The challenge - A
journey of 3000 kms from the far north of Scotland UK to the
southern tip of Italy – without getting out of the car.......WE DID IT (thanks to an indipod)!
The trek started with a drive from our homes in Bromsgrove, Worcestershire to John O'Groats – that’s over 600 miles to the start line! We stayed in a hotel for the Monday night, our last one in comfort before locking ourselves in our car first thing Tuesday. Team indipod was myself, Dr James Shippen and my colleague Barbara May. With us was enough food for a week, a minimal quantity of clean clothing, some water and an indipod. The indipod is a small toilet system which can be placed in the rear of an MPV, 4x4 or large estate car and provides hygiene control. Moreover the inflatable bubble provides the user with complete privacy, no one can see you or hear you; Barbara and I know each other well but we don’t want to know each other that well!
From John O'Groats we headed south and kept going. Inverness came and went closely followed by Glasgow, Liverpool, Birmingham and Canterbury. In Britain ASDA had agreed to re-fuel the vehicle. The routine was to ring headed and warn the store of our imminent arrival whereupon they then promptly sent someone to man the pump to help us. The Birmingham store went above and beyond by re-fuelled us as well with a pack lunch for which we are eternally grateful.
The journey was frequently featured on radio including Johnny Walker’s Drivetime on Radio 2, the Anita Anand show on Radio 5 Live, numerous local radio stations, Radio Europe based in Malaga and even as far as ABC Radio in Perth, Western Australia. However when we reached Canterbury television was waiting for us in force. Meridian television’s Sophie Docker, interviewed us within our self-imposed prison while Mark Newton from BBC South East Today joined us in-cell for a chat. But the highlight of the day was that evening when someone recognised us and our vehicle ‘from the television’ and for that 2 minutes we were z-list celebrities.
That evening, our last in Britain, Barbara managed to persuade a woman in the street to buy fish and chips for us from the shop we were parked outside. The expression on her face a mixture of “are you too lazy to walk 10 yards into the shop yourself?” and “where’s the hidden camera?”. Hopefully she also saw us on the television that evening when all would have been revealed.
We were compelled to cross the channel through the tunnel as maritime regulations insisted we must exit our vehicle during the passage if we had taken a ferry. Arriving in Calais the French motorways whisked us southwards at speeds the M6 can scarcely remember; although the tolls accumulated almost as quickly as the miles. Unfortunately we were outside ASDA-land so we were our own for re-fuelling. But the French were brilliant. After a modicum of arm waving, pointing and broken French-esque, our fellow petrol-station guests never failed to help us and fill our mobile hotel with oh-so-cheap diesel.
Geneva followed Dijon and then through the Alps at Mont Blanc and into Italy. The Italian drivers wasted no time in confirming their reputation. More surprising was the total absence of road signs within towns which made navigating stimulating. Whilst attempting to traverse Lecce we had to request assistance from the local constabulary. They obligingly stopped the other motorists to allow us drive the wrong way along a road towards our destination. It was only a few kilometres later we discovered the directions they had given us were incorrect suggesting they were just as confused by their roads as we were.
But on the positive Italian side, most of their petrol stations had attended service which made re-fuelling a dream. Indeed some even included an education. Neither Barbara nor myself speak any Italian however my educated travelling companion speaks Latin; as did one of our petrol pumpers and communication channels were opened. I find it difficult to imagine conversing in Latin with the average British petrol pump attendant.
After one week, 2100 miles and one change of clothing there was no more Italy to drive along. We had reached Leuca. A small, cosy town populated by old men on street corners. For the first time since a wind swept northern Scotland our feet touched terra firma; our legs were shaky from our incarceration but co-ordination soon returned. Our objective had been achieved. The indipod had performed exactly as it had been designed to do and without it the adventure would have been impossible. Then there was just the drive back!
