A Walk in the Parc

Last week I hinted that I might tell you about our mini break abroad when we covered four countries in our two hour drive to Germany. I still marvel at our position on the frontier here; I shall probably keep mentioning it.

It was time, we felt, after months of living apart and all holidays having been focussed on the moving and saying goodbye, (and it did take a long time, didn’t it?) that we had a proper break and time together. We particularly focussed on finding a Center Parcs not too far away. In the past, we have much enjoyed the accommodation and Aqua Sana, our routine being to walk all morning (well alright, for an hour or so after a late breakfast) and then to recuperate with fluffy towels, robes and books in the sybaritic delights provided. We found the Parc Eifel, which boasted a sauna and spa near Gunderath, set in the heart of Volcanic Eifel, a region about which we knew nothing. I speak German, but it was learned a long time ago, when there was a still a German O-level. I can pretty much order a newspaper, request a room with a shower and state that the weather is inclement.

We were lucky setting off, after such a long grey winter, to have a beautiful day, crisp, and sunny. We saw exciting signs telling us that we were now in Vulcan Eifel. One imagined great Mulciber raining down fire and forging great swords. In reality, the country side is similar to anywhere in Northern Europe, with its mixture of broadleaf and evergreen trees on rolling heaths and downs. Indeed, it could have been Ashdown Forest.

I must say now that there was absolutely nothing wrong with anything. The staff were pleasant, pleasant friendly and helpful. Everywhere was clean and the chalet had everything we needed, with a pretty view over fields and hillside. You can sense a “but” coming? Yes, it lay with us. We have been so spoiled over the years by the CPs in the UK, which are apparently, all “5 Bird” parcs. This was a “3 Bird” parc and had only recently been taken under the corporate wing; it all looked a bit tired and it was very small. The walk around the parc and its amenities took barely half an hour. We found the spa at the far end of the swimming pool. There was a suspicious sign on the door stating that it was textile free zone.  I despatched my beloved to find help; a jolly young life guard explained that one took one’s costume off before going into the spa area, but you could wear robes and sit on towels, especially necessary in the sauna area. “Right”, said dearly beloved, “Get your kit off.”

To cut short a long and excruciating story, I hastened in, quickly donning one of the robes hanging on the hooks. There were no towels, and no water fountains. The young life guard called us into the sauna, adding aromatic herbal essences to the water she was pouring onto the coals, flapping her towel at us to create more heat; she chatted jauntily about her long held wish to visit Scotland with all its mountains and castles. She could afford to be jaunty – she had her costume on. In fact, I wanted to be in Scotland – nobody ever takes all their clothes off in Scotland. Thankful for my beach towel, I scurried into the cold shower, and then wrapped myself in the robe; at which point a man loomed, very naked, out of the mists of the steam room and said that it was his wife’s robe. Unrobing, I crept, ashamed, into the comparative modesty of the Jacuzzi. Not long after, we were in the bar, with very large strong beers.

But in the night, I woke with steel bands, studded with carpet tacks, tightening around my head. I do not believe I have ever had such a bad headache. Dearly beloved, discovering that for the first time in written history he had not brought a medicine cabinet, went through the frosty night to the 24 hour shop to forage for pain relief, or perhaps a guillotine. In Germany, neither is sold except in the appropriately licensed shops. We would have to wait for paracetamol until we found a pharmacy. I drank copious amounts of rooibos tea, and slowly re-hydrated. In the morning, I felt well enough for a gentle trip out as long as no-one expected me to nod my head, or open my eyes.

So we set off for the healing properties of Wallenborn which promised a sight of mainland Europe’s only geyser. The sat nav took us to a small quiet field within a small quiet village. Railings and an attractive display of rocks were arranged in a circle around a small, quiet pool of water. Disappointed, we turned away just as the water offered up a few bubbles. And then with a rush and a strong smell of sulphur, a column of water gushed high in the air above us. It lasted for a couple of minutes before subsiding and retreating. Truly magnificient. The information boards stated that it was powered only by CO2 and that some considerably deep engineering works had taken place to concentrate the underground springs towards the one in question.

We walked around for a while, admiring a bold chaffinch hopping within six inches of our feet, while we waited again for the geyser to appear. It seemed to spout every quarter of an hour. But it did not have the curative effect I was hoping for and we went in search of lunch and an Apotheke for drugs.

You will be pleased to know that drugs had the desired effect. We did not go to the spa again and the parc refunded our booking fees for the remaining four sessions.

The highlight of our trip is probably best described by the pictures attached, showing our walk around the deep volcanic lakes or “Maare”.  Again, beautiful weather made this excursion a real joy, with the sun on our faces, and the wind at our backs. In fact, we just kept walking until we ran out of Maare to walk round. The pictures show only two lakes, but there were also a marshy Maar and a dry Maar; and one of the lakes was in fact two, merged together. So we in fact achieved a walk around 5 Maare, a first in the Birch family.

The next day, dearly beloved expressed a wish to walk by the Rhine, and that he felt Koblenz was the place to do it.   Koblenz was under siege, however, by road works and pedestrianisation schemes, and the river that we walked by, albeit for only five minutes, was the Mosel. Well, we can walk by the Mosel any time we feel like it back home. But later, looking at a map, like we should have done, we saw that we were in the wrong part of Koblenz, and that indeed it is also on the Rhine. But no matter, in recompense, we found Cochem which is all a German town should be, with its steep crooked narrow streets, haphazard roofs and buildings. And a fine hot chocolate in the tea rooms by the river defrosted us and made it a perfect ending.

You will note there are no culinary musings this time. Sadly the best meal we had was at a little delicatessen, selling home cooked ham hock. Man food, and certainly not fine dining!

Auf wiedersehen!