Almost Foiled Again In Iceland

Upon landing in Iceland I followed the crowd of people that I thought would be making transfers. At one point I looked up and there was a sign that said “baggage claim” I knew I didn’t have to go that way, so I followed a woman with a few kids going out an exit door. As soon as I stepped out of the exit I knew I was in trouble. I had not passed any immigration, or customs, no passport control at all, yet for some inexplicable reason I was standing in Iceland. I could see the rocky surface of the airport that I remembered so well from my trip there a year before. I looked around and realized that I needed to go back through the door I had just come, which, was of course listed as “no entrance” and locked. “Well” I thought, “I will get back on the security line and go back and find my connecting flight.” All the while I was getting worried about the time due to the fact that I don’t wear a watch. It was only after I had gotten in the line that I realized that I had no ticket. The kindly lady at the German airport had never been able to get me a boarding pass. At this point I was panicking, not thinking about having to call work to explain to them that I was stuck in Iceland but because I thought about what I would be reduced to eating. Iceland is the most expensive country I have been in and I had about enough money for a few bites of dried salted nastyfish (nastyfish being something I had encountered on my earlier trip the Icelandic name being unpronounceable for us Americans I gave it an easier to remember and apropos name). The logical thing to do I thought was to go to the Iceland Air counter and check-in like a normal passenger. Upon arriving at the counter I was confronted with a mile long line. I bravely stepped up to the first class line and began to tell my tale of woe “no boarding card, luggage already gone, must get back to Washington, not a terrorist.” After sometime they worked out how to get me back on the plane. Of course, it took seven people to figure it out, and every time a new one came over to add their expertise to the problem they glared at me suspiciously like I was making up the magic door that one takes straight from the plane into Iceland. If that country is having any trouble tracking their visitors I would suggest they lock the door from both sides.

Boarding card firmly in hand I raced to the security line, flung my jacket and bags on the x-ray belt and hoped to rush right though. That was not to be, little did I remember but I was carrying my two lovely (and totally overpriced) German beer-gifts, that were both far over the 3oz of liquid you can take on a plane. Now I was in trouble, not only had I escaped the airport through the magical door no one believed existed, but now my protestations of not being a terrorist were sure not to be believed due to the two large beer-bombs I was obviously trying to smuggle. After a talking to the really scary (note sarcasm) Icelandic police took my beer and sent me on my way. I made the plane, and while I didn’t have to eat nastyfish I was given something just slightly more tasty in way of nasty-sandwich.

Scott and I Wave Goodbye to Frankfurt

Scott and I separated at the airport, he onto Nuremberg to meet with Adias folks and I was off to Iceland to catch my flight home. I stood at the Icleand Air desk to check in, only to find out that my pre-assigned seats had been taken away and that the flight from Iceland to Washington had been closed so it would be impossible for me to get a boarding card. The kind lady at the desk tried valiantly, gave me the Germany to Iceland boarding card and told me to ask when I boarded the first plane. I realized that I had just a few pages left in Heat and then I would be without a book, but Scott was certain that there would be book vendors just past security. In all parts of the airport there would be vendors just not in the lonely Iceland Air section. There was a lone duty free shop. I bought a container of chocolate to bring back as gifts and two German beers one each for my two beer aficionado co-workers. Then Scott and I passed the time waiting for our separate flights racking up a huge phone bill talking to each other. He, of course, had huge bookstores around him, bookstores as large as the New York Public Library all trying to sell him fabulous books that I have always wanted to read. But, alas we were in different terminals. Devoid of literature I finally boarded the flight.

Wuzburg at Night

For our last evening meal we chose a little donor kebab place right across the street from our hotel. We were staying in quite the happening area. Cars drove up and down like it was the strip in some 1950’s movie, only now the music blearing was rap and rather than convertibles spoilers ruled the night. Let me digress here for a moment to discuss the insane fashion choices of German men. Earlier in the trip we had witnessed the leather suit craze and the neon shirt craze, now here in Wurzburg there was something else going on. Something more sinister and scarier than leather suits – the shorts, socks and sneakers craze, we will call this lamentable phenomena S3. While Scott and I happily munched our Kebab platters we noticed that this town had clearly taken the “back to the 80’s” fashion mandate quite literally. Paper thin women were walking the streets in skin tight jeans. The favored accessories being chains, leather studded belts and heeled boots with tassels. All of them had their standard issue S3 man trailing behind. At first Scott and I took the parade of unfortunate fashion in stride thinking that it was just men that couldn’t be bothered with looking good. Then we noticed that the outfits were chosen with careful attention to detail. One gentleman walked by with a red cap, black shirt, red short pants, black socks (rolled halfway up his calves) and red sneakers. All of this matching could not have happened naturally – they were choosing to look like this. The scene was so strange, with the 80’s women, the S3s and the cruising cars that while fascinated, I felt like a visitor to another planet. I was satisfied with the meal and evenings entertainment when we returned to our room, and threw open our windows to the rap music pumping its way in to threaten our sleep.

Bowle

We located the elusive cash machine and a restaurant that was offering homemade Strawberry Bowle. Bowle is essentially a wine and fruit punch that my German mom taught me to make. You take two bottles of white wine, add a can of peaches and let sit, after several hours (or all night) you pour in a bottle of sekt or prosecco or whatever sparkling wine you have on hand and serve. Bowle was popular in the 30’s through 50’s and then began to loose favor as people turned toward harder cocktails. I was very excited because I had never seen bowle in a restaurant before. I ordered my strawberry bowle and what came was a wine glass with somewhat pink liquid with anemic strawberry slices floating at the top. It was flat, no one told them to add the sparkle I guess, it was horrible. I won’t be ordering bowle again that is for sure!

Doing The Right Thing Sure Leaves You Parched

After our tour and wondering around the city, we were both parched and out of cash. Finding a place in Germany that will allow you to use credit cards at all is something of a struggle, but no one wants to let you charge two drinks, even at the crazy price of diet Coke. We set out to find a cash machine while keeping our eyes peeled for a modern place that might let us charge when we happened upon the Sonnen Club (Sun club) open only in good weather. There were white couches outside and the whole seen was fairly reminiscent of Miami, with clean lines and bars set up at varying intervals. We approached a giant child’s sandbox that had deck chairs set out facing the river, I guess emulating a day at the beach? Scott already had his misgivings saying sitting in a giant sandbox was ridiculous. Then he took a closer look at the chairs themselves and noticed the event was sponsored by S. Oliver who are horrible sweatshop operators so naturally, we continued on the hunt for drinks.

Ger-Mexicans

There must be a large Mexican population in Wurzburg because there were five or six Mexican themed restaurants and clubs. I have never in my travels seen a Mexican restaurant in Germany before. I was almost tempted to try one, but, I am just not so confident in the Germexican cuisine.

Wine Casks as Big as A Man

The largest baroque building in Europe is in Wurzburg, this is the Residentz. It was the head of the government for the area before the first unification of Germany. Before leaving I had read on-line that there are tours of its wine cellar and had made a mental note that there should be one around 15:00. Sure enough there was a sign outside offering the tours, although they were only in German. We decide to brave it. Scott expressed great confidence in my German abilities and the fact that I could translate for him (I was less confident). We cough up our six euros which includes a glass of wine and head into the cellar of the Residentz. It is dark and smells moldy and has scary steps down. What we enter is a candle lit cellar chock-full of giant casks of wine. The largest held something like 9,000 liters about 12,000 bottles of wine or 1,000 cases! We received a glass of Riesling and learned about the cellars, or rather I learned about the cellars – I also learned that I will never have a job as a simultaneous translator, phew that is hard work. Basically the cellar was devised to hold enough wine for the whole town, and there were casks upon casks of wine down the passageways, all lit with candles. The enormous casks are no longer used, but wine is still made and stored in the more modern part where the casks hold up to 6,000 liters. The wooden barrels themselves cost 13,000 Euros each and last anywhere from 80-100 years. Finally we were brought into the room where the wine was sold to the merchants back in the early 1800’s. There was a rhyme on the wall that stated that knocking on kegs was strictly forboden. The reason being that the prices for the wine were not set and were haggled over, a smart merchant would run around quickly through the keg room while waiting for the cellar master and knock on the kegs. This way he would know how much wine there was to sell, if most of the kegs were full he could offer a lower price and if they were empty he would offer more. Despite only getting a quarter of the information to Scott, he really enjoyed just walking through the incredible kegs. And, of course, we did what any good tourist should do and bought a nice Riesling for home, I will have to order some nice German sausages and do the meal up right when we drink it.

Wurzburg During the Day

The first thing I notice is that the rain has not come with us. There is a newspaper on the desk at the hotel with a headline proclaiming the weekend will reach 30 degrees and possibly go higher, this is hot in a nation that thinks air-conditioning is an evil waste of energy. Global warming folks, best get on the air-conditioning band wagon – everyone else is ruining the climate for you, suffering doesn’t make us think you are stronger. Our new hotel’s climate control is the fact that we have two windows we can open rather than one. Never the less we hope for a cooler evening and set out to walk around get lunch and enjoy the last day we have in Germany. Wurzburg is beautiful. Much of the original city from the early 1600’s still exists and the rest of it was kindely rebuilt after the war to look like that original 1600 stuff. We wander a bit and head to a restaurant that is listed in the Michelin and also I remember it being praised online. It’s called the Backöfele and I think it was an old bakery or something, still has original floors and the giant doors that they would bring the carts through ages ago. I also finally get my Cristal Wietzen beer that I have been planning on ordering our whole trip in Germany. Our lunch is hearty, delicious and filling.

Breakfast the German Way

I go down to breakfast leaving the non-eating Scott in bed, he stayed up half the night working and is looking very tired out. I love the German breakfast. I don’t really care for sweet things in the morning and in France I was finding that breakfast consisted of a baguette, croissant, jam and yogurt sometimes with cheese. In Karlsruhe there is a massive buffet with several sausage options, eggs, cold-cuts, cheeses, salmon the list goes on. Yum, I was happy and ready for our drive to Wurzburg.