To do

Sorry folks I have been a bit quiet. I have been on a lot of adventures of late and am currently working on store about New Zealand,  Hamilton Island Race week and my ride from Adelaide to Brisbane. Please be patient and I will let you know when it starts coming together

Kangaroo Island Ride

Sunrise - Kingscote

"Life is a journey, not a destination". Everyone knows this cliche right?  Because it is so true we try and abide by the sentiment and balance some time amongst our work, family, long and medium goals to smell the roses along the way. Sometimes however, life has a way of taking the statement and slapping you in the face with it!

In my case it was my trip to Kangaroo Island, 160km's south of Adelaide and at the foot of the Fleurieu Peninsular. The Island itself, at 150km x 60kms is the third largest island in Australia behind Tasmania and Melville Island off Darwin in the North. With my bike being stored in Adelaide and the opportunity to attend a work conference I stayed for the weekend and planned my trip to the Island famous for its New Zealand Fur Seals and Australian Sea lions, the Admirals Arch and Remarkables rock formation, a smaller scale version of Ullaru.

With my work commitments completed I headed off expecting a leisurely jaunt south. What I got was so much more. Adelaide is surrounded by hills and the road quickly left the suburbs behind and gently undulated through grazing land leading toward the coast. The roads are wide and smooth and the the bends sweeping with the hills gently giving a glimpse of ocean before angling back into  the valley's only to reappear closer to the deep blue ocean.  I marvel at Australian town names and its so cool to travel through towns such as Myponga and Yankallila! Before you reach the coast the trip has another little surprise in the form of Mclaren Vale, a town renowned for its world class wine.

Meandering through the hills

Myponga Reserve Wall

After Mclaren Vale the road leads back to the coast and hugs the coast, escorted in with pine trees lining the sandy shore on one side and the hilly, grazing land on the other through to Point Jervis and the jump off point  to Kangaroo Island. After checking in I had some time to appreciate how nice the trip had been and was still buzzing at its beauty. Whilst checking in I was greeted (again) by super friendly staff who had been admiring my bike and commenting on the QLD numbefr plates produced more maps and tips of magestic rides in the area. Sitting down pouring over them a biker on the next table sat down and reitterated what I had just been told and my natural enthusiasm went into overdrive as Ray, a retired 70yr old local showed me his favourite rides around the whole peninsular. Suddenly I couldnt wait to get back and continue exploring! 

At the ferry

Soon enough the Ferry arrived and a easy passage was made on a glassy ocean basking in the fading sun. The ride from Penneshaw, the ferry,s landing spot to Kingscote where I was staying is around 60km in length and as the sun set over the water (unusual for us East coasters) I didnt have time to check for the green flash as the sun touches the horizon for I was was on high Kangaroo allert. Like most animals their favourite time to graze is sunrise and sunset and knowing their unpredictability I certainly didnt want this adventure to be ended prematurely by a twitchy kangaroo.

Saturday morning broke calm and clear. Looking out my window at first I thought I was seeing the reflection of the radiator burning in my room, but my heart leapt when I saw it was the clouds over the wharf not my heater creating the spectacle outside! In a flash I was chrging across the road to the park to witness a most beautiful sunrise. The local seals seemed to be more intigued by me and leisurly swam around my vantage point even lifting themselves out of the water to get a better look. The look was completed by a cocking of the neck accetuating their large brown eyes and thick whiskers.
Keen to make the most of the day I braved the morning chill for breakfast at Pardana, the settlement in the centre of the island. Typical of this places not much was open and the local pub everyone recommended was not open but looked like a spot much more suited to a couter lunch or dinner so I filled up with a big serve of bacon and eggs at the bakery just down the road.
I had left early as I was keen to get to the commercial sites before the tourist buss's arrived and so by 10 I was at the Flinders Chase National Park. Home to the Admirals Arch and Remarkable Rocks. After paying my entrance fee I left taking on several Cape Barren Goose birds making me think of my own Cape Barren Goose "Wild Goose" swinging happily on her mooring back in QLD.

Cape Barren Goose

The 15km ride to Admirals Arch was windy and fun and before I new it the closed in brush made way for a windy and exposed cliff face with its small hardened scrubs and rocky outcrops being hammered by the powerful swell rolling in from the southern ocean. As if by design, areas of smooth rock paved its way up from the depths making an ideal landing point for the seals littering the foreshore. Also adorning the point was an obligotary lighthouse now fully automated behind the timeless structure

Arriving at Penneshaw

Cape Du Coedic

Admirals Arch

Leaving Admiral Arch I headed down the road to the Remarkables, a unique rock structure formed by molten rock slowly cooling under pressure to leave hard granite that over millions of years surfaced to form these maginificent structures. This was the same process in forming as Ularoo, and although no where near as large remains an interesting and bold structure. The rocks themselves are topped off with a covering of Lichen which give a red tinge like a natural color co ordinator finishing off a ornamental feature!
In trying to get involved in some photography here I came unstuck when my new camera and stand were picked up by a large puff of wind and smashed it against the rocks!

Road leading out to the Remarkables

The Remarkables

My next stop was appropriately named Seal Bay and it was fun to watch these curious animals surf in the clear ocean, rest on the beach and follow playful cubs wrestling on the beach.

I returned early enough to miss the sunset animal peak hour and settled into an early nights sleep after pizza. As a gale blew up with rain squalls blown in by the ferocious wind I rested in peaceful ignorance!

There was no doubt about my clothing for the sunday ride back to the ferry. Everything warm I had under my wet weather gear! I was pleased to be sitting on a 350kg bike and not on a sporty featherweight as the strong gusts of wind buffetted through the trees lining the path back.

Having seen Kingscote I was keen to explore Penneshaw so I thought I would breakfast there. Unfortunately, nothing was open and I was only saved by the friendly lady at the bottleshop who moved some chairs and a table inside and kindly allowed me to eat my pie and drink in the shelter of the bottle shop! Hardly a classy act but I was hungry enough not to care.

My ferry ride back was the opposite of the one over not just in direction. Sitting waiting to enter the ferry I was covered not only in rain but spray from the waves breaking on the rockwall giving some respite for the ferry. Having secured the bike in the hold and taking my seat upstairs we headed off and as the catamaran ferry punched its way into the considerable swell that had developed it wasnt long before most of the passengers were reaching for the sick bags provided. 

Conditions on the mainland were no better and as I wound my way back I found some sadistic pleasure in the wind and fog and rain, simply enjoying the fact I was on an adventure and had been lucky enough to witness so many great and beautiful things over the past weekend. I decided to put the suggested routes on hold for a better day head straight back to Adelaide, a warm shower and a plane home where the sun shines and it is considerably warmer!

Meandering through the hills

Great Ocean Road Adventure



12 Apostles

 

  I blame this bike riding on Peter Moore whose book Vroom  detailed his travels around Italy on a Vesper.. In 2009 I happened to have four free days in the US and was looking for something to do. Inspired by his book I decided there could be nothing more American than reviving my old biking days and heading off for a free spirited adventure. So it was then that I headed off on a Harley Davidson Road King to spend four wonderful days cruising down the West coast of the USA. During that ride I got to thinking about the great riding we had back here in Australia and the top two rides were Melbourne's Great Ocean Road and basically the whole of Tasmania.
Not long after I returned I was seduced into purchasing my own Harley and, despite the Midlife Crisis jokes I endured, I loved (and still do) my riding in QLD. However the "cruising spirit" that still runs deep within wanted to explore further and as I delved into possibilities it happened that work put on a conference in Melbourne the days before Easter! That was it, I booked my bike in with bikenut transport and set about trying to put into place the logistics required to make it happen.
As I sit here in Brisbane airport, my bike almost there, my helmet and gear waiting for me at the conference hotel, and Cooper due to fly in on Thurs morning, my heart is aflutter. Another extraordinary dream is about to come to fruition and also setting off a succession of adventures for the year ahead. We are planning on spending the next four days following the wild Victorian coast buffeted by centuries of weather blown up from Antarctica. We are in the zone of the roaring forties where since my childhood I have read of mariners coping with the cold, wild winds and huge ocean swells roaming  undisturbed with only Tasmania, New Zealand and Cape Horn  to break their relentless march through the Great Southern Ocean.

Ready to leave Melbourne

Our travels will take us into the Great Australian Bite with its dramatic cliffs and sandy protected beaches. A feature is the 12 apostles, 12 giant limestone formations sitting just clear of the cliffs in defiance of mother nature herself. Sadly, four have succumbed to the relentless pounding, leaving eight magnificent structures to brave the elements.
Set amongst the unforgiving territory there stands a tough fishing fleet, hardened by the conditions but coerced by the bountiful fair abounding in the turbulent waters. This has lead to scenic boat harbours nestled into strategic points and lighthouses marking their way.
If this sounds a bit romantic and like a fairytale, then lets wait and see. I have never been there and I am painting my childhood fantasies for you to help set the mood for my excitement. During this time we plan to cover around 1100kms to Adelaide, leaving the coast at Mt Gambier on the Victorian/South Australia border and heading up through the vineyards of Coonawarra before a reunion with my American trips partner in crime!

Coffee on the Bay- St Kilda

The Day broke bright bright in Melbourne on the day of departure. With a few hours to spare before Cooper arrived I made my way to the only familiar bit of Melbourne - St Kilda. In My past days as a professional sailor racing down by the pier it was a pretty seedy part of town, but things have changed now and and has been transformed into a trendy seaside town and I had to while away a pleasant few hours at the West Beach bathers pavilion. The coffee wasn't to my taste but I enjoyed sitting over the sand listening to classical music and watching several energetic dogs doing their best to wear out their owners! 
Soon enough it was time to head out to the airport  to pick Cooper up and and head south where the bells beach bell was tolling! 
The freeway south was both busy and uninteresting. If the rain had drenched this stretch of earth it certainly didn't look it and as the traffic thinned we found ourselves on the genesis of the Great Ocean Road and the Surf Coast entrance to Torquay and Bells.
Torquay is the base for surf companies such as Rip Curl and Billabong and there is a plethora of major outlets sweating on Kelly Slater, Mike Fanning and the crew coming for signing day. We purchased our 50th anniversary competition shirts and made our way out to Bells to check out the action proper!
The competition site at Bells Beach is accessed via several tracks leading down from the cliff tops which provided an excellent vantage point to watch several heats of surfers making the most of the 2m swell wrapping around the point before smashing onto the sheer cliff face stretching North providing a dramatic backdrop to the heat of battle.
I was conscious of how far we had to travel and so all too quickly we rode off into the fading light with ominous clouds building off the coast..
As we reached Angelsea we stopped to put on our wet weather gear and just as we set off again it began to rain and never let up the rest of our ride to Apollo Bay. By Lorne, a really pretty town, the light had all but gone and I was frustrated that we were now not only riding in miserable conditions, but that we were also missing some of the prettiest coast with a great swell running.
Eventually we pulled into our booked hotel and unpacked. Our hosts kindly moved their car from their lock up garage and allowed us to park both locked away and out of the rain!!
Apollo Bay was certainly a beautiful town in the morning light and despite the intermittent rain we walk down to the cafes on the Esplanade and settled down for breakfast.
Here we had our first taste of Victorian hospitality. As Cooper went to order the lady next to us commented on what a good mannered boy he was. this lead to a conversation about or trip and possible future plans. Without hesitation Lorraine gave me her number and e mail address and offered to store my bike at her and her husbands(a bike enthusiast) house!

Apollo Bay

If the stretch between Torquay and Apollo Bay is called the Surf Coast, the next section is as aptly named the "Shipwreck Coast". In the centuries following Cook's discovery of Australia in the1700's, this piece of coast was the first seafarers would come across after 7 - 8 months at sea.  This unforgiving coast made for certain calamity to any unwary or unfortunate vessel and over the years there were plenty. With no escape from the water, most of the crew and passengers met an unfortunate end along with 

At Bells Beach

the floundering vessels.
Several key light houses and signaling posts were quickly set up to help aid ships navigation and one of those was the lighthouse and signaling station at Cape Otway.  We exited off the main road and found our way through the Eucalyptus and Gum trees littered with Koalas happily resting in their Eucalyptus leaf drugged state. Now a maritime museum we climbed the lighthouse and marvelled at the changing ship to shore communications. At the advent of the station, a flagpole was erected to display signals by appropriate flags. This was replaced by Morse code followed by telex and fax. communication now is by long and short wave radio and satellite phone.
Also of note there was also an aboriginal heritage camp their which shed an enormous amount of light on the surrounding area. The region to the north is predominantly sandstone. That changes however south of Apollo Bay where Limestone becomes the significant rock formation which provided both the fabulous formations over the next one hundred kilometers and the stone for the buildings in both South Australia and Victoria.

I liken the Otoway national park to the Big Surr in the US ride. As if anticipating the need for a break from the buffeting the coast dealt out, the highway hits the Otway National Park and immediately furrows through magnificent rain forest offering protection from the wind and giving a treat for the senses. As the aroma of eucalyptus mixes with the earthy natural mulch, it gives off a refreshing and calming change from the salt blowing in with the the heavy maritime air.



Cape Otway Koala

 Although the cliffs remain constant heading south, the waves are broken up before smashing onto the cliff face by enormous pillars of limestone. Immediately south are the famous 12 apostles followed by "London Bridge", all the more apt since half of the structure has since fallen down!
Further south again is the Bay of Martyrs, hundreds of smaller rocky outcrops littering the bay.
Our journey was constantly being broken as we pulled over, removed helmets and gloves, took photos and returned!






London Bridge



Bay of Martyrs

If Torquay is the heart of this coast, then Warnambool is its origin. It was the first bay set up for safe navigation and where supplies and cargo both human and solid were dropped off. I was looking forward to visiting this town and there was a certain amount of anticipation as we approached. In reality though, it was too big to be quaint and full of character, but not big enough to develop its own bustle and personality. We  kept riding around looking for something but alas we found nothing.  There is a laser light show at Flagstaff Pt but persistent rain and desire to get dry and warm kept us tucked in our hotel room. Early next morning we drove down to the harbour and had breakfast at the surf club watching as bare bodies braved the 14 degree temperatures to plunge into the 12 degree water! Adding to that it was the only surf club I have been into with an open fireplace as a centrepiece.
A short ride following the coast we came across Port Fairy. A small coastal town that was everything Warnambool was not. It was a Saturday morning and the town markets were humming with activity and yachts of all descriptions lined the wharfs running through the town, their wet weather gear drooped over the rigging in a forlorn attempt to dry in the weak Easter sun. We were only there half an hour but I was already besotted and vowed to stay here on the return trip.



Port Fairy

 Our next stop was at Portland, a return to the larger commercial town with a huge breakwater enclosing the expanse of water and creating a calm playground for the residents. Here, over lunch we mat John, a visitor and soon to be Harley owner. Waiting on the delivery of his Street Glide we chatted for some time before exchanging numbers and promising to share a ride when back in Melbourne. Here, as  with the whole of the trip the Road King seemed to attract plenty of attention and photographs, with no end of friendly banter and appreciation of what a father and son on a Harley were doing here!





Water frontage - Nelson



From Portland we had two options as we crossed the border into South Australia to Mount Gambier. Off course we chose the coastal path that lead to the tiny town of Nelson with its houses anchored into the riverbank but essentially counter levered over the water. An ice cream and photos and we took our first major turn west, leaving the winding coastal road and blustery maritime air for the immediately more tranquil inland air and long straight roads leading us to South Australia. We covered the 100kms to Mount Gambier in the blink of an eye and immediately came across its gem. Mount Gambier is an extinct volcano and its peak is an enormous crater filled with that volcanic deep blue water that one could only imagine how deep but gives the impression of being bottomless. Around its rim were some really pretty houses.  We were on a mission now to complete the last one hundred kilometers before darkness and the threat of Kangaroos so we left all too soon for Narracorte. The straight, flat roads made the trip pass without incident and after travelling 350km in the days run we were happy to order pizza in house.

 It was a fresh, sunny Easter Sunday that greeted us

entering South Australia

 from our warm hotel room and as we packed  there was a new energy and excitement. The quietness of four days of father/son bonding was to be replaced with lots of children and people. Joanna's children Konnor, Jordan and Elise were waiting with all sorts of balls and games and so we were now on a mission. We did however,  treat ourselves to an Easter Egg having found its way into our packs before we left.

With more long, straight roads I was able to take in more of the surroundings. Coonawarra is a famous wine region hosting vineyards from some of Australia's top drops. Penfolds, Lindeman and
Yallumba are some of the names that have helped made the region famous, and although we didn't stop at any of the cellar doors available, rows upon rows of vines camouflaged by rose bush's, willows and maples with leaves turning gold,  and green pines made for a magnificent backdrop. Approaching Adelaide we began to meander along a broad highway meandering through the green fields and verandered buildings perched on magnificent blocks of manicured gardens. The riding was easy and fun with cornering allowing good visibility and duel lanes  keeping oncoming traffic clear.
Compared to Melbourne and Sydney traffic, Adelaide is wide, relatively free of traffic and generally easy to get around. Its streets are lined with trees and the houses seemed to pride themselves with stone veneer fronts and fine gardens. It is obviously a great climate for growing roses and they adorned the fine gardens in all their array of colours and varieties and scents, making riding through them both visually and aromatically appealing. .

Blue lake-Mount Gambier



Having arrived and immediately being swamped by children, our days consisted of basketball, football, tennis, and general play. Except for some pics of the Panda's at the zoo I will leave our magnificent journey there. Four wonderful days together meeting incredibly friendly and helpful people liiving out childhood dreams and learning some history and geography on the way.
We look forward to many more opportunities on the return home,  but for now we fly back from Adelaide, happy, content and satisfied with an Easter that had a lot of everything.

















West coast USA on a Harley Davidson

The Coast of Highway 1 has it all

I consider myself more of a boatie than a biker. I am most at home on the sea and have an affinity with the water. Still, the moment you press the run button and the starter motor whines, catching the 1800cc engine causing it to throb into life, has to be one of the purest, almost sensual sounds I know. An inner spirit is unleashed and thrust into being which is I think, the essence, magic of riding a Harley Davidson.
After wrapping up four days of conference in San Francisco I was keen to explore the much acclaimed United States West Coast and I figured what better way to see it than on a Harley. I had never ridden one before, my experience is on sport bikes, but somehow the road king cruiser seemed the right choice for the occasion.
So after some e-mailing to California Motorcycle Adventures (CMA) here I was being introduced to the gleaming chrome and black beast hung low on it's white walled tyres.
My plan was not to try and cover so much distance, rather explore the most popular stretch as far south as Morrow Bay around 300 miles south of San Francisco. Ilene (from CMA) also recommended a ride home via the mountains and Californian desert would make a worthwhile round trip. I didn't book any hotels and departed on a Friday afternoon with a small bag of clothes, a suggested itinery and a head full of dreams and aspirations.

Me the bike and the open road!

My first destination was Half Moon Bay, a short drive down the coast on a fairly easy stretch of highway and scenic mountain roads meandering down to the home of Mavericks, a legendary big wave location and a sleepy working marina that a friend had kept her boat in before crossing the pacific to Australia.
As the yellow ball of sun retired over the ocean to the west I parked myself down by one of the big steel pots at the Half Moon Bay Brewing Co. With the coal fire warming the evening chill I tucked into fish and chips downed with a locally brewed beer. The full moon rose behind the mountains and the band rocked on into the night, this was going to be one hell of a ride.

A hot coffee was top of agenda as I headed south the next morning.. Otherwise sane people covered head to toe in thick rubber sat out in water chilled by the arctic currents. The air refrigerated by the cold water also known as the Pacific Ocean rushed by my face. After my morning caffeine hit I headed south, the warmth of the sum a welcome relief on my hands. Soon the traffic thinned out leaving room to open out and appreciate the desolate coastline stretching before me. At pelican point I cranked up the i pod and left my singing to be blown away with the passing breeze, I felt alive and vibrant. I was living the dream. Cruising the west coast on a hog; surely it couldn't get any better than this.
All too soon I was in Santa Cruz. As I made my way to the northern tip and natural bridges it struck me how protected we were from the stiff N/W breeze that had followed me all the way down. It was warm and the surfers and kayakers paddled around in glassy water disrupted only by the kelp and elephant seals rising slowly with the gentle swell.

When planning the railway in the early eighteen hundreds they decided to build two separate, unlinked lines, one for the common folk to Santa Cruz, the other, for the well healed further south to Monterey and Carmel. Santa Cruz is home to a playground of amusement parks and roller coasters. It is also famous for it's massive pier- the boardwalk, included in various movies and a song from under it. Off course I had to sit under it and absorb it's words, still relevant today. Lunch was a clam chowder at the end of the pier.
After a pleasant couple of hours I continued south toward it's up market neighbor. The only notable stop was at a bar frequented by traveling bikers. In the heart of the artichoke country, I lined my bike up outside “The Whole Enchilada”, a small dark bar with every possible piece of wall and ceiling covered in one-dollar bills. I took a quick lap, pushing through the sea of leather and bandanas before deciding to hit the open road again.
The rest of the journey to Monterey was pretty uneventful and I was pleased to arrive and have a look around town including a trip out to the lighthouse and a fabulous tour of the foreshore. There was some outlets in the old fish cannery and the wharf was full of tourists but I'm guessing the locals didn't spend much time there so I went in search of their hang outs.

Heading out early I pulled into Carmel for my obligatory coffee and chat. This was going to be an exciting day. Everyone I had spoken to had raved about the one hundred odd miles of coast winding through the Big Sur National Park.
Carmel was indeed a beautiful and picturesque town with lovely architecture and well maintained seaside houses. The early morning sun cast a warm hue across the beach and swells as they came to rest on the sand. Early walkers lined the tide line with their trained dogs obediently following on their leads.

No sooner had I left Carmel than the magic began, a concrete bridge spanning a cove on the cliffs introduced a day of magnificent road that hug the coast line, mainly being cut out from the cliffs that rose majestically out of the ocean and towered high above. The bitumen undulated as it wound around the headlands leaving breathtaking views the whole way. I seemed to play leapfrog with other bikers and travelers stopping to take in the vista.

Early Morning Carmel

The only break from the coast was through the Big Surr town where the coast was swapped for towering pines and forest, its aroma as distinctive as the scenery. Somewhere in the bends I found myself deep in the seat and at one with the machine underneath me.





Monteray



                                  



The Boardwalk - Santa Cruz



 



Marina Headquaters

  





                  

                                                                                        Road undulating around the cliffs                    

I also came across a beach literally covered with elephant seals. Covering themselves with sand to protect them selves from the sun, any movement meant trampling over the surrounding seals wallowing on the sandy shoreline.

San Simeon bay was another highlight. With a jetty originally build to bring in supplies and the hardware to build nearby Hearse Castle, an eccentric millionaire who wanted to replicate some of England’s castles.

Cayucos is another small coastal town just short of Morrow Bay and prides itself on its quieter pace. I really enjoyed a late lunch and local beer sitting by the bar overlooking the sparkling bay. It was really noticeable by now the handshakes and language had changed dramatically since leaving San Fran and I enjoyed sitting and observing the interactions of the
locals.

San Simeon

Still buzzing from my ride and bar experience I nudged my way the last 5 miles to Morrow bay, another pretty harbour protected by a huge rock that dominates the landscape. A local band was gigging out on the waterfront and I couldn’t disguise my pleasure from such a fantastic day.

Cool Bridge on Higway 1

                                    

Morrow Bay

After a restful sleep I was up early churning with anticipation of the day ahead. Up till now I had no exact locations to find or destinations to meet. Today I had to leave the coast and take the road less traveled back to the bike shop. In reality I couldn’t even remember anything about the bike shop having left excited and pre occupied by the prospects ahead.

If the coast road was scenic and encouraged regular stops and photo opportunities highway 25 was a riders road. As the highway wound its way up into the hills and out into the desert, the road was relatively wide and visibility clear. It was warm and there was no fog that had routinely found its way across the coast. With almost no oncoming traffic it was the perfect road to just let the bike grip the road and feel the curves. There were no stops for photos, or slowing for RV’s, just a glorious ride home.

I did stop by the Pinnacles National Park for a walk and opportunity to stretch the legs with a hike out to the caves and have lunch, but basically it was just a sensational ride on a bike that was as comfortable to ride as the seat I was parked on.

The last hour found me on the 101(N), the freeway back to San Francisco. It wasn’t the 80-90 m/h I was doing that concerned me, it was the big utilities rushing by at about 110m/h I found daunting. I wasn’t in a hurry and to be honest wasn’t looking forward to either giving this magnificent bike back, or having to try and find the bike shop.

This Guy captured my idea of California !!

Eventually I did both and now as I reminisce over the trip of dreams I must thank the crew at California Motorcycle Adventures for a beautifully turned out bike and helpful service and attitude and all the friendly people who helped make this a trip of a lifetime.

Germany (part 1)

 The 22^nd of December was a special day: It was the summer solstice (Most sunlight hours in a day for the year). It also happened to be a full moon.  Of more significance, it was also a lunar eclipse, it was the first time all these stars had aligned in 2000 years!! Of equal significance to me, I was off on my maiden adventure to Germany. It was still surreal as we packed our bags to head off to the airport sweating in long pants and shirt in 30 degrees clutching our jumpers, scarf and coats in preparation for the weather that was awaiting us in Frankfurt!

The eight hours to Hong Kong was incident free with an amazing sunrise as we tracked North West extending the sun sitting on the horizon trying to lift itself up and over by around two hours!! Even at Hong Kong Airport there were only the hint of change with free internet everywhere and the aroma of noodles filling the terminal looking out over the smog hiding the city and mountains apparently behind. It was only as we approached the Lufthansa boarding gate to try and secure some exit row seats that the changes became apparent. Firstly, the entire population at the lounge seemed to have grown by two feet. Secondly, the hair color had lightened considerably, and lastly, a look of suspicion and determination was unmistakable as we all clamored for the sought after seats.

The Lufthansa Aircraft to propel us through the next 13hrs to Germany was probably once the pride of the fleet. 20 years on however it was showing its age with small screens at the front of each bulkhead barely viewable and table trays warn and almost unusable. The service and staff were friendly enough but it was obvious that some serious upgrading was overdue.

Sitting beside an animated Italian shoe designer living in China I was also distracted by the gripping finale of “The Book Thief”, which helped the hours drag by with bouts of sleep-deprived coma sprinkled throughout the flight.  Nevertheless, I enjoyed the thought of Inland China sliding by underneath us, and being served a tasty dish of diced chicken whilst banking left over Katmandu for the last leg into Germany!

By the time we touched down and secured the German stamp in my passport it was 8.30pm and despite an overwhelming sense of tiredness I was appreciating the blurred scenery from the back seat of Tamara’s Audi A4 as we hurtled down the autobahn at 180km per hour!

It was hard to believe that only twelve months ago Tamara and her sister Jacqueline and husband Sven and brother Marco had been with us sweating out a Brisbane Christmas as part of her adventure around Australia. Now here we were driving through the snow sodden terrain, her eyes sparkling and her enthusiasm infectious as she introduced us to Christian  her boyfriend.  Having met him on returning home from her trip, I had the feeling he had heard as much of us as we had of him and so the get to know you period was easy and relaxed.



My new friend Christian



Next morning we opened the window of our room to look out over a roof covered in snow to a valley as serene as it was white! Chimneys in the gaggle of steeply pitched roofs were releasing smoke wafting straight up in the calm morning grey. There was a stream meandering through the village on the other side of a snowy paddock at the base of a mountainside covered with pine trees hosting clumps of snow on the needles. There were no cars, people, animals, birds; just a peaceful quiet start to the day.

 It was way beyond my reality to be getting up at 8.00 with no hint of any sun for the foreseeable future, so after a shower it was time to meet our hosts and begin my first day of exploring!

Tamara’s Family is fourth generation owners of the Forelle (German translation; trout) guesthouse in the tiny town of Hundsbach in northern tip of the Black Forrest. Built in 1871 it is a popular guesthouse in summer catering for families hiking, riding, fishing and generally getting away for pleasant country weekends and relaxing holidays.  Harking back to a time when family holidays were spent in Germany its low ceilings and wood paneling was warm and inviting, surrounded by windows looking over the panorama mentioned above. On the balcony outside was a big fish tank housing large trout, some of which were bound to end up on our dinner plate before too long.



Forelle translates to Trout





Tamara at the Forelle



Our Hosts, Tamara’s family, Ingrid, Ralph, cousin Karen and Grandmother Oma were waiting for us when we emerged for breakfast, already the kitchen was in full swing and I was about to be introduced to my first of three weeks of German breakfast. We are not the usual cereal kind anyway, preferring an omelet for protein and sustenance, but this was certainly neither of the above. Laid out were a selection of cold meats, salami’s and Bratwurst with cheese and an array of bread only some of it I recognized. Still, it was delicious and under Tamara’s observation also included soft boiled eggs in a cane basket wrapped in a purpose made doona which reminded me of a tea cozy!  Coffee with cream was plentiful and was a treat from our usual routine. In particular the Laugen bread (imagine pretzel in a loaf) was worthy of being hunted down and consumed every morning and was great both with savoury and eggs as well as sweet with jam.

So began 5 days of being fussed over and spoilt rotten as guests nothing like I have ever experienced. It was a cross between living with the familiarity of family in a commercial hotel. English was barely spoken but we managed to figure out some basic communication whenever Eva or Tamara was unavailable to act as translators.

 Eva had booked a hair appointment with another of her Australian guests from the nearby town of Buehl so after dropping her off, Tamara and I headed through the fog, winding our way through Sasbachwalden, a beautiful town complete with classic Tudor houses which the Black Forest is famous for. With visibility still limited we continued up and into sunshine and Mummelsee, a tourist mecca for the well healed a long time ago. Rumour has it that the lake beside the hotel was filled with mermaids who were looked after by King Neptune who delighted in filling the guests with rich’s and prosperity. This however was abused by patrons who took advantage of the lovely water creatures causing the king to be angry and cursing the building. It managed to survive several fires and WW2 bombings and is a popular hotel to this day. Many Divers have perished trying to recover the rumored wealth lying at the bottom of the very deep lake. On this day it was frozen over and our goal was to stay on our feet over the ice!



Mummelsee



 



Looking over a sea of fog  to France



We proceeded up the mountain to Untersmatt, a little ski field sitting at around 1300m and far away from the commercial operations I had ever experienced. It also had a clubhouse for a motorcycle club to take advantage of the winding, undulating roads perfect for a two wheel adventure in the warmer weather.

Looking back over the valley I began to get a feel for the geography. The black forest itself sits in the South West corner of Germany and is a rectangular area of around 200kms by 60kms covering 12,000 square km’s with an elevation of 1500m at its highest peak. The Western length of the forest drops down into the Rhine Valley, a lush area perfect for growing grapes and farming in general. The natural border between Germany and France is the Rhine River, in itself a hub of commercial shipping and activity between the two countries with the landscape being mirrored on the French side of the border and perhaps more famous for its wines than the German counterparts. From my feet at the base of the ski field laid a thick and flat sea of fog with the French Alps rising from the serene expanse in the distance. 



 

Christmas Markets

– A German tradition and one which I had heard lots of! This was to be my day of reckoning!!  We wound our way down the mountain to Baden Baden, where the festive atmosphere lead us to a large parkland brimming with music and lights under which rows of stands were set up completing the ambience with the aroma of BBQ Bratwurst, fresh bread, cheese and food I could only guess at!  Interspersed were vendors selling Gluehwein. Traditionally, a warm red wine infused with spices, perfect for the environment we were in. Over time it has evolved with plenty of variations to work our way through!  About this time I felt the need for a quick pit stop, so excusing myself I ducked into the Casino and headed for the rest rooms, not usually a place to come unstuck I confidently entered the signed area to be confronted by two doors. On one there was the letter” H “and on the other “D”!  This was a new one for me and I was a little thrown, where was the plaque of the little man or woman to give me a clue?  I waited a while thinking some one must surely exit and point me in the right direction but as usual when in the situation NOTHING!  Things were getting a little more pressing so a decision had to be made. I reasoned that I had been practicing Herr (Mr) Fischer (Eva’s dad) so my punt was H for Herr! Somewhat gingerly I walked up and peeked through the door ready to beat a hasty retreat if the H was for her… With great relief I had indeed picked the correct door and a new lesson had been learned!



Now thats a BBQ





Getting friendly with the locals!!





And a beer with Santa



Returning to the fray we enjoyed a wonderful night of bustling Christmas cheer, exploring further into the town where the bars and buildings were filled with Christmas cheer. Of particular note was the bar set out as a winter garden with ornate displays of all things Christmas including Santa stopping for a well earned drink where you could join him and one of the 6 star restaurants by the markets with the advent countdown calendar lighting up the front rooms!!

The town of Baden Baden was obviously a wealthy town and I discovered that there a more millionaires here per capita than anywhere else in Germany. Most of them are Russian mining tycoons. The Russian Orthodox Church is also renowned for its gold and lavish décor although I never actually visited it.

It also has a Catholic church that I did visit and the foundation stone was laid somewhere between the 8^th and 10^th century!!

staying warm in Baden Baden

Baden Baden literally translates into bath/bath and was where the Roman’s, recognizing the healing power of the thermal springs came to ease their aches and pains. Caracalla, the Roman emperor even came here to relieve his arthritic aches.

Although taking a pounding in the 1500’s and 1600’s and severely pillaged at that time by the French, it was rediscovered in the seventeen hundreds as a spa town and was visited by the queen of Prussia in the early nineteen hundreds to improve her health. At that time it also became a popular place for celebrities attracted by the hot springs, casinos and luxury hotels along with its race horses and gardens. In the 1850’s and 60’s it came known as the European summer capital. As luck would have it, the town escaped bombing in the first and second world wars and remains as a showpiece of history, culture and beauty today.



Baden Baden Thermal Bath



Littered throughout the Black Forest, the natural warm springs are a popular place for locals and tourists alike to escape the winter cold and relax in another world. I would like to expand on these further later on but it was fascinating to lay eyes on the incredible structures blowing stream into the cold night air and see the old Roman bricks on display showing the remnants of such historical significance! I had never actually laid eyes on anything so old in my life before and my imagination began to run wild at the thought of men in tunics and feathery battle hats running over the same cobbled stones I was standing on!

Christmas traditionally in Germany is celebrated on the 24^th of December with Saint Nic and has only recently been confusing children with the American “Coca Cola” invasion of Santa coming on the 25^th .  On this 24^th we woke to a thick layer of snow covering everything outside our cozy perch in the lodge!! The tiled Roofs were now white as was the road leading into town. I was surprised to see the trout in the fish tank on the balcony huddling around the air filter, the only thing stopping the tank from freezing over!  I could hardly concentrate on my Breakfast as the snow continued its endless pursuit of covering everything whilst we ate. By the time we had filled our stomachs the driveway was barely visible and seeing our generous hosts busy trying to clear the driveway we decided this was our opportunity to combine being useful with my desire to get in some exercise!  After 2hrs of shoveling snow I was drenched with sweat underneath my waterproof clothes and with a shrug of defeat I retreated without any evidence of our labor on the driveway!  From that time on I reduced my expectations and decided I would take the role of only clearing the guest entrance by the front door.



fighting the losing battle to clear the driveway



By early afternoon and without any break from the snow Eva, Christian and I headed out for a walk around town and managed to combine it with some tobogganing down the deserted roads and pathways! Whilst our hosts cooked and slaved over Christmas preparations, I settled in with hot chocolate and Lindser Torte only breaking to set the table for the feast ahead.



Hundsbach



Last year I had been the only Australian from a table of eight people sharing the traditional German Christmas feast prepared in 30 plus degree Queensland heat and consumed surrounded by fans to both cool us down a little and keep the flies off our meal. This year I was again the only Australian in the group of 14 for this gathering. How different it was though this year. With the snow relentlessly tumbling down outside and the heaters working overtime to keep our 150yr old building warm, the roast Goose, red cabbage and Knoedel all seemed somehow so much more appropriate and I decided there and then that our next Christmas in Australia was going to be conducted our way, with cold meats and salad!!

Having made the mistake of consuming too much of the main meal, I was stuffed beyond comprehension getting through the most wonderful array of sweets served for desert!

Another German tradition I struggled with was that of opening presents in the evening after the meals was finished. Presents were served out in the way we would but by ten in the evening for me the energy had got up and gone to bed where I was looking forward to going. It seemed such a shame that after all the thought and effort that had gone into them they weren’t appreciated in the way I was accustomed to.  It was really nice to speak to my son Cooper on the phone though and I have to admit to being thoroughly content after helping Christian dig out his car and tucking myself into bed.



Out Forelle's front door



The 25^th stumbled into light still snowing and I sat by the window appreciating both my Australian heritage and the vista before me in the quiet of our Christmas morning far from home as the snow flakes continued to dance past my window and nestle onto the piles of its comrades outside.

After breakfast we set out to meet Sven and a heavily pregnant Jacqueline at their house. We agreed that we would drop in by the local ski field to check out prices on the way through in preparation for the next days skiing. Having arrived however, the whole area was covered in beautiful powder snow with the bordering pine trees drooping under the burden of so much snow. I could hardly control myself and so Eva and Tamara left to visit family leaving me with several years of pent up excitement and the most perfect conditions you could imagine!  Booking in I was charged 20 euro’s for the skis and when I went to buy a 4hr ski lift pass the attendant asked why only four hours? “Because its 11.00 and the ½ day pass doesn’t start till 1.00”

“Close enough for me” he commented, so another 15 euro’s later and I was let loose spending the day alternating between the groomed runs on soft dry snow and busily negotiating my way between the pines with only the tips coming up every now and then under the knee deep powder until ten o clock that evening where the gang had congregated in the glass bar at the bottom of the hill busily dinking their Gluehwein from the warmth of their vantage point. After joining them for a few drinks to ease the pain of my ripped up ankles I noticed that my German really improved with the restrictions of my fear of not getting it wrong and offending anyone dulled by the drinks “I had to try whilst I’m here”.



Sampling the local with Svewn and Marco



My second day on the mountain was glorious. We woke to blue sky and the dazzling reflection of snow everywhere. Another 100 photos later and Eva and I headed out again with perfect visibility and fresh, groomed snow. From the top of the lifts the view was spectacular looking out over the Rhine Valley and over to the French Alps so clear in the distance. We spent the day skiing and eating at the café who’s walls were covered in the horns and skulls of different animals mounted as trophy’s. Truly a taxidermists pride and joy! 

It was such a joy to share both the skiing and experience with her that by the time we had stripped off the boots and ski gear and were back to Forelle I was a bubble of joy and contentment.

This was going to take some beating.  As the German banter washed around me I struggled to even look interested in keeping up with our most generous hosts. As I checked outside one last time before bed it was snowing again!



Buehl town centre



Our last morning here in Forelle and it was time for me to step up to the plate! We bid our sad farewell to Ingrid, Ralph and Nan and met the rest of the clan at Peters Café, their preferred bakery before catching the train to Eva’s Fathers for the next stage of our adventure. It was here that the magic of Buehl came to life. Covered in snow and dazzling under the sun with clear blue sky as a backdrop another 100 photos still couldn’t do the place justice. Having had the luxury of everyone ordering for me it was time! I confidently grabbed my wallet and ordered my cappuccino and Berliner in my best German, paid and waited as the patient waitress filled my order. The coffee might have been terrible and the orange cup an assault to the sensors but there it was, my first order and I was so proud!! Never mind the waitress shaking her head and everyone laughing at me, I was on my way.



It wasnt great coffee but it was my first German order!



Stay tuned for the continuing adventure as we head down the French, German, Swiss border.