I live in a country where if you drive in a straight line for 3 hours, chances are you'll end up in the sea. England is a small island and we're not used long journeys, in fact Brits are pretty suspicious of large distances - because we don't have any!

The looks on people faces when i told them we were going to the Alps on a coach veered from a stare that said 'That will hurt, you absolute fools' to a frown that said 'Thats not possible , you absolute fools'.But the deal was there - £199, coach, hotel and half board - the snow was there - 12 inches in the past week - and it was the last week of the season... I was going to be there!We Rolled up to Victoria coach station just 15 minutes before the journey began, a relief from the usual '2 hours to the airport'.No queues, ticket checks or baggage restrictions. We carried on a few beers from the nearby off-licence and we didn't have to take our shoes off or be forced to consider buying a 7 quid Toblerone.As the coach began its journey without any of the silly rituals of safety routines, or the ceremony of the stewardesses, coach travel was suddenly more civilised than the cattle-prodded airports and dehumanizing airport security checks that i've become used to if I want to leave my country for a bit of exploring.We all chatted and compared sandwich boxes as the the bus crawled through London's evening rush hour. The freedom of life on the road seemed so much more relaxed and civilised than the crush, rush and push of airtravel.At Thurrock services a group of young lads got on, beers in hand, swaying along, swearing, drunk and ready for action. This was more like a traditional British coach journey, and by the time we had reached the Channel Tunnel a fight had broken out amongst them!So much for civility.

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  • The Crashpacker

    I never meant to go travelling, I just went. You start moving and can't stop, and when you do come to rest the inertia swells i…

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