Donaueschingen to Beuron to Sigmaringen

I am sipping the worst cup of coffee I have ever had. It is cold and fizzy, with a hint of snail slime. Scott is next to me cacooned in his down sleeping bag. I can only see his ear lobe. In so few days we have gone from our lives of luxury in MT (how could we have taken the dryness for granted?) to stealth camping next to the young Danube (really a stream at this point) in the rain in the Black Forest of Germany. 

Everything is sodden and there seems to be 30 snails (some white, some black) per square foot of grass. They have climbed on our tent, in our cups, and on our panniers. Some are two inches long, others are 1/8 of an inch, but all seem to be in a perpetual state of pooping, leaving behind goldfish style squiggles of ickiness and paths of slime.

It all started off beautifully though. 

Two days ago, we took our loaded bikes onto the subway, then boarded a train for Donaueschingen, putting our bikes in the last car. Bikes need their own tickets (8 euros each) and a 24 hour previous reservation. The trip takes 3.5 hours. Trains run precisely on schedule here, true to the stereotype. Our tickets are checked no less than eight times. A quiet woman next to us knits an entire baby sweater in light browns and blues during the journey.

And now I am choking down the worst bowl of oatmeal ever - uncooked, swollen waterlogged hazelnuts looking not unlike the snails, and again fizzy, in a way that makes my tummy twitch. (Fizziness will be explained shortly.)

On the train ride we notice these shanty towns connected to little garden plots, only each shack is like a miniature perfect little house and the gardens are little oases of daffodils, young onions, flowering fruit trees, and tilled soil waiting to be planted. These little faerie garden towns are usually right next to the train tracks. 

Karl and Sabine, our WarmShowers hosts (WarmShowers is the bike touring equivalent of Couchsurfing), tell us these are Schrebergartens, that is, little rented plots for those in apartments. They are governed by each town, with very strict by-laws about no sleeping there, no parties, grass length, etc. and they cost only 20 euros a month to rent! Sabine, a cardiologist, and Karl, a professional oboist, say there are a lot of rednecks in these places and they entertain themselves by criticizing their neighbor's gardens. So interesting!

Their house was built in 1939, the same year as our little Hamilton rental house, as part of a large hospital complex for soldiers wounded in the War. The ceilings are very high. It is a cultured home with classical music playing, gorgeous art in every room, and intelligent conversation to be had on politics, travel, and ideas. Heaven. Sabine and Karl say they will visit us in America and Sabine says to call if we have any medical issues. Wow.

Oh, and Karl pulled out his oboes and handmade reeds and made me play - the first time in 30 years! Karl whittles each reed carefully in his front yard and he neighbors think he is painting his nails. I sound like an angry goose on the oboe but at least I produced the right notes. 

In the morning after muesli, yogurt, cheese, bread, and fruit, we bike off in a light rain through the most pleasant green landscapes - fields of young broccoli, trees with perfect spheres of mistletoe growing in the branches, church bells tolling the hours in the distance, and swans folding their necks gracefully onto their backs for a snooze as they float along the Danube. 

Scott gets a flat from a rock, but fixes it quickly.

We find we are the only bicyclists with panniers, indeed the trails have very few people at all. Turns out we are a few weeks early and almost no campgrounds or zimmers (guesthouses) are open. This is going to prove to make things challenging I think. 

By 6 in the evening, we stop for some bottled water at a gas station in case the campground is rustic. The mans says the campground is closed. Exhausted and losing light, we find the open field next to the river. No one is around, so we set up the tent. Wild camping is not ok in Germany because virtually all land is privately owned. Still, we get way with it, but oh no, we have forgotten a lighter so we can't cook the soup mix we bought. Instead we eat a carrot, and chopped raw bacon meant for the soup (My mother always warned we would get trichinosis if we ate raw bacon, which Scott now tells me is a flat worm. Ew!) But I must eat to function, and that is all we have.

We awake to find snails of every size and color on our tents, bikes, mugs, and bags. The fizziness in our waterlogged muesli and cold coffee is because I accidentally bought "sport" water at the gas station, which is carbonated. Blick.

We are staying in a hostel tonight in Sigmaringen. Now we know that hostels are probably the most expensive choice. You can't cook in German hostels. So all told, this nights stay ended up costing over a hundred dollars for a spartan double room and 2 meals. Good thing the previous 2 nights were free! One has to be incredibly tenacious and inventive to do Europe on the cheap. Adds a level of stress I hadn't anticipated but it is  all part of the adventure.

Internet is hard to come by because German law dictates that whoever has the connection is liable for any illegal downloads or illegal activity so there is no public wifi at cafés or anything. Again, this makes travel planning difficult. But oh, the castles on the cliffs, the friendly conversations everywhere we go (Americans are not common around here), the turnip and radish salads, the sausages...the adventure around every bend of the river.