Last Stop in Zurich

Just as the cold was starting to creep into our fingers and toes, the train to Zurich arrived.

Catching trains can sometimes be thrilling, especially when you're catching it at a station that's not the terminal. If it's not a terminal stop, the train will only be there for a few minutes, so you need to make quick work of getting you, your luggage, and your travel companions on the train.

Some stations specify where each train car will stop, so you generally know where your car first or second class car will be. The Salzburg station, under construction, didn't have that feature, so when the train arrived, we saw our car way at the end. You can board the train on any car and make your way to your seat while on the train, but what's the fun in that? We ran while still on the platform, and we made it with a few minutes to spare.

This may have been our longest train ride since our trip from Fussen, Germany to Vernazza, Italy, but this time there were no transfers, just an opportunity to sit and watch the snowy alps go by in the comfort of our seats. It's face-against-the-window kind of scenery.

Photo of The Austrian Alps on train from Salzburg to Zurich

Photo of The Austrian Alps on train from Salzburg to Zurich

An Alpen town, photo taken from train from Salzburg to Zurich.

And then we were back where we started nearly three months before: Zurich. When we arrived, we were jetlegged, lost, and elated, looking ahead toward a once-and-a-lifetime experience, not knowing the challenges and adventures in front of us. Our time in Zurich when we first arrived was extremely brief, but those memories of excitement and anticipation came rushing back.

This time around, we went down to the metro and intently tried to figure it out. It's not that difficult of a system, but certainly a bit more difficult than Rome, Paris, or Berlin. Our hotel was quite a ways out from the city, so it was like taking a train out to the 'burbs. (Zurich is expensive, which is why we didn't stay there on our first day, electing instead to head directly to Interlaken.)

Once settled in the hotel, we took a free shuttle back into the city. It was dark by now, and frigid. Minnesota frigid. 10 degrees Fahrenheit frigid, but Zurich was bustling anyway.

We heard tell of a "singing christmas tree," so we checked that out (and blogged about last Christmas).


Santa Claus is Coming To Town from Via Picnic on Vimeo.

After the tree belted out a few Christmas tunes in various languages, our fingers and toes were hurting from the cold, so we decided to find a place for dinner. It was our last night in Europe, so it was fitting that we splurged a little bit. (It was a little hard not to, in Zurich.) Italian cuisine was the most reasonable we could find.

After dinner, we walked around just a bit more. Zurich was downright glitzy with its holiday lights strung from building to building. After some walking along yet another Christmas market, we took the shuttle back to our hotel. It was an early flight the next day.

Picture of the Christmas market in Zurich

We got up the next morning before sunrise. It was one of those sleeps you get before taking a big trip. Breakfast at the hotel, included with the room, was more American than what we had grown used to in our hostels and pensions. Hardboiled eggs, deli meats, and bread rolls were replaced with scrambled eggs, bacon, and sausage. The lobby was quiet with just a few people up, business travelers. There was some anxiety amongst the four of us as we took in the steps to get from Zurich, Switzerland to Minneapolis, Minnesota. Shuttle to the airport, ticket printing, luggage, short flight to Amsterdam, full-body scan, long flight to Minneapolis, customs, baggage claim.

And just like that we were back. Everything looked like it did when we left, only less leaves and more snow. Our first meal was Chipotle. My first beer was Summit EPA. Just like our first nights in Europe, we were in bed by 9, resting up for the many picnics to come.

The Hills are Alive, Salzburg

I can't imagine a more beautiful evening to arrive in Salzburg. As we awkwardly navigated through the under-construction train station, a few trace flurries floated through the air. After Innsbruck, we were as acquainted with the cold, and in the full holiday swing. We checked into the Hotel Stieglbrau, which was affiliated in some way with Best Western, but was located above an Austrian Brewery: SteiglBrau. Standard US style hotel rooms, but the brewery restaurant was popular and fantastically festive.

Shortly after checking in, Jacob and I headed down to taste the beer of our Hotel's namesake. We sat in the wood paneled bar decked out in holiday cheer, drank a few Steigl beers and then the snow began to fly. It was perfectly cozy, but after a couple of beers it was time to venture into snowy Salzburg and check out their Christmas market.

From mild Italian rain to Alpen snow in a few hours - Innsbruck!

We said goodbye to my parents as they started the long journey back to the U.S. The next day, we headed out of Venice to return to the Alps, where this journey had started. This time, it was the Austrian Alps: Innsbruck. It was good to hear a language we had grown familiar with, even though it wasn't English.

It didn't take long as we headed north for the rain to change over to snow. We went from light coats and umbrellas to gloves and winter hats.

Thanksgiving in Venice

Celebrating an American Holiday in a foreign place is kind of an odd experience. It's more like a birthday--- you're in a celebratory mood but no one else has any idea. So what does one do? Well, if you're in Venice and it's a beautiful day, you sight-see. Such was the case for us, so the six of us left our Venice canal apartment and ventured out.

Venezia Day 1

Cue the Santa Lucia:

Ahhh Venice. I had looked forward to seeing Venice for a long time, but somehow over the course of the trip my excitement waned. I wondered "How could it compare to all the other incredible sights I've seen." But as Jacob's parents, Jacob, and I stepped out of the train station, into a bustling water-metropolis, the sun shining brightly, I was stunned.

Florence

We left Rome just as we had arrived there: under umbrellas, stomping through puddles in poorly drained streets, and avoiding umbrella salesmen. The four of us were on our way to Venice to meet my parents for Thanksgiving. It's a long stretch so we thought we'd make the most of it and spend a day/night in Florence. And we arrived to a very beautiful, clear, rain-free day!

Roman Holiday

When you have just a few days in Rome, you cram in trips to as many impressive landmarks and ruins as you can. And that's what we did.

We walked the ruins of The Forum, still being excavated to this day.

First night in Rome

The rain picked up just in time for us to find our apartment, found through VRBO. What we did know was that it was across the street from the Colosseum. What we didn’t have was a map. We found the Colosseum, no problem. Just go to the “Coloseo” stop on the underground metro, duh.
It wasn’t hard, even in the rain, to be awed by the sight of the massive Colosseum. Even in the excitement and hurried business of things, there was a moment in the rain where we all stopped and gazed at it.
Then it was back to the matter at hand: Where’s the place we’re sleeping tonight. We could have succumbed and purchased a map of Rome from one of the many vendors outside the Metro station, and as I write this, I don’t know why we didn’t. But we didn’t.
After walking up a few roadside staircases, we eventually gave up on telepathy and my dad asked a stranger. We were directed to the other side of the Colosseum.


Online reviews of this place were positive, but mentioned 82 steps to the front door of the apartment. I don’t know if I’m impressed by that reviewer or what, but they were exactly right, 82 steps.
Ample room for four people, kitchen, two bathrooms, and views of Roman ruins from the dining room.
We cleaned up, dried off, and were off to see Rome at night.

The Colosseum, est. 80 A.D.

Rendezvous in Rome

We left the beautiful city of Siena for Rome early in the morning. A taxi ride and a few train transfers later, we were pulling into Rome's central station on time at 10:15am, a full forty-five minutes before my parents planned to arrive.

My parents were coming to Italy on the last leg of our trip for Thanksgiving. They'd be traveling with us from Rome, to Florence, to Venice, where we'd have Thanksgiving Dinner with both my parents and Karina's. (Probably not turkey.)

I had my phone on, expecting a call or text message from my parents when they landed in Rome. Their landing was scheduled for just before 10am, so I wasn't too worried when I hadn't heard anything at 10:20. It takes awhile to get organized after landing in a foreign country; customs, passports, baggage, language barriers, money exchanges.

The plan was to meet them at Rome's central station. A good central location to meet up, buy our tickets and reservations for the next part of our trip to Florence, and then hop on the subway to the place we'd stay in Rome.

Karina and I found a spot to sit in the busy train station - one of the busiest we've been to on our travels - and waited to hear from my mom and dad. It was 10:40 at that point. We had checked the airline's website and found out the plane had landed on time, about 45 minutes prior. Hmm. Still no call, no text.

My dad, to my recollection, had maps of Rome printed out, a couple of Rick Steves books, and new shoes purchased for the long walks on cobblestoned streets. Surely he would have made sure either his or my mom's cell phone would work. In fact, I seem to remember him telling me he specifically called his cell phone provider to make sure his phone would work.

So why haven't they called? Or text messaged? Surely there was some downtime between landing and taxiing to the gate that would have given them ample time to contact us just to say they've landed. Anything. "The Eagle has landed." "We've made it across the Atlantic Ocean." "We are alive and in the same city as you for the first time in months." Anything would have been acceptable. So why had they not contacted?

We had faced a lot of complications on the trip thus far, but a rendezvous was not something we were used to orchestrating. As it neared 11am, our scheduled rendezvous time, with no word from them, my paranoid imagination took hold. Did they miss their flight, but were too embarrassed to tell me? Were they detained once they landed for some reason? Were my parents, all this time, just figments of my imagination and they never existed in the first place?

Central station was a dizzying beehive -- arrivals, departures, different languages and luggages. I couldn't  sit anymore so I walked around the station, scanning faces for likenesses to my mom and dad. It seemed like a futile attempt to locate them, but I figured with so many people criss-crossing the terminal, one of them had to be someone I'd recognize. My efforts were for naught, and at 11:20, I started to think of what Plan B would entail. Can't stay in the train station forever. I should also mention that I was not at all confident that we knew the location of our where we were staying. So, not only were my parents missing, but we were potentially homeless in Rome.

We switched our location to a food court on the second floor - well, I guess it would be referred to as the first floor in Europe; higher ground to scan the main floor, on the lookout for two Midwestern Americans. My hand stayed on my phone so that I'd at least feel it vibrate if I failed to hear it. A few minutes later, antsy as ever, I decided to do another one-man search-and-rescue. Another walk around the massive station, past the ATMs, the ticket machines, the payphones, the restaurants. Nothing.

I made my way back up to the food court and, as I sat down, took my hand off my phone for a couple of seconds. Reaching back into my pocket, I pulled my phone out and set it on the table and couldn't believe my eyes. In those few seconds my hand was off my phone, I had missed a call from a foreign number. Without a doubt, I knew it was them.

My mind raced. Can you call payphones back? I tried to no avail. Just then, a voicemail popped in our Google Voicemail box; Karina got the transcript of the message sent to her phone immediately. As anyone who has this service knows, the transcript prepared automatically by Google can be a little off...

"Jake, it's dad and mom. We're here in the term. Any. But my phone but we have no service. So HI We're gonna go back down in standby track. 27 and hopefully you can find out okay alright. We're gonna go down there to track 27. Love you. Bye bye."

Time was of the essence. I told Karina to stay put while I would run to Track 27, where ever that is. I needed to get there before they determined it was futile and just left for our place. I was that guy you see sometimes in train stations and airports, running. Did he forget something? Is he going to catch his train? Is he saying one final goodbye to someone? Nope, just trying to find my parents.

I saw a sign that said Tracks 23-27 were 400m away. Over four football fields to run, dodging travelers left and right. I made it to Track 27 in a flash - in fact, I probably passed them on the way, as they weren't anywhere to be found. I walked briskly to the end of the track and back, no sign of them. Did Google transcribe it incorrectly, as is its wont? Maybe it wasn't Track 27 at all.

Then I saw them. They didn't miss their flight. They weren't detained. They do exist. Rendezvous successful. I came up on my mom and scared the crap of her before she recognized me. Hugs were exchanged as relief set in. We met up with Karina, more hugs, bought our tickets to Florence, and then we were off to get settled in our apartment. It was downpouring at this point, and ancient cities aren't the easiest to navigate.

The plight of travel continues! (with pictures next time, promise)

Siena

It was dusk by the time we arrived in Siena and guess what? It wasn't raining! My friend Elizabeth had recommended we take a bus from the train station located at a bottom of a very large hill to our destination at the top of the hill within the city walls. It was a beautiful night and we were tired of sitting, so we thought we'd walk. That was easier said than done, as there was a sizable and busy roadway between the train station and the old city. After wandering a bit trying to find a way across what appeared to be a highway of sorts, meandering through a pretty modern mall and a parking ramp, we decided to take the bus. After struggling to figure out where exactly the bus station was, and then which exact bus would get us to our destination, we took an educated guess, and by that I mean we just jumped on a packed bus and crossed our fingers.

Once we made it inside the walls, we knew we were on the right track and we didn't want to risk being taken outside of the city walls by the bus, so we hopped off and made our way to our hotel on foot. By the time we made it into the walled area it was dark and we walked the dimly lit medieval streets, hiking up and down steep cobble stone lanes. Siena is a beautiful city and we were excited to get to our room, get settled and check out the town.

After checking in, we were pleasantly suprised to find out that we had been upgraded! We stayed on a small street, via Giglio, not far from the Campo, or main square of the town.

Stopover in Pisa

As you can imagine, we were pretty excited to get out of Cinque Terre and into a city with a little more, well..."city." We took an early train out of the CT and were on our way in no time.

Pisa is not far from the Cinque Terre, and more or less on the way to Siena, so we decided to do a stop there to check out the Leaning Tower and get a brief glimpse of the rest of the city. After storing our luggage and picking up a map, we exited the train station. We had grown quite accustomed to the rain in Cinque Terre, so we weren't going to let the fact that it was pretty much pouring rain get in the way of our fun.

Speaking of getting in the way-- have any of you ever traveled through major Italian cities on rainy days? Well, this was our first time, and as we exited the station sharing our crummy umbrella, we had to run the gauntlet of men selling umbrellas to ill-prepared tourists.

"Umbrella, Umbrella?" Uh, no thanks. "Umbrella, Umbrella?" Uh, no we're fine, thanks. "Umbrella, Umbrella? Look, we said no to the last two guys, so no, no thanks. "Umbrella, Umbrella?" SERIOUSLY? No! "Umbrella, Umbrella" Is this some kind of joke? "Umbrella, Umbrella?" AHHHH!H!H!H!H.

You get the idea. Eventually, we gave in after the 103rd person asked us. I guess that's how the system works. As we walked the city crowded with umbrella-outfitted tourists and locals, we took in the sights.

Merry Christmas!

The 'Singing Christmas Tree' in Zurich, Switzerland

Santa Claus is Coming To Town from Via Picnic on Vimeo.

The Cinque Terre

It was our longest train ride to date. Over 12 hours from Fussen, Germany to Vernazza, Italy. To put it mildly, the views were nice.

Fussen Pretzel Picnic

It was a warm autumn day in Fussen - perfect picnic weather.

We got pretzels!

Neuschwanstein and Fussen

Ever seen pictures of Neuschwanstein and think “Holy crap, I want to go there?”

Yeah, me too.

Munich

In Munich, and much of Bavaria in general, beer isn't classified as an alcoholic beverage; by law, it's considered food. People drink it on their lunch breaks from work. They don't serve it by the pint - they serve it by the liter. When in Munich...

Best Laid Plans

It's here! It's here! God bless that woman. Taxis are yellow in the Czech Republic, too.

(Side note: I can finally spell "Czech" correctly on the first try. Chezk, Ceck, Czeck.)

Oh *@#! What's that girl doing? She's getting in OUR taxi? Dammit, nothing's easy, ever.

Oh, wait. She's not getting in. "Taxi, no?" says the driver, confused.

"No," the girl replies, then turns to me. "Did you call for a taxi?"

Oh, God bless her, too. And the woman at the taxi service last night, did I mention her?

"Hi, do you speak English?"

"Yes?" She responded as if she were asking question.

"Hi, I'd like to schedule a taxi for tomorrow morning."

"Tomorrow morning, yes?"

"Yes. At seven forty-five."

"Seven forty-five, yes?"

"Yes. To the central station."

"Yes? Train station. What time?"

"Seven forty-five."

"Seven..."

"Forty-five," I respond, completely doubting, at this point, that this woman understands a word I'm saying.

"Central train station, seven forty-five. Okay, bye bye."

It was at this moment that I realized I had neglected to give her the crucial detail of where to pick us up. "No, TO the train station. TO."

"Yes? To the train station? How many persons?"

Not immediately understanding her through the heavy Czech accent, I assumed she asked where to pick us up. "Uh, Krumlov House?"

"Yes? Krumlov. How many persons?"

Still not understanding, I replied, "Seven forty-five."

"Five persons, yes?"

"Oh no, two."

"Okay. Three persons at 7:45. Okay, yes?"

"No, two people. At the Krumlov House. Do you know where that is?"

"Krumlov House, yes? 7:45, three persons, yes?"

Close enough, I thought. "Yes."

"Okay. Thank you. Bye bye."

"Thank you. Bye." I hung up, not sure at all if I had requested what I wanted to request.

Even the best laid plans go awry. That is one of the primary lessons we've learned on this adventure. Taxis sometimes go to the wrong hostel. Transit systems occasionally have detours. And language barriers, at times, seem insurmountable. You keep plugging along with faith that your Plan B works, and if not, you'll be able to devise a Plan C. Sometimes - many times, probably most of the time, but we usually take it for granted - things work out perfectly, like the taxi at the front of our hostel in Cesky Krumlov, saving us a forty minute walk, uphill, with our luggage.

Munich, here we come.

The Ghost of Christmas Present! (In Austria. Coming home soon.)

So much to write about. We're running behind on the blog, but we're getting there. I just wanted to speak in present tense for a bit to share our experiences as our trip comes to a close...

Our last week on this continent. We're in Salzburg, Austria, and I can only interpret the weather here as nature's way of easing us into what we have in store back home, in Minnesota. We hear it's been rather chilly there, especially Thanksgiving night. We were in Venice, where on Friday it rained more or less constantly. You want to know what's worse than a cold winter? A cold fall rain. The tide in the bordering Adriatic Sea goes in and out, as tide does, and in November, the rainiest season in Italy, many of the streets are covered in a few inches of water from the canals flooding just a bit. At times, even my waterproof shoes, which have braved the most threatening puddles from Berlin to Rome, couldn't withstand the overflowing canals. Whole streets unpassable for anyone who wanted to maintain some semblance of sock-dryness.

But that's another blog. Thanksgiving has passed, my parents have come and gone, Rome was created, and then fell. Much to blog about, but we can't wait. It is officially the Holiday Season, and, being freshly snowed upon by Alpen flurries, I am sitting, six floors up, watching white-covered trains pull into and out of Salzburg Hauptbahnhof.

Our hotel is right above a hundred-year-old brauhaus - admittedly young, by European standards - so Karina and I headed down there right-quick. Stieglbrau. Karina had a Goldbrau, I had their Dunkelweisse. Both delicious. As we sat there, the snow started falling. Our first snowfall of the year. While we've seen it here and there, in patches, and coating an Alpen field, we had yet to seen it fall.

We hoped it would still be snowing when we headed out to the Christmas Markets. Hours later, after we visited the markets as I write this, it's still falling, accumulating, making everything look beautiful. A couple mugs of gluhwein - a spiced, warm, red wine - held by mittened hands as we peruse the Christmas ornaments made from glass, carved wood, and fabric. On a whim, I had a baked potato, which, proudly, I ordered by using, soley, my German language knowledge:

"Eine kartoffel," I said, leaving out "bitte," accidentally.

"Mit?"

"Uh...alles," I said, requesting it be loaded with cheese, some kind of herbed sauce, and sour cream. It was delicious, and I regret nothing, even though I spoiled my dinner, burned the roof of my mouth, and neglected to keep my hand sufficiently warm while operating the plastic spoon.

Now, looking down from six flights up onto Austrian train tracks with frequent traffic, listening to the xmas music on my iPod (Sinatra, Crosby, Krall, Guaraldi, Springsteen, McCartney, Lennon, Sufjan, Low), I can't help but recognize how lucky I am, that we could do this thing we've been blogging about, and, mostly, and more importantly, that we have a home to come back to, close to our friends and family.

Cesky Krumlov

Something about the trip to Cesky Krumlov made me feel like we were really far away from home. Perhaps it was the 45 minutes we spent in the Ceske Budejovice train station, waiting for our connecting train.

It was one of those “Where am I moments” particularly enhanced because I wasn’t sure how to pronounce the name of the city that I was momentarily visiting. Perhaps it was the small three car train which clearly indicated the remoteness of our final destination. Perhaps it was a realization of just how many miles we’ve traveled via train on this trip. Or perhaps it was the teeny tiny Czech towns we passed through on our incredibly scenic trip to Cesky Krumlov.

Plzen

We felt a slight tinge of homesickness when John and Amanda left Prague for home. They're back to real life, Minneapolis, the holidays, friends, family. But then we were off, too, leaving Prague for Plzen, a city often ribbed for its lack of things to see and do. I suppose compared to Prague, the city of a hundred spires - and gift shops - it may seem that Plzen pales in comparison. It's harder to find out what's worth checking out in Plzen, to be sure, but with the right resources, and an open mind, one can find plenty to see in the birthplace of the Pilsner Beer.