Imanuel and Brenda's Travel Blog

By now we have the routine of breaking camp pretty much down. After breakfast and washing dishes, we need to store away everything that isn’t tied down. Then I unhook the power and put away the cable and we move to the “camper service area”, to fill up the water tank. Normally one would also dump the “gray water” or the water from the sink in the camper service area; however, I’ve yet to figure out how to shut the valve so that the sink water doesn’t run under the camper. The attendant at the camper rental place did not include this in his lengthy orientation on all the camper’s systems. At first I thought that the water simply vanished due to some magical feat of German engineering but in Berlin, which was the first place where we used the sink a lot, I noticed a puddle under the car. I was afraid of incurring the wrath of the campground custodian since “thou shall not let thy sink water run under thy camper” was one of the commandments written by the bathhouse entrance. I studied the instructions that came with the camper but to no avail. In the end we managed to sneak by and the puddle went unnoticed until we left.

We had made the decision the previous night to stop over in Dachau, the site of the former Nazi concentration camp. We could not pass up the opportunity to visit the site of one of the greatest tragedies in human history and one that should not be forgotten. We took the autobahn towards Stuttgart and followed the signs to Dachau. The day had dawned hazy and cold, which only added to the seriousness of the site we were going to visit as if nature herself was mourning the countless lives that were burned on the furnaces of this factory of death. We parked the car near the bus stop at the beginning of the path that led down to the camp itself. As it turns out, the camp is closed on Mondays and we were not able to go inside but nonetheless were able to walk down the path and see where the SS building once stood. The SS was the political police of Nazi Germany and carried out the interrogations and much of the torture. We stood in front of the menacing gate looking up at the guard towers and imagining what it must have been like to walk through those gates to an almost certain death. We asked ourselves what would we do in that situation but I think this is an unanswerable question. God willing, may we never have to find out.





The drive to Salzburg was to be a short one and, even with the unscheduled stopover in Dachau, we hoped to be there early that afternoon. The scenery soon turned to classic alpine landscape with half-timbered houses, glacial streams, lush green valleys and rugged peaks. At every turn there was a scene more stunning than the previous one. The crossing into Austria was a non-event. The only indication that we were crossing into another country was a line of trucks parked on the side of the road and the old checkpoint being demolished by the side of the highway. The arrival at the campsite was also the smoothest so far. We left the highway and immediately turned right into a small road as per Viki’s instructions (she was working again on and off) and within a mile or so arrived at a chalet that housed the registration office and camp store.

Panorama Camping truly lived up to its name. The campsite consisted of series of terraces behind the chalet where one parked and which overlooked a field being plowed below and a sickeningly picturesque little town on the other side of the valley. In the mornings one would be waken by the melodic tones of the carillon of the bell tower from the town across the valley. The view was almost too perfect to be true. This was the second campsite with an incredible view that I thought could only exist in postcards and fairy tales. The only downside to this idyllic setting was the pungent smell on manure from the field being plowed next door (they use the real stuff here); however, the smell was also reminiscent of our childhood spent among the cattle ranches of the coastal plains in Puerto Rico.

This campsite not only had a great view but also some of the cleanest and most comprehensive facilities that we’ve encountered so far. The attendant, who seemed as efficient and knowledgeable as he was stiff, said that next year they would even have Internet access on site. The weather was also great that day, warmer than when we had left Munich, so we took out the folding chairs and table to have lunch outside. We tried to take a nap but it was too hot to sleep, therefore we decided to check out the town. We walked down the path through the valley as instructed by the attendant and arrived at a small park with a bike path running parallel to a stream with the clearest water we had ever seen. Crossing the bridge over the stream led to a quiet residential area with a pharmacy, bakery and small restaurant. It was hard to believe that we were just outside one of the oldest city in Europe and that this area had been able to remain so quaint and provincial until today. We boarded the bus that would take us straight to the center of town and along the way fell in love with Salzburg. The city had an easygoing air about it and we could easily see ourselves living here.

The bus crossed the glacial blue river and dropped us off at the Rathaus Platz, right in the center of the commercial district. We penetrated the complex of medieval cobblestone streets and small shops and were immediately transported back 500 years. Much to Brenda’s delight, the shopping was superb and the shops were filled with fine clothing and other items. There were several Christmas shops selling ornaments (on one they were made exclusively from eggs), which only added to the fairy tale mystique of the place. We stumbled into Mozart’s birthplace and the cathedral by chance as well as several squares with beautiful fountains although we did not intend to do any sightseeing that day. Salzburg was proving to be as beautiful as Prague but a lot more manageable, less overwhelming and less crowded. We ended up browsing the shops until closing (8:00 pm). The shopping in Prague hadn’t been that good and I wanted to give Brenda a chance to shop for gifts and unique articles that she would want to get for herself. I also wanted to get a sport coat for me but we could find no store that stocked my size. We found the same thing in Germany where the largest size was normally 52 or 56 at the most when I am at least a 58 in European size. I guess even though Germans are tall like me they tend to be slim and finding a jacket that will fit my broad back and shoulders over here is next to impossible.

After the shops closed, we looked around for a place to have dinner and stumbled onto a place called Zum Morhen, which offered Austrian and Italian cuisine. The place was a bit more expensive than the places we were used to in Germany and the Czech Republic (though not much more) but, according to the menu, luminaries like Mozart and Kafka were among it’s former clientele and a piece of the old city wall was still preserved inside. The name of the restaurant came from a Moore that a merchant had brought to the city and who served drinks and performed to the amusement of city’s gentry. The food was good and the place had spades of character.




After dinner, we crossed the river on foot to the bus station where we could catch the bus back to the campsite. We stopped at the main train station, called the Hauptbanhof just as in Frankfurt, and looked around for an Internet place. We found a small place and were allowed to hook up our laptop for the same rate as using their computers. We surfed for a while and met two Chinese students who were traveling on a budget and were looking online for a hostel or some other cheap accommodation in town. They had just stepped off the train and we tried to help them but most of the places we had seen downtown were probably too expensive. Finally, with the help of the attendant at the Internet place, they seemed to be able to find a place. As we said goodbye, suddenly our own journey didn’t seem so adventurous and we just had to admire the courage of two young women from half a world away and a completely foreign culture who were out to see the world armed only with backpacks and a little money.

We had to wait a long time for our bus to arrive. I guess with rush hour over, there were fewer buses running. We amused ourselves by going up and down the stairs to the train station and seeing how much the digital readout counting down the minutes to the next bus had gone down, but it always seemed to stay the same. At least we knew that the bus would take us straight to where we needed to go and that our station was the end of the line so there would be no chance of getting lost. And even if we did get lost, it didn’t seem to matter much in a city as enchanting as this.