Riding for thousands of kilometres all over Europe, we sometimes felt proud to see no Italian cars all around. “To boldly go where no Italian has gone before”. It happened between Warsaw and Gdansk. But also in the countryside of Hamburg. Near Banja Luka, and in Brighton. And up on a volcano in eastern Cappadocia.

It’s a short climax, only few minutes. Cause behind the corner an Italian motorhome, coming from Brescia or from Trento is ready to interrupt this felling. Say hello to those people, pretend they did not compromise your trip.

Me and my compatriots are happy to meet abroad only at the gas station, where our self confidence is strongly endangered, and we feel like anyone should help us. Specially me, since my car is LPG powered, and in Italy its refueling must be done by an attendant. In Countries, such as Switzerland or Germany, where you must provide by yourself, it’s not rare to observe, near LPG distributors, little groups of Italian drivers, spying on and encouraging each other in their duty.