We all like a bit of romance in our lives. Someone that touches either our heart, soul, or mind. Or even all three. Someone you can share magical occasions with. Drinking in and getting drunk together over life’s special and never to be forgotten moments. Something to bring future pleasure, when looking back over one’s shoulder.
Today, we leave the cloudy and miserable looking Black Forest and head towards Fussen, hoping for better weather. It’s there we join the 460K Romantische Straße, a 1950’s invention to boost tourism. We head for the land of romantic fairytale castles, to do just that. A small town, Schwangau is home to two of them, courtesy of Ludwig II, King of Bavaria.
Our two night stay at Bannwaldsee Camping, with its luxurious spa-like facility, is positioned in a stunning location. A stone’s throw from the northern foot of the Alps. From here we could almost yodel our way over and into Innsbruck. More importantly, it’s only a short free bus ride from the two main attractions in town. (German camp sites add a local tax on to their prices, but that gets us free local bus and train journeys.)
Once pitched up and raring to go, we bus the 7K to Schloss Hohenschwangau
Like a Double Diamond, the brightening day works wonders. If only it could do a twizzle for us . . .
The castles are reputedly to have inspired some of Disney’s inventions. The German owners, return the compliment. We get shuttled in and out at a rate of 1€ per minute. Computer controlled “On the dot” timed entry keeps all ticket holders on edge and in line, and close to the bar-code scanner of the eingang turn-style. The audio instructed way through is roped off either side. We get dragged along at the tail-end of the snaking line. Hoping for better views. No touching, no photos, no videos, no real information, just the bare facts. “This is a . . . ” and “over by that door is a . . . ” Other snake-like lines criss-cross us in one or two of the larger rooms. There must be a fat controller hiding somewhere. We exit underwhelmed. But at least we can put a tick next it, or is that a cross?
As if one schloss wasn’t enough, Ludvig commissioned the building of a new, higher and prettier abode. Maybe to outdo his dad Maximillian. He even installed a telescope inside Schloss Hohenschwangau, so he could keep an eye on progress.
Instructions, whether written or verbal, can sometimes be understood fully, only after a right old cock-up. We are all capable of completing the same task, but utilising a different method. As the saying goes, there’s more than one way to skin a cat. And here in Schwangau that cat is in the shape of a dual purpose bus stop. We’re at the end of our visit and everyone else’s by the look. The 30 foot long stop has, what appears to be, an ‘off’ and ‘on’ at opposite ends. Fifty plus are all crammed and eager to make sure they get on the next bus. But no one is really sure which bus they need. Issued timetables don’t marry with bus arrivals. Not very German-like.
In the confusion, and after an hour’s wait, we miss our bus. It stops at the other end. Only after it’s left do we realise we should have been on it! The next one, and last for the day, a further seventy-five minute wait. We (I) can’t. I talk a very disgruntled Mrs S into walking back (it’s 7K). “We can hitch a ride”. When a squall attacks us head on after only a few hundred yards, we are fast becoming saturated. I have no waterproofs; Mrs S has only her brolly. It’s being battered around like a stunt kite. Any second now she could lift off, like Mary Poppins, go paragliding. She thinks I’m demented wanting to continue. She frantically stops a camper with a UK number plate as it exits a car park. Pleads for a lift. They come over all French “NON”. Head off in the opposite direction. Feeling guilty no doubt. This is proven as they sail past us two minutes later. By this time we’re so wet we’re taking on the properties of a salty solution. My thumb unable to provide a better one. Four or five German number plates splash by. I’m just about to swap thumb for finger, when with disbelief, one slows and reverses towards us. We really do love the German people after all. We’re soaked and dripping. Neverthess, the young female passenger urges us onto the rear black leather seats of their luxury SUV. We are full of thanks, explaining we’d almost given up on there being any kindhearted German drivers out there.
“We’re not German. We are from Latvia. We are on a working vacation!”
Our two Angels, Andres and Evilija drop us right to our campsite ‘door’, just thirty metres from Beastie.
To ensure we get tickets into today’s visit to Schloss Neuschwanstein I bike the 7K to the cental ticket office, nice and early. Arrive to find myself third in the queue. Ten minutes before the 8am opening. It stays dry for both legs. (I’ll leave you to work that one out).
From then on it rains non-stop for the next twenty-two hours.
Our timed visit starts here . . .
We pay the price for being mountain side. But isn’t the mist wonderful?
We join another Disney style snake that slithers its way through each lavish room. Stunning in every sense. Pictures of the interior available only on-line. Paying visitors not allowed that privilege. We all reserve our photo-shoots for outside. Eyes, phones and cameras all popping and pointing upwards to catch and post. Yet nearly everyone misses the best shots to be had . . .
