Shrooms! -- Bad Munster, Germany

Perhaps I know why it is man alone who laughs; he alone suffers so deeply that he had to invent laughter.

~Friedrich Nietzsche 

(I include this quote because I'm writing a play about laughter)

 

Yesterday was my second and final day off with Joe. As we'd whiled away our previous day off ambling around the city of BK, we decided to spend this day off walking around the woods. In search of some German ruins, but mostly just to enjoy being outside. 

The first three weeks in Germany were dismal. Wet, cold, clammy -- positively Irish. But we hit a magnificent warm spell head on last week, and I now feel like I'm in Southern France again.

Southern France, but without the humidity and the constant reek of dog shit wafting up from the streets and sidewalks.

We started early. With pancakes.

Every good day starts with pancakes (or starting a day with pancakes is bound to make it good). I couldn't eat my fragrant, golden, wheat filled breakfast, but I was quite happy to prepare it for Joe, Billie and Julia. I'm the type of lady who wakes up early every morning (regardless of how late I stayed up the night before), and I adore spending these lonely hours puttering around in a quiet kitchen. I like feeling productive when everyone else is asleep. I like how loud the coffee machine sounds when the only other noise in the house is Pitu's gentle snoring. I like tiptoeing to the fridge and delicately closing cupboards. I like having to whisk things by hand because the electric beater is nearly deafening at six in the morning. I like listening to butter sizzling and bubbling in the skillet and I like how quickly the room starts to smell like morning. 

I love it when I can make the whole house smell like morning before people wake up. 

The smells of cinnamon and browned butter. 

Bacon and sausage and eggs and mushrooms. 

Toast. 

Pancakes. 

Coffee.  

So I woke up early to start the day off with pancakes.

Julia had warned us that the hike would be a long one, so I scavenged around the fridge for cheese, veggies, olives and a yogurt like substance called "quark", but pronounced as "qvark". I also snagged the final two chocolates from Billie's last shopping trip (she always buys goodies. I love this about her. I also hate this about her, because she's so generous and I eat way too many). I stuffed the lunch into my purse next to my camera, zipped up my boots, and clomped down the stairs to meet Joe outside. 

Joe has a great sense of direction. As I was born without one of these, I was exceedingly grateful to discover that it's almost as difficult for Joe to get lost as it is for me to find the places I set out to find.

Joe and Julia's hilarious dog. Note the alpaca hat I made for him out of Billie's alpaca yarn.

We started the hike by walking past a nearby vineyard. Not many grapes left, but the colors are stunning this time of year.

I like the line of yellow that runs through the grapes.

Wind turbines produce 8% of Germany's electrical power. They're all over the place. I think they have a beautiful, alien quality. Joe thinks they're hideous. Julia thinks they're lovely. I think it's odd that people have such strong reactions to wind turbines.

Joe hiked the Appalachian Trail not too long ago. Alone. It is my opinion (as a presumptuous acquaintance who hardly knows him) that this experience helped shape him into the independent, bold, assertive (and generally awesome) traveler he is today.

It also made him really fast. And rather introspective. The majority of the hike was spent with the poor guy patiently waiting for me just beyond the next bend in the trail.

Always ahead of me... always. I told Joe that there are several different kinds of people to take on walks/hikes. You have the athletes who blaze full throttle to the end and "conquer" the trail. You have the average type that takes a few pictures, sits on a few rocks, and stops to take a swig from their nalgene every so often. Then you have the people who are a bit out of shape and struggle, huff and puff and "YOU CAN DO IT!" to the end of the trail. Then you have the toddlers who have to stop and look at everything. Then you have the wannabe photographers who have to stop and look at everything and take pictures of everything.

A few minutes in, I started seeing mushrooms.

"Joe!" I called ahead in excitement, "A mushroom! I found a mushroom!"

"Yeah?" my friend replied with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.

"It's a mushroom," I repeated with insistent enthusiasm. "It's a mushroom and it's beautiful."

So I took a picture of the beautiful mushroom. Joe waited.

"Ah!" I screamed happily, "More! Different kinds! I wish I knew how to forage mushrooms. God, it would be so great to take some of these home."

I walked a couple feet, saw a mushroom, whooped happily, rushed to the mushroom, squatted down in the dead leaves next to the mushroom, and snapped a picture or ten.

Over

and over

and over again.

I took many pictures of mushrooms. Joe started playing with sticks.

"Do you mind that I'm taking all these pictures?" I asked timidly, hiding my camera and feeling ashamed for forcing him to stand around and play with sticks as I lollygagged.

"No, no," he responded quickly, then smiled saucily as he added, "It's just... there are going to be a lot of mushrooms."

"I promise I won't take pictures of all of -- AH! A purple one! Joe? Hey! Hey, Joe? I'm sorry, it's just... the mushroom is purple. How often do you see purple mushrooms?"

Bacon mushrooms!

We kept walking... and walking... and walking. My boots are not made for this type of tramping about, and I could feel my feet chafing in the unpleasant way that leads to nasty blisters. We sat down to eat vegetables and cheese around noon. 

"Do you think we're almost there?" I crunched noisily on a carrot and my stomach grumbled. 

"I have no idea. We still have to get to the restaurant, but it shouldn't be too far beyond that." 

"We haven't passed the restaurant yet?"

"No."

"Oh. Do you want a carrot?" I asked contritely as I proffered the orange vegetable, wanting to redirect the subject away from how long it was taking us to reach the ruins. 

"I'm allergic to raw carrots." 

"Oh..."

We did make it to the fort -- over two hours later.

We only stayed a few minutes, sitting at the top, absorbing our surroundings and debating on whether or not we ought to phone Julia to ask her to pick us up.

If I weren't an unreasonably prideful yoga teacher, I would have flown back to the restaurant and borrowed a phone to call Julia. Nothing about walking back to the farm sounded nice at that moment.

But I was too embarrassed. I'm a certified yoga instructor and Joe is a swashbuckler who just completed the Appalachian Trail. On a barely heeled broken foot. What would Julia say when she answered the phone to hear me whining about my blisters?

So we walked back. And because we found a shortcut and I kept my camera in my purse (mostly), we made extraordinary time.

 And then we saw him.

Upon first glance, I wasn't sure what I saw. There were shoes... straps to indicate a backpack... and... and that was it.

Is he wearing a body suit? He must be wearing a body suit -- else I'd see pubic hair. Tan lines. Something. ACH! Nope, there it is. Swinging away. Definitely stark naked, this fellow. Should I make eye contact? What do I do? Do I say hello? Smile politely? Ask him whether or not he knows he forgot to get dressed this morning? 

In the end, I just looked straight ahead and then rubbernecked a bit. It's not every day you see a stark naked German strolling through the forest.

Joe and I exchanged confused glances, had a laugh and then started making up naked man's story.

"I bet his backpack is stuffed full of those red magic mushrooms. Maybe that's why he's naked. And I bet he lives in one of those hunter huts and forages for apples and walnuts and acorns and chestnuts. And he's a great hunter of wild boar."

Joe humored my preposterous conjectures, but didn't participate in inventing a life for our nudist friend. 

A hunter hut -- very common in this part of Germany

Then we found bones.

"I bet he uses these in his magic mushroom ceremonies!"

It was a mite disturbing to find a stick shoved up this bone...too many mushrooms.

I was once again exceedingly grateful for Joe's acute sense of direction. When I'm in unfamiliar places, I take pictures of landmarks and street signs. So I don't get horribly lost. I'm abundantly aware that I have no sense of direction, so I simply plan accordingly. Just like I know I'm a god-awful driver, so I usually choose to ride my bicycle.

But during this hike, I was far too consumed with mushrooms to bother with landmarks.

"You do know how to get back, right?" I worriedly asked Joe before we left the fort. He looked at me like I was a little crazy.

"Umm.... yeah."

I am a little crazy. After about half an hour of walking, I spotted a familiar mushroom.

"Hey! Hey, Joe! I just found a mushroom I took a picture of on our walk to the ruins!"

"Shouldn't be that hard."

"aaaah.... true. But it means we're going the right way!"

"well, yeah."

It took us four hours to walk to the ruins. It took us an hour and a half to walk back.

But now I have mushroom pictures. A copious amount of fungi. Four hours worth of dillydallying.

As we thought Monday was Joe's last night, Billie made us a mouthwatering German dinner. Potato dumplings, goulash and sauerkraut. We drank wine and chatted and Joe decided to stay another day.

I went to bed a happy, happy lady.

Preconceptions: Germans are hilarious. I haven't laughed so hard in a very long time.

Challenges: None today