Into the Black Forest – Sasbachwalden

DAY 1

Rising early to avoid the inevitable hot-headed Italian manoeuvring at the Strasbourg aire, we crossed the Rhine and into Germany with the mountains of the Black Forest directly in front of Bertha’s windscreen.

With half an eye on altitude, we chose Sasbachwalden as our first stop from our Dutch ‘Camperstop’ book of aires.

Sasbachwalden Aire

In the forest

This enchantingly pretty half-timbered village winds its way up the first foothills of the forest. Balconies were hung with baskets of bright geraniums and flower beds and planters were packed with tropical-looking tall and exotically colourful flowers. 

Elevated over a difference of 1000 meters the village has four different climate zones and consequently is abundant in fruit trees, vegetable gardens, tropical flowers, vineyards and alpine meadows. In the bright hot sunshine of the day it dazzled us with its colour and vibrancy.

 

Climbing up through the forest

Having visited the new eco-tourism centre and collected maps and free travel passes we climbed up the steep 800m banks of the Gaisholl waterfalls. A network of 13 wooden bridges and 200 steps took us up into the green and cool glades of the forest criss-crossing the fresh water falls before bringing us onto the Bischenberg for stunning views of the village, and a microscopic Bertha, way below. 

A view of Bertha from the top of the vineyard

Winding our way down through the steep vineyards and admiring the large crops of fruit ready for harvesting we felt it only right to sample some local wines at the communal cave, which also was our stopover for the night. What a lovely introduction to the Schwarzwald!

DAY 2

We were on the early bus and up at the deserted ski resort of Unterstmatt before 9 o’clock to trek to the northern forest’s highest point, the Hornisgrinde at 1164m. The coolness of the morning at high altitude made the steep hike enjoyable as we clambered up a rocky pathway through the towering banks of pine trees. 

Hiking to the highest point in the Northern Black Forest

The air was still and scented heavily of pine and fern, whilst above us singing swifts were pecking busily at pine seeds and causing cones to crash noisily down through the soft green branches to land on the forest floor by our feet. We saw only four other hikers on the trail.

Hornisgrinde high plateau

We climbed 360 meters (across 4km’s) in an hour and once up onto the Hornisgrinde high plateau the views across to the western plains of the Rhine and France were stunning, but eclipsed by the dark and mysterious miles of mountainous forest to the east. We caught our breath at the top of a lookout tower and picked out places that we had visited, and were headed to. Framed by the sunshine in the south, the high peaks of the Alps showed the way to our destination of Switzerland.

 

Mystical Mummelsee

It was an easy scramble down the trail to the tourist stop of Mummelsee. 

This mythical fir tree-ringed lake is famed for hosting nightly summer parties of nymphs and mermaids, presided over by the stern figure of the Konigsee, the Neptune-like king of the lake. 

 

Traditional Black Forest gifts

In the cool morning it was full of coach loads of all nationalities who were enjoying the short walk around its shores before shopping for souvenirs and snacking on wurst, leberkase and other pork delights served on simple rounds of bread and smothered with the mustard sauce ‘senf’ or mayonnaise. We had just missed the local bus so spent an enjoyable couple of hour’s people-watching whilst waiting for the next bus back to the village.

Back at Bertha in good time for lunch it was noticeably hotter at just 218 meters so we sat out soaking up the sun and planning the next few days of touring in the Black Forest.

 

Where to next?

Two rivers, two countries and too many vans in Strasbourg

From the 'Route de Vins' we drove early through traffic into Strasbourg to our aire, ‘les deux rives’.  The small car park was already crowded with frustrated motorhomers all vying to use the smelly service point and make their exit. An alarming number of Italian registered vans competed with each other to come within a hair’s breadth of taking out a fellow van's bumper or wing mirror or even a spouse.

Having parked quietly in a corner we headed into the city through the beautiful ‘jardin des deux rives’ with its themed planting and mind boggling bridge across the Rhine.

Jardin des deux rives

Once on the other side we commented on the number of German registered cars and posters for a local exhibition commemorating ‘das Erste Welt Krieg’, the First World War. Having come from Ypres it was interesting to see how a German community remembered the centenary. Slowly it dawned on us that we couldn’t possibly be in Strasbourg, the French powerhouse of European Parliament. We had crossed the river the wrong way and had walked into Germany!

Using the smart local DB bahnhof we took the six minute train ride back into Strasbourg’s impressive railway station. The iron-framed 19th century station is fully encased in what could only be described as giant plastic bubble wrap. The familiar tones of the French SNCF jingle rang out from the speakers reminding us of our farewell to Doug and Marg at Lille station not even a week but two countries ago. 

Cathedrale Notre Dame de Strasbourg

Au Vieux Strasbourg

Strasbourg is a powerful symbol of medieval magnificence and it wears its splendid history with a comfortable and contented air. 

The centre is packed with expensive boutiques and eateries and the timber-framed and colourfully painted merchant houses wind their way to and around the lace-like sculpture of the city’s impressive Munster. Designer labels vie for window space with centuries’ old family businesses of chocolate, bakery, shoe and wine crafts. 

Arriving at the French lunch hour of between noon and 2pm the local ‘winstubs’ were quickly filling up with hungry tour groups.

Le Petite France

We meandered along the pretty river and canal sides of Petite France before returning to the unexpected windfall of a table facing the famous rose window of the cathedral, where we enjoyed the views of the spectacular architecture to the accompaniment of a lunch of flammenkuche and the antics of our American, and hapless, fellow diners.

An unlikely stroll to the hospital gave us the chance to walk underground through the medieval city’s arsenal and wine cellars. A cask of wine from 1472 sat behind grand iron gates and we watched a young vintner wash down the gigantic barrels which each contain more than a thousand litres of wine. Exiting through the cave shop we were delighted to pick up a bottle of Madam Meyer’s finest Blanc for just 5 euros. What style!

Below the hospital walls

The historic wine cellar

 

A French 'van trying to reverse into an impossible space

Back at the aire even more Italian vans had replaced those that had left.

A Portuguese van drove over a high kerb and through two trees to squeeze next to Bertha.

Our Italian neighbour decided to ignite a charcoal bbq with lighter fluid inches from our door, before moving it closer to his gas tank.



Bravely leaving Bertha we strolled back through the lamp-lit park to see the Rhine and Germany at dusk. Declaiming Macbeth upon a wooden stage and running the illustrative length of the solar system in grassy meters we returned to the now quiet aire and a surprisingly good night’s sleep.

The Rhine at dusk separating the two countries

Les trois frontiers and into France

Fuel is by far the costliest element of any trip so whenever in Luxembourg we try to fill our tanks because of the Duchy’s low rate of tax (diesel was just 1.16 and LPG as cheap as 0.53 for a litre).

However, we had to use two garages to do this. The first one (for diesel) was a German station and we crossed the road to refill with gas at a French LPG station. Neither spoke the others language. Bemused and a little tongue-tied we crossed Luxembourg and returned to France and the gorgeous Alsace region.

Briefly back in Alsace

Bertha met head-on winds with gusto and by mid-afternoon we were bowling along the well-remembered ‘route des vins’ and heading for a vineyard stop.

Smiling Madame Meyer and her ‘vieux chien’ black Labrador met us with warmth and we enjoyed tasting the house Cremant. 

We bought three bottles and, with Madame's permission,  opened one immediately to enjoy the French sunset from Bertha’s warm cab overlooking a wildflower meadow.

Finishing the last of the Han saucisse with rice and garlic croutons it was a joyful return to the region we originally celebrated a big birthday in, some years ago.

Overnight stop at Domaine Meyer at Dangolsheim

Luxembourg for a day

The next day we drove out of a cloud-covered and chilly Belgium and crossed Luxembourg to the border with Germany formed by the River Mosel. We found a picturesque aire alongside the river next to a harbour full of pleasure boats.

 

Luxembourg City

Back on the bikes we sampled our first Luxembourg wines with the help of a charming German wine seller in some local caves. We discovered ravishing and fresh Auxerrois which despite being a varietal from the French town thrives best along western slopes of the Mosel (according to our host). We were amused by the local custom of 11.30am being ‘Cremant time’ observed by all local vineyard workers as the church bells rang out the half hour. This followed the 7.30am toll bringing the workers into the fields to begin their day.  

 

In amongst the vines

Mosel views across to Germany

A punishing cycle up the steep slopes of the Mont de Vingnes treated us to a view of the green and curving river through the steep vineyards of both countries.

It was an exhilarating freewheeling ride back down to river level and of course a bottle of our new favourite white wine in Bertha by the waterside, as the heavens opened and terrific rainstorm battered us before clearing for a beautiful sunset.

Schwebsange Aire after the storm

Week 2: Heading South

Waving Marg and Doug home on the Eurostar we spent a final night camped alongside the moat at Ypres before leaving the Grote Markt rocking to its bank holiday weekend beer and music festival. A pork pie hat-wearing singer called ‘Wibley’ had an excited crowd “do wah do wah shimminy shimminy wah wahhing” in true Eurovision style.

“Hallo Eeepurrr”

We drove south through flat and fertile Belgium to Han-sur-Lesse. This small village on a forested escarpment has made itself a fortune since opening a tram line one hundred years ago to its pre-historic grottoes. It was a real treat to rattle up the steep track in an open carriage past fields of quietly grazing deer to enter the grotto through a narrow cleft in the towering granite rocks.

Grottes de Han

We joined a Dutch tour so understood nothing of what we were told by the young and enthusiastic chap guiding us, but were mesmerised by the magical and other-worldly subterranean landscape.  

We descended steep stairs and inched through narrow passageways to gaze upon giant stalactites and stalagmites, dripping with water and backlit by colourful lights. 

A rush of deafening noise brought us out above the river bed at of the source of the Lesse, and we followed its winding way through cavernous halls, sliding along its rocky slopes and slipping onto the dimly lit sandy floor.

 

River Lesse in the cave

Not understanding why we were being asked to stand silently in a dark corner we were shocked by the alarming blast of a scare charge that ricocheted around and through us. 

Our chuckling guide led us around the next corner to welcome daylight and the sight of the Lesse flowing out of the rocks and into the town, where we treated ourselves to a local blonde beer to recover our nerves!

Views along the Ravel cycle path

We spent the next day cycling more than 40kms through surrounding countryside along an old rail track. Our route took us past old station houses and small pretty hamlets. Topping up on local Rochefort cheese and bread we tucked gratefully into our picnic lunch as we realised the various posterior pains of not cycling for a year or so. 

Salaisons de Han

On the Ravel cycle route

The Han blonde beer and local picante sausages tasted good that night back in Bertha!

Surrounded by vans at Han-Sur-Lesse Aire