Hitchhikers Guide to Germany

 Germans are stereotyped for many a thing: they are not actually humorless sauerkraut-eating Lederhosen wearing people but they are, however, for sure one thing. And that is punctual.

It's not as though  I can drive here in the D-land, I mean, yeah, I could legally and all that, but with tiny stick shift cars, super narrow streets, and curves that would make Marilyn Monroe jealous, I prefer not to. That means some how I have to get to work after my breaks. When a camp session ends I can't just chill out in my cabin for five days, so I generally laze in a nearby town and come back when the next session ends. Someone picks me up at the train station. ...Unless I'm late.

Can you feel where I'm going here? Long story short, I misremembered the time I needed to arrive for my ride to pick me up and I was fifteen minutes late. Or, in Germany time, like, three hours late. I stood at the train station for two hours in the hope that they would come back to pick me up. Just maybe.

I tried calling the camp, and otherwise paced a path in the ground in front of the train station, thinking, 'Oh hamburgers.' repeatedly.

Just add a suitcase and backpack

Nearing ten at night, I figured they weren't going to pick me up. Which left me with literally one option: to walk.

So there's this thing about summer camps--generally they're, you know, in the woods. Where you camp. Not near main train stations. Nonetheless, I figured I could make it there on my own. It's not too terribly far; just up a mountain in the middle of a German forest at night.

No big deal.

I started walking. And walking, and so on and so forth, trying to remember exactly how many stop lights we drove by and at which street we turned off into the mountain. Actually, I was doing pretty good until the sidewalk ended halfway up the mountain and I realized why it's called the Black Forest.

As I was sweating (dragging a suitcase and a backpack full of clothes up a cobblestone mountain path is difficult!) and digging my reading lamp out of my suitcase for a flashlight, a car rounded the curve and began to slow. They stopped ahead and me and asked if I was okay. I said yeah. Because I'm an idiot and don't like asking for help.

Right now I'm really glad he said, 'Are you sure you're okay?' because no, I was not okay and yes, I would really appreciate a lift out of this little jam I was in and no, I really didn't want to get eaten by a wild boar.

Christian and Marika were just driving home after grocery shopping (I will never question those who shop in the middle of the night again) and had heard of the Wald Piraten camp. They would be happy to drive me the rest of the way. Honestly, they thought it would be a great opportunity to practice their English.

At this time I'd like to make a silent prayer to those who decide to study English, because nervous embarrassed Rebecca's German sounds something like a dog trying unsuccessfully to lick peanut butter off of its nose. Bless you, every one.

At the camp, the gates were locked, so we threw pine cones at the grounds keeper's window to wake him up. He greeted me happily at the door and let me into my room.

HA! Gotcha! He laughed at me and the next day everyone knew that I had to hitchhike back to camp.

To my mother, who is currently having a miniature heart attack. I'm fine, alive, and very much safe. I wouldn't tell you this story if I didn't think you could handle it. Plus, I can honestly recount this as one of the craziest things I've done, so I'm pretty sure that means you've succeeded as a parent on my part.