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900 Miles for a Cornetto
900 Miles for a Cornetto
900 Miles for a Cornetto
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900 Miles for a Cornetto

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A famous ice-cream seemed a good enough reason for a road trip, but who wants to get it from the corner shop freezer, when you can drive 900 miles across 7 countries for it?
In this intriguing European travelogue, the writer, guitar teacher, and VW fan Andy Read takes his ageing LT35 camper-van on a journey of discovery; that border control guards really are scary, sleep-overs in French motorway aires are not normally life threatening, and people other than cleaners have jobs in truck-stops. Along the way his long-suffering family read the map, search for WiFi, and keep wanting to stop for brioche and Prince chocolate biscuits. There are culinary conversion experiences after eating authentic Italian pizza and drinking silky Valpolicella wine with the family who planted the vines, and trod on the grapes.
Join the ride, and let the open roads, the lack of deadlines, the Mediterranean food, the clean air and warm sunshine all help to soothe your mind, and refresh your soul.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherAndy Read
Release dateApr 1, 2016
900 Miles for a Cornetto

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    Book preview

    900 Miles for a Cornetto - Andy Read

    900 Miles for a Cornetto

    A road trip from Winchester to Venice

    Andy Read

    Copyright © 2015 Andy Read

    The right of Andy Read to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the copyright, designs and patents act 1988.

    All rights reserved.

    No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.

    Cornetto ice-cream’ used with kind permission of Unilever PLC and group companies.

    This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

    Table of Contents

    Introduction

    Day 1; Wednesday 7th August 2013. Winchester, Folkestone, Calais, St Omer

    Day 2; Thursday 8th August. Lille - Mons - Namur - Luxembourg City - Dudelange

    Day 3; Friday 9th August. Luxembourg City - Metz - Nancy - Colmar - Lake Lucerne

    Day 4; Saturday 10th August. Lake Lucerne - The Gotthard Tunnel – Negrar

    Day 5; Sunday 11th August. Baywatch - Corado Benedetti Cheese and Ham - Crestena Bridge

    Day 6; Monday 12th August. Negrar Market - Verona

    Day 7; Tuesday 13th August. Verona Airport - Aquardens

    Day 8; Wednesday 14th August. Venice

    Day 9; Thursday 15th August. Baywatch - Verona Arena Opera

    Day 10; Friday 16th August. Molina - Waterfalls - San Pietro wine tasting

    Day 11; Saturday 17th August. Leaving Negrar - Lake Garda - Innsbruck

    Day 12; Sunday 18th August - Innsbruck, Jazz on the lake, Wild Camping, Seefelden

    Day 13; Monday 19th August. Lake Constance - Natzweiler-Struthof - Arlon

    Day 14; Tuesday 20th August. Mons - Lille - Calais

    Day 15; Wednesday 21st August. Calais, Folkestone, and Winchester

    Author’s Note

    Introduction

    When I was 14 I went pot holing. It was on a school trip, and there we were in a long line with our helmets, head torches, overalls, and teenage giggliness. Suddenly, the mood changed as the instructor pointed to the ridiculously small hole we were supposed to climb through. I didn’t even know what claustrophobia meant, but all I remember was wriggling horizontally in the mud with inches to spare above and beside me - not the best place to stop and ponder about life and the risk assessment practice of an outdoor pursuits centre in the Brecon Beacons. I think that’s the moment I first asked Jesus into my life. Would I ever again be able to polish my Raleigh? Taste Alpen? Kiss Kay before the coach trip home?

    Thank God for sunshine. Thank God for open spaces. He answered all my prayers.

    Fast forward 30 years and I’m driving a 25 year old VW camper van, and we’re halfway through the third longest underground tunnel in the world. It is the Gotthard in Switzerland, and we are over-heating. I’m scanning the walls and see no CCTV cameras. There is only one lane either way, and vehicles are travelling without a central barrier at between 50 and 60 mph. I was trying not to imagine the implications of stopping. The emergency lay-bys seemed infrequent and anyhow, I just didn’t want to stop. How long can you hold out with an angry flashing red light on the dashboard, and a fussy temperature needle?

    There were also females in the bus not quite taking things seriously enough. They say that you’re supposed to put the heater fan on maximum on the hottest setting, as it draws the heat away from the engine. It was 32 degrees outside the tunnel, and even hotter inside. I quickly found out I had lost the art of persuasion with my passengers. This was the second time I asked Jesus into my life, and just before the imminent catastrophe, thought of all the special things I would miss back home; the bills, BBC News, Facebook…

    ***

    Earlier that June, over a sunny Saturday breakfast, I took our Europe map and opened it up onto the kitchen table. I tend to do this when I am bored. Being trapped in a cave, or a tunnel, or life generally - sometimes I just want to get out and breathe some fresh empty space. I have these escapist moments with maps when Jane is not looking, because she says sensible things - but sometimes I don’t want to hear sensible things, and be woken up from nice dreams.

    We had nothing definite planned for the summer ahead, so I just let my imagination go. Where does one start before an adventure has been planned?

    I started remembering the road trips in the camper van that we had taken when the girls were smaller. Madrid. We had some friends who lived there a few years back, and we had this crazy idea that we would drive in our (much younger) VW Caravelle from door to door, and find some kipping places on the way. Simple. Except that after 12 hours of driving we were exhausted. It wasn’t the French roads (an absolute treat to drive on), it was the sheer emotional tension hopping from one service station aire to another in the early hours trying to decide which one felt the safest to sleep in. It was the hunched shadows and flashing torchlights at 3.00am that tipped it. We peeked out of our makeshift curtain screening to see this group of shifty characters moving from one vehicle to the next looking inside each one as they went by. I turned the keys in the ignition, started the engine, and screamed out of the car park

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