Oldenburg, Bremen, Lubeck & Schwerin

The Battle of Haven Lauwersoog

We were at the northern tip of the Netherlands, near a place called Lauwersoog, where wind surfers and sailors come to catch the waves.

It was a dark early evening. Black clouds rolled in, cloaking the navy sky. Then the lightning began. I got out the van to take some photos. Door open, door closed.

The lightning was eerily silent, but it illuminated the sky around the black clouds in a purple white flash. Every 20 seconds, flash, flash, flash.

The scene was set for the impending battle.

At first we were oblivious. Then one landed on Rach's hand. A mosquito. It was dispatched. Soon another appeared. Then another. It became clear we'd exposed ourselves to a mosquito haven outside. And they'd gotten in.

Wave after wave of mosquitoes were now attacking in a relentless assault. They were of seemingly infinite number; we'd kill two and three more would appear, from behind the blinds, out from under the driver seat, from behind a cushion. Little smudges were dotted all over the place, marking each death like little graves. The battle lasted about two hours, sound-tracked by some increasingly inventive swearing and the occasional tinny ringing in the ear.

Many lives were lost - men, mosquitoes, horses. But we emerged victorious.

Oldenburg 

The plus side to the previous evening's war was that it had got me in the mood for Germany. Luckily, it was next.

First up, an olden town called Oldenburg. We enjoyed a ride on a pedalo up a stream with a couple of beers. Rach had wanted to go in the big duck pedalo, but we were directed towards a standard red one. I felt so, so sorry for her.

Afterwards we came across a small food event in the town square - it stunk of cocaine, which made absolutely no sense whatsoever.

On the way back we decided we'd grab something to eat to take back to the van (we'd avoided paying through the nose for the grub at the cocaine festival). We came across a pizza place. Man, it was GRIM. Boiling hot, flies buzzing around everywhere, a woman sweating her arse off behind the counter while a guy who seemed to also work there was sat scrolling on his phone at a table. We weren't acknowledged as we walked in, which is a pet hate of Rach's, so we moved on.

About two minutes further up the road we came across another pizza place. I swear to God it was like the heaven to the previous place's hell. There was a guy making all the pizzas to order, from scratch, rolling the dough in front of you and everything. Rach was particularly enamoured with Hasan, the pizza maker, who she thought was very cute - 'button' cute, not 'sexy' cute (I've been assured). We ate the pizzas in the place as it was so nice, then tipped Hasan handsomely.

The lesson here is simple - never eat in the first pizza place you come to (if you're walking out of town towards the main river in Oldenburg).

Bremen

As we approached Bremen, the Sat Nav, which has a female voice, took us into the environmental zone - I tell you, these European cities are mental about their environs. They're basically low emissions zones, which means you have to prove your vehicle qualifies to drive within them, or buy a badge which allows you access. There are pretty hefty fines for driving into these zones without the appropriate badge. I'd specifically told the Sat Nav to avoid the one in Bremen, so you can imagine my disgust when she didn't. I'm still not speaking to her. I just jab her when I need her.

Bremen is pretty ugly on the outside of town, but as I keep hearing its whats on the inside that counts, so we carried on into the centre to get to know it better. And it did have a very nice personality. Lots of Gothic style buildings strewn around, as if they've just been plonked down randomly.

We walked down the famous street which begins with a 'B', and saw the lucky statue - a statue of a chicken sat on a cat sat on a dog sat on a donkey. The lucky statue is to Bremen what the weeing baby is to Brussels. Like with most statues, years of weather had turned it a dark grey/greeny colour, apart from the nose and legs of the donkey, which were the original goldish bronze, presumably because of all the people touching the statue in those areas, in effect giving it a 'polish'. This theory was pretty much proven when we noticed another statue of a naked female on 'B' street with two gold circles covering the breasts.

The strange breakfast

Just outside Hamburg, we had breakfast at a restaurant just across from where we'd parked the previous evening.

We walked into the dining area and called out about four times for someone but nobody came, even though we could hear people beavering around in the back. The place was nice, despite having a bit of an old people home feel to it. It's possible I only think that because there was a lot of peach in the colour scheme. Peach reminds me of pensioners. I know not why.

There was nobody else in the restaurant. We sat by a big fish tank with colourful fish in, which I enjoyed like a little boy. There were a couple of clown fish in there, cautiously reversing in and then back out of their little cave like the cowards they are. This prompted us to ponder what the next Finding Nemo sequel might be called while we ate our fried eggs, fried potatoes and salad. The whole thing was just the absolute height of sophistication.

From a restaurant window we could see our home, which was a van. Keep your feet on the ground, Sean.

Lubeck

I ruined the first evening in Lubeck when I had a go at Rach for being too scared in the passenger seat when I'm driving, which was a little out of order as five minutes before she had helpfully reminded me not to plough into someone at a crossing.

On the second day we explored Lubeck and found that it's a glorious old town, full of history, made obvious by all the Gothic architecture.

I had a giant cone of chips with curry ketchup. It doesn't get any better than that. Unless you swap the curry ketchup for curry, of course.

I'm keeping an eye on the Brexit fiasco. Praying for some sort of deal as 'no deal' could cut our trip short. Parliament is nuts at the moment. The 'debates' are petty school-kid level at times. I saw a tweet by Tory Party chairman, James Cleverly, the other day, which went as follows:

''Thinking about what to have for lunch. Large bucket of boneless (certainly spineless) JFC (Jeremy's Frightened & Chicken) perhaps.''

Is this the standard now? Embarassing. They should get Noel Edmunds in as a mediator for the Brexit negotiations; it would actually ADD class to the proceedings. Also, he has the experience.

Schwerin

Schwerin is amazing. I am declaring it my favourite place yet. It's an absolute pleasure to wander around.

On the first evening we had a top notch meal on a picturesque street with a steeple at one end over looking the street and a really old timber-style house perched at the corner of a side street which ran underneath its out-jutting upper floor. So German.

Schwerin Palace and its gardens blew us away. It's like a paradise. It genuinely made me so happy just walking around. We stood at the edge of a lake with the Palace to our left and a giant park to our right filled with lily-pad covered lagoons and swans and herons, as hundreds of swifts darted and swooped around our heads - just breathtaking.

We had currywurst at a nearby restaurant on the waters edge overlooked by the palace - just breathtaking.

It was cold on the van that evening, even though it was still 9 degrees outside. Winter is going to be tough...

Schwerin had been so enjoyable we decided to stay for a 3rd night and catch the town festival which had been advertised on lamposts throughout the town.

The festival was okay but a bit... rough. There was a funfair. What is it with funfairs? It doesn't matter if they're in Schwerin or Small Heath, they always have three things, guaranteed: teenage girls with too much make-up on, an MC who you can't see and sounds as though he's broadcasting from 40 miles away, and woefully inappropriate images painted on the rides.

After I'd finished looking at the artwork on the Big Spinner, we ate at three of the stalls as a warm up for Jack the Ribber, a brilliantly named smokehouse restaurant on the way home. The menu in Ribber was indecipherable. I ended up ordering two racks of ribs. Rach said I was visibly overawed when the food arrived - it was MASSIVE. To be honest the waitress had raised both her eyebrows and the pitch of her voice when taking my order, which should have been a sign. I demolished the plate nevertheless, then wobbled back to the van and flopped into bed, like an obese seal that had been shot, deliriously singing made-up celebratory lyrics to the tune of the Fugees 'killing me softly'. Maybe I'll sing it to you one day.

I realise this entry has been very food-heavy. Thought I'd focus on the topic a bit while we still have money to eat.

Next up, SCANDINAVIAAAA.

Recommended park up for mosquito slayers:

http://park4night.com/lieu/114618/