 |
| Memmingen |
Saturday, 9th August 2015 – Bangor to Bavaria
This whole adventure started with a bit of an experiment: no fixed itinerary, no plans, just see what happens. The idea was simple — make it up as we go along. Memmingen, our first destination, was chosen almost at random via the Ryanair “Take Me Anywhere” app. Honestly, I had never even heard of it either. That was part of the fun — drop yourself somewhere new, figure it out, and see what happens. To add to the challenge, I also decided I’d try to speak as little English as possible with the locals and communicate in their native language.
The day began at Bangor train station, where groups of girls in sparkly tops were clearly gathering for a big Saturday out in Chester, and, quite nice to see, not a filled lip or false eyelash in sight. Meanwhile, Charlie (age 12) and I had our own plans. Frustratingly, the train fare to Manchester Airport cost more than the flight to Germany, which says everything you need to know about the state of UK rail travel. Our trains aren’t run for passengers — just companies bleeding us dry.
By the time our Ryanair flight landed in Memmingen at 10:30 pm, the heat still clung to the air. Since I had Charlie with me, I had booked us a room at the airport hostel, a no-frills spot right on the grounds. If I’d been on my own, I probably would’ve just wandered into town, grabbed whatever bed I could find, and then found a bar (not necessarily in that order). But with a twelve-year-old in tow, practicality won.
Sunday, 10th August 2015 – Memmingen to Lindau
Morning came, and with it our first surprise: Memmingen on a Sunday is like a Tesco sushi bar — so quiet it’s practically in a coma. No shops open, no supermarkets open, no nothing. Religion still rules here in deepest Bavaria, and Sundays feel like Christmas Day or Easter Sunday back home. Honestly, it’s not a bad thing… unless you need to buy suncream in 30°C searing heat.
We did eventually stumble across a coffee shop, where we broke a 14-hour fast with some bread piled high with cheese, tomato, and sauerkraut. Continental, tasty, and predictably overpriced. Our table companions were less than ideal — a squadron of persistent wasps that buzzed around like self-appointed guardians. They would, as it turned out, follow us almost everywhere.
The town itself was pleasant but sleepy, so after a play in the local park, we decided to shake things up. Our original plan this morning had been to grab a night bus to Strasbourg or Stuttgart, but then we spotted a train and thought: “Why not?” That became the theme of this trip — leap first, plan later.
 |
| Lindau |
The train rolled through Swiss-lookalike landscapes: clean, pristine, a log-chopper’s paradise. Eventually, we found ourselves in Lindau, a small jewel on the shores of Lake Constance (Bodensee). It was beautiful — and expensive. The lake shimmered in the heat, and we couldn’t resist diving in for a swim. Floating in those cool alpine waters with the mountains in the distance was life affirming
 |
| Dornbirn |
With the cheapest accommodation in Lindau starting above £100 it was decided to take another short hop via train (didn't buy a ticket), which took us over the border into Austria. In Dornbirn, we grabbed a salad bar dinner from the local Coop supermarket and ate it in the company of the local drunks who had claimed the station benches as their own. (Every town has them — I’m still trying to work out the collective noun. A stumble of drunks? A blur? A cheer?)
Our digs for the night was an Airbnb apartment on the 4th floor. A family home, run by Walter (Austrian) and Alexandria (Peruvian). They turned out to be the kind of hosts who remind me why I travel this way in the first place. Friendly, curious, and generous, they gave us a little window into their lives — the sort of cultural exchange you’ll never find in a hotel.
Our room was basic but comfortable with an alpine view, though the fan struggled to push the hot air around enough to keep us cool. Still, after the long, sun-soaked day, it didn’t take much for Charlie and me to drift into sleep, knowing the adventure was just beginning.
Three Countries Before Lunch
Monday, 11th August 2015 – Dornbirn → Liechtenstein → Switzerland → Zurich
From Dornbirn, we caught a [free] train to Feldkirch, and from there hopped onto a free [as in, we didn't buy a ticket] bus that wound its way into Schaan, Liechtenstein. What to say about Liechtenstein? If Memmingen had been sleepy yesterday, Schaan had taken a sedative. The place was hot, quiet, almost too neat for its own good. But it was stunningly beautiful — surrounded on three sides by the Alps, every corner framed like a work of art. We had a coffee in a small café, used the toilets (a bold move for which I’ll spare the details), and then wandered the empty streets for a while.
 |
| Schaan |
Another bus (£3) later and we were in Buchs, Switzerland — just ten minutes over the border. That made it three countries before lunch. This little corner of Europe doesn’t do cheap, though. At Charlie’s request we ventured into McDonald’s. Normally I avoid the golden arches like the plague, but credit where it’s due: the curried veg burger was actually tasty — far better than the cardboard patties they serve in the UK. Still, £27 for two meals left me wondering if we’d accidentally ordered gold-plated fries.
From there, we boarded a train bound for Zurich. It wasn’t cheap either (£51), but what a ride. The train trundled along the southern edge of Lake Zurich, where holidaymakers were making summer memories on the water while the mountains rose dramatically behind them. It was one of those “wow” journeys that reminds you why you put up with the blistering heat, the expense, and the constant legwork.
 |
| Zurich |
Zurich itself turned out to be just as impressive. The city has a real wow factor, with elegant architecture, rivers, and green parks. We had about five hours to explore and soaked up as much as possible. Even stopped off at The Nelson pub for a beer (me) and a coke (Charlie) — though £15 for two drinks did sting a little.
Our accommodation was an Airbnb in the Seefeld area, north of the lake. An elderly man named Patrick greeted us on behalf of our host, he's a Swiss choirmaster who also doubled as a church organist. Patrick showed us around the house, which turned out to be the oldest in Seefeld — full of character, every floorboard creaking as if it had a story to tell. He asked if I liked music, and I resisted the urge to mention that I once wrote a song called Paedo Death Church. Probably for the best.
Patrick also suggested that if we cancelled the booking online and paid him £55 in cash, it would be cheaper. But it meant a trek to a cash machine in the sweltering heat, and with 17,000 steps already on the clock and a sore arch in my foot (plantar fasciitis? must look that up), I opted to leave things as they were. This, at the point of exhaustion was the most sensible choice.
By the time evening came, Charlie and I were wiped out. My friend Wyn was covering my Monday night Louder Than War radio show, but we didn’t make it to air time. Sleep claimed us before the first track. We’ll catch up tomorrow.
Three countries, 17,000 steps, blistering heat, and one creaky old Swiss house. Not a bad Monday.
