As I sit here, its mid March and two months have passed since we have returned. Although summer has given way to autumn it is still 36 degrees at five o clock and I sit by the open window hoping to get some relief from the stifling heat from the zephyrs of breeze wafting off the water across the road. Morton Island is picture perfect, tainted red under the fading sun across Morton Bay. In the back yard Eva and Monica (Queen Mom) are lying on their recliners trying to catch the last rays of sun on their sweat glistening bodies. I continue to be amazed at the novelty of the sun to them and their attraction to it. As an outdoor lover, I am constantly trying to protect myself from the sun and can’t believe that people would voluntarily subject themselves to the big yellow ball in the sky. Then again, it wasn’t that long ago, on the other side of the world when I was transfixed by the languid sunlight that slowly lit the ground at some point in the morning and faded equally indistinctly later on!
Just before we left someone wrote a message on twitter that read “I want to live like a European.” I wasn’t quite sure what they meant but over the next two weeks in my trip I was to get a fantastic insight.
Families, you’re born with them and sometimes even stuck with them either way!
As we alighted from the train in Neuenburg we were greeted by Eva’s father Heinz and Auntie Hedda, and had my first opportunity to practise my rehearsed greeting, “Guten tag Herr Fischer, schern ze kennet ze lernin. (Hello Mr Fischer, pleasure to meet you). With no eye contact and minimal hand shake I was a little thrown and wondered if I had blown my first phrase. Still, I seemed to have some time to ponder as we headed out through a snow covered field, opting not to take the main road, the van struggling through the white expanse alongside cross country skiers and very happy dogs!
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| Herr Fischers back yard |
My first impression of Eva’s home town was of a small, flat suburb, with low set houses on their own distinct plot of land, all under a blanket of white snow. Herr Fischer’s home was a single story building with a large concrete basement. It didn’t take long to realise that he was a meticulous, practical man. Heinz was a man who loved to travel, and why not. His house sits in the South West corner of Germany on the boarder between France and Switzerland and a great jump off spot to Italy and the heart of Europe. It wasn’t surprising then that the walls were adorned with maps of his travelling haunts. Of more interest were the globes and maps of the world, Australia front and centre of the big globe in our bedroom!! As an engineer his home was truly a “mans home”. The first thing I noticed was how practical everything was. He has taken a place for everything and everything in its place to another level. The toilet seat lids had all been removed, as had the shower fittings so you had to sit in the bath to reduced splash. There were purpose built fittings on the cooking range hood and even especially made housings for the vacuum cleaner and its parts! It took me some time to realise that the rails in his car roof were to house his hat whilst driving!
There’s nothing quite like visiting the town you grew up in. There’s an old familiarity that just cant be ignored and as we donned our coats, gloves, scarf’s and hats we headed out into the afternoon fog and took a walk literally down Eva’s memory lane. I really enjoyed sharing a slice of her past as we walked down past the shops stoping to say hello to their keepers now being run by the owner’s children Eva went to school with. We past the church’s with their spires and familiar bells before cutting back through the cemetery to her father’s house. It seemed surreal as everything was enclosed in fog and covered in snow and eerily quiet. I was the obvious tourist as over the next few days I ran around through the fog and snow taking photos! I took particular amusement at the hotels leaving their perfectly set outdoor furniture as if expecting someone would remove the two feet of snow on the tables and chairs to sit in this most unappealing setting. Instead I headed for the warmth and ambience of the well worn inside décor! As I sipped on my cappuccino I had plenty of time to let my already overactive imagination run wild thinking about what it would have been like back in the eleven hundreds when these beautiful buildings were first established. What would have been served? What would they have been wearing and how the conversations would have sounded like? By some miracle these cafes and bakeries had survived bombings from the war and the ravages of time and human intervention. Indeed, I began to understand that life here existed as it did for generations past and accepted as the way things were done. Sure, there had been advancements and growth but all within the context of a long history of custom. Over the next two weeks we made frequent visits into France to visit Christmas markets at Colmar, to visit relatives in Mulhouse where we were again invited in without reservation and served a most delicious and well prepared meal with all the trappings despite obvious disconnect. 
I made a point of walking each day from the café in our town across the Rhine River into Chalampe, France and back just for the novelty of it. Each day the snow reduced revealing the true nature of the town. Covered in snow it was pristine, but now it looked like the morning after the night before, hung-over! The bare streets were covered in litter and rubbish. Sylvester (new years) was a maelstrom of random fireworks set alight by seemingly every house in the town and set the night sky alight till the early morning. Seems no one thought to pick up their spent packs and even now the streets and curb sides were riddled with their remnants. Even the Christmas trees as tradition would dictate were disrobed of their decorations and cast onto the sidewalk waiting for the local lions group to swing by and take them away on their truck!
A longer trek than usual took us through Bad Bellingen (striking a familiar accord with one of our favourite towns in northern NSW) through to Rheinfeldon on the German/Swiss border. After crossing the cobblestone bridge lined with old punts that were originally used to cross the river separating the countries, which had now been transformed into garden beds, we crossed into a magical world that had been spared any of the misery of the war and bombings and into a fairytale of quite possibly the most elegant and beautiful town I have ever encountered. From its narrow cobblestone roads lined beautiful doorways, intricate bay widows and facades with elegant lighting, watering troughs and ornate signage and trinkets. The whole town has this magical feel that to try and describe is beyond this humble wordsmith. 
Another unforgettable trip took us into Staufen, originally inhabited by the Romans with its prominent castle sitting on the peak of a vine covered hill overlooking the rest of the town originating in the 1100’s! Great care has been taken to preserve this wonderful town by its proud community. Unfortunately, some exploratory drilling nearby allowed underground water to expand the rocks and very foundations of the beautiful town and despite attempts to halt and repair the problem many of the centuries old buildings are scarred with cracks and splits over the walls and foundations. Again, I was transfixed by the beauty, age and character of this most romantic little town.
Not so little was Freiburg, the major nearby city supporting a major university and all the trappings of its vibrancy. We visited its Munster (Cathedral) and enjoyed a traditional Bratwurst (sausage in bread) in the town square bathed all too briefly in pale sunlight shared by as many people as could possibly squeeze in and take advantage of it! There we also did some major damage to the credit card with the discovery that German sizes have enough variation to accommodate me and my extra long legs! We also indulged in a trip to Engelberg (Angel Mountain) for some high altitude skiing. Two hours of driving took us past Sempacher See, a most beautiful lake in Switzerland, amongst a most extraordinary landscape of rolling hills and barns straight out of my childhood books. All set with the backdrop of the snow lined Alps towering behind. At above sea level it allows all year round skiing and was my first experience of revolving gondolas to take us to the summit. Two things will stay with me from our day on the angel mountain. Firstly was the yodelling music being piped from all the lift stations around the mountain, crass anywhere else, but perfect here in Switzerland.
The second was the proficiency of the skiers. I consider myself an above average skier, but here I was just another hack amongst a set of precision carvers. It was truly a joy to behold. All too soon we were off the mountain and sharing hot chocolate around an open fire outside the pub at the mountain base. As the sun set and the magic of the lights reflected around the snow we made our way back to meet up with Nicola and her young son Fynn in Lucerne. An enjoyable night was spent with Fynn surprised that I could actually play the old guitar they had lying around and I’m sure everyone will be thanking me for teaching him “Knockin on Heavens Door” which I must have repeated one hundred times during the night!
One of the Local traditions passed down from the Romans is the spring bathes. Scattered through out the Black Forrest/Rhine valley area are natural springs which the Romans initially used for bathing, socialising, healing and re energising. Even Roman emperors made the trip to Germany for their mystical powers. Although their structures are now merely preservations of the past, the spirit and traditions continue today in the modern and luxurious versions we spent days in.
As Australians we enjoy sunshine and warmth basically all year round. Europeans, and specifically to me, Germans, on the other hand, have four distinct and beautifully different seasons and have a lifestyle to match the climates. Winter is a time of rest and restoration and a major part of that is the spring baths scattered around the Black Forest. So it is then that the baths retain an element of calmness and restorative uniqueness within their precinct and once inside that quality makes the visit a truly unique experience on numerous levels. The first thing that is really obvious is nudity. We westerners have an almost repulsion to it with a strong association to sexuality. Germans on the other hand, have disassociated the two and seem very comfortable with stripping off in public and is fundamental to enjoying the baths. Having entered the baths you shower and leave your clothes in lockers taking only a robe, towel and your book, magazine, drinks and snacks with you.
With the snow piled over the outdoor settings outside making a picturesque scene through the glass panelling we settled into the deck chairs overlooking the huge pool complete with spa nooks in the corners, dipping into the warm spring water between saunas and resting rooms spread throughout the complex.
If I can start with the fore mentioned resting rooms, if there is general respect for quietness in the general area, these places demand it. The rooms are themed with choices such as a Japanese Room with slatted beds in a bamboo hut nestled amongst a ornamental traditional garden and my favourite, a water themed oasis lined with waterbeds to relax on whilst several fountains diffused the quiet and enhanced the absolute tranquillity. Whilst many read and couples canoodled, I must confess to falling into as deeper sleep as I ever had under the blanket provided.
We have all experienced sauna’s I’m sure, typically a wooden box with seats and a heater on which you occasionally pour cold water to steam up the room. Here they too were several steps further down the line.
Protocol 1 NO CLOTHES. As the body heats up and sweats it dissolves any toxins in the body and clothes only serve to trap them back against the skin neutralising any benefits gained from the sauna. You do however keep your towel between you and the wood, feet included.
Protocol 2. Quietness and sombre respect for the room is paramount. Talking if required to be kept at low tones and volume as not to disturb other patrons.
Having got that out of the way, sauna’s were themed and at certain times during the day everyone clambered for their positions for the special treatment.
There were several variations but essentially they proceeded like this: With everyone perched on their bench the attendant would introduce themselves and explain what they were about to administer. Usually it would be fragrant water of pine and lemon, or fruit of the forest, apple, strawberry, mint or lavender. Once introduced the door would be opened and using a towel as a fan, fresh air would be waved into the room. Satisfied of air quality the door would be closed and the scented water would be poured over the coals and the attendant would use their towel to fan the sweet aromatic fragrance around the room carried on a wave of hot air that would singe the nostrils and throat as you sucked in the beneficial and pleasant steam. This would proceed for several rounds, sometimes with the fruit of whatever was in the water being passed around to eat to enhance the experience further. Once complete the attendant would leave to a round of polite applause followed by the participants who would sit in the snow or wash in the ice cold water outside!
Two experiences are worth a special mention. The first followed the fore mentioned protocol except that the water was stained with honey and each person is given a tub of it to rub onto the body to mix in with the sweat from the body heat. To my surprise the honey was immediately absorbed by my skin leaving it perfumed and strangely moisturised from the experience. It was fantastic.
The second was in a sauna made of salt crystals where the heat was transmitted through sound waves as a series of symbols were sounded throughout the room followed by the sounding of a giant gong. Whatever the heat did didn’t really matter, it was an awesome experience.
My only embarrassment came when having a icy cold shower. With my eyes closed I lead with my head toward the freezing gush of water. As I finished I turned off the fawcet and shook the water from my hair leaning forward. I opened my eyes to find myself inches away and staring straight at the erect nipples of the young french woman beside me. As I looked up at her she just giggled and with a O la la skipped off seemingly as amused as I was embarrassed!
Even the pools were so different here. You entered the warm water inside the building and swim through a tunnel outside with only your head exposed at any particular time. There were even underwater beds that you could lie on and watch the world pass by as the spa bubbles invigorated your very essence!
Soon enough it was time to leave and I was surprised at how quickly our 10 hour days had passed in the roman baths. Now it was time to move on reinvigorated and recharged from the experience.
As we packed our swelling bags and bade our generous host’s farewell we headed back to Hotel Forelle in the black forrest to spend time with our friends and wind down there before heading of to Frankfurt and a big bird to takes us home.
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| Christians firetruck from 30 m above! |
One particular event cannot go untold. Christian, our friend here is the fire chief in his town of Buhl one of his responsibilities is to train young children as the whole service is on a volunteer basis and is taken on by the community in general. As happens on a youngsters birthday, I joined the crew as they picked the boy for a special ride back to the station for training in the fire truck. So as he got the special treatment I sat and watched with amazement as Christian negotiated the narrow, windy streets in a truck that only just fitted between the parked cars and vexed drivers. At the end of the night with the truck still parked in the centre of the compound we hopped into the cage and he extended the ladder until we were perched some 35m above the ground! The view was breathtaking watching the trains busily commuting around the outskirts whilst the church bells tolled from the towers clearly audible over the hustle and bustle of the streets camouflaged somewhere under the lights radiating every colour imaginable. As a breath of icy cold air sent a shudder down my spine Christian, a grin from ear to ear waved his hand in a sweeping gesture and said.. “Welcome to MY Buhl” Of all the hopes and dreams of our trip I never expected this and I will always remember this as a very special experience amongst all the fantastic places and people we met along the way!!
From a yachting perspective it is quite a technical place to go racing. The big tides that run through the main channel and around the Islands combined with the wind shifts bending through the valleys and bouncing off the cliffs of the small landmasses littering the water makes for decision making that belies the overall beauty and laid back nature of the area. Hamilton Island has an international airport, marina, and is a microcosm for bare boat charters and holidaymakers in general. In September it is over run with an international yachting regatta now hosted by Bob Oatley, the owner of the Island and also of his maxi Wild Oats. Hamilton Island Race week is a week long event for the rich and famous and where normally beautiful yachts look small. 
My days as a racer are by and large complete. I prefer these days to use my skills to navigate out to beautiful Islands with desolate beaches. To travel when the conditions are fair and relaxed rather than just bashing for the sake of bashing. To enjoy the company of friends and loved ones snorkeling or padding or sipping a drinks with an umbrella in it. Having said all that I still love the water and the cruising lifestyle. just not the focus on how fast you can get there. For some people though there is a definite exception.
As the final days of racing for us completed and we swapped our crew position for Rebecca and the other girls we had a close tussle with several others before crossing the finish line ahead of them I turned to see Mike standing near me with a beaming smile of satisfaction. The pressures of work commitments a race course away I smiled, he looked truly happy and satisfied. Although we didn't set the racing world on fire, we did bond with some people I will be honoured to call friends. Most of all though I will always remember the look on a mans face that I care deeply about and know that I was a part of sharing his yachting journey and dream. I know this because just the day before as we hovered over some fish with masks on he looked back at his boat and remarked to me..."this is your fault you know, you and your sailing. I love it!!"
