MOTORHOME NEIGHBOURS

Following early retirement, Margaret and I have changed neighbours many times as our motorhome has moved around Europe.

What's a major advantage of living in a motorhome? If you don't like the neighbours, you can always change them. What's a major disadvantage of living in a motorhome? If you do like the neighbours, you still have to change them! Here are the stories of some of the neighbours we have been loath to change; neighbours who became good friends.

Albrecht and Mariana (German, neighbours en route to Italy)

On one side was 6' 6" New Zealander Peter and his partner, Sue, returning to Italy after a 3-month tour of Eastern Europe, Turkey, Israel and Egypt in the inevitable VW Kombi. On the other, Albrecht and Mariana in their 'Panzer', a caravan on top of a 4-wheel drive Toyota Land Cruiser, returning home to Bavaria after 4 weeks in Turkey and Greece.

Albrecht was the first to approach us, a bottle of Greek peach liqueur in one hand, Mariana and their black spaniel, Heidi, in the other. His conversation was wide-ranging - life in Oberammergau, restoring wood carvings in Bavarian Baroque churches, the restoration work he had done in Jerusalem, travels in North Africa, their coming winter holiday in Hong Kong and Vietnam and plans to ship the Panzer to the USA in 1999.

The much-modified Panzer had to be admired. They had owned it for 10 years from new and he had added his own turbo-charger, extra water tanks, fridge, air conditioner and much else. It looked as though it could go anywhere and had been everywhere.

Sadly, the ferry-boat Anna V docked on schedule in Brindisi harbour and we had to part: Albrecht, Mariana and Heidi over the Alps to Bavaria in 2 days (leaving us their ADAC booklets on south-east Europe); Peter and Sue across Europe to London and a flight home, half-way round the world; ourselves to Camping Torre Rinalda, 12 miles south of Brindisi, for a reunion with old neighbours, our favourite family of campsite dogs.

A month later the Anna V was sunk by a bomb and we are still waiting for a refund on our return ticket!

Paul, Jenny and John (Australian, neighbours in Monemvassia)

We hadn't put a foot wrong on the 1,000 ft scramble up a rugged hillside to the castle above the Byzantine town of Monemvassia. And then we made our fatal mistake. We asked our companion, 14-year-old John, if he could complete the limerick: 'There was a young lady of Sparta'. Could he not! He was still developing variations in his rich Australian accent as we returned through the elegant, café-paved centre of the ancient town.

John and his parents, Paul and Jenny, were our neighbours at Camping Paradise, aptly named for this lovely south-east corner of Greece. The family was on a 6-month tour of Europe in a Hymer, registered in Germany where it was kept when Paul had to return to work in New South Wales. To avert any crisis of national identity, a large Australian flag flew at the front of the van.

We enjoyed their company as they waited for the ferry to Crete, and we enjoyed it some more when the ferry failed to arrive. And then some more! Slowly, the story unfolded: the crew had mutinied in Pireus because they hadn't been paid; the company went bankrupt; the ferry service was abandoned; refunds on tickets might be available. We said goodbye to Paul, Jenny and John as they drove north towards Athens, seeking another ferry, those long Australian vowels still echoing in the hills (Spaaaaaaarta).

Eugene and Nicole (Canadian, neighbours in Gythion)

We were admiring a row of octopuses (octopi?), hanging up to dry on a washing line by the harbour in Gythion, when Eugene puttered to a halt on his ancient Greek Yamaha motor-bike. It was a good beginning and later he introduced us to his partner Nicole and Francis the dog at their Nissan home on a nearby beach.

Eugene and Nicole are young French Canadians, playing Renaissance music on the lute and baroque oboe at medieval banquets and festivals throughout western Europe when they can, and busking in the streets when they can't. They winter in Greece where they make and repair their own instruments, grind their own wheat and make their own pasta! They had just 2 gas rings, but they baked bread and cakes in a hob-top-oven they'd bought in Germany.

The much-travelled Nissan, their home for 5 years, had been bought in the UK, but MOT and quarantine laws inhibit their return. Francis, a large and friendly Drahthaar ('wire-hair'), had been rescued from an Italian beach, starving and suffering from gunshot wounds. When they travelled, he had to move over to make room for the motor-bike; their bicycle was tied on the roof.

After a few days they left for Crete; we were left on our beach (Mani Beach Camping) admiring their spirit but happy to count the blessings of being Old Age Travellers.

Mick and Flo (English, neighbours on Glyfa Beach)

Was machen Sie hier? (what are you doing here?) was the greeting from an aggressive-looking young man when we first entered Camping Aginara Beach. Our site, Camping Ionion Beach, shared the same stretch of the Peloponnese coast and we had walked in looking for a friendly face. Luckily, we had already spotted a Kon-Tiki parked in the trees and Mick, its owner, had spotted us. Unscrambled from the German connection, we began what has become a long friendship with Mick, wife Flo, Lizzie the Kon-Tiki and their large, well-knit, multi-coloured family.

Mick and Flo have been in love with Greece since their very first package-holiday on Zakinthos. This love gave them the courage to realise their dream by selling up in the UK, putting their few remaining possessions into Lizzie and setting off in the direction of the morning sun. Now, they are slowly turning Greek (everything in Greece is unhurried), cycling to local street markets, gleaning a 'second harvest' from nearby fields and orchards and cooking the Mediterranean way. Life's essential luxuries (like an occasional glass of Retsina) are funded by selling new members of their family (they knit foot-high dolls). Theirs is the idyllic life.

When you are travelling, little is ever what it first appears: the German-speaking interrogator eventually became our good friend and neighbour Denis, an Albanian refugee and Aginara Beach's handyman with a command of Greek, English and German!

Mark and Kate (New Zealanders, neighbours in Lauterbrunnen)

Below the 13,670 ft Jungfrau and one valley away from the Eiger, the steep rock walls of the Lauterbrunnen valley let the sun lie in until 11 am and sent it to bed by 2 pm; they were climbed by rack railways and cable cars, hovered over by helicopters and plunged over by many waterfalls. Summer had gone and the ski season had yet to come. It was very quiet: just us, the marmots and our neighbours: Mark, Kate and Peke, their faithful Bedford.

Peke had carried Mark and Kate for 8,000 miles to Norway (Nordkapp), Russia (St Petersburg and Moscow), the Ukraine, Poland, Slovakia, Hungary, Austria and into Switzerland. There had been a few mechanical problems (a split radiator hose and a faulty petrol pump) but getting the visas, insurance and permits for Russia and the Ukraine had been their real difficulty.

Kate's dad, Rex, had joined them in Russia and then gone back towards New Zealand on the Trans-Siberian express from Moscow - we were impressed! Peke (his name came from the Russian for 'Rex') started life as an ambulance and became a minibus before finally settling down to be a motorhome.

As they left Lauterbrunnen's Camping Jungfrau, we gave our erstwhile neighbours a copy of Laurie Lee's 'As I Walked Out One Midsummer Morning' as encouragement to continue south, to explore Spain. But their time was up and they had to return to London where Peke would find a new owner, a new name and new adventures. Perhaps we should have given the book to him.

Michel and Huguette (French, neighbours in Kirkel)

It was mid-October and Dunkirk was 280 miles behind us. Days on the Somme Battlefield between Bapaume and Albert (using Camping Verdure at Sapignies as a base) had absorbed us and reinvigorated our commitment to European Union. Now we were heading east on the N43 in north-east France, already thinking of Strasbourg, Basel and the warmth of Italy waiting beyond the Alps.

Pulling up for a night's rest by the Intermarché in Carignan, east of Sedan, we smelt and then felt hot brakes. A scan of our electronic organiser revealed the existence of Winnebago's European Headquarters at Kirkel in the nearby Saarland region of Germany. A phone call, a 130 mile careful drive and we were taken over by an impressive mixture of German and American efficiency.

Our neighbours at Kirkel, sharing the free site, hook-up and morning croissants, were Michel and Huguette, a couple in their 70's from the Charente Maritime Department of France, between Cognac and Bordeaux. Their new Winnebago Brave needed a service and some work on its electronic engine management system.

Over a bottle of their local Pinaud aperitif, they told us something of their lives: the days of the German occupation and the French Resistance; their vineyard; aviation and crop spraying; diving (he called himself a Sub-aquariste); yachting and their decision, finally, to buy the Brave, their land yacht, to explore Europe (he called himself a Camping Cariste). After 2 hours of unbroken French we had to lie down. But we met again and learned even more about another of our European neighbours.

Brakes and engines fixed, Deutschmarks paid, we said Au Revoir but not Goodbye.

Grigore, Emil and Petru (Romanian, neighbours in Arad)

The train for Suceava in north-east Romania was gathering itself for the journey from Arad, near the Hungarian border. Outside the station, 5 cyclists gathered, 3 to catch the train and 2 looking for a cup of tea and a sandwich.

Cold and tired, Grigore, his son Emil and Emil's friend, Petru, had cycled across Hungary, trying to get to Italy, but they had been turned back at the Slovenian border. It's no fun being an East European trying to get into Fortress Europe - it reminded us how freely we could now roam across Europe, north, east, south and west. They were annoyed that they had had to pay 10 DM each to get out of Romania, but after only a few hungry days in that country, we thought that it was a bargain!

We never did get our tea and sandwiches but we did eventually cycle the 400 miles across Hungary, back to Schlosscamping in the Austrian village of Burgau and the welcoming warmth, comfort and food of our motorhome. The brief meeting with our neighbours from the far end of Europe made us realise that much work remains to be done to build what Gorbachev called our 'European Home'.

Geoff and Gisela (English/German, neighbours in Marathopoli)

Their home had an end-bedroom, 12-volt system, mains hook-up, TV, marine toilet, shower, dinette, diesel engine, solar panels, gas bottles, hob and oven, water tanks, lockers, shopping bike and a dog, Tilly. We talked about free camping, navigating, avoiding low bridges, problems with cross winds, wintering in the south, travelling at night, weight limits, avoiding rolling when turning, crossing borders. Ours is 27 ft long; they claimed 30 ft. Geoff was pleased that he would never need new tyres; I was relieved that my bottom would not have to be scraped.

Geoff is an ex-Royal Marine, retired and travelling the coasts of the Mediterranean. Gisela comes from Hamburg and cooks whatever they can catch over the side of their catamaran, Gable Moon. Tilly, now an experienced sea dog, was rescued in Gibraltar and did tricks for ship's biscuits. We met in the tiny port of Marathopoli, where they were parked between 2 Greek fishing boats and we were cycling along the coast from our base at Camping Kyparissia. We made good neighbours: we had so much in common and quite a lot to learn from each other, until a fresh wind from the south blew them away over the horizon. Now, where did we put that satellite navigator?