Because Sometimes You Wake Up Saturday Morning & Decide to Go to Austria

There's a sentence I never thought I would write (and also probably a bit long for a title...).  But, hey, when you live in southern Germany, and are friends with people just as prone to spontaneity (or, arguably, just as lacking in common sense...), it is absolutely a thing that can be done.  And it was a great idea, just in case anyone was wondering.

Now, I should probably set a little context.  In actuality, this adventure wasn't entirely un-premedidated.  George and I had been toying with the idea of going somewhere over the weekend all week.  This was back in early March, and I think we were both starting to get a bit stir-crazy.  It had been awhile since the Christmas break, the weather wasn't great, and we just needed a change of scenery.  Plus, pretty much everyone else in our group was off doing something fun (Laura was in London, Sarah headed for Zurich, and Adrien up to Cologne for Carnival).  We couldn't possibly be the only ones without exciting stories come our next group gathering.

I must admit, however, that the original plan was much more conservative than what we actually ended up doing (truth be told, our actual itinerary was probably bordering on being TOO ambitious.  No regrets here, though).  The first plan was just to catch a train and spend the day exploring either Heidelberg or Tübingen.  Both cities are meant to be classically beautiful, perfect representations of the best that Germany has to offer, at least aesthetically speaking (this in comparison to Stuttgart, which, while a fantastic place to live, will not be winning any beauty contests in the near future).  It should also be noted that both cities are within an hour and a half of Stuttgart.

Somewhere during the discussion, one of us (I am going to blame this one on George, actually), suggested renting a car.  Having wheels opened up a whole new realm of possibilities, as Stuttgart is beautifully situated within a three hours' drive of the Swiss, French, Austrian, and Belgian border.  The world was our oyster.  We could check off a laundry list of places and be back in time for dinner.  I was sold.

Next, though, came the surprisingly complicated aspect of finding a car to rent.  We decided just to go to the main train station.  Surely there had to be plenty of cars available for random weekend trips.  And initially, it seemed too easy.  The first place we checked did have a car, for less than we were anticipating, AND we could keep it until Monday morning (Sunday was now fair game too...).  Then, we had our first hitch; they wouldn't accept my credit card without my passport (apparently an Illinois driver's license is only good for drinking...).

In an attempt to avoid a trip to Kornwestheim and back, we decided to check and see if the other car rental companies didn't have that policy.  We never got to find out (though I can now say it's a universal requirement...), as none of them had cars.  So, I rushed back to the house, grabbed my passport and phone charger, headed back into the city, we picked up the car, and were off!

I should also mention that, while I was completing my rat race to and from the house, Georg and I independently came to the decision that we should find somewhere to stay overnight (enablers..and we've only gotten worse about it, as you'll see when I describe our trip to Greece...).  It was already noon, and we didn't want to spend all our time commuting back and forth.

And so we finally set off at around one pm.  Not exactly the ideal time to begin a weekend road trip, but as it was so late in the day, we encountered virtually no traffic.  Our spirits rose as we drove further and further from the city.  George was delighted to have a car at his disposal, and I was ecstatic to discover that my iPhone's music could play through our little car's (surprisingly) decent speakers.  Poor George...he was a captive audience for my eclectiv & OCD deejaying skills (or lack thereof).

It took us just over an hour to reach our first stop, Baden-Baden.  We didn't really stop, though; just kind of drove through the center and saw the baths.  It's a pleasant little town, but I was too excited to see the Alps and the Black Forest to have the patience for a city.  It also was quite hilly, which gave George many opportunities to illustrate the "biting point" of a manual car.  That's a skill I still need to acquire; I've been quite lucky in that both the van and the SmartCar are automatics.  However, I've also been watching a lot of Top Gear lately, and I think a manual would be a lot more fun.  Something for a rainy day...

After our little detour, we went back on the open road and headed for the Black Forest.  It took us about 90 minutes to reach, and we drove along the main road for another half-hour before pulling off and stopping at a small lake (whose name now escapes me).  There, I proved I am a child at heart by unnecessarily climbing on rocks and slipping around while George walked like a normal adult would and made sure I didn't kill myself.  It's a good thing that he's so tolerant of my hi-jinks or he may have strangled me by the end of the weekend.  During our stroll around the lake, we decided our next stop would be Konstanz, which is just next to the Swiss border.  We wanted to see Lake Constance (or, "Boden See" in German), as the little taster we had just experience only made us want something more spectacular.  It took us about two hours to reach the city, then another forty-five minutes to get into and park near the city centre (on account of THE most congested round-about that I have ever seen, and some awful drivers).

Still lots of snow in March

The (only slightly) hazardous path

Looking out on the Black Forest

However, it was well-worth the effort.  Konstanz is beautiful, and we probably didn't do it justice with our brief stop for coffee, but while waiting in the roundabout, we decided to push through to Innsbruck, Austria.  Since George hadn't brought his passport, we had to take the long way around to get there (Swiss border control is much stricter than the non-existent Austrian one).  This meant we had at least four more hours of driving ahead of us.  It was already 6pm and dark at this point.  Probably if we'd had a third, rational person with us, we would have stopped for the night there.  Not with us, though.

Some random arch in Konstanz 

A church in Konstanz.  With nice lighting.

We became a bit turned around when we tried to get out of Konstanz (including nearly driving onto a ferry across the Lake...) but eventually found our way back onto the motorway.  After driving for roughly two more hours, we stopped in Bregenz, Austria.  It's just over the German border.  By this point, we were famished; George had only had a small breakfast and I stupidly hadn't eaten anything on account of how excited I was.  We went to the first restaurant we found.  I don't know if it really was spectacular or if I was just that hungry.  Regardless, I thoroughly enjoyed my apple curry and George said that his schnitzel was excellent as well (clearly, he has adapted to living in Germany...).  

And so we began the final leg of our journey, of which we grossly estimated the length of.  We had planned on it taking about 2.5-3 hours; it took a solid four, and we will forever remember it as the route with an ungodly number of tunnels.  And we aren't talking harmless, tiny, little, blink-and-you-missed-it tunnels.  These things were LONG.  The worst one was nearly 16 kilometers (that's ten miles, my fellow Americans).  George and I were on the verge of losing our minds.  We started betting on how high the temperature would rise in the middle of the tunnels to occupy ourselves.  

Oh, and also, when we weren't going stir-crazy in tunnels, there was a blizzard going on outside of them as we were now properly going through the Austrian Alps.  Thankfully, our little German car had snow tires on, and George is a good driver.  Had I been in the driver's seat, we may never have arrived in Innsbruck at all.

At around 1 am, we FINALLY reached Innsbruck.  We couldn't tell if it was worth it yet or not, but we had a more immediate issue to deal with: finding a hotel.  Again, this was another element (consequence?) of our spontaneity that we underestimated the difficulties of.  We drove around the city and ran in and out of various hotels for about an hour before giving up and paying more than we had hoped just so that we could finally get some sleep.  For the record, we ended up at a Best Western.  Ironically, it was the first place we inquired at, and, yes, we did return to that receptionist with our tails between our legs.

Sunday morning, we woke up (relatively) early (considering we didn't get to sleep until after 2 am) at around 9 am.  I was the first one awake, and I pretty much hustled George out of the room to make sure we didn't miss the free breakfast (because God forbid we not get our money's worth).  It was perfectly adequate.

After gorging ourselves (well, after I gorged myself...George showed a bit more restraint), we spent the morning exploring the old town city centre, and followed a path along the river.  It really was quite lovely; the Alps surround the city, and everything is green.  I was in seventh heaven; this was the first time I had seen proper mountains since leaving New Zealand almost two years ago.  Again, it is a good thing that George is so patient, because I am a lot to deal with when my spirits are that high.

The view from our walk along the river

Walking through Old Town.  George forgot he was with a real tourist.

Stunning, right?

Around 11:30 am, we hit the road again.  In an attempt to avoid all the tunnels (and another toll like the 10 euro one we paid the evening before...) we took a different, mountain road out of Austria.  It was incredible.  Spectacular views of the Alps, lots of hairpin turns for George, and a manageable number of tunnels (and the ones we did go through were of normal lengths).  

Admittedly, not the greatest photo, but take my word: it was awesome.

It only took us about 2.5 hours to reach our next stop: the famous "Cinderella" castle, Neuschwanstein, in Bavaria (which is a state in Germany in case anyone was confused...).  Upon our arrival, the first order of business was to locate a bathroom, as I was about ready to pee my pants (cosmit payback for me cackling at George the day before when he had been in the same dire straits upon us reaching Konstanz), then grabbed a coffee at a nearby cafe.

As it was already quite late in the day (and we still hadn't ruled out stopping by Tübingen on the way back to Stuttgart...), and George had already been to Neuschwanstein in the past, we decided to forego the tour (obviously those of you who know me well realize how heartbreaking that was...not) and just climb up and take photos around the outside.  

The walk up to the castle was (as George had warned) fairly long and entirely uphill.  We made it up in about twenty minutes (faster than most of our fellow walkers, who held us up, but slower than the horse-drawn carriages).  The weather wasn't really cooperating with us at this point, so we were both quite damp by this point, and the views weren't QUITE as spectacular as they can be.  It was still impressive though, and the gloomy, isty weather added some of its own spooky ambience.  Not exactly what you'd see with the copycat version in Orlando and California though.  

Neuschwanstein

Spooky

After taking photos around the castle, we headed back down and walked over to a nearby lake.  I am easily impressed by bodies of water, and this was no exception.  I pretty much just sighed with happiness the entire time, while George mocked me.  Really, this trip reminded me of New Zealand so much that I couldn't help but be delighted.

But really, how could you not like that?

We then hit the road one last time (we had, sensibly, at this point, finally decided that Tübingen was not going to happen on this particular trip) to get back to Stuttgart.  It was 5 pm at this point, and we had about three hours of driving left.  We stopped for food, then plowed through back to Stuttgart.

Now, with two NORMAL people, that would be the end of the anecdotes.  Not George and I.  We sometimes even managed to make turning in the car a project. I mean, returning a rental car should not be a difficult endeavor.  We managed to make it so.  First, we drove into what we thought was a parking garage, but was actually the basement of a big bank (don't ask me how we did that...I don't think we could do it again even if we wanted to).  We then found the right parking garage, but entered on the wrong level (George also knocked down some cones, resulting in a telling-off from some old German guy who we later had to ask for directions from).  Once we were told we were in the wrong spot, we had to pay to go out, then go back in on the right level, and ditch the car.

By the time all was said and done, it was 11 pm when I walked into the house.  I immediately passed out (without even considering taking a shower...I know, pretty gross).  And then it was an early start for both George and I the next day.  

However, I have no regrets.  It was an awesome weekend.  While we didn't exactly behave sensiblym we saw a lot, and all the driving at least gives us (well, mostly George) bragging rights.  Plus, while we were both physically tired at the end of the weekend, emotionally (at least for me), it was rejuvenating.  I had been in a bit of a rut, and getting out of Kornwestheim and Stuttgart and traveling somewhere new helped to remind me of all the reasons I did this in the first place.

The family is very nice, and being an au pair is not hard.  But that's half of the problem; I'm lacking a challenge and adequate stimulation.  Travel cures that.  Good thing I planned so many trips after that...this was the beginning of a domino effect.

German Cars Drink Diesel Fuel

If there's a certain amount of poor luck or errors guaranteed to happen in any given situation in life, then I hope I knocked out most of mine for the coming year in one fell swoop.

In less than a week, I succeeded in sabotaging one of the most expensive items in any household: the family vehicle.  In this case, that vehicle is a 2008 Volkswagen conversion van (see photo below...I'm working on improving our relationship).  I should also mention that this car is terrifying to drive through narrow European streets.  While it's turning radius is actually quite good considering its size, I still feel like I am going to run over something or somebody before the year is out.  There have already been a lot of near misses with birds.  I guess that's better than dogs or small children, though.

Now, before anyone gets too concerned, know that no one was harmed during this incident, and the van was back in commission by the end of the day.  Though it did cost 800 euro to resolve the issue, plus the cost of the rental car (it was a BMW, and was a delight to drive.  But I probably would have had a speeding ticket if we kept it for too long, so it's good that it was only in my possession for about three hours).

Anyway, it was my very first Tuesday morning here in Germany.  I successfully readied the kids for school and drove them to school without getting lost or causing an accident in the process.  I was feeling pretty confident and happy in my situation.  The sun was shining, birds were singing, I was on the edge of joining them in my own terrible rendition of "The Sound of Music."  Nothing was going to bring me down.

Then I saw that the gas gauge was just about on "E".  So, on the way back to the house, I pulled into a gas station for what I figured would be a ten to fifteen minute errand tops.  I was mistaken.

First of all, it took me about 20 minutes to locate the gas cap in the first place.  For future reference to anyone who may ever find themselves in a similar situation, for whatever reason, it is located in between the driver's door and the left passenger door.  To access it, both doors must be open.  There must be a serious gas siphoning issue in Germany.  Once I finally had that open, I searched for a way to pay, since that's how we do things in America.  However, in Germany (or at least at this particular gas station), there are no automatic prepay machines at the pump.  So I went inside, where a very confused, but fairly attractive young German lad told me that I pay AFTER I fuel up.  He also offered to pump the gas for me.  I politely declined.  In hindsight, I should have taken him up on that offer.

So, I went back to the pump, filled up the tank with regular gas, paid, flirted with that boy a little bit, and headed back to the house.  All was right in the world.

For about ten minutes.

Then the engine shut off, and started flashing that scary exclamation point in a triangle sign and I coasted it to the side of the road and threw on the hazards.  I tried to start the car twice, but when it kept not catching, I got out and began to evaluate my situation.

I was about 3-4 miles away from the house, so walking was a possibility if all else failed.  However, I knew that the car wasn't parked legally, and didn't want it to be towed by the time I found help.  I also did not have a working cell phone at the time since my German SIM card was taking its sweet time arriving.    So, I began walking around talking to strangers and trying to find someone who knew enough English to lend me their phone or point me in the direction of a phone.  Luckily, an older German lady took pity on me fairly quickly and sent me off in the direction of a kindergarten school.  I burst into the office, and started frantically explaining my situation to the lady in there.  The poor women didn't know much English, but she let me use the phone ("My English is not well but you can use the telephone.  It seems important.").  I reached Nicole right away, and walked back to the car.  While I waited for her to arrive, I started reading the manual (well, as much as I could, as it was all in German...).

On a bad hunch, I hopped out of the car and opened the gas cap again.  My siblings and I had always asked my dad what would happen if we ever put regular gas in our 1999 Cadillac DeVille, which likes premium.  He always just responded with, "Something more expensive than paying for the right fuel."  Sure enough, this was a DIESEL van.

If I was the crying type, I probably would have started weeping right then and there.  However, I retained my composure because if I let myself start crying, I wouldn't have been able to stop.  I probably would have been begging to get back on the next plane to Chicago had I moved into hysterics.

Thankfully, Nicole was quite kind and understanding about the entire situation.  I think she shared in on some of the blame with me; I hadn't thought to ask what kind of fuel it took, and she hadn't thought to tell me (though I guess if I had read the sticker in the first place...).  Still, it was a rather tense couple of hours until we learned that the car (or, the bus, as the family refers to it) was fully functional after having the fuel lines flushed out and the filter replaced.  It was an expensive fix, but nothing that would break the bank and much cheaper than having the entire fuel system and engine replaced would cost (which was what google scared us with).

So, all in all, not one of my better days.  But at least no one was hurt and there was no lasting damage of any sort done.  And if that's the worst thing that happens the entire time that I am here, I will count myself lucky.  Does this count as a cultural difference?  I told Nicole that she needs an insurance policy that covers the ignorance of American Au Pairs.  Or, this could have been a common sense issue specific to me.  Oh, well.  What's done is done, and this is one mistake I will never make again.

Anyway, that's all for now. Hopefully next time there will be no more drama!  Tschus!