Very Bad Very Naughty Indeed Schandau

Out of Prague, I kick-flipped the train, and railed it all the way to Bad Schandau (or as I prefer to call it, very bad very naughty indeed Schandau). A further heelflip along, and I crashed out at Kurort Rathen, where I was quickly reminded that German bakeries are a bit crap, selling nothing but stodgy Rye loaves which would probably serve better as frisbees rather than lunch. Undeterred, I hurtled past maniac children gnawing on claggy pretzels (without a drink or anything!), and onto the Elbe ferry.

As I scuttled up the moss-slicked Malerweg and through the densely-wooded Amselgrund past emerald ferns and trickling streams, I witnessed Germans sporting their cute little hiking costumes and crampon rated boots to trudge up the perfectly level steps from the nearer carpark. At the top was Bastei, a photogenic bridge stitching together sandstone pillars like haphazard towers of half-played Jenga, creating a medieval catwalk for ancient Saxon potato farmers and aura farmers alike. The Elbe now a silver ribbon spooled through the valley below, I sausagemaxxed thanks to a currywurst before rolly-polying back to the water level (and my hostel).

The following day, a morning run took me pelting along the riverbank to Königstein, crouched beneath its namesake fortress, one of the largest hilltop fortifications in Europe. From there, I Tarzan'd between vertical ladders and eroded footholds up to Schrammsteine, a panoramic peak overlooking the sedimentary tendrils of Saxon Switzerland National Park. I kahooned my way over other summits, Carolafelsen and Großer Winterberg, to Kuhstall (meaning cow-shed), where I shook my udders and moo'ed into the abyss.

Screeching back to Bad Schandau in a 125-year-old tram, I then discovered the hard way that German engineering wasn't all that it'd been made out to be; all subsequent train services back to Rathen cancelled without warning! After learning that a taxi back would cost literally 100€ for the ~5 mile journey thanks to some dialling from nice Czech man, Denis (a route I'd literally half-run that morning), I opted for a brisk lollop back through the Elbe valley's gloom, hoping to find my route with a vibes based approach and the guiding illuminations of my wristwatch flashlight because my phone had tragically decided to run out of battery. After 50k steps, my legs were shaking with the structural integrity of a damp pretzel (which ironically would probably make them easier to eat (pretzels that is, not my legs)).

For my final day in the rural east, I collected my table manners for a reservation at Lilienstein, a tabletop plateau rising from a treeline carpet, and set with a cutlery of iron-railed stairways and a menu of heavy workouts. Just as I thought my day's walk was petering, I realised that the ferryman at Königstein (where I'd descended) had gone on strike ! I umm'd and ahh'd, circling the ferry slipway and stroking my chin as I wondered how on earth the Elbe had managed to make such a fool out of me. Back I flounced then, practically sick of the shimmering river at this point. Day's walk complete, I swigged some Radler and headed off to Schlieffen plan (*sleep! woops, silly autocorrect.)Read more