Transition from France to Germany

Au revoir, creaky staircase of death

Travel Day.

Caught a taxi to the train station because of all the suitcases and backpacks.  

We would take the Swiss TGV high-speed train to Berne, Switzerland, then a Swiss train to Germany, then a German train to Friedrichshafen.  Friedrichshafen is a little resort town on the shores of Lake Constance, which lies in the Alps between Germany and Switzerland (essentially) Zurich.   

We’d be here for the next 6 nights while we attended Out Door – the European trade-show for all things outdoors/camping, etc.

The trip goes off without a hitch.  Each train, each connection, like clockwork.  The TGV was extremely fun.  Even in 2^nd class, it was so fast and so roomy that I would ride it over a plane any day.  It just astounds me that I can’t move about the United States like this.  I know the complicated, intertwined history that the highways and railways have in the U.S.  It’s great that we have such an extensive road system.  But now that I understand the ease of travel without a car in Europe, it makes me wish we could do the same in my own country.  I don’t think it will ever happen, though.  It’s too bad.

I love how they don’t mess around in Europe by making everyone take their shoes off for security screenings.  Try something funny in a train station and we will mess your shit up with machine guns.

After clearing some less-glamorous parts of Paris, (yeah I know socialism isn’t perfect) the countryside rolled by at 300km/hr.  I watched out the window as the landscape changed along with the style of houses and the town names; both becoming more Bavarian and less French with time.  There were distinct differences between the Swiss and German towns and trains as well.  More than I expected.  I know that sounds obvious, but travel between the states is so seamless and homogeneous, that it was interesting to have such marked transitions across the borders.

 We got to the hotel by taxi and Ken left immediately for the trade show to pick up an award for a new product design.  The kids and I would mainly be on our own for the next week, as vacation was officially at an end.

I have to say that I was really, delightfully surprised at how nice the French were/are.  I was prepared for them to be rude, or at least dismissive.  And with the exception of one crancky store owner who sort of sneered at Riley to put her fruit in a bag before she brought it to the counter, every single person we encountered over the last 17 days was lovely.  (The crowds during the fireworks don't count, I chalk that up to the same behavior you'd see at home.)  As soon as we showed that we had some French manners, the French opened up and  tried to speak English and we had a great time trying to communicate.

One more thing.  I want to come clean about Starbucks, for two reasons.  One is full disclosure and two is that if you live where I do, you know someone who works for the company – and I don’t mean as a barista.  In Paris, and again in England, Starbucks was a reliable refuge, where for the price of a cappuccino, I could get a clean bathroom.  Something that is very hard to come by in Paris, especially.  For that I thank them from the bottom of my heart.  Sometimes the drink was even good, but there needs to be some serious quality control.  Some of the drinks (Paris, 7eme, and the one by the Tower of London, this means you) tasted so bad that I had to throw them out.