Week 3: Things

27 July - 2 August: Austria - Czech Republic

If you´re looking for a perfect accompanying beer to creme caramel, then look no further than the Czech beer, Master. It. Is. Simply. Delicious.

Week 3: Places

27 July - 2 August: Austria - Czech Republic
My least favourite part of the journey so far has been to visit the Eagle´s Nest. While it offers views as far as the eye can see on a clear day (which we got), I don´t like the idea that it was Hitler´s summer home. I found the ride up to the top very creepy as it is a 6.5km long mountain trail,, 4 meters wide and 126m elevated high and was only made in 12 months including the bitter winter months. That means a lot of man power and also a lot of suffering and hardship for this whim of a holiday getaway. When we got there, we had to walk through a chilly tunnel and then take an art-deco mirrored lift up to the top where we saw incredible Bavarian vistas. Edwin loved it, as he could take photos to his heart´s content. I just felt strange and slightly upset. This was a place of grim historical significance in my opinion and I couldn´t while it away with all the tourists looking for a nice day out. Well, maybe it was the association with Hitler, but the nasty lunch we got didn´t help. It took 25 minutes for it to come out after ordering and then it tasted like not only had it been kept in a bain marie all afternoon, but that it had come out of a tin. That´ll teach me to try to enjoy the sights from the holiday home of a dictator!
Prague is too beautiful to describe in any non-cliched or intelligible way. Basically Edwin and I have spent two days going around dragging our chins on the ground behind us (if that´s indeed possible). So I´ll post some pictures. We have been able to see the Astronomical Clock, the Charles Bridge, the Prague Castle and numerous churches.

St Vitus towers over us

St Jan Nepomuk´s body was thrown from Charles Bridge at this point, and this statue commemorates him. Passersby touch the statue, for luck, to pray or just to be part of it all.

I try to take it all in as I check out Charles Bridge from afar.

The Astronomical Clock struck 5 via a little skeleton - see half way up the picture, on the right hand side - tingling a little bell.

By the way, if you want to read about Eastern Europe and find out more about its people and culture, then you must read Eva Hoffman's Exit into History. It's excellent, verbally arresting and extremely erudite. I've just read about Poland and the then Czechoslovakia, and am up to Hungary. Written in the early 90s, it is used for texts at universities, but is simply a very well written read.

The pool here at the Klavonice campsite is for public use as well as the campsite guests. Many or most of these visitors are Scandinavian, Dutch, German, or Czech. I was combing my hair after a dip in the cool waters, and pulled the loose strands from my comb and was horrified to find lots of hair not from my head. Blond ones! Ew. Well, at least I´m getting exercise (if not picking up an ear infection, gross).

Week 3: People

27 July - 2 August: Austria - Czech Republic

The Czech people are rather beautiful. The men have deep set, if a little too-closely set eyes, and tend to look after their physiques. The women are often rather thin, which is clear to see from their mid-riffed tees, and they are tall as they teeter on their spiked heels, as well as blonde (bottle or otherwise) and have chiseled features that luminate beneath piercing and perfectly made up eyes. Of course some are dumpy and have bad skin, and pendulous bosoms, but many I saw were striking indeed.

Sadly, no pictures to be taken here. I wouldn´t let Edwin.

Week 2: Things (part 2)

20 - 27 July: Austria
The Italians always bring a bathrobe to a campsite. I mean, why not? Why not walk to the showerblock in your bathrobe with your towel slung around your neck and your soap in your pocket? It’s very efficiënt, and you’re dry and warm after your shower. The others of us struggle with clothes, towels and toiletry bags. Siamo pazzo!
When we decided to take the bikes with us on this trip, I though, man, what a pain it’s going to be, rigging them up and taking them down before and after every drive. But they’ve been brilliant. Not only have they allowed us to have excellent tours through Salzburg so far, we have been able to use them as real transport. Today when we had to take a bus up the steep part of the Kielstein road (Hitler´s holiday home), the car park was 800m or more from the busstop. It was midday and it was 30 degrees celsius. So we took our bikes, whizzed down the mountain pass to the busstop and took our tour. On the way home, the ride uphill wasn´t so bad, as we overtook all our exhausted fellow tour members. Thanks Jan and Gerrie, these bikes are awesome, and justifies any excuse to eat pancakes stuffed with icecream balls and covered in chocolate sauce!

Week 2: Places (part 2)

20 - 27 July: Austria
If you want to relive any fantasies of being in a major motion picture or on Broadway, then you must go to Salzburg. Edwin and I took our own absolutely divine bicycle The Sound of Music tour around Salzburg and its surrounds to re-enact most of the major scenes from classic film. While Edwin didn´t quite have aspirations to play a young Ralph while he was growing up, I have no reservations when I say I was a Maria in the making back in the 80s. We visited the street of Maria´s Abbey, along with a swarm of mosquitoes we enjoyed the palace whose lake was used in scenes of the von Trapp family´s front yard, I pranced around like a dill in front of the pavilion where Liesl and Ralph do their duet and we´re now in the vicinity of the church where the Captain and Maria were wed (in the movie), in Mondsee. Mind you, hills are numerous and many could pass for the one used in the opening credits. I have taken liberties here, and have sung The Hills are Alive at random (Georgie or Nicole, wish you were here, you know the lyrics better than I do!), in more places than one. I have a hankering to see the film again, as it´s been a few years since, but every copy we´ve tried to purloin has cost at least €29 or more. We´ll wait till we get back to Eindhoven – I´m sure I saw a copy in the €4 bin somewhere.

* We did end up buying a copy of the film and when we re-watched it, it was very gratifying to see all the sights unchanged, although filmed 45 years earlier!

Oh yes, if you go in search of Leopoldschlosse, the palace which is used for the front lake of the von Trapp family’s house in the film, and if like me it’s been a while since you saw the film, take this note: keep going until you actually find a building that looks like it could plausibly be the one. You need to look for a huge white wedding cake like structure set above a beautiful glassy lake, with 3 cypress trees at its front. It also has 3 storeys. Well. We found not one, but two bogus Leoplodschlosses, that is, we mistook 2 other buildings for the real McCoy. One was a senior citizen’s home (I ask you, how foolish we are!) and the other a convention centre! (By the way, the home that was actually used as the front of the house is now a university and we just breezed languidly by, none the wiser - we discovered this upon re-viewing of the film the other night!) But we found the lake in the end. Duh.

We visited the Festung Hohesalzburg the other day to see what a medieval castle really looks like from the inside. Not only is it the best preserved castle of its type, its cable car is the oldest in Europe. The ride up is of rollercoaster proportions (more so downwards, I must say) but I do feel sorry for the cable car operators. What a job! It must be so dull to go up and down, up and down. I think each ride takes 4 minutes. The constant cries of “woah”and “it’s soooo steep!” in any language must become dull a few hours into your shift. However, the tour itself is rather ingenius as each tour is physically led by a person, but given via a hand held audio guide in the language of your choice. The information is bite-sized and memorable, which is always a plus on a tour. The tour does miss character, I have to say, but then again, if you’re looking for characters there is a spooky marionette museum where this spooky picture was taken.

One can’t visit Salzburg without visiting one of the Mozart residences. We chose the birth house of Wolfgang, where we saw portraits, letters from family members to each other, ephemera relating to the epic tours that he and his sister made as children (from the 18th century travel medical kits and English grammar books) and lots of other information about the personalities of the family. Some of the letters he wrote to his wife, Constanza, made me laugh out loud. He tells her in a letter while he’s away in Prague or Paris, that he misses her and that he does the funniest things with the miniature that he has of her. He takes it out and tells it he misses her sweet little mouse up-turned nose, and then when he puts it away, he does it very slowly and then says “nu, nu, nu, nu, nu” with the emphasis that the word requires.That’s not quite it verbatim, but it’s pretty close. I dunno, I just think it’s kind of cute, to see the childish, sweet, love that he showed her, and that he missed her so dreadfully when he was away. Makes the genius more human and more real, even more so than the portrayal by Tom Hulce.

It’s nice to sit in the Dom of Salzburg and listen to a chamber orchestra rehearse an “Amen” oratorio with a tenor standing on a platform up high, near the organ pipes. It’s a disappointment when you realise they’re tourists too, musical troubadours from America, no less. In breaks while the conductor consults with the tenor, violinists and double bass players steal way from their spots to take photographs of the awesomely detailed frescoes and fittings of the oh-too baroque cathedral.

Week 2: People (part 2)

20 - 27 July: Austria
Taking a dip in the cool chlorinated waters of the Mond See Campsite swimming pool, I watched a little Dutch boy having what could be described as a swim. The water was more than 155cm deep, so easily reached over his 7 year old head. He bobbed and gulped, spluttered, splashed, paddled, choked, disappeared (somewhat alarmingly, to my mind), then reappeared only to bob, gulp, splutter and so forth all the way until he reached the pool´s edge and slithered out like some seal. He then proceeded to take a poolside shower whereupon he flapped his hands from his bent arms, chick-like, and gasped with thrills under the stream of water. When the water petered out, he pressed the shower button again and flapped and cooed once more under the light spray. He did this several times. Was he taking a completely cold shower? Was he generally cold from coming out of the water? Thirty minutes later, I followed suite, (the bobbing, the gulping, spluttering and splashing etc) and then I too hopped under the shower. I discovered that it wasn’t that the water was cold which made the little boy shudder, it was the sharp, shard-like water jet – like piercings of fine glass, or sand, it took my breath away. It was unavoidable. Once more, I had to mimic my predecessor. I flapped my arms in thrills and delights … pleasure that is borne from slight discomfort.

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart is Salzburg´s most famous son, the one they´re most proud of (if those chocolate balls and Mozart-mania are anything to go by). Edwin and I watched the 1984 film (he for the first time, me for the first time in a long time) in the camper last night and we reflected on the life and death of this genius. `Was he really like that?´asked Edwin in wonder. `Was he really murdered?´he asked further. I don´t know – I feel bad for Salieri – this is modern-day slander, even if it is partly based on fact. However I do recall learning the word ‘mediocrity’ from that film and fearing the realisation (that I would discover some 15 years later) that I indeed might be such a one, particularly, when it comes to music. But now in my old age and getting of wisdom, I admire musical genius rather than envy it let alone try to emulate it. And what music I do make, I make with love and enjoyment, and with no pressure to please or impress others beyond myself.
People wander around Salzburg in traditional Austrian dress – that is, women wear the white linen scoop-necked short sleeved shirts under a floral tunic, with a solid coloured, possibly patterned or jacquarded, fabric apron worn over the skirt. The men grey wear mandarin collared jackets (the collars often in a contrasting drake green) with brass buttons and sometimes they sport lederhosen. (Unfortunately in this pic you see it only from the rear, Edwin too shy to ask permission from his subjects to take a holiday snap). Now the Festspiel is on, the Salzburg festival, where fabulous musical concerts (free and ticketed) are on everywhere in the city. For example Placido Domingo will sing later in the week when we´ll be long gone, but the city has a decidedly excited buzz about it. I thought at first it was because of the festival that people were wearing these outfits, but it seems quite common to get dressed up on Sunday and have a day out in your traditional best. Go the Sunday best, I say. We have lost that tradition in Australia and certainly in Holland.

We called Susan and Lance this week to wish them respective happy birthdays! It was nice to hear familiar voices and in Australian accents after (for me) so constantly battling with German in an Austrian accent this week or more! Susan was off to have drinks at the Little Creatures Dining Hall (was that what it was called, I forget!) and Lance was about to bake a cake with Mel and the kids (according to Mary it was to be either strawberry or chock-o-lit). Another year older, and another year wiser for sure. Many happy returns! x
In the gardens of Mirabelle palace (oh yes, that´s where you can see the pegasus fountain where the von Trapp children and Maria march around while singing Do-Re-Mi) we happened upon the recording of a cultural program for Austrian TV. The interview was with an American, (thus in English, so we stuck around to watch), and he went on and on about the emotional impact of the opera he is currently in. (Which, I don´t know, but it doesn´t really matter). What struck me was that he only partly listened to the question of the presenter, which was rather short, and then his answers were just soooooooooo long! I thought, this man has not been media trained. He just loved to hear the sound of his own voice (granted, he probably was a beautiful tenor, but all the same). He may not have even answered the question, and I daresay the editors would have a big job filtering out his babble. That´s one of the nice things about the Germanic languages. Direct and to the point. English affords the interlocutor at times too much licence for floweriness and therefore convolution. See what I mean?

Week 2 - Things

20 July - 26 July: Austria

Here in Seefeld, not far from Innsbruck, you can do a lot of hiking. People sporting two nordic walking sticks are to be spotted overall, of all ages and abilities. We thought we could get in on the act too, and bought a reasonably priced pair of stocks each. You can use them skiing apparently (although we are hardly the alpine types). We chose the variety of sticks with rubber grips as they´re handy to use in winter too - remember we do have the Pieterpad still to do when we return to Holland, and they´ll be useful then. The principle of these sticks is that they keep your arms moving and thus increase your heart rate. When going up tricky inclines, you can use your sticks/arms and take the weight off your legs, which is also a relief when it´s steep, or just a relentless ascent. The lady in the shop adjusted our stocks to our heights (they must be held perpendicular when your arms are bent at right angles), and we set off on a practise stroll around the village ofSeefeld. I seemed to be able to find a natural rhythm without thinking too much, but Edwin had more difficulty, syncopating the tap of his sticks. It was something awful , like perhaps 11/7 time or perhaps even more complicated. We imposed upon a merry looking couple, older than us, and asked if they spoke Dutch. They did, and were from the Brabant part of Belgium which was nice, and we had a chat about walking tracks and so forth when Edwin asked about the Nordic walking technique. “Well it´s simple, you see. You just sort of do it like you would normally walk. You shouldn´t even think about it or you´ll bung it all up”, he said – words to that effect in a strongly accented Dutch. He then proceeded to show us how he walked, which was rather interesting. Right foot went forward at the same time as the right arm (holding said stick) and then left foot with left arm and so forth. He did this weird walk in a circle around us. We chatted some more, wished them a happy holiday, he even gave us his walking map, and we nodded politely. Shortly afterwards the couple headed off and I whispered to Edwin, “They were really sweet, but I don´t know about you, but I don´t walk or run like that. I walk with my left arm forward when my right foot takes a step, and so on. That´s how I´m going to do it – thinking or not thinking!” I wonder how long this geezer has been loping about the European countryside, with all his weight on one side of his body rather than evenly distributed over a larger surface area. Months, perhaps, years even.

It´s the little things that make my husband happy. Reclining chairs at a discounted price can last him absolute ages with endless utterances of gratitude and enjoyment. We bought some orange outdoor chairs near Füssen that sit upright and also go right back to a snoozing position. Edwin hasn’t stopped singing their praises since we left Germany. They match the Austrian scenery beneath which we christened them, and I must admit I have quite relished the moments I have use them thus far. In this picture, I crochet a gift for my dear little sister … (Susan, sneak preview for ya!).

I have decided that it´s time I learnt German. After a week bumming through Bavaria last week and this week in Austria, and knowing that throughout Eastern Europe most people will speak German over English … and above all knowing that I´m going to be a witness at a Dutch/German wedding in May (in both Holland and Germany) next year, I have decided to bite the bullet. I went into a bookstore in Innsbruck and bought a learn ´German in 30 Days' (Deutsch in 30 Tagen) kit. (Anke and Mike, if you´re reading this, it won´t be a surprise anymore!). English is indeed an international language, but in Europe, German will help me immensely. I hate being able to sort of understand and then be unable to respond except by smiling moronically or looking (also moronically) confused.

Week 2 - Places

20 July - 26 July: AustriaInnsbruck was sweet; we lunched at Dengg, a sort of fusion eating spot, where Italian meets Japanese. I ask you. I needed some more explanation and asked the waiter if I could speak English to him and he said only Italian or German. We ordered the potato soup with grilled char-fish and a basket of dim sum. It was delicious and it cost the same as something similar would in Holland. (Austria is said to be quite expensive in terms of food).

If you ever go walking around Seefeld, make sure to walk towards Mösern and go to the Mösere See (Lake). It is just breathtakingly gorgeous. Tall pine trees reach to the sky while low scrub fill in the gaps between. The lake has a lovely little island right in the middle and the water is clear and full of all sorts of fish. There is a short jetty and if you’re lucky, burly teenage Germans and sprightly young Norwegians will launch themselves off the end laughing hysterically and splashing all the omas and opas sunbaking on the quick-drying planks of the pier. (See also picture at the top of the 'People' entry for week 2). The walk from Seefeld only takes 90 minutes (or 2 hours if you stop for homemade tea and sandwiches on a trail bench like we did) and with the hot sun threatening to melt you upon arrival, you are nothing short of exultant when you plunge yourself into the cool waters of Mösere See.

Stay at Camping Alpin when you go to Seefeld. They have a sauna, and if you’re fortunate enough as we were, no one else can be bothered using it. We used it twice, for 2 hours each time, tonight and two nights ago. Heavenly! The first night we used it after a day of doing nothing. Today we did a bit of Nordic walking and swimming from 10am to 6pm. We really needed the rest and relaxation. Edwin calls this the honeymoon we didn’t take in 2007 and it’s proving to be one at every turn.

Week 2 - People

20 July - 26 July: Austria

Thankfully, while Germany was gorgeous, our roving has come to a momentary halt and we have camped at Seefeld for what will end up being a total of 4 nights. This is a record for Edwin and me. We have met some really warm people at this campsite – our neighbours are mainly Italian with quite a large representation of Norwegians. Germans, indeed and of course Austrians. There are also Belgians. Of course there is the requisite sprinkling of Dutchies, as they are to be found everywhere. Speaking of which, there was this amazing couple from Holland who were the quintessential beauties (in my eyes) of the Dutch man and woman. They were in their thirties, both extremely tall, tanned, had white blond hair, and piercing cornflower blue eyes. They had come in a small camper – a company camper, because the business name painted on it seemed to be related to outdoor sports – with roadbikes strapped to the back. They were probably skiiers in the winter, triathletes in summer and everything else in the seasons between. I enjoyed seeing the lady come out of the shower because she looked so fresh, relaxed and unself-conscious in her training gear. Her hair had been washed and was just casually hanging, wet, around her open, smiling face, which she used to greet us. The next day we saw that the camper had gone, which I was sorry to see. However, we did see her and her boyfriend again, but this time her able body a little worse for wear. They had been cycling and she had taken a stack. She had roughed up her knee, which was just bandaged, but her left arm was in plaster and a sling. She had broken her wrist, trying to protect some cracked ribs she had suffered the previous week from another fall. But still she smiled, and said, when Edwin asked if they´d continue on their holiday, `Yeah, it´s a bit annoying now, but I can still go walking. I mean, it´s not really running or riding the bike, but yeah, I´m okay.´ She was such an optimist, no breaking of bones could dampen her spirits. A couple of hours later we saw the couple again, having obviously trekked from the campsite into town under the beating Austrian sun – totally unphased, a busted wrist to be taken in her stride. (A day later, a beautiful couple from Belgium came along, he was a brunette, she a blonde. Something different about this couple – she always had clacky heels on and co-ordinated outfits, freshly blow-dried and salon-straightened hair. Edwin said she looked like a doll. He said it, not me! Give me the Dutch deity any day, and I´d leave the Belgium beauty far behind).

We made friends with Denise and Werner from Bad Zurzach in Switzerland four days ago. It started with their appearance at the camping plot next to ours shortly after we´d arrived. They are a couple in their 50s (oh, I hope I´m right if you´re reading this Denise and Werner!) who had a very cool old-school camper that I forgot to take a photo of (with them in front of it). They´ve had it for 20 years and it must have seen a lot of this wonderful contintent. At first our exchanges were in halting German (Edwin) and I would listen on, happy to watch their beautiful smiling faces and feeling like I could understand every word. I could, almost, but I just couldn´t communicate, so left the talking to Edwin and Werner. They left the campsite this morning, and only then did we exchange more details, like, what our names were, and Werner offered to keep in touch with us and gave Edwin his card. To my astonishment, Werner is an instrument maker. Not just any sort, though – he´s a cosmic music instrument maker. Well, I never. I made him switch to English and we chattered on about music, and this (relatively) new cycle of music using colour that was developed in the 50s and how he composes music for therapy, meditation and education. He and Denise have offered us to come for a visit when we come home via Switzerland, so we´ll have somewhere to stay and get to see and hear some of the instruments that Werner makes. I couldn´t stop saying `cool´, and ´wow´and must´ve sounded very silly and childish indeed. I can´t wait to get to Switzerland, not only for the beautiful countryside and the culture, but to see Werner and Denise once again. Werner gave us one of his CDs which we listened to this morning. Very soothing. Edwin reckons some of it sounds a bit Egyptian! We love the didjeridoo track in particular. Thanks Denise and Werner, also for the tip for St Pölter!

Week 1 - Things

13 July - 19 July: Germany

Trucks are everywhere on the roads in Europe. Well, except on Sundays. They contain all sorts of products, from strawberries from Holland, tomatoes from Italy, biscuits from Belgium. There always seems to be more German and French trucks on the road, with the odd Czech or Romanian type in the mix. Whatever the type or provenance, these diesel monsters plod along – slow and steady winning the proverbal race. But, I always like to check which nationality our little hard-working camper can overtake. “Take that, Poland”, I’ll say. “Eat our dust Hungary!”I’ll cry. I´m shallow, but our camper was doing 30km up a mountain the other day, so hooray for little triumphs.

We inherited a pet fly, christened Patrick by Edwin. He travelled for about 5 days from Creglingen to Füssen. (Mind you, he may have not been the same fly, but you know, we had six-feeted, winged company with us all the way and while it’s kind of gross, it was kind of nice to have someone else along fo the ride).

Pfifferling mushcrooms are delicious. We ate them for three days straight; once with a lovely steak from Wertheim, another time with creamy pasta with bacon chunks, and then the last time with Frankish sausages and barbequed potato crisps. According to our combined opinion, pfifferling mushrooms taste nutty, creamy, sweet and earthy. (More so the latter - sometimes gritty too, as I can’t always wash them as thoroughly as I might do at home).

Butterflies flourished at just the time that Edwin and I decided to make a little trek from Münster to Creglingen along the Romantic Road. There were orange ones with black and white dots, black ones with white dots, white ones wit black dots … the permutations of colours are endless, but they were practically swarming. Combined with delicate Germanic blooms of violet, yellow and white, we enjoyed a warm stroll of six or seven kilometres in idyllic teuton countryside.

Walking along the quaint, forested path from Creglingen to H_______, just after the Thimble Museum (which was closed, unfortunately, during our ramble), my eyes locked with those of a young doe. She eyed me with mild surprise while I fumbled stupidly with the video camera and gasped to Edwin what (or who) I could see. She slipped noiselessly into the brush, never to be captured.

There are numerous crucifixes dotted along the roadside in mid- and south Germany. In Holland we tend to stumble more upon statues or chapels of Mary. (Note: we took this shot in Austria, actually, as we never captured crucifix shots along the road in Germany. See Innsbruck's pretty buildings in the background!)

Schneebollen were advertised as a Frankish speciality. From how they looked, I thought they might be massive balls of marzipan, but when I tasted one, I must admit I was disappointed. As large as a softball, they are crimped strips of crumbly shortcrust pastry, woven into a round shape. They come in various flavours from vanilla, to chocolate to hazelnut I’m sure, but they are ultimately just not sweet enough or quite tempting enough to actually buy. We left the €6 packets in Dinkelbühl.
The art of ricocheting pebbles across a quite lake has been lost on the new generation. Edwin and I watched three teen girls try their hand at this age-old skill and witnessed their sad failure at every turn. Wrong rock selection, bad technique – honestly, underarm? – and much too much self-consciousness. We showed them how it is done. I mean, Edwin did.

Edwin said when he first tasted it in Australia that iced coffee would “absolutely take off” if it ever arrived in Europe. That was 7 years ago. It’s ubiquitous, now. Expensive (around €5 per glass), and not quite as nice as it is in Melbourne Town (the icecream isn´t quite right, they leave out the ice and they use too much whipped cream then sprinkle it with coffee instead of chocolate). But, it is still much anticipated when in need of a caffeine hit and a thirst quench.

Harder than it looks, the science to rigging a tarp is a mystery to me and my husband. Efficient guy-rope tying combined with optimum peg hammering and best tensile points … needless to say, we have managed numerous times now to make a sort of shelter that keeps out rain and gives shade to the camper when there is none, but it’s a craft that will surely be honed over time. We are only one week into the trip and we will be true tarp-ease-artistes when we’re through with our European adventure.

Week 1 - Places

13 July - 19 July: Germany

The Romantic Road is a somewhat touristy path from Würzbug to Füssen. All along the way there are pretty medieval towns to visit, with the quintessential gingerbread looking house made of wood, painted a pale pink, blue or yellow colour, preserved and/or crumbling castles and requisite moats, sweet little bakeries – the whole shebang. Some people (mainly Dutchies) we saw along the way had never heard of this road, but were treated to seeing Brothers Grimms stories unfold before their eyes as the road unwound. Popular for non-Europeans (it seemed lots of Japanese and Americans), the Europeans that stumbled across it were always delighted to discover this Romantische Straβe.

Münstersee is a little lake near the Romantic Road Campsite that we stayed in a village near Creglingen. Oddly, its branding identity is connected to feet. All the signage depicted anthropomorphised feet – they, toes included, pointed, lounged and gesticulated. It was creepy and yet strangely fascinating. We didn’t bathe there.
Rothenburg ob der Tauber has really good latte macchiato, pastries and fortress walls with awesome lookouts over the old town’s limits.

Dinkelbühl contains nursery rhyme type houses. One, positively covered in ivy, can be mistaken for a supernatural shimmering green fur being deliciously ruffled by a cool summer zephyr. There in the same street, a lone pigeon can be seen, bathing in a puddle left over from a shower, long forgotten, from only minutes before. Sun showers or no, summer can be hot here.

I’m sitting in St Georg’s cathedral in Dinkelbühl that is 500 years old. On the front door there is a Cheshire cat-like knocker. Inside, there is a body to view, clad in knightly garb. Well, it’s no longer a body as such, just a collection of bones. He has no name, but we know clearly that we are not to tread on his resting place. The sound systems in these great churches astonish me. They’re necessary although back in the day, the architecture took care of acoustics. In this church they use Strässer from Stuttgart.

St Mang in Füssen is a funny church. It’s connected to Hoheschlosser, high castle. This is the first church I’ve ever visited of this kind. Edwin says the colours of the church are “Austrian”, which I think he means is Baroque and pastel. Lots of marbly oranges and curlicued edgings. It was quite unlike anything I’d ever seen before. There were not one but several crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and on the detailed sculptured pillars were fixed the ubiquitous (for German) Strässer sound system.

Köningsschlosser is this wee little chapelly-castle thing that sits in the foreground of the mythical seeming Neuschwanstein castle. If you look closely at the picture, you´ll see my model has his eyes shut. This sort of timing, well, you can’t teach that.

The view of Neuschwanstein castle as you drive along the Romantic Road is strange and mysterious. It is perched on the side of a mountain and looks completely isolated. Once you can tear your eyes away from the white vision, you see another castle – it seems gold in colour - in very close proximity. When you approach, you realise, these are not a couple of isolated ruins, this is tourism at its very best! There are four parking places, and while it could fool you into thinking it might be a sleepy little village, the main street and every walking track is teeming with visitors from all around the globe. The walk to one castle is 15 minutes, and the other is 40 minutes; both are uphill, but these challenges deter no one. Tickets to see the castles are only available on set tours. However, after each tour and spending €34, you feel a bit robbed, like, you haven’t quite been shown all of the castle. They seem much smaller on the inside than they appear on the outside. Hoheschwangau castle was where the (did I mention gay?) Bavarian King Ludwig II and his parents lived and where Ludwig waited for the 17 years while his project Neuschwanstein was constructed. (Sadly he only lived 127 days in the dream castle building before he died under mysterious circumstances – drowned with his psychiatrist in a lake someplace near München after being dethroned for being certified insane). Personally, both castles are a kind of optical illusion. The castles are a uniform pale colour on the outside, and are set against the dramatic backdrop of Germany mountainous-ness. When you get inside, it’s 19th century romantic kitsch to the max – with deeply coloured frescoes on every wall and each tiny room is crowded with imagery, statues, oversized furniture and too much colour. Thus everything looks tiny when you stand in a room with 20 other gawping tourists. (The medieval theme and the Wagnerian tributes to operatic personnages such as Tristan and Isolde don’t really help matters). I liked these castles, but at the same time I didn’t. I prefer ones like Versailles with their light and air, their chandeliers and mirrors. By contrast, these German palaces were dark and had an almost creepy air. It seemed all so over the top, a little ghastly even. And, seeing the same little kid being left behind by gawking American parents on not one, but both tours that day was testament to the sausage factory nature of these sights. If you’re in the area, have a look, but I would advise you to keep the view to the outside or even the outskirts of Schwangau. Keep a little fantasy for yourself.

Week 1 - People

13 July - 19 July: Germany

Three hours into our trip, we met a dear little family from Holland on their annual 6 week holiday, driving to Turkey. “Yeah, after we get to Istanbul in a few days, there’ll be another 16 hours´ drive or so. But we have loads of time,” said the father, smiling, taking a long drag of his cigarette. I watched his children daintily pick at hot chips with tomato sauce as they politely listened to their parents chat with us. Both innocents were under 5 years old and had no idea what lay ahead of them.

“Hoi, Gert-Jan,”said the man, enthusiastically. He wore no shirt with his Crocs and navy blue jogging shorts. We introduced ourselves to our campsite neighbours in return, the Dutch way, (“Hoi, Jane,”, “Hoi, Edwin,”)and he was very keen to hear our story – where we were from, where we were heading. It turned out that Gert-Jan, his wife of twenty years and their two teen kids had spent a lot of time in Eastern Europe and they were full of tips - more than willing to share them. We heard wonderful stories. For example, one year when in Czech Republic, the family was invited for a cup of tea with a family friend (from the woman’s childhood camping trips). But after a couple of hours there, another cup of tea was up for grabs at another neighbour’s, and yet another cuppa at another neighbour’s. It seemed the whole village was set to meet this Dutch family. And with not a shared word of Dutch, English, or Czech, these Dutchies felt incredible warmth and hospitality from the Czech people. On another occasion, our storyteller discovered to his horror that not only had the car that was towing their caravan lost all its oil along the road but the oil cap that keeps it all in the tank. Some Hungarians stopped by and marvelled at his 10 year old Opel, and rushed to assist. One of them, an older gent, put his hand in the oil cap opening, and felt the circumference of the hole with his fingers. He drove away and in an hour or so he had returned with a custom-made wooden stopper that fitted precisely in the oil tank. Gert-Jan didn’t have a problem with oil leakage all the way home from rural Hungary to Alkmaar. “The Hungarians are a very warm people. Mind you, there was this one time that we awoke in the night to the sound of someone rustling about in the awning of our caravan. Turned out they were going through our cool box for beers, (laughter) but other than that, we’ve only had positive experiences in Eastern Europe.”

We woke up one morning to the sound of heavy rain and listened to PJ Harvey to while away the morning until the clouds passed. The other evening, it was Thelonious Monk whose jarring chords soothed us to sleep. And then it’s Zita Swoon, crooning his jabbing, syncopated lyrics in either French or English as we (try to) tear up the European country side in the van.

The proprietor of the camping spot we chose near Creglingen was a bit of a joker. I speak barely a word of German, although I understand some, and we avoid using English where possible. Edwin and he had a gay repartee in German, but what I liked about this joker was his willingness to involve everyone, regardless of language. He would use his face to smile large, and theatrical gestures to indicate his meaning, such as when he´d say “Zehn euro, bitte,” he would then take the ten euro bill, grinning madly, and make to pocket the amount, before – after being delightfully caught by his guest, that is – obediently and repentfully put it in the till where it belonged.

In the streets of the fiction-like Dinkelbühl, X-large Americans walk cautiously through narrow streets and have to think hard before climbing a flight of ancient-seeming concrete stairs for a birds-eye view of the town; chattering Japanese parade stoically behind their tour leader; old-timers from the Czech Republic re-live the stories from their childhoods as they wander these picturesque alleys; hoards of children drink in the culture and kitsch and cram into icecream shops while adults founder helplessly in the heat.

A dark haired and dark eyed 13 year old boy rides an oversize tricycle around the Augsburg campsite, with his 10 year old sister of similar colouring, in a wagon attached to the back. They take turns, but mostly she sits in the back while looking balefully out – it seems whenever I see her – at me. They go back and forth, back and forth. One time, I see their mother in the back behind the girl; demure, but looking regal beneath her headscarf, taking a long, slow ride through broad alleys lined with caravans and campers.
There was this dude at this Augsburg campsite; he was your garden variety lone wolf. He apparently lives in his camper, a boxy camion set more than a metre above the ground. The wheels are those of a truck, and it’s a vehicle that might be driven on safari or on an arctic expedition where the threat of polar bear is real. He has a striped awning beneath which you can glimpse a sort of bar – I believe he has beer on tap. The other small windows on the opposite side of his home have fabric “curtains” with illustrated paintings of indian warriors and wild dogs. He watches the happenings of the campsite from a small table for one, and has a cosy covered fire at his side to keep him, his glass of hard drink and half melted candle company . He hangs his bedclothes out to air from a line he has slung beneath the bar. All around the camper, tools and even wooden stakes are strapped to the vehicle’s surface. (The title ´vampire hunter´ crosses my mind for half a second). Stickers from his travels cover the van, from France to Africa. The man himself is a warrior, likely a Vietnam vet, sporting a faded bandana, a shirt that just eases over his generous belly and eyes (that Edwin first thought are Japanese) hardened to a permanent squint from countless days in the sun. He’s German, as is his ride - a Mercs. He smiles in my direction when we watch the children at their ridiculous games, but he exchanges a word with no one.

Who would have thought that a parking attendant would be such a keen info/tour guide? At Augsburg, we were given a map of the city with highlighted points of interest when we asked for directions at the parking garage. As a result we saw the impressive municipal offices and gardens – including a glamorous wedding photoshoot; we bought our evening’s vittals from the garden market and we checked out St Anna – a church where Martin Luther dropped in sometime several centuries ago. Maximillian Museum displayed some beautiful Roman statues from the fountains that once ran in the city in days of yore. It’s old, this city, 15BC; Mozart’s dad was born there, a few hundred years ago too.

As we head to the south of Germany, I feel that people are more closed, or dare I say it, less friendly. Fewer Dutchies, perhaps that is it. Maybe they´re just slow to smile, or not sure where we´re from with our half English-Dutch chatter. Perhaps they’re just passing through or too busy getting on with the business of having a holiday (?) However, after one such busy day of sightseeing in Füssen, we gave up our resolve to cook dinner every night, and had pizza at the campsite restaurant. We were just about finished when a character walked in - a little man in a full rainsuit wearing a green German Alpen hat (with feather!) and a ¾ full beer in his hand. There was nowhere to sit, but we had a spare chair at our table. He asked if he could join us, and we said of course he could! Thirty minutes later we learnt his name (which I have now forgotten, but he did say it several times), he was 69 years old and had lived in his “wohnwagon”(caravan) for 40 years, in this area. He was able to give us some good tips for walks in the area (which we unfortunately didn’t make time to do in the end). He was born in the Czech Republic in 1940 and he fled with his family to Germany in 1948 after the war. He told us of neck-high snow that he has been shovelling out of the way each morning to get to the bathroom (remember, he lives in a caravan) and snow has fallen like that ever since he can remember. “It’s good morning exercise – warms you up a treat,” (I thought) he said in German. Mind you, he didn’t check to see whether I could understand German, while Edwin did his best to keep up (actually, Edwin asked questions now and then, politely) the old codger just kept going! I noticed that he didn’t ask us questions, or for any information about us beyond where we were from. After he heard where Edwin was from, I guess that meant for him I was from Holland too. I also noticed the old love had a hearing aid, which can be a clue to a good yarn crafter but a not so gifted listener. Oh, he did tell us he had a wife at home (in the caravan) who after 40 odd years in a caravan had probably had it with his stories! I’m guessing his 3 grown children have copped a fair bit of it over time too. I’m guessing he comes to the pizzeria every night for a lager and a chinwag with some poor unsuspecting traveller. At the end of the day we got to talk to a local, hear his stories; it took us 5 days to be on the road to connect with a local and I hope it doesn’t take as long for us to meet another one.
On every trip you’re destined to bump into someone you know, to remind you what a small place the World is. This time, Edwin bumped into an ex-colleague whose wife I made contact with when I first moved to Europe. They are both from India, and his mother was visiting them in München along with his brother and sister-in-law. They had all taken a day trip to Schwangau to see Neuschwanstein and Hoheschwanstein castles. We ended up chatting for about a half hour and Edwin and Rohan exchanged cards, promising fervently to keep in contact, even though Sid and Rohan will move to Dubai soon. Well, who knows how far this camper can take us?!

Europe: People, Places, Things

When I was growing up we were taught to describe a noun as a person, place or thing. Europe is such a noun – bursting at the seams with interesting personalities, locations and objects..

The grand tour

The last entry was me waxing phiosophical (we-e-ll, insofar as I'm capable of that) about the joys/miseries/art/artlessness of travel and its preparation, rather than a peek into our perambulating residence for the next few months.

So here below is a more detailed pictorial indication of how we will live.

Parents are most likely to be most interested in this sort of information; such an adventure can cause anxiety for even the most chilled out of mums and dads. Don't worry Mum and Dad/Pa en Ma - we will sms you regularly and call now and then! x

International transport

Domestic transport

Garden area Cockpit Drinks station Meditation space Wardrobe
LoungeroomKitchenEntertainment complexLibrary
Bar (well, water on tap at least)

SecuritySweet memories walls where photos of our nearest and dearest watch over us as we travel (see below)
Honeymoon suite featuring the actual moon! See below immediately right of the storage shelves, the yellow thing. (This trip is indeed the honeymoon we didn't take in 2007 - of course spending a month Aussie family after the wedding was awesome, don't get us wrong!)

Rain delayed the rest of our photoshoot, but there are areas allocated to:

Stunning views depending on where we end up after a day's drive!

Administration/storage

Communications centre to keep us in contact with you

Electrical mains to power fridge, kettle computer and airco etc

Dining room al fresco

Hobby corner in the form of crochet needles and yarn
Linen closet a large laundry bag to keep our bedding all in one spot

Laundry, bathroom and WC facilities are mobile in that they will be located mainly at campsites; some other WC stops will be found at a range of petrol stations, campsites, cafes, shopping centres and our mother earth herself. (We are armed with trowel and we take our paper with us!). And of course for interim bathing, the sea is rather handy I have found!

We see us being very happy in our home made camper, successfully cobbled together without drilling any holes into walls or roof! (Not without my constant nagging for Edwin not to wield the old black&decker!)

Everything has its place.

Aw, when we really get cabin fever, we have a spacious 3-man tent, or hostels / hotels / starry-skied beaches galore!