Our Story Ends Not With A Bang, But With A Thud

I didn't think our last day through very well, but a failure to communicate put an early end to it anyhow.  I've often quoted John Passacantando's famous aphorism, "it's not an adventure till the first thing goes wrong."

Sunday afternoon went wrong, but it is not an adventure.  Besides the palace, my plan had been to take the cog railway from Garmisch-Partenkirchen to the Cable Car and go up the Zugspitze, which, at 9.718 feet, is the highest mountain in Germany.

My goal was to be able to post stunning photos of snow-capped mountains all around.  

By now my dear readers, because you are smart, you have figured out that my plan didn't work.  The only reason to continue reading it to learn WHY it didn't work!

After Linderhof Palace, we drove the 15 kilometers into town and grabbed lunch at Hofbraustrubel.  At 2:20 pm, I declared it was time to go to the train station, or else we would literally be stuck out in the dark.  

We struggled for a bit after arriving at the train station, but Torie alertly spotted a sign that included Zugspitze, and once again, we went through a tunnel, under the tracks (remember our fun leaving Budapest? -- this was simpler) and to the ticket window.  The ticket seller didn't seem to think it was a great idea going that late, but I had my mind set on snow capped peaks as the sun went down.  

It's pretty pricey, but I wanted to get up that mountain, even if it was about 25 minutes from the time we reached the top to the last cable car down.  The ticket seller showed us that we take the train to the bottom of the cable car, then take the cable car up.  

You are thinking to yourself. . .hey, that seems simple!  Thinking was our first mistake.  The ticket seller forgot to mention an important point.

We waited 25 minutes for the train, and were three of just nine who hopped on.  Upon arrival at the Garmisch-P station a whole mess of skiers got off.  Ah, it takes skiers as well as sightseers.  

There were multiple stops as we chugged through the valley, although that late in the day, few, if any, got on.  Suddenly, as we pull into one station, there is a lengthy announcement all in German.  The skiers from the train on the track next to us flood off that train and onto ours.  The three of us looked at each other, wondering if we should get off this train and go to the other one.  That one read "Garmisch-Partenkirchen" still, so we were quite uncertain.  

Then, the train across the way flipped the sign to "Eibsee" and took off in the direction opposite of G-P.  You know, the direction we wanted to go in.  It dawned on us that we were supposed to switch trains.  And yet, the ticket seller never mentioned it, despite his good English.  The conductor may have mentioned it, but there was no English.  No signs that said, "switch trains here."

As we rolled back on a three-car train full of skiers, I fumed, thinking we had been totally ripped off.  Making it worse was that the new conductor for the trip back did speak English, announcing the next stop in both German and English.  Yea!  Missed it by THAT much.

I felt scammed out of a lot of Euros.  Carol agreed to be our advocate to the ticket seller that we should get some money back.  The ticket seller had switched to a new guy. The new guy scanned our tickets, and declared that they had messed up.  He instantly refunded our money, all in cash Euros.  So at least when we learned our lesson, it wasn't an expensive one.  Carol didn't even have to go all New York on him, as he admitted they messed up.  If only American companies were this accommodating when they muck it up.

Yes, we had views of the mountains, but not from the top of Germany.  I felt chastened as we walked back through town to our car.

I know what you are thinking -- "some Iron Tourist you are!"  I don't even have a rejoinder to that.  Well, maybe I do -- big picture, it was a great trip.

The drive home was pretty quick once we got through one post-town traffic back-up.  The ease of the Sunday late afternoon drive from the ski town to the big city would be the envy of EVERY PERSON WHO HAS EVER DRIVEN FROM VAIL TO DENVER ON A SUNDAY!  

We went into Munich, wandered through the market one last time, when Carol suggested we go to Augustiner Klosterwirt for a beer, and maybe dinner.  

Sweet -- I wouldn't be the only red-blooded American male to ever go to Munich and not have a beer at a beer hall!  A liter mug of beer later, and I felt better.  We had dinner, which was solid Bavarian food (I went with the half duck, and ate exactly zero of the boiled red cabbage).  

Back through the Christmas market at Rathausplatz, to the car, and back to the apartment.  The trip was essentially over, except for the packing, the trip to the airport, and the flight back to Dulles.  Nobody wants to read about that, so I won't write about it.  Rest be assured, all were uneventful.