WE VENTURE TO EUROPE

We had been working and doing business with Ein for about two years when we decided it was time to expand our horizons and see what else was in the international marketplace that we might be interested in. The three of us made arrangements to meet in Frankfurt, Germany to attend one of the largest wholesale gift and home accessory trade shows in the world.

Ein has always maintained that his professor nicknamed him Ein, after Einstein, because he was so brilliant in school. He had trained to be an aeronautical engineer, and so the nickname was no doubt earned, but we always suspected that the name was at least as appropriately tied to old Albert’s reputed preoccupation with matters other than those immediately at hand. So, it was with some concern that we agreed to meet him in the huge Frankfurt International Airport. Visions of him wandering off to some remote location where it might take us days to locate him intermittently interrupted our thoughts during the long flight, so we were happily relieved (and a bit surprised) to find him waiting at our gate, tired but ready for adventure.

We had been booked into a bed and breakfast in a private residence in a small village outside the Frankfurt city limits. We had optimistically arranged to rent a car and drive to our destinations, intending to also see a bit of the area if we had extra time. The booking agent had sent us very good, detailed instructions on how to get to the village from the airport, and after picking up our Mercedes (yes, Mercedes are rental cars in Europe) we confidently set off. Unfortunately the agent had compiled the route we were to follow without the knowledge that all the main streets surrounding the airport had been recently closed for some major re-construction, so the map was virtually useless.

The indicated left and right turns were not possible, and as we drove aimlessly about, trying to second guess the alternate turns we were making I had the dark suspicion that we were just circling the airport like vultures over a carcass. We had all been up for approximately 20 hours at this point and clear thinking was probably beginning to wane.

We continued on in this matter for what seemed like hours, but was probably only about 45 minutes, when suddenly, a street that I was sure we must have re-visited at least a dozen times earlier revealed itself to be one of the incredibly long and complex names on our detailed instruction sheet. Well, that serendipitous event immediately was like a good caffeine jolt to everybody. All at once the surrounding countryside seemed picturesque and fascinating. The rest was clear sailing and in due course we arrived at the indicated exit to our village destination. I made a point of remembering the exit, “Ausfart”, figuring I probably wouldn’t have much trouble recalling a name like that.

The village was everything the agent had promised, sitting on the edge of a creek and resembling a cross between a bit of Hans Christian Anderson and post war “functional modern”. Our hostess was a pleasant, plump German lady who spoke not one word of English, but through gestures and lots of head nodding was able to show us which tiny (operative word here is “tiny”) rooms were ours and which bathroom we would be sharing with some of the other members of the family. Art and I tend to adjust quickly to whatever comes our way, but we had never traveled with Ein and were unsure how he would react to sleeping in what amounted to little more than a closet, and having to take a cookie and a number to get his turn in the bathroom. Not to worry, Ein is Confucian, and immediately accepted the situation, even commenting that his room was “very special”. (years later we have come to understand that “very special” can mean anything from fabulous to appalling, but never quite what was expected).

OFF FOR ADVENTURE
Confident with our new found ability to navigate the foreign countryside, and secure in the knowledge of our village’s exit name on the autobahn, we set off early the next morning, our stomachs full of salami and other assorted meats and cheeses, to do some exploring. We spent all of the morning and early afternoon driving the autobahn, with many detours to check out the towns and small villages along the way. Finally about 2:00 p.m. jet lag began to creep up on all of us and we decided to head back to our village. Although we were a bit turned around, we were fairly sure, looking at the map, which way to go and off we went.

After driving for what seemed like an appropriate amount of time to return to our village, we stopped looking at the countryside and began paying attention to the signs, looking for “Ausfart”. And just as we had anticipated, there it was. This driving in a foreign country was going to be a snap. Duly impressed with our own navigating skills, we took our village’s exit and soon came to the quaint town square that we remembered from last night. We knew our street was just past the church, so it was a bit of a surprise when it was no longer there. Ein thought it might have been another block, but no luck there either. Maybe it was a block the other way, but again, nope. “You know, I don’t really remember that pizzeria on the corner” I told Art. “No, I’m sure this is the right place, remember that turret?” Another ten minutes of driving around what was basically a six block village convinced us that although this certainly LOOKED like our village, since our street was gone, it must not be, and so we backtracked to the autobahn, hoping that perhaps we had read the exit sign wrong. And sure enough, we went a bit further on and THERE was our exit. Unfortunately, even though we all swore we recognized buildings in THIS village, once again our street was nowhere to be found. Back to the autobahn, where once MORE we were presented with another “Ausfart” village exit. There seemed to be many exits to our particular village, yet we were never able to find it. Ever hopeful we took this exit also, only to arrive this time at a much larger town than our elusive village.

At 2:00 p.m. we had been very cocky about our navigation skills. At 3:00 p.m. we weren’t quite as sure, but still fairly confident, the map made it look so easy and we knew the name of our exit. At 4:00 p.m. serious doubt was beginning to sneak up on each of us, but no one really wanted to be the one to bring it up. Ein, especially continued to voice his confidence in Art’s “very strong driving”. The driving may have been strong, but the course was dubious. Finally, around 4:30 we stopped and showed the map to a bystander and pointed to the village we were trying to reach. The fellow muttered something in German to us, shook his head and walked away. Not a good sign.

HELP!
We drove a few more blocks, then saw another older gentleman watering plants in the front of a large office building. Art had been stationed in Germany for two years in the 60’s and thought he might remember enough German to ask “which way?”. Ein and I remained in the car and Art hopped out with the map and approached the gentleman. Expecting him to be rebuffed again, we were happily surprised to see that the fellow actually smiled and seemed to be willing to help. Art opened up the map, pointed and gestured and apparently was adequately communicating in German. There was lots of map pointing and looking down the road and gesturing this way and that. Ein and I watched the animated conversation with much interest for about seven or eight minutes, when Art finally folded up the map and came back to the car. “Wow, you really were able to talk to him in German” I said, vastly impressed. “Well yes, we worked at that for about five minutes, when the fellow, whose name is Karl, asked in exasperation, “can you speak English then?” Art replied. “Apparently we are about 40 kilometers away from our village, “Ausfart” means “exit” in German, and Karl assures me there is no way we will ever be able to find our way back to our village by this map, so he is willing to drive the route and let us follow him, but first he must pick up his wife from work. We wants us to wait at his garden house, which is only a few blocks from here until he returns”.

And so we did. Karl had us follow him to his delightful “gartenplazt”, where he and his wife had their summer “gartenhaus” that they stayed in during the growing season. Grapevines, espaliered apple trees, fruits and vegetable of all kinds intermingled with flowerbeds brimming over with color. The tiny “gartenhaus” boasted a kitchen, living/dining room and outdoor eating area, with outdoor plumbing for bodily needs. At the front of the garden area, near the fence was a wine shed, where Karl kept a very respectable collection of fine German wines. Karl settled us in with tall glasses of Coke to refresh us, and invited us to enjoy his garden while he was gone. Then he took off to fetch his wife, returning about 20 minutes later with Amelise, a large, very heavy lady who was, as you might suspect, cheerful and jolly.

Conversation was somewhat odd, to say the least. Living and working in Taiwan, Ein had not had much reason to use his school learned English, and his sentences were often put together in a charming, but unusual manner. Working together, we had become accustomed to both his accent and his syntax, and could “fill in the blanks” when necessary. (This was in 1990, Ein has since become very fluent in English). Karl spoke reasonably good English, but with a very heavy German accent, and although Amelise could understand most of what we were saying, she was very shy about trying to converse, and would relay any thoughts to Karl in German, which he would then try to translate. Even so, we spent a very pleasant hour chatting away in a combination of German, Taiwanese and English. Karl and Amelise felt that since we had popped so unexpectedly into their life, it was mandatory that we come back to the garden the next evening to share dinner with them and tell more tales of America and Taiwan. We were both surprised and delighted at their hospitality and quickly accepted the invitation.

Karl, true to his word, after an hour or so of visiting and extracting our promise to return the next evening, got in his car and told us to follow him, assuring us that he would drive slowly so that we would not get lost. We had no problem as we wound through the town, but when we hit the autobahn the term “slowly” somehow didn’t come to mind. Art is a fast driver, but that old man took off like the proverbial “bat out of hell”, and never slowed down until we hit our “ausfart”, then gave us a honk and a wave and was off in a roar.

DINNER & DRINKS
The next evening we returned to the “gartenplatz”, carefully following the hand drawn map Karl had provided for us the previous day. Karl and Amelise were rightfully proud of their summer abode, but soon we realized what their real passions and interests were. Amelise LOVED to eat, and LOVED to cook, and was a WONDERFUL cook. Karl, being a part owner of a vineyard and a collector of wines, LOVED his wines, and the only thing better than talking to us about them was drinking them. We ate Amelise’s roast pork and potatoes and fresh vegetables, then Karl began bringing out various wines, all of which had to be sampled by all. As the evening wore on, and after many samplings, Karl discovered that Art and I have strong German ancestry, which he immediately felt required a few toasts of Schnapps. Karl and Art did ok with it, but I thought I might never breathe again, with Amelise patting me on the back and scolding Karl in German. Poor Ein just turned bright red and looked like he might pass out. As the evening wore on, Ein just kept getting redder and redder, alcohol seeming to effect him that way.

By ten p.m. Karl was just hitting his stride and put on a video of traditional German/Bavarian music and dancing. Raising his beer mug (we had moved on by this time to the local wheat beer) in hearty beer garden tradition, he began to sing along in load and lusty German with the video, raising his mug in toasts to the Fatherland. Art did an admirable job of keeping Karl company in his imbibing, but I had sense enough to know that anything more and I wouldn’t be functional at all the next day. Poor Ein had managed to migrate from the table to the sofa, where he began to look more and more like an owl as he kept trying to keep his eyes open and focused. Finally, like a scene in slow motion, I watched his eyelids finally flutter and close, then he began to slowly, ever so slowly, tip sideways, until gravity took over and he crumpled like a limp puppet with its strings cut, into the corner of the sofa where he began to softly snore away.

I don’t remember much about the trip back to our village, but Art apparently found the correct “ausfart” without mishap or detours to other villages since I woke up the following morning, basically none the worse for wear in the tiny attic room that was our “suite”. Art was hale and hearty. The previous evening had been like a tonic for him, he was totally rested and ready to tackle the first day of trade show. Poor Ein did not fare as well. He eventually came down for breakfast, walking like he was afraid he might shatter and break at any moment. Overcoming his initial reluctance to try and talk to our hostess, he carefully explained in his best Taiwanese/English to the lady of the house that he simply MUST have noodles and hot tea for breakfast.

Noodles were not on the family’s breakfast menu, and we were basically eating what the family ate. Since Chinese people are ALWAYS incredibly polite and reluctant to inconvenience anyone, it was a moving testament to Ein’s state of distress that he would ask such a thing.

“Tea” was not difficult to have understood, but “noodle” is not a word that lends itself to easy translation or descriptive pantomime. As Ein and I continued trying to make finger pictures of “noodles”, Art suddenly remembered passing a number of “pizzerias” during our “ausfart” rambles, and in a flash of inspiration he suggested “spaghetti?” Instantly the Frau’s face lit up with a big smile and she hurried off to the kitchen. Ten minutes later she returned with a plate heaped with meat sauce smothered pasta. The rumored Chinese stoicism was never more profoundly illustrated than in watching Ein choke down his breakfast.