The day started with much anticipation, as today would be the day I’ve been training for – I would drink a litre of Bier and eat an enormous bratwurst.
For the last several days, everyone has been wishing us to have a happy “something-something.” We didn’t think that it was anything important to look up what the “something-something” was in our German dictionary. After all, if they’re wishing us to have a happy one, it must be nothing of consequence. Turns out, “something-something” was “Feiertag,” which is holiday. Jess knew that once…but alas, no longer. Now we all know.
Pentecost Monday is a day when everything is closed in southern Germany, really comparable to Christmas in America…maybe in 1945. We were going to drive to Frankfurt today, and pick up some snacks at the grocery store on the way. The darkness inside and locked doors were the first sign something was wrong. Equipped with a dictionary and our handy 2011 Rick Steves Guidebook, which has a calendar in the appendix, all of the pieces fit together. But, that shouldn’t be a big deal – we were really just going to drive through Frankfurt, and maybe walk around a few places. No problem if a few things were closed – onward!
Once we got to Frankfurt, we noticed signs that said it is an Environmental Zone. That too, we had heard about once, but didn’t think it would be of any consequence. The major cities require that you have a green environmental sticker on your car, which is their way of taxing carbon use. Rick Steves’ guidebook, which has always been right thus far, says to just get them at the border or at a gas station for 5 Euros.
Even if we were thinking about this a week ago, there was nothing at the border. It took us about 50 miles to realize we were even in Germany – the language change on the signs gave it away. And apparently Rick didn’t go to the two gas stations right outside Frankfurt. They don’t sell the stickers – only the motor vehicle department sells them…and they’re closed because it’s a holiday. And yes, the Polizei will catch you, says the grumpy gas station attendant who has never been asked such a stupid question.
No food, no Frankfurt, and gas stations seemed to be the only thing open. Until a large McDonald’s sign lured us off the Autobahn and into the warm, fuzzy clutches of American commercialism complete with a play place so large it was called a Gym Club. The best part was that the McRib Sandwich is a permanent part of the menu.
After an hour of running in the Gym Club like crazy monkeys and dodging German soccer balls hit with more force and precision than Pelé, we took our sweaty kids back home and watched a movie. Then, made a dinner with all the leftover ingredients we had in the house, packed up, and called it a night and the end of our trip to Diez…wait, make that Altendiez.
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