In which Sid and Doris walk with bicycles in the Ore Hills of Czechia.
The big news is that this evening Sid and Doris are hearing Czech spoken in the bar tonight. Today was a text book exhibition of how to go cycle touring in almost every respect, except there was also walking. The border between Germany and Czechia (now) is the range called the Ore Mountains, which makes sense given Freiberg was a mining town. So a long climb up (sometimes steep) to the border post, precipitously down, over one more range of hills and down to dinner.
Vital statistics for the day:
Distance: 86 kilometres (of which three walked)
Climb: 1187 metres
Weather: Warm, unless rushing down the mountain in which case get dressed for descent.
We started with a visit to the muesli bar shop and came away well laden. Climbing requires fuel. The run out of Freiberg on Monday morning was a busy experience as trucks, vans, cars and tractors want to share the road with us quite intimately. As the road climbed and got nearer to the border then the traffic thinned out along with the atmosphere. It is just an honest hill, select a gear and twizzle the pedals. The logging lorries see us out of Freiberg and then as they make their express journeys to and from the forest clock us higher and higher on their route, but slowly.
Frauenstein, one of the last German villages on the route, had a bakery with a sign that Miftah Bat does not fully understand, but sort of chimes with some of the shops and magazines in Germany. The road climbed, narrowed and became very smooth.
We thrilled to the 1Km to the border sign and twirled in to the border.
The non-border post is a history lesson of its own with large areas for queuing, abandoned customs sheds, empty shops and faded signs offering cheap cigs on the Czech side. The Czech area somehow manages to support a petrol station so presumably there is an arbitrage to be had. For about 40 years it was a Comintern border, then from 1989 an EU / Other border until Czechoslovakia joined the EU in 2004 (now split Czechia and Slovakia).
Looking quickly behind us to the German border signs was like a now-you-see-it-now-you-don’t view into a time machine. Backwards, 21st century. Forwards… ?The road surface is hideous right away. Very quickly we were out into the woods but somehow this all feels more foreign. Persons of an age may remember the mystery of the Singing Ringing Tree.
Off the border the road quickly loses a lot of height so we dress for descending. There are motorbikes making the opposite journey; my, Sid is pleased to be going this way. The road surface is so bad that you could be thrown off. Soon we find a Czech restaurant with lots of bikers and in keeping with our meal plan stop for stupendous soup and soft drinks.
Coming over these mountains has dropped us into a new climate, new gastronomy and a new economy. The whole meal for the price of two pints at home. Each village that we come through has rust streaked works that the world does not need anymore. This seems to have made the drivers ruder than in happy Germany. The CIA puts average Czechian GDP per head at about $23,000 but around here it doesn’t look like it.
Still, we had another range of hills to get over before cruising down into Lovosice. Yesterday Doris banged a knee and today finds that climbing any more than she has already is just too hurty. So we walk a few kilometres over the last hills on a very pleasant and quiet road before breaking out onto a ridge road to scoot down into town. (Being fully fuelled and unbonked made this all No Fuss Norris, a state to be achieved at all times.)
We come into town by a cramped tunnel under the railway which may taint our sense of what is to come. The Lev Hotel is a four star oasis and we are surprised to find 45 Danes here on a coach tour. The staff, who see regular invasions of lager enraged, horn hatted Senior Citizens, suggest we eat in the other restaurant. The air is still warm at 8pm and dinner is on its way.