Onto Germany

I wasn’t sad to leave Zillatal, the place had much to offer, if only I wasn’t traveling alone. The best of the bouldering lay on a toll road and €8 was a bit excessive for a day of climbing. Although everyone found the mountains scenery to be amazing it didn’t feel a touch on Val di Mello, after 3 months of the Alps suddenly the steep valleys become claustrophobic and you yearn for a plain where the highest thing is a tree or house. The area also had the feel of a winter resort in summer, populated by ageing and overweight Austrians and Germans and stuffed with snowboarding shops now selling skateboarding gear and walking boots.

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.

Austria

I meant to stay a week in Magic Wood and ended up saying a month. I think that above everything else explains the power of the place. No place has so many amazing problems to climb as there. Magic aptly describes the climbing, although the wood is far for Magic with its plentiful opportunities to break your ankle, why this name is now being marketed for the red socks walking brigade I don’t know as for a walking place Magic Wood is probably the worst name. The company I kept was also Magical and I had many big goodbyes to make on Monday before hitting the road, and I’ve promised myself I will meet them again! I never thought I would be sad to see the back of Switzerland.

Before I crossed the border into Austria I took one last touristic opportunity in Switzerland and visited St Gaellen, a town with one of the best preserved medieval towns in Switzerland, lined with fresco’s and ornately carved balconies it was a good way to break up the journey, but already it felt very Germanic, I was vigorously tutted whilst crossing the empty roads whilst the residents waited patiently for the little green man to appear. Beside this I seemed to spent more time looking for a public toilet, something I don’t believe actually exists here, as bins seem to be seriously lacking as well (how the streets are kept tidy is a miracle).

Then onto Austria and with a few time consuming diversions as the motorway was closed I head onto Zillatal and the village of Ginzling where a free campsite beside the river will be my base for the next week. To describe the place is hard, it’s a combination of Magic Wood and Val di Mello (Italy), I am surrounding my snow capped peaks, but often the valley is to narrow to see them above the cliffs, the villages look Swiss like with their organised Chalets, but there is more happening here, more bars, information centres, the rules which seem to stifle small businesses in Switzerland are more lax here and so everywhere people opening up and selling beer and food. Almost my first port of call was the Gasthouse for the local brew, possibly slightly stronger than the Swiss beer I guess by the cross eyed effect it had on me, but the most refreshing end to a long days driving.

With my beer inside me I was able to get dinner going at the campsite, Jonny the Spanish dog from Magic Wood has been replaced by Mr Fox, a young fox with shiny coat, bushy tail and pointy nose that happily sniffs through my rubbish bag whilst I read my book. The plan then was to put down my mat and just sleep out under the stars, this was aborted after Mr Fox decided to chew on my shoe with my foot still in it whilst I read some more. I decided to put up the tent encase my nose or other appendages look suitably edible during the night.

That is pretty much it, my night sleep was on the chilly side, but I should have expected that with the snow layer only being a few hundred metres above me. The next day I went exploring and managed to get quite a bit of climbing in and finished the day perfectly with another beer.