KEY POINTS:
I was 27 when I survived the Kiwi rite of passage - the Kombi trip around Europe. Four girls, one battered VW van, 10 countries and two months to see it all.
It was autumn 1990. At the time it didn't occur to me I might be back one day not only with a husband but child in tow.
Sixteen years later I set out not so much to relive the epic but to see Europe through fresh eyes, those of husband George, for whom Europe was a new destination, and 4-year-old Joey, for whom it was a great chance to broaden horizons before the constraints of school holidays.
We rented a campervan in Germany which is, so we were told, the cheapest place to rent vans. Starting in Germany also allows the nervous Kiwi driver a chance to adapt to European driving on well-planned, orderly roads before hitting the madness that is sometimes Italy.
We chose the campervan instead of renting a car with Joey in mind. His essentials included half a wooden Thomas the Tank Engine set so it seemed best to avoid packing and unpacking every day.
Not only would a van provide him with a constant haven in the whirl of travel, there was a kitchen in which to feed him and a bathroom. Telling a 4-year-old to "hang on till we find a toilet" isn't an option. Especially in Europe when finding a toilet is usually mission impossible.
The kitchen also saved money. Instead of eating in expensive cafes - and believe me, any cafe in Europe is expensive - we could cook what we liked when we wanted.
But even in the off-season our van cost $166 a day and diesel $2.40 a litre in Italy.
Camping grounds cost $60-plus a night and price was no indication of quality. Some were resort-like but in some we wouldn't use the toilets. The saving grace was free camping.
In 1990, the VW we affectionately dubbed "Turtle" did not have a bathroom, which made camping anywhere other than a campground inconvenient to say the least.
Our only attempt at free camping ended in an undignified dash out of a field in France after we heard, what we thought, was a farmer shooting at us. Once dressed and awake we realised it was probably a bird scarer but we weren't taking any chances.
In 2006 I not only had a husband to deal with angry farmers but also a hot shower. Our only limitation was the need to fill up with fresh water and to dump the not so fresh every three days or so.
Some countries frown on free camping but we found as long as you didn't set up camp no one seemed to mind. A few Italian towns provide special areas for campervans where you can stop for the night for only $20.
Pulling over for a kip is a way of life for Europe's thousands of truck drivers and truck stops are everywhere. One night we pulled into a parking area the size of Timaru and found an empty corner to sleep in. We awoke to find ourselves surrounded by huge rigs. We hadn't even heard them pull up beside us.
Our most hair-raising free camp was our last. We parked close to the Frankfurt rental van depot in order to make the ridiculous 9am return.
Unfortunately our late-night packing looked like looting to locals and gun-toting policemen surrounded us. Thankfully they soon realised we were cleaning up not cleaning out.
Our best free camp was a night beside Lake Bolsena in Southern Tuscany.
As the setting sun painted the sky pink we parked on a sandy beach and drank in the serenity ... along with a lovely little red.
Serenity can be a scarce commodity cruising the highways of Europe. Driving a campervan is not for the faint-hearted, especially in Italy. There were many days when it seemed we were doing a cross between the Ultimate Race and Fear Factor as George dodged kamikaze scooter riders and I hunted clues to our next destination.
I know in the age of global satellite positioning it shouldn't be hard to navigate your way around a country. But when all roads really do lead to Rome a roundabout is a nightmare of choices. Driver-navigator communication becomes critical.
In the Kombi, flight deck tension tested friendships, not a marriage. George and I did very well although I'm sure he was close to divorcing me the day I urged him into what I thought was Pompei but turned out to be a dusty, ramshackle village with streets that closed in on us like
a clamp. We escaped with our wing mirrors folded in, ducking under balconies and dodging the evil eye of surly locals.
For one of Italy's biggest tourist attractions, Pompei has a tiny motorway exit sign.
Finding the road to Pompei didn't end our problems either. The small stretch of road outside the ruins is a traffic nightmare of tour buses, tourists and honking cars. Car park attendants haggle over prices which range up to $20 for a few hours. We finally took refuge in a camping ground, too traumatised to venture back out. For all that, the ruins of Pompei were a trip highlight.
Parking was an ongoing problem. I remember we had problems even in 1990 in our Kombi. We saw Monaco in a drive-past because Kombis weren't allowed to park anywhere.
In the campervan we often drove for miles just trying to find somewhere to stop. We searched for hours along the stunning Liguria coastline for a car park before ending up on the tiny winding road between Santa Margarita and the famous village of Portofino.
All we could do was breathe in as buses, cars and pedestrians jostled past us between cliffs and emerald coves.
Unfortunately we'd missed the sign telling us that while you can park a superyacht in Portofino you cannot park a campervan. A policeman at the entrance to the village was much more direct - so back along the goat track we went.
In fact we went back through three more villages and again sought shelter in a camping ground before venturing out, this time on public transport, to get a less traumatic view of the stunning coastline.
By the time we reached the Amalfi Coast in the south of Italy we'd learned our lesson. Find a camping ground then take the bus - and what a bus ride.
The cliff road between Sorrento and Amalfi is a wonder. It's a wonder anyone survives.
Forget the dizzying heights of the cantilevered road or the hair-pin blind bends and the plunging drop into an azure blue abyss. What charges this road with adrenalin is the race for space.
It may look like a single lane, but two-way traffic has to edge past and contend with parked cars as well.
At one stage our bus had to inch back 100m to allow another bus to scrape past.
Even though it was the off-season the road was still jammed and all this traffic had to squeeze into the impossibly small port of Amalfi.
Add to this melee a wedding party looking like the cast of The Sopranos.
It was no wonder one bus driver leapt from his bus with homicide on his mind. It took five guys and much screaming in Italian (none of which was in my phrase book) to get him back into his bus.
I'm sure somewhere there is a home for traumatised Amalfi bus drivers who sit honking imaginary horns and twitching. We were stressed just watching them and they negotiate this havoc every half hour!
Joey took all this in his stride. He quickly discovered that in Italy one thing remained constant: gelato. His tour was fuelled by chocolata and fragola (strawberry). He even learned to order it himself in Italian.
When the gelato couldn't sustain him he curled up like an oversized possum in his stroller and slept. Joey's snoring gave me peaceful touring and it didn't really matter if he missed seeing the odd Michelangelo or da Vinci because 4-year-olds aren't easily impressed by art or history.
To him everything was a playground. The Col-osseum was the perfect race track to run around and the ancient cobble- stones of Pompei were great for hopping.
While this type of travel might not be for every child, Joey loved it and never tired of new sights and sources of gelato.
Having a pre-schooler in tow certainly slows you down but it didn't really cramp our style.
As you get older thankfully your style changes too. Florence and the famous Camping Michelangelo provided the best deja vu. Set in an olive grove older than New Zealand, this camping ground has the most spectacular view across to Florence's distinctive domed cathedral and it's only 15 minutes walk to the city.
It's been a favourite haunt for generations of antipodeans and the Kombi girls had enjoyed its charms and even cooked with leaves from its bay tree hedges.
Sixteen years later nothing had changed. Returning from the shower one night I heard the raucous chatter of young Kiwis. The bar was shut but they were still going hard. It took me back for a minute, but my comfy camper awaited and I was happy to head home to my snoring family.
So apart from my waistline, what had changed in 16 years? Quite a lot, actually. You can still be mowed down by a madman on a scooter but these days his hair won't be blowing in the breeze. Not only are Italians mussing up their hair with crash helmets, they're not even riding Vespers. The streets are clogged with Japanese horse power and stringent anti-smoking laws have lifted the haze from bars and restaurants.
It was a relief to have the euro instead of thousands of lira and not to have to change currency at every border.
In fact, identifying a border wasn't easy as most look like giant truck stops.
But if getting into countries was easy, getting into tourist attractions wasn't. Before you queued for tickets you had to queue before metal detectors, have your handbag inspected and your potentially lethal child's stroller checked out.
And then there were the tourists. Even in the off season the maddening crowd is only slightly reduced to an annoying throng.
The queue for the Vatican Museum was more than 1km long. Memories of my first visit had to do.
But one of the saddest changes was in the village markets I'd remembered so fondly. They seem to have been killed off by hyper supermarkets stranded between towns.
But the village bakeries were still there churning out delicacies. And the wine these days can still be cheaper than water.
We hoped Joey might have made lots of friends in packed Italian playgrounds.
But many were empty, a sign of Italy's falling birth rate and changing society. In some campgrounds there were more dogs than children.
Visiting Europe still inspires a renewed appreciation of home.
The Old World's history, art and culture is wonderful, but after 7000km, five countries and 30 days, New Zealand was definitely a splendid destination as well.
