One micro-camper called Duggie, Mother and Son, and 3300 miles!

So, take a seat, settle down, you might want to grab a brew or a glass of something stronger before starting this, it’s a little bit epic. I did consider a leg-by-leg separation of this trip, but for completeness you are presented with a full unabridged combined version. This isn’t a literary masterpiece, it’s an account of our lives; extremely busy lives, which does not permit meticulous proofreading and grammatical correctness. I offer no apologies for that. I write as I talk. I hope you enjoy.

The time has finally arrived. Been waiting for this trip for ages. At one point I was worried it wasn’t going to happen because of poor old Duggie being incapacitated, but thanks to the skills of Chris the mechanic he’s back in the game.

Even up until the day before, my free time for trip planning hadn’t enabled me to give any serious thoughts to the itinerary. I’ve had some vague thoughts about trying a different route to last year, heading up to northern #Europe, as far as Rostock and then across to Szechin, before dropping down into #Germany, the Czech Republic and across back to #France. That was still very much on the cards when I had the fortuitous opportunity to talk about my intended route with an ex-colleague, King of the road, road trip extraordinaire and all-time travel guru, Mr Peter Brookes (or Brookie to his mates). His extensive #travel #experience combined with a lifetime of working in the travel industry meant that he was able to offer some really sound advice on the type of routes that would suit my interests for #picturesque scenery, forests, rivers and August’s basic needs, bless him, for family friendly campsites with a decent swimming pool. That has always been the deal. In exchange for his patience, and I don’t think it’s necessarily even patience is just fantastic as my little co-pilot in the game, all I need to make sure of, is the fact that by about mid-afternoon, after a maximum of three hours or so driving, we end up at a campsite that it’s got a decent playground and a decent swimming pool. You can’t say fairer than that.

It also ensures that we get to keep up with plenty of swimming practice whilst away on holiday. As I’m sitting here writing this now, I’m shocked as August is standing in a pretty freezing cold swimming pool at camping la Petite Suisse. Can’t believe the change in him. He’s jumping, diving, and swimming. The pool is just the right depth for him to be able to get lots of practice in getting his feet off the ground but deep enough so that he’s actually #swimming. And he’s been down the waterslide more times than I can count. A boy that would never ordinarily go near these things, he’s finally turning into that water baby. A big beaming smile on his face.

To try to avoid too much duplication of last year‘s itinerary, even though it was pretty damn fantastic, I want these fantastic #opportunities to enable us to see new places explore and have adventures. So, between Pete and I, we crafted an itinerary that will take us through nine countries in nine days. Although, if I’m honest, I reckon Brookie thought I was being a bit overambitious including Italy…. But it’s Italy…. And once I get told not to……

To make life easier and to avoid such an early start on the Sunday, again just trying to think about what works for August, we set off at about 8 pm the night before, knowing that this would mean that August would sleep most of the trip down to Dover. The intended stop and sleep (free camp) had been the Marine Parade in Dover, recommended by my mum and dad who have a motorhome and do lots of #European road trips, but we didn’t make it that far. With lots of traffic on the M25 and Duggie’s slower pace, combined with me being knackered from some overindulgence the night before with my bessies, meant that by the time we got off the M25, I was desperate to hit the back of the van.

August had been asleep for many hours prior to this. Trying to concurrently operate Google Maps, and park4night app presented a challenge when several the roads were closed and there were diversions and too much time was wasted in my sleepy hours trying to find somewhere to stop. A fortuitous diversion took us down a quieter road and subsequently to a quiet roadside layby. Perfect for a couple of lorries there but aside from that we can have a peaceful and uninterrupted night. And, bonus ball, it wasn’t a dogging spot! Even better, only half an hour to drive when we woke at 6 o’clock and needed to head to the ferry terminal.

Ferries, a really #civilised way to travel. Although I don’t recall it being quite so civilised back in the 80s taking the Irish ferries across from Holyhead to Dun Laoghaire with pissed up Irishmen (and women) and puke flying in every possible direction as the ferry lurched from side to side over the rough seas. For the short crossing from Dover to Dunkirk, it’s an arguably far more pleasant affair (on the way out). Drive-through, present documents, queue up, leaving us just enough time to brush our teeth and rustle up some cereal for our breakfast before we were second on to the awaiting ferry.

As we sailed away from British soil, August mused on the cliffs in the distance. Why are they white Mummy? my answer clearly wasn't satisfactory because he offered up, “perhaps they are painted white, so it looks nice for all of the tourists.” So young, so wise.

After walking round around the deck perhaps more than 100 times (no joke) it was time to get back into Duggie. Engine on, we were headed for a place called Au Bonaire, specifically camping Petit Swiss. Through #France, then #Luxembourg, to the Belgian #Ardennes. Basically, how it works is that I plot the ultimate route, working out the total travel time and adding some on for Duggie’s pace (typically a third). Then divide that by the number of days I’ve got to play with. This gives the interim stops which hopefully take no more than three hours driving distance between; sometimes a little bit more sometimes less. Then I use Searchforsites or Booking.com to find a campsite with a swimming pool. This is what determines the first night’s stop.

By the time we arrived there we had driven through three countries. We hadn’t pre-booked so it was a bit of a gamble that we would be able to get in and I didn’t really fancy August’s reaction as he had been so excited about the prospect of being in the swimming pool after being so sweaty in the van as he slept for two hours with a three-hour journey.

The journey was fairly straightforward, and no tolls were encountered. Had we had more time, I would definitely be up for avoiding motorways because it’s just so much more enjoyable driving that way. As we came off the last motorway and started driving to the site the #Ardennes is a really beautiful, picturesque, forested region and the drive became even more enjoyable.

After paying €37 for the night, we headed straight to the pool and spent a good hour or so there before our rumbling bellies made us remember that we hadn’t actually had any proper lunch that day. The restaurant looked really inviting in style of a Swiss chalet. Unfortunately, we were informed that if you hadn’t made a reservation, the kitchen capacity meant that we were out on our ears, but we could enjoy the takeaway pizza, a Stella (wayhayy the lads!) in a plastic glass and a fishfinger square with chips on one of the benches outside. That was fine for me, it was some sustenance albeit more on my part on account of the healthy topping of Tuna. Still can’t work out if I’ve ever seen a square fish on my travels.

But the setup meant that it was perfect for a parent wanting to relax with children, because you could sit on one of the benches overlooking the park and the massive inflatable bag of air that he is now bouncing on with a look of delight on his face whilst I sup my Stella. I could barely contain myself for the prospect of the evening entertainment. There’s clearly something important planned as the garden shed has been adorned with a “Rydell” High home-made signage. I do love a good cabaret. Interesting timing for the performance (RIP beloved Liv).

The animation crew (aka receptionist, bar man, pool cleaner) did not overpromise nor did they underdeliver. The low-budget Grease performance was a hit. Although, and I can’t quite believe I’m saying this, at the age of 41 I’ve only just realised the extent of the controversial lyrics of Grease lightning. When something is dubbed in Belgian English, for some reason it becomes even more pronounced and there have been no effort to censor for the young crowd.

The next day started early as is tradition in our household. A simple but nutritious camp breakfast and then we went off to jump on the giant airbag once again. Amenities at this campsite were absolutely superb for anyone considering a family holiday. There is a special room for baby bathing and changing. The swimming pool opened at 10 am, a little earlier than most places which meant that we could take advantage and have a quick swim before setting off for our next destination which was the Moselle Valley in #Germany. With a detour via Echternach in #Luxembourg on Brookie’s recommendation.

Another factor determining my love for our campervan and camping style holidays is the prospect of childhood friend making for August. Campsites are in so many ways just so much better set up for making friends, another important element of the trip I was trying to build in, making sure that there are common areas where the prospect of striking up friendships as possible. August is generally not the most confident child in forming friendships unless you’re part of the inner sanctum. Therefore, it normally needs some form of intervention from me, which I also find highly uncomfortable – what if they reject me?!). It was great to be one of the first in the pool at camping Petite Swiss that morning. We were joined by a few other boys his age. They could’ve been Belgian but embarrassingly so I couldn’t identify this in my own lack of language skills. However, they found a way to communicate with me as the intermediary initially, whilst annoyingly their absent parents occasionally below down from the balcony that there’s something that they (and August apparently) shouldn’t have been doing. Why the hell were they not more keep an eye on them instead enjoying the free babysitter service that was available? But now, friendships formed, communicating through the medium of Captain America, I can enjoy a little bit of chill time whilst they communicate and their newly found way without the need for words around their shared love of captain America and the swimming pool.

I loved our lunch stop in Echternacht (although a little light on the lunch part). We were able to find a free parking place and after a short walkover a fairly impressive river, the Moselle that we would be hopefully camping near shortly, we had a stroll around the beautiful little town in search of some yummy grub. Instead we encountered a lack of dining options after 1:00 PM and perhaps the highlight of my trip, a talking toilet.

What I have learned about Luxembourg is that you can spend an entire day entertaining an automated talking toilet, but you cannot get something to eat in a restaurant after 1 pm. They also have comparatively more graphic signage than in the UK. I think I’m going to start a collection of comparatively graphic signage. And there are also wide selection of miniature bins. Lonely Planet, if you are listening, I’m available for bookings.

Travelling provides August, an inquisitive 5-year-old mind, even more intriguing material to process. Today’s topic of conversation was the discovery of the fact that houses have cellars. What type of houses have cellars mummy? Normally older ones my darling… so it goes. I don’t like old houses (says he). Only scary people live in old houses. Later on in our walk the topic of pampas grass came up. I’m not sure if any everyone is aware of its significance, but somehow or other this got connected into the notion scary people, old houses’ cellars and pampas. An education indeed.

There are a lack of petrol stations on German motorways. That’s all I have to say about that. But their McDonald’s tomato sauce sachets are satisfyingly much larger than in the UK. Oh, and the motorway signage is far more amusing. Sounds rather reductionist, the country is just stunning, so naturally stunning, and I'd return again and again.

After Echternach we were heading towards the Moselle River and the town of Trier. Even though I had been unable to find a campsite with a swimming pool through searchforsites, I did figure being a riverbank campsite would make the prospect of swimming in the river. The Moselle however is a very funny shade of green and I wouldn’t fancy a dip in it, not one bit. The intended campsite was selected on the basis of…… and… here we go… straight back to GCSE German classes….. Zum Fahrtum (I can hear you tittering now Becci).

Although we were turned away by a rather unhelpful receptionist. Because it was a really pretty setting and their “Kleiner Kneipe” looked picture postcard perfect, I asked if you could eat there. Not thinking for a minute that we wouldn’t be able to pay by card. Word to the wise, for some random reason cash is king in Germany. I haven’t found somewhere yet, and even had a bit of a battle with the campsite restaurant to be able to pay with card. Rather frustrating in this day and age. With my tail between my legs when it came to paying the bill, I had to exchange my passport temporarily whilst we sped (…. Rewind…. Tootled) into town to get the cash to pay for our grub.

What I did like however, was interesting signage showing that it is only possible to water ski in one direction on that stretch of the river and the drip catcher accompanying the ice cold Bitburger. So, the next possible overnight stop was about 6 km down the road at the camping Triolago. We were headed for a formal independent campsite but encountered a motorhome parking flat before arriving in the right place. The prospect of the €15 all-inclusive campingplatz that they advertised hijacked our plans and we drove through the barrier before realising we were in the wrong place. Apparently, these camping platzes are all over Germany and it’s a tip of the cap to German efficiency, albeit again frustratingly with the inability to pay with a card. Luckily, I’d got some excess out when I had gone to secure the cash to pay the dinner bill. So, cash faff turns into coin faff turns into no bog roll faff. The all-inclusive fee turned out to be not wholly accurate and you had to pump the shower full of €1 coins in order to use them.

Additionally, the whole area seems to be a bit of a leisure complex with some amazing amenities. I was delighted when August declared, perhaps not delighted is the word after two half’s of lager and a Wienerschnitzel, that he wanted to go for a run. Not wanting to bypass exercise opportunities I agreed.

A chuckle to myself as we return back to Duggie, our neighbour who was (pushing) 70-year-old German guy travelling alone in quite a battered old camper had progressively, each time with walked past him, cranked up the volume of his trance music and it was now banging out. I was tempted to pause and have a little dance.

Like every good business lecturer, I occasionally practice what I preach. Strategy reassessment and re-evaluation is essential in the road trip. Sometimes he intended campsite does not have availability and this diverts your route. That’s cool. Sometimes a more efficient route will present or something more scenically interesting and therefore, what seemed to be working well for us this time was to plot the midway, lunchtime trips as trip segments rather than the entire day’s journey.

One thing to mention. A lot of people balk at the prospect of a European road trip on economic grounds currently because of the extortionate prices of petrol. Wanting to dispel myths and talk about costs. We are now in Alsace, France heading rapidly (again scratch that) towards the Swiss border and with five countries under our belt successfully and meaningfully. This has taken three full tanks of fuel (just). That was to fill up twice in the UK and one in Germany. In Germany the cost of fuel currently is 187 cents per litre so slightly under UK prices. I noticed even at the motorway services in France the cost was around 185 per litre so not comparatively more costly, although obviously a self-drive is going to necessitate greater fuel take. Put it into perspective, Duggie’s full tank is costing at about 45 quid per fill at the moment.

On day three, we planned to hang around Triolago area a little bit longer in the morning then we ordinarily would do, to try and catch the golf football that we had been unable to do the other day on account of a lack of hard cash. August woke and immediately declared we are going for a run. Which we did and quickly degraded into a walk. But I still got my minimum 1 mile a day in. We had a little bit of a a wait for football because we’ve gotten there earlier than the stated 11 o’clock opening, but luckily the guy turned up half an hour early and we were off on an activity mirroring my love for the minigolf concept, the never-ending minigolf concept, the soul-destroying minigolf concept that really just dragged on a little bit too long. August loved it however. Heading back to the van we set off in the direction of Colmar, determined by our, should I say my, wish to get to Grindelwald (or thereabouts) in Switzerland the next day.

It’s been a bit of a struggle to find a campsite with swimming pool with availability, also weren’t willing to absolutely have a pants down on the basis of online booking rather than phone booking in the Colmar/ Alsace area. We settled on Les Reflects and blindly followed the directions that were attached to the searchforsites Apple maps link. Arriving to find a place abandoned with no swimming pool in sight, we questioned the wisdom of following the satnav blindly. We could see our mistake. The actual site we were due to be heading towards and had a reserved a space for over the phone at the super cheap rate of €15 per place with a pool and kids play area was a further 38 minute’s drive.

This was the only day we add to pay a toll. Despite every route that we plotted saying that there were toll charges, this was it and it amounted to the grand total of £7.50 one and £5 for the other. Last trip and the previous times I've done road trips with August one of the challenges of having a right-hand drive car is navigating the toll before the barrier closes, but my helpful co-pilot took on this task with ease.

We almost knocked it on the head and stayed in the glorified boules pitch, but the lure of the pool after a day in the searing heat kept us going. We were really glad we stuck with it and were rewarded for our extra effort with a beautiful little independent site, Les Reflects Du Val D’Argent, situated the valley amongst forested hillsides. It was really quaint with a beautiful swimming pool; big kids play area and ping-pong. The restaurant is closed for that evening but there was a pizza van selling the most delicious pizzas we had ever tasted and so we took him tucked into one of those for dinner. I much prefer the French casual approach to camping. No apparent fixed arrival and departure times, ability to pay for the next morning’s bread and fresh croissants with your nightly camping fee, and a nonchalant shrug when you ask what time they want you to leave the next day. Also, the ability to just choose a place that you would like to park your van instead of the rather regimented approach found elsewhere.

We enjoyed another morning run and swim the next day. We were starting to settle into our road trip pattern now. Running is a really good way to see a little bit of the surrounding area and I was delighted that August was so up for it that meant I could maintain my exercise habits. Inevitably it wasn't at thece and rather more Start Stop then I would have liked, but at least it was something.

Another full tank at the cost of 39 euros. Cheaper than back home.

This day our lunchtime stop was motivated by names. Quite often we will choose lunchtime stop offs or campsites or evening stops according to some form of name association. Just outside #Basel in #Switzerland was the #Roman settlement and Colosseum of #Augusta #Rarica. A stop was unavoidable here.

Arriving at Interlaken I was gobsmacked with the sheer beauty. A rather large and sprawling city (which I wasn’t too keen on – overly flash for my liking) in the valley between snow-capped mountains and sandwiched between two brilliant turquoise lakes, lake Thun and Lake Brienz.

We deliberated over whether the camp site that we had chosen; the Lazy Rancho, was the right or wrong choice. The other option was backing on to the lake and the appeal of being able to slide straight into the lake first thing in the morning was strong. However, I think that we ultimately made the right choice. A well-equipped family site with stunning views at 48 Swiss francs per night. Everything seemed brand spanking new and there was a small, yet ‘fresh’,( the word of the holiday) swimming pool that we could both enjoy. The whole area is adorned with lovely cycle routes, so it is possible to get about safely on a bike and enjoy the beautiful surroundings. We walked into Interlaken in the evening in search of something to eat, slightly cautious on account of tales of extortionate prices. I would agree with this, but I wouldn't necessarily say that the prices were drastically higher than some of the other countries that we visited. They were higher though. We opted for an Italian restaurant, and it was just perfect to sit there with my perfect little dinner date. The meal for two came in at 70 CHF.

The night sky was clear and there were more stars than I think I've ever seen so we slept with the van door open. I’d describe Switzerland as green, clean and fresh. I just love the place. Keeping up with tradition in the morning we took an early run, well I did, and August cycled alongside me to Lake Thun (the closest to us) stopping in awe of the potential for paragliding which seemed to be a very popular pastime in the area. Starting to instil some of my own leisure habits, we took a dip in the bracing waters of the lake. Crystal clear and still as a millpond, just perfection, a real state of bliss.

What I really enjoyed, and despite the 3000 miles odd of driving, was that I still had a relaxing holiday. I relax by being busy, and not that exercise is firmly engrained in my wellbeing routine, the ability to keep up with exercise whilst I was away was again a major source of enjoyment. That hasn't previously been possible with August up until now as a single parent traveller. I've got into some really good habits and it's good for me and I'm keen to maintain it, additionally there was some absolutely stunning running and swimming collateral on this trip.

I'm not going to pretend that everything is sunshine and roses. I'd say that this day, after we left Interlaken was more about tunnels and tantrums. Not sure what was going on today. Full moon perhaps? Ultimately August is 5. Therefore, I'm not gonna make excuses about late nights etc, although perhaps they played a part. But it was the witching hour good and proper that day.

Fluctuating between moments of overwhelming love, impromptu cuddles and “mummy I love you” juxtaposed against increasing smart ass, pedantic comments, making me want to punch him in the face (JOKE). Moments when they tell you that they don’t like something; they don’t like you, they don’t like your tattoo, they like Daddy better. When you go to such efforts (yeah, I know I love it to) but to ultimately try my hardest to do everything I can to expose him to all of the wonder and opportunities that life has in store for him, I occasionally feel like, why do I bother?’…. he doesn’t care about this; he is only bothered about what he is doing with Daddy when he gets home. I am so pleased for his dad, because clearly August adores him, and rightly so, but sometimes I can’t help being a teensy bit jealous. I know that that is normal childhood manipulation and muscle flexing, but when you and the other parent are separated, things like that just play on one’s mind that little bit more. It stings (more, I can’t say, but it more than stings – like a knife through the heart). Because I ultimately know that one day, he will be old enough to make the choice over where he wants to live and I just couldn’t bear to be without him.

Deep. Let’s move on.

As I knew, if I'm honest, we were pushing it with the time available and the intended distance travelled. Therefore, we chose our Italian stop carefully, to try to be at one of the most northerly points we could in the country. It just wouldn't be possible this time to loop round via Milan and up through the Dolomites. We can do that another time. Our chosen stop was at Lago di piano, the Ranocchio a lake that I had not previously heard of in Italy. A small lake nestled in between #Como and #Lugano the site was just beautiful. It had both the lakefront and a big swimming pool. At 36 euros we weren't disappointed. That included electric hookup. Even better, we bagged ourselves a spot one row back from the lake front. Augs spied the paddle boards and was keen to have a go. I'm a true water baby, so anything involving water sports is thumbs up from me, although I haven't paddle boarded before. We were able to rent a board from the reception of the campsite at the cost of 15 euros per hour. August did all the paddling and got better and better and more confident as we went. The tranquil, flat calm lake was the most idyllic place to watch the sun go down and this was a real highlight of the trip for me in amongst many other amazing moments.

We even got to take a sunset swim in the lake. Absolute bliss!

The restaurant that was part of the site was superb. Italian food is always superb, we enjoyed really reasonably priced meal with stunning views over the lake.

The next morning was yet another highlight of the trip, perhaps making this stop one of my favourites although it really is hard to choose a favourite as they were all fab. There was a little jetty going into the lake and the day before we'd seen lots of adults and children jumping off the jetty. August had wanted to try, but I just couldn't believe, knowing what he was normally like, that he would actually want to. The next morning, he did, and kept doing over and over again. I was so proud of him that he would jump off such a high jetty and swim in to shore totally unaided. Look how far we've come.

We were now on our return journey. I really hoped that we wouldn't be backtracking and was pleased when the route Apple maps suggested would take us up to Liechtenstein and Austria via the San Bernardino pass.

Can I just take a moment here to recognise the Dugster, and Chris who resurrected him. Tiny Duggie with his 997cc engine was an absolute superstar this trip. He made it all the way, got their back safely with bells and whistles on. Duggie has been driving well, but pop some free air (yes, in everywhere bar England, air is free – who knew?!) into his tyres and he’s on fire.

I don't know how high some of the mountains were that he climbed but he did it, no problems, no overheating. I'm not the biggest fan of driving up hills and mountains, as my friend Charlotte will bear testament to, when we went to Kefalonia, up Mount Anos (titter titter) earlier this year. Up the Anos with Charlotte – the potential for crude gags is limitless. A blog I’ve still got to write. So, there were a number of bottom clenching moments as we ascended and then descended over and over again through the beautiful pass. This is some of the best scenery I've ever seen in my life but also incredibly hair raising at the same time.

It was so hard not to be distracted by the tumbling waterfalls from the mountain sides around you spewing into the #Ticino #river that followed us all the way up on our journey that day.

Liechtenstein, what can I say about #Liechtenstein? It's a small country, with the SEXIEST car registration plates in the world. I never thought that this was something important, but it really is. Attempting to be a responsible driver I was not successful in taking my own picture of a car registration plates in Liechtenstein but here is one for reference. Isn't it just?

After a few days of immersion in #German culture and motorway signage, the GCSE German all came flooding back at a surprising rate. Every possible combination with the word Fahrt was ingrained in August’s hungry brain. I look forward to hearing about this reproduction of this new knowledge when he starts year one in September.

Our next stop was Germany, Lake Constance or the Bodensee as it’s also known. We chose a large commercial site called Gitzenweiler. It was basically a good quality German Butlins with the added bonus of Fanny the Elephant the camp mascot. An absolutely huge site, but pretty spacious pitches at a cost of €30 all-inclusive. It had a huge pool which we spent most of the afternoon in, a brilliant play area, trampolines, and pony rides. We stayed in the pool until they threw us out. August was enjoying bombing, diving, and jumping. I’m now sat with a cold beer overlooking the playground, all very convenient. Although time is passed quickly and it’s getting late. The takeaway place stopped serving food at 8 o’clock, we didn’t fancy another Italian, and the other restaurant was served by two waiting staff, and they were very visibly run ragged. The service wasn’t bad, they were very pleasant, but it was incredibly slow.

At that point the heavens opened. I don’t think I’ve ever seen rain like it even in the Asian monsoon season. It was getting really late, and we need to get back to camp so I could get August to bed. We were in our swimming pool gear, no coats, and no thoughts of even packing an umbrella for our trip; we deliberated over what to do. Restaurant staff were far from helpful, one brought us a paper bag to put over our heads, when we finally built up the courage to make a run for it, the bag subsequently disintegrated into a sloppy mush. Things were getting desperate. Protective mummy bear mode kicked in and I procured, in the chaos I can’t recall exactly from where, a plastic camping table, lifted it above our heads in some form of Hulk style with an accompanying ‘Hulk smash’, and voila, we had shelter, until I couldn’t carry it any further. But we got back to find that everything in the van was drenched, because the doors don’t close properly nor do his windows.

The next morning it was too rainy to swim in the pool and wasn’t open yet. However, we did manage to hitch a ride on the cute little Anila, the Shetland pony, at a cost of €12 for half an hour. August was delighted, although his face didn’t show it. We also managed a good run. Energised by the lake pier jumping the previous day, August was keen to swim in another lake and this is what I promised. However, as we drove closer to the Bodensee, memories started flooding back that we’ve been here before. I recalled some form of parking meter faff and lo and behold it came back to haunt us.

We drove out towards an area identified as ‘the beach’ and park there. Stomping off in the direction we thought would take us to the beach, it didn’t. It took us to a campsite, which we then had to loop back along the pebbly beach, with a lake or sea filled with driftwood and not particularly feeling swimming. As we approached the area it looks like a formalised swimming area, we had to cross the bridge. The bridge was gated and locked firmly shut. Rather than backtracking and going back to the van which probably would’ve been the best idea, we romped across the fields trying to take a shortcut, another barbed wire fence. We finally found a gap in the fence that didn’t have a barbed topping, that that this meant wading through the woods. Mosquitoes descended on August’s tender skin, and he got eaten alive, the poor thing. Then back down the road to the swimming place to find it gated off. And seemingly closed. Sacking off the Bodensee and wondering what it is about land access restrictions to lakefront settings in Germany.

The drives were never boring and they were never ‘too much’ despite some people’s unnecessary concern. All sorts of inquisitive conversation from the five-year-old and childish games from his 41-year-old mother. We developed the Ausfahrt game. Originating from nanny’s innocent questioning of why there was so many places in Germany called Ausfahrt and the subsequent hilarity this brought, we then proceeded to be the 1st to spot an Ausfahrt. We also perfected Lloyd and Harry’s Mockingbird, and a perfect Italian accent or ‘ya mumma said to me you’re crazy.’ Wild. This is our version. I think it compares favourably.

Weisensee was next. Again, the site of Campingplatz Weisensee in Hemsbach, ha been chosen because of the promise of Lakeside and a swimming pool. Upon arrival they nearly wouldn’t let us on because of claims that they were full. As she actually clocked that we would be sleeping in Derby not pitching a tent next door, they managed to find a wee space for us. One of the huge benefits of such a small vehicle, you rarely get turned away because they’ll always find a space that he will fit in.

The promised pool didn’t materialise, but the Weisensee, which is actually a lake, a pretty lovely lake albeit with primarily just paddling space and a small window of lower half body bathing, was a pleasant way to spend the afternoon until the sun set. We had that night in the lovely restaurant within the campsite. Another Schnitzel and chicken nuggets. I’d turn into a Schnitzel at this rate.

We had the opportunity through the last leg through the route Apple maps was providing to bag a tenth country. That of the cheery, friendly, easy-going Netherlands. A winner, from my perspective for our last night stop. The Watertoren was an amazing last stop. Surrounded by woodlands, there were some really pleasant walks and cycling tracks round. Again, really family friendly with several play areas as well as a much larger play area, dotted around the site. The shape of the camping areas was such that children congregate in the centre, and they had another massive bag of air. This set up meant it was much easier for the shy August to make friends and he played later into the night with his newfound friends. They also had go-kart for hire, a big plus for Augs, so the next morning after our run he scooted around and around the campsite whilst I packed Duggie up neatly for the return to England.

Belgium, another country I have fallen in love with. They have the best service stations. Importantly they’re also the world of #Haribo. We ate a body weight in them, snacks for the journey and should probably take a visit to the dentist right about now. I’ve been wanting to stop off in either Bruges or Ghent on many occasions as we have driven past on European trips over the last 10 years or so, but it never really come to pass. However now we had an opportunity to stop in #Ghent and something that we had intended at the very start of the trip to tuck into some yummy Moules Frites, one of August’s favourites. Tuck in we did, followed by a heart attack at the cost of the bill. The city of #Ghent is stunning, and I really look forward to returning to explore further.

It’s been a landlocked holiday, but always seeking opportunity, knowing that we were heading to the coast to catch the ferry I did a quick Google search of nice beaches near #Dunkirk, at that point I thought that we were sailing out from. So consequently, we headed towards the beach that was located closest to Dunkirk thinking we might get an hour to enjoy there and get some sand between our toes. I hadn’t really built in much contingency and assumed everything would be as smooth and seamless as the outbound journey. Good job I checked our ferry tickets whilst driving, yes, yes I know I shouldn’t of done (whilst driving) to discover it was actually #Calais that we were selling back from, and this would add an additional 45 minutes onto the journey. The beach goes out the window. Three hours later and we’ve still not even reached the check-in desk. The place is one massive car park.

Oh, the irony of almost overheating at this point. Not only did we miss our scheduled ferry, but it wasn’t until 10 o’clock that they were able to give us a sailing. One of the busiest European ports, you would’ve thought there would’ve been some form of food or drink facilities for more than one functioning toilet. Basically, Calais and P & O ferries are a shower of shite. Boarding the ferry and trying to find somewhere quickly to crash and sleep knowing that I’ve got another four hours on the journey late at night, and I don’t drive well at night especially not up the mind numbingly boring M11 and A1. Quite misguided in our choice of seating near a play area sleep was limited, but I did doze off to wake and find us not having moved an inch. The ferry didn’t depart until after midnight, tomorrow is going to be a tough day. It was. But in no way could take the shine off what has been the most amazing, yet brief, #European #road #trip with my two favourityboys.