We’ve been in Germany for a few days now and I was feeling uneasy. Something was wrong. Something was missing. Was there a Zulu horde just over the next hill, shadowing our every move or were we a modern version of the Roman legions about to be vanquished in the Teutoberg Forest. It was quiet…too quiet. Then there it was. Not welcome or reassuring in the least but disdainfully expected. The wump, wump, wump of thousands of windmills. If they could move like so many triffids Custer’s Last Stand would have been like a paper cut. But with all of the trouble in the Middle East, a ready replacement for fossil fuels has to be a good thing, right? Apart from the oil you have to put in them to keep them running. And you can’t strap one to the roof of your tractor. Enough of that.

There’s a part of Barvaria called Franconia which sounds like a cross between France and some medieval Disneyworld and while it’s people aren’t a Germanic equivalent of your average French waiter they are the opposite of those occupying the happiest place on earth. The locals say that if a Franconian is smiling it’s because they’re drunk which I guess is a good thing because if drunks are required, you want happy ones. Sober Franconians on the other hand, aren’t the type of people you invite to a party (unless they get drunk on the way). “It could be worse” is about the most enthusiastic complement you will lever out of a Franc or Frances apparently. The legendary German sense of humour must have had its origins here.

In the past, property in this part of the world was worth more if it was covered, at least to some extent, with grape vines. I guess there also had to be someone nearby with the wherewithal to turn their fruit into booze (otherwise what is the point) but that doesn’t appear to have been part of the contract. Anyway, there are grape vines up and down the Rhine and Main Rivers’ valleys with up being the operative word. Building terraces or heaven forebid, growing on flat land is for pikers. You have to assume there were property scams a-plenty judging by some of the vineyard locations. How you can successfully manage a block of land which would be more accessible if it was on the side of an Egyptian Pyramid, is beyond my comprehension.

I started writing this episode a few days ago. We’re now in Amsterdam, in the departure lounge of our boat, which for the last three weeks was the bar. We’re parked next to a large blue cruise liner which is currently home to 1000 refugees. When we got off our boat yesterday to do a canal cruise and look at tulips which are now blooming, we were told to keep our belongings close and beware of pickpockets. I draw no link between the two.

Adieu until the next adventure, or unless I think of something else to write about in the meantime.