With a restful night’s sleep under my belt, I headed down for breakfast, not quite as early this morning, but at 8.30am, I still had enough time to see a little of the city before making the final push home. I was pleased to find a solid spread of cereals, fruit, yoghurt, and croissants, but was even happier to find a great selection of cooked dishes that comfortably outshone the boiled vegetables of Switzerland. My plate featured scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, sausages, seeded rolls, and crunchy potato croquettes, all washed down with strong coffee, fuelling me for the 435 miles still to go.

Before checking out, I took a brief stroll around Karlsruhe, the overcast sky confirming my northward drift. The streets were nice enough—a mixture of historic and modern—but somehow lacking the vibrant beauty and charm of the Italian cities I loved. Views from my morning exploration revealed a broad avenue flanked by ornate buildings with steeply pitched roofs, one crowned by a large clock mounted high, its face overseeing only sparse traffic as tram lines curved like silver threads through the streets. Overhead, tram wires crisscrossed the grey sky, while a handful of pedestrians and cyclists added life to the sedate scene.

Nearby, Stephanplatz stretched out quietly, with a few locals hovering around a small farmers' market which offered colourful produce beneath green awnings, while at its centre, a naked lady with impressive jugs poured water into the large fountain, her patinaed bronze statue reflecting her fine figure in the rippling pool. I continued my walk down a pedestrianised street, which revealed subdued shops, some with large potted plants outside, while cafés with outside tables stood largely empty beneath red umbrellas, adding colour to the muted Monday-morning mood. I wandered for about an hour, appreciating the order but not feeling compelled to linger; home beckoned, and with an 8pm ferry to catch, I didn't want traffic to force a rush.

Back on the road by 10am, the journey was uneventful at first, with the autobahn flowing freely beneath cloudy skies. I stopped at a McDonald's in Eschweiler, the menu varying slightly from the UK, but McDonald's are the same the world over: reliable, if unremarkable. A quick bite there kept me going, the familiar arches offering a small comfort amid the northern chill.

Heavy traffic plagued the afternoon, and once I re-entered Belgium, I was able to confirm my theory from the outbound leg that Belgians are likely the worst drivers in Europe. With persistent tailgating and erratic lane changes, it at least kept me alert during this final push. At one point, a brooding storm darkened the sky and rain lashed down, making the roads slick and congested, forcing me to crawl at a frustrating pace.

I reached Dunkirk at 5.20pm, with plenty of time to spare before the ferry. Seizing the opportunity, I stocked up on more wine, adding another six bottles of Côtes du Rhône to my haul, a favourite introduced to me through my in-laws’ regular trips to their home in Normandy. At €2.95 a bottle, it was another bargain, though dwindling funds and uncertainty over duty-free limits curbed any temptation to buy more. I also picked up some pains au chocolat and croissants for my wife and me to enjoy for breakfast tomorrow, a small shared treat to take home.

I’d chosen the ferry over the tunnel for the return crossing, as living near Dover, the extra hour of journey time didn't matter, and heading north meant I regained the time lost on the outbound leg. This also allowed me to grab a surprisingly good dinner of chicken and chips, and have some time to relax and unwind before the final leg back to Whitstable.

Docking in Dover, I felt a twinge of apprehension as customs loomed—had I breached the duty-free limit with all that wine? Just as I thought I might get waved through, I was asked to pull over and step out of the vehicle. With my heart racing, I opened the boot, answering a few questions as the officer eyed the bottles. After a tense pause, he nodded and said I could go. With a deep sigh of relief at keeping all the wine, I was finally on my way home.

The final stretch passed quickly, and I arrived home in Whitstable at 10.42pm UK time, with the odometer reading 2,375.3 miles. Exhausted but fulfilled, I unpacked the wines and treats, the adventure’s end settling into a quiet, satisfying calm.

Trip Summary

This nine-day solo odyssey from Whitstable to Genoa and back spanned ten countries: the UK, France, Belgium, Luxembourg, Germany, Switzerland, Italy, Monaco, Liechtenstein, and Austria. The total cost came in at £1,838.79, broken down as £432.64 for fuel (averaging 41mpg over 2,375 miles), £43.32 for European breakdown cover, £139.48 in tolls, £111 for the Eurotunnel out and ferry back, £704.53 for accommodation (not including a booking.com voucher code), and £407.82 on sundries such as drinks, food, museum entry, and of course, the wine.

Travel times varied, with Day 1's 513 miles to Basel, and Day 2's 344 miles to Genoa, both taking around nine hours. The return legs of 495 miles and 435 miles were far more punishing, extended by traffic delays to well over eleven hours each.

The outbound route via Basel, with its stunning Grimsel and Simplon Passes and smooth roads, easily outshone the return’s traffic-heavy slog, and I’d choose it again without hesitation.

The Tuscan day trip, where I revisited San Vincenzo, covered 352 miles and took eleven hours; the Ligurian coast road trip to Monaco covered 230 miles and took around eleven and a half hours.

During the nine days, I walked 42.57 miles, with Genoa’s exploratory days, like the 30,239-step record breaker, accounting for the lion’s share of the total.

Genoa's caruggi and food, Liguria’s coastal roads, the alpine passes, and the freedom of the open road will live long in my memory. More than anything though, the journey reaffirmed something I’ve long known: I love the journey just as much as the destination.

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