Tag Archives: Garmisch

It was an absolutely gorgeous day in Bavarian, and all Rand wanted to do was go to Garmisch. He wanted to sit in the sunshine in a picturesque Bavarian town and do nothing all morning, besides eating a pretzel or three.

“But we’ve been to Garmisch a dozen times,” I whined.

“That’s because Garmisch is amazing.”

And that’s fair: Garmisch is lovely. But I wanted to see what else this corner of Germany had to offer. So when my stepmother suggested we visit the AlpspiX – a viewing platform high up in the mountains, reachable only by cable car, I insisted we go there.

“For the blog,” I said. And poor Rand, he caved, even though all he really wanted to do was sit around. He is a good man.

A good, patient man who deserves lots of pretzels.

The drive from my father’s home to the Wetterstein Mountains, where the AlpspiX can be found, is as lovely as a postcard.

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Rand and I stopped in Garmisch for a quick snack at a bakery (because if I say I need a snack, 90% of the time what I mean is “I need a pastry). Upon leaving, I noticed the sign on the restaurant across the way, and went in for a closer look.

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Sometimes I will grab my husband, usually by the head, mash up his cheeks in my hands and say,

“Your face. Your STUPID face. I LOVE YOUR FACE. I’m … I’m gonna eat your face because I LOVE IT SO MUCH.”

I assume that all couples who have been together for more than a decade behave this way, expressing their affection through threats of cannibalism.

The thing is, though, I really do adore his face, every (tiny) crease and freckle and even the errant chicken pox scar on his forehead (that is almost, but not quite, a mirror reflection of one I have). To quote one of my favorite movies, “It’s … it’s a good face.”

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I’d like to deviate for a moment from my pastry tour of France to discuss my dalliance with an ambiguous piece of Bavarian taxidermy.

Bavaria! Not pictured: ambiguous taxidermy.

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I should clarify (though I remain incredibly proud of that opening sentence):  when I say Bavarian, I don’t mean that the actual taxidermical practices were ones that I’d distinctly associate with southern Germany. The animal in question was not wearing lederhosen, nor was it holding a pretzel and a tiny little stein of beer (Even though that would have been absolutely amazing. And what if it had one of those little German hats? Oh, god, YES. Please let this be a thing, immediately). I simply mean that we were in Bavaria, and I’m pretty sure that this was local handiwork.

Nor do I mean to suggest that  the taxidermy itself was ambiguous. It wasn’t like … half stuffed or something. There was definite taxidermying happening. I mean, if you saw this thing, there would be no doubts: taxidermence had transpired.

No. The ambiguous part was this: we all disagreed on what the animal in question was.

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Souvenir: Accomplished.

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I’m not big on souvenirs. At least, not in the traditional sense. Rand and I are on the road a lot, and if I purchased every delightfully tasteless memento I encountered, we’d long ago have been buried under a pile of snowglobes, novelty beer bottle openers, and tiny resin sculptures of bears in swimming trunks. Which, for the record, doesn’t sound that bad. “Crushed by tchotchkes” is up there with “asphyxiation by cake” and “cuddled to death by kittens” on my list of preferred ways to die.

Don’t think that we’re models of self-restraint, because frankly, we have very little (lest you think I am lying, hear this: I just devoured a slice of coconut cake the size of my head and I wish I had more). Rand hates accumulating stuff, and my pragmatism outweighs any sentimentality I might otherwise have: “If I buy this, I will eventually have to dust it,” is how I usually talk myself out of purchases while on the road.

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