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.
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. “
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