Dankeschön

Hey Hey! So, yeah, I know it’s been a while since our last post, and I apologize for that. But we’ve been busy! We’re in Luxembourg now (I know, right? Who goes to Luxembourg? WE DO!!). But before our arrival in Luxembourg, we were in Austria and Germany for a little over two weeks, and what a great two weeks. We were in the area specifically to go to Oktoberfest, so the two weeks can be summed up in one word, which translates well from the original German: “beer.”

I’d like to illustrate this point with the following: way back in early July, when we were in Zaragoza, Spain, I bought a few button-down shirts. I needed a new shirt because I’d lost one in Brazil, and another was on its last legs (RIP Blue Gingham 3). Well, nearly three months later, after a lot of Italian food, and now a lot of beer and schnitzel, the buttons are about the pop off the NEW shirts. Johnny has a beer gut, people!

But it’s been fun. First we were in Vienna, which is an outstanding city. There are so many beautiful buildings around the Ringstrasse, and so many great bars and cafes. We also really enjoyed the market, and were amazed by St. Stephen’s Cathedral.

But in all honestly, I think one of the highlights for me was the Imperial Crypt. It’s where all the past royalty of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, dating way back to the Hapsburg Dynasty, are buried. It was fascinating. You can see coffins going back 400 years, including that of Empress Maria Theresa, the mother of Marie Antoinette.

Among the more recent (and most grand) were the sarcophagi of Emperor Franz-Josef (who spent all his time and money making Vienna what it is today), and his wife Elizabeth, AKA “Sisi.”

Sadly, there were also really ornate little coffins for the royal children that died young. Even the royals couldn’t escape infant mortality. It was here that Amy was pointing out an ornate element on one of the sarcophagi, and set off an alarm. I nearly jumped out of my pants, and thought we were going to be arrested and thrown in Austrian jail or something. But Amy just pulled her hand back really fast and the alarm stopped. Some reverent older Austrians (or maybe they were Hungarians who just really liked the old empire) gave us some dirty looks, but that was about the exent of the damage. The Imperial Crypt was definitely a highlight.

Then it was off to Salzburg, Austria. As luck would have it, we ran into some kind of beer festival, which was right up our alley.

I don’t really have anything funny or informative to offer you with this, honestly, because we were there for two nights, but only one full day, and on that day, we drank a bunch of beer and ate a few sausages, and generally had a good time in the Alpine sunshine. But I can tell you that this is where Amy purchased her dirndl, which leads us to Munich.

We got to Munich in time to meet Amy’s sorority sister Sue and her husband Garrett for Oktoberfest. What a blast we had with those two. The added bonus was Garrett’s German co-worker Stefan came along, and he gave us an insider’s tour of Munich.

Sue and Garrett arrived in Munich later than we did, so our first morning, Amy and I went to the Oktoberfest grounds and settled in for a few beers in the Augustiner tent.

We sat with some young glassy-eyed Germans, and struck up a nice conversation. Meanwhile, behind us, a group of twenty-something Englishmen, fully decked in lederhosen, were starting to get a bit rambunctious. Two of them stood on their benches, and with a crowd assembled and cheering, they each chugged a liter of beer.

A liter! – that’s like one of those half-gallon milk cartons. And this is a thing. You stand on your bench, you let people know you’re going to chug, and the crowd cheers you on. If successful, applause, songs, handshakes, and general revelry greet you. If you fail, you’re booed like the Flock of Seagulls was booed when I saw them open up for The Police on their “Synchronicity” tour in 1982: vitriol, invectives, and sometimes garbage are thrown at you, and you leave the stage immediately.

Not to be outdone, another Englishman was encouraged by his friends to chug a liter. He resisted: “I’ve already had two!” Amy overheard this and turned, saying, “no, don’t do it!!” But his chorus of friends overruled Amy, and within seconds he was standing on a table, pouring a liter of beer down his gullet.

The first half progressed without much argument from his esophagus. The second half, however, become much more slow and labored. He was muscling down the beer, and his stomach seemed to be saying, “hey, not so fast, fella…” But eventually, he got it all down. He overturned the empty glass over his head as if to say, “no beer here!,” but as soon as he put the glass down on the table, he doubled over, and began to barf into his hands. Camera flashes lit up the tent like fireworks. About a cup of puke came out, much of it dribbling onto the table. There are no photos of this. I had to turn away, because now I was on the verge of one of those sympathy pukes. I can’t watch someone yawp like that without getting sick myself. Puking is infectious!

The crowd, who only seconds before was screaming and applauding, turned on him instantly. The booing rang out from across the tent, and he sheepishly got down from the table. And then the best thing happened: the waitress, a surly older woman of 65 or so, came out with a bucket full of water, and slammed it on the table in front of the guy. The message was clear: clean it up, Ralph.

The next day Amy and I met up with Sue, Garrett, and Stefan, and went to the Hacker-Pschorr tent for the day, and what a day it was. Amy and Sue were decked out in their dirndls, and Garrett and Stefan wore lederhosen. I, meanwhile, had on a pair of cheap, ill-fitting novelty “fauxderhosen” shorts that were so tight in the ass that they ripped about a half-hour into the day, and from the right angle you could see my boxers. We sat with a bunch of German guys who were very hospitable and a lot of fun, and a good time was had by all.

The day was full of drinking beer and singing and fun, and we all enjoyed ourselves, if even a little too much. And this time, there was a guy behind us who chugged FOUR liters of beer over the course of six hours. And he was drinking the whole time, as well. But he also chugged four liters of beer on top of it. He was an animal.

The band, by the way, was great. The day started with them playing traditional Bavarian music and drinking songs, and the religiously played “Ein Prosit” toast. But as the day went on, we heard “Country Roads” (a crowd pleaser), “YMCA,” “Sweet Home Alabama,” and “Just a Gigolo.”

Well, as happens when people are chugging liters of beer and oompah bands are playing David Lee Roth songs, people started standing on benches and dancing and singing, and as the hours passed, it got more and more active. It was great, people were having a lot of fun and really starting to let loose. That said, they really pack the tables into these tents, and there’s not a lot of room to stand on those benches.

So there we were, standing on the benches, when a somewhat inebriated college-aged woman at the table next to us made a sudden movement, and knocked me off the bench.

It happened in slow motion. I felt my body lunge forward with absolutely nothing to grab on to. I looked down and knew I was going to hit the table hard, and that those tables aren’t made of the strongest stuff. And so it happened. I hit the table, and the force of my fall sent about a half-dozen one-liter beer mugs bouncing skyward. Every one of them fell off the table and on to the floor, one on Sue’s foot. It was a perfect strike. Had it been the 10th frame, I would have been given a second turn.

I want to make something perfectly clear: I was pushed. And that’s all I have to say about that.

After Munich, Amy and I headed south to the Alps to see the Bavarian Castles, and they were really something to behold. The story of “Mad” King Ludwig, who built the castles, is interesting as well, worthy of a Hollywood bio-pic. Ludwig became the king of Bavaria at 18, broke off an engagement to Sisi’s younger sister, became fascinated with Wagner and German opera, never married, lived in isolation, went WAY into debt to build a bunch of fairytale castles based on German folklore, and was eventually declared insane and lost the crown. Then two days later, he was found dead, and the cause of death has never been determined. It’s fascinating stuff, really. They said his brother Otto was nuts, too, so their uncle eventually took over the job. You’ve gotta wonder about this uncle, by the way… If it was CSI: Bavaria, I’d be looking at him as the perp.

The next day, as Amy and I were heading north, a thought passed over me.

“Hey – you know what?” I ask.
“What?” Amy replies.
“Ludwig…think about it…he breaks off the engagement. He never marries. He loves opera and the arts, he has this fascination with Wagner. And then he just decides to live alone…I mean, being a king, in that time…I wonder if he was gay?”
“OF COURSE HE WAS GAY!! Did you just think of that NOW?!”

The next several days, Amy and I drove north on the Romantic Road, through beautiful medieval cities like Augsburg, Rothenburg, Bamberg, and Wurzburg. We hit all the Bergs, and sampled the local beers of each Berg, and saw what each Berg had to offer, which was basically really beautiful Berg scenery.

Augsburg had a great ratskeller below the old city hall. Rothenburg had its rickety old buildings and old city walls. Bamberg had its smoked beer (rauchbier) that tastes like its flavored with ham. And Wurzburg had its wonderful Alt Mainbrucke (Old Main Bridge), where you could sit on the bridge, enjoy a glass of wine, and watch the sunset behind the hills. It may have been Amy’s favorite place in Germany. We even had a hamburger in one of the Bergs. Too bad we weren’t going as far as Hamburg. But that’s the way it is – on this trip we missed a lot of opportunities:

No wieners in Wien (Vienna).
No frankfurters in Frankfurt.
No hamburgers in Hamburg.
No cheeseburgers in Cheeseburg.

Next we made a quick stop in Frankfurt to have dinner with the son of one of my long-time friends, a guy I’ve known since 4th grade. We had a great time with Steve and his friend Daniel, it’s always nice to have a touch of home while overseas.

Amy and I were trying to figure out how you explain that relationship. What do you call the child of a really close friend, or the really close friend of one of your parents? I have an “Uncle Butch” who’s not related by blood, but I respect him way too much to call him “Friend-of-my-Dad’s-Butch,” which is way too awkward and long anyway. So Amy and I have proposed the following:

Frunkle – Close male friend of your parent.
Frauntie – Close female friend of your parent.
Freneice – Female child of your close friend.
Frenphew – Male child of your close friend.

We may need to workshop this a little, particularly “Frenphew.”

Speaking of vocabulary — WOW, John, what a great segue! – you may have been wondering how the language barrier was for us in the German-speaking countries. We got by okay, and I know a little German from high school. I remembered a bit more and more each day, but let’s face it: my German is beyond rusty, and I’ve forgotten a great deal since I was seventeen years-old. But you should know that while the German student in me has been lost, the teenager in me still alive and well. Here are some sample translations I provided for Amy along the way:

“Sandgasse”: This is something rude that happens on the beach.

“Ausfahrt Freihalten”: I loosely translated this as “stop your willy-nilly farting around here.”

“Krapfen:” I’m not sure what it is, but I’m fairly certain I don’t want to eat it. And I wouldn’t be smiling so much about it being ‘your’ krapfen, little girl.

And do you know why this traffic cone is smiling?

I’m pretty sure we all know why he’s smiling.