The drive to the Bavaria region of Germany was beautiful.  Our little B&B that awaited us was nestled in the quiet little town of Unterammergau, not far from Oberammergau which is known for the Passion Play that is performed every 10 years since 1634.  It is also close to Garmisch-Partenkirchen where the 1936 Winter Olympics was held.

I was delighted to finally meet Marianne Daser, the owner.  We had communicated via email a couple times over the past few months and she was just as sweet in person.  A home that has kept travelers from all over the world – South Africa to Nebraska,  exuded charm and warmth that embraced us with each step taken to the third floor.  Our accommodations of 3 bedrooms, a shower room and a bathroom were in traditional high quality fashion.  We even had a little package of gummy bears on each pillow, yum!  When I asked her how long she had been receiving guests she said, “always.”  I thought something got lost in translation so I repeated the question and again she replied, “always.”  She explained that when she was a child her mother also received guests in this very same home.  It is what she has always known. Her mother, pictured below, assists her today.

If you haven’t traveled to Germany or Switzerland before, notice the individual comforters and how the pillows are standing at attention for the guests.  The door to the balcony allowed for a view that can only be described with a photo.

 

After we got settled, we went for a walk around our village.  We kept smelling a farm-like aroma, but we couldn’t figure it out. We didn’t see any cows just a wet farm smell.  We went down the road behind our guest house and saw at the back of some of these 3 story homes there were actual barns on the lower level.  I could see cow rumps through a crack in the doors.  A man wheel-barrowed cut grass on to a huge mound that was at least 8 feet high and 40 feet long!  That was the smell, folks.  We continued our walk and noticed more barns that were homes as well.  A little girl was out helping her daddy and was so sweet and smiley as she watched us walk by.

 

It seemed special to get to see this type of farming, a style of days gone by, nothing fancy. I was thankful for these moments, actually I was thrilled.

The sweet simplicity of this town on a Saturday night just got sweeter as we headed to the church.  We could hear the sound of what seemed to be a choir ringing out.  There was little gate around the church and I couldn’t help myself.  The girls pleaded with me to not, but I did it anyway.  I cracked the door open just a bit and the voices poured out, ahhhhhh bliss.  There was no choir, just town folks singing.  It appeared everyone rode their bike.  Oh, it just doesn’t get any better than that, or does it?  I scanned through the German writing on the information board and there it was, Sunday morning, 9 a.m., Yippee!

Me- Girls, we can go to church tomorrow!  Girls- Mom, nooooo, we won’t even understand it, please mom, no.  Me- It’s settled we’re going!

Of course, just like at home, we pushed it to the last minute.  Walking the few blocks to the church and then the bell started to gong, gong, gong.  Out of every crook and cranny of the town came life-size characters from a children’s book.  Some on bikes, some walking briskly.  It was almost too much to take in.

 

 

 

 

 

I couldn’t catch them fast enough with my camera on the way in but I knew I would pose myself accordingly after church.  The bell gonged for 5 minutes before church started, almost the entire time we walked.

We brought nice clothes to wear, but they are for warmer weather, so the girls wore jeans and I wore the same pants I’ve been wearing for the past 3 weeks.  I have some lovely dresses and shorts and cute tank tops that are still rolled up tightly and smell of……..back pack, I guess.  I don’t really know what it is, I’ve never smelled it before.

We slid into almost the back row.  Okay, so we don’t speak German and we are not Catholic but I still wanted to experience this church.  My best friend from high-school is Catholic and I went to many services with her, so I was prepared to do just what I did then.  Stand when they stand, sit when they sit and just stay seated when they kneel.   I got lost in the damp smell, it wasn’t a bad smell, just damp.  I was enjoying watching the people and looking at the statues,  all was going just fine until Raleigh taps me, “Mom, I have to go to the bathroom.” Me- “You’re fine.”  Ral- “Mom, I can’t wait.”  Me- “Poop or tinkle?”  He squirms, “Tinkle. Hurry mom.”  I think I can quietly exit but my wet running shoes on the floor squeak me out.  There are two areas to exit, I quickly scan for a an extra door that could be the toilet.  I feel the eyes on me from the back rows, I was so embarrassed I could have just walked into a closet until the service was over.  There is a man in a wheelchair, I whisper the word, “toilet” to him.  He shakes his head and looks around as if to say, this is it, a sanctuary is all you get, lady.  I hustle Raleigh out of the church.  The sunlight hits me, I breathe and feel free.  Wow, I must have been stressed.  Something about church pews makes me feel like I have to sit like a stone, and not make a peep.  I’m kind of a wiggler so that was a long 20 minutes.  Now what do I do?  A 5 minute walk to our home and we’ll just stay there and wait for the service to be over.  Den and the girls will know where we went.  Rats, I can’t do that, I left my camera inside and I have to photograph these people coming out.  I don’t know if it’s illegal to potty behind a tree in the church yard but we did, Sorry Daser family if you are reading this.   Back in we go.  Squeak, squeak, squeak.  I wonder if ANYONE has EVER had to leave this church to go to the bathroom.

It was all worth it to share these pictures with you.

Can’t you just see these traditionally dressed men jumping off the pages of a book?