A Few Days in BK (That's Bad Kreuznach, Not Burger King)

Honestly, for the last week before I returned to my aunt's house, I was kind of counting down the days until I would be there. I had been traveling solo for almost a month at that point, moving to a new city (and often, a new country) every few days, and I was ready to be someplace familiar, with family rather than a new batch of strangers.

I was ready for a little break, a few days when I wouldn't feel obligated to wake up early, get out, and go do stuff every single day. A few days when I wouldn't have to decide whether to go out to dinner or figure out what to cook or to just skip eating altogether because it was just too expensive/too much effort.

I was tired of the same clothes that I'd been wearing for a month straight (most of which were black, chosen for ease of matching and so as not to show wear).

And I was ready to dump all of the heavy souvenirs that I'd been hauling around for the last few weeks.

It was strange, coming back to my aunt's house, though; when I'd left in September, it had still been summer. Now, it was most decidedly fall. No more leisurely evenings out on the balcony; we'd traded warmth for gorgeous colors on the trees and in the vineyards.

Aside from the seasonal changes, everything was comfortingly unchanged. It was nice to climb into a familiar bed and to pet familiar dogs and to use the same full-sized bottles of shampoo and conditioner as I had a month earlier.

It was nice to have a couple of lazy days, during which the most eventful thing that happened was scoring a pair of sneakers for less than €13.

And it was WONDERFUL to run again.

When packing my backpack for my month away from my aunt's house, I'd realized how little space 40 liters really is. At the last minute, I'd rashly decided to ditch my running shoes--they were so bulky, and I'd get exercise walking everywhere anyway--a decision that I came to seriously regret. I MISSED running.

Even though I've never been much of a city runner, every time I saw someone running through town, I'd get mad jealous. Or I'd e walking through a really nice park, like the English Gardens in Munich, and just want to go for a run.

So the first morning back at my aunt's house, I got up and went for a run. And man, I could not wipe the smile off of my face. Even after a month off, running felt GOOD. Apparently I'd walked enough to counterbalance the junk food and maintain some level of fitness.

On Monday, my plan was to work on my blog most of the day, and get all caught up before Evan arrived the next morning. Well, I did manage to get a bit of blogging done, but that all went out the window early that afternoon when there was a knock at the door and there Evan was!

There have been very few times in my life that I have felt as surprised as I did in that moment, so major props to Evan and my aunt for scheming behind my back for three weeks and managing to pull that off!

We love the bridge houses!

Suddenly, I got to reprise my role as tour guide (which you all know I have sorely missed) and show Evan around Bad Kreuznach in the rain. To escape the downpour, I also introduced him to that wonderful German tradition of afternoon coffee and cake.

YUM.

One of the things that Evan was most excited to see in Germany was castles, so the next day, we took a train along the Rhine to my favorite castle, Rheinfels.

We bought our tickets at the gate, from a guy who was just as excited about he fact that we got a student discount as we were. We spent hours exploring the ruins and being adventurous. 

Even though I'd been to the castle only a month earlier, Evan and I still managed to find parts of the ruins that I hadn't seen the last time, including several mining tunnels. I'm generally not a big fan of tunnels--something about enclosed underground spaces tends make me hyperventilate--but I was feeling brave that day. I was even game to try a very narrow tunnel--one that involved simultaneously ducking and climbing--until I came face-to-face with a big ol' spider. I was out of that tunnel so fast I practically bowled Evan over. 

We did a bit more exploring in the castle, now out in the more open bits, before wandering down through the town of St. Goar below the castle. There, Evan had his first real bratwurst.

One of my hobbies is taking unflattering pictures of people while they eat.

We enjoyed more authentic German food at dinner that night; my aunt had made Speisbraten, a roasted pork loin stuffed with onions, served with leeks and potatoes.

In the interest of stuffing Evan full of as much German food as possible, we had Zwiebelküchen (onion cake) and Federweißer (new wine) for lunch on Wednesday, in between bouts of packing. My aunt packed us some leftover-Speisbraten sandwiches for dinner, and Evan and I were off to Frankfurt, where we spent the night in a hostel before catching our bus to Brussels at 7:00am Thursday morning.

Even though I was "home" for almost a week, those days flew by...I couldn't believe that I was already leaving again! But at the same time, I was really excited to get to Brussels. 

After all, Belgium is where waffles come from.

The Most German Place in France

I arrived in Strasbourg not quite sure what to expect. (Of course, the same could be said for most of the places that I've been.) But Strasbourg is located in the Alsace region of France, which has flip-flopped between German and French posession over the last couple of centuries. It's been described as an interesting blend between the two cultures, and I wasn't entirely sure what that meant. I also wasn't really sure why I was in Strasbourg. I'd decided to come here based on a recommendation from my dad, who had visited in his youth. Sorry, his first youth. (There ya go, Daddy. We all know you're still a child.) Aside from that, I really had no particular reason for visiting, other than it kind of made sense as a pit stop on my roundabout way back to my aunt's house.

I knew exactly when my train crossed over the Germany-France border, because I suddenly couldn't understand any of the announcements on the train. It occurred to me, at that moment, that I should maybe have taken some time on the train to look up a few words and phrases in French. But too late now, I was here!

As is now a reflex upon arriving in a new city, I pulled up my navogation app as soon as I got off the train. I quickly realized that my Airbnb, though a short walk from the center of the Old Town, was quite a hike from the train station. Carrying a month's worth of souvenirs forty-five minutes through an unfamiliar town struck me as incredibly unappealing, so I decided to splurge for a tram ticket to get to my Airbnb. After over a month of traveling, I've gotten a lot better when it comes to figuring out public transportation. Not perfect, by any stretch of the imagination, but better. So I bought myself a tram ticket (luckily the ticket machine offered a choice of languages, including English) and hopped on the C Line. What should have been a five-minute walk from the tram stop to my new Airbnb ended up being a ten-minute walk because of one wrong turn and three stops to take a break from carrying all of my souvenirs.

My hostess arrived at her door about two minutes after I did, and showed me my room for the next few nights, which contained a double bed with about a foot of space on each side. Cozy, to say the least.

My hostess then left for the night, off on an overnight business trip, and I headed to the grocery store for a few perishables. I picked up some produce and eggs, plus some cookies (essential). I considered getting a bottle of wine as well, simply because it was so cheap (€2-€3 for almost any bottle in the store!). I'm not at all a wine drinker, but I'm a sucker for a bargain. In the end, I decided against it, for the sole reason that I know next to nothing about wine, and so didn't know what to choose. Indecision strikes again!

I went up to the checkout, echoed the cashier's "Bonsoir," and got ready to pay. But then the cashier said something in French and held out my bag of apples with an irritated look, and I froze. Clearly the "nod, smile, and point" technique wasn't going to work here. "I'm sorry, I don't speak French," I stammered, face flaming with shame at my own American arrogance. The cashier scowled and shook her head--she didn't speak English--and said something else in French, pointing behind me, towards the produce section.

I suddenly found myself in the middle of one of my worst social-anxiety nightmares: a long line of people, everyone annoyed and waiting on me, and I had not a clue what was going on or what to do.

Thankfully, a woman a few places behind me in line spoke a little English, and stepped up to inform me that I had to "get the kilograms of my apples" before coming to the checkout. I choked out a mortified "thank you," and weighed my produce as quickly as I could. The cashier glowered at me as I returned and meekly offered my credit card. I quickly shuffled, head down, out the door, where I broke into a run back to my Airbnb. At least the people staring at me now would think my face was red from exertion rather than shame and embarrassment.

From then on, I made sure that I started every interaction with: "Je ne parle Français...parlez vous Anglais?"

"I don't know how to speak French...do you know how to speak French?"

Once I was safely back in my Airbnb, I spent the rest of my first evening in France eating an entire package of chocolate-covered cookies and watching Netflix.

I should have just bought that wine. I really could have used it.

I got off to a bit of a late start the next morning, but I was ready to get out and explore Strasbourg, as long as I didn't encounter anyone who would require me to speak/understand French.

I know what you're thinking. That trying to avoid French while in France is not only a ridiculously stupid idea, but also impossible. But I had a plan: I would stick to the super-touristy spots in the city, where it's basically guaranteed that everyone speaks at least a little bit of English.

I headed toward the cathedral, the spire of which I could see from just outside my Airbnb. After a month and a half of exploring new cities, I've learned that, in most cases, the center of the Old Town in any given city will be pretty close to the tallest church tower in sight. I knew I was on the right track when the souvenir shops started popping up beside restaurants boasting menus in several languages. Sure enough, here was the cathedral, and there was the line of tourists waiting to see the view from the tower.

Not actually the cathedral. This is a different church.

I meandered through the streets of the old town for the next two hours, simultaneously getting orientated and procrastinating choosing a restaurant for lunch. I wasn't in a hurry to embarrass myself once again by failing to speak French.

I eventually returned to the cathedral square, opting to eat at one of the places that I typically abhor: a super-touristy restaurant, right on the main stretch, with a laminated menu in six different languages, boasting a variety of overpriced "local specialties" of dubious quality. But at least I knew that they spoke English.

I sipped my surprisingly-decent cappuccino as I studied the face of the cathedral. When my clearly-microwaved quiche Lorraine arrived, I switched to peoplewatching. I topped off the meal with a subpar salted caramel crêpe. I'm annoying myself with how much I sound like a food critic (apparently I've watched too many episodes of "Master Chef"), but I know that I really had no one to blame but myself for the not-so-tasty meal. I resolved to never let a language barrier intimidate me out of good food ever again.

The infamous crêpe.

Emboldened, I made my way back to Place Kléber, a wide, more modern square that I'd come across earlier that day. At the time, I'd spotted a small market, primarily vendors selling old books, vintage posters, and aged maps, but was turned off by the prospect of getting glared at by another native French speaker. But now, I went and flipped through every book, poster, and map that struck my fancy. The only thing that kept me from buying a couple of the old perfume ad posters was the price tags. (Okay, fine, the language barrier was still kind of scary, but mostly it was the price tags. "Vintage" stuff ain't cheap.)

I then wandered in the general direction of my Airbnb, with the intention of finding a nice bench upon which I could sit and enjoy the last of the day's sunshine while working on my blog.

I resisted the temptation to peoplewatch, and immersed myself in memories of Switzerland as I tapped away at my phone. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw an older man, clearly a local, approaching my bench. Immediately, I was uneasy. There were literally dozens of empty benches all around the square, and he was walking purposefully towards mine. Maybe he was going to ask for a lighter for his cigarette; it had happened before. But, no, he plopped himself right down next to me, and said something in French, that obviously I didn't understand. I said as much, and he switched to English, asking where I was from, how long was I in Strasbourg, and telling me I had such a pretty face, I should be a model. Yup, my instincts were right. I was out of there.

I was entirely too skeezed out to continue working on my blog, so I stuck to walking through the busy, touristy lanes until all that was left was relief that I had trusted my gut and gotten out of there safely. I picked up some Chinese food for dinner and headed back to the safe haven that was my Airbnb to eat and write.

I was unimpressed by the French version of Chinese food--I missed my American interpretation of Asian cuisine--and was feeling rather disenchanted with France after my first day in Strasbourg.

But I got up the next morning, game to give Strasbourg another chance. I headed out a bit earlier than the day before, not really sure where I was headed. I was planning to go on one of those glass-topped boat tours around the city later, switching it from all the walking tours, but in the meantime, I just started walking. I came across a good-sized farmers' market, and bought all the makings for a picnic lunch, including some of the yummiest carrots that I've ever eaten. I also got a flammbaguette, a perfect fusion of the German Flammkuchen and a French baguette. Now this was the kind of thing that I'd been hoping for from Strasbourg. Yum.

After lunch, I went on my boat tour. It was nice, cruising along the river, and I got to see some parts of the city that I hadn't made it to when walking around, like the European Parliament building. The tour was a nice change from the walking tours, but it was all prerecorded, and it just played through headphones as we went along, so it was missing the personal effect that I love getting from the walking tours. Nonetheless, it was a nice way to spend my afternoon.

Back at my Airbnb, I cooked pasta for dinner, then set about figuring out the logistics of my day trip to Colmar the next day.

In spite of all my planning, the morning got off to a rough start. I'd planned to get a 24-hour pass for the tram, which would get me to and from the train station that day, as well as the next morning. But my credit card got rejected by the ticket machine for no particular reason, and of course I didn't have enough coins for the machine, which didn't accept bills. So I ended up running the 2.3 kilometers to the station to catch my train to Colmar.

Colmar had been recommended to me by a friend who'd visited it on her trip to France a couple of years ago. Colmar is a small city (or maybe a large town), known for its super-cute small town, which features a canal. It's one of several towns in Europe that boasts of the nickname "Little Venice."

Look how stinking cute this place is!

I had a wonderfully relaxing day, just poking around the shops, sampling whatever foods struck my fancy, including a pain au chocolat and a ginormous meringue. My "Je ne parle Français" got quite a workout, as schoolkids apparently on a scavenger hunt during a field trip, kept approaching me, presumably to ask where something was.

I don't know what this building is...lemme take a picture in front of it!

All in all, a good day. Things started to quiet down as the shops began to close shortly after sunset, so I found a nice bench for peoplewatching to kill the hour until my train back to Strasbourg. I'd only been there a few minutes, when a guy who looked to be a little bit older than me came up to my bench. After the creepy guy the other day, I was wary, but this guy was actually asking for a lighter for his cigarette. I once again went with my gut, and said okay when he asked if he could join me on the bench. And I am so glad I did.

We ended up having one of those incredible philosophical discussions, the kind that you can only have in the evening, over a couple cans of beer like the ones he generously offered to share.

I was genuinely sorry when I had to leave to catch my train; it had been one of those amazing travel experiences that I'd dreamed of having ever since I started planning my trip over seven years ago. My last night in France (for now) had definitely ended on a high note. 

The Other Freiburg

No, not Fribourg/Freiburg in Switzerland. I got the heck out of that country before it could steal any more of my money. This Freiburg is in Germany.

After my rather stressful stay in Switzerland, I was ready for a much-needed weekend of relaxing. I was a bit nervous upon arriving in Freiburg, however. I would be staying in an Airbnb for the first time.

For those of you who don't know, Airbnb is a website that connects travelers with hosts all over the world. You pay a (usually pretty reasonable) fee to stay in their home, sometimes in a spare room, sometimes on their couch. I figured it would be a nice change from staying in hostels; I'd only have to share a bathroom with one or two people, rather than five or more. And I was interested to observe real Europeans in their natural habitats.

But on the other hand, in spite of all the great reviews for the Airbnb that I'd booked, I was anxious about staying with total strangers, in their home, in a foreign country. At least I knew my hosts spoke English.

My train pulled in to the Freiburg Hauptbahnhof on Friday afternoon, and I clambered off, my movement somewhat impaired by the weight of all of my souvenirs. I shifted the straps of one of my bags to the crook of my elbow, and then used my little T-Rex arm to fish out my phone and pull up my navigation app. The 25-minute walk looked pretty straightforward...until I was about 100 meters down the road and two minutes had been added to my arrival time to compensate for my sluggish pace.

Forty minutes later, sweaty and panting even in the crisp Fall air, I arrived at the address for my Airbnb and pressed the buzzer. The answering voice told me to come up to the 2nd floor, then buzzed me in. I groaned, remembering that in Europe, "2nd floor" means "climb two flights of stairs, not just one like you would to get to the second floor in America," and heaved the door open.

One of my hosts, a friendly-looking guy about my age, held the apartment door open, and encouraged me and all my stuff up the last flight of stairs. He showed me to what would be my room for the next three nights. I dropped my belongings to the floor, with a whispered "sorry" to the people below for the thump, and looked around. I was relieved to find that the room looked exactly as pleasant as it had in the pictures online.

I was even more relieved to discover that my hosts were pretty cool people. The guy invited me to join him and his friends for lunch in the dining hall at his university, where each of us got a huge plate of some pretty delicious tortellini, plus a salad, for €2.50. That was exactly what I needed to recover from all the expense of Switzerland.

I was seriously impressed by how well my host and his friends spoke English. (I also really appreciated it, because, as much as I want to learn German, I wouldn't have enjoyed the conversation nearly as much if that had been the language we used.) It turned out that all three of them--as well as my other host that I had yet to meet--were studying teaching at the university. It was pretty cool hearing about how the process of becoming a teacher works in Germany: it takes a total of seven years (five at university, and two interning) to become a teacher in Germany.

We also talked about the differences between going to college in the States and going to university in Germany. It typically takes longer to get a degree in Germany, but it's hecka decka cheaper there: compared to the thousands (or even tens of thousands) of dollars students pay per semester in the US, German students pay maybe €200 in fees per semester. The fall semester also starts later in Germany; the first day of classes was the day that I left Freiburg, October 17th. There's also more breaks during the school year, and competitive college-level sports aren't a thing (which, honestly, probably accounts for most of the difference in pricing).

My host, his friends and I also grabbed coffee at the library before parting ways. There, we talked about differences in another aspect of college life. The other way of saying that is that we compared notes on the drinking cultures in our respective countries.

My host then gave me directions to bike to the Altstadt (the old town). Yep, you read that right. I was getting back on the bike (both literally and metaphorically) and giving city biking another go. Luckily, Freiburg is a much smaller city than Frankfurt, so I wasn't on the bike for too long when getting from place to place. And there were fewer pedestrians and cars for me to potentially hit.

I wandered around the Altstadt for most of the afternoon, just taking it all in. I also popped into quite a few shops, just reveling in how cheap everything was, compared to Switzerland. I decided to treat myself to ice cream--only 80 cents a scoop!--at the Münsterplatz (the main square in the old town, where the cathedral stands). It was then, as I gazed up at the gothic spires, slurping at my ice cream cone that the unthinkable happened.

My ice cream cone broke.

As if in slow motion, I saw the top half of the cone, holding one scoop of dark chocolate and one scoop of raspberry, tumbling toward the cobblestones. Reflexively, my left hand shot out, and miraculously--blessedly, even--managed to snag the ice cream before it hit the ground. As I placed the ice cream safely back on the cone and set about licking the chocolate off of my fingers, I noticed a German guy watching me. He looked both amused and mildly impressed, and called across the square something that sounded congratulatory. I smiled, nodded, and went on my way.

That's right, the worst thing that happened on my first day out of Switzerland was that I almost--almost!--dropped my ice cream. It was good to be back in Germany.

I wandered until it began to rain, then swung by a grocery store on my way back to my Airbnb for the evening. I finally met my other host, a girl about my age who played handball, and was very interested to hear about the strange handball-like sport that I played. (If you're sitting there wondering what that sport might be, go to YouTube and search "Kronum" right now, and don't come back until you've watched at least three videos.)

I set about cooking pasta for dinner, glad to discover that my cooking skills weren't too rusty from the recent lack of use, and called it a night not too much later.

I started the next day early, eager to take advantage of the beautiful Fall weather while it lasted. I biked towards the old town, soaking in the fall colors and the cool architecture on the way. I parked my bike and went a-wandering again, stumbling upon the market at the Münsterplatz. And, oh did that make my heart happy.

One of the main reasons that I wanted to come to Freiburg was that I remembered visiting the city with my family the last time that we were in Germany. And one of my most vivid memories from that visit was the market. I still have the clay bird whistle and olive wood ring from the last time we visited Freiburg, eight or nine years ago.

At this market, there are dozens of meat vendors, fruit and vegetable sellers, and craftsmen and craftswomen selling everything from intricate floral wreaths to olive wood salad tongs to beeswax candles to painted ceramic toothbrush holders. I took about three laps around the whole market, scoping out the wares, before realizing I had nothing smaller than a 50-Euro bill on me. So I had to hit the ATM before I bought a woven basket, a patterned fabric hair and, two bars of honey-and-floral soap, a jar of Waldhonig (honey from the Black Forest), a silver and mother-of-pearl ring, a bratwurst, and a glass of Federweisser (new wine). I parked myself on the edge of the fountain to peoplewatch while I ate my bratwurst and drank my Federweisser.

I meandered away from the market, up and down streets that I'd somehow missed the day before. I realized, as I swapped my new basket full of souvenirs from one hand to the other, that I wasn't really sticking to my resolution of "no more big souvenirs." *sigh* It was going to be one long walk to the train station on Monday.

To distract myself from that disheartening realization, I found a sunny table outside of a café and treated myself to a cappuccino and a piece of apple cake. I then biked back to my AirBnb to drop off my souvenirs and unwind for a bit before going out in search of dinner. I'd resolved to go out that night after my absurdly early bedtime the night before.

So, after Skyping with my parents for an hour, I biked back into town. As it got dark, I wandered into the student-heavy part of town, hoping to find a good place for dinner, and maybe someone to talk to over dinner. I've gotten used to eating alone, even in restaurants, but solo meals simply aren't as much fun as eating with someone else.

After about forty-five minutes of walking around, I still hadn't settled on a place. Hangriness was setting in, and I had no one to blame but my indecisive self, a thought that didn't do much to improve my mood. I finally settled on a restaurant that I'd passed by thirty minutes prior, having dismissed it because I wasn't in the mood for burgers. But by this point, some American-style food actually sounded pretty dang good. So I ordered a Farmer's burger from the snooty waitress--my attempts to speak German apparently irritated her--and watched the students as they passed by, beers in hand, presumably headed for a fun evening out.

After devouring my burger and fries, I leisurely biked through the quiet residential streets back to my Airbnb. I'd transitioned quickly from "hangry" to "in a food coma," and my resolve to have a night out on the town had vanished with the last of my curly fries. At least I'd stayed awake until 10:00 pm this time.

I woke up almost twelve hours later.

Chalking it up to still recovering from Switzerland, I made myself a late breakfast while I chatted with my host. He didn't have any plans for another couple of hours, so he offered to show me to the hiking trail with a view over the city. It was nice to get out in nature again, and it was nice to have some company as well. And the view over Freiburg as pretty great.

After my host headed off to meet up with some friends, I biked to the complete opposite side of town to do some more hiking; once I'd had a taste of the outdoors that morning, I knew what I wanted to do for the rest of the day. I biked on the paths around the Waldseepark for a while, then hopped off to sit by a peaceful little duck pond for a while.

I biked back into the city, parked myself at a sidewalk café, and spent the rest of the afternoon leisurely drinking several cappuccinos and sampling a variety of cakes. I'd earned it after all of the hiking and biking.

For my last evening in Freiburg, I played board games with my hosts. We played two games I'd never heard of before: Ligretto and Carcasonne. The first is a card game that involves quickly stacking cards in numerical order to empty your hand; I lost spectacularly. The second game is a somewhat complicated strategy game, centered on castle-building (named for the famous walled city of Carcasonne, France). Not only did I come out on top, I also scored a day trip idea for when I'm in France.

My train the next day didn't leave until 1:00pm, so I killed some time by grabbing coffee (and a pastry, of course!) while I wrote a postcard. I then realized--with the help of Google--that the only post office that didn't close for lunch, making it the only post office from which I could mail my postcard before I caught my train, was on the other side of town. So I once again clambered onto my bike. One twenty-minute ride later, I was standing at the end of a line that stretched out the door. Twenty minutes later, I still had yet to purchase my 90-cent stamp, and I was starting to worry about making my train. But then a blessedly-efficient postal worker came in from her lunch break, and I was out of there less than a minute later.

The next forty-five minutes involved racing via bike back to my Airbnb, scurrying to stuff my ridiculous amount of stuff into my bags, and trekking like a pack mule to the train station. I collapsed into my seat on the train, sweating profusely, and hoped the hike from the train station in Strasbourg to my Airbnb there would be shorter.