Bavarian National Forest

Friday 16 May

Yesterday we arrive in a small, pretty campsite by a (we think) artificial lake in a small village called Soyen, S.E Germany. For the last week we camped in the Bayern Nationaler Wald, (Bavarian National Forest).

We were setting off from Peter and Katharina's when we encountered our first serious problem with the bus. We had said goodbyes and were pulling out of the garden on to the street when Jon discovered he couldn't turn right. Peter said that the front left wheel was pointing the opposite way to all the others and a quick look under the van revealed that the steering box thing (Jon will add the technical footnote) had completely come come away, welding-wise. The upshot was that Peter spent a day under the van with some serious looking welding equipment, cleaning it up, sticking it back together and reinforcing it, making it stronger than ever before. While Peter welds and Jon helps, I enjoy another day in the sunny garden, reading Cormac McCarthy's bleak and brilliant The Road, about a father and son's journey through an apocalyptic America, burned from global warming.

We are so, so lucky that our first serious problem happened here, where we have the backup of a Peter's mechanical expertise.

After the steering is fixed and we're full of Peter's Wiener Schnitzel, (fabulous pork escalopes coated in spicy breadcrumbs and fried), we leave early the next day heading 177 miles south with newly flexible steering and a few other things that Peter had done to give us a bit more oomph on the acceleration. We reach a campsite at Klingenbrunn, (which means swords and water) just south of the larger town of Zwiesel and not far from the Czech border. The site is on level terraces and we choose one right on the trees-edge. The weather is glorious and we decide to stay for 5 nights, pitching the awning for the first time. Two-hours, rubbish instructions, some very rocky ground and a bit of cursing later, we have what looks like a huge green blistery-pod on the side of the van, empty except for the groundsheet, and, we decide, a bit excessive for our needs. We probably won't put it up much unless we have people coming over to stay or are really basing ourselves somewhere for a week or more.

After our lazy time as the-guests-that-would-never-leave we are glad of a bit of activity and get out on the forest paths the next day on our bikes for the short ride to the nearest village of Frauenau, (lady-garden ...no sniggering please). The whole area is famous for glass blowing and even the smallest hamlet seems to have a museum to the art of Glasblasen. We have a vague memory of it being about 6k to Frauenau by road but this morphs into a 14km off-road schlep, pushing the bikes over rocky tree-rooted terrain half the time. Most village shops are closed, it being Pentecost holiday weekend. (There are dozens of religious holidays here, all of which are quite strictly observed with no shops opening and many activities related to the church. Sunday opening in general is strictly illegal.) In the village we find a hotel for Brotzeit (the meal between lunch and dinner, perfect for us as we always eat late and miss the 2pm deadline in most restaurants). We can't contemplate the forest-hike back and the next train on the small local line is 2 hours wait so we go on the road. Cycling is never my strong point and on the small-wheeled fold-up effort I was struggling at the slightest hill. We mostly pushed them up the (actually 10k) worth of sweeping bends, lapped all the way by the Klingenbrunn chapter of the Hells Angels and a vintage Triumph car rally which seemed to be taking place. It took 2 hours, enhanced at one point by Jon having a nosebleed, (altitude related?). Make it back to the blister-pod for some beer and homemade pasta.

On Monday we find a rare wireless hotspot in nearby Spiegelau (mirror meadow) and are able to pay E8 to read emails, containing important news of the double-firing from The Apprentice as well as updates from family. Decide to leave the bikes as we ache so much and walk through the forest aiming for Great Rachel, one of the 3 peaks in the area. After 4 hours, and a third of the way up, the terrain turns steeper and we turn back. We are glad of the exercise after our weeks of lazing around, but the novelty of the many, cryptically signed forest trails is beginning to wane. The whole area is stunningly beautiful. I keep fighting back the urge to sing the Hills are Alive...as I gaze out at dandelion clad meadows bordered by natural forest. The houses are all built in keeping, chocolate box cute with wooden balconies and immaculate gardens. The fact that they were possibly constructed in 1980 doesn't matter. Back at pod-central, we stir ourselves out again for a Lumberjack pork feast in a village restaurant, a huge cartwheel concoction of over-spiced meat, pan-fried spuds and a ladle of sauerkraut, all served on a chopping board. A couple of beers finish us off and we're making our way to bed by 9.30.

Tues we visit Zwiesel, the biggest of the towns in the area. It's a relatively relaxing day today and we only walk the hour to the station. A swish modern one carriage train goes half-an hour through the forest. We are pleased to find some shops and buy 3 pairs of shoes, a flyswat and some fairy liquid. Have a couple of Radlers (shandies) in a shabby pizza place and wait for the train home. This trip has confirmed us very much as city dwellers happy to see a few shops and a bit of cultural diversity. Not that Zwiesel is exactly Manhattan, but we did see one Goth, a welcome respite amongst the otherwise fairly style-less moustachieod lot at the campsite.

On our last day at the 'Brunn we take the van to the animal park. See a handful of bears and wolves but the lynx, wild boar and bison are hiding somewhere in their large reserves and are a no-show. The wolves were great, a pack circling a gang of children (!) who had been let loose in the pen to pick up the well-chewed bones. It's all character forming, I guess. As J turns the ignition to leave the carpark, we are dismayed to hear the battery is completely flat. We'd left the fridge plugged in, to what we thought was the leisure battery, but turns out to have been the main engine one and it's been sucked of all its juice during our long wait for the lynx, bisen and alll the other no-shows. A orange 1977 bus had parked alongside us earlier and we'd exchanged pleasantaries about the vans with the young German guy. He turns out to be our saviour, as he is able to get hold of jump leads, reverse up and cough us into life. The fog of the van electrics is slowly clearing in my head, what to plug in where, what switches to flick when you're onsite, touring etc. Jump leads go on our list of things to buy, along with a new set of chairs as our bargain foldups are disintegrating already.

Our final night at KB is spent in the campsite restaurant. The whole site has the feel Fawlty Towers, with an abrupt, slightly shambolic owner, a long suffering wife and a small moustachieod, chainsmoking man in too-short trousers who appears to do everything from restaurant-waiting, cleaning the toilets, and chopping down the trees at the back of us in a big JCB. We wonder at this deforestation. Perhaps they are trying to increase the size of the campsite to the 5Hectares it says in the AA book (but which it clearly isn't). Maybe the inspectors are coming round. The campsite 'shop' turns out to be nothing more than a door with a sign saying 'I'm in the bar' which is where 'Basil' seems to spend all of his time, along with most of the staff. Strange man – he has odd flashes of friendliness when he is tired and emotional at about 10pm each night. The next day he'll be barking 'passport' or throwing your cutlery at you as though he's never seen you before in his life. We wonder if we are outcasts because of the English-reg bus but even Jon's ability to converse in Deutsch cuts no-ice. The sites seems to be a motley crew of locals who might return year-on-year. One day we are looking at the leaflet stand when a large disshevelled lady shouts cheerfullly that she can't read them anymore as they are in black font. (???) Another couple opposite go out for a walk on day 2, leaving, van, awning, table, towels on the line and bikes at the back and are never seen again. We think they've probably died on Great Rachel and christen them the Dead Couple. Make mental note to report them missing to Basil but we never do. As the days go on we get used to being scowled at as we walk into the diner, and look on it as all part of the national reserve....And wife of Basil, from Thailand turns out the best Thai curry I've ever eaten. It makes all the lunatics, scowls and dead people easier to bear. However, it is, we think, time to leave Germany and head soon towards somewhere less weird...more latin....

So now on we're having another break from our crawl towards the border with Austria. After 120 miles driving rain makes us detour to our gorgeous lakeside view with friendly locals, affable ducks, a campsite shop that opens and no deforestation going on around us. A big thunderstorm last night shook the van. Jon reassures me that lightning will hit the lake first and that we are perfectly safe in the bus...something about Faraday's Cage. Fitful sleep, but warm. Are able to forgo the bedsocks that we needed in the mountains. Today the sun is shining again and we've done our laundry. All is one with the world. We think we'll stay in Germany a few days more after all.