Czech Chav Haven

After 3 nights at a mere £18 in total of ground fees in the Auto-Club camp-site we packed up and moved off south east. Rob had taken a look at the map and found a lake near the Czech- Slovak boarder. The lake appeared to have a few camp sites near so we decided to head in that direction to find our next place to pitch the trusty tent. The car was running nicely all he way along a main road which consisted of only one lane. At various stages we had to overtake a lorry or two at our not very quick Škoda pace. Rob has done almost all the driving on this trip which is evident from the way he overtakes. His method involves creeping closer and closer to the vehicle in question before edging over just enough so I can see the oncoming traffic. At which point I usually tell him that there is a car and he ought to move back over. This particular day Rob must have been sick of me as he (on more than one occasion) didn't move over after I'd told him of the traffic that was heading straight towards my half of the car. On reflection maybe I'll drive a little bit more on our way back to the west.

About half way to our destination of the lake side camp site we were being followed by a red low spec Octavia MK I. It followed us for a while and then put its blue lights on and were signalling for us to pull over. Oh dear. Rob started up about how he'd read about people dressed as police in attempt to rob you of your possessions. They got out of their car and came to the drivers side window. There were three of them in total and one thankfully spoke a little English. The winding mechanism on the drivers side was broken and as a result Rob was unable to open his window to speak to them. This was explained with the aid of frantic window winding actions before Rob timidly got out of the car. The two non-English speaking officers were walking around the car having excited discussions in Czech, pointing to the steering wheel and having a look at the front grill (not standard) and front fog lights. They seemed pretty interested. Meanwhile Rob was showing his international driving permit and his driving licence. Then they checked the tread on all the tyres. After what seemed like eternity they told us to have a nice day and left us. I do firmly believe that they pulled us over because they were interested in looking at a Rapid with the steering wheel on the wrong side. That and the fact that we had various CZ stickers on the back of a GB registered car- you have to admit we do look a bit dodgy.

Eventually we arrived in the area of choice for the night. We found the lake and a sign for camping. On approach to the camp site there we found a large barrier with security guards either side. I got very confused and for a brief moment thought it could have even been a boarder crossing or something. We soon realised to our dismay that it was the camping site. Both tired and a bit sick of the sight of each other after a stressful driving day we figured that we should just stay here for the night. Rob went to pay for camping which took about 20 minutes and involved showing of passports and all sorts of unnecessary formalities. We were given a map and told that we could choose from three highlighted areas. We drove to all three and realised that the camp site was quite crowded. In the end we managed to find a space at the quieter end of the site. We got the tent pitched, had another row, made friends and then laughed at our situation. There was a Spanish man alone with his tent and huge people carrier playing rubbish rock ballads and a German man playing German versions of English songs (sounded as strange as you can imagine). They seemed to be having a speaker competition. We did consider blasting out a few select tunes of our own on our probably bigger and better chav speakers but we decided against it,cooked a dinner of tinned stuff and went to bed with the idea of leaving at about 0600. We left very early the next day into Austria, never to return to Czech Chav Haven.

Austria-Hungary
Having left the camp-site early without breakfast – or even showers! - we stopped at the first petrol station in search of food. The search revealed a small selection of sandwiches; none of which looked particularly tasty. All the same, two were purchased along with some crisps and we had our food for the day. As has often been the case on this trip, the boarder was suddenly upon us and as quickly as it had appeared it had disappeared over the horizon. We were into Austria.

The lack of ceremony at the boarder meant that I missed the turn for the shop selling motorway tickets which are required to use the motorways. Realising this was a tricky situation I thought better of telling Sophie. Due to the apprehension about the fore-mentioned motorway sticker and the desire to see some of Austria away from the motorways we turned off. After an hour of circumnavigation we returned to the same motorway one junction down the road. To save the outbreak of WWIII Sophie thankfully decided to sleep I continued along the motorway to Hungary in silence. As with the autobahns in Germany the Škoda was not suited to these roads; only now I had a new enemy. Though I have never been I can only assume Romanian motorways are a dangerous place for any low powered vehicle. Throughout the afternoon countless Romanian vehicles ventured so close to the rear bumper that they could see what number track was playing on the CD player. This frightful experience reinforced my desire never to use motorways. Alas, constraints of time and maps mean that sometimes they are the best way, and this was one such occasion.

Eventually we arrived at the Hungarian boarder. Learning from past experiences I remembered to stop and buy a motorway sticker. Initially Hungary was not much different to Austria with smooth two lane motorways. That was until we turned off in search of scenery and a camp-site. In my infinite wisdom I fitted lowering springs to the car in the weeks running up to our departure. Without question these improved the aesthetics of the vehicle. I hadn't however counted on the worn shock absorbers which as the miles went by would become continually less effective. By the time we had reached Hungary both Sophie and I assigned one eye to spot any nasty looking bumps or undulations in the road. Hungary was to be the test of our alertness.

Having left the motorway we arrived in a small town, the name of which escapes me. Like many towns it had been built up around a main square which had the main road running alongside it on one side. At each side of the square minor roads intersected the main road and were governed by traffic lights. Pulling up to a red light at one such intersection the car suddenly scrapped to a stop. The sound of metal meets tarmac echoed through the car. Unsure what it was we'd hit I decided our best bet was to reverse away from the obstruction, to the great displeasure of the lorry behind me. As it turned out the road had a lump of tarmac in the middle for no apparent reason. With both wheels deep inside the ruts of the road (created gradually over the years by pounding from lorries) the middle of the car did not have the clearance required. Suspecting this to be a one off we were shocked to see this the norm and had to spend the rest of our time in Hungary concentrating a great deal on the road ahead.

The grounding was simply setting the mood for a day which had already been far from successful. Using a map to judge whether an area is of interest to a traveller – and more importantly whether there are any camp-sites about – is a hit and miss operation. Given the events of the day it was unsurprising to find out that the area I'd chosen to camp in was an area of vast farms and small villages to accommodate the workers. For the first time we could really feel the difference between West and East. Travelling through sprawling farmland gave us a great insight into this aspiring and promising nation but left us demoralised; it had rained throughout the day, we'd been driving for nearly twelve hours and we had no where to stay.

Having resigned any hope of finding a camp-site we decided to continue North to Slovakia, at least there we had a grasp of the language. As the last glamour of hope disappeared I spotted a camping sign and without hesitation followed it down a precarious rutted track. This led eventually to Achilles Park, a recently constructed site offering open air bar, private lake and on sight restaurant. We were greeted by the proprietor who to our relief spoke very good English. Whether camping was on offer we never did discover but he offered us a night in a very night wooden hut. The cost for this extravagance was a mind boggling 14,000 Forant (the Hungarian currency). Hasty conversion revealed an eye watering cost of £49 a night – this really was going to be an extravagance. Still, for that we got a lovely well built wooden hut with a gorgeous double bed and en-suite, access to the lake and breakfast. Putting the price of the hut firmly in the back of our heads we settled down to a welcomed bit of luxury.

Sunday 15th August

Sunday 15th August.

Today is the day of St. Mary and for the strictly religious people of Southern Poland where we are staying now means a concentrated day of rest. The roads are quiet while the saw mills and shops remain firmly closed. In fact we're staying at my parent's house in Zawoja. This small village lies to the South of Krakow in a rather rural area of Poland. The way of life differs greatly from life in the city with the religion being the centre of the village community. Houses are generally modest and self built. Over the years wood has given way to concrete and breeze blocks as primary means of construction which in turn leads to individual properties. Driving through the village each building is matched to the family occupying it and in a sense makes a bold statement about the people living there. All of this is a stark contrast to what we regard as "normal".

Nevertheless today represents a good opportunity for reflection and to look back on the past 19 days and also a chance to eat the special cake that Mrs Next Door has baked for us on this religious holiday.

Final Preparations

I finished college on the 23rd July. I had to collect the car from a local audio shop who had installed some rear speakers for me. I left him with the instructions to fit the biggest possible speakers. A few hours later when I called to ask whether the car was finished I was surprised to hear the price had almost doubled from what we had previously arranged for no obvious reason. I hurried down prepared for battle over the additional service charges I had incurred only to be told that they discovered they would be able to fit 6x9 speakers into the rear door pocket, and listening to my instructions did just that! I wasn't complaining though as for the first time I was now able to hear the music over the road noise and various whistles from poorly fitting windows.
It was a sunny day and as everyone rushed home for the weekend I cruised in the inside lane. A positive advantage of owning the Škoda is it's ability to remove you from the rush. Possibly due to its modest 60bhp or high-speed refinement (lack of!) where-ever you are and what ever it is that you're doing the Škoda always makes you relax, take it easy and let it happen when it happens. This bliss was interrupted about 10 miles from home however when my foot suddenly felt wet. It transpired that what had been a hard to trace and barely noticeable coolant leak under the dashboard for the past week or so had now developed into a more serious problem. I cautiously continued home. The culprit was the heater control valve seal. The heater control valve is a very simple brass device which either allows hot water (coolant water warmed by the engine) into the heater box or not. This in turn provides hot or cold air. The seal is an unassuming rubber piece which sits between the brass valve and plastic heater box. Having discussed the untraceable leak with other Škoda owners I'd be advised that it was likely to be this seal and so the previous day had sent Sophie on a 200mile round trip to Barnsley to pick up a spare one from Jorily Škoda Spares. Sophie very kindly obliged but has since reminded me on several occasions - normally after seeing a particularly nice piece of clothing in a shop!

Changing the seal wasn't too difficult and was finished by the end of Friday. However this meant we were leaving in two days, we hadn't started to pack; actually, we hadn't even finished buying everything that we needed to pack, the car was still a mess with no interior so to speak and spare parts everywhere, and we wanted to spend time with families (and the dog!) before the departure. Still, not to worry, the interior went in relatively quickly on Saturday morning, the spare parts were deposited in various garages and we still had time to enjoy the company of family before the big off.

D-Day

Monday 26th July 2010 duly came. I awoke to a mixture of feelings. This date had been in my mind since booking the tickets 7 months previously. Every repair or set back had needed to be fixed by now and the car that had been, in all honesty, less than reliable over the last 12 months had to be ready to take on a 6 week, 3000 mile journey! Still, spirits were high. We loaded the car and set off.

 All was going well, this was it, it was really happening. What would we see, where we go; would we actually make it? All questions racing through our heads as we headed South towards Hull. After 40 miles though these thoughts became harder to hear over the increasingly louder exhaust. We stopped at the next services by which time the exhaust had developed into a deafening boom. Inspection revealed two of the three studs holding the exhaust onto the manlifold had stripped their threads. This was a problem, quite a problem. We didn't have a spare manilfold with us nor did we have any of the tools required to fix the existing manlifold. All our arsenal of tools and spare parts could muster was a tin of Holts Exhaust Gum which was by no means a substitute for nuts and bolts! We were still about 70 miles from the ferry terminal, we had about 4 hours before the ferry sailed. Inevitably spirits ran low. I managed to replace one of the affected bolts meaning that we now had two bolts holding the exhaust on. I readily applied exhaust gum and set off again for the ferry. I realised that in all eventualities it would be better to get on the ferry - our only time contraint of the trip - and then try and sort the problem in Belgium when time wasn't constraining us. In the mean time we had got in contact with a fellow Skoda owner, Kieran Jackson. The plan had been to travel to Barnsley and buy a new manlifold from Jorily Skoda Spares.But, I didn't have his number so hoped Kieran would help. Unfortunately Jorily was closed this week so that wasn't a possibility but on hearing our predicament Kieran offered to take time out of his working day to pop home, pick up a spare manlifold he had and drop it off with us. We hastily agreed a meeting place and so in a damp layby just off the M62 we made the exchange. Hope had been restored. Thank you Kieran.

New Sight, Smells, Fears

We made it to the ferry terminal in time and boarded. The crossing was pleasant if expensive. 


On returning to the car deck the next morning Sophie spotted a pool of liquid under the front of the Skoda. One of the coolant pipes leading to the radiator was leaking but the addition of a second jubilee clip saw this rectified. Belgium welcomed us with heavy rainfall but we headed off into France. An oversight in our planning meant we'd left ourselves with no Euros now that we were actually on the continent. We found a small French town, the name of which escapes me now, and went looking for a bank. A group of drunks came to our aid and offered to take me into town while Sophie stayed with the car. Ever the pessimist Sophie feared this was a set up of some description. Determined to prove her wrong I set off to find our new friends and in turn the bank. Returning to our arranged meeting place I was a little surprised to see they'd vanished. Undeterred I set off for the town but Sophie's worries ran over in my head. Suppose it was a trick and they've gone back and robbed her. As my mind raced through the possibilities I decided to return to the car.

Unsurprisingly Sophie was fine and the drunks had simply forgotten about their rendezvous. It said something more about our nerves and how we were feeling about the trip...

The French town did eventually yield a cash point and we carried on. In order to pass Brussels we continued on motorways initially. With our cruising speed putting us somewhere a little quicker than the lorries but significantly slower than your average car we found ourselves playing a game of chicken with the outside lane every time we passed a lorry. Invariably this resulted in following cars being so close that I was able to pick out the number of dead flies on their grille badges. Being able to take no more we sought refuge off the motorway as soon as the towns and cities gave way to rolling hills and forests. Our first campsite of the trip was the Camping Ground Paradise in the Northern Ardennes. The name was a little generous as this modest campsite had little in common with Paradise as far as I could see.

The following day we intended to travel to Rochafort which was a mere 10km away. Our first attempt our continental map reading however had us travel back into France – completely the wrong direction. In all it took us about 4 hours to reach Rochafort! We visited the caves which are famed as being some of the biggest in Europe. We learnt little as the guided tour was in French but the natural beauty within made up for this.

Heavy rainfall continued throughout the next 2 days in which we continued South East through Belgium and into Luxembourg. We stayed on the Luxembourg/Germany boarder for 2 days visiting the local town, relaxing and doing some much needed washing. After the second night in Luxembourg though it became apparent that our budget couldn't accommodate many more days in the West. Something was going to have to change; we were going to have to head East.

Changing Fortunes

Lying ahead of us that morning of Saturday 31st July was the vast expanse of Germany. Running West to East Germany makes up many hundreds of miles of varying landscape which we were hoping to travel in one day. It wasn't our idea of fun and if truth be told we'd have gladly explored Germany more thoroughly, but as it was that journey was to be saved for another time.

We left at exactly 9am and joined the motorway soon afterwards. A rather non-descript day followed of continuous motorway driving. Passing lorries was as much of a challenge as ever but despite the adversity the Škoda continued on. In all we covered over 400miles and finally reached the Czech boarder by mid-afternoon. This euphoric moment as the Škoda returned to its homeland 20 years after its production was hard to describe. I had wanted to do this, to be here, for so long that it had almost become something I wanted but knew was only a fantasy. Surely it'd never happen. We'd never actually do the holiday, or the car wouldn't make it or something else would prevent us from doing it. But here we were, 900 miles from home in our odd little Škoda – it felt fantastic!

Of course it wasn't all easy though. Throughout the day the gearbox had become increasingly difficult to select gears with. Reverse had vanished from all recognisability and its selection was merely a matter of luck than any particular skill. Needles to say this all came to a head as we entered the Czech town of Plzen. We were at the front of a queue at a red light when suddenly first became unobtainable. And second, and third and even fourth. Infact, all I could find was fifth. And so it was that we pulled away, turned up a side street and climbed a hill until we found somewhere to stop in fifth gear. Judging by the copious amount of smoke and familiar smell of burnt clutch we summarized that it hadn't enjoyed that very much.

But there was now a much bigger problem. We were stopped in a strange town, in a car that was undriveable and our Czech language skills didn't extend beyond the very basics we'd learnt from the phrasebook. Oh, and it was 1800 on a Saturday evening so all garages were closed and would remain so until Monday morning.

I looked myself but couldn't see anything obviously wrong with the clutch. I had no spares and in any case I was in no situation to begin removing the engine to gain access to the gearbox/clutch. Only 2 hours before we'd be on a high crossing the Czech boarder and now the trip was crumbling from the foundations. If there was a solution I couldn't see it, certainly not within our limited means. As despair took over and tempers flared between Sophie and I, we decided to call the AA. After much persuasion from Sophie I had reluctantly taken out European Breakdown cover for the trip. It had seemed like an unnecessary expense; we weren't going to break down and even if we did, we'd fix it ourselves; and yet here they were offering a lifeline at the most crucial of times. They were to recover the vehicle, take it to the garage and have it repaired for us. They would communicate with the garage and keep me informed, all we had to do was wait for them to collect the car and then find somewhere to stay.

The mood began to lift between us as we realised that perhaps we would make it to the Škoda Factory after all. That said, after having waited for 4 hours I eventually called the AA in despair. It was almost 2300, they hadn't collected the car and we still had no where to stay. They then admitted they were extremely busy and the car wouldn't be collected until tomorrow. In any case the car wouldn't be repaired until Monday so it made no odds – except we'd been sat waiting in the car for 4 hours when we could have been eating dinner.

Nevertheless Sophie complied a note for any passers by telling them of our situation and we set out in search of a hotel. On recommendation from our Lonely Planet book we found the Hotel Slovan. This magnificent building had once been the Officers Club for the American soldiers responsible for liberating Plzen in 1945. The interiors remained unrenovated and offered a fantastic insight into the history surrounding the building.

Dinner was provided from the local corner shop and our nerves were settled by the main export of Plzen, Pilsner Urequel. Taking stock of our situation, we had our bag of clothes, phrasebook and hotel room; but we didn't have the car, or even know where it was, along with all of our camping gear. This was not how either of us had envisaged our first night in Czech!

Where There is a Will...
The following Sunday was shamelessly hot. We left the hotel early to walk back to the car (the hotel was about 1km from where we had left the car). As the car had been left in a resident only car park we were pleased not to find any parking tickets on clamps.
The Czech Automobile Club arrived at 1000 to collect the car. The driver spoke little English and us little Czech but he was friendly and somewhat surprised to see a Škoda with the steering wheel on the wrong side. The car was loaded on to the lorry (with me having to lift the front to gain the necessary ride height) and taken away. Sophie and I stood there on the corner of the busy road junction, in the glaring heat as the low loader disappeared around the corner. As the lorry got further away our spirits dropped. It took much belief in the AA (or blind optimism?) to not worry about the location of the car, when it would be returned and whether it could be fixed. The trip lay in balance; it could have easily seen us having to return home early.
We put these thoughts to the back of our head, had lunch and then visited the museum on the Plzen uprising. Late in the afternoon I received a phone call tell me where the car was. The local Tourist Information office was able to tell me this was a village on the outskirts of Plzen and was reachable by public transport. The only complication being that it was two tram journeys, a short walk and a bus ride away. Perhaps the expense of a taxi was worthwhile given the circumstances.
Having agreed with the AA to collect the car the following morning (Monday) we settled in Plzen. We ate at a modern bar serving traditional food. Two main courses and beer came to less than £10 and to date it is the best meal we've both had since leaving home. Sophie had wild boar while I went for beef with cranberries. It was a fantastic setting and a mouth-watering meal. A walk to the main square revealed Plzen in perhaps its finest state. The crisp air had lost much of its stagnant heat and the buildings surrounding the main square were lit up by the fading light and occasional street lamp; couples strolled across the square hand in hand and the imposing church looked down on over the square. The peaceful and tranquil setting settled our nerves – perhaps the trip wouldn't be ending so soon?
Undeterred we rose the next morning and after a simple but functional continental breakfast we headed out to collect the car. Well, after we visited a model shop we'd spotted the day before. It was a haven for Škoda lovers and we came away with a much lighter wallet vowing to return! The taxi took us out of Plzen and into a small village, dropping us at the local garage. We got out and looked around – where was the Skoda? The yard was overflowing with abandons cars of one type or another; including 3 rather neglected Tatra 603s, but no Škoda Rapids. Then I spotted it out of the corner of my eye. Actually I spotted the red exhaust system. The back panel lay on the floor next to the car and the engine was resting on a home-made table which seemed almost designed for Škoda engines. Ahh...not entirely finished then! As none of the mechanics spoke any English we decided the best thing to do would be to wait. I opted not to consider what we'd do if the car wasn't finished by closing time.
Just like the previous day it was baking hot and the only seating available was in direct sunlight. 3 hours passed before we heard the familiar sound of the starter motor engaging, willing the engine into life. Several atempts later and the loveable white coupe was backing out of the garage. Whey, but we weren't out of the woods yet.
You see I'd taken out quite a high-spec'd European breakdown cover – possibly due more to my susceptibility to sales pitches than the vision of ever actually using the thing – so we were in fact covered for repairs of up to £500. Therefore the AA picked up the €200 bill.
We were on the road again!