Across Continents

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Germany calling

There was a queue at the border. The checking of papers perhaps. Such formalities would have at least signified the arrival in a new country. But no. Just roadworks. At least the French had a Gendarme posted at their end of the bridge across the Rhine. He looked bored. On the German side there was no one to welcome new arrivals. Just a fast food drive-through, a cafe, and a dodgy looking shop with blacked out windows.

I headed for the city of Freiburg, about 20 kilometres into Germany. Passing through numerous villages on the way, it looked much like the France I’d just left – the same roadside shrines, the familiar wood piles ready for the winter. I tried very hard not to say ’Bonjour’ to those I passed. Navigating my way across the city was fairly straightforward, helped by an extensive network of well sign-posted cycle routes. They were popular, almost as busy as the roads were with cars. And they say the French are a nation of cyclists.


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