Life in the Slow Lane

Life on the open road

Living slowly is only difficult when one is forever trying to catch up with others. Which is why in February 2010, I temporarily discarded some of my sheep-like attributes and convinced my dear and in this case, understanding other half Hayley, to buy what was (and you’ll be glad to hear, still is!), my childhood dream. We scanned internet pages like perverts, for weeks on end, but then, amongst several lemons, it suddenly appeared. With an enthusiastic rocket-fuelled lunge for the telephone, I dialed the numbers into the handset and nervously waited for a reply. ‘Do you still have her?’ I asked, shaking.

He confirmed that he did indeed still have her, and we arranged to meet the next day.

Now, you may be disappointed to hear that it wasn’t a cute puppy, or an extraordinary five-legged lama, which got my juices flowing. No. It was in fact a 24 year old, blue and white Citroen ‘Deux Chevaux’. The journey to Berkshire felt painfully slow but it became worth it as the little French icon came into view. It was taller than I had imagined. I’m pretty sure I had seen one in the flesh before, but it somehow looked different. It looked far better! The owner switched on the engine catching me by surprise. ‘BLOODY HELL THAT’S LOUD!!’ I shouted proudly to Hayley. She didn’t look impressed.

‘I hope it has soundproofing.’ She replied, while checking for the first signs of tinnitus. Utterly seduced by its deafeningly romantic roar, we handed over our cash and named her Beatrice.

The thing I love most about this car, is that it sounds like a racing car and whether one is driving it or sitting in the passenger seat, it feels like it too. However the chance of ever being able to break the speed limit is remote. It will do 0-60mph in around…well it will do 55mph and lets leave it at that. But driving it is a magical experience, full of illusion. This is where my point comes in. Driving began as a means for exploration, taking time out to see places previously un-accessible to those on foot, to enjoy the beauty and winding country lanes with the wind rushing through one’s hair; a pleasant, joyful experience. Today the automobile is shrouded in negativity. Gone are the fabulously simple, gleaming coachworks and their happy drivers. The commute, amongst others ‘useful’ reasons for driving has destroyed the original concept of motoring, reducing it to a carbon monoxide cloud of traffic jams, speed camera’s and irate drivers ‘acting the goat’.

Greve[nces] in Chianti - See the story on Hayley's Blog

I don’t want to appear as though I am blindly attempting to re-create an ideal in my lonely little head. Hayley and I put our money where our mouths are, and left on a loosely planned goliath trip over two months. Driving 8,000 miles through France, Italy all the way down to Sicily, then across to the Balkans, driving north from Montenegro, through Croatia, Bosnia and Slovenia and back up to England via Venice, Verona, the French Alps and Paris. Roof down most of the way, we revved the engine hard through mountain tunnels, drove on and off ferries onto various islands, sounded our horn in the passionate traffic jams of Palermo and Naples, flew down from the top of mount Etna with failed brakes, pushed her through border crossings all the while laughing, crying and rejoicing. 

View Larger Map

Fellow travelers and locals generally loved the car, welcoming us with open arms, into their towns, villages, homes, restaurants and vineyards, eager to hear our story as it was so far. Some mechanics even tinkered with the car for hours on end completely free of charge, in exchange for a little drive. The few pessimists we encountered stated that we were bloody lucky to have got as far as we did but we drove on confidently, ignoring these grumpy brutes. The car and its drivers, at this stage had merged into one. We could predict when the engine would overheat and cut out and when the brakes would altogether stop working for the odd hour or two. So intimate was our time with Beatrice that by the end of the trip, and thanks to the numerous strangers who stopped to help us on our way, we could confidently fix electrical faults, change fuses, alternators, batteries, adjust the carburetor and generally screw and unscrew things under the bonnet (bearing in mind, neither of us had any understanding of cars beforehand).

Al Capero Agrotourismo - Part of the Slow Food Movement

Driving slowly meant that we didn’t shoot past anyone worth speaking to or miss anything worth seeing. This year, it is my intention to acquire a pair of leather driving gloves and some driving goggles (despite the fact I have a windscreen, deeming them totally unnecessary) for they are items, which express the freedom associated with motoring. Roof down, though the wind rushing through one’s scalp inevitably messes up one’s hair-do, and the noise of the engine far outdoes the damage to one’s ears than a day of shooting with a 12 bore shotgun, I thoroughly recommend it. For every moment in that car, on your way to no-where, is a reminder that driving is fun and that life outside the daily grind is (certainly at times) optional, and by jove, is it beautiful.

The view from Mt. Etna