The Sun Always Shines....

...On TV, as A-Ha told us. Thanks to Eileen, I have A-Ha tracks on my brain. He has been playing his Scandinavian mix of pop music. Why the hell anyone would have Barbie Girl by Aqua in their music collection is beyond me but that is what we were listening to as we wound our way around the fjords north of Stavanger today. 

I say today, more correctly yesterday. It's 4am, I haven't slept much, so it still feels like today. It's the rain keeping me awake. First rain we have had on the trip and the first rain I have experienced in the van with the pop top up since we went camping a week before I left. We had a slight water leak then. Water dripping from the roof on to the floor of the van. Just a slight drip. I vowed to fix it before I left. I then forgot to fix it before I left. 

Norwegian water is obviously more cunning than English water. I think I now have 7 or 8 leaks. I am sharing my bed with a number of bowls, pots and pans, several of them are filling slowly. The mattress is damp in one corner where I didn't discover one leak in time and also where I fell asleep briefly and the bowl overflowed. I'm also sharing the bed with lots of excess luggage. Big Sean and Pete have flown home, leaving their tent in a bag, air beds, sleeping bags and clothing.  We are very short on storage space. 

A simple solution would be to wake young Sean up and lower the pop top, however with a damp mattress and the luggage issue, he would have nowhere to sleep. 

I had to get up for a wee just now (must be the constant dripping noises all around). I tried gaffer taping the roof but it's just too wet. I guess I'm resigned to a poor nights sleep, emptying bowls and writing blogs. 

Oh, we had our 3rd breakdown of the trip after setting off from Preikestolen. Jezebel was coughing and misfiring a bit. We pulled over on the hard shoulder, emptied out our considerable luggage, I found the inlet manifold issue and fixed it and we were on our way again in 20 minutes. 3 ferries later and 180 miles we were at Bergen Airport dropping off Pete and Sean. We were tracked most of the way by Team Just-Ice Cool in Stu the limo. 

Can't say I'm overly impressed with Bratland Camping. Besides the rain, no bar or restaurant and not much space. Hopefully we shall be out of here very early. 

Oh for Gods Sake, stop raining or I'll need another wee !

Life on the Edge

I think I know how I'm going to raise millions for Julia's House. It's a simple plan, involving a swear box. I'm going to persuade the Norwegian authorities to install one on the top of Pulpit Rock. It would probably need to be a multilingual one and would also punish blasphemy. Pulpit Rock is a view almost impossible to experience without an expletive or two. A sheer drop down in to the Lysebotn Fjord 600 metres below.

One of the most amazing views you can find on this planet. 

We hadn't reached the top until around 8pm after a long and amazing driving day  over the mountain passes and checking out the switchbacks on the way down to the far end of the Lysebotn Fjord. 

From Flateland the Pratt Nav took us through some ongoing roadworks and up the winding road towards Lysebotn. Apparently this road had 7 metres of snow on it in May and they only cleared it 2 weeks ago. 

I would say picturesque but that doesn't come close to doing it justice. 

Icebergs in some of the lakes and many others partly covered in sheets of ice. Not only the scenery was breathtaking. The water temperature was fairly breathtaking too. Perhaps I should have waited until we dropped down a bit before going in. 

We heard from John and Sarah in the Lotus, who had set off early to try out the winding road above Lysebotn. Sarah said she hadn't been allowed a drive yet as John was like a 'pig in s***' flying up and down the switchbacks in his toy. He had his 'little boy on Christmas Day' grin. 

The ferry along the fjord was going to be too expensive. We had missed it anyway due to photo and swimming/snowball fight stops. Nothing for it but a trip back up the switchbacks. 

Another snow covered mountain pass and a short ferry took us to Preikestolen Camping. We weren't quite the last to arrive. Many tired but happy faces, but we had a dilemma. A two hour hike up to Pulpit Rock now, so very late dinner, or get up stupidly early and do it at first light. 

When I say first light, that's a bit misleading. We are only something like 400 miles south of the Arctic Circle. It never really gets beyond twilight at this time of year.

We chose the evening option and drove up to the car park. It's a challenging 3 mile, mainly uphill walk over boulders, rough stone steps and wooden walk ways but the rewards far outweigh the effort. Gut wrenching, jaw dropping... I'm going to have to break in to expletives if I carry on... See what I mean ? 

I'm liking Norway. A bit more to see today too as we head up the coast towards Bergen. I'm guessing the days will be getting longer and the nights lighter. Oh good. Haven't seen darkness since Germany. 

Hunting High and Low...

I We made the ferry easily, all of us. Not much to do for 4 hours apart from make full use of the 'all you can eat' buffet and sunbathing on the helipad. A lot of roll mops, smoked salmon and Danish blue cheese was consumed. 

Norway is certainly a lot hillier than Denmark. Granite and fir trees as far as the eye could see. Langesund looked very exclusive with waterside chalets with moorings for yachts. 

We had too much beer on board. Having read the Norwegian customs limits, we had to persuade others to import or booze. Waste of time in the end we were waved straight through. I was almost annoyed. I wanted to play the 'warmer/colder' game when they searched the van. 

Pete let me drive as the roads looked a bit narrow and winding. They certainly were. At the first lake we saw, I pulled over and threw myself in. I didn't bother again as we passed lake after lake after lake. 

I've been to some beautiful parts of the world. The rolling dunes of the Grand Erg in Morocco, Angel Falls in Venezuela, the Scottish Glens, the Swiss mountains, Iceland.... Got to say though, Norway is right up there with the best of them. Mind blowing scenery. Chocolate box images around every corner, rugged terrain with trees and mirror like water. Snow topped mountains. Gentle rolling curves in the roads. 

Flateland Camping has very little in the way of nightlife. Well, it didn't until we turned up. It did have an enormous inflatable for the kids....

...of all ages. 

With a fire pit on a tripod and plenty of imported beer, we were still going strong until late in to the twilight. I would say night, but it isn't really. It was still light enough to read a book outside at midnight. People seemed reluctant to head for bed until it got dark. Unfortunately, I think that might be a month or two away. 

It's a bizarre issue. I could imagine Scandinavians getting depressed through the winter due to lack of sunlight. I imagine they get delirious through the summer due to lack of sleep. 

You can hear the river running past the camp site. You can watch trout jumping for flies and hear the bells on the goats nearby. The campsite is pretty empty and peaceful. 

You can see snow on the nearby mountains whilst enjoying the sun, lots of sun, in a Tshirt. 

Norway might be expensive, but if you are going to see it (and I would certainly recommend it) then this has got to be the way to do it. 22 euros for a Campervan plus 5 overnight, imported beer and food. Great value. 

I think the next few days are going to be even more spectacular. 

Viking Country

Well a few of us managed to stay up until the end of the football. Alas the breast feeding restaurant was shut so we made do with Robins tv at the van. Robin joined us for the first half, snoring loudly. Like having Darth Vader in amongst us. We packed him off to bed at half time. 

I was on loan to Team Mobile Brothel for the day as we had a slightly concerning 418 mile trip ahead of us. I breathalysed myself. Clear ! I think I had been too tired to drink much beer the previous night.

Northern Germany, if I'm going to be honest, on the whole is a little dull. Well, if you stick to the Autobahns it is. We found ourselves in Neumunster for lunch. The Pratt nav found us a pretty little restaurant. Ok, it found us a pizza and kebab shop in a housing estate. We were joined by teams 7 and 8. 

Our inferno pizza arrived and I shared it out and started eating. Marc burst in to tears. I couldn't work out what was wrong with him, the pizza seemed fine..... Then it hit me like a brick wrapped in stinging nettles. Jesus, that was evil. I snivelled my way to the toilets with my nose leaking like Jezebel's sump. 

Back at the table, Clare was being the guinea pig to work out which part of the pizza topping was the offending one. She found it eventually. Her skin changed colour, her face crumpled and she spoke like she had just had some root canal work. 

50km from the Danish border, Marc spotted two uniforms in an unmarked BMW. Apparently they pulled out on to the road as soon as we had gone past. The Feds were on our tail. Marc tried his best to be anonymous, to blend in with the local traffic. In a luminous pink 30 year old van, it's an art. Somehow the uniforms tracked us down and we were pulled over in a service area. They spoke English, that was a relief. They asked some difficult questions though. "Where are you going ?". Marc and Clare didn't really know. I knew, but couldn't tell them as it's a secret. 

"Two beds. There are three of you ?"  Oh God...that's a tough one to explain in pidgin English. I nearly told him that I intended to sleep with my son in a different van but stopped myself as I didn't want to sound like a pervert. 

The two customs officers (as we had now discovered) checked around the interior of the Brothel. They tactfully didn't mention the blacked out curtains, the dodgy looking black bed linen or the bottle of warm urine that Marc had left after being caught short in a traffic jam. They left hurriedly without shaking our hands. 

Onward to Hobro. The Brothel sauntered in last, as expected. Team Olly had made full use of the pool already. 

Hobro lies on the banks of a fjord. A field of calves were in the neighbouring field with chains around their necks. I'm led to believe their bells grow as they get older. All very picturesque after mile upon mile of monotonous Autobahns. 

The secret of the mysterious ferry had been guessed. I think the paperwork about Norwegian customs regulations I dished out might have been a clue. 

So, Valle in Norway is the next destination. An early start to make the 9-30 ferry. Have to be there 90 minutes before and it's a 70 mile drive to get there. 

The trip at the other end looks interesting. 130 miles but expected to take 3 1/2 hours. That's not a motorway then.  

Onward ! 

Munster Breakfast Club

After a long hard night, there is nothing better than falling in to bed. However, if a bed isn't immediately available, if it's rolled up in a bag and your mattress is covered in other peoples baggage then sometimes a beer is a good short term alternative. Alas, one beer can frequently lead to another beer. Thus I found myself the only member of Team Jezebel still awake, gassing with the other teams and nursing my 5th beer following the overnight drive.

 

We had our own camping field. Not huge, probably big enough for about 10 teams, which was about right.

As more teams drifted in, having stopped along the way for various reasons, the excuses for staying up and having another beer got stronger. Thus I found myself the only member of Team Jezebel still up, nursing my 8th beer and socialising, despite really needing to sleep. 

I buckled in the end, but not enough to move the luggage off my bed or unwrap my sleeping bag. Another half an hours doze was enough.

 

Luckily, before the beer kicked in, I was able to fulfill my main duty of the day. Team Olly, after last years Windy experience, were keen not to spend another night in Germany. Following high level negotiations, we were able to annex an area of Munster and declare it as an in dependant state. The birth of Banburyberg was celebrated by the entire population (of 4) and the joyous, slightly merry onlookers from the Munster Breakfast Club.  

The last team to roll in was the Mobile Brothel. Marc, the solo driver, (I'm insured, I had offered to share it) had been struggling with starvation and sleep deprevation, so had taken his time, arriving mid afternoon after my nap. 

Munster turned out to be a pleasant looking city with an elaborate looking cathedral and plenty of gable ended buildings. Plenty of South American buskers too bizarrely.

 

With the excitement of the fast approaching England v Italy World Cup match mounting, we wandered back to check out some potential venues. The campsite restaurant which offers large meals, snacks and breast feeding as well as German beer and football appears to be the winner. I'm intrigued. I'll update you tomorrow with how the combination works out. 

Oil Slick

If you were to ask a Texan if it is possible to have too much oil, I'm sure he would say no. I would disagree after the last 6 hours. 

My son Sean has just recently completed a year training as a mechanic, of sorts. It would appear that the course does not include a maths element. Thinking about it, are there any blonde mechanics ? It's a poor choice of complexion for a job like that. Anyway, I digress. 

My day had started early. 4am to be precise. I guess I had a few things on my mind. The 20 items on my 'to do' list for a start. The dishwasher was knackered too, adding to the stress of the day. 

With so much to do and a mechanically trained son, it made sense to leave him in charge of the mechanical issues, like the oil change, whilst I cracked on with printing stuff, logistical issues and other high powered stuff. Surely a simple oil change would be no problem at all for a mechanical engineer like Sean. 

Anyway, having removed 4 litres of oil from the sump and replacing it with 7 litres of fresh oil he reported back that Jezebel had taken on board all the oil we had bought. 

Alarm bells should have rung. I can only think that I was frantically busy with other issues. The car had broken down as well. I had added the purchase of a new dishwasher to the things to do list. Surely a simple oil change....

Time rushed by, as it does when you are in headless chicken mode. The list was fast disappearing, we were well ahead of schedule. 

5-30 arrived and we set off for the start line at the Bob Lucas Stadium. Everything was under control, running smoothly. Friday 13th ? Well, apart from the dishwasher going wrong and the car breaking down, nothing else had gone wrong. 

200 metres down the road, Jezebel spluttered, then coughed, then slowed down, backfired and sounded like she was gasping for air. I put my foot on the clutch and the engine died. This wasn't good. We were due to set off on an epic trip of several thousand miles, we had Echo reporters and all sorts of people due to see us off and Jezebel had broken down on her way to the start line. Underneath there was oil leaking out of the sump. Oh bloody hell ! 

Many thoughts flashed through my head. None of them good. Some brief snatches of conversation stuck though. "I've put all of it in and she's still not full...." Ah. That will be the problem then. She's drowning. 

The boot was full. I still think it's a design fault, having the engine hidden under your bed and the luggage storage area in the back. This was going to get messy. The Weymourh shirt was thrown meaningfully to one side and the luggage scattered across the pavement as I fought to locate the engine. Oil was oozing from the carburettor. Baby wipes were demanded and Sean got his first distainful glare of the day. 

Spark plugs were removed and cleaned. Swear words were muttered. The watch was glanced at frequently. Panic mode engaged. Finally, after the removal of a litre of dirty oil in to a bowl, the poor abused girl burst in to life again with a puff of oily smoke. 

We limped in to the car park with most of the teams already there. So much for the organised, early arrival. Interviews, group photos, people asking me questions as I jumped from job to job. Time passing too quickly, we all had ferries to catch. 

I dished out the first of the daily information sheets, telling the teams that we were meeting in Munster, then waved them all off to much cheering, waving and photos. I leapt on to Jezebel as she passed at the back of the line.

After stopping for fuel and air, I took over the driving as Jezebel was not running particularly well for Eileen. I found that as we were leaving Weymouth, her top speed was 28 mph and even this speed encouraged people to wave frantically at us to point out the cloud of oily white smoke following us. 

We got to Upwey. 3 miles from home. In a layby, poor Jezebel wheezed and died again. As I scalded myself on the hot black oil from the sump, I cursed my dear son. As I wiped the excessive oil from inside the carburettor, I gritted my teeth. As I twisted a red hot, oily spark plug from its home in the engine block, I plotted the next orifice I would be inserting it in to.

 

The hours delay showed me the true Windy spirit in two former Wjndy participants. Ralph stopped and came back to check on us. Mark shot past in an ambulance, waving cheerfully. Emergency service ? What about my bloody emergency ? 

Sean was fairly quiet once we finally got going again. Not sure if he was plotting another act of van related terrorism or just admiring his gormless act of destruction. 

Parents of 17 year olds. Do not let your children close to your vehicle. Driving it or maintaining it, it is not worth the stress. Trust me, I know.  

Down to the Bone

The traditional 'Hun Haircut', as worn around the 5th century by the all conquering tribe, led by their enigmatic leader Attila, involved having the hair cut back to the temples, leaving the part behind to hang untidily down to a great length. The Huns, of course, rampaged across much of Europe, demonstrating huge brutality as well as a keen sense of travel. Soon after the death of Attila in 453AD, the tribes of the Huns broke up. It does make you wonder though, doesn't it ? All of those rampaging Huns, just vanishing without trace. Surely they must have left some evidence of their far reaching expansion ? Some genetic link perhaps ?
Step forward Marc. Your secret is about to be revealed.

It's obvious when you think about it. The hairstyle is the main giveaway. Cut back to the temples, long and straggly at the back. But, there are other clues. His liking of power tools and rock music seems to suggest a suppressed, violent character and his longing to rampage once more across the European continent (let's just hope that he can behave a little better than his ancestors).

Marc chose last Friday to have his head shaved. He may claim this was for charity, but I have my doubts. Perhaps there was a more sinister reason for the drastic change of appearance. You aren't fooling me Marc. You and your genetics have been sussed.

Marc's travelling partner Clare is up next, choosing to throw herself out of a perfectly good plane somewhere over Salisbury on Saturday. Clare doesn't like heights apparently. Strange. After all, it's not the height that causes you problems, it's the ground.

Team George have also been cracking on with their fundraising too. The Lazy Lizard was swinging on Sunday and the dubious pink Swedish cider was flowing. A whole host of performers gave their services for nothing, all in aid of Julia's House. Outside, burgers and sausages were on offer, cooked an a barbecue big enough to roast a whole elephant on. Dave cheerfully informed me that they were planning on taking it on the Windy. Why ???? Are they expecting us to visit Africa ? What the hell are they hoping to kill that would warrant a barbecue of this size ? I guess if they put it on a low heat they could use it as a sun bed.
 Young Lucas is keen on going back to the Lazy Lizard. Not really for the music or for the drinks. No, he just liked the blue lizard shaped stamps on his hands (and later arms and chest), like kids tattoos.

Talking of tattoos, Eileen and I won a prize in the raffle. Strangely, when he went up to choose a prize, he ignored all of the alcoholic prizes on offer and selected a £50 voucher from a local tattoo parlour. Luckily it was shut as we considered what silly tattoos we should have and where we should have them. I've fallen for the alcohol and tattoo parlour combination before in my past. I'm running out of blank buttocks.

Just one last thought before I sign off. Apparently, the Huns went in for 'Artificial Cranial Deformation'.....