cincibuck
You kids stay off my lawn!
Lost. I got off the plane and wandered about the huge new passenger facility at Ramstein. Why is it that whenever you wander into a new Air Force facility, it looks as if a modern Frank Lloyd Wright had been given unlimited funds and told to create something wonderful, whereas any new Army post shouts World War I, Wehrmacht Fire Sale, or as if some buck private was given a T-Square and a 45 degree triangle and told to "draw us up some buildin's"?
Naturally I walked away from that as fast as I could, caught a taxi for Landstuhl and then the train to Heidelberg. I had been told that I should hire a taxi to run me out to Patrick Henry Village from the Hauptbahnhof . Instead I listened to the kind lady at the travel information center and got on the 717 bous, standing so I couldn't see any of the signs and ended up in Unterschladenbruckenburgenstein, East Jesus in American.
I always make the mistake of thinking out a question in German, which always leads to someone not picking up on the fact that I'm not fluent in the language beyond "Ein Bier, Bitte," and so the recipient speaks back to me in Deutsch and I realize I have no friggin' idea what he/she has said. Anyway, I got of in the center of this charming little village and waited for the 717 bous headed back toward Heidelberg and the driver was kind enough to remind me of the stop. Now I discover that the lady back in the travel desk must be a Volksmarcher for whom a walk of two or three kilometers is just a warm up (and in my defense, people seldom take a suitcase and a computer case on a Volsmarch) anyway, a soldier picked me up after I had walked halfway and took me the rest of the way. He was rewarded for his good deed by having to wait while I got screened by the German Precision Identification Guards that now do base security.
They scanned my ID. "We don't have you in our files."
No shit, Sherlock. "I'm a retired soldier, here on vacation." Thus began the first of now six trips to the ID booth to have someone look at my ID, look at my passport, ask me what the hell I'm doing and then giving me the OK to enter. The soldier was gracious enough to wait, and lucky me that he did because the guesthouse building was deep in the middle of the compound.
In no time I had a room with a bath. I peeled off my clothes about 48 hours after I had pulled them on, took a long hot shower and headed off for the O club - except the club system has been outsourced and we now get the low bid provider, a corporate food joint called Winger's. What can I say? The food served my needs and the Bitberger was genuine German draft.
By now my nose was running so often that I needed something. The PX was next door and I was on my way with Sudafed and Willie Nelson. I went to sleep about 9:30, but Willie, jet lag and Sudafed began arguing and I tried to intervene and tell them to shut up, but they went at it well into the morning.
I decided to take this seriously only to discover that there is no clinic at Patrick Henry Village. Nope the clinic and hospital are back on the edge of Heidelberg. Fortunately I caught the first of the hourly shuttle buses and after a few more stops, each an occasion to be frisked by the extremely efficient German ID Gestapo. Once in the hospital I was given excellent service, endured throat and nose swabs, told I did not have a fever, the flu, or strep throat, given some powerful drugs to combat whatever it was I did have and sent on my way.
I came back and crashed for two hours, then woke up, showered again and took my own Volksmarch about the place. The weather has been divine, which of course pisses me off as I'm sure that as soon as I feel better, some mean spirited low front bearing rain and sleet will descend on Germany. Oh well, tomorrow I rent a car and explore Heidelberg.
Das Besser.
Naturally I walked away from that as fast as I could, caught a taxi for Landstuhl and then the train to Heidelberg. I had been told that I should hire a taxi to run me out to Patrick Henry Village from the Hauptbahnhof . Instead I listened to the kind lady at the travel information center and got on the 717 bous, standing so I couldn't see any of the signs and ended up in Unterschladenbruckenburgenstein, East Jesus in American.
I always make the mistake of thinking out a question in German, which always leads to someone not picking up on the fact that I'm not fluent in the language beyond "Ein Bier, Bitte," and so the recipient speaks back to me in Deutsch and I realize I have no friggin' idea what he/she has said. Anyway, I got of in the center of this charming little village and waited for the 717 bous headed back toward Heidelberg and the driver was kind enough to remind me of the stop. Now I discover that the lady back in the travel desk must be a Volksmarcher for whom a walk of two or three kilometers is just a warm up (and in my defense, people seldom take a suitcase and a computer case on a Volsmarch) anyway, a soldier picked me up after I had walked halfway and took me the rest of the way. He was rewarded for his good deed by having to wait while I got screened by the German Precision Identification Guards that now do base security.
They scanned my ID. "We don't have you in our files."
No shit, Sherlock. "I'm a retired soldier, here on vacation." Thus began the first of now six trips to the ID booth to have someone look at my ID, look at my passport, ask me what the hell I'm doing and then giving me the OK to enter. The soldier was gracious enough to wait, and lucky me that he did because the guesthouse building was deep in the middle of the compound.
In no time I had a room with a bath. I peeled off my clothes about 48 hours after I had pulled them on, took a long hot shower and headed off for the O club - except the club system has been outsourced and we now get the low bid provider, a corporate food joint called Winger's. What can I say? The food served my needs and the Bitberger was genuine German draft.
By now my nose was running so often that I needed something. The PX was next door and I was on my way with Sudafed and Willie Nelson. I went to sleep about 9:30, but Willie, jet lag and Sudafed began arguing and I tried to intervene and tell them to shut up, but they went at it well into the morning.
I decided to take this seriously only to discover that there is no clinic at Patrick Henry Village. Nope the clinic and hospital are back on the edge of Heidelberg. Fortunately I caught the first of the hourly shuttle buses and after a few more stops, each an occasion to be frisked by the extremely efficient German ID Gestapo. Once in the hospital I was given excellent service, endured throat and nose swabs, told I did not have a fever, the flu, or strep throat, given some powerful drugs to combat whatever it was I did have and sent on my way.
I came back and crashed for two hours, then woke up, showered again and took my own Volksmarch about the place. The weather has been divine, which of course pisses me off as I'm sure that as soon as I feel better, some mean spirited low front bearing rain and sleet will descend on Germany. Oh well, tomorrow I rent a car and explore Heidelberg.
Das Besser.
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