Of Idyllic Days and Broken Gearshifts

As I finally admitted to my mom today on the phone, yes, we are definitely on vacation! Our days are filled with hours of sleeping in (we blame it on the jet-lag… right, jet-lag…); late lunch, usually something warm, delicious, and hearty; a bit of sun and afternoon laziness topped off with coffee and Kuchen; then you try desperately to digest before dinner comes around, consisting of slices of black bread and cold cuts or cheese or both; as if that wasn't enough, as the sun dips low over the hills of Narsdorf, it's time for a Radeberger beer, then off to bed. For those of you studying German in preparation for a visit to wonderful Deutschland, Kuchen is the German word for cake. That, however, is usually where the similarity ends; when I say "Kuchen," I don't mean yellow cake with frosting or any such thing. Instead, it is this wonderful layered bar with a sweet, yeasty bottom, fruit or some other type of filling, and then a streusel topping. If you've ever had my peach or blackberry Kuchen, you may be able to extrapolate out the complex, amazing dessert that it is.

Every now and again we do rouse out of our tryptophan-induced slumber and venture out into the world, however. As Nadine just pointed out to me, "Hey, we're way more active than that!" For example: following a filling and delectable meal of meat-filled, braised cabbage leaves (don't knock it- it tastes a lot better than it sounds…) we went for a hike with Nadine's parents. Rochlitzer Berg is the local mountain, which, as any good native of Narsdorf can tell you, is a major and noteworthy hill- er, I mean, mountain.

The way from Narsdorf to Rochlitz Mountain. Note the lush woods on the mountain.

While the exact elevation may be in question (I'm still working on the "meters" to "feet" or "yards" conversion), one thing I can attest to is its beauty. Nearly every visit to Germany over the last nine years has included a visit to Rochlitzer Berg, if only to visit the café at the top (it's accessible by car, thankfully). Having grown up in the woods of Northern Minnesota, it's like a home-away-from-home-away-from-home for me. Some things are very similar to the plants and animals I've known since I was small.

Ferns.

Some, however, are not.

The photo is blurry (which doesn't help), but I have no idea what these flowers are...

Either way, last Sunday we made the first of (hopefully) many trips to that outdoor paradise; we didn't go all the way to the top since we had just eaten, but just being there was enough for me.

Path wending through the woods on Rochlitz Mountain.

An ancient marker on Rochlitz Mountain. Note the sword etched on it.

Now to the point in question: the broken gearshift.

As Nadine pointed out in her post, her mom's bicycle broke yesterday. As she also gleefully pointed out, I was riding it when said breaking occurred. However (and more to my favor), the bike under scrutiny here is about fifteen years old. But, I'm getting ahead of myself.

Yesterday morning (or rather, yesterday early afternoon) as we were finishing up brunch, Nadine asked if I wanted to go for a bike ride to the town where she went to school as a kid. Admittedly, it took a bit of persuasion for me to agree to the bike ride, since previous attempts at leisurely bike rides through the countryside here have proven… painful. Previous excursions were courtesy Nadine's dad's bike, which has a seat that angles sharply upward in the front. Suffice it to say, there must be an acquired method of sitting to fully enjoy that bike's use, and I never was able to acquire it. My reluctance, however, was eased when Nadine's mom offered the use of her bike, a stalwart steed that had performed admirably since the early nineties.

Shortly thereafter, as we were gliding along the scenic route between Narsdorf and Ossa, I attempted to shift from the Pastor-Fred-Gear (read: super difficult. Pastor Fred normally bikes over thirty miles every day, going up and down mountains included…) down to normal human gears, I noticed that nothing happened. I was surprised at this, as there was zero resistance from the gear shift. It went down to one and up to, well, a higher number, then back again without any resistance. This meant that when we finally coasted into Ossa, I was not only concerned that Nadine's mom's bike was not functioning properly but also concerned that I would then have to bike all the way back with no easy gears. Ossa itself was nice, but the beauty was lost on me, as I worried over the impending ride and confession of destruction.

The hilly, hilly, road to Ossa.

Nadine's school.

I have since learned that the mistake that I made was as follows: on any red-blooded American bike, you shift while you are pedaling; else the chain gets all mucked up and falls off. German bikes are different. When you pedal while you shift on a German bike, the gearshift's cord, which over the years has worn down to but one lowly and slightly rusted wire, snaps. So, with the suddenly non-functioning gearshift, we eventually rolled into the driveway, tired from the ride.

This small misunderstanding regarding the mechanics of European bikes did have a nice outcome, however. Once we got back to Nadine's parents' house, we promptly turned around and headed up the road to the town of Geithain, where the bike-repair shop is.

Narsdorf to Geithain. And then back again. Ugh!

While the bike-repair people performed surgery on the wounded Fahrrad, we got to enjoy a small park with this monument:

This says (loosely): The fallen sons of the city of Geithain in the war for the Fatherland, 1870-1871.

and have Kuchen at a local bakery. We stopped at the bakery because they advertised éclairs. Since the monument was for local soldiers who fought in the Franco-Prussian War (1870-1871), I thought it only appropriate that we liberate the French- er, I mean German baked goods from French tyranny. Unfortunately, some things must not have translated quite accurately when the recipe was repatriated, and the éclairs were definitely not worth the Euro or two that we spent on them. We eventually arrived home, tired from our long day, but happy that the bike had been given a new lease on life.

Another curiosity in the former East Germany: small cobblestones with a "T" on them. During communist times, it meant that there was a telephone there in case of emergency.

So, there you have it. We are (apparently) more active than hibernating animals, and are enjoying our vacation here in beautiful Germany. As Nadine hinted, we visited Leipzig today, so look for a post on our trip there after we get back from another trip (to Chemnitz) tomorrow.

My erstwhile companion of late, Susi Schildkröte, in the Irmscher pond.

-Adam