European Road Trip: From Scotland To Malta Via Southern Spain (Part One)
Before moving to Malta, I had a job offer in Valencia and I decided to fly to Glasgow to collect my car and drive my belongings from Scotland to the south of Spain. First off, I had to show my friend around Glasgow and further afield. We stayed in the southside in a quiet little hamlet called Thorntonhall.
Nights on the town ensued, heading over to the famous Merchant City – catching up with friends at a newly reopened establishment ‘Blackfriars of Bell Street’. After a few pints sank we thought it best to shuffle on and find some ‘scran’ (otherwise known as food).
Arguably one of the most underrated spots in the city is found on one of the grimiest streets. The Calabash is an African restaurant on Glasgow’s Union Street situated beside the city’s largest train station, Glasgow Central.
The following day we undertook interviews with aspiring young business people from across the city, including award-winning creative director Barrington Reeves of Too Gallus and multi-purpose building owner Clay Mitchell of Box Hub. Want the best chicken in Glasgow or some deep-dish pizza? Look no further than Buck’s Bar and their sister restaurant Thundercat Pizza.
Soon after we headed over to the ‘Falls of Clyde’- an absolute gem of a place and you’ll likely have the place to yourself. If you venture to Glasgow or Edinburgh, New Lanark is wedged in between the two cities and offers so much greenery and outdoor adventures.
A few days in Glasgow before our European road trip began. I decided to take my pal for a curry at Punjabi Tadka – in East Kilbride – to put some hairs on our chest and get us ready for the formidable journey that we faced.
The trip began on a miserable cold night in Glasgow. Pitch-black and we decided to get a headstart on the traffic and set off on leg one of our trip at around 11pm.
I was joined on the drive by my friend – and videographer – Andrew ‘Bear’ Mizzi. I’d decided to turn my travels into a content creation trip for a fintech startup I had been hired by as a contractor (heading up the communications team).
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Glasgow to London: stage one. We drove down on the Thursday evening and arrived into central London – with just two stops – at around 7am.
Our plan was to shoot content, such as me dressing up as the company mascot (picture below), pictures in front of landmarks, interviewing people from the world of tech at FinTech Week London and speaking to interesting people with stories to tell about their freelance businesses.
Day one: the plan was to rest up. I’d driven without sleep for over seven hours and there was no chance I could head straight out without a kip.
Several hours later and I woke up. Andrew Mizzi was preparing his camera equipment and we planned out the next two days of content creation. We ventured through London during the heatwave of July 2022.
Piccadilly Circus, Leicester Square, 10 Downing Street and finally Shoreditch, then several other areas across the capital.
Drew Hollinshead - Writer at Lovin Malta, PR professional and former CCO of a fintech startup pictured half-dressed in London after braving the heatwave.
After days of interviewing and traversing around London, it was time to rest. We met up with our friend Tomas, a designer and founder of a clothing brand ‘House of Tomas‘ – several pints later we were merry and decided to call it a night and crashed at his apartment.
Realising we had a short dash to Dover to make our 6am ferry, I was quick to panic and to ensure we arrived on time, made the 90-odd-mile drive towards the white cliffs and parked up ready and waiting. After catching forty winks, we woke up, Andrew in the front passenger seat and myself sprawled across the bags in the back of the car. Windows fogged up, anyone watching the car might have thought we were dogging! We weren’t.
After going through immigration and customs, we drove up the ramp, parked the car and decided to get some breakfast and chill. We soon found out we wouldn’t be getting any respite after three bus loads of school children were aboard. Shouting and screaming, these teachers had a task on their hand.
Instagram screenshot driving from central London to the Port of Dover
We reached Calais and realised neither me nor Andrew had a working charger cable. We needed it, there’s only so many times you can miss an exit or carriageway when not referring to a sat-nav. The roads in France were wonderful to drive on, no traffic enforcement, so you could put the pedal to the metal. Which we did. Va va voom…
Passing through the French countryside we aimed for Paris – which I’d probably consider my least favourite capital city in the world (followed closely by Bogota in Colombia and San Jose in Costa Rica).
Playing French music as soon as we got off the ferry and re-runs of the Ratatouille soundtrack and ‘La Mer’ – think Mr Bean at Cannes Film Festival walking down steps in the final montage 0 we soon arrived at our budget aparthotel (keeping down costs for the business and our expenses). We shared a room and had a bunkbed – Andrew kindly let me take the top single bunk whilst he opted for the more spacious bottom bunk – which was a double.
The first night was to rest up and plan out the following day’s events schedule. We were meant to meet my part-English, part-French friend who I’d met in Uruguay back in 2017. Charlie was delayed however and couldn’t get back from his own mini-adventure. We were on our own and neither of us spoke French.
Paris was dirty, packed and seemed far different from what I had encountered when I was last there. The last time I was there was in 2012 when I drove my friend and I across the continent as far as Bratislava in Slovakia.
Videography and content creation expert Andrew Mizzi - from Malta - capturing shots of the Eiffel Tower in Paris
The Eiffel Tower was closed due to rust and it being in a state of disrepair. Paris seemed to be a very clique sort of place. People seemed less open-minded, less compassionate towards foreigners who didn’t or couldn’t speak the language. After two days of rushing around Paris in 38 degree heat – on Bastille Day of all dates – we were fucking knackered. Pardon my French.
We decided to catch the metro from nearby the Louvre back to our hotel after a day of filming and doing interviews. Rest was needed before our mammoth drive towards Barcelona via Andorra through the Pyrenees. I strolled over towards the information desk to find out which direction we had to travel. And I was met by a rude Parisian lady in her mid-thirties.
“Good Afternoon, would you please point me in the direction of…..”.
The lady shrugged and said, “Aren’t you going to say hello and ask me how I am before demanding directions”.
I wasn’t in the mood for a debate on social etiquette, especially not from a mouthy French woman. It was hot, sticky, I was carrying three bags and was visibly melting. Her pretentious attitude was the final straw for me after a day of maneuvering around Paris and being questioned for ‘not speaking French’.
“Get the stick out your arse. I’m only asking for directions”, I said.
I had decided I’d rather talk to my phone or Siri than another ‘flaming’ Parisian. Andrew could see that my patience had been tested over the days in France and I was eager to cross the border into Barcelona via Andorra. Paris had finally come to an end and we arrived back at our hotel to rest.
The next morning we set off a little later than we had planned and this part of the trip would be the longest drive yet. Especially going from A to B without a break.
1,050 kilometres or 652 miles. The GPS advised it would take eleven hours and 40 minutes. I was aiming to get us to Barcelona for 8pm or within 10 hours – enough time to get changed, showered and out to paint the town red.
A back-breaking drive – but breathtaking nonetheless. I’d always wanted to check out Andorra and I’d seen online that the drive through the Pyrenees was spectacular. We passed Bourges, then Limoges and began cruising down the A20 towards Toulouse. Then I saw cable cars flowing up the mountain – I’m quite obsessed with cable cars, you’ll know that if you read a recent article I wrote.
That tickled my fancy, so we decided to stop for an hour. Catch our breath, scale the mountain, top up on snacks and check out the views from Ax-Les-Thermes.
We tried to find a shop to buy some food, but everywhere was closed. A quick drink at the local bar and we began traversing up the mountains. This was less a holiday, more a driving trip.
194km until we get to Barcelona. We were getting restless, hungry and we were chain-smoking rolly cigarettes. Following the winding roads alongside a train-track and the gushing river, we soon found ourselves in Andorra before pushing on for the final stretch to Barcelona.
As you’ll well know if you’re used to driving long distances, the closer you get the faster you tend to go – chasing the clock whilst watching the speedometer.
Due to parking limitations in central Barcelona, we booked a hotel with underground parking approximately 3.5km outside of the ‘main areas’. We soon found out where to go, but I was surprised by the lack of accessibility to taxis across the city. Forget Uber, if you want a cab it’s better to get the reception to call one for us.
It took what felt like forever. We had a shower, went downstairs, then sipped on some whisky and a pint of Estrella. Our taxi had finally arrived and we ventured to Las Ramblas – a renowned neighbourhood in central Barcelona.
A cute wee tapas place, we sat down like a sack of spuds, exhaled and ordered the coldest, largest beer available. After deciphering the trip and discussing what we’d been up to so far, a man approached our table.
What seemed like a fairly innocent attempt to ask for money – we soon found out later that I’d been robbed. The cunning and conniving ‘ladron’ had swept a piece of cardboard over the table and subtly pulled it towards him. At the time I didn’t notice a thing. I’d driven 1,000km and was completely knackered. The bastard had stolen my brand new iPhone which had a card case attached to the back – my iPhone went along with my Maltese residency card and my UK driving license.
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The thief has also racked up over €400 worth of spending including a supermarket shop, a trip to McDonald’s, a taxi – presumably – home and a piss-up in a Peruvian restaurant where he spent almost €145.
Welcome to Barcelona, I thought. I was annoyed, fuming and pissed off.
The next morning, we ventured to the police station to file a police report. The station was filled to the brim with other unsuspecting victims of theft Most had had their phone stolen, some with injuries, others in tears and some just sitting patiently in silence – like me.
I still haven’t heard from the Police in Barcelona and I doubt they even followed up on the information I provided them. After all Barcelona is the world capital of thieves. Smooth operators indeed.
Our final night we decided to truly let our hair down and went out to a renowned karaoke bar – a few fan favourites later and we were partying with a Spanish hen do. I’ll have to censor the story at this stage. Safe to say it was a great night!
Abirradero - the tapas bar we went to in Barcelona where Drew's mobile phone, ID and bank cards were stolen
The final leg of the trip was to head south towards Valencia, and then inland to Xativa for a two-day offsite management meeting. Andrew was booked in by the fintech CEO, to film and document the weekend where lots of new staff were meeting each other for the first time.
The final leg of part one of my travels was very relaxed – we’d reached our final destination and pulled in to a side street, parked up and got showered at a local Valencian girl’s apartment (we’d met previously in an Irish bar – shock!)
Valencia is a beautiful city and for me is highly underrated. Beautiful tree-lined boulevards with the old river – now containing a park and various sports facilities – after the river was diverted following the great Valencia flood in 1957.
From there we headed inland – a short 25 minute drive to the picturesque Xativa – a town that was burnt to the ground by the King of Spain in 1707 during the War of the Spanish Succession.
Xativa was a strategically located town of great importance. In 1150 Europe’s first paper mill was founded there, using rice and straw as the raw materials. The paper is still known in Morocco by the name of ‘xativi’. Meanwhile, Xativa managed to produce two Popes, both members of the notorious Borja family; Calixtus 3rd and Alexander 6th.
The town was fascinating as was its hilltop castle, the best oranges I’ve ever tasted. Yet outsiders it seemed, were not trusted here. And so I would not stay here for too long…
(STAY TUNED FOR PART TWO) –
Valencia to Malta – via Marseille, Monaco, Genova, Pisa, Anguillara Sabazia, Rome, Pompeii, Villa San Giovanni, Taormina, Mount Etna, Pozzallo and Valletta.
Tag your road trip buddy!
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