A hotchpotch of travel memories
We, that is that is my wife and I, have a problem, one that we have had for the last 55 years or so. You see, my wife preferred caravans but I preferred motorhomes or campervans.
In consequence we have changed back and forth trying to keep the other one happy to such an extent that we have owned 15 caravans and 11 motorhomes/campers in the intervening years.
After nearly every changeover we would say, “This is the last time we change,” but it wasn’t true until now.
Our latest travelling companion is Woody, our Timberland Destiny van conversion, which we love.
Even my wife grudgingly agrees that it is nice. Very sad, though, as Woody will be our last motorhome/caravan.
Age has finally caught up with us and, although we intend carrying on as long as possible, there is an inevitability to the ending of our wonderful hobby. At least the arguments or, as we like to call them, financial policy decisions, will come to an end.
We have, during those 55 years, brought up three children and travelled around most of the UK and western Europe with them in tow. The experience of travel resulted in our daughters living as far apart as Scotland and the south of France.
We wintered in Spain for a number of years and, during that time, had the usual share of problems and laughs.
Travelling down to Spain in January to escape the English winter was not always fun. Following a snow plough down a French motorway in a snowstorm, 1,000m high, towing a caravan was not enjoyable and not recommended.
Driving over the Millau Viaduct in bright winter sunshine not long after it opened was awe-inspiring, but on the way back home in spring that same bridge from underneath and looking up was mind-blowing.
Taking a cable car from Mürren in the Bernese Oberland (Switzerland) to the summit of the Schilthorn then having a meal in the Piz Gloria restaurant. As the restaurant revolved, the views really were to die for.
After a very early start, stopping to have breakfast of bratwurst and frites with mayonnaise on the banks of the Rhine is remembered to this day by our children. That happened in 1968.
Sitting on a beach in early January at eight in the morning in Spain in a temperature of 21˚C was lovely when at home the temperature was minus two. Heaven.
Travelling the length of Lake Maggiore from Stresa, Italy, to Locarno in Switzerland aboard a Russian-built hydrofoil at high speed was special, but the best part was watching the boat’s captain. Every time we pulled into a harbour, even for 10 minutes, the captain would get out his fishing rod and sit on the quay fishing until departure time. The perfect job.
I was sitting outside my motorhome in the Lake
District, dozing in the warm midday sun, when a motorhome was leaving the site and towing an electric hook-up lead behind him.
People were shouting and waving to him, trying to bring his attention to the wayward lead. The driver in turn must have thought that all of a sudden he was very popular and waved back with a huge smile on his face. He was only stopped when one brave soul jumped in front forcing a stop.
The second time I saw this happen was more serious, because the driver towing a 30m lead had part of the hook-up tower still attached. The site we were on was small and the corners were very tight.
Consequently, the lead and attached plastic lump of tower was thrashing about and hitting cars, caravans and motorhomes. Luckily, no one was hurt but, when stopped, the driver made no apology, wrapped up his lead, threw the piece of tower onto the grass and drove off. Roll on 2021.