Beth and Mark's Gap Year 2014: September 2014

Saturday 27 September 2014

The Hills are Alive. 6 Sept to 19 Sept

Our final night in Paris is spent aboard the boat and after breakfast we say our farewells to our sailing buddies. Our mooring point in Paris is the Port D'Arsenal, which has free WiFii so long as you are less than about 50 m from the administration office. Needless to say our boat is about 100m away. Because we have been WiFi deprived during this trip, after leaving the boat we sit on the steps of the harbour master's office and slake our WiFi thirst. This of course means that we get to say goodbye to everybody again as they drift past, as well as say hello to the incoming passengers who are heading to the Fenix for a trip into the Loire valley. Despite the harbourmaster's occasional "move along street urchins" stare, we tarry until we have drunk our fill, then make our way over to the Gare de L'Est for our appointment with the TGV (very fast train - 320kmph in places!!!) to Stuttgart, which of course is matched with some very slow trains taking us the rest of the way to Salzburg. End result is that we do not arrive in Salzburg until after 9:00pm, where we are thrilled to be greeted at the station by our friend Cathy and her daughter Sophie who are joining us for this leg of our travels. We had intended spending 2 nights in Salzburg, but somehow we miscalculated the nights on the boat, so we had to squeeze it down to one, which means of course not much time to look around. Luckily Cathy and Sophie (who had not made any miscalculations) had already reconnoitred the place and were able to recommend a four hour whistle stop tour of Salzburg. Beth was very excited when she heard that one channel on the hotel TV played The Sound of Music non stop 24x7. I was much more excited by the little chocolate and nougat delight called a Mozartkugeln, which had been left on my pillow. Happily for me, my excitement was well justified (yummy little ball of joy), whereas Beth's wasn't (something was broken, and so there was no Sound of Music at 11:00pm - how sad).

An early start was necessary if we were to do any justice at all to this city and still be able to catch our 2:00pm train to Bad Goisern to commence our Alpine walking tour. The early start didn't quite happen, and then when we did get moving it was quite slowly, and then of course there was coffee and cake to be had, by which time most of the morning was gone and our four hour itinerary was reduced to closer to three. It is not possible to do justice to a city like Salzburg in three hours, but we gave it a very good shot walking most of the city streets and squares and notable places (including Mozart's birthplace), loitering in the Mirabella gardens, visiting the old Petersfriedhof cemetery and catacombs (not quite catacombs by my definition, but interesting nonetheless), hiking up to the Salzburg castle, wandering through the Mönchsberg Gardens to take in the views, and even checking out the wonderful Austrian clothing shops (I need one of those hats with a feather, but Beth doesn't think I do, she is more interested in dirndls and jackets). Most of these places we visit feature in The Sound of Music in some way, and I guess we will have to watch it again some time so that we can say to each other a dozen times "we've been there, remember that?". Very rushed but very enjoyable.

Our Austrian walking tour is through the Dachstein Alps and commences in the small town of Bad Goisern. To get here from Salzburg is only about 50km as the crow flies, but is a 2 hour train trip. Given our rushed itinerary which did not include lunch, a quick visit to the Bäckerei and Supermarket at the station are necessary to provision ourselves for lunch on the train. So equipped with bread, cheese, fruit and Mozartkugelns (Beth glared as these passed through the checkout) we set out for the Dachstein Alps.

Our first business in Bad Goisern is to locate our hotel (which will be home for two nights). A relatively simple task you would think in a small town, particularly given that there is a sign just outside of the station the way. Somehow though we managed to make this difficult. I wanted to go the signposted way, but Beth chose a more obscure path which she proceeded rapidly down. Knowing that she was wrong and I was right, I stood my ground and waited at the signpost for her inevitable embarrassed return once she found herself lost. She did return, but only to tell me she had dropped her case at the hotel and to ask what was I waiting for. Turns out that the signposted route was for cars, and the obscure path was much more direct. Curses!!!

After working our way with the hotel staff through some confusion regarding sleeping arrangements (it seems that there may have been some language difficulties when things were booked), we checked into our rooms and decided to take a walk around town before dinner. Bad Goisern (the Bad bit by the way is pronounced Bard and in German means Bath) is a spa town which is painted by Wikipedia as quite unremarkable, with its main claim to fame being the development of the "Goiserer Schuh", a good wearable mountain-shoe. Although our voyage of discovery covered only the central town area we found a lot more which could have been added to Wikipedia. Some lovely streets scapes, old buildings, charming lanes, a pretty church and all those other things you expect to find in an old Austrian town, but the thing which impressed us most was a violin festival which happened to coincide with our visit. The whole main street was bedecked with trestle tables laden with food and beer and surrounded by violin players of all sorts, groups and individuals all engaged in producing a delightful and merry cacophony. It seems that this was something of a freestyle festival where musicians just came and played as and when and with whom they desired. There was a mixture of orchestrated pieces and improvised pieces all happening at once. A unique but marvellous sound.

Our first day of walking involves catching a train back to the sightly larger town of Bad Ischl (another spa town), just so that we can walk back to Bad Goisern, but don't be fooled, the walk doesn't take the nice grade of the railway line, it goes straight up (almost 1000m) over the hill that the train skirted around and back down again to Bad Goisern. Bad Ischl is quite a pretty little town probably most famous for its being a favourite place of the Emporor Franz Josef, who owned property here. It was here in Bad Ischl in 1914 that Franz Josef signed the declaration of war with Serbia triggering WW1. We lingered here a little buying provisions for our walk (bread, cheese, nuts and fruit) and generally looking about the place.

Nobody objects to Beth taking navigational responsibilities, I suspect our new colleagues are not as geographically challenged as I am, but they probably sense that Beth would be very uncomfortable without a map and very nicely allow her to keep her security blanket. In typical fashion our walking notes are open to interpretation, but Beth does a good job of getting us out of town and onto the mountain roads taking us up the hill. Our notes promised us a salt mine en route, which turned out to be little more than a collection of ramshackle buildings and a couple of railway trolleys. Interesting, but not something to hold our attention for too long. This point however marked our transition from roads to rougher mountain trails, which certainly did warrant our undivided attention. Cathy and Sophie were probably starting to think this alpine walking caper was quite Ho-hum until now. Although we had only experienced a little rain, there had clearly been quite a bit recently because the tracks in places were quite gooey, and gooey and steep can make for quite interesting times. After an hour or so of trudging we arrived at the base of a big cliff. This was Predigsthuhl, atop which after an hour or so of relentless uphill and some cable assisted climbing, our notes promised we would be standing. C&S certainly earned their stripes ascending the summit, they also earned lunch which we duly took whilst also drinking in beautiful views (from our 1278m perch) of Bad Goisern below and the Hallstattersee and Dachstein alps beyond.

Now that we had ascended the mountain, there was the small matter of getting down the other side, which was in fact much steeper than the ascent, with longer stretches of cable for the more vertiginous sections and a long steep zig zag descent through forest back into town. Again our intrepid crew were up to the challenge, but just to make sure that we were properly tested, someone arranged for some heavy and persistent rain to accompany us the last 5 Km into town. A proper alpine walk, we had 20 odd Kms of climbs, mud, scrambles over rocks, views, sun, fog, knee jarring and toe crushing descents, and to top it all off, rain. The only thing missing was a little bit of snow. The perfect reward for a walk like this of course is a good hearty Austrian feed (lots of meat, dumplings and potatoes) and a good sleep.

Day 2 of walking is classed as challenging and involves 1100m of climbing to the Goiserer hut followed by a similar descent down into Gosau. Our trusty notes suggest that this walk not be attempted in bad weather, and as the forecast is not brilliant we confer on our course of action. After about 15 second of debating pros and cons we decide unanimously on a full speed ahead and damn the torpedoes strategy. We did after all survive yesterday's moderate to challenging walk despite foul weather, why should this one bother us.

Again Beth deciphers the notes and safely gets us out of town and on to the track. The sky is a bit grey looking, but it is not raining so we feel quite good. Even after a rather heavy but brief rainstorm our spirits are still high as we climb a well defined and very pleasant mountain trail. We bump into an Austrian couple from Linz, who are happy to chat, and it turns out that they too are on their way to the Goiserer hut. We ask their thoughts on the weather, and there forecast is not positive. It seems that cloud ascending the mountainsides is a sure sign of rain, whilst cloud descending generally means improvement. You can probably guess where the cloud was heading. The Austrian couple were moving a little slower than us, so we fared them well and moved on. Soon enough of course their weather predictions were proved right and the heavens opened. Our maps showed a road head and cable car station at the 1000m altitude point which was only about half an hour away, so we decided to carry on, take shelter at that point and consider our options. Upon reaching the cable station, still in the rain we saw one option evaporate immediately. Any thoughts of taking the cable car the rest of the way to the Goiserer hut were dashed. There was indeed a cable car here, but it was a very antique looking timber crate on a cable type of arrangement suitable only it seems for transporting liquor supplies to the Goiserer hut, and certainly not for human use. Not only were we denied the use of the cable car, but the hut which was its domicile was locked and barred, and it's eaves were very shallow, so any thoughts of substantial shelter were also put to bed.

We had put a lot of hard work into getting this far, so the option of turning back was not a popular one. Instead we decided to take what little shelter we could find at the cable station, then carry on once (if!!!) the rain subsided. Sure enough our Austrian couple ambled along looking considerably less dishevelled than us, and again stopped for a chat. They seemed less disturbed by the rain than us so moved on ahead. Again we wished them well and joked that we would see them soon. The rain did abate a little later and we moved on and soon caught the Austrians. More chatting and some shared joy at the descending clouds ensued. The Austrians again told us that they were slow and we should go ahead, but this was sounding a little like the tortoise and the hare. Farewell again, but this time we determined that we would push on through blizzards if we had to, but we were not going to be overtaken by these lovely folk again. So push on we did. Thankfully no blizzards, just relentless slope. The rewards however were in the views which were magnificent and improving as we ascended, despite there still being a bit of cloud in the valleys. When we arrived at the Goiserer hut it was cold but reasonably clear. Wet clothes were taken off (to the extent that we decently could) and hung out to dry, and we ventured into the hut to seek out a warming hot chocolate. About this time the Austrians also arrived, and of course more chatting took place. The Austrians were much more daring in their disrobing than us, but only momentarily, because they had spare clothes in their backpacks.

The hut was jam packed with hikers (sadly they were generally an older vintage than ourselves), who must also (we thought) have climbed the hill and encountered harsh weather, but we looked like drowned rats, and they looked fresh as a daisy and impeccable. How do they do that??? Our request for hot chocolate was met with a bemused look from the waiter, who had little English, but was able to convey the message to us that it was summer, and you don't drink chocolate in summer, you drink beer. Somehow we were able to convince him that coming from Australia, this did not seem like summer, so hot chocolate was indeed called for. He relented. We were also introduced at the Goiserer hut to a delightful concoction called Kaiserschmarren, which is a shredded eggy pancake accompanied by sweet applesauce and dusted with sugar. Kaiserschmarren loosely translates to Emporers mess, and the story goes that the Emperor's chef badly messed up a pancake which fell apart as he was turning it. In his haste to hide his mistake and make amends he covered the dodgy pancake with a cloche, which of course was accidentally served to the Emperor, who loved it. I am with the Emperor on this, and combined with the begrudgingly provided hot chocolate, we were well warmed up for the next part of our journey. So outside we ventured and ate our packed lunch to supplement the Kaiserschmarren and headed down the long descent to Gosau. There was an option today to climb another nearby peak, but we decided against.

A little way down the hill we happened upon a little road and some cow pastures. Although I have nothing to substantiate my claims, I believe all those immaculate Austrians at the Goiserer hut were impostors who actually drove their cars up here and pretended to be hikers just to make us look bad. The walk down to Gosau again was a mix of rock, mud, forest and pasture, and again was steep and murder on the knees and toes. Despite this it was an enjoyable walk, and the weather almost held out for us. Our hotel was on the other side of town, and we were on the other side of town when the thunderstorm struck, but not quite far enough. We took shelter under the eaves of someone's shed snd waited for the rain to stop. Eventually it slowed and we decided to push on to the hotel as it was getting late. We stepped out from our place of shelter and set out only to find that our hotel was actually next door. Hmmmm... The proprietress of the hotel was relieved to see us. She had been worrying and was about to head out in her car in search of us. I am not sure how she thought she was going to either find us or recognise us, but the sentiment was nice. It was good to be in a dry warm place. Again a mixed bag weather wise, but a satisfying walk nonetheless.

Day 3 we catch a bus out to the Gosausee from whence we walk to the higher and smaller lake the Hinterer Gosausee. A lovely restful walk of about 12 Km. Just right after yesterday's tough walk. These little lakes are quite beautiful nestled in underneath the mountains. The weather is also pretty good to us today, just a couple of small sprinkles. Maybe our luck is changing and tomorrow we will have sunshine.

Day 4 is our last day of mountain walking and our luck has not changed. The weather outlook still looks bleak although it is not raining when we set out. Today we are walking to Hallstatt via the old salt mines above the town. And this of course involves a climb up the hill and a hobble down the other side (about 1000m each). We get out of town and onto the mountain trails quite quickly today, and as well as being steep they are quite boggy and slippery. Today I think that I may have set a world record for slipping and landing on my backside. At least five times I needed to pick myself out of the mud patch I had fallen in. Balance and poise are clearly not my strong suits. I was a little disappointed in my buddies for not even falling down once in support of a comrade. After one of my spills I thought to myself, "at least it is not raining". Which was quite silly, because no sooner had the thought settled than the rain started, which made the walking somewhat arduous and only created more slip opportunities, which I was quick to seize. I think the only thing that kept my spirits up during this walk was the bush tucker. Wild blackberries, raspberries and blueberries aplenty helped to take my mind off my misery.

At the top of our climb we had to negotiate several high meadows inhabited by cows. The most memorable of these was at a place called Plankenstein. For once in her life Beth got a bit bamboozled by inconsistencies between signposts, maps and notes. It seemed that we were being sent across a paddock that the cows had been dancing in. Eventually, although we did not want it to be true, we decided the path did in fact traverse this minefield of cow dung and sinkholes, so very carefully we tiptoed over little islands of grass, hoping desperately that these islands did not submerge and take us with them. Thankfully we survived the crossing under the watchful gaze of farmer Plankenstein who had taken up a vantage point near his barn 100m away to watch the entertainment. I think that hiker watching is a strong spectator sport in these parts and I suspect that bets had been placed on how we would end up. As we were approaching the end of the paddock, farmer Plankenstein waved and shouted and pointed. Some of our more generous spirited folk believed that he was pointing out the way for us. I think that he was cursing his bad fortune at betting against our survival, and was imparting a gesture to send us on our way.

More slippery stuff as we descend means a few more times on my backside until we hit some decent gravel pathways, whereupon the slipperiness stopped, but was replaced with teeming rain. A real highlight of this walk was that it passed the Salt Mines above Hallstatt and therefore provided the opportunity for a visit. The only problem was by the time we reached the saltworks we were well and truly soaked, but still determined to take the 2 hour tour. The attendants didn't seem thrilled at us dripping all over their floor, but they did sell us tickets. I am sure they would also have frowned at my use of the hand dryer in the toilet as a clothes dryer had they caught me at it, so I made it snappy. The salt mine tour required us for some reason to put on overalls, which was a real bonus. A new layer of dry clothing to soak up some of our sogginess. The tour takes us through some of the old (and no longer worked) tunnels from which salt has been extracted for thousands of years. Evidently there was a bit of money to be made from salt back in the day and this was a pretty important place. There is an interesting polished timber slide which the miners use to move from one level of tunnels to another, and part of the tour is to use these slides, which is a lot of fun. Finally there is a little train ride out of the tunnel which is also fun. By this time we are getting a little cold, so we are happy to hand back our soggy overalls, and pick up our still dripping backpacks and raincoats from the cloak room. I don't think that we will be invited back here anytime soon.

Despite our waterlogged state, the final descent down into Hallstatt is very pleasant. The rain has stopped, the path is solid and well defined, and the views of the town nestled between lake and mountain are sensational. Nevertheless we are very happy to arrive at our hotel where we can shower, change and put our weary feet up. This has been a very big day.

Hallstatt is a picture postcard little village whose beauty has not been greatly polluted by modern architecture and it is a delight to wander the cobbled streets and laneways and to climb the steps and alleys taking you from one level of the town to the next. Hallstatt's wealth has historically come from its salt mines, but these days it comes from tourists. It is immensely popular with Asians, and it is amazing how different the tourist demographic is here to other places we have visited in Austria. The Chinese are so enamoured of this place that they built a replica of Hallstatt in China a couple of years back.

We have a rest day in Hallstatt, which gives us an opportunity to relax a little before catching a bus (disguised as a taxi) to the Dachstein Krippensteinbahn cable car which whisks us up above town to a couple of caves, one permanently adorned with ice floes, the other provides the entrance to quite a complex cave system. Evidently there are a large number of caves here and this is a very popular place for speleologists (a strange form of human life with an avid interest in climbing into small holes in the hope of finding bigger ones). Unfortunately cloud is low today, so views are not so magnificent here, but we take the next stage of the cable car anyway to the highest point at 2100m and have a bit of a wander in the chilly fog. A pleasant and restful day despite the average weather.

Day 6 is our final day of walking, which starts off with a ferry ride across the beautiful Hallstattersee to the railway station followed by a lakeside walk back to our starting point of Bad Goisern. Because this is only a relatively short walk, we take the opportunity to spend a little more time exploring Hallstatt before setting off. Flat land in Hallstatt is a scarce commodity, and the cemetery is necessarily quite small, so there has been a practise over the years of removing bones from graves 12 years after interment and placing them in an ossuary to make room for others who are dying to take up the cemetery space. A visit to the Charnel House of St Michael's church to see the 1200+ painted skulls stored there seems a morbid thing to do, but it is a gloomy day, and it certainly is fascinating, so it is placed on our discovery itinerary, as is the church and cemetery. We also make sure we have coffee and cake before donning our raincoats and heading off.

Sadly the weather remains pretty miserable for much of the walk, but the company was good and by now we are used to the rain so we don't let it get us down. It was still a lovely lakeside walk. We arrive back at Bad Goisern a sodden mess of course and find that they are again confused by our numbers and sleeping arrangements. It seems they were expecting only two, not four. Just how they arrived at that expectation is beyond me. Thankfully we were dripping on their foyer floor, so they quickly revised their expectations and conjured up another room. We had completed our walk through the Dachstein Alps despite the foul weather, slippery surfaces, and other obstacles placed in our way, and given that this walk was classified as challenging, I think it confirms our status as expert walkers.

As a reward for our efforts we are all four of us going to spend a few days relaxing just over the border in Berchtesgaden, Germany, so after breakfast we farewell Bad Goisern and take the complex train journey to Berchtesgaden via Salzburg. The trip back to Salzburg is just retracing our steps, but then we have choices to make. We are encouraged by station attendants to take a bus which goes directly to Berchtesgaden and is about 40 minutes quicker than the train, but after 30 minutes of trying to find this bus we abandon the idea and revert to the train, which is reasonably straightforward even if it is slow. Near the end of the line we understand why we were encouraged to take the bus in preference to the train. Rail works were taking place and we were marched about 500m to the rail replacement bus which eventually delivered us into Berchtesgaden.

Berchtesgaden is a beautiful little town with a rather dark recent history. Hitler loved this place, and did much of his horrible business of war from Obersalzburg which is just above the village. He had a house here and he also installed his deputies in houses nearby. There is an incredible bunker system still largely in place interconnecting important buildings in the complex. Further up over Berchtesgaden there is a tea house perched atop a mountain which was built as a gift for Hitler's 50th birthday. Hitler though suffered from vertigo and so didn't spend much time here, instead it became a handy place to hide his secret mistress Eva Braun. The associations with this horrible man and his horrible regime are history which cannot be undone, and the Germans I think have done a good job of not trying to hide or deny this history but also not glorifying it. These associations did not detract (for me) from my enjoyment of this place.

We arrived in Berchtesgaden fairly late, but still managed to take a walk through and above town to get our bearings and to take in the views of Berchtesgaden and the mountains beyond, and strangely, although there was not a lot of sun about, there also wasn't any rain, so for the first time in a little while we returned to our hotel dry. Quite a strange sensation. The next day we take a bus trip out to the Konigssee to cruise the lake from one end to the other and then to take a walk to the Obersee which is the next lake up. The cruise boat is a quaint little wooden vessel which has an electric motor so it glides slowly over the lake with almost no noise. Very relaxing. There are lots of little things to see (monuments, buildings and mountains) along the shore as we glide by, but the commentary is in German so we only get the gist if we are lucky. Beth and Sophie were sitting close to the driver, who I think took a fancy to one of them and they managed to get a personalised guide in fractured English. I am not sure that the local commentary made a lot of sense, but Beth certainly heard (perhaps because that was what she wanted to hear) that there are lots of splendid walking trails in the mountains and it is not far to the Austrian border. No time for that sort of walk in the couple of days we have here, but Beth has stored this information for future reference. The walk to the Obersee is pretty and we are rewarded with stunning views across the lake to the mountains. We break our journey on the return leg to visit the beautiful St Bartholomä church and to take a walk in the woods below the Watzmann mountains, evidently a favourite hunting place for the Wittelsbach kings of Bavaria. We are just starting to see the golden gown of autumn being slowly pulled on by the forest, and the tracks are liberally strewn with leaves. Another couple of weeks and the forests will be full of rich autumn colours.

For our last day in Berchtesgaden we decide to take the trip up to the Kehlsteinhaus, better known as the Eagles Nest or Hitler's tea house and to spend a little time in the Obersalzberg Dokumetum, which is a museum essentially of the rise, fall and impacts of the third reich, but particularly of its local connections. The road up to the Kehlsteinhaus is extremely steep and requires specially constructed buses to make the journey, which is quite spectacular. We are deposited at the entrance to a tunnel which takes us to an elevator for the final 150m or so to the Kehlsteinhaus. The tunnel and elevator are all part of the original construction. The Kehlsteinhaus itself is nothing too spectacular, and it's place in history is not so amazing (no key decisions were made here, that all happened below at Obersalzberg), but you can see why Martin Borrman thought that this would make a good 50th birthday gift. The location is idyllic and the views sensational. Amazingly, this is two days of half decent weather in a row, so we can actually enjoy the views. There are also a whole series of walking tracks making their way up the mountain to this place, and Beth has made a mental note of all of them. I can see that this place has earned an entry in our must return book.

We make our way back down the mountainside (by bus not walking track) leaving what we thought was plenty of time to work our way through the Obersalzberg Dokumentum and bunker complex, but it turns out that this place was jam packed full of information we felt compelled to absorb, so before we knew it, it was almost closing time and was had only been halfway through the exhibition and not seen the bunkers at all. We rushed through the rest of the museum and quickly zipped through the amazing bunker complex, which is all that remains of the Obersalzberg compound which was Hitler's headquarters.

Our short holiday in Berchtesgaden is polished off nicely with a visit to the town square in the evening to watch the local brass band perform some good rousing German tunes. It was quite a sight to see the band and a large number of the audience all decked out in traditional dress. The band seemed to have a uniform, but we think that the bandmaster who looked about 70, may have received his shorts in the Warwick Capper era. They were short and tight, and between songs he seemed to think that it was important that he show off his dexterity by bending down very low for long periods to select music for the next song. Being in direct line of fire to a 70 year old bum in shorts ready to burst at the seams is not a comfortable place to be. But thankfully the shorts and I both survived the performance. As soon as the band finished up we heard smaller bands fire up at the various outdoor eateries, so we had a bit if a wander amongst these. All very pleasant.

We had a lovely relaxing time at Berchtesgaden and thoroughly enjoyed the company of our friends, so it was sad to say goodbye as they headed off into their next adventure and us into ours, which is a walk along the King Ludwig Way from Starnberg to Füssen in Bavaria.

Salzburg

A sculpture in Salzburg that I liked. Does not feature at all in Sound of Music

The Salzburg castle

Violin festival - Bad Goisern

Babes in the wood - out of Bad Goisern

Predigsthuhl

On the way to the Goiserer hut

View from the Goiserer hut

The Goiserer hut

The mountains from the Gosausee

Early autumn leaves - Gosausee

Gosausee

Gosausee reflections

Dress ups at the Hallstatt Salt Mines

Hallstatt from above

Krippenstein in the fog

Hallstatt

St Michaels church Hallstatt

Decorated skulls in the Charnel House

Berchtesgaden

Konigssee

St Bartholomä

Tunnel to the elevator - the eagles nest

View from the eagles nest

Lookout at the eagles nest

Tuesday 9 September 2014

Tour de France (and a bit of Belgium) 17 Aug - 5 Sep

17/8 Trier

After leaving Candice at Baden Baden we take the German train challenge and see if we can take 5 trains in 4 hours to reach Trier. Some of the transfers are quite tight, and although it was always clear which platform we had to go to, it wasn't always clear just where they were. Platform 2 always seems to be adjacent platform 1, but thereafter you never quite know what you get. Sometimes platform 1 extends and becomes platform 14, sometimes in a station with 10 platforms there is a mysterious platform 105 hidden around the corner and sometimes you go to somewhere you think is platform 4, but it is really 4a. Occasionally we had the luxury of lifts at the platforms to assist us, but typically there were at least 2 sets of steps to negotiate to effect a transfer. A daunting task, but somehow we managed. Beth even thought on occasions that taking the cases for a walk around the station could be achieved between transfers. I was more conservative and preferred to wait for the connecting train at the platform even if we were 5 minutes early. Our closest call was actually when we didn't even have to change platforms, just walk from one end to the other. It seemed to be longer than some of the walks we have taken.

Trier was something of a disappointment upon arrival because our first glimpse after emerging from the railway station was of a scruffy, down at heel town. Our disappointment was amplified by the two kilometres we had to walk to our hotel. As it turns out though, the old town centre was only minutes away from our hotel, so accidentally we had stumbled upon a great location to stay (normally we would try to stay a bit closer to the station). Not only that, but the town centre was quite beautiful. The moral of this story is to never judge a book by its cover, especially when the cover is just outside the station gates.

Trier (which is the most westerly German city) is a spa town built on the site of an old and important Roman city, with a remarkably intact set of Roman buildings including the city gates, an immense bath house, a sports arena and sections of the ancient city walls. But in amongst this collection of Roman antiquity was also a very beatiful old German city, with a city square that impressed Beth as the quintessential Germany that she had expected but not encountered on our tour to date. Cobbled pavement, intricate and colorful facades, a fountain and of course a cathedral all contributed to this picture postcard image.

We only had one night in Trier, but in that time did our best to place a foot on every cobblestone in the place. We even walked the almost deserted streets after dark, when they were at their magical, twinkling best. You might imagine that given our limited time our focus whilst wandering would be old buildings, churches, Roman artefacts and such, and whilst a goodly amount of our time was so spent, it seems that shoe shops are also an important feature of any town, and not to be missed. Whilst we may not have quite trod every stone in Trier, I am pretty sure we visited each shoe shop at least once.

18/8 Cologne

From Trier we head to Cologne, where we have decided to spend three nights. The train trip from Baden Baden via Trier has been interesting. We have gone from a relatively affluent area to what seems a more gritty and industrial part, and that is reflected in the landscape. There are still pretty little villages on the horizon as we zoom past, but the views are interrupted quite frequently by factories and power stations and the towns we pass through are grey and crumbly. The old disused steelworks near Saarbrucken is no doubt a monstrosity, but there is a certain beauty in the abandoned rusty pipe work being slowly reclaimed by vegetation (albeit weeds). This is no tourist spot, but it would have been nice to get off the train and take some photographs.

I am not sure what I expected of Cologne, but it is not what confronted me. Despite Beth's constant encouragement I had not really read much of the Lonely Planet guide to Cologne. I knew it had a big Cathedral, but not much else. When I got off the train and started to head for our hotel, I felt like I had landed in a scene from George Orwell's 1984. There was wall to wall people wearing vacant stares moving quickly but seemingly aimlessly in all directions. I was conscious of the overwhelming presence of the enormous scaffolding clad Cathedral, which was blackened with soot and age and cast a giant shadow across Cologne. After about 10 minutes of jostling, the crowd thinned a little and we reached the neighbourhood of our hotel. You will probably not be surprised to hear that this did not appear to be the best neighbourhood in Cologne. Neither will you be surprised to hear that as we approached the address of our hotel, two sex shops came into view, and yes, sandwiched between the two of them was our home for the next three days. Oh well, once inside the neighbourhood became invisible and it was quite comfortable and close to the city, so we just needed to make sure that we did not linger too long outside the entrance.

After recovering from our initial shock we ventured out to discover the city a little and to get some dinner. Thankfully the crowds had died down (we think that we were unlucky when we arrived to catch the evening commuter peak), so moving about was a little easier. The weather was less than pleasant so we didn't wander much, just hung around in shoe shops for a while until it was time for dinner. Searching for restaurants is a tricky business, there are so many things to consider; price of course, placement of tables, windows and doors to minimise ingress of smoke; the general demeanour of clientele and staff is important; the food on offer; and the general ambience of the place. All these things must be assessed in the blink of an eye as you cruise past. In this case the now teeming rain and a general lack of establishments open meant that we skipped those other considerations and run into the first bar we came across. Whilst "seedy dive", is probably overstating things, it certainly was not the most salubrious establishment we had ever visited, but the service was good and the food fantastic and plentiful, so we were well satisfied.

Several years ago we spent a night in Naples which still causes me nightmares filled with noise, grime and chaos. Despite assurances since my moment of torment that Naples is a beautiful place, I am permanently scarred and unlikely to return. I have to admit that I was experiencing something of a Naples moment with Cologne, but we had three days here and Beth was not keen on me remaining in my room in the foetal position for that long, so we decided to take a long walk along the Rhine River which flows through Cologne. Although the weather was again inclement we had a lovely walk an experienced some beatiful gardens, some bridges, views back to the city, and of course the magnificent River Rhine. Just one morning of walking had rid me of my fears, and even got me thinking that perhaps Naples does need to be visited again (but not for a few years).

The afternoon we devoted to the Cathedral, and it is so immense that it really did require the whole afternoon. The Kölner Dom (Cathedral) was the tallest structure in Europe until Mr Eiffel built his tower in Paris, and it took about 600 years to complete. We climbed the bell tower of course and watched for the bell to be struck on the hour. To our disappointment, the huge bell we were watching remained still and a tiddly little one beside it tolled the time to the city of Cologne. The cathedral and the tower were wonderful, but the most interesting part of the afternoon was spent in the cathedral treasury. You expect a treasury to be filled with gold and jewels, and this one did not disappoint in that regard, but the treasures taking pride of place were the reliquaries of various saints and the Magi Kings who followed the star and saw in the birth of Jesus. A reliquary is a container (generally quite intricate and beautiful) for the relics (usually a bone or two) of people important to the church.

Because we were in the area and we had exhausted the tourist delights of Cologne, we decided to take a day trip by local train out to Bonn, the capital of Germany from essentially the end of WW2 until the reunification of Germany in 1990 when the capital returned to Berlin. On our way back to Cologne we would visit the small town of Brühl which boasts a couple of beatiful palaces and gardens, a favourite place of Charlemagne I believe.

Bonn is a small city which gives no real hints as to its important place in 20th Century German politics. Instead it is very keen to let its visitors know that this is the birthplace of Beethoven, whose image appears at every street corner. Even the graffiti depicts this famous son. No mention seems to be made anywhere that apparently Ludwig was not all that fond of his home town. A very pretty city, again on the beautiful Rhine River, which of course meant another nice long walk along the River and then a return stroll through the suburbs back to town. Brühl is one of those very rare beautiful places which tourists seem not to have discovered yet, and the few hours we spent there really did not do it justice. The town is pretty Ho-hum as small German towns go, but the palace and it's gardens are magnificent.

21/8 Aachen

Our final day in Germany is spent in the historic city of Aachen. Again we accidentally booked accommodation a long way from the station, but unfortunately there was no happy discovery of a great location (it was also a long way from the old city), neither was there any compensating joy with a luxurious room. This was the smallest hotel room I had ever encountered. Luckily the experience in Aachen made up for all of this. This is another spa city with Roman roots, and is perhaps most famous for it's cathedral which has been the coronation place for all the German kings since it was built by Charlemagne way back in the 8th Century, when he ruled his kingdom from Aachen. The old city is beautiful, and the cathedral is also beautiful, but quite curious because of all the additions made in different styles over the ages. It is not unusual for churches to exhibit a couple of district architectural styles, but I think there are about six distinct styles in this one. We were too stingy and time poor to take the guided tour of the cathedral, and chose instead to just look at the original chapel built by Charlemagne. Sadly there is no real trace of Charlemagne's castle, but Charlemagne himself is still in Aachen where he died some 1200 years ago. His remains are said to be contained in a golden sarcophagus behind the altar of the chapel. As he has endured at least 3 reinterments since his death, I am not sure that you can be totally confident that tbe remains in the box are indeed his. For those of you who do not know of Charlemagne, he was the king of the Franks (which included most of current day France and Germany, but was promoted by the Pope of the day to be king of the Holy Roman Empire, thus making him the king of most of the European continent. So I guess he was the EU back then.

22/8 Bruges

We have enjoyed our little jaunt around Germany, but the cakes are taking their toll, and it is time now to get back some fitness by cycling from Bruges to Paris, about 300km as the crow flies, but because we are not crows, it is going to take us 600km.

As soon as we set foot in Bruges we are reminded of the magic we experienced three years ago when we visited here. This is a truly remarkable and beautiful place. Bruges, which was an incredibly rich and thriving city, essentially fell asleep in the 16th century when its port (the chief reason for its prosperity) started to silt up. Basically the city became so poor that inhabitants left and investment in city development became impossible. This probably made Bruges a pretty awful place to live for a couple of hundred years, but the great thing for us is that we now have an almost entirely intact 16th century city, which has been .kissed by the prince of tourism and is in the process of living happily ever after. As we are only in Bruges 1 night, we do nothing touristy, just wander around and soak up the atmosphere of one of my very favourite places.

After catching up with some laundry, it was time to board our boat Fenix, an early 20th century gravel barge converted to carry passengers which will be our home for the next couple of weeks. We will sleep on the barge, and each day as we cycle toward Paris, the barge will go ahead of us and moor somewhere, and we theoretically catch up with it later in the afternoon. We then board the boat, have dinner, go to bed and do the same thing again the next day. The boat has 4 crew. The captain (Rhea), a general roustabout crewman (Rhea's partner Bas), the cook (another Bas), and the boat's owner Els (who does cleaning, shopping and the like). There are 17 passengers, 12 Austalians, 4 Canadians and one American. We also have a Dutch guide Jakob, whose job is to ensure that we don't get lost and to keep us informed about points of interest along the way. Importantly, he is also responsible for ensuring that we find good coffee and lunch stops.

Three years ago we did a similar bike trip from Amsterdam to Bruges, which was a real joy. However at the very start of this tour our hearts sank when we heard predominately North American accents when we came aboard. Whilst we don't have a dislike for Americans, they are typically (I find) quite loquacious and gushing, which in numbers can be a bit overpowering for introverted souls such as Beth and I. As it transpires we had not quite read the accent right, and the boat was full of Canadians (and not Americans), with whom we got on famously and had a fantastic trip. Needless to say when we boarded the Fenix to the sounds of Aussie accents our hearts sunk again. Whilst we don't have a dislike for Australians, they are typically (I find) quite.....Never mind. Hopefully history repeats itself and we have grand time.

Once on board we are shown our cabins (marginally larger than a size 10 shoe box), introduced to the crew and made acquainted with the ship and how it is run. Then we are allocated bikes which we take for a test spin to ensure they are comfortable and properly adjusted. These are good, solid touring bikes built for comfort, not speed. I am very pleased with mine, for no reason other than it's very distinctive bell which set it apart from all the other bikes which look exactly the same. You know how you have made a fool of yourself by trying to jump in the wrong car which looks just like your in the car park (or is that just me?). Well imagine if the car park had 17 others cars just like yours, how much a fool could you make of yourself then. I was thrilled with my distinctive bell.

Our test ride along the canal in Bruges was really so our guide Jakob could get a feel for our riding skills and ability to travel together as a group. To say we were a diverse group would ba an understatement. We had some people who struggled to keep a bike upright, we had one rider who had just come from doing four legs of the Tour de France, we had a 90 year old (yes you read right) who went pretty well on the flat but slowed (not surprisingly) on the hills, we had some who couldn't resist the urge to travel on the left and for some reason didn't understand Belgian stop signs, and nobody seemed to understand the concept of staying together as a group. I felt for Jakob, but he had clearly seen this all before and seemed unfazed.

Our shoebox was very cramped, but the bunk beds were reasonably comfortable and we slept well, although to compensate for the constant list of the boat and avoid a rush of blood to the head, Beth slept the wrong way around and became adept at turning the light on and off with her toes. Movement in the morning needed to be very regimented to avoid collision injuries. I would normally take first shower whilst Beth stayed in bed. Once I was finished it was necessary for me to return to my bed and stay there motionless and without any protruding limbs until Beth had finished. Then one of us would leave the room to allow the other one the space to do likewise. Unfortunately breakfast was not quite so orderly as our cabin manoeuvrings, in fact it was quite chaotic. 12 hungry Australians (with the Canadians not far behind) with limited food and limited space is not a pretty site. Luckily I had Beth with me, who can become quite fierce when someone stands between her and breakfast, so I was not often the hyena picking at the carcass of breakfast after the lions had finished. Breakfast was also the time where we were provided with provisions to make our own packed lunch, and this also induced something of a frenzy.

24/8 Bruges to Ghent

Still shell shocked from the battle of breakfast we assembled on deck with packed lunches in hand as well as all our clothing needs for the day to load into the panniers of our trusty steed before heading off. Our first days ride was to take us about 50km to Ghent mostly along the canal, which for Beth and I was going over old ground, because we did this part of the trip in reverse 3 years ago. Amazingly the group seemed quite cohesive and apart from a couple of minor mishaps, we reached our destination in one piece. The weather was overcast, but somehow we avoided rain, and the riding was very pleasant. Before heading back to the barge which was moored just outside the city, we parked and locked our bikes in the town centre and enjoyed a walk through the city led by Jakob. Ghent is a beautiful city, similar in many ways to Bruges with canals and old buildings, but a bit grittier and more workaday. Still plenty of tourists here, but they are outnumbered by the locals, which as Ghent is a university town, are predominately young.

25/8 Ghent to Oudenaarde

Day 2 takes us about 50km south to Oudenaarde. Again our riding is mostly along the waterways, in this case the Schelde River. The previous day we were all full of praise for Jakob for somehow managing to avoid the bad weather that was happening all around us. No such praise today, because heavy rain was our companion for much of the day. Jakob did redeem himself however with an inspired morning coffee break in an average looking cafe in a nondescript town that I cannot even remember the name of. What made it inspired was the coffee. For the princely sum of €1.60 we got a drinkable cappuccino, accompanied by an egg nog (heavily laced with some local rocket fuel), and a chocolate, all served with good humour by the proprietor. It almost made us forget it was raining outside.

Upon our arrival in Oudenaarde the rain persisted, so instead of exploring the city, we sat and drank coffee and chatted with some of our fellow riders until it was time to head to the boat moored out of town. Although Oudenaarde is a very old town with a rich history, it lacks the charm of Bruges and the vibrancy of Ghent, so whilst it would have been nicer if it wasn't raining and we could go discovering, at least we weren't missing a whole lot. One thing that Oudenaarde is famous for is its breweries, so given we were in town Jakob negotiated a tour for us (after dinner on the boat) of the last remaining traditional brewery making beer in copper vats. Tastings of course were included in the €7.50 price tag. For Beth of course, her €7.50 investment was recouped through acquiring knowledge of traditional beer making processes and the history of beer as related by our eccentric tour guide (over indulgence with the subject of his tour I think may have fuelled this eccentricity). For others in our party, the tastings offered a more attractive return on investment. I felt compelled to sample all three beers on offer, which as beers go were very nice, but this was enough for me, particularly because I knew I had stairs to negotiate getting to the boat. Others were less concerned, and our eccentric host seemed to think that it was important to empty the vats that he had just shown us. Some people didn't quite make it to breakfast the next morning.

26/8 Oudenaarde To Tournai

From Oudenaarde we head to Tournai, which is the oldest city in Belgium (whatever that means). Some of our number chose to stay in Oudenaarde a little later and visit the cycle museum there which did not open until 10:00am, well beyond our starting time of 9:00am. This means that rather than cycle today, they catch the train to Tournai and wait for us on the boat. A highlight of the ride today was one of the tougher cobblestones hills on the famous De Ronde Van Vlaanderen bike race. It was actually quite tough and only 5 of us attempted it. I would like to claim that stamina and superior fitness got me to the top, but I think a mixture of pride and dread fear of getting going again on the steep cobblestones kept me upright puffing and wheezing all the way to the top. Coming back down again to rejoin the group was quicker and easier, but still daunting over the slippery cobbles. Sadly, our friend the rain chose again to keep us company today, and was most attentive when flat tyres were being fixed (3 flat tyres today, the first of our trip), but this does not detract too much from a pleasant ride, and by the time we reach the boat, which is moored just in front of the beatiful medieval Pont du Trous bridge on the River Scheldt, the sun is shining, so Beth and I decide to make hay while it does and go for a walk through town rather than sit around on the boat munching on afternoon tea.

Tournai is a very pleasant little city with a big cobbled market square, impressive Hotel de Ville (we are now in the French speaking part of Belgium) or town hall and of course the obligatory large cathedral. The importance of this town historically demanded no less than a bishop, and of course you cannot have a bishop without a cathedral. As with many of the small cities and towns that we are visiting, you sense a long and interesting history, but they are not prettied up and the history is not flaunted to drum up tourist trade, but neither is it ignored. Historical buildings and monuments are well maintained and clearly the locals are proud of them. It is good to get away from the well beaten tourist haunts. The rain holds off after dinner, so the whole group follows our leader Jakob for another walk around town, which means we. Get to see what we saw earlier, but tuis time with some commentary to give it context.

27/8 Tournai to the town of nothing

Our next ride takes us to ???, which Jakob describes as "the town of nothing". No shops, no interestng history, no beautiful monuments, nothing. Presumably it is halfway between Tournai and Peronne, so therefore a good place to stop. The riding is very nice as we start to encounter the wide open spaces and rolling hills of Northern France. The little towns we pass through are also getting a little more interesting, but they seem all to be deserted. Jakob's explanation for this is that France packs up and goes on holiday during the summer. Despite the dearth of open cafés along the way, Jakob is doing a sterling job of pulling coffee stops out of his hat, often knocking on doors to negotiate a coffee fix for the group. He also manages to find good spots to eat our picnic lunch. Today the old abbey of St Amand provides a wonderful backdrop for lunch. Typically though, it is closed for visitors until after two, by which time we need to be on the road again.

Our plan today is to meet the barge before the town of nothing (about our 50km mark), to load up our bikes and travel with the barge to its mooring point. Jakob proposes though that those who are interested could pedal on for another 20km and meet the boat at its mooring place. Needless to say Beth's hand went up like a shot. About 6 of us volunteered for the extra ride, which was basically along the River and some adjacent billabongs (which are called something else here) and was quite delightful. About three quarters of the way along the trail, which seemed quite remote, Jakob made an abrupt turn to the right and a couple of hundred metres up the road we came to a very nice hotel opposite a beautiful lake. This said Jakob, was a place to rest, much nicer than sitting on a crowded boat. We sat for the best part of an hour, during which time beers were consumed (again I was only a minor participant, and Beth did not play at all). Not quite the same rate of consumption seen two nights ago at the brewery though, so we were all still in a fit state to pedal the last 5 kilometres to the boat. When we arrived at the mooring point we were quite surprised given our leisurely ride, that the Fenix was only just arriving. It seems that after leaving them earlier, the boat got stuck in mud, from which it took some time and much revving of the engine to extricate itself. Lucky it didn't have my weight to contend with, otherwise we might still be stuck there.

28/8 town of nothing to To Peronne

We are now in the part of France most ravaged during World War 2 and heading for Peronne, on the Somme River, where we will stay 2 nights. Again the riding is very pleasant as we pedal through little villages and up and down rolling hills through French farmlands dotted with war cemeteries. It is quite strange coming upon a beautifully manicured cemetery in the middle of a potato field. We stopped at a couple of cemeteries along the way, both the last resting place for mainly British soldiers. For some in our group, visiting war graves was the highlight of their trip, and they were eagerly anticipating a visit to the Australian war cemetery at Villers-Bretonneux the next day. These are certainly places to reflect on the dreadful human outcomes of conflict, and you cannot help but be touched by the sight of so many headstones each representing a life not lived nearly long enough, but for me they do little to really impress the horrors and ultimate futility of wars. We lunched at the second of these cemeteries perched on the top of a hill and in a farmyard, and alongside the road outside the cemetery grew a fine crop of wild Japanese raspberries upon which we gorged ourselves. Clearly our adversary the rain was little impressed by this gluttony, and so decided to send itself down upon us.

We rode a little in the heavy rain after which time it eased but did not entirely go away. We still had another 20 Km to ride, with a stop along the Somme River to visit the remains of some WW1 trenches before pedalling into Peronne to meet the barge. We reached the trenches about 6 kilometres from Peronne a little damp but relatively unscathed and in good spirits, which of course is a cue for more rain, this time heavy and incessant. For some reason, rather than take shelter under trees, some of our number decided it was sensible to push on through the rain. Not a popular decision with Jakob, who was struggling to contact the boat to confirm its location, and would have preferred us to stay put until things were clearer. But our new leaders (Jakob fell back sulkily into the pack) fearlessly and with no regard for personal safety pushed on towards Peronne. I think that perhaps they may have been infected by a germ of WW1 strategising which they picked up from the trenches. Needless to say, their policy of unrelenting advance was a bad one. We reached Peronne totally drenched (and let me tell you wet bike shorts are very uncomfortable), only to be greeted with the news that the barge had been badly delayed getting through congested locks, and would not be ready to meet us for two hours, and to make matters worse, opening hours for the locks meant that at best it could meet us 6 Km out of town, almost exactly where we had just ridden from. Had we waited, we could have pedalled the other way and met the boat a lot earlier. Instead we had to kill time soaked in Peronne and then pedal back 6 Km to the boat. Needless to say tempers were frayed, and not surprisingly, those most perturbed were the perpetrators of the dash to Peronne, and poor Jakob the guide was painted as the villain. Beth and I were mildly amused by the whole episode.

29/8 Resting in Peronne

Our boat set sail the next morning as soon as the locks opened to deliver us into Peronne for our rest day by 9:00. Most of the Australians on the tour were taking a taxi out to Villers-Bretonneux to visit the Australian war cemetery nearby, and this would occupy their whole day. We decided not to do this, but instead to wander around Peronne and catch up on some laundry. Peronne is a lovely place, but more touristy than anything we had seen for a little while. The tourist demographic here is really those interested in WW1 history. We visited the museum, which was quite interesting and totally WW1 focused. We are simple folk and get quite excited when we find a laundromat (Laverie in these parts) and successfully get all our clothes clean, so we returned to the boat in high spirits. This evening our chef on the boat has his day off, so we all walk into town to eat together at a restaurant recommended by Jakob. For €20.50 we ate the most magnificent meal. Jakob has certainly worked minor miracles when it comes to keeping us fed on the road.

30/8 Peronne to Noyon

After our rest day we have all forgotten our trying ride into Peronne and enthusiasm abounds. Even our 90 year old who has proven to be a testy little chap not generally satisfied with many things, is quite chirpy (Beth has decided that there is some alignment between grumpiness and longevity. Being good all your life I thinks qualifies you for heaven, but I think that the grim reaper puts off collection of all those good souls which are grumpy for the sake of harmony).

Our destination today is Noyon. Hands up those of you who know anything about Noyon. I hope not too many hands went up, because mine would not have before this trip. I turns out that Noyon is an incredibly important place in European history. It is the place where Charlemagne was crowned king of the Franks, and is also the birthplace and early home of John Calvin, a leader, along with Martin Luther in the Protestant Reformation of the 16th Century, which in short sought to reduce the unseemly obsession with wealth and indulgence which seemed in large part to define the Roman Catholic Church of the time and to shift the focus towards a more simple Christian faith which required no gold.

Apart from its famous sons, Noyon has evolved from an ancient Roman settlement and is really interesting. of course it has a Cathedral (the one where Charlemagne was crowned in 768), but also remains of the original Roman ramparts, and some wonderfully old buildings in the city centre. Sadly Noyon has been ravaged by wars, and much of its glorious history has been reduced to rubble, particularly in the two World Wars. The casual visitor could be forgiven for assuming Noyon to be just another little French village with an impressive albeit battle scarred Cathedral.

Our cycle to Noyon starts to give us an appreciation of the things most valued by French rural folk. Jakob's knack for finding good coffee stops is severely challenged in these parts and we are forced to resort to the Tabacs, which are the only things which seem to be open. As the name suggests, the clear focus of these establishments is supply of Tobacco, but some also do coffee (only one way - black, strong and in tiny cups - no need to bother asking for anything else), most sell adult movies, and often there are other blokey, redneck sort of things for sale, sometimes there may be one or two women's magazines or children's books available (generally on the same shelf as the porn). Very occasionally we have been able to get a little milk in these establishments to tone down the coffee, but generally you are seen to be a pansy if you need milk, so it is not forthcoming.

Toilets generally in this area of France have also been an education, particularly for women. For men there is generally the traditional urinal, but strangely this is almost invariably placed in the common area of the toilets where there is a shared wash basin, so for women to get to their toilet, they must walk past the often in-use men's facility first. Once inside the cubicle, the adventure is rarely over, and there have been some interesting toilet configurations to contend with, the most challenging being the floor level squatting toilets. Despite them being challenging, toilets have provided us with hours of entertainment during our trip.

31/8 Noyon to Compiegne

The weather has finally started to improve for us as we head closer to Paris. Riding is more pleasant, but the towns are getting a little bigger and there is more riding on roads and contending with cars which is at times challenging, particularly given the proclivity of the French authorities to put stop signs in the strangest of places. Our friend Keith, the 90 year old has been (begrudgingly) upgraded to an electric bike after several days struggling to keep up on the hills, which is a blessing to the group because we can now all travel together at a reasonable pace, but it is very stressful for those cycling near Keith, because now he can sail through red lights and stop signs at speed. Any attempt to suggest that he may be riding dangerously is quickly howled down. "I've been doing this for 40 years, and I don't need any young whipper snapper to tell me blah blah blah". We have now all given up and just wince when he approaches traffic. This man will not die of natural causes, I am convinced.

The ride from Noyon to Compiegne is very pleasant and takes us through forests and some very nice little French villages with stone buildings and cobbled lanes. All very pretty. It also involves a few hill climbs which test some, but the climbing muscles Beth and I have honed in the alps hold us in good stead here and we (particularly Beth) manage to be quite impressive.

A very interesting stopover (and lunching place) on the way to Compiegne is the armistice place. Hands up again those who know where the WW1 armistice was signed in 1918. For those with their hands still down, it was signed in a forest clearing somewhere near Compiegne where two local supply trains met. The German armistice contingent was on one train, and the allies were on the other. For three days these trains sat in the clearing whilst the terms of the armistice were thrashed out and finally signed in the ceremonial carriage of the allies train. A large commemorative plaque was later installed along with a statue of Marshall Ferdinand Foch, the French military leader who led an unrelenting allied team negotiating terms of the armistice. You probably already know that one of Hitler's key motivators was what he saw as unjust reparations forced on the Germans after WW1, and so in a nasty twist (in which I imagine he took great pleasure) after Germany took control of the French northern territories during WW2, he forced the French to sign an armistice in the same carriage in the same place, and then promptly ordered the whole site demolished.

The original armistice plaques have now been restored and a carriage identical to the one in which the armistice was signed is now in place at the site (unfortunately the original carriage did not survive the war), and there is a lovely little garden and museum, all basically in the middle of nowhere. This was an immensely interesting place to visit, and another intriguing bit of European history that I have learnt.

Compiegne is a beautiful little town which is home to a chateau built for Louis XIV and restored by Napoleon. It is a beautiful building with very nice gardens. Not quite Versailles, but very impressive. Compiegne is also the place where Joan of Arc was given up to the British, who then of course had her burned at the stake as a witch. Statues of Joan abound here. The final claim to fame for Compiegne is that it is the start of the famous (to some) Paris- Roubaix cycle race, and some in our group are quite impressed to be riding on these famous cobbles. Just another very unpleasant riding surface to me, but of course I don't utter those words for fear that I might also be burned at a stake.

1/9 Compiegne - Pierrefond Castle

We spend two nights at Compiegne, but the second day is not a rest, instead we ride 20 kilometres toPierrefonds castle. The original castle on this site was built in the 12th Century but almost totally destroyed in the 15th century, and it remained a set of ruins until the mid 19th century when someone decided to rebuild it. It seems that the brief was to rebuild as close as possible to the original, but it appears that the architect responsible was more in the" loosely based on fact" mould. The castle now standing is very beatiful and impressive, but apparently not quite identical to the original.

The cycle to Pierrefond is very beautiful and includes more of those hills and beatiful villages that we saw yesterday. Our coffee stop in the morning at the town of Vieux-Moulin was particularly delightful. We cycled through the streets of this beautiful little town (said to be a favourite place of Marie Antoinette) looking for a cafe, but alas nothing was open. Finally Jakob pulled up in front of the closed Auberge Du Daguet (a very fine looking establishment), and instructed us to wait there. He then disappeared around the corner. With Jakob, this often means he is taking a toilet break, so we all waited patiently astride our bikes. Five minutes later Jakob returns with the news that he has negotiated coffee in the restaurant. It turns out that he found the aged owner in his garden and convinced him that he needed to make us coffee. So here were we sitting in a swank restaurant being served coffee at €2 a cup by a old man in gumboots and gardening clothes. The old man was struggling with the coffee machine, so he went and woke up his son to come and help, which he did in good humour. The son we found out later is a superb chef. I am sure he found it amusing to be serving coffee at little return to some bedraggled bike riders off the street. You can never quite tell fact from fiction in these places, but evidently the room we drank our coffee in was often frequented by Marie Antoinette. The small chapel over the road was also evidently Marie's regular place of worship (when she was in the area presumably). Jakob had worked his miracles again, I think it may be Dutch bravado that helps.

2/9 Compiegne to Creil

We are now in the home stretch with Paris only a couple of days away. Our ride today takes us to Creil and involves more roads and more traffic. The towns are also getting bigger and more industrial and are starting to blend into each other. There are still pretty little town, but it is clear that we are getting closer to the big smoke.

Jakob has promised us again that three is not much to see in Creil, it is another town of nothing. We ignore him though and go exploring with some of our shipmates and discover that there is plenty to see, it is just not all pretty. Interesting though, and we enjoyed our wander through a rough and ready, authentic French town.

3/9 Creil to Auvers

Today's ride takes us to Auvers, the final home and resting place of Vincent Van Gogh. But before we go there we have a detour to the incredibly beautiful Chantilly Castle. This is an amazing place. It was bequeathed to the people of France on the death of its owner the Duc D'Aumale in 1897 on the condition that it remain exactly as it was when he died, and it appears that that condition has been largely met. Furniture is still in place, an incredible collection of painting adorns the walls (said to be the finest collection outside of the Louvre), and even the library is still full of the books collected by the Duc. The building itself is absolutely beautiful, but the gardens are also sensational and huge.

Chantilly is the centre of the world for French polo devotees, and while we were there they were preparing to host the European championships the next week, so the place was a hive of activity as everything was being trimmed and tidied. Sadly we only had a couple of hours to spend at Chantilly when we could have spent days.

You may be sick of coffee stop stories, but I must share this last one. On the way to Chantilly as we were cycling down a delightful country road with polo fields on either side, Jakob bought us to a halt on a bend and again ordered us to wait there. "There" was a car park full of fancy cars outside of a pretty flash looking stable. Jakob wandered back after a few minutes and whistled us in. Coffee this morning was to be taken at the Chantilly Polo Club. Luckily there didn't seem to be too many members present and we didn't look terribly out of place.

A huge day was topped off by wandering through the delightful village of Auvers and out to Vincent's final resting place. Van Gogh only spent three months here, but they were the most prolific of his life and produced some of his most admired works. It is also the place where he took his life as lovers often do (but I could have told him "Vincent, this world was never meant for one as beautiful as you"). There is something special about wandering the same streets as this great artist and seeing the same sights which he transformed into beautiful paintings.

4/9 Auvers to Bougival

Today is our last day of riding, because tomorrow we will sail into Paris (much safer Jakob assures us than cycling), the cycling is mostly along the River, but again traffic is difficult to avoid. The riding is nonetheless pleasant, but unexceptional. Even the coffee stop was a bit Ho-hum. So to spice up our day Jakob offer the opportunity to visit the old Chateau at St Germain en Laye, which offers beautiful views of Paris, the only problem was that a steep climb was necessary. About half of us chose to go and be others went directly to the boat.

The ride up the hill was indeed steep and was made quite interesting by major roadworks which had the effect of mixing us quite tightly with unhappy delayed French drivers. Despite this we made it to the top and found Jakob true to his word. This was a beautiful place. Unfortunately the day was quite hazy and the views were not quite what get could be, but we still enjoyed it.

5/9 Bougival to Paris

Without a doubt the best way to enter Paris is by boat. Even though yesterday's smog has stayed with us today it is amazing floating down the Seine and seeing all the glory of Paris laid out before you. I have done Seine River cruises before, and they have been great, but to be entering the city via the River, on a small boat and in good company is a very special feeling which I will long remember. Strangely though (because I love Paris), once we were off the boat and wandering the streets I couldn't wait to leave this city. Paris as a destination is magic. Paris as a transit stop is a grubby, creaking and crumbling monster smelling of urine at every corner and infested by low lifes. Funny how the same place can wear a different set of clothes depending on circumstances. Despite my lack of joy at being in Paris, we managed to do some sightseeing and to visit the L'Oragerie of the Tuilleres museum which houses Monet's famous water lilies. This is something that Beth has wanted to see for a long time but we have never quite got around to it. It was well worthwhile.

I have not spoken much of our shipmates on this trip. One of them is a talented artist, who drew some clever caricatures while we were on the boat. I said of his picture of me that as a caricaturist he had been too kind, and he said it always worried him that the subjects of his pictures might be upset by what really is the truth, so he tended to be cautious. My word caricatures of our shipmates would not be too kind, so I think that best I leave those alone. We were a diverse lot, and although we were worlds apart we got along OK and Beth and I enjoyed the challenge of dealing with other people at close quarters for a change after just having each other for so long. Some of us exchanged details, and Beth and I fully intend catching up with two couples from Perth who we got along well with on the trip.

From Paris we head to Austria where we meet up with a close friend of Beth's and her daughter to gowalking in the Dachstein alps. It will be good to discard the cycle pants and pull on walking boots again.