Belting through Belgium, going briefly Dutch, and today in Germany, I am taking Europe at a trot, if not as a Trot. It is interesting how similar much of it is, with autoroutes smoothly transitioning to autobahns without let or hindrance, though I did notice several German police cars at the reststop on the border, obviously keeping an eye out for undesirables. If anything, German autobahns are even bigger and newer than other countries’ motorways, and seem even more stuffed with HGVs carrying the solid output of German productivity. But motorway madness remains pretty much the same throughout Europe, with it mainly being SUVs bombing down the outside lane, threatening to barge you out of the way unless you defer to their overbearing sense of arriviste entitlement. And however many hectares of land continue to be carpeted with concrete and tarmac, no one seems to have solved the problem of commuter congestion. Coming out of Maastricht this morning was bad enough, but nothing to the thousands of motorists queuing to get in to work. Such daily drudgery is a high price to pay for the consumer lifestyle. And the German commitment to heavy industry which we in Britain turned away from puts heavy plant in the prettiest of places and giant power stations beside the motorway, unafraid to literally block out the sun.

 

Language remains the chief difference. The phlegmatic Flemish for a motorway exit is ‘Uit’, whereas the more rebarbative German is ‘Ausfahrt’. Each country has developed its own subtly different way of signing routes and directions, so that I am constantly consulting my road atlas to discover alternative road numbers and destinations which happen to have something in common with my planned route. Bilingual signage becomes less common once you get into Germany. In the Netherlands, there is a virtual presumption of English as a lingua franca. In Germany, they assume you are German until you prove otherwise; but most of them still speak English when our pathetic monoglotism becomes apparent. My schoolboy German remains dormant, as at the moment does my computer’s relation with my camera. It has suddenly decided to refuse to download all the wonderful images I am getting, so my medieval relationship with modern technology continues unchanged.

 

Today I have been to two branches of Germany’s answer to Currys, Saturn – though that should probably be Satan – buying alternative cables and memory cards in Koblenz, only for them not to work and the Mainz store denying all responsibility. The camera ‘specialist’ assured me it was because I was shooting in high definition RAW, which he said the MacBook Pro could not process, whereas the computer ‘specialist’ assured me that this was rubbish and it was the camera’s fault. In true modern mercantile fashion, they were not over-interested because I didn’t promise another sale, the only motor of human engagement these days. For the moment, I have had to resort to shooting at a lower resolution to allow the camera to talk to my MacBook, but I continue to find modern technology deeply depressing in its childlike propensity to let you down only in the most embarrassing and irreversible circumstances.

Asking for directions in Koblenz, they were given in relation to the appropriately named ‘Deutches Eck’, which means ‘German Corner’ – though I thought “Bloody ‘Eck” – and refers to a gigantic kitsch stature of Kaiser Wilhelm I on the banks of the Rhine, an excrescence which makes the Albert Memorial opposite the Albert Hall look positively tasteful.

This may be viewed from above, thanks to the 850-metre long Seilbahn cable car, which takes you up to the colossal, but rather boring, 19^th century fortress Festung Ehrenbreitstein. My trip down the Rhine took me past dozens of much more fairy-tale castles, which is why the tourist board call this section the “Romantic Rhine’. This large river is certainly busy, not just with day-tripper boats, but huge hotel boats, as well as vast barges transporting everything from coal to containers. These all have a car or two dropped on the stern, presumably to allow the crew to drive home at the end of the voyage, or even for the night en route. I guess the German hausfrau prefers not to be a water widow, though I fear I missed photographing the Loreley Rock siren statue – predictably responsible for luring sailors to their death – due to heavy traffic.

Whilst typing this, I have been fiddling with my equipment (as the Radio 1 DJ said) and, much to my surprise, I have finally overcome my camera’s reluctance to download. I still don’t take back anything I have already said, not least because it has deleted over half the pictures I have taken, but can now – have now – include(d) some relevant pictures. I ended the Rhine tour at the large village of Rüdesheim, centre of the Rheingau wine region. I started to photograph a place which makes Blackpool look reserved, thronged as it is with tourists, tacky shops and themed restaurants. One had a large courtyard of tables completely empty, but being serenaded by a couple of miserable musicians presumably employed to attract custom, unsuccessfully. I then happened upon a wine which beautifully summed up the place.