In the morning, amidst wonderful sunshine and swirling clouds, we said goodbye to Weggis. After breakfast, we sat on the expansive wooden deck (where we would have enjoyed dinner if the restaurant had been open during our stay). We tried to breathe in the deep peace so we could carry it with us on the road north – to Germany.

After about a half hour’s drive to Zug, Switzerland, we emerged from the drama of the Alps. Fifteen minutes later we found ourselves in Zurich—literally in Zurich! No bypasses here. We drove a zigzagging route on city streets, giving Santo his first glimpse of a Swiss city. While the driving was slow going, the traffic lights were well timed and we were soon back on the motorway. North of Zurich, we found ourselves in a gentler landscape of rolling hills and farmland that reminded us of home.

We crossed over into Germany and stopped at the first rest area, a massive complex with restaurant, hotel, and shopping, as well as the usual amenities of a rest area. Not only was the modern architecture stunning, but there was a – wait for it – COMFY CHAIR! The middle schooler in Santo could not resist taking a photo of me under the sign that said “Gute Ausfahrt.” Ha ha.

As we were leaving the rest area, a couple about our age approached us, noticing that we, too, were speaking English. We exchanged the usual where-are-you-froms (Australia–north of Sydney and New York–the state not the city). They were spending over 3 months in Europe and had just completed a loop by car from Amsterdam through northern Germany to Poland, then south to the Czech Republic, east through Austria and Switzerland, and now back north through Germany to Amsterdam. Like us, they were avoiding the big cities. They’d stopped where they pleased and find a place to stay. Braver souls than me, though I would have, and did, do the same in my youth. Their next leg would be a cruise down the Rhine and Mosel Rivers. We parted with smiles and the sentiments “Ain’t retirement grand?” and “Safe travels!”

Continuing on roads we found more familiar than any on the trip so far, we continued to our next destination: Rothenburg ob der Tauber (or o.d.T.). This perfectly preserved, walled, medieval German city is something of a tourist trap, but still well worth a visit. Our hotel was within the walled portion of the city, and they told us to drive up to the door and a valet would park our car. Late in the afternoon, we entered the city through a narrow archway in one of the towers dotting the fortress walls. Now on cobbled streets as narrow as the ones in Avigliano, we made our way through the maze of short blocks, dodging tourists and dogs, until we came to the Romantik Hotel Markusturm (so named because it was located right next to the ancient Markus tower). Grabbing our overnight bags, we went through the thick wooden doors to the small lobby. The walls were of dark wood, the carpeting deep red, and the furniture was throne-like (and looked royally uncomfortable). Check-in was efficient, and soon we were headed up two flights of stairs to our room.

Entering the room was a stark transition from the dark browns and reds, and the heaviness, of the hotel lobby and stairs. The room was bright and modern, but somehow the light style seemed perfectly appropriate. It was more like a small apartment than a hotel room. The woods were in hues of blonde (floor) and light cherry (furniture). Windows on two sides offered views of the medieval rooftops in shades of red and brown. A free-standing desk/table of simple design was in front of the double windows facing the front of the hotel, a tall comfy chair was in the corner, and a modern white loveseat with nested glass side tables faced the foot of the bed. Curtains and pillows had a large floral pattern in muted tones of beige, brown, and ochre. The bathroom, though, may have been my favorite place. The green glass countertop curved gracefully along the long mirrored wall an dthe mirror was backlit on all sides with a gentle light. The bathtub and sink picked up the light green tint of the glass. Overall, it had the restful aura of a pampering spa. Ahhhh!

We opened the screenless windows to let in the cool air (no air conditioning here, just a tower fan). Santo was tired from the drive and I was fighting an oncoming cold, so we lay down for a medieval slumber before going downstairs to the hotel restaurant for dinner.

Our table was in the back of the long, narrow room. The front room, facing the street, had the dark wood and red heaviness of the lobby. Just behind it, the room we were in had a softer feel with green cloth-covered walls, cream-colored drapes, and pale wood.  

A long table next to the wall hosted a group of about fourteen Japanese tourists. The group leader was able to speak English, so she hustled around the table communicating with the staff for everyone. All the staff spoke perfect English, so used to Americans and other tourists. The entire front room was taken up with a group of Americans celebrating the 4^th of July. “You’re in Germany, folks,” I thought. I had noticed a small American flag on one of the tables when we passed through and was afraid they might be a group of Trumpers. In Europe, it is embarrassing to be an American.

The wait staff were dressed in traditional German garb to meet tourists’ expectations. I felt bad for them. The two waitresses we had were both lovely, and I felt they were somehow being exploited.

The menu was laden with the heavy German dishes Americans would expect: heavy meats in heavy sauces with dense noodles or roasted potatoes. Santo had venison stew, I had rolladen. I did enjoy the meat, similar to my mother’s but not quite. Still, it felt like everything was just too much: too salty, too rich, too German. I was determined to find something different for our second night, though this wouldn’t be easy within the walled part of the city.

After dinner, we took a short stroll to the central plaza (Marktplatz) and back, window shopping along the way. We had all of tomorrow to explore.

Our genteel apartment overlooking the city awaited us.