Above (l-r, top to bottom): Shan insisted on snapping this early-70s DS in a side street in Savines-le-Lac - I think her Mum had one, once upon a time; sunset across le Lac from our campsite on la rive droite du Lac; the info board at le Claps; a few of the impressive post 1442 rocks that fell into position at le Claps.

​​Knowing very little about the area of France to the South West of Briançon, we studied a map hoping to find an obvious place to cross the Rhône before climbing into the Auvergne.

As luck would have it, la Durance, which we were already following, turned left after Briançon. This was our general direction of travel and would take us near enough to the source of the Drôme (a few dramatic Alpine passes notwithstanding). Our route, in turn, took us to le Claps, an extraordinary place we hadn't known existed before we pitched up there in Campy. 

There was a smidgeon of frisson when we discovered that the giant stones that had fallen there had done so less than 600 years earlier. We trod carefully around the paths in the proximity of le Claps and admired our discovery. The route to Saillans, where we'd planned to spend a day or two at a campsite beside the Drôme, had already provided the French aspect of adventure of hitting out in our van..

Saillans.

As a town it was relaxing, with a pretty centre. Nestled in the Drôme valley, it has magnificent views and opportunities for cycling, which got us on our bikes and mobile.

Our campsite was a mile out of town, beside the river, so we could walk along the Drôme into town if that took our fancy. Once in town the back alleys were quaint and charming. I'd venture to say that, as a a town, it had all the mod cons, mountains, a river and a relaxing sense of charm ....

Above (top to bottom, l-r): ​French graveyards tend to be a little less ornate than their Italian counterparts but  generally seem to have a contemplative aspect; the mountain scenery in the Drôme valley was never ending; some charming back alleys (x4); if you left the bikes behind, no problem; we hadn't and hastened up into the hills on ours; the main square was inviting with places to eat and drink (x2); oh no not another fascinating old city to distract us from our main goal, la Loire ...

After an interlude of pure relaxation and a fair amount of cycling in the hills surrounding Saillans, we sped (insofar as Campy was capable and speed limits allowed) towards our next Milestone, viz Mont Gerbier de Jonc where the River Loire rises in the southeastern quarter of the French Massif Central in the Cévennes range[3] at 1,350 m (4,430 ft).

It was tempting to stop at places like Crest and feast our eyes over the Tour de Crest and the handsome town beneath it. However we were conscious of the fact that France is choc-a-bloc with such attractions dating back 600 to 1,000 years. Stopping at each one would keep us from reaching the source of France's longest river, let alone making the mouth at Saint-Nazaire on the Atlantic Ocean.

So we "sped" on, ditching the humble Drôme where it poured itself into France's mightiest river  ... the Loire may well be the longest but the Rhône pours more water into the sea than any other French waterway.

​One only has to look at a map of the Auvergne to see how many watercourses rise there. The River L'Ardèche itself rises about little over 20 miles from Mont Gerbier de Jonc and flows into the Rhône a bit down stream from the Drôme.

Finding the source of France's longest river.

We crossed the Rhone at Le Bourg and followed the l'Ouvèze through spectacular scenery, past its catchment area before turning North-West into an area that gradually transformed into a landscape above 1,000 metres that resembled a moonscape[2] with luscious grassy vegetation. Strange rocky outcrops marked out the sites of dormant volcanoes, culminating in Mont Gerbier de Jonc and the source of our mighty Loire, the first river we met knowingly that flowed in a Westerly direction. Actually more like North-West with wiggles and turns amounting to approximately 1,000 km (625 miles-ish).​

​Above: its had to be done (x2) ... the beige and the mustard; lugging the booty back to campy and out of the village of Sancerre

​​The joys of having a campervan cum delivery vehicle and doing a pre-Brexit sweep. Most of the good stuff got stored in my "double" bed at the back and it did eventually become a bit of a challenge to find a comfy nook in which to sleep.

I was also going to have to make up for the predominance of Sauv to my travelling partner somehow! We might just have sniffed out a bottle or two of Chardonnay to supply that need before entering the main Loire regions.

A bit more Loire before a sneaky shortcut along the Vienne.

We managed to edge up our chosen river to Briare where the Canal Latéral peters out. We found a delightful campsite beside the river, freeing me up for some relaxed evenings trying for the ultimate sunset shot. It did work out despite a torrential downpour in the middle of one night in which some restorative work had to be undertaken to resurrect our awning.

​We also managed a bit of an epic (28 km there and back) ride on our bikes up to Glen, which has some splendid old buildings and a longer bridge than we were accustomed to on the Loire, the canal having stopped at Briare. All in all, Briare had turned out to be one of those "hidden" gems that one stumbles across when performing a long distance loiter in a camper.

Above; one last look at the confluence from downstream, where the Loire appears to have created its own delta.

A lazy(ish) 10 flat miles remained to be cycled back to our camp site on the Vienne's left bank.

Above (l-r): a freshened up bride looking happy and relaxed to be reunited with Campy; some local Riesling was just the job; with the light fading on the Western end of the Fortress Royale across the river.

​We had a lot planned for the following day. Having visited the castle and explored its links with Jeanne d'Arc in 1429 in which she played a heroine's role in consolidating France over the next few years before being burned at the stake in 1431 (aged about 19)[4]. we decided to nose around the town a bit more thoroughly and have a closer look at the troglodyte sector. But, before that, we had to be introduced to the promised crocque madame. 

Above (l-r): croque madame; posh vineyard above and adjacent to the castle.

So, after all the prevaricating, what was the crocque madame like? Bloody marvellous. Basically just a crocque monsieur with an egg on top. This one was fried but apparently a poached egg is also OK. Essentially, why have a monsieur when you can have a madame? If a restauranteur says they don't do the latter just ask them to bring an egg on a separate plate and make your own!

The first time Shan and I had planned a visit to the castle-on-the-hill, I was suffering from severe gout and had to make the ascent on Shan's e-bike while she flexed her muscles and shot uphill on her own power. We "did" the castle on that excursion in some detail.

This time we briefly considered what is possibly the closest vineyard to the castle, the one depicted above. We never got to try its wares because the prices seemed more than a tad expensive for the ratings they are accorded by wine aficionados.

We were dying to investigate the nearby troglodyte dwellings, anyway, and made our way to the Rue du Coteau Saint-Radegonde. Many of these "caves" had been dug out of the cliffs to provide stone for the more affluent buildings in the surrounding area and there were quite a few ruins in amongst the odd dwelling that remained in use. By all accounts, the Loire and Vienne valleys are treasure troves of such things but we'd only happened on this info towards the end of our trip, in Chinon.

Above: a bit of a collage of a street of some of Chinon's cave houses ...

​Wandering down the steep incline from the Rue de Coteau we encountered other previously undiscovered (by us) fascinating bits of Chinon not directly related to the castle or the Vienne.

Above (top-bottom, l-r): cobbled streets tumble down the hill; stairs, too; and posh houses; quaint eateries; attention to detail; vintage electrical shop; long drop (from which era?); huntin', shootin' and fishin'; piglets be scared; a bit of a cheat - we took these two at the mouth of the Loire a year later.

Going home.

From Chinon we headed West along the left bank of the Vienne and then the Loire, crossing our great river at Saumur and then various tributaries, i.e the Maine at Angers, which itself is formed by a confluence of the Sarthe and Mayenne just upstream of the city, and then followed the latter up to Château-Gontier, our last stop on our all but two-months adventure before boarding the ferry at Ouistreham for Portsmouth and home.

Above (top-bottom): a little pudding/dessert/dolce/nachspeise to celebrate a fabulous two months abroad; Château-Gontier is a handsome town with a significant water frontage on the Mayenne; and has a handsome tourist train that will show you the town, including the 12th century Paroisse Saint Jean Baptiste; an interesting piece of architecture adjoining the Campy parking that may well have disappeared by now.

​I can't remember why we chose to travel to Europe through the Channel Tunnel and return by ferry. Perhaps we were just tired of driving?

However, the ship journey did provide us with the opportunity to think back about the adventure and draw some conclusions. Travelling in a camper van places constraints and creates opportunities. One of those constraints is that it is awkward to manage in large cities, mostly from the "park and ride" challenges imposed but also from the busyness of driving within their orbit.

Above; arriving back in the UK at Portsmouth with its iconic 560 ft/170m "Spinnaker" tower ... would you abseil down it (answer in the comments below)[5].

We avoided large cities and sought the inner heart of towns and villages. We were introduced to places that were just as engaging but we probably would never have seen if we'd had to "fly in and fly out". Before my travel was severely curtailed by acute leukaemia we had already made the decision to abandon flying when not absolutely necessary and had started using the train network. It was great but having one's own transport just adds that little bit of extra freedom ... and makes it much easier to transport bicycles, which we had learned to exploit in recent decades.

We hope you enjoyed this memoir of a journey that took place a decade ago but many of those memories still keep the adventures alive all these years later. Much of what we saw and enjoyed will still be there today and where some things have disappeared other delights will have arisen in their place.
​
[Endnotes]:

1. Wikipedia: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Loire
2. More detail in the banner picture of this blog of the volcanic activity
3. In the department of Ardèche within the Auvergne-Rhône-Alpes
4. Wikipedia: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joan_of_Arc
5. Click on "Comments"

Above: The volcanic activity up on the plateau in the Auvergne was unique and yet varied ... how's your French?

We had decided to major on the Loire, France's longest river, and attempt to follow it from its source to the sea with a slight detour along the Vienne to visit our favourite campsite at Chinon's rive gauche. But first we had to get to the Auvergne, source of many French rivers including our chosen one.

Getting to The Source.

To get there, having crested the Alps at Claviere/Montgenèvre, we picked up La Durance which tumbles down its valley to Briançon and beyond until we could we could switch to a tributary of the Rhône, la Drôme, which rises in the Hautes-Alpes somewhere towards the Alps Maritime that separate France from Italy.

​We paused in our descent of La Durance for nostalgia's sake  to revisit the ancient Cité Vauban that we had explored with Kate and her friend Ashley a few years earlier. It was a relief to park Campy for a while and re-acquaint ourselves with its grandeur and alleys that we had enjoyed on our previous visit. It can be difficult to explain how stressful manoeuvring a 7.2 metre beast can be down those steep and twisting passes.

Resuming our journey if was a relief to continue along a more sedate La Durance as our guide to Lac de Serre-Ponçon where we'd planned a couple of peaceful nights in the local campsite overlooking the lake. 

Above (l-r, top to bottom): Shan insisted on snapping this early-70s DS in a side street in Savines-le-Lac - I think her Mum had one, once upon a time; sunset across le Lac from our campsite on la rive droite du Lac; the info board at le Claps; a few of the impressive post 1442 rocks that fell into position at le Claps.

​​Knowing very little about the area of France to the South West of Briançon we studied a map hoping to find an obvious place to cross the Rhône before climbing into the Auvergne.

As luck would have it, La Durance, which we were already following, turned left after Briançon. This was our general direction of travel and would take us near enough to the source of the Drôme (a few dramatic Alpine passes notwithstanding. Our route, in turn, took us to Le Claps, an extraordinary place we hadn't known existed before we pitched up there in Campy. 

There was a smidgeon of frisson when we discovered that the giant stones that had fallen there had done so less than 600 years earlier. We trod carefully around the paths in the proximity of Le Claps and admired our discovery. A place we hadn't known existed until we stumbled upon it en route to Saillans, where we'd planned to spend a day or two at a campsite beside the Drôme.

Saillans.

As a town it was relaxing with a pretty centre and, nestled in the Drôme valley, it has magnificent views and opportunities for cycling, which got us on our bikes, which we'd transported in Campy so that we could get out and about.

Our campsite was a mile out of town, nestling against the Drôme so we could walk along the river into town if that took our fancy. Once on town the back alleys were quaint and charming to I'd venture to say that as a a town it had all the mod cons, mountains, a river and a relaxing sense of charm ....

Above (l-r, top to bottom): ​; ; ; oh no not another fascinating old city to distract us from our mani goal, la Loire

After an interlude of pure relaxation and a fair amount of cycling in the hills surrounding Saiilans, we sped (insofar as Campy was capable and speed limits allowed) towards our next Milestone, viz Mont Gerbier de Jonc where the River Loire rises up in the southeastern quarter of the French Massif Central in the Cévennes range (in the department of Ardèche within the Auvergne-Rhône-Alpes) at 1,350 m (4,430 ft)[source]..

It was tempting to stop at places like Crest and feast our eyes over the Tour de Crest and the handsome town beneath it. However we were conscious of the fact that France is choc-a-bloc such attractions dating back 600 to 1,000 years. Stopping at each one would keep us from reaching the source of France's longest river, let alone making the mouth at Saint-Nazaire on the Atlantic Ocean.

So we "sped" on, ditching the humble Drôme where it poured itself into France's mightiest river  ... the Loire may well be the longest but the Rhône pours more water into the sea than any other French waterway.

​One only has to look at a map of the Auvergne to see how many watercourses rise there. The River L'Ardèche itself rises about little over 20 miles from Mont Gerbier de Jonc and flows into the Rhône a bit down stream from the Drôme.

Finding the source of France's longest river.

We crossed the Rhone at Le Bourg and followed the L'Ouvèze through spectacular scenery, past it's catchment area before turning North-West into an area that gradually transformed into a landscape above 1,000 metres that resembled a moonscape[banner] with luscious grassy vegetation. Strange rocky outcrops marked out the sites of dormant volcanoes, culminating in Mont Gerbier de Jonc and the source of our mighty Loire, the first river we met knowingly that flowed in a Westerly direction. Actually more like North-West with wiggles and turns amounting to approximately 1,000 km (625 miles-ish).

Above (l-r, top to bottom): France's longest river starts hereabouts.

​Getting to and from the source forced us through the gorgeousness of the mountains of L'Ardèche and over the other side of the unique volcanic plateau with more rugged scenery  We chose a path via Yssingeaux because we liked the sexy name but can't remember now whether it had any particular attraction.

Saint Victor Sur-Loire​.

We were headed for Saint Victor Sur-Loire and what could only be described as a lake although it was actually a one of quite a few dams on the mighty river. Obviously a boating paradise, we used it as another quiet moment on our travels. Admiring the beauty and walking about a bit. I'll leave its attractions to the upcoming pics.

Above (top to bottom, l-r): our first view of le Lac de Grangent; we strolled up to Château de Saint-Victor-sur-Loire (3) with its abundance of floral attractions; heading back down to the water; taking time out to admire some fishing and its reflections; Shan doing a bit of path posing; beach adjoining the Port de Saint-Victor; views from campy in the late afternoon and at sunset (2); Château de Grangent; the Grangent Dam wall.

A serendipitous consequence of the damming of the Loire at Grangent was the creation of a "new" island, adding a romantic air to the medieval Château de Grangent in the mid-1950s. One has to wonder whether the quest for hydroelectric power vs. preservation of ancient sites was a controversial one but the whole thing is pretty damn magnifique when being viewed after the fact.

The Lac de Grangent is one of those places where one could easily spend a week or two being absorbed by the peace and beauty together with other opportunities missed such as longer walks, sailing and perhaps fishing.

But we had to move on ... we were on a mission to absorb one of the world's finest wine regions a little further up the road. Sancerre, Pouilly Fumè, Vouvray, Crémant de Loire, Chinon, Anjou, Saumur and Muscadet spring to mind, amongst many others.

Digoin.

Our next stop was to be in Digoin where I had an ambition to cycle up into some hills in a loop up and down the Loire and we were intrigued bu its riverine "crossroad" . The crossover was a bit of a curiosity where Le pont canal de Digoin crosses the Loire and lunch can be eaten in a canal boat while suspended over our favourite river.

Above (top to bottom, l-r): rive droit up in the hills above the Loire (in the background); getting back to Digoin via the cycle route alongside the Canal latéral à la Loire; after 48 km a well earned rest; people eat on top of it; canal goes over it; river runs under it.

​​The Canal Latéral à la Loire itself must've been a feat of engineering. It was constructed in 1827-1838 and travels parallel to the river for 196 km, connecting Digoin and Briare. The canal was built to alleviate the erratic water levels of the Loire. Our campsite was separated from the river by what looked like a manmade embankment and I think we were relieved that we didn't live below water level permanently.

En route to some serious business we tried to sneak through a fairly insignificant town named Herry, that prompted us to revert to our South African roots and the pronunciation of one of my nicknames. I had been called "Herry" as in "Herry Herrison". And then we spotted Herry's Bar and became mildly hysterical repeating "Harzit Herry" too many times. A photograph was essential! Such is the idiotic frivolity of spending too much time together in a campervan. The completely dodgy looking exterior didn't help either but we resisted the temptation to actually stop short of Sancerre for a dodgy beverage, apart from a brief pause for this photo.

Sancerre at last.

For me a high point of the French part of our European adventure would be lunch in Sancerre accompanied by a wee bit of wine tasting. I will apologise now to Shan whose only dislike in the world of white wine appears to be Sauvignon Blanc. But needs must in Sancerre ..Especially if you're probably not about to pass there again soon.. 

Above: its had to be done x2 ... the beige and the mustard.

​​The joys of having a campervan cum delivery vehicle and doing a pre-Brexit sweep. Most of the good stuff got stored in my "double" bed at the back and it did become a bit of a challenge to find a comfy nook in which to sleep.

I was also going to have to make up for the predominance of Sauv to my travelling partner somehow! We might just have sniffed out a bottle or two of Chardonnay as supplies before entering the main Loire regions.

A bit more Loire before a sneaky shortcut along the Vienne.

We managed to edge up our chosen river to Briare where the Canal Latéral peters out. We found a delightful campsite beside the river, freeing me up for some relaxed evenings trying for the ultimate sunset shot. It did work out despite a torrential downpour in the middle of one night in which some restorative work had to be undertaken to resurrect our awning.

​We also managed a bit of an epic (28 km there and back) ride on our bikes up to Glen, which has some splendid old buildings and a longer bridge than we were accustomed to on the Loire, the canal having stopped at Briare. All in all, Briare had turned out to one of those "hidden" gems to one stumbles across when performing a long distance loiter in a camper.

Above (L-R, top-bottom): this little fella bursting with the joy of a bad and freedom to run beside the Loire; back with his "parents" out for their stroll; a random boat moored under a willow; Briare abounds with canals and water; Shan in full flight on the path to Glen; c'est moi trying to restore Campy's awning after a typical Loire-side downpour; the approach to Glen; locks, boats and bridges (2) abound in Briare;  the Digoin-Briare canal crosses the Loire river at its journey's end; the sunsets (3) were a treat.

In fact our Briare campsite's location was perfect for quiet evening strolls and we capitalised on them with the result that I have far too many sunset pictures of this section of the Loire, conveniently facing downstream in late Spring.

All too soon we were to move on and, shock-horror, desert the Loire for the Vienne.

These two rivers rise 200km (the source of the Vienne being ENE of that of the Loire) from each other and travel in a generally Northerly direction, although the shorter Vienne flows about 46 km (30 miles-ish) to Limoges before turning to the North.

Chinon and the Vienne

We had already established on earlier trips to France that Chinon was one of our favourite places on the planet to chill out and savour the unique wines of the region. It also has a magnificent castle, with legendary links to Joan of Arc, and a fascinating troglodyte cave house community in the cliffs that tower over the the right bank of the Vienne. And much of this can be enjoyed from a deckchair on the grassy left bank while holding a glass of wine with a capacious store of refills in Campy parked close by.

So what could we do if we'd seen it all before? First there was a 33-mile cycle journey downstream to the confluence of these two great rivers, taking in swathes of unspoiled countryside, picturesque villages and a grand Abbey at the zenith of a steep climb ...

Above: thankfully we'd brought our own bikes in Campy's garage ...

​We first tackled right bank so that we could get a feeling for the quiet rural villages in the area and probed the inland of the "peninsular" formed by the two rivers. It was true to form and strangely peaceful cycling through the Savigny-en-Véron commune, especially when we turned back to the Vienne at Port Guyot. From there we meandered along the riverbank until we rand out of road at the confluence and had no option to continue on the left bank and into Candes-Saint-Martin. 

We'd originally intended to climb up to a hilltop viewpoint to take in the spectacle of the two rivers joining force (in fact the Vienne disappears at this point, having served its purpose as a tributary of France's longest river). However, it turned out with a bit (actually a bit more than a bit) of a climb we could also visit the rather splendid village of Fontevraud and its Abbaye-Royale.

[Endnotes]:

1. Wikipedia; https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Loire
2. Check out the banner at the top of this article and test your French for an explanation of the geography/geology of the area.

Above: the North Eastern part of the large stretch of water that contains the city of Venice is part lagoon and part swamp, which makes it a fascinating place to explore ... this is the Lio Piccolo (small beach or hamlet) with its campanile  with a dark sky behind and the sun on our backs. It was also the final destination of the first leg of this travel blog/
​
The Alps were always going to be a major feature of our journey to the periphery of Venice, but first we needed to get there. No need to recall getting from Faringdon to Dover every time we go on one of these trips but the holiday always seems to commence once we're safely ensconced on LeShuttle, whether it be in Campy or our car.

​Having disembarked in France our first stop was planned for a place in Belgium where the cycling infrastructure was a bit of a legend. We had Campy, Campy had a garage that could accommodate at least 3 bicycles. East Belgium had hundreds of kilometres of dedicated cycle routes. One of them, the attractively named RAVeL S45A, intersected with a splendid lakeside campsite on the edge of Bütgenbach on the Eastern edge of the Eastern region of Wallonia.

What could possibly go wrong? Actually nothing. The 3rd picture below shows off the state of the cycle route. Not a track, not a trail but a pukka route, just for cycles, that goes for miles and miles and miles. At one point it passes the town which has many of the facilities not included in the already well-stocked campsite.

Sadly we only had a late afternoon and morning before moving on to our next destination on the Mosel River. Such are the ways of perhaps trying to do too much in two months.

Above (l-r, top-bottom): Campy installed in the tunnel train; our coast to coast route #1; Belgian bike route (RAVeL S45A) at Butgenbach with a little early morning frost in April; a view of Malberg having entered Germany; Campy finally at rest on the Mosel; time for a glass of Riesling; and to watch the barges in the sunset,

A brief aside before picking up our main journey again ...

Sometime in the Southern Hemisphere winter ​of 1977 I won a competition with Mercedes Benz to see who could get the furthest distance out of a new diesel car they were launching. The prize was a visit to the Frankfurt Motor Show in September of that year. Coincidentally Mercedes took first and second place in the London to Sydney on the 27th of September at the same time. It had been obvious that this was about to happen and, with the motor show finishing on the 25th, the second half of my trip (to the Merc Stuttgart facility and the local Oktoberfest) had to be postponed until the end of the month.
​
"If we flew you to the UK for a week while we handle the PR could you occupy yourself?" the Head of Daimler Benz PR asked me. What a question?

So I had some free time to spend with an old buddy, Phil Duff, who was living near Frankfurt and some days in the UK revisiting old journo mates scattered around England and Wales. Phil had recently abandoned his job as a photographer at a local regional newspaper in Greater London and was selling Kirby vacuum cleaners in Germany, working his fingers to the bone, but managed to free up some weekend time at the end of that month.

Accompanied by his then girlfriend, we launched his decrepit Opel Rekord diesel from somewhere near Frankfurt towards Koblenz and the confluence of the Mosel and the Rhine. A loop of more than 200 miles (some 5 hours in the car). If we left early and aimed to get back late we'd have maybe 7 hours for sightseeing and drinking wine in various Mosel-side towns. One of these was Bernkastel-Kues.

We were young then.

​Above (l-r, top-bottom, first 4 from 1977, thereafter 2016): the Mosel from the castle; across the river to the town; c'est moi in the castle; Phil Duff and friend. Across the river from another, more recent angle; Shan spots a boutique; there have to be wine shops in the Mosel towns; city space was limited beside the Mosel; love-ly vines on the outskirts; resting the legs with a beer; where next; Bernkastel-Kues has flooded a few times in the past 4 centuries.

Bernkastel-Kues is a fine example of Mosel towns that squeeze onto a narrow ledge of land between the river and the top-notch vineyards that tumble down the steep slopes defining the river's course. 

​During my first visit to the area in 1977, launches of that year's wines in many of the towns lining the river had whetted a nascent appetite. Quite a festival of mostly fine Riesling[1].

Now Shan and I were returning 40 years later and had safely parked Campy beside the river. There was beer and wine to be had and it seemed a short bike ride to the closest tavern. That is, until the heavens opened without much warning, leaving a bedraggled but merry couple to wait out the rain, that stopped as suddenly as it had started, before successfully attempting the return journey.

After a relaxing few days sucking up the ambience on the banks this wonderful river at Erden, which is served by a typically efficient German bus service, we had to move on South ... to Alsace.

To the banks of a tributary of the Rhine, the Ill, which flows past Colmar, a city whose architecture is not dissimilar to the Mosel towns in its charming architecture.

We'd visited Alsace 6 years earlier, on the way back from a birthday party in Piemonte and majored on the smaller towns.​

​Colmar was pretty, with its own charms, but if I had to choose again, I think I'd stick to the smaller towns. Possibly because they seemed more wine centric. Of course the larger city had shopping opportunities that we explored and every place has its photographic attractions.

Above (l-r, top-bottom): a typical shopping street in Colmar; one of my favourites, a woman, her phone and her cat; colourful ice cream and sweet shop; a charcuterie in the tradition of such things.

I suspect we topped up with essential exotic victuals at the charcuterie and carted them off to Campy to resume our journey South-Eastwards with what we thought would be a relaxed, scenic three-hour drive across Switzerland to our next campsite on the Eastern edge of the Brienzersee.

Well we did choose the most scenic route but the last section was far from relaxed. Terrifying might be a more accurate description. We had been beguiled by avoiding Lucerne, wafting through the Unesco biosphere at Entlebuch and the thrill of the penultimate stretch named Panoramastrasse before it emerged, eventually, on to a "sensible" stretch of road at Giswil, leaving us a fairly sensible half-hour drive to our campsite close to Brienz.

When you see something named Panoramastrasse in Switzerland, they do really mean it. OK, it would be fine if you were equipped with Mont Ventoux defying calf muscles and a pushbike with great brakes but if your transport is a 7.2 metre motor home that is 2.3 metres wide and 2.9 metres high ... 

We should have had fair warning when the earlier part of our "short cut" took us through a vast steeply sloping meadow that went on for kilometres. The road surface was in perfect nick and looked idyllic until it became obvious the extensive bits of it were roughly 2.3 metres wide and the passenger in our left-hand-drive vehicle was sitting perched over an abyss looking down over the tops of tall pine trees some distance below.

Eventually we had to descend and that was when we encountered the Panoramastrasse winding its way down to Giswil.

Each bend all but doubles back on itself and the road can accommodate ONLY one vehicle ... with very occasional passing places, seemingly designed for a Renault 2CV ... I'll leave it to your imagination! The passenger doesn't really have a much easier time of it, either, already terrified and having to mop the driver's proverbial brow. Suffice to say that neither of us enjoyed the full benefits of the view.
 
We WERE able to wallow in the spectacular outlook, though, when we had parked our van with vistas of Brienzersee and the mountains in all directions. We were there for three days, which enabled us to relax for a day or so and me to take my bike for a hilly little 40 km trip around the perimeter of the lake via Interlaken..

The rest of the time was spent lolling around on a little beach in the sunshine. A slight peacefulness caveat were certain times of the day when jets were taking off from the local military base. This was fairly annoying but we got over it.

Above (l-r, top-bottom): early evening views over Brienzersee (x2); Shan able to relax with a few rays after our descent; Campy enjoying the view over the lake; mountains and waterfalls above Brienz; someone else relaxing after a bike ride; sun sinking behind one of the many pollarded trees on the Brienz waterfront; after the sun drops, them hobbits emerge; my Long Haul Trucker enjoying the view after a steep kilometre climb up the South side of the lake; lights come on in the early Brienz evening.

Apart from the bike ride, the only real exercise for Shan and me was a 5 km walk along the lakeside from the campsite into Brienz and back. Sadly, it seemed mid-April was a trifle early in the season to enjoy an al fresco supper on the waterside promenade.

E cosí in Italia ...

I suppose Italy was always our ultimate destination for this two-month long trip. Venice without actually visiting that city was our Easternmost extremity. We'd visited the great city and its canals in 2007 and been there for Palm Sunday. We'd flown with Kate to Milan and while she'd gone off with her school to Southern Italy we'd travelled by train to Venice, On our return journey to Milan we had a lot of time to ponder what lay between the two legendary cities while the train was stationary for several hours because of some fault on the railway network.

We promised ourselves we'd return to do justice to the Po Valley and its pocket cities. But work and other commitments intervened and it was a decade later when, now armed with Campy, we were back to complete that commitment. More of that in #2 of this saga coming shortly. In the mean time, in #1, we still have to get to the North Eastern part of the lagoon that has Venice at its centre ...

Left: Campy's new spot 3.5 hours down the road from our Swiss temporary home.

​We were moving inexorably toward the Adriatic, and were now perched on the banks of the River Mera. This river is slightly weird in that it flows from the Alps into Lago di Mezzola and then out again before joining Lago di Como, Italy's third largest.  Our new temporary home was between the two lakes near Sorico.

We spent a few relaxing days exploring this lesser-known area of Northern Italy and made good use of our bicycles to get a feeling of the place.

Being a lesser known area, and because I'm writing this 10 years after the fact, my capabilities of identifying a few of our landmarks are shrouded in the mists of various illnesses and just general ignorance around the more esoteric extremes of the internet. So I'll stick some pictures below of highlights of a bike ride along the banks of the Mera and the upper reaches of Lake Como and be amazed if one of my friends demonstrates finer knowledge than I am able to ...

Our trip beyond Sorico will take Campy into some of the scarier territory for two lovebirds of (then 35 years of harmony) and any voluntary information around the gaps I have missed will be gratefully received in the blog comment section provided..

Above (top-bottom, l-r): view from La Punta on the left bank of the Mera across the top of Lake Como; La Punta beach looking across to Sorico; Shan on the deluxe bike highway along the right bank of the Mera; looking back along the coast with the old and the new - spot the grand old lakeside villa in the lower right hand corner; the same villa from close, showing off its view; a very splendid church complex (names on a postcard {comment} if you recognise it); a glorious bike ride deserved a gorgeous risotto lunch with a glorious view of the lake.

​We left Lake Como and headed almost due East. Except there was no road due East so we scooted along a pretty dreary valley going ENE wishing we could wander over the impenetrable snow-capped mountains to the South of us, suddenly swinging due South where the Fiume Sarca gathered its strength en route to Lake Garda. We parted company with the river at Sarche to climb the next escarpment to Vason and our next overnight stop in the carpark of the Monte Bondone Snowpark overlooking the spectacular view of the Pasubio Massif.

Above (l-r, top-bottom): stopped for the night in a Parco Naturale between Sorico and Vason; mountains everywhere with the high Alps in the background; brave cyclists approaching the zenith; Vason achieved.

I don't really take photos to sell them but I occasionally stick one on the Adobe marketplace with very little payback. I suppose that if I have one that has earned more than others, it was taken from said car park.

Above (top-bottom): Campy nestles in the car park overlooking the Monte Bondone Snowpark (what snow? ed) with what appears to be the Pasubio Massif and the 2,230m Cima Palon somewhere in there; this pic earned me a few bob.

​Are the Dolomites officially part of the Alps[2]? It can be quite confusing and we were about to enter the former and possibly remain in the latter on our trek down to "not Venice". Our first "obstacle", one of great beauty, lay in the way.

With (there is some debate about the exact number) 29 hairpin bends to get to the top of the pass, it is a feat however the count is conducted. Our total was greater than that but we probably included a few corners that would challenge our 7.2m Campy and might have been loose change for a nippy Alfa.

As you can see below, we made it and and continued down the other side, stopping just short of Cortina where there was allegedly a camper van parking site ...

Above (top-bottom, l-r): we made it; so did some other bloke. years ago; Shan and Campy resting; the descent wasn't much less daunting as you can see from the Dolomites disappearing into the background.

There was a bit of a story about the bicycle, now being used, inter alia, as a wind vane. Apparently this bloke cycled to the top (2236m/7336ft) whereupon he cast his steed to the ground and vowed never to get on another bike ever again. The machine was rescued by the local restaurant and converted to its current glorious state (in 2016). How our bloke completed the rest of his journey remained a mystery to us. Nowadays the Passo Giau is frequently included in the annual Giro d'Italia.

​Back to our camping site for the night, it appeared to be part of a small aerodrome just to the west of Cortina but there was no human activity to be found, just some deserted building and a long straight piece of tarmac that appeared to be a runway. It was late and we decided to chance it. As it turned out our decision seemed safe when we woke early the next morning to the splendour of the Dolomites.

There was a sweaty moment when a helicopter arrived at the far end of the runway and we thought we'd be in trouble but they ignored us even though we had to pass close by to exit the "park". Viva Italia!

Above (l-r): Campy on its chocks on the runway; I can't help feeling this imposing Dolomite on the outskirts of Cortina must have a name (comments welcome).

​We had a brief tour of Cortina but couldn't really see anything that tempted us to find parking for a 7.2m camper to explore it further. We were also keen to head almost due South for three hours to the coast and discover what the Lido di Jesolo had to offer.

We only spent a couple of nights there and weren't that interested in what the Lido beaches had to offer us to be honest but.we did want to explore the North Western end of the Venice lagoon, an endeavour turned out to be a little more eventful than we had bargained for. Before we even started, Shan was looking at the Herculean effort of a 42 km bike ride taking in the entrance to the Venice Lagoon and the a side journey into the marshy midst of the "lagoon" North of Murano (renowned for its glass) and even Burano (famous for rhyming with Murano[3] and also its colourful house and lace production). 

All went well on our outward journey to check out Venice in the distance and on the picturesque ride out to Lio Piccolo, incorporating a scenic loop teeming with bird life, including flamingos, a bird we'll never tire of looking at.

The waterside path was sound all the way around to the much photographed Casa Rossa.

At some point in our journey we'd escaped a complete downpour by ducking into a stranger's shed in the middle of nowhere. As the path became narrower, neglected and slippery beyond Casa Rossa cycling became a bit tricky.

​I was pedalling in front until I was stopped in my tracks by a stream of expletive invective just as I was about to re-enter the main Lio Piccolo courtyard[4], completing our rural route. The air had turned blue.

Above (l-r, top-bottom): Shan looking fresh with hints of Venice behind her across the lagoon; heading out to Lio Piccolo; gorgeous birds abounded in the shallow waters; there were flocks of flamingos but this caught my fancy; the clouds threatened all day but at least one of us remained dry; I'm not sure about this photo; but I am about this one of the much photographed Casa Rossa, in sepia here for a different perspective; the scene of the crime, the path and "canal" approaching Lio Piccolo; smoke break (yes that also carried on working after submersion) from the speed record attempt).

​I spun around and at first there was no Shan in view but the stream of cursing remained in earshot. I reluctantly turned my eyes to the slimy water about two metres below the slippery path and there, flailing around in the water, lay the right half of my beloved who had skidded off the path and plunged into the black/green morass. I ditched my bike and ran back. The scenario wasn't good. I suppose it was a blessing that the water wasn't that deep and only half of Shan was soaked. But her bike was submerged and, perhaps worse, her handlebar bag had been open and had cast its contents into the slimy, silty murky water.

Evidently she had somersaulted going down the bank, and was lying on her side covered in black silt and long strands of green algae. After a renewed &*%$£@ she set about feeling about in the mire for the contents of her handlebar bag. The first item she located was her phone and she threw it up the bank for me to catch. No sooner had I caught it than it started to ring. I didn't answer, more concerned with extracting my wife and the rest of her possessions from the debacle. Miraculously her wallet and vape accoutrements were soon located and I was able to drag first her bike and then herself up the slippery bank.

"Don't you dare put this is your blog and don't even think about taking any photos of me in this state!" 

I dared not ignore these words although the sight of a person with one half relatively pristine and the other black with green tassels and mounted on a similarly clad pushbike was horribly tempting.

​Being essentially a person with a great sense of humour, Shan came to regret this command and is now, ten years on, helping me with the details, and regaling friends with how she broke the land speed record for a Boardman, spurred on by what had become freezing cold, on the return journey to our campsite.

That wasn't the end of it though! She had dreamed of a hot shower on the last record-breaking stretch and immediately took herself off to the shower block to soak herself fully clothed to get all the muck off before a second phase cleansing only to find that the proprietors had neglected to rekindle the hot water system early enough for the first guests of the season (us).

​Coming next ...

Above: the scene from our train window as we sat stationary at the foot of Lake Garda in 2007 for more than an hour en route from Venice to Milan ... we had to return but it took 10 years.

​Epic "Campy" trip from Oxfordshire to Venice and back #2 ... heading back up to Po Valley with its "pocket cities".

[Endnotes]:

1. Excellent summary of current Mosel and Riesling from Jancis Robinson MW: https://www.jancisrobinson.com/learn/wine-regions/germany/mosel​
2. Yes.
3. Bob Mortimer and Vic Reeves a.k.a. Vic and Bob and "Eranu" and "Uvavu".
4. See opening pic in this blog.