Five Star Accommodation!

I do like trucking – I mean I ought to; after all it is what I write about on a professional basis in my real life between looking after my boys, dogs, chickens and other animals found at Rookyard.

But do I like trucking enough? Enough to get down and dirty – so to speak – and actually see what trucking is like on the fringes of the EU? Well, I have just had that experience.

On our epic Grand Tour, our route has taken us through Pays de Calais, Belgium, Luxembourg, Germany, Austria, Slovenia, Croatia, Serbia and on to Montenegro by car. However in order to reduce the mileage we decided to cross the Adriatic Sea to Italy.

It seemed such a good idea, so practical, so obvious and so…completely naive!!! This is a major truckers route into the EU from those countries in the Dalmatian Peninsular. It is an ancient route from Bar to Bari. I think I have read about it in the history books when studying the Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire.

The ferry we took wasn’t THAT old but let’s say that she’d seen better days, possibly in the 1960s. Not that the Sveti Stefan II run by Montenegro Lines was anything but safe and secure just that she was not exactly the Stena Britannica.

We’d got used to not having a clue what to do and following like sheep when it came to customs and anything remotely bureaucratic. We’d got the “Bewildered-Brit” look down to a fine art and mostly had got exactly what we wanted – give or take.

We parked up the car beside the ferry prior to boarding and were told we could go on board and settle in. I was worried about leaving the car on its own and a sixth sense started to niggle. “No worries!” I was told. “We’ll call you when to load up.”  I twitched and was told by Charlie to stop being such fuss pot and just get on with it. (Methinks shades of the Raj in that.)

We boarded and although the welcome was slightly curt, we put it down to things getting lost in translation. Health and safety, we already realised, was next to non-existent outside the Euro zone (actually next to non-existent outside the UK to be fair). So crossing the hold as lorries reversed and shifted without rhyme or reason and with no concessions to the foot passengers did not seem unusual.

The welcome in reception on the upper decks  could not be put down as welcoming – almost the reverse. We were handed our key and, after trying the “Bewildered Brit” look and failing to get anywhere, we took ourselves off and luckily found our cabin.

We were expecting it to be cosy bit not quite as cosy as it was. Two bunks side by side. No ladder to get up, which caused us no end of trouble with the boys who both insisted on being top bunk. And it was stifling.

Seriously stifling.

I put my hand up to the air con. There was a trickle of cold air. I hoped that once the ferry was on the move it would kick in, as try as I might there was not a hope in hell of opening the paint encrusted window.

There was a loo too, without a flushing mechanism attached. Rather it was on one side of what I would call the wet room. There were instructions on how to work it, once of course I put it back together, but as I did not read Cyrillic script or indeed any language other than English I didn’t rate my chances. Luckily there was going to be plenty of time for me personally to get the hang of it for the toilet and I were, as the night passed, going to become intimately acquainted.

Having negotiated the loo/wet room, I went to wash my hands only for a torrent of scalding hot water to let rip from the tap. Frantic twisting and turning of knobs got it under control – but it was a near thing. Charlie hastily warned the boys NOT to touch it and we exchanged a look.

“Perhaps you had better go down to the car” I suggested. Luckily I did, for as you can guess there were no warnings that we needed to load. In fact, as we pulled away from the dock, I noticed a forlorn looking car abandoned on the quay – let’s just say I think its owner was pretty hacked off when the Captain refused point-blank to turn around.

Everything was still relatively OK and now that we were off on the open sea it was rather wonderful watching the lights of Bar twinkling and dwindling into the inky black distance but the overpowering stench of badly burned diesel cut through the warm air like a knife and sent us down to our cabin.

I’d like to say that the we escaped the stench but it steeped onto every crack and crevice, and coupled with the throaty roar of the engines, the stifling heat, and the corkscrew swirl of the ferry I soon felt steadily more and more queasy.

A nice lie down, seemed the order of the day but sleep was nigh impossible and the lack of it was only exasperated by the fact that all of this seemed to have no impact on any of my travelling companions whatsoever. To me it seemed as if they were having a high old time of it and soon the thrum of the engines was counterpointed by the staccato rhythm of three snoring males.

I had just about got used to that and was finally starting to drift off when there came the most revolting retch and snort from the other side of the cabin wall, yes my neighbour had a very heavy cold and would intermittently hawk and spit before going to the loo where he’d do it all again – with echo.

Let’s just say it was not long before I too was in the loo where for the next 8 hours I would stay. Through that interminably long night I could have cheerfully murdered Charlie. In fact, if he had woken up and asked me how I was, I think it could have been a very real possibility.

The only good thing I can truly say about our trip was that we did cross the Adriatic and the only thing I can say about the truckers who make this trip on a regular basis is: “You are freaking bonkers you lot!!!”

PS: If you really want to know about the Bar to Bari Ferry service drop in on Trip Advisor – I think it says it all!

PPS: The cost of the crossing for four people plus car one way was about £350.

PPPS: I did not sleep at all.

PPPPS: If you do use the crossing I would not bother with a cabin unless you had too. We did because we had young kids in tow. Much better to sleep on deck way up front out-of-the-way of the smell of the diesel engines and pray for a smooth crossing.

PPPPPS: I am unsure if ours was a smooth crossing or not – I found the whole experience ROUGH!!!!