fillingthegaps

the last post was from Vancouver. This post comes from a little seaside town in France, and in between there has been about a week of some fairly hectic activity. Let me re-cap, for those who might be vaguely interested.

I arrived back from Canada at Heath Row, England, at about 2.30 in the afternoon. There I grabbed a courtesy shuttle bus which took me to the car rental company on the other side of the airport. (very efficient) At the depot  I picked up my pre-booked car: I had ordered a Ford Fiesta (the cheapest deal I could find) but as with the previous car rental, found myself up-graded into a new Peugeot 207. Who was I to complain? My plan was to visit a few friends and relations before re-joining The Tribe in the two Camper vans, (who were ‘somewhere up North’)

So the first move was to get up to a cousin’s place just north of Derby. I got away from Heath Row by about 3.30pm, which was a bit late in the day to be starting a 250km drive. However this was the plan,  so off I set. The car drove beautifully but the navigator was definitely average, finding himself in a tangle of roundabouts, road signs and general traffic mayhem, trying to get through Leicester. After a hour or so I popped our the other side and regained some momentum, arriving at my pre-booked hostelry at about 8.0pm.

I finally found my cousin’s house at about 9.0 pm and had a most pleasant re-union, but by near-midnight my recent spate of activity started catching up, and I returned for a sound sleep at the pub.

After a good English breakfast, I took off for London again, and had a great run until I reached the  outskirts of that seat of civilization.

I should pause here to try and describe the British motoring scene, in any city in this fair land. Britain is criss-crossed with an infinite number of small roads, connecting all villages and towns. These roads were developed during the hey-days of the horse and carriage, and were a comfortable width for one such vehicle. As time progressed and towns grew into cities, some of these roads developed into highways. Now and again the roads were widened a fraction to make things easier, but by band large they remained almost untouched for nearly a 100 years. When England started to get organized they gave the main highways numbers, and so the ‘A” road numbers arrived.

A long time after the second world war, it was realised that the ‘A’ roads were not coping with the traffic, and so the ‘M” motorway roads were built. These highways took the straightest line between two cities, only occasionally allowing other roads to connect into the system. It is in the connecting of these roads that British roading engineers managed to devise a system of round-abouts that confuse the sharpest of minds, and the most skillful of divers. These ‘roundabouts’ are not round but usually oval in layout. They frequently have 6 or7 junctions spread around the circuit, often having traffic lights. There can be up to 4 lanes of traffic hurtling around the circuit. The trick is to know which lane you are supposed to be in to be able to escape into your desired exit. Your required lane is painted on the road in large letters. The problem is that the letters are obscured (usually) by even larger trucks. Of course there are the signs to help you too. These list the route numbers of the various exits, plus the route numbers of roads they will eventually lead to, plus the names of the next few towns (but not the main city you are looking for) etc etc. A total confusion to the driver with no local knowledge. The result is that invariably you take the wrong exit, leaving you no option but to drive 10-15 km down the road until you can find a turn off, whereupon you can return the the roulette wheel and try your chances again. Add to this mix the fact that every car that was ever made seems to be either driving on the roads or, in any town at all, parked nose-to-tail on the roadside. The final little bit of fiendish thinking is to make all rotes in a town a ‘red  route’. This means no stopping at any time except for busses. So if you are lost, you cannot find anywhere to pull over and get your bearings.

Do you get the impression that driving in the cities and on the main roads is a frustrating and harrowing business? I hope so – because I was a fairly frazzled specimen by the time I finished my rounds and finally ended up in a peaceful haven at my cousin’s place in the south of England. What bliss!

The next day my racing around was over and I made my way at a leisurely pace to a midday rendezvous with the vans in Reading.

The vans had already covered a fair distance that day, but a booking had been made to catch the Dover ferry in a couple of days time – so on they pressed. I sank gratefully back into the passenger’s seat and relaxed and enjoyed. That day we got to Folkstone – just a stone’s throw from Dover, but the intrepid duo really had been driving long enough for one day.

We found a Sainsbury’s, huge super markets with equally huge parking lots. Previous experience had shown that when asked, the Authorities would permit us to park overnight. Which we did (with grateful thanks to the Management)

The next day we were up bright and early, with the rain pouring down. After a quick breakfast we were off to Dover – intending to spend most of the day at the Castle. Our initial momentum quickly came to a grinding halt as we joined the traffic on the motorway to Dover.

 We did not know it immediately but we learned that a computer breakdown at bthe ferry terminal was causing huge hold ups as all traffic was manually processed onto the ferries. Memories of our 7hr holdup outside Antwerp came flooding back, but fortunately we inched our way forward to a turn-off, and were able to escape onto a minor road to Dover. We were in no hurry for the ferry –our booking was for 9.30pm but we did want to see the castle.

And see it we did.

It stopped raining, but the gale winds continued to tear at us. The castle is situated on the highest hill in Dover, and even a zephyr breeze would be able to nip at you unhindered on top of that hill.

We had a really interesting time (did I tell you we are still not sick of castles – even if you are sick of hearing about them!?) crawling up, over and under the battlements, and then descended to Castle Street to enjoy a ritualistic Last Dinner on British soil –  Fish’n’Chips!

Being aware of the chaos throughout the day we got down to the wharf fairly early and got ourselves at the front of a queue, waiting for the 9.30 boat.

As good fortune would have it, there was space on an earlier sailing and so we found ourselves steaming out into the Channel at 9.00pm.

We were anticipating a rough ride, due to the gale that was still blowing, but in fact the 1 1/2 hr trip was very smooth, and we were berthed and discharged with amazing speed and efficiency.

A quick drive around the darkened streets and we finally found a park, which was full! a few hundred meters away was an ordinary car park and a  hesitant enquiry to a local gave us the assurance that it was ok to park there. So here we are in France!

After the inevitable strictures placed on space, quietude, and diet consistent with living with a family of 10 in two motor homes, the past week in Canada has been almost surreal. In the most pleasant of ways!

Pre-conditioning for the time in Canada was achieved by spending 2 days alone with Eldest Daughter, zipping up to York (UK) and back to Heath Row, using a very swish hire car and staying in very comfortable accommodation. Then we flew to Ottawa and were met there by L’s old school friend, & whisked away to her parent’s spacious home in a delightful, tranquil, wooded and rather exclusive part of that city.

There I was given the exclusive use of a large bedroom complete with sauna and en suite and a large library to dip into! What luxury! Our hosts were erudite and entertaining; their hospitality gracious; their conversation wide-ranging and enlightening. It was a really relaxing and enjoyable time. And I even managed to get in a short bike ride, alongside a quiet bike path beside the river.

But that was just the beginning. From Ottawa we drove several hundred kms to the Grandparent’s  “seaside cottage”. We had been warned that this was not exactly a cottage in the British sense of the word – but the reality still hit us smack between the eyes and left us reeling in semi-dis-belief.  This ‘cottage’ turned out to be a beautiful mansion, part Mediterranean-Italian, part art-deco in appearance, set at the upper end of  gracefully sloping farm and woodlands.

Well-manicured lawns, shrubs and flower beds gave the grounds a park-like appearance and the croaking of frogs from the nearby swimming swimming pond provided a rural soundtrack as a backdrop to this little corner of Paradise. We did not see them but we were told that the local wild life often drops by to keep an eye on things: fox, wolves, deer, an occasional moose, not to mention squirrel, chipmunk and moles.

And again I found I was assigned a large bedroom all to myself with a balcony overlooking the garden, the woodlands and stretching out to the Georgian Bay part of Lake Huron. This area is prime Vacation Land in this part of Canada, and it is easy to why. In the summer, sailing, windsurfing, fishing, golf, tramping and cycling are all available within a short distance. The facilities are superb and the people warm and welcoming.

Good coffee is to be had in cosy coffee shops and superb ice cream is also available!

Nearby orchards provide a plentiful supply of fruit in season: apples, pears, nectarines, cherries, strawberries  and blueberries. Local entrepreneurs bake these up into the most delectable pies. If I wax rather lyrical it is because this really is a blessed corner of the world and it was a joy to be immersed in it for a while.

And again our hosts showered us with blessings. I have been quite happy to sleep on the floor of a Mongolian Yert, a Kowloon couch, the hard bunk of a train in China, the seat of an all-night bus to Berlin, the floor of an attic in Estonia and so on – but who can deny the pleasure of having a large comfortable bed all to yourself and to be woken by sun streaming in across the walls of a large, beautifully-decorated room, with the prospect of descending to a sunny breakfast room replete with anything your taste-buds could desire? Yes we have really been blessed by this marvelous interval.

Now I have left Daughter: I am on the Trans-Canada train

heading for Vancouver (in 3 days time) and D is spending another week with OSF and then heading back to NZ (and WORK) I am just a day into this trip and am having a great time. I have a little one-man cabin – most ingeniously designed and very comfortable.

I have 3 meals provided – good meals too, I might add. And  as much tea or coffee and muffins as I may care to eat in the interim! I have already met such interesting people at the dining table – what extra-orrdinary tales the most ordinary-looking people have to tell!

And so the journey continues. I am looking forward to the rest of this train trip, then a  few days in Vancouver, and then back to the UK to take up where I left off, with the Intrepid Travelers, back to the Motor Homes. Bye-bye luxury – hello more adventures!

in recent weeks we had become accustomed to moving seamlessly from country to  country: Germany, Switzerland, France, Holland, Belgium, England etc. with barely a pause in our perambulations. But a few days ago daughter L and I made a giant leap across a very big ditch and ended up in Ottawa, Canada. (reason for the visit: for daughter – to visit an old school friend. For me ; because I wanted to do the trans-Canadian rail trip)

We are being looked after by Linda’s long-time college friend, and in turn by the friend’s parents. Such a gracious, hospitable family – we are being overwhelmed with kindness. And I find myself allocated to a huge bedroom with en suite all to myself!

The arrival in Canada was routine until I went to pass through Customs. “excuse me sir, would you mind taking the left lane please?” I was happy to oblige, thinking that would be the ‘nothing to declare’ lane. Wrong! I had been ‘randomly selected’ for the full customs search procedure. Half an hour later I was declared clean and allowed to trail out to a deserted arrival lounge! Well it is all Experience I suppose, but I am beginning to think I must have a criminal appearance.

Back in Bangkok I was apprehended by the USA military after I took an innocent picture of  their Embassy. On that occasion I was detained while they checked out my passport and made sure I deleted the picture from my digital camera. Now here in Ottawa I am again treated as an undesirable. But wait-there’s more. The following day, after the airport incident I was again pounced on by security in Ottawa’s Art Museum.

My crime this time was to be carrying a small plastic bag into the gallery. This had to be deposited in the secure locker section. (as it happened, daughter came to the rescue and offered to carry the offending bag in her capacious handbag, which was apparently acceptable. Logic???)

So what is it about me? The beetling eyebrows? the scruffy clothes? the worried look as I try to decipher noises around me and turn them into sentences? Who knows = the fact is I am a marked man.

But as usual, I digress. Here we are in Ottawa Canada and ready to see and taste another country, another culture. Canada is rather similar to NZ in that it was populated by an indigenous people many hundreds of years ago, and subsequently ‘settled’ by Westerners much later – with all the accompanying historic baggage that goes with the process. And like NZ they are still dealing with grievances. But the settling of Canada happened a few hundred years earlier than NZ and so the Capital does not have the raw  edge that NZ has. There are many gracious old buildings and the city has many fine buildings to give it an air of permanence and prosperity.

The city was a delight to discover with majestic parliament buildings,

character-filled streets, a beautiful river with impressive bridges

and an intriguing mix of French and English cultures.

Across the river lies the province of Quebec – that fiercely independent region that insists on observing its French heritage.

Here we saw toffee-apples de-luxe,

 and sampled ‘beaver tails’ – an elongated pancake with an endless variety of fillings and flavours.

 We also had Frittes (chips) French style – mixed with clotted cheese and topped with brown gravy. An interesting blend, but I confess to preferring my chips ‘straight’ with plenty of salt.

The Museum of Canadian Civilization was a magnificent structure, and the displays and artifacts it contained, equally impressive.

I found the Art Gallery of equal interest and was rather surprised to find myself really enjoying the experience, ( however, my host and I found that we shared the saame attention span disorder: after about 2 hours in a museum the eyes start to get a glazed-over appearance, and it becomes more and more difficult to discreetly hide a jaw-cracking yawn)

We are being hosted by my daughter’s friend’s family and again I am struck by the good fortune that keeps following us. We have been hosted by some incredibly generous people and have been fortunate to stay in some superb places. The generosity of people continues to amaze me, and fills me with a desire to return the good favours we have received. I feel a little guilty in this respect because I am aware that not too many people will be dashing off to NZ and even if they do, our part of West Auckland is not the easiest area to reach.

Our hosts then left the parents home and took us on to an Aunts ‘sea-side cottage’ which turned out to be a genuine mansion set in rolling countryside overlooking Lake Huron. But more of that in a later blog. On the way to the cottage (about a 250km drive, I suspect) we drove through magniicent countryside – woods laced with hundreds of lakes. We stopped  off to stretch legs and take in the peace and tranquility of this enormous country.

Earlier we had stopped off at a church serving a Polish community – again an oasis of tranquility , seemingly in the middle of nowhere. Set high on rolling hills, it had a commanding view over the surrounding countryside.

more later……..

I am writing this at about 35000ft in the air, moving at very close to the speed of sound. And taking it all quite for granted. But in the last few days we re-visited one of the places of my childhood- in the days when 300 mph for a fighter aircraft was really something – and flying at the speed of sound (or over, as many now do) was not even thought about. (well, maybe by the boffins)

We had left the wild beauty of Tintagel and Clovelley and made our way back East to the more prosaic Weston-Super-Mare and now moved on towards Stratford on Avon, heading to the Midlands. But on the way we purposed to visit some spots I had fond memories of, as a teenager. First was the house of my aunt, in Chippenham in Wiltshire, where a whole bunch of cousins stayed when things got a bit too dangerous back on the edge of London where we were living. 3 families: 9 children plus their mothers, plus a lodger all crammed into a fairly small 3-bedroom semi-detached home. We stayed there a couple  of times, once for about a year and also for a holiday, if my memory serves me right. Well we were passing close by, and with the aid of Rob’s trusty GPS we found the street once more. It seems that every house we have lived in is left to decay in later years. A neighbour informed us that the gentleman that used to live there had just gone into a home as the place was too much for him. As clearly it was, with peeling paint and weed-infested front garden. But this was the place of many childhood memories and it was rather nice to see that it was still there, and likely to be so for many a year to come.

Then on to another place of happy memories – Cheddar Gorge, which I had cycled up a few times while bike-touring with good mates, and had later cycled up again in training as a racing cyclist while in the RAF at Locking, near Weston-S-Mare. It was even more of a gorge than I remembered and we were all quite spell-bound by the magnitude of it.

Then on to the famous caves at Wookey Hole, but oh, what a disappointment! The place has now been turned into an Entertainment complex, with the caves and the hand paper-making almost an add-on to the games parlour etc. And the charges were exorbitant. So, we gave the caves a miss, and consoled ourselves with an ice-cream instead.

One last place before we turned North? Yes we would Make the time, and so we pressed on to the cathedral city of Wells.

We and a picnic lunch on the green sward in front of the Cathedral and took in the beauty of this ancient town.

Finally we headed North and made our way to the home of Bill Shakespeare – Stratford-on-Avon. Fascinating to walk up old cobble-stone streets and see houses that were built 400 years ago, still going strong. A little bent here and there and a sag or two evident – but at my age I can relate to that with sympathy.

The incongranuity of the Asian Ice-cream seller next to William Shakespear’s birth[lace struck us forcefully

We stayed in the front yard of another friendly couch-surfing family who let us use all their ‘civilised’ facilities. The next day my daughter and I were scheduled to leave the happy band of vanners and drive a hire-car to York. Meanwhile the tribe were scheduled to go and visit Warwick Castle on the same day. But overnight the heavens opened up and the morning dawned grey and very wet. Our trip to York was still on, but the Tribe were left to re-schedule their activities.

Rob drove us to the car hire place where I was expecting to pick up the smallest, cheapest, Ford they had on the books. But when I checked in I discovered that they had no record of my on-line booking. The only car they had available was a streamlined rocket  – a VW Sirocco. And it was virtually brand-new! (sorry – no picture) The increase in cost was minimal and the rain was still pouring down, so I did not argue!

Our plan was to head East until we connected with the M1 and then high-tail it Northwards to York. I thought it might take about 4 hrs max. But we are getting quite used to our progress on the road being frustrated by circumstances, and this day was no exception. It rained and rained and with the rain came slow driving and accidents. We didn’t actually see any accidents but we encountered slow traffic and detours all the way up’ We had hoped to arrive at about 3.0pm. Instead we finally checked in to our B & B at about 6!

The only good thing was that it had finally stopped raining, so after a quick cuppa we were off to explore the city. And an intriguing, historic city it is. With the Minster

With a sturdy Wall encircling the old city,

with ancient buildings leaning crazily towards each other

and ancient cobbled streets

and fascinating architecture on every corner

we were totally enraptured by York.

Then the tummies started to rumble and so we had a bite to eat. Coming out of the restaurant at about 9.0pm, we looked up and down the narrow streets and made a guess as to which way was ‘home’. We both agreed on a direction and started walking. To cut a long story short, after we had passed the same three bridges 4 times, and found a helpful bill-board map, we wearily reached home at about 11.0 pm. It had been  a long day!

After ‘flirting’ with the borders of various countries while travelling through Germany, we have finally said goodbye to the Reich. Although yesterday’s stopover was actually right on the border between Germany  and Holland– it ran smack through the middle of the little town of Dinxsperlo. (the yellow markers are the border)

Dinxperlo gave me my first real taste of a Dutch town. It was not a big place; small and  cute. It was impossibly neat and tidy. Not just the odd street, but every street we walked down or drove past: neatly clipped hedges, immaculately groomed shrubs and mass-plantings in pocket-handkerchief front gardens; large picture-windows in every house, looking out on to the street, and each one displaying a precise arrangement of flowers or pottery or lace-work etc.

We saw  interesting signs of spring here too, with new growth glowing bright green against the previous season’s more mature shades. We  saw pine-cones looking like Christmas decorations on one of the garden shrubs.

Every home looked as if it were expecting a visit from the Queen, and I came to the conclusion that this tidiness must be built in to the national psyche.

We were fortunate in Dinxperlo: when we arrived we discovered that the designated parking area was closed and so we cautiously nosed our way down the street and found another parking area, attached to the same large sports complex. It had been raining most of the day, and as we edged our way back into dripping trees a man on a bike, wearing size 15 clogs, came along and told us we were not allowed to park there. Our hearts were sinking when he advised us, ‘but you can park just out there’ What a relief. And the timing turned out to be just in  time: no sooner had we got ourselves wriggled into position than this quiet parking lot suddenly became inundated with cars. The reason soon became apparent: group after group of young kids and youths came marching down the street, chanting slogans and carrying banners. It was obviously a festival/rally of some sort and it seemed that the whole town had turned up to  cheer them on.

And at least half the town arrived on bikes. I have never seen so many ordinary commuter-style bikes in one place before. We took a walk down the street while the people were milling about and I found it interesting, looking at the Dutch bikes. Being a keen biker myself I am always interested to see what other countries are doing with bikes. The Dutch have the advantage of living in a dead flat country. Boring it may well be, but it sure makes for easy cycling! With  no hills to contend with, the Dutch have developed the ultimate in commuter –biking comfort. Weight is obviously of no concern, although there are many aluminium framed bikes to be seen. All have sturdy mudguards, stylish chain protectors, streamlined built-in headlights, dynamo hubs, sturdy carriers and panniers, elaborate handlebar configurations and often 8-speed hub gears. (electric power-assisted bikes are also popular – but they are not cheap – overE1000)

All riders adopt an extreme upright position with backs ramrod straight and at 90 deg to the road, consequently handlebars are mounted well above saddle height. So cycling is a dignified and sedate business, and one sees all manner of people riding: workers in ordinary garb, bankers in pin-striped suits, mothers with kids in a baby seat at the back, (or in a tow-along carriage), ladies in high heels and snazzy hair-do’s, and everyone in between. The verdict: in Holland cycling is universal.

And the layout of the streets confirm this: a wide clearly-marked bike lane down either side of the street with a narrow strip left in the middle for 2-way traffic! Cyclists cruise with no fear for cars – they know cars will always politely give way to them. Incredible!

Dinxperlo has two features that make it unusual. The first is that the town actually straddles the border between Germany and Holland: it has a foot in each country. Ironically it has two supermarkets, almost opposite each other. Oneisin Germany and the otherin Holland. Although all prices are in Euros, the pricing structures are different. For instance, milk in Germany is almost half the price of milk over the road, in Holland! The border passes down the main street and a row of yellow diamonds on the road, show you which country yoiu happen to be in.

The other claim to fame is Dinxperlo’s ‘Smallest Church in Europe’ This is a really neat little church, about 8×6 metres in size. How or why it was built was not clear, but it appeared that the church was still in use, I imagine a congregation of 6 plus a preacher, would fill it nicely.

The next day we moved further north to a little town called Burgen. (from where  I am writing this) Burgen is ‘Mixture as before’ – tidy streets and houses and neat little garden plots.

We are parked on the side of a marina connected to the canal/dyke system. This is a million-dollar spot: we are right next to the jetty and watch the coming and going of various launches and yachts.

Just around the corner is the canal proper and on it ply the same massive barge-like traders that we saw all the time on the Rhine. Behind us is a large grassed area with a kids playground. The town itself is just 5-10 mins walk away so everything is dandy. Unfortunately the rain is chasing us at the moment and so our activities have been a bit restricted. However the kids have had a good time on the playground and this afternoon we all went for a walk to explore the town.

We found a colourful rack of clogs, which confirmed that we were indeed in Holland.

On our return we made a  close inspection of a couple of 2nd hand folding bikes that were sitting outside the harbour-master’s office. We have found our two old clunkers so handy that we have been keeping an eye open for more bargains to add to the stable. A thorough test-ride on each bike plus a run through on the folding action indicated that these bikes were in fair condition for their age. He wanted E45 for one and E35 for the other. Total E80. Without prompting he said we could have the two for E75. After some discussion among ourselves, and after testing the bikes, Jgirl14 made him an offer of E70 for the two. After about 4 secs hesitation he accepted, so now we have 4 bikes and a baby-carrier in our stable!The older kids are very excited to be getting back on wheels. I can’t see us acquiring any more, but this will mean that the older ones can get further afield in their exploring of an area.

By the way while in the town this morning (on a lone stroll) I got myself a desperately-needed haircut. Due to a slight mis-understanding of meaning, I ended up with a no.2 all over. Talk about ‘lost in translation’! However, the lass that sheared me was very pleasant and took about an hour to perform the operation – much better value than my recent cataract operation! The haircut was so severe that after Tgirl5 inspected me closely, she said to me, “I know you are still Grandpa because I recognise your blue jacket”! (even my son was prompted to comment that I look considerably better with longer hair)

-well we have yet to take a look at St.Paul’s in London, but if my dimming memory serves me right, that is but a shadow compared to this simply magnificent building. Actually ‘building’ is a completely in-appropriate term for such a breath-taking, awe-inspiring example of man’s desire to honour God through architecture.

We arrived in Koln on a wet evening (yes it was raining again) but the ‘Vomo’ park still looked just great. Here we are yet again perched on the banks of the mighty Rhine river, at the edge of a beautiful tree-lined park, bounded by a  superb walk-way come cycle path that follows the river right into the heart of the city. It  was probably a 2-3km walk but one which all the kids tackled quite happily.

This twin-spire-ed cathedral is simply enormous, but beautifully proportioned.

The scope and intricacy of the stone-work defies the imagination; how could anyone sit down and plan such an enormous undertaking with its flying buttresses adorned with lace-like carvings,

the hundreds of statues and statuettes that surround the entrance archways,

the sheer size of the building and the mechanics of erecting the vaulted rooflines – it is almost too much to take in.

I was fortunate and managed to slip inside just before they closed the doors, to prepare for a service. So I managed to record a little of the magnificence of the inside.

The stained glass windows were many and varied, here’s just a sample:

Once outside again, the tribe decided to make the climb up to the belfry in one of the towers. Having done this sort of thing in years gone by, and recalling the vertigo-inducing effect of climbing a  seemingly endless spiral staircase, I elected to take a walk around the area instead. It was entertaining as well as being very pleasant. The square in front of the cathedral was buzzing with people of all sorts, busking musicians,

tourists, church-goers,

‘statue, figures,

 a pavement artist,

 young and old and all nationalities. Then there was the surrounding ‘old city’. Cologne was flattened by the RAF during WWII (fortunately leaving the cathedral relatively unscathed) so the ‘old city was re-built with modern buildings, but retaining the old narrow cobbled streets. So the whole area is ‘pedestrians only’ and it makes for an interesting shopping and eating district. The tribe by he way, had a great time climbing the 100’s of steps up the tower – you will have to go to ***** to read about that.

I found a Starbucks and made a note for future reference: in NZ Starbucks offer free wi-fi service to their customers and I was hoping for the same here. Later in the day R and I returned (by bike) to check it out. We should have guessed – E8 per hour! Fortunately a young woman overheard the conversation and gave Rach directions to a cafe that offered free wi-fi. It took quite a while and several more inquiries but finally we found the spot, some distance further on, but no trouble on our trusty steeds. But things seldom seem to go without a hitch with us, and so R & I found ourselves returning on the following morning to complete the mission. (I was not complaining – it gave me an excuse to treat myself to a coffee and muffin)

The mission was completed successfully but on the return disaster struck. We had to pass under a tunnel-like bridge which at the time they were washing with pressure hoses. So the place was awash with water and hoses snaking over the  footpath. Rach struck the hose at an angle that would have been ok in the dry, but with everything wet, her front wheel just went sliding away, leaving Rach sailing through the air without a bike. It was painful to watch. I had seen her thrown off a wild horse, now here she was being thrown off a wild bike. She sailed through the air in a crouched position, ready for a painful landing. But before she hit the pavement, her head hit the side-wall of the tunnel (covered in black wet goo) Then she hit the pavement with a most unpleasant thud. Damage report: one bruised side of face (smeared in black gunk), two  chaffed knees with protective jeans ripped, two sore hands and one thumb nail painfully torn. It was not good. However after a bit of a cleanup and application of plasters, the lass got back on the bike and persuaded the rapidly-stiffening knee to keep turning until we got back to base.

On the positive side, there was no damage to lap-top in the back-pack, or to the bag of ‘Berliner’ jam donuts that were in the basket on the front of the bike.

it was always a story that appealed to me, as I read it to my kids when they were small. I can’t remember the outcome, but doubtless the penniless tailor ended up by marrying the princess – and lived happily aver after.

Anyway, on this day we did something which I thought was equally impressive – we drove through 3 countries in one day. We started in Germany, nipped into Austria, slipped across a corner of Switzerland and ended up back in Germany. (Rach tells me that the real facts are: Germany, went into Austria, back into Germany, back into Austria, into Switzerland then finally back into Germany)

I’m not sure that that was the intention when we started, but the GPS went looking for a town of the same name as the one we were wanting and it was some time before the discrepancy between our actual route and the required route, was detected. However the result was that we drove through some spectacular Alpine countryside, with superb scenery. Sorry – no pictures. I was driving and believe me, with the memory of my recent ‘off-road’ experience still fresh in my mind, all my concentration went on watching the clearance between wheels and grass verges and/or white centre-line in my rear-view mirrors. The Vomo took up a full half of the narrow twisty mountain roads so it was not the time for gazing at scenery!`

Our mid-journey deviation back into Germany was to visit the ‘King’s Castle” “Konnigschlosser” was the name I think. Areal ‘fairy-tale’ castle and most famous in Europe. Unfortunately, half of Europe thought it was a good idea too, so we drove into the town, wriggled our way through masses of traffic and people and drove out until we could find somewhere quiet to park and have lunch. It was very peaceful and pretty too.

And in the distance, through the summer haze the castle could be seen!

After lunch we pressed on and finally arrived at our destination, on the shore of Lake Konstanz. Actually the address we had turned out to be an abandoned parking lot but after deciding to bite the bullet and book into the fancy Caravan park, we discovered the cheaper version right next door. There seemed to be no spaces left, but rather miraculously someone decided to leave as we arrived (maybe they saw the 8 kids?) and then Rach politely asked a group (who had themselves comfortably spread over 3 lots with chairs and tables etc.,) in her best German, if it was permitted to park in their space, and they graciously admitted it was permitted! So we had our 2 spaces!

We plan to stay here for a day or two while we try and replace the pump out of the other Vomo’s main tank (for showers etc) This decided to  pack it in just after I had used it yesterday. And we will also be looking for the last bits and pieces to  fix the front of said van. The Lake is a few minutes walk away and we have discovered a quiet spot for a paddle and a swim, so hopefully the kids will be happy.

my last post was written from the Vale of Despond, or whatever Bunyan called it. Spirits were low and I had not got off to a good start.

We drove off from Rothenburg through a rainy start and aimed for Oberammergau – the township which puts the Passion Play once every decade. We drove through beautiful rural countryside and eventually crept up into the foothills of the Alps. The scenery was soothing to the troubled brow, and Oberammergau when reached, was just idyllic.

Thanks to Rach’s unending research, we found a semi-free parking zone for Motor homes. No real facilities other than a toilet block, but right next to a sparkling clear river, and all that we needed for a couple of nights.

First thing the next day, Rob & I got stuck in to repairing the Van’s bent nose, while Rach took the tribe in for a walk into the township, to do some shopping and have a look-see.

After several hours both parties were re-united with satisfaction on everyone’s lips. We had made good progress on getting the worst of the kinks out of the bent nose by making a bunch of aluminium brackets which we then pop-riveted to the mating sections. A friendly neighbour lent us his advice plus a 2kg rubber mallet and a large block of Italian hardwood. Several hearty swings with the mallet convinced the van that we meant business and gradually we got on to the winning side. Generous application of silicone sealant both inside and out, has rendered the wound watertight. She still looks fairly sad, but structurally we are on course. The cosmetics will follow as time and weather permit!

Meanwhile the shopping party returned, with news of a most attractive town and some necessary shopping done.

The walk made the shopping party hot and they went off with Rob for a very quick dip in the mountain-fed river. There were squeals of delight and shock, but all emerged tingly and refreshed.

A good end to a satisfactory day.

Tomorrow the workmen will go bck with the rest and and have a look at the town.

We walked part of The Great Wall in China; we walked right around the Wall surrounding the city of Xi’an and now we have experienced the European counterpart – the walled city of Rothenberg.

Rach had found us a very pleasant Van Park in Rothenberg, and we discovered to our pleasant surprise that it was only 5 minutes walk away from the walled city.

The weather was too threatening for us to start repairs to the van, so we took a walk into the Old Town before starting off on our next leg.

What a formidable sight, is this Walled City. Had I been an invader, I think I would have taken one look at the moat, the massive walls, the solid port-cullissed (?)gateway, the hundreds of arrow slits in the walls, and I would have said”let’s go home lads – this nut will be too tough to crack”

The defences were massive and the architecture impressive. Goodness knows how long these sorts of castles took to build, but one would have thought that the person who designed and commissioned the structure would have been long dead before it was completed. They must have had a real sense of continuity, and a confidence that their ancestors would still be in control to continue the Project.

Inside the wall, (entered through massive gateways)

 a thriving township  was built (and no doubt re-built over the ages.) Today a most picturesque town exists,

 climbing gracefully up the side of a gentle hill. Old buildings they may be, but they all house people and businesses.

Several of the buildings are home to bakeries and all produce a variations on the town’s specialty: a thing called a Schneeball (‘Snowball’ ) These are a cricket-ball-sized ball of twisted pastry strips, deep-fried and then enhanced with a variety of dips, drizzles and flavourings. They  were not cheap, but we had to try such an interesting piece of German culture!

The  Square was towards the high end of the  town, a feature of most European towns that I really like. This one was on a slope being placed on the side of the hill.

As usual, cafes spilled over onto the sidewalks in a profusion of tables and chairs, lending a casual, relaxed air to the township. Very pleasant!

I have to confess there have been many times in recent years when those nagging doubts that invade the minds of the ‘Elderly’, have certainly made their assault on my grey cells. Non-positive thoughts such as: old, useless, in-the-way, nothing –to-contribute,etc. etc  frequently invade the  mind of this ancient, fairly deaf, getting physically less-able, out-of-touch old codger.

Today was just the second day into our  motor home adventures and it was set to be a glorious day. The sun shone from a cloudless sky, barely a breath of wind, the countryside alive with birdsong and Spring’s first radiant flush of brightest greens and yellows. Ah the world looked good, and indeed it was – and still is.

We travelled in convoy with Rob and Rach in the  lead – trail-blazing with the aid of map and trusty GPS. I was getting more and more  comfortable with the job of driving the second vehicle – we were even overtaking heavy trucks on the autobahn, on the long slow-ish climbs, and tooling along at 90 ks felt fine. (Oh how the mighty have fallen! )

Driving along a quiet secondary road, towards the end of the day’s run, my attention must have wandered and suddenly I found the  outside wheels of the van were in the soft shoulder of the road.  Immediately the van veered onto the grass verge and started bucking like a wild bronco. I was wrestling very hard to maintain a semi-straight course. trying hard to regain the seal. Well I was getting there ok but unfortunately  the Germans had decided to put up a sign on a pole,right in my way. I was still struggling to keep the van from getting right out of control, so avoiding action was not an option. With a tremendous thud the pole was demolished and we lurched on. back to the safety of the road.

A stop at a rest point shortly thereafter gave us an opportunity to survey the damage.

Horrors. It was far worse than I had feared: the canopy that overhangs the van’s cab (sleeping quarters for two) had taken the full force of the blow and was very severely dented. Wrecked would be a more descriptive way of putting it. The damage is severe, It will have to be fixed and that will take time, not to mention money.

Now you know why I started with those negative thoughts, Believe me they are hard to shake off when you do something really stupid like this.

Rob and Rach are very gracious and have not vented there frustrations upon me. But at times like this I have to wonder – maybe it’s time to act your age and go home and have a nice cup of tea and a nap.

We finally arrived in Rothenberg and parked at a very nice Van Park close to town.

Next day. We spent most of today trying to sort out someone to repair the van. This turned out to be another saga – which we are getting accustomed to with things relating to vans. Rach & I found a friendly mechanic who did all he could to help. In the end he suggested we try a caravan repair place in a town 30 kms away. So off Rob and I went and found the town. Passing through we noticed a large motor home dealers so we called  in there before moving on to the recommended place. The dealership was full of luxury super-homes and as we trundled in with our sad & sorry-looking 1983 Fiat you could almost feel the immaculately-suited gents recoil in horror. They really did not want our thing spoiling the look of their display. We climbed down and asked if they could effect the repairs. They looked pityingly at us and said the repairs would cost at least E3000 and the van was only worth E800! “please go away” was the message we got. So away we went and found a friendly service station guy further down the road. When we described the place we were looking for it quickly became obvious that that was where we had just been! Our options had dwindled to one – do it yourself. So off we went to the local ‘Mitre 10’ and bought up tools and bits and pieces which we hope are going to be sufficient for  us to tidy things up and make it all watertight. Today it rained so repairs were out of the question, Instead we drove down to Oberammergau, nestled in the foot of the Alps. Beautiful countryside and we found a nice cheap place to park the vans

More later.