Departure of Grenoble:

"Release Jose Bove! Release Jose Bove! "are the last words which we will carry with us France. To cover our departure, France 3 Isere was to move, instead of that, we inherit mad obnubilated by only one thing to hoot the Minister of Justice come to inaugurate the law courts. Such an amount of worse, we will make without the tele one and with the demonstrators. We needed world to attend our departure, it is there, not for us certainly, but there nevertheless. With us to invent starting from this howling mass, a crowd in jubilation acclaiming us. Us! Our wild imagination made the remainder. To the ones, it distributed a broad smile to be pleasant for us, with the others of the gigantic beaters as hands for us ovationner. Thus, we are content, we had our groupies is delirious about it for our departure. It is, says one, a pledge of success for a company like our!

Passage of the collar of Lautaret 2058m without pip. The car climbs its first slopes of mountain without stumbling. We are with the aguets, the least noise suspect challenges us:
- heard You? Did T hear?
- Hein what???
- did not hear You??? It made funny noise....
- Ah yes!? Not, Not, it anything, t'en is done not.
Actually, we are terrorized with the idea of the first breakdown. An intervention in the engine means in light to in short leave us the tools the green trunk, which is too well callée to be easily accessible, to put the hand in the engine, to have full dirty oil the hands, to screw and unscrew, all of the new gestures. We are not yet ready. One does not become day at the following day engineer in mechanics. That is not improvised as would say the autre…

Passage of the collar of Montgenèvre (1854m) without aucuns problems. The noises which we believe suspect in the beginning become finally regular and almost mélodieux.
This last collar passed, the Italian border tightens us the arms. It is for us a vision, the 7 months achievement of work. We trépignons of impatience to the idea to leave France. Even if Italy it is still Europe, it is not any more France and today, it is what imports us.

Funny of country that Italy, people rolls there like the insane ones. Ca insults you in all the directions. More surprising, or exciting, they is when the Italian bellas put full the sight of it to you, of true lionesses at the wheel of Roméo… I adore!!
We content and are satisfied with our first day of control. Content because it is the beginning of an adventure and satisfied bus for the moment aucuns declared problems with engine.
We stop to sleep in Bergamo, on a surface of motorway. Behind us French of Italian origin which also sleeps him in its car. We are literally sawn when this catch teaches us that it is 73 years old and that, like every summer, it goes to Lake Garda to make board with veil. I believed that we were only, us other young people, to make odd tricks, it should be believed that not.

First night in our voiture… We finally will test the famous boards that dad arranged us with the back of the car. We only exultons of joy of thinking of it. Before deadening we we fall from agreement on this, "this evening it is your evening frero" because this evening it is our first evening and one smells still good!
Small frustration, since our departure nobody was still pâmé of admiration in front of the car. We are deeply upset because it is really more than beautiful. It has a pace of athlete and to crown the whole, it is equipped with two beautiful young men! Admittedly, people are turned over, marmonnent two or three words in their barb, but nobody really exclaims with high voice. Fortunately to a red light, not far from Vérone, a type which made the sleeve will return to us happy without the knowledge. Whereas it hears something of odd behind him, the noise of our engine undoubtedly, it is turned over automatically to make us alms loan be left his usual salad: I have four children to nourish ….
That nenni, nothing of all that leaves its mouth, only one gigantic cry outgoing of the bottom of the cœur "Maché bella machina, Maché belllllla". We are proud like Popes, finally our AKdyane points out ourselves as it should be.

Thursday Lake Garda we are disappointed. An imposing spectacle had been promised to us. We do not manage to detect it. The small streets of Sirmione are not enough any more to contain the ceaseless flood tourists come from whole Europe. We seek to flee them after a fashion to forget that we also we are theirs. We will end up lunching without saying a word on the peninsula in question, by stupidly looking at the diluted blue of water. We had undoubtedly thought to meet pure Italian juice with which to speak about the beautiful time and water especially.

Our progression in Italy is not done as not envisaged as easily. We are obliged to sleep one night additional in the East of Venice with Roncade. At the first night in the car our first bivouac in a field succeeds. The place and the surroundings are fairy-like, in the foreground, of the fields of corn coldly harvested, bordered by extents of vine, at the horizon, the Italian Alps more majestic than ever in this imposing lying of sun. In fact the ruins of old a hacienda will be used to us as dining room. We devour with appetite our spaghettis Al pesto. It is the hour to lie down, Loïc wants imperatively to sleep in the car, in what relates to to me is out of question, the night is spangled and in more of that, I die of desire for testing these famous campbeds offered by the godfather of Hydrotour, Jacques Séguéla.
Superb night with shooting stars as if it rained about it.
One small lunches quickly in the same decoration as the day before, version raised of the day but that remains superb. Many are the curious people who made return tickets in front of our bivouac, but not only one never stopped. Let us be us become of the curious animals? We finish arranging our last bag to leave, when an Italian papi at the wheel of its antique ciao comes to approach us. Loïc after a fashion manages to translate its some words, me I am obstinated to want to speak to him in German after all Südtyrol is not so far from Venice. After a few minutes of discussion we understand that it is itself born in one from the rooms in ruin of this old hacienda. At the time he says us, in the Thirties, we ate only twice per day, first once of the fayots, one second time of potatos. He also teaches us that he has cousins missionaries in Africa and China. We dream one moment with the simple evocation of these two continents. In order to immortaliser the business we take photographs, owe him and us the hacienda then him all alone on its grinding stone of compète….

We quickly take again the road after having greeted Cléanthe and conscientiously put its starting gift in the trunk blue, two bottles of wine of the pays…Nous leave happy Roncade of our equipment, Trieste direction. With each indication for Venice we pour a tear. Not time to pass the calendar there is strict. Such an amount of worse, we will return there for our honeymoon!

We cross Trieste while running, we take just time to bathe us in the Adriatic. Damage because it is a mythical harbour city, charming like all Italian.
It is 19H00 when we present ourselves at the Slovenien border, small something scrapes us the throat. Normal, it is our first border post of the voyage. We leave finally the territories of Schengen for new horizons, the Eastern European countries.

Impossible not to have in memory the combat still too recent which tore Yugoslavia, at the moment when we present our papers at the customs officer. Fortunately for us Slovenia wishes to integrate Europe, the passage in customs will thus not be long.
"Doberdan, Your papers bollard". "do you Have something to declare Messrs, of alcohol, the shit?"
"Not nothing to declare Mister."
After two minutes of interrogation an assembly of customs officers is formed around the car. Having our passports in hand and more by curiosity that by distrust, the chief of customs asks us to line up on the side. Here, they speak at least some words about French.
You do not have alcohol not shit Messrs? It asks us one second time.
Sure of our good faith, except for alcohol, we had indeed carried with us 4 or 5 unhappy old women bottles of which an old pear, we answer by the negative one. And to support our Geoffroy assertion the automobile license of the car tends to him.
The man still red-faced man of his last wine glass, takes it and consults it as if it were on the point of reading a speech. I go so far as to look at discreetly over his shoulder, I had transmitted the automobile license to him to back to make an experiment... I am on the point of imploser of laughing. Our friend spine to want to be to read our automobile license with back while affublant themselves for the installation of a mine of minister, by making with the chart a pendular motion between the top of its chest and the bottom of its belt for better considering it. After two minutes of this small cinema, it returns to us our chart with this formidable formula:
"It is good all is in order you can go there".
The automobile license in hand we start as soon as possible of fear of not managing to contain longer time my hilarity. Loïc does not include/understand anything to him, it did not follow the muddle, the only trick which appeared equivocal to him, it was my air gripped vis-a-vis with the gesticulations of the customs officer. After explanations it was with him of laughing abundantly.
On these entrefaites, we are agitated to find a place of camping for the night. Neons of Portorož attract us a time like moths. The girls here are superb. They dandle without last complex 23H00 on the walk of English, Slovenien version. This seaside resort with an insane charm, but for adventurers like us, it remains a expensive city reserved to these Messrs of the ex communist Nomenklatura. After a short moment of hesitations, we venture on the heights of Portorož. Small hesitations, because we enfreignons indeed, one of the gold rules of the wild camp-site, to sleep in full shift without previously to have seen day the site and the environment of the place of camping. This evening with the devil vauvert the rules of gold, we want to sleep. After one hour of road, to the turning of a lace of mountain, we fall on a small village, Sveti Peter, in French Saint Pierre. He overhangs the coast and its lights, the spectacle is superb.

Diary of July written by Geoffroy

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