The First Month: Mosquito Hell, Ubiquitous Germany, Sweet Sweet Switzerland

Our trip down the Rhine has finally drawn to a close. We sit now in a guesthouse on the shores of Lake Constance, having followed the mighty river from its mouth in the North Sea, down through western Germany into Switzerland via an unexpected jaunt into France. We have seen much, and are now becoming accustomed to life on the road. Here's a short summary of our experience so far. 

The Netherlands Pt 2

Holland truly is the cyclist's promised land. Perfectly surfaced cycle paths glide and sweep through placid smallholdings and picture-perfect villages. The steady cadence you maintain as you cruise along sends you into a kind of trance, and this state seems to be common amongst the Dutch locals, who sweep along on their Gazelles, unruffled and never hurried. 

It was like being inside a looped soft-focus life insurance commercial where an endless stream of golden oldies cycle along, their white hair and sensible clothes lit with the golden light of a summer afternoon. Indeed, it was so perfect that it felt as if we were heading into a trap. 

The second night's camping spot

Forest trail near Arnhem

Nazi cutlery

The placid cycling experience was countered by a wild camping struggle. It turns out one of the biggest challenges in the Netherlands is finding a single square foot of ground that is not either a garden, someone's house, or an impenetrable and inhospitable bog. 

Following the first night's swampy mess of flies, we found an area of land that we optimistically saw as terra nullius, but was in fact a public park well-frequented by dog walkers. Luckily, we bedded down without challenge. The Dutch cheerines and tolerance does appear to be implacable.

After  a seemingly endless succession of picture-perfect villages and apologising to locals for Brexit during ferry crossings, we came to Arnhem, where we treated ourselves to a campsite for two nights along with some good old-fashioned Nazi memorabilia at the local war museum. After Arnhem, Germany loomed, and it would loom large over the next few weeks.

Germany

Soon after crossing the land border to Germany, the modest smallholdings of Holland were replaced by gigantic farms that ran on for miles.  Despite appearing to retain much of the agrarial jollity of Holland, there is a naked utilitarianism about the German countryside that is forbidding.

Our camp on the first night was a delight, on a wind-swept field on the Rhine banks. We were treated to an obscenely gorgeous sunset. Things were off to a good start.

Our view on the first night in Germany

The next few days proved more challenging. The weather was turning hot, and we toiled under the baking sun for long afternoons through anonymous villages and huge farms and factories. It was stifling and still, and even the occasional breeze offered little respite; just stale air being moved slightly, to be replaced by more stale air.

These conditions also proved the perfect breeding ground for what was to become our nemesis - the hateful mosquito. Our attempts to camp were frequently thwarted, or ruined, by huge squadrons of them, which started off as an annoyance and have grown and mutated, bite by hateful bite, into a wellspring of despair. The possibility of being discovered wild camping by people, once our primary fear, has been relegated to a minor consideration . The mosquitoes have ground down our willpower and optimism with their innumerable numbers and insatiable appetite. We have spent nights cowering, besieged, inside our inner tent listening to the high-pitched cacophony outside and hoping our sanctum had not been breached. On these occasions, sleep is scarce, and stolen in chunks.

Mozzie-blighted nights cycling through the industrial heartland of the North Rhine and the fallen and benighted steel-producing hell of Duisburg were brought to a close in Cologne. Here, we were well looked after by our friends, the lovely Seraijna and Jasmin, who provided us with a roof over our head and wonderful company for two days as we recuperated.  Home comforts taken for granted just months ago seemed now like kingly luxury. We quaffed Kolsch (the local Koln lager) and devoured sausages in a local brewery, served by a corpulent, glistening man who would keep bringing more beer with ferocious jollity until told to stop. It was wonderful.

The Germans love their street art

Cologne cathedral's stained glass was pretty wack

Brewery (sausages, beer and glistening barman not pictured)

The most interesting building in Duisburg. Truly a benighted and horrible place

Next was the Rhine Gorge, between the old West German capital Bonn and Bingen further down the river. This is known as the "Romantic Rhine" in reference to the many castles and ruins that adorn the bluffs which rise up sheer on each side of the river. The scenery was impressive - despite the many cycling pensioners lending an air of safe banality to it all - and the weather was cool and breezy, providing mercifully mosquito-free camping conditions. Two nights were spent in the forest, with the second being on the edge of a Victorian graveyard. As you might expect, this was the fulfilment of a dream for me, and quite possibly a nightmare for Sarah. The Gorge was all too soon behind us, and the bluffs disappeared as sharply as they appeared. We were once again in the lowlands. Mainz and Strasbourg awaited.

A good camping spot in the Rhine Gorge

Local wildlife

Silent as the grave 

A typical enormous German factory

French border

Impenetrable, hateful lushness

Start of the Rhine gorge

A flattering statue of former German chancellor Konrad Adenauer in Bonn

One night on the road between Mainz and Strasbourg, after a dinner of spaghetti with garlic mushrooms on the banks, we set out to find a wild camping spot. No big deal, we thought - the Rhine route at this point turns into straight paths with forest on either side, so surely it was a matter of simply turning off the path to somewhere discreet. However, up close the forest was a barrier of inhospitable lushness, a sheer wall of nettles and stinging plants impossible to traverse. Inside the forests, worse, were huge pools of standing water.

We discovered to our horror that even stopping to check the map on the path guaranteed at least two or three bites from mozzies. The only way to avoid bites was by cycling along at pace, feeling the patter of thousands of them as they hit our faces and clothes. We cycled through monotonous, hatefully monotonous, terrain for miles, with no respite in sight. It was by now completely dark, and serious discussions were held about cycling through the night. Eventually, brought down by fatigue, we could cycle no longer, and pitched the wet tent indiscreetly on the edge of a corn field, enduring more bites as we did so. This was the low point of the trip. Thankfully higher ground awaited us.

France

It turns out the Alsace (Franco-German border country) is a wonderful part of the world. Although you are ostensibly in France, the towns retain German architecture and everything ends in -berg or -heim. It is basically Germany with all the benefits of being in France (cheap wine, excellent groceries, the musical notes of French compared to German's guttural, harsh utilitarianism). As a cyclist, you instantly know you have crossed the border when the exemplary behaviour of German drivers turns into the Mr Bean-esque driving of the French, who buzz around in their little hatchbacks like mad wasps.

Our first stop was in Strasbourg, the border town with all the European institutions we are giving up. On our way to a campsite on the edge of town we experienced our first banlieue, otherwise known as a French urban ghetto. These notorious districts are truly appalling in person. We had to navigate a huge group of gypsies who had set up their "camp" on a cycle path and were rolling around dead drunk in their own filth. Everywhere was blackened, graffiti-blasted and crumbling, in contrast to the centre of town, which was rather nice. 

After Strasbourg we ventured up into the hills of des Ballons des Vosges National Park. Our first encounter was the delightful town of Ribeauville, which was so charming it was frankly disgusting. Our wild camping was unperturbed by mosquitos, and the cycling was the best yet; sweeping descents and wide views through hills, villages and vineyards on our way to the towns of Colmar and Eguisheim, which have an unruffled medieval charm and are stuffed with local wineries. Our final night wild camping was spent outside the town of Rumersheim behind some kind of huge inland "lighthouse"; can anyone shed any light on what these are? 

Eguisheim: like catnip for American tourists

What on earth is this?!

Some local Alsace wine

Classic sausage fest

Delightful breakfast spot, I think this was actually Germany

Washing clothes in Strasbourg's cheapest hotel

Hunkered in a bunker

Switzerland

In a nutshell, Switzerland is the promised land. Glorious views, sparkling azure waters, verdant fields of wildflowers and few mosquitos present. What's more, they have free taps with fresh and cool waters every few miles. Although hauling a 60kg touring bike up some of its slopes was arduous, the sweeping descents made it all worthwhile. 

We crossed the border near Basel and worked our way east up the High Rhine from there. Three days of excellent cycling followed, normally started off with a black coffee, a pastry, and an early morning swim in the refreshing waters of the Rhine. 

I have nothing more to say about this wonderful, wonderful country. It surpassed all our expectations and has stunned me into silence. We are now back in Germany on the shores of Lake Constance's Obersee, about to sample the best of Bavaria's beer and sausages on our way to Munich. It has been a glorious respite. We will update in a month or so,

Basel

Basel's main Bahnhof

We camped here just as an almighty thunderstorm began to rage overhead

Rhinefall

Somewhere near the German border. Most of the houses were covered in these impressive frescoes

A few ZUBRs