Why the Scots emigrate...

As Nic alluded to in the previous post the weather in Britain has been a bit dismal. Since arriving back in Britain in mid July – over a month ago,I can count the number of days without rain on one hand. They also seem to all occur when we have arranged to have a roof over our heads. Due to the weather we have enjoyed a couple of B+Bs as well as the hospitality of the Brooke friends and family. We had already imposed on Nic's uncles back in April (when the English spring was full of sunny promise and forecasters making rash statements such as “it will be BBQ summer”).

Both sets of Brookes (pictured) had made us very welcome as have the Davisons and Goodwins in Suffolk, Nic's gran in Derby, the Harris seniors in Yorkshire as well as the Harris juniors in Kendall. It is so nice to be saved from the rain and the uncertainties of travelling by friendly faces, real towels, warm dinners and a bed. We are currently staying with (and being spoilt by) the Nixons in Knutsford and are steeling ourselves to face the elements tomorrow when we head out along the North Wales coast to catch a ferry from Holyhead to Dublin.

Scotland was very interesting, beautiful and the countryside did suit the weather we saw it in. We had both really wanted to go as have (distant) family connections to the area. Edinburgh was a great city. Exploring the castle we heard a piper on the battlements as well as a kilt clad wedding in the chapel there. Holyrood park is an amazing bit of wilderness in the city and we climbed Arthur's seat before walking past the very interesting and new building of the Scottish parliament and visiting the museum.

Fort William was our next fixed destination. The ride up into the Highlands was dramatic passing through deserted moorlands with banks of heather growing, rivers and multiple views of Bens as we travelled through the Glens. For some of the ride we were able to follow a cycle route along an old railway with amazing views of the valley and some of the steepest hair pins I have seen (not sure how the trains did these!)

We rode through Glencoe, site of the massacre in the days of the Jacobite uprisings. Joining National trust while in Yorkshire has been a good move as the site in Glencoe was Scottish National trust and we also got into Brodwick castle on Arran. We had hoped to get a roof to stay under in Fort William but had not appreciated the popularity of this destination and were lucky to get a campsite. Our stay in a studio apartment in Edinburgh for three nights had somewhat compensated for this.

Our campsite in Fort William was at the foot of Ben Nevis. After cycling 80km to get there the next day we ignored the required gear lists for climbing Britain's highest peak and went up experiencing four seasons in one day with rain, low cloud, wind and brilliant sunshine. Beautiful views of the loch after nearly 3 hours climbing. The mountain biking near Fort William the following day was a less successful day out as I was a little tired and sore and decided that I had had enough after doing the World cup trail (still ended up having cycled for over 2 hours that day). Brief light showers every day in the Highlands although I think this helped keep the midges at bay.

We left Fort William to cycle down to Oban and across to Tiree (where Nic's great grand father emigrated from). The ferry ride across gave us some fantastic view of Mull. Tiree not being very big had one campground at which for the very first time in our months of camping we were turned away as they were full! A bit disappointing however it meant we got free camping on a little beach with sheep and a few other free campers to keep us company – in the rain. True to form as we had booked a B+B in Oban for our return, the weather the next day was blue skies and a brisk breeze giving us nice evening to stroll the Oban waterfront.

Heading south hoping to leave the rain behind us we cycled down the Kintyre penninsula then ferry hopped across to Arran back to the mainland. We were guided by a Scottish cyclist we had met on the ferry through the urban areas of Ardrossan and had a surprisingly enjoyable ride through the county of Dumfries and Galloway with quiet roads, rivers and forest lining the way. Four days after leaving Oban we got to Carlisle in rain and were advised at the tourist office, where we went to find a B+B, that we were making a sensible decision to ditch the tent as there were severe weather warnings!

This did not stop us setting out the next day in a gale towards Keswick where we were meeting Garth (one of Nic's NZ friends) in an hostel. There is nothing more dispiriting for a cyclist who has just climbed up a hill that from a distance had looked vertical (and up close certainly felt that steep) to reach the crest hoping for a coast downhill only to almost get blown backwards reducing the downhill speed to less than 10km/hour. It was a slow trip and I think has killed our camera.

We can understand why so many Scots emigrated – there is only so much rain a person can take.

A sort of homecoming

I'd never seem a customs officer look flummoxed before, but now have. The outcome most likely of two New Zealander's entering Britain for the third time in six months, still saying they didn't want to work, and in this case with one of them having been born less than 30 km from Harwich, our port of entry. The always thorough questioning of British customs lasted long enough that cars behind us in the queue switched lanes to avoid us, but eventually we were (last) through and out on to the roads of south east england in cool but gloriously sunny conditions.

The first couple of hours riding back in Britain provided immediate confirmation of the rules of thumb we'd developed during our two days riding to the ferry during April: A roads won't kill you (probably), but aren't that pleasant; and English country lanes make glorious cycle paths.

Three hours after we left the ferry we had managed to fit in a decent English breakfast, the aforementioned A roads and lanes, navigation the wrong way through Colchester's one way system, and were knocking on the door of Lyndsay and Geoff, the first of many old friends and family members imposed upon to shelter us during our travels (thanks again to Marilyn and Steve, Gran, and Pete and Bar also). The many roofs along our way have been most welcome, particularly since our arrival back in Britain has disavowed us of our hopes of having three summers in a row... Without going into (cursing and swearing) details, the British summer weather has been all it is cracked up to be.

Fortunately, other aspects of being back in England made up for the weather. Obviously the chance to visit old friends and family was a huge bonus for me in particular, especially as everyone has made us feel so welcome. It has also been nice being back in a land where everyday conversations are not a test of intellect and stubbornness. The advantages of being in an English speaking country extend also to making visits to museums, castles, and other attractions that bit more rewarding as well. The beauty and variety of the English countryside and accompanying villages has also been wonderful for us to cycle through. And of course, I couldn't end this paragraph without noting that we are now back in the land of real, hand pulled ale!

For reasons we're not 100% sure of we have been visiting a lot more “tourist attractions” since returning to England.

From our first two destinations we visited Colchester and Hedingham Castles, both of which are Norman keeps – Hedingham Castle containing a very impressive Norman arch.

In Cambridge we stopped by the Fitzwilliam museum (which kept us busy for hours, particularly the great Darwin exhibit) and admired the various colleges from the backs. We've paid homage to Jane Austin with visits to the stately homes of Burghley and Chatsworth (where I got to splash in the same fountain I used to as a child!). We've also seen magnificent and contrasting cathedrals at York, Ripon, and Durham. An especially meaningful visit was made to the less dramatic but equally wonderful Edwardstone church where the graves of my father and brother are. Probably the nicest things we've done in England though have been simple countryside walks, whether through the grand grounds of Harewood House or the modest lanes of Suffolk.

On a couple of occasions in England the world has felt very small. The day after we arrived back we were getting towards the end of our visit to the Colchester museum when a voice said “Rowan?” simultaneously with me turning and thinking “is that Mel Abbott?” - which of course it was. Later, while in York, we were walking towards the Minster when we stumbled upon Seosamh Costello, an old work colleague of mine. In a country of 60 million plus the coincidences of being in the same place at the same time as someone from halfway round the world is a bit too much to comprehend.

Our most recent departure from England was over the land border into Scotland near Berwick on Tweed. The riding leading up to this crossing had been, for me, one of the most anticipated parts of the trip – the Coast and Castles cycle route up the Northumberland coastline. Upon mentioning this plan to various people the response was universally “oh, that coast is really stunning” - so universally that I was a little nervous heading into it that my expectations were too high. Suffice to say they were met and possibly exceeded, with stunning coastal vistas added to by spectacular ruined (Dunstaburgh) and complete (Bamburgh) castles and the myth shrouded isle of Lindisfarne. Without doubt one of the most amazing routes I have travelled.

I can't conclude this entry without mentioning Newcastle. We weren't there long enough (about an hour) to determine if it was an all round great city or not, and only saw the obviously stunning Angel of the North from a distance, but from a structural engineers point of view it was sheer heaven. From one point (actually many points) the number of spectacular bridges visible was almost overwhelming. It was particularly special to ride across the Gateshead Millenium “tipping” bridge – for more explanation try google.

Next stop Edinburgh, and a whole different blog entry.

The lowlands

Crossing into Belgium was uneventful, as Nic has said, the only signage being to advise of French speed limits. There was more notification on the England to Scotland border that we recently crossed.

In Belgium we spent 2 nights at Bruges allowing us a day to the explore the city. Our campsite neighbours (in a very flowery tent) just happened to be a young couple (pictured below), recently engaged who initially greeted us with Flemish and after drawing a very blank look switched to flawless English in which we proceeded to discuss things including the themes of Whale rider and Once were Warriors. Again our unilingualism was embarrassing.

Karin just happened to a Dutch junior doctor and her fiancee, Jerven, from Belgium was finishing a PhD (in history not engineering though) so we had a lot in common and had a great couple of nights chatting.

Belgium as a country confused us with its language line between the French and Flemish speaking parts and with the divisions these languages have caused within the country since WWI when officers were French speaking, soldiers were Flemish speaking, leading to major communication breakdowns. Having dinner with the history PhD was very useful in helping to understand this, although coming from a country whose borders are so clearly defined by oceans we still struggle to understand why the French part of Belgium doesn't just join France...... or Luxemburg.

Belgium was not the best country for cycling. Although pretty much flat, (we rode over the side of one of their famous mountains, Kemmelberg, on the first day - all 156m of it), the roads and cycle paths are made of concrete leading to a wonderful judder bar effect every 20m or so. Some of the cycle paths were not great but drivers objected if we tried to use the road so we didn't particularly enjoy it. Nic also did not much like navigating off the maps we bought having ditched our trusty France road map.

The cities of Belgium however were beautiful – particularly Ghent(left) and Bruges (below). Lots of canals and beautiful old stone buildings. We also being the cultured couple we are, loved the very reasonably priced Belgium beers. Considering the heat (30 degrees plus), we were experiencing in Belgium we found many an excuse for these! Our last night in Belgium had us in a campground that was a bit of a mission to find but pretty amazing. Situated in the old grounds of an abbey with the toilet block built against the old wal, (and a bar on site),l we had a very pleasant evening.

Moving into the Netherlands, we were less impressed with the campsites, encountering for the first time in over 40 nights of camping, pay as you go showers in 2 out of the 3 campgrounds we stayed in. Again adopted by a Dutch couple who introduced us to Stroopwaffels, (the best bike food ever – biscuits with gooey caramel in between), we managed to confuse them and ourselves trying to figure out a scenic route to Amsterdam. Eventually we were advised that if we wanted to see Holland then we had to see Kinderdyke – where the windmills are. We duly visited windmills and I was impressed by the level of engineering completed in 1750s. Now all replaced by one big electric pump. The fact that a large proportion of the Netherlands would be under water was brought home that night when our campsite ended up being on the about 3m below and near the edge of a lake – in the rain. Approaching this campsite I, then Nic, were overtaken by a pink bag carrying ~ eleven year old girl on a bike who was racing home from approaching rain. It says something about the size of our bags and this nation of cyclists as I like to think we aren't that slow after 2 months on the bikes! We got caught in this thunderstorm but got some shelter under a petrol station.Above is an example of a house (one of many) with a real drawbridge!

While staying with our mothers at the gite in France we had been told by Gabriella one of the owners to get in touch with her son who lives in Amsterdam. Hesitant to take up a slightly secondhand offer of accommodation (although I guess I offer my parent's house up all the time), we were much reassured when her son, Guillaume, contacted us via the blog and repeated the offer. We were incredibly grateful to be heading for a roof considering how the weather had changed to what was considered to be more typical of the area and reminiscent of home, (rain on and off). Guillaume met us at his apartment that he shared with his girlfriend and introduced us to Dutch stairs (about as vertical as possible without requiring the use of all fours)– 5 flights of them.

Their apartment was right in the centre of Amsterdam, a couple of blocks from Anne Frank's house. I insisted on standing in the rain to visit Anne Frank's house and was surprised by the size of it. Very interesting display on human rights and how certain rights are causing conflict when they are denied for well intentioned reasons particularly the freedom of speech (eg. Denying the holocaust) or freedom of religious expression (banning of Muslim headscarves in French schools). We went onto visit the Rijk's museum which despite being partially closed had enough Rembrandt's and Vermeer's for us. In Amsterdam we were incredibly well fed with French food and look forward to repaying the hospitality shown someday when they get to NZ.

Leaving Amsterdam we had a relatively long cycle to the Hook of Holland to catch the overnight ferry to Suffolk. After ~95km ride along the canals then the first hills we found in the Netherlands – sand dunes on the North sea bike route(below), we got to the ferry building at 4pm and were glad to find out that we had got the last cabin available. Being us we hadn't bothered booking (had had no problems in April with this when we came over although it had crossed our minds July might be busier). Unfortunately for our wallets but much to my delight this last cabin was the premium cabin with much needed ensuite shower and an INCLUSIVE minibar. We had a very pleasant crossing.....

The photo (right) is of me riding onto the ferry very excited as had finally got another passport stamp - only one since catching the ferry over! (Despite looking for the tourist office of Lichenstein).

And the judges votes are in

We recently crossed from France into Belgium, an event marked with not even a notifying sign. It seems Europe really doesn't have borders anymore. During the roughly two months we spent in France we must have stayed in something like 40 different campsites. Unsurprisingly, the quality of these campsites varied quite considerably. The purpose of this post is to describe those that were outstandingly good, and also those that were outstandingly bad.

There is no scientific methodology or objective rationale behind my judgements. The French have a star rating system for campsites, but this has very little relationship to the actual quality of a campsite. The reason for this is that it is based on such things as the presence or absence of lit pathways and pretty flowerbeds rather than on whether the campsite gives you toilet paper or cleans their showers regularly...

Instead, the list below is based only on the experience we had at the places listed. In no particular order:

The worst

Toulouse

See Rowan's post for information about the Frenchmen who were overly proud of their endowment and thought everyone else might be interested too. Noisy, dirty, not particularly safe feeling. Mae bearable by the wonderful Dutch couple we met there.

Orange

Not actually a particularly bad campsite – it had a nice pool on a scorchingly hot day, some nice people to talk to, and a nice grassy pitch for our tents (we stayed here with Michael as well). The problem was the place was gougingly and unjustifiably expensive. As in 30 euro for the night. Even when accounting for the extra person, this seemed too much compared to our average of about 14 euro. The method of calculating the price was particularly aggravating. First charge for the pitch. Fine, the ground needs to be rented. Then charge per person. Also fine, we each put a demand on the (not very clean) facilities. Then charge per tent. Say what? How can it be justifiably more expensive for us to use two small tents rather than one large one???

Arras/ Plouvain/ La Rochefoucauld

The common feature of these three campsites was that they each made us ride 10-20 km further at a time when we really didn't have the energy. For Arras this was because the campsite no longer existed. For the other two, the general feel of the campsites was just not nice - “travellers” or white trash seemed to comprise a significant proportion of the inhabitants, and we were keeping an eye on our wallets just at the front entrance. The bright side of the story is that in all cases we eventually got to very pleasant campsites, just slightly more knackered than was planned.

Bayeux

Our first night in France. Probably not a bad campsite really, but minimal sleep the night before and a very cold day meant we were pretty low on energy. Got the tent pitched in dry,pleasant conditions then went for a trip to see the tapestry, during which it started raining. This lead to a very trying evening cooking dinner in the dish washing area (only available cover), scuttling around trying to stay reasonably dry, and most importantly working out how to keep all our gear dry without getting water into the tent. Questions were asked about why the hell we were doing this for pleasure!

The Best

St Martin d'Aubigny

Our second night camping and almost a disaster due to a complete lack of water in the taps. Once that was sorted this became a great spot. Less like a campsite and more like a small field where we were allowed to stay. Completely empty except for us and just really nice to be at.

St Martin Lalande

The end of a long hot day, and absolutely stunning. Views from the shower blocks to the Pyrenees, and completely deserted except for the two French cyclists who showed us where it was. We almost started planning our route by looking for St Martin's!

Beauvoir en Royans

As close to perfect as we've found – cheap, great grass to pitch tents on and rest on, located high above a river valley for stunning sunset views, and set within the remains of a ruined chateau. Hence right next to the campsite we had photo ops like this!

The Western Front

Our first introduction to WWI was in Verdun, a city that's name was synonymous with death for many French and German soldiers and that was fiercely defended by the French from hill tops. We had a brief slightly disneylandish trip on a tram through a presentation in the tunnels of the citadel (the old French base). We left the city and cycled about 55km past the old forts and forests full of craters. Multiple monuments for villages wiped off the map, an ossory containing the bones of unidentified men, the trench of bayonets – bayonets protruding from soil belonging to similarly buried men. The distance we covered that day was not a lot but we were emotionally exhausted yet Nic still had to change his worn out disc brake pads.

Further up the Western front we entered the champagne region and had 2 nights of luxury with clean sheets, real (not light weight, ineffectual, pack) towels and free WIFI in a 2 star hotel in the centre of Reims. I was very glad we made the call to go with the above and not cycle a further 30km to the nearest camping. I don't think we would have been very pleasant to each other if we had done this as we had already done ~90km.

Back-to-back champagne house tours and a nice meal out were fantastic. Downside was we left Reims with rain after days of blue skies and high humidity threatening. We cycled the morning through the champagne region having stopped for coffee and had our photos taken by the barman (don't think he sees many kiwis in lycra). Thunderstorm hit at lunchtime. After 40minutes of cowering in the porch of the village hall, we set out to become saturated within 3 minutes. We do wonder about the conductivity of bikes when fully drenched on pools of water....

The campsite we arrived at ~50km later didn't seem to know what rain we were talking about and we quite happily dried ourselves out by the duckpond of one of the largest but cheaper campsites full of Poms in their cabins and pre-pitched tents that we hardly saw from our little pond.

Further North in France we stayed in Peronne visiting a fantastic museum that finally helped me understand why WWI happened although it also led to a much bigger WHY? Still can't understand how so many kiwis died because England was trying to help France and to keep the German empire in check. In Peronne we were spoilt by our Dutch neighbours who were returning from 2 months holidaying in Spain and kindly gave us packets of soup as well as giving us Spainish wine and Dutch meatloaf. It was rather a late night after we also got into our cheap sparkling wine.

The NZ memorial was on our list of places to go. Mentioned in 1 sentence in Lonely Planet that merely gave the directions (2km North of Longueval). We stopped by the South African memorial, large placed in the middle of a park and woods. It also had a museum that included a brief summary of SA politics and race relations. The NZ memorial was a single column up a small farm road past piles of manure. I left my poppies picked from the side of the road on it next to other poppies that had faded and turned the white stone red. I don't need to worry about NZ glorifying war. Straight from the memorial we went to Caterpillar cemetery where a lot of New Zealanders were buried. I find it amazing how sad these places are 90 years on. I also find it chilling what is meant by the difference in the inscriptions; Here lies a New Zealand soldier known unto God compared to; Here lies a soldier (?German ?French ?English) of the Great War known unto God. Who were the people who buried the bodies who had to look for some remnant that might give a clue to identity?

I was in tears at this cemetery when a Scottish family of 3 generations arrived. The grandfather was on a search to find the grave of an uncle of his who had immigrated to Otago and then gone to serve as a New Zealander. His daughter-in-law said it was something he had always wanted to do – I hope they were successful. The Commonwealth War cemeteries organisation does very well maintaining these lasting memorials to the futility of war but helping people honour those who sacrificed so much.

Continuing from Northern France and into Flander's fields, Belgium we passed graveyard after graveyard interspersed with potato and wheat fields. I kept remembering poetry I had learnt in intermediate school including this by Roger Mercy (I think this is right – Mum correct this if not!)

In the morning and with setting of the sun we will remember them
But their names are just ordinary names
And their causes are thigh bones
Tugged excitedly from the soil
By French children
On picnics

The Canadian memorial we cycled past on our last full day in France. The museum was staffed by Canadian students (great idea to young people involved in such old memorials) who gave guided tours (our 80km days cycle meant we decided against this). The memorial itself was huge and we were quickly informed we were not allowed to ride our bikes around it and the 1.2km walk in cycle shoes put us off. It was rather big and grand. The Indian memorial was smaller and beautiful with its red roses against white stone.

All the memorials however do not compare to the fields of grave stones that we saw and are all that remain of a generation of young men.

Natzweiler-Struthoff and the Alsace

Heading into the Alsace wine region gave us a pretty and nicely undulating couple of days ride through vineyards and little villages, however my main motivation for wanting to head this way was a wish to visit France's only concentration camp from when the country was under the Nazi regime. I think it is strange wanting to visit and the fact that this concentration camp has been preserved as a museum. Why do people come to see a place which commemorates the cruelty we are capable of? It seems so macabre and almost disrespectful to make it a tourist outing. Yet I think it is very important we remember for the sake of those who died and I want to say to prevent such atrocities – yet it still happens...

We based ourselves in one of the route de vin villages called Obernai. Lovely camping (and cheap) with free WIFI. The concentration camp was a ~50km cycle from the camping that we set out to under blue skies. The 800m climb to the site over 10km was suitably arduous despite our bikes being unloaded. The Natzweiler-Struthoff site was specifically chosen for the location of pink granite nearby that was quarried by the internees. We cycled past the entrance to the quarry with a sign (in French) asking people to not picnic, play games etc. in order to respect the memory of those who died there. We watched with interest the campervan with a D numberplate (all European vechiles have a letter indicating their nationality ie. F for French, NL for Dutch - fun to use to figure out neighbours at the campsite), pull up and have their lunch. Maybe the sign needed translating.

The site had a large new museum in an ominous black bunker shaped building that gave a description of the other concentration camps with the history of each camp. There was a further display on the development of WWII and the Nazis which we read through the crowds of French and German school kids. All very interesting. What I found most dramatic and poignant was the actual site. Built onto terraces in the steep slope were slate grey huts contrasting sharply against the bright green grass and blue skies. Only 4 huts have been preserved with further displays trying to illustrate what life was like in the camp. There were also solitary confinement cells, crematorium and ash pit. The French have a lot of memorials to their resistance fighters. Concentration camps I always associate with the persecution of the Jews. This camp seems to have held mainly political prisoners and resistance fighters that I forget were also tortured out of personhood with shaved heads, numbers for names, cruelty and death.

At 3pm we left the museum having yet to have lunch and a further 30km to cycle back. Both of us felt we needed to get away from the site before we were able to eat - a funny reaction since by the museum it seemed like it was ok to eat yet I couldn't bring myself to fill my belly in sight of those huts.

We finished our stay in Obernai with a day trip (by train) to Strasbourg with a wander to the EU parliament site (not that impressive – fits with what Lonely Planet describes as an “ineffectual”government). We had a large meal out with me ordering what I thought was the full portion of sauerkraut (my thighs needed the energy after the previous days climb). 4 sausages, a chunk of ham and pate with a large plate of cabbage later, I was glad to realise I had been given the half portion.

Onwards to from Alsace we headed to Lorraine and more remnants of wars.

Ride, ride, ride your bike

Gently down the Rhine!

Due to our unscheduled detour across Switzerland, our previously planned cycle route through the Swiss Jura to Basel and then back into France was thrown out the window. Not a huge issue, the mountains in our way hadn't sounded too appealing anyway. Instead, the most obvious path for us to take was the Rhine. All the way back to Alsace, in north east France. Through Switzerland, Lichtenstein, Austria, Germany, Switzerland, and Germany again. With the obvious advantage that a river flowing to the sea generally goes downhill!

Our first day away from Chris and Anja's saw us joining the network of well signposted Swiss bike routes just round the corner, and following it through vines in the shadows of stunning mountains (yes, including the one we almost scaled the previous day) until we got to the Rhine after 10-15 km. The scale and pace of the river even so far up was very impressive.

The bike path down this part of the Rhine was like a motorway for bikes – complete with grade separated intersections, underpasses and so forth. All very pleasant, and pleasingly downhill too – a blessing since our thigh muscles were on the verge of mutiny after the rigours of climbing 1500 m the previous day.

Crossing over the Rhine via a wonderful wooden bridge, we hit the outskirts of Vaduz, the Lichtenstein capital. Pretty quickly we realised why Anja and Chris had seemed so ambivalent about the country – it really is just like Switzerland, and a fairly boring semi rural part of Switzerland at that. About the only difference was the car numberplates. After stopping to get some shopping (using Swiss Francs) we got back to the Rhine, and continued on down stream expecting to return to Switzerland.

Except we didn't. Instead we found a border crossing and entered into Austria for the next while. And then returned to Switzerland, all without any formalities or fuss. Rather disappointing in some respects.

The next day we spent most of the day on or near the shores of the Bodensee, again crossing without realising from Switzerland to Austria and back again. The only real sign of the change was realising we needed different currency for shopping. Riding along on a dead flat path in blazing sun, looking across a pretty lake to Germany – all in all a pleasant way to spend a day. We had managed to pick a German holiday weekend to ride round the most popular cycle route in Europe however, so traffic was heavy - we got caught in bike jams, and had to wait for opportune moments to pass other cyclists from time to time. Arriving early at our campsite (packed with other bikers too) we had two choices – swim or melt. Taking the obvious option we plunged into the lake, which was beautifully clear and a pleasant temperature despite coming straight from snowmelt.

Over the next few days the weather decided to gradually degrade, reaching a low point as we sat in the rain under a tree near Basel trying to cook dinner, wondering again why we were putting ourselves through this. However, in the intervening period we had stumbled across a truly stunning little town at Stein am Rhein (where we bought some of the yummiest yoghurt you could imagine), swam in the Rhine at Schaffhausen, and seen the awesome power of the Rheinfall (round some inconveniently placed restoration works). I must work harder to remember the good bits at times...

For our last day on the Rhine we tossed a coin and decided to ride on the German bank, from where we admired some of the enormous engineering works put in place to control the Rhine and make it navigable. We had planned to stay in Germany too, but the most convenient campsite was beautifully located on an island in the middle of the river. The office assured us we were in France, but it really felt like no man's land – even more so the next day which had us riding through Alsace where the place names are German, the food is Germanic, and the history has been (at times) German. But anyway, we haven't officially spent a night in Germany – sorry Heide!