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!

Climb every mountain.....

From Geneva we only had to cycle in the now steady drizzle another 40km to our campsite that night. Another lake front campsite with more cous cous cooked ala Swiss raindrops. Slept in and woke to blue skies. Suddenly (blue skies are such an amazing anti depresant I wish I could market it), everything seemed possible and we were no longer convinced our quickest route out of Switzerland was the best plan. Skyped Chris, an old friend of mine, who lives on the other side of Switzerland from Geneva. I felt a bit pathetic trying to explain that although I had finally made it to his country I was not going to be able to make it to see him, his wife, Anja, and most importantly his new baby, Malin.

Finally Nic said the “t” word (which we have kinda been avoiding as wanted to do this trip under our own steam). A train made a lot of sense and within a couple of hours we had cruised along the lakefront to Lausanne, grunted up the 12.5% gradient to the train station and were traversing across Switzerland, covering a distance our bikes would have taken 5-6 days to cover in 2 hours. Chris and Anja were amazingly welcoming considering we gave them a good 5 hours notice of our arrival in their part of the country hoping for a bed. Anja was unfortunately away the first couple of nights which gave us a good excuse to have 3 nights of luxury in their apartment with mountain views waiting for her and Malin to return.

Anyone who has seen me at work in Starship knows that I like babies and most of the children I come across. However not all babies are cute (despite what parents think). Malin is definitely one of the cute ones and at 3 months is a charmer, smiling pretty much all the time. I think she cried for maybe 1 minute while we were there. An amazing baby. Good warm up for all the babies that will be around in NZ when we get back to cluck over!

We did a bit of a mission cycle up a valley on our first day at Anja and Chris's where our bikes got to meet snow (on the side of the road but still cool that they have been in the sands of the Med and now up by Swiss Alp snow). The second day we were there we went walking with Chris – first cycling to near the base of a mountain. This was quite a different experience to walking with our mothers! Walking with Nic and Chris made me feel very short legged and I turned back short of the pass we were aiming for. It was very “airy” with vertigo inducing views, glimpses of a mountain goat and eagles. I was told that despite not making the pass I could still record in the history books (ie my diary and this blog), that I had reached 2000m. I think that was over 1km of vertical climb. My legs were destroyed for the next couple of days of cycling (seriously - getting up from our picnic rug was serious effort).

Anja had proposed raclette for dinner which is the ultimate in acceptable playing with your food at the table. Little plates under a grill for melted cheese with piles of potatoes.......Fantastic. Like leaving the gite it was quite sad saying good bye to Chris, Anja and Malin, although hopefully we will see them in NZ in the not to distant future......

Heidiland

Arriving in Geneva on a Sunday was only marred by a brief squall of rain that happened while I was in the shower. It remained threatening enough to have dinner in the washing up area but other than that camping on the shores of lake Geneva looking back at the city was pretty fantastic. After all the wine we had been having with our mothers I attempted to start “alcohol free days” which lasted until a lovely English couple in a van and awning offered us a beer. Had a very pleasant evening with Andy and Sophie from Shropshire.

Sunny start to our day in Geneva and we headed back along the lake to visit the Red Cross museum. Got distracted by the United Nations situated directly opposite and offering guided tours of the Palais de Nations. Asking the security guards about the guided tours I was quickly told that I could not go like that (lycra shorts and bike shirt – not that smelly at all as had only cycled 7km that day). I said I could put on a skirt, they said how about trousers. Never met a man who wanted me in trousers over a skirt before. Apparently it would offend the sensitive diplomats to have a lycra clad cyclist wandering their halls. Security got very friendly after we said we were from NZ and guarded our fully loaded bikes while we went on the tour. Better than our bike lock – UN security guards.

The tour of the United Nations was amazing. The almost unbelievable and unrealistic optimism that led to its establishment after WWII and to its continued existance despite the fact countries are represented there that will not recognise each other. Realised why we get on so well with the Dutch campers (nothing to do with their linguistic skills) – NZ sits right next to the Netherlands. Also enjoyed the fact that despite going on about the United Nations emblem being carefully designed so no country is in the center, NZ is at the top (actually Stewart Island is). Highlight of the tour for me was the room of the Spanish paintings installed after the Spanish civil war. Huge figures in golds, creams and tans over all the walls and ceiling symbolizing humankind's journey to achieving civilisation, the futility of war and hope for peace through continental unity. The Red Cross was a bit more awkward with bike parking – should have left them with the UN. Moving display of shrouded figures in courtyard. I hope this photo was sensitive to the human rights violitions that they represent as opposed to some guy I saw posing with his arms wrapped over the figures grinning. Interesting reading about the limitations the organisation was under trying to access concentration camps in WWII – I had always wondered if they could have done more.

Cowbells and mothers

The week we spent at the gite was a wonderful rest from the bikes. We had clean sheets, towels and access to a washing machine – very exciting. I think I put through about 5 loads in the first 24 hours. Being at the gite also gave me time to put my GP registrar application together. I posted this from Grenoble on the Wednesday during an “outing” there and am very glad to report (after spending about($25 printing the application and getting passport photos) that as the GP college have received it, La Poste is very efficient (and reasonably cheap!) as it was delivered 5 days after I posted it!

The gite was as mentioned situated rather high up in the Rhone alpes with amazing mountains and the very relaxing sound of cow bells. The scenery was very Heidi like (which I loved). As there was an important birthday to celebrate and in view of the fact my mother seems to have been hoarding various liquors in preparation for this week, this was not the most liver friendly of weeks. Fortunately we seemed to compensate with multiple long walks in the mountains. Our last night in the gite we had exquisite aperitifs with the owners of the gite who lived next door and who had been kind enough to take over the ownership of Michael's bike and the Macpac tent that we had upgraded from.

Despite a friend telling me that holidaying with our respective, in-laws-to-be was “weird”, the week was so good that we were both very sad to leave. This was not, of course, at all associated with the fact that after 1 week of blue skies and prior to this a good 2-3 weeks of rain free camping, we left the gite on the Saturday in a clear patch between drenchings, with rain filled clouds hovering...... We also had to face several cols (passes between valleys – read hard work) to get to our planned destination of Annecy that night.

A day of rest (or week)

Despite a few predictable sibling differences, cycling with Michael was fun. My little brother despite being a pretty much novice cyclist, donning his first pair of lycra shorts for this trip, lacking SPD cycling shoes that we consider pretty much essential, kept up with us (me). During the week with him we had some of our hilliest and windiest days. One day involved Nic sitting constantly in the lead doing ~14kmph with myself then Michael behind him trying to draft. My rather tall brother got some benefit from our efforts however this wind had gusts that made it feel as if our disc brakes had been suddenly applied. For the 5 days we had perfect camping weather and incredible views as we skirted the foothills of the Rhone Alpes. Our campsite prior to Grenoble was amazing. In a tiny village that we had to climb to it was in the grounds of a ruined chateau. As the sun set the ruins were lit up in tones of orange and yellow.We met up in Grenoble with Anais and Julien (above), the cycle tourists Nic had been approached by Toulouse. They took us on a tour of the city complete with glace (icecream of sorts of flavours) and beer. We were then taken back to their apartment where we were given Caprioska made by Anais' mum. They had very kindly offered to have us to stay or to do laundry there but with Michael in tow and the gite imminent we regretfully declined. Michael had given me a card promising us a dinner out in Europe for Christmas and we “cashed” it in at Grenoble at a restaurante recommended by the locals as suitable for hungry cyclists. Our initial order of an entree of 3 salads and a chacuterie platter (cold meats) plus mains that a included a raclette for the boys to share was “too much”. The waitress was right. The boys took 2 ½ hours to get through their huge chunk of raclette, a massive piece of cheese that was set up at the table under an element from which the melted cheese dripped off onto a plate that was then eaten with pototoe and cold meats. This provided immense amusement for a couple of women – one French and one Albanian. They returned the entertainment by inviting us out for a beer which we enjoyed before hopping on the tram back to the campsite. A wonderful night in Grenoble thank you to the generosity of the locals.

More complicated arrangements were in place for the following day as we wanted to meet again with my mother to offload the panniers into her car before the final push UP to the gite. Again through texting we managed to meet up fairly easily in a town just out of Grenoble. Nic had cleverly had several looks at the map and found us the route that did not climb to 1000m before dropping to 700m then climbing again. We enjoyed cycling through an amazing gorge and its tunnels. The final 4.5km up to the gite was continuous climbing including our first double chevron with a gradient of 9-13%. This felt suprisingly easy with no panniers! Nic still arrived about 10 minutes before me (and I was glad to arrive 10 mins before my brother who impressively managed the hill – the biggest of this trip).

It was an amazing feeling of relief to find Pam (Nic's mum), Mum and her travelling companion Anne all there. We had been looking forward to this time for about 1 month and it was brillant to all be there in one piece in a beautiful converted barn in a tiny alpine hamlet with all 3 parties arriving without getting lost. Nic was also very excited to be given a NZ cycle shirt from Pam, (I got kiwifruit chocolate!). Most exciting (apart from seeing family of course) were the clean towels and sheets!