They pulled in just behind the bridge

BESIGHEIM, BADEN-WÜRTTEMBERG
1ST VIII 2015

Dawn and I lay in bed with our arms threaded through each other’s until I lost track which were mine and which were hers, but I could tell she was awake despite the time, so we got up to watch the sun rise and the last of the bats, our first morning on a nine-month tour of Europe.

I got concerned last night it wouldn’t feel the same as it does on a vacation where everything has that charmed quality to it — but then Eberhard asked if I’d go hiking with him in the Austrian alps for a few days, and we met some German friends of my mom’s at the restaurant up the road and got to talking politics on no sleep and lots of drinks, and stuffed ourselves with cold cuts and soft pretzels, and it all feels better than I imagined already.

The autobahn was closed in one direction because a petrol truck ran into another petrol truck and blew up, leaving petrol all over the road — and the other autobahn was overloaded Eberhard said, so it took about three hours for a two-hour drive, and we all dozed to the sound of German radio while Eberhard drank Pepsi and played with the settings on the AC, which doesn’t work and just blows hot air.

Dawn was worried there’d be a mix-up at the airport because Eberhard wasn’t there at the Meeting Point but I insisted he’d find us; he’s an ex-cop and no one’s more concerned about preserving or restoring order than he is, like a dog with a ball-addiction he’d find us.

Here only a day, and we’re already talking about World War II with some Germans and taking care in how we talk about it, though I broke a glass toasting and everyone on the street stopped to look, and my friend Bruce at Starbucks who took over my project said Don’t be the ugly American when he wished me goodbye, and that’s the best advice.

There is the word Wirtschaft and the word Gemeinschaft, and that’s the problem with Europe, Siggi’s friend says: a unified economy with the EU, but no unified community.

Siggi can help show us around the public baths, where both genders go nude which I’m not quite ready for, despite getting through an awkward Thanksgiving with some friends in Puyallup, where we all stripped down and hopped in their hot tub, their kids shy of puberty by just a few years and me coming in last, all of them looking.

Mom uses fly paper which the cat gets caught in when she rubs it, damn awful fun to watch — and the other cat, her sister, has gone missing which isn’t the end of the world because I like this one better. Ruby killed because she enjoyed killing in that cowardly, sociopathic way — the one I got into a fight with over a baby bunny she was mauling, and had to take it off her and put it in the compost.

Mom’s brand of coffee is aggressively bad, unacceptable by Pacific Northwest standards, and we may have to drive to Stuttgart to a Starbucks to stock up. It’s bad, but like cigarettes I can’t stop drinking it once I start despite how bad the taste, I need the rush.

I climbed the Himmelsleiter to the top of the vineyards and the valley for a long loop through the forest, remembering our sabbatical here in 2009, not knowing how it will end this time but assured it’s like some odd, intricate weave in the fabric of our lives and I’m just going to live it.

The kids were up with us at dawn too, not used to the sound of the church bells that toll every 15 minutes since the beginning of time. And who needs a watch or alarm or smartphone with that?

The grape clusters are the size and color of green peas fattening, with the Winzerfest planned 18. – 21. September; it happens every two years and with our luck, we hit it. Also the Cannstatter Volksfest, the second largest beer festival in the world, just a half hour train ride and much easier to get into the tents than the Munich version — the beer’s a few tenths of a percentage point higher, too.

Eberhard leaves a magazine of Montafon behind, that’s got an illustrated centerfold of the Austrian peaks and valleys, with symbols and a legend showing all the guesthouses where you can stay, the cable cars and lakes. I guess they have people there with Schnapps they offer you at certain checkpoints, just because.

When we check in at the airport in SeaTac I’m worried at least one of our four pieces of luggage will exceed the weight limit but the scale is busted and the Lufthansa guy says it doesn’t matter how much it weighs: Today must be your lucky day, Mr. Pearse.

About pinklightsabre

William Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
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12 Responses to They pulled in just behind the bridge

  1. ksbeth says:

    this sounds like a wonderful beginning –

    Liked by 1 person

    • pinklightsabre says:

      It is, thanks Beth — and funny how time warps when you cross the IDL for some reason. I think we’ll be messed up with the jet lag for a bit, but we’ve got all the time in the world. Life is good! – Bill

      Liked by 1 person

  2. sweetsound says:

    Off to a cracking start! Church bells are my favorite. I hope you go hiking in the Austrian alps!

    Liked by 1 person

    • pinklightsabre says:

      I’m with you on the church bells Cali — we were remarking last night how the people who live near them must go mad, though. Have to get used to it, of course. And yes, I think the trip to the alps is on! Already I’m planning a follow-up there so I can take my kids and wife. Glad I’ve got my good camera too, hoping I can figure out how to use it…but I have my pen as a back-up too! And looking forward to getting that email out with the great info on Scotland you sent me, come late October. Cheers! – Bill

      Like

  3. walt walker says:

    “I got concerned last night it wouldn’t feel the same as it does on a vacation where everything has that charmed quality to it.” I don’t think it will feel like that at all. It will feel much better than that. Like home.

    Like

    • pinklightsabre says:

      I know, I like that Walt — thanks. My mom says she hopes it just feels normal, which seems hard to believe, but we’ll see. Awful fun to have people to share our good times with. And to break rules, with preposition placement. Punk rock! Forgotten what day it is — I think Saturday night for you now, hope it’s good. Looking forward to the coming week too. Best, – Bill

      Like

  4. rossmurray1 says:

    All this in just the first day? Pace yourself, man!
    “Aggressively bad.” My parents have been visiting and drink decaf in the morning, the fools. I found an ancient tin of Max House, dust-covered in the cupboard. Brewed, it smelled as bad as it looked. “This is good coffee,” my mom enthused.
    My daughter just got hired as a barista at an indie Montreal chain (3 stores) called Melk, a sly workaround Québec’s French-only sign laws, so I like it already.
    Glad all are safe and entwined.

    Like

    • pinklightsabre says:

      Yes, pace yourself: good advice, thanks Ross. Got up at the crack of dawn here again today for that quality alone-time, just me and the cat by the light of the laptop. Wish the cat would piss off. I like what your mom said about the coffee — moms have a way like that, of saying sweet, impossible things. Perhaps that’s the gift of a mom’s love, loving us, which must seem impossible at times. Thanks for the well wishes and looking forward to hearing of your trip to New Foundland — thought of you as we flew over and wanted to give a shout down to you from the 747. – Bill

      Like

  5. kirizar says:

    …like a dog with a ball addiction. Best description EVER!

    Liked by 1 person

    • pinklightsabre says:

      Thanks kirizar! I love this man, Eberhard – he is a lovely person. Expecting him any moment now, and will expose him to American barbecuing, whilst in Germany. Thank you for reading and sharing your thoughts! – Bill

      Liked by 1 person

  6. Nice travelogue here. It stirs my wanderlust. Was that your intent? How sinister, knowing I’ll be sitting at a desk in about an hour.

    Liked by 1 person

    • pinklightsabre says:

      Stirring the wanderlust, alright. Wouldn’t be surprised if one day the table is turned and I’m back at a desk, and you’re off skipping through some meadow in Ireland and waxing poetic about it too. Thanks Mark for visiting.

      Like

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