Rocky Mountain High, Colorado

Arches National Park

Arches National Park is one of the most popular in the US, after seeing the queues of cars waiting to enter the park we decided to get there early the following day. In the meantime we would continue the shoe search in Moab, have a dinner out and stay in a camp ground. Moab is tagged as being a cool destination, not bad compared with where we had visited so far, and after shoes were bagged we watched the homecoming parade; well actually the road was blocked so we had no choice.

The Moab campground beside the dusty highway, cost $NZ120 for night and we were shoe-horned in between some big rigs. It looked as if nothing had been spent on improvements in 45 years. The restaurant next door had an unpromising appearance but after we were shown to a table outside on the patio we found the food was excellent, a great choice of craft beer, and one of those bands whose songs all sound the same.

Mesa Arch, Canyonlands

Arches NP, followed by Canyonlands had some impressive arch and canyon formations. The geology is lost on me, but let’s just say ‘erosion’ covers a lot of explanation. We stayed in the area for a couple of nights at a Bureau of Land Management camp (BLM = DoC) set high on a saltbush plateau.

Mesas, table-like hills abound in this area as do buttes that are similar but narrower than mesas.

A Pueblo granary tucked under the rim of a mesa.
Had to climb the mesa to get the shot

A cortado is the US equivalent in this area of a flat white without the latte art. We said goodbye to Moab with a cortado apiece inside us and an ‘O’ ring for the waste pipe that had left a drippy trail behind us. (Just shower water). Colorado, a change from the dry dusty desert, lay ahead as we hit the road east. It is like travelling between different countries, the rockies in Colorado are high altitude with plentiful vegetation.

San Juan Highway

The San Juan Highway is strung out over 200 miles through a series of Wild West towns. Telluride, Ouray, Silverton, Durango. Telluride is a base for wealthy winter holiday-makers with shops to cater appropriately, and on the other end of the scale is Silverton, a former silver mining town which offers endless shops of cheesy tat from the only paved street.  All the broad side streets were dirt roads with ATVs driving through.

The highway between these towns climbs up to over 11,000 ft with autumn colours a riot of burning yellow splashed among the evergreens. The craggy mountains lining the highway glow richly red, tenacious pines cling to their sides.

Ouray, delightful little town

Wild West Silverton

The temperature at these high altitudes is much lower at night, we had been given a new red sleeping bag by a fellow camper, Walmart brand  – but it opens out to makes a cozy, if slippery, extra quilt on the bed. The propane powered fridge does not like the high altitude, especially as the tank is getting low. It keeps trying to light itself making disconcerting clicking noises.

I love the rocky mountain campsites, the downside is fellow campers starting up their generators, and filling our truck with smoke from their traditional campfires.  

Patriotism is alive and growing in the areas we are travelling in. Stars and stripes fly from camper wagons and one neighbour even had a flag on their picnic table.

Patriotic campers

The highlight of this last week was the moose that nonchalantly sauntered through our campsite, past the front of our truck while I was cooking dinner. It was huge with enormous dish shaped antlers. Our Oklahoman neighbours were as excited as us. Elk and deer are commonplace but moose are rarer in this area. There are warnings about bears but luckily none have crossed our path. 

We are off to improve our cultural intelligence, setting off towards National Parks that are dedicated to preserving the archeological heritage of the Pueblo people.

Yoo-tah, Utah - the desert lands

Twenty years have passed since we last visited Las Vegas, I must have changed and certainly aged as the glitz and glam had faded for me. After a fruitless shopping journey to outfit our feet we had some shut eye in a hotel bereft of my most important need - something to make a cuppa with. I had the teabags and even some sachets of a dreadful product called “creamer”, but no cuppa for Jane and no energy to traipse miles through the hotel to find one. 

I did however gamble my allowance of $US1 on a slot machine, pocketed $US16 and walked. Stuart lost his dollar, so $14.00 up.

  

Our helpful uber-lady dropped me off at Walmart while Stuart did the business with the RV rental company. I had hardly started to wade through a difficult grocery shop, discarding products that looked unsuitable for

normal consumption, when himself appeared at my side. Stuart was given his own list of goods to procure and set off with his own trolley.

The gaudy beast was waiting outside in the heat and glare. Cruise America had us given a labrador puppy to mind. Gaudy on the outside and grimly brown on the inside. A very serviceable colour is brown and the manufacturers had no intention of updating their design  over the past decades. It also has only 2 windows which together with the wilful brown curtains that refuse to remain open makes the interior  gloomy. It is built with no thought for weight-saving, in fact the mattress can barely be lifted. Never mind, they said “just shove a v8, 7 litre engine under the bonnet and that should move the beast along". Ten miles to the gallon if the going is good.

Hoodoos at Bryce Canyon NP

The trip to our pre booked camp in Zion National Park went very smoothly, so smoothly that I was able to unpack clothes and organise the groceries while Stuart drove. We arrived in the dark and I checked in with the kamp kommandant the next morning, phew - I only wanted to show her my reservation. She wasn’t having a bar of me, loudly telling her husband to ignore me as I was ‘just a walk up’. I had to persist before I was given an official tag for our site.

Zion has a wonderful shuttle service which eliminates private vehicles from the park, we joined more people than we would have liked  on a non too peaceful riverside walk. Still the grandeur can’t be denied.

We bought an annual pass for the National Parks and were disappointed at either being too early or too late to present our credentials at the entrance booths of the string of parks we visited.

The tunnel that exits Zion towards Bryce National Park is too narrow for RVs so we had to buy a permit for the rangers to close one lane so we could drive down the middle. As it turned out, it seemed as if they permanently operate a one way system. 

  

Bryce Canyon has rows of brick red hoodoos that glow with a light of their own. They form amphitheatres and the area was described by Ebenezer Bryce as “a helluva place to loose a cow”. You can walk the rim trail looking down on the hoodoos or descend into the canyon for a close-up view. 

More hoodoos

But yet more NPs were on the list.

We scored the nearly impossible goal of getting a camp site in Capitol Reef NP at Fruita, a former Mormon settlement. The camp was surrounded by orchards, and apples and pears were ripe for picking. A family of mule deer with their over-size ears grazed, their teeth aren’t designed for apples and I hoped they wouldn’t choke as they rolled the apples on their  tongues.

Mormon barn at Fruita, Capitol Reef NP

Mule deer in orchard

Stu picking apples

We both had persistent colds so decided to have some rest in a couple of state parks, with gentle hikes thrown in for good measure. Coral Sands State park is a magnet for ATV fans, and like the RVs that towed them, they were big – bigger than my car anyhow. 

The park has very fine coral pink sand that forms dunes and beautiful desert flowering plants were in bloom. The camp host, with his ATVs, full set of BBQs, huge RV, stars and

stripes flag etc on display showed us a nice canyon for walking in.

 

Kodachrome State park

Kodachrome State park, wish I could forget that Paul Simon song, was stunning with 5 star bathrooms. There was one anatomically accurate natural rock formation that had campers pointing and shaking their heads, but the park is aptly named with red and white rock, blue sky and yellow flowers. My favourite so far.

We are still in Utah but not done yet with deserts and rocks, we are travelling  on the lightly trafficked roads,wishing NZ roads could receive the same quality and quantity of road  surface. Blue skies, yellow roadside flowers and red rocky hills. Adios for now.

Indian Paintbrush plant

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 

Tournon and on

Tournon sur Rhone

Tournon sur Rhone, a very old town on the Rhone faces the famous wine producing Tain-l’Hermitage’ across the river. The steep hillsides of the Tain are a patchwork of well-groomed  vines stretching up to a spotlit tiny chapel on the top, just beside telecommunications tower. We scored a riverside camping spot which had a great view of Tain-l’Hermitage, we claimed it as ours by Jane standing in the middle of the plot staring down all possible takers while Stuart returned with the truck. Fabulous view of the river, river craft and a swan family.

 Tournon swan and babies - photo credit Stuart

The castle in Tournon is founded on a megalith of rock right in the middle of town alongside the main drag, it dates back to 894. The maze of alleys behind the castle make up the old part of the town, very interesting but with an aroma of dog pee. Just off the alleys I walked along the old main street that was full of fascinating little specialist shops. I had time to check them out properly as Stuart climbed the hillside behind them in the scorching (31+ C) heat taking a ‘special shot’. 

Tournon sur Rhone

Plane trees line the main sandy square in town and under their shade petanque players battle it out. Large river tour boats moor alongside the square, just along from our pozzie.

photo credit Stuart

The last time I was here I couldn’t get enough of Tournon (and the chocolate factory) so had to return for a second time. Valrhona is one of the most highly respected producers of chocolate in the world and they have a Cite du Chocolat which is an educational experience. Throughout the educational experience are samples of the different types of chocolate, they have single origin chocolates just like coffee and whisky. The gift shop had even more samples which made me wonder about my true reason to visit this mecca of chocolate.

One whole day in Tournon was spent trying to keep as cool as possible as the thermometer just kept climbing, reaching a peak by about 5pm. Our site is under trees but even with all the windows open it was 43C inside.  

photo credit Stuart

We took a ride on a tiny steam train along a narrow gorge track, basically to have lunch at another village. One man in our uncomfortable, third class, rattling and shaking carriage seemed rabidly excited, hanging out of the window as much as he could. A showering of soot and small cinders was his reward. At peak heat time – 5pm, absolutely gasping for drinks, we collected the truck from the station carpark and made our way back to the campsite. While I popped into a supermarket, Stuart popped into Mr Bricolage – “a wonderous place, much better and cheaper than Bunnings”. So wonderous that he bought a bag of bricolage – most of it to do with plumbing. I fended off two potential takers from our vacated but ‘reservee’ spot and we had a quick dinner before joining the Fetes de Musiques which is held all over France on 21 June to mark the longest day. There was live music and dancing in front of the bars in town, which looked as if it would carry on for quite a while.

The GPS on my phone was programmed with NANTUA as the destination. The old GPS sat along alongside spitting out lies and falsehoods. It seemed a long haul to get around Lyon and quelle horreur we ended up on a pay road. Nantua is close to the Swiss border and despite the spirit-level in Stuart’s head wanting to face the block-wall we faced the bright blue lake.  The front of the truck rested on two large flat stones to appease the spirit-level. Children in optimists were struggling to manage their craft in the windy conditions, white caps whipped up crazily.

Nantua memorial

On a promontory facing the young sailors was a large white monument, a coffin with open sides containing a skeletal body. A lone tricolour flailed in the wind overhead. It was a poignant memorial to citizens of Nantua taken by Nazis in WWII, the puppet government in Vichy at the time demanded a quota of people that were on their 'undesirable' list and Nantua had to fill the number from their citizenry. 

The houses in the town were narrow and stood shoulder to shoulder with their backs to towering cliffs. Up a narrow alley was a museum dedicated to the French Resistance and the lives of the Maquis (guerrilla type fighters who took their name from the low scrub growing on the hills). There was only a smattering of English translation, but we got the story the museum had to tell. The Ain area and Nantua will remain in my memory for a long time. 

Baume-les-Messieurs

We happened upon Baume-les-Messieurs by accident – I put my finger on a red star on the map and away we went.  Down a narrow, windy road into a deep Cotswold-looking valley. The church spire (actually an abbey) poked its finger up through the cluster of houses around it. No thatched cottages but hump back stone bridges, lots of leafy trees, stone buildings and shallow stone-lined stream gave it that English look. What a contrast to dramatic Nantua. We will stay in the lovely campsite for a couple of days and plan our next sortie.

Au revoir