Veloland Schweiz - Route 9

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Wow! After over 8 months of planning, 4 1/2 months of training that seemed to take up every available evening and weekend, untold quantities of money (well it wasn't that much really, and Chris really did want that new bike), and a whole lot of stress, we finally realised our holiday plans of cycling across Switzerland. It was an amazing experience, and thanks to the Swiss it was far easier than either of us had anticipated.

There are 9 national cycling routes crossing Switzerland and we decided to follow the 'Seen', or lakes route from Montreux in the south-west to Rorshach in the north-east. The distance between the two following the described route is 497km. Here's a basic map of where we went.



We arrived in Geneva at 10am on a Friday morning after a 2am start. We had a few hours free during which we had a quick look around the city, before we caught a train to Montreux to start our ride. We rode the 7km to Vevey which was the location of our first campgound. It was a most inauspicious start when having chosen to leave our French phrasebook at home for reasons of weight, we didn't realise the sign at the campsite office saying "Entrée interdite" meant 'Entry Forbidden'. Mrs campsite was pretty unimpressed (as my French teacher Ms Shearn would be - Je ne comprends pas!), but her husband was philosophical about it and spoke good English so we were off the hook. He said it happens quite often, which makes you wonder why they don't put the sign in German and English as well. I guess the answer is because they speak French - there's something about people who speak it as a first language (many of you will know what I mean); they're very defensive of it. However like we said it was a pretty bad start, and we wondered what we'd gotten ourselves into.

The next morning we set off and rode straight to our first short cut, a funicular that gained us 414 metres of height for only £12. It was worth it just to be up and riding and away from the busy roads, even if we felt we were cheating ourselves out of some of the experience. We were grateful for the headstart after lunch when it started tipping down and all the riding was uphill. Fortunately the gods smiled on us and the campsite we were heading for at Chateau d'Oex was empty, had heated floors in all the facilities, and a drying room. The next day we were dry, clean, warm, and the weather was clearing slowly so we were able to enjoy some of the amazing scenery courtesy of the alps surrounding us.



The beauty of the national cycle routes is that they took you off the busy roads whenever it's possible, which meant we saw so much more than we would normally if we had been travelling in a car. We would ride past farmers in their yards, across their fields among their cattle, through industrial areas, along country roads, along footpaths, through a sawmill, through forests, over footbridges, beside railways, motorways and rivers. On one occasion Vonny even got chased down a runway by a Swiss army helicopter. I wish we had a photo of that.

Anyway the houses in the alps region were exactly what you would expect to see. Often a farm would be one big building, one side being the barn and the other the farmhouse. High up on the hills were small chalets surrounded by pasture where the shepherds would take their cattle and live over summer as they grazed. It must be a supremely peaceful existence, yet it's right in the middle of western Europe. This is a good example of the general style of building, even though it's an inn.



After a very exclusive ski resort and a very steep climb we obtained our maximum height for the journey of 1273 metres at Saanenmöser (now safely inside the German speaking region). We then spent most of the afternoon riding downhill, including one section so steep that we would have been reduced to tears had we been coming the other way. Our arrival at our destination for the night (Oey-Diemtigen) came with a suprise - no campground. In the first big test of Vonny's ability to understand Swiss German it transpired that the campground had been washed away by a big flood the previous spring. The locals were very helpful though and suggested we camp down by the river where they were rebuilding the flood defences. We prayed it wouldn't rain during the night, which it didn't. Phew! It turned out to be a nice spot and it was free, as was the 7am wake up call - a massive digger rolling past our tent.

The next day we continued downhill arriving at Interlaken at 10am after the only bike related problem we suffered on the whole trip - a puncture. We had hoped to take the train journey to the sphinx at Jungfraujoch , even if it was going to cost £140 if we took the cheapest option departing at 6am. The weather forecast wasn't good though and it has to be perfect for the journey to be worth it, so we continued down the lake. That evening a squall of impressive ferocity blew up and we were forced to relocate out tent to a more sheltered site. The campsite was a work in progress, out choice for dinner was dreadful, and the lady in the supermarket was being deliberately difficult. We went to bed pretty unhappy but woke the next morning alive and with this view which made it all better. All that driftwood had blown up the previous evening, and the cloud is hiding an amazing waterfall that shoots like a hosepipe straight out of a sheer rock face.



We rode up the valley past numerous other waterfalls to Meiringen, which had it's own special link to New Zealand; it's the birthplace of the Meringue, mother of the Pavlova (N.Z.'s national desert). It's also a haven for Sherlock Holmes fans as the character fell, along with his rival Dr. Moriarty, down the the nearby Reichenbach Falls in The Final Problem (1891). He managed to rise again, as did we on the cable car to the top of the next big hill.

The next couple of days were relatively easy riding and included a morning in Luzern, which was probably our favourite Swiss city. We also had a great run of campsites that were cheap and had great facilities. The locals everywhere (except the French region) loved Vonny as they could have a good chat with her in German and she was from New Zealand, which is always a conversation starter on this side of the world. We were a bit sad though as we had left the Alps and thought that the great scenery wouldn't last as we headed east. Fortunately we were wrong as the snow covered peaks and great views continued across the country. This has to be one of the best photos Chris has ever taken.



The landscape had evolved to rolling hills like we hadn't seen in the west, and there were a lot more people too. It was all still very pretty however with plenty of spring flowers, and the hills tinted yellow with buttercups. This photo was taken just after we had visited the spiritual centre of Switzerland at Einsiedeln on a day when hundreds were making the pilgrimage to view the Black Madonna.



Before we joined the Rhine valley to go north to Bodensee (Lake Constance) we had to go through one more range of hills, and it was absolutely stunning. We left Rapperswil in the morning and rode across the flood plains surrounding Obersee (Lake Zurich) towards the hills surrounding Walensee.



Walensee is a lake sandwiched between two parallel ranges, a classic glacial valley. The sides of the valley are so steep that the road down it runs through a tunnel for half it's length. They had managed to squeeze the cycle route alongside the lake, although at one point we came across some damage caused by a recent landslide and wondered if that had been a wise decision. They must have shared our concerns as they provided us with a bike tunnel at one stage. Only in Switzerland huh?.



On the far side of the valley are a few hamlets that are accessable only by foot or boat. We couldn't help but sit in the sun and wonder what it would be like to live in such idyllic surroundings; especially when a trip across the lake and a few hours by train would have you in the major cities of Europe. Like so many of the other lakes we saw this one had the aqua hue of melt water (which simple photographers like ourselves cannot capture accurately; just like the majesty of the scenery). Chris, with his tendency to go for cold swims, couldn't miss this opportunity.



After drying out and warming up we mounted saddles again and headed up the valley to Sargans, which is overlooked by this very European style castle.



Strangely enough the river we had been riding up flowed to Walensee, yet Sargans was only 500 metres from one of Europes great rivers, the Rhein; which we joined and rode along the banks of. It was quite grey with the spring melt and the grit it was carrying seemed to be everywhere, our bikes and panniers were soon completely covered. It must be a very impressive monster at times judging from the size of the flood defences that form it's banks.

From here we departed from the cycle route we had been following for 8 days and crossed the river into Leichtenstein to spend the night at the country's only campsite in Triesen. We got a good spot and sat in the baking sun on a Friday evening looking across the valley to the mountains in Switzerland, and occasionally to the ones behind us. We were absolutely knackered after doing 78km, our longest daily total yet.

Alas the next day it was clouding over and even starting to spit a little. We headed north along the road that one could accurately say forms the state of Leichtenstein. It was the most boring country we had ever seen, like some great long sprawling suburb with lots of shut up company offices (there are over twice as many companies registered in the country as there are people living there - it's a tax haven). The drivers didn't appear to share their Swiss counterparts respect for cyclists either, as Chris found out when he was almost taken out by an ambulance driver collecting his lunch. We followed the road north across the border with Austria (we never had to show our passports at any of these crossings) and soon after arrived in the city of Feldkirch.

It was a complete change from Leichtenstein, with a nice European feel to it and a pretty old town. There was a craft market and a Mozart festival on so the town was quite busy, although we enjoyed having a look around. Incidently that word means Asparagus (the white variety of which was for sale everywhere).



As it was only mid-morning we continued on our way with the intention of stopping at Bregenz on the shores of Bodensee for the night. The rain got a lot heavier on the way there and even though it was abating by the time we arrived, we didn't fancy putting up the tent and sitting around in the wet for the rest of the day so we decided to ride another 9km into Germany to Lindau. It proved to be a very good decision as by the the time we had arrived the sun was out, and everything was able to dry out. After setting up camp we jumped back on our bikes and headed down the road to Lindau which was a few kilometres away for a look around. It was a pretty old town on an island out in the lake and we took the chance to stop and relax over a couple of Weissbeers, the first time we had actually sat down somewhere to relax since Oey.



The next morning we were a bit sad, as it was to be our last day of cycling. The ride around Bodensee is a very popular excursion for people of all ages and the cycle route is very busy. People who would not normally go cycle touring will join an organised group with their friends and do it over a long weekend. One German cyclist we spoke to who was on his way to France to ride the mountain stages of the Tour De France said it was "embarrassing" to see people like that. We understood what he meant, but at least they were out there, even if we did have to ride with the same level of alertness as if on a busy road. In England or New Zealand they would have been driving their cars.

To get around the edge of the lake we had to re-cross the Rhein, rejoin the national cycle route, and make our way across the delta which was a large and beautiful wetland. There were purple and yellow irises growing amongst the grasses, low flying herons, as well as cuckoos and woodpeckers which we could hear. It seemed weird that it was so peaceful, yet the names read like a shelf in a New Zealand liquor store; Lindau, Thurgau, Rheineck...

Finally we made it to Rorshach which was, in relation to the amazing scenery we had seen along the way, a disappointing little town. We managed to find the end of the route and asked a nice man to take our photo as that's the kind of thing you do in these situations.



As if the elements could tell how we were feeling it started to rain as we rode our way to St Gallen where we were to spend the night before heading home. Our luck at navigating had long since run out as we got hopelessly lost and floundered about the town in heavy rain trying to find the youth hostel. Eventually we succeeded and after drying out and a meal that didn't contain pasta (ironically it was pizza) we had a fabulous nights sleep in a real bed with a pillow. Words alone cannot describe how good that felt.

The following morning on our way to the railway station we stopped off at the very impressive cathedral, and the even more impressive Stiftsbibliothek (Abbey Library). The library is one of the finest examples of a rococo interior in Switzerland. It also houses a priceless collection of books, many dating from the middle ages and earlier. We were both completely blown away to see the oldest known book in the German language which dates from 790AD.



Afterwards we collected the bike bags from the post office where we'd sent them from Geneva, and started packing everything up for the journey home. Every Swiss airport and train station has a recycling centre so getting cardboard for extra padding was easy. Our odometers told us that we'd done a total of 611km, so all those side trips had added a lot to the route length. The train was quieter that the library we had just visited and deposited us straight into the middle of the terminal at Zurich airport. God bless the Swiss and their efficiency. As a welcome home present in Luton, our bikes were brutally thrown onto the carousel (Chris is still trying to true his brake discs), the bus driver wouldn't take bikes on a half full bus, and the M1 was completely gridlocked. Oh England, you could achieve so much more if only you tried. Learn from your cousins on the continent.

Easter in Brecon

Well we should be able to say that things have been quiet since our last posting, but it's been more the case that the monotony of preparing ourselves for our next holiday hasn't produced anything worth mention. We did get a nice break in over Easter though when we went to stay in Brecon which is in south Wales for a few nights. We left home early on Good Friday and got to Brecon in time to have a relaxing day setting up and walking into town to see what was there. The walk was along the side of the Brecon-Monmouth canal and it was a fabulously sunny day - the first one of the year.



After a night interupted by a screaming badly behaved small boy next door to us (a bit too much like home really) we woke to find the weather hadn't held out and any walking in the Brecon Beacons wasn't going to provide us with the views we wanted to see. Luckily we had a few other things we wanted to do, including a trip to the Big Pit National Mining Museum . This turned out to be the highlight of our weekend.



The beauty of this museum, aside from the fact that it was completely free, was that ex-miners would kit you up with a hard hat and light and take you down into the mine for a 1 hour tour. It was really, really, interesting and honestly, you've never seen total darkness until you've been down a mine. Here's a picture of Vonny looking thoroughly relaxed about the whole thing at the pit head. We had to give up everything that had a battery in it including watches and cameras due to the theoretical risk of explosion from methane seeping out of the rock, which unfortunately meant no pictures of us underground.



Up on the surface there was much to see including one of the first shower blocks provided for miners at the mine site (they used to go home filthy and have to wash at home, can you imagine the dust??) and lots of original equipment and photographs. There was also this sign which made us laugh. Big Pit won the award for best museum in Britain last year and we'd be suprised if it doesn't retain it's title. Hardly suprisingly once they had found out we were from New Zealand, most of the miners wanted to talk about rugby.



Afterwards we did a bit more industrial history visiting an old tinning mill site owned by the National Trust, and then went to see this waterfall which they also own. You can just see Chris standing behind the water.



The next day we had to get on and do the walk we had planned and fortunately it wasn't too cloudy. We walked in a big loop along the ridge you can see in the background below, taking in Pen-y-fan which is the highest point in south Wales. We don't really have a good photo to show what it's like around there, only this one of Chris which could easily be somewhere near Waiouru. The hill tops are covered by brown grass and as you head down into the valleys everything suddenly turns really green and there are sheep grazing in fields with trees and hedges.



On our way home we went to Hay-on-Wye which is the second hand bookshop capital of the world. Funny how these things pop up in the middle of nowhere in this country. There certainly were a lot of bookshops, far more than Vonny wanted to look at. This is the shop of the man who started it all, Richard Booth and it was quite an attraction in itself. It could easily have been the set for a ghost movie with dark musty rows of books and poor lighting.



We took in one more National Trust property just up the road where spring was in full bloom, a bit earlier than we were having it back in Chesham.



We were completely amazed at how much there was to do in Brecon and it's surrounds, including some great mountain biking, so we'll definitely be going back. First however we have to complete our upcoming adventure cycling on the road, as we cross Switzerland starting this coming Friday. At the moment it seems an even scarier prospect than a night alone in a second hand bookstore.