Moseying along the Moselle and heading for Blighty

The Moselle changes its name to the Mosel when it crosses into Germany, a sinuous snake of a river that confuses our sense of direction as it twists and turns. The steep hillsides are raked with vines, planted in cross-hatch patterns amongst rocks and shale. The slopes are so steep that crampons would be useful for the vineyard workers. There is help for the viticulturalist however, small monorail systems that stretch up from the riverside for transporting grapes and supplies up and down the slopes.

The river route between Trier and Koblenz is lined with ‘stellplatz’ that cost about $16 a night, usually with a water view and sometimes with wifi and electric. Stellplatz means ‘stopping place’ and they are nearly always close enough to a village for fresh bread or coffee/beer. The Mosel river is an ever changing scene of barges and pleasure craft, the villages are of course immaculate, not OTT with geraniums and twee, and with a distinct Germanic flavour.

The town of Zell

About midway in our journey we back-tracked to a stellplatz attached to a restaurant/winery/bakery and plugged in for the night. The English people in their big new luxury motorhome parked next to our dusty small rental job recommended the restaurant, so we got changed and had – you guessed it – schnitzel von krumb. I had bought a new dress that afternoon but didn’t wear it as I saw ‘her next-door’ wearing the identical dress as she walked toward the restaurant. It was just as well we had back-tracked as Stuart decided the boots he bought were the wrong size so we swapped them on our way back.   

Eltz castle

To reach Eltz castle, we had to detour out of the valley and up onto a plateau covered with fields of wheat that rustled and swayed in the breeze. 
The castle is a dead ringer for a Disney castle, I guess they copied it off TV. It is a bit of a Tardis in reverse as they often are – huge on the outside but only a small part is open to view. Still good to have been there.
After our tour we left the beautiful park like setting and descended back into the valley before heading to Koblenz.

Stuart at the confluence of Rhine/Mosel

The final stop on the Mosel experience was a very expensive campground in Koblenz, no special amenities but it sits at the confluence of the Mosel and Rhine rivers. Jutting out into the confluence on a triangular piece of land is a monument to beat all monuments commemorating Germany’s last emperor – Kaiser Wilhelm II. Kaiser Bill is massive as is his horse, the pediment underneath it dwarfs people as they climb to get the full experience. The ‘prow’ of this piece of land is something like being on the bow of a huge ship, people were taking selfies in ‘Titanic’ poses. A small ferry takes us from the campsite to the town opposite and Kaiser Bill stares down on the ferry and across to our wohnmobile (as the Germans call it) parked in the camp opposite. Koblenz is abuzz with river traffic separating under Bill’s eye to go up either the Mosel or Rhine; a gondola is in perpetual motion overhead and streams of trains and cars run alongside the river. All this motion!

I miss the French polite greetings and farewells and the elegant language – a menu in German is not nearly as enticing as a menu in French, but there is something interesting in the sound of ‘puddingplunder’. The currywurst I had for lunch was not quite the wurst choice of streetfood I have ever made but I won’t be repeating it.

It is auf wiedersein to Germany as we start the trek back to Calais where we have an early morning rendezvous with a ferry for the trip back to Blighty. Belgium did not exactly beckon but whichever way we turned the map it seemed inevitable. There was muttering about cheap diesel in Luxembourg but it seemed counter-productive to travel extra to get it. 

Sunday is a great day to travel on the toll-free motorways in Germany and Belgium, all the trucks are squeezed into laybys and service areas to sit out Sunday in the scorching heat.

Our meals are becoming a bit creative now as I try to use the supplies up, and the treats cupboard is emptying quickly. The last leg of the journey is a bit of pick-n-mix as we make our way across Northern France. Will the detergent and toilet paper last?

I am looking forward to coming home, nothing like home is there? People spot the GB identity on our registration plate and assume we are from England – we quickly put them right. Older people think we have travelled from the end of the earth (we have) and younger people fall into paroxysms of delight. “Wow! I want to go there, it is the best place” they say. The promotions must be working.

We have a few weeks in England, one in Suffolk re-visiting the area we lived in 40 years ago then three ‘L’s’ – Ledbury, Liverpool, London. We drop off the camper at another L – Luton, and pick up a rental car to see us through the final weeks.

London is the venue for Stuart’s birthday – maybe a West End show. So it is au revoir from her, and auf weidersein from him.  Bonne chance and catch ya later.

Chateau in Belgium next to our camping spot

Verdun, Luxembourg and the Three Frontiers

Moving right along from the magic of Metz we drove across the rolling Lorraine countryside, all wheat-fields, corn and sunflowers to the WW I battlefields of Verdun. In 1916 the longest battle of WW I raged in Verdun, the town’s name is synonymous with wartime slaughter. The town was never actually taken but it was nearly destroyed along with 9 villages that surround it. 

Close to a million soldiers alone died in the area.We chose to visit a couple of forts, the Ossuary and the war memorial of Verdun near the destroyed village of Fleury. We lined up the “Just Go’ with the other motorhomes in what looked like the bus park and passed a modern French army tank on our way to the entrance of the memorial.

Verdun war memorial - view from the top of the tank

The young soldiers in charge of the tank invited us to have a look and suggested I sit in the gunner’s seat. Initially I didn’t think I would be able to fit down the narrow entrance or get out again, it was very ‘enclosed’ and the only view was through some high-resolution periscopes. A similar seat for the driver is accessed on the other side of the tank, I couldn’t see where the third member of the team sat. I managed to get out with some dignity.

inside the tank

The war memorial is a modern three-storey building with re-creations of the battlefields and it holds a lot of personal items belonging to soldiers who fought in the war. I pulled open a display drawer to see a very large red, white and black kerchief which was issued as part of the French soldiers’ uniform. It performed a dual purpose of clothing and training manual. The kerchief could be used as necessary for a bandage/sling/scarf/towel …. but the other use was a training manual. There were 13 kerchief designs printed, the one I viewed showed among other things, how to dismantle the army-issue gun. As most of the French soldiers were recruited from rural areas the pictures helped those that could not read.

Destroyed village of Fleury -
white marker posts where houses used to be

After enough of the memorial we walked about 200 metres to the remains of the little village of Fleury. All around us were huge shell holes; after 100 years grass had smoothed their edges, the contours of the ground reminded me of a giant egg carton. An unusual silence hung around the trees that had been planted amongst the white wooden upright posts that denoted where the butcher/baker/school had been.

Ossuary and a French military cemetery

A short distance away was an ossuary where the bones of 130,000 unidentified French and German soldiers are kept. 

The ossuary rose like a giant white sword from the ground, standing 130 metres high. Each stone in the monument is engraved with the name of a missing soldier. Outside are row upon row of small perfect white crosses on the graves of French soldiers.

Let’s go to Luxembourg – it was my idea and seconded by Stuart who was tempted by the cheapest diesel prices in Europe. We didn’t see a lot of Luxembourg but immediately we crossed the border we were faced with lines of trucks, 2 abreast, stretching beyond my range of sight. They were blocking roundabouts and traffic was at a standstill. There was every brand of fuel on offer and the trucks were waiting their turn to fill up on the cheap stuff. We managed to get in and get a tankful as the trucks can’t use the smaller pumps.  

A rainy day in Luxembourg city

The following day we went by rail to Luxembourg city. It was the first day in weeks that it rained – more like drizzle really but still enough to dull the sights of the lovely little city. We both felt very scruffy compared with the young chic set that moved between the pale, clean classical buildings. 

Rainy day in Luxembourg city

The city is built on the sides of two gorges and there is a lift to move you between the high town and the picturesque low town.  After our fill of walking around the ramparts in the drizzle we (I) drifted into Zara and bought some clothes that are identical to ones I already have.




Enough already, we tightened the hatches and set off the short distance back to Thionville in France. The municipal camp was well placed with an easy walking distance to town and beside the Moselle river.  I have had some tussles with the commandants who man the reception at municipal camps and was daunted to see that this one was wearing khaki camo shirt and matching pants, sturdy boots completed the ensemble. She was certainly dressed for battle, but pas de probleme –  the nicest camp lady I have come across.

View from the campsite at Sierck-les-Bains.

Sierck-les-Bains was a top place for a spot of chillout beside the Moselle river. It is on the 'Three Frontiers' - we could smell the schnitzels cooking in Germany, wafts of cheap diesel were drifting in from Luxembourg and the aromas of fresh baguettes and Camembert completed the scene as technically we were still on French soil. 

The French lunch reigns as we found when we arrived 10 mins after the midday cut off time at the campsite. We cooled our heels for 3 hours until camp-mother let us approach the desk. Forms and documents were signed and we were given the code to approach the front gate. Only one person at a time is allowed to complete a form and it is forbidden to be on the camp without completed forms.

Sierck had a food festival one evening and we walked along the river to join in the fun and taste some wonderful food, but all good things roll into more good things and we are pressing on into Deutschland to follow the Moselle as it wends its way past picturesque villages.    

Vending machine dispensing hot baguettes

Rolling through the Routes des Vins and magical Metz

Pretty town of Ortans

Eastern France has a lot to offer, mountains, great scenery and pretty villages. Our mode of travel is to avoid the large roads if possible and choose routes through the small towns and  countryside.

The area of Alsace is very close to the border of Germany and has been passed back and forth between the two countries as a result of wars. Many of the towns have Germanic names and architecture. The cuisine and culture has Germanic roots as well, with sauerkraut, sausage, bretzels, and bundt cake on offer.

Thann

Thann is the start of the routes des vins in Alsace, a pretty town with an aire for motorhomes. We parked under some shady trees while we checked out the impressive church, decorated streets and had a general toot around the river and environs.  When we returned to the truck it was covered in yellow tree droppings – small flowers that were trapped in the concertina insect screens, on the roof, in the air vents and generally gathering in drifts all over the truck. It took a bit of effort to rid ourselves of the yellow peril.

storks

The route goes through Alsace villages dedicated to producing wine.  Some are working villages with no sign of life at all, everybody at work in nearby towns. They are immaculate but ghost like. The only signs of life, the occasional vintner driving a tiny narrow tractor designed for working between the rows of vines, or trucks delivering wine bottles. There are grapes growing up and down the hillsides, sylvaner, pinot blanc, riesling, muscat d’Alscace, pinot gris and gerwurtzraminer plus pinot noir – so white wine is the favoured drop here.

On the flip side, villages that had become tourist destinations are bedecked with geraniums and gingerbread-house shopfronts displaying revolving stands of fluffy acrylic red and white storks – so much so I was questioning myself if I really should be stocking up on them.

Black and white storks on chimney tops and nesting perches clattered their bills, fluffy grey babies peered out of the nests – it’s a long way down.

Storks stalked around the camping ground searching for frogs and lizards and I watched what I assume is the male stork bringing building material for the already over-engineered nest while the female is saying ‘we are all starving, we have enough sticks – bring more frogs’.

Eguisheim

Eguisheim on the routes des vins was our base for a couple of nights, the municipal camp close to the village was our home. Sixteenth century half-timbered houses are painted in pretty shades of pink, lavender, terracotta …. this is a modern trend started in the 20^th century – back in the day they wore sombre colours and the windows were even tinier than they are today.

We hired electric bikes to do a trip through nearby villages, it was my first trial of an e-bike. The bikes powered away on the uphill but boy are they heavy – my one had the world’s worst seat and days later I can still feel the effect. Afterwards we stopped to buy a bottle of aged local pinot gris which helped ease the pain for a while.

bundt moulds used in decorative way

Rolling along we found a tiny campsite in Barr, the large shade trees would provide some respite from the heat which is spreading over France. No sooner had we found the little site than we realised we hadn’t stocked up on essentials and it looked too far to walk in the heat, so we used the old Garmin which is programmed with the locations of my favourite chain of supermarkets to lead the way.  

Instead of using the opportunity to redeem itself, it headed straight for the middle of the ancient town and before we knew it were in a place that motorhomes shouldn’t venture. We squeaked through and before we knew it we were travelling behind an over-sized lawnmower along a road narrower than our driveway. The return trip wasn’t any better, we tried to outsmart both satnavs but ended behind a truck in a place where both a truck and motorhome shouldn’t be. 

Moselle, Metz

Metz (pronounced ‘mess’) is the capital city of the area of Lorraine, which borders Alsace and is where the quiche came from.  I had recommendations to take a look-see at this little gem. It sits astride the confluence of the Moselle and Seille rivers and I certainly can recommend it as worth a visit. Such an elegant city with arched bridges, big spacious areas, lots of greenery and waterways. There are no vehicles in the centre except for slow moving electric buses which makes a peaceful atmosphere. Many towns we have visited have us jumping out of the way of cars. I give it 5 stars. Metz has also undergone historical hand-changing between Germany and France over the years.

The number one tourist attraction is the Centre Pompidou-Metz, a satellite branch of the Centre Pompidou in Paris. Its aim is to bring modern art to the masses and there were several exhibitions on when we visited. All a bit strange to us - I am still pondering the trough of blue sand (so maybe the centre is doing its job after all).

I have included some snaps I have taken recently, but I am a lazy photographer, I should be taking photos when the light is right but that is either before my getting-up time or after dinner when again I don’t feel like moving. 

C’est la vie.

Moselle river with swan sculptures

Moselle with origami boats