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In the often clichéd world of the twenty-something 'gap year' traveller, there are generally two accepted ways to get around Western Europe without breaking the bank.
Many choose to go 'interailing' - picking up a train pass unique to Europeans allowing unlimited travel between up to 30 countries. It's the most convenient and time-efficient method of destination hopping.
A more select number choose the more difficult and costly (but potentially more rewarding) path with a road trip. And it's the latter that I'd been itching to attempt for years, and when my flatmate Sam persuaded me to go travelling it was at the top of the agenda.
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The car
So that's how we ended up owning a 15 year-old, diesel-powered Vauxhall Omega estate. Hardly something that tugs at the heartstrings, but it was a car that ticked every practical box for a month-long trip across nine countries.
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Practicality
For starters, it's absolutely enormous inside - ample room with the seats folded to store all of our camping gear and clothing. And best of all, if the weather took a turn, we could pump up the air mattresses and sleep in it. It even had a folding front passenger seat.
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Cheap and cheerful
The Omega proved impressively refined and comfortable, with useful niceties such as cruise control, climate control and heated electric seats. And while the 2.2-litre diesel's twelve second 0-62mph time meant that rice pudding skins were going nowhere, it was just about torquey enough for our needs. It was also capable of well over 40mpg without any real effort.
WIth 136,000 miles on the clock reliability was always going to be a concern, but a well-stocked history folder and good MOT record put us more at ease. And all for a reasonable £750.
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Foibles
Not all was rosy with the Vauxhall, however. The brakes on each corner - and both rear shock absorbers - were pretty much shot. We were able to take care of both at home with some online guides and a large amount of swearing. That, and a precautionary oil change, added another £200 to the overall cost.
In order to keep further costs down, we spent most of our nights camping in a £60 Halfords Value 4-man tent. We also intended to avoid toll roads as much as possible.
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Chaos
Once the prep was finally over, we loaded up, hit a miserable, rainy M25 and headed for Dover. There was plenty of excitement and 'fear of the unknown' thoughts, with Sam having never even driven on the other side of the road before. The crowded, school trip-laden chaos on the ferry over to France made us glad that we had the rest of our travel fully in our own hands.
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First stop
The first stop once we'd arrived in typically bleak Calais was 240 miles north, on the outskirts of Amsterdam. Here, we cheated; we booked ourselves into a bland-but-cheap chain hotel for a couple of nights in an attempt to ease into the 'existing out of a car' lifestyle. There were a handful of hotel stays on this trip, but no room ever cost more than £30 each.
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Detour
With the civilised canals and grimly seductive bar strips of the Dutch capital behind us, we headed back south through Belgium with an overnight stop in a small town near Dijon planned.
It was a good 450 miles and nine hours away - a necessary evil to get us back on track distance-wise. Still, we took the time out to make the obligatory French road trip stop at the disused road racing circuit of Reims-Gueux.
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Camping
We made it to our next two night stop just before the campsite owner had gone to bed. We were glad we'd made one last concession to luxury with the static caravan we booked. Not only was 10pm far from the best time to put up a tent, but it was only April, and still fairly bitter at night that far south.
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Mille Miglia
Back on the road again, down towards the Northern edge of the Pyrenees, we crossed the 1000 mile point in our trip. We began to notice some 'quirks' to the Omega's drive - mainly that the new brakes I so expertly fitted earlier squealed horribly, and the new rear shocks seemed a bit soft, slamming hard into the bump stops over brutal French speed humps.
Further characterful issues included a worn (but not slipping) clutch, and a speed-dependent rumbling noise from the rear. Oh, and the front mudguards, which were scraping loudly along the tarmac in anything vaguely approaching hard cornering.
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A change of scenery
Our decision to avoid toll roads wasn't only for our financial benefit. The fast, flowing A and B roads of rural France were a delight, mainly for the distinctly rustic scenery and heaps of classic French models littering the villages and towns. Having spent many a mile on monotonous European motorways over the years, it was a pleasure to be able to actually see the real France, slowly cruising through a quintessentially Gallic scene.
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Crossing the border
As with Belgium, you can drive through rural France into Spain with only a notification on your phone telling you you've crossed a border. We passed into northern Spain right by the Bay of Biscay coast before hitting San Sebastián. Our intentions were to circle round Spain and Portugal, arriving back at the southern Pyrenees in around two weeks.
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Getting warmer
Two things improved once we were on the Spanish side of the Pyrenees - the weather and the road surfaces. The former was a boon for camping, as they made the nights bearable rather than bitter. To counter the cold we had the option of cranking the Omega and setting the bum warmers to 5, but the ancient diesel motor was so rattly at idle we didn't want to disturb any other campers within half-a-mile.
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An exception
A stop in Bilbao highlighted an issue that interrailers wouldn't have: parking. We avoided venturing into cities for this very reason, as it's both pricey and often difficult to find a space that'll take a car of our size. But we couldn't resist a look around Bilbao, with its striking Guggenheim museum.
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Great roads
Driving in the quieter parts of Spain for a few hours would be enough to reignite a love of driving in even the most ardent car-hater. The mountainous roads are some of the best in the world; smooth, freshly laid tarmac, very little traffic out of peak season, and a great mix of well-sighted, sweeping A roads and tight, technical hairpins.
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Not ideal
The Omega was probably the last car I wanted to be driving on these roads, with its galactic gear ratios, huge weight and sloppy handling indicative of years of suspension neglect. But that didn't stop it being entertaining - rather than be frustrated by its foibles you soon learn to drive around them.
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The seaside
We reached the most north-easterly point of Spain - A Coruña - ten days into the trip.
Camping right by the sea had some bonuses, like spectacular views and plenty of seaside amenities. But there were also negatives; the wind threatened to rip our badly seated tent pegs from the ground, and the mosquitos forced us under canopy to watch another episode of The Wire without having our flesh eaten.
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Rough and ready
Crossing into Portugal, the first thing you notice is the potholes returning to the road. The second thing you notice is how the minor towns on our non-toll roads are similarly ramshackle. Clearly Spain invests more heavily in its infrastructure. But immensely characterful cities such as Porto made up for the more rough-and-ready feel of the countryside.
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The Algarve
A 15 year-old Omega is still relatively new given the amount of eighties and nineties metal still in daily service in Portugal. Then, passing down into the Algarve we stumbled across a large group of bona fide classics seemingly abandoned at the roadside. Judging by how pristine they were, the owners weren't too far away.
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Views
We weren't even trying to find the prettiest spots - we just set our ancient Garmin satnav to avoid tolls, inputted a campsite we looked up that morning and went on our way.
Every day we were driving along with the Spotify playlist (linked to the car via a brilliant £6 cassette adaptor) on the go, then the tree line would reveal an awe-inspiring vista in the middle of nowhere. We stopped frequently to take it all in.
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A taste of home
The campsites were pleasingly empty in April - clearly even the famously tent-crazy Spanish prefer things a little warmer. We were almost always able to turn up late in the afternoon and ask politely for a pitch. Grass stands were preferred, but there aren't many in Spain.
Things often got chilly in sites at altitude, such as the one in the Murcia mountains (above). It happened to be owned by a chap from Birmingham, and every motorhome you can see is British. Finally, a bar with a full English...
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Halfway
The plucky Omega passed the halfway distance point (3000 miles) just outside Almeria. The brutal speed humps of France and the pockmarked roads of Spain introduced some worrying clonks, but other than a wiper arm coming loose it had been utterly faultless.
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Making ground
We never once missed the toll roads, even when we had to get somewhere in a hurry (i.e. find somewhere to stay before dark). The wide, open A roads allowed you to keep up a steady 70mph without much effort, but even at that speed you can suddenly find a maniacal local in a battered old Seat Toledo on your tail looking for an overtake.
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Ghost Town
After nearly a fortnight sleeping under canvas by the time we reached the Sierra Nevada mountains, and we decided to treat ourselves to a night in a big hotel complex. Ready for a slap-up meal and a cooling swim, we were in for a shock when the manager told us both the restaurant and the pool were closed.
It turned out there was only one other room in the 160 room facility occupied - the Costa Del Sol was a ghost town in April. The sleepy nearby village looked like something from Chernobyl, too, but we eventually found an 'artisan' cafe that heated a frozen pizza for us.
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A trek
One of the cheapest campsites we stayed at (the £9 a night Camping Vilademager in La Llacuna) happened to have the key to a 12th century hilltop monastery. They trusted it to guests, so when the clouds moved in we set off on a 45-minute trek/rock climb to the summit.
Soon after this photo was taken Sam managed to twist his knee falling from some historic rubble. That made downing the tent in the rain the next morning somewhat less than regimented.
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Mess?
We couldn't leave Spain without a day in Barcelona, one of my favourite European cities. It manages to contain all the touristy hotspots of the best major cities, without really feeling overcrowded, dirty or oppressive.
However, not all of the architecture in Catalonia's capital is universally loved; I was quite impressed with the the strikingly bizarre Sagrada Família, an unfinished Gaudi-designed church that was started 130-odd years ago. But Sam described it as "a horrifying mess".
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Spectacle
Sometimes (often, actually) our organisation let us down on the trip. Having failed to plan for the twistiness and lower average speed of the south side of the Pyrenees, we got the hammer down in order to get to Perpignon and find a campsite before the all closed.
While I was sad to leave the beauty of Spain after a 2500-mile circumnavigation, the drive from Andorra down the N116 brought with it some of the most jaw-dropping mountain scenery I've ever seen. The roads were spectacular, too - but the one picture I grabbed at a rushed toilet stop didn’t do it justice.
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Fast & furious
After a fast and occasionally furious drive through the Pyrenees, we lucked out in finding a campsite that would let us in past 9pm. The night before that we both stuck a wash on, and in haste attempted to dry our clothes using the Omega's heater on the move.
Unsurprisingly, it didn't work, but a bit of the French Riviera's morning sun and the warmth from the Omega's noisy oil-burner largely did the trick.
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A serious bit of kit
Campers and caravanners are an easily identifiable bunch. Usually found shod in practical, wipe-down clothing, holding a Thermos flask and at the wheel of some sort of sensible diesel estate/MPV/crossover.
Of course there are exceptions to this rule, as the chaps in this heavily modified Nissan Patrol towing a dwarfed caravan in Montpelier demonstrated.
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Monte Carlo
We couldn't resist a tour of the French Riviera without an afternoon in Monte Carlo. Unfortunately, the glamorous entrance into the heart of Monaco (a cliff-edge road with a stunning overview of the town) is blighted by demoralising traffic once you're down. Once free of that, though, the marina is pure jetset - something our filthy old Vauxhall wasn’t.
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Going large
Monte Carlo is famous for its Formula 1 history, casinos and, by the looks of it, one-upmanship. You see, the super-rich visitors or inhabitants seem engaged in an unofficial competition for who can feasibly own the biggest boat.
The day was undoubtedly won by Russian billionaire and Arsenal football club shareholder Alisher Usmanov. His 512-foot long yacht, Dilbar (pictured), is the world's largest if measured by volume, and the build cost was an estimated $650m. The marina fees may add up on top as well.
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The circuit
Gawping at the playthings of the wealthy was not our main reason for coming to Monte Carlo. Of course, we had to drive and walk around the F1 circuit.
Unfortunately, we'd turned up just three weeks before the Monaco Grand Prix, so several parts of the track were closed while grandstands and barriers were being assembled. Still, a leisurely waft from Casino Square (Turn 4) to the Nouvelle Chicane (Turn 11) was a pleasure. It's hard to believe that the drivers top 180mph in the tunnel when we were cruising through at 40.
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Col De Turini
After a night in one of Monaco's two affordable campsites we set off for Turin, Italy. A slight detour was taken so we could sample the legendary Col de Turini, a mountain pass in the Alps famous for being part of the Monte Carlo rally, as well as countless Tour de France races.
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Pushing it
The tight, often treacherous pass climbs steeply towards the summit with batches of sharp hairpin bends, looking from above like thick black spaghetti draped over a hillside. It's a tricky ascent in the Omega, which feels wide on these roads, steers with the agility of a narrow boat and is left almost entirely in second gear. Our average MPG plummeted, but it was worth it.
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The descent
At the top of the Col de Turini is a small town built around a ski resort and some spectacular views. But it was also a good fifteen degrees colder than it was at the bottom, so we were glad we didn't have to pitch our canvas.
Although there's even more twisty tarmac around the Turini, we elected to save time, head back down it and join the main roads to Turin. The Omega's engine temperature held firmly on the way up, but would the brakes keep their cool on the way down?
As it turns out, no.
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Giving chase
We allowed ourselves four days to get from Turin to Calais, via Switzerland and a bit of Germany. This turned out to be enough, but only just. And with terrible weather consuming most of Northern Italy, we made haste back into France before crossing back into the Swiss section of the alps.
After a few hours we found ourselves on another extraordinary (and now snow covered) alpine pass, the D1091. We formed a convoy with a well-driven Mazda 6, which was as keen as we were to maintain a decent average speed. But the well worn ‘Goodride’ rear tyres didn’t exactly inspire confidence.
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Pricey
One night in Switzerland was enough for us to know that we couldn't afford it. We camped in Norville on the shores of Lake Geneva, paying a healthy 34 euros for a miserable plot behind the playground. Still, the evening views of Lausanne (where I had stayed for the Geneva motor show a few weeks prior) almost made up for it.
Worse still, as we had no Swiss francs, we could barely afford to eat thanks to the ludicrous exchange rate for Euros. With even a McDonald's Double Cheeseburger the best part of a fiver, we quickly pointed the Omega at the German border.
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The Autobahn
Germany; known for its hearty beer, meat-laden diet and derestricted motorways. But there's so much more to it, like the welcoming, English-speaking townsfolk, well-maintained infrastructure and stunningly green scenery.
Having said that, we did over-indulge in Paulaner and currywurst for our penultimate night under canvas. And once the morning head fog had cleared, we hit the Autobahn to see what the mighty 2.2-litre diesel could do. As it turns out, past a GPS-verified 105mph the wheel wobble became so severe we both called it quits.
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Gordini
It was a shame to leave Germany so soon, but it was still great to be back driving through sleepy little French villages. Outside the bigger towns and cities the humble Renault 4 is still so numerous that, like the original Mini in Britain, there's plenty of lightly modified versions.
This gorgeous Gordini-inspired R4 caught my eye as we drove through the town of Pannes.
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Outdone
We thought our journey was epic in terms of distance alone, but the owners of this lovely old Mercedes-Benz camper in Northern France were to be traversing Europe for three months, rarely exceeding 60mph at any given point.
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The good
Camping overall had been a bit of a mixed bag. One night we would luck out with a fantastic, largely empty plot with great views and pleasant weather…
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The not-so-good...
...and the next night we pitched in a cramped gravel square with a surface so hard we had to use breeze blocks from the adjacent building site to hold the tent up, as the pegs were going nowhere. Awaiting one of the worst thunderstorms of the trip.
Amazingly, the second scene was twice the price of the first, with a four star site rating. Mainly, it highlighted the problem of relying on a quick glance at the Google reviews alone when pitching a tent - the variation in quality in well-rated sites is surprising.
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Made it!
So that was it: our plucky Omega had chugged its last on the continent was we waited for the ferry at Calais. The fly-spattered repmobile had broadened our horizons in a way which travelling by rail just wouldn’t, for me at least. Mainly because it was the journey that became the overriding experience, not just the destination.
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The farewell
We eventually sold the Omega for £500 - a bit of a loss, but given it was battered and bruised considerably by our 29 day journey, a fair price. If we were to do the journey again we’d definitely plump for something with more performance and (ideally) properly adjusted suspension, but despite that we really bonded with the old Vauxhall. Little else for the money could’ve eaten the hundreds of daily miles we’d done with such consummate ease.
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