Geography, with a capital G.

Something always goes wrong at border posts - especially when that border post takes you through a country that isn't within the European Union (EU). Crossing EU borders is a a synch because they've all been deserted and you drive right on through.

Switzerland, I learned the night before heading there; is not part of the EU.

After Rome, we trekked up to Milan, which turned out to be a long journey full of tunnels. Italians really like their tunnels; they even have some where you'd think they didn't need them. And it isn't a proper tunnel unless it's got curves in it; the mark of a true tunnel, however, is when it has a bit of an S-bend going on (as if to say: this tunnel could have gone straight through hill this hill, but that would be boring.)

Never saw much of Milan though because there was laundry to do. It was early to bed in anticipation of an early start to Switzerland. And early it was, just after 7am and it was only just getting light outside.

Paulo was on the last quarter of his tank so I decided I would stop at the first service station on the highway after leaving Milan.

There is definitely someone up there looking after me; because there was only one service station en route to Switzerland and, with thanks to all that is good in the world, I needed to stop.

Italy, unlike the rest of Western Europe, is similar to Eastern Europe in that they have petrol pump assistants. The one who served me was gracious and filled the tank while I went to the shop and bought my usual breakfast of a bottle of Coke and a can of Red Bull.

Returning to the car, I offered the attendant my bank card and he mumbled something about vinegar. I hadn't a clue what he was on about and it took sometime before he explained that I needed to pay road tax in Switzerland. (I've looked this up on the internet subsequently; they call it 'Vignette' and it's a tax of French invention; well blow me down if that doesn't make an awful lot of sense. Damn frogs, can't trust 'em).

"Yes, yes... gratzie," I said gratefully and gave him a 5 Euro trip. He was thrilled with this and went so far as to attach the road tax sticker to Paulo's window.

Less than a mile down the road and we ran into the border post. I swallowed hard and rolled up to the guard. He examined the sticker, was pleased by it, and waved me on. He didn't even look at my passport. I smiled empathetically at the poor bugger who was pulled off, because he was sticker-less, and was being pointed in the vague direction of a official-looking building nearby.

All-in-all, huge relief and a great thank you to the petrol-pump attendant. A silent prayer was offered - along with a message to Mother Teresa pleading for her to deliver it personally.

There was something odd about Lilith when we set of from Milan; after giving her instructions to the hotel, she suggested that we might not be able to drive the entire route and that some of it may have to be taken by foot.

This concerned me greatly, but thoughts of it passed quickly as my fear of border posts took control.

Once through the border post it was onto a beautiful highway that ran through valleys of deep green between giant mountains of granite, all topped majestically with white snow. When the valleys weren't filled with green fields and little villages, they were filled with lakes.

Each new valley brought more splendours with even taller mountains.

This was geography on a grand scale and I wished the road would take us up into the mountains, up to the snow line even.

This was not to be; there were tunnels to avoid having to do that.

But what tunnels they were. Italians no nothing of tunnels; Swiss tunnels stretch for miles and they positively meander - there was one in particular where Lilith lost touch with her celestial guides and at the time her face said there was 19-odd miles to Lucerne, when we re-emerged, Lilith got her wits about her and said it was now only 13-and-a-bit miles to our destination. That's a full five miles of tunnel. It was so long that about a third of the way through I wondered if Lilith hadn't accidentally driven us into the Large Hadron Collider because this tunnel had an almost constant curve to the left and went on-and-on-and-on (I can see why they decided to build that huge monument to scientific research in Switzerland; the folk here know a thing or two about tunnelling).

Along the way (before we hit the Hadron Collider that wasn't), Lilith had pause to inform me that there were traffic delays ahead and I wondered if this might have something to do with the earlier comment she had about having to do some of the journey on foot.

Turns out it wasn't; and signs lit up along the highway to say a tunnel was closed because there was a vehicle on fire in one of them confirmed this.

This resulted in an earlier wish being granted. All trucks on the road - as well the baneful caravans - were halted at a point, and only cars were allowed to pass through onto a detour road. Lilith screamed in objection and she was quickly shut up through the judicious use of her off button (in some ways our relationship is nothing like a marriage), and Paulo was thrilled to roar upwards, towards the snow caps.

The twists and turns and steep inclines were dizzying wonderful. Paulo was overcome by all of this and began to feel the affects of altitude sickness. His initially zest at the push of the accelerator slowed a bit. Having said that, his temperature remained constant and he pulled us through, though I regretted feeding him the cheap unleaded petrol that I had, and made a very conscious decision to treat him to the highest octane available just as soon as I could.

Soon we were on top of the mountains. We stopped at every single lay-by along the way and stood in awe of scene before us. Sun shining, vivid blue skies, snow laying all around - it was heaven.

Tough luck to the sod whose vehicle was on fire in a tunnel, his misfortune was a grand turn of events for us. Some way into the mountains I even turned Lilith back on, just so as she could experience some of it too. She didn't say if she was happy or upset about this, merely said she would recalculate our trip. I was fine with that.

Thus, our trip to Lucerne was a delight and it was with bold spirits that we left the mountains to drive into soon the heart of the city.

We got to about 500 yards from our destination when the truth of Lilith's advice hit us. We turned into a side street, as she directed, and hit a wall of pedestrians. A huge section of Lucerne is being closed off to traffic and is being turned into a shopping paradise for people on foot.
Red-faced, I weaved around a block to find my way back to the main road.

We soon found a parkade and left Paulo there, while Lilith and I made our way to the hotel. Lilith has a pedestrian mode, which I duly put her into; and headed off in the general direction of hotel. Every five metres, Lilith hollered out directions - mostly this happened in the middle of a crowd. How I wished she came with a volume control, but she's a woman and doesn't have one. I was resigned to listen to her nagging all the way to the hotel - never again let it be said that a man will not ask for directions from a woman.

We got there soon enough - well, not really soon enough for me, but we got there and checked in. From there I walked the streets alone.

Lucerne is lovely. What you might call quaint. It was Saturday and there was a market along the river. That was quaint too. The city wall is impressive and the turrets along it are great too, quaint even.

All of this walking and travelling made me hungry, and wouldn't you know it but there's an Irish pub in Lucerne. Funny how the Irish get around, there was one in Prague - right next to the British pub (the George and Dragon, to be precise) where I had had lunch, and there is one in Rome too where I also had lunch.

The Coleen at the pub wasn't... she was a South African (from Durbs, nogal) and we had a great discussion about the perils of South African politics. We commiserated a lot about having to leave the country.

She said there were many South Africans in Lucerne and even more in Zurich where she used to work.

I suggested there are lot of South Africans of a certain breed that were living all over the world; anywhere but South Africa. Yes agreed.

Being in an Irish pub, I decided to enjoy the local speciality which was a pork Schnitzel. It was a grand meal and I wasn't able to finish it because the Guinness took up too much space.

Well supped, I walked about some more; enjoying all the quaintness. And cleanliness.

I returned to the hotel shortly before nightfall, which is quite late in this part of the world - and slept well, all ready for whatever adventures the next day in France might bring.