You already learned that my husband is from Austria, a small European country with fine traditions and an exalted history. In fact you could say that much of modern Western culture as we know it emanated from his native land, although it’s tough to see that when you go there today. Most of the country still looks the way it did when those fine traditions were in the making in the twelfth century. And of course everyone dresses the way they did then. Including the she-witch-Nazi-dirndl-wearing prison matron we encountered on the very first day. But more on that later.

We went all the way over to the old country just to visit my husband’s family. This is an emotionally loaded destination for him since if he were really inclined to spend time with his family in his native land, I submit that he would not have left there lo these many decades ago.

We took uneventful leave of our house on July 6 at 11 a.m., 1976, heading for Richmond, Virginia, where we would debark, in a manner of speaking that harks back to a less frenzied time when travel to the continent was actually pleasurable and relatively calm, for Philadelphia where we would join our transatlantic flight leaving at 5:30 p.m. for Munich. Which is in Bavaria. Germany. Now part of what is known as the EU, which at that time was still a long lost dream of that French general Napoleon. (more…)

Consider the rental car.

Not happy to take just any car the rental agents at the airport would give us, my husband wanted a BMW. OK. I can live with that. No, no. He wanted a particular BMW. Anyone who has ever rented a car anywhere knows that you take what they give you when you get there, hoping it will at least be the size of the car you are paying to get. To insure he got the BMW he wanted, he made multiple reservations with multiple car rental companies. While my daughter, her friend and I waited, my husband ran from counter to counter seeing who would come through with the winning ticket in the BMW lottery. In the process he discovered he had rented a car from EuroCar, which sounds like a company. Translation: you have rented a CAR in EUROPE from some rental car company – you have to find out which one. More running from counter to counter.

After an hour of this (it’s now 4:30 a.m. for us) I see my husband’s arm raised in a victory salute to let us know he has found the right counter, the right company and the right car. In my excitement about the perfect car I almost raise my head from the suitcase I am using as a pillow. (more…)

Two days before we left home another daughter had flown to Brussels to connect with a flight to Portugal from there or Paris. She wasn’t sure which she could get. We hadn’t heard from her since. I was getting worried. On our third day at the Nazi she-witch hotel, the old Frau cornered me at a rousing breakfast of boiled beef and cabbage to tell me that my daughter had called the night before.

Relieved to hear this I naturally thought she-witch would then hand me a telephone slip with a number where I could reach my daughter. Now, whatever made me think that?

She-witch: “Eet vas zo late zat I told her, ‘Your mozzer needs her zleep. And zat music vhere you are is zo loud. You cannot talk to her now.” Then she hung up on my daughter as any professional hotel operator would.

“Have you tried zee schtew mit lingonberry dressing und zee ssshocoladde pastry mit schllagggg? Eesse gut to haf a rrrousing brrreakfasse in zee mountainzs.”

This menu suggests a hint at what’s responsible for Frau She-Witch’s triple EEE boob size. (more…)

Never mind, one of the male relatives who went to school in England for two years leans over to tell me some family news.

“DerLinda izz going zroooh anozzer depreszcsion. Zhey’ve had her on zeven different drugs but she schtops taking zhem. She zays zhey make her feel bad.” He glugs down a glass of beer and raises it up for more. His older brother raises his glass and they break into a chorus of Ach Du Lieber Augustin. The waitress brings more beer, leaning way way over to pour it, giving the push up bra a real workout. I wonder which Linda is the depressed one. I imagine it’s the older one across and two Linda’s down to my right.

I ask if there isn’t a better medication for DietLinda’s depression. Such a naive American.

“It’s DerLinda und it doesn’t matterrr vhat medicine zey gif her. Zee momente she ztarts to feel betterrr, she zinks zumsink is wrrrong und she shtops taking it.” He tops off his beer and cuts into a slab of wurst.

“Oh, right, DERLinda not DietLinda.” I glance around the table again to try to fix the Lindas in my mind. (more…)

So on to Italy, leaving behind the wonders of a 1,000-year-old culture that has deteriorated to playing musical comedy for a living.

The drive from Salzburg to Lake Como has to be one of the most beautiful anywhere. I recommend it to anyone without reservation. And you pass lots of lovely old Schlosses built on headlands facing down river, the better to see your invaders by.

I would like to state for the record, however, that my husband’s driving did not let up anywhere in the rugged and picturesque Tyrolean Alps. Mr. Hyde would have been no match for the driver he became that day. I was afraid I would have to get my jaw pried open by a safe cracker when we finally arrived at our hotel, which was billed as a lovely old converted villa right on the lake with a suite reserved just for us. (more…)

While Strong With A Spear went off to do battle with the sticker windows at the post office, youngest brother, assertiveness trainer SiegLinda and I sat down to some coffee mit schlagg whereupon youngest brother again complained of oldest brother.

Naive American inquires, “Why don’t you tell him to screw off?”

Assertiveness professional SiegLinda and Youngest Brother gape at me. “To VAS?”

To screw off. It’s an American expression meaning to take a flying leap, to go jump off a bridge, to piss up a rope, to put an egg in your shoe and beat it. You know, just tell him you don’t want to go to his house for dinner, that you have other plans.”

SiegLinda looks totally dumbfounded and I must admit completely nonassertive. Brother just looks really baffled. I jump in again. (more…)

On our third day at the incredible Villa D’Este a call came through from the daughter who had not been allowed to speak to us in Austria. I know this comes as a shock, but at D’Este they put calls through to the hotel guests no matter what time of night the call comes into the switchboard.

Radical, no?

She wants to join us. She will arrive by train from Portugal.

The next day we find ourselves in the BMW totally lost smack in the middle of Milan rush hour. Where the hell the train station got to I will never understand. But Italian drivers are not known for their excessive concern for caution, rules of the road or speed limits. I felt as if I had landed in an anthill when the queen’s in heat. (more…)

The train station is more like a feudal city state than a building. If I were going to write an espionage thriller I would start it at the station in Milan. I never saw so many suspicious looking types. All ages. All shapes. All languages. All styles of clothing. And lots of entrepreneurs hawking just about everything imaginable. Truly Italy is the land of cultural latitude. If the Prussians represent rigidity, the Italians represent WHATEVER.

Daughter trundles off the train and we have a happy reunion before climbing back into the BMW and taking off for Lake Como, where they will find her a maid’s room at a cut rate, a lovely little room that has more charm than 95 percent of the houses built in the states over the past fifty years. She promptly becomes constipated and the next three days don’t yield any relief for the poor girl.

Strong With A Spear and I take ourselves to the only pharmacy in the village where Villa D’Este makes its home. Cernobbio.

A moment while I wax poetic about Cernobbio. If only I had trained as a travel writer. (more…)

Four days later we arrive at the hotel in Munich. It is very fancy. And very famous. And Strong With A Spear feels not too angry because most of the Germans are Bavarians here and speak his kind of German.

Bavaria is known for its cool climate. The day we arrive it is 102 degrees. That’s Fahrenheit. I call that hot, no matter where you are. The Müncheners (you noticed the umlaut, huh?) are sweating profusely and acting like junkyard dogs on an August day in Mississippi. The lobby of our hotel is the only air conditioned room in the entire city and tightly packed with sweaty people.

We ascend to our tenth floor suite in an elevator that could have been used as a a sweat lodge. But it is as cool as fresh dew compared with our south-facing room. (more…)

After our room cooled down, our daughter decided she needed to make some calls home. Her friend and Strong With A Spear went out for a walk. After about twenty minutes they found themselves in a park – The Englischer Garten – by the river Isar that flows through Munich. A lovely park. Tall shade trees. Picnic areas. Trails. Grass. You know, basic park surroundings. Plus one extra attraction.

It being lunchtime, business people, both men and women, in suits, were arriving in great numbers to take a break from the unbearable heat in their offices. Once they reached the banks of the river, they would take off their jackets and carefully fold and lay them down in the grass. Then they would loosen their ties. Then unbutton their shirts, unzip their slacks, step out of their underwear, strip off their shoes and socks and dive into the river. After which they would emerge and just lie around, naked, presumably studying the Börse (the umlaut is altogether proper here) reports. (more…)

Word on the street was that our marriage would never work. Of course my parents were hopeful. They had put up with a lot from me and they wanted this to be it. I didn’t think about longevity. I was just glad to be with someone I loved who loved me back. After four months of married life, during which we lived in Paris where Strong With A Spear had been working for two years, he said he wanted to see The States. And here I was all prepared to improve my French and learn how to deal with all the stores in our neighborhood closing from noon until four every day so everyone could go home and eat lunch and have sex and nap. Well, one thing you learn fast in a marriage is flexibility. (more…)

Strong With A Spear does not get seasick no matter how rough the sea, no matter how small or large the boat, no matter who else is puking for glory all over the deck, no matter what he has eaten, no matter how dark the sky or ominous the waves.

He hauls me from the bed and drags me out to the corridor.

“Please,” I beg him, “just let me die right here.

“You have to get out of this room. This is the worst place for you to be.”

“I’m dying. I know it. I accept it. Just let me stay here.” (more…)

The second gale we passed through on that voyage just about did me in. By then I was a seasoned survivor of what I assumed was the worst the North Atlantic could throw at me.

Wrong.

We had exactly one night of smooth sailing before the second one hit. I knew immediately what was up when the telltale heavy ropes crisscrossed all the ship’s open areas. Lest you think we were all a bunch of nobodies traveling from Genoa to New York, I’d like to set the record straight by informing you that a number of luminaries were aboard our liner. (more…)