| After driving through France for two days, I was stopped by four French motorcycle policemen for a "customs check". I was then directed via waving and pointing to open the back of the van. Two of them climbed into the back of the van and started emptying all the cardboard boxes onto the floor whilst a third proceeded to take the middle of the steering wheel off followed by the ashtray, fuse box and anything else that looked as though it would disassemble. The fourth searched me, examined my passport and driving licence, emptied my pockets my wallet and wash bag.
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After about twenty minutes they had a meeting in the back of the van whilst I stood on the side of the road. When they emerged from the van, they proceeded to put on their helmets and gloves and one of them said to me, "you go now". And with that they set off on their merry way. I spent the next few minutes trying to put my stuff back into the boxes, but this seemed a job better suited to somewhere other than the side of the road so I popped the lid back on the fuse box, rolled a fag and set off again, only to stop in a layby two minutes later to reconnect the wires to the back of the radio.
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| I resolved at this point to get out of France ASAP, so I headed straight for the Spanish border and crossed into Spain. On reflection, this was a bad move on my part. The Spanish have devised a series of toll motorways and cunningly hidden all the other roads that are free to travel on. These hidden roads are supposedly visible in daylight, but as I entered the area at night, I soon found myself at a toll booth. A strange thing about foreign places is that parking meters, toll booths and ticket operated barriers are all placed so as to be operated by ones passenger, unfortunately as I was passenger-less at this point I had no option but to get out and walk round.
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