Tag: Europe in a campervan

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Passing through Portugal

We have another deadline. We are pet-sitting seven dogs near Marbella on the Costa del Sol for a week in mid-December which meant a slight rearrangement to our route south and a little less time for Portugal at this stage. That said, we still had four fantastic days there.

We drove through to Porto using the toll-free roads and the moment we crossed the border from Spain to Portugal the road condition deteriorated markedly. Unlike Spain, the alternative routes in Portugal are very much second-rate compared to the motorways. The road wound through mountains with villages perched on forested slopes, then headed downhill, for what seemed like an age, before reaching the populated urban areas along the coastline leading into Porto. Porto is the second-largest city in Portugal after Lisbon with a population of 216,000 in the city, but with 2.4 million in the surrounding urban area it has a feel of a large sprawling city, and our first impression was of an obviously poorer cousin to neighbouring Spain.

Our campsite was just out of the city, directly across from the beach. It was a beautiful spot and after a day cooped up in the van I wasted no time getting out for an evening walk on the wooden promenade that ran for miles along the beach. A few surf-casters were trying their luck from the rocks and further along a group of surfers were making the most of a surf break. Bars and restaurants were dotted along the dunes, built on platforms above the sand. Many were busy with people lapping up the uninterrupted views of the setting sun. No doubt it would be teeming in summer.

We were too far out of the city to bike so the next morning we caught the bus. The bus driver obviously knew his machine well, he didn’t even hesitate before charging full steam down narrow one-lane streets, leaving pedestrians clinging to the walls of buildings and us sucking in our stomachs in a natural reaction.

A hair-raising 45 minutes ended with us safely in the centre of Porto. We took a photo of the street sign where the bus dropped us – now a habit after once spending an hour trying to find where we had parked our bikes – and headed off into town. First stop, the church of Saint Ildefonso with its typically Portuguese baroque-style architecture and blue tiled façade. From there we walked through the pedestrian area of the main shopping street Rua de Santa Catarina, all decked out for Christmas and humming with activity, down Rua Formosa to the Balhoa Markets, famous for its fresh produce, flowers and delicacies, to Avenida dos Aliados (Allies Avenue), which gets its name from the victory of the Allied Nations in World War I. Lined with ornately carved neo-classical buildings and with the stately town hall standing at the top of the avenue it was designed to be majestic and imposing, however, the buildings are run down and look like they need a good scrub. The square in front of the town hall was taped off and workers were busy putting up the Christmas tree. Tourist police outnumbered people.

Not overwhelmed at this stage, we walked up Rua dos Clérigos to the iconic Torre dos Clérigos, a baroque bell tower in the medieval centre of the Ribiero district. I go up nearly every tower I find, but Mr Love is more discerning. I persuaded him that we needed to get perspective of this city as we were not feeling it’s vibe. It was worth the 225 steps and offered a great view over the UNESCO listed medieval town built on steep slopes leading down to the Douro river, and across to the other side where the famous port cellars line the riverbank. We now had a better feel for the lay of the land and we ventured back down.

By now we were starting to get hungry and right by the tower was a small shop selling a Portuguese delicacy, Bolinhos de bacalhau. The chef was making these in the window and we were intrigued. Made from a mixture of potatoes, dried salted cod (bacalhau), eggs, parsley and onion they are shaped using two spoons, deep fried and served hot. We decided to share one between us and declined the suggestion of pairing it with a white port for the ultimate experience. It was an interesting flavour and texture and we were pleased we only opted for one.

The Bolinhos de bacalhau had whet our appitites. Time to find somewhere for lunch.  We walked down through the steep lanes of the old town, a mish-mash that seemed to have evolved without plan, getting lost a couple of times and feeling a bit sad for Porto, it’s run down and there are a lot of vacant buildings and graffiti. We made our way to a pedestrian street lined with restaurants and found a cute little café serving soup of the day. That suited us fine.

After lunch we continued our descent down to the river, stopping at the Church of São Francisco. The inside of this magnificent Baroque church appears to be covered in gold, due to the abundance of gilt-edged woodcarvings. It was well worth the modest 4 Euros for admission. Sometimes we feel we should pay more as the upkeep of these places must be huge and we get to enjoy their extraordinary beauty for a paltry sum. The catacombs next to the church were also included and these dimly lit rooms filled with the dead of Porto’s past were oddly intriguing.

Back out in the sunshine we walked along the riverbank, the vibrant Muro dos Cobertos da Riberira lined with colourful merchant houses and with restaurants spilling out over the paved walkways, to the Ponte Luis I. Built in 1886 this iron bridge was a masterpiece of engineering at the time, spanning the steep banks of the Douro at a height of 85 metres.  The upper deck is a pedestrian walkway and tramway and lower deck has footpaths alongside the roadway, we took the lower deck and walked across. The geography of Porto is quite remarkable, the steep sides to the valley means that the bridges are more like viaducts, hanging across the crevasse.

On the opposite bank from the Old Town are the port cellars. Port is from Porto, funnily enough. Only fortified wine created from grapes grown in the Douro valley can be call Port. The cellars have their names in big white letters on their roofs and we quickly identified the who’s who of port – Taylor’s, Graham’s, Ferreira, Offley, Cockburn’s, Sandeman and Calem. We were keen to see inside a cellar and decided on a tour of the oldest port cellar in Porto, Calem. The tour and tasting cost 10 Euros and was a great experience. First, we looked around the well laid out port museum before being called to the tour and taken through into the cellar, smelling divinely of wood, wax and fermentation. Our guide was enthusiastic and knowledgeable and although we both know a bit about wine and port we still learned a lot. The cellar was incredible, filled with impressive oak vats with life spans of around 150 years and some holding over 60,000 litres of port. We finished the tour with a tasting of two ports, a ruby and a white. They were more like glasses of port, not tastings, and we left feeling warm and fuzzy.

By now it was getting on and the sun was low as we caught the Funicular dos Guindais up the hill to the top deck of the Ponte Luis I. We walked slowly back across the bridge, enjoying the sweeping views over the river and old town, the coloured terraced houses glowing in the dusk and the tiled facades catching the last of the sunlight.

Back at the beach, we reflected on Porto while sitting looking out over the Atlantic from one of those bars on the sand dunes. We had taken a while to warm to this city, it’s grubbier and shabbier than we expected, but it has a vibrancy, a pulse, that made us think again.

Rabelo boat
Ponte Luis I
Merchant houses in Porto
Portuguese delicacy Bolinhos de bacalhau being made
Praia de Salgueiros

The next morning, we were off early to Coimbra. Coimbra, is just over 120km south of Porto and back in the 12th century was the country’s capital. I had read about the cultural significance of this city with its well preserved medieval old town and the historic University of Coimbra and thought adding it to our short Portuguese itinerary would be worthwhile.

We arrived at the campground at mid-day and after lunch caught a bus to town. It was a cold, grey afternoon and the wind was howling through the narrow lanes. Coimbra is built on a steep hill beside the Montego River and, much like Porto, to see the town requires walking up hills and stairs.

Behind the Almendina Arch, the original gateway to the old city, we found a small museum tucked away. The door was shut, and we hesitated, thinking it was most likely closed, but inside we were warmly welcomed by the curator who gave us a personal tour of his museum recounting the history of the defensive walls that once surrounded Coimbra and the power struggle between the Islamic Moors and the Christians. The Almedina Arch that we first walked through is a relic of the Moorish town walls, in Arabic medina means town. The museum is inside the 12th century Torre de Anto, a tower built above the arch providing an elevated view over rooftops of Coimbra’s historic centre.

Understanding more about the history of Coimbra we continued on our way, through narrow pedestrian lanes scarred with ugly graffiti with ambiguous political messages.

On the way up the hill we stopped at the 12th-century Romanesque cathedral Sé Velha before walking further up to Coimbra’s pride and joy, the University of Coimbra, the oldest university in Portugal. Built on the grounds of a former palace, the university is a World Heritage Site famed for its baroque library, the Biblioteca Joanina, and its 18th-century bell tower. Through the archway the expansive marbled courtyard of the historic university is grandiose, very different to the rundown graffitied old town we had just walked through. The courtyard is framed by the treasured historic buildings of the university, including the ornate library with its huge wooden door flanked by columns. Inside it is a marvel to behold, with soaring ceilings, gilded archways and opulently carved shelves holding 250,000 books from the 1500’s to 1700’s.

Back down in the historic town centre students wearing black gowns were celebrating their graduation, playing music on the streets and giving away “free hugs” for charity. Their bubbling enthusiasm giving the town a much-needed pick-me-up. The cold was setting in and we headed back to camp.

UNESCO listed University of Coimbra
Biblioteca Joanina
12th-century Romanesque cathedral Sé Velha
Chemistry graduands, Coimbra
Graffiti near Almedina Arch

The next morning, we were on the road early heading to Portugal’s highest city Guarda, near the Spanish border. It wasn’t long after leaving Coimbra and that we were confronted with hundreds of hectares of burnt forests. Powerlines were hanging from skeletons of trees, their poles disintegrated, road signs were burnt to a crisp, houses gutted and buildings on the edges of villages singed black. This area of Portugal had been ravaged by wildfires in October, less than 6 weeks months before we drove through. Many were deliberately lit, and many people lost their lives. The scale of the area affected was overwhelming.

Guarda was shrouded in thick, cold fog when we arrived at midday. We wrapped up warmly and walked around the medieval walled city, barely being able to see the buildings through the mist. A stage for the Christmas festival was being erected in the town square and the streets were decked out in Christmas lights. Weather plays a big part in how you perceive a place, and although a picturesque little town, being over a thousand metres above sea level winter had come early to Guarda. We decided we wouldn’t stay and instead pressed on to Spain.

Damaged road sign and burnt out forests
House gutted by wildfires
Guarda Cathedral in the fog
Misericordia Church, Guarda
Inside Misericordia Church, Guarda

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7 Days in Northern Spain

Monday: San Sebastian

The rain that welcomed us Sunday night, on arrival from Biarritz, had cleared by morning, but it was still bitterly cold as we set off on our bikes for the 8km ride from the campsite down to San Sebastian. Scarves and jackets are not what comes to mind when thinking of San Sebastian, a resort town and summer playground on the Bay of Biscay in Spain’s mountainous Basque Country. Celebrated for its beaches, Playa de la Concha, Playa de Ondarreta and Playa de Zurriola, and the picturesque promenade along Concha Bay, it’s not known as a winter town.  Despite the biting wind we were determined to enjoy our day and the vista that opened up in front of us as we rounded the bend into the bay promised we would. Concha Bay is lovely, a perfect horseshoe with the small Santa Clara Island in the centre and monument-topped hills on each side of the entrance, protecting the bay from the Atlantic winds and making the golden sandy beaches more attractive, visibly so for the half dozen brave souls who were swimming. Under Mount Urgall at the eastern end of the bay is the cobblestoned old town (Parte Vieja) where the famous pintxos bars line the narrow lanes. Pintxos are Basque specialities and are a bit like tapas. Derived from the verb “to puncture”, pintxos were historically served on a piece of bread and pierced with a toothpick. Nowadays they are increasingly varied and only some are still served with toothpicks. The fun of pintxos is that they are laid out along a bar in all their glory and you fill your own plate, banging on the bar when you’ve finished selecting and are ready to pay. We ogled the many bars as they were laying out their impressive pintxos selections for lunch. How were we going to choose where to eat? The decision wasn’t going to be made straight away, I was adamant we’d climb Mount Urgall first. More like a hill, this mound at the end of the bay was the perfect place to defend your territory from and it is steeped in military history, with cannons and fortifications all over it. From the top, the lay of the land is much clearer; Concha Bay with its two sheltered beaches looks calm and serene, unlike the surf-ravaged third beach, Zurriola, lying to the east and unprotected from those Atlantic swells. The surf on Zurriola was littered with black dots, wet-suited surfers pursuing those waves.

The walk up Urgall made the pintxos all the more tastier and our selection of which bar to eat at could not have been better. After eating too much, because every pintxo looks amazing and it’s impossible not to pick another, we walked across the Urumea River, where the waves were crashing through the mouth of the river and breaking dramatically underneath the bridge, to the seaside suburb of Gros. The wind didn’t make our walk along Zurriola beach pleasant and we soon scampered back to the shelter of buildings. It’s mostly residential on this side of the river and after admiring the elegant townhouses and apartments we crossed back to the wide shopping streets of Zentroa, and then along the Concha promenade lined with ornate white wrought iron railings from a bygone era. By this time the sky was darkening, and rain looked likely. We found our bikes and headed off into the wind, for the slow uphill ride home.

Tuesday: Bilbao

It’s only a short drive from San Sebastian to Bilbao, an hour and a half down the road. Because of the rugged terrain of the Basque country we decided not to worry about navigating through backroads and instead pay the tolls and take the fast, easy route. We wanted to spend as much of the day as possible in Bilbao, and the 11 euros was money well spent. We arrived at our campsite high on a hill with an incredible panoramic view across Bilbao. We parked up and caught the next bus down into the city.

Bilbao is an industrial port city and doesn’t have a lot going for it apart from its quaint medieval quarter, but nearly every city we visit has one of those, it’s beautiful historic churches, but we’ve seen a lot of those, it’s lovely wide riverside walkways and pedestrian areas, but once again, nearly every city has those, and then there’s the stunning and mesmerising Frank Gehry–designed Guggenheim Museum. No other city has one of those. So influential is this building that it was credited with sparking a revitalisation of the entire city when it opened in 1997. Visitor numbers to the city jumped so much, the eye-watering cost of the building was recouped in just three years and the declining economic fortunes of this city were turned around almost overnight. The museum houses prominent modern and contemporary works, but it’s the curvy, titanium-clad structure, with swooping sheets of metal, glowing bronze and gold in the sunlight, that truly wows. We looked at it from every angle – from the back, the front, from inside with the soaring atrium of glass and steel, from atop the bridge and from across the river. The colours change from silver to steel-grey, back to gold and then bronze – it moves as if it has a life of its own. Walking back along the river away from the Guggenheim I had to stop myself turning around and running back for just one more look, such is its draw. Visiting this building alone makes any visit to Bilbao worthwhile.

That evening we had dinner with a view, sitting in our campervan high above the city, looking out at the lights of Bilbao and the glint of the Guggenheim.

Guggenheim Museum, Bilbao
Giant topiary dog in Bilbao
View from the campsite

Wednesday: Road Through Rural Spain

Having taken the direct route to Bilbao we decided to take the country roads through to Burgos to see some of rural Spain. Taking the backroads is always more interesting and these roads were in great condition and had barely any traffic.

Before coming to Spain we’d looked for a Spanish regulation reflective panel for the back of our bike carrier and had no luck in France, nor in San Sebastian and Bilbao. We’d heard that Spain is particularly vigilant in policing this law, and every motorhome carrying bikes that we’d seen so far had one. Law-abiding me was starting to get very concerned. What if we had a run-in with the Guardia Civil? I am trying to learn Spanish online as quickly as I can, but “buenos dias” and a smile is unlikely to get us out of a hefty fine. Burgos is about 160km inland from Bilbao and it didn’t take long for us to be driving through remote countryside and with villages becoming less frequent and needing to fill up, we tried our luck at a small rural service station. Eureka! They had two reflective panels in stock. I grabbed one with two hands and joyously waved it in the air for Andrew to see from the forecourt. At 29-euro Mr Love was less jubilant, but at least he now had a much calmer wife.

Nicely compliant and back on the road, we were soon winding our way through the craggy landscape and up a mountain range. We reached a plateau that started as desert-type tundra and scrub and quickly changed to empty fields stretching for miles, all ploughed and ready for crops. The soil was a rich dark red and the dry husks were evidence that this was grain country and the scale was enormous. We passed lots of farmers on their John Deere’s working their fields in preparation for planting. Many looked past the age of retirement, no doubt Spain has the same issues with attracting the young back to the land.

Burgos caught us by surprise. One minute we were driving through the expansive, agricultural landscape and then we were surrounded by industrial buildings and moments later we were driving through central Burgos. With just under 200,000 people it’s not a large city but it holds its own in Spain. The economy is based on agriculture and it is one of the main grain producing areas. Around this there’s a strong agri-food industry, and manufacturing also contributes to the wealth of this city that was sheltered from Spain’s recent financial troubles. Our first impressions were of a clean and prosperous place.

It was early afternoon when we arrived at our campsite and after a late lunch we biked into the city centre for a reconnaissance. The ride was an easy one, only 5km and on flat cycle paths through parks and along the riverside.

The Arco de Santa Maria is the original medieval gate to Burgos and was what we first saw when we crossed the river to the historic city. Beautifully restored and intricately carved, this grand arch of white stone provides a fitting entrance to the magnificence that lies beyond. Walk through the arch and your breathe is stolen by the vast and imposing Gothic masterpiece that is the Burgos Cathedral. We stood in awe. We’ve seen a lot of cathedrals and this one is truly stunning. Tomorrow we would visit it properly.

Back at the campsite, we were surprised that, after being one of only two or three campervans at the last two sites, the campsite had filled up, mostly with Brits. It didn’t take long for us to get chatting and we found out that they were either going south for winter or back to UK for Christmas, and Burgos is a good stopover on the way to the ferry terminal in Santander. The ferry to the UK from Spain takes 24 hours, but as most campsites are already closed in France it’s the best way to get to and from Spain over winter.

Arco de Santa Maria
Burgos Cathedral

Thursday: Burgos

It was minus 3 when we woke, and it wasn’t much warmer in the van. We took a while to get out of bed and face the day and by the time we emerged the campsite was almost empty again. It was a cracker of a day, sparkling blue sky, crisp and calm. At 859 metres above sea level the air in Burgos is noticeably thinner, and dry.

In Spain everything starts late and finishes late, with a long siesta in the middle to recharge, so there is no point rushing off early as nothing is happening. Given this, I spent a couple of hours catching up on my blog and Andrew did what he loves doing most – odd jobs. In this case it was polishing the van, a stock-take of supplies in the boot and cooking me my favourite bunch, scrambled eggs with smoked salmon.

After a late brunch we biked back into town and once again were wowed by the spectacular Burgos Cathedral. It was time to see if the interior matched the exterior. We have visited a lot of cathedrals and this is one of the best we have ever stepped inside. Chapel after chapel of opulence and glory, cavernous naves in alabaster marble and the beautiful central dome, understated and elegant. The entire history of Gothic art is summed up in its superb architecture and its unique collection of works of art, including paintings, carvings, choir stalls, alters, tombs and stained-glass windows. It was almost enough to turn an atheist religious.

Back outside, we found the Camino de Santiago path that goes straight through the historical centre of Burgos. What is the Camino de Santiago? I didn’t know the answer to this until a few years ago when my mother and Aunt Helen said they were off to walk it – all 791 kilometres. For over a thousand years people from all over Europe have made the pilgrimage to the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela in north-western Spain, the place where the remains of the apostle Saint James the Great are buried. In recent times the Camino has become increasingly popular, not just as religious pilgrimage, but as a rite of passage for young Spaniards and a great adventure walk for everyone else, encompassing Spanish culture and history. To give you an idea of just how popular this walk is, in 2016 nearly 300,000 Compostela certificates were issued to people who had completed the pilgrimage. There are many Camino trails that lead to Santiago de Compostela, but the most well-worn track, attracting more than 65% of all pilgrims, is the French Way that goes right through Burgos, and this is the track Mum and Helen walked. Burgos is 273km from where they started, not even halfway.

The path through the historic town centre is clearly marked with the distinctive yellow scallop shell on a blue background, and the shops and restaurants that line the path have special pilgrim deals and hotels offer pilgrim rates. The Camino de Santiago is great for the economy. We walked back along the path to where it entered the town, then turned and walked back through and out the other side.  Being November, it wasn’t peak pilgrim time, so Andrew’s hopes of seeing a pilgrim coming into town were dashed. Perhaps we’d have better luck on the road tomorrow.

 

Friday: Camino de Santiago

We left Burgos and headed off towards Ponferrada with the Camino de Santiago running alongside the road. We hadn’t seen any pilgrims in Burgos, but it didn’t take long to see some out on the track. A bunch of young Japanese, looking the part in their swish walking gear, were sitting in the sun taking a coffee break, their packs beside them, and from their smiles and laughter they were having the time of their lives. A couple of kilometres further on we passed a guy walking on his own, not looking as happy as the earlier group, but still getting along at a cracking pace. We were so excited to see someone actually walking the Camino. We tooted the horn and waved encouragingly. He smiled and waved back. Hopefully we gave him a little pick-me-up. After that we saw another few more, all walking alone, before the road we were taking left the Camino for a while.

We re-joined the track in Astorga and decided to take a small country road that followed right beside the Camino for the 77km through to Ponferrada. As we were leaving Astorga we passed a guy swinging his pack off his back. He stuck out his thumb at the last moment, a feeble attempt to hitchhike. We smiled, gestured questioningly and drove on. A hundred metres ahead was a young woman striding along purposefully, a heavy pack on her back. Perhaps he had decided the Camino wasn’t his thing and left her to do it alone? Or maybe it was a case of bad blisters, or a temporary moment of exhaustion? The further we got down the road the more walkers we passed, of all ages and nationalities and many taking on the challenge alone.

77km is not far in a vehicle, even when it’s a narrow windy road, but for these walkers this stretch alone will take 3 days. Along the way are albergues (pilgrim’s hostels) providing accommodation and little restaurants serving pilgrims meals. Although it’s rough and remote countryside you are never far from a place of refuge.

As we got closer to Ponferrada we passed an older man carrying a pack almost as big as him and walking in a woollen pullover and baggy jeans. He was about 6km out of Ponferreda and we almost wanted to stop and ask if could help with the pack, it looked so bulky and he didn’t look the fittest or best equipped we’d seen. We saw him again as we were leaving Ponferreda after visiting the beautiful old castle that makes this town famous. He was walking into the town centre, not looking any worse for wear and still with a spring in his step.

It was a neat experience to see some of the Camino path that Mum and Helen had walked, the type of terrain they’d covered and some of the villages they passed through. I think Mum was quite chuffed too when we told her what we’d done.

Arriving at the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela at the end of this epic walk must be an emotional experience, regardless of whether you are religious or not. We had planned to drive on to Santiago de Compostela after Ponferrada, but as we left Burgos I said to Andrew, “let’s change route, we won’t go to Santiago de Compostela on this trip”. I want to do that journey on foot.

The landscape the Camino de Santiago crosses
The village of Castrillo de los Polvazares
The Camino path through Castrillo de los Polvazares
The markers that keep the pilgrims on track
Ponferrada Castle

Saturday: Las Medulas

Friday night we stayed at a campsite about 18km out of Ponferreda and we were the only ones in the campsite. Nothing like having the whole shower block to yourselves! There was a heavy frost on the ground when we woke on Saturday morning, but the sun was doing its best to warm us. Moles are obviously not deterred by the cold as a fresh mole hill was right beside our door, so new the dirt was untouched by frost.

Ponferreda had been added to our itinerary for three reasons; it was on the Camino de Santiago, it has a lovely castle, and it is very near Las Medulas which I was keen to visit. Las Medulas is a fantastic landscape created from the gold exploitation by the Romans. In the 1st century A.D. the Romans began to exploit the gold deposits of this region in north-west Spain, using a technique based on hydraulic power, where large quantities of water were used to undermine the mountains. This process was aptly called Ruina Montiam (wrecking of mountains). After two centuries of working the deposits, the Romans withdrew, leaving a devastated but spectacular landscape. What was left were caves, tunnels and grottos, pinnacles and canyons, all a reddish sunset colour, converting the area into a magically mysterious piece of landscape. Now a listed UNESCO World Heritage Site, tourists flock here to explore the area through the many walkways. We spent a couple of hours discovering Las Medulas, climbing through tunnels and caves, and taking plenty of photos of this dramatic man-made landscape.

After leaving Las Medulas we travelled 160km further south to the small town of Allariz outside the city of Ourense. We had intended to stop in Ourense but after driving through it didn’t captivate us and we decided push on to Allariz, sometimes we have to remind ourselves that we can’t see everything.

Sunday: Allariz

We fell in love with Allariz. It is charming little town of 6,000 people sitting on the river Arnoia in the autonomous Galicia region of Spain. Typically mediaeval, the narrow streets surround a church and a fort sits on a hillock above the town. Sunday was beautifully fine, and we walked from the campsite along the river, through the botanic gardens, to the town centre, then up to the fort for a view over the countryside. We couldn’t help but compare this immaculate town with the French village where we had been house-sitting. There is no dog poop in the streets of Allariz and the historic buildings are all lovingly cared for and in pristine condition, in fact Spain is much cleaner than we’d ever expected.

Like in most of Europe, Sunday’s in Spain are family days and everyone in Allariz seemed to be out for lunch in big family groups. We had planned to have lunch in town too, and as it was gloriously sunny wanted a table outside. We tried three restaurants, all of which were fully booked, before finally finding a lovely riverside place with one spare table, a table for two in the sun. There was a Sunday Lunch set menu on offer promising three courses of traditional Galician cuisine. Why not do as the Spanish do and linger over a long lunch? Our waiter was charming and funny and spoke great English, explaining the regional delicacies and giving us insight into this beautiful part of Spain. The food was delicious, and with full stomachs and sedated from a glass of vino tinto, we sauntered slowly back to the campsite for a late afternoon siesta.

Tomorrow we head to Portugal.

Allariz
Sunday Lunch
The restaurant by the river

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Farewell to France; for now

Two weeks of house and pet sitting in Saint-Geniès-de-Fontedit passed in a flash. We parked the campervan when we arrived and didn’t move it again until the day we left, travelling only by bike or on foot for the duration of our stay.

Saint-Geniès-de-Fontedit is in the hinterland of Beziers, between the mountains and the sea. There are only 1500 residents, a surprising number of whom are English, including the neighbours who were very welcoming and advised us of the ins and outs of village life and which wineries had the best wine – Rosé is particularly good in this region, but the reds are nice too with delicious blends of Syrah and Grenache.  Village shopping consisted of a café, tobacco shop, a small general store, a famous pizzeria and a boulangerie (bakery), which was closed for renovations and only opened the day before we left. However, with another six villages all within 4 – 6kms from Saint Genies there were other options. The larger village of Murviel-les-Beziers had a sizeable supermarket and we cycled there a few times to stock up on supplies, once taking the opportunity to visit the village winery with cellar door sales.

All the villages in the region are of the same traditional style, built on a hill around a church and with narrow lanes circling outwards. The church in Saint Genies is a 13th century listed building of southern Gothic style with a green bell tower that acted as a great navigational tool when we were out walking and biking.

Bailey the golden Labrador kept us busy with his continuous energy and love of long walks. Every morning Bailey and I would head out for a walk, returning in time for lunch. We would walk for miles through the countryside. There are no fences and unless there’s a sign to say otherwise you are free to walk through the vineyards. There’s also the well-marked vineyards and heritage trail which circles the village and winds across the countryside for 14km. We used these tracks when we came across them but inevitably went “cross-country”.

The vineyards stretch as far as you can see in all directions. The scale of wine making in France is enormous, and being the country’s biggest earner it’s no wonder. They don’t have the same orderly vineyards that we have in NZ and Australia, there are no numbers on the rows or blocks, no grass underneath, just thick clay, and many vines aren’t even on wire frames so must all need to be hand-picked. I’m not sure how they keep track of their crops, but they are probably using traditions from centuries ago that work just fine.

Although the scenery got a bit repetitive, there was always plenty to see and explore while out walking: character-filled old stone farm buildings; the many historic wayside crosses, or calvaires; the beautiful Chapel Saint-Fulcran, an historic chapel set in a picnic area and no doubt popular for weddings over the summer; the historic stone water tower on the limestone ridge overlooking the village; and many rivers and drains for a lively lab to splash through. Bailey has a penchant for grapes and despite being post-harvest there were still bunches on some of the vines. His nose would start twitching and he’d look over to the vines we were passing and then look back at me with a mischievous grin, then make a dash for the grapes and start guzzling them down. Dogs aren’t supposed to eat grapes and luckily Bailey isn’t affected by them, but I was still determined to keep him away from them. He’s a good dog, call him and he comes. He knows he’s good, smiling and waggling and asking for a treat to thank him for his obedience. We got along just fine.

While we were out walking Andrew was busy cleaning the campervan inside and out, doing some gardening for our hosts, and strolling up to the general store to buy a fresh baguette for lunch. He also made one lone cycling trip to the supermarket when he realised the general store closed on Mondays. Andrew would join us for our evening walks when the light was gold and the vineyards glowed.

Andrew enjoyed having a full kitchen, especially an oven. We had two roasts and a couple of casseroles with jacket-baked potatoes. The produce available in France is amazing and so much cheaper than home. The selection of fruit and veges is extensive and in large supermarkets like Carrefour there are aisles and aisles of cheeses, and all so very cheap – I have to be very disciplined!

It seems that if you’re French and live in rural France you must own a small white panel van. There are hundreds of these vans. We joked that it wouldn’t be much use trying to tell the gendarmerie that you saw someone acting suspiciously in a white van. When out walking through the vineyards you see white vans dotted across the landscape. They were mostly out walking their dogs, but some were hunting. Hunting season runs from September to February and from the many shotgun shells scattered through the fields we gathered they were hunting birds or rabbits, probably the beautiful partridges that Bailey liked chasing.  On a couple of our evening walks the gun shots were unnervingly close, we wasted no time quickly turning and heading in the opposite direction, at pace.

The sun shined for most of our stay and there was only a brief shower that passed through. However, when the wind whipped up it was unrelenting, and we had a few days like this. On one of these days we had to make a trip to the supermarket so wrapped up warmly and headed off on our bikes. On the way back a phoneline had come loose and was flapping across the road. I tried to avoid it, misjudged the edge, and ended up upside down in a ditch with hands full of prickles and the first grazed knee I’ve had since a kid. My theory is that Andrew pushed me, but he denies culpability.

After almost two weeks Bailey’s owners returned, much to his delight. We hugged him goodbye, thanked his owners for sharing their home and pets with us, and hit the road again, aiming for Toulouse.

We arrived late in Toulouse and settled in for the night. The next morning it was threatening rain as we biked the 8km along the canal into town. Perhaps it was the showery cold weather, but Toulouse didn’t impress us. It was big and busy, and didn’t have the sophistication of Lyon. We walked through the Place du Capitole, past the majestic Capitole building with its characteristic pink brick façade, through the retail precinct in the old town, down to the Garonne River and across Pont Neuf, the 17th century brick bridge. It started to rain, we took shelter in a church. The rain stopped, and we walked back across the Garonne, this time taking Pont Saint Pierre, through the streets past creperies, boulangeries and hip little cafes to the Basilica of Saint-Sernin. This imposing red brick church is the largest remaining Romanesque building in Europe, if not the world. It was getting colder when we emerged from the church and we decided to call it a day. Walking back to our bikes we found a Decathlon store, the store we bought our bikes from in the UK, and couldn’t resist buying some accessories – a basket and a mobile phone bracket so we can use Google Maps while cycling.

The next day as we drove out of the city we passed the Airbus factory with a line of shiny new planes ready to be dispatched, one of which was already in JetStar livery.

We were heading to Pau via Lourdes and took the back roads to avoid those pesky tolls. “Back- roads” is probably not the best description as they are as good as State Highway 1 in NZ, they’re just not 6 lanes like the motorways are. Before leaving Toulouse, we had intended to fill up with diesel but hadn’t seen a gas station. Assuming there would be one along the way we carried on. It was raining, we were trundling along the highway, and the petrol light came on. With farmland on both sides and no gas station in sight we started to get concerned. I forcefully suggested we get off the highway, as it would surely be better to run out of gas on a sideroad rather than pay to be rescued from a highway. The next exit went to a small village, unfortunately too small to have a gas station, but big enough to have a pharmacy. I ran into the pharmacy and asked where the nearest one was, and between her stilted English and my stilted French we managed to communicate. She told us there was one in the next village, about 10 minutes further along the highway. We took the risk and thankfully we made it, albeit with higher blood pressure and frayed nerves. This was the first and last time we’ll let that happen.

It was pouring with rain and starting to get dark when we arrived in Lourdes in the foothills of the Pyrenees mountains, even though it was just 4pm.  With umbrellas up and coats on we walked through the incredible, and almost deserted, Sanctuaires Notre-Dame de Lourdes. This is a significant Catholic pilgrimage site and each year millions visit the Grotto of Massabielle (Grotto of the Apparitions) where, in 1858, the Virgin Mary is said to have appeared to a local woman. In the grotto, pilgrims can drink or bathe in water flowing from the spring. The few people who were there were filling bottles, we used our hands and had a good swig. Andrew had visited Lourdes before and didn’t have fond memories. He was there in summer years ago, it was crowded and hot, and hawkers were pushing plastic Jesuses. There were no plastic Jesuses when we were there, and no crowds.

It was still raining as we drove through the mountains to Pau, arriving at our campsite after dark. Pau is set along the Pyrenees mountains’ northern edge, only 85km from the Spanish border. According to the guy at the campsite, it rains there a lot.

The rain had stopped the next morning and we headed along the river into town. Oddly enough after 7km the bike path ended at a staircase up to a bridge and we had to carry our bikes up eight flights of stairs before carrying on to the town centre. Pau is an elegant town with beautiful views across the mountains from the grand Boulevard des Pyrénées. The boulevard leads up to the Château de Pau, birthplace of King Henry IV of France and Navarre. Like many European towns pedestrian-only streets make up much of the central area. There seems no issue here with being unable to park right outside a shop. Pau was getting ready for Christmas with elegant silver baubles strung across the streets and an elaborate nativity scene being erected in the square. We were both taken by this place, it was the first town in France that we could see ourselves living in. We looked in land agents’ windows and compared prices.

Sanctuaires Notre-Dame de Lourdes
Grotto of the Apparitions, Lourdes
Boulevard des Pyrénées, Pau
Pau
Capitole building, Toulouse

Biarritz was our next stop before crossing to Spain. After leaving Pau we drove through lush dairy country, not unlike New Zealand, and then, as we drove through a village, we had to look twice – there was a giant kiwifruit in the middle of a roundabout. The familiarity continued in Biarritz, where roundabouts were filled with New Zealand cabbage trees and flaxes, and surfers braved the wild surf at the sandy beach by our campsite.

Biarritz is an elegant seaside town on southwestern France’s Basque coast and has been a popular resort since European royalty began visiting in the 1800s. It’s also a major surfing destination, with long sandy beaches and surf schools. It was stormy and wet when we arrived, but we braved the elements and took a walk along the beachfront and through the seaside suburb of Milady, where our campsite was situated.

We had decided to stop in Biarritz on our way through to Spain to visit Alana, a good friend of Andrew’s daughter, her husband Tanerau, and their two boys, 5-year old Isaia and 2-year old Nikau. Tanerau plays rugby for Bayonne and they have been living in nearby Biarritz for almost two years. We met them for brunch at a funky café the morning after we arrived and quizzed them on life in France. They love Biarritz and the similarities with home aren’t lost on them. After brunch we went back to their place to see what a traditional Basque house was like. The Basque houses are white with red tiled roofs and red shutters and, as Tanerau showed us, have big basements and plenty of room. The Lattimer’s home is the perfect size for two boisterous boys, and another baby on the way.  After more coffee and a chat Tanerau drove us back to our van, he was keen to have a look, thinking a campervan holiday might be something their family would like to do. I’m not sure it was big enough for Isaia, who took great delight in telling me he was going to buy a huge cruise ship that would be much bigger than our van, but we could have a ride on it if we liked.

That afternoon we said “au revoir” to France and headed to Spain. We’ve spent more time in France than anywhere else on this trip, though we never intended to. We have loved it, and are looking forward to part two as we cross northern France on our way back to the UK next year.

Brunch with Alana & Tanerau Lattimer and their boys Isaia and Nikau
Kiwifruit in a roundabout on route to Biarritz
NZ Natives in a roundabout in Biarritz
The wild coastline of Biarritz

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Lausanne to Saint-Genies-de-Fontedit

I’m writing this blog from the tiny village of Saint-Genies -de-Fontedit in the historic Languedoc region of southern France where we are currently house and pet sitting. The relaxed pace of life in this serene part of the world has rubbed off on us and as a result I’m a bit behind with my travel updates.

Where I left off last time we were heading across the Alps after leaving Lake Orta in Italy, destined for Lausanne in Switzerland. This was to be a fleeting visit with the purpose of visiting my cousin James and his wife Irene.

The road from Italy to Lausanne took us over the Simplon pass in the Alps and provided us with some incredible scenery. Switzerland sure knows how to impress. We wound our way down into the valley along roads that seemed to defy gravity, stopping for a picnic lunch in one of the impressive road-side stops they have in Switzerland, this one was outside the town of Sion overlooking medieval terraced vineyards and a castle and came complete with a viewing tower. It was a slow journey, but we had anticipated this. We’re now used to adding 45 minutes to an hour onto the journey time suggested by Googlemaps.

Our first view of Lausanne was stretches of terraced vineyards rolling down the hills to the steely blue waters of Lake Geneva. These are the UNESCO-listed Lavaux terraces and we were to explore these during our stay.

Lausanne is the Olympic Capital; home of the International Olympic Committee. The headquarters, currently undergoing an elaborate renovation, were near our campsite. Like most Swiss campsites this one was expensive and the facilities no better than much cheaper sites in other countries. The up side was they provided us with a transport card for the duration of our stay. It’s an excellent initiative as you are inclined to go further afield than you would on bikes and by foot.

That evening, after arriving late afternoon, we walked up the road to James and Irene’s apartment for dinner. I hadn’t seen James in years and had never met Irene. They live in a great location and their lovely apartment has views of the lake, perhaps better described as glimpses. Living in Switzerland is expensive but as James and Irene told us, the wages are comparably high to counteract this. James works at Nestle in product development and Irene is a research consultant in nearby Geneva. They both love the outdoors and Irene shares James’ passion for climbing and skiing, for them Switzerland is one big playground. Andrew was intrigued to know more about the languages of Switzerland. We had already travelled through the German region of the country and now being in the French region it was so obviously different, so very French. Switzerland has four national languages: French, German, Italian and Romansh. Irene and James speak two of these; French and Italian. Irene is Italian by birth and is tri-lingual and James speaks French fluently and a smattering of Italian. English, though not an official language, is often used to bridge the divides. Irene told us there was a push to have school and university exams in English to make sure it was an even playing field as translations can be ambiguous, but this quashed. It seems the German language and culture is the dominant one. Irene pointed out that TV and radio commercials are mostly targeted to the German regions and retailers are surprised when sales are down in the French region, the cultures are so different.

After an enjoyable evening getting reacquainted with family and learning more about this somewhat mysterious little country we said our goodbyes and agreed to meet the next afternoon for a walk through the Lavaux Terraces.

We spent the next morning in the centre of Lausanne. There is no escaping hills in Lausanne and the trek from the train station to the town centre got our blood flowing. The markets were on and the town buzzing. We wandered through the cobbled streets, along Rue de Bourg with its high-end retailers to St Francois church, and then through to Place de la Palud. The market stalls were all along the streets selling fresh produce, honey, cheeses, cured meats and handmade soaps. Making us hungry it was time for lunch. We found a hip little burger joint tucked away on a terrace halfway up the stairway to the cathedral. With signs promoting the football it was obviously popular with ex-pats and, perhaps aptly, called the Great Escape. The day we walked in they happened to have the Bledisloe Cup game playing live. Despite what many people may think Mr Love barely ever watches rugby and wasn’t at all interested in seeing this match. He got more entertainment out of watching a lone Australian fan muttering to himself and giving air punches every time the Wallabies scored. Our burgers were delicious, and the chunky hand cut chips just what we needed to refuel.

Re-energised, we climbed the rest of the stairs to Lausanne Cathedral. Considered one of the most beautiful Gothic buildings in Switzerland the cathedral was consecrated in 1275. The beautiful rose window and gothic arches didn’t disappoint. After admiring the cathedral and the view over the city from outside we took the 13th century covered stairway, Escaliers du Marche, back down into town, winding past picturesque boutiques and cafes.

We met James and Irene at the train station and took the train to the Lavaux Vineyard Terraces.  Rising 1,100 feet above the lake and terraced over 40 levels these are among the steepest vineyards in the world and stretch for about 30kms along the south-facing shores of Lake Geneva. There is evidence that vines were grown here in Roman times, but the present terraces can be traced back to the 11th century, when Benedictine and Cistercian monasteries controlled the area. Much of the wine is still made using traditional techniques, with little chemical use and barely any irrigation. Picking grapes on steep hillsides requires ingenuity and here they use monorails with small tractors attached to pull the grapes up to the roads. They look like rollercoasters curling across the hills.

Walkways wind through the vineyards and along the terraces and we spent a good few hours meandering along these paths admiring the views across the hills and the charming farm houses and cute little grouping of residences, not quite large enough to be villages, dotted along the hillsides. The autumn colouring added to the magic of the place.

We headed back into Lausanne and said our final goodbyes to James and Irene.

James, Louise and Irene
UNESCO-listed Lavaux terraces
Monorail for picking grapes on the slopes
Looking across to Lausanne

The next day we were off through to Lyon. The roads that took us through the French Alps were incredible, magnificent tunnels and long sweeping viaducts making traversing these rugged mountains easy. However, it came at a cost. We were stung with a 29-euro toll at the end of it.

Our campsite in Lyon was quite far out from the city centre, as is expected in larger cities – Lyon in France’s third largest city. We arrived on a wet and cold evening, set up camp, wrapped up warmly and went for a walk. Being a Sunday the place was deserted and all shops closed, it didn’t make for an inspiring first impression.

The next morning, we were up early and off into central Lyon. The bus stop was directly outside the camping ground and after winding our way through the outer suburbs we were dropped at the train station to catch a very modern and clean train directly into the city centre. We got off at Vieux Lyon in the Old Town quarter and started the day by taking the funicular railway to the Basilica of Notre-Dame de Fourviere above the Old Town and overlooking the city. The interior of this magnificent cathedral is lined with intricate mosaics and hosts beautiful stained glass and a gilded crypt. One of the stairwells is lined with the lord’s prayer in every language of the world including our own Te Reo. Apart from being a beautiful church to visit, Notre-Dame offers stunning panoramic views across Lyon from the terrace.

We wound our way back down the hill through the rose gardens to the Old Town. Lyon’s medieval quarter is mostly a haven for tourists with plenty of traditional restaurants and gift shops lining the narrow, cobbled lanes. We had a hankering for crepes and despite probably paying too much in the Old Town indulged in the traditional fare at quaint little bistro on a cobbled square.

The pedestrian only Passerelle du Palais de Justice took us across the Saone River to the peninsula that lies between the Saone and Rhone rivers. Here there are no narrow lanes, instead it’s all 19th century elegance with French flair – grandiose buildings with magnificent facades line the wide sweeping streets, tree-lined promenades run beside the rivers, and expansive squares with majestic statues and fountains punctuate the urban landscape.

Cross the Rhone and the city changes again. Here it’s modern and chic – the new city.

Our experience in Lyon was not as relaxed as we had hoped. We had documents that we needed officially witnessed and thought we’d try our luck here. In hindsight we should have given up earlier as this exercise consumed a large portion of our day. The French police and the staff at the three courts we were sent to at opposite ends of the city could not have been more helpful and obliging, going over and above to try and assist us, despite the obvious language barrier. However, we hit a dead end at the last court when told that French officials can’t authorise documents issued by another state – we were only after an official witness stamp.

Lyon was not what we expected. We had thought of it as a stopover, another big city. But it was much more than that. Vibrant yet graceful, this city is distinctly sophisticated, and we didn’t do it justice. We would happily have stayed longer if we weren’t on a tight schedule to get to our first house-sitting assignment further south, and we may well go back next year as we make our way “home” to the UK.

The next day we were off to Provence and the city of Avignon, 230kms south of Lyon. We took the A7 and once again paid the price, being charged 32-euro in tolls. That’s an expensive piece of road. As we got closer to Avignon we started to notice the distinct change in the landscape. The rolling green fields and forests were replaced by low lying scrub, craggy clay outcrops, ochre stone buildings, and wiry grape vines planted in dry dusty plots. We were nearing the Mediterranean.

We arrived in Avignon, the ancient walled city on the banks of the Rhone River, as the sun was already dipping in the sky. The mid-afternoon autumn sunlight bathed the sienna stone buildings and the city was glowing gold.

Our campsite was across the Rhone, less than 2km from the historic centre. We wasted no time getting our bikes off the racks, the first time since Slovenia, and were soon biking back to that alluring golden city.

Avignon has huge historical significance, with Palais des Papes being one of the largest and most significant medieval gothic buildings in Europe, and is therefore a tourism hotspot, but it’s the off season, the crowds are missing, and we are getting to enjoy these places in peace.

Palais des Papes is an imposing stone palace that dominates the Avignon skyline. It was the papal residence and the seat of Western Christianity during the 14th century and proudly stands in heart of this fortress city. Inside the palace are grand chambers, chapels, deserted galleries and stoic gothic archways.

Across the square from the palace is the other famous historic monument in Avignon – Pont d’Avignon. This weathered stone bridge extends halfway across the Rhone and abruptly stops. It once did reach the other side, but repetitive floods battered it over time and it eventually lost the fight to the river in the 17th century. The remaining part of the bridge is a four-arch span that’s survived since the 14th century. The small Chapel of Saint Nicholas on the bridge’s second pier was built in the 12th century, but extensively renovated since that time. Ironically, the bridge was used to collect tolls from barges as they transported goods up and down the Rhone, tolls are not new for France.

A lot of the streets of Avignon are pedestrian only making exploring very relaxed and easy. There are lots of picturesque squares dotted throughout the old town, many with lovely old churches and always places to sit and people watch.

We spent the afternoon and early evening visiting Palais des Papes and Pont d’Avignon, and losing ourselves in the endless maze of narrow lanes, before heading back to camp for the night. The next morning, we went back for more, wandering the streets as the town came to life and stopping for a breakfast of fresh croissants in the sun.

Pont d’Avignon
Avignon
Avignon
Avignon
Palais des Papes

We took the backroads to Saint Genies de Fontedit as we had plenty of time and wanted to avoid those tolls. It’s a much nicer way to go than the motorways if you have the time. We wound our way further south, the vineyards stretching out on both sides, through small villages and then down along the Mediterranean coast before crossing back inland and finally arriving at our destination.

And now here we are in Saint-Genies-de-Fontedit, a little village plopped in the middle of thousands of acres of grapevines, with a few olive groves mingled throughout. We are looking after a very engaging and energetic golden Labrador and two beautiful cats. So far, our days have been filled with long walks across the countryside through the vineyards with Bailey the dog leading the way.  We’ll no doubt have more stories to tell at the end of our stay.

 

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5 Months on the Road: Dollars & Dogs

Andrew here again with my monthly input.

Five months on the road and you really wonder where it’s gone, but I guess when you realise we have travelled just over 15,000 km’s, been to 21 countries, stayed in 66 different campsites, climbed numerous hills and lookouts, been to so many wonderful churches, cathedrals, forts, and all kinds of museums and places of interest, then that’s where it’s gone.

We mentioned early on about the infamous Norwegian road tolls, well I now apologise Norway. We spent 3 weeks in your country, travelled some 4,000 or so kilometres and the road tolls were a smidgeon over $100 NZ; and when you think of the tunnels and viaducts we travelled on and the time and diesel we saved (against taking the back roads if that was an option, and in many cases it was not), then $100 NZ is money well spent. The reason I recap on this is we have faced some very heavy tolls in Italy and France. The other day we left Lausanne in Switzerland and crossed the border to France. To be fair the road then took us through some very scenic areas and over some amazing road structures fixed against the sides of mountains etc., but the 150km from the French border just out of Geneva to Lyon France cost us $49 NZ. Two days later, the 230km drive from Lyon to Avignon cost another $48 NZ in French road tolls, so in two days and 380km we had paid nearly as much as 3 weeks and 4,000 km’s in Norway. On our next trip from Avignon we decided to use the back roads and whilst it took us an hour or so longer it was only a handful of kilometres more, and it was quite nice to be off the motorways, but it is quite testing getting through some of the smaller towns.

I mentioned we have been to 66 campsites and one thing we can’t get over is the number of pets in campsites. It seems if you are European, you own a motorhome and you have a pet, you take it with you on holiday. Every campsite has a charge for pets and they are just an accepted part of everyday life. Of course, dogs are the most popular and we have seen all sizes and shapes, some with more than one, and in Basel a lady arrived in her small motorhome with 3 Labradors. The dogs also go with their owners on a day out. Many of the campsites are 3 -6 km’s from the centre of town, so the dogs go in baskets on the front of bikes, or in trollies towed behind the bikes. I have spoken to quite a few owners and they all tell me the dogs love being towed behind the bike in a cart or sitting in a basket at the front. We even have seen some dogs being pushed around in what looked like “baby’s strollers”. I asked one lady and she told me they were made especially for dogs. Their dog was 14 years old and they loved having him with them, so it was a way of getting him round, as he didn’t walk too far. He seemed more than happy in his “doggie pram”.

It’s not just dogs though. We have seen a couple of cats on leads and others looking out of campervan windows, a rabbit, and birds in cages. Back at Ljubljana in Slovenia we parked next door to a Spanish couple and I noted they had a bird inside the motor home. I wandered over to talk to them and found out the Love Bird’s name was Piri. He has had his wings clipped so can’t fly far, but is free to fly round the inside of the motorhome. Jaume and Susanna come from Olot in the province of Girona in Spain, and Piri the bird always travels away with them in their motorhome, providing plenty of kisses to his owners to show his appreciation.

Travelling in style!
Why walk?
A friendly pooch from the van next door
A visitor came to dinner
Piri the Love Bird

On the financial front we have managed to go under budget for the month by $880 or $28 per day. We continue to go and see everything we can, and never say we can’t afford something. Cooking your own meals in the motorhome is of course a huge saving and going to some of these supermarkets to buy the food is an eye opener. They really are huge and the variety of food they have never fails to amaze us. I have converted Louise to actually enjoy supermarket shopping. I have been a converted supermarket shopper for years as some of you may know. More on that in a later end of the month blog.

We have saved on campsites over the past few days as we have taken on a house-sitting job in Southern France which Louise will enlighten you about in her blog.

So that’s all from me for another month, here are the stats.

Monthly Summary_Month 5

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Northern Italy: Venice, Milan & Lake Orta

Our plan is to cut across the top of Italy to France, via a quick detour to see my cousin in Switzerland, and then through to Spain for winter. There are two reasons for this; many camping grounds close over winter especially outside bigger cities, as I’ve mentioned before, and we don’t fancy spending a chilly winter in the campervan so will do our best to avoid this by finding the mildest climate possible for the winter months.

We have also secured our first house-sitting assignment in the south of France so have to keep the pace on to ensure we get there in time. We signed up to a couple of house-sitting sites before we left New Zealand as we thought it would be a good way to experience everyday life and to give us a break from the campervan and touring, and now after almost 5 months on the go it’s time to slow down for a while.

Having this timeline to stick to we allowed ourselves just over a week in northern Italy with four nights in Venice, two in Milan and two at Lake Orta in the Piedmont region, near the border with Switzerland. Of the three, the one place we wished we could have stayed longer was beautiful Lake Orta and the charming town of Orta San Giulio, perhaps one of the more under-rated places we have visited.

Venice

After driving through from Slovenia, we arrived at our Venice campsite in the early evening and decided to wait to the next day to see the city. We awoke to a thick sea fog covering the campsite, an occurrence that was repeated the next three mornings. The fog hadn’t lifted by the time we left for the city, and as we travelled by bus across the long road bridge that connects Venice to the mainland we could barely see the lagoon beside us. When we arrived at Piazzale Roma, the entrance to Venice, we were greeted by a city wearing a mask of mist, adding a dreamlike feel to this magical place.

They say the best way to see Venice is to get lost. From our experience it’s the only way, as it is impossible not to lose yourselves in the maze of lanes that make up this incredible floating city. We wandered through Venice for three days and got blissfully lost on many occasions.

Venice is built across 118 small islands all interconnected by bridges and with canals running between. The charm of Venice is its absurdity. How can a city can be built not only across islands but across water? The actual land area of these low-lying islands was not enough to cope with an expanding city, so they built it over the water. The imposing 17th century Santa Maria Della Salute church with its huge baroque dome is built on a platform over the lagoon. Over 1 million wooden stakes, each measuring 4 metres, were driven underwater to create the foundations. Imagine the scale of this undertaking.

Why would people choose to live in this water world? There are traces of civilisation on the islands from before Roman times, but the general consensus is that people moved from the mainland to flee Barbarian invasions in the 5th century. The lagoon protected them from their aggressors. Ironically, the very water that kept Venice safe may be its demise. Rising water levels could eventually claim this city for the sea.

There are no roads in Venice and any vehicles that cross the bridge can go no further than Piazzale Roma, where there are multi-storey carparks and the bus depot. The other way to travel in, and the only way for many years, is by train. Once you’re there you have two options, walk or travel by boat. The options by boat include the plentiful water taxis, the very pricey gondolas, or using the very efficient waterbus network. We mostly walked apart from taking the waterbus across to Murano.

Bridges are an iconic part or Venice and there are about 400 in the city. The most significant are those that cross the Grand Canal and of those four the shop-lined Ponte di Rialto is most famous, with the wooden Ponte dell ‘Academia a close second, a favourite for its stunning view of Santa Maria Della Salute. While we were standing on Ponte dell ‘Academia we watched a cruise ship pass by, dwarfing the cathedral as it came past and into port.

Sumptuous St Mark’s Square is the main square in Venice and is dominated by the ornate St Mark’s Basilica at one end, with the clock tower and its winged lion of St Mark beside it, and the decorative arcades running along the sides. The inside of St Mark’s Basilica is dark and opulent. The marble terrace above the entrance allows you to get close to the four bronze horses that overlook the square and take in the majesty if the place. Standing on the terrace I tried to spot Mr Love in the square below and realised a lot more people wear bright blue than I expected.

Andrew never likes food to go to waste and it’s not uncommon for him to be carrying stale bread with him when we head out for the day in case we happen upon some birdlife. We pretended we didn’t see the signs in St Mark’s Square and soon had a swarm of pigeons descend on us. Some tourists thought Andrew was an official bird feeder and asked for bread, so they could also get a photo of the pigeons eating out of their hands and sitting on their heads.

The bell tower of St Mark’s Basilica is one of the most recognisable images of Venice. It stands alone in front of the basilica and towers above the square. We got lucky and the line to take the elevator to the top was almost non-existent one afternoon as we walked past. We took the opportunity and with the morning fog long cleared the view was lovely. From above you realise just how built-up Venice is. Every square metre is utilised. I joked that there are no trees in Venice and I’m not far wrong. The few trees that are there are growing out of the tops and sides of buildings, as though not allowed to claim any space of their own.

We didn’t take a gondola ride. Both of us had done this in previous visits to Venice, and as romantic as it might be the 80-euro price tag for 40 minutes (100 euro after 7pm) was more likely to kill any romance. We opted instead to watch from a café drinking an Aperol Spritz, as you do in Venice.

Apart from the chilly morning fog we had fantastic weather, sunny and warm with little wind. The sun was out when we took the vaporetto (waterbus) to Murano where the famous glass factories are. We watched a glass blowing demonstration with the artist masterfully creating a rearing horse with what seemed like only a flick of his wrist and a couple of twists. Murano is different. Slower and quieter, with wider lanes that the let the sun stream through, and of course lots of shops selling glass. We bought a glass horse.

We contemplated buying a mask too. The emporiums that fill the laneways of Venice are very seductive.  So many bejewelled and hand-painted masks – beautiful, but strangely unsettling with their empty eyes.

On our last night we celebrated 6 months married with dinner by a canal near a bridge. Fresh fish for me and pasta for him.

Milan

When we drove through from Slovenia we noticed the air quality in this part of Italy is not great. The sea fog in Venice may have been just that, but a brown smog lingered around the horizon long after the fog had lifted and there was a continual haze. The haze remained as we headed west to Milan.  Northern Italy is the engine room of the Italian economy and industry comes at a cost.

Our first impressions of Milan were not great. A topless prostitute was standing on the verge as we pulled out of a gas station, and another was on the corner as we turned into the campsite. What was this seedy place we’d come to? The campsite had high fences and electric gates which spoke volumes for the area. Inside it was great, and we set up camp next to some friendly Germans. As we always say, we try not to judge a place too quickly.

Milan is a sprawling city and the campsite was quite far from the centre, in fact we were surrounded by a mix of wasteland and allotments. Bikes weren’t an option so the next morning we took a bus and then the metro into town. The journey was seamless and took just over 30 minutes.

Arriving in the centre we stepped out into Piazza Duomo and our first impressions on Milan from the day before were gone in an instant. Before us rose il Duomo di Milano, the Milan cathedral. A marble Neo-Gothic masterpiece glowing in the sunlight. With 135 intricately carved spires reaching for the sky this is a huge cathedral and truly magnificent. To get inside you need to buy a ticket from the nearby ticket outlet where we waited in line for about 15 minutes, and then headed back to the cathedral and through rigorous security screening. It was nice inside but didn’t equal its exterior –  this cathedral displays its beauty on the outside.

It was pizza for lunch in a hip side street pizzeria and then a walk to Castello Sforzesco. Originally a fortress this castle was later the residence of the Sforza dynasty – the ruling family of Renaissance Italy. The Sforza Castle now houses museums libraries, galleries and exhibitions. Through the castle courtyard is Parco Sempione. We wandered through the gardens to the Arco della Pace, the triumphal arch of peace. A fashion shoot was taking place under the archway.

Even though we knew we couldn’t see it we walked across to Santa Maria delle Grazie, home of Leonardo da Vinci’s famous artwork The Last Supper. We hadn’t planned on going to Milan when we first decided on a route across the top of Italy.  Verona and Como were in the original plan. I had always had the impression that Milan was an industrial city with little going for it apart from the fashion industry and Leonardo’s Last Supper. Had we committed to visiting Milan earlier then we would have been able to see the latter in the “flesh”. Unfortunately to visit the masterpiece requires plenty of forward planning as only 25 people can view it at any one time due to its fragility – humidity is slowly destroying what is left of the original painting and therefore it needs to be in a temperature controlled environment. Tickets are in hot demand and when I investigated a week prior I was told we had no show of seeing it unless we were prepared to wait another 2 weeks. Maybe next time. It was a pretty church all the same.

From there we walked through streets lined with stylish eateries with equally stylish patrons, and past fashionable offices and on-trend boutiques, back to the central square. Galleria Vittorio Emanuele sits on Piazza Duomo and is one of the world’s oldest shopping malls. Featuring a glass dome, cast iron roof and mosaic tiles, it’s an architectural marvel and transports you back to a time of refined glamour and sophistication. We wandered through and window shopped.

Milan is a shopping Mecca with Haute Couture at every turn. It’s the home of Gucci, Prada, Dolce & Gabbana and the rest of the Italian suite of top labels. Andrew was drawn into the Ferrari boutique, three storeys of Ferrari fashion, and cars too. He was almost tempted by the soft Italian leather bomber jacket.

Milan is a cool, chic city and so much more than we anticipated. We liked it.

Arco della Pace
il Duomo di Milano
Piazza Duomo
Galleria Vittorio Emanuele
Santa Maria delle Grazie

Lake Orta and Orta San Giulio

Like Lake Bled, we found out about Lake Orta through an article on Europe’s most beautiful lakes. We had originally planned on going to Lake Como, but were tempted by the mystique of this lesser known lake and its sacred mountain.

Lake Orta is a 1 ½ hour drive from Milan, in the Piedmont region and not far from the Swiss border. We arrived at our campsite on the lake and as there weren’t many vans there had the pick of the pitches, so of course took a lakefront spot. As the sun set we sat on the water’s edge looking out across stunning Lake Orta and pinched ourselves, could it really be this good?

The historic town of Orta San Giulio is on a peninsula that juts out into the lake and was only a short walk from our campsite. Its narrow streets are all faded elegance and ochre charm, straight from an Italian classic movie. A smattering of tourists wandered around, but there wasn’t a touristy feel to the place – this is a good secret kept.

Just out from Orta San Giulio is the small island of San Giulio, home to a Benedictine monastery of nuns. The first evening while we were walking around the bay we saw two nuns jump in a speed boat and zoom off out to the island, we had to look twice. The next day when we were back in town we found a water taxi, and for 4.50 euro return we headed out to the tiny island. The boat stopped alongside a jetty where a sign welcomed us to the island and asked for respect and silence. The most prominent building on the island is the Basilica di San Giulio. This 12th century Romanesque church is simply gorgeous. The nave is elaborately decorated with frescoes and down a small spiral staircase is the beautifully adorned crypt. Later we walked around the island, and being so small it didn’t take long. There were no nuns to be seen, just a couple of fellow tourists. All along the pathway were messages endorsing the virtue of silence.

Back on the mainland we had a sacred mountain to visit. Above the town is Sacro Monte di Orta, a place of pilgrimage for Catholics and a UNESCO World Heritage site. In amongst the trees on the mountain top are 20 small chapels dedicated to St Francis of Assisi. Inside each chapel are wonderful frescoes and incredibly realistic wooden figurines recounting different parts of St Francis’ life. Built over the 17th and 18th centuries the chapels vary in style depending on the time they were built, from the Renaissance to baroque and rococo. The frescoes were painted by prominent artists of the time. We spent a couple of tranquil hours wandering from one chapel to the other. There was barely anyone else around and we marvelled that these historic chapels of such significance are freely accessible. The muted autumnal light and colours of the trees added to the atmosphere. It was a surreal and serene experience.

After two charming days at Lake Orta we reluctantly headed on our way. Next stop Lausanne, Switzerland.

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Slovenia: Bled, Ljubljana & Lipica

 

Our first stop in Slovenia was the picturesque lakeside settlement of Bled in the northwest of the country, not far from the Austrian border. Google Maps took us the back way, and after winding along mountain roads and through remote villages we eventually arrived at our campsite beside beautiful Lake Bled. We have found that Google Maps can send you astray, it shows the shortest route but doesn’t seem to account for road conditions and of course there’s no way to tell it you’re in a campervan and not a car.

Our campsite was just across the road from the lake and surrounded in trees, all decked out in autumn colours. It was surprisingly busy considering it was closing for winter a few days after we were there, a more frequent occurrence and one we’re a bit concerned about as autumn progresses.

Lake Bled is only small, 2.12kms long and 1.3kms wide, and is proof that size doesn’t matter. It is perfectly formed, sitting surrounded by tree covered hills and with mountains as the backdrop. In the centre is tiny Bled Island, Slovenia’s only island, which they very proudly tell you at any opportunity. The island is home to the Assumption of Mary Pilgrimage Church and the church tower silhouetted against lake and hills is one of the most photographed images in Slovenia and probably Europe. We were only in Bled for an hour when we were questioning why the church bell kept ringing without any sequence or tune. We were told that to ring the church bell gives you luck so all tourists visiting the island give it a good dong. The continual clanging of that bell can wear thin.

All transport on the lake is by rowing boats, either under your own steam or by the Pletna boats that operate as taxis. Pletnas are wooden boats with colourful awnings operated by an oarsman in similar style to a gondola. They carry 20 passengers and go from various points along the lakeside across to the island. Pletnas have operated on the lake since the 1500s and not anyone can be a Pletna oarsman, its handed down from generation to generation. Its impressive to watch the athleticism of the Pletna oarsmen as they calmly guide their vessels filled with tourists from the many visiting buses across the lake. We decided it would be a cheat for two Kiwis to be rowed out to an island and hired one of the lovely wooden row boats for an hour. At 10 euro it was a bargain. I rowed to the Island and Mr Love rowed back. I had the easier run as on the way back he had to “stop here”, “go there”, “turn this way”, “tilt that way”; all to allow me to take multiple pictures of the island and capture the beauty of Lake Bled from every angle.

There is a jetty for parking hired boats on the island and once we found our spot we climbed the 99 steps to the church. The first church was built in the 1100’s, but traces of humans from prehistoric eras have been found on the island and long before it was a Christian church there was a temple to the Slavic goddess of love and fertility on the island.

The lake is filled with fish – catfish, pike, carp and trout. While rowing some sizeable trout leapt out of the water near us, and along the lakeside there were plenty of people fishing. We watched one man wrestle a huge catfish in a net, it was well over a metre long.

The walking track around the circumference of the lake is too narrow for bikes, especially given so many people were out walking, so we used the road to bike around to the Bled township. It was a lot longer and hillier than the flat lakeside walking track, and it was too hair-raising for me sharing narrow windy roads with so many cars. The next day we left the bikes behind and took the more sedate option of walking around the track, stopping for lunch in Bled and then climbing up to Bled Castle perched on a rock 130metres above the lake.

Being 2.12kms long the lake is the perfect length for a rowing course and as fans of rowing will know Lake Bled has hosted the World Rowing Champs on many occasions and just this year the World Masters Regatta. The rowing course is permanently set up down the length of the lake and it must be a great venue as you would be able to see the racing from anywhere around the lake.

Bled in autumn is a tranquil spot. In summer it may get too busy but at this time of the year it was perfect. We were pleased we’d found a list of the most beautiful lakes in Europe on FaceBook and altered our course accordingly.

Lake Bled, Slovenia

From Bled we drove the short distance to Slovenia’s capital city, Ljubljana. Being only 50kms down the road we were there by mid-morning so biked the 5km to town and spent the rest of the day exploring this very cool little capital.

We took in the sights, walking through the Old Town and up the hill to Ljubljana Castle for a view across the city. Parts of the castle date back to the 15th century but it’s more than a relic, it’s been beautifully renovated to incorporate space for events and conferences, there’s a restaurant and café, galleries, and a museum, as well as areas to relax and enjoy the surrounds.

Down the hill in the Old Town is the Central Market, a vibrant open-air market selling fruit, vegetables, deli foods, crafts and art. We bought persimmons, plums and fresh ginger.

The Ljubljanica River flows through the middle of the city centre and is decorated by beautiful bridges. The most famous is Triple Bridge, three bridges that connect the modern city to the Old Town in an area packed with bars and restaurants, the perfect place to stop for a while and people watch with a gelato. Another is the Dragon Bridge with its dramatic green dragons guarding each end – Slovenia has a thing for dragons.

Slovenia was part of communist Yugoslavia until 1991 when it split to become an independent country. This wasn’t a peaceful process and the Yugoslavian People’s Army tried to prevent independence which led to the Ten-day War. There are bullet holes in some of the old buildings, a reminder of an all too recent past. Like our beloved Baltic countries, Slovenia has a vibrant modern feel to it, as though they’re making up for their repressed past by fully embracing the future.

Ljubljana’s mix of ultra-modern architecture and character-filled historic buildings blends the past, present and future. The people are stylishly dressed and resonate cool. Being only medium-sized helps this city keep an intimate feel, there are only 530,000 people in the greater metropolitan area, and Slovenia as a country has just over 2 million.

Ljubljana was named 2016 European Green Capital and from what we saw, we could understand why – it’s super clean, there is great public transport, and bikes paths everywhere. In fact, all of Slovenia appears to be very green-focussed. The campsites have the best recycling facilities we’ve come across, there is no litter in the streets or parks, and there are plenty of notices about the environment, water and power conservation. The camping ground in Bled was an Eco camp that prides itself on being the highest rating in sustainability.

View from Ljubljana Castle
Dragon Bridge
Ljubljana Castle
Triple Bridge
Ljubljana
Ljubljana

After Ljubljana we headed towards the Italian border to visit a Slovenian cultural treasure, the Lipica Stud Farm. Slovenia is where Lipizzaner horses come from. These are the white horses made famous by the Spanish Riding School. Lipica is the oldest European stud farm to be continuously breeding one of the oldest cultural horse breeds. It is a national treasure and is owned by the people of Slovenia. We took a tour of the stud and saw some of the foals, born black, and met some of the young horses in training and the top performing horses, all stallions. Over 400 horses live on the farm and it’s an incredible place with rolling fields filled with trees and lakes and surrounded by white post and rail fences. The large herds of all-white mares grazing under chestnut trees was a sight to behold.

As we were so close to the Italian border we decided to drive across to the coast to find somewhere to stay. The campground we found was already closed for winter. We drove on to Venice.

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Austria: Innsbruck, Salzburg & Spittal an der Drau

We spent week 18 immersed in beautiful Austria.

The week started as it finished, with stunning scenery. The drive through the Karwendel mountain range from Bavaria to Innsbruck in Austria was beautiful, the autumn colour added drama to the steep mountainsides. A poor policeman was trying to move a herd of cows from the road as traffic backed up in both directions. The cows didn’t seem worried, the policeman did. Campervan after campervan passed us going in the opposite direction. Did they know something we didn’t? We asked our host when we arrived at our campsite and he said they’re like birds, all flying home for winter.

The Austrian elections are taking place on October 15th and election hoardings line the roads. If polls are right Austria could have the world’s youngest leader, with 31-year old Sebastian Kurz’s party looking the likely victors. He leads the centre-right party and has not ruled out a coalition with the leading nationalist party, a party with anti-EU views. It’s hard not to think that maybe the open Europe we travel so easily through won’t be around forever. Most of the “open” borders we cross have police presence and all the former border control buildings remain intact, blinds down, dormant but not extinct.

We arrived at our campsite in Innsbruck around 3.30, a cute little place about 2/3 the size of a rugby field with a friendly host who came out to meet us and gave us all the information we needed. We set up camp and then biked the 6.5kms to the centre of Innsbruck along the River Inn.

Our first impressions of Innsbruck were of a young and vibrant town. The University is right in the centre and there were a lot of young people around. In one of the underpasses we cycled through street artists were at work spray-painting the interior, it looked great. The city’s natural beauty can’t be overlooked. It sits on the River Inn surrounded by huge mountains.

We wandered around for a couple of hours and got our bearings. It’s always interesting arriving in a new place, you blindly fumble around for the first hour and then, after identifying some landmarks, start to put the pieces together, and after a day you know it like the back of your partners hand.

The rain started to fall and we headed back to camp.

The rain continued through the night and all the next morning. We spent the morning holed up in the campervan, reading and resting. Finally, around midday the rain stopped and the sun came out so it was on our bikes and back into town.

Innsbruck is bidding for the 2026 Winter Olympics and there are information stations around the city raising awareness. The city has already hosted the games twice, in 1964 and 1976, and was the venue for the Youth Winter Olympics in 2012.

We had seen the Olympic Bergisel Ski Jump from a distance the day before and decided to go to the top. It’s been a ski jump venue since the 20’s, and the new ski jump tower built in 2002 is used for one of the big annual ski jumping competitions and as a training ground for athletes. It stands at 50m tall, 250m above Innsbruck. Standing at the top of the jump looking out over Innsbruck and down to the 28,000 empty seats in the stadium below you can only imagine the adrenaline these jumpers must feel before they push forward and begin their 90 km/h run down the ramp, launching off the bottom and out into nothing. No doubt this futuristic tower will feature prominently in their Olympic pitch.

We walked back into town, through the Triumphal Arch, past St Anne’s Column and into the Old Town quarter amongst the throngs of tourists taking photos of the City Tower, Helbling House and the famous Golden Roof.

Looking down the Bergisel Ski Jump
Innsbruck from Bergisel Ski Jump
Olympic rings, Innsbruck
The River Inn, Innsbruck

The next morning, we left for Salzburg. We arrived around 1pm, set up camp and then biked into town – now our usual routine. Salzburg is the home of Mozart and The Sound of Music. The old city in nestled beneath slate grey cliffs with the Hohensalzburg Fortress sitting above, protectively overlooking the activity below. Salzburg got its name and its wealth from salt, white gold in times gone by. The city almost looks like it is made from salt, the buildings are all coloured a light stone-grey and other subtle hues, there are no brights to be seen, apart from the one yellow townhouse at 9 Getreidegasse where Mozart was born.

Salzburg is very compact and easy to walk around.  We walked down bustling Getreidegasse at the heart of the Altstadt (Old Town) with the fascinating ornate guild signs jutting out from the building facades above all the high street shops and eateries. There was the most stylish set of Golden Arches we’d ever seen.

We walked through to Salzburg Cathedral where Mozart was baptized and saw the baptismal font that was used. The interior of the cathedral is beautiful in an ornate baroque style. Not far from here is Mozart Platz with the famous statue of Mozart. The statue was obscured as the square was being used for an interactive expo on Médecins Sans Frontières (Doctors Without Borders). Set up in the square were the actual tents used in the field as clinics and surgeries. Having only ever read about the good work this organisation does operating in the most war torn and poverty-stricken parts of the world, it was great to stumble upon the expo.

We finished the day with a walk through the beautiful Mirabell Gardens and I had my fun channelling Julie Andrews by the Pegasus Fountain, where Maria and the Von Trapp children sing Do-Re-Mi in the Sound of Music movie.

After an afternoon in the city we had plenty of ideas of how we wanted to spend the next day. Back at the campsite the evening was warm enough to sit outside and enjoy the view across the mountains with the flame red sunset. No wonder this campsite is called Camping Panorama!

The next day we bought a 24-hour Salzburg tourist card for 27 euro each. This gives you access to all the major tourist attractions and after a quick calculation we worked out we’d make a 14-euro saving by just visiting the three we’d already decided on, so by adding another couple we would well and truly get our money’s worth.

After buying a fresh brioche at Salzburg’s oldest bakery, where the flour is still ground by water wheel, we took the funicular up the cliff to Hohensalzburg Fortress. This sprawling fortification is the biggest fully preserved castle in Central Europe and has been a Salzburg landmark perched on the cliff top above the city since 1077. Over time it has changed size and shape under different archbishops, as they each made their mark on it.

When we’d fully explored the fortress, and admired the view across the city and mountains, we descended the cliff and headed to the catacombs, a warren of stairways and chambers hewn into the side of the cliffs. It was the first time we’d walked up to catacombs and not down under ground. The church yard they were set in was quite lovely, instead of gravestones, the memorials were of intricate wrought iron with gilded embellishments.

A tour of the Domquartier was next on the agenda. The Domquartier is made up of the buildings around and including the cathedral and contain the residence of the prince-archbishops who ruled Salzburg, along with museums and art collections from the baroque period. We spent close to two hours marvelling at the ornate staterooms, regal private chambers, and the exquisite collections of baroque art and be-jewelled religious artefacts.

Mozart’s birthplace was another on the not-to-be-missed list. We’d walked past the famous “Hagenauer House” on the previous afternoon and now it was time to step inside. The museum is inside the actual apartment where the Mozart family lived for 26 years, so understandably it is a bit poky and it doesn’t take many people to be there for it to feel crowded and stuffy. However, the information was well displayed and the story of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart and his talented sister “Nannerl” was well told. The room where Mozart was born is a place of pilgrimage for fans. While we were there parents were eagerly taking photos of their children beside the piano Mozart played on as a child, perhaps hoping some of the child prodigy’s talent is absorbed.

We finished off the day with a river cruise. It was included in the Salzburg tourist card so was technically free. The Salzach river is extremely swift and shallow and the only passenger boat that operates on it, is a large jet boat. The tour took 45 minutes and was really just a boat ride up a river. There was nothing much to see as the river banks are high, but it was relaxing to be sitting in the sun listening to Mozart. At the end of the cruise the captain put the boat in a spin, turning it in time to a Mozart waltz, a bit of fun to finish the day.

The next day we headed to Hellbrunn Palace to see the famous trick fountains. Hellbrunn Palace was built 400 years ago by the prince-archbishop at the time, Markus Sittikus, as a pleasure place for summer entertainment.  The palace is now a magnificent tribute to the eccentric Sittikus who seemed to spend his entire life seeking pleasure and play, and not much else.

The tour of the trick fountains was fantastic fun. They are a series of mechanical water features that spring to life just as an unsuspecting guest is standing on or around them. The centre piece is the large stone table where Markus Sittikus would entertain guests. As the night progressed and the guests got more and more merry he would flick the switch and fountains would erupt from the guests’ seats and as they jumped up in surprise more water would spray from the ground around the table. All the while Markus Sittikus would remain seated at the head of the table, bone dry.

Our tour guide was delightful and suitably mischievous. We were warned to watch our cameras as he couldn’t guarantee we stayed dry, and we didn’t. We were in fits of giggles watching the reactions of others in the group as they were continually caught out by the trick fountains hiding in grottos and under steps, and no doubt they were laughing at us too.

The trick fountains were an apt finale to the few days we spent in Salzburg. There’s a playfulness to this city. From Mozart and the Sound of Music, to the indulgence of the baroque prince-archbishops, Salzburg seems to relish in the pleasures of life.

Looking over Salzburg Altstadt
Salzburg Cathedral
Domquartier
Hohensalzburg Fortress
Getreidegasse
The Golden Arches in Getreidegasse
Pegasus Fountain, Mirabell Gardens
Trick Fountains, Hellbrunn Palace

To finish our week in Austria we decided to head to the mountains and chose the small town of Spittal au der Drau as our base for a couple of nights.

Spittal au der Drau is near the border with Slovenia and Italy and to get there from Salzburg meant driving through more mountains. We had bought a vignette sticker for Austria for 8.70 euro, which covers tolls on most motorways, but had to pay an additional 11.50 for an impressive tunnel through the mountains. These incredible feats of engineering never fail to amaze us.

Above Spittal au der Drau is the Mount Goldeck recreational area, with a network of walking tracks high in the mountains. The day we planned to spend up there dawned clear and chilly. With a high of 11 expected in the village it was just 4 degrees when we arrived at the top of the gondola, a height of 2050 metres. We climbed the short distance to the summit of Mount Goldeck and soaked up the 360-degree views of mountain range after mountain range. We hiked along the ridge for a couple of hours, stopping regularly to enjoy more views from the peaks and to sit in the sun. We met some very friendly locals who pointed out Austria’s highest mountain Grossglockner in the distance. Another couple pointed out Italy and shared their experiences of visiting New Zealand. Everyone was relaxed and happy. On one of the slopes a group of women were picking berries from low lying scrub-like bushes. We asked what they were doing and they showed us the alpine cranberries that they were picking to make jam and a traditional sauce for schnitzel. They were bitter, unlike the cranberries we know.

As dusk fell we descended into the valley and reflected on a perfect way to spend our last full day in Austria.

Tomorrow we start our 19th week on the road and head through to Slovenia.

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4 Months on the Road: Cost Summary

As you know Louise writes our travel updates, but once a month I’m allowed to pen my thoughts and share the figures, because, apart from chief driver and cook, I’m also the accountant and keep tabs on what we’re spending. Louise does pretty much everything else.

So here goes, instalment 2:

When you embark on a year-long European tour without a job, you do need to watch spending. That doesn’t mean being a “tight arse”, but rather be frugal and think where the spending needs to be. To that end we recently spent a week in Switzerland and knew it would be expensive, and it was, but we stocked up before we crossed the border saving us a lot of money.

In Basel where the French/German/Switzerland borders meet there is a huge, and I mean HUGE, supermarket. What it didn’t sell didn’t matter, anyway it was in Germany, and the prices were great so we basically stocked up with a week’s food

Statistically German food and drink prices are 44.68% lower than Switzerland, according to the September price index. Italy is 41% lower and Spain, where we will be heading to in a couple of months, 54% lower.

I have been using a website www.numbeo.com/cost-of-living .You can pick whichever country you want to get a gauge on prices. The prices I am quoting in the graph below are taken from this site. I know you can buy eggs, potatoes etc., cheaper when on special, but this is a broad price index and if you follow it, it will give you good indication of what to expect. As you can see Switzerland is very expensive and what puts the NZ total price up is the cost of wine and beer.

Price Index

As Switzerland is not part of the EU you need change your money to Swiss Francs. That in itself is a hassle and a you do lose a bit with exchange rates. Zurich is currently rated the most expensive place in the world to live, and whilst its wonderfully situated on a large lake we had to pay $72NZ a night for a campsite, which was the dearest on our 4 months of travelling by some $10 (and they said Norway was expensive). And to be fair it would only rate in the bottom 30% of campsites we have stayed in, in regards to quality and facilities. You also need to buy a road toll vignette sticker before driving in Switzerland, and unlike Austria, you buy it at one price for the duration of 2017 – you wouldn’t want to arrive here on the 20th December.  In Austria you can buy a 10-day pass for $15NZ, but in Switzerland you pay $56NZ for the 2017 sticker. However, the roads are great and we’re more than happy to contribute to the cost with building the incredible tunnels and bridges that make travelling through the mountains so easy. It’s a much better system of paying too, with one fee, rather than Norway’s charging you as you go.

If you enjoy a beer or wine then you should stock up in the cheaper countries. Whilst Czechia was so cheap for beer, and even wine, Germany has an amazing beer culture so the range is huge. In Czechia we went to a bar attached to a campsite, had a pint of beer each and had change from $5NZ. Yes, they cost $2.30NZ a pint. We also found a local Czech wine shop and bought a couple of bottles of local wine for around $10NZ each, but they also had fill your own and I couldn’t resist. I filled a 2 litre plastic bottle of red wine for $7NZ and prepared for the worst. I wanted to go back next morning and buy a truck load, it was better than most bottles you pay $15 for in New Zealand, and this was almost the equivalent of 3 bottles for $7.

As for wine, we stopped at a big supermarket in France called Cora. They had a huge wine selection and you could taste before you buy. The two guys in the wine section spoke English and we told them what we were looking for and a couple of samples later we had a few cartons of lovely red wine at less than 5 Euro ($8 NZ) a bottle – I reckon you would pay around $20 in New Zealand for the same, perhaps even more. Interesting that they sell most of their win in cartons of six.

As for beer, in Germany the supermarkets are stocked to the gunnels and there are so many varieties. When we were staying with Louise’s Aunt and Uncle in Wahlrod, George took us down to the Rewe Supermarket where they had a liquor section. First stop was getting money back for the empties. You put them in this machine, it reads the barcode, and when you are finished it spits out a voucher which you can redeem in store. For each beer bottle the refund is 10 cents (NZ) and for each plastic bottle (water or soft drink), 30 cents (NZ).

I decided I would stock up so I chose a few bottles and went home for a tasting.  A 500ml bottle of nice German beer costs between 95 cents (NZ) and $1.40 (NZ) and you get 10 cents back on the bottle. Very cheap

Some of the samples we had to test in Germany.
Feeding the recycling machine in Germany

The other thing I noticed was they sell them in crates of 10 and 20, in line with the metric system. Funny New Zealand is also metric, meters, Kilometres, kilos, litres etc., but we still use the old measurement of half dozen and dozen bottles. The same applies when buying eggs. Here they are in 10’s where in most cases New Zealand still has dozens (just an observation).

And if you like a tipple every now and then, you can buy a 700ml bottle of Whiskey or Brandy for about $10NZ, Gin for $8NZ and Jim Beam (don’t mind if I do occasionally) for $15.

Budget wise, we continued to be under budget, thanks largely to the fact we didn’t have to pay campsite fees whilst staying with Margaret and George – just as well because you will notice we had the highest monthly campsite fee average of the 4 months, and a whopping $12 a night more than August.

Monthly Summary_Month 4

Finally, as you can see we are tracking well to budget considering we have spent a lot on tourist attractions and activities lately. To finish as I started, if you’re embarking on an adventure like ours, plan your route and look at the costs of the country and the average you should be paying before you go. The other morning we left Innsbruck in Austria and filled up in the little village beside the campsite. Diesel was 1.10 Euro a litre. The van took 64 litres.  On the motorway the price was 1.39 Euro a litre so that meant we saved 18 Euro by filling up in the town. That’s $30NZ!

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Meiringen, Zurich & Neuschwanstein Castle

Our 17th week on the road was filled with breath-taking scenery as we continued through Switzerland and then into Bavaria, Germany.

We had originally planned to make Interlaken our first stop after leaving Bern but a local we got talking to in Bern told us to avoid the tourist trap and to head to Meiringen instead for a more authentic Swiss experience. As Interlaken was on the way to Meiringen we stopped there for lunch and for a walk through the town. Yes, it is a tourist trap. Tour buses were there in droves and upmarket shops selling Swiss Army Knives, Swatches, chocolate and stuffed Saint Bernards lined the streets. Being a clear, calm day, the town’s tandem paragliding business was booming, and we stood and watched as one after another landed in the park with squealing tourists on board.

Meiringen is only a short drive from Interlaken and we arrived at our campsite around 1pm. The sign on the reception door said check-in was from 5 and to choose a pitch and come back later. We selfishly wanted to ask a few questions so pressed the buzzer and drew our host away from her lunch. She didn’t seem to mind and after a brief chat about the area she kindly let us check in. Half way through the paperwork she stopped and asked us if we were “spontan”. We looked at her, confused. She typed the word into Google translator on her phone and showed us. Ah “spontaneous”. Why would she be asking us that? We were looking even more confused as she pulled out two cards from a draw, explaining they were passes to go to the Alpen Tower on top of nearby Hasliberg mountain, and if we wanted to use them we could but we’d need to go now. In a very “un-spontan” move Mr Love suggested we wait until the next day. The offer was only for that afternoon and with some quick encouragement he agreed to go and we headed to the base of the mountain. We had no idea what to expect but on such a gorgeous day the idea of being on top of a mountain was appealing.

The first leg of the Meiringen-Hasliberg journey was in a suspended cable car which could hold around 30 people and took us to the first stop where there was a hotel and restaurant complex. From there we swapped to a smaller gondola for the next two legs, the cow bells on the herds grazing on the slopes below providing background music for our ascent. We changed once again to an even smaller covered chairlift for the final leg to the Alpen Tower on the mountain top. At 2250 metres the expansive views across the Bernese and Central Alps were stunning. Feeling a bit guilty at the lack of effort to get to the top of the mountain we took a walk along the ridge stopping for many photos along the way. From here you can see 401 mountain summits including some giants like Finsteraarhorn at 4274m, Wetterhorn at 3692m, Titlis at 3238m, and Sustenhorn at 3502m. Far below is Meiringen and the Aare River, a cloudy blue ribbon rippling through the valley. The weather couldn’t have been more perfect, warm and sunny, and barely any wind. If we’d had to pay it would have cost us 54 Swiss Francs each – $154 NZD for the two of us!

The next morning we were pleased we’d been “spontan” as the clouds had closed in around the mountain peaks. The views from the day before hidden away.

The Aare River, the same river in which I swam in Bern, rises in the Bernese Alps not far from Meiringen and runs through the valley past the town. At the top of the valley is the Aare gorge where the river has carved a path through a limestone ridge. The walk through the gorge had been recommended and despite the inclement weather we headed off on our bikes to the beginning of the track. There’s a small charge to enter the gorge and once you’re in you can see why. The track is almost entirely on suspended walkways bolted onto the rockface so you’re walking above the water with spectacular views of the river and the unique shapes carved by the force of the water.  Not far from the entrance to the gorge are the beautiful Reichenbach Falls, which are more famous for their part in fiction than their natural beauty.

After our gorge walk we biked back into Meiringen to find out more about the Sherlock Holmes connection we kept hearing about. The town is a place of pilgrimage for Sherlock Holmes fans because the Reichenbach Falls are where Sherlock Holmes and Moriarty fell to their deaths in the book “The Final Problem”. Such outrage was caused by the death of Sherlock Holmes that Arthur Conan Doyle eventually had to concede and bring the character back to life. Because of the significance of Meiringen to fans, the town has a small Sherlock Holmes museum complete with a perfect reconstruction of the living room at 221B Baker Street. It’s the only one in the world and has been finished to the exact specifications as written in the detective books. It was a fascinating museum to visit and the audio guide told a great story. Apart from the recent series with Benedict Cumberbatch, I hadn’t taken much interest in Sherlock Holmes and neither had Andrew, so we had never known there was such a strong Swiss connection to Britain’s most loved detective.

 

After our week getting off to a great start in Meiringen we packed up and set off for Zurich. En route we stopped for a few hours in Lucerne. We have both visited Lucerne previously but thought it would be nice to once again see this beautiful city nestled on and edge of Lake Lucerne and surrounded by mountains. We found a place to park the van a couple of kilometres around the lake and biked into town. The town’s landmark is the 14th century Chapel Bridge, which, along with the Water Tower beside it, is the most photographed monument in Switzerland. The covered wooden bridge is one of Europe’s oldest and has been faithfully restored to its original beauty. We walked across the bridge and took the obligatory photos, then along the promenade beside the Reuss River lined with historic townhouses in pretty pastels, past the needle damn and the weir, which control the river levels, to the other historic wooden bridge, the Spreuer Bridge. This bridge is renowned for a series of 67 intriguing mid-17th century paintings called “Dance of Death”, that sit in the triangular frames beneath the roof of the bridge. Leaving the river, we strolled through the narrow lanes of the old town and back to the lakefront where the flash boats for charter line the pier and glitzy restaurants spill onto waterfront terraces.

From Lucerne it was through to Zurich. Zurich is the most expensive place to live in the world and for us it was the most expensive campsite to date – $73 NZD per night and far from the best. It would only be a two-night stay. In general Switzerland is so much more expensive than any other European country, even Norway. Diesel costs around 1.40 euro ($2.30 NZD) and eating out is ridiculous, with basic lunch dishes costing around $40 NZD.

Our campsite was about 5 kilometres from the city and the afternoon we arrived we biked into the centre to look around. The weather was beautiful and we parked the bikes and walked along the lakefront esplanade in the sunshine. There were many others out enjoying the warmth while it lasts. Autumn has definitely arrived, the leaves are changing colour rapidly and the light is muted.

The next day we spent a full day exploring Zurich. From the lakefront, we walked through Sechselautenplatz, the quartzite-covered square flanked by the majestic Opera House, towards the twin towers of the Grossmunster Cathedral that dominate the cityscape of Zurich. True to habit I was keen to climb a tower for a view over the city. After getting our bearings and soaking up the view from the tower top we were off along the riverside walkway and into the winding lanes of Neiderdorf with its colourful shops and cafes. Across the Limmat River is Bahnhofstrasse, Zurich’s main shopping street with all the high street and luxury brands, and running off this bustling tribute to modernity is Rennweg, the main street of Zurich in the middle ages.  It’s now a quaint shopping precinct with independent boutiques, cafes and chocolatiers. We walked along Rennweg and up the steep path to Lindenhof, a leafy park on a terrace overlooking the river Limmat and the city. We sat a while in the sun. Although Zurich is busy there was a calmness to the place, no one was rushing and parks were full of people sitting and relaxing. Not far from Lindenhof is St Peter’s church in a square where free-standing chairs are scattered around available for anyone to stop and sit, and many did, including us. St Peter’s church boasts the biggest church clock in Europe and it can be seen from all over the central city. I overheard a fellow tourist commenting that you never need a watch in Switzerland, there are clocks everywhere. After people watching in the sun we strolled down towards the lake to Burkiplatz at the end of Bahnhofstrasse for a view over the lake and to the Alps beyond. Apart from being the most expensive place in the world to live, Zurich consistently ranks as one of the most liveable cities. It’s a very beautiful city and easy to get around, but you’d need a good bank balance to really enjoy life here.

Chapel Bridge & Water Tower, Lucerne
Zurich from the cathedral tower
Zurich
Grossmunster Cathedral, Zurich
River Limmat, Zurich
Zurich

The next morning we were on the road again, leaving Switzerland for now. We are planning to pop back into southern Switzerland in late October as we make our way towards Spain for winter. I have a cousin in Lausanne to visit.

I had persuaded Mr Love to do a detour back into Germany on our way from Switzerland to Austria to visit the Neuschwanstein Castle. This is the fairy-tale castle that was the inspiration for Disney’s Sleeping Beauty castle, and has been on my travel wish-list for a long while. Liechtenstein was across the river as we headed towards Germany, so we swung off the motorway for a whistle stop visit to Vaduz, just to say we’d been there. Vaduz is the capital of Liechtenstein and 5,400 of the principality’s 37,400 residents live there. We walked through the Parliament square before zipping back across to Switzerland and onto the motorway again.

As we drove into Germany on Friday afternoon we noticed there was a large number of campervans on the road.  A quick Google search told us that Tuesday October 3rd is German Unity Day, a public holiday, so it seems many Germans are enjoying an extra-long weekend.  When we arrived at our campsite near Neuschwanstein Castle the campervans and caravans were lined up at the gate, and they kept on coming all through the evening.

The day dawned sunny and warm for our visit to the castle. We biked along the cycleways to the base of the mountain where the tourist machine was in full force – shops, restaurants, horse and cart rides, tours, duty-free. Given that 1.4 million people visit Neuschwanstein each year it’s understandable. The walk up the hill to the castle took about half an hour and there were great vantage points along the way to view the castle.

King Ludwig II of Bavaria built the castle as his retreat and as homage to composer Richard Wagner, who he was a devoted patron of.  Built in the 19th century it was supposed to depict a medieval Bavarian castle, but is more of a poetic interpretation than an actual replica. Seven weeks after the death of Ludwig in 1886, Neuschwanstein was opened to the public. The shy king had built the castle to withdraw from public life – now vast numbers of people came to view his private refuge.

The setting could not be more idyllic and we were fortunate to visit in autumn with the mountainside alight with flamelike colour, contrasting against the white limestone of the castle.

After visiting the castle, we walked further up the mountain to the Marienbrucke bridge to experience that famous view back across to the castle. The view was overwhelming, and not just for its beauty. The narrow pedestrian bridge hangs high above a ravine, and there were hundreds of people crammed onto it all wanting their photo of the fairy-tale castle. People were clambering up the cliffs above the bridge and sitting on ledges high above the crevasse, and there were no controls or even warning signs. I walked a couple of metres onto the bridge, took some photos and then passed the camera to Andrew and got off there as fast as I could. I’m sure it’s safe but the wooden planks were moving, and being built in 1845 it’s not exactly new.

All this excitement had made us hungry so we biked to the historic village of Fussen for lunch. We found a sunny table at one of the many cafés and ordered. A Canadian couple were sitting at the table next to us and we shared a few travel stories – it’s always good to talk to other travellers.

Strolling through the romantic centre of the 700-year-old town of Fussen was lovely, with Baroque churches, the former Benedictine abbey of St. Mang, and the “High Castle” (Hohes Schloss) with its inner courtyard and wonderful frescoes. It’s a tourist town but it hasn’t lost its charm and it didn’t feel busy or overcrowded.

This area has an amazing network of cycleways connecting the villages, lakes and castles. We biked through the rural village of Schwangau and past the small herds of dewy eyed milking cows and along the river bank back to our campsite. The campsite is one of the largest we’ve stayed in and was filled with mostly Germans. All through our travels we’ve found the German campervanners to be very friendly, always saying hello and keen stop for a chat. The campsite was celebrating Oktoberfest with traditional music each night over the long weekend and a special German menu on offer, so for our last night in Bavaria we joined the festivities in the communal hall and ate schnitzel and bratwurst, drank a stein of Bavarian beer and clapped along to a lederhosen-wearing Bavarian band. Prost!

Neuschwanstein Castle
Nearby Hohenschwangau Castle

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