The Vacation filled with un-Vacation-y Things

Munich's Frauenkiche, all grey and grumpy in the Bavarian rain.

We begin the story of this vacation on a train station platform, because we're not doing this the normal way – it's a vacation of un-vacation-y things. We're taking the long way to Budapest. We're waiting for our train to Munich.

Despite its difficulties with kitchen appliances and the internet, Germany can do rail travel. You pay a premium, and in exchange you get a clean train, a bit of leg room, and a punctual train. 

There was just one hitch that had nothing to do with the wonders of German train travel. Kata chipped her tooth on a baguette sandwich we bought shortly before we boarded the train. I panicked. She just looked at the nub of tooth in surprise and reassured me it was already a false tooth. She would settle with looking like a hockey player until we found a dentist.

We arrived in Munich, hoping to stroll the streets and see the sights. But the rain gods had other plans, and we spent a soggy afternoon and evening exploring the old town. We braved the rain between meals – sausages for me, soft food for Kata's snaggle tooth – and one-litre beers in warm beer halls.

Our train was due to leave at 11:30pm.


Night Train to Budapest

I'm coming out right now and stating that night trains are awesome. Instead of wasting a whole day traveling or losing bits of your life to endless waiting in airport, a night train lets you sleep as the traveling is done.

Is such a slow way too travel un-vacation-y? Perhaps, but I'd take a night train over one of those evil budget airlines any day. Back to the story, before I get worked up. 

Our night train was not a German train. It was a MAV train, the Hungarian train service, which not only felt like we were stepping onto Hungarian soil, but was also cheaper than the German train from Dusseldorf to Munich.

We got a two-person compartment, which is pretty much what you've seen in the movies. You get your bunk beds and there's breakfast in the morning, and there's sink too! It is quite the upgrade from the six-person sleeper compartments I spent my travel nights in during my monthly trips to Berlin.

Beer-y Happiness by the litre!

Varga Family Compound

When we woke up in the morning on the night train, we were in Hungary. Familiar territory!

In keeping with our un-vacation-y vacation, our Hungary lodgings were not going to be a friend's apartment in Budapest, like last summer. This was an all-family vacation, so we were staying with Kata's parents in the countryside.

This might seem awkward, but it really wasn't. For starters, the house isn't quite a family house as much as a family compound. There is a main house and a garage renovated into another, smaller house.

Kata's parents used to occupy the house, while her sister and brother-in-law and their four-year-old daughter and two-year-old son lived in the renovated garage. They swapping houses to give the kids some more space, but making changes in the smaller garage house first. This left it unoccupied, so we moved in there for the week.

With the little kids around, we spent a great deal of time with them on their schedule, which changed the whole pace of the vacation at the Varga Family Compound. 

You wake up a little earlier to hang out with them. You play in the yard. You eat a lunch, because you're hungry from keeping up with little people who don't seem to get tired. Then you sit and enjoy some laziness while they nap. They wake up and, thank goodness, they want to stay close to the couch where you can remain sitting. Then it's a great family dinner with homemade food and an early-ish bedtime.

Plus, the two-year-old is just a little more ahead of me in Hungarian, so I got some language practice to boot.

Kata and the kids, including my two-year-old Hungarian teacher
who says 'Cheese' with, well, that face.

Eating in the Land of Meat with a Vegetarian

Kata had given up meat for Lent and had been so impressed with how healthy she felt that she decided to continue the meatless-ness beyond Easter. 

In Hungary, almost every meal is eaten with meat, so it was clear she'd relax her rules for the sake of eating a bit of home-cooked meaty goodness. 

The traditional Hungarian Easter dinner was cold ham with horseradish and hardboiled eggs. This was delicious stuff, so Kata snuck little slivers of the ham. The last meal was pork fillets cooked in a mushroom sauce. She accepted half a fillet. Between those two meals, she was treated to vegetarian meals, like Hungarian crepes, fried cheese (mmmmm!), and Grandma's potato dumplings. She did not go hungry.


Family Trip to the Hills

The Varga family is a serious hiking family and every Easter they do a walk around Szent Mihaly Hill, a forested hill that juts into the Danube River, just across from Visegrad.

I laughingly mentioned this is some sort of a boyfriend test. Then Kata's mom remembered they had indeed brought along an ex-boyfriend. I was determined to fare better than him and got my hiking game face on.

The hike was lead by Kata's dad, the alpha hiker of the family, and wound 21km up a hill, through a field, into a forest, up another hill to a lookout, and back down again to the city. It sounds gruelling when I write that all out, but the hike was great. The weather was cool and sunny and perfect for a hike. There were wild flowers everywhere and we had breaks for beer and ice cream.

I not only survived the hike, I thoroughly enjoyed it. And I was told I fared much better on the hike than the last boyfriend. 

Hussling up the hill.

The monument to the Treaty of Trianon. 

  

The view of the mighty Danube from the lookout. If you look carefully, you can see the Castle of Visegrad.

A Trip to the Dentist

As I mentioned earlier, Kata chipped her tooth on a baguette between Mannheim and Munich. Not an ideal thing to happen on a vacation, but there are worst un-vacation-y things that could've happened.

This meant a trip to the dentist. This is no extraordinary thing if you're Austrian or German. Hungarian dentists are so inexpensive and so competent compared to their Austrian and Western European colleagues, that people travel to Hungary to get dental work done. It's true. 

Hungary thrives on dental tourism.

So Kata completed a rite of passage for a tourist from Germany: She visited the dentist. I came along and, as I waited, was confronted with the choice of flipping through Hungarian ladies' magazines or enjoy's the world's best view from a dental office.

A dental office's waiting room with this kind of view
helps you ignore those drilling noises.

Getting onto the Road

I'm ending this story on another train platform, this time in Budapest. We had traveled from Hódmezővásárhely way out on the Hungarian Plains, where we had visited Kata's mama  – in Hungarian your mom is anyu or anya, and grandma is mama, after all this is a country where 'Hello' sounds like 'See ya.'

We filled up on mama's homecooking and quality family time, and now we were arriving to the one part of our vacation that was not so un-vacation-y. We were there for only one night, and we'd be typical tourists, heading to a bath and a ruin pub.

And in the end the best part of the visit to Budapest was spending time with friends, which was the same thing that made the trip as a whole so great, and unlike your typical vacation: the chance to spend time with family.

The Eternal Struggle for Kitchen Appliances and Internet in Germany

Last week, Kata and I were living out of suitcases in her old flat, because there's no internet or fridge at our new flat. It's not for lack of effort. Appointments were made. Orders were filled. Money was exchanged. For some reason, German businesses behave in much the same way that German bureaucracies behave: slowly.

Our life has been forced to adjust to this glacial pace as we await a few necessities of modern life, like our fridge.

Things are a little different in North America, where appliances come with your apartment. In Germany, there is no kitchen: no counters, no fridge, no sink. Just a few pipes sticking out of the walls and floor.

Many would consider us lucky to have a new, furnished kitchen with our newly renovated apartment, but we still had to search for a fridge that fit in the cozy space that is our kitchen.

We found one the right size and price online, but had to wait 10 to 11 business days for its arrival. Life without food refrigeration sets back your food options a century, so we held off moving into the new flat.

The 11 days elapsed with no fridge. I called Saturn (a European equivalent of Future Shop) to find out what is going on. "Don't worry Herr Marshall," I was told, "the fridge was not in their warehouse but it will arrive this week."

The week goes by and I'm a little impatient. I'm thinking about demanding a refund. "Well Herr Marshall, we have a special team awaiting its arrival at our distribution centre and it will arrive this week." If a special team is going to take care of things,I think to myself, then I won't demand a refund.

Friday comes around and no special team has appeared on the doorstep of the flat we haven't moved into. I call again. "Herr Marshall," they say, "we will not be able to deliver this fridge, but you can choose another one and it will come early next week."

By this time, I am weighing my options. We can demand a refund and go to a competitor, but we won't receive a fridge for a few days because most stores only stock the display models. We are also moving into the flat that weekend and leaving for vacation the week after, so timing is crucial.

Whether we like them or not, we have to stick with Saturn. We choose an alternative and wait. 

Monday arrives and with it an email saying our replacement fridge is not in stock, but they suggest another fridge, which is available.

Up until this point, I made every attempt at not yelling at the customer service people. They didn't cause this problem. They don't manage Saturn's supply chain. 

They are just a cog in this soul-less machine that makes every effort to avoid supplying a product that I paid for. I was in the right: I was told it would arrive and it never did, so there was no need to yell.  It was a miscarriage of capitalism. Every time I called, I laid out my situation rationally..

But a month waiting for a fridge frays one's nerves. I started yelling, in English and in Shitty German. Then I yelled at their manager. When I was told the fridge that I didn't even want wouldn't arrive that week – so no fridge before we left for vacation – I yelled some more: What about that "Special Team?!?"

In my haste and anger, I accepted the third fridge they offered after only checking its dimensions so it would fit into our kitchen.

The next day I received an email stating the fridge would arrive the day before our vacation between 10am-2pm. I worked from home and waited. Noon came, then 2pm came, no fridge. I called the delivery company and they said, "It's coming at 3pm, Herr Marshall."

The fridge arrived, bundled up in cardboard and wrapping and plastic. I hastily signed the forms the deliverymen handed to me and began tearing the packaging away so I could plug it in and get to the office.

The packaging came off and revealed a built-in fridge: A metal box with screw holes and sharp corners, made to be put into a cabinet. Every fridge we had asked for was a smooth-surfaced, free-standing fridge.

Faced with a vacation to next day and the prospect of fighting a bureaucratic business for another month, we accepted industrial-styled fridge and moved on to solving the internet...

Our fridge, while we waited for our fridge.

Sitting atop styrofoam
with its screw holes and  jagged edges,
I think we're beginning a fridge trend.

The Damned German Internet

Before all of this Kata had nice things to say about Vodafone in Germany. Now? Not anymore. As I write this, there is no internet in our new apartment. 

An appointment was made weeks ago for the internet guy to visit and install the internet. He arrived punctually and went about checking every outlet for a signal with his internet tricorder thing. He went to the cellar to jiggle a few cords, then returned to stare blankly at the outlets. He told us to call an electrician to fix the wires and departed.

The electricians arrived and said it's up to the internet guy to actually do something. Their instructions – yes, there had to be two electricians to arrive at this conclusion – was to get the cable company to come by again and do whatever they're supposed to do and then call the electricians to do whatever they're supposed to do.

One electrician returned anyway to drill a hole in the wall and bring a cord down from the attic to get us onto the grid. This gives us the potential for internet, but we still needed an internet provider to provide us with internet.

Vodafone was the internet provider in Kata's last apartment and the plan was to shut off the internet in her old flat and have it activated in the new flat. She visited a store, which led to the previous visit with the internet guy staring blankly at the outlets. 

Of course, having no internet at the new flat didn't stop Vodafone from shutting off the internet in her old flat, which is the one thing they technically did correctly in this whole mess.

We are now using mobile internet while we correct this miscarriage of capitalism.

 Last week, Kata again dropped by a store, which is easier than calling a customer service line manned by robots and German speakers. The store people looked at their computer for about 15 minutes and declared we have internet because the computer says so. Kata, being the internet whisperer insisted we do not have the internet. The store person typed something else and told Kata she would get an email confirming an installation appointment.

As I write this, Kata has not received an email about getting the internet that she is paying for from the internet provider that is not providing the internet.

Germany claims to be the economic engine of the European Union. A capitalist success story. In practice, Germany is feeling more like a centrally-planned communist state. 

How businesses providing internet or kitchen appliances behave so unbusiness-like and avoid providing the products and services they are meant to provide is a question for the ages. In the mean time, Kata has nothing nice to say about Vodafone anymore.

Dorfy Day Trip: The Best Train Station Restaurant Ever

When you're a double threat like a Prince-Bishop,
you get live in a Brühl shack like this.

We all have regrets. They might be decisions we made or errors in judgement that haunt us long afterwards. Yep, I'm talking about train station food.

One of my many train station food regrets were two boiled sausages I bought because I was hungry and couldn't imagine a three-hour trip with an empty stomach. It did not long for me to start imagining how nice that train ride would have been on an empty stomach. 

The sad, week-old boiled sausages. The dry, crusty bread that tasted like diesel exhaust. Yellow mustard somehow made more yellow from age. If some foods can knock years off your life, that meal took a few off mine.

The train station in Brühl is a delicious exception to the rule, which is ironic considering when you pronounce Brühl: you draw out the umlauted 'u' like you're puking. Try it out loud.

You might not have an opportunity to practice saying it though. Brühl is a small village outside Cologne. Aside from the stately homes near the train station – usually these neighbourhoods are for scoring rock or smack, not a 19th century mansion – Brühl's main draw is the Max Ernst Museum and the fancy Baroque palace, with its gardens, Cologne's Prince-Bishop lived in.

After working up an appetite visiting an M.C. Escher exhibit at the museum, and it being a cold, soggy Rhineland afternoon, we went into the Brühler Wirtshaus for a warm snack and cold beer. 

It was crowded and not with the usual desperadoes you might encounter at a German train station. There were old folks and young families, all enjoying a lazy Sunday afternoon at the train station.

Even without a reservation – they make those at this establishment – we managed to get a table in this crowded spot and order some beers – Brühl is just outside Cologne, putting in Kölsch country, which is fine by me because it's delicious stuff.

Kata ordered the tomato soup and the a warm pretzel, both of which passed muster with her, since she knows her soup and pretzels. The pretzel was served warm, an uncommon thing at a train station, but also with hunk of garlic butter. This was a first-class pretzel experience.

I got the Currywurst, which could go wrong when you order it in the wrong place. 

In its crudest, simplest form Currywurst is a sliced sausage covered with ketchup and curry powder, often with fries on the side. A nice place, like Brühler Wirtshaus, will blend the curry and ketchup into a tasty sauce. My first brush with it was from a Berlin street vendor, where the Currywurst slinger just squirted the ketchup onto the sausage and then shook some curry powder on top.

Most food places put a little effort into their Currywurst. There's a place in the Dorf that sprinkles gold dust onto theirs. Another outdoor patio spot on the Rhine serves so-so sausages with an amazing ketchup. The train station Currywurst in the Wirtshaus Brühler had the whole package: a decent sausage, fried crispy on the outside with a dose of ketchup that was actually spicy (German spicy is usually mild by North American standards).

So if you ever find yourself in Brühl, ask yourself why. If you know the answer, then hit Brühler Wirtshaus for the best train station dining experience ever.

Have you ever met happier people about to eat at a train station?