Something To Declare

Comedian and Travel Channel presenter Danny Robins enjoys the open road

ILLUSTRATION SPENCER WILSON / SYNERGY ART

I’M ON A BUS FULL OF TOURISTS, careering at what can only be described as life-threatening speed along a narrow, winding mountain road. To my right, picturesque villages whizz by too fast to see; to my left is a sheer 200ft drop to the sea below. The bus driver is texting and eating a sandwich at the same time.

I’m trying really hard to fight the urge to scream whatever the Greek is for “slow down you maniac, you’re going to kill us all!” while mentally scanning my holiday pics wondering which one the Foreign Office will release to the media when my remains are eventually dragged from the ocean, half-eaten by hungry dolphins.

Yet I needn’t have worried; we arrive at the airport absolutely fine. The driver didn’t even spill his beer. And, as I peel my terrified, three-kilos-lighter self out of the bus, I’m reminded that going on holiday isn’t just about embracing different languages and customs, it’s also about embracing different approaches to road safety. If travel broadens the mind, it also sometimes narrows the sphincter.

For instance, one shouldn’t assume that just because you are driving at high speed on a motorbike you need to wear a helmet. You may do that where you come from, but there are plenty of countries where a helmet would make you a) hot and b) look like a girl.

Likewise, just because a sign at a junction says “stop”, it doesn’t necessarily mean you actually should stop, it could mean “drive through really fast without looking”.

I admit, in Britain, we are fairly safety obsessed. In some offices, you can’t even brew a hot drink these days without first erecting a blast-proof screen. I once bought a bag of peanuts with the warning “may contain traces of nuts”. I have a theory that the colder it is in your country, the more uptight you are about health and safety. By way of evidence, I present to you Sweden, an undeniably chilly land, and Spain, somewhere I think we’ll all agree is pretty warm. Preferred means of transport for Swedes? The Volvo, a car famed not for its speed or ability to attract chicks but for its safety. How do the Spanish like to get about? Running down the street chased by enraged bulls. I rest my case.

Feel free to disagree with my theory. Do write to me and I’ll get my security team to carefully open the envelope to make sure I don’t sustain any paper cuts, before replying to you with hypoallergenic ink written on paper that “may contain traces of wood”. Better safe than sorry.

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