Expect Nothing, Enjoy Everything: An Overland Journey from Switzerland to India and Nepal

By Luci J. Arbogast

This book tells the story of my time in the 1990s when I traveled several times from Switzerland via Italy, Greece, Turkey, Iran, Pakistan to India and Nepal. It gives insight into the daily life of these overland journeys and what a woman has to deal with, in the Middle East as well as in West Asia.
On one trip back to Switzerland, I had to take the vehicle through Iran alone because my driver and mechanic did not get a visa.
The book contains many details of cultural experiences, historical sights, distances and everyday life on the road. It is written with a touch of fun and is meant to be informative but also entertaining.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Books on Demand
• Release date: Oct 14, 2022
• ISBN: 9783756263783

Luci J. Arbogast

Lucia Jauch Arbogast Born 1964 in Switzerland. Over the past 30 years, I have traveled consistently and discovered many wonderful and interesting places on this earth. The world in Asia has fascinated me from the beginning. Life there is a good contrast to the privileged life in the West, especially Switzerland. But also the American continent and Africa have something enchanting and soon I wanted to be everywhere. Today I am a globetrotter and feel at home all over the world. I love foreign cultures, languages and am always looking for new adventures and inspiring people and places in this world.

Book preview

Prelude

Although I was asked several times and over, and over again, I thought for a long time whether I should write this book, or a book at all. There are so many travel books, stories, blogs, and movies about travel. For many years, practically on all my trips, I have kept a diary. In the 80s and 90s, everything was still done by hand. Today it's easier, with the little laptop, my new travel companion. But one day it grabbed me. I thought that writing a book could be a good practice for discipline and perseverance. The result is a story of adventure with a pinch of fun.

The challenge for me was to merge all experiences so that reading is still fun and not confusing. The book is peppered with flashbacks from all overland trips between September 1996 and March 1999, I hope you can follow me.

The world of the ‘overlanders’ is often a rough one. It's a life without comfort. We are mostly outside, camping, on the road, in different countries and confronted with foreign cultures. It's exciting, but also exhausting. It takes flexibility, thick skin and, at the same time, a lot of feeling and foresight. It was an experience that I definitely didn't want to miss, and I don't regret a minute of having been an overlander. All the adventures, experiences and impressions I have collected, are a part of me today.

I have been traveling the world for over 30 years. I was mostly in Asia. I've visited India countless times - my favorite! I've been to North, Central and South America, as well as Africa. I have done several overland tours from Switzerland to India and Nepal, traveled with the Trans Manchurian train from Beijing via Moscow to Berlin and much more. Masalatravel.com was a small project to give people from Switzerland, Europe, and America the chance to get to know India. I had the pleasure to organize some tours, and also accompany some people interested in traveling. But I much prefer to travel with my partner, as a couple.

All the names of the tour participants have been changed.

The story is based on real events.

I hope this book is entertaining and informative, and that the reader will enjoy being carried away by the lines into an exotic world.

And don't forget; Don't expect anything, enjoy everything!

1

Can Do!

March 1999

Here I am, alone at the border of Pakistan going into Iran.

My biggest concern; what happens if Ury breaks down? On the other hand, I am also very excited to do something really adventurous, like bringing this vehicle successfully from the Balochi desert into Turkey. There is a certain thrill attached to this, that is quite alluring to me.

This is the fifth time I am to tackle the road between Switzerland and India, respective the other way around. So, I already do have some experience. Though, on all the previous tours I was accompanied. Usually, I am only the replacement driver. Instead, I take care for the well-being of our guests, be it culinary or cultural. I often had to struggle through difficult situations and have experienced a lot on all my travels. Nevertheless, today I feel a bit queasy. The positive spirit is knocking on my shoulder and says; you can do that! Actually, I have no other choice.

In Quetta I said goodbye to Adam, my driver and mechanic. Once more he did not get a visa for Iran. English people are often undesired guests, also called ‘persona non grata’. One never knows. We were in Delhi when Adam got the visa denial for Iran. I have tried to contact Tehran. But the responsible department in the far away Tehran seemed not to have any concerns, that I as a woman alone can steer the bus through Iran.

This is the second time Adam is denied an Iranian visa. Though, first time it happened on the way to India. We had guests on board, ergo co-travelers, passengers or short pax. I call them Paxlis. You know, as a Swiss I like to add the ‘li’ at the end of words to cutify.

There was one Paxli with us, he used to drive a small transporter in Switzerland. He even had fun sharing driving hours and navigating the old school bus through Iran. The long hours behind the steering wheel are strenuous, in the evening tents need to be pitched, we have to cook, talking about the onward travel and there is always this and that to do.

The old school bus in royal blue is named Ury. This has two reasons. First, Ury is part of the English number plate. Second, because my roots in Switzerland are from Canton Uri. We bought the bus in England, so we can sit on the same side, like all the other drivers in countries like Pakistan and India. The driving style in India is rather chaotic, so I prefer to be with the locals on the same side. In the other countries we drive through on our overland travel, the driving is more civilized, so it’s doable to sit on the ‘wrong’ side.

When we bought the bus, it had 20 seats in it. Adam took out eight seats and transformed the back part into cargo space. Where the seats were, he built a wooden box with a lid. From the inside we have access to luggage and food. From the outside we can open the back door and get to the tents, fridge (runs with gas), gas bottles, the metal box with two cooking stations, water canister, boxes with food and dishes, table and foldable chairs, bus spare parts, tools, and whatever else one needs for such a trip. Inside, at the back the wooden box is like a stage, just about as high as the lower window frame. This stage we covered with carpet, and it became a sleeping place for me. At night I roll out my sleeping-bag, have a hard surface to sleep on, and at the same time can guard the bus. Along the windows we glued a hook and loop fastener, so we can hang curtains there. If the bus is parked somewhere, we can close all the windows so no peeping Tom can look inside. Also, for sleeping in the bus, there is no light disturbance from the outside.

To drive overland from Europe to Asia or Africa, the bus needs a Carnetde-Passage, an actual passport for the vehicle. The Carnet-de-Passage is a customs document that allows for a temporary, tax free through-passage for certain countries of your own land- or water-vehicle. This paper is valid for one year, and several, on the back, listed countries. There are three parts to it. At every border crossing we have to make sure the customs officers are stamping the document correctly, and taking the right part, otherwise there could be pretty ghastly surprises waiting for you. In some countries I also got an entry into my passport, to make sure I cannot leave the country without the vehicle. This is a way to prevent, that travelers are selling their vehicles quasi-illegally, i.e. without paying import tax. It was a common practice for a while; travelers would come only one way with their vehicle, and then sell it to a local somewhere in Nepal, India and many other countries. To avert this, the Carnet-de-Passage was invented. Maybe there are also other reasons. After my return from the overland trip, back in the country of origin, for me Switzerland, I will need to go to a police station and present Ury and the documents and get the last stamp. A rather pleasant visit.

To get a Carnet-de-Passage, I have to deposit a certain amount of money with an insurance company. In Switzerland the amount gets blocked in my bank account, it’s freed after the insurance company is happy with the correct and completely stamped Carnet. These Carnets can be bought from automobile clubs in Switzerland, for example.

At every border crossing on the way, we buy a local accident- and liabilityinsurance. If something happens, it’s better and easier to deal with a local representation.

But now enough of the administration!

Ah, yes, every overland driver and guide gets a nickname. I received the name ‘Piglet’ because I’m always dirty. On the road I can’t change clothes so often and I have the habit to clean my hands on my shirt. So many of my clothes are dotted with blotches and stains, even after washing one can still see them. Often, I was laughed at because of it and that is how I became a Piglet. The nickname is apropos for me, as I’m a happy creature rolling in the dirt, feeling like a happy little piglet.

My dream to travel overland to India also gets a name. ENGA! Erwarte Nichts, Geniesse Alles, which translates to: Expect Nothing, Enjoy Everything!

To have no expectations is protecting me from disappointments. To enjoy everything is surely not always easy, but it’s worth a try to see something positive in various situations.

Maybe someone wonders how I came to Adam and the overland tours. As a woman traveling alone it’s easy to meet other travelers. Adam and I met on one of my uncounted India adventures. We were enjoying life on the same beach in Goa. Adam is English, probably an explanation for his love for beer and pubs. One day Adam is telling me about these overland tours, and I am captivated immediately. He was working for big overlander companies, driving from England to India and Africa. Suddenly I could see a way to travel and make money. I was fascinated by Adam’s stories and was convinced I can organize such an overland tour too. And that’s what I did.

Rather quickly I learn that Adam and I have slightly different views on how such a tour with guests should develop. It’s wearisome when partners don’t pull on the same rope. Our guests are paying for this journey, so we need to offer them something and take care of them. That is how I see it. But Adam seems to only want to drive and finish with the tour as fast as possible. But we can’t just drive all the time. Our own personal wishes have to be put aside. Without the paying guests we could not even do these tours this way. Yet, Adam and my opinions are poles apart. At least he is a good mechanic. And hey, I should not expect anything!

On the first tour I feel it’s my duty to gain experience. Because we are only a small group of three people, I have time to learn all about the sightseeing stuff; places of interest and gathering a lot of knowledge and information. Often, I meet with a local tour guide, to get an explanation of the mosque in Istanbul, the underground city in Üchisar, the sandstone caves and churches in Göreme, the abandoned city-fort of Fatehpur Sikri and many more interesting sites. We don’t have time for everything on these tours, otherwise the journey would take much longer than the three months. But on each tour, we take a slightly different route. This way at least Adam and I can see more and explore new destinations.

We usually discuss the options and diverse possibilities with our Paxlis to try to find a pleasing solution for everybody.

Not all the Paxlis have the same interests in the sightseeing spots or history of these grand countries we cross. Everyone has to decide for themselves how much they want to participate. For me, some days are very tiring, but the good things outweigh.

While on our way during the days, we stop at markets, to buy fresh fruits, vegetables, rice, pasta and sometimes even a chicken. Of course, we also need snacks and to stop for lunch. We always remember to fill the water tanks, often pumping the water by hand from wells in villages, just like the locals. We have many nice and amusing interactions with women and young boys that just want to help us. Once a little boy shows us how strong he is. He pumps like a wild man, jumping up and down and always with a big smile on his face.

In the evening we look for an adequate camp. In Italy or Greece, we still can find official campsites. In Turkey they become rare and in Iran or Pakistan it morphs into a rather unknown object. But in Iran there are Caravanserais, where in the old times nomads with camels stayed. These ruins are ideal for us. From the street nobody can see whether there is somebody in them. Inside they offer lots of space for tents, our kitchen and the bus. In other countries, for example in the east part of Turkey or in Pakistan, we can find all kinds of ruins, sometimes even whole deserted villages. In Pakistan we are often invited to spend the night with the military in their compounds. I always feel secure and in good hands there. The soldiers are typically friendly and are happy for the diversion. It’s rare that we are staying in hotels when we are in cities or it’s raining like a waterfall, then it becomes a welcome option. In India it can be hard to find camping. Sometimes hotels let us pitch our tents if they have a garden. We have so many memorable encounters, in hotels, camps or in bush-camps. We quickly learn how populated India must be when looking for a bush-camp. We think; okay, nobody here and we can stay overnight undisturbed. As soon as we start to unpack, already somebody shows up.

I keep a diary about the route, with notes of the distances, places, markets and camps. Bookkeeping is also important, not only for tax reasons but to have an overview of spending.

In most of the countries it’s not possible to send or receive emails. Even in India it’s still in the kindergarten phase, though this changes fast within three to four years. I love writing letters. I can be more creative, drawing something and it feels more personal. Receiving letters is not always easy. If a letter arrives too early at the ‘poste restante’, it may be sent back if not picked up within a certain time frame. Or if a letter sent to us arrives after we have come through the place, then it’s kind of lost too. The ‘poste restante’ is a department usually at the main post offices (also General Post Office or GPO) in many countries, cities and towns. Globetrotters often don’t have an address. For families and friends who like to send something, we can give the name of places that we travel through, add the note ‘poste restante’ and not to forget the name of the Globetrotter.

The regulation of each post office is unique. The search for a letter can be an entertaining adventure. Sometimes one has to stand in line, show your passport, and then an employee is looking for your mail. In other places you just get a box full of documents, usually categorized by the first letter of your family-name, though sometimes by the letter of your first name also because it’s not clear what is what. Then you dig through the colorful jumble of letters from all over the world. Some post offices are organized really well, others take it rather easy. Occasionally a spontaneous talk happens with other mail-seekers while waiting or searching. Maybe you see a familiar face you may have seen somewhere before. Walking out with a letter or two or three is a great and happy feeling.

With the introduction of internet and email, the world of ‘poste restante’ has gotten a little lost. In the Internet Café you never know whether there is a connection or not. Maybe you even get surprised by a power cut. A spontaneous chat is rare because most people are sitting behind their machine, deep in thoughts and far away in their world. Generally, the atmosphere is not as entertaining as it was in the different post offices.

Every year there are changes regarding visas, internet, dress codes, roads and lots more. Times are changing, even in countries where I feel like the time is standing still.

Over the years and mainly on my travels, I keep meeting people that have done the overland route between Europe and India in the 70s. At that time, you could still visit Afghanistan. My imagination soars when I can listen to their stories. Some years ago, while I was sitting in a high alpine house in the mountains in Switzerland, a bearded local started talking about his adventures. He was driving a VW Beatle this route around 1970. So cool! I continue to be inspired by other adventurers.

With my hand-knitted tours I never made the big money. But my personal satisfaction, the scent of adventure and freedom, are more important to me than a lot of money.

2

Goa – Delhi

February 1999

After two months on the beach in South Goa, Adam and I are ready to start our return journey. We heard that a few other overlanders are parked in Little Vagator and decide to drive up north to that cliff. When we arrive, six campers are there, hidden behind trees and bushes trying to catch some shade. We know two of the campers and as always, we are greeted with a big and frolicking hello. It’s exciting to meet other companions again. There is so much to talk about and the stories from being on the road are never ending.

Down from the cliff, in the little bay, we can swim and there is a small beach shack too. The evening on top of the cliff is delightful. Together we watch the sun slowly melting into the sea.

In the morning at 7am Adam and I set out. Our route brings us first north in the direction of Maharashtra, then through Madhya Pradesh, Rajasthan and on to Delhi.

A few truck drivers are already on the road but otherwise it’s still quiet. In villages and cities life is waking up slowly. The morning hours are so peaceful. From time to time, we come across quiet and calm stretches without much traffic during the day, but this is rare in India.

We drive along tree-lined alleys, passing agricultural fields, villages with adobe houses and scraggly kids. Sometimes it looks like out of a picture book, almost kitschy picturesque. I never get tired looking out the window. For sheer enjoyment it can happen that we overlook a speedbump. Often, they are not or poorly signed, then everything in the back of the bus gets tossed around. Luckily never anything broke. The roads in Madhya Pradesh are not in good condition. There are lots of holes to maneuver around and sometimes the road is just not wide enough to pass with an oncoming truck or bus. Then you need good nerves. Who can stay longer on the road or are you the victim who is pushed off the road, into the ditch, with two wheels? This can be very exhausting. Slowing down, gearing down, carefully getting the two wheels off the road on to an uneven dirt track, then back over again. Generally, progress is rather slow. Even if the roads are good and there are four lanes, like between Agra and Delhi, or Jaipur and Delhi, we still have to watch out for farmers on tractors that come our way, against traffic. A hay transport may not be able to go out of the way or cows are ambling over the highway.

Without the car horn you are utterly doomed. Pedestrians and other traffic participants are not going to the side or yielding if they don’t hear a horn. Though with our big Mercedes bus we have a great advantage. The smaller cars are ducking more quickly to the side. Here clearly the bigger and stronger rule. Blow the horn, put on the ‘don’t mess with Luci’ face and off I go.

The worst drivers are the petrol tank truckers. They are racing and their behavior is scary and reckless. Who wants to crash or collide with a tank truck? So, everyone gives in to them and they know that.

Apropos honking; one day I am standing in front of an Indian truck. The driver is having fun and blows the horn. That can be quite loud if you are standing right in front of them. Anyway, I shriek so much about the loud horn and take a big jump to the side. That must have looked very funny. All the men around me are snickering or showing a big grin. After the initial shock, I have to laugh too.

There are also many sad situations en route. We see countless accidents. During the night many of the truckers drive without headlights, only flickering their emergency flashers if the driver senses there might be something ahead! I guess there are also drivers that fall asleep or drunk drivers. Then they plunge off the road, tipping down into some fields or ditch or worse, slamming head-on. One truck we are passing is still smoking, must have burnt just moments ago. Sometimes it’s just an axel that broke and often the vehicles are overloaded with goods and have to endure many exertions. The old trucks are repaired as long as possible. I see startling things, like metal clips holding together the body. Sometimes the trucks look like they are coming sideways because the chassis are skewed off center!

Once I also drove over a little dog. I later concluded that he must have been suicidal. The little one, in the midst of the road, turns left, then right. I have come to a near standstill when he runs off the road in the direction of the bushes. I accelerate again and whoosh, little doggy runs under my back wheels. Most Indians don’t really like dogs, so it was not a big disaster.

I have also killed a little pig once. It came out of nowhere and ran directly under my wheels. More on that later.

There is so much going on in the streets of India. The rule is: never look back, always look forward and don’t hesitate. Many vehicles have flipped the side mirrors in, or they are knocked off. I got used to it. Obviously, our mirrors are always perfectly set. We need our eyes everywhere possible.

Often Indian drivers are waving with the hands out the window. This is to help, especially when overtaking. Flat hand pressing down means to wait. Swinging the hand or even the whole arm forward, suggests you can go now. Sometimes we sign each other by blinker if existent. After some time, we have learned to read these signs and appreciate this. Hand signs are also important when turning without the blinker. Some Indians are clairvoyant and overtake around the curve!

From Goa to Maharashtra in the beginning it’s still lush and green. Then we come into a hilly terrain and it gets drier. In the evening we usually find a quiet place, off the road, under trees, near fields or once in a tile factory. Because Adam and I are driving alone, we start early in the morning and drive as long as we have daylight. In the dark it’s too difficult to spot the little paths and hidden places for a possible night camp.

Sometimes it happens that we park somewhere, nobody to see near or far. We barely begin to unpack our chairs and get comfortable, then kids are coming out of the bushes. More than once, we had half a village coming to visit, headed by the village elder or even the mayor, to check if everything is alright. Many questions must be answered. Most Indians are not shy and also nosy or maybe just curious. They want to see everything, if possible and try our snacks or drinks. Often this can be fun. But there are evenings, after a long and straining day on the road, that I am too tired to entertain guests. But you can’t just ignore the locals. At least one of us has to come up with something. I prefer to stay polite, after all we are on their land, and we don’t want to be suddenly driven out. There are situations when for example, our guests don’t speak much English. Then they just sit and watch as if they are waiting for a theater to start. Fortunately, we have mostly positive and happy experiences.

For the journey from west to east we like to take smaller roads because we have more time. From east to west, we take the fastest and most direct route because we want to keep the return journey short.

Delhi has a so-called ring road. We reach that road at around 5pm and arrive directly in Delhi’s rush-hour. The city center is always full of traffic. To find the route to Delhi Tourist Camp is easy for us by now. Most overland drivers are meeting here. There is a lot of space for camping and parking the big vehicles. The camp offer showers, laundry service, TV room, a restaurant, space for tents and you can even rent a room in small bungalows. And very important, there is an incredibly helpful mechanic on site. His name is Unis and he visits every newcomer. If needed he is helping with repairs or can organize spare parts. We always order extra leaf springs for Ury. They are handmade and made to order for any vehicle. It’s good to have a full set in store, since we never know which one is breaking.

It feels good to arrive in Delhi. I know this city so well by now. In the United Coffee House at the Connaught Place, Adam and I go for dinner. Back at the camp we take a night cap and now I look forward to sleep in tomorrow.

Goa – Delhi = ca. 1'970 km / 4 days

3

Unterägeri – Istanbul

Italy – Greece 1996

It is time to pack my bags and Ury.

Adam, our chauffeur, and the three guests from England (Adam’s parents and Bon) have already arrived Wednesday evening. They are sleeping in tents in my garden. My Mom has cooked a tasty dinner, so we all can eat one’s fill.

Thursday, September 12, 1996

We are leaving early this Thursday morning. In Lucerne at the train station, we pick up Jenny, the fourth travel companion.

I am happy to be on the road again. Over land traveling to India, a dream comes through.

From Lucerne we head south and over the Monte Ceneri. We have a lunch stop before we cross the border into Italy. Then we continue on to Como, Milano and Bologna. Near Ancona we can pitch our tents at a big highway rest stop and spend our first night.

Unterägeri – Ancona = 670 km

At 6am we can get coffee at the highway restaurant. Then we continue our drive via Pescara, Foggia, and along the coast all the way south to Brindisi. All are happy to arrive at the harbor in Brindisi. A first leg is done. I’m going to arrange our tickets for a ferry to Igoumenitsa, on the Greek mainland. We get a space with Fragline at 8.30pm. That leaves us enough time to stretch our legs and feast on a yummy gelato. At 5pm the loading of the ferry begins, at 9pm we are leaving bella Italia. We are sleeping somewhere under deck, wherever we can find a comfortable space. With a glass of wine we nibble chips, then it’s sleeping time.

Ancona – Brindisi = 580 km

The loudspeaker announces that we shortly will arrive in Igoumenitsa. It’s already 7am thanks to the time difference of one hour. In the supermarket nearby we go shopping. I am always curious to go food shopping in foreign countries. After we got everything we need, our drive brings us towards the mountains. In the area of Ioannina we stop for lunch and try some of our Greek specialties that we have just bought.

In the early afternoon we already reach Kalambaka. Under the trees at the Meteora Garden campsite we can pitch our tents and park Ury. As a welcome we get the soft and super sweet Turkish delights, or Loukoumia, as the Greeks call them. One cube I can eat. A few specimens I even like, just not the ones with rosewater, that is too much. Mister Aris, the camp host, is so friendly, I can’t say no to his nice gesture.

The region here is famous for the monasteries in the steep rock formations, called Meteora. The name means ‘in the air above us’ and describes the location of the monasteries perfectly. The cloisters were built high into the mountains. With fog or mist it looks like the buildings are floating. Altogether there are 24 hermitages, only few are inhabited. To some the entrance have never been found to this day. The first hermitages in the area stem from the 11th century. The rocks here are also a climber’s paradise and there are a lot of caves to discover.

Jenny and I are walking into the village for a little excursion. I am surprised that none of the others are interested to join us. The evening at the camp is relaxing, we get to know each other a little better and food is good.

Igoumenitsa – Kalambaka = 170 km

Our morning starts slow. After everything is packed, our mission can continue. The weather is sunny and wonderful. In Olympos we stop and move our limbs. Sitting all day can be wearing. The friendly baker in town sells us a bread, although his shop is actually closed. The area is beautiful and ever changing. We drive through mountain valleys, over green hills and along a lake. We see sheep and goats and in the background is the ocean. The Irini Camp in Kavala is right by the sea and looks peaceful. A walk on the beach feels good after the long drive. Dinner is complimented with a glass of Ouzo.

Adam’s mother is quick to complain. One time the food is not good enough, then we stop in the wrong place. It feels like I can’t do anything right in her eyes. But because Adam’s parents are only with us until Istanbul, I can be quiet and deal with it in a relaxed manner.

Bon, a good looking 20-year-old from Bolton is rather quiet and does not talk much. His father sent him on this trip. He said, this would do his son good. I absolutely share this opinion. Bon may first have to get used to his new life with us.

Kalambaka – Kavala = 382 km

Monday, September 16, 1996

In Xanthi we see a delightful vegetable market and we even have enough time left for a short stroll through the narrow and labyrinthine alleys.

Over green hills, passing salt- and cotton-fields, we arrive in Alexandroupolis. Adam and I often switch with driving. I am even ‘allowed’ to maneuver the bus through the city. The big steering wheel and the gear box need getting used to at first.

In Kipoi we cross the border into Turkey. It takes about one hour until everything is done.

We are zealously on our way when the police stop us. One brake light does not work, we (Adam) drove over the speed limit and used the fast lane without overtaking. That’s going to be expensive! The police want 100 German Marks. Adam is discussing a long time with the officer in charge and can bargain him down to 20 DM. At the next gasoline station, we stop and buy a new brake lightbulb and replace it right away. At around 7pm we arrive at the Londra Camp in Istanbul. We get an overlander discount and place ourselves in the well-equipped camp.

Kavala – Istanbul = 450 km

Italy – Greece 1997

Thursday, September 11, 1997

This year we are accompanied by Ziggy and Janice from Aegeri. I have known this couple since many years. They have been in India and Nepal many times, but never went there over land.

We meet them on the village square. The new Paxlis say goodbye to their parents, who wave after us for a long time.

Already in Morgarten we have to turn around. I forgot my jeans-jacket on the chair at my mother’s place. Without this jeans-jacket I can’t go on this journey. It’s my buddy and I was so often glad to have it. So, we turn around, the drive along the lake of Aegeri is splendid. The lake is like a mirror, quiet, the sun is shining. After the second attempt we are good to go. In Andermatt we buy some food for dinner. We take the route over the Gotthard pass. I find this is a special way to start the journey.

In Ticino we smoke our last ‘Boro’, then continue via Chiasso, over the border to Italy. We circumvent Milano successfully. Near Codogno, before Piacenza, there is a big highway stop with many green patches and picnic places. We nibble on the crunchy Goldfish and heat the Gemspfeffer (mountain goat ragout) that we bought in Andermatt. It goes well with Spaetzle, a kind of small dumplings. Because it’s hunting season, I felt like having a last traditional menu. It’s really tasty. We enjoy our first evening in freedom.

Unterägeri – Codogno = 335 km

The next morning, we continue via Bologna, passing Rimini, along the coast to Fano. In a campsite near the sea, we get a place (38’500 Lire). Adam tinkers with the hand brake and transfers diesel from the spare tank to the main tank. We enjoy the peaceful place by the sea, there even is a warm shower. By the beach, fishermen are throwing out the nets by hand. It’s almost romantic.

Codogno – Fano = 343 km

Shortly before 9am we are on our way again. We choose the road along the coast. To enjoy the region, we have left the highway.

Ziggy was driving around Switzerland with a small transport truck for a company called Kennel. This company has sponsored us this year with Ice-Tea powder, that is very welcome on our tour. It’s easy to mix with water, it’s refreshing and a pleasant change to the plain water.

I like the Ice-Tea and so do our Paxlis. Once I have sent a request to Nestlé, whether they maybe could sponsor us with some soups, Nescafé, Ice-Tea or milk powder. Apparently, we are no target group for the noble Swiss firm, explains a letter of refusal. Not even the smallest sample would they send me, that is so chintzy!

Kennel was much more generous.

We make good progress, enjoy the view over vineyards and hills dotted with olive trees and buy more ingredients for our dinner. After Foggia we spot two old houses by the road. They look like ruins. We take a closer look. One house has a good forecourt where we can park. Windows and doors are badly damaged, and everything looks a little askew. We have just come to the decision that we are staying here tonight when two cars drive up. A man and a woman step out. My Italian is not very good, but we can communicate. The couple warn us that the houses are dangerous, we should not go inside because the roof could fall down. When they see our beautifully handcrafted ‘Nepal’ sign through our front window and we explain to them that this is our goal, they look impressed but maybe also a little puzzled. We can stay and the nice couple say goodbye with a big smile.

Janice and I prepare a big bowl of salad. As a refreshment we drink our Ice-Tea. It turns into a laidback evening. The temperatures are much warmer than in Aegeri and so it’s very pleasant to sit outside.

Fano – Foggia = 411 km

We already arrive in Bari at the harbor at around 10.30am. Adam and I are going to search for tickets for the passage to Igoumenitsa. For 340’000 Lire we get four tickets and a space for Ury on one of the many ferries.

Bari is a nice city with many small alleys, a fort and is typical Italian. We drink coffee and meander through the city. Around 4pm we proceed to the border control to get our boarding passes stamped. At pier 12 is our ferry, the Athen Express. At 6pm the loading of the vehicles begins. Our turn comes early and so we can watch the loading of the big lorries from the deck. A Belgian truck, full of cattle, has problems to make it over the ramp onto the ferry. But after a while he is also on.

Suddenly something splashes into the water. A lot of people run to the railing to see what happened. A man is swimming in the water, between our Athen and the neighbor ferry Polaris. Several policemen are quickly on it. Lifesavers are tossed into the water. A police diver is picking up the man. Afterwards we hear gossip that the man, an Albanian, probably tried to flee. An ambulance is coming too. Later we see the Albanian guy in handcuffs and being transported back on to the Polaris. With police escort the Polaris is leaving the port.

I am chatting with an English trucker, a big fan of Mister Bean, just like me. At 9pm we are leaving