In 2002 it seemed like a good idea to vary our usual family trip to France to include a week of touring through Austria. What would be good, I thought, would be to spend one week relaxing in a small village in the Lot district and then to go on the road for the second week. We would cut East across France through the Massif Central, into Italy near Turin, across Italy and up into Austria at Innsbruck. Then we could spend a couple of days looping round the Krimml falls and the Grossglockner pass. Then off home. Of course it didn't work out quite as planned, but more of that later.
X374 GNT was a red Land Rover Freelander TD4 station wagon, which for me, while it may leave some purists lukewarm, represented an excellent balance of competencies.It was relaxing to drive, able to cope with much more than I expected to throw at it, could fit in a multi-storey car park, was spacious, solid and economical. For a one-driver, one-car family which no longer needs the school-bus capacity of a Renault Espace but still loves to be sitting up high, it was hard to beat.
Kate was sorting out a new job so she stayed at home while the rest of us, Jon, Helen and I, set out on our great adventure. I won't bore you with the journey to the Lot - car ferry to Le Havre, overnight at a little hotel, then motorway through Limoges and Brive and turn left at the river and you're there. The Freelander went like a dream, we arrived in scorching heat, and spent our relaxing week in rain, more heat and then extreme thunderstorms. Enough to say we enjoyed ourselves. Then the logistics of the planned tour began to unravel. The friend in whose house we were staying - her late husband helped the Resistance here during the war and the house, in ruins then, was given to him by the village afterwards - arrived hoping we would stay on a bit longer.
So we eventually set out on the second stage of the trip a day later than planned, but still with time enough to avoid the appalling traffic that builds up in South-east France at the start of August. We had not booked anywhere to stay en route. We would see how far we had got by mid-afternoon each day and then look to book a hotel from a number of options we had marked up on the map. Or rather, maps. We took two road atlases for Europe - one A4 hardback 1:800,000 by Freytag & Berndt and one A3 spiral-bound 1:750,000 by Philip's. The bigger Philip's was much easier to read and route plan with, but lacked a lot of detail compared to the F&B. Nor did it provide a simple kilometre scale on each page. Next time, for the complicated parts, we'll take Freytag & Berndt's 1:200,000 road atlases as well. Michelin do a red guide to Italy, but we couldn't find one for Austria, so we took a Lonely Planet guide as well.
We didn't intend to hustle too much, allowing time for lunch and stuff, and sure enough we very quickly fell behind schedule. Our Day One target of Briançon was quickly revised over lunch in a restaurant decorated with stuffed animals. We booked ourselves into what turned out to be a not-great hotel in Luc-en-Diois instead. A huge storm had washed away a nearby campsite the night before and the village was full of bedraggled campers who were being sheltered in the village hall. It was raining heavily the following morning as we headed on through the Ardeche, past and across the Lac de Serre-Ponçon toward Briançon, which turned out to be thoroughly unlikeable and full of coach parties. We headed on towards the Italian border, and decided to try a very unpromising roadhouse - more of a shack, in fact - perched beside the road just before the climb into the mountains. Anyone who has seen the film Once Upon A Time In The West will remember the scene in the cantina. This roadhouse had many of the same ramshackle qualities - filled with pungent woodsmoke, with trees growing through the ceiling, rainwater dripping from various places, a fishtank, a large sign welcoming in the millennium, and a bearded owner/chef/waiter/raconteur serving huge helpings of delicious food. It was wholly unexpected and quite fantastic.
As were the views back over this countryside as we climbed into the hills out of France. We were aiming to take autostradas round Turin and Milan and then cut off into the mountains at Bergamo. For anyone else planning this route - beware, this is Italy. The autostradas were like the M25, jam-packed with short-tempered drivers doing irrational things, frequently at a standstill around the two major cities, completely horrible. We managed to clear Bergamo around five-o'clock to head for Fóppolo, where we had booked for the night, a place high up in the mountains. This was where the Freelander really came into its own, pulling strongly along winding minor roads and up steep hills in fourth or third gear. The car's high driving position had real benefits when spotting chances to overtake, and the strong torque meant that passing could be done quickly and safely.
Fóppolo is effectively a cul-de-sac, and to go on the next day we had to retrace our steps to Piazza Brembana in order to take a different road, very small,very steep and very winding, up to the Passo San Marco. The sun was shining and there was even more spectacular scenery as we climbed above the tree line and over the snow line before reaching the 6,500-ft summit. The sequence of hairpins is taken in second gear, often in first. The biggest danger is from lycra-clad cyclists swooping downhill, cutting corners as they come. Jon acts as spotter, giving advance warning of these and other oncoming hazards which enables me to get a good run at the corners - if you have to stop, your hill-start is a real challenge. It wasn't to be the highest we would climb; the Passo di Stelvio we would encounter the same afternoon reaches some 9,000 feet and took us into cloud. But this certainly was the toughest. Going up really tested the clutch, and going down really tested the brakes. The pads were new at the start of the trip, and by the feel of them they needed replacing again. We reached Morbegno safely in the Adda valley and set off North-east to Merano, down to Bolzano and onto the motorway again to Austria and Innsbruck. There was beautiful mountain scenery on all sides as we went, marred only by occasional industrial sites (I guess they have to go somewhere) and the ubiquitous electric pylons. As we climbed, the fruit trees and vineyards disappeared and forests and farms took their place, then these in turn gave way to barren screed dotted with Alpine flowers. As Helen got out to pick some sprigs of gentian, Jon and I realised that the mountain just beside us must be in Switzerland. A few moments later I managed to go straight on instead of taking a hairpin right (honest, anyone could have done the same, whatever Helen may have said) and found we were almost across the Swiss border. Oops.
Eventually though, we're safely in Innsbruck with the Freelander tucked in an underground car park (you see how handy that is?) and we do a quick reschedule. We've seen a lot of mountains and I've driven a lot of hairpins. Innsbruck is a lovely city. We decide to stay here a whole day and take things easy, drive across Germany the day after and then catch the ferry the day after that. Which is what we do. And that is how we didn't get to see the Grossglockner pass.
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