We Can Drive There by Juliet Greenwood charts an adventurous family road trip across Europe in a 35-year-old classic VW, complete with their rescue dog, Marty.
In 2005, Juliet Greenwood met two twenty-something Hungarians who had come to the UK for three months to work.
Having been originally unsure of where Hungary was, Juliet and her family were thrilled to find out that it was next to Austria and they could drive there.
This is the story of that first journey and six others, in a thirty-five-year-old classic VW, with four kids and one rescue dog.
Juliet says, “This is a story about family bonds and friendships formed, how you can welcome strangers into your life and have them become family regardless of age, nationality, or language.
We met some guys from Hungary in our hometown of Gloucester, and set out to drive there, with four kids, not really knowing where it was! This is the story of that first journey and six others, in a 35-year-old classic VW.
I wrote it because someone said to me ‘I would take time out of my day to read about what the Greenwoods were up to’, so I hope a few others will too.”
Austria
It is so quiet here – the river flows past; occasionally there is a swish of bike wheels; boats go by silently, even enormous river cruisers don’t make a sound; and the rockface on the opposite bank deadens what noise there is.
The dog (Marty) takes a dip in the Danube (not a bad life for a rescue dog from Dublin) and chases the ducks until they all turn around and start chasing him. It is very comical.
He has swum out quite far and we worry that he is in the shipping channel so Will goes into the water to entice him back with the promise of a ball throw. Will wades out thirty, forty and fifty metres and it is still only waist deep.
Marty is chasing swans now at more like a hundred metres from shore. He is also swimming down the river so is getting further from where we are. I follow him on the path, keeping an eye on his bobbing head.
He is attracting some attention from the ‘locals’ and I hear 'eine hund schwimmen' from a few of them. I cannot tell if it is said in awe of his supreme athleticism or a judgement on our irresponsibility.
At about three hundred metres from where he started, and about 150 metres out from the shore, we get him back by throwing sticks in the water.
He swims over whimpering in excitement at the idea of a stick game; Will hauls him out; he has a shake, then goes for the stick and tries to jump back in.
You would think he would be exhausted but no, he is ready for another paddle; in his mind, those swans won’t chase themselves.
We shake our heads at him so he knows that although we think he is an awesome dude who could probably outswim a shark, we have to show that his behaviour is not acceptable.
We have a theory that this is how he turned up in England needing a new home because he swam across from Ireland! The reality is that he came across in a Dogs Trust van, but our story is cooler.
Though our version would mean there might be some nice Irish family looking out across the Irish sea wondering where their lovely dog went.
Here in Austria, a neat place with many rules and regulations, we worry that some of the other campers may be thinking we are very foolish to have endangered his life in such a manner.
We put him on the lead and head back for some food, some Olive appreciation from our neighbours and bed.
