EeeeeeAaaaaaaaw!

I am coming to realize that I have a lot of similarities with a pack mule.  I am slow.  I am larger than the other creatures around me.  I can be tricked into following people for the promise of food.  I'm hairy with exceptionally large feet.  Flies circle around me, especially when I haven't been hosed off in a few days.  And left to my own devices I would rather roam the earth unencumbered, but I can carry lots of things...for others.  

Today we visited the Königsee.  For those who have been following along, you know that "see" is another word for lake.  For those of you who haven't been paying attention, your scores will reflect your lack of effort on the final exam.  

The Königsee was a play place for King Ludwig while he was spending the people's money on himself.   While slipping further and further into insanity, he managed to save a quaint little chapel that was destined to be torn down.  It's a pretty little church that needs to be accessed by boat.  Electric boat.  Slow, nearly silent, calm, electric boat.  We pack animals like things calm.  The noisiest part of the whole trip was when the quasi-tour guide (he spoke about five minutes of the half hour trip and then we were on our own) told us about the special echo properties of the lake.  The captain turned off the motor (silent electric motors can be so distracting) and the guide got out his flugelhorn.     He then played a piece of music in short bursts, pausing while the echo sounded back at us.   It was very cool.  Then he played Johnny Be Good and the echo had a guitar solo?  it was a very special echo.  

Then, since he was speaking German, I didn't catch everything...so Sylvia told us to wait on the boat as about half the people got off at the church stop.  There is another lake called the Öbersee (literally the over see...or lake that is above the other one) that we were going to see first... Then, we would take a trip back to the church to check it out and catch the next boat back to the parking lot.

This is different than when Sylvia and I visited the Königsee when we came here just after we were married.  The way to the church was a quiet little boat (check) that took us out on the water to the church (check) We wandered around for a few minutes (check), it was by small and there wasn't at our (check) and then we boarded the boat to go back to her uncle's house.  There wasn't anything about another lake back then.  Last time we were nearly alone on the boat and there were no people in the town on the way to the boats...wildly different from the mass of people today.  In talking with Monika, Jürgen's wife and our companion along with Dieter for the day (I hope you are taking notes...this will be on the test), we determined that the reason my experience was so different last time was, time of day and weather conditions.  They almost didn't want to take us out since it was storming in the area.  So today I got to do something new.  Off to the Öbersee!!

I noticed that most people who got off the boat at the "over" lake looked much more fit than me, had better shoes than me, and were a little more accustomed to the warmer weather than me.  It might have been that it was hot...it also could have been that I was carrying the family backpack.  Not too much in it...camera, extra lens, drinks, Kleenex, gum...not a problem for a beast of burden.  I broke down and bought a straw hat for a few euros since it was really a warm day and all tanning ability has been bred out of my people...besides it looked really cute when I put it on and cut holes for my pointy ears to stick through.  (A trick I learned from Hee Haw). 

There were arrow shaped signs everywhere telling us where to go.  This way to the lake...10 minutes.  This way to the WC (bathroom)...5 minutes.  This way to the öberalm (best I can tell its like a restaurant that sells milk, buttermilk,  bread, and butter...all of which used to be in a cow until very recently (fresh and non processed)...11 minutes.  That way to the Fischbückalm...45 minutes uphill, in the heat, on jagged rocks, while cows wander amongst you.  And a happy little sign that said,  "Bier Garden!  Right here! Just follow your nose to the delicious smelling sausages!  Come on in! And by the way Jeff...isn't that backpack heavy!?"  Of course it was written in German so I can't be sure that's what it said, but I think I am close.   Monika said, "On the boat he said it would take an hour and a half...lets go to the fish alm."  My reply,   "Didn't anyone else see that last little sign?"  

So off we went to the fish alm.  Of course I was teasing about the treacherous rocks and uphill climb.  It was a beautiful shady stroll through some wonderful scenery.  There were some stairs(?) that were dents in rocks with guide wires to hold onto but it was a small portion of the trip.  We stopped and ate sandwiches Monika had brought (and carried), had some of the drink I was carrying, and took many pictures.  The deal is, when I want to take a picture I just have Jake grab the camera.  Saves time and I don't wrench my back twisting out of the backpack every few minutes...I also don't have the camera bouncing around my neck while we walk.  It's a good system...I thought.  

We got to the fish alm, we drank fresh milk, we ate fresh butter, everyone else tried fresh buttermilk (even pack mules have their limits), and the kids went down the the water.  Kristiana waded while Jake skipped stones.  I stayed up near the alm to hear a farmer use actual German swear words as a cow wandered through the crowd of people who were milling around drinking milk...and beer.  (For the record, I don't think the cows are actually part of the beer making process).  The cow left me alone...we beasts of burden stick together.  Then we decided to walk back.  Jake broke his skipping record of about twenty as it made little ripples out into the still water and then he came up to go.  He told us that there was a stone skipping scout down there by the water's edge and he may be looking into a college scholarship...we'll see.  

Then Jake did something that will change the course of our trip.  He said, "Just one more."...and reached into Sylvia's purse.  He pulled out a flat stone.  This, of course, led to, "Is that why my purse is so heavy!?!? " as she pulled out a handful of equally flat and equally heavy stones.  That got me to thinking...so I dug my hand into the multiple pockets of the backpack.  That's right...rocks!  Our 'grab the camera' system was working so well because Bozo the Wunderkind was depositing rocks into the pockets while he was taking out the camera.  So I would like to introduce Jacob by his new name...from now, until I forget about hauling rocks around in the backpack on the hottest day we've spent in Europe (aka...never),  Jacob the New Beast of Burden!  

The walk back took almost no time at all...and I wasn't huffing and puffing like a wolf in a children's book!

Spelunking!

When I say that we went spelunking, I don't mean that we caved.  Well, maybe we caved when we decided to let Jacob eat at the Augsburg McDonald's.  (something I was planning on being very proud about avoiding) But that is not what I wanted to talk about today.   We, the Garrett clan, actually walked into a cave...underground...on purpose!  It was the second time this trip that we were all under the ground, but the first time was in the Salzburgwerk (salt mine) in Berchtesgaden.  We are now the proud owners of Bad (pronounced bod...unless you are on the tour listening to the English version via headset where the narrator states that it is bad, like it was naughty ) Reichenhaller salt mills.  At the mines we were carted off to our destination in rail cars...this time we were at the mercy of over 500 steps.  (They told us it was 430...my legs are 70 steps more tired than I was prepared for.)

We are actually going back to that region, just outside of Salzburg, today.  It will be a happy time because that is where Ruth's family is from, and where Sylvia spent much of her childhood.  

It will also be a sad time, we will be leaving Herzogenaurach where Birgit and Christian live (pronounced Chris-tee-on...coincidence that Kristiana pronounces her name nearly the same way?  I think not.)  

I met them when they flew to the United States to come to our wedding.  They brought Nicolai with them...I believe he was about one...and I liked them all immediately.  We visited them once before, a few months after we were married, and they showed us around their region.  Birgit is Sylvia's cousin who is not really a cousin.  They are related, by blood, but the explanation about their dads' being cousins and so that makes us second cousins...I think...or are we first cousins once removed...too complicated.  "Hey everyone!  Meet my cousin!"  

They met for the first time at a boring-for-little-kids family get together.  Sylvia describes it as, old people, old people, old people, and Birgit.  Te family never really got together before that.  They hit it off and became long distance pen pals after that and whenever they flew to Germany, they would make it a point to visit Birgit.    When they came to see us we were able to show them around our neck of the woods (as much as we could with our upcoming wedding) and now they have once again returned the favor.  If we were keeping score, they would totally be winning!

Our vacations, in addition to being totally awesome, are exceptionally lucky!  When we got here this last Thursday we heard music off in the distance.  "Oh that is the annual festival that concludes this weekend...we are planning on going every night after we do great stuff during the day...Prost!!"  We'll, they didn't say exactly that...but it was close.  Speaking of Prost!  It is the German equivalent of "cheers!" and I must have said it about three hundred times these past few days.  After we spent the day shopping at the outlet stores we were treated to a barbecue...then to the festival.  Following the day long exploration of the city of Nürnberg...we went to the festival.  After we traveled to see the caves near Tuchersfeld and had a blast at the summertime toboggan runs a few kilometers away (that Birgit's dad helped build) and then a superb dinner at an out of the way beer garden...we went to the festival.  

The kids were off having fun together at the carnival...it turns out that Sylvia and Birgit are not the only ones who have things in common.  Thilo and Jacob seem to be separated at birth and we stopped naming things that they might have in common since it started to get a little spooky.   Sylvia and I followed Birgit and Christian to the more adult section of the annual festival.  You know those rather large traditional German beer mugs that you see the waitresses carrying six of in each hand?  I now know, after numerous trials, exactly how much they weigh.  They seem to get lighter as the night goes on...for some reason.  

Last night was the last night of the festival and it was concluded with a fireworks show.  This was extremely lucky on our part since the one thing we really missed in our trip to Europe was the fireworks on the Fourth of July!  Jake was bummed when we told him that we wouldn't be seeing any this year.   Problem solved.

It was back to reality as the sad faces as we had to say our goodbyes to Christian and the kids' new 'cousins' as we figured out that they would be getting up and going to school and work very early in the morning and wouldn't get a chance to see us again this trip. 

We are coming down to the last week or so of the trip and I'm sure that we will have a few more things that are worthy of the blog.  I would like to take this opportunity to extend a thanks to all those who have hosted this traveling band of wanderers in your homes, driveways, and tables.  We all appreciate it very much and would like to tell you that our door is always open to you.  

Always Go Right!!

It is important and helpful to learn the customs of foreign lands that you are traveling to.  Strict adherence to these customs is never expected, but the sooner you pick up on these subtle (and not so subtle) habits the more you will put your host at ease and the more you will enjoy your trip.  

I have already spoken of the seemingly universal need to always have food and/or drink in front of your guests.  I am learning to embrace this one although it goes against my familial training to refuse food or drink so as to not to inconvenience the host.  If I were to crawl out of the desert, wearing my crawl out the desert outfit of tattered shirt and dark Capri style pants that are frayed at the bottom, and came to a friend who offered me something to drink, I would be genetically coded to say, "No thanks, I found some damp sand about thirty miles ago.  I'm good, but thanks."  I am actually working on this one at home too.  Whenever I offer something to someone in my house I would be perfectly happy if it was taken.  I, however, am not saddened if my offer of something to drink is not accepted.  I'm not so sure that is the case here. 

Another European custom is that of shaking hands when you meet.  Now I know some of you will say that this is an American custom as well, but it's different here somehow.  In America it sometimes depends on age, gender, or location as to whether or not you shake hands.  Sometimes an adult won't shake a child's hand, or a man may shake only the hands of the men, or not at all if, for instance, there are a lot of people sitting around a large table.  The new person may get a nod or a wave when the seated people are named.  Usually someone will quip, "There's going to be a test. Heh heh."  This would never fly in Germany.  Each person, no matter the circumstances, shakes the hand of each person they meet.  It can be a little comedic as groups meet groups and the various combinations of new introductions take place.  

I believe, after hours of imaginary research, that the custom of grasping each other's hands began as a way to show that you were meeting in a friendly way and you weren't holding a weapon, a subpoena to appear, or a baby whose diaper was past its prime.  As two people met, they would hold out their open weapon hand to the side, upon seeing that both were empty they would grasp the forearm of the other person and squeeze, as if to say, "I didn't bring my sword, but I could still throw you to the ground with my impressive grip."   This is a variation of when the Saxons first sailed to the shores of South Dakota looking for the mythical fountain of frozen yogurt.  They held BOTH opens hands at their sides when meeting...but this led to many bearskin clad warriors running awkwardly toward each other, in slow motion, through fields of daisies.  It was an strange and difficult time.  Given its original intent, and its apparent lack of need in this day and age, it seems strange that it still continues...but it does.  I can say that in my many decades of greeting people, when I put out my empty hand the number of times I am greeted by a spiked iron ball dangling on a chain is probably no more than three...five tops.

Sylvia prepared us for these practices as we started our journey, but something has begun here that she was unaware of.  She was spot on for greetings.  I've shaken more hands than a politician.  What she didn't know about were farewells.   The new custom when people say goodbye is new to her.  And, unlike the hard and fast handshake rule, this new rule is complex with differing levels of expression.  I, being a semi-careful observer, held back the first time to see how it was done.  

When people who know each other well say goodbye they now hug, press their cheek to the cheek of the other person and then switch to touch opposite cheeks.  It seems a little French to me, but C'est la Vie!  If the people are related, then the cheek touching is done in combination with a kiss (or a kissing sound in the air in some cases).  When people depart who are just friendly toward each other, then there might only be one cheek contact (kissy sound optional).  When people who have just met say goodbye, it can be done with another handshake.  This is my typical placement.  There are occasions where I have met the people before and so I am given the cheek treatment...but those are the people who greet me with a hug so I have a clue how this meeting will end.  Kids are afforded the cheek treatment simply by order of age...but one person actually said something like, next time we meet it will be a hug.

Every once in a while there is a surprise...that is what I want to talk about today.  We all went out to a beer garden for dinner a few nights ago.  It only sounds like palace where beer is grown.  Do not make that mistake unless you wish to be laughed at...and not in a good way.  Beer gardens are great for large groups since the tables are huge and great numbers of people can gather together.  We had about a dozen people get together while we were in Ruth's home town.  People heard that the Americans were in town and wanted to come out to meet the husband and kids of Sylvia.  Understandable, I've met them...they're nice.  A good time was had by all!  Such a good time that we all decided to go back to one family's house for drinks after the eating had stopped.    We had a great time there as well.  (The kids had a particularly great time because it was the first time they encountered WiFi in a while so they were in Instagram/Facebook/Snapchat/Tumblr heaven.)   We stayed about an hour and then it was time to go.  Out in the front of their house we started saying our goodbyes.  Sylvia got the huggy two cheeked goodbye from everyone.  The kids and I got our handshakes.  Then it came down to me and Claudia.  Apparently there is a little known rule about the cheeky thing that I hadn't read in the small print.  "When saying goodbye to the good childhood friend of your wife, it is acceptable to hug while cheeking."  When we said goodbye she shook my hand, then leaned in to give a one armed hug, and then it was obvious that she was going to do the cheek to cheek.  I panicked as I realized that I hadn't seen which way to go.  She went right, I went left (which of course was her right), and we almost met right in the town square of Smoochville.  Laugh laugh laugh...cheek to cheek...goodbye.  

So it is here that I offer my advice.  Always go right!

Chugga Chugga Shoe Choo!

If you gave Sylvia a rail pass, a map, and a schedule...she could rule the world.  She looks at these color coded spaghetti graphs for a minute and says things like, "in four minutes the number 22 will take us to the banhof where we'll have three minutes to get to the A2 toward Jägerndorf...it'll be close but we can make it."   I could study those Spirograph inspired instruments of torture for three days, with the aid of a slide rule, a sextant, and a Sherpa...and it still would look like a diagram of the endocrine system.  I've said it before, and I'll say it again...without Sylvia, I would still be hopelessly circling the freeways of Chicago.  

Being on this trip, in Europe, affords us many opportunities to use public transportation.  The fact that we rented an RV that is considerably bigger than an average American monster truck in a place where parking cars that are slightly larger than the size of a deck of cards is difficult, also makes public transit much more desirable.  I have been on more trains, planes, and busses in the last two weeks than I have been on in the last twenty years.  I'm not complaining, in fact Europe does a fairly good job of handling this sort of thing.  But it does remind me of something that I would like to tell you about now.  (Another story!?  Great, now you've got something to complain about). 

When I was a wee lad of, I haven't got the foggiest idea, my parents took the clan on a train ride.  During the summers we lived in our camper (eery coincidence isnt it?) and, on occasion,  we would do something besides slap mosquitoes and peel sunburned skin off our ears.  This particular time we traveled to one end of the rail line...then chug... chug.... chugg... chugggg...we slowly made our way back to where the camper was parked.  The whole trip probably lasted about two hours but it could have impacted my whole life!  Dun Dun DUNNNNNNNNN!

As I said before, I don't know how old I was.  I can guess that I was about ten.  I was at the age where I still had to be near my parents but didn't have to be watched all the time.   I also was at the age where something terrible was avoided and I didn't feel the need to tell my parents.  If someone is near my mom, could you crack a window...she might need some air for this one  

I'm am very fuzzy on the details of why we would have been on this old fashioned train, but I could paint several pictures of what happened on (or rather between) the cars.  Dun... Dun... Oh you get the idea.

My dad and I were coming back from the bathroom on the train, and it was moving.  Since memory tends to paint an idealized picture, I peed through a hole in the last car that watered the tracks as we sped along.  Truly, it was probably as modern a bathroom as ever and it had its own car to not spoil the old west illusion.  The point is, we had to go from one car at the back of the train toward the front.  My dad walked first, he was an old pro.  Spent time on trains.  Was even born in a boxcar (true story).  He stepped, like a railway expert, from the front of one car, over the coupling, to the back of the other car...and kept moving forward. I was not so lucky.  

I stepped to cross from one car to the next, right over the coupler.  The coupler (I'm sure that's not the real name) is like two giant steel spring-loaded hands, both cupped the opposite way of each other.  When the conductor wants to add a car to the back of the train, he backs into it, the "hands" hit, spring away from each other, then snap together to form a very strong grasp on each other.   Since trains don't travel n a straight line, the couplers need to wiggle.  Some might say they shake.  There's even a contingency in Bethelridge, Kentucky who claim that they shimmy...but let's not quibble.  As long as the cars are pulling forward, there isn't a gap.  If the cars in front slow down, the cars in back come forward and there is a gap in the coupler.  When I stepped between the cars, the train slowed, a gap opened up, I lost my footing, and stepped right into the gap! Up to my ankle!   My size seven and a half  Ked was a perfect fit!

I knew enough about trains to know that this wasn't good.  In a split second I did the math.  A few hundred tons of train ahead of me, a couple hundred tons behind me, the train accelerating, the space between the gap about to get smaller...crap.  (Don't go thinking that  by using the word "crap" my blog has slipped into some sort of potty mouth abomination...I happen to know that Pastor Matt at our church has said that word in a sermon!...if he says it, so can I)  but I digress...So there I am, literally doing a "if a train left Chicago" word problem in my head as my foot is in grave danger.  

As you may have guessed, I am quite the cartoon aficionado.  I know about injuries.  Had the gap closed on my foot, when I pulled it out, it would have looked like a perfectly shaped foot only three times bigger and it would have flapped like a rubber pancake.   As opposed to if only my big toe had gotten trapped, where it would have swollen to ten times its shape and glowed bright red.  (Had I fallen all the way off the train but landed on my feet, my legs would have had many folds in them and when I walked,  each step would have sounded like an accordion.). Even though it would have been cool to be the only kid in school with a pancake foot (knowing full well that I could make it pop back to the original shape by sticking my thumb in my mouth and blowing) I decided to fix the situation.  No panic, no yelling, perfectly calm,,,I simply lifted my foot out of the gap. It came out as simply as it went in.  

Here's the part that should have made me scream, faint, or at least tell someone.  Just as the bottom of my foot cleared the top of the coupler, the train pulled, the cars lurched, and the gap closed with a deafening clang!  I stepped up onto the next car and caught up with my dad who was none the wiser.  As I stepped into the forward car, I noticed two teenage workers on the small platforms on the ends of each of the cars.  The one yelled over the noise of the train, "Did you see that kid!?!"

So here I am.  "That kid", with an un-pancake-like foot.  Riding trains with no fear, stepping between cars willy nilly like there was possibility of getting my foot caught in the couplers (because there isn't...now) with no lasting ill effect whatsoever.  I've always known that God had sent a guardian angel to watch over me.  I have suspicions as to why...I may write about one day, but not yet.  I'm pretty sure it is probably not so I could write a story that takes four thousand times longer to read than the actual event.  I know there are some people who might say that it wasn't true, possibly because I tend to get injured/sick more often than the average Hollywood stuntman...but I like to instead think, how much more likely I would be to fall down if I didn't have someone watching over me...especially with a pancake foot.   

And don't worry...I will definitely probably write more about our European vacation next time.

Gerd

Today I met Gerd.  It's pronounced in a half a breath and one syllable.  G-air-t.  His name is spelled Gerhard.  His wife calls him Gerhard.  I think everyone calls him Gerhard...except for Ruth.  She calls him Gerd.  Ruth does things like that.  

Gerd is a big strong sturdy man.  His hands, from years of being a medical masseuse, are large and grasp mine tightly in a friendly greeting.  I didn't get an immediate read on Gerd at first.  He looked like he could just as easily gone on safari as he could go down to the vet and pet premature kittens who needed human contact.   He looked as though he might be someone to be reckoned with if he was to be crossed...but I watched as he teared up when Ruth walked over slowly to give him a hug.  

As is the custom with all the people we've visited...we were rushed over and offered drinks as if our life depended on them.  The kids, fully understanding the way things work, whispered, "Drink slow...he'll just open more if you finish."  In Gerd's case, we walked through their yard, past the long unused hand-pump that was most definitely used as the source of water at some point, into what I can only call a drinking hut.  Traditional German decorations, many marksman/hunting plaques, a table and chairs, a cabinet that held far more glasses than the amount of people who would fit into this medium sized cabin.  There was a fully stocked refrigerator, enough memorabilia to fill any German restaurant back home...and a stack of pictures about two inches thick.   There wasn't any doubt who they were for as Ruth scooted over to sit right in front of them.

She started going through this stack and, speaking German,  held out a few to show the kids and me.  There was one thick papered picture, whose black portions appeared blue in certain light, that made Ruth stop and explain to us (in English) that these were their great grandparents...their REAL great grandparents.  They were a nice looking couple.  Him with uniquely shaped sideburns that would rival any of the twenty something hipsters who think they are being original, and wearing a military uniform.  She was thin, wearing a dress, and had striking eyes that reminded me of that Time magazine cover of just the woman's face.   Sylvia then said that Gerd and Ruth were real cousins...emphasis on the real.  I know a little of Ruth's story but didn't quite understand this.   Ruth has called many people her cousins, but there are only a precious few who are related by blood.  

Ruth's mom and Gerd's mom were sisters.  They were both wonderful women by all accounts.  They both had children.  They both died at a very young age.  Both Ruth and Gerd's dads remarried but the connection between these two "real" cousins is very strong.  

We continued to look through the pictures and even saw one that had to be an eighth of an inch thick.  When this one was delivered in the mail, instead of "photos, do not bend" this one said, "photos, I dare you to try and bend them!"  Eventually we packed up and headed off to a restaurant where we could talk more, and more, and more...(and more.)

In the beer garden we sat down, Ruth across from Gerd, and ordered.  The whole time we sat they sparred with each other.  Judging from the expressions on Ruth's face and the playful jabs in the ribs from Ula's elbow, I'd say they had plenty to tease each other about.  I couldn't stand it.  I grabbed my phone and started to take notes.  It wasn't difficult because they were speaking German...I only jotted down the times that they translated for us.  

There was the time that Gerd and his brother got into an egg fight, with about a hundred eggs.  They laughed and Gerd spread his flat hands wide saying that there was egg everywhere!  The subjects bounced around.  Gerd told about his new car, a Mercedes, that was originally a dealer's car.  It only had a few thousand miles on it so he got a great deal.  Ruth said, "Why did you buy a new car?  You're going to die soon."  Without batting an eye Gerd said, "Then I will see you again soon."  When Gerd started to name the real cousins who were left, he said, "There's me, there's Ruth, oh wait that's you, then Rolf (Ruth's brother)..."  She said something in German that was probably like what you can't come up with them all?  And he said, "It's ok, you and I are related."  Ruth said, "Yeah too bad."  Ruth, in the noisy outdoor beer-garden, kept saying, "huh?" whenever she didn't hear something.  Gerd kept teasing, "I already told you...we say the more formal wie bitte."  (Pardon me?)

There was laughter, and jabs, and unmistakable snide comments...but every once Ina while it got quiet.  When Gerd gets solemn he looks as if he has seen a lot of hardships in his life.  But when he laughs and smiles, you can see that the lines of happiness have been carved deeply around his eyes.  He is one of those people who I say, smiles with his entire face.  

When the meal was done and it looked like we might be heading to our next destination, Gerd ordered ice cream for everyone.  It wasn't a question of would you like ice cream or not.  The only question was, do you want whipped cream or not...on the ice cream that is coming to the table no matter what.   When the ice cream was finished, he ordered schnapps.  We were in the restaurant for more than two hours talking and laughing and watching them reminisce.  

At the cars we didn't really say goodbye.  It was more of a we'll try to get together again before you fly home.  I hope so.  I want to get some more tips on how to tease Ruth!

Do I Smell Garlic?

Ate pizza, swam in the Adriatic, ate lasagna, took a ferry to Venice, ate spaghetti, saw ancient cathedrals, ate carbonara, found out that "Prego!" is not a brand of sauce, found out that "The Merchant of Venice" sells hats, t-shirts, and calendars,  watched boccia ball being played, ate gelato, saw a whole bunch of people who remind me of my aunts, turned down multiple offers to try espresso, and rode my rented bike in the mornings before most people got up...to the bakery for fresh rolls, bread, and pastries.  And that was only part of it.  I think only my scale and my doctor might have a problem with this trip.  And now we have said "Arrivederci!" to Italy.   

Yes, Italy is behind us, literally, and we are now camping, without European family, for the first time in our trip.  Being American, I make several European mistakes a day.  The ones I made on this day were, the assumption that all stores take credit cards, and restaurants stay open late.  We drove past a group of restaurants and pulled into our campsite on the Chiemsee (keem-say...the lake named Chiem) got set up, and walked over to find out that the restaurant here was only open until eight, it was 8:40, and the restaurants that were a half hour walk from here were only open until 9.  Hmmm?  The camp store had a small (infinitesimal ) amount of food, but only took cash...and we were a little behind on our exchanging.  It's funny how American money works as well as Monopoly money when you are in a foreign land.  

Sylvia and I bought sausages, some balsamic vinegar, and applesauce...Kristiana went back and thankfully bought corn for us when she decided we didn't get enough...I set to work making a feast with the food in the camper and our newfound bounty.    In the camper we had noodles, a head of lettuce, seasoning, and a set of cooking utensils that look remarkably similar to the set I give my kindergarteners in their play kitchen.  Not exactly like we wanted to spend one of the very few nights we actually camp on our own, but we made it work.

By the time we cleaned up it was time for bed so we began setting up the table to sleep on...again for the first time.  Here's a travel tip.  When you travel eighteen hours, fly fourteen, and only sleep two...VIDEOTAPE the guy demonstrating the Rubik's cube European table into bed portion...you will not remember it two weeks later when you don't have time to set up the extra sleeping quarter tent you've been relying on.  We got it mostly figured out and, I haven't verified it yet but, I think we all survived the night.  

Now the good news...picture growing up in San Francisco and never riding a cable car until you start dating someone in your late twenties.  I can picture it perfectly...I did that (Sylvia took me on my first cable car ride that I remember... according to my sister, I rode as a baby but that doesn't count).  Now we are camping next to a beautiful, enormous lake that has an island that holds one of crazy King Ludwig's wonderful castles.  Sylvia essentially grew up in this area but has never camped here before.  Why would she?  It's a half hour from her uncle's house.  It was a cool place to drive by as you got to where you were going.  It was a landmark that said, "You're almost there!"  Now, because we just left her uncle in Italy, and her cousin is unavailable due to surgery, we are getting to do something she's never done before...which is tough to do on a teacher's salary.  

So now, after our one night camping solo and one impromptu meal, we get ready to trade in our extra large camper (ha) for a medium sized one since this was not available for the whole time we were here.  (Kind of ironic that we have to go to a smaller sized camper after I have super-sized my eating for a week...don't you think?). Yes, from tomorrow on, for the next three weeks, we will be exactly one meter closer to each other  

From here on out we are staying in Germany for the most part, with the exception of going to one of my favorite cities in the world, Salzburg...(which is also a half hour from her uncle's house).  We will get to show the kids the city where Ruth grew up (Augsburg), the Cinderella castle (Neuschwanstein), and another cousin in Herzengoaurach (near Neurenburg).  I am certain these memories will last a lifetime.  

And, in case you were concerned, Jacob just rolled over...it's official!   We all survived the night!

The Two Venices

Yesterday the whole family went to Venice.  Venezia, if you want to get away from the one true perfect thing in the world, the English language.  I will pause while everyone stops clutching their sides and wiping their eyes from laughter.  Of course I could have written, "eye" will "paws" "wile" every "won" stops clutching "they're sighed(s)" and wiping "there" "ayes" from laughter.  America! What a country!!

As I said before, we all traveled to Venezia via shuttle boat yesterday.  Much like most of Europe that I have seen, there is an elaborate transportation system here and we, once again, took advantage of it.  There are a plethora of choices as far as how you wish to travel, which way you wish to travel, and how long you wish to travel.  The difference between going one way (not an option) 12 hours, and 24 hours was nothing to sneeze at.  We decided, if we couldn't see it in 12 hours, we didn't need to see it.  Not really... but we do not own a donkey that poops money, (a new expression we learned over here) so we went a little economical.  

The way to the ferry was relatively long but manageable by bicycle.  We had enough seats in a car to get most of us to the terminal, but two people had to go by bike.  The plan was, when Ruth got tired, one of us would ferry back with her, Dieter (Sylvia's cousin) would take her remaining ticket after waiting in a coffee shop by the terminal and go with whoever brought her back to Venezia.  Technically not what we should do with the ticket but "everyone does it."  How does the saying go, when in Venezia do as the Venusians do?  Or something like that.  I'm not going to breath ammonia chloride though...that's just out!  

We had our plan, we crossed the sea, we were met with a wall of humanity that rivaled anything Disneyland could imagine!  We soon learned that the many bridges and stairs would be a challenge Ruth and her walker (which she "absolutely does not need" but allows us to take because it has a chair)   It seems that the charity people feel making them step aside while someone with a walker, wheelchair, or baby stroller, quickly dissipates when there are so many people.  I told Jake, "don't fall down, you'll be crushed to death."  

After the agreed upon time we checked in with Ruth.  "I'm ok."  We pressed on.  We got lost in the walkways.  "I'm ok."  We walked down to the cellar of a cathedral to see ancient tombs, priceless mosaics, and famous paintings...all near the rise and fall of the tides.  "I'm ok."  We rode a gondola around the canals.  "im ok.". When we finally went through the most famous, and most crowded cathedral in Venezia...I think that was enough.  Additionally, Kristiana and Sylvia were scandalously dressed by having exposed shoulders and knees so web had to pay a euro for a paper drape to be worn to show respect.  Apparently the modesty checkers were overworked and didn't know English because I saw at least two people wearing shirts proclaiming the "f" word in big bold letters, and another woman who looked like she may have been working in the door next to Susanna (from an earlier blog)   We sat and ate the lunch we brought, black bread and weiners, and she finally said, "ok, I can be done."  We called Dieter to let him know we were all on our way back...and thus began the largest real life word problem I have ever been part of.  

You see, Dieter rode one of the two bikes back to the campsite after it was apparent that Ruth was a trooper...after three hours!  He rode back to the terminal in his father's car.  One bike at the terminal.  We were seven people with a car that holds five and one bike.  It wouldn't be fair, in my opinion, to make Dieter ride back alone again, especially since he wanted to see Venezia by night.  I couldn't see asking his dad to bring us again and then pick us up...way past his bedtime...so that was out.   The car to pick us up was pulled slightly to the side of the rode while busses and frazzled people tried to squeeze by.  I got light headed and started having visions of trains leaving Chicago at 120 miles per hour.  We were approaching gridlock.  I made a decision (something I am not terribly adept at) and we piled everyone but Dieter in the car and drove away with the thought that Sylvia and I would come back with two other bikes that we could all ride back to camp when we arrived back from the ferry.  Dieter's face as we drove off was something like, not again...but I swore we would return.  (By the way, if you were keeping score you would have noticed that we squished one extra person in the car so I don't get to pass sixth grade math, but I did get a gold star for creativity.)

Sylvia and I jumped on bikes, traveled back tot he terminal (while I hummed the theme Wizard of Oz bike riding theme song of course...and your little dog Toto too), and we made it back to the ferry with enough time to sample a fine Italian beer before we jumped on and traveled to Venezia again.  (Just so envy one knows, I'm going to go around saying I've been to Venice twice...it counts)

Dieter who lives in Europe and vacations here often, had been telling us of the wrong time to go to Venezia.  When we went was the exact wrong time.  He was so right.  When we left the ferry I spread my arms and spun around like Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music. (We are near Austria after all). The number of people had decreased by at least a billion and we were free to walk around looking at sites that we didn't even notice before.  It was a completely different feel and a completely different Venice.  We wandered around and saw things that tourists just don't see.  We rode on a water bus around the whole island and got to see parts of it that I would guess only a small portion of visitors even knew about.  It was a great time and we got hungry just about the time that it started to rain.  Luckily there were many restaurants with umbrellas where we could sit and relax and eat dinner, just the three of us.  Sylvia, me, and Dieter (our capable guide).  

Just about when the main dish was supposed to be there we checked the time and tried to calculate just how far we were from the dock, how often the ferry traveled, and when our tickets expired...crap, another word problem.  The rain stopped, we ate, we settled the bill, and made it back to the ferry with literally zero minutes to spare.  

If you are ever lucky enough to travel to Italy and would like to go to Venezia, I would suggest that you travel as we did and see both Venices.  The crowded but open to the public Venice where cathedrals and priceless artifacts are everywhere and you have to pay money to use the bathroom.  But then also visit the other Venice, the one by night, where the crowds have disappeared and it is lit up, and romantic, and wonderful.  If you would like a guide, I can ask Dieter if he is available.