After a night beside the Moselle and fortified with the gasthaus breakfast we made the short drive to Trier. Now a bit like my last trip to Bastogne and Trier in 2019  I had overlooked or not sought out the important history that defined each town. First, obviously was Bastogne’s WW2 history and the second was Trier’s Roman history. 

The city had been an important Roman settlement and boasted quite an important rôle in this part of the empire for the wandering Italians. Like other countries then it wasn’t until the 19th Century that the locals took a forensic interest in their Roman history and started to dig it out. Trier has an enormous bath complex typical of Roman settlements. The waters were heated and there were several pools of differing temperatures. In Britain and here the natives didn’t maintain this interest in ablutions and hygiene after the Romans left for another near millennium, why? 

In addition it has, remaining, a spectacular gate (Porta Nigra).

The city had other delights including a bright and different Cathedral and Basilica. As you might imagine Allied bombing damaged the structures and significant rebuilding took place after the war. Amongst the graphics was a contrite piece saying the Protestant Church in this region had kept quiet when the Nazis shut the synagogues in 1938 and also never chose to articulate any anti-Nazi positions throughout Hitler’s rise.

Frankly, most Germans might have felt that an end to rampant hyper inflation, the suppression of regime changing revolutionary (God-less) communism, the creation of full employment and the restoration of some national pride after the WW1 surrender was a good thing? Also to say anything hostile might have meant a visit from some violent thugs although if my children were being brain washed in school or the Hitler Youth I might have developed some strong views? In the end the whole country paid a devastating price for the Nazis’ vile ideology with their attempted genocides and the hell they’d wrought on their neighbours.

If National Socialism was terrible then the murder wreaked on the peoples of the USSR and China in the mid 20th century by their leadership through ideologically driven starvation or pogroms was horrifying. The system they purported to implement was based on a few books called ‘Das Kapital’ written a century or so before Mao and Stalin did their worst. Which brings us to a statue of a son of the city, Karl Marx.

The commemorative statue near the Roman Gate was donated by the Chinese on his 200th birthday. Given the current British predilection for defacing Queen Victoria or Winston Churchill statues for British colonisation or the tearing down of slavers statues then I can only assume that should the Germans also be revisiting history then the Trier city fathers were courting favour with Beijing to allow this. Maybe one for Groucho, Harpo or Chico instead?

So with 13,000 steps bagged we returned to the krankenhaus (my favourite German word after schnitzel) multi storey car park to find Samantha and hit the road to Bernkastel-Kraus. I’d programmed our good friend Google Maps to avoid motorways and tolls and we skirted the Moselle as we meandered north.

Feeling brave enough to drive 259 miles without refilling the car I eventually found a petrol station and filled her up. It took a while with ever increasing ‘kick backs’. Next, in the searing heat, was to find our gasthaus. This was Ingrid’s house, a sprightly yet mature lady who turned out to be quite an Anglophile. After chilling with a beer in our attic accommodation we felt restored and drove the short distance into the town itself. What a treat!

Chocolate box pretty in the evening sun and heat we strolled around; likewise the Germans. Surprisingly, apart from ourselves, there seemed to be no foreign tourists. Sustenance was achieved with another schnitzel. Not being a predictable boy I swapped turkey for pork.

By 7.30am it was hot in the tent, which along with a moron next to the campsite with a noisy chainsaw added up to be reasons to be up and about. Drifting into the town centre I found a spot for a cafe au lait and a jambon and fromage croissant.

Looking at my fellow diners there were British and American tourist pensioners. They were here for the three war museums. This was the epicentre of The Battle of the Bulge. Two elderly Brits in front of me in the queue were ordering coffee and pastries. It included lots of franglais and pointing. Didn’t they pay any attention in school? I hope what they got resembled what they hoped for!

This grey crew were in the town to visit museums covering the 1944 battle. This was one of Hitler’s last hurrahs to defeat the Allies and he was doing well having surrounded the Americans (101st Airborne Division) until the mist/fog cleared and supplies could be dropped into the town to help the besieged Americans. After this and the successful defence against the German siege the proverbial US cavalry arrived and beat back the Germans. As always you marvel at the bravery and sacrifice of young soldiers thousands of miles from home in a country they had little affinity with giving up their lives. For too long Europe, since WW2, has not spent enough on defence. Trump may be the main complainant but it’s old news and other US Administrations have identified the shortfall, complacency and dependence on the USA. Hopefully, this will change as the new belligerent threat of Russia seeks to recreate the USSR.

I chose to visit one museum mainly to look at the kit rather than the graphics. Here I came across some Americans doing an 11 day tour of the ‘USA in Europe’ during WW2. The tour started on the Normandy beaches and ends at the Eagle’s Next in Bavaria. They all looked shattered by the schedule and distances as they trooped on and off the bus on their way to the next museum.

After this I decided to drive through the north of Luxembourg before finding my favourite restaurant, from six years ago on the my bike ride. I had my turkey schnitzel. It didn’t disappoint. From here I headed to Germany to check into my gasthaus.

The afternoon heat was impossible in the open top car. It was like being grilled! I rested up at the gasthaus before the 10 mile drive to Luxembourg Airport to collect Anna. She’d got the train from York to Stansted. (This journey would equate to a Michael Portillo epic train journey in its own right.) After this slog the lovely Ryanair had managed to limit their flight delay to only 40 minutes and landed at 21:45. By the time the border officials had stamped every passport Anna appeared at around 22:25. I seldom, if ever, drive the Morgan in the dark. The headlights have the candle power/lumens of a glow worm. Anyway we got back to the gasthaus beside the Moselle and both fell into a deep sleep.

The ferry beckoned – ‘The Pride of Rotterdam’, built in Venice in 2001. Quite a comfortable vessel but once onboard there’s nothing to do other than eat and drink. Neither of which appeal. A three course evening meal or gargantuan ‘Full English’ are fair enough if you’re burning calories, on say a bike tour, but I’d spend the next day steering and changing gear whilst sat on my derrière. I retired early with a magazine and a salad and was soon looking at the inside of my eye lids. 

The plan was to drive to Luxembourg to collect Anna from the airport and then we’d trundle around locally in Germany and France before I’d deposit her back at the airport, she’d fly home and move I’d continue in France. We’d be in a hotel whilst she was here and I was alone I’d camp.

We didn’t disembark until past 9.15am. I walked down to the car deck whilst all the motorcyclists waddled, with difficulty, down to their motorcycles. Is being over weight mandatory to ride these powerful machines? From here it was the pointless queue for the customs chap to stamp my passport. Clearly the EU’s revenge for Brexit is characteristically bureaucratic although the official asked about my car but forgot to enquire as to whether the chassis was made of wood. The road system around the port of Rotterdam is modern but with a spaghetti of parallel roads beside or above you. I think I made two errors as I relied on Google Maps. Unfortunately (or fortunately) I was missing my ‘Little Helper’. This passenger bonus was always ready, I’d found, to offer such pearls of wisdom as ‘you’re in the wrong lane’ or ‘shouldn’t you be indicating now?’ and ‘are you thinking of turning your lights on as we go into the tunnel?’. Her real crowd pleaser is ‘the lights have turned green’. A way to deactivate this guidance is to utter the words ‘Would you like to f’ing drive?’ This guarantees silence for a little whilst while I show no contrition for continuing to take the wrong turnings!

Holland contains some lovely folk but it’s a dreary place and soon I crossed the border to Belgium. Frankly, this part of Belgium is painfully flat as well. I had plenty of time to drive toward the Luxembourg border and so I avoided motorways. This meant I followed a series of bin wagons, tractors and learner drivers through small but busy towns. This sedate progress allowed me to reflect on the two official Belgian languages: Flemish and French. I noted that all the road signs in the Flemish speaking part were in Flemish and then French in the French speaking. It seems both languages don’t need to be duplicated everywhere to satisfy the sensitivities of either party. Obviously if the language everyone speaks is English but you’re Canadian, Welsh, Irish and even some Scots then multiple gratuitous language signs are mandatory.

Having the hood down was lovely but it was hot. 30°C soon racked up and an investment in another hat seemed unavoidable or I’d become a ‘Guernsey Tom’. 

I’d cycled this route in 2019, on my way to Vienna. So I knew that as I headed south east that the hills would appear in the Ardennes. It took 150 miles before a gradient appeared. I know this because I was watching my tripometer. I was also watching my fuel gauge, however, this wasn’t revealing as it permanently read the following. 

After about 200 miles I thought I’d top Samantha up and pulled into a petrol station with automatic pumps with the instructions in French. ‘Quelle surprise’ I hear you say. Anyway a very attractive young girl was at the pump next to mine and I enquired ‘Do you speak English?’ Of course she did and set me off on the long laborious task of putting petrol into the car. It is laborious because it kicks back after every 5 seconds and it can take 10 minutes to put a decent quantity of fuel in.

I reflected later about my lady assistant being all smiley and helpful and wondered if I’d been 40 years younger would she have been as relaxed? Sadly, yet, usefully, at my age you look helpless and harmless and no threat! Eventually the campsite I’d also used in 2019 came into view and Reception was shut. Not a problem as you paid a machine (€18) and a ticket popped out with all the details including the wi-fi code. Less easy was using the password to raise the site barrier. In a right hand drive Morgan you’re on the wrong side for the barrier key pad and a 18 inches beneath it. So get out and do it that way Tony! I did and when I had got back into the car it’d shut again. I eventually gained access asking a passing bloke to punch the numbers it.

Dinner and a beer followed. Not least so I could get some change to buy a token for the shower. By 7pm it was nearly cool enough to take a shower and to stay dry afterwards. Hopefully it’s history and chicken schnitzel tomorrow. 

I suppose an ‘elephant in the room’, for this blog, is Donald Trump, I haven’t mentioned him yet although I know there won’t be a news broadcast in the UK that won’t fail to talk about him, the tariffs, Ukraine or other Trumpian initiatives. When on holiday I glance at the BBC App headlines daily and that’s about it for news interest but without any invitation the Donald has crept into our conversations with some of the natives. 

Simply put I’d say rural Americans are enthusiastic about him but urban, possibly better heeled and educated Americans, are seemingly less so. Texas is a Republican voting State though. Our Airbnb hosts in Austin were anti and the wife departed during our stay to participate in a ‘Hands Off’ protest in the middle of Austin. This march was a protest about all things right wing whether his or the Republicans attitude to the LBGTQ communities, education, abortion, Ukraine etc.  Another person we met at the Ashley McBryde concert, herself a dreary and garrulous lesbian (one of her first declarations) who unloaded her life story on us between the support act and Ashley McBryde, seldom stopping to take breath, availed us of her hostility to all things Trump. Lastly a sweet 77 year old volunteer lady, at a museum, who we struck up a conversation with about her heritage and travels embarked on comparing Trump’s regime to the Nazis and Hitler. These were all women; maybe men may feel less isolated, frightened and hostile? Anyway enough politics.

So after our San Antonio concert we saddled up for a bit of beach time and drove south to the Gulf coast, namely Corpus Christi. Here we rented a place near the beach and planned to chill and see a few sights. For all its coastal/resort charm Corpus Christi is the eighth biggest Texan city with over 300,000 residents and is quite urban and concrete. Our apartment on Padre Island was separated from the mainland by a big long bridge. We were on the first floor in a block of apartments. Beneath us lurked Stacey and her man. Stacey, nearer 40 than 30, was smashed when we passed by her apartment but she leapt out, in her bikini, and apologised profusely? We never understood why but it may have been to do with the fact they had rented our apartment prior to our arrival. In a slur she invited us join her for dinner: they were cooking, in a cauldron, a load of fish they’d caught or bought. The cauldron sat on a burner amongst assorted detritus they’d amassed beside their front door. We never responded and hurried up the stairs prophetically to her beatbox playing Gloria Gaynor’s ‘I Will Survive’. 

The next morning Stacey was sat near her door with white stick on patches beneath her eyes. This was to reduce puffiness she advised. Clearly the binge drinking had taken its toll. More strangely her partner was also wearing them. I couldn’t help but burst out laughing when I saw him. Again we hurried on. Our last conversation with Stacey came later in the day when she was clothed but in full make up and was outside smoking, f’ing and blinding to her partner about whatever and then took the opportunity to regale us with parts of her life story. She worked in the oil and gas industry, was clairvoyant but was currently angry that her meditation was interrupted by some noisy neighbours. We nodded sympathetically, thought privately she was no better than the neighbours and made our exit again. After midnight we heard loud music from their flat and her either singing or intermittently screaming. I suspect drugs may have been her choice later in the evening. Next morning she wasn’t outside and we slipped away glad for no further banter.

Three, happier, memorable things happened on our stay here . The first was visiting the Texan Sealife Center. These volunteers find and nurse to health turtles that come ashore ill or injured. Ill health can be because the weather affects their eating or have growths on their limbs because of a virus. Injuries occur through shark attacks or boating accidents. They can lose limbs. Some turtles are never returned to the sea as they can’t fend for themselves and become permanent residents. In the centre there were also some injured birds and even some reptiles. I found it all very heartening and thought all the youngsters we met doing this work were terrific.

Second was a visit to a WW2 aircraft carrier, the USS Lexington. This was permanently moored off the beach. It was commissioned in 1942 and was in the navy reserve up until the 1990s. It did see active service and suffered a kamikaze attack that killed 47 crew and over 130 injured. Wandering around below decks was interesting as were the selection of very steep stairwells that made me realise my aspirations of being a Jolly Jack Tar were improbable due to my decrepitude. We spent three hours up and down the vessel before departing for some tacos.

Lastly near our apartment was near a busy beach. To our horror this beach allowed vehicular access. Inevitably the trucks brought music, gazebos and BBQ’s to the sand. Heaven help turtles thinking of laying some eggs? However, further up the coast we found a beach that was deserted and walked a couple of miles where Tony played ornithology. Even better was that his phone automatically identified the species!

With Corpus Christi ticked off it was back on the interstate for a long drive north to Texas Hill Country.

After leaving Texas’ most populous city, Houston, we stayed en route to the second most populous city, San Antonio, at Schulenburg. Anna’s research had identified this Interstate stop off as quaint with painted German churches. On arrival a quick drive around revealed a ramshackle settlement that may be described as a ‘one horse town’ but ‘ohne pferd’. (One for Google Translate.) Also no painted churches that we could see. On the evening we found an Italian restaurant close by the hotel and then had an early night.

Next morning the Interstate took us to the centre of San Antonio and the Downtown area that also housed the Alamo. The Downtown area is built up but it features an exquisite set of canals that dissect restaurants and hotels. In the sunshine it looked wonderful. It seems that all these hotels accommodate conference attendees that flood into the town and conference centres. 

Nearby the Alamo was a fort that was built by the Spanish, then occupied by the Mexicans and then the Texans or Texians (as the Republic of Texas knew its citizens.) The Mexicans via a siege in February 1836 and subsequent attack retook the fort and the church with all the Texian defenders killed. They then went onto murder other combatants (a total of about 200). This proved to be a call to arms for all Texians as well as men from outside the State for the next battle. Weeks later the Mexican army met the Texians at San Jacinto and this time the Mexicans were routed with considerable loss of life (650) but little for the Texians (11). Here the Texians, via treaty, gained their independence and the Mexicans struggled home. The reality was that the Mexicans thought they’d recover Texas in due course, of course we know they didn’t.

So this location is important to Texans as a vital yet bloody event in their achievement of independence. The ‘money shot’ is the outside of the church, in the then fort grounds. On this day there were many tourists and most spoke Spanish. 

In Texas any signage is in English and Spanish. In hospitality or retail the staff are South American. I say South American rather than Mexican because I think this Latino workforce comes from Central American countries as well as Mexico. Go into Walmart and the shoppers are Latino or go to an attraction the visitors are Latino. In one hotel I asked a member of staff for something and she didn’t speak English. She whipped out her mobile phone and we found the Spanish for ‘butter’ via a translation App. Employment here doesn’t demand the ability to speak English obviously. I once was told by an American guy whose family was from El Salvador that within decades Spanish would be the most popular language in the USA. I believe him.

Wondering around the centre we found an Indian restaurant for lunch before heading to the suburbs to our hotel. Driving in this city of 1.5 million people was no fun. Some of the roads and gradients wouldn’t be out of place in a theme park. Cars regularly took the ramps/turnings off or joined. It made you continually vigilant of vehicles swapping lanes at high speeds and trying to avoid being stuck on pesky exit roads when they diverted off the main route. After check-in I ventured out to sort out a SIM card problem and find a record store. Both were successful missions and I got some new country music vinyl at $8 and $3 each. In the UK this would be £30 a pop. It has to be said such bargains were unusual.

The next day we visited the Botanical Gardens. These were meh! I love a botanical garden. Mainly for the trees, shade and non-indigenous blooms. This newer site had no trees bar a few in a Japanese garden and there were some flowers, especially the orchids and roses that looked lovely but otherwise it wasn’t a memorable garden.

The night was. We attended a concert about 15 miles away from our hotel and so another white knuckle drive on the road system took us there. Any music on a hot summer’s evening outside with a beer seems a great idea and this was a holiday highlight – Ashley McBryde.

After Anna’s Austrian ankle break last August and the time she’s spent recovering holidays were put on the back burner. However, making up for lost time we arranged a couple of weeks in the Lone Star state. (By the way, Anna’s now very mobile and her recovery is a testament to the surgery/care she received and her diligent rehab regime.)

We’ve never been to Texas and as it’s as big as Europe and there’s plenty to see and do albeit with a little driving (understatement.) Austin appealed because it’s the state capital and country music!  From here we’d take in the Space Center at Houston, then to San Antonio for a look and concert. Afterwards it’s down to the coast and a stay at Corpus Christi. Flying out of Heathrow meant hauling down to London from Yorkshire by train but this was compensated by a relatively cheap upgrade to ‘World Traveller’ from Economy with British Airways. For a nine hour flight the extra space is a boon.

In Austin Anna chose an Airbnb for our three nights and this was on the outskirts of the centre. The first thing that hits you (again) is that the USA is no longer cheap. Historically you could buy in dollars what it cost in pounds or usually cheaper. Now it’s way more expensive including food/dining. Tipping is a usual demand starts at 15 or 18%. You even get asked this when inserting your card into the reader at the counter of a coffee shop for a take out! Austin is big and sits on the Colorado river. In the centre skyscrapers abound. We walked around (24,300 steps!) on our first day but when we went out for an evening music walking tour we took an Uber feeling very lardy. For the distance of a couple of miles we paid $23 but that cost was soon forgotten as a driverless Jaguar turned up. School boy thrill time! (When we did take a taxi with a driver it’s always interesting to learn where the driver originates from. One was from Afghanistan and got residency because he worked with the US military and the other was a large bloke from Cameroon.)

The city sells itself as being the live music capital of the USA. I personally don’t think so after having been to Nashville but our guide, a musician herself, took us around some venues and even sang. She had a great voice and gave us a few bars of ‘Crazy’ by Patsy Cline as an illustration of one of the songs written by the city’s living legend, Willie Nelson.

In fact I think Willie’s done a lot to put the city on the map. The focus of the music nightlife is 6th Street. This is a pale shadow of Nashville’s Lower Broadway but the deal is the same ie. bars with live music. We bowled up to the San Jac Saloon where a couple of acts were strumming away fighting the inevitable rowdy background of the revellers. We enjoyed Bron Burbank who worked his way through covers and ploughed on despite the indifference.

The next day we returned to the airport to collect a car we booked. I’d wanted a BMW X1 for the 1,000+ miles I’d be driving but ‘or similar’ in the booking meant I stood a considerable chance of disappointment. Yup, no BMW but a Mercedes GLA came as the consolation. I absorbed the blow with good grace. First stop on our return to East Austin central was an American breakfast at Sawyer & Co for eggs, bacon, gravy and a biscuit. This was hip and I added about 15 years to average age in the busy Sunday morning restaurant. Fortified it was time for history and drove up to the State Capital building.

This contains the legislature of Texan senators, congressmen and the Governor. It’s a wonderful building and we enjoyed a tour up the various levels. The legislature only sits for about 140 days a year and apart from a flat salary of $7,500 a year they receive, in addition, about $220/day expenses. Needless to say they all have other jobs. (The Governor only receives around $150,000 pa.) It’s a very historic building and there are several paintings of 19th century notables who led Texas to independence out of Mexico. (More of all this in a later blog.) The grounds similarly have many statues of other Texan worthies.

Back at our digs we discovered our intended honky-tonk destination was shut on a Sunday. That was the Broken Spoke, a little out of town. However our hosts said, in walking distance, was the White Horse, honky-tonk and maybe worth a visit. So venturing out the good news was that the large numbers of homeless men were not present who, frankly, carpet some streets. They never threatened us but their condition and presence was a miserable sight to see. It seems all major US cities have large numbers who simply seem to survive rather than live.

The White Horse was all I could have dreamed of from the neon signage, a full dance floor two-stepping and a fabulous band – Silo Road. They could really play and mixed originals with covers as couple span around in front of us. Before you ask, then ‘no’. I have the coordination of a pedal bin and most of these dancers were skilled. All the country music songs I know talk of dancing on ‘hardwood floors’ but this was concrete but bore the throng happily. Back at the Airbnb we packed as tomorrow we were headed east for rockets!