Mmm Bop

After the delightful but slightly bizarre melting pot of outlandish kitsch and awe-inspiring scenery of Altenahr and the wider Ahr valley, the simpler Germanic charms of Boppard, in the Rhine Valley, welcomed us after a few hours on the train. The scenery was lovely, and the town itself unfailingly pleasant, if a little “Rhineland Germany by numbers”; painted houses, local Rieslings and quiet back-streets were  all present and correct, but none was particularly memorable.

That said, the Severuskirche in the market square is as beautiful a local church as any, with a ceiling that has to be seen to be believed. We also bore witness to the bizarre sight of a (frankly piss-poor) brass band from York playing to an audience apparently made up entirely of Yorkshire locals on the banks of the Rhine. Their hapless mangling of “You Raise Me Up” was a particular highlight; the weird boy/girl combo stood at the front doing a strange dance with rope and cymbals was just scary.

We passed a lovely evening, drinking more white wine than was strictly necessary and scoffing Currywerst from a small concession sometime around midnight. Truth be told, my Boppard highlight was probably the comfortable bed, hot shower and lavish breakfast that our cheap but cheerful hotel gave us. After best part of a week in a tent, my camping enthusiasm was strong as ever, though the same could not really be said of my back.

We travelled to our second – and last – Rhine Valley stop in Bacharach courtesy of one of the many tourist ferries that run along the Rhine. The journey itself, in scorching sunshine, was quite something, though nothing compared to the treasure trove of sights, sounds and smells that waited for us in Bacharach itself. For £12 a night, we got a shady pitch next to a small sandy beach on the Rhine, no more than a metre from the river itself and next to a family of swans.. Magic.

The town itself, hidden behind a centuries-old town wall, is an absolute gem, fill to burst with half-timbered houses, cobbled streets, hidden little corners and cracking eateries. The Youth Hostel is also damned impressive, housed as it is in a fairytale castle housed on the side of an imposing hill. What makes Bacharach so special, though, is the lack artificiality. While undoubtedly a magnet for the discerning tourist, the place is not preserved in aspic, and its 2000 odd residents go about there business much as they would in any of the new-build towns that dot the area. Any visitor should pass over the pricey picks in the guide books eating tips, and grab a Schnitzel and chips from one of the restaurant cafés. And wash it down with a local Riesling. Or six.

Far too soon, we were once again packed up, and winding our way to Munich with the briefest of stops in Heidelberg and Stuttgart. Apart from sharing a train carriage with a gang of pissed teen Bayern Leverkusen fans, the journey was pretty unevemtful. I'm typing this on a (very, very cool ICE) train, about an hour from Munich. We are due to stay in some sort eco camp-site in the town centre  tonight. If we survive the tofu and dreadlocks, we'll let you know what Munich was like soon.

Luke and Louise

(Posted by Luke)