By Joel Chin

Austria is, without a doubt, the holy grail of driving roads.

Though bordered by no less than eight other equally stunning European countries, Austria has the enviable geographical privilege of being laced by the most beautiful mountain range in the world - the Alps.

Unlike the Americans, who simply blast a hole in whatever obstacle that comes their way just so they can make their roads go straight, European engineers love a good challenge.

This means that their roads are built around - rather than through - these mountains, forests and lakes.

This also means that instead of spending half the journey enveloped in dark tunnels, a drive on any European backroad guarantees to be a visual treat.

And boy, was I excited to tackle Austria last winter. Well, I mean I was, until I saw my car.

Being a self-confessed petrol-head, I was somewhat disappointed when the rental company handed me the keys to the diesel version of the SUV I asked for.

Perfect roads, imperfect car?

Not that I thought it was going to be any worse than the petrol version. Just that like many, I regarded petrol as the holy grail of fuels and was mildly annoyed at the situational mismatch I was now facing.

Never mind then.

Flushed with excitement despite the harsh winter weather, I fired up the cold engine (no rattles) and programmed my GPS for the first leg of my driving holiday - 88 motorway kilometres from the Austrian capital of Vienna to the river town of Melk.

But, 'No motorways please, I want to use the country roads so I can see the river Danube', I said to the GPS.

The famous 'Blue Danube'

Undeniably, it was my fault for not checking the route before setting off.

But, 20 minutes into the journey and once out of the city streets, I soon found out how willing the GPS was to oblige my request.

'In 1.5 kilometres, turn left' said the soothing female voice (whom I shall henceforth refer to as Jane, my most vocal driving companion throughout the two weeks of my trip).

'In 500 metres, turn right. Turn right.'

'In 250 metres, turn left. In 100 metres, turn right.'

The indispensible Jane had led me to a narrow, winding dual-carriageway with more twists and turns than a bowl of spaghetti.

Yes, the road ran parallel to the famed river. And yes, the scenery was stunning.

But truth be told, I was too busy hustling the 4X4 to notice, too busy outrunning nightfall to linger.

And, I was enjoying myself too much to care.

By the time I came up to the 5348975th corner, I had lost count of the number of times my right foot danced between the accelerator and the brake pedals, or the number of times I had swung the steering wheel in either direction.

What I do remember was the car's brilliant response to my every input - picking up speed and losing it at my will, and always pointing its nose where I wanted it to go.

As the gradual increase in the number of lights indicated the end of my journey, one particular glow caught my eye - the blinding florescents of a service station.

And then it struck me - so this was why Europeans loved their diesels. Unbelievably, since I left Vienna, this fuelling station at the border of Melk was the first one I had come across.

Idyllic town of Melk

Now, I was no stranger to the famed frugality of diesel vehicles, but this was simply just astonishing.

Just a year ago, I made a similiar trip to the south of France.

80 kilometres along the coast returned about 9 kilometres a litre on my 1.6 litre hatchback. This gargantuan of a car averaged 15 kilometres a litre while being driven around like a snake, and honestly, I was hardly being gentle with it.

With the amount of fuel the rental company had started me off with, if I was in anything but a diesel, I would have stopped somewhere between s-curve 35897 and hairpin 36783.

Moreover, judging from the number of commuters who (for some strange reason) prefer to use the motorways, I would probably still be there now.

More on Joel's winter Euro road trip:
» Part 2: Diesel athletes
» Part 3: Of Alpine hills and motorway thrills

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