An unforgettable continental adventure by mini-van

It was late April when we drove from Cochem to Koblenz at the confluence of the Moselle and Rhine rivers. We sloshed through rain-soaked cobbled streets peering in the windows of the fabulous bakeries. We each chose an enormous meringue smothered in cream and nuts.

As we walked out of the shop my friend took a bite out of hers. A large piece broke off and a creamy mess spread in an ever-increasing circle in a puddle much to her embarrassment. A new expression came into our vocabulary that we use today more than 50 years on – doing a Koblenz.

The weather cleared as we drove alongside the Rhine. It was as attractive as we’d been led to believe with wooded hills, pretty valleys, barges chuffing upstream and down and castles perched high above the river. This idyllic scene was only spoilt by the electric trains whizzing by between the road and the river.

We decided to visit one of the many castles perched high above the river. The one we chose had been converted into a hotel. Much as we would’ve liked to stay for dinner, or even a night, we knew it was way over our meagre budget, but for a short while we indulged in a fantasy of maybe one day. It felt luxurious sitting at a little table in the sunshine in such an exotic location, sipping a glass of wine.

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That evening we pitched our tent in a soggy camping ground. We ate bread rolls, and frankfurters we’d cooked on our little gas stove and wondered what we’d be dining on if we’d stayed in the castle. Dreams were free and we felt privileged to be able to watch the surrounding area turning pink with the castle and the hills silhouetted against the darkening sky.

We were still in Germany when we had a mishap. As my friend backed our mini-van out of a parking place she banged straight into the side of a smart looking Opal. The owner summoned the police who arrived on the scene with flashing lights. Luckily we found both the police and the car owner very pleasant so with some relief we paid the five-mark fine (a very small amount but a lot to us at the time.)

We submitted a claim to our insurance company for the damage to the Opal with a drawing of what happened. I guess they chuckled when they received a sketch of the two vehicles and the word ‘ouch’ on the appropriate part.

Our next camping spot was on the banks of the Neckar River at Mannheim. As we were cooking dinner a shepherd tending his sheep wandered past. He was wearing a flowing black cloak and carrying a crook. He looked to us as if he’d stepped right out of a children’s fairytale.

It was while we were camping there we realised all was not well with Min, our valiant mini-van. The local garage suggested we took her to nearby Heidelberg as they’d be more likely to be able to fix whatever ailed her. After finding a camping ground we left her in a garage while they investigated what was wrong.

Rain began to fall as we walked back to our campsite. Realising what a miserable time we’d have with only our ancient pup tent to live in for a few days the proprietor kindly lent us a far superior tent. So while we waited for a new drive shaft for Min to arrive we lived in relative luxury in a tent with separate rooms, windows, a floor, a table and chairs – and even better, comfortable lilos to sleep on.

Luckily the weather improved for our few days of enforced idleness. Not that we were idle because Heidelberg was an enchanting city to spend time with its romantic castle, hilly streets and charming shops. We never tired of watching the continuous stream of laden barges passing up and down the river. There were no signs of the luxury cruise boats that frequent these waters nowadays.

Once we had our wheels again we headed back to Switzerland to view the Rhine Falls at Schaffhausen. We had seen far higher waterfalls back home but the sheer volume of water and spray shooting high into the sky and the swirling foam at the foot was an incredible sight.

From here we zigzagged back into Germany, crossed the border into Austria and ended up in Liechtenstein, high in the mountains. How I loved the snowy views from our camping spot in Vaduz. The next morning was beautiful, warm and sunny. We drove up higher and higher, passing through alpine pastures, a lovely sight with colourful flowers peeping through the grass. It reminded me of one of my favourite childhood books, “Heidi.”

Finally we were above the snowline. Apart from a short snowy spell in London it was a new experience for me. What did the locals think of these crazy tourists prancing around in the snow in jandals? The Sound of Music had not yet hit the screens but if it had, I might’ve been tempted to burst into song.

Then it was time to move on again. We expected to load Min onto a train to pass through a tunnel under the Alps as the road had been closed for the winter – but we were in luck. We were informed that the St. Gotthard Pass had re-opened the day before.

The spectacular road wound up and up, twisting and turning, sometimes doubling back on itself. Snow was piled high on the roadside dwarfing our wee Min. As we neared the top it began to rain. Mist swirled around the vehicle and blocked the views. Then down, down, down until we reached Lugano.

As we crossed the border into Italy we were stopped by customs. They obviously intended having a good look through our laden van. Once they saw our washing strung around the back they grinned and waved us on our way. Little did I know then that I would make this crossing several times in years to come when my British-born in-laws moved to nearby Como – but that’s a story yet to be told.

It was still raining when we arrived at the camping ground above Lago di Como. Once again we met a kind proprietor who suggested we slept under the veranda. All night long the branches of the trees banged and scraped on the roof, but we were protected from the worst of the storm.

As we headed off in the morning the weather improved. We passed through pretty rolling countryside with bright red poppies scattered among the crops. On around the Riviera, to Pisa and Florence. After a few days visiting the Duomo and other wonderful sights it was off to Rome. Naturally we loved our time there, sightseeing and meeting up with fellow travellers before travelling south.

From Sorrento we drove around the Amalfi Coast, marvelling at the incredibly blue sea, the picturesque cottages bright with geraniums, the lemon groves, olive orchards and grape vines spilling down the hillsides. We fell in love with the charming fishing villages.

The elderly fisherman we met on a secluded beach was as intrigued by us as we were by him. When he summoned his teenaged grandson to take us for a spin around the bay in his boat we couldn’t resist. It mightn’t have been as glamorous as the ferry heading to Capri we’d watched enviously but it was an unexpected thrill.

Today the road around the coast is still extremely challenging with its narrow roads, streams of buses, crazy youngsters on roaring motor scooters and tourists galore. In 1965 the road was rough, tortuous and with few barriers to protect us from plunging down the steep hillsides into the Mediterranean way below. But it was an unforgettable experience and we survived to travel on.