It takes about an hour to get from Garmisch-Partenkirchen (GAP) to Schwangau, which is where Hohenschwangau and Neuschwanstein are. Schwan in German means swan. Ludwig's family was very into swans, and they were a symbol of his family. The two castles are completely visible from each other, and are only separated by a small valley where the village lies between with touristy shops, restaurants and such.
We got up super early. It's incredibly difficult to get reservations at the castles, and we had called the week before and they said they were not taking reservations. So, in order for us to make sure that we got tickets into the castles that morning, we had to get to Schwangau first thing.
The snowy roads were thick with fog and the snow kept falling. But, the Germans take such good care of the roads, snow and ice weren't problematic so we made excellent time. While Casey parked and everyone got ready for the morning escapade, I ran to the ticket center and bought 4 tickets for the castles. They give you a time for your tour, and usually they are super close together which can mean disaster if you don't plan ahead - which we did.
I was once again in an incredibly bad mood that day. I think the cold weather was getting to me, my arm was itchy inside the damned cast, and the latest development that was scaring me to death: my fingers started peeling. I mean, this wasn't some dead skin like you get on the bottom of your feet, or after a blister or something. I mean, my regular skin on my diseased arm was cracking, bleeding, and peeling for no reason. I kept it warm, I kept it gloved, I was freaking out. It didn't help that my husband and I had a skirmish that morning and he was rather short with me which made me even nastier. If this disease didn't disable me completely, it definitely ruined my self control. Anyway, I was mad that no one took our tour time seriously. In Germany, they are very obsessed with punctuality. If you miss your time, you pay again for a whole new tour ... and this one had already set us back a steep amount of Euro. Everyone was dawdling at the car, taking their sweet time rather than booking it up to the tour.
There is no easy way to get up to Hohenschwangau other than to hike up the hundreds of steps on the mountainside - at least, that's what it feels like. In the bitter cold, with icy paths, it was worse. I'd been to the castle in summer and fall, but this was a whole new experience. We were slipping and sliding all up the mountain.
In slow seasons, you get personal tours through Hohenschwangau. I was quite pleased at this because usually they throw you an audio guide and shove you through rooms so fast you could blink and miss everything. J&S were very pleased with the tour. At the end, we all went to the bathroom - which meant peeling layers of clothing off including long underwear in a freezing cold bathroom. This time, S was able to help me get all my pants up and all my shirts tucked in and my zipper up and my belt buckled.
We had some time in between tours, so we hit up the gift shop that is just outside the castle, and then walked back down the mountain. We went and stood in line to take horse carriages up the mountain to Neuschwanstein. Our tour was in 40 minutes, and there are only a few carriages, and each one only holds 6 passengers.
I vividly remember this scene. My husband and J are standing at the head of the line. There's a specific spot on the street with a sign that tells you to line up and wait for the horse carriages which take about 15 minutes round trip. S and I are standing on the sidewalk behind my husband and his father when a huge group of British tourists come up in line behind us. When two carriages arrive and we four try to pay the driver before we get in (which is the polite thing to do), all the British tourists shove in front of us, get on the carriages and we're left standing there. Their tour guide is still barking at them as they're driving away, and my husband starts mouthing off to her. "Excuse me, excuse me! We were in line and you just stole our carriages. We have the next tour." The snotty woman refuses to respond to my husband. He keeps mouthing off to her about how rude they are and where the line clearly is, and who clearly should have got in the carriages first. The people behind us start in too. They're on the next tour as well, American vets, and are older. My husband is going on and on, S & I are laughing. It was so unbelievable. Americans get such a bad rap for being awful ambassadors when traveling! Really I tell you, it's the bloody British. AND, to add insult to their grievous injury, they are OBSESSED with lines. If you dare cut in Britain, you're liable to be beat to a pulp. I know, I've been there. They're all about order and rights and such.
When we finally get in a carriage, we're super anxious because our tour was to start quickly. We got in one with the group of older vets behind us and head to our destination: 3/4 of the way up the mountain. We're deposited in the slushy snow and have something like 5 minutes until our tour. We run up the mountain to make it on time ... but the group behind us didn't. I don't know what happened to them but those British tourists should be ashamed of themselves. Stealing carriages from old people with tour times before theirs! Let me just say, this did NOT improve my mood at all.
After the tour, we all hit the bathrooms again, and then the gift shop. Then we spend time dawdling around the outside of the castle taking lots of pictures. I'm grouchy and sniping at everyone every chance I get. Once again, I was not dealing with the pain, the discomfort, or the disease well. It gets worse ...
So, we're on our way home and J & S don't like the food we packed for the trip to save money from eating out all the time. They say they need "substance." Now I'm super pissed. My husband had to stop in the first big town that had restaurants, pay for parking, then take us all to a restaurant that neither he nor J could eat at because it's seafood and they don't like it, and husband is allergic to it. Then, they take their sweet time (again) ordering, that I take the last prepared meal that S decides she wants ... and complains she is starving.
Now, I love my mother-in-law to death, but I'm a post-surgery patient who's dealing with traumatic pain to say the least and the possibility of never feeling my hand or arm again and never using it properly ever again - and she refuses to eat my meal, which is the exact same that she ordered. I become a monster. I completely shut down. When us girls finish our meal, we walk around the corner to a butcher shop and deli (which we all should have gone to in the first place) where my husband and J order food for themselves.
When we got back to the hotel, I was irate but I had schoolwork to complete. The Lodge has a computer lab, so husband and I went down there so he could type up my responses for the week. J&S come down and say they want to go in the hot tub after dinner. I don't want to, but husband says I should go. So we have dinner at the buffet again, and then head to our rooms to change.
I look like an idiot coming out of our room with my swimsuit on over clothes and a big plastic trash bag tied around my arm and tucked into my cast. Can anyone give me a woo-hoo?
I spent around 2 hours in the hot tub with my arm outside propped up on the freezing cement. It was uncomfortable to say the least. But, what bothered me the most was surprisingly the heat. After surgeries like mine, it is typical to experience nerve dysfunction where you cannot tolerate changes in temperature well. To this day, I have this problem. Taking a shower is torture for my arm, but the freezing cold of the day mixed with the piping hot water in the hot tub was just too much for me. Plus, everyone was staring - and they were Americans not Germans so I was NOT okay with it.
Needless to say, I went to bed that night angry beyond repair. I'd had one of the most aggravating and miserable days of my life ... and it was about to get worse.
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