Tot Ziens and Auf Wiedersehen To The Rainy Rhine
Three weeks after setting off from Sophie and Chris’s house in Altendorf, near Zurich, we’ve completed our ride down the Rhine River. This last leg of our bike adventure has covered some 1,250km, spanning the river from its outlet at Lake Constance to Hook of Holland - the point where we started our European trip, off the ferry from Harwich, back in early June. Until a few days ago, our Rhine journey saw 21 consecutive days of cycling. We’re spending our last four nights in Europe in a hotel in Delft, luxuriating in a comfy bed, savouring being unencumbered by our bikes and tent, and playing at being normal tourists.
From Worms, where my last post was written, the next overnighting point was the city of Mainz. There, we’d identified a campsite on an island in the middle of the river. Getting to it proved quite a challenge, entailing lugging the laden bikes up a large number of steps to the cycle path attached to a rail bridge, only to find we’d crossed at the wrong island. Then it was more cycling and another downstream bridge to get access to the right island. It was worth it, though - we found a very low-key site which one local occupant described as a ‘hidden gem’, partly because it’s only accessible by bike, foot or boat. Apparently, the main building at the site was built in the 1930s as a sort of retreat for German army officers. Now it has a smattering of semi-permanent caravans (semi-permanent because the river routinely floods the site to scary depths as indicated by flood level markers). The best feature of the site was that it’s free, while providing a front-row seat to watch the many, many barges and cruise ship (more floating hotels, really) pass by in both directions. We spent several relaxing hours doing exactly that while waiting for a fellow Kiwi to turn up. Several months previously, while at a rowing regatta at Lake Kaniere back in NZ, we’d chatted to Kevin from Dunedin, having discovered that we were going to be on bikes in Europe at the same time. Although I’d subsequently forgotten the conversation, a mutual friend reminded us of the coincidence several days previously. We made contact with Kevin, found we were remarkably close and made a tentative arrangement to meet up. He arrived in the early evening and we spent until after dark and following early morning chatting about all sorts of things (not just cycle touring) before going our separate ways again.
Beyond Mainz, the river again becomes confined in a steep-sided gorge section. This is the area known as the ‘Romatic Rhine’; accorded with World Heritage status. It’s full of pretty old villages like Bingen, Sankt Goar and Boppard, with hilltop castles and surrounded by vineyards and woods on the steep slopes. Near Sankt Goar, where we camped one night, is the Lorelei rock on the river, famed in folklore for the Lorelei siren who lures sailors to their doom with her singing. Unfortunately, we passed through much of this section of the river in a series of heavy downpours on a daily basis, so not conducive to lingering, nor photography.
Beyond Koblenz, the river opens out again and is much more urbanised. Not long after Koblenz, we were into Bonn and then Koln (Cologne). Cycling along genteel streets, with avenues of trees, it was quite confronting to see reminders of WWII - plaques, signs and memorials, or even just the obvious juxtaposition of relatively modern houses in a row between much older ones in a street which had clearly been bombed or partially destroyed by artillery.
Cycling through quiet suburban streets in Koln, we suddenly arrived at the tourist masses around the honeypot of the Dom (cathedral). It’s a very impressive building, fronted by two spire towers, its facade covered in incredibly ornate sculptures. Despite Julie dismissing it as merely neo-Gothic (although building started in 1248, it wasn’t completed until 1880), apparently it’s Germany’s most visited landmark, the tallest twin-spired church in the world (and the third-tallest church of any kind in the world) And - of course - it’s a World Heritage site.
In my last post, I made mention of some of the weird and wonderful bicycle configurations we’ve seen on this trip. We’ve since come across one that beats all the others - a tandem recumbent loaded with touring bags, configured with the rear (stoker) cyclist facing backwards. The idea of riding a tandem is bad enough, but riding backwards as well just seems like a nightmare to me. Leaving Koln, we also overtook a couple of middle-aged ladies on touring bikes with probably the bulkiest loads I have ever seen on bikes - understandably moving very slowly. I can only imagine what they had in their bags - at least one kitchen sink, probably.
Something that has surprised (more shocked, actually) me during our time in both Switzerland and Germany has been the lackadaisical attitude to health and safety - most visibly to us in the form of temporary traffic management. This was exemplified as we cycled out of Koln - without any warning signs or re-routing, a mobile work platform was set up on the cycle path, requiring bikes to move onto the road, used by heavy goods vehicles. The platform was extended over the roadway, with a worker in the basket chopping tree branches, dropping them onto the live carriageway - again, with no exclusion zone. The only concession to safety seemed to be a worker on the other side of the road who was pulling branches away as they fell.
Downstream of Koln, we’ve been in new territory. Some 20 years ago, we’d flown from the UK to Geneva, cycled up the Rhone River to Andermatt in the Swiss Alps, over the Furka Pass (well, I did - Julie sensibly opted for the train to the other side of the pass) and then down the Rhine as far as Koln, before flying back to the UK. Our first - new - stop was a riverside campsite where we saw photos of flooding through the site, most spectacularly in 1993. Having pitched our tent, we saw some rowing skiffs whizzing downstream (and later labouring much more slowly back upstream). I think I’d be too intimidated by the passing barges to be able to row in that setting. That night, yet again, it rained heavily and then again just as we were getting up in the morning. We ended up collapsing the tent inner and eating our breakfast inside the fly - a new experience for us.
Having had enough of wet weather camping (and without any nearby campsites anyway), Julie booked us into a small hotel for the next night in Duisburg. En route, we chanced upon a big bike shop in the outskirts of Düsseldorf where I spent 130 Euro on a flash new saddle, to replace my 2-year old Ergon saddle that had developed splits under both my sit bones soon after we arrived in Sweden. I’d contacted the company and they’d agreed to warranty replacement but, following many emails to and fro, the obstacles put up by Ergon to actually get a saddle to me were such that I gave up on them (formal complaint pending…). The shop assistant who served us told us that some four million e-bikes were sold in Germany last year(!), mainly through employer schemes under government tax incentives. Continuing the theme of bike-related purchases, later in Duisburg, we bought replacement Ergon handlebars grips for both our bikes. Wandering around the city, it was very obvious from the age of most of the buildings that it had been bombed to smithereens by the Allies during the war. Being at the heart of the Ruhr industrial area, it was reputed to have been the most heavily bombed German city during WWII - almost the entire city has had to be rebuilt, with most historic landmarks destroyed. A telling reminder is the city’s Aldstad cathedral whose spire had clearly been left in its bomb-damaged truncated form. Despite the destruction wrought, it remains a hugely significant industrial area and boasts the largest inland port in the world.
Since leaving Duisburg, we’ve gone a little off-piste from some of the more circuitous portions of the Eurovelo route, partly to incorporate some of the local villages. At one - Rheinburg - Julie went to a pharmacy to enquire about an insect bite on her torso that had become inflamed. After referral to a local doctor, he (along with second opinion of a dermatologist via video-link) confirmed it was a tick bite (this despite us only ever seeing a single tick and that had been in Sweden). Back at the pharmacy with a prescription, the whole process had taken no more than about an hour and cost nothing, bar the antibiotics from the pharmacy - very impressive German medical service. Later that day, while in a checkout queue at a supermarket, I’d suggested to an elderly gent behind me that he should go ahead of me since he only had a single can of tuna to purchase. He waved me away, saying, in English, “This is not my rush hour.” It still makes me smile even writing this several days later.
A big milestone for us was crossing the border into the Netherlands, even if marked by no more than a small sign now. Almost immediately after the ‘crossing’, our route took us on a little ferry across the river and we found a nice lunch spot at a picnic table. Someone had even left a glass vase filled with flowers - which, of course, made Julie cry.
We passed through Arnhem - of the bridge fame/infamy. Again, it’s hard to reconcile the current calm, staid, pleasant environment with the terrible fighting that took place there almost 80 years ago. We deviated from the official Rhine cycle route and passed the Commonwealth War Cemetery at Oosterbeek where most of the Allied soldiers killed in the area have been buried. They number over 1,750, although apparently bodies are still being discovered in the area even now so the number continues to grow. There’s also a poignant little statue in a town park of an Allied soldier and a local girl walking holding hands. Nearby, we also passed a Dutch military cemetery containing the graves of the hundreds of Dutch soldiers who were killed during the German invasion - it was shocking to see that the headstones all indicated deaths on either 12 or 13 May 1940.
In the three weeks that we’ve cycled down the Rhine, we can’t recall a single day when we haven’t had rain at some stage. Early on, it was afternoon or evening thunderstorms. Over the last couple of weeks, it’s just been plain unsettled, with multiple heavy showers over the course of the day and night. With the last week being in flat open landscape, we’ve been able to see dark rain clouds as they approach and have got quite good at timing the donning of rain jackets; even to the extent of removing cycling gloves to avoid cycling for the rest of the day in smelly, soggy gloves. Similarly, I don’t think I’ve ever had to take our tent inner down separately from the fly when we decamp in mornings (and then put it up separately at the next camp) as often as I have on this trip. Besides the rain, our last four or five days of cycling in Germany and the Netherlands have been marked by strong head winds. With little topographical relief, we’ve been very exposed to it as we grind painfully slowly westwards along the dykes.
Having said that, I do need to draw attention here to one of the Netherlands’ dirty secrets - it’s not always flat. Cycling out of Arnhem, we had to climb some hills. Not big ones, but enough to work up a sweat. We’ve since found out that the area is made up of Ice Age glacial moraine around the Rhine delta of up to 110m in height. Our ride that day was on a Sunday and was notable for the number of cyclists out on day rides. Besides individuals, couples and families, there were many road cyclists. We found some of the individuals and pairs undertook some scary - if not aggressive - overtaking on narrow cycle lanes without any forewarning and we were pleased to have the roads largely to ourselves again during the following weekdays.
Despite the rain and wind, our last few days of cycling in the Netherlands have been great. There’s a real feeling of life in the rural areas, villages and cities. We’ve loved seeing so many local people of all ages and stages on bikes - as a routine part of life, rather than as an exception: cool teenagers who wouldn’t be seen dead on bikes in NZ/the UK, elderly couples packing their panniers with groceries outside supermarkets, young mothers ferrying kids in child seats or cargo boxes, often with older kids peddling behind on their own bikes. And all the cities are so close together, with great public transport options. Since arriving in Delft, we’ve been using it as a base to visit other towns and, so far, have taken short-hop day trips on trains to the old university town of Leiden and to Gouda.
As everyone knows, water is a feature of the Netherlands, but it’s taken our slow progress through the country around the Rhine delta to make me realise just how significant water is here. It’s absolutely everywhere - it almost feels like there’s more drainage channels and ditches than land at times. Many houses don’t have fences for boundaries; they have ditches. Likewise, the narrow paddocks are separated by ditches, too. Photos don’t really do it justice, but below is a screenshot from part of our route map from a couple of days ago around Gouda.
Besides the quantity of water, relative levels are another feature. We’ve routinely been cycling along riverside dikes, with the land on one side significantly lower than river on the other. Even now, when we’re in a hotel in Delft, the railway station across the square has the concourse at ground level with the tracks underneath, well below the adjacent canal level. The effort that must have gone into creating the polders - and now maintaining them - is mind-boggling. More than a quarter of the country’s area is below sea level, let alone the proportion below river/canal level. I’m also intrigued to know how building foundations are formed here on such poor ground - little more than sloppy sand or peat. I’m beginning to realise where all the extracted gravel we’ve seen being barged down the Rhine from quarries in Germany is going. We have a constant reminder of the effects of poor foundations visible from our hotel window - even while it was being built in the 1300s, Delft’s Oude Kerk’s bell tower developed a lean. Despite attempts to compensate for the lean as building work progressed, it now stands around 2m from vertical.
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