Brother in Toon (Memorial Weekend - May 2007)

I met Nate at Glasgow Central Rail Station on Wednesday evening after work as he arrived via train from Prestwick Airport (via London-Chicago-Seattle-Portland) for a week-long vacation.

I think he was able to experience a good sampling of Scotland during his brief visit. On Thursday while I was at work, he strolled over to Kelvingrove Park, where he was invited to join a lawn bowling game with a couple middle-aged Glaswegians. After beating them soundly in every match, they playfully accused him of being a lawn bowling "shark." Later in the week he showed me how to play the game (and proceeded to crush me as well). After Nate turns 85 years old (and meets the minimum age requirement), he might want to consider joining the Professional Lawn Bowling Tour.

Nate prowling the Kelvingrove lawn bowling turf, searching for his next victim.

The objective of lawn bowling is somewhat similar to shuffleboard - the object is to roll your bowls closer to a particular target than your opponent. In this case, the target is a white ball called the "jack," which sits stationary on the other side of the lawn. The bowls are unevenly weighted (or slightly asymmetric) so the bowler has to compensate for an arcing trajectory in his or her toss.

Lawn bowling can be an excruciatingly strenuous activity...after a series of matches, champions often collapse in exhaustion.

Climbing The Cobbler (Sunday, May 13, 2007)

Sunday morning I decided to drive up past Loch Lomond to the "Arrochar Alps" to climb The Cobbler. I'd been anxious to visit this well-known Corbett since I saw it from the summit of Ben Lomond last March.

The weather looked ominous as I headed up the initial path. Fortunately it didn't start pouring until I was crossing nearly the same point on my descent.

Southward view over Loch Long early in the hike.

I've heard different variations of the origin of "The Cobbler," but the most common is that the jagged peaks visible in the distance resemble the profile of a crooked shoemaker.

Just clearing one of many obstacles from my path...

Above the treeline, the hike follows a burn (stream) and extends over a relatively barren plateau.

The final 200-300 feet of the ascent provided some rigorous but fun rock scrambling.

The south peak as viewed from the summit ridge, with Loch Long in the distance.

The most unique part of The Cobbler climb might be the famous "eye," seen here as the tiny white opening on the right side of the highest point in the shot. To access the pinnacle of the center peak, one has to wiggle through the small hole in the rock ("thread the needle"), shimmy across a narrow ledge, and carefully pull themselves up onto the top rock. Many people are turned off by the 150-ft sheer drop beyond the ledge, so they don't actually make it to the very top. I knew that would be the best place to sit and eat my sandwich, though, so I didn't pass up the opportunity.

Southward view from the outside edge of the "eye," just before I crawled through it. For some perspective on elevation and scale, I circled a Cessna airplane flying through the valley separating The Cobbler from a nearby Corbett.

The view from the top of the center peak, with the Firth of Clyde, the Isle of Arran, and the Atlantic Ocean off in the distance.

The Grand Duchy of Luxembourg (May 7, 2007)

The coach from Hahn Airport arrived in front of the main train station in Luxembourg City on Monday morning, so I had most of the day to walk around and explore. Factoid: Luxembourg is a tiny country with a land area about 82% the size of Rhode Island, the smallest US state.

I walked across the city to see the building attached to this tower, thinking it might be the Grand Ducal Palace. I looked up the not-so-exotic name later: the National Savings Bank Building.

I thought this would be a unique photo of the Place de la Constitution with the Pont Adolphe (the city's 105-year old "new bridge") in the background. When I looked up Luxembourg on-line after I got home though, I quickly found three or four versions of the same shot.

A fairy-tale image looking across the Pétrusse Valley toward the...National Savings Bank Building.

Base of the Passarelle viaduct (the city's "old bridge" - circa 1860) from the park which runs alongside the River Pétrusse (which was a trickle the day I visited).

One of the many one-way streets criss-crossing the city.

I couldn't readily find the name of this church, but it might be St. Michaels, dating back to 1688.

This looks like it would be a really fun public park for the neighborhood kids: No pets, no bikes, no eating and no playing games. Probably NO TALKING OR SMILING either. The steel bar fencing adds to the prison yard ambiance as well.

Since I'm not overly familiar with any of Luxembourg's three official languages (Luxembourgish, French & German), I was eternally grateful that the city installed a schematic for the non-readers explaining how to activate the walk signal for this (one-lane) crossing. The big green button by itself would have been very confusing.

Schwerbach to Hahn Airport (Monday morning)

I set my iPod alarm to wake me at the hostel so that I'd ultimately have 1.75 hours to make the ~7.5-mile walk between Schwerbach and the Hahn Airport bus terminal for my scheduled 9:15 AM coach to my day's destination.

I left the hostel on schedule, and was glad right away that I decided to walk. The air was clean, and the countryside beautiful with the fields streaked with different shades of green and yellow. I snapped off a few pictures as I casually made my way down the narrow road. The first 1/8 of a mile or so was downhill, but then the road changed into a climb and I thought, I hope it's not uphill the rest of the way.

It was. To add to the fun, about 20 minutes into the walk the rain arrived, along with a brutal headwind. In many places the road had no shoulder, so I had to walk in the high grass next to the pavement. Nothing like a long walk in the cold rain with wet shoes and socks. But hey, I was in Germany!

After about an hour, I checked the time against my progress according to the (wet) map in my pocket. I wasn't going to catch my bus at the rate I was going. So I started to jog, which is real fun with a backpack. At least this time I didn't have a ham hock in my stomach.

Somewhere between the villages of Laufersweiler and Büchenbeuren - about halfway between Schwerbach and the airport - a friendly local in her car stopped and asked if I would like a ride. I must have looked really pathetic. Being so focused on the road ahead, I pulled a great "Dumb and Dumber" move when I said, "No thanks, I'm doing great." As she drove off, I realized how stupid it was to pass up the free ride.

Eventually I finished my sprint to the bus terminal at 9:10 AM. The bus hadn't arrived yet, so I took the opportunity to sit on a bench and catch my breath. It was a painful walk/run, but I was glad I made it according to schedule. It wasn't until I opened my pack to discover that my bus ticket indicated an 8:15 AM departure. Not exactly sure how I messed that up, but I think I got confused by the time difference, and whether or not daylight savings was in effect locally. Frankfurt is one hour ahead of Glasgow.

Fortunately before I could get too upset, a coach pulled into the bay a few minutes later and the driver let me board with my existing ticket. Again I had most of the bus to myself, so I was able to change out of my soaking wet clothes. I wouldn't have to put my wet shoes back on for at least another 1.75 hours, when we'd pull into our final destination, a little place called Aspen. I mean Luxembourg.

Some of the scenery early on my walk to the airport from the village of Schwerbach.


Part of the country road led me through dense forest, which reminded me of the Northwest.

More countryside. I saw the stormy weather up ahead and hoped it would bypass me. I stopped taking pictures once I started getting slammed by the wind and rain.

Hahn Airport to Schwerbach Hostel (Sunday night)

The coach returning from Frankfurt pulled into the loading bay at Hahn Airport at 9:50 PM, ten minutes before the scheduled 10 PM shuttle to the Schwerbach Farm hostel. At this point I still hadn't made contact with the hostel, though, since I didn't want to waste any of the limited time I had in Frankfurt sitting in an internet cafe trying to reach them (for clarification, the several hours I spent reading and napping on the park bench that day wasn't wasted time).

I got off the bus and walked the full length of the Arrivals area, keeping an eye out for the hostel shuttle. From my pacing around the airport and loading areas the night before, I now had a familiarity with the layout of the terminal and knew where to stand so that the shuttle wouldn't be able to sneak past me this time.

After 40-50 minutes of waiting in the cold this time without spotting the shuttle, I went inside to try to call again. By this time I still hadn't discovered the secret extra digit required to dial a local number, so my repeated attempts at the payphone were still unsuccessful. Fortunately there were still a few people working in some of the ticket booths, so I went around asking for assistance. The first few people I approached were useless, including those at the Ryanair ticket booth. Finally I found a no-nonsense gal with lots of tattoos and piercings sitting in some office that would turn out to be the real problem solver. I explained my situation, and without saying anything to me, she grabbed the phone and got right on the line with somebody at the hostel and rattled off something in German, which had the tone of, "Come pick this guy up, for cryin' out loud, I'm tired of him loitering around the terminal!" She hung up and said, "they'll be out front to pick you up in 15 minutes in a blue Volkswagen bus." If only this person would have been around the night before...

After that, the pick-up and drive to the hostel went fine. The lady in the VW bus apologized for the miscommunication and explained that they always wait for a call confirming an arrival in order to avoid making unnecessary trips to the airport. My mistake was assuming that there would be others from my flight/bus making the same trip who would have made that call. I ended up being one of the only people staying in the hostel that weekend. The nice part was that I had an 8-bed room to myself, and would be able to get some sleep before tackling the next day.

The next day, Monday, was a company holiday, so I scheduled my flight back to Glasgow for around 8 PM in the evening. That gave me a full day to explore somewhere new from the hub of Hahn Airport. The catch was that the hostel shuttle wouldn't be making a trip to the airport until later than I wanted to go. When I told the Volkswagen bus lady that I'd just walk to the airport from Schwerbach, she gave me a strange look and said, "Are you sure?!" She recommended they call a taxi for me. Thing was, since I abandoned my initial walk that first night from the airport to Schwerbach, there was still an unfulfilled challenge I wanted to complete. Besides, this time I'd be walking in daylight, and would have a good opportunity to see some of the German countryside.

Frankfurt, Germany (Sunday, May 6, 2007)

Catching the 5:00 AM coach to Frankfurt am Main meant that I could rest and relax in considerably more comfort than the airport cafeteria floor. With the exception of the driver's quiet jazz music coming from the front of the bus, there was no other noise since I was one of only two passengers on board for the 1-3/4 hour ride to the city. I dozed off in the dark bus, and awoke later to a giant haze-dimmed red globe rising over the skyline of Frankfurt as we approached the city from the west.

The coach dropped me off in front of the massive Frankfurt train station (Hauptbahnhof). It was a good starting point since it was one of the few places open at 7 AM Sunday morning, and I could easily get a breakfast pretzel.

Front of the train station.

Frankfurt has long been the financial capital of Germany.

The skyline view from one of the footbridges over the Main River shows the mix of old and new buildings. Most of the city core was destroyed in WWII, so many of the "old" buildings are actually reconstructions.

After crossing the river, I made myself comfortable on a waterfront park bench and sat for several hours in the morning sun people-watching, reading a book, and listening to my iPod. According to Wikipedia, Saint Bartholomeus' Cathedral across the way starting hosting coronations for kings of the Holy Roman Empire as early as 1356.

My park bench was beneath this church, which is directly across the river from the Cathedral. The two buildings seemed to have competing bell-tones every 15 minutes.

Römerberg, the central square of town.

Steins and crystal on display in a storefront. Next door was a window packed with concrete garden gnomes, which would have made perfect gifts for everyone had I a way to get them home!

Impressive stone and glasswork at one of the entrances to the Cathedral. This portion was probably built after the 1867 post-fire reconstruction.

Before catching the return bus back to Hahn Airport to make my second attempt at meeting the Schwerbach Hostel shuttle (this time in daylight) for my Sunday night stay, I made sure to visit one of the outdoor eateries in the funky Alt Sachsenhausen neighborhood. I picked the "Affentor-Schänke"("Ape's Gate"), a place tucked back on a cobbled street that looked to be popular with the locals.

Based on advice from a friend familiar with the region, I ordered one of the local specialties, "schweinehaxe" (roasted ham hock). The local couple sitting next to me laughed when I took a picture of the giant hunk of meat and bone, but they also shrugged and gave me that, "I don't blame you" look. I took my time and a few glasses of Apfelwein to eventually finish off the entire thing (not the bone) for a memorable and delicious German dinner. Unfortunately in taking my sweet time, I cut it really close to the time I needed to catch my bus back to Hahn Airport, and I didn't much enjoy trying to run about two miles in 20 minutes back across town and the river to the train station with both my loaded backpack and that monster in my stomach weighing me down. I ran hard and there was no threat of me losing my dinner, but consistent with this trip's developing theme of ill-timed transportation mishaps, the bus pulled off the curb and drove away right as I got to within 200 feet of the back of it. Fortunately the buzz from the Apfelwein kept my spirits up, and I was able to shake off the fact that the next bus to Hahn would leave 2 hours later, putting me in the same position as the night before - trying to catch that mystery Schwerbach Hostel shuttle from the airport in the dark.

Stay tuned to find out how that went...

Frankfurt-Hahn Airport, Germany (May 5, 2007)

My latest travel adventure involved flying to Frankfurt-Hahn Airport, "conveniently" located about 75 miles west of Frankfurt-am-Main in the west-central state of Rhineland-Palatinate, Germany.

I had purchased my plane ticket a few weeks prior to leaving, while at the same time reserving a bed in a hostel for two nights on a farm in the tiny village of Schwerbach, somewhere near Hahn Airport. I made special note at the time of the free airport pick-up offered by the hostel.

I left Glasgow on Saturday night, and arrived at Hahn Airport at 11:50 PM. The hostel reservations indicated they had a free airport pick-up at 8 PM, 10 PM and midnight. I went outside to the designated pick-up area described on my confirmation e-mail and waited for the last shuttle of the night. After waiting on the street corner for about a half-hour, breathing all the smoke of Europe's finest chain-smokers, I started to get mad. Soon after I glanced up to see a van zooming toward me, and I recognized the hostel's logo on the side. The logo was still recognizable as the van zoomed right past me down the road toward the darkness off in the distance.

I cut it too close and chase after buses in Seattle all the time back home, but there was no way I was going to catch this van. In my frustration I starting jogging in the direction of the van, determined to leg-it-out to the hostel and give them a few choice words when I finally got there.

After about a mile I pulled out a map to the hostel that I printed before leaving and realized that it would take me at least another 1.5 hours on a straight road in daylight to make it the remaining 10.5 km (6.5 miles) to Schwerbach. But it was now about 12:30 AM, there were no road signs, no shoulder to walk on, and the street lamps disappeared as the road curved into pitch-black darkness. I might have Google-Earthed the area before arriving, but that wasn't much help when I was at ground level trying to find my way in the dark. Since I was still fuming, I didn't feel cold outside, and seriously considered finding a flat spot in a nearby field and sleeping until morning.

I thought better of it and decided to turn around and go back to the airport. Once there, I tried calling the hostel using the payphone, but couldn't get through. All the shops and information booths at the airport were closed for the night, and there was no one around to ask for help (I found out later there's an extra zero I had to dial at the beginning of the number...unfortunately my psychic powers advising me to do so failed me that night). There were no taxis left outside, and even if there were, I was too stubborn to pay a fare which would have been more than the cost of a night at the hostel in the first place. So I walked around the airport looking for a place to call it a night.

The airport is tiny so there weren't many places to look. I took the stairs leading up to a cafeteria on a mezzanine overlooking the arrivals area that was closed for the night, and thought I might be able to hide out and maybe even sleep a bit. When I got up there, it was apparent I wasn't the first with that idea. There was an entire community of young travellers sprawled out around nearly the entire perimeter of the cafe, and every booth was filled with either sleeping people, or small groups quietly playing cards and drinking beer. I had found kindred spirits, and my frustration with the botched hostel transportation was gone.

I found a great place next to a tree in a flowerpot between two dining tables to crash for the night, and before long I was asleep on the terrazzo floor, despite the glare of the overhead lights which are never turned off. Around 3 AM, the cleaning staff came through the restaurant, and I pretended to be asleep to avoid getting kicked out. Although really noisy, the workers were considerate to us hobos. The mopping lady slopped the mop near my feet but didn't splash me; the vacuuming lady kindly went around my body outline on the floor; and the floor waxing man on the Zamboni-machine-thingy came close to, but didn't run over any of my projecting limbs.

After they left, I fell back asleep and didn't wake up until sometime later, when I heard the clinking of coffee cups and waitstaff setting the tables for diners that had already started arriving for breakfast. It was a little embarrassing being one of the last to leave the restaurant, but I had survived the night and was ready to explore Germany in the daylight. At this point it was 4:50 AM, and I could catch the first bus to Frankfurt-am-Main at 5 AM. I figured I'd deal with the hostel later.


I didn't go far to fulfill the airline's "Saturday night stay required" condition during my first night in Germany.

Site of my airport accommodations. Continental breakfast was extra.

The flowerpot protected my head from the aggressive floor-waxing Zamboni.