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