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!

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.

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!

Argh!

Ok so first of all sorry for the lack of updates.

I will be changing to updating this blog once a week

Life at the moment is crazy busy and I found myself spending more time updating the blog than looking for jobs!

So whats changed?

Well I have hit a slightly large brick wall in the challenge to become an overland drvier – insurance!

Most companies I have spoken to have stated that their policy for drivers is over 25′s only. Being only 22 this has created a wee issue!

So where to now?

Well don’t worry readers. I will not give up at the 1st (or more likely 6th) hurdle.

At the moment I am looking for any job that will involve travel – hopefully to some bizzare country or lands, but anything will do.

If you have any suggestions please leave them in the comments box below. I will promise to check them all out.

However, first of all I must get cracking on packing for my skiing holiday!

Happy Travellin’
Overland Si