Pilgrims

Tomorrow we are getting on a fast TGV train at 8 in the morning and heading for Spain. Unfortunately, I probably won't finish our bike trip before we go, but maybe I will try to wrap it up later tonight.

I have to finish packing for this trip. We'll be gone for a month, and the plan is to start in Pamplona for the San Fermin Festival of the Bulls, and then go west, all the way to the coast. We'll be like old west Americans making manifest destiny, except no covered wagon. The Camino de Compostela is a giant network of walking paths that crisscrosses all through Europe and ends in Spain. People have been making the pilgrimmage for centuries, and now all the cool kids are doing it. It will take us about 4 weeks to walk the entire distance from where we are starting. We have to pack really really light... our Santiago de Compostela Pilgrim's Guide to Spain says you should really only take about 10% of your body weight. So for me, that is 10 lbs of stuff, including my 1 lb sleeping back and 1 lb sleeping mat.

I've done up a little map that kind of follows our route. Once we reach Santiago de Compostela, we want to visit Portugal since we'll be right there. So here's the map, and this blog is probably just going to sit for the next 5 to 6 weeks. Talk to you guys later!

View Spain and the Compostela in a larger map

Escape from Dinan

We spent about 4 hours that day cycling along the rail line. A couple of times, the little green bike signs marking the path pointed us onto little roads as we went south, and eventually we ended up on the river path into Dinan.

Just outside Dinan. Biking Brittany

We dropped our gear at that night's campground and decided to walk up the hill into the city as my cycle muscles were pretty much pooped. Old town Dinan centre turned out to be really awesome with the narrow cobbled streets, a supermarket and lots of restaurants still open even at 930. We settled on a crepe place that had its front window full of backpacker awards. Mike had canard (duck) roasted in escargot garlic butter and I had smoked salmon with some kind of delicious sauce. We completely stuffed ourselves, immediately got really tired, and went back to crash.
The next morning we went up into town for groceries and coffee, and a little daytime looksee.

Standing at the wall of Old Town looking down at our river route. Biking Brittany

Down at the river for 'neck craning views' of the viaduct. The tower in the background is where we were for the previous pic. Biking Brittany

As it was moving on towards noon, we decide to kick on and get on the road, heading back north toward St. Malo via this pink line on the map, which represented a coastal trail following the inlet all the way back up to the bay. At first, the going was great with the nice wide kaliche covered trail along the river. But after maybe a half hour, our pink line took a little jag into the woods. Then, onto some road. Then, onto some smaller roads. And finally, it turned into a tiny little grassy lane, dove directly between two obviously private houses and through their backyard before literally plunging straight into heavy forest down a muddy root riddled hill. We were now pushing rather than riding but we figured the pink line would eventually return us back to a decent path.

Coming out of the woods. Biking Brittany

For a little while it did. We rode down lots of bitty one road towns, again through someone's property, and over wider grassy paths through corn and barley fields, or sometimes wildflowers. We pretty much saw no one except cows and horses that acted like they'd never seen people in their lives. The weather was perfect and we had the French country side all to ourselves. It wasn't long though, before our path led us down another road that dead ended at what was kind of a pier, without a pier. There was the inlet, full of boats and windsailers. And a little restaurant/bar, with about 6 or 7 boaters having lunch and drinking beers. It was like the rural French version of Hula Hut.

You can't really see the Hula Hut, but there are all the boats in the distance. Biking Brittany

Our dead end was dead for wheeled traffic. The pink path had turned into a forest trail again, this time climbing up a steep hill covered with half buried rocks and even more roots than before. Perfect for hikers, which, as we had suspected in the beginning, the pink path mainly catered to. There was no way we were going to push all that gear and the bikes up that hill so we started looking for alternative routes that would meet back up with the pink later on. This worked for a little while.
But when we finally got to our path meeting place, we had some trouble finding it. According to our map, our path began in a small ravine and headed back towards the coast again. What we found was a small crescent of overgrown jungle in the middle of a corn field. And, if you parted the nettles and weeds at the mouth of this ravine, what you saw first was skid marks in the mud, made from the slipping feet of hikers before us. Then, peering down into the shadows, you could just pick out the little footpath, winding away into the gloom.
We were left with one choice- push the bikes back up the hill, through the dirt and the corn back to the road. Then, it was backtrack and try another meeting place, or stick to the roads to make our way north. Or, we could quit the pink path completely and go back to Dinan where the river path went away south. From there, we could follow that river for pretty much as long as wanted. It was a pretty obvious choice. Forget the coast. It had taken four hours of intermittent cycling, pushing and map poring to get us where we were. Fed up with the pink line, we decided to plot our return to Dinan via road. We had started riding that day around noon. We gave up the coast in the cornfield around 530. And by 610, we were back at the river, just in time to have dinner at our noontime lunch spot- the same spot our pink path had gone bad.

Goodbye pink path, I'm sticking to the river. Biking Brittany

Ferries, Bikes and Automobiles

So. We have our bikes, and helmets and paneers (bike bags) and our next stop is this little town called Dinard, just across the bay from St. Malo. About 12km or about 7.5 miles. Not really that far.
Except that I hate riding on the street with cars that are driving any faster than say, 20 or maybe 30 miles an hour. I rode my bike on 6th Street to work a couple of times, and on 4th and 7th back home, and once on South 1st on the way downtown. Oh, and once I rode my bike down Guadalupe, from 51st to just south of campus. People were meanest there, tailgating and honking and shouting things. So my experience of road riding really had not been very pleasant. What all that boiled down to was that I didn't want to go on any highway type roads where people's main goal was to run over and kill cyclists.
As it turned out, the only way via road to Dinard was on such a highway. And even worse, the entrance ramp to the highway was steep and curved and narrow with no shoulder. I will make a very long story short by saying we pedaled all around the area, all the rest of that day (remember, we had spent up til 230 just getting our bikes) with me refusing to go on the highway, and pretty much freaking out anytime Mike suggested we just do it.
The up side is that the country was really gorgeous and the roads we were on were nice quiet country roads that you could have driven a donkey cart down. The down side was we made no progress, because in the end we just went back to St. Malo and Mike was pretty sure I should never even get on a bicycle again for the rest of my life. We went to sleep thinking to take back the bikes and just go back to good old old-fashioned train and bus travel.

Except that I found out there was a ferry from St. Malo to Dinard, a frequent and cheap one at that. And the next morning Mike relented and decided maybe I didn't have to be banned from bike travel just yet. So, we headed back to the bay, and as promised, there was a ferry, 12 euro for us and the bikes, coming in just 30 minutes.

No ferry troll this time, just walk right up on the boat! Biking Brittany

So, we got on the boat and headed over the bay... no awful highways and no blood thirsty motorists. Fifteen minutes later we had crossed over the water and were safely deposited on Dinard's coast.

Even Mike liked the ferry better than Death Highway. Biking Brittany

No cars! Biking Brittany

In Dinard, the first thing we do is find this awesome little walking path, wide enough to push the bikes. It follows the entire coast around to the old city, just up a ways from the ferry drop off. We eat lunch on the rocks, watching sailboats and speculating about the offshore islands. When we get to the beach, it is this huge wide sandy thing, powdery and perfect, with gold flecks! Go to the album if you want to see a crappy picture but I am not kidding, the entire beach sparkled. Mike went for a swim and we walked on the beach for awhile and it was all really awesome except that we still hadn't really started our biking part of the trip.

So, we headed for old town and the tourist office. Riding in Dinard was like going to Mayberry. There were maybe a couple of cars cruising around here and there, plenty of people walking around, and none of the motorists looked like they really had it out for anyone possibly jamming up their roads.

Dinard is where we found out about the Green Route. We did have to go back into the tourist office three times to ferret out where this route was. The secret to European travel and tourist offices is that you have to be REALLY REALLY specific. What you ask is exactly what you get. You kinda have to dig a little.

In the end, we ended up with this awesome map that had walkable and bikeable offroad routes, as well as all the auto routes, varying from teeny one lane country lanes up to the kind of highway that had almost been our cycle trip's demise. Mike had read about the green route online before we left, and said it sounded really awesome. And since it started just down the road from where we were, we decided to head inland, following the old railroad down to the town of Dinan.

Riding the rail from Dinard to DinanBiking Brittany

Biking in Brittany, or, Carmen goes on her very first bike trip.

So we are back from our week excursion of France's west coast, a region they call Brittany. It is home of the Brittany Spaniel (Neesha and her man have one they call Gizmo, and now I realize it was French attitude from that little dog all the time.) Aside from cocky spaniels- :) Brittany is also home to awesome cider, gold-flecked beaches and something called a "Green Route". Akin to Austin's hike and bike around Town Lake, and yet nothing like it at all, because this one will actually take you places, and you don't have to dodge jogger moms and their rugged baby strollers. In fact, sometimes you don't see anyone at all for kilometers and kilometers.

Along the Green Route, the best way to bike around Brittany.Biking Brittany

We set off from Paris on a Tuesday. We caught a TGV train to Rennes, and then transferred to a smaller regional train for St. Malo, our starting point on the coast.

Our first regional train in France.Biking Brittany

Train travel can be real luxurious when you're an American baller. Biking Brittany

We arrived in St. Malo's tiny gare and humped it for our campground. After a sweaty walk around town, we find it on a quiet hill just above town and across the bay from the old walled city. We throw down our gear and head to town for some paella and cider, followed by a sunset walk along the city wall.

Across the bay from our campground in St. Malo.Biking Brittany

You may think it's about 800 or 900pm. You are wrong. It's more like ten.Biking Brittany

It was all very peaceful and perfect. We headed back along the seafront to turn in for the night, as the next day we wanted to get up fairly early to pick up our rental bikes. Our untrusty Lonely Planet listed the location just outside of the old town, but, just like the losers in a zombie movie, we never learn. We don't bother checking the address for ourselves, and as a reward for our stupidity, we spend half our 2nd day wandering around the newer, therefore, unquaint streets of modern St. Malo, vainly looking for our rental place. And packing about 50 lbs of gear to boot.
After about two hours of this, we get the bright idea to ask at the tourist office, which of course we had passed some time back, and even said to each other, "Do we need to go to the tourist office? Nahhh."
The tourist office turns out to be helpful! We are given an address, nearer to the gare (which is a train station) and off we go. Of course, when we get there, it is during their two hour lunch break, but that is ok. I need a lunch break too. So we lunch, and wait and at long last, around 230pm, we are finally outfitted with our rides and ready to officially get a move on.

Swiss Family Schofieldson

a little while back, we took a trip through germany and switzerland, home of beer and cake rolls, respectively. these are their stories (law and order.. anyone?):

From Germany 2: Straussberg

on the drive through france, we had to make a few stops for andy's work. this monument is very odd. huge and quite out of place on a hilltop in the middle of nowhere. when we pulled up, there was a big group of motorcyclists, hanging out, middle-aged, trying to look like badasses.. like motorcyclists do.

this monument is pretty interesting because it was a WWI monument, then during WWII, there was a huge battle on the hilltop and the monument got all blown to hell, so they turned it into a WWII monument.

From Germany 2: Straussberg

lately, andy and i have been "bill and tedding" our way around europe.

From Germany 2: Friedberg

at another war-related stop, we saw this fountain that pumped Mountain Blast Powerade. look at the closeup:

From Germany 2: Friedberg

nothing says freedom like all the Powerade you can drink.

From Germany 2: Straussberg

next, we stopped in at Metz, a french town that is great in the classical european way: an old town with pedestrian-only roads, lots of water, huge cathedrals, lots of tight pants. plus, we were getting close enough to germany, that it was also great in the classical german way: loads of cheap, delicious beer.

From Germany 2: Straussberg

"Susie told her mama and her mama told her dad.
They looked in the book and the book said 'bad'".

From Germany 2: Straussberg

in strasbourg, we stopped by at a brewery/pizzeria and stumbled upon the american's dream (that you NEVER find in europe).. all you can eat food!! in france, it's called "a volonte", but whatever the hell it's called, tarte flambees are so damn good and andy and i ate 4 of them. much needed dose of americana.

From Germany 2: Friedberg

after a little stop in Ramstein, we parted ways with andy and headed down to Freiburg, a great college town right next to the black forest. it got it's name, which means "Free Town", because like 800 years ago, they got so rich that they bought their freedom and pretty much anytime some other douche tried to take control, they brutally murdered them. one time, a count tried to tax them and they got pissed and catapulted his castle to the ground. when he cried like a whiny bitch to his brother, who marched an army into town, the town butcher snuck into the brothers camp and stabbed him to death. heroes.

From Germany 2: Friedberg

we stayed at an awesome little campground right outside of town. from the back of the campground, we could walk straight into the beginning of the black forest, up a big hill, on a half hour hike, and it dropped down at this gate in the old town. really beautiful and pretty much perfect for coming to town for a drink.

also note that this gate (the oldest city wall gate in town) has a american embassy (McDonalds) in it.

From Germany 2: Friedberg

after some amazing curry wurst, we planted ourselves at a bar in the college area, where they understood what makes germany great: 2 euro huge, local beers.

From Switzerland: Luzern

we left Freiburg the next morning and caught a train to Lucerne. switzerland is pretty unbelievable if you don't see it yourself. there are huge, snowy mountains everywhere you look, with one of three things between each set of mountains: an old cobble-stone town, a Sound of Music style valley, or a ginormous clear lake.

From Switzerland: Luzern

From Switzerland: Luzern

carmen found what should be her favorite restaurant of all time, the unicorn, only like all swiss restaurants, it is over the top fancy and touristy.

From Switzerland: Luzern

she did get a chance to catch up with some family though.

From Switzerland: Luzern

victory!

From Lichenstein

after a couple days in Lucerne hanging out with my family (they were on a european trip, which was our whole reason for stopping by in switzerland), we headed to the "pocket-sized principality" of Lichtenstein. i'm not lying when i say there is essentially nothing to do there except stop and say you've been there. at the tourist office, we got a map and asked about the castle at the top of the hill.. the woman said, "That is the prince's castle. You can't go there."

so we went to the prince's vinyard/winery instead. after tasting a bunch of the (quite delicious) wine, the hero bartender took us for what we are and poured us shots of some real nasty grappa, which is redundant.

From Switzerland: Zurich

next stop: zurich. it ended up being a pretty cool place and like all of switzerland, very scenic, but a word of warning: if you are jobless or at all concerned about money, zurich/switzerland is not the place for you. some price comparisons:
- bed in a dorm-style hostel - $80
- medium mcdonalds fries - $5
- pint of beer at any bar we could find - $8-10
- legally allowed to drink on the street - priceless

From Switzerland: Zurich

so we decided to make the best of it, picked up some beers at a corner store, and gave ourselves a full walking tour of the town.

From Switzerland: Zurich

in switzerland, they call urinals pissoir (literally "pisser").

From Switzerland: Basel and Around

our last stop in switzerland was in Basel, on the Rhine river, near the borders of france and germany (from what i could tell, to grow up in switzerland you are basically required to speak english, french, german, italian if you want to communicate). our friend Tameran lives in Basel, so we stopped by and she is the best host of all time, even giving us her bed. the picture above is on a really awesome ferry in town. the guy just has a cable run across the river and uses a rudder on the boat to go across. as you can tell, andy has just returned from some undercover work in Havana.

later that night, we decided to see what kind of night-life Basel has and of course we chose the most beaten-down sounding bar we could find, the Excali-bar. we got there at about 1:30, left a couple hours later, and the place wasn't even beginning to wind down, spewing forth a constant stream of grungy-ass metal and the most amazing clouds of smoke i've ever seen pouring out of a bar door. the swiss really appreciate their right to smoke wherever they like and bless them for that.