Time to move on; and rather than going by autobahn I set satnav to avoid motorways. The route took me through the Eifel national park, and past Nurburgring, which I’d always thought was near Nuremberg. I’ve been wrong before and probably will be again. Skirting Aachen, the countryside was lush green pasture and rolling hills; Holstein cattle, and other breeds I should know, munching away happily. Into the Eifel, and we are in forested upland, tall pine trees all of an age, that looked like they were planted to make pit props. There were some wonderful hairpin descents into river valleys: the Rur and the Ahr, sounding like pirates having an argument. I pulled over in a lay-by next to the Ahr for a spot of lunch: cheese, apple, and rye bread.

The route skirted a part of the circuit at Nurburgring, and seemed to be a tour of all the overflow car parks. A large building, opposite a grandstand, declared itself as “BMW: the home of motor racing” which seems to share the arrogance of some of their everyday drivers. The surrounding garages were showing their collection of muscle cars, covered in lurid vinyl wraps.

The road brought me out on the north bank of the Mösel/Moselle, and for a few km down the valley; the south facing slopes were covered in narrow terraces, wide enough for three or four rows of vines, but not a tractor. Looked like there was some hard work in store. I arrived at the campsite, to be greeted by a very jolly receptionist, who explained how everything worked. It’s €24 per night, but showers are paid extra, on a charge card, which can also be used in the laundry. She apologised for the weather: “It’s like England” she said. Not sure if she meant now, or generally. “Yes, but you have wine” I quipped. She ended up selling me a bottle of Graubergunder: “Put in your fridge, it will be ready for tonight”. I would have bought a Mösel, but hock bottles are too tall for my tiny fridge. Foolishly, I enquired about red Reisling: No, Reisling is a white grape; her colleague behind shook her head in agreement. “We do have a red Bergunder, made from the same grapes.” So I bought a bottle of Spätburgunder as well.

In some ways, although progressive generally, Germany surprises with its conservatism. No more so than in its attitude to smoking, which is widespread. I treated myself to the pizza last night; but I could smell the waft of the noxious weed at my table. The example of the charge card for showers feels old-fashioned; reception wasn’t sure whether they take cards on the bus into Koblenz. In fact, there seemed to be a check in/out system judging by the panel, though whether that was a proprietary card I didn’t need to check. Getting to the bus stop was a fair old hike; about 20mins or so; I nearly caught the train, but it was pulling in as I arrived so no time to but a ticket. I practiced my nascent German skills by asking passers-by for directions. The village next to the campsite is Güls, hence the campsite name Gülser Moselbogen (“bend in the Mosel”).

Waiting for a while, eventually a huge bendy bus arrived and a twenty minute trip into the centre of the city. I grabbed a bite to eat at a bakery cum cafe, where I was joined at my table by a very inventive beggar, who brought a cup of coffee, and then complained he was hungry, and could I spare him some food? “Nein.” “ And again nein.” Was it a nice sandwich? “Ja. Guten tag.”

I made my way towards the Deutches Eck, a park where the Rhine and the Moselle meet. It seemed to be a regular dropping off point for river cruises: the Viking line have a regular gangway there. Both rivers were busy, both with cruise boats, and with freight traffic. Later, I went down to the Moselle through tha back gate at the camping; three really long cargo barges went by in the space of a quarter of an hour.

Time to start wending my way. I passed the Basilica of St Castor, a Carolingian foundation, built in the Romanesque style. There’s a sign inside the door saying “please be silent for contemplation”. Someone spoke at the other end, and the reverb lasted for about three or four seconds, something I’ve noticed about Romanesque buildings. This must have had an influence on the development of early music.Although rebuilt around 1100, it was still in the pre-gothic style; there’s a lot of coloured ornament in it too. At one time the church was the headquarters of the Teutonic Knights.

Back at the site, I put my washing away , cooked dinner (vegetarian meatballs and Asda’s finest instant mash, not bad) and had a couple of glasses of the white. It was nice, but the Dutch Riesling was better. The influx on the site includes quite a few Scandinavians: maybe the plume of cold polar air, that brought wind an heavy rain overnight, has blown their motorhomes this way. Also a few British. Today I completed 19455 steps, my record I think, so I’m going to bed now.