When the rain died down, we scamper up into the hills above ‘our’ town.  We meet a 17% grade as we climb out of Oberaudorf.

People with walking sticks frequently lope down our road (Bad Trißl Straße) and up into the steep roads and paths surrounding town.  You press yourself into the foliage or shoulder of the narrow road to let the rare car pass.  A man in a VW bus squeezes by in his Bavarian felt hat.  We climb out of the forest into an expansive view of Bavarian towns crowned with mountains.

Sheep dot the steep grassy slopes.  They get a wild idea we have food for them and the young ones bound toward us. Wildflowers of purplish-rose, white, and light blue welcome us to their altitude.  We crane our necks to see into an old barn as we slow to let our eyes adjust.  A barn cat eyes us with suspicion.

On the rooves, long pipes or wooden beams keep snow and ice from overpowering gutters.  People have obviously lived in this valley in comfort for centuries.
An unseen saw whines in a large metal barn, slicing wood into the ubiquitous 18-inch-long pieces.  Everywhere firewood is precisely cut and meticulously stacked.  The pieces are laid in interlocking columns to bookend the stack then filled in between. A gap is maintained between the stacks and the house to discourage wood-eating insects.  Many wood stacks (‘woodpile’ seems not generous enough) have rooves to keep out the elements.
Cows’ hooves have left deep ‘post holes’ in the soft turf. Electric fences leap across the uneven terrain powered by a ‘car’ battery down the line. The gently sloping fields invite hikers to picnic or just to sit.

People lounge at wooden picnic tables on their back patios and tarry over great glasses of bier.  A couple greets arriving guests and turn their heads toward us as we hike down the road.

You would have everything you need up in these hills.  Cows and sheep provide milk and meat.  Wildflowers and grass are bountiful. The soil is rich and the summer sun life-giving. Culverts and drain pipes dug under roads control the plentiful water.  Bees are kept to provide honey.

Little towns scroll by as little more than names and a few houses.  Zimmerau boasts one sign.  We pause to read a sign just short of Buchau where the map indicates a crossed knife and fork.  This means a Gasthof, Gasthaus or similar sit-down place.

The kids point to the highest peak in front of us, “Can we climb that one?”  We assure them not today but perhaps soon.  Regrettably, it is time to turn around.  We find ‘squished frog’ corner and the kids are thrilled to find something gross.  They are stronger than they realize.  So are we, by the grace of God.

A lady waters her plants by her barn abreast the road.  “Ver gut,” I point out (I think this is German at the time).  Confused, and yet smiling, she corrects me with “Schone”.  It is “beautiful” and she knew what I meant.  The whole family pets her very-pregnant small dog outside her barn.

The kids practice navigating us up into the mountain roads and back again.  They are picking up so much.  One of the main reasons we planned to come to Bavaria was to hike in the Alps in the summer.  The Alps are schone beyond measure, or words.  Is this the slightest shadow of what heaven will look like?  We wonder.  We shall be back up again.

Ahhhh, what a place to wake up after arriving at dusk the night before.  It was Sunday, so the only food we had was what we could scrounge out of our bags.  Thank you to Mrs Witkop for cooking for us before we left!

Our first foray into the little town was on a quiet Sunday afternoon.  A gravel path leads you by the hand into town through a grassy field framed by Bavarian houses.

Everything seemed closed except for a packed ice cream place in the heart of town.  We got in the busy line and tried to figure out the German names for the ice cream flavors before our turn to order arrived too soon.  The kids were very eager to know if I’d be ordering for them at the counter.  We found the Schoko Minze (Chocloate Mint) name flag sticking up out of a familiar flavor behind the glass and all four kids tumbled onto that choice and each other.  The ice cream was delicious.  We couldn’t read any of the signs on the tables in the packed outdoor cafe and seemed to be drawing quite a few stares.  It was hard to tell if it was that no one else looked to have four kids in their family or Luke’s Star Wars shirt or the ice cream already dripping on our hands or our lack of German or that we were obviously not from there…
We found a small pond with picnic benches outside of a closed bistro to enjoy our tasty treat.  The kids described how tough it was to not be able to talk to “anyone”. But there were fish in the pond and horses across the street to distract us all.

The closed stores of a sleepy Sunday afternoon allowed us to get the lay of the land with few people out and about.  We attempted a biergarten for a meal and found the kitchen would not be open for a number of hours.  I s’pose we are not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy.
A coffee shop held our attention with its rolls, croissants and strong coffee and we sunned on the patio.

That night, we found our way to the local Oktoberfest near the Tennisplatz.  You’ve gotta love how German is full of words stacked upon each other in a building block fashion.  Tennisplatz and parkingplatz tell you what you need to know.  A “Handschuh” is a glove.  The expected, white Oktoberfest tent held benches of what looked to be locals in their dirndl dresses and liederhosen.  Families, older people, huddled tables of teens, awkward preteens—they were all there.  The oompah band took frequent breaks for people to talk and played loudly and proudly.  It was a community scene more than a drunk fest.  Our waitress was tolerant of our lack of German and helped us as much as she could in her limited English.  I was happy to get my mitts on a large beer as were the kids with their Fantas.  Wurst and kraut for the parents and roasted chicken for the kids.  All the food was delicious and even better since we were famished by our late arrival and the closed Sunday kitchens.  Once we found a decent English speaker we were able to wrangle some aluminum foil for the kids’ leftovers.

The kids found the playground outside as the alpenglow of a Bavarian Sunday evening descended on the scene.  Note the game booth and the bald eagle adorning the shoot ‘em up game.  A little Americana, Bavarian-style.

The kids spotted a booth selling sweets outside the tent.  There was cotton candy and chocolate-covered berries amongst other delights.  They pulled at our shirt sleeves with their eyes on the prize.  I said whoever was brave enough to go order in German could have a 5 Euro bill.  Their eyes got a little bigger and the pulling stopped for a second.  Then Ana spoke up, “I’ll do it.”  We ran through a quick rehearsal.  Camille went with her for moral support.  Ana recited her rehearsed order and the girl behind the counter reached for the desired Erdbeeren (chocolate-covered “strawberries”) on a stick.  As soon as she got the goodies, Ana turned with a huge smile and raced towards us, forgetting her change, “I did it!”

The next day we made the grocery store expedition.  They have the same grocery cart philosophy I’ve seen in France.  You put a Euro in the cart’s handle to unlock the cart from its stack.  When you return the cart, the slot unlocks and you can retrieve your Euro.  It makes a lot of sense.  The store’s aisles are tight for American standards.  All four wheels on the smaller carts swivel to facilitate shoppers in navigating past each other.

Will had decided I needed some assistance in pushing the cart.  We peeked our cart out into the main aisle and directly into the way of an oncoming shopper.  We pulled the cart back and knocked off a jar of honey from the display case that crowded into the side aisle.  The large jar crashed loudly to the floor and honey began to ooze all over the aisle.  Hello, the Americans are here!  I grabbed an employee and used Google translate to try and explain we needed a ‘cleanup on aisle 4’.  We are living on Google Translate.  They were gracious to assist and cleaned up our mess quickly.

Ordering our deli meat and cheese and getting it sliced was also a great exercise in humility.  Travel truly helps keep you learning as you gesticulate and struggle to get your message across in the few German words you own.  Good fun and wonderful for the kids to see the attempt. I employed the helpless look combined with the cheesy smile while pointing at the desired goody, “‘Dri’ hundred grams, bitte?”   Pathetic I know, but it got the point across for the 300g I was ordering.

We returned to find Lisa on the other side of the store, about 20 feet away, surrounded by two clerks with confused looks on their faces.  Lisa had translated “Half and Half” directly into German and they had no idea what she was talking about.  The clerk had enlisted the help of another in translation and a few onlookers turned to enjoy the show.  When Lisa explained it was cream for the coffee the clerk yelled out something that sounded like, “Ah, milch fur kaffee.  Kaffeemilch!”  She then led us to an end cap with a few “coffeemilks”.  Each one was about 2/3 the size of a Coke can.  Bavarians must not be big fans of coffee cream!

After landing at Ramstein, it felt so good to be off the jet and into the fresh air of Germany.  Walking across the ramp to the awaiting buses, we could see our luggage strapped and netted down to the baggage pallet being unloaded.

We were one of the last families in the immigration line.  A bored German military official in his short-sleeve blue shirt and epaulets sat behind a window and checked our passports.  He had hardly any questions for us and stamped our passports.  We sailed through immigration and went to baggage claim.

We collected our luggage and gave the posted wi-fi a quick try.  I began to notice a US Customs Agent talking to departing travelers as they exited the glass enclosed “chute” out of the baggage claim and Customs facility.  We’d seen this agent briskly walking across the ramp as we’d been bussed from the aircraft.  As one of the last families still in the baggage area it seemed like the time was ripe for moving on.  I wheeled my bag towards this exit as the agent neatly blocked our path.  The breast of his shirt was emblazoned with “US Customs Agent”.  He was not overly tall, but thick and wide.  He appeared to be no stranger to the gym.
“About ready to go?” he pointedly asked.  I answered yes and he seemed pleased to point out that Lisa did not appear ready.  She was finishing zipping up her bag after getting out a device to check for wifi.  He overheard her say she was going to look up the parking location of the car.  Our incredibly generous friends, the Wingfields, are stationed in Germany and are loaning us their car!
“You don’t remember where you parked?” he asked, with a smile on his face.
“We didn’t park it, our friends parked it,” I said.
“Oh, so they were driving your car?” he looked to be either curious or headed towards interrogation.
“No, it’s their car and they parked it here for us.”
“Well, if it’s their car, that’s going to be a big problem for you.  And, do you have an international drivers’ permit?” he still had that big smile on his face.  I assured him I had the permit and tried to explain our friends had been very diligent in researching and tracking down the German rules on loaning out a German-licensed vehicle.  He was quick to clarify that it was not just the German rules but that it was “our” rules also and it was likely we were not in compliance.  I explained that my friends already had the paperwork in the vehicle certifying we were allowed to drive the car.  He was beyond dubious and said that was not possible unless I’d already submitted copies of my international driver’s permit, ID card and passport.  I assured him I had completed those tasks thanks to the Wingfield’s attention to detail.  The agent seemed disappointed.  The Germans really do have a rule (and it may be the US Status of Forces requirement as well) that you can only loan your car out for a maximum of 90 days and the dates must be approved beforehand.
“How long will you be here in Germany and in Europe?” was the next line of questioning.  Lisa and I compared notes later and it was becoming quite clear the less information this agent had, the better.  I told him we thought we’d be in Germany about five weeks total and in Europe for a few months.  I had looked at the State Department website and various country pages for visa requirements before leaving.  Most countries have a 3-month tourist visa entry limitation.  Since we planned to be bouncing around countries, we did not plan to bump up against 90 days in any one country.
“Well, you can only be in Europe for a total of three months,” he seemed to be enjoying this conversation.  I had not heard this one before and was not sure what he was talking about.  I doubted this was true as I know it’s been done before.  But there was a good chance he was trying to help us and about a 100% chance that he know more about this subject matter than we did.  A quick vision of massive itinerary changes flashed through my mind.
“Yeah, they are all ‘Chang-gin’ countries.  You can only be in them for 90 days than you have to go home.  Go over that time and you are likely to be deported.  You flying out of Ramstein?” he eagerly queried.  I said I was not and asked what these ‘Chang-gin’ countries were.  These countries comprise most of Western Europe.  When I told him we’d be visiting the UK soon he got a bit confused as he wasn’t sure if the UK was one of these nations or not.  Evidently, I’d be doing some research right away.
“I’ll get a German immigration official so we can get this sorted out,” and he was gone.
It did occur to me to make a run for it and flee into Germany like a wild refugee hitting the Continent on the lam.  The Von Trapps ran from the Germans, right?  Probably wouldn’t have worked out to well with all the Mesquits, our rolling duffels and our pesky principles.  The kids were certainly getting quite the introduction to Europe!
He returned efficiently with not one, but two, German officials in their uniforms.  They confirmed I could spend only 90 days in ‘Chang-gin’ countries.  When I asked which those were, they produced a list of 26 nations.  I asked how to reset those 90 days and he answered that after the 90 days I should go home for six months.  Once I explained our rough travel itinerary they were extremely helpful.  One of them intimated I should just spend time in France as they don’t really keep track of the time requirement.  He nearly winked at me, smiled and turned on his heel.  The Customs agent suddenly became quite supportive of our cause.  Perhaps we did not fit into the usual ‘box’ he expected to categorize Ramstein travelers into.  I didn’t even want to get into our full background story since he seemed to get very excited about any information he was given.  When he asked where we were going after Europe, I mentioned “Israel, if the situation allows.”  His attitude softened more, and he said there shouldn’t be a problem, especially if we were flying there from Greece.  With that ringing in our ears, we nearly ran out of those sliding doors.  It felt like ‘their’ eyes were watching.
The parking garage and car were exactly as the Wingfields had described.  In the deserted parking garage, I got to find the hidden key on the vehicle and felt a bit like Jason Bourne.  Just without the amnesia or training or the good looks or the death threats.  But I was in Europe with my deadly fists…
We ran through the KMCC (the enormous Kaiserslautern Military Community Center) for a few quick errands.  We bought a European SIM card for Lisa’s iPhone and grabbed a Subway lunch since we were tired and hungry.  Ran through the KMCC mall amazed at the gigantic Base Exchange shopping center and the Outdoor Recreation shop with its cavernous climbing walls.  We grabbed two coffees and hit the road.
We had a 5.5 hour drive ahead of us south to Bavaria.  Our reservations started that night in the town of Oberaudorf so the timing was great.  We were just tired from the poor sleep in the aircraft seats.  Thank God for those fast German roads, especially the Autobahn.  The speed limit is often 120 km/hr or 130 km/hr.  That’s about 75 to 82 mph.  I did that speed or better but cars still came flying by us.  If you aren’t speeding you feel like you’re letting down the drivers around you.  It is certainly true that if you are in the left lane of the Autobahn you’d better be watching your rear-view mirror.  They came up fast and furious behind you.  It wasn’t just the Mercedes, Audis and BMWs.  A few VWs, Hondas and even the rare Hyundai sped by.  German drivers apparently will not or are not allowed to pass on the right so they will stay on the tail of whoever is parked in the left lane.  I would estimate some of the drivers passed us at upwards of 120-130 mph.  In the frequent construction zones, all clearly marked, the three lanes in your direction of travel were taken down to two.  The lanes were incredibly tight and it was hard to imagine such close quarters being tolerated on US roads.  Or for many of our large vehicles to fit in such tight lanes.
The gas station sold fuel for approximately 9 dollars a gallon.  Ouch.  The bathrooms were not free but had a turnstile that blocked you from entering.  You put in 0.70 Euro for entry and received a 0.50 Euro voucher for use in the restaurant/coffee shop.
At our next rest stop/petrol station we took in a meal.  Well-maintained picnic tables near the parking lot helped out families like ours traveling on a budget.  Nearby were large compost bins for your food scraps.  Dogs enjoyed complimentary food and water.  Two people behind the buffet line served spaetzle noodles with sauces of your choice, salads, wurst, brats and plenty of coffee.  It was a far cry from the greasy Roy Rogers or such that one would expect along the Jersey Turnpike.
We followed the GPS, were awestruck at the approaching Alps, and arrived about eight o’clock.  The lodge proprietors are a family we’d emailed to set up the reservation.  They checked us in, gave us our keys and thoroughly showed us the place.  An underground parking garage keeps your car snow-free similar to a Colorado ski place.  We walked through the ping-pong table area and kiddy play room, the small swimming pool room, the grilling room, the laundry room and she explained the various doors and requisite keys.  Bread from the local bakery would be available each morning near the little office after eight in the morning.  All the books on the loaner shelf were in German.
We only unpacked a few things and hit the sack.  I did have a second to try out a few electrical adapters and tripped the circuit breaker a couple of times.  We slept hard after a good travel day.  Not deported yet!