Today, we congregated at the front of the Gästehaus to leave as a group for the Schluchsee. I was wearing a t-shirt, shorts and sandals because the weather forecast said it would be 26 degrees. Celine was wearing her bikini, jeans and a top– because it said it was gonna be 26 degrees. All the Americans and the entire excursion population was wearing summer gear– because it said it was gonna be 26 degrees.
Our trip guide spoke: “It’s cold today, you might wanna bring a jumper”. Admittedly, it was feeling a little breezy, and so we all jogged back to our rooms to get our jumpers. We milled around.
Our trip guide spoke: “Actually, my friend said he was there just this morning, and he said it might rain– you might wanna bring a rain jacket.” Celine was still wearing her summer-time-honey-beach-babe bikini and I was still wearing my trusty, softest of denim shorts– and with his words ringing in our ears, Celine ejected her cossie and I put my most cornflour blue jeans on. We milled around.
Our trip leader spoke: “Actually, we’re going to be walking for hours upon decades- you might wanna wear some comfy shoes”. I sighed- my sandals were comfy, alright, but just not trail-walking optimum. I ran back to my room and boot my boots on. Everyone else was set. We milled around.
“Does anyone know Ashooshy Mashwooshy Wooshy?” our trip guide called out. That wasn’t the missing attendee’s real name, but it’s pretty much all I heard in my “When are we leaaaving– that’s a very long first name, middle name and surname” state. It was 10:30 am – we were meant to have left at 10 am and with all of us being international students, no one really had anyone’s numbers and instant communicado was nigh impossible.
“We should check the kitchen”, Celine contributed, “this is our meeting spot for everything”, she went on to explain. And so our trip guide trotted off to check out the Gästehaus first floor kitchen. We milled around. She returned in a mild fluster: “I can’t get in, I don’t have a key!” And so then Celine jogged off to scope out the first floor kitchen. She returned looking glum: “Empty, roger”, she pretty much said.
By this stage, we were all a little baffled. We milled around again, shifting from one foot to the other: “Perhaps, they were at a party late last night?” Celene postulated, while I yawned: “Yeah maybe!” I sort of needed to pee, darngarnitt.
Celine stepped up to our trip guide: “Perhaps they were at a party late last night?” Celene put forth, letting the statement hang, all the while expecting nothing at all.
Suddenly, the wind blew the haystacks down the empty Oklahoma crop fields as huh, why? our trip guide was off in a flash, running up to her assistant trip -coordinator. A palpable, mother of all epiphanies appears to have been had, as she laughed and gesticulated, and face- palmed her forehead. Within seconds, we weren’t milling around anymore– and the trip commenced: “Huh, what did I say?” Celine stared up at me- I shrugged ecstatically, who knew, who cared, let’s go!!!
It turns out that the two people we were waiting on, had piked yesterday and our lovely trip guide knew but just forgot– and who knows how, but something Celine said triggered some sort of realisation, which led to some kind of brain shift, which took our trip guide mentally back to the Cultural Office where she was informed about these late pikers. I gave Celine a congratulatory slap on the back, and she waved me off– no credit required even though she unintentionally, excellently, singlehandedly saved the day.
We took the train for an hour up into the higher mountains and arrived to a fresh and windy town called Aha(!). God sei Dank for the three outfit changes– it was unequivocally cold and we began our three hour hike around the enormous Schluchsee.
The Schluchsee is 930 metres above sea level, and is the highest reservoir in Germany, as well as the Black Forest’s largest lake. It was a little overcast, and this made for a dramatic, glossy backdrop– the water so still in parts that the forest reflected in perfect reverse on the lake’s surface. After hours, we finally landed in a beer garden which was surrounded by a field of wildflowers, and Celine, Itsel and I proceeded to “let’s pretend we’re Heidi, like in the book!” (Celine’s brilliant brainwave)– plucking flowers, putting them in our hair and prancing through the field. Fact: Juvenile fun is unbeatable.
All too soon our prance session was cut short, and we were reined back into line by the day’s itinerary. We trekked back to Aha station, and on the journey back to Freiburg, Celine and I decided to play a joke on Jeremy (he’d locked himself in his room all day to study for his big test in July): “Let’s pretend to be the police and bang on his door and shout “Polizei Polizei!!! (“police, police!!”) but you have to do the shouting and I’ll do the banging because I’ll definitely start laughing!” I said to Celine. She thought it was the best idea ever and committed to participate.
We crept up to Jeremy’s room and listened. He was inside shutting a drawer or something. I counted down: “Ready, and—-!!”
And just as we were about to launch, Mattiew came out of his room and almost bellowed “Helloooo!” with a big wave– I shooshed him urgently and he cottoned on and slunk away without another word, down the “Here come the Men in Black” corridor:
“POLIZEI, POLIZEI!!” Celine yelled as I pummelled the door. We repeated it over and over again. We were loud. It was very realistic.
Jeremy emerged with his hair all astray, trackie dacks on and large startled eyes: “What the feck is going on?” he may as well have said– and we just fell about laughing raucously. Fact, reiterated: Juvenile fun is unbeatable.
Jeremy just rolled his eyes, while combing his fingers repeatedly through his hair in sheer relief. Then, we went for burgers and gelato to assist his recovery process and congratulate ourselves on a joke well executed, before Jeremy locked himself in his room again, Celine joined another group for a bigger night, and I retired in typical geriatric style to my room.
Word of the day: Polizei, meaning “police” because, watch your back– you ain’t ever gonna know when you’ll be sprung by the unofficial Polizei at the Gästehaus.