When It Rains It Is Torrential

We pick up bag-less Scott at the train station. Erin hid in the bushes like paparazzi, taking pictures of our reunion, as I hadn’t seen him in days. Back at our inn we run into our hostess and tell her that we have located Erin’s passport but that Scott has no luggage and perhaps it was because she didn’t light a candle for him. She doesn’t realize we are joking and goes right in to light a candle and say a prayer, hey it can’t hurt. Just as we gather our stuff to head to the castle the rain starts.

Erin and Her Friend

Paradise Regained, For 5 Long Minutes

Tom calls us while Erin is in the shower and for a few seconds I am hopeful that we have regained the wallet, but no, he just wants to chat. Call waiting buzzes and it is Scott, who informs me that he has left his bag of clothes on the Strassenbahn. I am in shock and have no idea what to say; the idea of working through my jet lag to deal with another problem seems overwhelming. He says not to worry, he has spoken with someone, but he won’t make the train. I ring off with Scott and relay the news to Tom who is still on the other line. Then I shower and when I get out Christian calls: someone at the coffee shop has the wallet and there is even some money in it – about 50 Euros are missing. Erin has tears in her eyes when I tell her. We decide to go buy the latest tickets for the castle we can get in hopes that Scott will make it in time. With hours to kill Erin and I set out to a tourist attraction called the Weiskirch (church in the meadow). The story goes that there was a statue of Christ in the meadow that cried. The statue became a place for pilgrimages and the church was built around it to protect it and give the pilgrims a place to worship. As far as I can tell the statue isn’t crying any longer, and the pilgrimages seem to be made mostly by tourists. Then we set out to find lunch. Of course it is after 2:00 and we can’t find a restaurant with a warm kitchen. I realize I have no cash or cash card so we can’t just eat a doner kebab or fried fish sandwich because we need a restaurant that takes credit cards. After a half hour of searching we find an open Italian place – of course. Erin has some salmon with vegetables and I have a giant tomato soup that has tons of dried rosemary in it and tastes like it is the juice from a can of tomatoes. Luckily the salad that is with it is great; I can’t ever get enough of the German salads. And true to form the service is slow and I have to pick up Scott at the train station at 3:50, once again I feel that the world has conspired against me and I am not going to make it to see the first castle.

The View From Our Balcony

This is pretty late at night, right before we went to dinner.

A God Fearing Breakfast

I wake up and hit the car again looking for the passport, I find nothing. Erin hits the car and looks, we tear the room apart and still find nothing. It’s ok, I think, this is Germany, people turn in missing stuff all the time. Once I left two pairs of brand new shoes and a jacket in a bag in an H&M in Stuttgart and when I went back to the H&M they were waiting for me. Plus, I have the added advantage of the fact that I have thought about the problem all night, and have figured out entirely what we will do. First I will discuss it with our host – the gentleman who checked us in last night – and ask him if he could help us call the rest area. If we do not locate it there, we will go to the police to make a report, then call the consulate heading to Munich or Stuttgart and get a new passport. The plan doesn’t go totally as planned because when we head down to breakfast the woman of the house is the one serving us and she isn’t quite as genial as her husband. I explain the situation and tell her that we need to call the rest area in Pforzeim – the one of the lovely macchiato – and see if someone turned in the passport. She goes into the back of the house the returns to tell me they don’t have a phone book for towns that far away and we should go to the Post office to look up the number. I am seeing that I am not going to get any help here, so I start to formulate Plan B in my mind. Meanwhile the woman is talking up a hurricane at Erin, and I say “at” because Erin doesn’t speak any German and she is smiling sweetly as the woman goes on and on. The woman is actually being kindly, but her face and tone seem the opposite. She grabs Erin by her ear with what is supposed to be a thoughtful, gentle touch (“oh, you poor dear, I will pray for you!”), but is interpreted by Erin as a scolding (“what were you thinking, leaving your passport at a rasthof!”). We go upstairs to enact Plan B – call Christian to the rescue. The poor boy worked the night before and didn’t get home until 3 AM, but we really needed him because I just felt like I couldn’t handle the language end of it. We wake him up and ask him to call information, track down the rest area, and call to find the passport. He calls back, says information can’t give him a number for something as vague as “Rasthof Porzheim.” “Think about it, Alexis,” he says, tiredly, “you can’t just call and ask information for the number of the Molly Pitcher rest area on the Jersey Turnpike.” Put that way it does seem reasonable that this task is going to be a bit more difficult. For once, I think, my messy nature may help me and perhaps the name of the coffee place is on the cups that are still sitting in the car. No such luck there, but I do find the coffee receipt with not only the name of the stop but phone number and web address (that’s right, the rest stop has a website). I call Christian with the info. Back in the house our hostess tells me she has lit a candle on Erin’s behalf to Mother Mary and that Erin should pray to Saint Anthony. Meanwhile, Christian calls the coffee shop. Then he, Tom, Erin and I trade five phone calls where we impart more information about the incident, and Christian reprimands me about not dealing with this the night before. Thanks German-Brother, if I had known before midnight that this was going to happen I would have been sure to do something about it. Finally, Christian calls saying he has found a manager who will call him back if he locates the wallet. Christian is the voice of doom telling me that because there was cash in there that we are never getting the passport back. My hope is springing eternal, or perhaps I have a romantic view of Germany as a place where honest, helpful people still live.

Paradise Lost, Along with a Passport

After driving for four hours Erin and I enter what looks like paradise. A small red-roofed village framed by distant Alps. We pull off the road just to bask in the beauty. I try hard to imprint the view in my mind and snap a few photos before we continue. I would like to tarry a bit longer but as a result of the rest area’s closed bathroom I may lose my friend to a burst bladder. The decision to move on is any easy one. Finally, we arrive at Guest House Weiher, our home for the next two days. Our small wood-paneled room has two beds and balcony with a beautiful view of the castle. It is already about 9:00 and we decide to get something to eat and then decide against showering. We head into the town of Schwangau to find a restaurant our host has marked on a map. Only, we can’t find it. The town appears to have one main road with about 4 roads leading off of it, so it shouldn’t be difficult. We decide we are either directionally challenged or suffering from impaired thought process due to hunger. We park and walk the small street where the only thing we can find open is an Italian restaurant. So much for my idea of eating only white asparagus while in Germany, it is the season after all. We sit, we order, and despite the fact that ethnicity of the food was marring my perfect German evening, I find I enjoy it. In fact Erin’s pizza is far better than any pizza I have had in Washington or New York for the past three years.

It is when the bill arrives tragedy arrives with it. Erin can’t find her wallet. We are tired, and dirty, and if we weren’t full of Italian food (and in 2007) we could be Dickens characters. But, I have plastic and an unwavering belief that we are going to find the wallet, filled with cash, passport, credit cards and identification in our lovely auto, or in our room. No such luck. We go to bed. I don’t fall asleep until about 3 am thinking about what we will do if we can’t find the passport.

Autobahn Schmatobahn

After about an hour we have settled into the autobahn driving and we are ready to go all out on the perfectly smooth, no-speed limit-having road in our fabulously pick-up free car. Sadly, while the Autobahn is lovely, rush hour seems to be the same in every country. After driving for about three hours, it’s time to stop for a snack and toilet. We pull off the exit advertising “Rasthof Pforzheim” and walk into a rest area featuring 2 Euro 50 diet cokes and a coffee stand. Erin treats us to coffee to go – me a particularly wonderful macchiato and Erin a cappuccino. I also get a buttered pretzel because of course I am starving and can’t find anything other than the pretzel and cake. We take the coffees to a side table to put the lids on (this is where Erin believes she was distracted by the complimentary piece of chocolate that came with the coffee). Then while searching out the out-of-order bathroom we notice the extremely delectable looking hot food bar. Oh, well. Since the bathroom is out of order and our little truck is holding at above half a tank of gas the rest area doesn’t hold much else for us.

That is Your Luggage? You Need a Bigger Car

We are forced to upgrade from the tiniest car to a bigger one on account of our luggage – which we know is all my shoes. Yes, Universe, I am listening; I will pack lighter in the future. We are now the proud drivers of a silly looking Toyota Rav 4 but at least it is a diesel. Best of all, it comes with a GPS (and plenty of shoe room). Armed with GPS and a local map containing 4 streets, we set off – two girls to conquer the Autobahn.

Danté Missed One: The Frankfurt Airport

I might be exaggerating here, because what should have been Danté’s 10^th Circle of Hell really isn’t a circle. It’s more a never ending series of connected escalators, walkways and a skytram, but every path leads in someway to more of the same.

Erin is waiting when I wander off the plane. That is a wonderful sight. We eat and then start our Long March around the airport to find our rental car company which is listed on the confirmation as being outside of the airport. After a fruitless hour, we are no closer to finding our car company, but at least we have located the car rental section of the airport. We sidle up to one of the car rental counters and I break out my best German.

“Excuse me, can you (polite form) tell me where I can find Dollar Rent-a-car” She has no idea, she lists off all of the rental car companies that have desks in the airport gesturing to each counter as she does so. Off we set again. 1,000 bags filled with shoes in tow. A kindly lady tells us to go to another terminal, another car rental person tells us to go downstairs to E9 – whatever that might be. We follow all directions and get no closer to our prize. We come across an information booth; I go to ask and the woman behind the counter points to the corner and tells me there is a phone. A nice big phone with a sign under it that says “Dollar Rent A Car;” we have probably passed this phone several times. I pick up the phone and it connects directly; we are saved. We pull our cart and its mountainous pile of luggage outside and wait in the Departures section of the airport for our shuttle – because when you think rental car pick-up you think Departure!

Iceland Cometh

I wake on the plane to some woman leaning over my aisle-seat and craning her neck to look out the window. Ugh, I roll my head the other way, the view is breathtaking, with the sun raising just above the horizon. The two people next to me are soundly asleep. I wonder how that shade got open?

Anyway You Cut It You Are Boarding a Plane to Some Simulated America

Standing in line waiting to board the plane I overhear a young Iceland air worker extolling his bountiful knowledge of Iceland on passengers boarding the plane “it’s expensive.” The rather large man in front starts asking questions. “Have you been to Iceland?” The worker answers: “No, but I know it’s expensive.”

Man: “I heard about this place called the American Café, it’s supposed to have really good hamburgers.”

Worker: “It’s expensive too.”

Me under my breath: “And ridiculous.”

Why do people go to other counties to look for an authentic version of their own? And, of course, are invariably either disappointed or amused by the fact that the foreign versions of America just don’t get it quite right.

You Must Get Call Waiting if You Want the Universe’s Messages to Reach You

First, Scott’s back goes out. Here we are set for the vacation of my dreams and my poor man is unable to get out of bed. I think I want to go so badly that I will summon that kind of strength they always used to talk about on “That’s Incredible” when moms lifted cars off of children, and physically carry him on the plane. The only problem is that we – Erin, Scott and I – are all flying out of different airports at different times. Scott comes up with a plan that requires him staying at home at least one day longer for his back to heal and meeting us in Southern Germany. It should all be ok, German trains are fairly reliable and he is seasoned traveler.

Second, Erin calls. Her flight from National to Chicago is being delayed and there is no way she will make her connection to Frankfurt. After a few rapid texts she apparently gets on another flight because I don’t hear from her after she tells me she is trying to get on another flight.

Third, I wait for an hour to get to the security counter and when I finally get through the metal detector I am asked for my boarding pass and passport. I handover passport and notice at that moment that the tickets are not in it where they should be. This calls for a high alert – on my part and an extremely unhelpful reaction from the metal detector worker who just tells me I have to wait on the other side. I point out I don’t have bags to search through for my tickets. He sends someone to pick one up, I search it, nothing. I ask for the second bag, again search and find nothing. I’ve basically given up hope and start to think that maybe I’m just not meant to get to Germany when an alert security person notices me with stockinged feet, two bags, a hat and a bewildered look staring at the security process and points out that there are two tickets laying on the ground near her feet. I inch toward them. Ahh, I can get on the plane, but should I?

I call Scott:

“Hi, its Alexis, I think the universe is trying to tell me not to get on the plane, your back, Erin’s flight and possible person in the ether, I lost my tickets and a stream of babies got through the line first and now nothing is open for me to get food. I’m starving and these are portents like the ancient Greeks’. I am Greek you know?”

“Huh? What? Babies? The world telling you something? What are you talking about?”

“I just think that maybe I shouldn’t get on the plane. The world is sending me all of these messages and I’m not listening.”

"The world doesn’t send you messages. Hold on, I’m at work, I have another call.”

Nervous energy increases. What is the world trying to tell me? Will my bag be searched? Will they discover the 2 kilos of pickled dilly beans I have hidden in my suitcase for the German boys? Or worse yet, will they discover the unreasonable amount of shoes that I packed? Will they take me into a dark room with one blindingly, bare light bulb hanging from a fixture and feed me to the shoe Gastapo who will one-by-one break the heels off of beautiful shoes until I give in and agree to pack more sensibly for the next trip?

Scott comes back on the line. “Honey, the universe is not sending you signs, please think of it this way – anything that is worth it comes with some trouble to make you appreciate it. You are going to be fine. Have a great flight and I will see you in a day or two.”

“Ok” I sigh, thinking to myself that he can say that because he doesn’t know about the whole bag of shoes that is being flagged right now by security.

When is the Choice to Have Children Just Too Selfish?

I am pondering this very question, stomach growling, as I watch the family previously standing behind me move to the front of the security line at BWI. I am pretty sure that having a child so you can move ahead in a security line isn’t the right reason. But, there was only one security line to walk through, and I can’t help think about it. The very sweet couple behind the couple with the baby point to a sign that says “for parents with small children and people who need extra help.” The parents with the small child behind me avail themselves of the newly presented passage, while the happy people behind them rejoice in either the good citizenship award they are sure to receive, or because by removing said family they are under the false impression that they will move up in the line. False impression because as I stated before there was only one line so the family and all others who need extra help merely went to the front of our line. Did I mention that my stomach was growling – out loud? As I am wondering if this “constitutes extra help” I notice that there is a mad dash now of all the parents to get in the extra help line. Half the babies are sleeping, do parents really need to move to the front of the line when the baby is sleeping? I’m not trying to be hard hearted, but, airport security makes you take the baby out of the stroller and that extra help you have just taken advantage of has disadvantaged you and (and those behind you who are hungry and waiting in line) because your once sleeping baby is now awake and crying. I do decide that having a baby to get through security lines might not be so practical, but I am so hungry that delusion has set in and it suddenly doesn’t feel like such a bad idea, on top of that I am quite sure that my growling stomach is making much more noise than the sleeping baby.