Friday 11th May 2012

And so, and about time too, it was time to set out on our travels.

But before we could hit the long road to the docks to catch the ferry, we had to round up the cats and get them in their baskets. Molly, being sharp as a knife saw me bringing the cages up from the shed, and so tried to hide in the kitchen. Once Molly was in the basket, next up was Scully and she was no trouble. And last was Mulder. We leave him last as he has a weak bowl problem when it comes to heading to the cattery.

So, we loaded the car up, bags, cameras and cats and headed to Denton to drop the cats off; Mulder nearly made it all the way, but nearly is quite all the way. Oh well.

And once the cats were in their pen, it was time to speed to the ferry port; living Dover has its advantages, like not having to leave home until about ten minutes before we need to be at the port, and upon our return, a 5 minute drive until we’re back home. But getting home was a long way off. About a thousand miles off in fact.

We checked in, went through both sets of customs; the French barely awake and the British one checking every page of every traveller. And we made it to catch the earlier ferry, and so we drove straight on The Spirit of Britain, parked up, only to find most seats taken. So, we went up to the deck to watch our departure and the cliffs slide into the distance as head got nearer and nearer to France. We did head down onto the covered decks to find most Brits tucking into their third or fourth pint of Stella with their children running around wild.

Once off the ship, we headed onto the autoroute and headed up the coast to Dunkerque and then onto Belgium and on to Brussels. The sun began to shine, and once through the Belgian capital the roads got less crowded and driving became a pleasure. We stopped off at a parking place to have our pate sandwiches and watch the cars speed by. Back into the car and onwards into the Eifel mountains and then onto Germany.

Crossing the border increased the average speed of the other traffic by about 20%, with some cars whizzing by at something close to the speed of light. Although upon entering Germany there is a suggestion that the speed limit on the autobahn is 130km/h, it seems that it is every German’s right to drive at maximum speed whenever possible, and anyone going slower had just better get out of the way, or expect to have the faster car stay 0.2mm from your back bumper until you get back into the slower lane from whence you came.

We headed past Cologne, and onto Bonn; the sat-nav guided us into the city centre, across two tram lines and into an area of housing, and finally onto the right street. No worries at all. Our friends live in a house on a dead-end street near one of the tramlines and main railway line to Cologne. But despite being in the city, the view from their back garden was mostly of green plants, and quite wonderful for that. Birds sung from the trees and the neighbour was getting ready his garden railway for the summer; but I was not to see it going, sadly.

After unpacking, Guenter took us for a walk down to the banks of the River Rhein as they live about 1km from it. Above us dark clouds were gathering, but we thought we would be OK without coats. Down by the river there was a wide path, lined with trees. We walked along taking in the view of the old new Bundestag on the other side of the river; as soon as it was completed, the wall came down and government was moved back to Berlin.

We came to a bierstube, and so went in for a cold beer, and as we sat down to drink, the first drops of rain began to fall, which in time became one of those Biblical storms newspapers always talk about. Guenter called one of his sons to come and fetch us in the family car and so avoid the rain and arrive home in time for dinner.

The forecast for Sunday was not good, although not as bad as the BBC would have had us believe, but there would be rain and there would be no sun. Why was this important? Well, the main reason for us going to Germany was for Rhein in Flames, something I had heard about when I lived in Germany but never saw. So, Guenter and Martina invited us over whilst they were staying with us last year, and we accepted.

Of course, we had no idea what the weather might be like; but this time last year we had wall-to-wall sunshine, and it had been like that for weeks.

Not this year, though.

On Saturday morning, the rain had yet began to fall, and with little else to do, we thought we should head over to where I used to be based, the old RAF base at Laarbruch. The sat-nav said it was some 90 minutes away, and so we set off. After joining the motorway, the rain began to fall and fall heavily. I can’t say it was pleasant, travelling in heavy rain and I did think of turning back; but, thankfully the rain did ease and stop, and so by the time we pulled into Weeze, the nearest town to the base it was dry.

The town does look the same, and I recognised many buildings, although some things had changed, like the British post and phone box. Anyway, we have breakfast in the town café; hot waffles with cream and hot cherries! That felt much better. And then time to drive to what is left of the base; Most of the buildings are left, although some looking very sad with boarded up windows and being overgrown. There is a museum, but that was closed, and so I made do with taking a few pictures before moving on. The base is now home to a mainly freight airport, and a new terminal building has been built, right opposite 1 squadron’s compound. Finally, I drove to Singlie Strasse, where I used to live, but apart from the block at the top it was out of bounds.

I took a shot and we got back in the car and drove off the base. I suppose it shows we should never go back as it was never really as good as we remembered. Or if it was, it certainly isn’t now.

We drove to Kaevlar, a town of pilgrimage, and ripe for some photographs due to my new-found interest in churches, but as we drove through the countryside, the rain began to fall, and the thought of wandering around in a downpour was not pleasant, and so we headed back to the motorway and back to Bonn.

We arrived back in time to head back out again to catch the tram back into the centre of Bonn. Of course, apart from the occasional holiday in Blackpool, riding a tram is an unusual experience for a Brit, like being on a train but running down streets just outside of shops and the such. We got off just over the main bridge cross the river, and headed down on foot to the bank where many boats were moored; no mistaking ours, which was shaped like a whale and called ‘Moby Dick’ of course!

And waiting at our table were slices of sticky sweet cakes; why not? And at four we set sail for some 30km upstream and then turn round and come back again. Of course, there was more to it than that. Cruising along the Rhein is great, even in damp and grey weather. I snapped away at the sighs and the towns. But even better were two main lines either side of the river, so every 5 minutes or so a freight train would rattle past. It livened things up.

Back in the 1940, Remagen was the scene of a huge battle for the last bridge over the river; now it was where our boat was to pick up the cooked meal. After passing beneath the buttresses of the old bridge, we went down to our table to wait to be called to get our food from the buffet. There seemed to be enough for everyone, and for the next couple of hours people went back for seconds and thirds. Jools and I went back upstairs to watch the valey slide past as it got dark, and in-between the trains a man we liked to call “Mr Eyebrows” conducted at the prow of the ship along to the piped Eurodisco boomed out. He wore eggshell blue blaizer, a flat cap, had a bright red face and as you would expect, great eyebrows. Everytime he walked past he was babbling to himself, but then seemed to be in the company of a couple of women with whom he would sing or dance the Lambada with at mostly inappropriate moments.

As darkness fell, the boat turned round, and we headed back downstream towards Bonn. Just before we reached Remagen again, we were held back by the carnival police to be sure of passing the towns that were letting of fireworks at the right moment. And by some signal, we moved off waiting for the first flash of an explosion in the gloom of the near-dark.

And then it began; and soon enough the fireworks began to blur into each other. The displays must have cost hundreds of thousands of Euros, but they were good. Those of us on deck huddled in our winter clothes in a bit to try and stay warm. Just shy of Bonn, the flotilla of 50 ships stopped again, and in the park beside the river another firework display sprang into life. More fireworks.

And in time, we ended back in Bonn, and waited for the ship to be tied up and fight our way through the crowds to the pier where the ferry was due to leave, only to see it casting off and our short cut home was gone. We went to the tram stop, and being a weekend the routes had changed a little, and Martina realised that one waiting would go past their house; we got on and soon were zipping through the quiet streets and back to their house and our beds.

And Sunday morning dawned damp and grey too; but with a faint promise of sunshine later. So, we headed to the tram stop, and purchased a ticket that would enable all four of us to have unlimited travel in the area on trains, trams and buses. All for €22.50! So, we set out for Cologne.

We got off the tram at the next stop, the local railway station, and waited for our train to Cologne.

Cologne straddles the river, and is dominated by the biggest cathedral I have ever seen. And like St Pauls in London, the Dom was almost undamaged during the war despite the surrounding area being flattened by Bomber Harris. We got off at one station short of the main railway station so we could go to the top of a modern tower block to take in the views.

The tower delivered on the views, despite the cloudy and misty weather, the views over the river to the cathedral were breathtaking; as was the railway line passing beneath the tower and then crossing the river over a multi-arched bridge which is as much a symbol of the city as Der Dom. I really could have stood and watched the trains passing hither and thither all day, and probably would have done if the rain hadn’t have started again. We went back down and crossed on the footpath beside the bridge with trains crossing just a couple of feet from us. We dived into a café, not just a café, but Café Reichard, some 150 years old and looking quite swish.

We ordered salads, which we went to the salad bar to fill our plates. The plates were then weighed, but we were not allowed to bring our own plates back, over-worked waitresses had to do that. Turns out that you paid for your salad by weight, and mine was the heaviest and so most costly. Still, the surroundings were nice as was the people watching. And by the time we had finished, the rain had just about stopped and we headed to Der Dom.

If ever there was a building that came close to being a man-made mountain, this is it. I have climbed it in my youth, but not today. I made do with photographing it inside, in all its gothic splendour. Despite being full of people, there was so much space above us. It really is an incredible thing. At this point, words fail me, but if you’re in the city, you should go. You can’t miss it.

After leaving the cathedral, we did a walking tour round the city, but despite looking old, most of the buildings are post-war rebuild, so total was the bombing of the city. But even beneath the city, the remains of the medieval city is still being uncovered, as we saw at an excavation outside the town hall where the old Jewish Quarter is being revealed. We called in at a proper German bar for a quick beer, and then it was time to head back to Bonn for dinner which was traditional spiced beef accompanied by vegetables and boiled potatoes.

On Monday, Martina went back to work, and so Jools and I headed to Wuppertal to ride a train. Yes, a train.

We punched the details of the station Guenter suggested we should go to, and we set off into the morning rush hour on the motorways. But, we seemed to miss the worst of it and soon were heading down the steep road into the town. Wupertal is spread out in a valley either side of the River Wuper, and space is limited, and so the building of trams does not seemed to be considered, instead they built a railway suspended over the river. And after over 100 years, the train is still working, and is thrilling to ride as it sweeps round the bends in the river with the stations also suspended over the river.

After parking the car and crossing the main line railway, we had breakfast in a café before we headed up to the platforms to ride the Schweberbahn. Once a train had arrived and it set off, the experience is like riding a small plane, as the cars bank as they go round corners, and you can looking into houses and offices as you cruise by at 25km/h. Once you get over the thrill, it settles down to just like riding any other commuter transport; until you look down and see the river below. Or, at the other end of the line it crosses a motorway and curves away from the river and the trains travel above the heavy traffic on the street below.

At the end of the line, we climbed down the steps from the station and walked the 1km to the first station, just to have the tracks above our heads and to snap the trains as they zoom past. Along the length of the street, the supports for the railway blurred into a metal tunnel with the traffic travelling through.

After climbing back up the steps to the next station, we caught the next train to the centre of the city, where we got off again as I had spotted a photogenic car park. I kid you not. We looked into the main shopping area, but in truth shopping isn’t one of our things unless its cameras or records, so we decided to head back to the train and head back to the car and head to the end of the line once more where the car was parked.

We did have a shock, as it turned out that despite buying our tickets, we had not validated them, and so the inspector who caught us, wasn’t really sure what to do, but said to keep quiet and do it when we got off. And Jools understood his meaning and I didn’t; oh well.

As the trains were now full, there was little fun in riding the line again, but there will be a next time, so we walked back over the main railway line to the car.

We punched the location of a cathedral that Guenter had recommended into the sat-nav, and we set off. After about half an hour and 50km, we descended into a deep valley, and at the bottom was what looked like an old monastery and a huge church. And there was nobody about.

We walked to the church doors, and from inside we could hear the organ playing; I walked into the shop next door to ask if it was OK to go in; in my broken German I asked, and it seemed it was OK, and was free too. Canterbury and Salisbury take note! Inside there was no one about, other than the organ player, who seemed to be learning a new piece, but the snatches of music filled the huge space of the cathedral like nothing else can. Instead of the dark interior at Cologne, Altenburg is painted white and seems so much a more pleasant space. It made me want to fill the space with music too.

We left the church and headed to the hotel opposite where staff in neat uniforms were rushing around serving lunch. We manage to order drinks in the bar, and feeling out of place in our jeans and t shirts watch the women who lunch at the next table sipping Chardonnay and making small talk.

We headed back to the car and then back onto the autobahn and back south to Bonn. Traffic was heavy but not too bad, and within an hour we were back at the house and soon sitting in the garden pretending it was warmer than it was.

As Tuesday was going to a be a glorious day, we decided to stay in Bonn and walk down beside the river to the old/new Bundestag. We caught a tram into the city centre, and walked round a bit window shopping before setting off on the 3km walk along the banks of the river. There is something about Bonn, being unlike almost any other city I have visited in Europe in that it feels like a village. And then there is the river, which sweeps round in a huge “s” and on the western bank the remains of the West German government’s buildings remain, some empty, some not. Some of the minor ministries have been left behind, so to keep the city sweet I guess, but it does feel like a ghost town at times.

At the Bundestag, we stop and find an Imbiss, so we order drinks and something to snack on. It was now, very warm, and the 3 km long walk back along the river didn’t look to inviting; so after a look at the city map, we see there is a tram line the other side of the buildings, so we set off in search of the line. At the main road there was no sign of the tramline, until Jools noticed a large blue “U” sign leading down into a subway. We go down into the cool, and soon enough a tram came rattling down the track

We stay on until we think it was near to the main bridge, and get off in search of ice cream.

Big ice cream.

We headed to the main square around which were many places to eat and drink. We spy an Italian eiscafe, and after looking at the menu order huge ice creams filled with chocolate and other sweet stuff.

We ended up on the large grassed area in front of the university, and laid down amongst the students who had come out for lunch. After a while we walk over to the art museum, but find it apparently closed for repair, so we walk back to the main square where we think a coffee would be good. We order coffees and a slice of cheesecake each, and sit outside at a table so we could watch the world go by.

Now feeling full what with the ice cream and cheesecake, so we decide to head back to our friend’s house to chill and sit in the garden.

That night our friends took us by tram to a fine restaurant beside the river, just outside the city limits. We order traditional German food, which is very pleasant and filling. Good for me, the restaurant lays between the river and one of the main railway lines, so at regular intervals the meal was disturbed by a freight train rattling by at a distance of about 10 metres. Not bad!

And that really is it; we head back to the house by tram as darkness falls, and in the morning we quickly pack and are ready to leave.

Travelling back under leaden skies and through the occasional torrential downpour was not nice, but we make good time and arrive in Calais just after midday. P&O wanted a £60 extra to catch an earlier ferry, or face a wait of two hours for one we have already paid for; we opt to wait and save us some money.

So we park up in the deserted car park, and head to the vending machines and end up snacking on crisps and chocolates whilst I manage to get the radio to pick up Radio 5 from across the Channel. As a result, when the ferry arrives, we are one of the first cars let on, and we bag seats right at the front of the ferry and end up getting a captain eye’s view as we cross the Channel and head to Dover and home.