There’s one thing deserving of mention that’s been underrepresented in my blog so far—and that is, of course, truck drivers and the long-haul freight business in general. Let’s just say trucking, though, since the longest haul on this road is evidently that of yours truly. I haven’t yet met anyone who’s said, “Vardø, sure, Vardø—that’s where my route leads. Not even on Crete. And I’m now starting to think that I might actually be the first person who’s ever driven the E75 from start to finish. Which would be quite a first!
There wasn’t much of any traffic until I reached the Serbian city of Nis. That’s where the E75 intersects with the E80, which originates in Gürbulak. For those who are scratching their heads: that’s at Turkey’s border to Iran. So the E80 brings with it Turkish tractor-trailers. The tea ceremonies I see in the parking lots fascinate me.
So in order to get a better feel for all this, I decided to spend the night at a truck stop in Hungary. Just a couple meters away from the E75’s off-ramp
there’s a pavilion encircled by a giant parking area—or at least an area in which to park. The pavilion contains a restaurant, a small shop, bathrooms, and showers. I try out all of it. There are no rooms here—the trucks’ cabs are already perfectly equipped. Their seats fold forward and their satellite dishes outward. Bed, curtains—it’s all there. So I also sleep in my vehicle—albeit without a satellite link.
The E75’s route between Gdansk and Helsinki used to be covered by a ferry. But the ferry line is long since defunct, so this part of the E75 no longer exists. For cargo vehicles, there’s a ferry connection from nearby Gdynia to Hanko, just outside of Helsinki. That’s the closest thing to the original, so I decide to go that way. But this isn’t without its difficulties: the fine distinction between long-haul driver and long-haul truck driver applies here, as well. The cargo ship I find there has space for only 13 drivers alongside its cargo. And that’s reserved for bus drivers, of course. But even so, I get lucky—and besides, it is my profession that’s brought me here.
The first problem crops up as I drive my car in at the terminal. The check-in window is so high up that I can’t look through it.
But I’m able to solve this problem. And I park where I’m now standing, packed in between several tens of thousands of packages from other cargoes, to type these lines. I’ve loaded my car on the ship as freight—and been granted a cabin. Now I’m curious to find out if anyone among the other twelve passengers might also be headed to Vardø.
