Berlin, in a converted LDV Campervan, in glorious sunshine – had we really made it here in one piece, had the van really made it here?  And was that really sun?  The monstorous rainclouds that had shortened our stay in Warsaw were now a cause of constant worry.

The LDV Convoy is not a van that many people would think of when somebody mentions the word “quality”.  Really it isn’t.  In fact when it rains as hard as it did in Warsaw you really start to notice that the builders of this van were quite possibly distracted by, well, anything and everything else.

For Luke and I can both actually see the road out the bottom of the doors, yes – we really can, not only does this let in some very cold air, but also allows a certain amount of rainwater to, well, splash in.  Creating a puddle within the footwell on each door, hence our escape from Warsaw was made even more pertinent when we saw the size of the puddles, and the amount of water entering the van turned from trickle to torrent.

So onwards to Berlin it was.  The city that was, for most of the last century divided into two sections, that of the allies and that of the Soviets.

It is hard nowadays to tell which part of the city is which, modern buildings have sprung up everywhere, the only reminder is the tram network, that was preserved only on the Russian side.

AfLuke and I checked off the major tourist points of the Reichstag and checkpoint Charlie (the old American sector border), which is nearly lost amongst souvenir shops, relic hunters and a rather large advertisement featuring a good looking lady in not very much.  So, more critical than myself,  might comment “how times have changed”

One of the greatest, and possibly most underappreciated buildings is the new parliament buildings. They are starkly modern, sitting only a few hundreds metres behind the old palaces of Justice and Reichstag.  The building actually sits on two sides of the River, yet they are joined by several bridges, signifying the unification of Berlin after the fall of the wall.

After that Luke and I took our usual random walk and found a variety of other buildings and sights, and generally explored Berlin, you can see the photos below.  And now, dear readers, I am going to have to cut this entry short as I amoff to bed, for it is near two a.m. and I must arise early in the morning, our hosts for this evening have previously informed us that Fruhstuck (breakfast) is at 8am, which is just cruelly early!

So where have we been?

It has been days, if not weeks since I last updated.  I feel like it is an age, and yes – I am going to use the excuse that we simply haven’t been able to find internet, mainly I use that excuse because it is true.

The internet populous land of Estonia seems far away and in Latvia, passing along roads that are barely surfaced with lonely old women picking their own food on either side, the modern world could not seem further away.

After passing through the lovely city of Riga, with its grand buildings we start to get the feeling that it is, in fact, no greater than most European Cities, it seems to be missing the medieval splendour of Tallinn, the quaint feel of Stockholm or the veibrant alternative culture of Copenhagen.

After a night out on a few very reasonably priced beers and, in the warmth of an evening, watching young lovers dance to the live band I decide that I really didn’t care about how backward Latvia was, how I will probably be paralysed in the next few hundred kilometres of bad roads nor how certainly unscrupulous campsites mangage to turn just a few Lati into 20 euro, I really don’t care about that anymore.

We have ahd some real shi t-hit-fan times on this trip – the van breaking down, not being able to find places, the sat-nav having directed us in the almost complete opposite direction and so forth.  Yet every single time it seems like things are just destined to continue upon the road of pain, discomfort, misery and short tempers something comes along and makes everything ok.

It comes in just such a slight form, you allow yourself a little smile of recognition as suddenly you are in full realisation of the fact that you are many miles from home, in another country, another culture (and another bloody currency) and you find yourself attempting, in no more than five universal words and unlimited hand actions, nods, waves and expressions, to explain what we are doing and what the other person, sat on the table across from us is doing in this town, this bar, this moment.

That pretty much sums up our whole trip to this extent, Drive, have a few problems, loose where we are, eat, sleep, meet people, regale upon them our stories (which by now are approaching voluminous sizes) and listen to their stories, go for a few beers and start again.

A life that, on the whole does not sound exciting, but yet in a way it is.  From the morning to the evening we have no idea how our day is going to go, no idea what events lurk around the next hairpin bend that the sat-nav has decided is the fastest route for us, nor any idea as to what state the food will be when it is served from a small roadside cafe that does not have a menu in English, nor we have any idea what the food is, (it was delicious by the way, though the meat was quite possibly fried donkey.)

I know none of the above answers the question of where we are now.  We have also visited Warsaw and Berlin in the meantime, but all of this is seemingly inconsequential.  Buildings are buildings, streets are streets, we are glad that we have seen, no, experienced them – but truly we are all in search of that holy grail, those few minutes of learning about and from other people and then attempting to relay our story, perhaps the greatest challenge on this trip is being understood.

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.

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.

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.

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!

So after arriving a long day touring around Copenhagen, followed by touring round the Viking museum, followed by driving around heading north and all the rest of it – we were glad of the break offered to us by Del, a friend of my parents – who used to babysit me apparently.

We took the chance to catch up on some washing (very much needed) and some comfortable sofa’s! It also gave me the cahnce to catch up a bit with things on this here blog.

So – what is Sweden like as a tourist destination.

Well, it certainly is worthwhile trying to make your trip in the summer months of July-August.  Everyone talks of the massive parties and just lively atmosphere that seems to swell in Sweden, and in particular the region of Skane in the summer.

We came up to Sweden because we thought arriving before the high season would mean cheaper campsite fares (it does) but the down side is that we have got worse weather than we had back in England!  Rain and Wind, and bloody viious wind at that!

The other thing we have found hard to find in Sweden is somewhere to empty our waste water and fill our clean water ( ver- & ensortung).

We were spoiled for choice in Denmark with tha stations being placed at every motorway service station, but in Sweden we seem to have lost them completely and this is compunded by our innability to lay our hands on the much coveted Nordic Camping Guide, which gives directions to all of these stations and more.  No campervan dealer, motorway service station, fuel stop o camp site seems to have a copy, though they have all heard of it.

I am starting to think that there is a conspiracy going on….

Moonlit Beach @ Karlskrona

Random Shots from Driving through Sweden

No – I honestly have no idea how to pronounce it either, but here we are, parked up in our campervan in the small harbour town of Skaelskor.

From the Tourist Information  point we are directed across to a small art gallery at the start of the town.

The lady running the gallery informs us that all the paintings are from local artists, which always brings that something extra to these small galleries.  Most of the paintings here are for sale and they are all of superb quality (although I do not, in any way claim to be an art critic, they merely “look quite nice”).

As we toured round the gallery the kind hostess interjects with some further information about two of the portraits that are hanging near the entrance to one of the white walled rooms.

Johannes Møllehave, a Danish priest, author and lecturer has painted these she proudly tells us.  One of the paintings depicts what can only be described as a classic Danish looking man, with blond hair and rugged sailor look aboard a sailing boat.

The paintings are of Troels Kløvedal, a person of somewhat celebrity status in Denmark, the ship he is depicted aboard is the “Nordkap Driver”.

It is great to hear the stories behind the paintings, and also to find out a bit more about the culture of the countries we are traveling thourgh, the museum was free and I would highly recommend anyone travelling through Denmark to check out this place, simply pop into the Skaelskor tourist information point and ask them to point you to the free museums and galleries nearby.

That evening we took a walk through the nearby “Joy Wood”, featuring some of the oldest oak trees in Denmark and also, hidden in a small clearing, was the Youth Hostel, it was like finding a small lively community just in the middle of nowhere, completely unexpected!

After that though we hastily beat our retreat back to the campervan for some dinner and electric heating!

Hey guys and girls, now we have a full day to update the blog and bring you bang up to date with where we are and what is going on I thought I would just put a sneaky (well blatantly obvious) reminder up about the many wonderful ways that you can subscribe to this site.

So, for all you email lovers, click on this link – here - to be added to our email updates list, and click here if you love the RSS feeds.

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More posts to follow this evening, we must eat first though!

So, since we last spoke to you guys we have managed to get the waste tank sorted, well kind of sorted… It still bubbles up now and again but not so much anymore.

Also we are now in Denmark, having left Germany later on yesterday.  We’re heading further north and strangely, it’s getting warmer (although this may not be weird to those living in Australia!)

We left Germany after staying the night in Flensburg, a nice little harbour town.  Our overnight stop was on a small spit of the harbour, which we only found out in the morning was next to a sewage works!  It didn’t smell at all, which was lucky, for in this heat any smell rapidly turns horrible!

Sunsetting in Flensburg

The town of Flensburg itself dates back to the 1200′s and the town has a bit of a time warp feeling to it.  One moment you could be standing outside of the througholy modern invention of McDonalds, the next you are negotiating yourself through a small alleyway and into a small side street, with bright yellow buildings either side.  This old world architecture hides another modern invention, the internet cafe!

The sunset was absolutely beautifully on this evening.  Our “next campervan neighbour” described it as being almost as good as the sunsets he had seen in Africa, although he also pointed out how little the sun looks up here in the north, something I had never thought of!

Well after that night we headed off in the morning (or mid-day ish)  to find some more bits for the campervan and we also plugged in our two door speakers that we have been waiting ages to do.

Then we shut the vents, turned the coolbox on, turned the isolator to the “on” position and off we went to Denmark.

As if in anti-climax Denmark was only a couple of kilometres away. So – hello and welcome to Denmark it was for us… we had our new course plotted and set for Dalby, on the central island of Denmark.

Stay tuned to hear more tomorrow (yes, I’ve figured out how to do delayed posts)

Happy travelling

and please leave a comment, even if just to say hi!