World Chump - Wanderlust

Kempten and I go way back. Not as far back as Kempten does with the Romans (or arguably the Celts, although that's been disputed), but as far back as the '70s. Just like Kempten became the first urban settlement in Germany, Kempten became the first settlement for me in Germany, period.

Let's go back to 1978. Here I am, a kid from Southern California, being told that we are to move to Germany, my mother's native country. Okay, then. It couldn't be such a bad place, I reasoned. My German grandma would send us all of that delicious chocolate for Christmas. Mom was listening to all of these fine German classical records. Add the fact that I wanted to make a snowman in the worst way thanks to my obsession with Peanuts (Charles M. Schulz was from Minnesota, no wonder), and it was a win-win for everybody, I figured. What I didn't count on was that Germany would be so radically different, especially in the 1970s.

So off we go. American Airlines to New York. Pan Am (remember them?) to Frankfurt. Lufthansa to Munich. But then came the best part of the trip. Train to Munich and past all of those wonderful meadows and mountains. The place was so gorgeous. 

On this piping hot summer day in 2020, I walk toward the Goethestrasse, my first residence in Germany...it was me, my five siblings, and my mom...all in Granny's apartment. That couldn't last long, us all crammed together like that, and it didn't. From there we moved into a two-bedroom apartment (the parents slept in the living room), with one bedroom for the girls, one for the boys. Then the first snowing (and my first snowman), then a bigger apartment so the parents could have a bedroom. Then I learn German, and the rest is history. We were doing the exact reverse of immigrants coming to America. We were coming to Germany and living the German dream, if there ever was such a thing.

I walk past the St. Lorenz Cathedral, the most famous church in catholic stronghold Kempten. I always admired St. Lorenz, but the doors are closed this time around, no doubt a victim of the COVID pandemic. Too bad, but there's nothing I can do. Next, it's through the pedestrian zone and the old town hall. There's the oldest church in Kempten near the Iller River, St. Mang with its telltale blue clock. 

There's this playground I visit that my siblings and I used to go to, near the Allgäu Gymnasium school. It has a neat little zip line (as it did then as well, would you believe it), and on a clear day, you can see the Alps. Nearby is a monument dedicated to all fallen soldiers during two world wars. My German grandfather, who died before I was born, fought in World War II and was lucky to come home alive. Kempten, too, had a rich Nazi past.

At our last apartment in Kempten, literally at the very edge of town, there is a huge strip of forest that's still there, although I realize things have changed. On both sides of our apartment complex, there was nothing but open field. Now there are houses everywhere. The secret is out: Kempten is one of the most livable places in Germany. There's nothing to say, really. Progress happens everywhere, even to the old Roman settlement.

I make one last stop at the ultra-modern St. Franziskus church, where I had my confirmation. In winter, they cranked the heat up so high in that place that I fainted several times. Embarrassing, I know, but not my choice.

Time to leave town. Thanks for the memories, Kempten. I hit the autobahn and resist a look in the review mirror. Kempten was then, Frankfurt is now. My personal history aside, it's a great place to visit.

Give the U.S. this: if anybody knows how to pick a spot for their military bases, consulates, embassies, and resorts, then the Americans do. 

Of course, having a military presence and being part of the allied armies during WWII certainly helped. Germany was in no position to tell the victors what to do. So you would like this castle for your next administrative headquarters? Nein. Whoops, on second thought, I have a better idea: take it! And that gun you're holding at my head has nothing to do with it. 

But that's only part of the formula. Location is everything, and I'm wondering if every military unit had a real estate agent in its ranks. Prime examples? The military base in Wiesbaden. The consulate in Frankfurt. The embassy in Berlin. The Edelweiss Lodge and Resort in Garmisch-Partenkirchen. And that is just Germany. I could name the consulates and embassies I've seen worldwide, but I think you get the point.

Garmisch was always going to be a no brainer as a base of some sort for the U.S. Remember what I wrote about Schönau at the Königssee. Garmisch itself is one of a hundred charming little towns in Bavaria. The difference is the Alps. 

Note how I use the abbreviated Garmisch for the town. That's only one half of the town, in quite a literal sense. The town used to consist of Garmisch and Partenkirchen, and, if anything, the half of Partenkirchen has the nicest place, the famous Ludwigsstrasse with its fabulously painted houses, an absolute must if you need a photo opp that does not include a mountain, meadow, or lake.

That said, it doesn't take an American to like Garmisch. Garmisch is the outdoor Mecca for hikers in Germany. From here, you'll have easy access to Germany's highest mountain, the Zugspitze. Granted, that's getting more and more difficult these days in the age of turbo tourism, with hundreds of hikers now queueing to reach the summit. Here, it's simply Alpine beauty. There are lakes and mountains, followed by...more lakes and mountains. And of course winter sports galore. 

Garmisch itself can be passed by car in 5-10 minutes. Garmisch is the place you reach following gnarly curves and hairpin turns through mountainous routes that will make that schnitzel you had for lunch suddenly not sit so well. But then you get out of the car, breathe the air and...yes, back to civilization. In the middle of all the hoopla with the hotels and restaurants, people seem to forget there are actually people living here. These people are always friendly, without exception, now that their stake in the town grows with each arriving tourist and businessman. 

And if the Americans are so good at picking locations, imagine what kings can do. Case in point: The King's House on Schachen, also known as the hunting lodge (really a party house) for none other than King Ludwig II. Of all the castles and royal mansions I've seen, this might just take the top prize. 

 Over the years, I've been an unapologetic supporter of Airbnb. That faith took a bit of a dent on our last trip to Munich.

Growing up in the '80s, I had these weird ideas without knowing how to realize them. What if you could write a letter and it would reach your recipient the very second you finished it? Only a decade later: hello, email. Then I always thought: what if you could have an apartment for one week when you are on vacation? You know, just a little place, but with all the trimmings...kitchen, shower, TV...like taking your own home on the road. That is what Airbnb has been to us, in a nutshell. A home away from home.

For the most part, we've done fine. Most of the time, we've gotten our money's worth. Until this last one in Munich, we were always made the right picks. Nowadays, Airbnb owners have a way of getting you the key without any contact. In Vienna, it was a lockbox, hanging right there next to the door. Enter a combo, and you're in. Clever, really. I doubt very much a burglar would waste his time going through every combination in front of a front door with all of the next-door neighbors watching him. That guy would have to be more skilled than a safe buster and work in record time. Hardly seems worth it. 

Now there are always a few things (and people) I am willing to work with in order to avoid hotels. Less than a great location? Hey, that's why nature gave us feet. Walls made up of cardboard? Well, I still have a problem with that, I admit. Coming into Munich, I knew parking would be a problem. All right, so the guy couldn't deliver on a private parking space, unlike Prague, Vienna, and Salzburg. That wouldn't be a dealbreaker.

The first warning sign came when the landlord - let's call him Ludwig - told us where to find the key. A half-block from the apartment, tucked away behind a flower pot, near the recycling bin. Okay, this looks a lot like the "Blackmail" sketch in Monty Python featuring the last bit telling the person where to send the money: "Behind The Hot Water Pipes, Third Washroom Along, Victoria Station, London..." Sketchy, I'm thinking.

Big deal, we get into the apartment, and we are ready to pack it in for the night after a long day at the Königssee. We look around the apartment, the place is tiny, but that's Munich for you these days. Somehow we'll need to squeeze four people into our place. All right, we can squeeze four people into a tent, then we surely can do it in an apartment. It is also piping hot, which doesn't make things more comfortable. 

Next, we discover that the "apartment" seems to be separate from...well, from the looks of it, another apartment, a much bigger apartment. It's behind one door at the end of our hallway. Okay, then. What clinches the disaster is the moment we hear the dreaded key turn in the keyhole. There's what appears to be a student calmly entering our place on his way to the door that separates our two units. Open the door, shut the door. So now we officially have a roommate.

An hour later, the key turns again, and now it's Ludwig. By now, Liebi and I are annoyed. This is fraud, plain and simple. I could live with picking up the key from a crack in the sidewalk. I could live with the apartment being two separate units in the year 2020. But the guy sharing our airspace in order to get to his place, plus the landlord busting in like Kramer in Seinfeld? Epic fail. 

Ludwig, I tell the guy. Where is the privacy here? Ludwig says, "I wasn't aware my tenant was here." At least we have that settled. But what about Ludwig himself? For the first time ever, Liebi and I contemplate cutting a vacation short and maybe eat the last day. In the end, we don't, but I can safely say that this was the worst Airbnb experience ever. Tip: make sure nobody is sharing your living space. Make sure you are the only one in that apartment for the time you have rented it. 

Airbnb, not Airbn we...or so we thought.

Honestly, I am not nostalgic. Far from it. Whenever people talk about the good old days, I only partially agree with their assessments. What I don't miss, for example, is typewriters, tape recorders, and rotisserie dial phones.

Now one thing I do miss about the past was how the tourist was pampered. Flying American Airlines back in the '70s or '80s was a treat. Okay, okay, so you couldn't explore all of your possibilities because you had no internet, but I did like the fact that whenever I booked a hotel room it was for one day, 24 hours. In the year 2020, I need to check out at 10 a.m. and I still have to kill time until I can check in at our next Airbnb at 4 p.m. This would present quite a dilemma if we were in the middle of nowhere. Luckily we are in Salzburg, near the Berchtesgadener National Park and some of the most gorgeous mountains in the world.

So the plan is to spend half a day at one of Germany's most popular destinations, the mother (or king, in this case) of all Alpine lakes, the Königssee. Sorry, Lake Constance, I love you, but this one wins due to the close, close proximity of the mountains. We cross the Austrian-German border, there are customs officials on the other side brandishing assault rifles. In the age of Covid-19, people take no chances here. 

Another nice thing about traveling in the year 2020 is the abundance of navigation systems. No more holding a map across the steering wheel (or with the human navigator riding shotgun) and wondering, Did we just take a wrong turn? Let's ask this guy here. So we arrive at our destination exactly when the GPS says so. One of the most famous pictures you'll find in a "Best of Germany" scrapbook will be the church of St. Bartholoma near Schönau in all of its glory. Anywhere else in Germany, this would be just another chapel, ho-hum. The fact that there is an Alpine lake in front of it and the mountains in back launches it to the top tier of tourist sites in Germany. We head over to the Jennerbahn, the cableway that will take us to the top of the Jenner, the mountain at the Königssee with the best panoramic views. 

The tickets aren't cheap. but they take you almost to the very top of the Jenner, about 1,700 meters altitude, or more than a mile. The folks at the cableway take no chances. A mask is obligatory, even among families occupying one car. Fine with me. With a view like that, I can be convinced to wear a spacesuit. We look at the cows below us. They hit the jackpot. If you're going to be a cow in this world, you could be on a factory farm or grazing in the Alps. Some of them are even lying in the sun, soaking up the rays. I half expect to find a cow with sunglasses and a cocktail.

Now to get to the top of the Jenner, we still have to hike a bit...and there's a queue, as it turns out. That, too, is travel in the year 2020. Too many people on the summit, wait your turn, and then do your selfies. We take our lunch at the restaurant once we're done with the summit. A helicopter dives in toward the restaurant for the tourists' pleasure and does a sharp bank toward the mountain before it disappears toward the valley. We take the ride down, again gawking at happy cows and the mountain summits. This place is a dream.

A good tip would be the Königssee if you have half a day to kill between Salzburg and Munich. If we'd had more time we would have saved the money and hiked to the summit, but okay. We needed to kill six hours, and we did that with style.