I knew it was getting serious when the zompires began to attack...And so it begins.

I am not sure where this all started. It may well have been a book by Ted Simons "Jupiters Travels". A travel book with reflections on personal development and the foibles of a 1970's Triumph motorcycle. It may have been a series of personal and work stuff that left me with fewer and fewer options. Still, in the last few weeks I would probably have given it all up but I had no plan B.

So that was how I found myself dripping softly onto the floor of the nice train set to carry us under the English Channel. Us being me, my daughter who is sometimes called Madge and the Mighty DR650

Over to Madge for the expert view...

Over to Madge

So we arrived in France to begin the first stage of our journey. With Northern France not being the most scenic of places, we set off down the motorway; not wasting any time stopping to enjoy the (lack of) scenery.

Before we knew it, we were in Belgium. Unfortunately, as it is a lovely little country with the friendliest, most helpful people you could meet, we didn't get to see much of it as we had to push on so it was mainly motorways and service stations.

The Belgian service stations did infuriate my dad though. Instead of the standard 'fill-up-and-pay-for-what-you've-put-in' procedure, they have a strange system where you park at a pump, go inside and pay for how much you fuel you think you need, fill up, and then inevitably either end up going to collect your change or having to pay more and begin the procedure again. Cue lots of angry Belgians waving the pumps at the staff when they don't remember to activate them instantly. And you also have to pay 50 cents to use the toilet. At EVERY station. In the country.

We did also get informed by a rather rich Belgian man at the campsite we stayed in that first night that we had 'a verrry small tent'; but as it has to be packed and unpacked day in, day out we took it on the chin!

The next day was simply motorways out of the country and onto the autobahns of Germany- which as you probably know, have no speed limits. On a dirt bike. To be fair, although I think that the experience was slightly terrifying for my dad (not so much for me tucked in the back seat, I did somehow manage to nod off a couple of times), both he and the DR650 did very well.

We spent the second night in a beautiful campsite towards the North of Germany in a town called Limburg, and the rest of the next day spent hours upon hours blitzing it down the autobahns.

This would have been a bad enough days travelling on its own, but it so happened that we also had to do this in what must have been 40 degree heat. On a motorbike. In a helmets. And leathers. And gloves. And so on.

It was so unbelievably hot that at times we could feel the waves of heat rising up off the motorway. At a speed of 80mph or above, it was just about tolerable, but anything lower that that was nearly unbearable. And then, of course, just when we were getting tantalisingly close to our goal (a small town called Passau close to the Austrain border), the motorway came to a complete standstill and we were stood about in the heat, no shade, not knowing when we were going to move... Nightmare.

However, after an incredibly long and exhausting day, we made it to Passau (which was an absolutely beautiful little place) and crossed through into Austria, which was where the adventure actually started.

We travelled for about half an hour down a little road just past the Austrian border (which seemed like heaven after two solid days of Autobahns), as it was marked as a 'pretty road' on our Michelin map and it was about time that we actually got to see some scenery.

Of course, being Austria, it didn't disappoint. Alongside the road ran a clear, turquoise river and on the other side of it was a valley covered in the greenest of trees. Every now and again you could spot castle-y like buildings nestled in the hilltops and beautifully architectured churches. It was the first time of many that we noticed the significant- and sometimes bizarre- sudden change the moment that you cross a country border.

Inevitably, what with me being Welsh, incredibly fair-skinned and not used to sunlight, I began to get very grouchy (and faint!) in the blazing heat so we decided to look for somewhere to stop for the night. With it being Austria and a fairly expensive country, camping was again on the cards and it wasn't long before we came across a campsite on the banks of the river.

After booking in with a lovely, loud Austrian lady who didn't speak a word of English, we set off to find a pitch. I was still whimpering and grumpy and very sweaty, so I put our bags down in the first shady patch that I came across. This happened to be next to a black van with had a GB reg plate on it; here, I will add, that there was a perfectly large amount of room left on the other side of said van that was more than adequate for a pitch at a campsite, and we were not all that close to it on our side either.

Being me, and a tad over dramatic in the sun, I collapsed in a heap on the grass in the shade whilst dad brought the bike round. Deciding that we should get unpacking so that we could relax and not have to worry about putting up a tent later on we began sorting everything out.

(Note: this might not sound like a big deal, but we managed to fit a HELL of a lot of stuff onto the Mighty DR650!)

However, while going about our own business, the owner of the GB licensed van came out to address us.

'Excuse me. You need to move. We need to be able to open our van doors, you see. Fully. They open very wide, you see. VERY wide.'

The tone of voice used was quite simply snobby, derogatory, and rude. Hard to put down in writing but it was one of those nose-turned-up 'oooh you're on a sh*tty motorbike. We have a van. A van! We are, quite simply, better than you' moments.

Still don't know why we moved without a fuss as forgetting the shade, it was actually the only piece of ground suitable for pitching a tent, and we weren't even that fucking close to them anyway. And they obviously didn't open their bloody incredibly wide van doors all bloody night. Not once.

Quote of the day then came from my dad:

'Lesson learnt from that story is, if you see someone with British reg plates don't park beside them. Because they might be English.'

Anyway, rude-Brit trauma aside, after unsuccessfully putting the tent up due to the ground we'd had to move to being hard as rocks, we went for a couple of beers and then for dinner in the local town.

The town was typical Austria as you imagine it; quaint, pretty and quiet with flowers everywhere. However what you don't see on the postcards of Austria are the huge biting horsefly-type things that attacked us in swarms all evening. Our insect repellent didn't do a thing, and they were the sort of big bastards that clung on and carried on blood-sucking even when being swatted to death.

It was still very hot and humid when we went to bed, and after trying for about twenty minutes to get to sleep, dad went to sleep outside as the two of us in that tiny tent was stifling and almost unbearable. It was so hot I ended up having to sack my bed roll off and sleep on the ground just to get a bit of coolness from somewhere.

After eventually dozing off (I felt like I was sleeping in a tent equivalent of Buckingham Palace with all that room to myself... success!!) I was woken up in the middle of the night by a roar of thunder, and next thing I knew the heavens opened and it sounded like machine guns were being fired onto the tent roof. My dad came scrambling in for cover but then we realised everything was scattered everywhere... Bags with electricals, motorbike gear...

Thus began a frantic hunt in the pitch darkness to try and retrieve all our belongings from outside; obviously getting ourselves and the tent soaking wet in the process. I had never seen lightning to the extent that it was that night- flashes and flashes of sheet lightning that was so bright it made you feel as if it was going to blind you if you had your eyes open when it struck.

It was pretty scary, and on top of the whole being soaked and inevitably the tent pegs coming out, it did lead to some grumpiness. The most annoying thing was that all our stuff had been bloody organised before we'd pointlessly had to move it, and we could have saved the half an hour spent fumbling about getting drenched in a thunder storm at 2am.

Anyway, we learnt our second lesson which was to always have everything organised before going to bed and not scattered about around the tent as you never know when it's going to absolutely chuck it down! (Very useful and important lesson.)

Packing up in the morning in the rain and with everything wet wasn't much fun either, but the show must go on, so we eventually got sorted and headed off further on our journey.

Dad had promised me that after Germany there would be no more bombing down motorways, and he stayed true to his word. We navigated the sat-nav (or as we like to affectionately call her, Shiela) to direct us towards the Austrian Alps.

The road leading on from where we were was also lovely, but then we ended up driving through loads of crappy little towns for miles and miles with run-down houses, industrial buildings and far too much graffiti.

Lesson three (a surprising one!): there is a chunk of Austria that is actually a total dump.

However, being Austria, it did inevitably redeem itself.

Seeing the silhouette of the Alps appear in the distance was a really special moment. It was the first point where it dawned on me that 'shit, we've ridden here.'

Driving into the Alps was an unforgettable experience. It was absolutely breathtaking. I've been to the Alps before on winter breaks skiing, but had never seen them the way we saw them that day. Without trying to sound too cheesy, it was jaw-dropping. I was riding along saying out loud 'Oh. My. God.' and I did actually get a bit teary behind my visor.

It did start raining very heavily, and we both got completely drenched (me, mainly because I refused to wear the very uncool waterproofs that my dad had provided me with) but it did nothing to dampen our moods. When it all got a bit too much, we stopped in a beautiful Alpine pub for a well-deserved beer for me and a coffee for my poor old dad.

Whilst in the pub, we checked the map and were shocked when we realised how much ground we'd actually covered and that it would be possible to get to Slovenia the same day when we'd anticipated it being another night in Austria.

At the time, we were (naively) very excited about the prospect of Slovenia, so we set off again feeling very positive and excited. How mistaken we were...

On the way out of the Alps, we drove past an closed, empty ski resort which was pretty cool and made for a good photo opportunity of the Mighty DR650 in front of a chair lift! Then it was out of the glorious Austrian Alps, onto the motorways and towards the Slovenian border.

It was actually a fairly long stretch on the motorway, and we were both getting pretty tired and a little grouchy, so it was a bit of luck that there was a large town on the map just past the border.

However it wasn't an easy ride getting there. Just before the border crossing were these massive massive tunnels that seemed to go on forever through the remains of the mountains. They were absolutely horrific. Swelteringly hot, after a while you began to feel like you couldn't even breathe. It was like we could feel the flames of Satan rising up through the ground.

This, although we didn't realise it at the time, was definitely an omen of things to come.

After crossing into Slovenia, we drove into the town we had found on the map only to discover that it was a complete and utter shithole. Upon realising there was nowhere there that we could even contemplate staying, we purchased a map of Slovenia from a garage and were forced to make a Plan B.

Not too far out of the town (I forget what it was called- but never go), there was a road marked on the map that was going through a large area of green so we thought it might be a 'pretty road' with a small town marked not too far down it so we thought that would be our best bet to find somewhere to stay.

By the time we rode off, it was already starting to get late. The road that we took (towards the town called Dragonville or something) was, in fact, stunningly beautiful. It was reminiscint of the first road we'd driven on into Austria- a beautiful blue river winding alongside the road with a thick, dense forest on the other side. I do have to say that it was even more spectacular.

The water was a turquoise blue and the trees were a kind of bright, emerald green- and there were thousands of them.

(The drivers, however, were compete lunatics.)

After a while we came across a pub at the side of the road which looked promising, and with the first signs of darkness beginning to creep in, and us being in the middle of bloody nowhere, we decided to stop for another well-deserved beer, to take some photos and to ask for nearby accommodation.

Although the scenery was stunning and we did get some superb photos, I did feel a tiny bit uncomfortable in the pub. The barman was not particularly friendly- he came across very curt, and the customers weren't welcoming at all. There was none of the warmth we'd felt from he previous countries. It was definitely the first place that I'd felt like an outsider who wasn't overly welcome.

When we asked the barman upon leaving for accommodation, we were told in no uncertain terms that;

'No. There is nowhere. You must turn back.'

With hindsight, it was like a scene from a horror movie where the protagonist is told not to enter somewhere, but they do anyway, and you're screaming 'STOP!!' at your screen.

We didn't know this at the time though, so chose to ignore the mans advice and carry on towards Dragonville regardless becuase we really didn't want to go back to the dump we'd just come from.

We asked Shiela for a hotel and she listed one nine kilometres away.

'Ah, excellent!', we thought. 'Shiela has never failed us before!'

With darkness quickly coming, we hurried off again, still in relatively high spirits. After driving a few kilometres more down the road, Shiela directed us across a bridge off the main road, over the river I described earlier and into the forest.

At the point, the atmosphere suddenly seemed to change. As soon as we entered the forest, darkness came in fully and it started to rain. Heavily. The forest was incredibly dense and thickly hung, and it very quickly became eerie. There were sheets of lighting through the trees. We drove past the odd house but it was completely silent and we didn't see or hear a soul.

The road also became progressively narrower and more like a broken, cobbled track. This, combined with the rain, lightning, darkness, complete silence and the fact we were suddenly in a very foreign country with absolutely no fucking clue where we were or where we were going made for a very scary experience.

I was sat bolt upright on the bike by this point, and I could feel my dad was too. The hairs all down the back of my spine were on edge and I could feel that I had goosebumps everywhere.

After what felt like hours, Sheila's voice echoed through the forest; 'Turn left in one hundred metres.'

When we drove to the 'turning' that Shiela wanted us to take, we saw that it was actually a narrow rotting, wooden bridge into what looked like a deserted clearing.

I think the exact words that came out of both our mouths simultaneously were 'No. Fucking. Way.'

However, we were both absolutely shitting ourselves so we decided to cross as we convinced ourselves that there must be some sort of guest house or hotel or Shiela wouldn't be sending us there.

So we drove across the bridge.

It was terrifying.

All you could hear amongst the silence was a loud 'BA DOOM BA DOOM BA DOOM' as the bikes wheels went over the slats, like a dying mans last heartbeat.

We drove into the clearing and my dad stopped in front of a banking. There was a large house to the right with lights on, but it was still deathly silent and there was no sign of any life. It was like some sort of terrifying vampire house, not a welcoming hotel.

The consensus was, once again, 'no fucking way' and 'lets just get the fuck out of here'. You got the distinct feeling that passing tourists were definitely not welcome.

Just as I was about to get off the bike to let my dad turn it, I heard a very loud barking. We looked up, and outside the house was an absolutely ginormous dog. The only thing I can liken it to is the Hound of the Baskervilles.

This wolf/ dog/ bear then started running towards the bike. It was terrifying. I couldn't get off the bike to let my dad turn it on account of inevitably getting mauled, but I also couldn't stay on as turning a dirt bike, loaded with two paneers, a massive bag and a pillion from that angle is nigh on impossible.

The dog was getting closer and I just started screaming and hitting my dad on the back. It got close enough that I could see its eyes in the darkness and it was coming straight for my leg. By now, I was sobbing hysterically. I honestly thought I was going to die.

Then, by some miracle, I felt the bike turn and spin away and accelerate towards the bridge. My dad said after that he has absolutely no idea how he managed to get it turned. I guess adrenaline is a marvellous thing.

It was back over the bridge then, twice as fast, and back down the road we'd come down, which now seemed doubly terrifying. I was still crying and it was pitch black and all I could think was 'get me out of here get me out of here get me out of here.'

I don't think I've managed to do justice to how honestly spooky and terrifying the whole thing was. I have never experienced anything like that or been as scared as I was in those moments in the clearing.

When we got back to the main road, the relief was overwhelming, but the forest that had looked so beautiful earlier on was now dark and foreboding and we were feeling an overwhelming sense of panic about finding somewhere to stay.

Eventually, we came across a little guest house at the side of the road. It reminded me exactly of the hotel in Psycho and under normal circumstances, we wouldn't even have considered it. It was tiny, very creepy and I'm pretty sure we were the only guests but it was still a hotel.

We had dinner cooked for us (of sorts) and spent the next hour or so before bed laughing and crying about the nights events. I didn't sleep well at all that night. As I said to my dad before we fell asleep, 'this country gives me the creeps.'

I woke up the next morning still feeling rather spooked out- although it was nice to be in a hotel and able to straighten my hair. Every cloud! After the trauma of the night before, we decided a nice day without zompire attacks was in order and headed back into Austria.

We spent the day driving through a different part that we hadn't seen the day before; the Julian Alps, which were absolutely fantastic and even more beautiful that the scenery we'd seen previously. The sun was shining and it was all glowing green meadows and rolling hilltops.

It was an absolutely glorious day; definitely the best part of the journey so far and if anyone is travelling through Austria you NEED to go there.

When it got to deciding where to stay for the night- Slovenia was DEFINITELY out of the question- we thought that we'd go and spend the night in Italy as we were relatively close to the border and I've been twice before and it's a fantastic place.

Unfortunately, getting to Italy meant driving back through Zombie Land. We followed the road out of the Julian Alps towards a different border crossing back there. The Julian Alps are briefly shared with Slovenia as well, and to get there we drove up a fantastic, winding road up the mountainside and through a tunnel.

Halfway through the tunnel was the menacing 'Slovenia' sign, and, I kid you not, when we emerged out the other side, it had suddenly turned from a gloriously sunny day to fairly dark and gloomy, and the scenery seemed to become suddenly intimidating.

I'm not even joking, it was like crossing from the Shire into Mordor.

As soon as we re-entered I felt on edge. Admittedly, my judgement may have been somewhat clouded by the previous nights events, but the atmosphere definitely changed. It was all meadows and daisys in Austria, and grey skies and huge, leering mountains and dark clouds in Slovenia.

Anyway, after a short stretch on the motorway, I was very glad when we passed into Italy. The whole of Slovenia gave me the bloody heebie-jeebies.

Lesson four: Never go to Slovenia. Ever. They have zompires. And dogs. Big dogs.

We carried on down the Italian motorway towards a town on the coast called Trieste.

(My dad did take a wrong turn and ended up accidentally somehow re-entering Slovenia, which ended in another 'no fucking way' and a quite impressive motorway U-turn at the border.)

After turning off the motorway, we carried on for about ten minutes and then took a sharp turn.

I have honestly never seen anything like it in my life.

After all the doom and gloom and general unfriendliness of Slovenia, we turned round this corner and were suddenly on a long winding road leading down, with a beautiful view of the Mediterranean coast, everyone smiling and laughing and bombing around on Ducati's and mopeds. We were in Italy!

Of all the country borders that we crossed during our travels, this one was certainly the most dramatic. What a contrast! It was brilliant. We pulled over at the side of the road and looked down towards the Mediterranean and at all the people bustling about, and just stood for a while, and laughed, and smiled. It was honestly an unforgettable moment.

We spent a bit of time driving through Trieste, which was manic- but in a nice way, not like the lunatic drivers in Slovenia who just seemed to want to kill you- before heading towards a small town about ten minutes away where we found a quaint little hotel with friendly, helpful staff and somewhere to park the bike.

The place was just bustling, warm and brilliant. Dad spent a bit of time working on his bike (which had done a pretty long way by now!) and I spent some time working on my make up which I hadn't had the chance to do for a while! (Italian guys... Needed to be done!)

The only trauma that occurred that night was that my cheek piercings had turned septic since I'd been away, and my face had swollen to about three times its normal size on the left and was agonisingly painful, not to mention looked completely bloody ridiculous.

Dad had to resort to using two pairs of pliers to grab each end to try and unscrew them, but to no avail. They just ended up rather bloody and either more minging. And I wasn't best pleased because no amount of carefully-applied make up could disguise the fact that my face had swelled up to the size of an over-inflated balloon.

Regardless of the terrifying face situation, I braved the public and we went out to find somewhere for dinner. We ended up sat outside in a gorgeous restaurant, eating fresh fish and enjoying the sunset. The whole place was just wonderful. Fantastic ambience, great service, everyone laughing and smiling and definitely the best food so far. We had a wonderful night. I do love Italy.

I went to bed feeling excited with the promise of a decent nights sleep in a comfy bed at last. This, however, didn't happen, on account of my dads horrendous snoring. It was even worse because he'd stop for a minute or so and I'd think 'aaaaah finally!' before it would cruelly begin again.

Anyway, you can't have everything, and despite the monster snore-athon I still woke up feeling refreshed, happy and positive. Today was... Croatia day!

It was a relatively short drive there; out of Italy, briefly into Zombie Land, and then to the Croatian border.

It pains me to say it, but the part of Slovenia that joins Italy and Croatia is actually quite nice and pretty, but sssh. Too little too late!

It was our first non-EU border crossing which was quite exciting. There was a very small queue, probably taking about 5 minutes, and then a somewhat lax passport check, (by which I mean they took our passports and then didn't even open them), and then we were through.

Very shortly we were driving along the Adriatic Coast. It was fantastic scenery with the bluest seas I've ever seen and brilliant winding roads with great corners and all pretty quiet with hardly any tourists. The weather was lovely and we really enjoyed ourselves.

After a while driving along the coast, we spent some time driving through the middle of the country, which was a complete contrast and very interesting.

Inland, Croatia is very barren with similar landscape to Spain; long brown grass and lots of shrubbery. And very hot!

I also saw the first tank of the holiday. It had a massive gun and was just casually parked in a lay-by, as they do.

We were heading towards Dubrovnik, which we'd heard was the 'pearl of the Adriatic' and so ended up driving back along the coast after four or so hours, through a town called Split.

Split was not what we'd expected at all. The main town itself looked an awful lot like Skegness, and on leaving, we discovered that the rather crappy looking 'luxury apartments' extended on for miles and miles and miles.

The whole place was just massively, massively overdeveloped, and not tastefully. It looked like tack heaven which was a real shame as the coastline would have been so beautiful before.

We must have spent an hour at least just driving past apartments, apartments, apartments and found ourselves beginning to lose the will to live as out of the hundreds and hundreds of bloody hotels we must have driven past we couldn't see one that we would actually want to stay in.

Eventually, we found a campsite and decided to stay there as it was late and we were hot and sore and grumpy. The staff were very friendly, and the campsite did sell 'unofficial beers' so it wasn't too bad, despite being incredibly touristy.

Our pitch was covered in stones though, which is not ideal for a little tent and I didn't anticipate a good nights sleep!

There was also a silver car parked in the pitch next to us with an 'SLO' registration plate which obviously gave me serious cause for concern about vampire attacks in the night.

Oh, and my dad did also manage to cut out my minging cheek piercings with his metal cutter on his Leatherman whilst I was lying on the ground outside the tent, which must have looked completely and utterly bizarre to any overlookers.

We did find surprisingly a lovely, quiet restaurant right next to the sea where we had pasta and wine. It was a lovely meal and the scenery and the ambience was beautiful and I thoroughly enjoyed that night, and also got a reasonable amount of sleep despite the rocks, heat, and threat of an overnight vampire attack.

The next morning we rose early and head off towards Bosnia and Herzegovina, not really knowing what to expect from the place. I thought Bosnia would be interesting and that we'd have a good day, but I wasn't prepared for what an absolutely fantastic country it is.

I loved it as soon as we entered. The people were just absolutely lovely; smiling and waving and there was a real sense of human warmth. The scenery was jaw-dropping and the most incredible we'd seen all holiday.

However, it was also incredibly sad. Nearly every single house we drove past was littered with bullet holes, left from the civil war with the Bosnian-Serbs. There were cosy little family apartments above corner shops that had just been obliterated. It was completely heartbreaking, and it was so touching that despite all of the horror and destruction they had had to endure, everyone was so warm and friendly. It really puts your life into perspective.

We also drove through Sarajevo and saw the Holiday Inn, which has now been completely rebuilt. The city was shocking. Every single house and building, just covered in massive holes.

Despite all of this, it still had a fantastic atmosphere though, and driving through you could feel the warm atmosphere and everyone looked to be smiling and laughing and it is still such a beautiful city.

Honestly, I just loved the place. Beautiful, beautiful country with fantastic, fantastic people. I want to live there!

After passing through Sarajevo, we carried on through Bosnia towards Serbia. A little while after, we passed (accidentally!) through the national border into the Serbian Republic. We didn't actually know too much about the logistics of the place at this point, and had been planning to spend a night in Bosnia and didn't realise how different the Serbian part was.

As soon as we past into it, it felt like a completely different place. The atmosphere completely changed, and not in a good way.

I has been planning to go into Serbia with an open mind and not to be at all prejudiced after seeing all of the destruction in Bosnia, but honestly, the Serbian part of Bosnia is just horrible.

It all suddenly became a lot less friendly. As we were driving through towns, people stared in a very hostile way and everywhere suddenly felt intimidating. The Serbs didn't seem too happy to see us!

We then became worried about finding somewhere to stay for the night as everywhere we went seemed a bit scary, so after a while, when we saw a sign for a ski resort, we decided to follow it as we thought it would be a bit more welcoming, obviously have hotels and hopefully people speaking English.

So we followed the signs up a beautiful, long, winding mountainside road for about 10 kilometres up to the resort. When we got there, what greeted us was completely bizarre.

As it was summer, the chair lifts were all closed and there were no guests, but all the hotels were still open and it was all fully-staffed. We felt very out of place driving in and everyone instantly turned and stared, but with it once again getting late and no other options, we drove up to one of he hotels and asked for a room.

We ended up staying in a massive, fairly luxurious hotel which you could tell would have been heaving during the ski season, but it was completely deserted and we were the only guests.

Dinner was served in the hotel restaurant. The scenery was beautiful and the food was the best we'd had so far, but the staff were cold and unfriendly, and to be honest pretty bloody intimidating.

Whilst we were eating the group of staff were sat at a table across the restaurant just staring at us, and we noticed that two of the men had their hands on guns in their pockets.

We were alone in a deserted ski resort with a bunch of angry Serbs. With guns. Excellent.

The whole night was terrifying. I had to check about three times before I went to sleep that I had locked the bedroom door correctly and woke up in the night having had nightmares and was too scared and on edge to get back to sleep. It felt exactly like The Shining.

We couldn't leave fast enough in the morning. I was just amazed I'd survived the night and hadn't been shot in my sleep by one of the pissed off Serbian blokes. It was definitely not an experience I would like to repeat again, but it was certainly different!

So after a quick breakfast, it was off down the mountains and towards... Serbia.

I don't think either of us really knew what to expect from Serbia either as it was a country we both knew relatively little about.

Having driven through it now though, there is only one word I can think of to describe it:

SHIT.