Netherlands > Departure from Amsterdam

I wake up. It’s Sunday, May 1st—the day I’ve been looking forward to for the past three and a half years. The day I set off by car to Tokyo and then across America. With a different feeling than usual when going on vacation, I leave my house. My neighbors come outside to wish me a good trip. I get into Brutus, the yellow Land Rover, which I’ll be driving around in for the next few months. In Amsterdam, I meet the other travelers at the Oosterdok. I park the Land Rover along the quay. In the background, the Maritime Museum and the VOC ship “Amsterdam.” The weather is beautiful. Dozens of people have come to see us off. Fun! The group photo in front of the cars and motorcycles almost turns into a real press moment. I count at least twenty-five cameras aimed at us.

Netherlands - A group photo at the starting point at Oosterdok in Amsterdam

These will soon be shared via WhatsApp and Facebook. The official moment has arrived. We set off, waved off by numerous family and friends. We drive to the Ring of Amsterdam and from there onto the A2. After about two hours of driving, we cross the first border of this journey. We continue toward the Ruhr region. Near Oberhausen, things go slightly wrong. We take an exit just before the one indicated by the navigation. The GPS quickly recalculates the route, but as it turns out later, we’re now on a different route to Cologne than originally planned. This also means a different route from the motorcyclists. After a short lunch at a roadside restaurant, we continue to Würzburg, our first overnight stop. When we arrive at the hotel, we are the first to check in. It’s half past four. Today, the odometer shows 531 kilometers. With a 5% correction for our oversized tires, we’ve driven about 560 km. In front of the hotel, we meet another motorcyclist. “Are you Wilco’s friends?” he asks. It’s Mike. He lives just south of Frankfurt and recognizes our car from the website. Together with Mike, we have a beer on the terrace. Over an hour and a half later, the motorcyclists arrive—just in time for Mike, who still has an appointment in Frankfurt this evening. Another visitor at the terrace is also interested in our journey. Only when Eddie sees our route on paper does he believe we are actually driving to Tokyo. “May I make a copy?” asks the café owner. He too is enthusiastic. As it gets colder, we move inside. The restaurant doesn’t look particularly cozy, but the Hungarian owner makes up for it with his enthusiasm. He conjures up an excellent meal and joins us at the table. After we’ve finished eating, he offers a Hungarian schnapps to toast our journey.