Lisboa for a few days

 Our first hotel in Lisbon is very comfortable. 

The room is quite small, so even Sarah's Lojel addiction is struggling, but any normal clamshell suitcase would have no chance here.

Not important, because everything else about the hotel is great, if a little quirky.

It has either been added to, or absorbed previously surrounding buildings. The block with our room is not accessible directly from the foyer. Up the lift one floor to a lounge area with a bar, an outdoor (smoking) lounge and an indoor lounge. Some of the rooms are in this main tower, so those guests can keep going up. We need to walk past the lounges to the restaurant and the lifts to the rest of the rooms. 

Last night I walked through the first floor route, and a DJ was setting up in the outdoor area.

We went for a wander around the local area last night. Our hotel is just off what they call the Marquis of Pombal Square. A very busy roundabout surrounds the monument.

Within a few hundred metres we discovered a restaurant chain called Honest Greens. This must be a mecca for the vege set.

Time for some Asian Prayers

Here's the menu for anybody passing through. You can find them in Portugal and Spain, so far.

We'll be back. Hoping there will be one near our hotels as we continue.

I seen to have found a liking for these superfood bowls. I found one at the Novotel restaurant at AKLI.

Delishimo!

Healthy. I know, right? Go figure.

Laundry

 Laundry is such a pedestrian topic. When you travel for up to 2-3 weeks, you could get away with carrying enough clothes for the whole trip. 

If the trip gets longer, you need to think about laundry, even if it’s just t-shirts and underwear. 

It has been known for people to stock up on disposable underwear, to avoid this drudgery. They can be purchased from the online Chinese behemoths in packs of 50 or more. They could be paper-adjacent, like hospital use. They could just be super cheap cotton, perhaps 2nds or 3rds from a factory making better ones. 

For the rest of us, some version of washing will be the order of the day. Most hotels we have stayed at around the world offer this as a paid service. 

For example, where we are now, a shirt will cost 9 euros, a pair of trousers would be 12 euros, and an underwear item would come in at 6 euros. 

So 6 euros a day just for your undies. I don’t even think mine cost that much to buy, particularly a 5-pack in the K-mart aisle of value. 

So the final option is to wash them in the bathroom sink, with frequency based on available drying room. 

I can do that. I haven’t yet reached the age where, to quote Jack Nicholson, you learn to not trust a fart. So no hazmat suits required yet. 

By the way, Sarah has already warned that, the day that this inevitable event occurs, she will start checking out the yellow pages for a retirement home. 

I have been warned. To be fair, she may not choose one as nice as what my daughter would choose for me. 

Just sayin’

Auf Wiedersehen, Pet

So, that's the end of our Germany trip.

For those who are interested, this was our tour itinerary:

 

When I get asked if I learned any German while I was here, the answer is nein  not nine words  nothing nada, zilch.

Wait, I did learn one. "Backpfeifengesicht". it means a face that is begging to be slapped.  I can see a use for that at work.

And then there’s the obvious ’gabelstapler’ which we all know means forklift, right? Sure.

Frankfurt Airport certainly is busy.

Nothing like the little backwater basement we arrived into from Dubai.

We were leaving from Terminal 1. The Terminal 2 pax got dropped at the front of the building, like any civilised airport. For Terminal 1, not so much.

We were dropped about 200m from the terminal. No big deal because it's not raining.

Once we get inside, we are obviously at one end of the terminal. 

There are daleks scattered around, that can apparently check us in and print ragtags. What could go wrong?

I had already checked us in online, so we only needed bagtags. Scan the boarding pass QR code, and the transaction begins. Tick a few boxes, and it prints my 2 tags. I has bought a second bag before I checked in, because we have three.

Rinse and repeat for Sarah. One tag.

Now this is where things go off the rails a little.

Back home, the Air New Zealand tag makes sense to us. It tells you where to peel (for Australians to understand), and the backing paper is just thin paper that can be torn easily to remove only part of it, if you choose not to peel only the precut end. In contrast, the tag itself is super strong. Some kind of plastic with a half-life measured in generations.

And then there are the german tags.

There is no obvious short piece of backing paper to peel. It is also too strong to tear a piece off where you want, to expose a short piece of sticky tag.

Sarah's choice was to peel the whole tag off the backing. I had recommended against this practice. We all know that the glue will stay on the handle for 2/3 the life of the suitcase.

She realised her error when the tag tore in half, simply by handling it. Who knew that here, the backing paper has all the strength, and the tag itself about as strong as toilet paper when removed from the backing?

Don't worry, dear readers, I did not escape an honourable mention in the moron awards. Read on.

Our bags were lying on the trolley, with the third and other pieces on top. This means that on the two main bags, the only accessible handles are on the end of the bags. So that's where I put mine, with the peeled part of the backing hanging off the side, like a stream of toilet paper appearing like a tail from below a young lady's skirt. I really don't know why there's a toilet paper theme here. Hopefully you won't notice.

We now need to find Lufthansa bag drop. After getting no satisfaction from the signage, I ask somebody wearing a hi-viz telling us he is a Floor Walker. Her says that Lufthansa is at zone A, the opposite end of the terminal. Thanks, Captain Peacock.

So we drag our belongings along till we see some Lufthansa signage. 

Sarah is determined to have her 2-piece tag reprinted, so she makes a beeline for a staff member in the bag drop area. He either doesn't understand English, or he has no intention of going through that process. He simply takes her 2 sticky pieces, flattens them out, and then carefully sticks a short overlap of the short piece onto the longer piece to form a single tag again. Tadaa! Dynamo would be impressed. Too bad that the letters LIS on one end are mostly obliterated by the other part of the tag. 

So here's my moron moment. These bag drops are fully automated. No attendants to do the thinking for you, like at Sydney airport.

First, you must choose your preferred language. I tap the little British flag and the perspex doo opens. The cavity to put your bag is now ready. It says put your bag in with the tag facing up, so that it can be scanned. 

I dutifully put in my bag, wheels down, tag up. It's too tall for the readers. Fucking Moron!! The tag should have been on the side handle, not the top one. I very carefully peel the tag off the wrong handle and feed it through the right handle. The sticky faces are still working. Crisis averted. I'm sure I didn't see anything on the tag-printing dalek that told us this handy little piece of information. At least not in English, anyway.

I wonder if the cameras that will be everywhere, provide fodder for a "Moron Tourist Award" tv show. Now THAT would be a reality show I would watch. The only one.

So we got Sarah's rebuilt tag onto the correct handle of her bag, and it goes it's merry way.

I think it was through the Lufthansa app that I had booked ourselves a time to go through Avsec. Is this some sort of elitist shortcut? Probably not. As it is so readily available, I would expect that many travellers would do this, and the only benefit is that Avsec can gather data about how busy they are likely to get. Probably helpful with staff deployment. And of course the pretentious twats think that they are getting VIP treatment. 

That's right, people like us.

The flight was uneventful. We knew that there was no food on board except if purchased, so we bought something to take onboard. I got what is effectively a ham roll, and Sarah bought a pretzel.

Actually, the onboard food was more appetising that expected, Sarah bought a cinnamon bun, and I bought a pretzel.

Is it just me or does this thing look like it's got botox lips?

When we landed, we made our way to the baggage belt. We needn't have hurried.

Afer a few minutes, a stream of bags appeared. Probably one can. 

A few minutes later, a second can was unloaded. Did they go on a break between cans?

A much longer break this time, and another can is unloaded. Lunch? Our bags are in this group, so we leave, maybe 45 minutes after we get off. There were maybe 50% of the flight still waiting when we left.

Sarahs tag is still on, but unsurprisingly it's torn a couple of times. At least it got here before it fell off.

We eventually found our driver, and we headed to the hotel.

Welcome to Portugal.

Black Forest shop

 In the morning we congregate just before 0830 to watch the giant cuckoo clock do its thing.

Mum of teens is now referring to it as a castrated cuckoo clock. 

We were shown a quick demonstration of cuckoo clock history and manufacture, and then had a look around the obligatory gift shop. They freight anywhere if you're tempted. Clocks and timber souvenirs in one, and glass-blown ornaments in the next building.

Our guide gets all slippery over this hand-made wooden bike, but he can't afford it.

On the road back to Frankfurt, we stop for lunch at Heidelberg. The old part of town is very picturesque. It would be easy to fill an afternoon or two wandering the streets and alleys. 

Interesting that this church encourages stalls wrapped around it like this. I haven't seen that before.

Clearly the goal in this country is to put all citizens into a diabetic coma.

I just noticed how crap i am at holding the phone for photos.

Sarah popped into a church to light a couple of candles. That’s a thing, and I probably mentioned it before. Votive by stealth. 

Then a short ride back to Frankfurt. One final dinner before heading to the airport tomorrow. 

Disney Castle and beyond

 A new, grey Monday morning in Munich, and we’re off again. 

Munich was, quite literally, a washout. It happens. But we got to see Dachau, and those crazy-arsed surfers.

We’re heading to munchkins castle in the mountains. Sorry that’s Munchousen castle. 

No wait, not even by proxy. It’s Neuschwanstein castle. 

Did I mention there were rain showers or better off and on for most of the day. 

The plan is to park in the village, catch a bus up to almost the castle, walk the last 20 minutes up to the castle, and then take the more than 300 steps inside the castle. 

WOW. I just used the word castle 3 times in one sentence. Without even trying. Impressed? No?

Tough audience. 

After all of that climbing, the expectation is to walk down from the castle to the village. All the while prepared to dodge large or small outbursts from above. And you can’t take photos inside, even if you could get your breath back long enough to lift your camera before you are bustled into the next room or up the next staircase by the matronly wardens.

Because I’m still waiting for my other pair of shoes to dry, and did I mention the over 300 steps inside the castle, that was a yeah nah from Sarah and I. 

When the clouds pulled back the veil, you get a great view of the castle from anywhere in the village. 

Which had the obligatory souvenir shops. And food outlets. And souvenir shops that sell food. And food outlets that sell souvenirs. 

So we did that. A leisurely stroll around the village comparing trinkets and prices. Because we’re close to where they make Coolio clocks, we’re bombarded with every version imaginable. There’s even some fridge magnet ones that have a tiny battery clock inside it. Clock face about the size of a wristwatch. Cute. 

We stopped in a cafe for a coffee, and then later a bistro for lunch. We both went for the hotdog. 

No, really. 

You get the frankfurter in a bun, and all of the dressings are in pump or spooned receptacles on the counter front. Self Service.

Ketchup, mustard, mayo ( I know, right?), crispy onion, sauerkraut and relish. 

But wait, the best is yet to come. The bun comes out of a warming or steaming drawer. This is the one thing I’ve never seen in New Zealand since the Doghouse in Cathedral Square did it during my misspelt youth. You won’t believe the difference it makes till you try it. A cold, borderline-stale bun just doesn’t cut it. It spoils the whole experience. 

But I digress. 

For desert, I chose the traditional German offering, a donut. Sarah found a wedge of chocolate cake. 

The bistro is part of a hotel, and is surrounded by a souvenir shop (I told you), hotel reception and a restaurant. There was a lot of foot traffic and about 5 tables. We nabbed the one in the corner. Some customers came and went, some didn’t. 

One Asian party of 4 were at the biggest table, had finished their food, but were deep in conversation planning their next invasion. No sign of moving. 

Another group sat down with naked hotdogs and ate them. I think they later discovered the complementary condiments. But hey.  They then took out flasks and boiled eggs and started lunch. Yes they were Asian too, but it’s not about that. It’s about table etiquette. 

While all of this was going on, Sarah decided to saaavoouuurrr her chocolate cake. If you can’t beat ‘em…

The cake came on a paper plate with a flat fork. To Sarah this was now a scalpel. She ate her piece of cake, wafer-thin sliver by wafer-thin sliver. Enjoying every crumb. For more than 20 minutes. She may be taking up a table that people were queuing out into the rain for, but she was eating what she bought here. Conscience clear. 

On our way back to our meeting point, we bought a few knicks and knacks. I bought one of those daggers (I mean letter openers) that the family of 8 had bought from that medieval store where I almost bought the chess set. I had um’d and ar’d about it then, and missed the chance. I wasn’t going to miss it again. 

Next to the bus was lake Alpsee. 

Off again. 

We stop at a break stop next to Lake Constance at a town called Birnau. 

There is a catholic basilica there which is literally awe inspiring when you step inside. 

I’m not asking you to marvel at the deity that inspired these skilled artisans. But you must marvel at the skills they display here. 

And Sarah lit some candles.

Then onto the Black Forest. We stay at an eco friendly, self sufficient hotel which has a cuckoo clock factory/shop and a glass blowing clock onsite. 

 

Had the obligatory Black Forest cake for desert.

After dinner we stand around outside near the giant clock that takes up the end of one building. Mum of teens can’t see that it’s a cuckoo clock because we all know that cuckoo clocks have weights or pendulums hanging below. 

So obviously, I said to her “so it’s not a cuckoo clock without dangly bits?”

“Yes” she answers, “ if it doesn’t have dangly bits it’s not a cuckoo clock. “

München on a wet weekend

 We arrived into Munich on a wet Saturday afternoon, so didn't venture far.

The sun was out in the morning, and we piled into the bus and travelled just outside of Munich to visit the memorial at the site of the Dachau Concentration Camp .

I won’t go into detail here, other than to caption some of the photographs. 

Better writers than I can better articulate the guttural reaction to being here. 

The Visitor Centre is on the site of the original camp. Camp 1. It was designed to hold political prisoners, anybody who chose not to take a knee to the Nazi Party.

I found it interesting that the architect had chosen to make it look a little rickety and irregular, a not to the old building conscripted into service as camp 1.

I will only add that these original prisoners were given reasonable food and care. This did not last.

This is the main gate. It may be hard to make out, but it has written across the top "Arbeit Macht Frei" which translates to "Work sets you free". It is displayed on many Concentration camps.

This was intended to give the impression that these camps were places of work and rehabilitation.

What it really meant was that the only freedom was for the spirit, leaving the mortal remains forever in the camp. 

The statue in the yard depicts people dying on the electric fence. To many this became a preferred death, an instant escape from the daily horror that had become their life here.

Opposite the crematorium block is a statue to an unknown prisoner. The inscription translates to

“To honor the dead and to serve as a warning to the living”

On a lighter note, this charaecter is wearing what I first thought was a lab coat, and he reminded me of Richard O’Brien. Not a mad scientist. Not a cult musical icon (from New Zealand, by the way). An unknown prisoner. 

The weather at Dachau had been fine, so we proceeded back to Munich for a walking tour. They had done a short one yesterday, but we opted out because of the weather. This was a better day. 

As we drove through town to the drop off, I noticed something that would only interest me. 

Maybe Steve. But that’s it. 

There were road works (where isn’t there?) and they needed to reroute a heavy cable across an intersection. I’m guessing a power cable, rather than a hose, because it’s big. Maybe 45mm thick. So there is scaffolding, like lighting scaffold trusses, up, across the road and down the other side. To drag such an obviously heavy cable up, along and down again would not only be very difficult, but would probably damage the cable. 

The solution is genius simplicity, at least to me. There are pulley rollers on every corner and at regular intervals. Obviously the rollers are the right size for this heavy cable. So somebody climbs to the top of the scaffolding on the first side, and the end of the cable is passed up to them. The cable is then fed across the rollers, and just walked across the truss. And then down that side. The alternative is dragging a dead weight which catches on every truss or angle change. Anyway, interesting to me. Back to the topic. 

No sooner had we set foot off the bus, however, than the drizzle started. Coats on, brollies up. Head off up the street, this won’t last. 

Cross one intersection and it was now torrential. Completely out of the blue, or in this case, the grey. 

We took shelter of sorts under trees near a bridge. Didn’t help. Not in the slightest. Under this bridge were the only people in Munich who couldn’t give a rodent’s rectals if it was raining or not. 

As you may be aware, the etymology of this is the Latin “Rodentum Rectalus”.

We were wearing raincoats which kept us pretty well protected from the nether regions up, but trouser legs certainly got a drenching. And as for my shoes… let’s remember that we packed for the (hopefully) back end of an arse-puckeringly hot Europe, so comfortable walking shoes would be the order of the day. 

Many may scoff, touting their Birken-whatsits or Nordic mountaineering boots, lined with the milk-fed softened scrotums of hand-reared reindeer, but my Sketchers are comfortable and light weight. Are they waterproof? Noooo they certainly are not. They never pretended to be. 

Within 5 minutes under this ‘shelter’, it felt like we were 2 inches deep in the river that now ran down the pavement. My shoes, socks and feet were submerged. Yum. Squelchy. 

In about 15 minutes the bus had managed to navigate himself back to where he dropped us, and we scrambled back on. As is always the case, the cloud seemed to have wrung itself dry, so the rain stopped almost as quickly as it had started. 

This weather change encouraged 2/3 of the group to have another crack at a walking tour, while the rest of us retreated to the hotel to get out of these wet clothes and find a way to dry them. 

That evening we went to a Bavarian restaurant together. Great decor. 

There was a lady playing the piano accordion, and she insisted on being interactive. We were too slow to find an inaccessible corner, so ended up uncomfortably close to her. Rumour has it that I got roped into the percussion backing band for a few minutes, much to Sarah’s delight. 

But as we all know, if there is no photographic evidence, then it didn’t happen. To quote Guru Simpson, “I didn’t do it. Nobody saw me do it. You can’t prove a thing”

But some people got into it...