On the second day of Christmas

We drove through the grey streets of Sibiu, looking for our guesthouse.  Rain glistened in the glare from the street lamps on the wet roads. We piled from the car, stretching our cramped legs from hours of riding, and headed indoors to our rooms.  After settling in, we met in the common area- Diana and Petter, Cristian and I- with a quandary.  Where do we go to eat, here on the outskirts of town?  We did what any person of our generation would do, pulled out our smart phones and started looking for options. 

Sibiu as seen the next day in the daylight

We were all in agreement that we didn't feel like walking the whole way to the city center in the cold damp night, so we settled on a place just a few blocks away with good reviews.  We walked down the mainly residential street, anything that wasn't a house already shuttered for the night.  When we reached the block where the restaurant we were looking for was, there wasn't a light in sight.  I spotted the door, walked up to it, and even with my rudimentary Romanian skills knew it wasn't good news.  They were closed for the Christmas holidays.

Cell phones back out again, we huddled under a street light, looking for other options.  What would our parents have done a generation ago, we pondered, and then realized the obvious- they would have asked a real live human being at the guesthouse before venturing out in the cold.  And probably would have found out the restaurant was closed before getting there.  Oh well.

There really only seemed to be one place likely to be open nearby, and though none of us were really pleased by the option, we didn't feel like walking the whole way downtown, so we set off down the deserted city streets. The sidewalk came to an abrupt end and we climbed some steps to a grassy section with a path worn into it by all the other people who have come to the same place and decided to keep forging on.  Cars whizzed by beneath me, and as I stepped gingerly, trying not to slip on the icy patches, I imagined slipping off the edge, run over by the oncoming traffic below.  The path we were on veered uphill and we suddenly realized why the sidewalk ended.  We'd reached a railroad that crosses over the road here.  We looked at each other, the road below us (an obvious pedestrian path going under the railroad bridge on the other side of the street), and the tracks.  We decided to risk it.  We scrambled over the tracks, no last minute encounter with an oncoming train to make us regret our decision, and back down the hill to street level. 

There, in the distance, we saw our destination, golden arches beckoning to us to come in out of the cold.  And that, my friends, is how we ended up eating dinner at McDonalds on the second day of Christmas in Romania.  Apparently we weren't the only ones stuck with no choice of open restaurants on a holiday, because the place was packed.  It was, as expected, a mediocre meal (also, they don't put ice in your soda at McDonald's in Romania, and as the only American there, I was the only one who found that really weird. Also, the chicken nuggets tasted different), but hey, we didn't have to walk forever, it was open, and we weren't hungry anymore, and after all, that's the most important thing about food.

Sunrise over Tikal

We trudge down the path in the dark, the humidity already startlingly heavy so early in the morning.  Our flashlights bob, lighting the path in front of us.  Suddenly, our guide stops short, a giant tarantula caught in the pool of light from his flashlight.  We gather around to look, me hanging back at the edges of the crowd, glad for my closed toed shoes. It skitters down the path, back the way we came and I breathe a sigh of relief that I won't have to worry about it following us, running over my feet, or crawling up my leg.

Finally we make it to the base of the pyramid.  We're one of the first groups there, and our guide reminds us to be silent at the top.  At the very top Deborah urges me to climb the last steep stairs as high as we can go to watch the sunrise.  They're terrifyingly steep, and I'm afraid I'll tumble all the way off and down to the jungle floor, but I inch up them til I sit with my back against the wall.  More groups join us, but we're all mostly silent, shifting, rustling, and occasional whispers all we can hear.

Until the howler monkeys start up.  It's otherworldly.  It sounds like jungle cats, lions of leopards or something equally terrifying, are fighting in the trees below us.  Their deep throaty roars and growls are fascinating and unsettling at the same time.

Slowly, the sky turns from black to grey. There's a tiny tinge of pink above us, but not the spectacular oranges and purples I was hoping for.  It doesn't matter, because slowly, out of the morning mists, we begin to make out shapes. More temple pyramids appear in the distance, their tops rising above the canopy of the trees, mist clinging to the edges.  Everything is still.  The howlers have stopped crying. It's the sort of moment that makes 3 am wake up times, and pitch dark walks through tarantula infested jungle totally worth it.

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A Very Different Thanksgiving- Part 2

The sun was close to setting and I was getting tired.  I wanted to sit down, but something about the black sand of the beach made me more wary of that than I usually am. Suddenly, a large line of people emerged from a gate at the edge of the beach.  As they made their way down to the shore, I noticed two women with large tubs and a group quickly gathering around.  The turtles had arrived.  I hurried over and peeked over the heads of the children crowding close and squealed with the “aww” factor of dozens of tiny baby sea turtles, all clamoring to get out and start their journey to the ocean.

“Step back behind the line”, the volunteers instructed us, shepherding us to a line that had been drawn in the sand. They walked the line in trios, one person taking our 10 quetzales (about $1.30) and giving us a ticket, the next person handing us a little plastic bowl and depositing a diminutive turtle from the tub the last person was holding.

I stared at my turtle in delight.  It was so tiny, so full of life, so anxious to go.  It tried to crawl it’s way up the edge of the bowl, so I covered it with my hand, afraid it would flop out and fall to the sand. Once everyone had gotten a turtle, they counted to 3 and we all released our turtles at once as the sun sank below the horizon.  Their little flippers moving madly, they stumbled their way toward the ocean, 3 strokes forward, pause, 3 strokes forward, pause. They were so tiny that footprints left in the sand were obstacles that had to be carefully maneuvered. We cheered them on, urging them to the sea, to survive, to be quick and wary.

As the waves rolled in, little turtles would disappear from the sand, bobbing out to sea.  Others, the stragglers in the group, wandered haphazardly, heading down the beach before veering back towards the ocean.  Finally, as it grew darker and the grey turtles blended in with the sand, the last of the turtles finally made it out to sea. My heart was full- thankful for this amazing and unusual Thanksgiving experience.

Kites and Umbrellas

Halloween festivities started off unexpectedly, in the middle of trivia night. “And this week, the physical challenge is to wrap one of your team mates as a zombie using an entire roll of toilet paper”. My face may have lit up like a jack-o-lantern with the surprising silliness of the task. Cheap toilet paper and a damp night worked against us, as we tried every method we could think of to wrap our “mummy”. When speed didn’t seem to work for us, we decided to go for the “best looking” bonus points. Carefully folding torn pieces back into the wrappings, and draping the remaining bits over her head, we stood back in triumph as our mummy was declared the best.


Now I was all geared up for Halloween, with one tiny problem- I had a costume ready to go, but nowhere to wear it to. But turned out Jamie was more or less in the same boat, so Friday night I booked a hostel in Antigua for the next day and went to bed, my inner child happy to finally have a costume party (and some other fun) to look forward to.


Saturday night, I slipped into my skirt, pulled on stockings, carefully pulled my hair back in a bun…each step in my transformation tugging me closer and closer to song. By the time I picked up my carpet bag and had a trial run with my unfurled umbrella, I couldn’t help it anymore. “It’s a jolly holiday with Mary, Mary makes your heart grow bright! . . .” We headed out into the streets, the skeleton and Mary Poppins, headed off to find dinner. Zombie brides, Mario and Luigi, assorted Minnie Mouses and a giant baby bobbed past in a thick stream of people. Everyone in Antigua seemed to be out, and ¾ of them were in costume. Scratch that. Everyone in all of Guatemala seemed to be out in Antigua. I’d never seen the streets so crowded here. We stood in line to get into a club as I came to terms with an undercurrent of disappointment- there were no Reese’s Peanut butter cups, or snickers bars for that matter, anywhere in my near future. Seriously, who wants beer on Halloween? They should have a bowl of candy out at the bar. But, since adults trick-or-treating seems to be frowned upon, I people watched from the balcony of the crowded club instead. Two girls came up to me. “Excuse me, can we take a picture with you? Your costume is great!” Ok, even if they didn’t give me candy, my evening was made. I felt like a minor celebrity. As we moved back outside where the people watching was better, my feeling of celebrity status continued “Mommy, mommy, is that Mary Poppins?” a little girl asked insistently. I couldn’t help but sing snatches of Mary Poppin’s songs when I heard people mention Mary Poppins as I passed. After a few more rounds of photos in the park (we’d joined up with some friends of Jamie’s, one of whom, Aladdin himself, on his flying carpet, had big-time celebrity status) I headed back to the hostel, singing as I went “Oh a spoonful of sugar makes the medicine go down!”


The next day we headed to Sumpango, a small town known for its giant kite festival. Every year on November 1st, people in Guatemala fly kites in memory of loved ones who have died and to frighten evil spirits away. In Sumpango, we were bombarded with color. Each kite takes hundreds of hours to create. Their intricate designs are made out of a mosaic of tissue paper, with some of the finer details painted by hand.

Kites, 2 or 3 times as tall as I am, pulled against the stands that held them upright, filling whenever there was a gust of wind. The message on one of the kites caught my eye- "there is no valid reason to take a child's childhood away". Contrasted with the harsh reality portrayed in the design- a shoe shine boy, a boy with a heavy pack on his back, a girl grinding corn with a mortar and pestle- it brought tears to my eyes.

We stopped to watch as one team glued their kite to its frame and another got ready to use pulleys to lever their's into position. We were coated in a fine layer of dust as we walked through the field, the sun glaring down from a perfect blue sky. Ice cream vendors strolled through the rows of kites (exactly what I needed on such a warm, sunny day), and stalls selling grilled meat with sides of tortillas and guacamole surrounded the field (exactly what I didn't need on a slightly upset stomach). Families were picnicking on the lawn, sprawled in the shade under the bleachers, clustered on plastic chairs under food tent pavilions. And over it all, smaller kites dotted the sky.



Eventually we headed back home, where I happily collapsed into my own bed and felt extremely happy that the next day was a holiday and I didn't have to leave the house.



I’m thankful for silliness
I’m thankful for weekend plans
I’m thankful for excuses to wear costumes and sing in the street
I’m thankful for living in a country that has rich, unique traditions
I’m thankful for rest

Going Solo

Split, Croatia

August 19th

I have a secret, one that most people don’t realize when they look at my life and the things I’ve done.  I’m afraid to travel alone.  Seeing as I’ve gone off alone to all the corners of the earth, that might come as a surprise, but the thing is, even though I always got on the plane alone, I knew there was someone waiting for me at the other end.  I never had to navigate my way to a new apartment or to a hotel completely alone. And I knew I wouldn’t feel alone for long- I could count on new classmates or new coworkers becoming friends. 

So this summer, I stepped outside my comfort zone to take my first solo travel adventures.  After a full day exploring the Plitvice Lake National Park, I arrived in Split after dark.  I was looking for bus 10 to take to my hostel, but the warm night air and the beach town atmosphere seduced me.  Instead of searching near the bus station, I followed the crowds toward the center.  Families strolled along the waters’ edge and vendors sold swimsuits, towels, sunglasses and hats in stalls lining the street.  I hadn’t gone far when I saw a sign for Diocletian’s basement.    I turned down the alley and walked into history.  The walls around me were built 1700 years ago to support Diocletian’s retirement palace.  Despite the upscale souvenir stalls lining the corridor, I still stared around me in wonder at the arches and columns.  At the end of the corridor, I stopped in surprise.  A row of sandaled feet was at my eye level at the top of the stairs.  As my eyes scanned up, bare calves were followed by red skirts then plate armor, topped of by a helmet. Shields rested on the ground in front.  Curious as to what Centurion soldiers would be doing at the top of the staircase, and since there didn’t seem to be any indication that I couldn’t proceed, I went up to peep between their soldiers.  Some even more adventurous souls slipped behind the soldiers, so I followed them.  There seemed to be some sort of performance going on, and somehow, I’d ended up behind it.  I followed the people in front of me, feeling rather lost as someone gave us some sort of direction in Croatian.  I walked quickly through some more passageways that seem to have been converted into a back stage area, until I was back out into the twisting network of streets.  I decided to snake around until I made it out to the audience side of the performance.  

They seemed to be doing some sort of reenactment, as the emperor read a proclamation (or something to that effect) and I shifted a bit on the ground where I’d found a place to watch.  Maybe I should leave, seeing as nothing really seemed to be happening and the only words I knew in Croatian were “hvala” (thanks), pivo (beer) and kremšnita (custard), none of which figured significantly in the emperor’s speech, surprisingly.  But then, the gladiators came out; the slave ones, who fought with nothing but sticks and nets.  As the one with the stick vanquished the one with the net, the emperor asked the crowd if he should be shown mercy or not.  There’s still hope for the world, I thought to myself as I headed back out towards the street to find my hostel.  All of the children in the crowd, unprompted, were granting the man mercy. 

The next day, I headed off to the beach, where between the warm Adriatic Sea and my book, I kept myself entertained for hours.  Finally driven back into town desperate for some food, for the first time I felt a bit at a loss in my own company.  The conversation I had with my waiter ordering food was the first time I’d talked to anyone all day, and I found myself resisting the impulse to suggest he should stay and talk with me while I ate.  I decided to people watch instead, probably a more socially acceptable past time than keeping waiters from doing their job anyway.  Somehow, I made it through that meal alone, and then, another day of exploring solo.  By the time I got back to Nada’s the next night, I was anxious to have a conversation, but I was thrilled with the experience.  I had done it and found that traveling alone was nothing to be afraid of.  Sure, there were moments when I would have liked some company, but I also enjoyed my private adventures, the solitude and room for thought, the ability to do everything at my own pace.  Now a whole new world is open to me since I’ve realized that I have nothing to be afraid of as a solo traveler.   

Let Prague Find You

Prague, Czech Republic
July 28, 2014

I stopped in my tracks and pointed out the metro sign to Alex as I giggled, “Look what was right in front of us.”  Two nights before, dead tired after a train-ride to Prague, we’d been sitting at an Italian restaurant, celebrating my birthday, barely talking to each other in the haze of post-travel weariness.  We left the restaurant with every intention of going straight back to our hostel, but we couldn’t for the life of us find a metro entrance.  As we tried to retrace our steps, we found ourselves accidentally hitting every tourist site in Prague- Charles Bridge with its view of Prague Castle, and then later the square and the astronomical clock.  It was only after wandering blindly through the city for half an hour, pulling out a map and then putting it away in frustration because we couldn’t figure out where we were, that we finally hit upon a metro entrance and found our way back.  Now, once again wandering haphazardly, we were back at the same restaurant where we'd had diner two nights before. The biggest irony of all- there was a metro entrance visible from where we’d been sitting that first evening.

We learned to not even try to use a map in Prague.  “Let Prague find you” became our catchphrase.  For some reason, maps defeated us.  But when we just wandered, when we let Prague find us, we found some delightful surprises.  One day we stumbled upon the Prague Parliament building.  Away from the oceans of tourists that congregate around Charles Bridge and in the square, it was a quiet oasis, where the peacocks roaming the grounds were an added bonus.  Another day our wanderings led us to a park on the hills surrounding the city with spectacular views.

We waited, fruitlessly, for a random stranger to ask us for directions.  It didn’t matter where to, we had our answer ready.  I contemplated buying hippy pants and getting dreads, just to make myself more believable.  But, once they asked, we would look them in the eyes, and then, with our most solemn voice say, “Let Prague find you.”

The Turkish Baths

Budapest, Hungary
July 15th, 2014

The light was dim, there was a quiet splash of water, and from somewhere, hard to identify because of the way the dome overhead filtered sound, there was a low murmur of voices.  But overall, it was so silent and still, that the atmosphere reminded me of a church.  We settled in up to our necks in warm water in the octagonal pool and looked around.  The building we were in had been built in the 14^th century by the Turks, who occupied Hungary at that time.  Light filtered through the cupola of the dome and a window set high in the wall looking out towards the street.  Smaller rectangular pools were set around the walls outside of the circular pool.  We ventured into the hot one next, relaxing after 3 full days of sightseeing and walking for miles.  As it got too hot to stand, we decided to try the “cold” pool.  At almost 80 degrees (27 c), we didn’t think it would feel cold, but compared to the pool we’d been soaking in, it gave us a shock.  I sat along the edge, dipping my feet in, until I finally worked up the nerve to dip underwater.  It didn’t take long until I started shivering, and we decided to check out the mysterious door that several people had opened next to the cold pool.  When we opened it, a wall of steam almost blinded us, and a scent of eucalyptus filled the air.  I was simultaneously delighted and overwhelmed. From the wooden benches along the wall, I could barely glimpse the door through the steam and soon the heat drove me out.  After cooling down in the cool bath again, I was ready to try the normal saunas.  My Finnish sauna experience stood me in good stead here, and bypassing the 100-120 degree F (40-50 c) sauna where most people were choosing to sit, I headed to the hotter sauna in the back, still a cool 120-140 degrees F (50-60 c).  We spent several hours, rotating through the different pools and saunas, immersed in history, until all the tension had left our bodies. I left completely relaxed, and determined to take better advantage of opportunities to use the sauna in Finland. 

Little things and Misadventures

Turku, Finland to Budapest Hungary
July 12, 2014

Once upon a time, I was a control freak and I stressed about everything.  When I backpacked in Europe 8 years ago, I remember we packed peanut butter crackers and decided to eat them on the Chunnel- the train connection through the channel tunnel that connects England and France.  I started worrying out loud to my sister that maybe someone on the train would have a peanut allergy and go into anaphylactic shock and it would be our fault.  Fortunately for me, she was a lot more laid-back then I was, and convinced me that I didn’t need to go borrowing trouble.

Three years living as a missionary in a less than predictable place taught me that I am not in control, that stressing doesn’t change things, and that usually it all works out in the end.

So, this time leaving for a 3 week backpacking trip, I was much more laid-back, and had a lot less planned in advance.  I knew where I was meeting my friend and where we were staying in Budapest, after that, well, everything was fairly open to change. 

Even so, that doesn’t mean I wasn’t a bit nervous.  Three weeks, 4 countries (3 of them where I didn’t know a single word, or only one), 1 friend. There was a lot that could possibly go wrong.  So, backpack on, I headed towards the bus station, trying to remind myself that usually it all works out in the end. 

And then, hanging on a railing, something caught my eye.  I’d been out with friends the night before, having one less farewell get together.  We’d had chilly weather lately, so when I left the house I had a sweater and a scarf with me for when the sun went down.  When I got home though, I realized I’d dropped the scarf somewhere along the way. I was sad- it was a birthday present, and I really liked it-but I was leaving the next morning, there wasn’t much I could do about it.  And there, that next morning, was my scarf, hanging over the railing, waiting for me.  It seemed like a smile from God.  “See, I care, even about the little things.” he reminded me. “You don’t need to worry about all the things that could go wrong”.

Several hours later, I found myself at a train station on the outskirts of Budapest. I had to change to a local train to get the station where my friend was meeting me.  My ticket didn’t list the platform number, and I had only 7 minutes to make my connection, so I lost no time in making my way to the board where departures are listed.  Only one train was leaving at the time I was looking for, so I headed to the platform, still slightly hesitant because I had a feeling the local trains might leave from a different area of the station.  But, the train pulled up, the sign on the door said the name of the station I was supposed to go to somewhere, so I got on and hoped for the best-I should be there in less than 10 minutes.  I didn’t have long to get comfortable.  When the conductor came and asked for my ticket he looked at it and just shook his head.  My stomach sank.  I was on a train in Hungary headed the wrong direction and I didn’t even have a valid ticket.  He could tell from my distraught face that I had made an honest mistake, and very kindly told me how to get to where I wanted to go, and didn’t charge me for the train I was on.  He even wrote a note for me in Hungarian “one ticket to Budapest Deli with the student discount please” in case the person at the ticket counter didn’t speak English.  As he left I settled in to wait for another 45 minutes- of course I had to pick the wrong train that didn’t stop ANYWHERE for a full 45 minutes. Two hours later, after my train ride through sunflower fields, a bit of phone tag with a friend of my friend in Budapest to pass the message on to her when I would be arriving, and waiting around in the Budapest-Deli train station lobby I finally met up with my friend. And see, I was right, things usually all work out in the end. 

The unexpected

We were on a train heading to Deining.  The girls wanted to do a photo shoot somewhere scenic and Fluvio and I wanted to hike.  But only halfway there, we spotted some castle ruins on the hill.  We all started wondering aloud if we could get there as the train pulled in to the next station.  As it was stopping, I spotted a hiking trail map out the window.  "Come, on, let's go!" And suddenly the 4 of us were piling out onto a platform in, well, we didn't really know where. The hiking trail map didn't have enough details for us to make up our minds which way to go, so we just set off in the general direction of the castle.

First, we had to make a mad dash across the train tracks, since we didn't see a crossing anywhere.  A sea of yellow rapeseed flower in bloom stretched in front of us, and we walked around it and down to an intersection.  "Maybe we should have looked at the platform sign before we left the station so we would know where we are" we mused.  A trail post stood at the intersection, "Laaber Burgruine" it read.  "Are we in Laaber, maybe?" I asked.  Fluvio looked at the sign. "Burgruine means castle ruins". Apparently we were on the right track.  A staircase lead downhill, and we caught our first glimpse of the castle ruins sticking up above the village.

The view from the castle was spectacular.  Past the town and the train tracks, forested hills touched the horizon.  A little church nestled in the trees half way up the hills.  Below us, the town spread out neatly, steep red roofs and pastel colors clustered around a church.

We decided that there probably wasn't a much better picnic spot on earth than right there in the castle ruins, and a fresh baked loaf of bread with brie cheese was the perfect picnic food.

After our lunch, the girls headed off to find the perfect spot for their photo shoot, and Fluvio and I headed into town to explore and find a hiking trail.  Behind the school headed into the woods, we found a trail marked by the stations of the cross.  We followed it up the hill to a clearing with three crosses, then beyond the clearing into an open field with views of the forests and mountains behind it.  The mountains weren't nearly high enough, but I still felt a bit like I was in the opening scene from The Sound of Music, and I just might have spun through the meadow singing "the hills are alive with the sound of music" for a second or two. . .

We crossed some more fields, and then entered a dark pine forest.  Pinecones covered the ground and the stillness of the place spoke stillness to my soul.  On our way out, I spotted some pussy willow that had been cut down, and cut some of the branches off to take home and decorate.

As we headed back to the train station, an ice cream store in town caught our eye.  There's not a much more perfect way to end a beautiful spring day than with an ice cream cone. The friendly lady behind the counter loved talking to foreigners.  She spoke in German clearly and slowly, so we could understand, and then chatted with us about where we were from and what we were doing in Germany. Just as we were finishing our cones in the outside patio, a few raindrops started falling.  We dashed for the train platform, but the shower finished before we even got there.

There's nothing much more delightful than a perfect day in a place you didn't even know existed when you left the house. 

Plan B

Our spur of the moment plan made sitting in the beer garden the day before didn't sound so good anymore, staring at the weather forecast.  Showers all day long, highs in the mid teens.  Who wants to spend 3 hours on a train, just to go see some mountains in the rain?

But, it was already 6:15 and we were meeting at 7:20.  If I didn't come up with another plan quickly, I'd be hiking in the rain (or more likely, huddling in a cafe) like it or not.

15 tabs in my finder later, I had a basic plan. It sounded good: take a shorter train ride to a place with a good weather forecast, pick up the Frankenweg trail there, follow it to the next town, and ride the train back.  There were just a few minor details missing, you know, things like, where to pick up the trail when we left the train station, how close the trail passed to the next town, and the actual distance we would be hiking.  Oh, and the fact that I couldn't actually print the map.

However, little details like that weren't enough to stop our adventurous crew (that and the fact that I may not have *ahem* disclosed that I didn't know the actual distance.  Google maps claimed 8.5 km.  Of course, that was following the road).  Our train stopped at Deining, and we stepped out onto the platform.  We looked around us, a bit bewildered.  We'd assumed if there was a train station, there would at least be a large enough town to find a cafe and drink a coffee while we waited for a friend who had over slept to catch up with us.  But all we could see was the platform, a road, and a sign.  Deining was apparently not a thriving metropolis.

We sleepily looked at the sign and tried to figure out which direction the hiking trail was, until Mikko made the brilliant deduction that we'd better continue the direction the train was going since our final destination was that way.  Our decision was pretty quickly confirmed as we spotted the first of the red and white stickers that were our lifeline for the rest of the day.

Turns out people do live in Deining, because we passed some backyards before the trail veered off into the forest.  Birds were singing, flowers were blooming, and trees were budding.  Our enthusiasm lasted for a couple of hours, as we moved in and out of forests and pastures, and through farmsteads.  A little village nestled in the distance, it's church steeple sticking up above the roofs. Giant wind turbines dotted the landscape, their modernity and sleek lines strikingly out of place.

After a couple of hours hiking, we came to a cross road.  The path continued one way.  A major road with a sign pointing to Neumarkt (our final destination) pointed the other.

Morale immediately sank to zero.  When you don't have a trail map and road signs are telling you the opposite of the trail blazes, it's hard to trust a sticker over a road sign, especially when only one person in the group has even seen the trail map and can confirm that it heads to the destination.  After a lengthy discussion, we decided to risk the hiking trail, but then realized we'd temporarily lost it.  At our most lost, our missing group member called us.  We told him to get off at the next town and walk back and meet us.  "Take the Frankenweg trail" I told him.  "It has red and white stickers.  Don't take any other trail, or you won't find us.  We're a bit lost now, but we'll let you know if we stop following the trail."

We crossed the road, looking to see if we could pick up the trail again, but there weren't any stickers to be seen.  We flagged down a young guy and practiced our German, but he could only tell us that yes, the road lead into town, and no, he didn't know any hiking paths.  We regrouped, confused again.  Should we follow the main road?  Or look for the hiking path?  Just then an older gentlemen came by on his bike.  "Entschuldigung!" (excuse me!) one of our group members called out.  The man stopped and the guy who stopped him suddenly realized he didn't have all the German skills necessary to ask what he wanted. "Kerlys!" he called, and our best German speaker went over to help him out.  She only got a few words out before she was calling me over, "what's the name of the hiking path we're looking for?"  Despite the poor man being overwhelmed by a succession of people all trying to ask the same question with varying degrees of German fluency, he finally understood us and answered.  "Straight ahead, just follow this path.  Yes it will take you to Neumarkt"  Feeling slightly more confident, we did as he said.

It wasn't the last of our confusion though. The path twisted and turned, stubbornly avoiding the direction that we were sure the city was.  Signs we passed neglected to mention Neumarkt as a destination.  We started to second guess ourselves again.  Our missing friend Hugo wasn't having any luck either.  I got a text message from him, "I'm on trail 5, with a yellow and white blaze".  Wait, what?  How were we ever going to find each other if we weren't on the same trail?  I called him back and explained once again what trail we were on.  "Make sure you find the same trail, or we'll never find each other"

The next trail sign we passed was stamped by the city of Neumarkt, so we started to feel more confident.  Even so, we'd passed 8.5 km long ago, and the city was nowhere to be seen.  Would we ever get there?  And would we ever find Hugo?  The last we'd heard from him, he'd found an orange church and was waiting there, sure we'd find him eventually.

Despite some dire predictions of death in the woods, starvation, meeting roaming bands of cannibals, or alien kidnapping, we eventually made it to civilization.  A sign post kindly informed us that we were 13.2 km from where we had started and that Neumarkt was only 3.7 km away.  (Whatever happened to 8.5 total?!  Thanks Google maps!) There was also a church only .8 km away, and a quick phone call to Hugo confirmed that it was the same one he was at.

We broke out into cheers when we reached the church and saw Hugo sitting in front of it, the city spread out in the valley below.  We'd been intrepid explorers, and finally were within sight of our destination.  The view made us all decide it was worth the extra kilometers of walking.

From the church, we headed down the mountainside into the city where we decided lunch was a must. After all, you work up quite an appetite walking 17 kilometers.  Sausages, potato salad and beer took the edge off our hunger, and then we wandered the town for a bit before catching our train back.

Five minutes before our train left, as we were speed walking to the station, a fire truck pulled up and the firefighters jumped out and rushed towards the platforms.  An ambulance with it's lights flashing was already parked there.  "That doesn't look good" one of us commented, as we rushed towards our platform.  Out of breath from dashing up the stairs, we checked the schedule as we wondered why the train wasn't there yet.  An announcement soon had everyone changing tracks, and we followed, a bit confused.  "Our train was canceled, we have to take the other" someone explained.  That train didn't seem to be going anywhere either, even though it should have left 2 minutes prior.  The conductor explained to someone through the window that all the trains were delayed, followed by something I couldn't understand.  Nina asked in English if the train went to Regensburg, and he assured us that it did, but then followed it up with, "But somebody has died.  We're not going anywhere until the track's cleared"  The ambulance and firetruck took on a whole new meaning.


We boarded the train, alternating between morbid curiosity and the feeling that our curiosity probably wasn't very respectful of whomever had died.  Uniformed officers went back and forth outside the windows, caution tape was put up, and then removed only minutes later, someone thought they saw the body being removed, and then realized they were mistaken.  Minutes ticked by and curiosity dulled to boredom and tiredness.  "Maybe we should walk back to Deining and take the train from there.  It might be faster" someone joked.  Just thinking about it made me exhausted.  As we were beginning to wonder if we'd be stuck spending the night in a town none of us had even ever heard of before, they made an announcement and everyone got off the train.  Good thing everyone in our group speaks more German than me- I would have been lost. They sent us to board a bus, which, we thought, would take us directly to Regensburg.  Ten minutes into our trip, as we were drifting off to sleep, the driver came on and made an announcement.  "Wait, what was that?"  No one really understood that time.  We arrived at another train station, and the driver said something else.  All that I understood was the time- 5:20.  The bus clock said 4:07.  It finally dawned on us.  We had to get off the bus and board another train. It would be there at 5:20.  The thought of spending over an hour on a platform made me want to cry.  But as we walked to the platform and checked out watches, we realized the bus clock was an hour slow- the train would be there in only 12 minutes.

Finally on the train to Regensburg, we closed our eyes.  If nothing unexpected happened, we should be home soon.  Fortunately for us, this time around, all went as planned.