MOTORHOME TRAVELLERS' DIARY FOR JULY 1999

FRANCE, LUXEMBOURG, BELGIUM, GERMANY, DENMARK, SWEDEN

Barry and Margaret Williamson

01 JULY 1999 F CAMPING MUNICIPAL, ARETTE

Breakfast in the Hostal Lola at Isaba - orange juice, coffee, plain yogurt, croissants and jam. Then back in the saddle to cross the Pyrenees and rejoin Rosie in Arette. A couple of easy miles led along a lovely wooded valley to the sleepy village of Uztarroz where we tried to buy bread (too early!) Then a 5-mile 1100 ft climb to the Col of Alta Laza at 1129 m/3726 ft (from Isaba at 813 m/2683 ft). Magnificent scenery and hardly a car (or cyclist) to be seen. We dropped down about 1000 ft to meet the Larrau-Ochagavia road, then climbed another 2400 ft in 7 miles to the border on the Port de Larrau col. The former Spanish Customs House was now a cafe and the only building on the way up, but it was closed outside the ski-ing season, whatever our guidebook said! It was a well graded climb, nowhere near as steep as the French side, not needing the granny until the last mile which included a short tunnel through a ridge just before the top. It was hot, sunny and clear - very different from last Sunday morning, when we said goodbye to the 5 Men of Cornwall, all wrapped up for a chilly descent.

We watched the eagles which always circle over this pass, then dropped down to Larrau, 7½ incredibly fast miles below (M's maximum speed reached 33 mph despite the bends). First stop was the drinking water fountain, then the little hotel for coffee, bread and local cheese. Now it was gently downhill all the way to Tardets, where we had a break on the river bank under the shady plane trees. Riding time was 4.8 hrs - 2.75 to the Larrau Col, 1.25 to Tardets, 50 minutes for the last 10 miles of main road to Arette, with a 500 ft climb on the way into Lanne village.

It was good to find Rosie waiting, cool under the maple trees, with ice cold lemonade, pots of tea, and a tin of Lidl's best cassoulet to revive us. We'd cycled 80 miles in 2 days, crossed the Pyrenees twice and climbed a total of 8,700 ft. And we had enjoyed every foot.

Yesterday was hot, today is hotter (even after a storm in the night). After driving 12 miles to Oloron, M escaped the heat for half an hour in an air-conditioned Lidl, emerging with plenty of salad stuff and ice cream, along with the usual essentials and a supply of their excellent brown bread. Then north through the centre of Pau (a city which badly needs a bypass). Leaving the mountains behind, we crossed rolling farmland and vineyards (this is the Armagnac region), stopping for lunch after Aire-sur-l'Adour. Turning off just before Roquefort, we went through the edge of the pine forests of Les Landes, via Casteljaloux, under the Bordeaux-Toulouse motorway and over a mature Garonne into Marmande, a small market town right on the river. Gipsies are clearly a problem here, as every access to any car park has height barriers and the Camping Municipal bars twin-axle trailers.

It's quiet and grassy and we settled in to cool down (over 90º inside). Tiny biting midges are the only problem and we needed a coil smouldering and the 'Mosiguard' spray out. An English couple, Ian & Sue, arrived by bicycle and set up a tent alongside, so we soon had company. They came in for coffee and biscuits and stayed until midnight, exchanging travel stories. Though only in their 20's, they had worked in the USA, now live in Berlin, and have visited Turkey, Morocco, Pakistan, Peru, Australia ... Ian is an aeronautical engineer, working for Boeing, while Sue (a geology graduate) managed to get a job in Berlin's environmental health, learning German as she went. A confident and impressive pair. Their travel had all been backpacking and this was their first long-distance cycle ride (3 weeks from Paris to Toulouse, using trains at each end). We gave them some more ideas (like early retirement!)

Their impressions of Berlin were interesting - full of life now it's become the capital, an exciting place to work, learning from colleagues on both sides of the divide about life pre-1989 (when they were still at school!), and much cheaper than London.

138 miles. £6.62 inc elec.

In the Lot-et-Garonne Department of Aquitaine, Marmande lies on the motorway, high speed railway, Canal du Midi and Garonne River, all linking it with Bordeaux and Toulouse. Saturday is market day and M took a 10-minute walk to browse there. The area is famous for tomatoes, plums, melons and strawberries, and the stalls were laden with fruit.

After lunch we cycled into and around the town, did 2 loads of dhobi at the 'Lavy-Self' launderette and got new sunglasses for M. (Barry's repair of the old ones had finally broken). Back at the campsite the washing dried quickly in the sun and it was too warm for further exertion beyond reading and cooking supper (very glad of the microwave in this heat).

Overcast but still very close, with the campsite to ourselves. Margaret worked on the diary (June finished and printed, July up to date). Barry cleaned, greased and adjusted the bicycles after all their hard work, cleaned Rosie and checked her 7 tyre pressures (which never seem to go down), greased the battery and starter motor terminals and cleaned and greased the towing bracket.

After lunch, having finished 'Testament of Youth', B got his head into Gabriel Garcia Márquez's masterpiece 'One Hundred Years of Solitude', while M sterilised our various water bottles and flasks (conscious of Coca Cola's current problems!), made compôte with the fruits of yesterday's market and generally pottered.

The Tour de France starts in earnest today, with 209 km from Montaigu to Challans (south of Nantes). Going clockwise round France, it reaches L'Alpe d'Huez on 14 July, St-Gaudens for a rest day on the 19th and Pau on the 21st, finishing in Paris on 25 July (though they do cheat with a plane and a train now and then and they don't even have to stop for a pee!)

Heavy rain in the night again, drying out by morning. A short drive north from the banks of the Garonne to those of the Dordogne, where the Camping Municipal came recommended by Nial Reynolds (in 'Rambling Recipes'). It was indeed right on the river, 5 minutes' walk from the town, but was crowded and scruffy. All the places on the waterfront were taken or reserved but we settled in the back row and had lunch. Sadly, our peace is about to be shattered for 2 months of school holidays, as the Dutch and Belgians arrive (soon to be followed by the English).

After lunch we cycled into Bergerac, photocopied the June diary and looked round the 'old' quarter, now converted into smart restaurants and gift shops.

36 miles. £6.77 inc elec.

A warm but rainy day, on which we cycled through heavy showers, drying out in the sun. The minor road eastwards following the south bank of the Dordogne took us through rolling country and tiny villages, with occasional glimpses of the water. After Lalinde the route became busier, then more hilly as the river looped round the Cingle de Trémolat. After the climb to Trémolat we looked down on the confluence of the Dordogne and Vézère before dropping sharply to their level. Limeuil, with its right-angle bridges spanning the 2 rivers, is an impressive place (though we'd have preferred the canoe-hire kiosks to be the cafes we'd taken them for!) No food was on offer apart from full-blown menus, so we bought coffees and ate our emergency chocolate, biscuits and boiled sweets. We were last here in the car, Xmas 1988, returning from the Gîte and visiting the Grotte de Lascaux further along the Vézère.

We crossed both rivers, cut south to rejoin our outward route and rode 30 miles back, straight to McDonald's at the out-of-town shopping centre for a mid-afternoon meal, very welcome after 5.25 hours' riding. In the evening we watched 'Where Eagles Dare' on French TV, and even followed the plot, though the accents of Richard Burton and Clint Eastwood lost something in the dubbing!

After calling at Lidl for more supplies (and a list of their 700 French branches so we can afford to eat until the border!), we headed north. Across the Isle (another of the rivers which water France as they flow west towards the Atlantic) at Périgueux, then a break for lunch at Trélissac before a long drive on the N21 to Aixe-sur-Vienne, where we crossed the Vienne. East round Limoges (an overlarge and overbusy city, belying its dainty porcelain image) and another 20 miles to Eymoutiers. Here we parked for a tea break before the last 10 miles north to Peyrat-le-Château, a small village in the heart of Limousin (with its herds of ginger-brown cattle), where our post awaits.

We parked on the Aire Communale kindly providing lorries and camping cars with free overnighting and water, as listed in the Guide Officiel. Walking round the village before dinner, we found the Post and Tourist Offices, and about a mile towards Bourganeuf was a municipal campsite on the river Maulde. This was empty apart from one tent - not surprisingly, as several camping cars were staying on the shores of the little lake we passed (the Etang de Peyrat) and a few more had turned up at the official Aire on our return.

Peyrat did not appear to have a Château (in fact it had changed its name from Peyrat-le-Fort) but it did have a nice old tower serving as a museum, and some employees of the Tourist Office dressed in medieval costume offering guided evening tours!

130 miles. Free parking.

The post office (who keep mail for 2 weeks only and charge 3 FF per item) had 2 packets from Alan and a parcel from mum, which kept us occupied for the rest of the day. Sorting, checking and filing the statements from Turners, Vodafone and Midland Bank (or whatever they now call themselves) - a necessary chore - was balanced by the pleasure of reading letters from friends. Mum had sent a generous supply of Beanfeast with a long letter, full of interesting and amusing anecdotes about life in Thornton, and the 'Fab after Fifty' booklet requested from Gloria Hunniford!

After lunch we dealt with the immediate problems. We wrote to Vodafone in Portsmouth again (this time copying it to 'Customer Care' at head office) concerning the refund of the £250 deposit, and also to Customer Care about Air Miles and tariffs. Margaret rang Turners to approve the fitting of (yet another) gas safety feature, to discuss the present tenants and to get them to check the annual ground rent had been paid (as it doesn't appear on their statements).

We also posted MMM's last cheque to the bank, sent in a subscription for another 6 months of 'Which Motorcaravan' at the bargain rate of £10, entered the competition in July's MMM, sent Alan a thank-you card and cheque, and rang mum. That leaves plenty of magazines to read (and MMM have just added 2 more issues to our current subs to compensate for missing last January!), a Dog-Dazer to order, letters to reply to and bumph for the bin.

Rosie's insurance is in order for another year (but Comfort can't cover any of the 3 Baltic Republics). Rupert Humphrey, MMM's Latvian expert, sent thorough information and will be a good contact if we go. Tricia Milton sent more stuff on shipping to USA and invited us to camp on her drive in SE England any time. Dick & Audrey wrote from Florida, where Dick had been recovering from an operation, unable to drive for a month, but they were about to fly to Barcelona, pick up the Hymer and drive to Munich, then try the Baltic States, Scandinavia, back to France, and home again to take their Southwind RV west for the millenium!

There was also a letter from Stan & Celia, currently back in their bungalow but planning the next 3 winters (Spain, Greece, Australia). They hadn't heard from Mick & Flo since Xmas, which is worrying. Steve & Glen sent another card from Australia and are moving on to New Zealand at the end of the year. Jeff Mason sent family news from his wheelchair, of 'Mum' getting frailer at 94 and Audrey reaching 65, and urged us to enjoy each day to the full. Brian Anderson wrote from the North York Moors of life commuting on his motorbike to Middlesbrough to teach 'A' Level Computing, running the school's cricket and football teams, doing another University course one night a week, and helping his wife run horse-riding holidays at their home in his vacations.

We went to bed deep in the complexities of who we might try to meet where, but no doubt a route will evolve.

A sunny morning ride through hilly woodland to the village of Auphelle on the Lac de Vassiviere, then clockwise round the lake - dammed by EDF and one of the largest in France at 1000 hectares. There were several campsites round its shores, swimming, yachting and watersports, and a little island in the middle, linked by a long bridge. We had coffee at the Modern Art Centre on the island and returned to base. A lovely ride, though not too strenuous (our French cyclist neighbours had taken the same ride yesterday and she is a 66-year-young great-grandmother!)

After lunch, more work on the stack of mail! Margaret rang Turners about the ground rent and learnt they had not received an invoice for it, but had now sent a cheque. We considered the various implications of this, rang them again to get the address of the ground landlords, but took Mrs Shaw's advice not to contact them ourselves. We wrote a long letter to Turners, asking them to follow the ground rent issue up and clear it with Abbey National if necessary.

Margaret bought fruit at the little market and rang the Winnebago dealers in Wettringen (Germany, near Dutch border) to book Rosie in for service, to arrive on 21 July ready for work the following morning.

Then we had a long hot drive to Bourges, pausing at the Super-U in La Châtre (which had a Camping Car Service point) for a fill of diesel. Through wooded countryside, crossing the River Cher in the Forest of Bigny, and into the ancient city of Bourges, where the Municipal was right on the inner ring road near the centre. It's a new site and we were allocated a big pitch with its own waste and water, but no shade. It was busy with Dutch, Belgians and Italians, complete with kids and dogs, coming in on the evening tide (and leaving early next morning).

118 miles. £7.70 inc elec.

We cycled into the ancient city of Bourges in time to visit the beautiful 12thC St Etienne's Cathedral (World Heritage Site) before morning Mass. It was very welcoming - a real contrast with the Spanish reception at Seville. Bicycles could be locked to the railings outside, there was no entrance fee or pressure to make donations, free guided tours were offered on weekday mornings, and the crypt and tower were also freely accessible (except around Sunday service times). The restored organ was playing, the sun shone through beautiful stained glass windows, it felt good.

In one side chapel was the medieval bronze pelican which had been brought down from the tower (the only one in France, representing Christ Eucharist rather than the usual cockerel of Christ Risen). The ancient legend of the pelican giving its life to save its children, by plunging its beak into its entrails for them to feed on, was taken as a symbol of Jesus' sacrifice, and 2 modern wood sculptures stood on either side of the bronze - one of a pelican pinned by the wings to a cross, its beak down in its belly, the other showing the bird with its beak through its heart, carved out in a heart shape. They were more moving than the usual effigies of saints in the other niches.

The cathedral is on the site of a very early Christian church, as the Roman governor was converted in the 3rdC. The medieval semi-pedestrian centre was well preserved with traces of the Roman ramparts below the old walls. An indoor and outdoor market was busy but the intriguing Museum of the French Resistance was closed Sundays.

Back to the campsite for lunch, then M did dhobi which dried in no time (it's 90º again). Barry solved the recent problem of accessing our Vodafone messages by finding that the recall number has changed. An excellent film on TV in the evening, dubbed into French - 'Yanks' with a young Richard Gere and Vanessa Redgrave, about an American Airforce Base in wartime Manchester, with scenes very reminiscent of our childhoods.

A 30 mile straight (Roman) road eastwards, through forests to La Charité sur Loire. Here we had a coffee break right by the river, rang Wettringen to get the address of the post office and rang to order a Dog Dazer to be sent there, but phone orders were not accepted. They promised to send one within a day of receipt of a cheque. Over the Loire, continuing on the N151 to Clamecy, where a new by-pass took us round the town and over the Yonne. After more forests and small villages we met the Yonne again at Auxerre, after lunch in a layby. The sun was hot, the ring roads and signposting in Troyes confusing, and when we found the Camping Municipal at Pont Ste Marie, on the far side of the city, we were ready for a pleasant break. That's when the fun started, with Mme la Gérante saying we were too big and couldn't stay (on a site that was by no means full, had several empty pitches large enough and no regulations governing size of vehicles, and where we'd spent a few days 4 years ago without any problem!) She chose the wrong target and after a protracted wrangle she offered a suitable area of hard-standing, though only after insisting we paid 2 nights in advance (a condition reserved for us).

We settled in, made tea and wrote to order a Dog Dazer. Looking for a place to post it, Margaret found a good discount butcher nearby and got a 'summer BBQ' meat pack - 4 chicken portions, 6 pork chops and 6 steaks for 70 FF. We had some of the chicken for dinner and stacked the rest in the freezer. In the evening the heat broke into thunder and heavy rain.

143 miles. £10.30 inc elec.

A wet day (just as it was on our last visit to Troyes in April 95), which did not attract us to ride a couple of miles into the city to see its cathedral, old churches, or tool museum. It's a rough, industrial town on the Seine, lacking the medieval charm of Bourges. We made apricot jam with fruit from Peyrat market, updated the diary, mended Barry's shorts (again - 4 patches now!), and enjoyed writing to Monsieur le Maire to complain about our reception at the campsite (extremely hostile, on the most expensive Municipal we've found, our only fault being to arrive and ask for a place!) We made a copy to give the Manageress in question as we leave. We also wrote to Mike Jago on a couple of matters, including our problem at the campsite (once recommended in MMM) so that others could be warned!

Once the rain stopped briefly we cycled across the Seine to the post, shopped at Lidl and ate at a 'Quick Restaurant' (not unlike McDonald's!). Margaret rang Alan to wish him a good holiday and check for urgent post or messages (none). After dark we heard the fireworks in the city centre for the eve of 14 July and saw flashes in the sky, but it was too far, too late and too wet to go.

Once Rosie was safely through the campsite gates we posted our letters of complaint and continued on our way, the roads empty and the world at peace on the French National Holiday. Through Piney, with its 17thC buildings, skirting the Fôret d'Orient park and lakes, across the Aube at Lesmont and on to St Dizier on the Marne. The city centre was deserted, the shops closed, even the Camping Car dealer who had been advertising his huge stock for miles around was shut (imagine that on an English Bank Holiday!) We had lunch and continued to Bar le Duc, eventually found the only railway crossing without a 3.2 m height limit, and took the 35-mile road to Verdun - the Voie Sacré (NVS), the only main road in France with no number, a national monument. Throughout the Battle of Verdun it was the only road open to the troops and supplies, the train only reaching Bar le Duc. It was continually repaired and carried a steady line of men, horses, wagons and lorries (one every 15 seconds throughout the battle!) The milestones are topped with a poilu's helmet and crown of martyrdom.

Across the Meuse at Verdun, we followed the river north, approaching the borders of Luxembourg and Belgium. We passed French, German and American war cemeteries, and the village war memorials are very distinctive, with the painted figure of a poilu in his sky-blue coat. We bought hot dogs and frites from a stall in a layby (a sign of northern Europe) and eventually settled in Stenay, a little town on the Meuse with splendid parking for camping cars alongside the boating harbour. For both boats and motorhomes, there is free water and dump, electrical points for 10 FF per day (less than campsites charge for it) and the key to a new toilet/hot shower block available for another 20 FF per day, along with a washing machine for 25 FF per load. (Pay at the nearby Café du Port out of office hours). We needed none of these and had a free night with floating and grounded neighbours.

124 miles. Free parking.

Deciding to revisit Verdun and its battlefields, where we spent 3 days at Easter 95, we drove back along the river to Charny and Bras sur Meuse, 5 miles north of Verdun, then took the minor road which climbs up past the Trench of Bayonets to the Douaumont Ossuary and National Cemetery. Parking at a discreet distance, by the Pilgrims' Shelter cafe, we made lunch before walking to the Ossuary. Built between 1920 and 1932, it contains the mortal remains of 130,000 unidentified soldiers in 36 granite tombs, with anothr 15,000 named graves in the cemetery outside. A place of dread, suitably ugly, its 160 ft high torpedo-shaped tower resembles a huge shell. We'd visited it by bicycle previously, so now took time to climb the tower and see its astonishing collection of photographs of the battle, some in 3-D viewed through a row of grim eyepieces. The blank shell-shocked faces of the men in the trenches, the dismembered bodies, the stretcher parties, the blasted forest of bare stumps, it was all there. The bookshop had 2 good accounts in English: Alistair Horne's excellent 'The Price of Glory - Verdun 1916' (which we bought and read on our last visit) and AJP Taylor's 'The First World War', which we now added to our collection, with its many photographs and their wry captions.

Then down to Verdun and the campsite we'd fondly remembered as a quiet space with a moorhen nesting on the little lake. In mid-July, however, it's crowded with holiday-makers, school groups, busy water slides in a noisy pool, a different place! At least we weren't turned away, but given a grassy pitch in the 'Dutch quarter'. The weather is cooler, still showery, and we settled down to read and refresh our Verdun memories.

41 miles. £8.50 inc elec.

Cool and cloudy as we found our way NE out of Verdun to cycle through the hills and ridges of the Forest of Verdun, scene of the slaughter of 750,000 men in 1916. The woods, once beech and replanted with pine to cover the desolation, are still ravaged with craters and studded with crumbling concrete bunkers, munitions depots, gun casemates, trenches and forts. Circling anticlockwise round the battlefield, our first detour was to the remains of Fort Souville, then the ruins of the Fort de Tavannes, passing assorted depots and gun posts down wooded paths. Then Fort Vaux, famous for its Pigeon Epic. The fort was taken by the Germans on 7 June 1916 after a week's fighting inside its corridors. On 4 June the French commandant had sent a distress signal to the Citadelle in Verdun by carrier pigeon, the message ending poignantly c'est mon dernier pigeon (they'd resisted the temptation to eat it!) Though affected by the gas and fumes from the fort, the bird delivered its message and promptly died. (It is now stuffed in a Paris museum and was the only pigeon to receive the Legion of Honour!) French troops retook Fort Vaux in November 1916.

From the Fort, we took paths through the woods to the site of the destroyed village of Vaux (one of 9 such villages in the area, each once home to 100 or so, which were completely wiped out in the violent combat of the zone rouge and never resettled). Every one is marked by a chapel and a memorial display of old photographs of the settlement, its cottages and people. One moving photo showed peasants up a ladder mending their roof after a shell damaged it - they didn't know what was yet to come. On quiet, narrow forest roads, we passed the sites of more lost villages - Bezonvaux, Ornes and Louvemont - before dropping to the main road at Bras and over the Meuse to Charny-sur-Meuse. We raided the village baker's and had a picnic on the green, then retraced Rosie's route of yesterday, up the hill to the Ossuary, pausing this time at the Trench of the Bayonets. A length of trench which had caved in and been found by the bayonet tips poking out has been preserved and roofed over (by the Americans), a tomb to the men buried inside it. We rode on, past the Ossuary and National Cemetery, turning off to Fort Douaumont. This was the largest and best defended of the ring of forts round Verdun, once holding 3000 men, but like Vaux it had been partly decommissioned and contained only 57 men when the Germans took it easily in May 1916. Moroccan troops retook it in October, and it was to change hands several times with loss of life on both sides.

On the way to the fort, some lengths of communication trench with reinforced concrete sides are preserved. We returned to Verdun past yet more memorials (including one to Maginot) and the site of the lost village of Fleury, which we'd explored 4 years ago. Here the ground-plan is laid out, marking the location of the school, the smithy, the various shops and houses, the village pond, and so on. But perhaps the most moving testament of all is the lie of the land, the bumps and scars, the mounds and pits, where the remains of so many must still lie buried.

Back to the campsite through Verdun, past its huge cemetery (a photo of Barry's bicycle at the gate, looking over the headstones to the Cathedral of Peace beyond hangs on our bedroom wall since our last visit). We did not join the queue for the Citadel, pleased we had seen it last time when we had the place to ourselves, alone in the carriage with an English commentary. By 1914 Verdun had long been a garrison town and fallen twice before to the Germans. The underground galleries of the citadel formed a supply base holding 10,000 men ready for the front (and even the few who returned to die in its hospital). The bakery produced 28,000 bread rations a day at the height of the battle!

A splendid ride, quiet roads, going a little further and deeper into Verdun's tortured history. It was good to withdraw from it into showers, dinner and half an episode of 'Inspector Morse' for light relief.

Before leaving Verdun's campsite we cycled into town to the market we'd seen yesterday, but it had gone! Undaunted, we shopped at Lidl, then drove north along the Meuse to Bras and Charny. We turned up the hill past the Ossuary to Fort Douaumont which (like Fort Vaux) had offered a 15 FF guided tour. This proved to be self-guided, with a route card in a choice of languages, and we spent an absorbed hour in the gloomy damp corridors and chambers of the partly-subterranean fort, which had 3 km of tunnels and covered 7½ acres. The dormitories with their iron bedsteads and coat-hooks, the wash house (when there was water, which was a problem), the inadequate latrines (only added in 1917), the bakery (where an unknown number of French died), the sealed tomb of over 600 Germans who died in an ammunition explosion, the workings of the giant guns which poked through the roof, the fumigation room (for the lice and fleas in the uniforms), the unfinished escape tunnel (started by Germans and continued by French - but none escaped), it was a fascinating and horrifying glimpse of life in the fort. As we left, a young French couple asked us if it was 'worth a visit' - what can you say?! Emerging from the dank depths into bright sunlight we readjusted over cups of coffee, then drove back and along the Meuse to the Port de Plaisance at Stenay.

We parked by the boats, had lunch and did some diary-writing and mending while Rosie cooled down (over 90º inside, the cooler weather has soon passed). Barry put a stay and an extra catch on the sink cupboard door, which has been swinging open when travelling, and M had shorts and T-shirts to sew. We also took a few photographs of our 'campsite' in case we write it up for MMM and had a stroll along the river bank. After dinner we finished the 'Morse' video, with a few famous faces (John Gielgud playing himself and Robert Hardy over-the-top as ever).

39 miles. Free parking

So hot so early that we broke the habit of a lifetime and didn't have porage for Sunday breakfast! We cycled over the river, noticed the Camping Municipal has been taken over by gipsies (which is why they never occupy the car parks!) and cycled downstream on field paths to Cesse, where we made a side-trip to see 2 monuments to mixed French and German soldiers killed in early skirmishes in the woods in August 1914, holding the Germans up briefly on their way to the Marne. On to Pouilly-sur-Meuse, where we watched 3 boats entering the lock (one French, one Dutch, one hired by Canadians). The Flying Dutchman couldn't get reverse and barged into the back of the French boat, causing some chaos and Gallic exchanges but no visible damage. The lock-keeper looked on amused! Memories of the Thames for M! Crossing the river, we beat the boats upstream to Inor, where the lock-keeper had closed for lunch as the church bells rang out noon. We bought coffee at the nearby Golden Pheasant Inn, just as the local baker's van arrived and set up shop in the street - very well timed, we got meat pies and éclairs to have with the coffee. Then we returned to the lock at 1 pm, where the same 3 boats went through - the Dutchman seeemed to have discovered how to stop this time!

Next a short hot climb to Malandry (tiny villages all, each with a Mairie, church and school, very quiet today). Another monument from June 1940 to a French regiment (motto Rien d'Impossible) who'd tried to slow the German advance to Paris in the next war. Down to La Ferte-sur-Chiers, then we followed this tributary of the Meuse through Lamouilly to Brouennes. Rolling wheatfields, cow pastures, flowery hedgerows, it reminded us of the Yorkshire Wolds (but more extensive, much hotter, and with rivers). A final climb, then we dropped down to the river at Stenay, and found it was now 100º inside Rosie!

Through an afternoon of reading, diary-writing and watching those 'messing about on the river', we all cooled off (very slowly - by 9 pm the temperature had dropped to a mere 91º. Salad, apple cake and ice cream for supper!

After using Stenay marina's free dump and water we were on our way to Luxembourg, via Montmedy then briefly into Belgium, where we joined the toll-free motorway at Arlon and crossed the border into the Grand Duchy. Busy traffic, road works, a shock to the senses after months of roaming the quieter end of Europe. We eventually circled Luxembourg, the capital, high on a plateau above a gorge, but the modern city had outgrown the charm of the medieval fortress and parking was impossible. On the N7 north through Ettelbruck we were soon into Belgium again, only stopping to have lunch in a layby and to fill up with diesel before the border (at about 35p/litre, the cheapest in W Europe except Greece or Gibraltar).

Luxembourg: 1000 square miles, official language French (but German and Flemish were also used on the signs), currency the Lux Franc (interchangeable with the Belgian Franc at about 60=£1, but anything goes so long as it's money!) Perhaps there are quiet beautiful areas, but we didn't see them en passant.

We were soon back on Belgian motorways heading for Germany, the very hot weather occasionally breaking into thunder and sudden downpours. Across the border near Aachen, from the German-speaking part of Belgium to the German-speaking part of Germany (is there a bit that isn't?)

We pulled into a service station on the A44, shortly before it met the A57 for Neuß, appropriately named Vier Winden, to brew up and buy an ADAC road atlas. As we couldn't find any campsites or parkings listed in the vicinity and it began to rain heavily, we eventually opted to stay on the services, despite the road noise, and tucked Rosie between a couple of lorries. (Only in GB do you pay to park overnight on a motorway!)

212 miles. Free parking

Not due in Wettringen for Rosie's service until Wednesday evening, we drove up the Autobahn past Krefeld and turned off to Geldern near the Dutch border. It was featured as Die Reisemobil-freundliche Stadt in Roy Pledger's article in June's MMM so seemed a good choice for the day. He mentioned 3 dedicated camping-car-parks and we found the one nearest the town centre.

After lunch a 10-minute walk to find a bank in the town (orderly and prosperous, like any in Holland or North Germany. In fact, the local dialect is a combination of German and Dutch). Barry got a couple of good half-price T-shirts in Karstadt's sale and we had a long walk to the Tourist Information in the town hall. Still haunted by Verdun, we liked the sentence in their brochure: "For the open-minded people of the Niederrhein, borders have never been an obstacle"!! They also had a map specially for motorhomers, showing the 3 parks, 2 dealers (who offered water and dump facilities), and other places where overnight parking was allowed (a hotel, a disco, etc). They were well spread out but we did walk to one dealer, Gelderland Mobile, for a look at the stock and prices which were lower than in Britain. Back at our car park we were joined by 3 other motorhomes for a quieter night.

51 miles. Free parking.

A short drive north to Xanten and the free coach park at the Archäologischer Park, where we settled by the Colonia Ulpia Trajana. We updated the July diary and wrote to mum, with her copy of June's Diary and a brochure on Lourdes.

After lunch we skirted the reconstructed walls of the Roman site (we'd paid to see the fruits of Margaret's labour when we cycled here 5 years ago) and walked into the delightful much-restored medieval town. We'd also visited the splendid new museum and St Viktor's cathedral (the largest between Cologne and the sea) in 1994, but the old windmill hadn't been open then.

Today it was actually working and for 1 DM each we climbed the steep rickety ladders up through 4 wooden floors, the sails whirling round outside in a fresh wind. The solid technology was impressive and the shop below sold equally solid bread and buns baked from the flour. The Roman baths, newly uncovered in M's day, were finally opened to the public in April this year, but we hadn't time to do them justice and hope to return in the autumn. Unusually, we have a deadline, needing to reach Wettringen and find Ardelt's premises before they close at 6 pm!

We crossed the Rhine to Wesel, drove west to join Autobahn 31, then north, exit Ochtrup, and finally to Wettringen's industrial estate and Ardelt (Germany's best American RV sales/service since Winnebago at Kirkel folded). We were given a parking place with its own hook-up and tap, ready for work at 8 am tomorrow, and talked briefly to our neighbours - Germans on their way home from a trip to Nordkapp, who had also come for a service.

114 miles. Free parking.

In which we get to know Wettringen while Ardelt get to know Rosie

We found a bag of Br otchen tied to the door on waking and the mechanic was outside at 8 am prompt. Impressed, we handed him the keys to our life and walked into Wettringen, a small town with one cafe. At the post office we sent mum's package and collected the Dog Dazer, then browsed in the shops, which didn't take long (an Aldi, 2 other supermarkets, plus a cycle shop at the garage). Coffee and donuts at the cafe and back to Ardelt to see how Rosie was doing. They forecast a 4 pm finish, so we looked round the accessory department and bought a Scandinavian Tour Book by Pro-Mobil, a list of free parkings in Germany and a pair of levelling blocks. Back into Wettringen for sandwiches at our cafe, walking the country lanes, back into the cafe to dodge a heavy rain shower. By now, we were on first name terms with the waitress, who gave us free refills of coffee!

Back to Ardelt, and the good news that Rosie had no problems. They advised new rear brake pads and some work on the exhaust pipe might be needed at the next service, and offered to fix the ABS (which has never worked) if we could wait a few days for the new sensors to come. We agreed to return (in September ?) and to phone them with 2 weeks' notice. Relieved that no serious faults had been detected, we settled in for the evening. The Dog Dazer proved very effective against a large resident dog which had become too 'friendly'.

Soon an Anglo-Irishman, Keith Moran, arrived to overnight in his 29-footer (its roof groaning under the weight of a dozen solar panels and a trailer in tow). He dashed round with a book for us (by Jeffrey Archer!), was invited in for coffee when he was ready, and promptly disappeared for an evening in Wettringen (wearing light shorts and T-shirt on a wet windy night)!

We ate our free rolls, then Keith came round with apologies and a jar of coffee (with chicory - his gifts have their downside). He was indeed an eccentric, returning to Finland in search of work after caring for his mother (an Alzheimer's case) for the last 18 months. He'd taken her and her wheelchair to the south of France for a winter in his motorhome and she'd died there 2 months ago. This motorhome had been built by a German firm on a Mercedes chassis and fitted out to his exact spec. We were allowed a look inside and it was ultra-immaculately furnished and equipped, down to the washing machine and remote-controlled macerator! The L-shaped seating and free-standing table in place of a dinette looked good, and went into the Top Ten on our wish-list.

Eventually, we extracted ourselves (he was obviously lonely and needing English conversation practice) and got back onto the Autobahn system - A30 east to Osnabrück and A1 north towards Bremen. Our list showed no free parkings on our route, so we turned off for Delmenhorst, just before Bremen, where a pair of campsites near a small lake looked busy.

We found a quiet corner on the second one, nicely grassed and wooded, settled down to a late lunch and used the washing machine. Early evening brought an influx of tents and caravans with well-dressed unlikely campers who filled our field.

101 miles. £8.17 + meter elec (£1.45)

Cycling to the nearby shopping centre we passed a gymkhana at the riding centre attached to the campsite, the reason for the unlikely campers.

We spent money at the Real supermarket and Caravan Brandl accessory shop, who had an accumulator for the water supply which looked simpler than the Fiamma one, which has been replaced once and is leaking air again.

After lunch Barry spent the afternoon fitting it, which is never straightforward. M used the campsite kitchen to make 7 lbs marmalade and suffered 3rd degree interrogation from Germans and Danes alike - 'What are you making? Why? But the peel is poisonous!' The English eccentricity over marmalade for breakfast was finally accepted and they were relieved to see us eating pig and potatoes for supper!

Hoping Sunday would be quieter on the Autobahn we spent the day on the A1, crossing the Elbe, skirting Hamburg, turning off just before Lübeck for a campsite. Maybe there were less lorries on the move, but the Dutch, German and Danish holidaymakers were out in force and it was hard to find a Platz to Rast.

The campsite is only a couple of miles from Lübeck, run by a friendly family and very peaceful until we settled outside with a pot of tea - BANG! Margaret thought it was a car crash outside, but Barry knew better - the split-pin holding the spring inside Rosie's awning had broken causing the spring to recoil. (It happened at Kneps Farm 4 years ago, so B was familiar with the problem and after an hour's tricky work it was fixed.)

Our Danish neighbours explained this weekend was the middle of their holiday fortnight and confirmed that motorways and bridges in Denmark are still toll-free (apart from the newly opened bridge across the Great Belt from Nyborg and the Copenhagen-Malmo bridge link to Sweden, due to open next year).

114 miles. £9.31 inc elec.

We cycled easily into Lübeck, noting an Aldi store on the way, thanks to a map from the Camp Reception, and into the medieval centre of the Hanseatic capital, through the late 15thC Gothic brick Holstentor (the town emblem), its twin towers linked by a 3-storey section above the road. The Altstadt is on a hill, surrounded by water, crowned by the huge Rathaus and the Marienkirche, 13-16thC) another perfect example of N German brick Gothic. The church was built high and wide and feels very spacious inside. Lübeck grew rich from the salt trade ('white gold'), which came from Lüneburg on the Elbe-Lübeck Canal and was shipped on throughout the Baltic, for salting fish. The Alte Salzstraße is now a long-distance cycle path along the canal. We rode a stretch of it, past the old salt warehouses and guild-houses, and liked the feel of Lübeck, with buskers in the centre, old merchants' houses, a bit reminiscent of Copenhagen (not surprising, given Schleswig-Holstein's Danish history, from 1460 until annexed by Prussia in 1866). We bought a Scandlines ferry ticket from Puttgarden to R dby in Denmark for tomorrow afternoon, with an open-dated onward ticket to Sweden from Helsingor (costing 265 DM or about £90 for the pair). We celebrated this move with lunch at McDonald's, returned via Aldi and dropped the shopping at the campsite.

Margaret rang mum, who'd left a message yesterday evening, and learnt that Auntie Hilda had died peacefully in hospital on Saturday night, so she wrote to Barbara. M also rang Turners about the ground rent and found that, of course, they had done nothing. M asked them to check whether the cheque had been cashed, and also rang Abbey National herself. They assured us they'd heard nothing about the matter this year - something of a relief.

Then we cycled to the nearby trading estate to look up a caravan dealer. He was about to close but did tell us where to find LPG in Lübeck at the Nordkai. We also called at 2 marzipan factory shops we passed (a local speciality and B's favourite) but found it far more expensive than that in any Aldi or Lidl at Christmastime, so we'll have to wait!

We drove to the Nordkai and found the gas specialist BOIE on Posener for a fill of LPG (which isn't widely available in Germany, and may not be in Scandinavia). Then north to the end of the A1 Autobahn at Oldenburg and on, across a bridge, to Puttgarden on the island of Fehmarn (Germany's 2nd largest island after Rügen, both of which are tiny!) We filled up with diesel (more expensive in Denmark) and settled on a large and busy car park at the port to make lunch and wait for our 3.15 pm boat. The 4 big modern ro-ro ferries ran like clockwork every half-hour and we had a smooth 50-minute crossing when our turn came. It was a boat train - meaning the train drove onto the boat, which was exactly the right length for it, with vehicles parked either side of the rails! Rosie was quite surprised to find herself alongside a locomotive.

We landed at Rodbyhavn on the island of Lolland, drove about 5 miles inland to the quaint little town of Rodby and straight onto its campsite, pleased that it was quiet when the boats had been packed.

65 miles. £9.09

Into Rodby to find a bank and buy a calculator battery. We looked in the Lidl store and found digestive biscuits (not stocked in Germany) and got a new rear cycle tyre for B's bike (made in Finland, puncture resistant Kevlar, as used by the Danish post office!) The excellent cycle shop gave us a free Cykelkort - a good road atlas of Denmark, marking and listing all the campsites, youth hostels, cycle shops, tourist offices, national and regional marked cycle routes, ferries and much more.

Back at the campsite we had coffee and packed up a lunch to take on cycle tour 38, along the south coast of Lolland.

The cycle track led back to Rodbyhavn on a disused railway. From there a sandy path followed the top of the dyke westwards, with a good view of the German coast and ferries crossing to Puttgarden, the bathing beaches and yachts on our left and endless acres of golden wheat to our right. We ate our sandwiches by the Kramnitse Strand, then continued past a whirring wind-farm to Vesternaes Strand, the westernmost point of Lolland. Returning to Rodby on a maze of quiet country lanes, through sleepy hamlets and cornfields in warm sunshine, we paused at Dannemare for a welcome ice cream.

Motorway E47 the whole way from Rodby via Copenhagen to Elsinore - toll-free, hassle-free and well sign-posted. A short tunnel under the Guldborg Sound to the smaller island of Falster, whose southern tip, Gedser, is where we arrived by ferry from Travemünde on our circuitous cycle ride to Istanbul, 10 summers ago. Now we crossed more quickly to the island of Sjaelland (Zealand) on the motorway bridge, looking across to the road/rail bridge we'd cycled. Half way across our bridge was a road link to the tiny island of M n and we turned off for coffee.

A large free car park had an area for 'camping' with water and emptying points, only the WC had a charge. Back onto the E47 north, bypassing Copenhagen, where we'd stayed last time, we drove to the end of the motorway at Helsingor/Elsinore.

We squeezed into a corner of the campsite, very busy, right by the shore and a few minutes' walk from Kronburg Castle and the ferry terminal for Helsingborg (Sweden). After lunch we rode to the castle (well provided with a cycle rack inside the grounds) and bought the full ticket - Castle (royal apartments, banqueting hall, chapel), Casemates and Maritime Museum (about £4 each, but unlike the ghost of Hamlet's father, we'll only pass this way once). The play has been performed here with all the great actors, Olivier, Gielgud, Richard Burton. Clearly Shakespeare had never visited Kronburg Slot when he set the scenes in 'Elsinore Castle', as it doesn't actually have any battlements - more fortified palace than castle. But it has plenty of atmosphere, guarding the resund, the narrow entrance to the Baltic, its cannons trained on Sweden, only a 20-minute ferry ride away. The apartments were decked with paintings, tapestries and furniture from 17-18thC (mainly Dutch, Flemish and German). We were more impressed by the casemates - the dungeon-like quarters for the troops and horses below ground, where many died of cold. We were shivering after a walk through damp tunnels lit by oil lamps. The maritime museum had lots of model ships of all sizes and a good account of their exploration and trade, including Greenland which is still Danish! Nelson got a brief mention

We left with time to check out the ferry (3 per hour all round the clock!), cycle a few miles down the coast to Snekkersten and buy a couple of Danish pastries for tea. Helsing r itself was bustling, with many shops selling alcohol to the Swedes who pour across to drink and stock up, like the Brits in Boulogne.

124 miles. £10.00

Away at 9 am and a short queue for the ferry (better than the 2-hour wait we saw yesterday afternoon). Named after the 16thC Danish astronomer, it was a smaller version of the Puttgarden-R dby boat, complete with train lines, though no train. By the time we'd found our way onto deck, changed our remaining DKR into SKR and returned to Rosie we were across. At the Helsingborg terminal was a special lane to declare 'House Pets'. Sweden had anti-rabies laws as strict as Britain's until 1994, since when dogs and cats are allowed in but only with certificates, tattoos and much bureaucracy. (Of course, all the animals straying across the borders from Norway or Finland comply!)

Straight onto the E4 for Jonköping, mostly well-signed toll-free motorway, though some stretches were ordinary 2-lane road with wide margins. We stopped at the first lay-by with a tourist office to make coffee and pick up a free campsite list (of those in the Swedish Campsite Owners' Association) full of exhortations about overnighting only on campsites, for which the purchase of a Swedish Camping Card, cost 60 kr or £5, valid one year, is essential. The famous Swedish Allemansrätten - the right of free access - did not apparently apply to vehicles. We remembered none of this from our last visit 5 years ago, and later found little of it to be true - some towns have special free car-parks for caravans, some lay-bys have excellent dump and water filling points, there are simpler alternative campsites not listed, and the International Camping Carnet was accepted by at least one in the list! But the maps did show the locations of Swedish McDonalds, which thinned out considerably going north, with none in Arctic Lapland.

We stopped for ours at Ljungby, then continued to Jonköping, at the foot of the large lake Vättern. We continued northwards up the eastern shore of the lake, still on the E4 until it branched off for Stockholm at Odeshog, from where we followed road 50 through Vadstena and Motala, looking for a place for the night. Finding nothing, we turned down towards Motala's campsite, just north of the town on the lake at Varamon.

We found the oddly named Z-Parkens Camping, very busy and expensive, but we also saw a large, shady, free public car park on the lake-side with plenty of space and no restrictive notices. After tea we walked along the shore - a popular bathing place with cafes, crazy golf and plenty of Swedes enjoying the last weekend of the national holidays. We bathed our feet in the cool clear water and returned for a peaceful evening, joined by only one other van.

The nights are getting longer, the sun shines low through the trees and glints on the water well after 9 pm, it's never truly dark. The peace lasted until a nearby restaurant opened for its Friday Night Rock Session, complete with DJ and dancing until the small hours, with all our old favourites - Are You Lonesome Tonight?!

225 miles. Free parking.

Another long day's drive, after a fill of diesel in Motala. First on route 50 to the head of the lake at Askersund, briefly on motorway E4 to Örebro, then route 60 to Borlänge and route 70 to Leksand on Lake Siljan. All through the day an astonishing stream of traffic (holiday cars, caravans and motorhomes, mainly Swedish or Danish) came towards us, presumably returning from the north ready for work on Monday. The roads ran between thick forest (pine and silver birch), every village and small town seemed to be on a lake, roomy laybys provided stopping places for coffee and lunch, often with a tourist office brimming with brochures. We collected an English edition of the 'Camping - Caravanning and Cottages - Sweden 99' booklet, though it didn't list as many as the Swedish Camping och stugor. Looking in a Eurospar store confirmed Swedish food prices are high and they are heavily into recycling - deposits on glass and plastic bottles and segregation of rubbish into many different skips. There are as many varieties of crispbreads on sale as there pasta shapes in Italy! Some big round ones look ready for slices off whole cheeses!

From Borlänge to Leksand (and further to Orsa tomorrow) we found ourselves on the route of a Pro-mobil tour in the Scandinavian Tour Book we'd bought in Wettringen. From this we learnt we're in the Dalarna region and that Leksand is famous for its Midsummer Eve festivities (a public holiday of great importance in these lands of the midnight sun). Pleased to have missed the crowds for that, we checked out Camping Västandviksbadet on the lake shore (again busy and expensive), saw no other parking and returned to the town, where we settled on an empty car park among quiet houses (no dancing!)

As dusk finally fell, a stunning full moon, glowing orange, was so low in the sky it looked like a big street lamp. The air is so clear here that the sky and the light are quite fantastic, and even in the depths of winter they have the Northern Lights phenomenon.

198 miles. Free parking.