When I walked out of Spanish class I didn’t see the poster advertising an organized trip to Toledo. It was the Canadian girls standing around the don Quixote message board hollering “roaaad triiiip!” that caught my attention. Although a coach ride from Salamanca to Toledo and back could technically be considered a road trip, I was hoping for something more exciting so I decided to organize my own little trip.

I had no doubt that the good people at don Quixote, my Spanish school here in Salamanca, would organize a well laid out tour, catering for everyone’s taste. While I do like my Spanish classes that well-organized, I prefer my road trips unforeseen and lawless. Coach trips are just a bit too middle of the road for me. Plus coaches make me nauseous (the tour guide yapping away in the microphone doesn’t do much good for it, either).

I don’t want to pass judgment though. Few people annoy me more than those horribly contemptuous, “authentic” backpackers telling you how you should travel, belittling you for owning a Lonely Planet or washing your hair. Not me. Nor will I force local delicacies down my fellow travelers’ throats when they really feel like eating Chinese food or Burger King. Want to get a picture of you holding up the Tower of Pisa? Be my guest. For all I care you can go to Louisiana and pick up an “I looted New Orleans and all I got was this lousy T-shirt” shirt?

We all have our favorite way of traveling but it really isn’t necessary to bother other people with it. Nevertheless, I would like to impose my travel mantra on you: road tripping – the real deal, no half-cocked coach trips. The preparations are minimal. All you need is a car, music and sunglasses...

The quintessential road trip vehicle is obviously a minivan. Preferably one with a big-ass spoiler and a knob on the wheel. Unfortunately, I do not yet own a black 1983 G-series GMC (uhuh, the A-team van)... So my friend and I went to a car rental place instead. Alas, no flower-power Volkswagens were available either. Considering there would just be four of us, we eventually settled for a less-exciting yet practical new Renault.

Music is at least as important as the car. Do not, and I cannot stress this enough, do not embark on a road trip in Southern Europe relying on local radio to entertain you. Bring CD’s and plenty of ‘em or you’ll go stark raving mad. You’ll want to keep the entire car happy so don’t be selfish. Think mainstream.

Our playlist went a little something like this. Plenty of guitars and classic rock for on the highway: Rolling Stones, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Jimi Hendrix, Bob Dylan and the like. I always bring some acid jazz or other lounge tunes for serious chilling. Saint-Germain always does the trick. For dead moments it’s nice to have a couple of lame sing-alongs that are so bad they actually become funny. I particularly love to hate “Yes sir, I can Boogie”, “Do you really want to hurt me”, “So lonely”, “Papa Chico” or anything by Vanilla Ice.

Don’t forget some cool music for cruising by the beachside. You know what I am talking about: one driver’s tanned arm out the window, shades on your nose and Don Omar’s “Dale con dale” cranked to the max. By the way, here’s a tip to make traffic jams more interesting. When no cars are moving, open all windows. Everybody but the driver get out of the car. Put on some loud party music (my personal favorite in this case: Vitalic’s “Poney part 2”). Get on the roof of your van (what do you care, it’s a rental...) and start partying like it’s 2999. Try and get the commuters to join you, the look on their faces is priceless.

That’s it, we’re good to go. You could make an itinerary first if you want to... I prefer just asking around on where to go. Planning simply creates expectations the actual experience has to live up to. Chance adventures are that much easier to enjoy.

Friday finally arrived and my partner in crime Sebastian and I picked up our fellow trippers (Fabienne from Antwerp, Belgium and Jessica from New Haven, Connecticut) in our brand-new mpv. After the all too obvious multi-purpose-vehicle jokes it was time to decide where we’d go. We didn’t have to talk for long about a destination. Clearly we would drive off into the sunset, i.e. direction Portugal. The first couple of days were random but very enjoyable. Lots of good food, even more mediocre alcohol, uncalled-for dancing etc... During daytime we didn’t avoid the cultural sights although we probably spent more time at the beaches to shake off our hangovers. The scenery in Portugal was no less than breathtaking. Ironically, the many forest fires seem to have made the Portuguese landscape even more attractive, at least from a distance. The withered trees range in color from gold red to pitch black, contrasting with the bright green of young weeds.

Fall was catching up with us so we turned our back on the beaches and headed inland, towards the mountains. We ended up in the strangest of mountain towns: Bragança. Although not at all a tourist hot spot, Bragança does have an awe-inspiring, 13th century fortress. That’s not why I’ll remember it, though. This town is the spitting image of Royston Vasey, the English village from the comedy series “The League of Gentlemen” where ugly, inbred locals molest and eventually kill innocent passers-by. Obviously it wasn’t that fatal but Bragança did give us a scare.