The hills are alive with the sound of thunder.

Day 79

Milage 6723

Swiss Cheese!

Today we find ourselves just outside the Spanish coastal city of Donostia/San Sebastian in the Basque region. It’s been a testing couple of weeks because of the unseasonably stormy weather but we hope it’s preparing us for the more challenging times ahead. The trip is going well, spirits are high and the bikes are proving to be very dependable. We would like to update the blog on a more regular basis but we have been having a few computer issues and a little too much fun.

Roadside picnic, Switzerland

The road to Interlaken, from Scuol, took us through, yet more, spectacular deep valleys and over incredibly high passes. What locals had advised would take approximately 5 hours took us a day and a half. Each twist and turn revealed a panorama that made it hard to keep our eyes on the road. We made numerous stops along the way to savor our surroundings, snapping pictures and snacking on bread and cheese. The changing weather conditions would tease us with glimpses of the snow capped peaks that flanked our route. By the end of the first day we rode into camp thoroughly exhausted having covered a little over half the distance we’d intended to. A hearty meal followed by a good night’s rest set us up well for the following day’s ride and by 3 in the afternoon we were coasting alongside Lake Brienzer on the final stretch in to Interlaken. This mountain town has become the home of Switzerland’s adventure tourism industry and a magnet for guides from all over the world, many of whom we’ve worked with over our years spent pushing rubber. We set up camp, knowing we’d be here for a few days, excited at the prospect of catching up with some old friends. Faces we hadn’t seen in almost 15 years made our stay a special one, while I was put to work on two of the local rivers guiding and safety kayaking, Beth had a chance to go canyoning in the Chli Schliere gorge. Evenings were spent at the local ‘Irish’ bar swapping stories and raising glasses to guides who are no longer with us. Arriving on a weekend when bookings were high and staff scarce worked in our favor and the added income helped balance our tight budget in this expensive country. On Sunday we couldn’t resist exploring the local roads and found ourselves climbing up towards the town of Grindelwald which provides an impressive view of the North face of the Eiger. 

Find the road.

One thing we’ve always agreed upon with the journey we are taking is, if we find a place we like along the way, we may just stop, for a short time, or possibly for good. Interlaken, in its pristine alpine location, with so much to offer in all the activities we value and enjoy could have been one of those places. Reluctantly, we tore ourselves away to explore further. To end this trip so soon after it has begun, when there is still so much more to see would be disappointing but we both feel as though Interlaken is a town where we could easily feel at home. 

With mountain fever setting in, (we couldn’t get enough) Zermatt, at the foot of the Matterhorn, became our next destination. The direct route, via the drive-on train through the mountains didn’t appeal so we decided to skirt around the edge making a slight detour into the city of Montreux for one night of the two week long jazz festival. An old friend, Neill, and his son Yarin, decided to join us on the ride so we convoyed over the Gsteig pass and down into the Rhone valley, hugging the shore of Lake Leman into a carnival of live music, street performances and every kind of food we could dream of. Yet another festival coinciding with our journey, how nice of the locals of Munich, Garmisch and now Montreux to arrange things so. We can’t wait to see what the rest of the world has to offer. From what limited news we have access to it appears as though the Middle East is in turmoil over how best to welcome us. After a day and night of fine music, great food and sweltering heat we packed up and left Montreux to its revelry determined to reach higher elevations and cooler weather. 

Montreux Jazz Festival

As we rode further into the French part of Switzerland we noticed the landscape subtly changing, hotter and drier, vineyards clinging to the slopes surrounding pleasant mountain villages. Unfortunately, our plans to reach Zermatt were thwarted by the closing of the road at the small town of Tasch. In order to proceed, special permission is required from the local police, forcing those wanting to reach Zermatt to take the overpriced train or hire a taxi service which uses the perfectly adequate road. Only those wealthy enough to own property in Zermatt could use their personal vehicles to proceed so the worn out taxi vans share the road with a dazzling display of Bentleys, Bugattis and Ferraris. Once in Zermatt, however, the streets are so narrow the town centre is reserved for miniature, battery powered shuttle vehicles giving it the feel of a theme park. With the prospect of hiking near the Matterhorn impossible to resist we booked into a campground outside Tasch for three days determined to make the most of any break in the weather. Although hot and humid, a heavy layer of cloud concealed the true scale of the peaks surrounding us. Occasionally we would glimpse a bluish glacier catching the sunlight at the end of an adjoining valley or a jagged peak thrusting through the cloud base, even on our first visit to Zermatt we were denied a view of the the crooked peak that towers over the village. We hiked regardless of the conditions, enjoying the crisp air and the occasional showers, the spring flowers were in full bloom and the steep trails from the valley floor soon had us puffing and panting, thankful for the exercise. Each evening ominous banks of dark cloud would slowly sweep down the valley, distant claps of thunder would precede the first fat drops of heavy rain and we’d huddle in our cosy tent sheltering from the impending storm anticipating the lightning display that never failed to impress.  Only on the third day did the weather clear and we were rewarded with stunning early morning views of the Matterhorn, its surrounding peaks and the enormous glaciers that blanket their bases. We chose a route that led us along the northern shoulder of this postcard peak, craning our necks to fully appreciate its scale and beauty. By late morning the clouds began to return and as we neared the base, the summit became hidden by columns of vapor, occasionally the veil of moisture would slip, seductively, from the mountain’s shoulder revealing a possible route to the summit. We gazed in awe for a long time fully enthralled by the power of its attraction. It took a lot of will power to resist climbing further.

Neill and Yarin guiding us into Montreux

Switzerland had absorbed more of our time and budget than we’d anticipated so, reluctantly, we made the decision to move on. People have often said, living in Switzerland is like living in a postcard and although we did find the native sense of humor a little two dimensional and flat it has certainly been one of the highlights so far. It is simply beautiful, pristine, safe and even though there are multiple national languages it all seems to work very efficiently, at least from our perspective which is more than can be said for our laptop. 

A frustrating problem had been developing with our MacBook Air making it virtually impossible to write so we made a slight detour into the city of Geneva on our way out of Switzerland hoping the local Apple store would have a quick fix. Alas, no, an internet search revealed a multitude of users experiencing the same issues and there are undoubtably support groups out there too for coping with the frustrations. The Apple store, however, assured us that this was a unique, one of a kind, issue and they’d never seen anything like it before. If we could simply leave our laptop with them for a week or so they’d see what they could do. We balked at the prospect of staying in a city for so long so, in our broken French, we contacted a store closer to our next destination, the town of Fontainebleau, outside Paris, in the hope they would be able to source the required replacement parts in time for our arrival. 

Yet another stunning road

Leaving the Alps was difficult, we had become accustomed to powering our bikes into the endless twists and turns, utilizing every square inch of tire tread, exhilarated by the sheer exposure and breathtaking scenery. Now, as we rode West, the terrain flattened and the journey became more about reaching a destination than enjoying what was in between. Alpine forest gave way to open farmland and the horizon stretched further beyond us with each mile. We based ourselves on the outskirts of Paris, hoping to visit the city and resolve our laptop issues at the same time, unfortunately Apple only place their repair centers in or around reasonably sized cities. Our first visit made it clear we’d be stuck in the area for a few more days so we decided to make the most of it and explore Paris. For the majority of the journey we’ve been avoiding large cities but neither of us could resist being tourists for a day or two and our first excursion, on one motorcycle, into the heart of Paris as evening fell began as a wonderful experience. In most European cities, motorcycles are practically invisible. Other drivers don’t see you but, as dangerous as this may seem, it can be used to your advantage, you can get away with a lot more and I couldn’t help reverting to some of the old tricks I had learned as a motorcycle courier so many years ago in London. Speed traps and traffic light cameras typically take pictures of the front of the vehicle and, of course, our license plate is on the rear. Footpaths and opposing one-way streets are now legitimate routes and parking is the easiest of all. Simply pull the bike up wherever you like, lock it to something solid and walk away. As reckless as this seems, it is the norm and the more aggressive the riding the more acceptable it appears to be, even the police turn a blind eye to what some bikers get up to. 

The camera shy Matterhorn

From where we had camped it took just over an hour to reach the centre of Paris. We parked on a side street next to the Eiffel Tower and wandered beneath the intricate lattice of steel that forms one of the world’s most recognizable landmarks, hundreds of eager sightseers formed orderly lines, a rare sight in France, hoping to scale the heights of this iconic structure. We strolled onwards, over the Seine River, towards the fountains of the Esplanade du Trocadero, dipping our feet in the cool waters, enjoying the last of the day’s sunshine. With only and evening to savor the sights and sounds of Paris we found ourselves drawn back towards the river and as we walked along its banks the setting sun turned the sky into a palette of pinks and reds all reflected in the calm waters of the Seine. Later, we meandered along the Champs-Elysées towards the Arc de Triomphe where we stood, in awe, as traffic hurtled around the impressive monument over slick cobblestones without a traffic light in sight. As darkness fell we returned to the Eiffel Tower in time to catch the hourly light display which brings the steelwork to life in a sparkle of a thousand glittering bright flashes. As we watched, with countless others, a full moon peaked out from behind a cloud and completed the show. We left the city centre in great spirits already planning our next visit, undaunted by the hour long drive back to camp. Four hours later after visiting every suburb in Paris, enduring a torrential thunderstorm of lightning, rain and emotions, having almost run out of fuel, we arrived back at camp, exhausted and thoroughly soaked, vowing never to return to Paris as long as we lived. 

After a good night’s sleep and another visit to the Apple store, we realized we would be stuck in the area for a few more days so we moved to a campsite within Paris and decided to give the city another chance. We set out early and made the most of a full day in the city’s historical centre. We returned to the Champs-Elysées but found it oddly quiet for the number of people who crowded the footpaths. We hadn’t noticed on our initial visit but the entire avenue appeared overrun with temples to consumerism and those around us not in a shopping frenzy shuffled along with the glazed eyes of smart phone zombies texting and tweeting their every move while taking arm length images of their heads obscuring the city’s iconic landmarks. It felt a little unsettling to see a street with so much historical significance reduced to an open air shopping mall, I wonder has McDonalds considered adding an arch to the Arc de Triomphe and painting it gold. This wasn’t the Paris we’d come to see so we followed our ears and noses and soon found where the locals gathered, loud, cheerful, sometimes passionate conversations filled the maze of side streets and the smell of food had our taste buds instantly drooling. I’m not sure what we had expected to find but this seemed to fit the bill, we must have stood out like sore two sore thumbs in our smelly biking gear but we couldn’t help join in the cheer and absorbing the atmosphere. All along the banks of the Seine locals gathered to celebrate nothing more than the end of the working day with overflowing hampers of food and wine and as the sun set it looked as though the parties were just beginning.

Champs-Elysees in the evening

Content we’d given Paris another chance but fully aware we’d barely scratched the surface we both agreed we would certainly return. For now, with our laptop in good working order and our rough schedule falling further and further behind, we left the region and made our way towards Spain. Having never experienced the Atlantic coast of France we chose a route to take us West before turning South toward the Pyrenees. Unbeknownst to us, a series of powerful thunderstorms had made similar plans and after several days of blinding rains and exhausting crosswinds our resolve crumbled and we booked into a cheap hotel in the hope of drying our gear and getting a full night’s rest. This was to be our first night in a real bed in over two months and as our dripping gear formed multiple puddles around the room we watched the French news reporting the path of destruction left by the unseasonable weather. The following morning with fresh spirits and dry gear we loaded up and took to the road but within thirty minutes we were completely drenched again. C’est la vie.

Full moon tries to outshine the Eiffel Tower

The pattern repeated itself for several days but, gradually, the further South we went the warmer it became and by the time we reached the Bordeaux region blue skies dominated the grey. We celebrated our first dry day with a bottle of the local grape juice. Before long we found ourselves entering the foothills of the Pyrenees and leaving behind the flat, straight roads of the coast. Careful route selection took us well off the beaten track and a few wrong turns brought us into deserted mountain villages but the rewards were worth it, smooth, snaking ribbons of asphalt took the square edges of our tires. The warmer air penetrated our protective suits and drove out every drop of moisture, the faster we rode the drier we became, for the first time in many days we arrived at our destination without creating large puddles beneath out feet. We entered Spain along the pilgrimage route and have settled for the next few days outside the Basque city of Donostia/San Sebastian.

Mont St Michel, France