those flying saucers are called macarons

And onward to Champagne country. Eperney right now, staying in a converted brickworks. Actually, it's one of the places that we try to visit if we are in this neck of the woods.

The last time we actually stayed here was when I was picking up my car from the place where it was made and I drove it home on it's temporary foreign number plates.

We had decided to make a weekend of it and stayed in Champagne country whilst thinking of a use for the boot of the car.

At the time, we drank the bottle of bubbly that was in the mini-bar and took the bottle home. It had a sketch of the hotel and convenient address information that has subtly reminded us from its window-sill position in the kitchen.

When we looked in the mini-bar this time, the champagne was there, but it wasn't specific to the hotel. Words will be spoken.

But I mustn't be too critical, after all, the goodies in the room included a pretty wide selection of petit-fours, chocolate champagne corks and those yummy flying saucer shaped things.

Still, I have a sneaking suspicion that there may be a visit to a cave somewhere in today's plans.

Pausing awhile in Strasbourg

After Böblingen, we decided to set the controls for another old haunt of Tübingen before eventually heading back towards France. This had the extra benefit of a further chance to meander along the Black Forest High Road which twists and turns its way through a skyline of woodlands before descending towards France.

Our overnight objective was Strasbourg, and to stay in le Petite France, although exceptional navigational skills are required to get into the area around the various traffic restrictions.

Mission accomplished, we joined the throngs of visitors on foot, winding through the Rhineland half-timbered medieval centre of the town, complete with its twists, bridges and canals. Its a real crossroads of cultures that stretch back to Roman times and has its share of violent past across the centuries.

Tomorrow we plan for flammekueche before leaving the area.

time for a frech

Well the plan to get to Böblingen worked, although the Autobahn from Munich to Stuttgart is one long set of roadworks.

I remember the estimate was always that it would take two hours for that part of the journey, although the sheer number of chicanes and holdups as well as a lorry that had shed a tyre added a significant amount of time to the trip.

We'd allowed for time for it though whilst we were still back in Austria, and had visited the Schwarzsee where we'd paused for a rather lovely iced coffee before starting the journey.

We'd also headed off through a valley between the mountains instead of following the main Autobahn route. It added some time but meant that we had good scenery until we were eventually forced onto the A8 with all its roadworks.

But what can you do when you arrive? Head for Cafe Frech of course and enjoy a slice of cake and a coffee.

nicht hinausbeugen

We decided to use some other forms of transport on Thursday, based upon the splashes of rain and more limited visibility.

After a navigation across to the other side of the town to the train station, we caught a gleaming express to another small place, which seemed busy with steam locomotives to transport people to various summits.

The rain was lashing down at this point but we took a gamble to catch one of these small trains go in any case, where this time there would be a lake at the summit, and perhaps a boat.

Naturally the trains ran to time as did the connection to our boat, which glided around the lake as we watched the weather slowly change.

Later, on our return trip, we improvised catching a Munich to Vienna train and I was reminded of earlier Inter-rail journeys, with, in this case, others with big backpacks taking up all of the space in the compartments.

Amusingly, we discovered another station in our town. It was right outside our hotel. I'm still not quite sure how we missed it on the outward journey.

a quick view from the Hahnenkamm

Yesterday evening we headed into the town where many of the townsfolk were dressed in the traditional tract and dirndl of the area. It soon became apparent that there was a festival, complete with a Volksband and Schuhplattler.

Unexpected, and great fun to be there.

Today included a trip up the Hahnenkamm but this time under power instead of by foot. My legs took a little while to recover from the Swiss mountain a few days ago.

As it happened, there was a mountain bike race on the side of this one, and of course it was 'up' the mountain rather than down.

I arrived at the top to see various bikes parked against the edge and the start of the awards ceremony in a suitable cafe.

There's sensational views from this area. I could see across to the Wilder Kaiser, to Matterhorn and also right across to Grossglockner.

And the inspirational view soon made me forget my legs were supposed to be aching, as I headed away from the busiest area to just drink in the view.

my last 5 cents

Now we've moved from the Alps to the Tirol, complete with that slightly indeterminate border area where the towns are named in German, the street signs are in Italian, you've passed the Zollamt but it's still Switzerland for a couple more kilometres until suddenly there's an Austrian flag and a new set of traffic speed reminders.

I refuelled in Switzerland to squeeze the value from the last of the Swiss coins getting a solitary SFr5 cent coin in return for my planning.

the Almdudler of Austria beckons

I don't think Almdudler is very well known outside of Austria, but it's always on my list of things to drink when in the country.

Indeed, this time I am under instruction to bring some back to the UK.

I am not sure if it will last.

running up that hill walking down that mountain

We crossed the border into Switzerland and I got one of those vignette things for the car so we can travel on the motorways. The backup of traffic at the Swiss border created the comedy moment of two or three major roads system narrowing to a single lane and then a right turn to a single track road to get into the country.

Today we headed for the mountains and I've got aching legs this evening to prove it. The particular mountain in question is the Weissfluhjoch at 2,693 metres high with beautiful views across various valleys and across to other peaks.

The efficiently placed signs indicated it was a 2.5 hour ascent from the valley to the peak.

I think this timing must have been for proper alpine types because my sunny descent took more than three hours, plus or minus a couple of breaks to sit and soak in the scenery.

Highly enjoyable and my boots still have that patina of mountain dust.

the pictures in the sky

Still in the Black Forest, for a day of wandering in a pretty and unstructured way. A case of putting on the walking boots and striking out to find an interesting path.

It didn't take long to be out in the fields and then amongst the trees, with a glimpse of another town with its prominent Dom in the distance.

Time for a look in and a cup of coffee before working out a different and circuitous route back to base via a couple of huts along the trail.

a few idle moments

I've been enjoying tranquil moments in France at the small location in the picture. I walked past the source of the River Marne to get the snapshot. The water really is blue at the source.

Now we've moved on to the Black Forest area of Germany. I even celebrated with a Schwarzwälderkirschtorte at a beautiful and entirely random Gasthof somewhere on the twisty roads. The mountain of Schlagsahne piled on the cake may not be entirely compatible with my bike riding (460 miles last month), but it had to be done.

We are currently adopting a fairly unplanned traversal of some of the hilly bits of central Europe. We’ll probably go as far as Austria and I do want to head back through my one-time home town of Böblingen, in Baden-Württemberg, southern Germany. I’ll probably have another BFG there, at Cafe Frech, which is next door to my old apartment on Stuttgarter Straße.

My work life is usually quite structured with meetings and schedules so it’s good fun to drift off in an uncertain and idle way. Last year we were in the deserts of Arizona and the year before we were along part of the east coast of the USA heading up to close to the Canadian border, so it’s about time to give Europe another road-trip spin.

But the idea of the Idler is a tricky one to balance. I know professionally I'm required to be a 'results and outcome' sort of person, so the 'slow down and find the dreams' part requires an interesting gear shift.

As tonight's sun sets, I'm on the balcony of a new room in a fresh location. A nearby clock is striking the hour, a crow caws from a nearby tree.

Life is good and I feel ever so slightly idle.

i seem to be in France

I'm watching a different kind of Olympic reporting now, as I'm currently in France. Coincidentally, on Sunday night (Monday early morning actually) I was close to the French TV channel that were based in a central London hotel. Today I can see their output on French telly.

It's comparatively subdued compared with the Brit coverage and you need to hunt around the channels, but I guess there's a difference in the number of wins. Because they will interview the French athletes, it's easy to spot that French tracksuit doesn't look as stylish as the Brit one. A simple blue seems to be prevalent. It's noticeably less of an event here (says a Londoner!).

But in my travels I did notice a French roundabout today resplendent with the Olympic circles. In the middle of the central one was a Union Jack flag, which would be hard to imagine in reverse in the UK.

So tonight I've enjoyed a convivial dinner, and an adjacent table full of Australians commenting on their own performance in the Games. I couldn't help notice the deceptively casual excellence of the meal and its accompanying perfectly judged wine.

I guess there's more than one way to win.

a day at the Olympics

There's so much coverage of the actual Olympics, but less on the spectator experience, so I thought I'd mention a few impressions from the journey to the park and within.

It's in the context that central London has received a makeover and that many familiar routes have been changed. This has been happening over many weeks, with both road closures and even pedestrian route closures, especially around the Westminster central area.

It makes it worth a few minutes of extra thought to consider the route to the main venue.

Our journey on Sunday was a case in point, because of bridge and road closures over much of the central area. My satnav had red cross roadblocks all over it. This was a consequence of the women's marathon, which was right through the centre so we routed east to Tower Bridge to cross the Thames. Excitingly, until we dropped off the car, we could also use the Olympics Lanes which had were switched off for a while.

With the combination of increasing traffic and tube lines being busy, it made more sense to take a main line train out to Stratford, a single stop from Liverpool Street.

I haven't used that line for a long time and there's a great view of the whole complex that slides into view as the train halts.

Five minutes of walking through tunnels with a left/right decision to shops or Olympics and then into the noticably international world of the games park.

Very multi-lingual announcements, smiley-smiley people everywhere and a walk through a crowd to the main entrances, manned by friendly Commandos operating the security system. They were in their camouflage uniforms with the addition of little shoulder badges in Olympic colours.

Then inside the park.

It's huge area like one of the bigger Disney parks in Florida. Immediately ahead is the main stadium seen in the opening ceremony and to its side the improbably squirmy Orbit tower.

The sleek Aquatic centre is nearby across a bridge after a walk through a prettily assembled garden. In the other direction are other stadiums, but they are so far away as to be out of sight.

Beyond the Orbit is a large McDonald's - one of the more obvious signs of sponsorship, but although large, it turns out to be the small one, comparatively dwarfed by the other one further towards the centre of the park. I generally didn't find the sponsorship presence in the park overbearing. It was there, via various buildings and exhibits, but not overstated.

We skipped the McD experience instead trying other food from the smaller serveries dotted around. I was mildly surprised by the pricing which seemed very fair in such a venue with mainly simple food that was pleasant and even felt like good value.

The Megastore is the Olympics 2012 warehouse shopping experience for tee-shirts and mementos (OK, we were already in Team GB attire). Amusingly the Union Flags for Great Britain had completely sold out - as indeed had many of the other Team GB clothing items. This is only half way through the event, so presumably there are more supplies somewhere.

From the store it is a short walk to the broadcast hub being used by the BBC. It's on a stack of freightliner containers, which reminded the East Londoner in me that Stratford once had a huge freightliner terminal on part of the Olympics site. Temple Mills, I think it was called and I recollect that the original Temple Mill (an actual mill) was built by the Knights Templars back in the 1100s.

But back to the plot.

From this more central area it is possible to see the fabulous Velodrome, the Riverbank Arena (where the hockey is played), the basketball arena and the still distant BMX stadium.

Across from the basketball arena is the Olympic Village, where the athletes live and it is possible to see various flags and captions displayed on the outside of the different apartment blocks.

I haven't mentioned the noise, but even from the vast thoroughfares, there's a continuous surround sound of roars from the different venues, and every so often an extra loud one for something amazing.

Inside the venues, the flags and cacophony continues, with a notable increase for anything from Team GB. If there's a gap in proceedings, for some of the events there is also extra razzmatazz from dancers or other acts.

Whilst we were there I think the entire Park stopped for the Usain Bolt 100 Metres final. First silence and then a huge roar as he crossed the finish line.

There could be no doubt of the winner of that event, nor of the clear success of the whole Olympic staging.