It’s only a matter of a few miles, in fact the country shares a border with it. But, whereas Estonia seems to have broken free and become rather westernized – in its own way – Latvia still seems to have Russia firmly attached to it.

Point number one is the roads.  Now Estonian roads are nothing to be proud of, but atleast they only provide a few (albeit continuous) vibrations they do not require you to swerve halfway across the road to miss a pothole through which you could probably see the internal goings-on of the world. It’s like a joke that has gone too far.

Another thing you may have noticed is the lack of Internet hotspots.  We have gone from a land that is completely full of places to connect to; petrol stations, parks, campsites even town squares and all of them handily sign-posted – to a land where we have so far passed one sign indicating that there was a hotspot available, only the cards we needed to buy to get access to the Internet were not in stock, nor had been for months.

Latvia seems to have come on little since the days of the USSR.  One noticeable difference is the currency.  For the first time on our trip, and I believe also for last, the currency is more valuable than that of the British Pound.  It isstrange not having to devide everything by 10 (Sweden) or 18 (Estonia) and instead having to times everything by 1.12.

This had caused us slight worry – wondering whether prices were going to reflect the strong currency.  Yet our arrival heralded a different story. Passing a petrol station (where many drivers will get an idea of how much things are) we saw a sign advertising fuel for just 0.60Lats for Diesel. After a quick fill up, which led to the only smile from me on the whole of the Latvian roads experience, we headed down to our stellplatz.

We passed small farmsteads and villages that could barely pass as such for mile after mile.  Not only does very little look as if it had changed since the USSR it looks as if nothing has changed for many centuries before this.

Unlike many Western European towns – where this lack of change would be seen as quaint – in Latvia it seems like a disease to which no answer has been found, windowless and roofless dwellings seem as much a part of the landscape as forests and lakes did in Scandinavia.

Upon reaching the outskirts of Riga we headed towards our supposed destination and rest place for the night.  Which didn’t exist.  At all, we drove for a few kilometres before stopping to check at another cheap fuel station, then drove back the 20 kilometres to where the woman had suggested it would be, only to find another fuel station where the woman had no idea, instead asking a man who, had he smoked, could have probably lit his breath on fire with the amount of alcohol he already had in his system – he, unsurprisingly had no idea where our place was, nor where he was as he clambered back into his clapped out Audi, with another bottle of strong cider clutched in his hand.

We also haven’t gotten rid of the rain yet, it has been following us since we decided to move off from Estonia.

We eventually abandon plan A and go for plan B, another stellplatz, back the way we had just gone whilst getting lost – atleast we had seen this place already.

Now I don’t know about you, but when you order food and it comes out of the invisible kitchen and looks better than you thought it also seems to taste better. And when my steak with field mushroom sauce and french fries appeared on the table I honestly thought it could be the meal of the gods.

One thing going for Latvia is that even late at night, when you are absolutely shattered and have been unable to find anywhere, the place you do find is pleasant and the chef can cook an awesome meal, I mean it is 11pm and there seems to be no end to the food service, nor the German folk music coming out of the speakers on the small stage in the corner.  Luke and I are worried that another Karaoke night may be happening shortly, linger around just long enough for a glorious ice cream and head back to the van.

The two and a half litre heart of our van never starts first time, it is a precise calculation to get the clutch in, and the gas pedal in the perfect position before the old girl finally roars into life.  It is a practice that Luke and I have been doing since we broke down in Sweden, but one that still cause us a little agitation and worry.

We left Tallinn on a perfectly Sunny day and headed south, our first stop was to be in a large campsite, bury deep in the forests that shroud that west coast of this small nation.

From there we are headed to Parnu, a port town, sitting in its own natural bay with an impressively wide river running right through it.

The roads in Estonia are most probably not this country’s greatest accomplishment, nor is the reserved nature of most people and the way that they stare – but that may have to do with the fact that we are driving a bright red van, with British number-plates and that the driver is sat on the wrong side, not to mention the fact that the “LDV Convoy” badge is hardly ever seen by most Europeans.

We found out though that this reserved nature and staring is not all that Estonian townsfolk are about.

An evening hunt for a meal led us into a small restaurant, sitting just below ground level, though with an appetising menu and full tables.

Our entrance was noted by a tall man in beige, beige trousers, beige shirt, beige sandals.  We have – to this day – no idea if he was actually connected in any way to the restaurant, yet he motioned us towards a table near the bar and delighted in telling us that his step father was from an unpronounceable place in Wales.  Eventually, after some careful listening and countless repetitions we found out that it was Aberystwyth, see totally unpronounceable!

We were then served up a cup of tea (well we are English, so it was only natural to give the English people tea) and waited for the menu’s to arrive.

Which is where it all went wrong.

A group of men, probably about late 30’s, all wearing the typical leather jackets and jeans, that seems to be a fashion left here from previous days, entered the restaraunt.

The younger of the men walked over to the centre table and picked up a microphone.  Yes, ladies and gentlemen we had found ourselves a karaoke night.

This seems to be the latest craze  – from the ferry across to Tallinn to almost every second bar everyone wants a piece of the action, if only singing lessons had been part of the soviet education program then perhaps Luke and I would be spared this horrific ordeal, for none can sing – of course that’s part of the fun of Karaoke they say.

But what stupendifies me is that these people, whom on the street are so reserved, quiet and usually avoid eye contact, unlike many other European nations, yes these people just walk into a bar and without so much as a sip of a beer are willing to stand up and sing in front of everyone.

Of course it is late now and the chances of getting any food here are growing ever more remote so Luke and I head off in another direction.

Looking round the streets of Parnu gives you an insight into the crazy nation that is Estonia, there is not so many modern buildings as there are in the capital of Tallinn, but just enough that you realise that this is a country on the up.  A few small reminders still linger from years past that are now simply nothing more than quirky reminders of a bygone era – although it is still slightly strange that a “long established business” here still advertises itself as being set up in only 1992, a fact highlighted by Estonia’s oldest pub, the “Hell Hunt – since 1992″

I have fallen in love with Estonia’s weirdness, but you will not see me on the karaoke machine for a few more years… or a few more beers.

Well it is now time to breath some life into our express delivery van, as we are off to Riga, in yet another new country… Latvia.

So we were driving along, heading towards Roosta, away from the mind boggling retro-futurism of Tallinn towards the more laid bac and peaceful Roosta, on the West Coast of Estonia, looking out over the Baltic.

The roads are less than perfect and within just a few moments of leaving Tallinn we find ourselves being bounced from one side to the other, though we would expect nothing less, and would have probably been dissapointed had the roads been perfect, for there is no adventure in that – admittedly there are no bruises or repetitive strain injury, but it was worth it.

The speed limit suddenly dropped from national to 50kph and, hiding around a corner was a large and imposing monastry.

It was amazing to be able to just wonder around, no having to buy tickets, no “do not walk here” signs (with the exception of a few underneath some scaffolding).  But we were really able to explore, away fro the busy tourist signs informing you of the history and the damn ear phone things that include delight background music to enhance your experience.

No, we were able to just walk around and explore – see each room, take in the massive arched hall, venture down spiral staircases – some went into rooms deep underneath and others went nowhere, the stairs having long since crumbled or the roof having collapsed in.

To see a historic monument in this way is incredible and should be done more often, I will go off now and read the history of the monastry, for it has sparked interest – yet whilst I was there I was able to take in the incredible fact that this building was still standing, and constructed so beautifully without having any distractions.

A national monument, hidden on a road to the coast – an explorers’ paradise.

Our journey from Scandinvia into eastern europe begins with another ferry crossing, this time on the Tallink ferry – Baltic Princess.

The sun is setting as we arrive, dipping slowly below the horizon, yet the light takes longer to fade.  We are slowly getting used to this, as the light up here in the Northern part of the Northern hempisphere hangs around for just that little bit longer.

We’re camped up in Pirita harbour, just a few kilometres east of Tallinn centre.  We’ve cleaned out the van, somehow it managed to get dirtier than ever, despite the fact we have been in a hostel for four days in Helsinki.

Our drive from the ferry port to here took us past some of the strangest constructions I have seen.  The all concrete construction casts them instantly as Soviet structures, the crumbling edges and mossy roofs tell a tale of a time forgotten.

The two structures, on either side of the main Pirita road line up to look out over the Baltic, back to Helsinki and Finland.  Sitting behind one of the structures is a large column, a soviet memorial to the war dead.

Across the harbour resides the facade of a monastry, it’s single remaining wall contains holes where windows once were but little else.

Yet if you look closely you start to see the real Tallinn, modern constructions are springing up, barely visible through the pine trees and internet access points are signposted everywhere.  For a country that has only been free for two decades it has already, in some respects, over taken some of the grand old powers in Europe.

The clash between old and new continues as we walk towards the old town of Tallinn.

Modern wood and glass clad extensions site atop old stonework foundations and buildings.

Tallinn’s old town is it’s real gem.  Hidden away behind stone walls complete with round towers and gatehouses it instantly grabs you, despite the fact that McDonalds has prime location just inside the city gates.

Here the contrast between old and new stops.  There is only one new building here and it makes no attempt to be sympathetic to the old. Yet here, unlike in the suburbs, it feels out of place.

The Town Hall is our destination to meet Sarah and Valerio, two travellers with whom we have arranged an evening, again the couchsurfing network has come in useful.

Over 500  years are contained in these brick walls, the cafes and bars are lively yet, if you manage to shut them out, or just peer down an alleyway or up one of the small streets you could quite believe that this city has changed very little since that time.  Until of course the small blue vans of the litter pickers arrive to keep this small piece of World Heritage clean and tidy.

A newspaper lying on the floor, it’s headline proclaiming something in a different alphabet, reminds me just how close we are to Russia.

After a few fairly reasonably priced drinks in the Hell Hunt, Estonia’s first bar, established in 1992 – we travellers disperse again, agreeing to meet Sarah tomorrow for some sightseeing.

If ever you want to get to know a religion the key thing is to look at its buildings. The sparse Lutherian church near the east gate, with its walls covered in coats of arms – deep brown wood and fading gold lettering to the immensenly white and gold Orthodox Cathedral sat high above the city.  Sarah insists that we see three of them, and she left the Lutherian interior as a surprise for us, so I shall leave the final church as a surprise for you.

After that we head to an unassuming restraunt entitled “Kompressor” where Sarah informs us that they do the best pancakes – and we are not dissapointed, the taste and the quantity suppress our appetite for ferry buffets for now.

Our evening walk leads us out to the park on the east side of town, past the art museum and it’s pretty garden and out to another memorial on the edge of the ice blue Baltic.

Estonia has lost its Soviet feel, what remains are now more quirky artifacts that concrete monsters, the drive towards modernism is surprising though here the people are noticeably more reserved than the Scandinavians.

Coming into Tallinn is like no other city I have been to, it is a complete melting pot of different cultures, different times and different architecture.  A truly unique city that should be on every one’s “to do” list.

…

We stayed at Pirita Harbour Camping.
Camping cost us 200eek (11gbp) per night including electric hookup and toilets, but no showers.
Wifi access is included but you have to send a text to the council run system to gain access for a 24hour period.  The SMS will be charged at your normal rate and there are no other charges.

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Happy Travelling!

After a few more hours sleep and a long shower, our ferry deposited us on the shores of Finalnd.

Although I swear to you it felt as if we had never left land. The Stockholm archipelago, consisting of some 24,000 islands, kept close company to us throughout the first part of the journey, then after a small crossing of completely empty sea, it was back through an archipelago on the Finnish side.

All of this meant that our journey was incredibly smooth,  In fact the Baltic Ocean has been incredibly flat wherever we have been near it’s shores.  This ocean is so tucked away that it does not have a tide.  It’s incredible ice blue waters seem to invite you in at every chance, though those that take the chance at this time of year must ensure that there is a sauna nearby to survive without getting hypothermia.

We headed into Turku, the old Finnish capital during the time when the Swedes owned most of the lands we have travelled through.

We’re hoping to get a hostel here and join what looks like a parade of boiler suited students.  This is actually their “drinking dress” and it allows them to do silly stuff such as rolling in the grass and getting covered in beer without destroying any of their normal clothes.  I think this throws the Finnish hurtling into first place for practical yet crazy Scandinavians.

Unfortunately all of the hostels are booked, the campsites are shut at this hour and we have little choice but to roll on towards the heady lights of Helsinki.

It is late at night by the time we arrive at our hostel in Espoo, a late night made later by the fact that we have jumped another time zone, now being two hours ahead of London – oh and it is only just getting dark at half past 11.  Which is really screwing with our body clocks.

THe next morning brings a day of just chilling out, enjoying the brilliantly beautiful beaches of Espoo and the Baltic Coastline, the pine trees add an exotic, almost meditterainean feel the just seems out of place in a country where there are only two months that are called “summer”.  The sandy beaches also look out of place, it is only the giant rocks, seen strewn about the landscape and forming cliff edges and formations almost everywhere (our hostel has a roundabout around one such rock in the car park, it’s just too big to be moved), yes – it is only these that remind you that you are in a country more used to snow than sun.

After a day of doing, well not much really, we head into the city of Helsinki.  We took the van.  Not a good idea.  Sat Nav does not cope with small streets.  We do not cope with cobbles.  Van does not cope with tight corners.  We all fall out, but make amends once we find a cool car park.  Apart from the Sat Nav, that has got a lot of apologising to do.

The first thing that surprises us about Helsinki is the incredible, imposing and – in this sunlight – bloody reflective, Cathedral.

It sits up on a plinth, it’s own small plateau in the rising above the streets of Helsinki and commands every tourist to climb the seemingly endless amount of steps up to it.

The interior is lavishly decorated with gold dripping down from every chandelier and up from every candlestick.  It is in stark contrast to the red building sitting on the other side of the river.  The Orthodox Cathedral looks very formal, though its own imposing power is most definitately there, it does not command such a large square or plinth for itself.

We are meeting up with another person from Couchsurfing.org.  This website is a must for travellers, we have found so many different people already and always had a good time.

Sara meets us outside of the white Cathedral and takes us across on yet another boat to the small island of Suomenlinna, literaly translated to Finnish Fortress.

There are two sides to this place.  One is the newer looking Russian side, with small garrisons, shops and other administrative wooden huts dotted around.  Across a small wooden bridge is found the much grander and larger castle.  Our view of this is distracted though by the hot weather and the view of the Baltic, so blue, lapping against a small sandy beach and our destination is set.

The afternoon passes us almost without saying a word, then Luke and I return the van to the youth hostel (sat nav is still in the dog house) and travel back into Helsinki by bus, for tonight is Eurovision night and Luke, Sara and I have a date with a large tv screen and a large, cold beer.

Yes, travellers always want food.  Any kind of food.  Doesn’t matter what it is  as long as someone else has prepared it and is doing the washing up then we are fine.

So when we were told about a ferry crossing between Sweden and Finland that included an all you can eat breakfast buffet, followed by an all you can eat evening buffet, it did not take us long to decide that this was the crossing for us!

So off we headed for the little “village” of Kappelskar.

When I say village, I mean literally Kappelskar is just the port.  That’s it.  Nothing else really.

But still, we managed to find a campsite, plug in the electric heater and get warm.  And get out of Sweden.

We have nothing against Sweden in general, the country is beautiful, the people welcoming and friendly and we have had a lot of… experiences… it is just that since we have arrived in Sweden we have had nothing but rain, the van has broken down and we had a nightmare trying to find somewhere to stop in the van.  Atleast somewhere that has electric and the waste facilities we needed.

It had felt like we were in Sweden for ages, despite it just being over a week.

Perhaps it was just our timing or perhaps it was just bad karma, what ever it was we were looking forward to our brunch buffet!

Our 8 hour ferry would take us from Sweden, to Nantalli in Finland, just north of Turku – once the capital of Finland.

We had booked a cabin, which had cost us only 20 swedish krona extra and it was well worth the money, within half an hour of boarding Luke and I had showered, eating our own body weight at the buffet and were now fast asleep in our cosy cabin…

Ferry Costs

We travelled with Finnlines from Kappelskar to Nantalli

They have three sailings per day; 09:15, 17:30 and 23:00

The morning ferry is the cheapest, you do not have to book, but turn up early to make sure you can get a place.

Our ticket cost us 1800 SEK, including a 2 person cabin on the inside

After returning the lovely Saab to Sjkovde, picking up the van which is now working (the problem was air in the fuel system).  Oh and a point here, if anyone is ever looking for the diagnostics connection socket for the LDV convoy, it is under the ashtray, you know, the obvious place of course!

So yer after all of that – we headed North a bit more.

We have been using the Couchsurfing.org website for a few meet ups in towns but now it was time for the first official Couch Surf!

Well, we put our requests in and awaited the response.  Larissa was the first person to get back to us.  She told us that we were to bring 200 krona with us and meet in a car park in the town of Borlange….

We were met by Larissa and some people from her wildlife school in the car park and were told to follow them, which is harder than you think when we are sliding around on the gravel roads, literally drifting around some of the sharper corners.

We arrive, with all our bones in tact but nerves a little frayed, in the a little place that calls itself the “Smoking Barrels Camp”  A wild west style hangout for those that like guns basically.

For today, we have become Shotgun Si and Cool Hands Luke, about to enter fearsome battle with a series of metal targets and a timer, armed only with a revolver, a shotgun and a winchester rifle… This was going to be fun!

Each of us took turns to try and hit the targets in the shortest possible time, whih would have been ok had I ever managed to hit the bloody targets!

Still, after much practice and a fair bit of banter I finally cleared each round.

After a sit out around the campfire it was time to head home, which was two hours away!

Larissa, Luke and I spent most of  the rest of that evening eating toast and attempting to explain Lee Evans’ jokes on youtube, cultural difference can sometimes render even the funniest of jokes completely limp!

So – something we never expected to be doing in Sweden – shooting Wild West style, crazy!

Not having our campervan for the weekend did cause a few issues.

Concern number 1 is of course a place to sleep.  We have become to used to just rocking up and parking almost anywhere (in Sweden you may park overnight for free, anywhere with the P sign) and are not ready for the Swedish hostel system where you have to book, using an automated phone line – in Swedish, of which I speak only three words.
Those three words are quite important to the Swedish though, number 1 is Fika… a word meaning literally “food/coffee/snack / any excuse for a break!  You see signs for Fika on almost every small shop in Sweden, and it is something that should be introduced in the UK for sure!

Second is Hej Hej, meaning – Hello, an essential greeting! And Thirdly there is Largomm (spelling might be wrong here).  Largomm literally sums up Sweden, for it means “just enough to fill you up, but not more”  which is quite a nice thought, no oversized portions but nothing rip off.  I like it and I like the way it sums up the Swedish culture and identity.

So we are on our way to Stockholm, with no hostels open and also no hotels open, the eery light of the eve has caught us out and it is nearly two am, the sun is almost rising again through our windscreen.  We eventually find a hotel Ibis in the nearby (by Swedish standards) town of Nykopping.

Six hours later we are up and out, on the final run to Stockholm in our lovely Saab 95 turbo, for which I am sure the lovely Emily must be thanked.

Our bed for tonight is the first thing we sort out, heading for a rather bizarre youth hostel located on an old warship, the AF Chapman.  The old sailing ship has done many miles and is now a prominent attraction on an island opposite the old town of Stockholm. Parking for the car is not too bad either at 30krona (about £2.50)

So – our bed for tonight is sorted, although the swipe card used for entry onto the ship is slightly dodgy, leaving us hoping that we will be able to get back on!!

Stockholm, as with Copenhagen, is a city built on a load of islands.  Luke and I fear for the lives of our shoes after our Copenhagen expedition led to getting stuck on many of the smaller islands and having to walk miles to get back off again! So we decided to keep our walking tour to a more confined area.

We head off into the old town, Gamla Stan.  It is a maze of tight, twisting streets with shops hiding around every corner and restaurants attracting the flocking tourists with charm rather than brashness.  The Royal Palace, consisting of 680 rooms and thus making it the largest in the world, occupies one corner of this small island and the wide streets surrounding it are in severe contrast with the aforementioned maze just a few hundred metres away.

There is mostly certainly a tourist feel to this part of Stockholm, as is to be expected. We hear many English and American accents in the hordes of people clamouring for that certain photo of this old place.  Luke and I head off into the side streets to see what else we can find, which is not too much really, but the calm and coolness of these streets is not to be missed.

By this time my mobile has died (my phone has a habit of doing this at inconvenient times) so we head off to find a place to get a charger (with European socket) and head back to the hostel for a few hours of much needed kip!
We had arranged to meet some people from the brilliant Couchsurfing.org website in the evening, unfortunately due to mobile numbers, emails and all sorts of other miscommunications we are unable to get hold of our drinking buddies for this evening and so, with ther remaining power left in the laptop I connect to the Internet and post an “urgent drinks request” on the Stockholm page, then the stomach growls and it is time for some food!

The old town has transformed in just a few hours from streets packed full of travellers into a much quieter, cosier and more relaxed place.  The bars are full of people kicking back and the restaurants are crammed with smart looking people enjoying some good looking food.

Being on a budget of course meant that we were looking for the most “cost-effective” place to eat, rather than the one that looked like you needed a mortgage to enter.

We were not disappointed though, nor were we snubbed at – for we only really had a few “travelling clothes” with us, which can cause an issue in some snobbier places.  Our restaurant looks reasonably priced and once inside the host whisks us off to a table, then onto another table (he mis-judged something or something, but was very polite about it all).
Our waitress was yet another incredibly good looking Swede, although not blonde – which is better in my books.
With our meals ordered Luke and I settled into our beers (and wine).  Then the meals arrived.

Now I have mentioned before about Largomm, and this is exactly what I got, a healthy, but not too large portion of meatballs in lingonberry sauce with some mashed potato, a truly brilliant meal.

Just as Luke and I were ready for an early night a text came through from our “urgent drinks request” on couch surfing and just a few hours later we were knocking back a few beers on a fairly orderly bar crawl around the south Stockholm island of Sodermalm.

At around 4am, and with the sun now firmly asserting itself in the sky we headed back for a night on the AF Chapman, another Scandinavian Capital has been partied in, and yes, I would recommend anyone to come here.  The city is clean, laid back when not in the packed tourist areas and that friendly feel to it that is missing in so many cities. 

Stockholm has soul.

It’s Friday, we are all fully recovered after a relaxing stopover at Del’s place and from this campsite, situated right on the edge of a lake.

We are ready to tackle the onslought that will be Stockholm, a complete weekend of meeting people (via couch surfing), walking around, having a look at what is going on and so on.

For once we are actually up reasonably early (about 9 am – ok well it is early for us!) The bright red van is packed, ready to go, we’ve got 50 litres of fresh water and nothing stopping us from the 300kilometre journey that will take us to the vibrant capital of this strange country.

I say strange country and actually I do mean it.

Sweden is probably one of the few countries where they almost “expect” you to visit at only certain times.  Every person we have met says that we should come back in the summer, apparently the biggest party is the midsummer celebrations, where the partying continues into the next morning, noon and even night.

Yet, travelling at this time of year we have seen not many campervans about really and the few youth hostels we have looked into are only open if you have booked them, not the “rock up and book in” type of hostels that exist almost everywhere else I have been.

These issues were about to play havoc with us.

So stockholm yer – er no, well maybe not right away.

We usually have to muck around a bit to get the van started, using a bit of full throttle and patience, but she will eventually start.  But not this time.  There was nothing.  The battery was turning the engine over but the engine just didn’t want to kick in.
Phone call number 1… breakdown company to arrange a truck and techie to come out to us.

Luckily for us the campsite guy seems to know what he is doing with engines, the old (antique) volvo digger in the background takes about 30minutes to start he tells us as, dressed already in workman’s overalls, he heads straight under the bonnet of our stricken van.

After some prodding, poking and more attempts to start the van we have completely exhausted our battery, but our man in blue overalls thinks that it is most probably air in the fuel system – I had changed the fuel filter just a day ago and, although she started first time then, it seemed to be the causing a problem now.

Phone call number 2… What is an LDV Convoy?
Of course once I had rung my breakdown company and told them I was broken down abroad they had transferred my “file” to their european call centre, who had no idea what an LDV Convoy is, strangely enough not many people outside of the UK have – it had already caused a stir amongst the repair garage in Germany, from where we had bought the fuel filter.

So after trying their systems one final time we (the lovely sounding Emily and I) decided it would be easiest to call it a Ford Transit, as that is the engine we have.

The campsite guy returns now with a battery charger and promptly plugs in the van before heading off to help an older couple with their awning – is there no end to this man’s talents?

Phone Call number 3… Ok Mr Gardner, we have a truck on it’s way to you, but where are you?

Yes – I have no idea how that can work either, but between a few postal codes, Nei’s (no) and Ja’s (Yes), from the campsite guy-turned-navigation-system and the lovely Emily looking on Google maps we manage to find our precise location, down to the last tree.

Around half an hour later the truck arrives, almost as red as our van – but not quite, our campsite guy has now turned into translator and is explaining as well as helping the techie from the recovery firm.

Both conclude that it is probably air in the pipes and that – with a bit of persuasion, a jumpstart from the truck and a heap of luck that the van should eventually turn over.

An hour of fiddling, a half hour of looking and fifteen minutes of head scratching later and we are still not moving, nor starting and with the weather having turned from a fairly fine morning into and afternoon of rain that would embarass even the most powerful of showers it was decided that the van will have to go to the workshop.

Now this would be fine if we were in England, most workshops are open until 5pm on a Friday, and probably open saturday morning at least, alas we are not in England, we are in Sweden – meaning that the workshop has already shut and that it will not be open until Monday morning… Crap.

The journey to the workshop takes us into the town of Skovde… pronounced “Hurvdur” apparently.

Chatting to our recovery driver on the way it turns our that he is a busy man.  His normal job is in a factory that makes shop furniture, most notably for the UK retail chain “Next”. He is also a fireman whenever his pager goes off and the recovery driver every third weekend and he has an interest in classic American cars, owning a Pontiac himself, although my memory fails me as to which.

Phone Call number 4… Mr Gardner, we were just wondering how things were going with your car…

Well yes, that was that, we had no van until Monday, we had gathered a few belongings, plus our sleeping bags and headed out of the workshop (which was being locked up) and into the Preem fuel station around the corner where we took up temporary residence.

We find a seat in the Preem shop and grab a quick coffee, the friendly attendant informs us that some of the small packets of sweets on the font of the des are “free samples”, but she had that look in her eye that just seemed to say it all, pity.  Still Ihave never been one to pass up a free bag of sweet goodness and dig into a meatball baguette, that unfortunately wasn’t free.

Phone call number 5… Mr Gardner, we have checked your policy and you have a hire car available, will you be needing it?

Well hell yer – the same thing applies to free cars as it does to sweets, offer it to me and I will take it.  After double checking the location of the Preem garage the lovely Emily tells us that our car will be here shortly, I jokingly ask for a Ferrari, knowing full well that the Toyota Yaris that I am entitled to will not be the most thrilling ride in the world.

Phone Call number 6… Mr Gardner, Emily here, your Saab will be here shortly…

My What?!  How on earth did… that’s not a Toyo… don’t ask questions, just accept. OK I say and await our luxury car (and yes, in comparrison to an LDV convoy anything is luxury, but this was like proper nice.

A few minutes later the guys and gal from Avis turn up with a gleaming Saab 95 Turbo, running on Ethanol… certainly have to remember that when we fill up.

Somehow Luke and I have turned into a family of four with a heap of luggage, and I, dear readers, am now mysteriously Dr Gardner.

I told you “Emily” was lovely…

So off we shoot towards the vibrant capital of this strange country – well we will do once I stop reaching down the wrong side for the gear stick, Luke is worried that at some point I will just open the door and eject myself whilst reaching for 4th gear.

That’s all folks, till the morning!