Although Switzerland's landscape consists of roughly 75% mountains, it was a fabulous place to cycle if you kept to the valleys, with plenty of feasts for the ol' peepers. On my journey from Zürich to the Swiss border today I followed Lake Zürich's southern shore, admiring the city's buildings stacked up the sloping hill on the far shore and pedalled slowly but surely into cuckoo-clock land. Luscious green hills dotted with classic Swiss chalets gave way to craggy, snowy peaks.
It wasn't all picture-postcard perfect, though: I was at first surprised to see industrial zones nestled amongst the picturesque valleys, with plenty of factories belching out smoke. Then it dawned on me... if your country consists of nothing but picturesque valleys and mountains, then you have little choice where to stick your factories. Picturesque valley it is.
The border was a good 60 miles from Zürich, and I had decided I would push myself to get as far as possible by bike, then hop on the train. I managed as far as Ziegelbrücke, which seemed to be a tiny town but a major transport hub, and then jumped onto a train to the border.
At the border town of Sargans I transferred to a bus to take me to one of the smallest capitals in Europe: Vaduz, in Liechtenstein.
On paper Liechtenstein is utterly compelling. A tiny nation nestled in a Swiss valley surrounded by mountains, formed by a powerful family several hundred years ago from which it got its name, its capital is overlooked by a castle in which the Head of State and Prince (not the singer) lives. Sounds like he's a right bastard, too - apparently he succeeded in changing the consitution recently to give himself more powers. Quite what powers he could want over a community of a few thousand people is beyond me - perhaps priority service at the Post Office or something? - but he wanted them and got them.
Sadly, Liechtenstein is best read about from a book with a hot cup of cocoa before going to bed in a country anywhere else but Liechtenstein. There really is little to write home about the place once seen. Vaduz, which I had naively pictured as a twee, fairytale town full of gingerbread houses, was actually a horrid strip of ugly concrete buildings. Sure, it's nestled against a mountain and there's the ever-present castle looming overhead, but even that is pretty umimpressive - just a big house, really. So I didn't linger long in Liechtenstein, staying just the one night then making a break for Germany.
It's not often you can say you've cycled in three countries in a single day, but that's what happened on the way to Germany. It could have even been four. I crossed Liechtenstein and entered Austria, the first town Feldkirch being being everything Vaduz could've been, with a colourful clock tower and pretty half-timbered buildings. I continued northwards, roughly following the Swiss-Austrian border before reaching Germany, signified by the sight of the Bodensee aka Lake Constance.
I based myself at the island city of Lindau, grabbing a bargainous guesthouse room (thanks to the helpful tourst info people) run by a kindly old lady, who seemed over the moon to see me. Such a different welcome from when I first arrived in France, I noted.
The next morning at breakfast I had ample chance to practise my German as I nattered away with seemingly the only other guest, an older lady with a yellow, waxy complexion. She was just as friendly as the landlady and seemed very interested in my travels. Her children were apparently equally gripped by wanderlust.
From Lindau I trained it to the capital of Bavaria, and in many ways the heart of Germany: Munich. Bavaria - known as Bayern - was the place to see Germans wearing felt hats with feathers in them and lederhosen without a hint of irony.
The first night in Munich I hit the town by, er, going to the cinema. The Golden Compass was out and I couldn't wait to see it. It was in German, but I managed to follow most of it, and the effects needed no translation anyway.
The second day I spent there, on which my laptop decided to die horribly, I decided to check out a popular beer hall. It would be rude not to in Munich. I joined hundreds of other people in the Bavarian art of munching down huge slabs of dead animal and quaffing down pure German suds as accompaniment: heaven!
I decided to head west to an area of Germany I had never visited, the Black Forest. I iomagined fresh forest paths smelling of pine to cycle along, but what I got was an area dusted with snow. Picturesque indeed, but a bugger to cycle through.
I spent a single night at Titisee, a Black Forest lake town, being the only guest in the Youth Hostel - slightly weird. Overnight snow had fallen heavily and I had caught a cold with an irritating cough, yet stubbornly and foolishly I set off northwards through the forest to Triberg.
"Berg" means mountain in German, and I climbed a small but steady incline through hail rain and snow to get there. The descent, when it came, was madness: the snow was razorlike on my face and eyes and I had to squint one-eyed to see where I was going. With red face, sopping wet - and cold - trousers and still coughing, I threw my hat in the ring and turned off for Furtwangen, where I cheated by taking a bus the rest of the way.
I decided to push straight on north to somewhere where it wasn't snowing and reached Heidelberg. Home to Germany's oldest university, the youthful vibe there is inseparable from the city's soul. I roamed around the beautiful old town and found a blatantly tourist-oriented watering hole, which normally I would steer clear of, but I was starving, there was space and the atmosphere seemed really happy, with a kooky German piano player doing renditions of modern pop songs and shouting "That's life!" at random intervals. The muse infected me that evening, as I swayed home along the Rhein singing a looping chrous of "#O Du wunderschöner deutscher Rhein...#"
I woke up in Heidelberg to elephants trumpeting, which made a change from waking up due to someone's snoring. I dawned on me thent hat the hostel was next to the zoo, and I watched the animals for a bit - elephants, zebras, deer and peacocks - before leaving for Mainz.
I had lived in Mainz for a year in 1999-2000, "studying" Physics there. (OK, I did some work, but mostly travelled around). That was seven years ago now and I was keen to see how it has changed.
My first impression was that it was a bit grubbier than I remembered, but the mind is perhaps the best polisher. I set myself up at the Youth Hostel and headed back into town to visit the Best Pub in GermanyTM - it's official (according to me).
Eisgrub in Mainz is an old-fashioned microbrewery that makes the best beer I have ever tasted. It is smooth, not bitter and eminently drinkable. Coupled with hearty German fare, it made for a fabulous evening.
Zum wohl!
