Hallo Deutschland

After giving the parents a tour of Brussels and Gent our Sixteen-day- five-country trip continued to phase 2: Germany.

Our destination? Bacharach. Never heard of it? That may explain the odd looks our first train conductor gave us when we told him our destination as we urgently asked if we would make our five-minute connection. Our first train was running ten minutes behind schedule and we initially only had five minutes to catch the next train to take us to the tiny town in the Rhine River Valley.

When we arrived we leaped out, frantically searched for the right platform, thought we found it with the train still there and jumped on board. The only problem was the destination Bachrach did not appear anywhere so we stood in the entry of the train debating if we should stay or leap off. In the frantic debate, I noticed a man sitting right next to us wearing a railroad uniform.

“Bacharach?” I urgently questioned him.

In broken English, he smiled and said yes. In relief and embarrassment, we sat down until he instructed us which was our stop. Number one lesson I’ve learned in Europe: just ask.

Bacharach is one of the many small towns dotted along the Rhine river. By small I mean going out on Saturday night and seeing only about 20 people and one being the helpful train conductor small.

With the size came charm. Bacharach was the emblem of a stereotypical storybook German town. I loved it. The quiet cobbled stone streets lined with specialized stories and pubs invited visitors to slow down, enjoy a pretzel and get lost in the hills .

Large hills surround the river and medieval, storybook castles are perched on the tops of the hills.

After a picnic by the river, we rented bikes from a German man and rode seven miles. The rain let up for us to enjoy the magnificent steep landscape and numerous castles. We rode through two towns to get to the Rheinfels Castle.

As I explore the dungeons and underground passages, mom was at the highest point in the castle calling for me, convinced her daughter who survived four months in Europe by herself had slipped and was stuck somewhere in the castle.

We spent the afternoon eating ice cream and apple strudel while wandering through Christmas shops and CooCoo Clock stores.

Bacharach had some of its own castles to offer for exploration, also perched on hills. The first day in Brussels the parents noted all the walking but were silent when we had to trek up hill after hill. Hmmm, they adjusted fast. The views were vast and plentiful so all the uphill trekking was worth it.

At dinner, the hills of vineyards came in handy when I tried a white wine from the Rhine Valley. We ate a small neighborhood joint and were served hearty proportions of meat, sauerkraut, and potatoes. As a night cap, Dad was surprised with a large liter of beer brewed by the bartender’s cousin. Everything is very local and handmade in the quiet town.

Sunday morning we traveled through Frankfurt to reach Munich. In comparison to Bacharach, Munich was definitely a city. Our hotel at an old theater was one the side of down bordered with Kabab shows and sex stores. It felt like we had lost our German charm until we wandered into the old town and the architecture of the buildings restored our faith.

It was May Day so the main square was filled vendors and a stage. We stood in the slight drizzle eating pretzel sandwiches and drinking beer while listening to a German band play American songs (this idea is shocking to Dad).

We decided to climb to the top of St. Peters Church. The narrow stairs leading up concealed how many steps were really at the top and it just kept going! On the way down we counted around 300 in total, but again the height is always worth it. This time we didn’t look out onto any hills or river but an expanse of red-roofed houses and rising renaissance buildings.

Similar to touring any new city we followed our visitor’s map and hit the opera house and royal palace. We meandered across town to the Englischer Garten. The park was similar to many of the other European cities green space except for one thing. This park had a river that cut through it with one end producing a strong current. A current strong enough for a wave suitable for surfers. Being the pro surfer that I am, I think they were using magic. One after another the surfers would jump into the river and ride the current horizontal back and forth similar to a skateboarder going back and forth on a ramp.

Thirsty and in a fog we left the city center searching for the site of the famous Octoberfest. While it obviously wasn’t October, as our luck would have it, it was the last day of the spring edition,Munchener Fruglinsfest. For a while, it felt like we were wandering toward the wrong part of town and then the rain started. Do you sense a theme in our European adventure? Rain, rain go away.

Then through the rain the tents and carnival atmosphere appeared. Walking into the festival we soon discovered this was not your everyday American carnival. Germans were walking past us clad in traditional clothes. Girls in their girdle and dress and boys with their suspenders, shorts and long socks. Under the large tent the space was transformed into a giant beer hall. Wooden tables were lined for as far as the eye could see. We made our way to the one available table as traditional waiters and waitresses walked by carrying three huge beers in each hand. We marveled at their arm strength. Soon we each had a beer larger than our head in front of us with sausage, sauerkraut, and fries. A band went on stage and random chants echoed throughout the lively hall. In celebration of drinking in our homeland, we swayed our clashes to the Oompa music.

You would think consuming a beer larger than your head would be the ending of our busy day, but us Kummerers intended on full celebrating our heritage. So, we closed the night at another local beer hall tasting brews from wooden barrels

Our final tour of Germany was a tour of a concentration camp. Dachau was located just outside of Munich. Despite having already lived through the experience of a concentration camp earlier in the semester, I still gained a lot by the experience. I learned more about the medical experiments performed on patients. This camp had the crematory and gas chambers still standing and left me with an even more vivid image of the one I had gained from the ruins at the Sachsenhausen Memorial near Berlin.

German’s history is not all full of hearty brews and carefree beer halls. There is fortresses seized and lives memorialized. To fully experience the country, the culture and the people you need to see it all- the good the bad, the old the new.