Because Nick and I are so spontaneous and fun (not bad planners who sleep in) we decided last minute (late afternoon) to take a couple trains a few hours to basically the border of Germany and Austria.
We had a purpose, we wanted to see the Neuschwanstein Castle, the fairytale castle Walt Disney based Sleeping Beauty’s palace* on.
*Sidenote: I was trying to brainstorm a synonym for ‘castle’ because that sentence repeated it too many times (brilliant writing skills) and my brain went, “Oh, pastle!” instead of the word ‘palace’ because I’ve been drinking too much (actually quite the opposite, I think I’m dehydrated) (where is this going?). It then autocorrected to “pastry” which was even less accurate and slightly offensive because yes I use that word in my vocabulary a lot more than I would like to admit Google!
After hours of travel we arrived and to our dismay were told the last train going back to Munich was in two hours. This meant we only had two hours to make it up the mountain and down to the station for the LAST TRAIN FOR THE NIGHT. I didn’t know what to emphasize in caps because it was all very dramatic. So the countdown began.
We hiked up the hill, nay, mountain, and soaked in the views. And it was magical.
Not exactly.
I wanted to take the shuttle because I despise sweating but Nick didn’t want to waste time waiting for it. Naturally, I complained all the way up for good measure.
Children with their grandparents passed me. At some points, I’d take breaks and say, “Look at the view from here! Honestly, it would be dumb to get any closer.” Yet, we prevailed.
Well, I crawled.
Not only did we hike up to the castle but continued past it. We hiked to the bridge so we could take picturesque photos like this one for your viewing pleasure. (Anything that pushes me physically is usually Nick’s idea) (that sounded dirty).
While we were on the bridge I was finally able to ask someone else to take a photo of us. I felt glorious, maybe even superior, as you know if you’ve read ‘Stop approaching me, I could have rabies‘. The bubble burst when she asked me to take a photo of her. We said goodbye and soon realized we’d overstayed. We only had 30 minutes to get back down the mountain, catch a bus to the station to make the last train.
This, of course, led to Nick and I fighting over whether to wait for the shuttle back down or run all the way down to the bus stop. Did we wait for the shuttle? Did I think I was going to die in that beautiful Bavarian forest? Are Emma Stone/Watson magical people? Yes, by all accounts.
Let me make it clear my hatred for running. When I was in school and we’d have to run a mile for gym class I’d run next to the slowest person on the track and speak loudly when we passed the coach,”You’re doing so well! Don’t worry I won’t run ahead and leave you behind.”
What. A. Star.
I bought running shoes because they were cute, not because I thought I’d do any running in them. (Do you do running?).
I was wearing those said running shoes as I fought against tumbling down the hill. I’d stop every few feet convinced I had appendicitis, or an ovarian cyst or a grumpy tourist stabbed me as I ran past. It was just my body reminding me I shouldn’t be running. It’s bad for my health.
I cursed Nick all the way down (because you do that when there’s no one else to blame) and begged God for Pringles. Fellow tourists stared and thanked their lucky stars they paid out for that fancy tour group. Tour guide Nancy would never make them run back to their bus. Screw you, Nancy.
We saw the bus in the distance and sprinted. It hissed and readjusted with the weight of the last few tourists. We reached out our hands in prayer and/or to wave down the attention of the bus driver. Whoever would respond first, I guess.
But we made it.
We walked into the train station triumphant with five minutes to spare. We bought a full canister of Pringles to celebrate.
We walked by the girl who took our photo on the bridge (she obviously took the shuttle down because there weren’t any leaves and twigs in her hair). I waved at her but she hesitated. I definitely didn’t look like the same woman she met on the bridge. That woman was confident, this woman looked like a sweaty lobster.
Travel tip: take the damn shuttle.