This was supposed to be the triumphant final leg. A few hundred miles, a bit of motorway, and I’d be rolling into Munich like a hero. That was the plan. What actually happened was a full day’s worth of crawling traffic, existential sausage-fuelled reflection, multiple detours, and some of the strangest roadside encounters I’ve ever had. But I made it. Just about. Here’s how the final push across Europe actually played out.
Waking Up Somewhere in Germany
I woke up at a campsite somewhere in Germany — couldn’t even remember the name of the place. Just knew that the van had stopped moving and I’d slept. That was enough.
With only 200 miles left, the finish line felt close. Doable. Practically a casual drive. What I forgot was that “last legs” on road trips are never smooth. There’s always something. Usually traffic. Sometimes weird people. This one had both.
I did the obligatory vlogger montage — you know, bit of road footage, voiceover, soft music — except I skipped the soft bit and found a banger on the radio instead. Probably going to get copyright struck, but sod it. It worked.
Three hours in, and I stopped at what the locals call an “Aire” or an “Aire de Service”. Basically a lay-by with a few benches and toilets. No overpriced coffee. Just a chance to stretch my legs and curse the traffic.
112 miles to go. The finish line was creeping closer. Slowly. Painfully. Like the last half-hour of a shift where the clock stops moving.
Motorways, McDonald’s and Munich Mayhem
By this point, the traffic had been a complete shambles for over an hour. Four lanes down to two. Lorries everywhere. At one point I accidentally pointed at a random woman while explaining the chaos to the camera. She definitely thought I was talking to her. British awkwardness level: maximum.
I planned to stop again in about 40 minutes. Grab a coffee. Mentally prepare for the city traffic. But I was already fried. Shoulders tense. Eyes twitchy. ETA creeping up despite me actually moving forward.
At some point, I ended up at a service station. The queue for food was massive. My brain couldn’t cope with the idea of ordering in German so I defaulted to international language of regret: McDonald’s.
I slumped in the back of the van, unwrapped a burger, and tried to gather my thoughts. The van was chaos. Looked like it had been hit by a fast-moving jumble sale. But at least I wasn’t still in a queue.
Somewhere near Nuremberg, the traffic was showing 50 miles to go. Estimated time? Two hours. I stared at the screen like it had personally offended me. Somehow, despite driving forward, I was getting no closer. That creeping sense of time stretching, patience thinning — it hit hard. I wasn’t just tired. I was worn thin. My soul being stretched a touch
Leather Jackets, Mesh Tops, and Bush Toilets
Then things got weird.
First, a woman casually relieved herself in a bush. Nothing discreet about it. I was just sitting there, minding my own, and there she was. Later, another woman appeared wearing a leather jacket, mesh top, and the shortest skirt known to man. I genuinely thought I was hallucinating. I did that British thing where you half-acknowledge someone without being rude. Gave her a nod like, “alright?” and kept walking.
Maybe I was sleep-deprived. Maybe I was just broken by traffic. But things felt surreal. Even the service station toilets were starting to feel like the final boss of this journey. You needed 50 cents just to go for a wee. Some things, it seems, are universal.
Also: turns out Monday was a bank holiday. Cheers Germany. That explained the wall-to-wall traffic.
Final Stretch Into Munich
The map showed my delay dropping from 45 minutes to 20. I almost cried. There was no point getting stressed anymore. What was done was done. I stopped checking the clock and just kept rolling forward, crawling through the outer edges of Munich.
There was supposed to be this big emotional moment, coming off the Autobahn and seeing the signs. But the camera cocked up. All I got was blurry footage and rising stress levels. Apparently there was a football match going on too. Of course there was. Why wouldn’t there be?
And then — finally — I made it.
Somewhere down that road, the sat-nav gave up pretending and just told me I was there. Found a place to park. Not just park, but actually slide in first time, no faffing. I mean, it was on a corner, so it wasn’t perfect, but still. Victory.
7:20pm. After a full day of crawling, swearing, dodging service station eccentrics and fighting the will to turn around and give up, I’d made it to Munich.
First things first: beer.
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