Four Days in Germany

 Somehow it was close to, or even past midday when I woke up. Maybe it owes to how tightly the blind on the clear door leading to Leo's balcony holds flush to the wall, or the capacity to completely eliminate the ingress of light through his skylight. I don't think I'd ever slept in a room that dark in my life.

The previous day I'd gotten off a train in the city of Koblenz to a balmy autumn afternoon. I started walking down the platform and found Leo within twenty metres or so. We shook hands and started to catch up on the last five months. I'd last seen him the same night I left Australia and he'd stayed in our country several more weeks after I'd left. After travelling the world for a year, mostly in Australia, then for a couple of months in Asia, he'd arrived back in his home town of Koblenz mid year, close to half way through my time in Europe.

I wasn't sure if I'd actually end up going to see him because he lives a long way from anywhere I planned to visit but when Dan started talking about going to Amsterdam I knew visiting Koblenz was obligatory- I might not get another chance for years and in the scheme of things, what is a the couple of hundred Australian dollars that was needed to make it happen?

We left the station and I immediately noticed “the feel” my previous experiences in Germany seemed to have for me. Koblenz is quite and tranquil, almost too much. We walked 40mins in the afternoon sun, me only carrying the small pack with my laptop and a small amount of clothes that I'd taken from the car before leaving the Netherlands. We walked through quite residential neighbourhoods before crossing a river and entering his town, who's name now escapes me. I probably should write blog posts closer to the actual events, not a whole month after.

In my time in Koblenz we didn't do too much. On one particularly sunny day we went to the city, climbed to the viewing deck of the statue that sits on the confluence of the Rhine and Mosel, encircled by the flags of Germany's regions and took the cable car to the fortress. Leo told me about how the cable car was built temporarily for a flower show after which they had every intention of taking it down but after a large number of people signed a petition and the case worked its way through the German court system it was decided that it was going to stay until 2020, then it would be reviewed again.

The area has a relaxed feel about it, that's for certain. The breadth of the Rhine works it was down lush valleys, passing terraced vineyards and many small communities, each with a church or sometimes more, built in a distinctive architectural style. Leo's very proud of his city and ensured that I saw as much of the city and the surrounding region during my stay.

It definitely is a beautiful region and feels relaxed like few others do but I lived there I think I'd struggle to find things to do. For starters, the topography's gentle. I can't imagine living in an area of gently rolling hills, flat water rivers and generally conservative culture. I don't think I could live separated from the outdoor lifestyle. At home its something I love and it really keeps my life in check like.

On one night we went to a Shisha bar after trying to go to a wine festival that had stopped weeks before with a group of Leo's friends, and on another we went to the twenty fifth birthday of a Turkish friend of Leo and his sister, followed by cocktails in town. Other than that we didn't do much at all of significance, just small things around the city and relaxed. The last time I spent time in this kind of way was months before in Trento, Italy.

On my second last day in Germany the weather was incredibly dull, it didn't even drizzle but was somewhat oppressive, like those days we get every winter in Tasmania. We went for a walk and played a little soccer, simply to get us out of the house. The following day Dan arrived in slightly less bleak conditions. He stayed for about half an hour, I said goodbye to Leo's family and thanked them for their hospitality before Leo saw us off at the curbside. Just as darkness was falling we entered Luxembourg, I think the thirty-fifth country in the world that I have visited. We bought a full tank of fuel at the lower taxed prices offered in the tiny principality before moving on into France, marking the beginning of our longest straight section of driving yet.

The Benelux

Some of Dan's friends happened to be finishing their European trip in Amsterdam at the same time we were a fair way north. Dan was going to go by whatever means he had to. By the time we'd been in Fontainebleau a couple of days I had already decided that I'd join him in the Benelux for a night or two before heading south into Rhineland to spend time with a German friend I met the previous summer in Australia.

We packed up our things and left Fontainebleau late in the day, the last of the good light diminishing as we hit the inticrate web of roads on the eastern outskirts of Paris. It might be logical with a GPS but with pre-loaded phone we made a couple of wrong turns which in turn, owing to the lack of exits, each cost us about 50km. Oh well.

At around 11 we found ourselves hunting for WiFi spots to recalculate our route but that proved too difficult so we resorted to guessing. It turned out to be the right option and after one false turn that nearly sent us in the complete opposite direction and a 300m reversing job on the entry lane to a freeway the blue dot that marked our location was finally hovering on a road that was also marked in blue!

Once we were about 100km clear of Paris everything started to look up. We were able to drive 50-150km distances without having to worry about which turn to take at junctions, and even when we did have to it was straightforward. Very late that night we crossed the border into Belgium. After a little more time we were skirting the outskirts of Brussels. The roads are great in Belgium and completely free, at least to our knowledge, so that particular country spares you the constant game of trying to avoid the ridiculously expensive tolls that come when you see the classic blue highway sign.

After what might have been around 2hrs in Belgium we found camping somewhere towards the far border of the country, a mere stones throw from Antwerp. After the previous night we woke up pretty late and it was 1pm or so before we were in the city.

I love Belgium. I love the distinct style of architecture and how it's been shaped, in a way, by the flat, low expanses they've had available for building. I love the fusion of elements and probably the result on the city streets of having a few extra dollars in the city budget to throw around.

I'd been to Brussels almost a decade ago, when I was much younger, and can remember feeling the same way, even then.

We got a very central park just by Antwerp's main square which happens to have a very attractive looking outdoor bouldering set up, at the time crawling with tens of kids, daunted over by the imposing facade of the city's grand cathedral. We must have spent around two hours in the city, just wandering, not doing much in particular. We walked through the squares fringed by long, thin and somewhat grand buildings and through numerous small alleyways before meeting the sea. The military were running a bridging training operation which was interesting to see.  

The city in its very centre feels grand and cultured like many in Europe but as soon as you pop out by the water it takes on a very industrial feel. The line of buildings simply stops, blocked by one of the city's main roads, and on the other side you have the waterway giving egress to commercial ships from the port to the sea.

We somehow managed to get out of the city relatively quickly without burning too much unnecessary fuel which is always an achievement. Before long we were crossing the Dutch border, announced by the typical blue signs with the circle of stars representing EU member states, telling us we were entering “Nederland”, the name of the country in its native language.

Antwerp's Waterfront

Interesting sculpture...

We saw many signs to Rotterdam but few to Amsterdam. It was a guessing game each time the highway diverged, sometimes informed a little but what we could see on the route we'd plotted the day before. Despite the uncertainty we never took a false turn. We arrived at Amsterdam with ease, entering the city fairly late in the afternoon with no plan whatsoever.

We parked in the centre and I walked along one of the city's main canals for a bit, taking in the atmosphere that makes this city so famous. I could easily live there for a few months, getting around by bike like almost everyone else. The city is incredibly flat, like many in the Netherlands, something that has facilitated one one of the highest per capita rates of bicycle ownership in the world.

We went to McDonald's of all places with the sole intention of using their WiFi to book some accommodation. This was a tedious process but we got it done and plotted the route to our accommodation from our current location on my phone. Amsterdam's streets gave us no problems and five or six canal crossing within three kilometres later we were at our accommodation, a stones throw from Vondelpark.

El País de las Bicicletas

Once we were checked in we had showers before heading out. We got pizza locally and had a few beers by the canal, taking in the ambience of the city. I'd been sick since the day before and wasn't really feeling up to much at all so we headed back to the hostel where the stuffiness and heat of the room aggravated my existing congested condition.

After checkout the next day we went for a walk to check out what Vondelpark had to offer. We found a supermarket selling products at highly elevated city prices, all but one thing. I've never seen it anywhere else in the world but they had a machine in the supermarket that makes fresh orange juice right in front of your eyes! At three euros a litre it was pretty damn cheap too, and exactly what I needed for my raging cold.

We had a while to kill before Dan's friends turned up at five that day so we went for a drive, found easy parking and had a slackline in a park in front of a police station. We cooked up a big meal and stayed there for a few hours, just relaxing on crash pads. At one point the police came over, curious, asking questions about the slackline in perfect English. Everyone in the Netherlands speaks perfect English. Like in many other nations with small languages they realise the importance of learning others to a high level.

Later that day we went into the part of the centre where we'd been the day before and got the car impounded on a parking technicality that we had no idea about. After a very scenic six kilometre walk and a 373.60 euro fee, collected by a pleasant Dutch woman with relatives in Tasmania, the car was free. Lovely.

We arrived at the accomodation Dan's friends had booked about an hour later than we planned, feeling dejected after a huge sum of money slipped through our fingers due to nothing more than bad luck. Money can come and go very easily. But really, what is a Euro trip without fines? I think Europe and fines are two things that just simply go together, its the way of the world.

The accommodation, at 26 euros a night was quite expensive for what it was and in the end we didn't even end up sleeping there. After a few drinks, a tram trip into the centre and a very interesting night we ended up staying in an apartment in some random corner of the city. I still have no idea where.

I woke up that morning and quickly got Dan and Steve up, paranoid about not being able to check out on time. We found a tram station and managed to catch the right one, but in the complete opposite direction. When our two hour tram journey through the vast majority of Amsterdam finally deposited up where we needed to be it was already right on check out time. I was exhausted. I went upstairs, messaged Leo in Germany and took a shower. I packed a couple of things for my three days in Germany in my small day pack. I think by the time I left it was an hour after checkout. I already knew it was a small penalty fee for late check out and really didn't care. In the end they didn't even impose it.

Dan drove me to the train station, somehow easily navigating there through the maze of similar looking, canal lined streets. He dropped me when we were stationary at a set of lights, us both now well and truly scared of inner city parking.

I easily found the platform and somehow even had time to kill before my train. Walking through the station I found another orange juice machine and bought some chips in a cone, my first food in close to 24hrs. After being sick for the last couple of days and a sleepless night I was practically passed out as the train started moving and I can barely remember the signs at the stations starting to be written in German, not Dutch.

Emancipation

Tensions were running high. We sat at the WiFi spot most of the day, killing time on useless little things to pass the hours. The tension grew as 7pm neared.

A couple of days before we had fixed the shipping issue with our part and it had arrived the following day after spending close to a week sitting in a postal depot in the nearby town of Annecy. The receptionist, who we now knew well after countless chats, had promised the car would be ready the evening of the following day.

My feelings were mixed as we walked into the shop. Was it going to work? Neither of us had any idea.

Two weeks before we had also thought we would be leaving as we walked into the shop. A week before that she told us the ignition coil was “ashes” but when we walked in she looked at us with pity and simply said, “Big, big problem...”. That's when we found out it was actually the distributor, a much more expensive part, that was done. Now the distributor, which we bought second hand off eBay was finally here. And the suspense was killing us.

We walked in and she smiled. I made a little small talk and she announced that it was indeed working well. But then she said, “Big problem.” Uh- oh. One of the brake discs was considerably worn and she was compelled to install a new one.

Instead, being a nice, reasonable woman, she let us leave without having a new one installed at the small cost of having “forbidden to drive” written in both English and French on our form, mooting our insurance and making us liable for any accidents we caused. We would have to drive pretty conservatively...

We returned to the campsite and packed everything up, seeing it for the last time, which had been home for three weeks, just as the last light was escaping from the sky.

We were back on the road! For the first hundred kilometres or so we followed the roads I had followed in three weeks earlier but from then on the roads were all new. We ended up camping somewhere on the outskirts of Auxerre in an apple grove at sometime after three am, exhausted.

The newly acquired flashing light... enough said. 

We stoked up in the city the following morning after a late start and drove the remaining couple hundred kilometres to Fontainebleau, the surrounding forests home to the birthplace of European bouldering and still some of the most famous blocks in the world. The sport has such a standing in France that circuits have been created, coloured arrows accompanied by a number, the former suggesting difficulty and the later providing a simple fluid order that the problems should be climbed in.

As we arrived in the provincial French town of Fontainebleau itself we saw several training yards for horses, a huge grand chateau and many up-market curbside restaurants but no sign of the bouldering. After difficulties finding anywhere we could sit and get charge and WiFi we took off again, deciding to try a slightly different tact in finding the blocks- guessing. How hard could it be, it's a renowned, world class destination for the sport right?

It turns out none of the iconic sectors are obvious from the road side. Sometimes you can gather there's boulders in the area but you can rarely actually see them from the road. We drove around for around 30mins and climbed at the first one we saw.

The climbing is definitely interesting. Apart from the classic, powerful slopers Fontainebleau is so famous for we found huge water jugs on some of the top outs and all kinds of tiny, intricate and complex holds that really beg the question of how they were actually formed. The formations are like nothing I've seen elsewhere in the world.

The next day, back in town, we finally found a bar with WiFi and did more research. We visited l'elephant, one of “font's” most iconic sectors, characterised by huge boulders in a beach like environment and three or four other sectors over the five day period we stayed. We mostly had good weather but the friction was mainly atrocious, particularly on the footing. It just can't be trusted.

Chateau Fontainebleau

It's common to see tens and tens of people in the forest in any given sector at any given time of day, from families to groups of friends that would easily be pushing sixty. This forest really is a thing of pride for the French and its awesome to see such a huge range of people enjoying a sport that would be considered “extreme” in many parts of the world. Some people are simply out for a walk. Families stroll nowhere in particular, their kids darting in and out of the maze of boulders. However, I'd have to say that well over half the people you meet in the forest have crash pads, an unmistakeable sign that they're there to boulder. Is great to see how much the people from the surrounding area appreciate their forest.  

Europe really teaches you how to find parks...

Inbetween

Late in the day, just as the heat was beginning to wear off I dropped Pablo off at the bus station. Then I drove the ten odd kilometres back to the campsite and read, reclined on a crash pad in the late afternoon sun.

This and similar rituals went on for three days. Early on the fourth day I packed up, said good bye to the nice family that run the camping on the outskirts of Sabiñanago and began my 1050km drive. Money had hit my travel card and I now had the capacity to do so.

I drove through several broad, silty valleys in the lower Pyrenees before the valley my route took me through started heading towards the French border. Before long it started ascending rapidly, making progress in earnest. After a while my way was impeded by a huge traffic jam, brought on by the closure of one side of the tunnel that crosses the main divide of the range and gives passage between France and Spain.

Despite elevation the bite of the sun was only impeded by intermitten cloud. I rolled the windows down, letting the air flow through.

Perhaps ten minutes passed before the light turned green and the cars from the Spanish side began to crawl through like ants, closely following the fifty speed limit, capitulating to the threat of the “control radar”.

I emerged on the French side to find a thick fog, preventing visibility further than ten metres in front. This was a strange experience coupled with the steep, unprotected drop on the southern side of the road. As I got lower the mist thinned, revealing a cold, dreary day in complete contrast to the day I had left behind in Spain.

That night, numerous wrong turns and sketchily narrow country roads later, I camped on the outskirts if Toulouse.

Open road... I saw a lot of this...

There's little to say about the day that followed. I drove twelve odd hours to meet Dan with only a couple of brief stops. I found one particularly nice French city, towered over by a huge bronze statue overlooking an impressive church but I can remember little else of note.

I arrived in Bourg Saint Maurice, a mere stone's throw from the Italian border and a long, long way from Sabiñanago at about 8:30 that night. I snuck up to Dan's tent and tapped the outside. At first he thought it was nothing, calling out initially but putting his headphones back in after no response. I kept tapping and after a minute or so he finally emerged to see what the hell was tapping on his tent. He was pretty surprised to see me, not expecting me to arrive until the following day.

We had a few drinks and spent some time talking to the members of a local metal band that were sharing the campsite. Before we knew it the sun was rising.

Needless to say we didn't do much that day. Dan showed me some of the surrounds and we just chilled out, catching up on what each other had been doing over the last month we spent apart with me in Spain and him in Bourg Saint Maurice paddling.

The next day we headed into town to rent Dan a via Ferrata kit to take on some of the crazy exposed routes fringing the town. And we never made it out.

We got in the car after leaving the shop, excited to venture into the mountains. Then the engine wouldn't turn over. I don't know why this shit always happens to us but it simply does. Five futile minutes of attempting to start it gave way to pushing the car to a nearby garage against the traffic down the town's major street. That in turn gave way to three weeks of complete redundancy, doing almost nothing at all.

Each day we made the twenty minute walk to town and WiFi and more often than not a further fifteen minute walk to the supermarket. After a week or so we bought a slackline and that also became a daily ritual, set up in the park by the river. However that was also soon to end. One day men with chainsaws and excavators turned up out of the blue and felled this once tranquil place of all it's trees, right down to the river side.

Our newest form of entertainment

A small fraction of our beer consumption during our stay

The new discovery; wine strength generic beers

Several times in that three weeks we learned the very definition of despair. After only a week stranded we went to pick up the car at our appointed time only to find out they had misdiagnosed the problem and our actual problem was going to cost 1300 euros to fix. We most certainly weren't going to pay that.

A section of the daily walk to the WiFi Spot

We went to our WiFi spot and deliberated what to do. Move continents? Start travelling by train? We had no idea.

After three days we ordered the part. It could only be shipped to the UK so we sent it through a friend who managed to send it to completely the wrong pace. It was a long two weeks not knowing if the part was even going to work and a period I would really love not to relive. Feeling both the summer and your time abroad recede before your eyes with little you can do about it is far from pleasant.