Europe Road Trip Day 8–10: There and Back Again
Tuesday was the day of the trip I had most been looking forward to (before you set the mafia on me, Amalia, I’m talking solely in terms of the travelling). We woke up in Luzern, one of my favourite places, and we would be driving to Lauterbrunnen, which is just about my favourite place on earth, before heading north through uncharted territory for me: north Switzerland, the Alsace region of France, and the city of Strasbourg.
Things started well. Luzern must be one of those places where everyone goes to bed and wakes up early, because it was completely transformed that morning — its medieval streets were as lit as a reasonably-attended church service. People bicycled down the old cobbled streets, and the mountains peeked out of the mist on the far side of the lake. Eden and I hit the absolute jackpot for breakfast with Heini’s — not a downward-facing greeting but a gorgeous cafe, complete with wood paneling and old people doing the crossword. When it started to rain outside, the cosiness was complete.
We then had the first bargain I have ever encountered in Switzerland — a complete breakfast extravaganza of cheeses, hams, bread, croissants, Nutella, jams, orange juice, coffee and a muesli which changed the muesli game forever. Holy fuck it was good, and it couldn’t even be ruined by our waitress, who expressed at every opportunity how much she detested our presence there. After we’d finished eating, she ignored us for so long I was seriously considering doing a runner, before the lovely old lady next to us actually pretended to want something just so the waitress would come over to our corner. Faith in Swiss people restored.
After packing up our bags, it was a short and stunning one-hour drive to Lauterbrunnen. The name (probably) means “many waterfalls” in medieval German, and let me tell you, that is really a very applicable name. The valley, impossibly lush and green, sits in a deep cleft between sheer limestone cliffs, some more than a kilometre high. Thanks to these cliffs, around 72 waterfalls cascade down into the valley (before you get overexcited, though, most are small and often disappear for part of the year). These scenes were witnessed by some kid named JRR Tolkien on a hiking trip in 1911, and some time later he used Lauterbrunnen as the inspiration for Rivendell, home of the elves.
Lauterbrunnen village is normally overrun with tourists like us, but as you walk deeper into the valley, you get a taste of serenity which lasts until you hit the Lauterbrunnen Wall, and suddenly you’re walking up one of the largest mountain ranges in Europe: the Jungfraujoch. I haven’t made it very far up in three visits, but one day. Those three visits have been in summer, winter and now autumn, and it was fantastic to see the valley in different shades of colour each time.
But once again, we just didn’t have time to dilly-dally. After a walk around the valley floor, we hopped back in the car and headed for France.
Northern-western Switzerland, it transpires, was slightly less dramatic than the south, but it was nice to see the rolling green hills fade into sunset. Stopping at a service station, I was annoyed that they charge 1 franc just to go to the toilet (which is in my not-very-humble opinion a human right which cannot be legally commodified) so I leapt the barrier and quickly scarpered into the toilets, leaving Eden stranded and desperate. She was not impressed by the time I came out, but she found it in her heart to forgive me once I bought us some Lindor pick-n-mix.
The final few hours to Strasbourg were long and dark, but the city at the end of it was even better than I expected. Even on the outskirts, the houses were built in what I’ve come to think of as ‘whimsical medieval style’, with elaborate cross-hatch timber beams, two or sometimes three floors in the roofs, and a general pleasant wonkiness. This only got more pronounced as we headed to our B&B right in the city centre, five floors above a lingerie shop. Knowing that this was our last proper night, and knowing that our final night in Paris would be truly shit, I had booked a decent apartment — having been in fairly basic accommodation most of this trip, we were overjoyed at having a kitchen and rain shower and a bit of space. And there were timber beams inside it.
So, we decided to make the most of it and find a takeaway to bring back to our Strasbourg pad. The Thai takeaway featured amazing chicken wings and spring rolls which looked like a complete salad stuffed into a condom. Variety is the spice of life.
Waking at 10 the following morning, we had time for a short trip around the city centre. It has to be said how Germanic everything is, courtesy of the fact that the Alsace-Lorraine region has exchanged hands between Germany and France several times over its history. But it’s not only aesthetically German, it’s culturally quite German too: everyone was early to bed and early to rise, the polar opposite of Paris, and the food had that very-hearty-but-kinda-like-your-mum-made-it-in-a-hurry vibe that distinguishes a lot of German cuisine (I know this sounds snobbish but I am actually completely ok with that ).
The reason I had picked Strasbourg was its world-famous cathedral, and it did not disappoint. It towers so far above everything else in the city that it feels a bit like a giant gothic spaceship has landed in its centre, adorned with so much detail, so many statues and gargoyles and flying buttresses that it’s very hard to take it all in. The weather wasn’t brilliant, but this added to the effect, as the spire melted into the mist far above us. Eden summed it up perfectly: it looked beautiful, but also like an evil villain’s lair. Maybe the Verona B&B owner spends his winters there. But the best thing was that it was completely free to enter — not very Catholic, but very appreciated.
Inside, it was far more austere, lit only faintly to emphasize the spooky light emanating from the rich stained-glass windows. The organ, situated thirty meters up one of the walls, would be very exciting to play. The exception to the austerity was the astronomical clock, a marvel of meticulous and frivolous design. To explain everything it does would take ages, but suffice to say that a procession of saints spin around it every day at 12.30, and it has many other tricks up its sleeve.
After that came the long, long drive back to Paris. I cursed my optimistic former self for the length of the drive, not for the first time — in fact, I had cursed that bastard every single day of the holiday. It’s been a brilliant time, but I just bit off way more than I could chew. Almost every day I arrived at my accommodation too late, in the dark, exhausted and overstimulated from seeing so many amazing places in rapid succession. It’s safe to say I have learnt my lesson about quality over quantity.
The other outcome of all this was that I exceeded the mileage limit allowed by my hire car company … by 1,917km. We arrived in Paris so late that I didn’t have to face anyone in person, praise the Lord, but at 9.01 this morning, a French man called me in a state of advanced disbelief: “We allow you 200km a day — you more than doubled it?” Unfortunately, in my overexcitement and my foolishness, I did. For a car company representative, he was distinctly unsupportive of my enthusiasm for driving. However, I do owe him a genuine debt, because the car company charge a flat rate per kilometre over the limit, and he knocked a considerable portion off the fine once I channelled my inner Karen and complained that this was not stipulated in the contract. But even with the discount, the fine was a whopper.
So, am I ever going to financially recover from my road trip around Europe? Maybe not. But when I think about everything I’ve done, everything I’ve seen, and with some of planet earth’s nicest people, it is hard to really regret it.
