Even with the Global Positioning System (GPS), we actually became lost and confused (surprise!) at the town of Koblenz which sits at the confluence of the Mosel and Rhine rivers. After traversing the highway at the edge of town about three times we finally exited and ended up down town. We would have liked to have parked and got out and walked around and explored the city or at least stopped for lunch but instead we became hopelessly lost. Once again we found ourselves driving around and around in circles in the downtown area. This is usually about the time the kids in the back get bored and look up from their electronic entertainments to say something helpful like, “Hey, this looks familiar. Haven’t we been by this shop already?”
To which my husband or I reply a little too loudly, “Yes. Thank you. We’re lost.”
We pulled over, tweaked the GPS and consulted maps before realizing our mistake. This is the maddening thing about the GPS. It gives you lots of information but never blurts out, “Blockhead, you just missed your exit!” It simply…recalculates. Unless you are watching it every second, you don’t notice it recalculates. So, you drive in a circle as it says, “Up ahead, keep left.” And then “After 50 meters, stay to the left.” And “At the end of the road, veer left.” And you find yourself on the very same street driving past the very same storefronts, until you once again miss your poorly marked highway exit to repeat the process all over again.
We finally found our intended highway exit and continued on along the Mosel River. It was beautiful. We drove through several quaint towns set between hilly vineyards and the tranquil river. There were walking paths studded with benches and trees along the river throughout each town and even in between the towns. But somehow we missed each and every turn to pull over until we actually pulled over into a wide parking lot in the middle of nowhere along the road. We ate our sandwiches there and managed to cross the highway to walk down to the river’s edge. The vineyards on the hill next to the parking lot and all along the Mosel River were so steep that there appeared to be some kind of chairlift contraptions built into the hill presumably to help in the grooming and harvesting of the vines. After consuming our sandwiches and visiting the river’s edge we continued on down the highway toward our destination.
Burg Eltz sits in a quiet river valley along the meandering Eltz River. But first, we had to park and then walk downhill towards the castle. After about 20 minutes of walking we reached the edge of the river valley in which the castle sat proudly below. It was a dazzling and gorgeous site shining in the sun! But, it was still another 20 minutes walk down a very steep incline. The weather was unseasonably warm for late April. It was already at least 80 degrees F. And my two-year-old was already good and ready for a nap so we had to carry her most of the way downhill on our backs. We also ended up carrying the five-year-old as well. All I could think about on the way down was the long, hot tiring trip back up!
We found the inner courtyard and waited till enough people gathered for an English tour. All our effort thus far was well worth the castle tour. You don’t actually get to see the entire castle interior but what we saw and learned was quite interesting. After the guided tour my husband took the older children to tour the treasury while I took the younger ones out into the sunny outer courtyard to play.
The girls saw some young boys sword fighting and climbing around on some huge rocks at the castle foundation and joined in the action. After six months in Germany, my daughter Mariel had become accustomed to everyone around her speaking a foreign language. After a few minutes of playing alongside the boys she ran up to me and excitedly recounted, “Mom! Those boys are speaking English!”
I answered, “Yes, they are.” And she ran back to the rocks again.
A few minutes later Mariel got the courage to address the boys directly and I heard her exuberantly say, “You’re speaking English!”
One of the boys, the older of the two, who looked about six or seven years of age, proudly stiffened up and in perfect British English (to my untrained ears) said, “I’m not speaking English. I’m speaking Welsh!” And walked away offended.
Mariel looked up at me baffled with her mouth hanging open and her eyes as big as saucers and said quiet sadly, “But he WAS speaking English, Mom. He was.” If my daughter hadn’t been so incredibly deflated I would have laughed out loud.
As it was, I was suppressing a smile as I answered, “I know honey. Let’s go get some ice cream.”
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