After a bad dinner, a questionable breakfast, and a less than comfortable room, there is nothing holding me in Kedange sur Canner. Except cold morning weather that is. But even that is not an obstacle big enough to keep me here.It's not actually as cold as it looks. But it's a very unusual light that gets my camera excited
|Still not trusting the Boche !|
By now I have been pedaling parallel to the border for quite a while.
|I'm still in France, but there is a German sign there. If I would walk behind it, I'd be walking in Germany !|
|And somewhere here I cross the border (NO, the actual border is invisible)|
Only a few minutes later do I realize what an impact that Fawlty Towers episode has had on me ;-) HERE IS A LINK to the relevant minutes that burned themselves into my brain years ago.
|Free Food !|
I keep pedaling East, first through corn fields and then through the outskirts of the Saar steel-producing region.
I arrive in the small town of Eppelborn around noon and the hotel room is a pleasant surprise:
|NOT bad for 39 Euros per night (fabulous breakfast included !)|
After back-tracking all of the hill-journey,I start again at the hotel and eventually make it to the restaurant
I get there a bit late (2 pm and they close at 3) but they agree to feed me. I order the wine listed on the blackboard outside and it is GOOD !
But not as good as the real-veal Wiener Schnitzel. Oh so tender ! And even the amount of lemon they provided with it is PERFECT. Just enough to get out that fabulous mysterious flavour of the combination but not enough to turn the meal into a soggy sour saliva-shocker.
A while later I head to a supermarket. Two things I buy are memorable. The Chocolate (look at the country !).
And of course I need something to drink. And the beverage will come in very handy just a few moments later.
The beverage being consumed much helps in focusing on the good fortune that she is NOT coming.
Being half buzzed also helps in another venue.
At some point I almost fall out of my chair.
Is it Hannibal crossing the Alps with elephants?
Or has someone just stepped on the tail of a great prehistoric giant cat?
No, it is just the town's Oom Pah Pah band practicing in the building next door. Unfortunately the window of the room they are practicing in is RIGHT ACROSS from my window and they have their window OPEN !
|An Oom Pah Pah band|
I really enjoy Native drumming and chanting.
Bag-Pipe music is soothing to my soul.
The hooting sound of an Australian Aboriginal Didgeridoo lets me dream of travelling there. And even the suffering and hauntingly foreign sounds that Spanish marching bands manage to get out of their brass wind instruments I adore.
But play some German Oom Pah Pah music and see me cringing and running as fast as I can to escape from the dumb noise.
Not so easily done when the bastards practice for HOURS right next window.
Is a people's music a window to the people's soul?. Probably. How could Bach and Beethoven be replaced by something that people clap their leather-clad thighs to?
Don't get me wrong, in certain circumstances the idea of thigh-slapping could be appealing (Trust me, deep down, EVERY man over 50 is a dirty old man ;-)
But in the general the whole Oom Pah Pah thing rates in comparison to proper music like a typical German Tits&Arse joke in comparison to fine British wit.