Coca-Cola, Sound of Music and Digestion

Past the makeshift camp of hippies and into the station, we catch the last train to Germany. The tulip fields of Holland are breathtaking. They look like someone has spread blankets of bright colors across the land.

As we enter Germany, Chris is mesmerized with the scenery. We are rolling along the Rhine River and he is watching as the little towns pass below us, each with its own castle atop a hill. The country is amazingly lush and he says he only wants to be in a sports car right now, riding through the Rhine Valley, stopping to have lunch at a three-hundred-year-old inn and sampling the local wines. He is also thumbing through a comic book that he bought in Amsterdam. It is the Dutch version of X-Men, called De Xmannen.

I, on the other hand, am having a lousy train ride. The train is a little crowded and the only seat left in our compartment is facing backwards. I have tried to ride this way before and it always leads to my eventual bout with nausea. The conductor comes by, checks our tickets and then continues on. I get up, move into the next car, and find a forward facing seat. It is the smoking car, which also makes me ill, but in a much more tolerable way.

The conductor comes back through and starts checking tickets in the smoking car. When he asks for mine, I tell him that he already looked at it.

In a loud voice, he says "Zeigen Sie mir ihre Fahrkarten!"

I hand it to him. He notices he has already checked it and grunts in a way I can only assume is his way of admitting he is an idiot.

Half and hour later I am sitting with one of my feet up on the seat in front of me. I know this is not the way to treat other people's things, but I am tired and feel the need to elevate my leg for a while. The conductor comes by and yells at me for having my foot up. I make a show of wiping off the spot that I have apparently screwed up for future generations of train goers, but he still manages to glare at me on his way out of the car.

Chris says part of the problem is that German is such a harsh language. He says they can say things like, isn't that cute or what a sweet puppy and it sounds like a death warrant. I am thinking it has to do with the fact that the conductor is an ass.

Not ten minutes later a woman asks me to please close my window. Okay, first, it's hot in here, and two, it is my damn window! I slam it upward hoping she will feel the vibrations of my anger through the walls. Chris is amused at the fact that I am the one complaining right now.

Our train stops in Cologne for a second and we run out to look at the cathedral. It is very oddly built next to the train station, but impressive nonetheless. I am sure the church was here before the station was, but you would think those enjoying masses would rather not have the clanking of trains in the background. For some reason, I get excited to see a Burger King across the street and then a rude man bumps into me without saying excuse me. I have decided I may not like Germany after all.

I make an effort to ignore the rest of Germany and borrow the Clive James book Chris bought earlier. I read the entire thing in less than three hours and this pisses him off to no end. He has had the book for over a week and he is barely on page eighty-five. He claims that I have inspired him to read and he finishes it before we reach our destination. His review of the book is that it was good, but he is not sure why it had to be told. My conclusion is much the same.

We arrive in Kempten late in the day and our host, Bart, is there to pick us up. Chris and Bart hit it off immediately. I can see the similarity in their personalities as we drive away from the train station. They both have that quiet, reserved thing going for them, but with a nice splattering of goofiness to boot. Bart and his family have been friends with Chris's family since the beginning of time. The kids spent summers together and each has pictures of the other decorating the walls of their houses.

Field of flowers, Waltenhofen

They live in the cutest little town called Waltenhofen. It is inbetween two larger cities, but its isolation makes us feel like we are alone in the Bavarian countryside. As we turn off the main highway, I see a small village church and a field with cows. Could this be the Europe I have been searching for? Bart says that on a clear day, from their backyard, you can see the Alps.

We arrive at the house and his wife and daughter are here to greet us. I immediately take to his wife, Christa. Five minutes talking with her and I can tell she and I will have some great conversations in the coming days. She talks with a passion that intrigues me, though I think some of it is due to the fact that I have been conversing with Chris for the past half month. Not that he does not have passion, it is just, well, a little more subdued.

Tanja and Brian are their kids. They are twins, though the only way I can tell this is that Chris told me so. Brian is opinionated, funny and seems a lot like his mom. Tanja is more reserved and stubborn with a little bit of goofiness thrown in, like her dad. They are both athletic and attractive and would ensure the family did well should they enter a perfect-family contest.

We talk to the family for a bit, then Bart and Christa head off to bed. We stay up with Tanja, watch Beavis and Butthead on MTV Europe and eat white chocolate and Gummy Bears. Bob Vila and the Clapper haven't crossed the Atlantic, but Beavis and Butthead have? I think it all has to do with a good marketing team. Chris eventually drags himself to bed.

Tanja and I talk about MTV, movies and living in Bavaria. She knows a lot about America because they have visited there so often. I have no news to report to her since the last time she has visited. Life in Bavaria seems to be much like life anywhere else. They go to work, spend time with the family, watch television and try to figure out what to do with their free time. Eventually we are yawning more than talking, so we say goodnight.

Our room is on the second floor and has one of those slanted roofs with a skylight built into it. The bed is actually two little beds pushed together to make one. We each have our own blanket and it seems enough like two beds to make Chris not bitch. I decide to lay down in my snoring position and apologize to Chris ahead of time, but he has already drifted off into a dream of Bavarian sheep, clean sheets and De Xmannen.

The next morning I wake up close to the crack of ten. Of course, Chris has already been up for hours and makes me look like a lazy bum. I find him downstairs and tell him I am hungry. He says he has left some bread and cheese for me on the kitchen counter.

Earlier that morning he had arrived in the kitchen to find Christa already up. He says that she asked him if he wanted her to get his breakfast or if he wanted to. He told her he would get it and then proceeded to wander around the kitchen, bumping into things. She made him sit down and she took care of it. He said he had a nice talk with her and he can see not only that her and Bart are complete opposites, but also, exactly what it is that attracts them to each other.

Christa comes in and asks what it is we like to eat. I start to name all the crap that composes my diet: Coke, pizza, Taco Bell, cheese, the list goes on and on. Chris gives the more mundane answers that would make his mother proud to hear. Porridge, cereal, oat bran, vegetables - this coming from the guy that can put away Gummy Bears a pound at a time.

Then he makes the mistake of telling her that he really does not care what he eats. He says this is because the only reason he eats is for survival. The chewing and swallowing and waiting and digesting, he sees this all as a waste of time. Later he wonders if this was such a good thing to tell the person who will be cooking his future meals. I think my enthusiasm for food has more than made up for his indifference.

She heads off to the store and we decide to explore our Bavarian surroundings. The house is built next to a river, not near a river, next to a river. I could literally take a running jump off the porch and hit water. We decide to follow the river to see if we can get into trouble.

We find a small waterfall. It is small in the "not really big" sort of way. However, if you were to try and boat off of it, I could guarantee that you would die or at least be hurt in a very bad way. We walk further and see a sign written in German that looks very menacing. I assume it is an early warning for the killer waterfall up ahead, but for all I know, it could be yelling at me to get my feet off the seat in front of me.

Chris in The Sound of Music

To our right is a field of yellow flowers. Chris decides that he wants to play Sound of Music. After making sure that I have camera at the ready, he runs into the field, arms out, spinning and hopping and twirling like an idiot. After this special moment has passed, we walk along the shore and I become excited when I find a big log. I heave it into the river with a strength that would make a Scotsman proud and then we proceed to bombard it with rocks. Chris says unless you are male, you probably would not understand the fun in this. Most likely, it just looks like we have a certain need to destroy things. I feel like I did when I was growing up in my small town. After a while, you learn to make your own entertainment, right Opey?

During dinner, I finally get to talk to Christa. She is magnificent. She reminds me of a quote by Charles Grodin, "I am not much into small talk." She just gets down to it. We discuss religion in the family. I can see Chris is not really up to a deep theological discussion, but she gets me on a roll. She is saying that the parents should be in charge of religion until the kids are old enough to decide for themselves. This sounds logical to me, but of course, Bart, Chris and Tanja start to wail on about freedom to choose and cluttering the minds, etc. Brian jumps in and says that he agrees with us, and pretty soon, we have a very nice debate in the works. Oh, how I love a good debate.

After dinner, Bart retreats to the entranceway closet and returns bearing bottles of spirits. We each have a beer and it takes me a bit to get used to drinking it at room temperature. After we discuss more of life and its complexities, he opens a bottle of something blue that has a nice bit of crystallization happening on the inside. Christa jumps up to retrieve some small, silver glasses and Bart pours us each a shot. Chris says no thank you, but Christa insists this is the best thing to help with the process of digestion.

I have never had a problem with the process of digestion, but anything to assist my body in any of its functions I do with glee. I down this concoction in one swift movement and sit still as warmth in my belly slowly spreads throughout my body. Chris sees me drink and I know he feels the pressure of his peers. Christa tells him to go ahead and Bart tells her that if he does not want to he does not have to. I can tell this makes Chris feel like a wimp and he slams home the blue juice. If I was not already experiencing inner warmth, I know I would be at this moment, seeing Chris make a conscious effort to help with the process of his digestion.