took me all over Germany, France, Italy and everywhere in between. I bought her with 104,000 miles on the clock, if I had known then what I know now about cars I might not have, but I got so many memories out of her. I scrapped her at 160,000 as it was too much of an insurance nightmare to bring her over to Switzerland for a year but I am starting to regret it.

[Chris Bertram]

There was definite border then, of course, although not a sense of piercing that famous Iron Curtain from Stettin to Trieste.

Churchill - who was the originator of the phrase - was both over-optimistic, and over-pessimistic there. The Iron Curtain descended some way to the west of Stettin (nowadays Sczeczin), starting at Travemünde in Schleswig-Holstein and running along the intra-German border before separating Czechoslovakia and Hungary from their western neighbours. However, at the southern end, it was never as hard a border as might have been feared, and Yugoslavia maintained its non-aligned position while still having a recognisably "communist" one-party state.