Croissants by the Mad

Next day was Saturday. With our ferry booked for Tuesday and Maisy's somewhat matronly turn of speed we decided sadly that we' d have to leave Germany and head back to France. Over coffee we pored over our road maps and camp site books. The choice was to head up the free German motorways towards Luxembourg or cut back across Alsace and Lorraine on Route Nationale retracing our outward journey, but thirty miles or so to the north.

We opted for the latter route and in the end that proved to be a good choice. It was a slow start though. Our plan had been to drop into Horb am Neckar which reputedly is just as picturesque as Rottenburg. Indeed it is, situated in a narrow, wooded  part of the Neckar valley its colourful old houses clustering around an old abbey church are reflected prettily in the slow flowing river. 

Parking Maisy proved impossible, the town's car parks are divided by low railway bridges which made most of them inaccessible. In order to escape the maze I had to drive 50 yards up a one way street the wrong way. There was no one about, and playing the stupid foreigner, a role that I am naturally cut out for anyway, helps you get out of most tight corners. So we ended up admiring Horb from afar from the car park of a retail area across the river and eating brunch in a fast food 'bakerie'.

As near as we got to Horb

Good pie!

Once you climb out of the steep sided Neckar valley the countryside of this part of Baden Wurttenburg  is a rolling plateau of forest and farmland which becomes steadily more wooded as you approach the northern edge of the Black Forest. Perched high up on the plateau is the town of Freudenstadt. It looks stately and certainly worthwhile spending an hour or two wandering around. We needed to press on so drove straight through. Another time we promised ourselves.

Just beyond the town the road forks;  Muriel said go right, the map told us the most direct road to the Rhine Valley was the left hand turn. There were lots of signs warning of a steep descent but we took it anyway.

I'm glad we did. The road snaked down the western side of the Black Forest in a series of looping hairpin bends. Near the summit the trees were uniformly tall dark conifers; occasionally as you rounded a bend the thick curtain of trees would thin and you would glimpse a vista of forested hills stretching out into the hazy distance. Soon the forest changed and birches mixed with the firs. We passed through geranium decked villages straight out of Hansel and Gretel. As we reached the foothills the villages became more sedate, each housing large late Nineteenth Century Spas advertising all kinds of treatments. 

 In no time at all we had reached the Rhine valley passing through a series of rich looking but workaday wine villages. As we approached the river crossing the area became more industrialised, lots of shiny new electronic factories, modern and stylish, each trying to out-Bauhaus the next. The river arrived, we crossed over a series of huge sluice gates and barrages and passed a big hydro electric plant. No Lorelei here! A tiny rusting sign read 'Alsace Lorraine' the verges immediately become more litter strewn and with no ado whatsoever you realised you had entered France.

Skirting Strasbourg, we still had some distance to travel. The Northern part of Alsace and Lorraine is much more attractive when viewed  sedately  from a Route Nationale rather than on previous visits to this part of France bowling along the Autoroute at 90mph eager to reach Italy as soon as possible.

We had identified a campsite at Jaulny, Southeast of Metz as a stop-off, one of the few in an area characterised by bland agro-business villages and down at heel, declining small industrial towns. We had lots of fun spotting signs as the area we were staying in was the valley of the river 'Mad'. I 'm sure the local primary school offers a wonderful education, but any English incomers would think twice before sending sending little Estelle and Imogen to l'Eole de Val Du Mad!

Camping Jaulny

The campsite, when we finally did find it, negotiating some dodgy low railway bridges and narrow wooden single track bridges across The Mad, was beautifully situated amongst wooded hills. 

Indeed it would have been idyllic but for the proximity on TGV Est less than half a mile away. Every ten minutes peace was shattered by the jumbo jet roar which announced the arrival of yet another train, which moments later streaked through the trees, a blue, arrow-like blur. Thankfully the TGV does not seem to run at night.

We woke next day to sunshine and the flakiest scrummy croissants I've tasted in a long while. Vive la difference!