After a couple of days off, it’s time to hit the road again. Today’s destination is Romont, Switzerland and the home of Charly Page, long time friend and one time friendly competitor. Alex Rudolph had done us the favor of entering all destinations into the Garmin so Schatzie would have no problems.

 

It was a beautiful day in Bavaria when we headed out of Schliersee. Schatzie was busily calculating route when an advisory popped up in the Garmin. “Too much information needed,” it read. “Will fill in later.” It must be the distance I thought, so stopped to enter Zurich as our new destination. Once there, we’d enter the original program. All worked fine. We zipped through Munich and headed for the Swiss/German border. Once again we enjoyed the experience of cruising at 110 MPH for miles on end.

Let me clear up a point here. Some readers have suggested that 110 kilometers per hour is only 66 miles per hour. What’s the big deal? Well, read again. That’s 110 MILES PER HOUR and is legal when allowed and fun to do. Sure keeps you focused.

 

 Schatzie was happy as a clam until we approached Lindau on Lake Bodensee near the Swiss border.  Then she suddenly said, “Take next exit and drive 35 kilometers on surface roads.”  Seemed suspicious but after the ferry incident, we felt we could trust her…even when the compass showed North and we should have been heading South.  Suspicion increased when the water of Lake Bodensee appeared on our left instead of right.  Then came a highway detour and we found ourselves on one-lane country roads, dodging cows and tractors, until the road ended in a farmer’s barnyard. Because he didn’t speak English, I used a map to explain our plight. “Wo ist hier?” I asked in my best Coffee-Break German. He pointed to a spot on the map clearly well north of where we wanted to be. “Wo ist Zurich?” I asked. He pointed to a spot well south of where we were. He then pointed to a spot halfway and said, “Ferry,” and made a motion like swimming. It was probably the only English word he knew but we connected. There was a ferry at Konstanz that crossed to Switzerland, so Schatzie did have something up her sleeve after all. Somehow we’d missed it.

Funny thing followed. With the ferry in sight, Schatzie suddenly called for a left turn that led us away from the water. By now I had no time to humor her. The ferry was about to leave so we made a mad dash and were the last car on. During the short trip we called our host, Charly Page, to explain. He said, “Oh, you’re only two hours away. We’ll have dinner waiting.” By now the five-hour trip had become six and we still weren’t near our goal.

On landing I asked a deckhand, “Wo ist der Zoll?” (border) and he pointed left down the street. Schatzie, instead, called for a right turn and off we went through the countryside again. An hour later we were still in Germany, not Switzerland and I was concerned. Then I spotted a border crossing and made a break for it. Finally we were in Switzerland. Two deft left turn instructions from Schatzie and we were back in Germany. By now I was raising my voice to not only the GPS but to Louise who was freely dispensing advice. In desperation I did something no man likes to do.  I stopped at a Shell station and asked for directions…from a woman no less.  She confirmed my greatest fears when she said, “You’re headed north, and you should be going south toward Baden and the autobahn.”

 

From that point on I ignored all Schatzie’s pleadings.  If she said, “turn left,” I turned right, desperately trying to reach the autobahn.  During the time I had two women screaming at me.  Louise trying to defend Schatzie and Schatzie demanding that I follow orders.  Finally, after some choice (and some crude) words, I succeeded in silencing Louise.  Schatzie was another thing.  After disobeying her every command, she became slower and slower in recalculating, finally slipping into lengthy pouts.

Here was the situation. It was growing dark; I was barreling through a foreign country and arguing with a machine that I could not let win. In the end I was victorious but it was a pyrrhic victory. My eyes were bleary, my voice hoarse and my temper extremely short and we were still lost.  On reaching the autobahn, I entered Alex’s original calculations for Romont and we were on our way in a silence you could almost feel.

 Our poor host, Charly Page, had long ago turned down the temperature in the oven and literally put our dinner on the back burner.  What started out to be a five-hour jaunt turned into a nine-hour forced march.  As we pulled into the driveway, his was the lonely figure in the window, wondering if his guests would ever show. Charly’s girlfriend, Huguette, had given up the ghost hours ago but he was ready with a glass of wine when we came through the door.

On recounting the GPS struggle with Charly, he offered condolences but little else.  He claims to be “technically challenged” and still considers editing videotape with a razor blade as a tremendous advance in technology.  To justify my own actions and explain our own lateness, I recreated the process of re-programming the GPS as I had done in Schliersee. Charly nodded sympathetically and then mentioned, casually, that it might have been helpful if I had changed the destination to Switzerland instead of Germany. Long silence.

In reprogramming, I’d made one little mistake and poor Schatzie tried valiantly to do as I had directed…stay in Germany at all costs. Tomorrow we’ll be on our way to France. I hope she still will be speaking to me.

Resting in Romont.

Louise and Ray

Not far from Schliersee is a little chapel that is the result of a princely dream. It was commissioned centuries ago by a royal prince who had a dream of a miraculous cure. Once the Birkenstein Chapel was built the prince invited a religious order of monks to maintain the site and help those seeking a cure.

That order still says Mass in this ornate and exquisite chapel with barely enough room for the priest and a few worshipers. It’s dedicated to Mary because, in the prince’s dream, the mother of God said, “Here is where I want to be worshiped.”  (Excuse the poor focus.  Had to grab the shot on the sly.)

In good weather, the priests use a pulpit geared more to an outdoor crowd seated in an amphitheater arrangement. Couldn’t help thinking, “They were doing this long before Reverend Schuler started at a drive-in theater in Orange County.”

People now come to light candles in a grotto that requires stooping to enter…perhaps a way of humbling oneself.

Once inside, the faithful light candles and pray for a miraculous cure of whatever their aliment or personal problem. This display appears to represent those that were helped by visiting this grotto.  Have no idea of the cure rate but apparently it is enough to keep them in candles.

Can’t help but wonder what brought this young mother and daughter to their knees.

 Like all similar sites, this one has a gift and curio shop but we chose not to capture the commercialism. Let’s just hope that Mother Mary looks the other way too .

On our return, I followed through on my offer to cook old fashioned, California-style spare ribs on their brand new, never been used, Weber kettle cooker.

It’s not as easy as it sounds. The German ribs are slightly smaller than those at home…smaller bones, less meat, higher altitude, different cooking time, etc.  All the excuses I could find if it didn’t work out.

Also, could not find anything that approximates Pappy’s rub or Harris Ranch seasoning and settled for the marinade from the butcher shop. Gave up on finding dried wood chips that give ribs that smoky flavor, so would try to describe the taste during the meal.

Was tempted to call fellow barbecuer Terry Crofoot, but felt he wouldn‘t appreciate being awakened for advice on ribs. A tri-tip or prime rib maybe, but not just ribs. Forged ahead and after three hours on the grill, they were tender, moist, tasty…

and a success! No one noticed the lack of smoky flavor or even understood what I was talking about. At the end, all plates were clean.

Tomorrow we start Stage Two of our European tour. Switzerland, France and Italy are our targets and the Audi is rarin’ to go.

Louise and Ray

 

 

After a brief but wonderful stay with Christa Rudolph, we depended on Schatzie to guide us back to the home of Astrid and Alexander. She did so, but not in what I thought was the shortest route. Made a mental note to check the settings on the Garmin.

 

After 15 days on the road, it was such a good feeling to return to Schliersee. It’s true: there’s no place like home, even if it isn’t yours. We returned to an empty house. Astrid and Alex were off to a medical conference. Daughter Johanna was with her dad. Son Ludwig was scouting yet another Oktoberfest.

It was just us and Goran, the electrically actuated and laser guided machine that continually stalked the back yard looking for grass that dared to poke a blade up. It is so named for the handyman who sold it to them, thereby cutting himself out of a recurrent summer job.

 

We needed some R&R and the timing was just right. We spent the day lounging around our apartment, catching up on e-mail and trying to update the Blog. Also, we’d run out of clean clothes and the washer/dryer was ready for action.

 

Everything was back to normal the next day and Astrid, once again, threw together one of those fabulous meals that seem to come out of nowhere. Daughter Johanna joined us for this one. We have changed their daily routine in that we now offer a prayer of thanks while holding hands before eating. We hope they continue that tradition after we’re gone.

 

While there was a chance, Astrid and Alex wanted us to see some local points of interest. This one got my attention immediately. It’s the only distillery in Bavaria that produces single malt whiskey.  It was established in 1999 by a native of Schliersee who was visiting Scotland and noticed a similarity in weather, soil conditions and clear water lakes with his homeland.

 

In addition, the Scottish population has a similar stubbornness and a tendency to wear rustic clothing.  They wear kilts, Bavarians wear lederhosen. We visited on a weekend when the distillation room was quiet and we were allowed to roam through the distillery.

 

Then we adjourned to a warehouse full of casks of single malt whiskey aging in barrels originally acquired in Missouri.  “Nothing ages better than charcoal charred Missouri wood,” quoted the guide.

 

The proof is in the pudding and it is served in a tasting room in a loft above the cask room.  We tasted a 3-year old single-malt whiskey at 43% alcohol, (Not to be confused with Scotch whiskey cautioned Alex.)  “It is Single-Malt Bavarian whiskey,” he said so all could hear.

Also sampled was a 30% alcohol liqueur that Astrid and Louise preferred.  Soon we were joined by a group of younger people, one of which was wearing an edelweiss pin honoring the tiny flower found only in the highest alpine meadows. Don’t know if it was the whiskey or not, but when Louise admired the pin he gave it to her. She wears it proudly as a positive example of what a little bit of honey tongue and whiskey can do.

 

Astrid was born and raised in this part of Bavaria and knows every back road and goat trail that exists. She wanted us to see the Hochkreuth Café, high on a hillside overlooking Schliersee. It was built in 1846 as a farmer’s house.

Today the house is on a popular hiking trail. The savvy farmer’s wife began selling milk to hikers, then fresh coffee and finally homemade cakes and the tradition continues today.

Elli and Hans Winkler are present owners and good friends of Astrid. On a bright, sunny day the tables are filled by both hikers and villagers driving up from the valley.

 

Ordinarily we would make our selection from the display case of what has been baked for today and sit outside to enjoy the fresh air and the view.

 We were there on a on/off rainy day that kept patrons inside but it allowed Elli to sit with us to make sure her cakes were appreciated.

The ride back to town was a Bavarian eyeful.  Broad pastures, bold mountains…just like the travel brochures promise.

We capped the evening off at a little restaurant called Weissachalm.  Its off the main roads and almost hidden by the surrounding forest. Reminded us of a Hansel and Gretel storybook scene. Their specialty is duck and they did it well.

What a homecoming. What a day. Tomorrow Ray cooks ribs on a virgin Weber barbecue. Don’t miss it.

Gute nacht from Schliersee.

Louise and Ray

 

You might ask a very logical question. Vilshofen, Germany. Where’s that and what’s there? To get right to the point, Vilshofen is on the banks of the Danube and is the ancestral home of both Alex and Oliver Rudolph and their mother and her father and mother and…etc. Not only that, it’s situated directly between Cesky-Krumlov and Schliersee. A perfect reason to stop and see their mother, Christa.

 But, let’s solve the first problem…how to get there. Our GPS, Schatzie, took this as a personal challenge and led us across the countryside and through small villages, including the one above. She suddenly called out, “Turn left and continue to ferry.”

At first I thought it was a joke, but sure enough, at the end of the road was a lake and coming toward us, a ferry. We scrambled to put together the fare in Korunas, our very last.

It wasn’t a very big lake but it turned out to be a shortcut to Austria that would lead us to Vilshofen. On debarking, Schatzie led us through narrow country lanes more suited for bikes and tractors.

In just a few miles we left Czechoslovakia with even less formality than going in. This sign was it, followed by a

“Willkommen auf Osterreich” sign.  A large building that once housed the border guards and officials, sat sad

and empty…the only large building for miles around.

 We came through dark forests on winding roads and ended up on the banks of the Danube River, some 20 miles north of Passau, Germany. Vilshofen, a town of 8,000 people, was settled somewhere around 1280.  This is its main street today.

For many years it made it’s living off the salt trade, joining Salzburg and other nearby communities.  Now flower stalls help fill in the gaps.

 We have known Alex’s mother, Christa, for over 40 years but have never met. She insisted on a tour of her

hometown and we hit all the highlights. Naturally that would include the Catholic Church where she was

christened, baptized and has worshiped for more years that she wanted to tell us.

Gold was the predominant color theme for the interior. Shows what you can do with a little salt if you set your mind to it.

We had promised Astrid and Alex that we’d cook some spare ribs on their brand new Weber barbecue. He insisted on ribs from his hometown so we dropped in to the local butcher shop. When the clerk learned we were from Hollywood she turned on the charm.

 Hoping we’d take her with us, she basted the ribs in a barbecue sauce and wrappedthem for transport. It didn’t work but at least she was pleased at making a sale.

The boyhood home of Alex and Oliver is what we now call a “Mid-century modern.” It was built in the ‘60’s

and sits high on a hill with a commanding view of Vilshofen and the Danube.

Christa showed us our room and set about making dinner, all the while telling us how proud she is of her boys.

While there is a four year difference between them, there’s an even greater distance in personalities. Alex’s room was neat and tidy…just what you’d expect from a maxio-facial surgeon. Oliver’s room,  (sorry no pic) definitely belongs to someone who lives life closer to the edge.  A large decal on the door with racing pictures and trophies all over the inside set the tone for someone who could become an Audi professional driver.

After a delicious dinner of goulash, Christa pulled out the scrapbooks so we got a complete family history.

She spent many years working in her father’s pharmacy but couldn’t ignore the artist inside. Almost every wall and hallway in her house displays the artwork she’s painted over the years, plus there’s a good amount that isn’t framed. When I asked which was her favorite, she led me to one in her bedroom. When I asked why she said, “Because this is the last one I painted.”

As we were leaving, I asked about the painting of a young woman that hung over our bed. She said, “That’s me at

age 20. My father commissioned it from a young artist who had a strong interest in me. When I saw it I told my

father to tear it up and not pay him.” When I asked why, she said, “Look at the size of the bosom. That’s not me.

While I was posing, I think he had something in mind other than painting.”   Exaggerated bosom or not, today it

hangs prominently in the guest room of Christa Rudolph of Vilshofen, Germany.

Next, we return to Schliersee for a little R&R.

Gute nacht from Louise and Ray

We left Prague under the direction of GPS Schatzie who got us out of town cleanly. Experience from driving distances in Europe has taught me that I need a stimulant to be totally alert. Coffee usually solves that problem and we are now ever on the lookout for places that serve coffee for the road.

That usually turns out to be McDonalds. There are a surprising amount of them in the center of European cities but their popularity has spread to the edges of town and they are usually called McCafes and identified by the golden arches.

We found one of those on the edge of Prague and drove right in. I don’t recall seeing the McCafe format in the U.S. but the few we’ve visited in Europe are super neat, clean and efficient. Most have a separate coffee bar where you can get anything that Starbucks or Peets has to offer.

Ready for the road, we headed toward Çeský-Krumlov, a picturesque medieval village located in the Southwest corner that is Czechoslovakia’s second most popular tourist attraction. The road surface was geared for fast traffic but reality took care of that. There were spurts of the top speed limit (60 MPH) but longer periods of 20 MPH when traffic piled up behind a slow moving vehicle. I honed my Audi Driving School skills at sudden acceleration followed by quick braking until I managed to pass the farmer on his tractor taking produce to market. Did this a number of times.

Way out in the Czech countryside there’s not much of a choice on radio, so Louise plugged my iPhone into the Bang & Olafsen system for some music. Suddenly I hear a familiar voice through the speaker. It’s that of Roger Carroll, one time big Los Angeles DJ on KMPC radio. It was a recording of Roger’s popular program for AFRTS (American Forces Radio & Television). The program was originally recorded in 1984 and aired on AFN. How it got into my phone I’ll never know, but the irony was not lost on us.  Here we are listening to  a program that might been heard in this very region some 31 years ago, only then the listening would have been clandestine while waiting for the Communist nightmare to end. We enjoyed the music of the ‘80’s for almost an hour but it was like being in a time warp.

We reached Çeský-Krumlov near dusk and went for a walk in the almost deserted medieval town. If you ever wanted to visit a site that is frozen in time, this is it. Unlike many similar towns, autos are allowed but on a permit basis and not for any length of time.

We’ve learned that the best time to visit a popular site is at night. The tourists have gone, the locals come out and spots are available at the restaurants. This one had a special on Beef Stroganoff and a table on the patio.

During the twilight hours it’s easier to imagine what this place was like in its heyday. The Vitava River flows in a tight hairpin around the castle located high on a convenient peak. Must’ve made it much easier to pour hot oil down on invaders in the olden days.

Also made it easy to control the river traffic just in case you wanted establish a toll booth…usually a heavy chain stretched across the river. As we ate our stroganoff we made plans for our return the next morning.

We were housed at the Pension Gardena, an especially handy place to be since it is just opposite the entry to the old town. An unhandy feature is the lack of an elevator for those heavy bags we’re lugging around.

The owner, Vincent, (Vlatov to his friends) came to the rescue. He grabbed the bags and two-timed it up to the first floor without breaking a sweat. I don’t think he even heard my advice, “Keep your mouth open, or you’ll never have children,” as he charged up the stairs.

Breakfast was the usual fare only less to choose from. One table was filled with girls from the U.S. studying history on the “Junior Year Abroad” program. An American woman, living in Prague for 13 years, was their overseas instructor. We asked if she’d seen any changes in American teenagers over the years. “Yes, definitely,” she said. “With the availability of iPhones, computers and other devices, attention span has shrunk to almost zero. During the bus ride from Prague, I describe the country; its people and their way of life. Instead of listening, they are texting their friends or each other, checking Facebook or listening to downloaded music. I’d be surprised if they even knew they’d left home.” It was little consolation that we saw the same thing happening with European kids.   We’re sure the girls pictured are the exceptions though,

Things had a different look in the morning as we crossed the footbridge into the old town. For one thing there were people floating down the river on inflatable rafts.

Also, the streets would soon be crowded and all the good photo spots taken…but only temporarily.

The castle looked less mysterious in the daytime. It was hard to realize it was home to the same family for three centuries. Why they moved out in the 1600’s is the mystery now.

My nose for a good photo spot pointed to what appeared to be an aqueduct adjoining the castle that could lead to a great Kodak Moment. When we learned that 162 stairs would have to be climbed to get there, our interest suddenly waned.

We decided to use an old trick and follow the tour buses. They led us up a hill to a viewpoint the overlooked the river and the castle. Not the best photo spot, but better than having to climb those circular stairs. Maybe in our next life.

Good friends Janet and Don Dolan visited here some years ago. They mentioned something about storks nesting in chimneys and thought it would be a great photo. That meant more climbing so we settled for a shot of this manhole cover instead. Look closely and you’ll see the name Çeský-Krumlov embossed in the cover. Our guess is that is probably the last modern improvement installed in this living medieval museum. Perhaps not. Flush toilets would be next.

Next stop is located on the banks of the blue Danube…Vilshofen, Gemany.

Louise and Ray