NIX | THE EUROPEAN GRAND TOUR OF VANILLA 🚐🌍✨

The full Super NIX blog version of my upcoming adventure across Europe in Vanilla — bigger, bolder, funnier, more dramatic, and gloriously over-prepared in all the right ways.

🌅 INTRODUCTION | THIS IS NOT JUST A HOLIDAY

Some people go on holiday.

They book a hotel, sit by a pool, go a bit pink, eat chips for five days, buy a magnet, and come home saying things like, “Yes, very nice, very relaxing.”

Good luck to them.

That is not what this is.

This is a proper driving holiday.

A real adventure.

A full-fat, coffee-fuelled, playlist-powered, gadget-loaded, mountain-crossing, pizza-eating, diesel-monitoring, drone-launching, campervan odyssey across Europe.

In May 2026, I will be setting off from Stafford in Vanilla, my beloved VW campervan, on what can only be described as a magnificent rolling expedition through some of the most exciting and beautiful parts of Europe.

Not a little pootle.

Not a modest jaunt.

A grand tour.

France. Germany. Austria. Slovenia. Croatia. Montenegro. Italy. Switzerland.

Frankly, it sounds less like a holiday and more like the itinerary of a man who has finally snapped in the most enjoyable way possible.

And I mean that in a good way.

Because this trip is exactly the sort of thing I love.

Roads.

Mountains.

Old towns.

Great food.

Beautiful views.

Warm evenings.

Cool mornings.

Tiny shops.

Big drives.

And all of it experienced from behind the wheel of my own campervan, with my own gear, my own music, my own route, and my own slightly absurd level of enthusiasm.

🚐 VANILLA | NOT JUST A CAMPERVAN, A LIFESTYLE DECISION

Let us be absolutely clear about one thing.

Vanilla is not just a van.

She is not some empty box on wheels with a kettle thrown in and a camping chair rattling around in the back.

No.

Vanilla is a self-contained touring command centre.

A tiny apartment with headlights.

A mobile front room.

A rolling base camp.

A miniature bungalow with a dashboard.

A travelling man-cave with curtains.

She has reached the stage where, if somebody in northern Italy asked whether I could power a village fête from the back of her, I would not dismiss it out of hand.

I would at least ask what time they wanted the lights on.

That is the joy of travelling in Vanilla.

Whether I am on a proper campsite with electric hook-up, showers, fresh bread and retired Dutch couples washing up in total silence, or on a simple aire with a mountain view and one slightly mysterious water tap, I know I will be comfortable.

Because Vanilla is properly equipped.

Fridge.

Heater.

Solar.

Leisure battery.

Jackery power stations.

Lighting.

Microwave.

Hob.

Projector.

Charging options for just about everything short of industrial farm machinery.

This is not “roughing it.”

This is civilised adventuring.

Which is how it should be.

📦 THE PREPARATION | A MASTERCLASS IN GLORIOUS OVERTHINKING

One of the great pleasures of a big trip like this is the preparation.

And I do not mean casual preparation.

I mean the sort of preparation where you begin as a cheerful holidaymaker and end up behaving like a quartermaster in the Royal Navy.

In the final week before departure, I will almost certainly be found on the driveway with a mug of coffee in one hand, a tyre pressure gauge in the other, and the expression of a man preparing either for a grand European road trip or a small but decisive military campaign.

I know exactly what I am like.

I will check things.

Then I will check them again.

Then I will stand there for a few minutes, thinking very seriously, and check them a third time just to be certain.

Tyre pressures.

Oil.

Coolant.

Washer fluid.

Charging cables.

USB-C leads.

Plug adaptors.

Spare memory cards.

Drone batteries.

Camera batteries.

Torch batteries.

And then, naturally, the backup torch for the main torch.

There is a point during campervan trip preparation when you stop asking sensible questions and start asking wonderfully ridiculous ones.

“Have I packed enough sunglasses?”

“What if I need two power banks at once?”

“Do I have the right lead for the device that charges the thing that charges the other device?”

“Should I take emergency biscuits?”

The answer to the last one, by the way, is yes.

Always yes.

There is also that deeply satisfying stage where everything begins to gather in neat little piles.

This pile is essential.

This pile is useful.

This pile is important.

And this pile is “might prove vital during an unforeseen but oddly specific continental incident.”

You start admiring cable organisers.

You become strangely emotional about storage boxes.

You look at folding chairs the way a general looks at artillery.

And eventually you stand back, look at Vanilla sitting there gleaming away in Indium Grey, loaded for the road, and think:

“Yes. That will do nicely.”

It is at this point that I usually feel the first proper surge of excitement.

Because suddenly it is no longer just an idea.

It is happening.

🎵 THE SOUNDTRACK | EVERY GREAT ROAD TRIP NEEDS ONE

A proper road trip without a soundtrack is like a fry-up without bacon.

Technically possible.

Emotionally disappointing.

So naturally, the playlists are already done.

Of course they are.

There are playlists for different moods, different roads, different countries and different times of day.

There are playlists for France.

Playlists for the Alps.

Playlists for late-night motorway driving.

Playlists for sunrise departures.

Playlists for sitting outside Vanilla with a coffee trying to look thoughtful and windswept.

There is probably a playlist purely for the moment I roll onto a particularly dramatic campsite pitch while pretending, at least internally, that I am in a premium motoring documentary.

Dire Straits for the long flowing miles.

Simple Minds for early starts.

Depeche Mode for the moodier stretches.

Underworld for dramatic mountain roads.

A bit of 80s New Romantic music for Italy because frankly it feels right.

And yes, I know exactly what will happen.

I will spend ages creating the perfect road trip soundtrack, only to reach Germany and end up listening to the same five songs on repeat because somehow that is what always happens.

Still, that is part of the fun.

There is something glorious about driving with mountains in the distance, a coffee in the cup holder, a decent tune on, and the delicious knowledge that you are hundreds of miles from home and exactly where you want to be.

Although, to balance that, there will almost certainly also be a moment when I am reversing into a tight campsite pitch while an audience of retired Germans watches in complete silence.

Which, as everyone knows, is one of the most stressful spectator sports known to man.

📱📶 CONNECTIVITY | THE BATTLE FOR SIGNAL, WI-FI AND SANITY

A modern European road trip is not just about roads and maps.

It is also about signal.

Data.

Roaming.

Wi-Fi.

And making sure the digital side of the operation does not collapse the moment I cross into Switzerland and try to book a campsite from a lay-by in the rain.

So yes, I have been thinking about this too.

Probably more than is healthy.

My iPhone 17 Pro Max will be the centre of operations.

Maps.

Bookings.

Music.

Weather forecasts.

Photos.

Quick video clips.

Messages.

Find Penguins.

General day-to-day travel organisation.

Then there is the ZTE router, which will be doing sterling work in Vanilla as the digital heartbeat of the whole trip.

That means the other devices can all connect through one reliable setup.

Phone.

Projector.

Fire TV Stick.

iPad.

MacBook.

Meta glasses.

Probably anything else within ten feet that looks even vaguely internet-curious.

I will almost certainly take more than one SIM arrangement with me too, because I know what roaming is like.

Some countries are straightforward.

Some are fine until they suddenly are not.

And places like Switzerland and Montenegro have a nasty habit of making you feel relaxed right up until the moment your phone bill arrives wearing a balaclava.

So this side of the trip matters.

Because there is nothing romantic about standing in the Alps with no signal, trying to work out where to stay while your phone stares back at you like a Victorian orphan.

No thank you.

This mission will be connected.

🦎 FAWKES GOES ON HOLIDAY TOO

Of course, I am not the only one heading off on an adventure.

Fawkes, my lovable little dragon, is also off on his own little holiday.

He will be staying with Fiona.

And, frankly, I suspect he is going to have a marvellous time.

He will have his enclosure, his lights, his thermostat, his routine and his food all properly sorted.

Fiona will not need to worry about the temperature because that is already set correctly.

He can have rinsed dandelions from the garden.

He likes being picked up.

He likes running around on the carpet.

And he is a champion at hide and seek.

Which means there is every chance Fiona will briefly think he has vanished completely, only to discover him behind a cushion looking intensely satisfied with himself.

Fawkes has the energy of a retired bank robber lying low after one final job.

He looks like the sort of reptile who knows where the diamonds are buried but is refusing to tell anybody.

I fully expect to receive photographs of him while I am away, almost certainly looking more relaxed than I am.

There is every chance he will end up appearing to be on a luxury wellness retreat while I am somewhere in the Alps trying to work out which button turns the fog lights off.

And that is fine.

He deserves a holiday too.

🛣️ THE ROUTE SOUTH | THE JOY OF CROSSING INTO EUROPE

The first stretch of this trip is all about momentum.

Stafford.

Folkestone.

Eurotunnel.

Calais.

And then — beautifully, thrillingly — Europe.

There is something genuinely exciting about that first drive after the crossing.

You are no longer just on the usual roads.

You are in it now.

Properly in it.

The road signs change.

The service stations change.

The diesel pumps somehow look more continental.

Even the roadworks seem more glamorous.

In Britain, roadworks are a man in a yellow jacket eating a sandwich next to a cone.

In France, they somehow look as if they have been curated.

My first stop will be Reims.

A classy French opener.

Champagne territory.

A proper first-night-on-tour destination.

And I can already imagine that first evening perfectly.

Vanilla parked up.

A drink in hand.

Warm evening light.

The lovely little private grin of a man thinking, “I am actually doing this.”

Then comes Munich.

Beer halls.

Pretzels.

Big roads.

Big atmosphere.

The sort of city where you can spend what feels like eleven pounds on a pretzel and still feel pleased with yourself.

You half expect every third man to have a moustache, a feathered hat and the calves of somebody who climbs mountains recreationally.

Then Salzburg.

Then Ljubljana.

Which looks exactly the sort of place where you stop for a quick coffee and somehow three hours disappear while you wander around taking photographs of bridges, doorways and artisanal soap.

And that is the beauty of a trip like this.

It moves.

But it also breathes.

🇭🇷 CROATIA | THE MAIN EVENT

Croatia is really the heart of the trip.

This is where the adventure starts to feel truly huge.

Properly huge.

The sort of huge where you suddenly remember you drove here from Stafford and have to pause for a moment just to enjoy the absurdity of that fact.

First there is Plitvice Lakes.

Waterfalls.

Turquoise lakes.

Wooden walkways.

Scenery so vivid it looks as though somebody has turned the saturation up too far.

I already know what I will be like here.

I will take about 400 photographs of the same waterfall from slightly different angles while insisting to myself that each one is entirely distinct and artistically necessary.

Then Split.

Warm evenings.

Harbour views.

Old town atmosphere.

Pizza.

Sea air.

The sort of place where the day just loosens its tie and relaxes.

And then Dubrovnik.

Now Dubrovnik is one of those places that looks so absurdly beautiful you almost suspect it has been invented.

It looks less like a real town and more like something painted onto the side of a very expensive biscuit tin.

Massive walls.

Orange rooftops.

Blue sea.

It is basically a postcard with Wi-Fi.

You almost expect to turn a corner and find somebody playing an accordion with tears in their eyes while an elderly man sells carved donkeys from a tiny table.

I can already picture myself on the city walls, looking out across the Adriatic and thinking, with complete sincerity, “This is one of the greatest things I have ever done.”

And then, because I am still me, that beautiful moment will probably be followed almost immediately by me wondering whether there is a bakery nearby selling something enormous and full of cheese.

That is balance.

🇮🇹 ITALY | FOOD, ATMOSPHERE AND NOBLE PERSONAL MISSIONS

Italy is going to be magnificent.

Not just nice.

Magnificent.

Bologna will be all about food.

There is absolutely no way I can travel all the way to Bologna and not have a proper plate of spag bol.

Yes, yes, I know. The locals will probably tell me it should technically be tagliatelle al ragù.

And fair enough.

But if I am sitting in Bologna with a huge plate of rich pasta, plenty of parmesan, some bread on the side and the general sense that life is going extremely well, then I shall consider that a victory.

That is not just lunch.

That is a moment.

The sort of meal where you sit back afterwards, pat your stomach, and briefly believe you may never need to eat again.

Then twenty minutes later you see a gelato shop and all bets are off.

There is also an important mission in Italy.

A serious one.

I must get Fiona a proper bottle of limoncello.

Not one from an airport gift shop.

Not one from a service station.

Not a disappointing bottle bought under strip lighting next to novelty Toblerones.

A proper one.

The sort of bottle from a little Italian shop with lemons hanging outside, a sleepy cat in the doorway, and somebody’s grandmother behind the counter looking at tourists as though she has seen all this nonsense before.

That is the limoncello that matters.

Then comes Pisa.

Which means, gloriously, pizza in Pisa.

The phrase itself is almost too good not to use.

It sounds less like a meal and more like a breakfast radio competition prize.

And yes, there is absolutely no chance whatsoever that I will resist taking at least one photograph pretending to hold the tower up.

I know it is nonsense.

I know it is tourist behaviour of the highest order.

But there comes a point in life where you simply have to accept who you are.

🇨🇭 SWITZERLAND | MOUNTAINS, HAIRPINS AND GLORIOUSLY CONTROLLED PANIC

Switzerland will probably be the most dramatic part of the whole trip.

The roads.

The valleys.

The peaks.

The bends.

The tunnels.

The mountain passes.

This is where the scenery starts behaving like it has something to prove.

One side of the road: mountain.

The other side: fresh air and regret.

These are the sort of roads where you spend half the time saying, “This is unbelievable,” and the other half saying, “Blimey, that is a tight bend.”

I know there will be moments when I grip the steering wheel slightly harder and mutter the sort of words normally reserved for DIY disasters and VAR decisions.

But I will love every second of it.

Because there is something magical about pulling into a lay-by halfway up a mountain, opening the side door, making a coffee and just standing there looking at a view so ridiculous it almost feels rude.

Those are the moments that make a trip.

Quiet little moments.

Just me, Vanilla, a mug of coffee, and scenery that looks as though it has been showing off for centuries.

⛺ CAMPSITES AND AIRES | THE BEAUTY OF A MIXED APPROACH

One of the smartest things about this trip is that I will not be tied to just one style of stopover.

Some nights I will be on proper campsites.

Electric hook-up.

Showers.

Little shops.

Maybe a bakery.

Maybe a view.

Maybe a man in socks and sandals hosing down a motorhome with the concentration of a neurosurgeon.

Other nights I will be on aires.

And on some nights I will also be staying at vineyards and farms.

Which I love.

There is something brilliant about the idea of parking up somewhere surrounded by vines, old stone buildings, tractors, chickens, fields and that lovely peaceful feeling that you are nowhere near a dual carriageway.

A vineyard stop feels slightly more sophisticated.

A farm stop feels slightly more rugged.

Both feel very European.

The sort of places where you wake up, slide the door open and find yourself looking out over rows of grapes, sleepy hills, an old barn or somebody wandering about carrying a basket of eggs.

And that is exactly the sort of thing I want from this trip.

Simpler.

Cheaper.

Fewer facilities.

Often brilliant locations.

That is part of the magic of European campervan travel.

You do not always need loads of infrastructure.

Sometimes all you need is somewhere safe, somewhere quiet, and somewhere you can slide the door open in the morning and look out at a mountain, a harbour or a row of sleepy rooftops.

And because Vanilla is so self-contained, I can enjoy both.

One night could be a full campsite by a lake with showers and electric.

The next could be a simple aire with a cracking view and not much else apart from the quiet confidence of knowing I have brought my own comforts with me.

That variety is part of the adventure.

📷 CAMERAS, DRONES AND THE GREAT HUNT FOR BEAUTIFUL FOOTAGE

This trip has serious photographic potential.

Not average potential.

Serious potential.

The iPhone 17 Pro Max will be the quick-draw camera.

Always there.

Always ready.

Perfect for quick photos, moody little videos, street scenes, food, campsites, coffees, sunsets and all the small moments in between the major ones.

The Canon EOS 70D will be for when I want to slow down and do things properly.

Vanilla parked in dramatic places.

Old towns glowing in evening light.

Mountain roads.

Harbours.

Architecture.

Lakes.

The kind of photographs that make you feel smug in the best possible way when you look back at them later.

And then there are the drones.

This trip was practically designed for drone footage.

Coastlines.

Mountain passes.

Harbours.

Lakes.

Sunrise reveals.

Sunset shots.

Vanilla looking small and purposeful in spectacular surroundings.

Of course, I am also realistic.

There will absolutely be at least one occasion where I spend ten minutes setting up the perfect drone shot only for somebody to walk directly into frame wearing socks with sandals and carrying a baguette.

That is Europe.

Beautiful scenery slightly interrupted by Klaus and his lunch.

There is also the DJI action camera mounted on Vanilla’s windscreen.

That will capture the roads themselves.

French motorways.

German autobahns.

Croatian coastal roads.

Italian villages.

Swiss passes.

Tunnels.

Rain.

Sunrise.

Sunset.

By the end of the trip I am hoping to have enough footage to keep Flickr, YouTube and Nix Drones well fed for quite some time.

At certain points I will probably look less like a tourist and more like a slightly overwhelmed one-man film crew trapped inside his own gadget collection.

And honestly, I am perfectly happy with that.

⛽ DIESEL, COSTS AND THE STRANGE JOY OF FILLING UP CHEAPLY

Now we come to one of the less glamorous but deeply important topics.

Diesel.

Because no matter how romantic the Alps are, they will not push Vanilla up their roads for free.

Fuel matters.

And yes, I have already been looking at which countries are cheaper and which are likely to make my wallet wince.

France and Germany are on the pricier side.

Croatia, Slovenia and Montenegro are usually friendlier.

Which means there is a very real possibility that by the middle of the trip I will become the sort of man who gets genuinely excited by a good price at the pump.

There was a time when that would have horrified me.

Now I can absolutely imagine sending someone a message saying, “Diesel is only €1.38 here, this is marvellous news.”

There is something slightly tragic about the fact that a cheap litre of diesel may become one of the highlights of the holiday.

And yet, at the same time, it is all part of the game.

A proper road trip sharpens your appreciation for odd little pleasures.

A cheap fill-up.

An empty road.

A good parking spot.

A clean service station.

A coffee that exceeds expectations.

These things matter.

They really do.

❤️ WHY THIS TRIP MATTERS | MORE THAN MILES, MAPS AND MOTORWAYS

This trip is about more than just driving.

It is about freedom.

It is about movement.

It is about possibility.

It is about waking up somewhere different every day and feeling that lovely little thrill of not quite knowing exactly how good the day might become.

It is about old towns.

Warm evenings.

Good roads.

Strong coffee.

Big views.

Quiet lay-bys.

Great meals.

Silly little souvenirs.

And that unbeatable feeling of sitting outside your campervan somewhere abroad, with the day winding down and the world feeling exactly as it should.

It is about time too.

Time to drive.

Time to stop.

Time to wander.

Time to relax.

Time to savour things properly.

Because this trip has been planned carefully.

It is a driving holiday, yes.

But it is not a punishment.

I do not want to spend every day hammering out miles like a cross-continental courier with a grudge.

I want to enjoy the roads and the places.

That is the whole point.

I want to get there, sit down, breathe out, open the side door, put the kettle on, and think, “This is absolutely brilliant.”

And there will be silly moments too.

Of course there will.

Standing in a French supermarket astonished by the size of the cheese aisle.

Trying to reverse into a tight pitch while pretending I know exactly what I am doing.

Holding a pizza the size of a satellite dish in Pisa.

Taking diesel prices more seriously than any sensible man should.

Saying “Blimey” out loud in Switzerland to nobody at all.

Buying pastries I do not need and then eating them anyway because I am on holiday and that is simply how civilisation works.

Those are the moments that make a trip feel alive.

And when I finally return home to Stafford, I already know what will happen.

I will unpack.

I will clean Vanilla.

I will put the leads away.

I will wash the mugs.

I will discover at least one completely random item that I packed and never used.

Probably a mystery adaptor, an emergency spoon, or a cable that appears to belong to absolutely nothing I own.

I will look through thousands of photographs.

I will watch back hours of footage.

I will start editing.

I will bore people to death talking about mountain passes and fuel prices.

And within a few days — maybe three, maybe less — I will almost certainly be sitting there thinking:

Right then. Where are we going next?

📝 FINAL NOTE

This trip has been designed so that I do not normally have to drive more than about 200 miles in a day.

That matters.

Because although this is very much a driving holiday, I also want time to relax and savour the places I visit.

That means time for coffee stops.

Time for proper evening wanderings.

Time to explore towns, sit outside Vanilla, enjoy the campsites and aires, capture good photos, fly the drones where possible, eat well, breathe properly and not feel like I am simply tearing through Europe with a sat nav and a mild sense of panic.

No.

This will be a Super NIX trip.

Well planned.

Well equipped.

Full of character.

Full of atmosphere.

And, with any luck, absolutely unforgettable.