Tuesday 29th September

Tuesday 29^th September (True day number is Day 4)

Return with us now, to those thrilling days of yesteryear as we continue with Day Two. We were settled into a two bedroom suite on the top floor of the Hotel Schwan. After negotiating the two sets of stairs with our bags and the assistance of Alfred, prop. of said hotel, we settled in for a short nap. Up a few hours later, we set off to find the PMQ (Permanent Married Quarter) where Bev spent a few years with her family as a high school student. We had no luck at all. Then we shifted our focus to locating the apartment where she lived as a military wife with the little kids known as Cammie and Mike. No luck there either, but we did come across a small shrine/church on the outskirts of Hugie and at the edge of a cornfield. Bev went in to pray for enlightenment while I nipped into the cornfield to … you know.

As we headed back to the hotel Bev said, “I don’t understand it? Am I dreaming that I ever lived here?”

She pointed out toward the horizon and I said, “I think that’s the Rhine out there.”

“Can’t be, I used to live over there.”

“Well, since you’ve been gone for 37 years, I’d say they have now put a river or a canal right through your old apartment.”

While that did not endear me to Mrs. Marco Polo, it did get her thinking.

We re-found ourselves out on the Strasse Main, which to the uninitiated is Main Street, when Bev realized that we had driven into town from the wrong direction. We had been looking in the wrong quadrant of town. Once that was sorted out we trotted off to find the apartment. And there it was! That taken care of, we went back and had a terrific meal in a restaurant then headed off to bed.

The next day we went shopping. Bev bought boots, blouses, tee-shirts and pants. I bought a couple of pastries and a drink. Those chores completed we decided that the day would not be complete without another nap. Jet lag the excuse. Around three o’clock we set out to find the PMQs. Here an amazing incident took place. Seeing a small deli I suggested that we needed a little snack; even though that meant that we would need to cross the street against the thundering herds of Semi-trailers using good ol’ Hugie as a bypass route to avoid the Autobahn road works. Too many of the large trucks were going by at that moment, so we looked at what was on this side. Beside us was a Donair/Pizza joint that Bev would have only ventured into if it were located on the Bull-running street of Pamplona and the bulls were bearing down her.

But for some reason, the stars were aligned in a formation that shoved her into the place and we each ordered some kind of bun/pita/bread envelope stuffed with unidentifiable meats, dripping with unknown condiments and overflowing with what Bev, being a herbalist of renown, stated with 20% certainty was lettuce.

We noticed a man playing the gambling machine nearby, and in exquisite Deutsch gave him a greeting. We ordered, then headed in to find a table.

Some time later the guy came by on his way to the toilet and said, “Enjoying your trip to Germany?”

We said, yes. He came back, suddenly hit the jackpot and while he was getting all his coins converted into paper money, he said, “Where you from?”

Spoke excellent english. We told him and then he said, “I was in the Army, PPCLI.” I told him I had served 21 years in the PPCLI. He turned on his bar stool, pointed at us and said, “Did you know Frank Bishop?”

I started laughing and said, “Yes, kinda.”

Next thing we know he came over and introduced himself as Don McNab. We spent an hour or so with him, all of us marveling over how serendipitous this meeting was. He treated us to a number of beers, picked up the tab for our meal and then we bought a couple of beers as well. By this time, me, not being the drinker I had been on my previous visit to Germany, had begun to feel it. As had my bladder.

We left Don and returned to the now-cloudy mission of locating the MacLean family PMQ. As we marched on past the cornfields, I began to feel the need to …you know. Bev was euphoric on seeing recognizable landmarks. I was wishing for night to fall so that I could relieve the pressure. We skip past the next few moments of our trip and carry on, noting that Bev did find her PMQ, high school and a few other landmarks. As night finally began to fall, we made our way back toward the hotel, passing by another huge memory, a bar that 37 years ago was called Tiffany’s. It still bore that name, so of course, we went down the outside stairs and entered. A few of the locals were quenching their thirsts around the bar and we joined them. Bev chatted, I drank. They chatted, I bought a round and shortly after, we hit the Strasse for home. We could now happily leave Hugie, all Bev’s aims in this part of the world accomplished. All the we had left was a short drive down the Autobahn to find Gland, – pronounced ‘Glonh!’ and our little girl.