July 27 – Day 1, Leg 4
Traveling by bus seems different somehow than traveling by train. Perhaps it’s my own meager experience stemming back from when I lived in Cape Breton and didn’t have a car and needed to get to Halifax, but I don’t really trust them. They’re always taking the “scenic route” and you’re never sure when (or if, sometimes) you’re going to reach your destination. Even in Vancouver, I avoid taking the bus, even the new trolley ones, because there’s something that seems extra dirty and unreliable about them. The trains, on the other hand, seem more trustworthy. Maybe it’s the rails, and the fact that I can see my destination ahead that allows me to have faith that I will, eventually, arrive.
It was with these thoughts that we boarded the bus to Siegen. The town, according to our tickets, was an hour’s drive away. In reality, it was about 20 kilometres away. There were points during the ride when, looking out the window, we realized we’d literally gone ina circle, and we were on a road that we’d already ridden on just 15 minutes before—we’d gone in a huge circle. I was beginning to get so restless from traveling that I was almost ready to walk the rest of the way, just so that my legs would no longer have to rest at a 45 degree angle.
When we finally arrived in Siegen, there was someone waiting to pick us up, and take us the rest of the way to Freudenberg. When we told him of the route we’d taken to arrive where we did, he was aghast. “All this without speaking German? You are now traveling at the expert level,” he said. I smiled quietly in the back seat, (completely legally) sipping on the cold beer our friend had been considerate enough to bring for us.
The next day was the wedding we’d come here to attend, so that night there was a small family gathering at the home of the bride’s parents just outside of town. We arrived, and there was lots of introducing, hugging, and polite smiling and nodding. People were shy of using English, as I was of speaking German. But everyone was so kind, and pleased that we’d come such a long way to see our friends get married.
By 10 o’clock the bride and groom began to look exhausted, and the rest of the family did as well. I no longer had any concept of what time it might have been, but like an over-stimulated 3 year old, I wasn’t quite ready to go to bed. I was suffering from I-want-to-see-everythingitis. I didn’t want to miss a single thing. We decided that beers were in order to end off the day. There was so much in this little town that I wanted to see—its half timber houses, in place since the middle ages, and cobbled streets. After a day of breathing recycled air, I suggested we sit on the patio outside. My ulterior motive of being able to discreetly gawk around the little town, while still keeping up my façade of being the veteran traveler was fulfilled.
After a short while, I was no longer able to hold up my end of the conversation (such as it was, with its broken German, English, and weird gestures) and almost began to feel like I was already asleep at the table. I gave up, realizing that I would see nothing tomorrow, including the wedding, if I didn’t close my eyes for a few hours now.
