Eel, wine and winding roads

Well this one day started on a mission to find some sox. It ended dining on locally hunted deer and drinking expensive French wine...

After meeting some friendly bikers and enjoying a coffee at a local cafe, we decided there was nothing better to do than go for a ride and enjoy the weather and local roads, seemingly made for bikes. After a stop to have coffee and cake at one of the guys mum’s place we were off into the villages and mountains, much similar to Mt Glorious but never-ending perfect roads.
 Many roads, castles, ferries, some smoked eel and the odd foot peg scrape against the bitumen later, we dropped into a small village. Dinner was gormet, deer (locally hunted by the chef and his colleagues of course) and white asparagus before heading to another village for a tipple of wine...



The wine house (for want of a better word) was found on foot, up a number of cobble stone alleys. We turned to blank ordinary timber door in an old building. One of the bikers (Richard) proclaims “here we are” or "this is it" or some such thing. Inside we find a room that may once have been a stable, barn or shed, with massive high ceilings and doors, lit only by candle light. A set of old stairs clearly out of place link this room with the rest of the building. Walls have partially exposed sandstone block with scattered whitewash clinging to higher parts of some walls. Some old French street signs hang on the walls. Paintings lean abandoned against the wall, some unfinished. In the corner a cabinet loaded with bottles of dusty wine stands modestly. Unaware of the value of its load.

This apparently is a place that only serves fine wine, mostly French, some German. The guy who runs the place is an arty wino who one day realised he will never drink all of his cellared wine and should share it with a few people, for a fee, mostly to chefs or fellow artists or musos. Only people in the know it seems. I think the owner just wanted us to have this particular wine so he could have a taste himself. I stepped out the door into reality and rode home wondering what had just happened that day.

 The following days I gave some family friends some help on the farm, who kindly fed and housed me for over a week while waiting out some inclement weather. Thanks Thomas and Tanya. Was good seeing you again hope to see you before I head back.

We headed to a small village for a festival called schutzenfest. The festival has its origins as a time to prove which village has the best army; the tradition has lived on from the old days I think, but mainly just an excuse for a 3 day party and many beers.

After a good bye to the Voss family I was off to the Netherlands, First stop Alkmaar. After some high speeds on the autobahn (tiger is still protesting), I was in the wonderful land of dykes, cheese and windmills, that’s the type that keep out water.

Dali's treadly

After exploring the local galleries and streets of Alkmaar, it was south off to Amsterdam...

typical streets of Amsterdam

I saw the most unlucky guy in Amsterdam - a blind man in the red light district... He was tapping on the ground with his cane as much as those "ladies of the night" were tapping on their little windows willing anyone interested inside. There were plenty of pot cafes, porno shops and peep shows to stroll between whiles passively inhaling the smoke from someone else’s reefer, but otherwise not too exciting.

After a visit to the Van Gogh museum I was off south to Belgium. Had a stroll around the village of Bree then a quick visit to (Charleville in France). Under whelming to say the least. I decided to leave Charleville after almost being run over at a set of traffic lights by some crazy woman in a Reno Cleo (yes Brent women drive these). Not impressed. Sorry no post cards from Charleville-France.

remnamts of statues of famous guys, a book was written about the dude second from the end...

From here it was off to Trier, Germany. I stayed at a hostel where I met an Aussie guy from Bris. We went for a hike to a lookout which left us lost in the woods, doing cross country to get back to the hostel in time for check out. None the less it was good fun. To talk to someone without thinking and interpreting ever single word said was a relief. We had a look at roman baths and ruins then enjoyed the massive spaces and architecture of the cathedrals.

Next stop, the Moselle valley, famous for the Riesling. I rode up the Moselle amongst the vineyards, some of which are on 72° inclines running straight into the river. I enjoyed the offerings the villages had to offer – mostly wine, ice-cream or pastries (the staples of fruit, dairy and cereals). I camped at a lookout overlooking the moselle. Nice vista but noisy from the trains below.

The Valley is littered by Castles, complete or in ruins. If you weren’t looking at them on the surrounding hills, you were driving under them on the roads.

After heading North East along the Moselle, I headed south along the Rhine. Once again many castles scattered up on its steep banks.

After leaving the Rhine country side, the castles were replaced by nuclear power plant cooling towers and industrial buildings.

I took in a few synagogues and cathedrals in Worms, the grandeur and craftsmanship leaves one looking for words. Then it was off to a Jewish cemetery (the oldest in Germany apparently). The grave stones appear in no order, erratically crammed into the prime real-estate that is the cemetery. The pockmarks of bullets still scar scare some headstones telling a tale of yester year.