Day 14 -- Lucerne

Thanks to the good people at the Seattle Times, I rode a bicycle pretty much every day for 3 years (except for the thick-paper Sundays, when my gem of a mother would fire up the Lumina and blast through the route). As a youth, I also went on a "bike trip" up through the southern end of British Columbia. Basically, when I was a teenager, I was pretty good on two dang wheels.

However, my skills (and the applicable muscles) had waned considerably. If only I could dream up an idiom to describe what it's like to forget how to ride a bicycle…

Anyway, it's to the point now where I actually can't remember the last time I went two-wheeling, in a "non-stationary" fashion. It may have been when I was in my mid-teens, following my step-brother Jeff as he tore down the trails of St. Edwards Park on a BMX bike. Not sure…maybe I hopped on a bike at some point in college, though I'd be hard pressed to recall specifics.

Today I was in Switzerland, and we decided to rent a bikes for a full day. The thing is, in Lucerne (and Munich before it), the city's bike paths have evolved to the point where it's almost dangerous for the good old fashioned "foot pedestrians." Crosswalks have two crossings -- one across the bike path, and one across the road. Then, occasionally, a sidewalk will just magically transmogrify into a bike lane, and you'll get "bell ringed" out of the way by an irritated cyclist.

Meaning that most roads in Lucerne had a bike lane…sometimes two...rarely zero. This made the notion of "riding bikes" far less scary than in a place like, say, Paris (chock full of honking cars and scooters) or Los Angeles (a city hell-bent on destroying anything that isn't motorized).

Anyway, earlier that morning we'd hit up the annual "Cheese Festival" that just happened to coincide with our visit. Since Lucerne had put such a crimp into our budget, and because picnics are "awesome," we got some bread, cheese, meat, and snackity-snacks…and loaded up the backpack for our little trip.

We located the bicycle rental place at the train station, and rented a couple of 24-speed street bikes. I made a mental note to try each and every speed on the upcoming trip – which filled me with an excited glee. We decided our warm-up run would be a spin across town to the Lion Monument – maybe the most famous site in Lucerne…and one we hadn't seen yet.

On the way we stopped at the Bourbaki Panorama…which was a giant doughnut-shaped painting that was "part mannequin'd exhibit" and "part painting that depicted the retreat of the French forces during the Franco-Prussian war into Switzerland (a neutral country)."

Why on earth would the French retreat to Switzerland? The French, retreating? PREPOSTEROUS! Either way, at that time (the 1870s) the French were caught between a rock (the German forces) and a "place that was uncomfortable yet vastly more desirable than certain death" (Switzerland). Naturally, the French chose option B, and were immediately disarmed and interned at the border by the Swiss army. The French forces (over a hundred-thousand strong) were disbursed throughout Switzerland and foisted upon the unsuspecting Swiss populace…who were instructed to house these poor souls.

Now, Swiss neutrality and the German Wars for reunification (which included the aforementioned Franco-Prussian war) have fascinated me since I first learned about them my freshman year of college. So it was interesting to see a depiction of those two things combined – a source of pride for the Swiss…and something about that seems kinda' cool to me. Yes Erika, I know. I'm a freaking nerd.

The Panorama itself was pretty cool – a bit overpriced (like all of Lucerne), but interesting none-the-less. More impressive for "what it stands for" than the actual work of art itself...which was no doubt impressive when it was first erected (tee hee), but the idea of a diorama with a painted backdrop isn't that much of an artistic coup at this day in age.

Just north of the panorama was the second stop in the "great tour of the weird Swiss military history," in the form of the "Dying Lion Monument." How is that military history, you ask? Well...see…apparently the Swiss had gone and got themselves involved in another important French conflict – the revolution.

Now, brief history talk. Apparently, sometime in the late 18^th century, the French decided that having a "monarchy" wasn't cool any more…because kings and queens ended up spending tons of money. So the common folk decided to get rid of them…replacing them with a series of dictators and emperors instead. Seems like a natural progression. Anyhow, in the process, there were some pretty scared French monarchs rumbling about – some lady named Marie Antoinette, and her husband…um…King Louis the Something-eth? I think?

Anyhow, protecting these two individuals were almost a thousand Swiss mercenaries. Why would the French monarchs hire Swiss mercenaries? If I had Wikipedia, I could tell you for certain…but going off the top of my head, I think it's because there was less chance of betrayal & corruption (the Swiss had highly regarded mercenaries…and it's not likely that some upstart Frenchies could have easily infiltrated their ranks), and also because the Swiss made for really good guards (they'd been tasked with protecting the Pope since the sixteenth century).

Now, when the French decided to off the king and queen (remember that part?), they did what the French do best: they "stormed." This time it was the Tuilieres Palace (or something like that – no Wikipedia also means "no spell right").

When they citizens attacked there were about 800 Swiss guardsmen there (a two-hundred-man contingent had been sent to Normandy...for some reason), protecting the king and queen. They didn't want to fight (they made a point to toss several ammo cartridges to the crowd to show they did not want a conflict), but someone opened fire (most likely the French) and a drawn-out battle ensued. Long story short, the Swiss were massively outnumbered, and eventually they started running out of ammo (bet they wish they'd had those cartridges back, huh?). After a protracted defense, they had to withdraw into the courtyard where they tried to surrender…but they were killed almost to a man (of the original 800, there were less than 100 survivors).

What's this got to do with a dying lion? Well…it's what we in the business call a "metaphor." I think. Or maybe it's a palindrome. An effigy? Either way, the lion represents the men who sacrificed themselves to try to save the king and queen (mostly the queen, because they knew she'd have a bunch of movies made about her). Incredibly moving statue…maybe the finest sculpture I've seen in Europe. Heartbreaking. But I'm afraid it's one of those that you've got to see to really appreciate (I'd seen pictures too…but it was nothing like the real thing...which I guess is why we went to Europe, as opposed to just looking at a bunch of pictures of it).

With that little side-trip under our belt, we took off. We'd read in our guide book that a "tour of the north shore of the lake" would be the "scenic highlight of our trip to Switzerland." So we toured that north shore…and it definitely was a highlight…if not "the" highlight.

Then we got cocky:

Erika: How would you feel about going all the way?

Tyler: What? Here? There are a bunch of people around! Aren't you even going to romance me a little? I'M NOT A PIECE OF MEAT!!! (sobs)

Erika: Do you want another black eye?!?

Tyler (sullenly): No.

Erika: Good. But I wasn't talking about that…because…gross. What I mean is, how would you feel about bicycling around the entire lake?

Tyler: Today?

Erika: Yeah.

Tyler: Well, it's a pretty big lake, babe. What time is it?

Erika (checking her phone): Um…12:30 PM?

Tyler: And sunset's about...6:00?

Erika: Sure.

Tyler: So that gives us a little more than five hours to get around the lake?

Erika: Yep.

Tyler: Hmm...that's not a lot of time...

Erika (in her "wowie zowie this is a great chance for us to exercise voice): C'mon! We can do it! Let's go!

Tyler: Well…I guess…um…

But by that time she'd already pedaled off.

So off we went…into the wild blue yonder. And I must say…if you haven't seen the pictures (and there's a very good chance you haven't…because I haven't uploaded them yet), it was stunning. Staggering. Mark Twain lived in this area briefly, and he called it something like "The prettiest land I've ever lived in." Once again, I'd look up the exact quote if I had internet…but I don't…so…

Anyhow, it was great. More of that "creepy nuclear green grass." And there were cows everywhere…but it didn't smell like the American pastureland "cow funk." It smelled like…alpine freshness. In fact, I recently purchased a tube of "Alpine Freshness" deodorant from Old Spice, and that's exactly how the north shore of Lake Lucerne smells!!!

Naturally, we filled up the camera with photos…and the bike ride worked up a good lather. However, we were loafing…and we stopped frequently for photo opportunities, water, and snacks at the various little towns dotting the lake.

So after a good 3 hours at a semi-steady pace we noticed something. First off, we were not making nearly the kind of headway we were hoping (we needed to be at least half-way around the lake at 3:30, and we barely a third of the way around). Secondly, every time we sat on our incredibly uncomfortable bike seats, a dull ache would radiate through our haunches (not sure what else to call that area…but imagine the points of contact on a real skinny, uncomfortable bicycle seat…whatever area that is hurt like the Dickens). Lastly, we were on the eastern shore, and the western shore looked suspiciously like a mountain with no roads across it…sloping steeply to the lake. So we weren't exactly sure where we were supposed to go (though, admittedly, we'd been following signs that directed all bicyclists around the lake…so there must have been some way through).

But the long and the short of it is, we weren't comfortable cycling in a foreign land after dark, with no streetlamps, and an increasingly nasty pain growing in our upper-quadriceps region.

Luckily, most of the little towns we were going through had "boat docks." We cycled over to one and purchased two tickets across the lake, back to Lucerne. The boat was named the "William Tell Express;" vaunted in the guide book, but when we were budgeting the trip, it had been too expensive for our modest tastes. Now, I suppose, we had little choice.

The William Tell was a paddleboat that toodled around the lake, while tourists sat in the warm confines of the interior and snapped pictures of the vast, gorgeous mountains out the windows. As I said, I'd briefly considered ponying up for a putter on the boat…but thought (rightly, as it turned out) that we'd be better served taking a bike tour…and letting the poor wimps with no stamina float around the lake in their cute little boat.

But now we were the ones floating on said boat. It was pretty cool…for about 20 minutes…then we quickly realized the William Tell wasn't much more than a glorified "Ferry," and we'd ridden ferries our entire lives (living, as we did, around Puget Sound). We hadn't brought anything to do aboard the ship (the crossword puzzle book was sitting uselessly on our hotel bed), so the mood turned from "Wow…look at the cool water, and the scenery!" To "Hmm…so…what time does the boat arrive again?"

So, it actually turns out it was a long-ass ride home. Over two hours, with nothing to entertain us except a horrible impromptu game of "I Spy" (for those of you contemplating it…never play this game with Erika. She is…simply…the best there ever was. Hands down. The best).

Eventually we made it back to the Lucerne docks, and on the brief ride from the ferry to the train station we discovered the full extent of the damage our "undersides" had absorbed when we remounted our bikes. It was so bad we were unable to actually "sit" on our bicycle seats for the 5 minute ride back to the bike rental place, and stood on the pedals all the way there.

With that little bit of business out of the way, we realized it was time to eat. Since our plans on getting some good "Mexican Eating" were foiled the previous night, we decided to make good on our threat to eat some bona fide "Swiss Mexican Food." Using the free guide given to us at the hotel (and available all over town), we located several "Tex-Mex" restaurants in the area, and envisioned a greasy burrito, full of beans, cheese, rice, and sweet, sweet meat of some kind.

However, we were disappointed to find out that, in Lucerne, "Tex-Mex" translated to "Really Fancy Restaurant." We passed several classy Mexican eating establishments before settling on one close-ish to our hotel.

It's funny how, in Los Angeles (and really anywhere in the U.S.) the concept of a "fancy Mexican restaurant" is unusual. Even the more upscale Mexican restaurants still maintain a "homey, approachable" vibe. But here in Switzerland, the Mexican cuisine was a rare, exotic treat…to be given the four-star treatment.

Needless to say, a "big-ol-fat-burrito" was not on the menu. We got the next-best thing: "do-it-yourself fajita" with "a dainty carafe of tasty sangria," served with "fancy tortilla chips, and fancy salsa." Of course, the downside of a restaurant like this is that you have to pay a "fancy price" at the end of the meal…but we'd pretty much resigned ourselves to paying exorbitant prices for anything during our stay in Lucerne…and our budget would (hopefully) be able to bear the brunt.

We returned to our room (after stopping to get some fine Swiss chocolates for desert), played a couple more rounds of speed…and lapsed into an exhausted, sore-legged sleep.

Day 15 -- Lucerne

The day-trip to Zurich was to be postponed indefinitely; we'd thought about shoehorning it today, but decided against it…because we were totally unprepared and fairly uninterested in visiting the city at this point (no offense, all you Zurichers out there). On the other hand, there wasn't a lot of "sightseeing" left to do in Lucerne.

But really, this stop on our trip was more about "recouping," and "takin' 'er easy" before the madness that will be Rome. Besides, Lucerne had really grown on me since that first day, and our disastrous walking tour. Sure, it was expensive as hell (we'd been pulling our hair out, fretting about our dwindling cash supply since the disappointingly expensive ferry ride the previous day), and it wasn't nearly as "quaint" as I'd thought…but it was frigging beautiful.

When the sun was out, and the sky was clear, there's no better place in Europe…really. You can see the two big ol' fat mountains on either side of this amazing, clean lake. There are little parks all over the place, and the drivers are almost scary about stopping for every pedestrian crossing a crosswalk. And it just looks and smells so clean – even the cow-riddled pasturelands are still pleasingly aromatic.

And there were still a few things we could do around town to pass the time. Our first stop was the "Richard Wagner Museum," located just east of our hotel.

See, my mother is under the impression that her branch of the family tree may be distantly related to Mr. Wagner. The main points of evidence:

- My grandmother's maiden name is "Wagner."

- Her father (Henry) immigrated from Saxony – the same now-German region that Richard was born in.

- There is a history of musical ability in the family.

Of course, since Richard Wagner lived from 1813 to 1883, all of his direct descendants are aware of their famous lineage …and (as I discovered) they're all still living in Germany. However, Richard had 8 siblings (many of whom died young), and his father may have had even more siblings…so…it's not totally unimaginable that we're distantly related, or that we share a common ancestor somewhere along the line. But that's a blog for another time.

So we visited the museum…which was one of these small little "this famous person lived here once" museums, with a few artifacts and pictures. I liked it – it was completely deserted when we arrived (excepting for the pleasant woman at the front desk), and the little artifacts were cool. It was great being able to get up real close to the actual piano that he used to entertain Crazy Ludwig II (same guy who built Neuschwanstein). I dunno'…there was nothing really earth-shattering (and like most museums built to honor an individual, it shied away from controversial topics like his philandering, raging anti-Semitism, and the contentious relationships he had with his contemporaries), but it was nice. Pleasant.

When we finished at the museum, we took a little 15 minute walk along the shore of the lake into town. Then we kept heading around the lake -- on our previous day's bike ride we'd passed the Lucerne Casino, and Erika thought it'd be nice to eat dinner outside the casino in (yet another) gorgeous park on the shore of the lake. And since I'd been totally indifferent as to "where we eat" for the majority of this trip, I agreed.

The lunch was predictably good – washed down with a couple tall glasses of Eichhof Beer (if you're keeping track, I'm particularly fond of the dark version, and Erika likes the "Monastery" version – if it's ever imported to the US of A).

Leaving the lakeside yet again, we walked to the old medieval wall on the north end of "old town." It was…really…just like it sounds. An old medieval wall…that we traversed. On our way down Ms. Eagle-Eye Godwin spotted a woman sunbathing topless atop a nearby building. And if there's one thing the Europeans and I have in common, it's a fondness for toplessness.

We decided, after all the nudity and wall-walking, that a nap was in order. However, on our walk home, we passed by a peculiarly placed Picasso painting on a placard (say that five times fast…IN LATIN!!!) outside a building we'd passed…maybe a half-dozen times before. Could this be the missing Picasso Museum that we'd wanted to see on our first day? There was only one way to find out.

Inside, our suspicions were confirmed – the Picasso Museum had been moved from the "old town" to "just outside of the old town." We paid the hefty admission charges and went inside…to "experience" us some "Picasso Art."

Here we go. Now, as I've stated before, I'm no expert on the "visual arts." I don't generally "get" paintings or sculptures…which is unfortunate. I've tried to educate myself, but it's a little like my problems with beer – I just don't think it's ever going to click for me. But I forged ahead…armed with a multi-page print-out issued to me by the lady at the front desk, and the "ability to get up close to the actual works of art."

The first thing that struck me about the paintings was…there were a ton of "mistakes" on each canvas. If you get up real close, you could see all the times when he dripped paint accidentally…or when a brush stroke was too heavy, and a glob of paint ran down the canvas. Sometimes it was a bit like looking at some sloppy graffiti on a metal wall -- all running paint, and run-over lines. Comparing this to the flawless renaissance & romantic era paintings, it's just amazing to see how the "imperfection" of Picasso was far more moving to me than the "perfection" of earlier artists.

Secondly, that little print-out turned out to be quite helpful. It discussed each painting, which was actually kind of nice. When we visited the Louvre we just kinda' "winged it." Each painting was allowed to have an impact on us, regardless of the history or actual meaning of the piece. At first it I was content to wander about and be affected by the art I was seeing……but eventually my "affectation" started to wane, and the paintings seemed to be variations on a theme – "royalty or religious figures looking awesome."

But in the Picasso museum, we had that magical little printout, and we got to read about the things driving each piece (and it turns out the paintings revealed very interesting things about Picasso's personal life – specifically his love life). When I got a sense of the artist, I was able to match up the colors, imperfect brush strokes, and odd angles to the story each work was telling. Each painting seemed to come alive – much more so than anything I'd seen up to that point.

Lastly, the museum was dedicated to showing an artist's "evolution," meaning that all the pieces were lined up chronologically. So you got to see a couple of Picasso's earlier works (including some things from his "blue" period), to the crazy Cubist and Surrealist stages (where he seemed very interested in showing every part of the female anatomy looking at her only from the front), ending with the totally crazy late period where he drew pencil sketches on paper mostly detailing his weird pornographic male fantasies. You got to see his influences, and how much his work changed through the years…which made the work seem more personal, and affecting. I'm finding that, for me, art is much more interesting when it's telling the tale of the artist, not the subject.

Anyhow, once again, this is not something I'm equipped to describe effectively. I'm not that good of a writer. The point is, I was very moved by this museum…more so than I thought I would be. We spent more time there than we were planning, and it was definitely a pleasant, unplanned surprise.

That night, after "refreshing" at the hotel, we went out to another "recommended" dinner destination: The Rathaus Brauerei. Big selling point – they brew their own beer. I mean, who's heard of such a thing? Crazy. Anyhow, I had a "knuckle of pork," thinking (in my deluded brain) that "knuckle of pork" didn't actually mean "pig knuckle" – that it was a fancy renaming of a savory cut of meat, or a simple mistranslation.

Turns out, I was right. It wasn't a pig knuckle (because pigs don't have knuckles, they have hooves). However, it was the next-closest thing. It was a circular, horizontal cut of a piglet's lower leg…with the fatty skin fully intact. Basically, some cured meat wrapped in an inedible pig fat. It wasn't very good. Plus, the sauerkraut (which I had enjoyed in both Munich and at several prior meals in Lucerne) was waaay too cabbage-y. The crusty, hard bread came with several "tubes" of mustard…which was interesting, because it was mustard in a "tube," but it wasn't enough to save the meal from being "not very good." The beer was all right…but…nothing that would change my general ambivalence toward the beverage…and certainly not as tasty as Eichhof.

After we finished that unsatisfying meal, we headed back to the hotel room and packed. We're heading to Rome tomorrow…leaving the cozy confines of this sweet hotel and peaceful little town…to throw ourselves at the mercy of the "loudest city in Europe." Hope we're ready for the change. Until then…

Day 13 -- Lucerne, Switzerland

Lucky number 13. Well, the brochure said that we could get "hiking maps" at the foot of the mountain. So we went to the foot of the mountain, located the booth, and spoke through the glass to the booth employee:

"Guten tag! Um…hiking map?"

"There are no hiking maps?"

"No?"

"No. But, don't worry…the trails are very well marked."

"So…no maps, then?"

"No."

"Oh. Um…okay. Thanks."

I didn't know whether to curse the brochure for giving us incorrect information, or curse the ticket woman for her blithe insouciance in the face of our impending hypothermia and frost bite.

So instead, I just cursed Kirk Douglas (like I always do), and we meandered out of the big "Mount Pilatus Visitor Center" building and started up the mountain.

I should say, at this point, that we were incredibly well dressed for the occasion. Temperatures in Lucerne were in the low 50s, so I decided to rock my grey hoodie, jeans, Brooklyn Dodgers cap, and no gloves. Erika decided to get her hypothermia rocking a down vest, thin green hoodie, and tights. We were, as the Swiss say, "spectacularly under-dressed for a cold-weather hike."

But it wasn't like we were in any real danger, Dad…so don't be afraid. Mount Pilatus is honeycombed with various hiking trails, and there is the aforementioned gondola that has three stations along the way with restaurants, shops, and activities. It's like a miniature ski-resort at each station…with an airborne landmark (the gondola) that points the way to the next station. The risk of getting truly "lost" was remote…so we figured we'd hike up to the first station, then "see how we feel."

We climbed. The first little stretch was through a neighborhood, on a paved road. I remember reading about this first little stretch – the houses reached up a good ways before the true "Swiss wilderness" started. No problem. So, after about 20 minutes of a gradual uphill walk, we reached our first fork in the road…with a sign:

WANDERWEG

<=============>

Now, neither of us was totally sure what a "wanderweg" was, but since either way seemed to be the "correct" choice, we turned left.

This took us up another paved road…this time with no sidewalk. We must have chosen to hike on garbage day, because we were buzzed by several different trucks on our way up. It also seemed to be the "busiest road to nowhere in Switzerland," and we probably had to stop for a car once every 3 minutes or so. This sure as heck did not feel like a trail. More like a "street going up a hill."

Luckily we had purchased a map of the area the previous day. Ladies and gentlemen, listen to me: purchase a good map. You can't always depend on the maps in the guidebooks, or the free maps you can get at any hotel. You must buy a good map if you wish to navigate. I'd originally balked at the hefty price of 5 Swiss Francs (about $4) for the map…but boy was it worth it in the long run.

So I pulled out the map, which (luckily) covered many of the foot trails and roads on Mt. Pilatus all the way to the first "gondola station." Using our awesome navigational and map-reading skills, we found our current location, and where we needed to go (turns out we should have gone "right" at the cryptic sign. Oops).

But once I was able to find our location on a map, I could relax a little and enjoy the scenery. Now this was the Switzerland I had been picturing in my tiny brain. The grass was that same crazy radiant green, the trees were vibrant and multi-hued, and there was the frequent companion of "clanging cow bells" as we ascended the hills (yes, they still use cow bells on their cows in Switzerland – it's adorable). We were less than an hour into our hike, and already we had some breathtaking views of the Lucerne countryside…which is, as advertised, freaking gorgeous.

So we climbed. And climbed. I don't know…what does one say about a hike, really? There were trees, leaves, and really pretty views. Does that work for you all?

Eventually we made it to Station 1. It was about 12:30 PM, so we decided to break for lunch. I got a Coke Zero from the little store up there, and Erika sipped the "carbonated water" that we'd accidentally purchased (carbonated water is the devil that has plagued our European water-buying efforts. Seriously – it's the grossest stuff on the planet. Grosser than cucumber…I'm not even kidding). And we each had a sandwich – I ate a Curry Chicken sandwich on a mountain in Switzerland (thought you'd appreciate that, sister). Erika had…I want to say a "cheese sandwich?"

Looking up the slope we noticed that the mountain disappeared into a thick, soupy grey mist. We'd been chasing the fog up the mountain, and it looks like it had finally settled just above the first gondola station.

Sure, we were tired…and freezing cold…but that crazy adventurous part of us wanted to continue. Unfortunately, the map we had only went a touch past the first station (the second station was off the map), and that fog kinda' wrecked our chances at spotting a good landmark to guide us (we'd been using the gondola line up to this point). So…still interested in seeing more of the mountain, and attracted to the notion of a "Swiss Gondola," we decided to ride up to station 2 in a tiny car, suspended by a wire.

We paid the attendant, got in the gondola, and rolled into the fog…and the icy death chill. There was no heater in the gondola car, so we huddled together for warmth. Up we went to station number two.

Which looked a lot like station 1, except it was higher, the visibility was much worse, about it was about 30 degrees colder. Erika was doing that thing she does where her "teeth chatter" and she "shivers uncontrollably," so we popped into the little restaurant and ordered two $4 coffees. We were going to hike around a little bit…but we both soon realized that we were (as the Swiss say) "hilariously underdressed."

Back down in the gondola we went. Eventually we busted through the fog and got to see another pleasant view of Lake Lucerne and its corresponding city.

Arriving at station 1, and at a much warmer temperature, we decided to hike down to Kriens – the city at the foot of the mountain with the super-helpful woman in the booth. Now, I don't know if you know this or not, but hiking "down" a mountain is actually a lot easier than hiking "up." I'm not sure why that is – I'll leave it to the scientists to try to explain that one.

So we made it down with all of our digits intact. Our big "hike in the Alps" ended without hypothermia, frost bite, or any kind of permanent frost-related damage. Simply amazing. On the walk back to our hotel (since public transportation is for the weak) we decided that we were craving Mexican food, and the idea of Swiss Mexican food was too hilarious for us to pass up. We saw a restaurant called "Café Siesta." Nap food? Oh well…it was good enough. We'd be back for dinner.

And we were. But when we entered, we found out that the "Café Siesta" seemed to only specialize in "Feeding Beer to the Locals" and "Microwaving Paninis." No Tex-Mex cuisine in sight – not even simple chips and salsa.

So after downing a beer in that cigarette-inundated dive, we continued down the street. Option 2 that day was a little pub called "The Moonlight Pub." We walked down the darkened steps to the pub, and saw a crowd of about 7 young Swiss dudes crowded around a bar at the end of the room. Other than that, it was completely empty. Once again, we'd stumbled on a watering hole for locals, and as cool as the idea of "local food" sounded, it's actually pretty scary when you're face-to-face with it…being the only one there who doesn't know A) the language, and B) everyone else there. So, after a couple of beats, we turned to leave…but the bartender noticed us and called out something in German…to which I clumsily replied:

"Es tut mir leid. Kein trinken. Nur Essen." Which I think means "Sorry, we don't want anything to drink – we're looking for food." But it probably sounded like "Sorry, I don't drink, I only eat" to them.

And I also tripped going back up the stairs…as if I couldn't look any more dumb and terrified.

Tails tucked between our legs, we left that joint…but we were determined to find food…because that's what hungry people are like, for some reason. It was then we found our savior – in chalk, outside the door, it informed us that it served "Traditionalish Swiss Essen (food)." So we went in.

Again, this part of town was mostly involved in distributing beer to the local people, but at this restaurant, there were other patrons as well…and a friendly waiter who showed us immediately to our seats. We ordered something that was the equivalent of a bratwurst and hash browns.

And I tell you what, that meal rivaled my cherished "Munich suckling pig." So freaking good. A big ol' fat sausage, covered in a dark brown onion sauce, with perfectly cooked hashbrowns, all washed down with our new favorite Swiss beer – Eichhof. Holy cow…if this is how the locals eat…then I'm seriously considering moving into town just so I could eat Swiss food every day for the rest of my life.

Bellies full of the best meal we'd eaten in Switzerland, we headed back to the hotel to kill the rest of our Swiss cookies and play a some more Speed. Erika won, again, because I'm fairly convinced that she's cheating somehow. I don't know…it can't be possible to be that good at something, can it? Maybe I'm just a sore loser. Or maybe I'm a very observant loser? Who can tell…?

Anyway, tomorrow we're supposed to go to Zurich…but it sounds like neither of us are particularly excited at that notion…as we did absolutely no research into the city…and it involves train traveling, which we're always leery of…so we'll probably end up doing something else. Maybe applying wings to our pants, and allowing them to levitate to some height. Until then…

Day 11 -- Munich to Lucerne

I felt it first thing in the morning – a small tickle in the back of my throat. Either I'd accidentally swallowed a handful of feathers in the night, or I was getting sick.

This filled me with shame – see, I've not had a good run of luck with my health in the last couple of months…so for me to get sick during out honeymoon was…well, it was pretty embarrassing.

So I tried to hide it from Erika. Quiet clears of the throat, the occasional muffled cough. But galdarn it if she didn't figure it out somehow (she said that I "swallowed a bunch of times, then felt my throat" which creeps me out a little that she watches me that closely). I'm hoping it doesn't get too nasty...but every time I do the "well, this is probably as bad as it's going to get" thing, I wake up the next morning with a throat full of razors.

Either way, I had to push through. Today was our day to go from Munich to Lucerne. Even though we were veterans of a day on the rails already, these travel days still make me nervous. Too many variables, and not enough fluency in the language.

But we managed somehow. We packed our bulging suitcases, and headed for the station (stopping briefly to take a final hit of leberkase, Shwarzwaldkuchenbrot for the road at the Marienplatz). and some

Our train arrived and we boarded. The only real snag we received here was a revelation from the train conductor that we were going to be (briefly) swinging through Austria on our way to Zurich. Why was this a problem? Well…apparently reservations through Austria are "compulsory," and our Eurorail pass didn't cover it. So we had to pay an additional twenty euro for the privilege of seeing Austria for 10 minutes outside of a train window.

We switched trains in Zurich for the final train to Lucerne…and the scenery just got really pretty. I don't know what kind of radioactive grass they use in Switzerland, but it's crazy green. It really seems unnatural…I don't get it…because it grows all up and down the mountains too. And their water…you can look into the water in Switzerland and (pretty much) see through to China. That's right – something not a lot of people know – China is under a bunch Swiss lakes. That's why very few people have ever been to China -- mostly scuba divers, and fish.

Eventually…inevitably…finally, we arrived in Lucerne. Stepping out of the busy train station, I looked around at our new city. This was not the quiet, bucolic, peaceful little town that I'd read about – it was more like a "thriving mid-sized city" with a "robust tourist trade." Cars and scooters whizzed by (as they seem to do all over Europe) as we tried to orient ourselves to our new city.

So we started walking, and something shockingly rare happened. We were looking at our map, squinting at street signs (with our two giant bags in tow) and someone stopped to ask us, in very good English, if we needed any help. Not that people in Europe were unfriendly...but this kind of unsolicited help was unusual...and things that are unusual make us (often unfairly) suspicious. He was obviously just trying to be helpful…but we're so terrified of scams that we politely turned down his offer for assistance. He shrugged and continued on his way.

Our hotel was named the "Bed + Breakfast Hotel." Funny, because it was in English (the literal German translation being "Bett und Fruhstuck"), which is when we started noticing some places around town using only English words in their names...either to appeal to tourists, or to sound exotic to the locals. You see this in America too...without knowing it. A hip bar in America could be called "Trinkwasser," and a German tourist would just look at it and read "Drinking Water." Same goes for our "Bed + Breakfast Hotel" – not an actual bed and breakfast per se (more of a traditional hotel, offering a bed, and a continental breakfast); more of a multi-lingual allusion to the English and American idea of a Bed and Breakfast.

During check-in, we noticed a much more personal touch than at our previous lodgings. The lady met us at the door, greeted us in accented English, and called me by name before I'd had a chance to introduce myself. The Bed + Breakfast has a total of 8 rooms, and we'd reserved the "Junior Suite" for the first two nights, and the last two nights (for one night we had to change rooms, since someone else had already reserved the room that night).

Anyhow, Evelyn, our greeter, led us up to our room, which was a converted attic (the house had been purchased in 2003, and turned into a Hotel). It was fairly normal, excepting that the bed had no headboard...but for an attic it was immaculately clean. Also, there seemed to be much more floor space than we were used to or expecting.

We dropped off our bags and went out to our first dinner in the land of the Swiss. Erika was on a roll regarding "recommendations," so she asked Evelyn if there were any good restaurants around the hotel (something "not too touristy"), and several locations were circled on our "free map of Lucerne." We went to the first, and it seemed a bit "upscale" for our tastes (and budget). The next place was good, but they only had paninis for food. But we were freaking starving at this point; one of the biggest problems in any new cities is "getting food that first night" (which is tough...because you haven't had the chance to scout around)...so the simple panini was not a problem. We drank the local beer (Eichhof – if you're ever in Lucerne, do yourself a favor and order up a glass), ate the local sandwich, and eventually retired to the local hotel.

Tomorrow is our traditional "walking tour" of our new city. These first couple of hours are always a little bit strange…everything seems to be going in fast-forward, and the names and places don't make any sense (even though I've playfully named Switzerland the "Poor Man's Bavaria"). That's why, tomorrow, we planned a day of acclimatization. The only big event planned is the "Picasso Museum."

When I first planned Switzerland, months ago, I'd intentionally left a lot of it blank, partly because there was not a ton of stuff to do in Switzerland, and partly because I liked the idea of the two of us just "winging it" a little bit. We'll see what that drums up. Until then…

Day 12 –- Lucerne, Switzerland

For two people from a wet climate, you'd think we'd have prepared a little bit better for inclement weather. But, between the two of us, we had wool coats, hoodies, and absolutely no rain protection.

So guess what happens on our first day in Switzerland? If you guessed "We chased a three-legged dog into an ice cave, and it showed us the secrets of the Ancients," you'd be incorrect, and weird. Nope. Today it rained. Pretty hard, too.

But we were tough, rugged. Hell, people who don't like rain are total pansies, and they're wrong about their opinions of "weather." I wore my hoodie with no jacket, because I'm crazy like that. And Erika decided to go the "wool coat and umbrella" route. We suited up, breakfasted up, and took off for the "old town," which was the touristed area about a 15 minute walk north from our hotel room.

Unfortunately, since I'd decided (and pushed Erika into accepting) a trip through Switzerland during our pending honeymoon, I'd spent a good deal of time building up Switzerland in my head. Almost a year, in fact. So I'd read the guidebooks...pored over the "Google Earth" images...read different web pages and reviews of various sights and locations in Lucerne. I was picturing a quaint, rustic town…with soaring mountain views…a crystal clear lake…and an easy-going, friendly vibe.

But what I got was a rainy Bavarian-like town filled with foreign tourists. It's funny…because even when you're prepared for rain, walking around in it is not always such a hoot. You end up just looking down at your feet most of the time...and there are practical problems...like, when you want to take a picture, you've got to duck under cover, ruffle through your damp pockets, and take what will (no doubt) be a mediocre, grey shot.

And to top it off, our trip to the Picasso Museum was stymied – we found the address, but the door had a cryptic pink sign in the window (apparently something about parties for children???), and there was absolutely no sign of the museum. Our one objective for the day never happened. So we soldiered on through the mire, and eventually stopped at the west end of the old town, and had a lunch of onion soup and bread. Refueled, we continued on our way.

Needless to say I was getting pretty bummed out about half-way through the day. This was not the Switzerland I wanted. Our hotel was about a good distance away from old town, and I kept seeing hotels (that I'd checked out online) much closer to the action…and they all looked great in comparison to our place. And, of course, I was the one that had pushed so hard for a trip to Switzerland (having fallen in love with the area after reading A Farewell to Arms in college, and having been accepted to a Swiss college when I was a junior in high school). It was turning out to be just Munich, minus the affordable restaurants, sites to see, and a good deal of the charm.

So I moped…and if you know anything about my wife, you know that she just loves it when I mope about. It's one of her favorite things. It was "pep talk time."

And to me, the best "pep talk" in the world is "fatty food." So we crossed the Reuse, and ate some world-famous Swiss chocolate. It was, as advertised, fabulous. Having seen at least a couple of the sights, and wanting like hellfire to get out of the rain, we adjourned to the hotel and took a well-needed nap in our palatial room.

After the nap it was "back out into the rain" for din-din. Our guidebook recommended a place called the "Restaurant Frischi," which it called "Completely unpretentious." So we went there. I wouldn't exactly call it "completely unpretentious," but "fairly unremarkable," even "a touch kitschy." The building had an interesting façade, and there was some interesting artwork in the dining area. But for the most part, it looked "remarkably" like any other run-of-the-mill restaurant in the central-Europe area. We ordered the regional specialty – fondue.

Now, I did not know this, but apparently Fondue is a Swiss invention. I'd always figured it for the French (since they love the cheese so dang much), the Americans (since they love melting the cheese so much), or some Asian country (since they love loving love so much), but no. It's Swiss.

Turns out (God how I missed you, Wikipedia) the dish arose from necessity. In the winters, folks would generally stock up on food to survive. In Switzerland, this meant that bread and cheese were stored away. However, the problem is, bread and cheese have a tendency to "harden" when stored. It's what I like to call "food hardening." That's right. I'm a food scientist. Anyhow, the Swiss solution was to add some wine to the cheese, melt 'er in a pot, then dip the rock-hard bread into the cheese. The result? Pure awesome, on a long fork.

But here we ran into something that will continue to plague us throughout our visit to Lucerne – everything is really freaking expensive. How much for the melted cheese, chunks of bread, and a dozen little potatoes? About $50 ($25 per person). Now, our "rose-tinted" budget going into Europe had us eating for $50 for the entire day. We've since amended our budget…but still…$50 seemed like a hell of a lot to pay for some melted cheese, bread, and potatoes. I'm just saying…

But we paid...because not paying is technically "stealing." Back to the hotel. On the way, we decided to start a habit of "getting desert, taking it to our hotel, and eating it in our room while we play Speed." Tonight was the inception of this idea – we got some cookies, some wine, took them to our room, and played about 9 hands of Speed (it's a 2-person card game, for those of you not in the know) as we feasted on fine Swiss desert cookies, and some markedly less-fine Swiss pinot noir.

Erika squeaked out a victory in Speed – five games to four – but the wine and cookies were soundly defeated. Tomorrow we go up to the mountains. Well…the "mountain." Mount Pilatus. It's the supposed resting place of either a dragon, or Pontius Pilate. Or both. I'm not sure, really. But we planned to scale the sumbitch. Or, at least "get as high as we could before we got too cold, then take the gondola back, down the side of the mountain." Until then…

Day 9 -- Munich, Germany

We had originally planned to make a pilgrimage out to a place called the "Andrechs Monastery," which was on the outskirts of Munich…and was well-known for being a Monastery, and making beer. It was one of the first breweries in Munich (if not the first), and has some…apparently…pretty darn good beer.

Unfortunately Erika and I were pretty beer'd out. Personally, I like a nice cool Mike's Hard Lemonade, or a Zima – something manly. I've never enjoyed the bitter swill of the hops…but I thought that, if I came to Munich, I'd find the magical elixir that would change my world forever…and every time I was forced to swill a Miller Light, I'd think back fondly to the time, in Munich, that I sipped the perfect beer.

I have yet to find that beer…and I'm not sure if I ever will. It's something that I've never been able to train my mouth to enjoy…like cucumber…or raw potatoes…or monkey. Regrettable, but I don't think I can force it any more.

So instead we decided to do what we do best – walk our little asses off. As great as the public transportation system is in Europe, I feel that Erika have I have decided not to use the busses, trains, and taxis…and instead walk like Egyptians…minus the awesome arm movements…or the awesome song…

We walked up north and saw some big museum-looking-buildings that were (I believe) actually museums. And some more sculptures of naked people.

Now, forgive me, but I'm going to reveal a little bit of a secret here. There's a lot of nudity in Europe…from the primetime network TV…to the statues…to the naked section of the Englisher Garden (I'll get to that in a second). And Erika and I have a tendency to be…occasionally…a little juvenile. I don't want to spoil it or anything…but we've taken some pretty memorable pictures…and…hmm…well, I'll just let you all wait until I start the massive upload. See if you can spot the immaturity somewhere.

After the museums and the naked sculptures, we headed to the Englisher Garden proper. Very pretty. Bigger than central park (we walked half of it, and it took us most of the day), and it's the best of Greenlake (for you Seattlers), the Sehome Arboretum (for you Bellinghamers), and…well…any park in Los Angeles (for you poor sad-sack Angeliners out there). The only thing missing is the ocean…which I'm surprised these inventive suckers didn't find a way to create (though they did manage an artificial surfing wave on the south side…on the river running through the park).

We spent several hours wandering through this place…we stopped at the Chinese Pagoda, and had a very traditional German meal of meat, potatoes, bread, gravy, and big-ass beer steins (I guess we weren't so beer'd out after all). We went up north to see one of the prettiest little urban lakes I've ever seen, then south to see some of the nakedest people in the month of October that I've ever seen (a little jarring, to be honest with you…to have about 100 people arrayed on a big lawn, wearing their birthday suits).

On our way back we got tickets for a production of Tod eines Handlugsreisenden. Though, I'm sure most of us English-speaking folk would call it "Death of a Salesman," but Arthur Miller. This was to satisfy the requirement that this entire trip be "tax deductible," since we're both actors.

I'm kidding…but only partially. If we can deduct any of this trip, that'd be awesome…but that's not the reason we went. We like theater, and the opportunity to see a great production of an excellent play was one we couldn't pass up.

So we got snazzed up, had a quick dinner, and headed to the show.

The show. Now, I'd read Death of a Salesman before, so…even though it was translated into German, I was able to follow the story with my knowledge of the plot, and my rudimentary understanding of the German language. The show was fabulous…though it was interesting seeing the "German Twist" on a (traditionally) very realistic play.

First off, the Germans seem to be in love with spectacle – so the set was a giant revolve filled with the various set pieces to be used throughout the show…and the rest of the theater was bare (from the back wall to the fly rail way above the stage). Now…although Death of a Salesman is typically done completely realistic and straight in America, the German production set it in the modern day, added some surrealistic moments with unusual stage conventions (overlapping scenes with occasional interaction, video projections, a few random moments of singing, and the occasional unexpected, undefined flashbacks).

Having said that, the show worked – it has to be something akin to what the English experience when they see a "re-imagined" version of a Shakespeare play – but it was quite enjoyable none-the-less. The gentleman playing Willy Lohman was superb, and we was surrounded by fantastic actors (who I was able to understand completely, in spite of the language barrier), and an inventive bit of direction. Seriously, there were moments when I was moved to tears, even though I didn't quite know exactly what was being said on stage. I'm very glad I got to see that production…and even more glad, since we paid for the 16 euro seats, but got moved to the 60 euro seats (because, if we hadn't, we'd have been the only suckers in the balcony).

After the show ended, we retired to our fabulous hotel and had some amazing German chocolates (that we'd purchased earlier in the day), watched a dubbed version of Star Wars, drank a Coke Zero, worked on a crossword puzzle for a bit, and eventually fell asleep. Tomorrow, we head to the portion of the trip that we're both dreading and anticipating – Dachau concentration camp. Ought to be interesting. Until then…

Day 10 -- Munich, Germany

Here it comes. Dachau. The birthplace of the modern concentration camp. I wasn't sure what to expect exactly – there was no basis for comparison in the United States. Sure, we treated the Native Americans quite poorly, but (aside from the unpleasant biological warfare) there was no tacit, government sanctioned genocide. The same goes for the slaves – we didn't want to exterminate them…just use them as property. And either way, those original sins are centuries old…as opposed to decades old for the German people.

So it was difficult to picture exactly how they would approach this. A lot of foreign (and some domestic) tourists are interested in these places, yet on the other hand, they're a stark reminder of the sins of your country. And sins so bad that it's sorta' the benchmark for any "country gone awry."

And it's interesting seeing history from a European perspective – especially their perspective on American involvement in European wars. For instance, in the Musee d'Armee, the section that mentioned the American involvement in World War two started, not with Pearl Harbor, but with the "American Oil Embargo on Japan." Never mind the reason behind the oil embargo (the Japanese invasion of Manchuria, and the League of Nations response), the beginning of American involvement in WWII was, from the French perspective, the oil embargo on the poor, oil-hungry Japanese.

There was also absolutely no mention of Patton in Northern Africa (the exhibit only mentioned General Bernard Montgomery), and when the Americans became involved in WWI, the French were sure to point out that it was "With the assistance of French arms" and that the troop assistance was initially "very limited" since the Americans only arrived in 1917.

But what to do about a concentration camp? Well, I was about to find out.

We got up fairly late – there was a general feeling of unease between us…unspoken mostly. It was a strange, dreading feeling going to the camp. Like you know you're about to watch the most tragic movie of your life (which is Beaches, of course); you want to prepare yourself mentally, but you don't know totally what to expect.

By now we'd licked the German transportation system. We got our S-Bahn pass for "5 people and under," then hopped on the west-bound train.

Arriving in the city of Dachau, we did what we've been doing all trip – skipped the shuttle bus, and walked the hour-and-a-half to the site. Admittedly, this walk was not as pretty as the Neuschwanstein hike – it was mostly suburban, and the water we walked beside was more "canal" than "creek."

Another interesting note – we looked at the map by the train station, and it listed "Things to Do in Dachau." The concentration camp was number 7 or 8 on the list (behind the "Town Hall," and several art galleries). Now, I can't imagine that most tourists are coming to Dachau to see their nice, historic town hall…but…then again, who wants to be known as the "Concentration Camp Town!"

We got to the camp eventually – the place was pretty unassuming at first. No big lines. There were several large groups of people (tour groups and school field trips, mostly), but no real "crowds." Lots of individual stragglers as well (like ourselves).

Now I don't like to speak in sweeping generalities – I mean…I try to avoid them, but everyone avoids them…especially the Italians, who are really the best at avoiding generalities. So I'll try to give my feelings about this place as "personal" a vibe as I can...

Basically, right before you walk through the gate there was a little, dilapidated train platform. This was where every person who came to Dachau disembarked…and for many of them they'd never see the platform again.

Now, unlike a lot of places (especially in Munich), the concrete I was seeing here was the same concrete that the Dachau prisoners saw…the camp was mostly untouched after WWII (briefly serving as an American POW camp and military prison…then as a refugee camp), becoming a full-time memorial in the early 1960s. So…while a lot of other places around Europe have been touched up, repainted, repaired, and reconditioned over the years…this historic site was the real deal. The pocked concrete walls, the metal grating, the heavy wood doors, the light fixtures; for the most part this was all "primary source" history.

So I got to run my fingers along this platform…which is fairly corny, but looking from the platform to the entrance…it was just a pretty powerful sight for me. I was looking at the same thing they were looking at…sixty-five years ago.

We stepped inside, through the gate famously stating "Arbeit Macht Frei" (work will set you free). And we went to the first exhibit – the bunker.

Again, all the same emotions as the train platform. One of the first rooms you see "the bunker" was the place where the special prisoners were tortured. Out the back you could see the concrete posts that (as punishment) prisoners would be hung from – by their hands, which were tied behind their backs (a kind of vertical crucifixion). There were several rooms inside the bunker that were called "standing rooms," which were made so that people were unable to sit or lay down. As punishment, people were made to stand in these little rooms for up to 72 hours at a time. Finally there were rooms that were bare and black – as another form of punishment, they'd throw you into this room and keep you in total darkness for up to 6 months at a time (sometimes longer).

And Dachau was not an extermination camp – it was one of the first (if not the first) concentration camp…founded in the 1930s. It initially housed political prisoners…then it housed POWs, and finally, after Kristallnacht, it housed the standard fare of Jews, Gypsies, Homosexuals, and Miscreants.

So as bad as Dachau was, there were even more terrible places, such as Birkenau, or Belzec. But I was finding out, even the camps built solely for "internment" were awful, deadly places to be. In addition to the torture and forced labor, there were awful medical experiments being conducted by some "men of science." Imagine if you were a prisoner, and one of the guards selects you for a special duty. They probably picked you because you fit the description of a Luftwaffe pilot, and you were (relatively) healthy. So they take you aside. You've done everything right up to this point – probably staying as healthy as possible…keeping your head down…going about your business…

When they take you to a chamber. It's a pressure chamber, and they're testing the survivability of Luftwaffe pilots in high-altitude situations. So they sit you on a bench in this chamber, then start de-pressurizing it until the arteries in your brain expand, and eventually pop. Or maybe they put you in a tub of freezing ice water (in full Luftwaffe pilot attire) and see how long you last until you die of hypothermia…because they were concerned about pilot survivability in cold-water situations. I mean…that's just not fair. There's no "Frei" in this situation…you could work your ass off, and if you're the guy who seems "the most healthy," you're tortured to death for the sake of curiosity.

But one of the things that stuck with me was the pictures and videos that were taken by the American forces that liberated the camp. After the invasion of Normandy, and the advance of the Allied forces through France and Germany, the Nazis made an effort to withdraw not only their troops, but also their detainees…and they attempted to destroy all evidence if their misdeeds. So when the Americans reached Dachau (surprising the German guards, and preventing the Nazis from dismantling the camp before Allied forces arrived), it had been used to house prisoners at 20 times its regular capacity. So when the Americans arrived, the saw the camp as it was being run – scattered with various corpses, and piled high with bodies ready for the incinerator.

Now I'm going to get a little macabre here, so bear with me. Arbeit macht frei. Dachau was used, generally, as a source of slave labor, as the Germans were running out of domestic labor (most men of a suitable age and heritage had already been drafted into the Army). So the men at Dachau would get shipped to various armament factories in the area, or they'd work maintaining Dachau itself. Since they were treated poorly, often they'd be worked until they could not work…then those invalids would be sent to an extermination camp and "healthy" workers would replace them.

So the only way to survive Dachau was to work. Arbeit macht frei. The pictures the American forces took were of men…fully dressed for work…sitting against a wall, or passed out on the ground…just not living. These men were worked to death. It's hard to imagine – like anyone, I put myself in their place. How could I have survived this? I'm sure it's common to read about a disaster, and picture how you'd have survived…like, during a plane crash, I'd be the one opening the emergency door at the last second and swan-diving into a lake. Or I'd brace myself against a window, and get thrown clear when my bus plunges over a bridge. In every emergency I see myself as the sole survivor, busting out through a window, rolling through the flames, diving under the table to escape the collapse, et cetera.

I asked myself if I could have done that these men were unable to do…and even given my propensity for the "hero complex," I realized…these men were tougher than I could ever be. They were mostly Russian and Polish prisoners of war, with the occasional western-European prisoner (who were generally treated much better than their eastern counterparts…they were allowed to communicate with the outside world, receive aid packages from the Red Cross, etc.). These men were strong, tough, and stubborn…and when they died, they died probably figuring they just needed to rest against a wall for a minute, or…not having the strength to stand…collapsing to the ground. There was no "give up" in the faces of death that I saw.

Now, I've done some fairly hard labor before. Sometimes for several days in a row. After a week of clearing brush, chopping wood, or transporting heavy things, I'm completely drained, sore, exhausted…my hands are blistered…and I usually need at least another week to recover. Hard to imagine what I'd do if my life depended on my ability to get up every day, not complain, work myself ragged with little to eat for 16 hours at a time with no breaks, then come home to a straw-lined wooden bunk in a little room I shared with 50 other guys in the same position. It's hard to imagine…but at Dachau I had to try. Everyone is born with that instinct to survive, and those men had it more than most. More than me, I'm sure.

Anyway, enough of that. For me, the Concentration Camp at Dachau was the most moving part of our trip thus far. We walked around the camp for, probably, about 3 or 4 hours. It was an eerie, moving little slice of history. And to their credit, the German people did not pull any punches in their re-telling of the camp's history – there was a section that explained how the Americans, upon liberating the camp, forced every resident of Dachau to come to the camp and view the pile of bodies that were sitting out, waiting to be incinerated. Then the surviving members of the Nazi party were forced to dig the mass graves for those same bodies.

I spoke a couple of days ago about the unfortunate destruction of the amazing cathedrals in downtown Munich…how Allied bombing had damaged a large portion of historic Munich. Having visited Dachau, I can now understand why the German people can see that damage as more of a fait accompli than a travesty.

Having taken in as much as we were able we returned to the Dachau train station, had a quick lunch at a local bakery, then headed back into town. Once we were there, we decided to venture out solo for only the second time this trip (the other coming on our disastrous train disembarkation in Passing). It was strangely frightening – it's going to be odd getting back to Los Angeles, and not spending 24 hours together.

Our dinner was more amazingly prepared beer and meat – we got the chance to taste the beer from the monastery that we didn't get a chance to visit the night before…and although it still hasn't fixed my beer palate, it was definitely quite good.

Mentally and physically drained, we retired to the Hotel Uhland, and Erika fell asleep almost immediately. I stayed up for a bit (as I always do), read a Rolling Stone article about John McCain, watched some soccer on TV, and eventually fell asleep too.

Tomorrow we leave Munich…and honestly, I wish we could spend another week here. The hotel, the food, the people, the buildings…amazing. I'm going to miss this place. But we're off to Lucerne, which is going to be our "R&R" stop. Not a whole lot planned, and a smaller city than what we've been to…but a good break after our whirlwind through Paris and Munich, and a "recouping" before we're off to the mean streets of Rome. Should be a nice, relaxing time. Until then…