On from Zillatal I crossed out of the Alps and into Germany, speeding along the Autobahn to the Frankenjura just above Nuremberg. This area of Germany is famous for two things, its beer and cakes, gently rolling forested hills are zig zagged by small country roads and here and there are short and small limestone cliffs. It reminds me a lot Fontainebleau in appearance. The villages in between the forests are all traditional German with large brightly coloured houses supported by ancient oak beams. Maybe it’s what it doesn’t have that makes it so attractive, no snow capped mountains for the bus loads of Austrian hikers to attempt, no never ending roads winding up hills that the masochistic cyclists love, no steam train to take you from shop to shop if your too lazy for either of the above. It’s the simplicity that makes this place beautiful and in that it somehow manages to keep away the busloads of tourists wanting to see something special.
Beer, Cake and Climbing
Luckily for the climbing a German is also at the campsite on his own and needed someone to climb with. I had heard a lot about the badly bolted and pocketed routes of Frankenjura, but nothing prepared me for the reality. After months of bouldering my stamina in poor and in all the routes you have a vast number of pockets to choose from. Normally most are dreadful. Trying to climb everything clean first attempt here is very tiring and I’ve dropped my grade a lot to allow for this. The bolting is all over the place, I’ve managed to choose routes which are reasonably well bolted, but some might have the first bolt at 8m, and then only one more before the finish at 20m. Luckily the guide books show you where the bolts are, so you can select carefully which routes you wish to do.
Frankenjura Village
My time in the Frankenjura wasn’t long and for most of it I rested as my body ached after the last 3 months of bouldering. To finish off my trip I joined Yvette who flew into Frankfurt for my last few days in Europe. First stop was the imperial German city of Wiensbern, with its wide roads, opera houses, lakes and cathedrals its closest to the Georgian architecture of London and Paris, but with a lot more German pomp. To finish off our day’s stay we went to the yearly music festival, apparently the best bands had played the night before so we were greeted by heavy German rock, a bald wrestler in dungarees and a collection of unfunny comedians, poets and writers, which was all in German, a language I speak pathetically little of.
Germany Party Time
Our next stop was Aachen via the Rhein, this major trade route through the Germany is teaming with castles, both strategic and fancy, many looking like a Disney creation, built with the riches the river brought them. Aachen, Charlemagne’s capital and centre of the Holy Roman Empire boasts the oldest cathedral in the world, but outside of the pretty ancient centre is a grim industrial town with little to offer compared to our last venue, Brugge.
Castles of the Rhein
Brugge, famous for its Lace (now made in China) and chocolates, sitting in the North of Belgium this small town just oozed charm at us. As soon as you cross the canal/moat surrounding the town you are met with pretty multicoloured houses leading you into the city centre. Once inside its magnificent squares and waterways quickly mesmerise you. It’s a place to relax and gently walk around in with magnificent rows of windmills to say farewell to you as your tour ends.
Windmills of Brugge
Then that was it, the next day we were on a very rough English Channel crossing to home. It’s weird looking back on the last 3 months. They definitely have gone quickly, but it’s what you remember that surprises you. Gone are the memories of mountains, food, streams and forests, those are saved neatly on my camera. Perfectly archived forever in me are all the hundreds of faces and people I met. That is probably the one thing that made the trip; humanity! From the locals of Val di Mello to the climbers of Magic Wood, hundreds of people I have met on my way. In a very un-English way I know I will meet them again. The goodbyes where never sad, as only half the story had been written and I always knew there would be another chapter.
