I loathe bad service and even worse, people who are clueless about the service or product they’re selling. There, off my chest now

The adventure has been great, but to go on would be to just see and do more of the same (we assume) and for us that is not worth the effort of working in the van. There is plenty of good rock to climb in Aus, after all.

We leave Arco tomorrow, aiming for Fontainebleau in France for a spot of bouldering. From there it’s on to London to sell the van, and then a flight home. So there are probably a few weeks of pottering around to go yet. We’ll keep you all informed…

The city stretches across 100 islands in a shallow saltwater lagoon. There are a staggering 400 bridges that connect the islands, which are divided by about 150 canals. The only mode of transport is by foot or on water. The canals are scattered with motor boats and gondolas, the classical Venetian boat, carrying passengers wielding cameras and wide smiles.

Venice at night was the most memorable: the day-tripper tourists have left town, the big-brand shops are closing and hiding behind steel shutters, and the shadowy streets and canals echo with the sounds of the lapping of water against the mossy walls of the buildings.

Cheap eats were available if you took the time to hunt them out, but one time we experienced our most expensive coffee on this trip yet: 5 Euros and it was nothing special! Given the current exchange rate, very ouch!

We didn’t book accommodation ahead of our arrival and later found out that a lot of the hostels were either fully booked or criminally expensive (280 Euros for a 3-star hotel??!!). We spent the night at a hostel, in the ‘emergency room’, namely the attic. It wasn’t a spacious holiday from the van, but it was very cool to be spending the night in Venice.

Eventually we wound our way down a mountainside to the town of Toledo on Lake Guarda (famous for windsurfing) and then took the additional 5 km to Arco. We were in the Sarche Valley now, the steep sides made up of tree-covered slopes and white limestone cliffs—the reason we were here!

Our first week in Arco was taken up almost entirely by work. This was the first time we both had (almost) fulltime work in the van, and we were glad when it finished. In the second week we finally got onto some rock…

Which turned out to be very different to elsewhere on this trip! Apparently frictionless (compared to granite, and of course gritstone) and with so many small features that they all seem like viable holds from below, until you actually try to use them. Then eventually you find the one usable pocket or crimp, but are too pumped to continue. Anyway, we got used to this eventually and are now becoming ridiculously strong on the long, steep routes at the Massone cliff, and loving it.

Arco village is a cute place, chock full with unusually fit (and mostly Austrian) tourists (the area is famous for mountain biking and hiking, as well as climbing and windsurfing), outdoor gear shops, cafes and pizza joints. These folk really do seem to live on just pizza and pasta.

We realised a few days ago that, with the funky new exchange rate, staying at this (admittedly nice) caravan park is costing us more than our apartment in South Perth did. Ouch.

All the clichés regarding Switzerland are not exaggerated (yes, cow bells, clocks and pocketknives) and it is totally neat, clean, and crimeless. Apparently there’s a law against flushing the toilet after 10 pm (and men are not allowed to stand up while peeing); perhaps an urban myth, but all the same it wouldn’t shock me (anymore).

After Ol arrived in Zurich, we, along with the Taj, crawled up the Swiss Alps to regroup our things and thoughts. We stayed and worked in an apartment for few weeks in a small village, called Hospental, for a good break from the van. It was a strange experience: we learned to operate the prehistoric washing machine (punch card and all) and became sheep-like and used the designated grey garbage bag, and used a key to throw the rubbish out into a communal bin—all very odd.

The nearby village, Anderamatt, was our sanity refuge (played too many chess games in that apartment): an excellent source of coffee and Apfelstrudel. Here, at a funky café, I learned to routinely say ‘Kann ich Apfelstudel und Kaffee haben bitte?’ I don’t know German, but I did take some time to listen to German lessons while on my journey from Sweden to Switzerland—I was sweetly rewarded Actually, Ol knows a lot more German than I (and possibly his parents) first realised; I reckon the apple strudel helped him access the Germany memory bit from his childhood

In all, a nice experience in the Swiss Alps (it even snowed one morning), but the arms were going from steel to rubber, so it was time to climb (but the legs didn’t want the long approaches to climbing crags). The answer: Arco, Italy…

Somewhere between Hamburg and Zurich, Switzerland I rested for a night and then blasted my way to Zurich. Germans seem to be personable, hungry for life; however, and I don’t mean to be rude, the older generation, who seem to own all the caravan parks, carry the reputably humourless, bureaucratic and painfully formal qualities. Perhaps it was just my bad luck when I was greeted with such people at the two camping sites. Either way, I didn’t feel like hanging around to prove my generalisation wrong.

So, what are the plans now? Well, previously, our friend, Karl, offhandedly mentioned that his Danish friends have an apartment in Switzerland. Naturally, I delved into opportunist mode and queried further, subsequently met the lovely owners and voila—I have keys to an apartment in Switzerland! More specifically, the apartment’s located in a small village, Arndamatt, which is about 120 km southeast of Zurich. We’ll hang there for a week or two and deliberate our next adventure.

I spent three days at Kjuge, climbing with some Germans (they’re everywhere!), until the rain chased me out. I drove on to Lomma, Sweden to see the lovely KKs and spent a night at their spacious home (at this point, Ol felt that he could safely confess on the phone that it’s damn good to be out of the van). Also in Lomma, my other objective was to collect a pricey parcel, sent from Aus, from the post office. I paid a hefty fee of some sort and collected the parcel; however, amongst the cloud of to-do lists, I absent-mindedly left the parcel at a supermarket, which hosts the small post office. I was in Demark before I realised—doh!

After Lomma, I spent the day in Malmö (still in Sweden), strolling past the crafty stalls and tantalisingly-scented food courts (I finally relented and opted for Thai food; a celebratory change from boring van lunch). I planned to spend the night in Malmo, but on learning that the city centre camping site only accepted a Scandinavian camping card (for the price of an arm and a leg), and given that I was leaving Scandinavia, my inner frugalness protested (it’s true, Ol!) and I drove on to a camping site in Denmark. The bridge linking Sweden and Denmark is 7.8 km long and curves laterally. The crosswind on the bridge is incredible—I actually had a sore arm from resisting the fierce wind. There’s good reason why there are surrounding wind turbines.

There were only three van issues worth mentioning: 1) the van stopped on a highway in Hamburg after all the heavy rain. Fortunately, I just needed to spray CRC inside the distributor cap, to push the moisture out, for the van to start again. I must add that it’s not an easy process to access the engine; it’s located at the back, accessible from inside, which is underneath all our gear, which has to be relocated to the front to access the beast’s lifeless heart. 2) a sizable metal protection plate from underneath the van almost ripped off—I had only noticed it at a petrol station. I couldn’t manage to remove the only bolt gripping the corroded plate so I went to a nearby mechanic for help. 3) heavy traffic, thanks to road works and heavy rain, in Hamburg caused the van to typically overheat. As usual, turning on the heaters reduced the temp.

To entertain, I must confess a couple of minor blunders: 1) having to use the reserve fuel on my way to Kjogekull, Sweden from Stockholm. Note: satellite navigation is not to be trusted! Or at least, I should update the maps because where there were supposed to be fuel stations on the remote country road, there were definitely none. The sites were either replaced by a conspicuously new shopping centre or warehouse, or simply decommissioned. 2) I dinted the van while backing out of a really tight car park in Hamburg. I should learn to just avoid these…tight situations

Van tribulations aside, I spent the first few days in Stockholm once Ol departed for Brazil. Loitering around in the city was refreshing after all the climbing at Lofoten. After you filter out the armies of tourists wielding ice creams and shopping bags, Stockholm, particularly the Old Town, is truly a beautiful city. There are old waterfront buildings; warrens of narrow cobblestoned streets; imposing castles; romantic bridges; sparkling clean waterways; funky cafes; and loads of friendly Swedes. I happily spent three days in Stockholm before I felt the climbing bug bite.

So, I’ve sent Ol overseas to earn some money to support his ‘necessities’