A happenstance from yesterday I forgot to mention. During our stroll around Rothenburg, we came upon a small church with a sign that said, “Bitte eintretten. Wir sind geöffnet” (Come on in. We’re open.) So we did. It was more of a chapel with an arched nave and ceiling crisscrossed with dark wood. The creamy walls made the space light and welcoming. A woman in traditional dress stood at the front of the aisle. There were three other people in the pews. Apparently, we had walked in on a stop on the musical tour of Rothenburg. The woman advised us that she would be singing a song that would last about three minutes and we were welcome to stay. So we did. The pureness and clarity of her voice were amplified by the fantastic acoustics in the small interior. What a delight! If we were staying another day, we likely would have signed up for the entire musical tour. Such a special way to see—and hear—this magical city.

One to today: With a shorter drive ahead of us (about 4 ½ hours), we enjoyed a leisurely breakfast in the hotel restaurant. Then we waited a few minutes in the lobby while our car was brought round to the front door. We set the GPS for Schloss Berge in Gelsenkirchen.

The terrain between Rothenburg and Gelsenkirchen was again familiar. The trees, forests, and rolling farmland were not as dramatic as previous drives but gentle and relaxing. As we got close to Gelsenkirchen, large modern buildings dotted the motorway—companies that were perhaps part of the growing solar energy industry that was revitalizing the old coal and steel city. It reminded me of the 128 technology loop around Boston.

Once off the motorway, we drove on broad “allees” (boulevards) lined with trees. Gelsenkirchen was much greener than I had expected. Within about ten minutes, we were at the entrance to Schloss Berge, on the outskirts of the city. It turned out that Schloss Berge was not only the name of the hotel where we would be staying, but also a large public park with a small lake (Berger See), gardens, shaded walkways, bike paths, and even a bier garten. There were many cars parked in the public area and many people enjoying the park on this warm and sunny day. We drove as close to the hotel as we could get and took just our overnight bags up the tree- and flower-lined path to the entrance, going over a small bridge where families of geese and ducks glided in the dark water.

The hotel was U-shaped. Between the two sides were numerous brown wicker tables and chairs and large umbrellas for shade. People were dining in this area on pressed white tablecloths, clinking wine glasses, laughing, and offering us “Guten Tags” as we passed by.

We checked in and asked about reservations for dinner. The desk clerk told us they were not necessary. We decided to get settled in our room, then come down to dinner later.

The home of barons and counts since the 14^th Century, Schloss Berge as it stands was first built in the 16^th Century and then partially demolished and rebuilt between 1785 and 1788. It is a lovely buttery yellow color with dark green shutters and a red-tiled mansard roof with dormers. Our room was at the end of the left wing on the 3^rd floor. We had windows on three sides facing the entrance patio, the front of the hotel and lake, and the side gardens. There was an enormous living room with couch, two comfy leather chairs, coffee able, desk, large fridge and coffee maker. The bathroom was all white and spacious, with a real walk-in shower and a whirlpool size tub. Another home away from home.

We made our way to the dining room around 8 pm. A short, white haired, very professional-looking waiter asked us if we had reservations. I told him “no” and he immediately frowned, dismissing us with a shake of his head. I tried to explain that the clerk had told us we didn’t need reservations, but he had already summed us up as hicks. Making a show of just how much trouble it was to seat us, even though the restaurant was only about half full, he gave us a table at the far end of the long narrow sunroom overlooking the gardens that was the dining room. The white tablecloths were thick and crisp, made of a fine fabric that whispered “elegance.” Flourishing a lighter he whisked deftly from his pocket, the waiter lit the tall white candle on our table. Even though the waiter looked down his nose at us, we felt we had arrived.

I did my best translating the menu for Santo and we decided on the “Wildplatte,” a “Wild Plate” for two that included two kinds of deer, wild pig, and rabbit. Santo took a look at wine list and decided to order a glass of Riesling (a real German wine in Germany). This did not please the waiter at all. He spoke to me, since I could understand German. “Virklich?” he asked. “Really?” I nodded yes and he shook his head again. I knew he meant that we should order a RED wine with the meat we had ordered. This kind of arrogance, I think, is NOT hospitality.

Before our dishes came out, the waiter brought three (count ‘em, three!) long, low hot plates. Oh my God, what kind of a feast were we getting? We soon found out. Platters and platters of meats in mushroom, berry, and wine sauces. One large platter contained our vegetables in diagonal rows: buttery fried spaetzle, red cabbage, and Brussels sprouts. On the edge were four large dumplings. There were also warm bowls with additional sauces. Each platter held two large spoons to serve ourselves. The meats were delicious, less salty than in Rotheburg, but still heavy. I took only a small taste of a dumpling and felt it sit in my stomach like a lead ball. Even the spaetzle was too rich, fried in butter. We were glad we had tried it, and it certainly was an experience, but we would not order it again. Maybe we wouldn’t even eat in the restaurant again. We didn’t want to deal with the snooty waiter again.

We took a short walk in the gardens, past the beer garten where a kiosk sold wurst in a roll, French fries, and beer. Under the shade of some delicate trees were scattered numerous wooden tables with folding wood slatted chairs. There was only one table of guests enjoying the garten. We thought we might come back here another night.

Without air conditioning (we had not had air conditioning in Weggis or Rothenburg either), our top floor room was a bit warm. Santo angled the oscillating floor fan towards our bedroom and we opened windows hoping for a breeze that didn’t come. My cough and sore throat were not better, and I felt I desperately needed a good night’s sleep. I prompted myself up on several pillows and hoped for the best. Luckily, we had bought Ricola lozenges in Rotheburg so I was able to suck on one after another during the night.

How I longed for this cold to go away!