EuroVelo 6 - Bad Sackingen to Meersburg, Germany

  

 If I was surprised by the size of dinner last night, with a one hundred kilometre cycle ahead today, I�m prepared for breakfast - muesli, juice, fruit, yoghurt, thick brown bread, and a boiled egg. That should get me the first fifty kilometres. 

   In this area, the Rhine is a fetching pea-green colour as it meanders through a narrow valley. I stick to the German side until Laufenburg, a lovely town on a bend in the river. Here, I daringly cross the stone bridge to... Laufenburg, Switzerland. They were one town until 1800 when Napoleon divided them, making the border the centre of the river. Both towns have lovely five-storey buildings fronting the Rhine. As I take my own photo on the borderline, I spy a couple sitting on their balcony overhanging the river, eating breakfast. What a lovely way to start each day.

    Somehow, after thirty kilometres of cycling along the German side, I find myself lost in Switzerland, without even having crossed the river. It�s all very confusing. Lunchtime is upon me and I don�t really want to eat in Switzerland. The hassle of paying in Euros and getting Swiss Francs as change. What will I do with them? And to tempt me even more a weinfest is on at Rafz. Scores of people are sitting at long bench tables at the entrance to a large barn. The smell of barbecue smoke drifts across my path. Only a moment ago, I saw my first Rhine vineyard, in Switzerland. And yet, I�ve never heard of Swiss wine. 

   The Swiss houses all have window-boxes full of flowers, many also have old-fashioned shutters on each window and exposed cross beams. One bright yellow house has a sundial attached to it�s southern wall. It�s an hour slow. Perhaps allowing for daylight saving?

    My stupid mobile phone keeps alerting me, through text messages, that I�ve entered Switzerland. Or Germany. Or Switzerland. It�s as confused as I am. Then, all of a sudden, I�m back in Germany. Lunch is a choice of schnitzel... or back on my bicycle. It�s a very small Gasthaus. 

    I cycle all afternoon, border-hopping until I reach Singen and my hotel. Tonight, in honour of the large Turkish population in Deutschland, including Mesut Ozil, I eat at the Bosphorus Restaurant. It combines the taste and quality of Turkish food with the size of German dishes. Sehr gut!

   The next day is a public holiday and everyone has decided to ride with me to Lake Constance. It�s like Parramatta Road for bicycles. The town of Konstanz, on the lake, bulges under the pressure of so many tourists. The constant click of camera shutters accompanies my lunch of bratwurst on a roll and a beer. A mother tries to get her young son to stand still for a photo with the lake as backdrop. He just wants to run into the water. Can�t say I blame him. It�s a scorching hot day, like Bondi in summer with the smell of sunscreen replaced with the aroma of sausage. 

   For the first time since leaving the French Atlantic coast, I take my bicycle on public transport, a ferry across the lake to Meersburg. With the number of tourists, I expected to be waiting for hours. I underestimated German efficiency. I rode straight on deck, paid a paltry amount and enjoyed the views as the boat released from the gangway.   

   Meersburg is a medieval town with a castle dating from the 7th century. The town rises steeply from the lake and is divided into two old sections, upper and lower, both free of cars. I wander around in a tourist daze, gawking at the variety of food on offer. Oh yeah, and the castle, the huge wooden water wheel, the lovely town square of cobblestones and cafes, the wonderfully preserved wooden crossbeam houses and the intricate paintings on many of the public buildings.

   Now back to the food. I sit outdoors at a lakeside restaurant and order a beer. This is the view in front of me. A bottle of beer; a line of stunted oak trees; flower boxes on the fence protecting the crowds from falling off the promenade; the lake, at least five kilometres wide at this point with every type of water craft - yachts, beautiful wooden power boats, dingys, kayaks, ferries and old steamers - all crisscrossing the water as if in a choreographed dance; the Swiss shoreline and hills rising behind. And if I turn my head, just a little to the left, why there�s the Swiss Alps, still patched with snow, despite the spring weather. It�s a wonderful scene, if only all the other people would get out of the shot!

   A woman walks past with an ice-cream cone the size of an Olympic torch. She holds it aloft... and takes a huge bite. Three steroid-enhanced men in tight t-shirts and designer sunglasses walk behind her with a swagger like Tony Abbott. I shudder and order a warm apple strudel, just to prolong my time at this table, of course.

   The man at the next table eats a huge cherry pie, washed down with a giant glass of coca-cola and a coffee and then finishes his wife�s cheesecake. At the other table, four people eat schnitzels the size of feet, accompanied by noodles, chips, and a salad. The amount of food we eat is disgus... oh sorry, here�s comes my strudel.