The year of the dog: Looking back on 2025

January: Enter Hilda, our new four-legged room mate

February and March: Training sessions for doggy and her master(s)

April: Continuing the Way of St. James from Nancy to Dijon (solo)

May: A camper van road trip through Burgundy, France

June: A trip into the high Eifel (Sonja & Hilda) and hiking the Schneifel-Trail (solo) 

as well as a camper van trip into the Bavarian Alps

July: Lieser Creek Trail (solo), and a birthday trip to the Moselle River

August: Hiking the Tropfad, a new trail created by a hiking buddy of mine (solo)

September: A weekend on the Dutch coast 

before continuing the Way of St. James from Dijon to Cluny (solo) 

October: Another trip to the Dutch coast with my besties

November: Local hikes and wine festivals

December: A return to the Dutch coast in hope for less fireworks than in Germany

A happy, healthy and a more peaceful year for you all out there.

Bukowski?

We recently followed an invite for the Christmas market at the animal shelter, where we had picked up our mutt Hilda. The staff was more than pleased to see how happy Hilda is now with her new masters. There were many other former 'inmates' with their new owners and it turned out to be a nice get-together. 

In order to eventually escape the crowds we visited the old town core of Andernach thereafter. When we walked along the river Rhine I came across a sign that piqued my interest. 

Although I know of the writer Charles Bukowski I was not aware of the fact that he was born in this very city. I am not a fan of his crude style but there are a few quotes that resonate with me, especially with everything that is going on with the world.

- We’re all going to die, all of us, what a circus! That alone should make us love each other but it doesn’t. -

- The problem with the world is that the intelligent people are full of doubts, while the stupid ones are full of confidence. -

***

Andernach is one of Germany’s oldest towns (founded around 300 years B.C. by celts), and is located on the banks of the Rhine River. It is known for its well-preserved medieval walls, historic old town, and the world’s tallest cold-water geyser, the Andernach Geyser (you can only get there by boat and the area is now closed for the season). 

St. Mary's Cathedral (late 12th century)

City fortifications around 12-15th century

While strolling through the pedestrian zone another couple with a dog approached us recognising our dog. They were neighbours of Hildas old master and told us that Hilda didn't have the best life, because her previous owner could barely walk, and Hilda kept barking at everything and everybody because she was under-challenged and not well trained. They were totally happy for her that she found a good new home. 

***

T'is the Season and Christmas Markets are popping up everywhere in the valley. The only thing we're missing is the white stuff. Anyway, there will be punch, and glühwein, and eggnog, split roast, bratwurst and potato fritters with salmon. Good times!

Ahrweiler Christmas Market

***

And after (only) four years, train services have resumed through the Ahr Valley, restoring a vital transport link after severe damage from the catastrophic flood back in July 2021, caused by extreme rainfall that led the Ahr River to overflow. Entire towns were devastated, infrastructure was destroyed, and over 180 people lost their lives, making it one of Germany’s deadliest natural disasters in decades. The reopening of the Ahrtalbahn marks an important step in regional recovery, reconnecting communities and supporting daily travel and tourism. The show must go on!

Wishing you a festive holiday season!

Autumn River Valley

Fall slipped into the valley quietly, without much fuss. You wouldn’t notice it at first, it starts as a dry murmur in the vines and trees, a restless shiver through the leaves saying, it’s time. 

Then the slopes turn gold and crimson, the color of old coins, and rust on iron gates. The sun falls sooner each day. When it brushes the hillsides now, the vineyards catch fire, with colours too sharp to last, as if the world had been overpainted by someone drunk on light.

Fog climbs from the river in the evenings. It doesn’t hurry. It rolls slow between the rows of vines, nosing into the courtyards, thickening in the alleys where the footsteps of late walkers lose their sound. The air carries the sour-sweet stench of crushed grapes, fermenting must, half promise, half rot.

They say that autumn brings life back to the valley: the new wines, the visitors, the music in the park. Laughter leaking from the taverns until the fog smothers it. But if you stay late enough, if you stand by the river when the moon hangs low, you might hear something else beneath the water, a voice, maybe wind rustling in the vines, maybe something older, patient, waiting its turn.