How to drive 12 countries in a day and set a world record
Danielle Rice / Unsplash
How many European countries can you drive through in a 24 hours? Simon Heptinstall once managed an even dozen.
Within an hour I’d notched up three countries. After a full B&B English, I’d left Folkestone on the 9am Euroshuttle and driven straight through France into Belgium. I’d barely got the seat adjusted before I passed a blue ‘Welcome to the Netherlands’ sign and did an immediate gravel-scattering U-turn in a backstreet cycle lane.
You see I was on a driving mission — to set a new world record, travelling to the most countries in a day. Short of a private helicopter, it was a way of showing off how versatile and task friendly a car can be. I was aiming to hit 12 countries in 24 hours.
So here I was heading for Luxembourg at the wheel of a gleaming BMW 7-Series with a photographer alongside to record my momentous achievement.
He was soon sulking. I’d passed ‘Welcome to Luxembourg’ in a blur and he’d missed the photo opp. No time to double back, it was lunchtime and I was heading for Germany.
I ran petrol/toilet/snack stops with military precision. In a services somewhere on a flat featureless northern European motorway I saw a sign claiming 11 languages were spoken by staff. While queuing at the cash desk, a tubby lorry driver in slippers asked if I wanted him to translate. “Me speak English but me a Belgium man,” he said proudly pointing to his rotund middle.
Nightfall in Switzerland Shutterstock
It was dark as I bought a motorway pass at the Swiss border. A bespectacled official in a kiosk became bizarrely agitated when I asked what the pass covers. “Do you want to use our highways? Well you have to pay!” he bellowed. “But if you want to walk to our castles instead it will take you 12 hours without using the highways, ha ha!”
Eating a pot of take-away Swiss pasta on my knee I eventually found Liechtenstein, a country so small I kept losing it on the map. A few moments later, entering Austria, there was a trip highlight: a proper middle-of-the-night border experience. It had something to do with illegal immigrants. There were a decent assortment of guns, spotlights, barriers and soldiers in furry hats stamping frozen feet. We bravely joked that all six members of the Liechtenstein army must be on duty at once.
Cruising through drizzly Austria my half-time progress check smugly noted nine countries ticked off in 12 hours. Progress slowed as I tired. Photographer Adrian drove while I slept but I woke in a momentary sci-fi nightmare of the inside of the Brenner tunnel, lights passing overhead like strobes.
The big Beemer emerged into an early-hours Italian blizzard. At services near Bolzano the lone member of staff had straggly long hair and appeared unnaturally energetic, serving me with one hand while twitching in time to a crackling radio and reading a copy of ‘Dago’ comic with the other. “Okay man, okay man,” he kept repeating.
Struggling to stay focussed, we passed the 1,000 mile mark at 3.35am. A five-language sign at a service station car park warned me: “Attention! Distrust abusive retailers of various articles.” Then suddenly there were motorway turn-offs for Trieste… and the end of Western European normality. The dashboard sat nav now showed us positioned in the Adriatic a few miles offshore.
Five in the morning. At the Slovenian border a yawning unshaven guard tried to score a bribe, muttering something about permits for photographic equipment. I lied that I was working for The Times of London. He shrugged and waved us through.
Half an hour later a young Croatian border guard reached for our passports, sleepily asking his routine question: “Where have you come from today?” My answer was quite long and I don’t think he believed it.
