Our TomTom [...]]]> Bonjour! We’ve arrived here in France and it’s all road from here on out. We still have 1600km to go but with 400 miles under our belts from the journey up from Cornwall, we’re not daunted by the distance; we’re going to take it easy with plenty of breaks for little Ilya.

Our TomTom took a while to figure out the route once it realised we weren’t in Dover anymore but finally we were underway and heading towards Belgium. The port area around Dunkerque is pretty industrial and it’s not the nicest place to drive through. It also gives you a pretty bad impression of France and for those who haven’t ventured further a field, it’s hard to believe that the Loire Valley, the Mediterranean Coastline and Les Trois Vallee are also in this country. They are, however, not on our route so we’ll have to make do with industrial ports.

The van’s running smoothly and eating away at the tarmac as we leave the industrial and emerge into… the industrial, but this time we are on the Belgian side of the border. This would be soon mark the end of my already limited communication skills we gradually passed from French to Flemish.

We’ve been on the road in Belgium now for some hours and finally the industry has given way to the urban, the city, the town and finally, the rural. With the flat surroundings and slightly raised roads, this makes the drive far more scenic.

Just as things start to get more urban once again – BANG!!!! A sudden jolt and a change of handling tell us something is not right at all. It looks from the side mirror that the tyre has blown as we pull onto the hard shoulder to investigate. I always thought that some of the European driving regulations were a little over the top but as I step out onto the hard shoulder in my luminous yellow vest, carrying my warning triangle, I am pretty glad that they are with us. I walk back to place the triangle the regulation 50m behind us as the never ending train of Euro trucks thunder past. Czech Republic, Austria, Hungary, Greece, Romania, Slovakia; they’re all on their way back home to their families after delivering to the UK, France and Belgium. I wonder how much fuel could be saved by eating and using only local produce and materials but as I am driving an Italian van 2000km across Europe myself, I can’t be too critically.

Back at the the tyre, I see a rip so large that I could likely climb in should I wish. I drop the spare out from under the van. We had been attempting to replace the spare for a couple of weeks as it was almost completely bald, much like myself. Each place we had visited had told us either that they could order one for us but didn’t know when it would be in or that they didn’t stock that size. The van, unusually it seems, has 16″ wheels and not 15″ wheels as it normal for it’s type. This meant that the spare had slipped through the net during our preparations and maintenance and so now, as I knelt by the side of the motorway, I placed our perfectly smooth spare onto the camper.

For fuel economy, we had chosen to drive around 60 mph for the whole trip though the van will comfortably do 85-90 mph (speed limits permitting) without issue. Now, as I folded the warning triangle, clambered back into the driving seat and started the engine, I glanced back in the side mirror at the baby smooth tyre now adorning our camper. 60mph seemed a little quick for such a veteran and we realised now that with such a poor tyre and no spare that we needed to find the closest tyre service and rectify this somewhat uneasy situation.

After stopping at the first motorway services, we were told that there way nothing like that anywhere near here. It seemed strange that Belgians, with their lovely cars and frequent trips, had no need for such a service. The second service station yielded almost the same result until, about to leave, we were told to try the next exit about 10km away. We pulled off the motorway and stopped again, this time at a small, local petrol station. They were far more helpful and even drew us a map and wrote down the name of our destination along with directions. Sadly, our destination was not so helpful. They did not stock tyres for commercial vehicles at all but said to try around the corner and along the road a few kilometers.

Finally, we pulled in to the biggest tyre stockist we’ve ever seen! They had 1 kind of tyre available in our size but two of them in stock – our worries were over (apart from the bill!) and they were even good enough to rotate the tyres for us so they the new tyres were on the front drive wheels and the most worn tyre became the new spare. We wouldn’t have chosen to have such decadent tyres as Goodyear Cargo had we got them back at home but with Autumn well under way and our destination in the Julian Alps, it’s very nice to know that we have them.

At last, we were under way again and crossed the border into Germany with another country under our collective belt. I love driving in Germany, perhaps because in the past I’ve always taken it easy on the autobahn and not been tempted to go flat out. We cruised along with the lorries, going slightly fast than them, pulling out just to overtake occasionally. Although it must be fun for a while hammering along in your Mercedes S Class or Audi R8, it must add so much unnecessary stress to your life. I remember my days of being on the road in the UK visiting various customers and being expected to clock up huge distances in a day. The stress eats into you until it feels like it is part of who you are. You find yourself enraged by the smallest thing and utterly driven by the unnecessary material items that make up your “life”. We count ourselves as lucky to have been though an experience so “real” that it provides a lasting filter to sieve out the rubbish from our lives. Loosing a child must surely be the hardest thing anyone can experience but at the same time you are blessed with a gift to see what is truly important.

As the sun set we stopped for a break and decided to drive a while longer before stopping for the night. In Europe, you can stop for the night at the side of the road or at a motorway services every 10 miles or so. The UK now has a limit of 2 hours at most motorway services meaning that if you are travelling with a family, you must balance your time between caring for them, checking your vehicle and getting some rest. After 2 hours you must pay for the privilege of sleeping in your own car – unbelievable.

We stopped at Bad Camberg services for the night en route to Frankfurt, Munich and ultimately Slovenia.

Sweet dreams.