During our last hours with Gerlind, Walter, and Tim, we opened up Dad’s blood sausage at breakfast with our croissants and homemade jam. By noon us Martins were on our way to the train station after several hugs, thank-yous, and goodbyes.
The train to Salzburg left at 1:10. We hustled to the platform at 1:08, waiting patiently among other travelers. Fifteen minutes later we figured we missed the train and returned to the entrance for drinks at McCafe.
If American McDonalds sold Chai frappes, my wallet and waistline would be in trouble.
An hour later, our train halted at the tracks. A direct trip from Stuttgart to Salzburg takes under four hours, but that commute would be too convenient for my family. We waited another hour stopping in Munich, and again for dinner somewhere near the border of Germany and Austria. The three of us stood tired and clueless at the last station. All information desks had closed and the natives spoke broken English. Suddenly, a train arrived and a crowd of people rushed passed us. A man explained to my dad how the German railway works on repairs on Sundays, and that the track to Salzburg was closed.
Should have seen that coming.
We followed dozens to the bus station and hopped on right before the doors closed.
By 10pm, we found our hotel off the Salzach river in Salzburg. Certainly not the highlight of break, but this day ended as a teaching lesson on preparing ahead when crossing borders.