This Kiwi Can Fly

Finishing up in Hungary

noreply@blogger.com (James) — Tue, 15 May 2012 22:40:00 +0000

On my final day in Budapest, I went for a final stroll around the centre city. I popped in to see St Stephen's Basilica (Szent István-bazilika). The basilica actually houses the right hand of St Stephen, and it is said to bring you good luck if you can beat it at thumb wrestling.

As I prepared to leave, the sun came out and the mist began to lift. It was still freezing, though.

This is probably the closest to blue that I've ever seen the Danube.

They've had their share of unpleasant history. This memorial features metal shoes on the edge of the river where Jews were forced to take off their shoes and were then shot into the river.

Parliament building:

In the square behind parliament, there was a display on Hungarian history. It included the following brilliant poem:

So, that was it for Budapest. It's a pretty city with a lot of history. I'd like to go back.

Hungary for More

noreply@blogger.com (James) — Tue, 15 May 2012 22:39:00 +0000

I walked to Margitsziget (Margaret Island), which is in the middle of the Danube. The ruins there stem from its time as a medieval centre of worship. It also has hot springs that make Winter life a little better for the ducks.

I did a day trip to a castle 30km outside the city called Gödöllő. I think they came up with the name because they had some spare dots to use up. It turned out to be closed that day, but I had come a long way so I sneaked though the foyer and roamed around the gardens. They were distinctly average, but I felt a sense of accomplishment at getting in for free. I also used their ornate toilets, also for free. Take that, Hungarian Department of Tourism!

The Hungarians felt marginalised in Austria-Hungary. King Franz Joseph of Austria was indifferent to the Hungarians, but his wife Elizabeth (Sisi) became enamoured with the country and learned to speak Hungarian. She negotiated on their behalf, leading to an revised Empire. Joseph and Sisi were gifted Gödöllő, and she spent a lot of time there. The Hungarians were very fond of her.

The statue probably isn't as stylised as it appears, because she used to cinch her waist in to an extremely narrow size.

Of course, if you find yourself in the area but have no interest in the history of the Habsburg-Lorraine dynasty and the Austro-Hungarian Compromise of 1867, you can always watch noisy cars drive around in circles at the nearby Hungaroring.

Kerepesi Cemetery

noreply@blogger.com (James) — Tue, 15 May 2012 22:38:00 +0000

The big cemetery in Budapest is called Kerepesi. It is the burial place of many notable Hungarians, none of whom you have ever heard of.

It's interesting - it starts off with big wide avenues, but as you move away from the entrance, it gets more tangled and overgrown. It's like it's half Pere Lachaise and half Highgate.

Let the record show that when I eventually kick off, I want a massive statue of me looking all roided out, holding a bastard sword and with angels sobbing. That seems pretty bad-arse.

At about 150 years, it's not exactly ancient but the statuary is pretty impressive and covers a range of styles. My lasting impression of it will be of pouring rain, which certainly thins out the crowds. When I was there, it was dead quiet.

Aquincum Roman Ruins

noreply@blogger.com (James) — Tue, 15 May 2012 22:37:00 +0000

Budapest is a spa town:

(I'm not telling how far I walked to get that pun photo).

The hot springs drew the Romans to the area. They built a town called Aquincum in what is now the north of the city. There's a museum and it's quite impressive. A lot of the ruins have been excavated.

The museum is quite small, but has some really interesting stuff. When they excavated the site, they found the remains of a water-powered organ that was played at public events. These were mentioned in ancient documents, but this was the first example that's been found.

Down the road from the museum is the ruin of the former arena.

The Hungary Games

noreply@blogger.com (James) — Tue, 15 May 2012 20:55:00 +0000

The park in the middle of Budapest (Városliget) is interesting.

The memorial to the 1956 uprising against the Soviets shows sparse rusted iron bars getting increasingly closer together and taller until it ends up as a solid block. Sometimes these modern monuments are lame, but I feel this one works. It's saying something about strength in numbers.

In the middle of the park is Vajdahunyad Castle. It covers a lot of ground and spans different styles. Interestingly, it was originally made of cardboard so Christ Church Cathedral is in good company.

Still Vajdahunyad...

I then had some palacsinta (pancakes) and wandered back through the city to my hotel.

Every European city seems to have one of these gates ripped off from Berlin. I suggest it be called a random burg gate.

Starting to Get Hungary

noreply@blogger.com (James) — Tue, 15 May 2012 20:53:00 +0000

Do you remember when I went to Bratislava because I'm too dumb to get to Budapest? Well, in December I made it to Budapest. I must be getting smarter.

It was freezing cold when I was there, and for nearly the whole trip, the city was shrouded in fog. That means it's totally not my fault that my photos are rubbish.

The first evening, I went to a restaurant for a feed of goulash. Most of the tables were empty and there was a gypsy band playing classical music in the corner. I made the mistake of applauding them while everyone else ignored them. They then focused all their attention on me for the rest of the evening. I ended up buying a CD of their gypsy music. When I got back to my room I converted the forints to pounds and realised I've paid less for a car than I did for that CD.

Snow in Cambridge 2012

noreply@blogger.com (James) — Sat, 18 Feb 2012 13:53:00 +0000

From baking in an amphitheatre in Italy, to shivering in England.

As you may've seen on the news, Europe has suffered a cold-snap quite late in the Winter. Cambridge wasn't immune, and we spent a week under snow. We got to -13.8C.

Here are some shots from a wander. On the plus side, I didn't fall over on the ice like I did when taking photos of the snow a couple of years ago.

This is the field where we play our touch rugby. We took a week off.

Palio di Siena

noreply@blogger.com (James) — Thu, 26 Jan 2012 23:33:00 +0000

The reason I went to Italy was to see Siena's Palio. It's a horse race, dating back to 1656, that is run around the town piazza. One estimate that I saw for the crowd said 50,000 people attend. The crowd gathers in the centre and the horses race around the outside.

It's an absolutely surreal event. While it seems like a tourist novelty to us, the locals treat it with deadly seriousness. Siena has 17 contrades (neighbourhoods), 10 of which get to race. Winning is a prestigious achievement for a contrade and the jockey will be famous.

We were lucky enough to have a local to show us around and she bought us scarves supporting the Pantera (panther) contrade. Emotion is running high enough on the day that it was recommended that we hide our scarves when walking through parts of Siena belonging to rival contrades, lest we be harassed. I'm a fuckin' panther - do I look scared?

This is where the inside knowledge really paid off. Our awesome guide took us to a Pantera church and managed to get us in to see the blessing of our team's horse. That's right, they lead the team horse into a crowded church for a blessing. This doesn't do a lot to change my opinion of organised religion.

The Pantera horse: Colla. I don't speak Italian, but it sounds fast.

The horse looks like he's had a few $50 ice creams of his own

The head of the contrade in his best Sunday armor

The horse is then led in a procession to the piazza.

It's a race where cheating is acceptable. For the week before the race, the jockey may sleep in the stables to protect the horse. Contrades with strong horses may bribe the weaker teams to impede their rivals and jockeys will whip eachother during the race.

The race itself is only seconds long, but it is preceded by a procession of 600 people in medieval costumes. This takes most of the afternoon and there is no shade in the piazza. It is baking hot. At least I wasn't wearing tights and a steel breastplate.

The Palio itself is the black and white banner on the ox-drawn cart. It is the prize for winning.

The mounted police prepare to do their ceremonial gallop around the track:

One of the final groups to complete the circuit was riders in closed helms. They represent the riders who have died.

Part of the procession is made up of pairs of men with the team flags doing choreographed moves. They throw the flags to eachother in high arcs.

Finally, the procession ends and the horses begin to line up to race. There is a set order that the horses must approach the starting line, and the race cannot begin until all the horses are lined up in order. This can take another half an hour, because the last horse has the ability to prevent the start and force all the others to begin lining up again. He will have been bribed, and will continue upsetting the start until he sees an advantage for one of the others.

Finally, the race began and in a flash it was over. Chaos broke out. The Pantera horse was last and the Pantera jockey vaulted off the horse and ran with the contrade members in pursuit. If they caught him he would get a beating for losing.

The supporters of 2 contrades began a large rolling brawl in the crowd. We were told to hide our scarves again to avoid being targeted. I saw one bloody guy being carried away by the medics.

Everyone turns to look at the brawl:

At one point everyone around us began running, so we ran too. It was an interesting experience of crowd mentality.

And of course, the winning contrade began celebrating their win:

So, that was something.

James and the Giant ... Ice Cream

noreply@blogger.com (James) — Thu, 12 Jan 2012 22:55:00 +0000

This gets a post of its own.

For me, the main reason to go to Italy is gelato. Renaissance blah, Pax Romana blah, palio blah, the bottom line is they know how to make damn good ice cream.

In Florence, I went into a shop and ordered a 2-scoop gelato. The lady asked if I wanted small or large. I, predictably, said "large". I guess this was a tourist trap. The woman began piling more and more ice cream onto the cone as I stood and gaped. It ended up about the size of my head.

Out on the street, people were openly laughing at me. It was hot, and the ice cream immediately began to melt. I had streams of the stuff running down to my elbow.

My Arm Hurts

I made a pretty strong effort at eating it, but eventually the last few litres went in the bin. I'm not saying exactly how much the fuckers fleeced me for, but it was in the realm of NZ$50. I'm philosophical about the experience. If I'm going to have my money unscrupulously taken, this is probably better than being stabbed by a skinhead.

Travel to Italy: Pisa Piss

noreply@blogger.com (James) — Thu, 12 Jan 2012 22:54:00 +0000

In August, I flew to Pisa. For a big name Italian place, it's fairly scruffy and average. There's this bit, and not much else. (And I didn't want to say anything, but their tower is a little wonky).

The town was quiet except the bit around the tower. There, every idiot with a camera was doing that shot when they pretend to be holding the tower up. Clods.

It was a public holiday, so everything was closed. I wandered around and took photos of doorhandles and stuff.

In the evening, I wandered down to the river to snap some of my standard night shots. Running along the edge of the river, there was a rat the size of a labrador.

Was that a Gouda Bike Tour? No.

noreply@blogger.com (James) — Thu, 12 Jan 2012 20:53:00 +0000

Back in June, I did a bike tour in the Netherlands. It was my third trip there, and both the previous ones were blinders so I had no reason to suspect this wouldn't also be great.

It wasn't.

To catch the Friday midnight ferry, I have to get my bike on a train at about 7:30, but I was stuck at work until about 6:30pm. I dashed home to grab my bike out of the garage and my helmet fell off the handlebars into a pan full of oil that my flatmate had drained out of his car's sump several years ago. It vanished into the black with a "gloop" noise. For the next week, my head smelled of old motor oil.

Because I had been working late all week, I also had no time to do any planning. I knew I going to start by heading for a town called Breda, but that was about it. It turns out, successful bike touring requires a bit of preparation.

Also, and this was the key factor, this was one of the worst ever summers in the Netherlands, with tons of rain and little sun. It poured down unremittingly and was freezing cold, and after spending a week squatting in my tent reading a textbook about Roman archaeology, I gave up and took an early boat home. Sure, I may be soft, but the Travelling Two also bailed on their summer tour in the Netherlands, and they are bike touring badarses, so you know it was dismal.

I took very few photos because of the rain.

Gemeente Heusden. Translation: It's Going to Hose Down

It wasn't entirely terrible. The first day I rode down through Rotterdam, where I had the experience of taking my bike down an escalator and along a bike-only tunnel under the Rhine. I camped for a couple of days outside Breda (it never stopped raining so I never actually made it into Breda).

From there, I did a day trip into Eindhoven on the mistaken assumption that a big city like that would have something of interest to see. Okay, the bowling pin art was cool, but I needed a little more than that.

I then biked up to Vught, which is a little south of 's-Hertogenbosch. I have no idea how that is pronounced. Where do you look in a map index for a name beginning with an apostrophe?

I then continued north to Gouda. I walked into the centre of Gouda with the intention of having a meal with Gouda cheese in it, but when it was time to order, I forgot.

The day riding to Gouda was probably the most fun, because it required catching a bunch of ferries to get across various waterways. I suspect those waterways did not exist prior to that "summer" weather.

If you look closely, you'll see I'm carrying a fuel bottle. I took my stove and cooked my own meals for the first time, which was satisfying. Of course, there's something to be said for buying food, too. A takeaway pizza is more exciting than self-cooked pasta and sardines.

That's a Gouda Town Hall

From Gouda, I biked to Delft along pretty country roads. I knew from my first trip that I could camp at Delft, but I phoned the ferry company and they were willing to bring my departure forward to that evening, so I pushed on and made it to Hoek in time to catch the ship home.

So there you go: Disappointing, but still more fun than anything else there is to do. These things are relative. Oh, and feel free to ask me anything about the archaeology of ancient Rome. I am a fucking expert now.

In Bruges

noreply@blogger.com (James) — Sun, 14 Aug 2011 19:31:00 +0000

A group from my work went to Bruges for a weekend. Last time I was there was the middle of Winter, and it was dark and snowy. This time it was the middle of summer, and if Bruges seemed full of tourists in December, it's a lot worse in July.

I was there for less than 24 hours, so I don't have a lot of stories. I just wandered about with my camera. Here are some of the pics.

When I went to Ghent a couple of years back, I meant to eat the local speciality dish called Waterzooi. But I forgot and instead had the worst curry of my life.

However, it turns out that they do waterzooi in Bruges, too. It's a light stew and I had the fish version. Of course, you can't go to Belgium without also eating waffles and frites. After a day of binge eating, the bus that I travelled home on was scraping along the road leaving a trail of sparks all the way to Cambridge. Great trip.

Romantic Road: Summary

noreply@blogger.com (James) — Wed, 10 Aug 2011 23:05:00 +0000

My Romantic Road posts start back here.

From Wurzburg, I caught the train back to Munich and flew back to England. I had some hassles with the berks at the hotel in Munich, but it all worked out.

Damn that was a fun ride. The best I've ever done? Probably.

The route is supposed to be 420 kms long, but with my propensity for getting lost I had done 550kms by the time I reached Wurzburg. If I was doing the trip again, I would take a few extra days, so I could do more sightseeing. The part of the ride near Fussen is quite hilly, and it's easy to over-estimate how much ground you can cover in a day.

Considering it is the most popular long-distance ride in Germany, I hardly saw any other touring cyclists. I was told that was because it was so early in the season. I was very lucky with the weather.

The locals were universally kind. Their food is very meat-based, but that works okay when cycling all day.

Great trip.

Romantic Road (IX): Bad Mergentheim! Bad!

noreply@blogger.com (James) — Fri, 15 Jul 2011 23:20:00 +0000

The next morning I roamed around Rothenburg ob der Tauber, before riding to Bad Mergentheim to spend the next night. It's an old spa town that was a base for the knights of the Teutonic Order.

By this point I was feeling pretty proud of myself for the distance I had covered, but I camped beside a Dutch couple who had ridden about 1000km in a week, which put me to shame.

They were riding the Limes route, which follows the former Roman frontier from the Netherlands to the Black Sea.

And so I began my last day on the bike. The pleasant path ran along beside the Tauber river and I stopped for lunch in Tauberbischofsheim.

I met Marcus from Wenkheim. He's studied English, but had never met a native speaker before. He told me about the town's synagogue. On Krystallnacht, the SA looted it and tried to destroy it, but that would have destroyed the house next door as well. The building's shell survived and the town have now renovated it, but there are no Jews left in the area. The local Catholic group use the building.

Wenkheim's Former Synagogue

Preparing for May Day:

It took me ages to get to Wurzburg. I got thoroughly lost, and had to ask a lot of people for directions. At one point I found myself following a mountain bike track through a forest as a violent storm broke out and it began to pour with rain. Then the track spat me out onto a busy road on a hill that wound down into the city like the motorway into Dunedin. As it durmed and stranged around me, I bolted onwards like a lycra-clad Wagnerian hero.

And then I was there, at the station at Wurzburg: The end of the ride.

I followed the Main river south to the camping ground and stayed the night. Then I came back into Wurzburg for a look around in the morning.

Romantic Road (VIII): Rothenburg ob der Tauber

noreply@blogger.com (James) — Thu, 14 Jul 2011 23:01:00 +0000

A bit after leaving Dinkelsbuhl my touring bike passed 2000kms.

I paused at Schloss Schillingsfurst, which is a baroque castle that does falconry shows. It had various owls, eagles and, I think, vultures. Some of those birds are huge. I did the tour of the castle, but you can only do it in a group and the guide only speaks German.

The castle was okay. My main recollection is that it was really high up a steep, cobbled road.

Okay: Rothenburg ob der Tauber. It's probably the most famous of the cute towns on the Romantic Road. It came very close to being completely destroyed in WWII. The German soldiers were based in the town and the Americans were approaching. The German leader gave the order to fight to the last man, but he went back to Berlin for a meeting.

Meanwhile, the Americans gave the order for their planes to level the town, but one of the high ranking Americans heard about this, and he had grown up with a picture of Rothenburg on the wall at home. He cancelled the bombing run and went to negotiate with the temporary Germany commander. Together they negotiated a surrender.

The town did take some damage, but they took donations from around the world and it looks pretty good now.

The Rothenburg town hall/councillor's tavern. When the Protestant town was taken by the Catholics in the 1600s, they were told that the town would be spared if one of the town elders could drink a 3.5 litre tankard of wine in one go. The former mayor stepped up and polished it off.

So that's why we keep Gerry Brownlee around.

On the hour, those windows to the sides of the clock open and you can see a model of the councillors drinking.

After missing the nightwatch tour in Dinkelsbuhl, I was thrilled to find that there was a similar one in Rothenburg. It was a fun tour.

This is one of the town gates. The face above the gate was a vent used to pour boiling oil over invaders.

At one time Rothenburg was very rich and the families would have large houses. The gates would have a small door, but also a larger gate to allow wagons to enter the courtyard.

Rothenburg is on a hill, so the camping ground is outside town on the flat in an area called Detwang. The little church in Detwang is pretty cool. It's a thousand years old and has a wooden altar created by the master carver Tilman Riemenschneider in 1508.

In one of the windows, there's an 8-sided stone lantern that was to keep evil spirits away from the graveyard.

I was surprised that all along the ride, I would see cigarette vending machines. They're all over the place. Not just in shopping districts, but also on regular residential streets.

However, near the camping ground in Detwang they had a bike inner tube vending machine. How awesome is that?

Romantic Road (VII): Dinkelsbuhl

noreply@blogger.com (James) — Tue, 14 Jun 2011 23:00:00 +0000

The next morning, I biked back into Donauworth, and bought a new tire to replace the ruined one. German bike shops are really good.

As the town name suggests, Donauworth is where the Romantic Road crosses the Danube:

The rain had stopped, but it was still dismal. I paused for lunch in Harburg, which was one of the prettier towns I saw. It has a castle nestled on the hill above the town.

The weather remained crappy as I biked onwards.

In the afternoon I reached Nordlingen. Nordlingen is kind of a hole. No, seriously. It's a town built in the depression left by a massive meteorite impact 14 million years ago. The impact created 72000 tons of diamonds in the area.

This was another day where I needed to cover a lot of ground: too much ground. I plodded on through the afternoon, but a lot of the riding was on hilly unsealed clay roads through forests. There must've been quite a bit of rain, because my bike became covered in mud, and it was really slow going. My tires picked up a thick layer of gunk that rubbed inside the mudguards like brakes.

It reached the point where it was so dark I was looking for a place in one of the forests to sneakily pitch my tent, but the need to find food meant that I pushed on and finally reached Dinkelsbuhl around 9pm. It was not a fun day. My tent was still wet from the night before and everything was covered in mud. I took a room at the first hotel in town (a converted 15th century farmhouse) and used the pristine white-tiled bathroom to scrub and dry my camping gear.

In Dinkelsbuhl, you can do a stroll through the town with the night watchman. I had been looking forward to that, but arrived too late and missed it. I had to settle for roaming the streets with my camera the next morning.

The Hotel

On the Romantic Road, a lot of the town fountains can be used for drinking water. This one in Dinkelsbuhl had a "nicht Trinkwasser" notice on it. What was their first clue?

Romantic Road (VI): What's a Donauworth?

noreply@blogger.com (James) — Mon, 23 May 2011 06:58:00 +0000

On the way to Donauworth, disaster. I went over a bump and found my back tire again running along on the metal rim. This time, something had slashed right through my metal belted tire and the tube.

Is that Daylight?

I replaced the tube, but my only solution for the tire itself was to use an old emergency technique and duct tape a piece of cardboard into the inside of the tire and continue. Every bump I went over had me holding my breath, but it held for 50kms to the next bike shop.

I hope the Cambridge Thai restaurant still accepts their loyalty card.

The camping ground was 10 kms out of Donauworth, but I caught a train into town and wandered around the centre of the town at dusk.

The Town Glockenspiel

That night it poured down with rain.

Romantic Road (V): Rest day: Augsburg

noreply@blogger.com (James) — Thu, 19 May 2011 21:41:00 +0000

Augsburg is the biggest city on the Romantic Road.

In the centre of Augsburg is an area called the Fuggerei, which is the world's oldest social housing area. Dating from the early 1500s, the rent for one of the houses remains about 88 cents per year. For the price that I paid to enter, I should've been allowed to stay for about 5 years.

It was founded by the wealthy Fugger family. If you're rich enough to build a housing complex, you're rich enough to change your name via deed poll.

It irked me a bit. Most people in Germany were really good about letting me butcher their language, but the lady at the ticket office wouldn't let me get past "Ich..." without making me switch to English.

The Fuggerei

Each doorbell pull in the Fuggerei has a different shape. Apparently, this was so that, in the pre-street lighting era, people could find the right house in the dark by feeling their way.

I went to the museum at the Fuggerei, which seemed a little off. It was in a subterranean WWII bomb shelter. Its two themes seemed to be the terrible damage that was done to the area by air raids in WWII, and how much Augsburg loved Hitler. It didn't engender a lot of sympathy.

The Augsburg Synagogue

Augsburg was a former Roman settlement, and has a really interesting museum of Roman archaeology.

Romantic Road (IV): Pfaffenwinkel District

noreply@blogger.com (James) — Thu, 19 May 2011 20:29:00 +0000

ADVERTISEMENT TIME:

Are you exhausted, alone and your bike is squeaking because the overnight rain washed all the oil off your chain? Well, try Mezzo Mix, available across Bavaria. It's a drink made up of Coke and orange, and you know what? When you're bike touring, it's pretty good stuff. Mezzo Mix: It's colakusstorange.

I got away earlier this time, but with the previous day's deficit, I needed to do over 100kms today, just to get back on schedule. I was off to a bad start when, 10kms down the road from the camping ground, my rear tube exploded. This was actually the first puncture I've had on this bike, so when I opened my spare tube, the rubber was suspiciously white-looking. But it held air and I plodded on through the Pfaffenwinkel district.

James, I hear you ask, are bicycle shops open in Bavaria on Easter Sunday? No, no they are not. Nothing is.

Along the way, I encountered the Lech river for the first time.

Here, a couple of other cyclists had also stopped. The guy said something about shitty photos (Foto schiessen), to which I giggled immaturely and nodded. It was only further down the road that I realised that schiessen is the verb for taking photos. The word I was thinking of was, of course, "scheisse".

I made it to Landsberg am Lech for a late lunch. I can't remember: some sort of spiced sausage? Mmm, more pickle.

Landsberg has a lot to see, and I was disappointed to only have time for a meal there, before jumping back on the bike.

Leaving Landsberg to the north meant riding along a bike path beside a motorway. I got lost here quite a few times; the signage was very confusing. At one point I went through an area with signs telling me to keep away because it was a Germany military test site. That can't be on the official route - it's not very romantic.

God knows how many people I asked for directions on this trip. The Germans are very patient and forgiving of people butchering their language.

It took ages to ride through Augsburg to the camping ground in the north of the city. It's a bloody big city. It was pretty dark when I arrived, and I had my lights on. A couple gave me directions on how to cross the autobahn, saying that I would need the footbridge. I was thinking that I would just whip across the road when nothing was coming, like usual. Apparently you don't do that with autobahns. Those are 3 foot high walls on the median strip and fences along the sides. Okay, I'll use the foot bridge.

Romantic Road (III): A Bit of a Bad Day

noreply@blogger.com (James) — Mon, 16 May 2011 23:03:00 +0000

I got to the castles around 9:30 in the morning. There was already a formidable queue. They are massively popular, drawing about 1.3 million visitors per year. I queued for about an hour, but as I got closer to the front, the list of available tours was getting later and later in the day. I realised that to remain to do a tour, I would essentially have to forego a day of cycling, and my schedule simply didn't allow for that. I went up to the Marienbreucke bridge and walked around the outside of Neuschwanstein, but I haven't actually been inside. Guess I'll have to go back.

Leaving Schwangau, the bike path runs through flowery fields beside a stream, and is very flat. I was flying along. Riding at over 30kmh, I was thinking of all the distance I could knock off in a day.

Then the path began to climb through hills. It was a bit of hard work. The path climbed through farmland and then through a forest. I gradually became aware that having done the bulk of my cycling in the Netherlands, East Anglia and the Canterbury plains, I am not well-practised at climbing hills. I do not care for them.

After riding through the forest, the trees parted and the rococo Wieskirche appeared. The church is pretty flash, and became a famous pilgrimage site because it had a statue that cried real tears.

UNESCO and I disagree about which of these things is the truly great achievement of mankind:

Black Forest vs White Church

A couple watched me take this photo, and in my stilted German I tried to explain to them what I was trying to achieve, but they didn't get it. Probably too high brow.

I rode on. At one point, I drifted off the Romantische Strasse, and found myself on the Milchweg instead: Bavaria's only bike route dedicated to the production of milk. I swear that's a real thing. At this stop, there were cow bells that you hit with a striker. The notes on the pages were colour-coded to match the bells. It was fun.

I stumbled on through the afternoon, but it became clear that I was not going to get even remotely near my planned destination for the day. There weren't any shops along the way either, so my only lunch was my piece of cake. In bike touring, there is a term "bonking", which is the point where you hit the wall on no energy. It's a bit dangerous, because you can make silly decisions.

By 5pm, I was starving and seriously bonking, and then the trees parted and a roadside schnitzel restaurant appeared. Now that's a pilgrimage I can believe in!

Salad in Germany is like something that they read about in a book but don't really understand, so you get half a kilo of chopped pickle instead. As long as that's a whole fried pig beside the pickle, I'm happy.

Refueled, I had the option of trying to make it to my intended destination for the night, 40kms in 2 hours, or turning back to the previous available camping ground. I set off, then turned back, went forward again, and finally gave up and went back to the previous site. Of the 90kms I needed to do that day, I had done 50, and 10kms of that was backtracking, so I had achieved less than half the required distance and I was knackered. This was not a good start to my riding.

I returned to the camping ground at Rothenbuch, where I found myself next to Australian couple Jason and Shannon, who are spending 6 months cycling around Europe. They kindly gave me some Easter eggs, which revived me a little.

It poured down during the night.

Romantic Road (II): What's all the Fussen About?

noreply@blogger.com (James) — Mon, 16 May 2011 22:42:00 +0000

I arrived in Fussen on the evening of Easter Friday. I cycled to the tourist office, which is the official start of the Romantic Road, but couldn't find any sort of sign or gateway signifying the start. There were signs pointing the way to go, so I headed off. Fussen looked pretty, but I didn't stop there. Schwangau is about 5kms along the route, so rode to my hotel, and had a great venison goulash with spaetzle. Then I set off to see the castles.

Schwangau was the home of Ludwig II, aka Mad King Ludwig. He's quite an interesting character. He became obsessed with Wagnerian opulence, and built 3 castles. Linderhof is some distance away, but Neuschwanstein and Hohenschwangau are near Schwangau, in the foothills of the alps.

Neuschwanstein Left, Hohenschwangau Right

Neuschwanstein at Night

Hohenschwangau

My Hotel

Along the Romantic Road, there are about a million statues of some bloke nailed to a cross. I took photos of a couple, but for the next several hundred kilometres I lost interest.

Jesus Won't be the Only One Sick of Crucifixes by the End of the Ride

Here's a map that I saw in Schwangau. Oh Germany, don't ever change.

"I Went to Wankerfleck but all I got was this Shirt With a Stain on it"

Romantic Road (I): Bike the Reich

noreply@blogger.com (James) — Fri, 13 May 2011 22:00:00 +0000

If I said I spent Easter "riding the Romantic Road solo", would that sound like a metaphor? 'Cause it's totally not. The Romantic Road is a real thing.

It's Germany's most popular long distance cycle route, spanning 420 kms from Wurzburg in southern Germany to Fussen in even more southern Germany. It's in Bavaria, but apparently the groups that make up Bavaria are quite individualistic - thus, it makes more sense to say it goes through Swab, Frankonia, etc. They created the route after the war as a tourist attraction, but the cycle version was only created in the last couple of decades when bike touring became popular in Germany.

I looked at the topographic map, and, seeing that the route is slightly uphill, decided to ride it from Fussen to Wurzburg instead. As it turns out, the whole thing is rolling hills, so it doesn't much matter which direction you ride it - you're going to get a workout either way.

From the south, the route starts at the Alps, runs along the Lech river, crosses the Danube, then runs along the Tauber river before finally finishing by the Main river in Wurzburg. It runs through a series of traditional Bavarian towns.

One note about the Romantic Road is that there are surprisingly few camping grounds along the way. If you're riding on a budget and looking to camp, your daily stops are pretty much dictated by where the camps are.

A few days before I was due to fly out, I checked the weather forecast, and was horrified to find that it was dropping to -6C at night in Fussen. That is not good camping weather, so I booked to stay in a hotel in Schwangau for the first night.

I packed my bike into a bag and flew to Munich at about 5am, rebuilt my bike, caught a train into the centre city, and then another couple of trains south-west to Fussen.

Unlike English trains, German trains have a bike carriage, even with bike seatbelts. On the downside, you have to buy a separate ticket for your bike. On the upside, the German rail service isn't a massively overpriced, outdated, crowded piece of crap. However, they're heading towards privatising their rail service, so I'm sure it'll be rubbish quite soon.

Shake-down Ride: Mildenhall

noreply@blogger.com (James) — Sun, 08 May 2011 18:57:00 +0000

I have some new touring gear, so to test it I did a ride out to Mildenhall in Suffolk. I stayed in a camp ground out there that I've stayed in before. It's a very peaceful place, if you ignore the fact that it's located at the end of the runway at an American air base.

I think they're aware of it; check out the sign for the camping ground:

You'll no doubt be surprised to learn that a thin nylon tent does not do much to muffle the sound of a US military cargo plane 20 feet above your head.

I went to the local pub for a meal. The waiter wandered around with my meal, before asking me: "Are you the guy with the American accent who ordered a chicken salad?" I've never been so insulted in my life.

In Suffolk they do a very nice cider made out of strawberries and pears.

The bike held up well, so I was ready for my Germany trip.

Quiet Times

noreply@blogger.com (James) — Thu, 05 May 2011 20:11:00 +0000

Late last year I was focused entirely on my trip home, so I stopped travelling. I actually lost 4 days of holiday last year that I never used. And it carried over to this year. From January to April, I didn't have a holiday. I was in a bit of a rut.

But although I haven't taken trips, I have done a few things. After the second quake, I've had a bout of Kiwi nationalism.

I saw Brooke Fraser in London. You'll have to take my word, because my photos were too crappy to post. I'm luke-warm on her music in general, but it was a good show.

I went to check out the former Roman town of Silchester, which is south of Reading. Silchester is interesting because, unlike most Roman towns, it was never built over. They have excavated quite a lot, including the former arena and the walls of the city. I took a bunch of photos, but I appear to have deleted them. Bum.

My touch rugby club held a Christchurch fundraising quiz evening. The organisers did a great job. The mood fluctuated wildly: Mostly it was a happy social evening, but when stories of post-quake life in Christchurch were read out, it would go very quiet.

I went to Twickenham (the home of rugby) to watch the Crusaders play the Sharks. I thought the crowd would be all Kiwis, but it was actually nearly all South Africans. As I sat down, it occurred to me that the whole thing might have been a trap set by the UK immigration service to round up 35,000 of us in one go.

After the Minute of Silence

I think that's my fourth minute of silence now.

With this Ring, I Thee Fled

noreply@blogger.com (James) — Mon, 02 May 2011 21:21:00 +0000

We've just had holidays here for Easter and the royal wedding. I couldn't care less about either of those things (combine the royal family and crucifixion, and then you might have something), so I loaded up my bike and legged it for a couple of weeks.

No, it's not the Flipping Disney Castle