Over the hills and far far away

Monday 7 September

OK guys - this day is out of synch - this is really the post for last Monday - the day that things went a little awry!

The day started beautifully and with much promise. We left Les Rhodos after a lovely breakfast. Its amazing the difference in breakfasts that we experience and while it was very continental, Pascal kept the coffee, warm milk, croissants and lovely bread coming. It amazes us how many people there are at breakfast as the hotel was very quiet overnight - no partygoers, no revellers. I guess most people are just happy to be in such lovely surroundings. As we had arrived in the early evening and had just a tad of trouble finding the hotel which was actually on a rural route out of the town, we had not had time to look around.

Waking this morning, the air is amazingly clear with a clarity that is hard to imagine. In the early morning light, the steeple of the church gleams and beckons us. After saying our goodbyes to Valerie and Pascal and leaving some little reminders of Australia, down into the village we go. The church is billed as baroque, but is not gilded and gaudy as some we have seen. Like most other things in this little alpine gem, it is a genuine place that reflects the life of its community.

Just beyond the church there is a little souvenir shop that has reasonable prices. Helen is looking for a new travel buddy as Laura the ladybird is not really photogenic. We find the perfect buddy - Pierre Le Jean Bear! And I find the cutest small MARMOT backpack - I'll never forget my first trip to Europe when I saw one in the wild and nearly drove myself and everyone else crazy cos I didn't know what to call it! I think that a little girl might get it before too long.

The mountains look stunning in the morning sun - the permanent snow (ice) high on the slopes of Mont Blanc glistens in the sun and the clear air allows the myriad of colours up here in the high alps to positively shine. The lady in the souvenir shop is very friendly and when Michael comes in and thanks her for her help in finding our accommodation last night her face lights up and she gives us a free local magazine. Us spending money probably helped as well!

The air up here is clear - really clear. There is a sharpness that seems to accentuate individually all the crisp clear scents, oh, and the mountain smell of cows - got to experience it to appreciate it (or not!) Sinus appears to be a dim memory for those of us who suffer it from time to time. We have watched the cloud nursery over the last 12 hours - those high mountains where little wisps of clouds begin, sometimes dissapate and sometimes coalesce to form small then larger and larger puffs of white cotton wool.

We leave Cordon and head down the valley to pass through Sallanches in the base of the valley where we turn and head towards the famous ski resort of Chamonix, Mont Blanc and the Simplon Pass en route to Italy. We are travelling the road that twists and turns through the valley that squeezes its way between the various ranges in the French Alps. And all the while, we have Mont Blanc towering over us on the right, a steady reassurance that we are continuing in the right direction - a bit unnecessary as there is one road, and only two directions, forwards or back! The scenery is breath-taking. We never tire of it and Helen when she puts the camera down for a little just constantly makes comments.

On the opposite side of the valley to Mont Blanc, the mountains are not quite so high and so at this time of the year, right at the end of summer, they are snow free. They are also of a very different composition. The are below the tree line and so there are a myriad of fir trees - about 6 or 7 different types that boldly cling to the sharp steep slopes. Where the slopes are too steep for trees, you get lots of earth slip, with loose rocks and dirt sliding down to the next small ledge and then sitting there in growing piles. Above this towers sheer rock faces that would no doubt send some of the extreme sports junkies into a frenzy of excitement.

All of a sudden we find ourselves caught in the traffic of Chamonix. Even in summer this town is a-buzz. High above us we see what has become a (frighteningly) familiar sign of the hang gliders silently riding the thermals, round and round and round. And around town we can see the trim, taut and muscle-calved bodies of the summer hikers that you see all around the high countries in Europe. We Aussies like to think that we live in the great outdoors - let me tell you, we don't. Oh sure, we spend out days sitting in the great outdoors, but here where the summer is short and intense, they spend every minute of the day making the most of the amazing opportunities at their disposal. They walk, well, hike or trek is probably a closer description, across the hills and valleys for hours and sometimes days on end. They hang glide, they climb, they mountain bike down the slopes. They really live in the outdoors. And then of course summer is over and they all head indoors for the next 9 months - hehe.

We had not planned to stop, but then again we had not planned anything specific anyway! Helen makes a comment about the cable car and it was then we realised that she had never been up a big mountain, so off the major road we pull, passed all the beautiful people, passed the boutiquey shops and up tight little streets to the cable car terminus. There were two options: we could get the cable car up the mountain, or two cable cars - the first up the mountain and then another across the valley and up to a higher peak.

"In for a penny, in for a pound," was Helen's response to her preference. And so up we go. She sat with her back to the slope, looking out across where we had been, and watching the valley floor falling away from her as we climb the slope, while I the chicken always look up. The Brévent cable car allows you not only to get to the starting point for walks and hang gliding, it affords the most incredible views across to Mont Blanc. The Mont Blanc range peaks at 4810 m, the Aiguille du Midi (3842 m), and then there are the fascinatingly stunning Chamonix needles to one side and the range Fiz Diosaz with the valley below. Some of the most interesting scenery you will ever see!

The day is sunny and high on the plateau and then the Brévent peak, it is intense and I suspect that you would get burned very quickly. After gazing in wonder at the top of the world all around us, Michael takes off to scale to the top observation deck on the plateau, while Helen and I are quite content to have a coffee. Its not long before Michael is down joining us. After about an hour and a half all up, we head back down to the car and set off again.

We left Chamonix and continued up and down the hairpin bends through the mountains. And we continue to pass the crazy crazy cyclists who seem to relish the conquering of these hills. God knows how some of them don't have heart attacks halfway up - I mean there are some seriously toned bodies pushing those pedals, but then again there are also some who look like rank amateurs who don't have the handle on the gears and need apply much more mind over matter to achieve their goal. In fact, some of them look quite unhealthy (read podgy here) and their tight lyrca suits could not hide the obvious - ugh.

The valley through the mountains continues to wend its way along their base. Some times we head up into the passes to cross one peak, only to be greeted by yet more over the top. Up and over the Col des Montets (a mountain pass high in France) and then the Col de la Forclaz back into Switzerland for a while. We see Martigny down in the valley and skirt around its outer edges. It looks very very familiar with its slopes of vineyards and Michael and I realise the that it is all too familiar and dredge back through the memory banks to remember that we had been through here before on the day we visited Evian from Manigod! As we leave Martigny we are hugging the right bank of the Rhône River. Kate, as requested, is delivering us along the back roads - gosh some of them are better described as back back roads!

When we get to Sion, Kate insists that we need to take a ferry. When I programmed her this morning she had told me there was a ferry. But her directions take us not to a lake or a river or anywhere else where we might catch a ferry. It does however, take us to the railway station where we could get a car train through the Simplon range! But, not expecting this, I haven't checked the timetables. Usually with a ferry, you just rock up and wait for the next one to leave. ! So I quickly re-proramme her and we resume our road route. We might have been able to catch a train, but we want to go OVER the mountains so we can see the views!

The Simplon Pass is a high mountain pass between the Pennine Alps and the Lepontine Alps and connects Switzerland and the Piedmonte region of northern Italy. Up and over we go through beautiful forested areas with streams far below us. We traverse half open tunnels that hug the side of the slopes and at one point, a waterfall cascades down over the tunnel providing for a vista through a watery veil - very very beautiful. And its not too long before we are at the top. As with may of these passes, the top provides an opportunity for entrepreneurs to set up restaurants, hostelleries and touristy outlets, and this one is no different!

We are hardly over the Pass when off to the right we see the top of a church, peeking from a valley below. It is really intriguing as there doesn't seem to be a community down there and so we pull over in a rest stop to take a better look. WOW - it is so tall! And off to one side is a long, much lower building that resembles maybe a monastery, maybe a barracks. But the very unusual thing is that these two buildings are out there, isolated, on their alonesome. Wow, this definitely calls for a closer look. I take the next road that leads off to the right and away we go. The buildings are much closer to the road than they looked. And whatever this building it, it is not a church. Its 8 stories high. There are no explanation signs so we have no idea what either of the buildings are. Michael takes heaps of photos though.

And then the day went belly-up.

As I started the car, there was this dreadful asthma-like hacking, coughing noise. The last time I had ever heard anything like it was years ago when my girlfriend, Carmen's car did a cylinder. Whatever it was, it wasn't good! I quickly drove down to the base of the hill where the barracks were and tooted the horn as Michael had disappeared somewhere around that imposing edifice. He re-appeared and I called him telling him there was a problem. A quick look under the bonnet and he (and therefore we) were none the wiser. All I knew was that we had to get somewhere and fast. Helen laughed (as she does when she is anxious). She told me later that my whole demeanour changed. There she was trying to calm me by telling me such things as "Its probably only a blocked fuel line or dirty fuel". But I would not be convinced. This car has been the extension of my arms, legs and breath for the past eight months and I had a horrible feeling coursing through my very being. Yeah, yeah drama queen - but it does make for interesting reading.

So we crept up from the valley and back on to the highway through the base of the Pass. Its all down hill from here - through a stunning gorge (not that I am taking too much attention) and very downhill! It was about now that the engine warning light came on - intermittently and then persistently. I coast into a Shell service station at Gondo just before the Italian border. The lights were all one, but the only fellow there spoke only Italian and Michael could not make himself understood. So we continue to limp forward. We have to pass through a tunnel that was 2.5 kms long - "One of the longest tunnels in the world", thought Helen "when the engine light is on!" before emerging to pass through the Italian border, manned by one of the gruffest men we have yet to meet. By this point, we are seeing lots of signs for the town of Domodossola and so following my instinct that this might be a larger town, we head for there.

Turns out that we could not have come to rest in a more appropriate location. As we come off the highway we see a sign for a mechanic and Michael goes for help. He brings two non-Italian looking Italians back to the car. They don't understand us until Helen points to the engine warning light in the manual and he laughingly says one word "Caput" and toached the engine. The then mutters Opel (European equivalent of Vauxhall) and points across the road saying what we interpret to be they are closing as he points to his watch.

Michaels now off at a frantic sprint. He comes back a little later to say that the mechanics have gone, one of the office girls speaks some English and we can leave the car there (before 7 pm when the sales staff finish and its now 6:30 pm). And as I said, the perfect location - the Opel dealer is 100 m up the road in one direction and in the other is the Hotel Internazionale. So he heads there - yes they have a vacancy, with wifi connection and he has booked us in. We quickly unload the car at the hotel and he takes it over to Opel.

My god, what an exhausting afternoon.
We head down for dinner as soon as the Restaurant is open at 7:30 pm. Plaza de Toros might not be silver service, but the food is wholesome and tasty given our frantic hunger. We have a strange mix, pasta for starters - Helens with Salmon, mine was gnocchi with tomato and Michael had Penne Arribiata. The waitress then collected the plates and gave us dessert menus, obviously not realising that we had ordered a 'main' meal. Helen and I both had Veal with Limone and Michael had Torneades - all served with chips, no veges or salad! Desserts then followed - Helen and I shared a Creme Catalan and Michael had lemon sorbet.

Up to the room and to very uncomfortable beds - well, Michaels and mine was while Helens obviously gets less use and wasn't too bad she reported. Who cares. We are in civilisation. We are safe. More news on the car tomorrow.

High in the hills sat a lonely goatherd

Sunday 6 September

Its Sunday morning and we (Helen and I) had toyed with the idea of Mass in French. But the morning got the better of us and one last meal (breakfast) in the square won out. We leave the hotel early - like 9 am - and walk around to the Place des Ducs. The sun is bright and the marble and sandstone of the Plaza are positively gleaming. So much so that there is no way we can sit outside! We find only a few of the cafes open this early on a Sunday morning and head for the Brasserie des Ducs on the far side of the plaza.

Sitting inside, but still within the reach of the warming sun, we order brekky - I'm not really hungry and just have a coffee and croissant but the Helen and Michael opt for omlettes that look and smell wonderful. The tables here are stunning - all different representations of the medieval period during which this town obviously flourished. One last walk past the Palais before we head back to the Hôtel des Ducs to finish packing and hit the road.

We realise that there was only such a small part of the town that we saw. But that is the lot of the short-stay tourist - you see a little but miss so much. Can't dwell on that or we could be caught in some sort of a tourist time-warp in many of the places we see. I know so many people thought that a year in Europe was the ultimate, but believe me, a lifetime in Europe would never be enough to really see this continent well!

We say a final goodbye to the reception staff in the hotel - Latifa and her counterparts have been wonderful ambassadors not only for the hotel, but for the City. They are vibrant, confident, beautiful young women who were a joy to know - even if for such a short time! Thank you ladies.

As we are leaving Dijon, we pass beautiful gardens, the remains of the City Gates and part of the City Wall, realising that although we have spent one and a half days wandering through the old town, that there was so much more to see. As I said, one of the downfalls of staying in really interesting old towns that are jam packed with history and interesting communities! And we can never stay long enough to see all of it - what bummer in a way!

Soon we are again out in the French countryside and there are times when we compare it to the back of Gympie, the Lockyer Valley and sometimes even the Atherton Tablelands. And yet it is different too. The sky is big - lots of open space. Many of the fields lie fallow at the moment, having recently been harvested. The last of the sunflowers are hanging their tired heads on drooping necks, too old now to be bothered with following the sun god they so worship.

One big difference though are the avenues of trees that are planted along the edge of the highways - particularly coming in to and out of the towns. They create the coolest, shadiest tunnels of dappled light that immediately drop the temperature by a couple of degrees. Now, you all know how much Helen is in to light and shadows, so you can just imagine the oohing and aahing and trying to capture every one on camera. She used to laugh when I told her the number of photos that we were taking in a day - well, today she wins with 731!

And then there are the little towns like Ville d'Auxonne here, with their ties back to history like this portal gate that, once part of walls helped to fortify the town and keep it safe from the maraurders that crossed the continent in search of conquests. We see aquaducts, and lots of public art in the form of sculptured gardens on roundabouts.

When we were planning the route I asked Helen if she preferred to go via the French Riviera which she had previously mentioned) or the Alps. She ummed and aghed a bit, but finally decided that as she had never seen really high mountains or snow, and so the vote went to the Alps. We had previously stayed in the French Alps and know now that it is more affordable than Switzerland, so we searched for somewhere in the French Alps. To get there, we will go through Switzerland, down along Lake Geneva before turning back in to France.

We are headed for a small town called Cordon. We had previously spent a wonderful week a little further to the west from there, but as we are ultimately headed south east to Italy, we have booked a room in a winter ski chalet for a night that attracts lots of summer walkers.

Travelling along the winding highway we chance our first glimpse of Lake Geneva. However, as we negotiate the steep inline we pass, on either side of us, Herculian cyclists straining at their cranks to provide the necessary energy to reach their lofty destinations!
Hang about...?

We're being passed by bikers, (..again on either side,) hunched over their screaming steeds hurtling towards their destinations. Are we seeing things - Dolpengangers, maybe? We sharing the road with the same bikers...oh, shades of Mt Glorious! 'Here he comes again', or 'There he goes again'. These blokes mustn't have anything better to do than shatter the peace and quiet we have attained after stopping at our viewpoint - and what a view!

Lake Geneva is glistening like a lapis lazuli jewel, it is indeed a breath taking sight. We're in awe, although, there is a faint haze it only adds to the lakes beauty....and here goes another biker. As they round the bends, we hold our breaths wondering whether we'll be witnesses to a tragedy. Anyhow, back to our reverie - from our vantage point, the surrounding mountain ranges appear like mantles, surrounding the lake and its environment like a watchful sentinel and today's glorious warmth is certainly reflected in the vision before us.

Though transfixed, we still have our own destination to reach. Returning to our car we make our way along the highway, and as we reach its lower slopes we notice on our right a group of bikers. These lads are obviously the same riders we had seen screaming up and down the highways incline. They stand in a group around their steeds appearing to be in deep discussions over their conquest of the mountain. If their is one saving grace with these riders, is at least their leathers are dense unlike the sheerness of their cycling bretheren?

We reach Switzerland, passing through the former border control with the bored look of experienced travellers - oh, that is all but Helen! This is the first land 'border' she has crossed since joining us in France. We travel through Geneva, along the shores of the lake, negotiating the Sunday afternoon traffic - it seems that almost everyone is out on the roads, ready to see and be seen.

The quite quickly, we are again crossing back in to France and climbing back into the maountains. We finally arrive at Cordon (the Balcony of Mont Blanc) and a quaint village indeed it is - but where in the hell is the hotel. All the residential dwellings and hotels appear in to built in the same 'Alpine' design. Kate leads us the way which is barred by the ubiquitous barricades...groan....another detour. The detour is a result of a 'Bread Festival'...yes, you read correctly...a bread festival. What a sight as there are folk dressed in traditional Lederhosen combined with 'Oompa-pah' music. We see a horse-drawn wagon gaily decorated with revellers calling out jibes of good cheer.

Kate has tizzy fit in an attempt to redirect our route, however, we are almost going in circles - not quite, but almost. We decide to draw upon local knowledge, so Michael ventures forth with the trusty phrase book to seek help. He returns frustrated, he will need to search further to find someone who can speak some English. Success, Michael finds a tavern whereby after some gesticulating, smiles and phrases he obtains the necessary directions to 'Les Rhodos', our accommodation for tonight.

The hotel is perched high up a slope which provides a gob-smacking view. If anything, today has been a day of vistas! Our room is located on the first floor with a panoramic window, allowing us to absorb the view before us! Words at this point are just superfluous....

Settled into our room - which combines a rather unusual arrangement for ablutions? The bathroom at one side of the room and the WC on the other - next to one of the beds. (A description of sound effects is not provided....)

Before we make a move towards having dinner, we just watch the light change across the alps as the afternoon slowly descends into twilight. The only accompanying sound is the dangs and dongs of the distant cow bells. And we wonder about that lonely goatherd, or cow shepherd!

Dinner...hmm...just what Herr Doktor ordered:
Starters:
Club Sandwich au saumon fumé et sorbet tomate basilic (Club Sandwich with smoked salmon and tomato basil sorbet) Helen
Ravioles du Dauphiné au Beaufort (Ravioli Dauphine in Beaufort cheese) Michael and Maria
Mains:
Fondue Savoyarde - servie avec assiette de charcuteries et salade verte (Cheese fondue - served with sausage and salad) Maria and Helen
Souris de a'gneau confite au miel de citron et épices (Lamb shank with honey, lemon and spices) Michael
Dessert:
Creme Catalan (Rich creme brulee) Helen and Maria
Profiteroles au chocolat au beurre (Profiterole with chocolate butter) Michael

Once dinner was done, we got talking with Chef owner Pascal who runs this busy little hotel with his wife Valerie and their adorable little boy Titoeun (sorry guys if I have the spelling wrong - let me know and I will correct it!). He explains that he studied for 6 years to get qualified as a cook and then worked in various restaurants for another 5 years before coming to Cordon. It has paid off - his food is fabulous!

Eventually we head back up to our room and admire the moon rising behind Mont Blanc - my god what a majestic sight. It is at times like this that you sit, in awe of the beauty of the nature around us.

Basel and back to Germany and our Steph

The evening provided a somewhat restful sleep which was aided by decent mattresses and pillows. Breakfast at the hotel is wide a selection of cold meats, cheeses, fruit juices, various breads, cereals and good coffee. After breaking our fast [and wind], it's time to hit the road - again! Today, our road will take us out of Switzerland vide Basel and in particular Das Münster (The Cathedral), and then onto Schwaebisch Gmuend, Germany, and our darling Stephanie.

Travelling down the motorway and 20 kms east of Basel, we near the town of Augst where a tourist sign indicates 'Augusta Raurica'. I pee and Maria growns! Now, Augusta Raurica or Colonia Augusta Rauracorum is one the oldest Roman colonies on the Rhine and founded in 44BC by the Roman Senator, Lucius Munatius Plancus. Significant remains of the colony have been conserved including the amphitheatre and temple foundations of the Jupiter Basilica.

The amphitheatre had fallen into disuse after the Roman domination diminished. Local artisans then used the amphitheatre as a 'quarry' removing a good deal of the masonry for building works. Since 1899 works have been in place to 'restore' the amphitheatre into a working open-air theatre. Regrettably, these substantial works have given the site a 'modern' appearance which seem to pale against those of Lyon and Arle in France. We explore the site and absorb the information provided by the various information boards, then it's time to hit the road again.

On our way through Augst we pass stores promoting arrays of fireworks, mainly rockets and some the size of distress missles! An unusal sight for us considering the sale of pyrotechnic media has been banned in most states of Australia for many years.

Our trusty Nakajima 'Kate' has navigated our course for Basel and onto the motorway we head. The traffic is flowing fairly smoothly, however, speeding in Switzerland has been targetted by the authorities to almost a zero tolerance. It appears this has no relevance to some drivers who pass us with alarming speed. Throughout our 210 days of travelling we have had the fortune of seeing the aftermath of only two car crashes, and at this point we would hope this experience will remain at just two....

Basel - Switzerland's third largest urban area located on the River Rhine; a German speaking city which borders Germany [Baden-Württemberg] and France [Alsace]. Similar to Bern, Basel boasts an array of varying architectural styles, and impressive bus and tram infrastructure services in the city. Similar to most European towns and cities, cathedrals appear to dominate their central heart and Das Münster is no exception.

The Basel Cathedral was built between 1019 and 1500, virtually three different structures incorporating the Romanesque and Gothic architectural styles. This cathedral certainly adds definition to Basel's cityscape by its slim towers and coloured tesselated roof tiles. However, its most impressive aspect is the view from the towers which provide an almost 360 degree panorama of the city's scape. Ah, but it is from this height where the cathedral's multi-coloured tiles just gleam and the view of the cloister is quite amazing.

As we wandered through the cathedral and marvelled at its interior, I ventured upward into the tower - 312 steps, and most of these spiralled! The experience was worth the effort mainly due to the belfry being accessible and without the hinderence of 'bird-wire'. The timber shoring and bell supports have remained untouched for over six hundred years, and viewing the bell so close was just awesome. John you will surely appreciate this!

Mindful of the time, we returned to the outside world and proceeded into the cloister which boasted an amazing display of architecture and epitaphs to past notarians, knights and clergy. I suppose one of the most endearing features of any Medieval cathedral are the gargoyles and grotesques. During these times masons were virtually given a 'free reign' over these sculptures, and woe to any member of clergy who crossed a master mason. It wouldn't be the first time a member of the clergy was immortalised, rather unflatteringly, in stone.

Making our way out of Basel is a slight revisit of our Bern experience - road works, although less in quantity; however, these obstacles are circumvented by our most able Nakajima 'Kate'. We merge onto the motorway and all appears to be smooth sailing.....had I mentioned just two car crashes? We venture through the border crossing into Germany and expect to be stopped and passports checked. No, we're just waved through and although bewildered we continue our journey. In retrospect, this had also occurred when we re-entered France and upon entering Switzerland? Maria quite rightly suggested, our ease in crossing the borders is possibly because we are driving a UK built vehicle displaying UK plates....maybe.

Albeit, our motoring is brought to a standstill by a traffic jam, and the stationary traffic continues as far the eye can see. Wait a moment, "there's movement at the station" as the traffic commences to slowly proceed at a slow pace. What's that up ahead - flashing lights - a tow truck squeezes through the traffic with its lights flashing.... Car crash #3, and we hope that no-one has been injured.

The traffic continues to move and we continue our journey. Approximately a half hour later another traffic jam and more delays. However, the traffic proceeds to move and as we continue at a snails' pace, more flashing lights.... Incident #4, the burnt out hulk of station sedan, appears that no other vehicle is involved; the occupants sit at the roadside with a small amount of their luggage.

Once again the traffic moves on and although we have lost time we appear to be recovering this loss. Just a minute....you've got to be joking....oh, shit.....another traffic jam. This one takes slightly longer for the traffic to start moving again. More flashing lights.... Car crash #5, once more we hope no injuries had been sustained?

As the traffic thins and we able to make good time, we contact Steph (..who advises, "I am waiting for you") and let her know of the delays we've experienced. We continue and although we experience further delays this is in the wake of peak hour traffic. Finally, the road ahead is relatively clear and we press on with another call to Steph just to allay any concern she may have had. Passing through familiar territory, ie. Schorndorf-Weiller, we eventually arrive at Schwaebisch Gmuend and our patient Stephanie. It's times such as this when we realise just how much we love her and regard her as our own - our reunion is surely our testament.

Later, Steph goes to collect her man, Felix, who had attended function after work. The greeting we receive from Felix is genuine and full of warmth, he is quite a top bloke. We decide to go out for dinner as it is too late to cook, and being Friday night who could give a tinker's curse about cooking - we'll pay some cove to do it! So we head up the hill to their local Swabian restaurant - Der Süd Banhoff (the South Station as it is housed in a former Railway Station and full of old souvenirs). Felix, who has already had a full barbeque dinner (oh, I think I had 3 or 4 steaks and some sausages, and some beers) is the only one whose choice is simple - another beer and some soup. The rest of us labour over the menus, the waitress brings us English versions, and still we labour! But we finally decide:
No entrees.
Mains:
Filetsteak mit Nudeln, Brokkoli und Gorgonzola sauce (Fillet steak with noodles, broccoli and Gorgonzola Sauce) Michael
Schwäbische Flädlesuppe (Swabian Pancake soup) Felix
Gegrillte Pute mit Nudeln und Gorgonzolasauce (Grilled turkey with Noodles and Gorgonzola Sauce) Steph
Maultaeschle mit Pfifferlingsauce und Filetstreifen (Swabian ravioli with local forest mushrooms (tiny) and fillet steak strips) Maria