Oh bugger... bureaucracy and borders

Excessive bureaucracy is the bane of everyone's life... But spare a thought for those who live in society where bureaucracy - and excessive implementation of law - is simply a means to oppress and exercise authority.

Give a small, stupid man a bit of power and all that...

That's pretty much what Eastern Europe is like - there are little lights of beauty amongst all of this (Andreea, the Romanian receptionist at the Prince Residence Hotel in Bucharest has to be one of those), but for the most part it's a shoddy place to eek out an existence and you just have to feel sorry for the folk who live there.

The only reason to visit most of it is to remind yourself just how good you have it at home. Except if your home is similar to Eastern Europe, which, by-and-large, most of Africa, numerous parts of Asia and South and Central America are.

It makes small people with a bit of power very ugly indeed - Just look at the likes of Jacob Zuma and Julius Malema who won't be strutting the catwalks of Milan any time soon; and just so as everyone is clear about this, having an a bevy of wives doesn't fix ugliness either.

In Eastern Europe, most of this is missed by tourists because they fly in, take taxi's or organised trips to the famous sites, and zip out again. When you drive, you see it all.

First off is the lack of communication - those who make money off tourists have a semblance of language or body language skills that allow them to get a message across; and even if they don't understand your message, they'll hum a few bars until there is an understanding of sorts. In the countryside, on the back roads - and mostly at the border posts - this really isn't the case. There's a lack of education that is glaring. There's also a lack of money; so they try and get it from any possible means: which, invariably, is you, if you happen to be driving through.

That's been my experience anyway. It's why I've dreaded approaching a border post and why I've been going at least 5 miles slower that whatever the speed limit is - Lilith would like to to claim credit for my strict obedience to the law because she sends off alarm bells every time Paulo goes remotely too fast; but, the truth is, sheer terror does wonders for conformity to the law. I have wondered if acts such as graffiti are in protest to this, but I'm still clueless about that - stupid people do it in every city; even somewhere as wonderful as Venice, but somehow, it fits here - here it's more like an art than a protest.

Whatever the case; it is great to be out of Eastern Europe and plans were put in place two days ago to get out as soon as possible. That was back in Skopje - the capital of Macedonia - which while being one of the better places in Eastern Europe, still has the cloud of oppression over it - and it is not actually in the European Union.

Plans to go to Greece were abandoned, and the route initially chosen which included a tour along the Mediterranean coast through Albania, Montenegro, Bosnia/Herzegovina, Croatia and Slovenia (six countries), was quickly reduced to chasing through Serbia (not in the original plan at all) because it is the longest of the countries, and then quickly through Croatia and Slovenia (three countries) to get to Italy.

Plan in place, we set off from Skopje early on. It was a nightmare getting out of there because Lilith doesn't know anything about Macedonia I also went off the route from the simple map I'd drawn up myself from the internet within minutes of setting off. On the positive side of this misadventure, I did learn where the British embassy is in Skopje (It's right about half way up the hill that overlooks the city - they've got themselves some prime real estate there).

We made it, eventually, to Alexander the Great Boulevard (what else could it be) which lead us onto Alexander the Great Highway (who'd have thunk it) which, in turn, sent us heading for Serbia.

I should point out that Macedonia is not a member of the European Union (EU), which, they say, is why I had to pay some sort of insurance when entering, but Serbia is.

However; Serbia, which is a former war zone from not that long ago, is still in warzone-mode - it was was a veritable interrogation at the border post, but, thanks to all that is good in the world, the search of the car was half-hearted (that bag of dirty laundry is becoming extremely rank.)

I'm guessing Lilith has all the EU countries programmed into her system because she became quite excited when she entered Serbia and was apt to remind me to keep to the speed limit - which it turns out she doesn't know very well in that part of the world because the signs were encouraging me to go as much as 130kph, but she still insisted we go half that. Her warning bells were incredibly irritating, but strangely comforting all the same.

As soon as I realised she had a map to Serbia, I asked to her to find the address for the apartment in Belgrade. No such luck, she knows the main routes (not the speed limits), but she's clueless when it comes to the cities.

Arriving in Belgrade it took all of an hour to find the apartment - which included being shouted at by a Plod for turning down a street where I oughtn't have, and being asked to drive off by a more friendly security guard when I stopped to examine my less-that-efficient road atlas. Fortunately, while telling me to push off, he told me exactly where to push off to.

'Cept there was no parking; and it being such an awkward road in the middle of the city, I ended up on the highway again. Another hour later, I found a multi-storey parking lot only five blocks away. I packed only the bare essentials into a carry bag and trekked on foot to get to the evening's digs.

By then it was late and I went to bed almost immediately; not bothering to explore the city , (admittedly, had seen most of it anyway from the car already and it wasn't awfully impressive).

Up at 3am; it was a quick shower and on the road again - completely in the dark; as in it was still night outside, and so was Lilith's screen. Somehow, we found the highway and as soon as we were on it, I asked Lilith to take us somewhere nice - Italy seemed good enough and we set off for Venice.

Bugger if we didn't hit the border post within half-an-hour of leaving. I've only done border posts during the day so I didn't hold much hope that the police would be in the best of spirits at half-past-four in the morning. That is was bucketing down with rain was also not working in our favour.

What happened next was not my fault.

Not at all, and I had a mind to tell the policeman that but thought better of it. The thing is, Macedonia is not in the EU, but Serbia is; so the policeman at the Macedonia/Serbia border should have stamped my passport (I would have been glad if he did, because I have complained before that anyone who looks at my European passport would not believe I've been anywhere at all).

I wanted to tell him it was not my fault his colleague didn't stamp the darn thing, but stood mutely by and wondered what he would do next.

It was as close to an interrogation as anyone can get without their fingernails being pulling out. Alexander was nicer to his prisoners, I'm sure, but these were Serbs, not Macedonians.

We survived (how else could you be reading this) the questioning to my captor's satisfaction and he resigned himself to searching the car - dirty underwear came to the rescue again - and in no time at all we were headed towards the Croatian border (Only a handful of borders to go: "Less than you can shake a stick at," I told Lilith as we pulled off).

Croatia is also not an EU country so I resigned my self to the worst.

It was a pleasure; the bloke scanned my passport, stamped it, and waved me through - no search, no interrogation, no nothing at all. And within five minutes of arriving in the country, you'll not believe it, there was a message on the iPhone which read: "Vip and Croatian National Tourist Board welcome you to Croatia. For tourist info simply dial 7799. This service has a charge."

I felt a pang of guilt about worrying about everything Croat - I'm convinced they were the nice folk in the Balkans War, but I may be wrong.

They have no road tax and a speed limit of 130kph on their beautiful highway; but they do charge a nominal toll - least I'll find out if it's nominal once I get a good look at the bank statement.

Croatia is lovely... well, what little that could be seen from the highway... in the dark... during pouring rain. It appeared to be adorable.

It was even more adorable when I hit the border post out where the bloke had a glance at the passport - and it's newly acquired stamp - and waved me through again.

I was upbeat about hitting the Slovenian border (mostly because I misread the sign and thought I'd hit the Slovakian border and I'd already been through one of those before without too much hassle) and, sure enough, the passport was scanned and we were, once again, waved through.

Looking at the countryside I realised this wasn't the Slovak Republic, this was somewhere else. Somewhere with a bit more money. It was absolutely lovely. Loads of geography and a magnificent highway (again with a 130kph limit) that meanders through it. I almost wished I had decided to spend a day there. This was Slovenia. The Slovak Republic's licence plates are SK, the Slovenian licence plates are SLO; and it is appropriate because this place feels laid back. It wasn't anything like the former Balkan war-zone I'd just been through and it looked nothing like the rest of Eastern Europe.

Another thing about Slovenia; there are toll roads, but they're only for commercial vehicles, - private cars simply fly through (I wonder if they don't have some sort of road tax that I didn't pay?).

It looked even better when the rain stopped and the clouds parted to reveal some sun.

By the time we hit the Italian border - a little after 9am - it was apparent that we were back in the west; the border posts on both sides were empty and we screamed through - well, I screamed through; Lilith merely pointed out that there was over 100 miles to the next turn-off and Paulo was happy to up his revs a bit as we hit the open road again.

It took another hour to get to Venice, because the highways are 130kph and the trucks stay in their lane.

On arrival, the local gendarmerie are friendly and helpful; they are approachable, which is to say you don't feel all miserable about approaching them.

It's all smiles and welcomes wherever you go.

Bureaucracy exists, but it is friendly.

The people here act as if they want you here; they still want your money, but they'll give a service and smile to get it from you. It won't be an interrogation and a bribe.

That's the difference, I think, between east and west. In the east it remains about power and the police are there to enforce it - they prey on the innocent; in the west it's about capitalism and the police are there to serve and protect... And be helpful - the more innocent you are, the better you get along.

The remainder of the tour will be in this world. To be sure, it is better class of bureaucracy than the first part of the tour.