Journeying Through Germany

The scenery changed from flat lowlands to rugged mountains as our bus crept into Bavaria and down to the Rhine, Germany’s most famous river now and centuries past. Our stop for two nights was the tiny town of Bacharach—pronounced bah (gargle) ha (choke) rah (cough)—in which our ancient hotel was formerly a tower in the town wall fortification.

These days, though, the town wall keeps watch over the nearby train tracks. Every few minutes during an evening card game on the hotel’s back landing, we had to hold down all the cards to keep them from scattering as trains sped past only a few meters away.

We were lucky enough to make the acquaintance of Rolf Jung, who had more energy than any of us despite being 72 years old. He led our walking tour through town, but he also made sure we started and ended the session with singing, as he did so many times back in his days as head schoolmaster of the town.

Herr Jung and the rest of us toured Bacharach on foot, stopping occasionally for history or culture lessons. I learned to decipher the strange words chalked above most doorways: 20*C*M*B*03 means Christus Mansionem Benedicat, or more loosely, “May Christ bless this house.”

I squinted in the sun after our group had hiked up the side of a hill to reach a large vineyard and a pretty view of town below. Herr Jung was halfway through a fascinating lecture on local wine varieties when my concentration broke, and I found myself staring at the nearby Rhine, daydreaming of castles and riverboats.

Storming the Castle

And then the dream came to pass. After singing goodbye to Herr Jung, our next stop was the nearby town of St. Goar, where we hiked up to the once mighty Castle Rheinfels, which used to extort taxes from river merchants by hauling huge chains across the water to prevent passage. Wise Angie opted to skip the flashlight crawl through the tiny one-meter-high underground labyrinth beneath the castle; I was not as smart as her. I eventually made it out, but a few people did not emerge from the exit tunnel and the castle guide nervously went back in to fetch them.

Next up was our Rhine riverboat for our return trip to Bacharach. While most people baked in the heat on the upper outdoor deck, Angie and I sought refuge in the air-conditioned, table-service lounge down below. Ragen found us for a chat, but an enthusiastic little girl found Ragen, so they became best buddies by the end of the river cruise.

Tonight I had my first glass of wine so far on our trip, it was a dry white. Not like that means anything to me, since my wine knowledge asymptotically approaches zero. After dinner, Sandy and son Chris taught us to play euchre, which I am apparently abyssmal at. Kelle joined us and taught us the jolly old game of Spoons; lacking actual spoons, we used salt-and-pepper shakers instead.

A Potential Headache

Ye Olde Town of Rothenburg was our next stop. It marked the first time in my life I ever wished to be shorter. Walking along the medieval wall surrounding the town turned out to be quite nerve-wracking, because the heavy wooden beams above my head were exactly my height. So as Angie pranced along with no problem, every few steps I held my breath and hoped for the best. V-v-v-vt, a beam would lightly buzz my hair as I walked underneath it.

We stopped at a little grocery shop on the way home for a light dinner snack, and we were (again!) tricked into buying the wrong bottled water, this time it was fizzy, horrible seltzer water. Blecch. Small bottled waters are the currency of choice among our tour members, since we’re all too chicken to drink local tap water anywhere.