Lake Constance: The Fairytale Spot For Every Cyclist

Love in a foreign country. It can happen in so many ways. There’s the obvious wham-bam type: adoration comes fast, followed by a proclamation to the world! Then there’s the slow, creeping onset of affection m that neither one of you sees coming. It was the former that I was witnessing on a bridge in the Austrian town of Bregenz. I watched as a couple took out a red padlock, which was engraved in gold with their names and two interlinked hearts, and clamped it securely around the railings. “It’s to show our unbreakable love,” the woman explained when they caught me staring.

With that they kissed and threw the key into the fast-flowing river below. At the same time, in this exact spot, another relationship was beginning to blossom, between me and my hired bicycle – though, being the second kind of love, I didn’t know it yet. Earlier that morning I’d picked the bike up from town, ready to start a week-long adventure circling Central Europe’s third-largest lake. So far we were getting off to a quarrelsome start, mainly because, as I watched the loved-up couple, I was emptying my pockets and panniers, desperately trying to find my own key – to the bike lock.

Like a clasped padlock, I’d always been closed to the idea of a cycling trip. But once I’d learned that a journey around Lake Constance meant crossing country borders almost daily, offered endless cafe stops, came with a multitude of escape routes (courtesy of efficient public transport), and that someone else would transfer my luggage, I began to feel more open. Before long, I found myself setting off on the first 41km of my 214km journey…

DAY 1 – Distance to cycle: 41km

Ice cream count: 0

Lake Constance. An over-inflated bulge in the River Rhine, here, Switzerland, Germany and Austria meet in a glorious mix of verdant vineyards, baroque churches, medieval castles and bench-lined promenades. It’s 273km in circumference, and with the official Bodensee Radweg trail covering 214km of that, there’s really only one way to tackle it: on two wheels. “You never know what will happen,” said the lady at the hire firm as I jumped on my bike. Immediately the saddle slipped, my over-stuffed panniers caused me to wobble and I proceeded to knock the bike over as I leapt off and tried to put it on its stand. Making my way out of Bregenz, I decided I disliked my seven-geared companion.

The small Austrian town was off to a sleepy start. Most of the coffee shops were still closed as sunlight started to hit the wooden-beamed buildings of the old Upper Town, which sat dreamily among the foothills of the Alps. These cobbled streets date from the 13th century, though further back the area was a Roman camp, patrolled by centurions; today only dog-wralkers and roller-skaters were doing the rounds, enjoying the sunshine. As I pedalled, I passed the floating stage that gets rebuilt anew’ every two years for the summer festival. The green and orange dragons flanking its edges seemed to watch me with their giant eyes.

Following the trail was a dream. Navigationally there’s just one rule – keep the lake to your right. And despite my rocky start I began to settle into the saddle. I made my way under trees and over bridges covered with love locks; I stopped to take a walk, locked up my bike and – for what wasn’t to be the first time that day -briefly lost the key. At some point I made my transition into Switzerland. There was no fanfare; no passport office, no duty free. Only the greetings subtly changed, from “Gruss Gott” to “Gruezi”. Despite my initial reluctance to pedal I was pleasantly surprised at how good I felt. Kilometres seemed to melt by with each turn of the spokes, my mind being distracted by cuckoo-clock houses, outdoor art and glimpses of the sparkling lake. By the time I arrived at my hotel in Arbon I felt like I could have cycled through the night. However, the promise of beer and spatzle (noodles) made me reassess my enthusiasm.

 DAY 2 – Distance to cycle: 67km

Ice cream count: 2

The next day was to be less gentle. Between me and a comfortable bed was over 60km of trail and my legs were a little heavy from the previous day. The air was hot and the sun glaring as I finally repacked my panniers (after having to look for my bike lock key – again). I set off, racing alongside a train that I could have taken to cut out 20km. Giant Swiss flags lined the streets and ferries emerged onto the lake at the harbour town of Romanshorn. The churches came thick and fast – tall white ones with elegant spires and friendly clock faces, then ivy-coated giants that looked like they’d been topped by giant witches’ hats. The German border was coming up, but I wouldn’t be crossing it yet.

Leaving the hectic traffic at Kreuzlingen, the route headed inland. Suddenly I was surrounded by farmland, allotments and barns. I slurped down an ice cream in the small village of Gottlieben, with its odd collection of dome-shaped turrets, oriental dragons and dark wooden shutters, before weaving my wheels through fields of wheat. An ugly grey and graffitied concrete bunker came into view, then I emerged back by the lake at Ermatingen. Children were jumping into the water, which certainly looked like a good idea – but then so did another ice cream (or two).

I trundled on and soon I could see the slopes on the opposite shore, dotted with churches and wooden huts. A downhill swoop brought me back to the water and to the town of Stein am Rhein; my hotel was within reach. Stein am Rhein is one of those towns you can spend hours ambling around with no particular purpose. Encased within the remains of medieval walls, each building has some interesting oddity. There are gilded frescos depicting real events and myths (created to boast of the residents’ affluence), an imposing former monastery (now a church), tantalising wooden doors leading into hidden alleyways and small bronze statues of cats. That night I sipped a beer and watched the sun set while crazy children leapt off the bridge into the water below. Though I kept my feet on the ground I could feel myself beginning to fall for this part of the world.

DAY 3 – Distance to cycle: 56km

Ice cream count: 5

The next morning I realised, with surprise, that I felt excited to be reunited with my wheels. I packed lightly and efficiently, having by now learned exactly what I needed; within minutes I was out of the town. This was to be my first proper taster of the German side of Lake Constance, which makes up more than half the shoreline. I passed a sign bearing a black eagle – the German emblem – which later seemed quite fitting: as I made my way further into the country, the sky overhead filled with birds of prey. Falcons and kestrels swooped and soared, unperturbed by the cyclists that kept stopping beneath them.

Distracted by the feathery flight show I suddenly felt a pain in my thighs and realised that I was climbing up a rather steep hill. I kept pedalling, determined not to give up, then I turned a corner and the hill kept ascending. With a flick of the gears and some teamwork between me and my bike, we made it to the top. If at any point we progressed from acquaintances to friends, it was here. On the other side, we hurtled down, moving as one. Towns shot by with unexpected frequency – proving that on this bike trail, you’re never far from help. Or a latte. I decided then that I had plenty of time for a detour to the island of Reichenau. I pedalled along the tree-lined causeway that connects Reichenau to the mainland.

The causeway was completed in 1838, but the island’s many churches and abbeys were founded much earlier – AD724 to be exact. And, as Reichenau is now as famous for its vegetable growing and wine production as its religious history, it proved a great lunch stop. Leaving the island, I passed a wetland reserve where a cluster of birds fluttered overhead. Soon, however, wingbeats were replaced with the clacketty-clack of trains leading into Konstanz, just a kilometre from the Swiss border, the German university town has a vibrant buzz, especially along its waterfront. Here, as the light faded, I wandered through a jazz festival where people aged from eight to 8o-plus met, drank and danced.

DAY 4 – Distance to cycle: 25km

Ice cream count: 7

After a short 6km ride, my bike and I boarded the ferry at Staad. Though the lake stretches on up to Bodman, that area has been a victim of industry – access and pleasant cycling are an issue, so like most who do the trail, I was cutting it out. If anything defines the northern section of the trail it is the silhouette of the castle in Meersburg that greets the ferry. Built on a steep slope, the whole town is a network of twisting alleys and crooked stairs leading up to a fort at the top; on a clear day it offers views over the southern side of the lake and the serrated Alps beyond. After a couple of hours wandering on foot, I left, passing waterfront parks and fire hydrants painted to look like pirates, en route to the north shore’s capital, Friedrichshafen.

It was here that aircraft manufacturer Ferdinand von Zeppelin was based, and from where the first commercial transatlantic Zeppelin flight took off in 1928. It marked the start of a golden era of German passenger aviation, which came to a tragic end in 1937 with the Hindenburg disaster. Since then the city has relied on tourists, who come to stroll on Friedrichshafen’s promenade and recapture past glories on Zeppelin pleasure flights. When I arrived one of the enormous balloons was hovering overhead while a summer festival was taking place on the lakeshore. I joined the families that were sipping beer from steins, eating bratwurst and pretzels, and enjoying the evening sunshine while brass bands played. All the while I found myself stealing glances over at my bike, eager to crack on with our adventure.

DAY 5 – Distance to cycle: 34km

Ice cream count: too many to admit

I left Friedrichshafen early. At a farm, two llamas looked up at me curiously; a nun waved hello. In the next hamlet, marked by a totem pole of shields, I stopped to watch the lakes waves lap right up to the street. It was a Sunday and it seemed the whole village was either heading to Mass or cycling. Switching it up a gear to pass a crowd of pedallers, I realised my own cycling must have stepped up a level. The scent of apples and cherries punctuated the air as I passed row upon row of orchards before arriving in Lindau, one of the best-preserved medieval towns on the lake. Sitting on an island and guarded by a much-photographed Bavarian lion statue and lighthouse, it’s a beautiful collection of small boutique shops, cobbled squares and ornate buildings.

It was a bittersweet moment when I left the island and found myself crossing the border into Austria. By now the bike and I moved in unison, the pedals felt like an extension of my legs, the handlebars like my own arms – yet soon we would be parted forever. I watched as Pfander Mountain came closer and felt my pace begin to slow; Bregenz was in my sights. “You don’t need to lock it up,” said the woman in the bike rental office. But I pretended not to hear her, tightly clamped the padlock shut and tossed her the key. It may have been a short-lived romance, but it was a special one. My two wheels had enabled me to cross country borders, cover ground at my own pace and still stop to admire any curiosities that caught my eye. This had been an affair to remember.