Day 6 – Traveling from Paris to Munich

This is what the professionals call a "traveling day." And for Erika and I, it was completely terrifying, because we got to (unwittingly) recreate an great little movie moment. I'm not sure which movie it's from, but it's the one where: "the guy gets off the train, then looks back to help his wife off the train, but the train door closes before she can exit, trapping her on the train. They frantically search for a way to open the door, but the train starts moving down the track, and the guy runs along next to the train, freaking out, because he has no idea where it's going, or when it's going to stop."

But I'm jumping the gun. Before I get to that excitement, I must remember -- as far as you all know, we're still in Paris. Must...stick...to...the...narrative...

So, rewind to France. There were things we didn't get a chance to do in Paris. Erika wanted to do some more shopping, and we both wanted to see the Roman Baths in the Musee Cluny. But the imposing "11:24 AM in a train station we've never been to" section of our itinerary made us both very nervous. Never having ridden (rode?) a train in Europe before, we didn't quite know what to expect…so we thought we'd give ourselves plenty of time to get to the station, get adjusted, get aboard, and get the hell out of town.

Unfortunately our waiter at breakfast didn't know this, and we had another one of those annoying experiences where we asked for the bill, and the waiter did everything he could think of to do instead of bring us our bill. Jimminy…that's one thing I will not miss about the Paris.

Eventually, we paid our damn Euros, and got out of the place. We bounced over to the Gare l'Est…which…I believe, means "Gare le East." We were a little worried about catching our train – we got to the station with only 20 minutes to spare – but we needn't have worried…there were no security line to go through, no bags to check, no tickets to buy. Just a train with multiple doors, and reserved seats. We just needed to get on the bastard, get rolling…and let the Rail Pass take care of the rest.

The train was very cool. Like a plane, except it took longer, was less cramped, and didn't fly. Erika slept through the first leg, from Paris to Stuttgart, and I slept through most of the second leg, from Stuttgart to Munich.

What do Erikas dream of when they take a little Erika snooze...?

We switched to a new train in Stuttgart. As we were boarding the new train we noticed a big ol' fat suitcase, with the handle fully extended, sitting in the middle of the aisle. Next to the suitcase was a woman…probably in her early 40s, resting her hand on the bag that was blocking the aisle. I gave my German a shot, and said, "Enschultigung bitte" (excuse me, please) and waited. She didn't move. In English I said, "Excuse me." Nothing. I figured that I'd given her plenty of multi-lingual warning, so I shouldered my way past her...as roughly as possible without being violent.

After we'd both pushed our way past the aisle blocker, she got the hint, and put her bag up above our seats…with the "pull handle" fully extended. Fine. Whatever. Now, at least, the aisle was clear for when we had to get off the train.

And holy freaking crap. Sorry, I'm sitting here in our hotel room, writing this, and I'm watching a woman giving birth of German TV right now. They're showing everything. Everything. Holy crap. It's 1:00 AM, and…oh, yep. That's a vagina. Eww…NOOO!!!!! NOOO!!!!!! What the hell? Make it stop!!!!! What is that!!!?!?!?!? That's not a …..uggh….that does not look…is she birthing an alien? Oh my God it's a face. Blood. Everywhere. What the…?!?!?! Is that a hand!? You're going to crush it! Ewww!!! No!!!!! It's all bloody!!!! Oh, thank god, it's out. Umbilical cord. There's so much blood! Gross!!! And now he's pulling a bag out of her – oh Lord, it looks like turkey giblets. Just snipped the baby's umbilical cord. Gross…more blood. That was maybe the grossest thing I've ever seen. God, I hope it's over. WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH GERMAN PEOPLE?!?!!

I'm sorry…I was right in the middle of something. I'm just….I'm a little shook up. Ew. They're…never mind. It's really gross. This is the grossest thing I've ever seen – I'm not kidding. I mean, most of this "birth" stuff is done in a tight close-up, with soft lighting, and comforting music. This gore-fest was shot in a wide angle, in a harshly-lit room. It showed that puddle of blood and afterbirth, the episiotomy, the bruised aftermath...everything. On regular television. Ick.

Where was I? God…how do you recover from that? This story is going to pale in comparison to what I just watched. And am still watching, for some messed up reason.

Okay. Good. Yuck. No. Focus, Tyler. Focus.

Anyhow, with about 30 minutes left on our trip, the woman stood up, reached over me, and pulled her stupid bag down – that stupid handle still fully extended. I didn't think much of it, other than to be annoyed that she'd basically rubbed up against me to get her stuff. But whatever. It's Europe -- people are bumping into each other all the time.

But this woman…wouldn't you know it; the dumb bastard left her suitcase in the middle of the aisle...again. And, inevitably, the conductor called the "Munchen" stop. Since we were not in any real hurry, we decided not to get our bags until we absolutely had to – to avoid the crush of people.

Big mistake. After the train pulled into the station, we waited a bit, and then I got my bag down and started wheeling it down the aisle. But as I was doing so, I noticed that the stupid woman was still blocking the aisle with her suitcase. I gave her a loud "Enschulegung Mir Bitte," waited a beat while she didn't move, and then roughly shouldered my way past her (again) toward the exit.

And I hopped off the train to the platform, only to look back and see that Erika was not able to get past the woman (I thought my violent hint had been enough for her to move the bag, but apparently not). Erika got to the door just as it closed in front of her.

Yes. The door closed. I was standing on the platform, and Erika was still on a train to…God knows where. The stop prior to that was an hour earlier…so who knows where the hell she was going to end up. And I had the train tickets in my bag.

But stuff like this must happen all the time, rigth? Well, there were two buttons on the door – red and black. And a handle. I pushed the red button. Nothing happened. I pushed the black button. Again, nothing. I pulled the handle. Then I pushed the red button and pulled the handle. Then the black. I looked through the window and saw Erika doing the same thing. Frantically, I just started pushing buttons, and pulling the handle…but nothing was happening. Then the train started to move. I was out of time. Erika was leaving the station...without me.

Luckily, I remembered that Erika had her cell phone, and it worked in Europe. So I made the international "I'll call you" sign, and ran along the train as it sailed away.

This was our worse-case scenario: getting separated in Europe. I can't imagine what we would have done if one of us didn't have a phone – hopefully meet up in the hotel. But…in a foreign land, knowing only a little bit of the language, with only a vague notion of your location…it was pretty scary.

I looked around the platform to try to figure out where the hell I was. I saw a sign that read "Munich, Pasing." I wondered what, exactly, Munich was passing?

I soon found out that "Pasing" wasn't the silly English gerund I was familiar with, but the name of a town on the outskirts of Munich (one might call it a "suburb"). We had wanted to get off at the "Munich Hauptbahnhof" stop, not to "Bahnhof Munich-Pasing" stop. As I would later find out, I'd gotten off one stop too soon.

So I found a pay phone and called Erika. It took me some time to figure out the "international calling" rules, but I got a hold of her, and when I did she told me she was in the Munich Hauptbahnhof, and that she was walking to the hotel. I asked her if she knew where to go, and she told me that (luckily) she'd grabbed one of the print-outs that had a map on it, while we were on the train. So she could find the way. I told her I'd meet her there, and that I was going to "have fun" figuring out how to navigate my way through the city...using just my tenacity, smarts, rudimentary language skills, and a pocket full of Euros.

The game was on. I got the chance to have my first real German conversation, since my sophomore year of college (where I got a "D" in German, and got placed on academic probation). I asked a woman (in broken, probably hilarious German) which train to take to get to the city center (aka the Hauptbahnhof). She told me platform "vier oder funf" (four or five). I thanked her, and walked to the corresponding platform.

However, once there, I couldn't figure out how to buy a ticket from the machine – there was some strange terminology (1 zone, 2 zone, all-day pass, etc) that gave me absolutely no context. So I decided to ask the pleasant English-speaking man at the DB (Deutsche Bahn...the guys who run all the trains in Germany) ticket counter.

He set me straight. I needed the "local" train, not the "international" train. Got it. Much cheaper, and far more frequent. It loaded on platform four or five. Good. That first lady was right...and, more importantly, I understood her. The ticket guy also sold me the ticket I needed, so I didn't have to figure out those accursed machines.

So, in no time at all, I was cruising on the S-Bahn into Munich. This time, I paid attention to the damn stops, and I got ready to exit the damn train well before it pulled into the station.

Eventually, I made it to our hotel...and met up with my wife after a terrifying 2 hour separation.

To ease our stress (and our crippling hunger) we decided to get some dinner. There are a bunch of "German Beer Halls" in Munich, which are basically huge restaurants with rows of cafeteria tables, served by dozens of waiters and waitresses, who bring big steins of beer, and plates full of meat.

This is the beer hall we chose. It was a good choice.

So we sat down. The waiter was quite friendly. He spoke a wonderful amount of English, and brought us both enormous beers. I ordered a "suckling pig," which I can only assume was a cute widdle baby piglet. Erika ordered flesh of a cow, boiled in cabbage and what-not. Good, wholesome, Germanic faire. And there was a wonderful "not crappy like American potato salad" potato salad also on Erika's plate.

This was my meal. Holy damn hell, it was tasty.

Now, please forgive the vegetarians among you out there…but it was…probably…the best food I've ever had. I actually briefly considered licking the plate clean it was so good. Nothing personal, Paris…but your food completely sucked in comparison.

The contented aftermath. I did not lick the plate clean, as you can clearly see here.

Nursing a healthy beer buzz, Erika and I stumbled back to our room and lapsed into an overdue, and heavy sleep...thick with excellent German beer, and even excellenter German meat. Tomorrow, we see exactly what the hell this crazy little "birthplace of the Nazi Party" is all about. But tonight, we sleep.