Germany Day Eight

We missed the boat at 9:15 am. We went to breakfast, and my wife couldn’t even look at the bottle of wine they offered us for free. We passed. I wasn’t entirely sure I agreed with that decision. I woke up late. I woke up hoarse. Thanks, Alice.

Did we still have to get on a boat? I thought we missed the boat. Technically, it was still Koeln-Dusseldorfer River Cruises, just a different time slot. The next boat came at 11:15 am. We made that one, believe it or not. Top deck seating? Available. We snagged a table up there. It was about a two-hour boat ride to wherever it is we were going.

And as always, I am Ambassador to Wherever-It-Is-We’re-Going. My wife probably knew where that was, and I’d figure it out eventually. Let’s be real—we have roles. She’s in charge of all map reading, directions, planning, time management, and food selections. And I’m in charge of carrying the backpack. (Okay, sometimes she carries the backpack.)

During this two-hour boat ride, there was a million things to see. Endless vineyards, medieval castles, and these red and white flags hanging all over the boat. It looked like a used car lot. Made it difficult to get a decent picture. To see everything, I had to look left, right, front, and back. Moving my head around was a solid way to avoid getting a sunburn on the back of my neck. Unfortunately, that didn’t work. I still got a sunburn—minor setback in this adventure.

We stopped in St. Goar, mainly for the castle ruins. But before tackling the steep uphill climb to the ruins (you know how I feel about walking uphill), we decided to grab lunch. We found outdoor seating at an Italian place downtown. There were just two of us, but we took a four-person table. We’re awful, I know.

The server came over but didn’t speak English or German. She said something like, "something, something, English."

My wife, eager to understand, answered with a confident "Yes," assuming she was asking if we spoke English.

What she actually said was, "Can another couple sit with you since you have a four-person table? They also speak English." My wife’s face was a sight to behold. Of course, the couple came over and joined us. My wife is shy, so we were basically living in her worst nightmare.

The English speakers turned out to be Australian, and we kicked off the conversation by talking about German bees and the struggle to get water. It was the perfect way to make some tourist friends. We even remembered seeing them on the boat ride over, and we thought, hey, we could plan an all-day hang—cheers to new friends!

I switched gears and asked about his San Francisco Giants’ hat, wondering if he followed the games in Australia. He explained that in Australia, the trend was to wear MLB hats based on color, but no one actually knew anything about baseball. He then took off the hat and stashed it in his backpack. I tried to save face by mentioning that many Americans followed the same fashion trend. My wife, sensing the awkwardness, jumped in with a complaint about the red and white flags blocking our photo ops.

Now, it was getting tense, but we were all on vacation—picture time should’ve been a bonding moment. But then, this guy, this monster, dropped the bomb: “I don’t like to take pictures. I prefer to be absorbed by the moment.” My wife went into full scowl mode. I tried to warn her that people could see her face, but she was practically digging her nails into my thigh. I thought it couldn’t get worse. Spoiler alert: it did.

He then went on to explain that his friends and family preferred he describe things he’s seen rather than show them pictures. NO, THEY DO NOT. Barely anyone spoke for the rest of the meal.

It eventually came up that we were heading to the same place, but neither of us offered to walk together. We let them get a head start by pretending to shop. Same place, same destination—we just kept our distance. We saw them at the ruins, and no one said a word. Oh, and by the way, they were taking pictures.

Despite the negative energy, we actually enjoyed the ruins. There was a map that identified different parts of the ruins and explained why everything was badass. We saw walls where archers once stood guard. Naturally, I loosed a few imaginary arrows from my bow and, in my mind, was knighted for my efforts. My wife, however, refused to bestow that honor upon me.

It was 3:00 pm, and the boat left at 3:20 pm. A 25-minute walk back. As we approached, I noticed they were chaining off the ramp. But just as they were about to lock it up, I turned the corner and started waving. They saw us and waved back.

When we got to the ramp, the guy looked at us, pointed to the chain, and said, “We can't take any more people.” Then he started laughing and let us on anyway. I’m pretty sure he was testing us. Have to keep an eye on that guy.

We sat downstairs in the air conditioning. What air conditioning, you might ask? We were wondering the same thing. The boat ride back took about 45 minutes to an hour longer since we were going upstream. It took my wife four tries to explain this to me—before she finally gave up. At that point, I just passed out. Full-on nap mode. She used the time to catch up on postcards. We finally made it back to Rudesheim, none the worse for wear.

My wife dove right in for the steak at Restaurant Ratsstube in Rudesheim. I got a meal that could feed a family of four—chicken, beef, pork, and sausages all piled onto one plate with some potatoes thrown in for good measure. There might have been some green stuff too—who remembers? I had everything I needed, but my wife started thinking about dessert. She said the area is famous for Rudesheimer coffee—coffee with the town's locally made brandy. After our first one, we went back to our hotel for round two. Hers was flambéed right in front of us. I asked if they could make an iced coffee version. We didn't think it was possible since we hadn’t seen ice the entire time we were there, but they agreed. They brought me a cup with a scoop of ice cream covered in brandy, asking me to drink it through a straw. Can someone draw me a map? I ordered a beer as a chaser.

We bought four—count 'em—pieces of cake and went upstairs. Our bottle of wine survived the day, and we needed to deal with that. We watched Netflix. It’s not like we could watch any baseball games.