[In October/November 2017, I attempted to walk the length of the Rhine River, from its source at Tuma Lake in the Swiss Alps to the North Sea in the Netherlands, a distance of about 1,300 kilometers. I sustained an injury at approximately the 420-kilometer point in southern Germany and was forced to abandon the adventure. Ah well, you can’t win them all.]
As a schoolboy, inspired by the stories of my heroes, by Roman mythology, and the children’s novels I was reading, I spent most of my classroom hours staring out the window and dreaming of adventures of my own.
One of those dreams was to travel the full length of the Nile River. Or the Amazon. Traveling the length of the world’s two longest rivers doesn’t particularly interest me anymore, perhaps because I believe those expeditions would be too costly and the logistics too laborious. Or perhaps I just lack the courage.
But the idea of traveling a major river from source to sea has persisted throughout my life. The Rhine River came to mind as a possibility after I lived in Germany for a number of years, in a village only a couple of kilometers from the Rhine where the beautiful Black Forest rose to the west.
I spent many, many hours walking near my small village along the Rhine and paddling its tributaries in a canoe. I enjoyed the serenity of it, and the friendliness of the occasional passing pedestrian.
I thought that one day I might paddle the length of the Rhine, but now, thinking about how to acquire a canoe and figuring out the logistics of canoe transport and portages just makes my brain hurt. Why worry about those complicated things when I can just throw a backpack over my shoulders and travel as I wish?
So, I’ve decided to attempt to walk the length of the Rhine River, from its source at Tuma Lake in the Swiss Alps to the North Sea.
I’ll follow a cycle route on this adventure, which primarily winds its way through Switzerland, France, Germany, and the Netherlands, with short dips into Lichtenstein and Austria. Although the Rhine River is 1,232 kilometers long, the trail is longer, at 1,378 kilometers. I’ll only have 40 days to walk it, so I’ll have to be firm with my step if I want to enjoy some of the historical and cultural offerings along the way.
In Switzerland, I noticed that even a simple dorm bed in a hostel can cost over $100 CAD. My budget is much too slim for those prices, so I will be carrying my trusted stealth-camping tent. I’m helped by autumn’s shorter daylight hours; it’s always easier to be stealthy in the dark. I’m told by some Camino pilgrims that wild camping is allowed in France, but I’m not sure about the other countries. So best for me to be careful.
I’m starting in the latter half of October and Lake Tuma sits at 2,345 meters. I’m hoping there won’t be any snow yet. The route drops almost 1,400 meters in the first 50 kilometers, so hopefully after that, fingers crossed, I won’t have to worry about snow at all for the remainder of the walk.
I’m on a bus traveling through France as I write this. Although still a day or two away, my destination nears. And I have that familiar exciting feeling I get at the start of a new adventure.
My little coffee at the train station in Romanshorn, Switzerland, along the southern shore of the beautiful Lake Constance, costs me 4.80 CHF (Swiss Francs), about $7.20 CAD. But it’s the first wifi I’ve seen since I started walking the Rhine.
It’s day 5, and it rained for the first three days. Yesterday was cold, but sunny, so I was finally able to dry out my tent and sleeping bag. It’s amazing how the sun immediately improves the wanderer’s morale.
Getting to Lake Tuma (known locally as Lai da Toma and/or Tomasee), the source of the Rhine, or Rheinquelle, was practically a pilgrimage in itself. It took a 32-hour bus ride from Santiago de Compostela, Spain, to Zurich, followed by two train trips and a bus ride to Andermatt, an overnight sleep in my tent at the edge of town, an early morning train ride to Oberalppass in the Swiss Alps, and finally, a 90-minute climb up a mountain, enjoying the gorgeous views all along, for me to reach my destination. I could hardly believe I had made it there. And since it’s the off season, I had the entire lake to myself.
I spent well over an hour up there, walking among the rocks, watching the lake turn into the Rhine River as it fell over the cliff. It’s known as the Vorderrhein at that point. It would be a couple of days of walking before I would reach Reichenau, where the Vorderrhein and Hinterrhein meet in a mixture of white and grey to finally be called the Rhine River.
The walking is fabulous, although much of it is on asphalt because it’s a bicycle path. I’ve left the trail frequently to take walking paths. It’s difficult to get totally lost, especially for the first few days; I just needed to follow the valley between the two mountain ranges. I have to pay more attention now that I’m on a flatter terrain just south of Lake Constance, since the lake isn’t always in view as a marker.
It’s a wonderful adventure so far, filled with plenty of solitude, despite that I see plenty of other locals walking and cycling along the path. The longest conversation I had so far was with a German tourist. She stopped her car along a vehicle pullout at the top of a ridge while I was eating my lunch on a bench. She pointed, and in German, she said, “Is that the Rhine down there?” “Ja, das ist der Rhein.” “So beautiful,” she said. “Ja, so schoen.” She stared down at the water and at the villages speckled along the hillside, and recognizing that I had exhausted my entire German vocabulary, she said goodbye and drove off.
Every day has been a joy, despite the rain. I’m ahead of schedule; it’s almost impossible not to be since there’s nothing else to do when it rains but to keep walking. I’m eating well; fresh fruits, bread, jam, and cheese can be found in nearly every village. I’m addicted to Chocoly cookies, with their yummy vanilla wafers stuck together with chocolate. And because the weather has been poor and my feet sore, I’ve been treating myself to a daily dose of Swiss chocolate. Walking relieves one of the guilt of eating chocolate.
There’s something so soothing about walking through the hills, in and out of little villages with their fountains of drinking water that are so convenient for me, listening to the almost constant sound of cow bells permeating from the fields and slopes, gazing up at snow-covered peaks, and hearing the echoes of voices past in the old churches and monasteries along the way. I particularly like walking in the dark, early in the morning and before I find a stealth-camping spot for the night. To see the lights of the villages against the dark shadow of the mountains or reflected in the water of Lake Constance is just so joyous. Sometimes I stop, stand still, and listen to the quiet while my headlamp catches the wisp of fog from my breath. Peaceful.
I’ve had some down moments on the walk, of course. After having walked with others for a month, to suddenly be walking alone again takes some getting used to. I’m not lonely, but sometimes I notice something interesting and turn to point it out to someone, but there’s no one there. The joy of walking with others is the sharing of views and thoughts, and simply being witness to one another’s lives. Walking alone means I’ll miss some things. And no one but me is witness to my adventure. So, I try to savour it all the more.
When I get down, particularly because of poor weather, which seems to be a gauge for my mood, I simply look up and yell, “I’M HIKING IN SWITZERLAND! WOOHOO!”
Thank you for this life.
I’m in the gorgeous little town of Schaffhausen, Switzerland, within stone-throwing distance of Munot Fortress, from where a curfew bell will sound at 9:00 pm. I’ll be asleep by then, no doubt.
I checked into a backpacker hostel run by a very friendly family of eastern Europeans. Soccer is playing on the television, pop music is blaring through the sound system, people are laughing, and everyone is smoking. Myself, I’m having a beer and enjoying the presence of other people.
I’ve had my first shave, change of clothes, and shower in eight days, unless you count dipping a wash cloth into the Rhine and scrubbing myself with it a shower. I washed my clothes and have them hanging over my dorm bed to dry. Showers after eight days of walking and traveling are good for morale.
A social comment: I’ve noticed the Swiss appear to be living in their own little economic world, without seeming to realize what the rest of the world is paying for food and coffee outside Switzerland. Alas, the cost of some dreams.
I slipped over the border into Konstanz, Germany, to use a bank machine. While I was there, I poked my head into a grocery store and was shocked. It was like I was back in Spain; the food was so inexpensive. I bought more than fifteen pounds worth of food, even though I knew I had to carry it. I mentioned the difference in prices between Switzerland and Germany to the grocer. He said, “Oh, I know; the Swiss walk over the border and buy their food here all the time.”
So now my backpack is bloody heavy, but I have a smile on my face.
I really enjoyed the journey today, especially the last 10 kilometers coming into Schaffhausen. It was fabulous walking along a path right next to the river, with swans and ducks going about their business, the sun in my face, kicking fallen leaves like I did when I was a schoolboy, other pedestrians greeting me in a joyful ‘we-love-autumn’ manner, young moms with smiles on their faces pushing baby buggies, seniors walking along with hiking poles for support, and always the Rhine to my left, slowly moving along, carrying the spirit of the moment toward the North Sea. It’s what I imagined would be the best part of this adventure.
I also quite enjoyed the town of Stein am Rhein, where Lake Constance empties into the Rhine. It’s one of Switzerland’s best preserved medieval towns, with some of the buildings in the pedestrian-only Rathausplatz covered in frescoes. Simply beautiful to gaze at these old pictures.
A stork, such a beautiful bird, flew just above me, almost close enough to touch, and swooped past to land on a building behind me. It is said that if a stork chooses your village to roost, your village will have luck that year.
I shall enjoy my beer, my overpriced fries, my walk around Schaffhausen, and my warm bed with its fluffy comforter. And before I close my eyes to sleep, I will give thanks again for this life.
I’m convalescing in Schwanau, Germany, being hosted by two fabulous souls. Trail angels, they are. And they’re reminders that good people will show up to help you when you need them.
My leg is propped up on an ottoman. I stare at my problematic foot, swollen and disfigured, and, sulking, I unwrap a piece of caramel chocolate and let it melt in my mouth. I saw myself in the mirror again this morning. I’ve lost weight, so my indulgence in the finer products of the German chocolatier is without guilt.
My last days of walking along the Rhine through Switzerland before crossing the border into Germany were fabulous. It wasn’t so much that the weather was nice, but it was exceptional walking because it felt like I was traveling through time.
Laufenburg, such a pretty German town with its colourful homes along the river, shares the same name with the Swiss town directly across the water, a town that is just as pretty. This was a single town once, but when Napoleon redrew the boundaries in 1801, this town was split in half. Two local governments, two mayors, two nationalities. Despite sharing a language, I’ve noticed they say ‘good morning’ differently.
In the spa resort town of Bad Saeckingen, I walked across the longest covered bridge spanning the Rhine. No vehicles allowed; only pedestrians and bicycles. The bridge is massive, with nails the size of train spikes holding beams together. Well-worn floor boards look thick enough to support the weight of the battle tanks in an armoured regiment. Intricate carvings of saints await prayers in alcoves along the bridge.
The 1853 epic poem, The Trumpeter of Saeckingen, by Joseph von Scheffel, is celebrated here. It’s a poem that made Bad Saeckingen known around the world. A cat, who observes everything in the town, narrates the poem about a lowly trumpeter who falls in love with the daughter of a baron, and although she loves him too, their marriage is forbidden because of their social differences. Images of the trumpeter can be found everywhere in town, from statues to frescoes and even in the logos for local companies.
Basel, Switzerland, was a major milestone on this trip, not just because it was the last city I walked through before leaving Switzerland behind, but because it’s the point at where the Rhine finally becomes navigable. Basel is Switzerland’s only port, and as I walked along the well-manicured paths along the river, I saw some of the massive cruise ships that people travel on to experience the upper Rhine. I did quite a bit of extra walking in Basel so that I could visit the main cathedral, called the Basel Muenster, built in the 11th century. It was from here that the Prince-Bishopric exerted its power over the land for centuries until the 1500s, when the power switched to the local trade guilds, who built the town hall, known in German as the Rathaus. The bishop went into exile.
In Basel, I also went off trail to visit the Dreilaendereck, literally the Three Country Corner, a monument at the end of a pier pushing out into the Rhine, where the countries of Switzerland, Germany, and France meet. To walk around the monument is to step foot into three European countries in only a few seconds. Basel is called the Drei Landes Stadt, or three-country city, because it spills over the Rhine into Germany and France. As I was approaching the German border, ready to leave Switzerland for the remainder of this adventure, I saw a gas station that was open. The challenge of traveling between countries that have dissimilar currency is in trying to coordinate your timing and spending in order to have as little money as possible remaining in the currency of the country you’re leaving. At the gas station, I counted the remainder of my Swiss francs (CHF) I had 3.30 CHF, so I went inside and bought a chocolate bar for 3.00 CHF. Then I crossed into Germany, where the Euro is used.
I’ve injured myself badly enough that I’ve had to pull myself off this walk. I’ve been resting the last couple of days to assess whether I can continue. I’ve completed about 420 kilometers so far in the first nine days, but there are still about 900 kilometers to go.
I’ve been noticeably limping since day three, a result of an old soccer injury that has been acerbated by long days walking across Canada, and more recently, from carrying a full pack on the Camino and Rhine walks. Near Breisgau, Germany, when I was finally enjoying a few pain-free strides along a beautiful forest path, something popped near my ankle. The pain was instant and intense.
I slept in my tent that night, and then seeing that my ankle was still the size of an orange the next morning, I walked at a snail’s pace back to Neuenburg and took the train toward Schwanau.
Considering my current state after two days rest, it’s unlikely I’ll be able to walk with a full pack and sustain a pace of 35 kms/day for the next 26 days. If I were to try it, I could cause a more serious, possibly permanent, injury. The completion of this walk simply isn’t worth it.
It’s not a total failure, however. Just another lesson in humility.
I’m not 100 percent sure what the universe is trying to tell me, but I suspect I will have to temper my enthusiasm for some of my physically-demanding bucket-list adventures and try to find that nice balance between what I would like to do and what I’m actually capable of doing; have stretch goals without permanently hurting myself.
To leave the Rhine walk incomplete is disappointing. But I recognize that it’s an important learning tool for future growth. We never really know the limits of our capabilities until we fail. It’s at that point of failure that we begin to really use our creativity, either to figure out how to expand our boundaries for next time, or how to live more exciting and interesting lives within those boundaries. I know that as I continue to age, my physical boundaries will shrink. I’m not able to physically do what I did at 25 and when I turn 75, I won’t be able to physically do what I can do today. Aging is a series of losses – a continuous game of probing and adjusting, testing and resting, successes and failures, to see what’s possible for a fulfilling life.
When I get over feeling sorry for myself, I’ll take a closer look at this. What are the lessons to be learned? What will I need to do differently? I like the idea of doing long walks, long pilgrimages, and physical adventures. I haven’t given up on them yet.
But for now, I will enjoy my German chocolate, I’ll rest my foot, and I’ll consider my current options while I’m still in Europe.