EILEEN KENNEDY describes an eventful – and sometimes noisy – road trip from Ireland to her home in Italy
MY PARTNER AND I hit the ground running after an uneventful crossing from Wexford to Cherbourg. No rain, warm weather, so on with shorts and sandals and away with us on our road trip to Calabria via Budapest.
Had a grand time camping – would recommend it once you get past the bugs and mosquitoes. I felt as if I was their guest, seeing as we were gatecrashing their zone. A few of the spiders and ants liked hanging out with us so much they hitched a ride from Budapest to Venice. I think they’d heard on the ant vine that Iron Maiden would be playing in field near where we’d be pitching our tent. Venice. Iron Maiden. How romantic. Actually, it was quite a good gig – heard all of it, crystal clear from the comfort of my deluxe scratcher.
Camping is great exercise. I lost more than a kilogram from pumping up our beds – got to the point where I embraced the prospect of all that work of pitching and striking camp. I nearly refused to stay in a hotel with a nice bed and a hot shower because I was enjoying the outdoors so much. And the dawn chorus was wondrous to the ear.
On we moved to France (great countryside, drove through some beautiful villages), Belgium (lots of trees) and Luxembourg (blink and you’ll miss it), then on into Germany, where we stayed in a hotel for five nights: a bed, tables and chairs – heaven. We did lots of walking on this part of our adventure, a lovely relaxed time.
From Germany we travelled to the Czech Republic, with its cheap and lovely beer, and camped on a very organised site. Had great weather setting up; then, once the last peg was rammed home, a thunder-and-lightning extravaganza began – wonderful when viewed from the comfort of our trusty van.
This was the land time forgot, like something from a fairy tale; the locals didn’t seem too happy, though: lots of gates and dogs with big teeth – a hangover from the communist era, perhaps. Couldn’t get much of a smile out of them, but they lightened up with a few beers. Fundamentally a nice, warm-hearted bunch.
We advanced into beautiful Prague, the Moldau majestically flowing under ornate bridges. Once upon a time the Czech capital was noted for spontaneous music on the streets, from classical to whatever you’re having yourself.
It seems this practice has been banned – one must have a permit – so we didn’t hear much but did have the joy of listening to a blind woman, with the voice of an angel, who played the most amazing Ave Maria on a keyboard.
We also visited the church of the Infant of Prague, who, I am happy to report, has managed to keep his head. You may remember, in our childhood, the sightings of headless statues of the IoP in people’s homes. I was convinced the little darling was like that always, a headless wonder. A fantastic church and a sacred pilgrimage site for the devout; it was lovely to see.
Next stop was Budapest, a long drive away in Hungary. Through changing landscape I was getting a sense of how ancient this land was and of how many struggles had gone on here.
We found a campsite in the garden of a lovely old couple, Andreas and Margarita. Andreas had a wonderful wine cellar that he built himself, so he, his brother and my partner, Bill, got down to the serious business of tasting wine. My role was that of enthusiastic observer and collector of social history, culminating in an oul’ bar of a song when the boys were suitably disposed.
The next morning we awoke to a gift of fresh fruit, given to us by a neighbour, who had a huge, vibrant organic garden. We had a very restful, peaceful time in this spot.
We went into Budapest – a bustling melting pot of humanity – and then travelled to Croatia. Driving through one town we could not believe our eyes when, on top of a street light, we saw a huge nest. The next town had more – and an enormous stork perched with her babies as traffic sped by.
Then there was a torrential downpour, wipers on full and the car reduced to a snail’s pace. All in all a tough day’s drive, but finally we crossed the border into Italy, at Trieste. Happy days: the smell of real coffee, people speaking a language we kind of understood. Even the sight of the Italian police made us feel at home.
That night we had a very welcome rest in a hotel in a nearby town – slept, ate, slept. Next morning, in beautiful sunshine, we went for breakfast in a picturesque cafe next to an old leaning tower, complete with bell that, naturally, decided to start ringing – clanging incessantly, in fact – as I was trying to order breakfast in my basic and rusty Italian. Ah, yes, that was fun, a John Cleese moment, bless the dear waitress.
On we travelled. The kilometres rolled by, and all seemed well with the world until we were about 20 clicks from Venice. Traffic! Jams everywhere. We almost gave up, almost abandoned what turned out to be a highlight of our trip.
Thankfully, all ended well, and we found the campsite of our dreams, complete with that free Iron Maiden concert.
Venice was a treat. Loved walking about. No smelly cars, just the occasional smelly boat. Very romantic, those gondolas, until you ask the price – €80. So we took a river bus and had a great time, sat back and took it all in.
Our trip was nearly at an end. As a treat, a friend had asked us to stay at his holiday home in Furci, way up in the mountains near Termoli. This was a very tranquil experience.
We had a chance to relax and gather our energy before embarking on our final leg of the journey, home to Cariati, in the Italian region of Calabria. It’s great to be back.