Reception came up trumps – a pitch for two nights, near to the toilets. I’m staying a bit longer. Having reviewed the options in the last post! I’ve gone for c) and booked two nights near Nancy, at a site I’d had in mind for a potential south-to-north trip; it’s at Liverdun, on the Moselle again, about three hours away by the direct route. Booked over the internet, no fuss.

Tonight the church bells have been ringing rather gloriously; trying to find out whether it was a special occasion, or something they do for the fun of it, went online and found out lots about the town, which I wish I’d known before the evening of departure. Like the Glockenspiel, which might have been responsible for the carillion I heard earlier; the tourist train, that would have been a more sensibly way to attain the abbey; the short boat trips from the pier; maybe even the cable car up the valley side to a viewpoint and monument statue.

Yesterday I decided to go for a little explore, and walk to the far end of the village, where there’s another car ferry, run by a co-op since 1920. Satnav doesn’t want to use it, unless you specify going via Bingen on the other shore, for some reason. On the way back, I got a sense of the history of the town; Brömserburg castle was one of the earliest strongholds on the Rhine, and used as a customs post from about 1000, until Koblenz took over. I went into a couple of shops, looking at maybe buying a scarf: the wind is still blowing cold from the north, with morning temperatures hovering around 10deg. A leather shop had a proud display of belts, lederhosen, and dirndls; while another, where I got Willma a sticker for her collection, also had a set of cuckoo clocks, which decided to chime as I made my purchase. No clichés here then.

Dropping in at the tourist office, I asked for a place to buy wine from a producer, and was pointed to Georg Breuer (with some irony, German for brewer) up a side street nearby. A modern showroom, with an enthusiastic and knowledgeable young man, eager to share information in fluent English, with me and a set of well-tailored men who came in soon after. I tried a Riesling, a rosé and a red , both from Pinot Noir, and ended up buying one of each, a backpack full. The red was really good, full of the scent of cherries, blackberries, and something else, maybe tayberries? They weren’t cheap; but clearly not supermarket one buck chucks.

Today I took a short walk, more for exercise really, back round the small commercial centre. I’ve always enjoyed looking at industrial estates, I suppose part of seeing how things work. When I was a working stage manager, I’d keep a mental reference of these places, because you never know when you might need …. After a quick peek at Lidl in der mittel to see what was on offer here, bent round back to the Weinstrand in Hafenpark, (a pop-up drinks place) that I’d passed a couple of times. It seemed attractive, with groups of people, families, dogs all sat round at tables and in deckchairs, most with glasses of white wine in hand, looking out over the river. It seemed like the sort of thing that might rock my boat. Asked to choose, saw the most expensive Riesling, that the barman suggested, was by Georg Breuer. A pleasant tipple it was too.

I haven’t done much food sampling here, so I popped into the campsite cafe for my supper; I ordered a flammekusche and a small beer. While I waited for it to be cooked, I pondered my feelings about Germany, its campsites, its people. Some sites, for whatever reason, seem to engender a spirit of conviviality, irrespective of how god or how well run they are. Somehow, people just get chatting. I had a couple of shortish conversations with some British campers, who’d met on a rally last year: I kept bumping into them in unusual places. “Where are you from,” I asked one. “Dartford, by the Tunnel,” he answered. “ Me too, I’m from Fleet Estate”, say I. “Oh we are Temple Hill” says he. Apart from that, my efforts were a little stilted, though there was a limited exchange with some Danes, bemused by a wandering chipmunk. (There are colonies of escapes over here, I discovered). But not the level of banter, or depth of conversation that you find on many French sites; or with the Dutch camping fraternity either. Some of it is linguistic; although many Germans speak some English, and are tolerant of my efforts in their tongue, there’s a certain formality in their interchanges. I really had to work hard with my clowning to raise a smile even: short of wearing funny shoes and doing a pratfall there wasn’t much more I could do. That’s how it is. They are nice decent people, but hard to approach, I think. Tomorrow, France.