Buildings of Görlitz, sorrow of Poland, south towards Prague

I was sad to leave the music and HMV, but excited at the thought of my first visit to Prague.

Monica advised me to detour to Görlitz on the way to Prague. It didn't get bombed, and Monica told me that the people there liked their Jews and protected them, so not even the synagogue was damaged (Monica has plans for that synagogue). However, the inhabitants have been just as assiduous as Dresdeners in renovating their elegant buildings, and the city is a wonderful sight.

Görlitz is on the Polish border, so I drove over the river into Zgorzelec, which though it is only on the other side of a narrow stretch of water is a different, less affluent and rather depressed town. The main roads at frontiers have signs about national speedlimits; this one has a sign in three languages. In English of a sort it instructed me to keep DAYLIGHTS on at all times. I'm not sure what daylights are, and decided headlights on dipped beam are the most likely. Cue my usual rant about translations in the wrong direction. In this area there are probably fewer English-speakers to ask, but perhaps it's an American term.

I stopped for lunch at a cafe which was sadly empty and had the news running on the radio. Though I only know one word of Polish, the topic was clearly the return of the bodies of the government leaders who had died in the plane crash. The staff and few customers were sombre but didn't seem terribly upset. Perhaps they are far from the hysterical cities and less concerned about the inevitable political changes.

Getting food was interesting, unprepared as I was for a visit to Poland. I had no idea of the exchange rate. The menu showed photos of the main dishes, which helped a little, but I still didn't know what the protein ingredient was as they all seemed to be frittered. In the end I flapped my arms and made a noise like a chicken, which successfully ordered a lightly-spiced chicken breast in breadcrumbs with sauteed potatoes and salad. Nicely cooked and very tasty. The tea was excellent, served with lemon. When it came to paying, there was a momentary panic: the waitress refused the card! And I only had a 5-grozny piece once acquired in change and kept in the car for no particular reason. When she accepted euros, I realised why no card: the bill came to less than 7 euros.

The road south follows a small river with fields on each side. Along the bank at intervals there are poles stuck in the ground: those on this side are painted in red and white stripes and on the opposite bank they are red, black, and yellow. The river is narrow enough for a strong long-jumper to leap, and would be easy to swim. To someone who has always lived near the sea, land frontiers seem very artificial and curiously silly.

The road wandered through another small patch of Germany before entering the Czech Republic, each time passing the deserted remains of frontier guard-houses, creating a strangely mixed feeling of ominous echoes and hope. In contrast, the landscape was utterly lovely: forested and mountainous and serene.

Dresden, music, friends

I drove right through Dresden to get to the Brücke-Most Zentrum where the singing workshops were being held and the singers were staying. Fortunately the traffic was slow and there are plenty of traffic lights, so I could look around. Cobbled roads are not pleasant with narrow tyres. Poor Bloo bounced around like a cat on tacks.

The houses are fascinating: each one is a slightly different shape, and the colours of the walls are many and varied. Some are villas; some look like minor castles. Many of them have added pieces on the corners, as if bay fronts had migrated to the sides. Of course, most of Dresden was destroyed in retaliation for the bombing of Coventry; now they are twin towns. One can't help thinking that, in the end, Dresden has been more fortunate in not being able to rebuild until more recently. Coventry suffered from the post-war backlash against history, whereas Dresden is being restored. There are modern blocks of flats too, but it's wonderful to see once-lost buildings such as the Frauenkirche rise anew.

The Brücke-Most Zentrum is often used for music projects, and boasts not only a grand piano in the Art Deco sitting-room, but a harpsichord. They'd recently had a project on the experiences of Jews in the Dresden and Czech border area, producing a set of photographs with attached stories which were both saddening and uplifting.

As usual, the music ranged the centuries and included pieces related to where we were, in this case by Czech composers. Martinu lived for some time in Basel where he was very homesick, and his memories of Czech folksongs resulted in the composition of a set of "madrigals" which are lovely. Unfortunately Monica had only been able to get the sheet music with a German translation which, as she said, demonstrated why one should always sing a text in the original language. We also had two songs by Dvorak in Czech, which was a first for me and actually easier to sing than German.

Each morning was entirely taken up with singing, and a couple of hours in the afternoon or evening as well, but there was free time to spend with HMV who came to stay for three days. She toured the city while I was rehearsing, and then we wandered around (talking all the time) and ate cake in a different place every day. We also sampled chocolate at a chocolatier's, where there was a remarkable display including a plaster hat with chocolate decorations of ribbons and roses! Several times we went out with some of the other singers, English people who live in Basel; on one of the trips we found a lovely cafe with a terrace by the river and an attractive range of cakes. Sadly we didn't taste the cake, because after about half an hour of trying to get service from three staff who didn't seem to be doing much, we left and went instead to the cafe-bakery across the road. The view there wasn't so good but the service was excellent and so was the cake.

It being just after Easter, many smaller trees were hung with painted eggs; so was the fountain outside the church in Bad Schandau where we performed a small concert on Saturday. Bad Schandau has experienced serious flooding over the centuries, but as with the Gironde it's happening more frequently now. The worst was in 2002: there are photographs of the flooded town decorating church and restaurants and offices all over the town.

Sometime I shall upload a few photos.

East to Dresden

The route east from Hofheim goes via Frankfurt's maze of autobahns, so for a while I saw only roadsigns and cars.

On through Germany, and past a terrain of steeply rounded hills, many of them with a castle on top, glaring across the valley at its neighbours. Lunch was in a roadside restaurant where I'd intended to have just a snack but was pounced on by a lovely friendly counter-staffperson who turned waiter and happily explained what was in in each dish. Besides, the food smelled wonderful and was surprisingly cheap.

I didn't find a wheelchair-accessible hotel on the road near Dresden, and stayed in the car. It was cold. Early in the morning I drove on and soon saw a restaurant next to a wheelchair-friendly motel: if only I'd known! Breakfast there was 4.80 euros for two half-somethings of bread with a choice of toppings, a boiled egg, orange juice and coffee - a bargain.

Morning in the Haus der Andacht

The road to the Haus der Andacht goes through a large though pleasant suburban housing estate, so it's quite a contrast when one arrives there to see the gardens and the calm building with a view of the mountains. The exterior isn't as pretty or ornate as some other Houses of Worship, but inside is so light: it glows with peace. The dome of a House of Worship has such an amazing effect on the feel and sound of the interior.

After spending a while inside, I went to the other building - reception, library/bookshop, and offices. People had arrived from various parts of the world (mainly Europe, of course) including a Czech couple who visit every two months. We were all offered tea and very good biscuits, and I acquired a few books.

Road-ghosts

The road-ghosts appear after Montluçon. Those around Montluçon stand upright with a jagged flash running down through the head; further east and north the images have a hanging head: such simple designs, but clearly portraying dead bodies with a powerful effect of dejection, mourning and despair. In daylight they are disturbing; at night they are frightening. I wonder if their impact is the one intended. Boy racers probably don't even give them a glance. Those of delicate sensibilities, seeing the images loom suddenly in the headlights, are more likely to be shocked into coming off the road.

Through France to Germany

This spring the Monica Buckland singing week(end) is in Dresden. It's my first visit to Dresden, or indeed to that side of Germany. Though I tried hard to book train tickets, the system defeated me. I can do French trains, but I couldn't understand how to book wheelchair space on the German-run night train from Paris. It involves a call-centre. 'nuff said, sadly.

Anyway, if I had to drive I was going to make it more than just Dresden, so the plan was to tour a pretty part of the mountains in eastern France and visit the Baha'i Haus der Andacht in Langenhain-Hofheim near Frankfurt.

It was fortunate I'd decided to book a room in Chalon sur Saône rather than Besançon, because the rain and spray made the last part of the journey very slow and very tiring. Also, I'd not taken into account how early it goes dark this far east. The hotel Première Classe was fairly cheap, adequately kitted (though no showergel and drinks only from a vending machine), clean, warm, with a very cheap breakfast but no wifi. This was a good thing because I went to sleep instead of messing about online.

Today I wandered off the motorway via Baume les Dames along the Doubs river, among the mountains, in bright sunshine. The river is very high, and was making a lovely noise over the weirs. On the route north-east of Besançon, as you enter Alsace, there is a big sign marking the frontier between the North Sea and the Mediterranean, which caused a "what?! oh, yes" moment.

I planned to go further north on the western side of the Rhine and cross at Strasbourg, because the scenery is prettier and it meant spending longer where I can read the signs and talk to people. However, ViaMichelin and Google wanted me to go up the east side, and when GarminBot started pestering for it too, I gave in and headed for Freiburg. This meant I passed by the dam and HEP plant near Marckolsheim, which is decorated with nekkid ladies pretending to be Rhinemaidens. Apart from the dam the scenery was indeed rather boring, and the Autobahn much more crowded than French Autoroutes. This crowdedness was probably the reason for an extremely tedious and delaying set of blockages in roadworks: it was so like UK that I had to check whether to be on the left or right. The driving is generally quite neat though very fast and far too close together. I thought that with the 100mph vrooming, fuel must be cheaper than France, hence was shocked to be charged 1.53 euros per litre for petrol.

Eventually I arrived in the Taunus after dark and got very lost. Most of the time GarminBot was lost too. Now I'm tucked up in the Ramada which was the only hotel I could find without steps: it's not a bad price for the room, but I shan't be eating here! The wifi is also rather expensive, but I succumbed.