Well, Schützenfesters certainly know how to party. They didn’t keep me awake, but when I opened the window at 1.30 a.m. the marquee down the road was still jiving. The church clock struck at 5.30 a.m. and I swear I could hear the brass band playing somewhere. As I dressed, somebody was singing alleluia several times over to the accompaniment of the band outside the church. Our breakfast was slightly delayed by the waitress having to serve a few beers . . . and the first parade of the day started just as we were leaving. I really don’t know what to make of it: history, community spirit, unsettling vibes under the cheerful booziness, the self-deprecating silliness of carrying wooden sticks (representing rifles?) topped with flowers so that they looked like a morris-dancing local militia. Had I lived in the town during the Thirty Years War, I might have been glad if a group of trained men were ready to defend it – and perhaps there were similar groups in Ukraine until three years ago.

The rest of the day was a return ride unto the Netherlands in hot sunshine and a gentle headwind. Piet Mondrian lived in Winterswijk for a time, but that is as much as I know.

More country-hopping: the only map I had covered the Netherlands rather than Germany, so that was the route we took. I couldn’t find a German one in either of Emmerich’s two bookshops; both were staffed solely by elderly women who knew their stock inside out, but the stock itself didn’t suggest Emmerich was a town of avid readers. Vreden, on the other hand, has a comprehensive bookshop run by several younger staff – just one of the things (along with a formal, family-run hotel) that suggests Vreden is a bit better off than Emmerich.

I experienced rain for the first time in weeks. I suppose I should be glad for sake of the garden – but not for my holiday! It was drizzly and not too dreadful, but it cast a slight pall over a rather uninteresting ride. Which is not to say I didn’t enjoy it – but I note that I’ve taken no photographs today.

As planned, the morning train from Dordrecht to Nijmegen, and then a ride to Emmerich am Rhein. It’s a route we’ve done a few times before – but that was always at the end of a holiday and into a headwind. Today we were at the beginning of the holiday with the hope (fervent on my side) of travelling to unknown places and a tailwind. What more could I want? The call of a cuckoo and the sight of storks were the cherry on the cake.

The Dutch-German border was marked by a tiny stream, and the red bridge of Emmerich was visible for miles. The electricity pylons either side are phenomenally high: is it simply to span the river?