Keeping occupied

So, this time last year, Lady Kirsten and I decided to go house-hunting. We wanted to stay in the area but I wanted an easier ride to work in the morning. In Wiltingen, it took me 90 minutes to get to work and 2 hours to come home, which i didn't mind, considering I don't go every day and we lived in a water mill in the middle of some stunning countryside. Moving was always going to be hard, considering the nature of the place we lived in, so wherever we went would really have to be tip-top.
We didn't have long to wait. I ran a search on the main property website for the area, and found an absolute beauty in Saarburg. It was the very first place we viewed in the late autumn and we would compare it against any other property we looked at thereafter.

It was on a fairly steep incline, but the views over the valley and surrounding hills was memorable, and the roofed terrace (seen above on the right of the house) was perfect to survey the natural landscape all around.

The downside was that even though it bordered on the forest, there were some busy roads nearby, including a spaghetti-style slip-road system that is soon to be adapted, and the planned building of a supermarket only a minute away, with all the palaver of construction and destruction. However, the bus to Luxembourg leaves from only 200 metres from the front door.

The most poignant thing about the house was that it had a certain dignified air, as if to say "like me or loathe me, this is what you get". And considering its most advantageous selling price, there were no major renovation issues, which baffled me and still leaves me wondering why, come the following spring, it was still on the market. Looking at other houses of various shapes and sizes in the meantime, nothing compared to that one, and so we put in a bid for it. It was the best decision we made.

On the top floor are four light and spacious bedrooms, a bathroom and a hallway, on the upper ground floor is a huge kitchen, a large dining room, a living room and a smaller room doing nothing, so we converted it into a library. The ground floor is a second residence, which helps to pay a large chunk of our mortgage, and behind that, built into the land, is a cellar large enough to use it for washing clothes, storing a huge amount of boxes and housing the gardening equipment until I built a garden shed.

The roofed terrace is a delightful place to sit and we decked it out with hanging baskets filled with long-lasting plants. We added some further plants and even tomatoes and peppers, which produced a small but rewarding yield in September. The main work was in the garden and upper meadow, where there is a huge empty space, just waiting to be landscaped. This will not happen overnight, but I wanted to get things going this summer and I built a shed (as I mentioned), although not one of those you hammer the panels together, like there is already in the garden (see photo below), but rather a cabin-style shed where you bang in the planks so they overlap. It may take longer, but it is a satisfactory feeling to know you built it yourself. I had to shift a lot of earth, as the incline of the hill would have not been a wise place to build foundations. With that soil, I made a heather rockery and kitchen garden.

We hope to stay here for many years.

Uphill:

A balloon passes overhead. Our nut trees (right of photo) provided the local deer with a huge Sunday breakfast one morning in October.

Building a garden shed:
Lady Kirsten deciphering the instructions for putting on the roof. The hardest part about building the shed was shifting the soil beneath to level off the ground. I filled the hole with fine gravel to keep it dry.

Taking a short break:

Me, discussing a shisha break with Iman, our renter. As an Iranian descendent, he has access to some of the finest flavoured shisha tobaccoes in Germany.

The completed shed:

Roof on, wood stained and heather rockery planted, I built a bird house with the remaining pieces of plank. It has become a focal point of our cats' entertainment. I still need to affix the guttering to the shed and place the blue barrels below to provide water for the plants come the spring.

Old and new:

The old shed will be sawn up and used to heat us up in midwinter. In its place will come a pergola and seating area for us to relax with a good book, some cheese, wine and bread. The grass area between the heather rockery and the wheel barrow will become a terrace next year.

Deer in the garden:
We are frequently visited by all sorts of wild animals, including a trio of deer one Sunday morning. I spent about 45 minutes admiring them in our and next door's gardens, munching on the grass. My admiration turned a little sour when I went outside later on in the day and found they had eaten literally every living and growing thing in the garden. They were great substitutes for my hedge trimmers but they could have stopped when they got to the worcesterberry, raspberry and blackberry plants...
Still, it has solved one problem for me: I know what I'll be cooking for dinner on 25th December now.

The bus is a very good advert for the car

Honestly. You try your whole life conscientiously avoiding learning to drive, to the extent that people think you're poor, that in the end you start questioning if it is worth it...

When Lady Kirsten and I lived in Leuven, public transport was pretty OK. Not ideal, and often late, Belgian buses were often the only effective way of moving around the city. The trains are also pretty comfortable, although unreliable.

In our corner of Germany, I must say, the trains will work almost to the second, even in the coldest of snowy winters to the extent that you dare not be late. My criticism of them though is a valid one. They are not very frequent. Punctual, but rare. Efficient, but scarce. Clean, fast, even cheap. But if you miss one, it would be quicker to go back to your house and fetch your bicycle.

When we moved to Saarburg, it was great, because I could step outside, walk 200 metres (not even that) and jump on the bus straight to Luxembourg. It drops me about 5 minutes from the European Court of Justice and the Jean Monnet Commission building, two of the buildings I work in, although if I need to go to the European Parliament or Commission training building, I still have to get another bus. And it is this bus where the problems start. The people hanging out at bus stops have little or no sense of community spirit. They will get on the bus before everyone has got off and make sure they get the best seats. These buses are virtually empty and yet they are acting like it's the last bus from Armageddon.

The worst thing in Luxembourg is that many bus lines are so frequent that there might be another one right behind, similarly empty. Luxembourg's bus travellers don't acknowledge that probability though, and often make the experience so unattractive that you imagine you'd like to be sitting in the passenger seat of a ripoff taxi, which is the norm in Luxembourg. Although this is not the case every time.

But the bus taking me from Saarburg to Luxembourg is not squalid. Quite the opposite, but here lies a further, paradoxical complication. It is a luxury coach, with one of the most scenic routes in the world. It starts off in the Saar Valley where we are, rising up the steep forested hills to the open moors which separate the Saar from the Mosel, taking in the windswept beauty of the countryside around Merzkirchen before we plummet into the Mosel valley, crossing the frontier in some exquisite vineyard country, then rising up to meet the motorway into Kirchberg and Luxembourg City.

However, there are a few difficulties here, namely one of the drivers. He seems to think that everyone is an abstract object. When I tell him which stop I wish to get off at, he looks at me as if I have just said something philosophical and incomprehensible. When passengers buy their monthly ticket, he just takes our money and says nothing before handing it over, as though we are not interactive instruments capable of communicating on his wavelength. He does little to make us happy and you can never rely on him for a favour. I get on the bus at its second stop.

But there is an even more pressing problem here: the passengers. The vast majority are OK, but I sense that as they are from the country, they are not used to strangers taking their bus. So it came as a shock when I got on the bus and had the audacity to ask the woman who always sits at the front if she could move her light work bag for me to sit down. She huffed and puffed before mumbling something incomprehensible and thrusting her bag on the floor. I mean, she doesn't have a rental contract on that particular double-seat, and I need it more than her - she's so small, she could easily sit further back. Needless to say, she has not said a word to me since. There is a guy with extra long legs who deserves it much more than she does. Furthermore, that place is one of only three spots on the bus where I can put my work bag with all my books in it without taking up a seat which another passenger might need - it has extra room for luggage. One of the other two, just behind the middle door, is occupied by an enormous woman who needs two spaces anyway, and the last place is at the back where there is no light to read my book.

Opposite her, behind the driver, there is a further possibility, but the guy with long legs sits there when this other woman I mentioned steals his spot. The 157 bus from Saarburg to Luxembourg is full of little political quirks like this. My theory is these people are middle-class, and want to feel rewarded for leaving their cars at home. They feel they are owed a prize for being so green. The woman at the front obviously drives a car and treats it, like the rest of those car-driving individualists, like a cocoon, a four-wheeled haven in which she can block out those irritating other people who seem to be in her way. She should go back to the car, if you ask me.

News from the country

THE FRONT OF OUR HOUSE

In Kaufland nobody can hear you scream
Let me take you on a journey to a place so remote that there isn’t even a signpost to it. A place so out-of-the-way, that it is unreachable by car. A place so far from everything, that the only way to get there is on foot. A place so distant from anything else that you wouldn’t know it were there had you not been told of its existence. But when you arrive, you will be so overwhelmingly rewarded that the extensive time spent looking for it will be instantaneously forgotten. No, I am not talking about the Grand Canyon or Stonehenge: for one thing there are enough signposts to the former to almost block it out and there is very little reward when arriving at the latter. I am in fact talking about the fruit juice section at Kaufland supermarket in Konz.

Boy, do they know how to make you work for your reward. You need to trudge a very long way to find the fruit juice section, which is only slightly smaller than the VAT office in Luxembourg. In all honesty, Kaufland is simply a million miles away from anything remotely associated with the average Belgian supermarket. The word “supermarket” in Belgium is a bit misleading. For one thing, it is hardly a market. And it is by no means super. It is more like a cartel of bad quality consumer products giving you a choice of one, and if that happens to be bad or out of stock, well, you’ll just have to wait for the next delivery. In Kaufland, there is everything. You want a barbecue? It’s near the front. You want milk? There is a four-metre-long fridge containing a dozen sorts, all stocked up. You want a satellite dish? It’s on the right just next to the customer services department. Orchids, did you say? They’re next to the fresh yoghurt and the milk, just by the fruit and veg.

THE HORSE PADDOCK
A little salute to Luxembourg
Most people when thinking of Luxembourg either comment on it as a tax haven, a banking paradise and a money launderer’s boudoir. Having spent some time there, I can certainly see this is but an urban myth. It is a triumph of small government over burdensome red tape with added anti-corruption airbags equipped as standard. It is very hard to fool the system there although I am sure some do. But this is not my reason to salute Luxembourg.
I wish to tell you about the most picturesque country in continental Europe. Luxembourg is God’s own country, and probably the reason why a little flat in the middle of nowhere costs 250,000 euro. I understand why: there is no place on earth which has been blessed with such an aesthetic landscape; sanctified with such lush greenness and consecrated with herds of such exquisite cows, all mooing in perfect harmony. The fact is, even the urban areas of Luxembourg are pleasant places. Grevenmacher reminds me of a typical Mediterranean village, bordered by wine groves on steep hillsides, even though it is on the Mosel facing Germany. Roodt sur Syre is a splendid town encircled by hills, forests and farms. The industrial zones near Münsbach and Wasserbillig have an cleanliness about them which makes you want to spend a day cycling over there to see them in more detail.
All-in-all, a marvellous country to live in. Except....
Well, you know that joke where God is asked by the angels why Canada seems to have been granted too many good things by God, and they ask him why, whereby he replies “wait until you see their neighbours”, well that seems to be little Luxembourg’s lot too, although even worse, because the country is overrun by them too, bringing all their bad habits with them. This is one of the reasons why the Luxembourgish language has taken off in a big way recently: they need to keep secrets from the French, who seem to have imposed themselves heavily on the place. Bad driving, sloppy customer service and a hierarchical system only found in the Hexagon are highly prevalent. They even force the language on the people. Where there are a hundred Germans, fifty Brits, twenty Dutch and one French person, the language of Dumas and Descartes will take precedence, in order to, as the official line goes, preserve the French tongue. Rubbish! If there was any danger of French dying out, imagine poor Luxembourgish: a couple of hundred thousand speakers and it still has only semi-official status in its own country.

A RIVER RUNS UNDER MY TERRACE
There be dragons...
Although I live in the most marvellous of places, there are a couple of things which get on my nerves, and following the theme of the previous section, it’s the neighbours too, which are causing great chagrin on this side of the stream flowing past our house. On our farm complex there are nine or ten families, all living in this little corner of paradise amongst the fruit trees, the vineyards, the horses and the forests. The people immediately next door, the Weingut Schmitz-Simon, are prone to holding parties on their property. I wouldn’t mind, considering I lived in Paris, Prague, Moscow and London, but now that there is a smoking ban, people come outside for a puff, end up taking their drinks with them and produce a lot of noise through incessant laughter and loud chatter. Some even keep the doors open so they can listen to the music.
One weekend a camper van with Luxembourg plates pulled up in our parking area and remained overnight, taking up three parking spaces. The next morning the occupiers poked their heads out and announced they had been at the wedding – wasn’t she so sweet in that gown? I hadn’t noticed, because this has nothing to do with next door – oh, said he, whereby he said I should have come and found him. How could I when I didn’t know who or what he was doing in the area. Yes, but the flowers on the wing mirrors, said he, should have made me realise he was with the wedding. To which I replied “yes, but lots of gypsies have flowers on their camper vans”. I think I upset him a bit...
This weekend was the worst of the lot. They not only kept the doors open, but they started group singing at midnight. I witnessed one guy throwing an empty bottle into the river. I told some guy I would call the police if they didn’t calm down and it did some good... for a while. A lot of disco music and empty bottles later, and one of my co-inhabitants went over to complain. It was half past four. No apology ever comes from them, no solution is ever suggested. So I have decided to call them at 2 in the morning to see if they like being disturbed at that hour. I intend to tell them that I will call the police to come round and close their parties down. I will also ask the police to stand guard at the end of the street and breath-test everyone exiting that property: I think they will get a lot of money in fines. Finally I intend bothering them as much as I can, because it is obvious that their only interest is money, to the detriment of the neighbours.
They should also be aware that I am filming them and recording the noise at different times and days. In any case, this lack of neighbourly behaviour is very rare here, and all the other people in the area are so civilised, so practical and so community-minded, that it puts the Schmitz-Simon firm to shame. If anyone is reading this, and they want to book a stay at Schmitz-Simon, may I recommend they look around first, because their wines are at least a euro over the price of other winemakers in the area, and that’s just their take-away produce.

MY TERRACE
Perfect cycling territory
This year I will not be going to my usual haunts, Venice and Prague, because there is just too much to see and do around here. So I bought a bike. Here are some tips:

TRIER
In the valley of the Mosel, surrounded by forests and streams, lies the oldest city in Germany and a beauty. Roman ruins, a hilltop monument and UNESCO World Heritage sites all over the place, Trier is outstanding. It has a unique atmosphere and an area offering a more enjoyable shopping trip than the average town. One thing I love about Trier is its mix of old and new. Kaufhof sits in the street to the Roman-built Porta Nigra. The open air museum at the site of the Roman ruins has been subtly modernised to make the experience more pleasurable without destroying the ancient structure.
For walking and eating, I can recommend two areas of the city: firstly work up your appetite by taking a walk from the Roman ruins to the embankment and following the path along the side of the river under the trees. When you arrive at the river cruiser area just past the bridge towards the motorway, there is a line of restaurants all offering good, wholesome local food with a smile. If you were to cross the bridge and head up towards the city forest, there is the Gillenbach stream, also a delightful walk. Just in there is also a well-hidden restaurant with an excellent atmosphere and decently priced menu. The other area of the city is the centre itself. Full of all kinds of eateries, it is difficult to choose, but if you are there in winter, go to the Frankenturm restaurant. The produce comes from a butcher in the Hunsrück National Park and it is all freshly delivered.

NITTEL, GREVENMACHER AND WINCHERINGEN
Just a 25-minute ride from Trier is the natural amphitheatre housing the delightful villages of Nittel, Grevenmacher and Wincheringen, with a Mediterranean feeling all of its own. The views are spectacular from any angle and the places to stop off on the way numerous. In fact, this part of the Mosel is without rival. Temmels, Oberbillig, Nennig and Perl are all worth a visit. I recommend cycling – there are cycle paths everywhere and you get really up close to the environment. I suggest stopping off at the Mühlenbach in Nittel, a palatial guesthouse with a tremendous front veranda for eating amongst the pot plants and a cosy back garden for relaxing with a glass of Spätlese and a book.

THE LOWER MOSEL
Bernkastel-Kues, Piesport, Longuich, Traben-Trarbach, Koblenz... So many places to visit. Again, bike is the best way but I could imagine doing it in a convertible MG sports car. Just do a search on these places and you’ll see why they deserve a visit.

THE RHINE VALLEY: KOBLENZ TO BINGEN
This is where I intend spending at least a week of my summer holiday – cycling and boat trips along the UNESCO-listed valley of the Rhine. More castles than villages, more history, more nature and more dramatic scenery than anywhere else I can think of.

SAARBURG TO KONZ
Saarburg: if you like castles on craggy hilltops and villages nestling in perfect harmony with the surrounding nature, this is where you should come. With a delightful waterfall in the centre of town and a cable car to the top of the largest hill, you are going to enjoy yourself whatever. In fact, as I live six minutes away by train, I spend far too little time in this delightful town.
Schoden: a perfectly situated village on the junction of the Saar river bend and the straight Saar canal. In the village you will find some little streets and alleys making you wonder if you had just made it to a Tuscan mountaintop hamlet until you see the German street signs. There is more atmosphere in this little village than in all the villages in Flanders.
Ockfen: find a T-shaped valley, hone it until it curves like a bobsleigh course, put a village at the point the two lines of the T meet with chocolate box houses and that is Ockfen.
Wiltingen: the village where I live is the jewel in the winemakers’ crown. The wine made in this area is some of Germany’s finest. Although the railway line runs straight through the middle of town, there is a certain rural charm about Wiltingen. Rosi’s Weinstube is a good place to sit admiring the valley opposite, or take a walk along the riverbank. The vineyards rising up at the back of the village lead up to the majestic monument at the Galgenberg, a place you can see for miles. I often go up there to watch the birds of prey swoop down upon their victims; to listen to the unmistakable sound of the cuckoo; to catch sight of the reclusive rabbits and the majestic deer, the animal I hold most in esteem. One night I accidentally ran into one, frightening it, and me, almost to the point we both ran off in different directions.
Kanzem: is this the real location for The Wind in the Willows? Set on the most rapid part of the stately Saar, this village has won numerous in-bloom prizes. At the river bank is a pleasant eatery, stocked up with local food. It contains a few streets of the most desirable houses in the region. I wish to retire here!
Konz: although heavily criticised for its nondescript centre and charmless urban features, there are pockets of Konz which are underestimated. Roscheid, straddling the top of the hill, is full of the most imaginative architecture in the region. Every house is different. Further down, the Russian shop Julchen sells some fine Russian food and drink. The town hall square is always full of parents with their kids playing in the fountains and the town hall itself has a wine cellar and restaurant whose terrace occupies the front of the building.

THE SUNSET OVER OUR VALLEY