AWOL247

Our first trip (4 days earlier) to the Bleibtreusee had been slightly marred by 3 things. 1) The trip was abruptly cut short by a thunderstorm,  2) the café had stopped serving fries on account of the impending thunderstorm,  and 3) one of us had used the parking ticket as an in-pocket toy to the point of disintegration.

Take two, and the weather held. Picnics were picnicked and SUPs were SUPed, at times frantically, to avoid drifting into the path of waterskiers being hurled back and forth at break neck speed by something resembling an out of control ski lift. It’s a fun place for sure.

Refusing to accept the day was over as the light fell, we headed unannounced to neighbouring Campingplatz Heider Bergsee looking for a park for the night. It was full, so the Park4Night app (shameless plug) recommended the Wasserturmweg in Brühl.

Okay, it was just a parking lot, but a very pretty and secluded one. And when the breakcore massive went home to their beds, we had another beer and relaxed in pitch black, in what seemed like the middle of nowhere. Still getting used to not getting spooked by that bit.

The Kalte Quelle is a small, friendly place on the banks of the Main. Guests are more than welcome to take a plunge (‘at own risk’) in the river. This narrow, unassuming sliver of water looked inoccuous enough until a huge tanker came rumbling down it, sending waves crashing to the banks then back out into the river. Narrow but deep, then.

But very beautiful, with vineyards rising on the hills behind it, tucked away, quiet and, when we were there at least, bathed in sunshine. As journey ends go, not bad at all.

All that remained in the morning was to check out and head back. Remagen. Rain. Reality.

We said our goodbyes to Péa, Adam and Bavaria. For our pit stop on the way back to Remagen, we would have happily stayed at the Albtal again but we decided to head due north up the A7 to Würzburg. We’d found a campingplatz on the Main called the Kalte Quelle that looked good, so why retrace steps?

The journey wasn’t ideal (congestion, roadworks, terrible road surface) but enlivened by a stop at the Memmingen Kunst-Raststätte (transl. ‘art service station’) – part service station, part Gaudi pastiche, with Mr Whippy cones (serving the purpose of which, we know not what), ‘mood rooms’, extensive mosaic work, and bird song played in the toilets. We sipped coffee in the outside area, front left of the door, as Wolfgang Petry serenaded us with ‘Verlieben, verloren…’ And why not? It was great.

Art service stations aside, we exhaled as we were guided by the campingplatz signage and attendant into a field full of Wohnmobilen on the bank of the River Main. Didn’t look much like the pictures. Wasn’t much like the pictures. Wasn’t on the right side of the Main, either. Wasn’t the right campingplatz.

Programming the SatNav will require some honing, going forward, but thankfully the nearest bridge across the Main wasn’t too far back, so another 30 minutes later we were pulling into the Kalte Quelle.

We’d had our Alpsee sojourn snatched away from us by a violent storm. But we weren’t giving up that easily. Our last day in Bavaria and the skies were clear. We checked out of the Gitzy and headed north east. After coffee in Immenstadt we made for the exact same spot where we’d been with Péa & Adam before the heavens had opened.

It turned out to be a pretty much perfect day (even though that melt water from the Alps is damn cold). It’s a very beautiful spot in an equally beautiful part of the world.

In failing light, we headed back to Oberstaufen for Pommes and an early night.

The Gitzy had really got under our skin. Schlager was everywhere. They even had their very own Schlager songs, professionally written and recorded, for the kids activities (equally enjoyed by the adults).

So the date for leaving this relaxed, fun-loving place and heading back home underwent various revisions. We extended once because we didn’t want to leave. We extended again because (a) we didn’t want to leave and (b) the weather forecast suggested we’d be taking down an 8-person canvas tent in the pouring rain (the forecast was right). Exit day was now Friday 7th August.

We decided we’d take down the tent on the 6th, but not before one final trip to Fischbach. Fischbach proved difficult to leave of course, so dismantling the tent became a race against the sinking sun. It wasn’t helped by the fact that the groundsheet had decided it wanted to take a sizeable chunk of the Gitzy (specifically the muddy bit) home with it.

Oberstaufen, a small town nestled in the Allgäu. Home to cows with bells, squeaky clean air, 24-hour cheese vending machines, milk so thick you can use it as pommade, beautiful scenery, Lederhosen, the Alpsee, and our dear old friends Péa & Adam, whom we hadn’t seen for 3 years since they’d become early enlistees to the UK’s Brexit brain drain.

We finally arrived Saturday lunchtime. It’s only an hour’s drive from the Gitzy, but we were taking our mornings slowly. After a long overdue catch up and the first proper meal we’d had since we’d left Remagen (it was Pfifferlinge season and the place had a trout farm – an auspicious comeback), we headed to the Alpsee, Oberstaufen’s majestic bathing lake. As the sun blazed down, we passed en route through the village of Bad Rain. Portentous much?

Nursing an Aperol Spritz and gazing down this beautiful body of water from its easternmost tip, one of Bavaria’s famed storms thundered down the valley, scattering sun seekers, capsizing paddle boarders and ripping parasols from their moorings, leaving those hoping for a sudden improvement in the situation to congregate around the toilets, their drinks diluted beyond recognition with heavenly offerings. It didn’t come, at least, not soon enough. We retreated, but vowed to be back.

This weekend was about the people, though, and a fantastic time was had, eating cheese, drinking beer, talking crap, eating cheese – the Oberstaufen way. We left on Monday morning with a heavy heart but vowing to meet up later in the week before our time in Bavaria was up.

We had new neighbours at the Gitzy, Richard & Michaela. Lovely people. For a start, they hadn’t brought a vehicle the size of a modest family home that blocked out all our light. They were also pretty new to this camping lark, so we could confide in them about our rookie errors without too much sense of shame (apart from the paddle – that was just dumb). They even did a fine line in homemade tomato sauce.

They’d been out exploring the area and had stumbled across a place called Fischbach, near Friedrichshafen on the banks of Lake Constance. While Lindenhofpark was very nice, we’d been hoping that, as well as remembering the paddle, we might find something a little less ‘established’ for our water sports. Fischbach sounded perfect.

It didn’t disappoint. It was a proper beach, accessible through an area of woodland with paths weaving along the shoreline. The water was shallower and warmer and you could walk a fair way out into the lake with your head still above water. The sand on the shore gave way to soft algae on the lake bed as zeppelins drifted silently overhead.

An afternoon jaunt across the border to Austria. No border checks. It’s called ‘freedom of movement’, something that certain members of British society had chosen, in their wisdom, to relinquish in favour of somehow clawing something abstract back from those nasty European people who have ruined their country. Or was it the immigrants? Sorry, lost track of their latest scapegoat. (UPDATE: it’s now also ‘do-gooder’ ‘lefty lawyers’ (Src: Priti Patel & Boris Johnson)).

We’d bought a paddle board which had so far seen no sign of water. Lake Constance, a 63km-long lake with the Swiss, Austrian and Bavarian Alps rising majestically behind it seemed like a decent enough baptism but we needed something a bit more ‘beachy’ than Lindau harbour to launch the thing.

The Lindenhofpark, a short drive from Lindau, had a jetty, small beach, café and lawns, teeming with like-minded people plunging into the lake to cool off. The christening of the paddle board was slightly marred by the fact that we forgot to bring the paddle.

Our brand new tent. A Life Under Canvas Touareg bell tent. Sleeps 8, so perfect for two people, particularly as it takes 2 people to lift it.

It was a breeze to set up though, and finally we could offload the mountain of interior decorations, rugs, throws, cushions and lights hoarded in the van to cosy it up.

We plugged in our hired CEE adapter like seasoned pros, a nod of shared understanding to our fellow professionals. We inflated our air bed with integral electrical pump (no-one uses foot pumps here).

As darkness fell, we noticed something else about the benefits of our CEE adapter. The van’s underfloor heating and temperature controller AND our induction hob, both of which we’d written off as broken and in need of professional attention, sprang into life. WE… ARE… SMOKIN’!

The ‘mix up’ with the Isny dates was soon eclipsed by something far more pressing. The power was out – no fridge, no nothing. One of us scrambled to notify Gitzy staff, the other hastily scoured the internet for answers.

As we waited in searing heat for the man in the golf cart (we’d heard his name was Herr Kutter – no scissors jokes, please) to come and fix our power outage, the internet search was proving enlightening, almost overly so. There appeared to be something called a 3 pin CEE adapter involved – a cable with a 3 pin plug on one end and a 2 pin socket on the other. Looking around the charging points, everyone seemed to have one. Apart from us.

Perhaps this was the solution preferred by most campers over our current method of jamming our 2 pin plug into the 3 pin socket at the charging point. Perhaps this might explain the raised eyebrows when we’d adopted this method both here and at the Albtal. Perhaps this might explain… “Shit. I think we’ve tripped the charging point. We need a 3 pin CEE adapter.”

To be precise, we needed it BEFORE the man in the golf cart came to fix our power outage and noticed we didn’t have one.

Sure enough,  you could hire 3-pin CEEs from Gitzy reception – a service presumably geared towards campers who’d forgotten to bring one, as opposed to those who had no idea they existed, let alone that they needed one.

Back at the van, still no sign of the man in the golf cart – he was run ragged showing new arrivals their pitch. With the CEE connected, the Bulli sprang into life and the fridge whirred reassuringly.

When Herr Kutter did show, he couldn’t remember why he had a note to come see us. We used the opportunity to avoid any discussion of power outages and check availability for a space where we could pitch our tent. There were 2 options, we chose the one backing onto the woods. 30 minutes later we were winding our way past the 2 Gitzy lakes to our new home.

“Ooh look, we’ve got 2 emails from Camping Isny. A grovelling apology for gazumping us, no doubt.” It wasn’t. It was 2 consecutive emails asking us where we were, and our ETA.

We checked the booking. It went a significant way in explaining why we’d had no place to stay when we arrived. We’d turned up at the site (and as such, started the whole trip) a day before we should have done. A* for zeal, F for maths. No wonder the preparations had been a little rushed.

Wow, these guys really take things seriously.  Our first pitch at the Gitzy and we were surrounded by campers who had literally brought the kitchen sink.

We saw toasters, filter coffee makers, recliners,  even an entire kitchen cabinet (which folded down to the size of a matchbox). Their awnings were bigger than our flat.

There we were in the sweltering heat, trying to get our Sonnensegel (Norma, 12.99 €) to stand up – a 2 hour job despite zero wind. We tried to avoid acknowledging the looks of utter incredulity from our neighbours. We made it eventually,  and kicked back glowing with pride.

The plan for the afternoon was to check out Lake Constance at Lindau, a 10 minute drive away. The Bulli was now forming an important part of the supporting structure for the Sonnensegel though, so we needed an alternative mode of transport. No trouble. WE were Gitzianers. And Gitzianers get free passage on the bus from the Gitzy to Lindau. And Lake Constance? What a sight.

So the Isny wasn’t to be. It looked like a very nice place. The adjoining bathing lake was pretty, but we’d bought a SUP board so big you could have used it as a bridge.

Here we were at the Gitzenweiler Hof, a sprawling mass of mansions on wheels and a short drive from Lake Constance (Bodensee) – a match even for our excessive water transportation device.

We checked in and were guided to our pitch by a man in a golf cart. No room for the tent just yet, but we were told if we checked back in a couple of days they should have something. It was getting dark now anyway – just time to plug in… Hmmm. Same deal as the Albtal. A 3 pin socket for a 2 pin plug. This one was a bit of a bitch too. Ah well, when in doubt, push harder. We got connected all right.

Wandered up for some food and a beer. The kitchen was closed but they could still offer us fleischsalat. What returned was a mountain of ham and cheese so vast it curdled the snow on the summits of the neighbouring Alps. Generosity of spirit? The Gitzy had it in spades.

The foot hits the floor. Wheels spin in a blaze of gravel from the tennis club car park and hapless Russians on the grillplatz dive for cover in a shower of Stary Melnik.

It was a long drive from the Albtal to Bavaria. Congestion, roadworks, wrong turns. We knew we were getting close when the smell of manure seeped through the air vents. Farming country. Our base for the next week had meant to be Waldbad Camping Isny. Not any more it wasn’t.

When we arrived, it appeared that the pitch we’d booked had been given to someone else. The office was closed, the place was fully booked, there was no out of hours number. A guy in the restaurant said we could park by the tennis courts up the road and try again in the morning. We drove up to take a look.

Indignation turned to rage. Why the hell should we go back, cap in hand, tomorrow to a place that let us down today? A campingplatz half an hour further down south had space. Sod it, we’ll take our goddam business elsewhere… HIT IT.

30 minutes later.  Hallo-o-o-o Gitzy!

Our final destination was Bavaria. But that’s a fair old schlepp from Remagen, so we needed a place for the night, somewhere near Stuttgart. The Hardtsee looked promising – not exactly what you’d call ‘wild camping’, but given that it was on a bathing lake and a stone’s throw from the route it worked fine.

The only problem was, it was high summer, international travel was still restricted owing to the persistence of coronavirus in many countries, so every German and his dog had bought a campervan. Good luck finding a pitch anywhere even remotely popular in the whole country. No, there was nothing available at the Hardtsee.

Campingplatz Albtal in Kochmühle was a little further off the road, but they had a pitch for us. All the Google pics had been taken in winter and it looked like the little campsite that cried. Sure enough though, when we arrived, they were expecting us, and we were told we could park up anywhere we fancied in one of two fields.

There were plenty of electricity points. Perfect. Our first time plugging in the Bulli so we could run the fridge overnight and charge the phones. We ran the cable to the charge point. Weird. We had a cable connected to the Bulli battery with a 2-pin plug on the end. The charge point had a 3-pin socket. Oh well, it kinda went in, with a little force. Guess the socket accepts 2  & 3 pin plugs. Not a clue.

Turned out the Albtal is a truly great little place. It’s ramshackle in that it’s not regimental in its pitching regime. Easy going, informal, and expertly run. And the restaurant is cranking out great food by the plateful, way beyond expectation. We ate and retired. Talked to a couple of schnauzer breeders who ‘d brought 3 of them along for the ride. The power seemed fine. The fridge was ticking over. Sweet dreams.

Our first night in the Bulli and we slept the sleep of the just. We’d had a romantic idea that we’d be awoken by shafts of new dawn sunlight. In reality it was dog walkers already up and about. There must have been 4 or 5 cars in the car park already.

In the blistering sunshine of morning we got a brew on with our new stove & kettle. Did we remember to bring cups? Of course not. We adapted. So what now? It was Friday and we had a few days off work, so maybe we could pick up a few supplies and head out to spend the night somewhere a little further from home.

So out we went to the Pulvermaar, the deepest crater lake in the Eifel at 72m deep, and a stunning site. The Bulli was too long for the parking lots by the lake, so we ended up in an overflow field. We had currywurst and coffee at the Pulvermaar cafe until things got stormy.

We decided we’d stay the night in the overflow field. Only problem was, it’s a nature reserve. One beer down and feeling very good about the world, we got unceremoniously booted out by a roving ranger at about 9pm. So we headed back. Day turned to night. We weren’t giving up that easily though, so back to the Monte Klamotte it was, for another night in the Bulli in the exact same spot we’d spent the night before. Other than a complete nutter driving full pelt into a pile of aggregate in the car park at midnight, then revving with his reverse lights on as if he was going to back into us at speed, it was a peaceful night.

It was a hot June evening. We still hadn’t spent a night in the Bulli. We had some sausages. What would anyone in Remagen do under those circumsatnces? Technically, barbecues on the Monte Klamotte (specifically at the Otto Neubeck Grillhütte) should be booked in advance. But these were coronatimes – bookings weren’t possible, barbecues weren’t allowed. We were 2 people with a tiny picnic grill and a few sausages, so we thought we’d take our chance.

There were still a number of sunset dog walkers around when we got up there, so we decided to hold off on the pyrotechnics until after dark – just in case any were interfering busybodies. We ended up on a bench, with a beer, marvelling at the sun sinking over fields of rapeseed, putting the world to rights with a couple walking 2 dogs.

We set up the grill, despite there being a few stragglers (3 young card players in the dusk). We must’ve had to go back to the van 3 or 4 times to fetch things we’d forgotten of course – rookie errors. Darkness, fireflies, silence, sausages. We even managed to start a small campfire. This sounds like proper bush survival stuff, but dry grass, twigs and larger branches had already been stacked by someone before us, and we had paper and lighters at our disposal. It still took us about 20 attempts to get the thing going. The smoke billowed upwards as a fine indication to passing patrol cars of our whereabouts.

No one came, the fire died back and we went to bed, the Bulli bed.

Laacher See, a 2km wide, 53m deep volcanic crater lake in the Eifel. It’s a spectacular thing. Visting it on Pfingstmontag? Not what you would call ‘escaping from it all’ but we were going a little bit crazy in Remagen and wanted to get out on proper roads. At least, one of us did. One of us was too chicken to drive – it’s close to the Nürburgring, and Germans like to drive as if they’re on it. Plus, left hand drive on the right side of the road? Not yet.

Despite the crowds, it was great to be out in the country for the first time in a long time. Spoke to some fellow Bulli drivers in the car park – our first taste of the community the iconic vehicle has generated around itself. They’d converted an old farm in Polch into a kitchen, hotel and café-restaurant, just before coronavirus hit. All they could do was wait.

And yes, we did get lost – missed the turn for Brohl-Lützing on the way home and ended up on the L116 towards Nickenich. Beautiful road. Wrong direction. Discovered a great little campingplatz at the bottom of the hill there. We doubled back to the L113, at sunset – what a view.

Number plates arrived. Remagen may not be the most happening of places but there are certain ways in which it makes up for it. One of these is the ability to register a number plate that begins with the letters AW (short for Ahrweiler, the main town in the region).

Okay, so we bought it a couple of weeks back. Since then we’ve been wrestling with WordPress to set up this blog about it – trying to strip out everything we don’t need in terms of side menus, widgets, social media, links, whistles and flipping bells. Just a timestamp, some text and some images if you please – nothing else.

The world is currently awash with the COVID-19, meaning we can’t really use it for camping – a bit of a drawback. Thankfully, this is all set to change in the next few weeks unless something disastrous happens. In the meantime, we’re busy ordering all manner of crap on the internet to make the interior a little more ‘characterful’.