Pitstop in Bavaria

The entry in the visitor’s book for St Anna’s Church, Augsburg, was startling in its honesty.
Amid pleas for “God (to) save Italy” and “Germany too” and a heartfelt petition from a mother for a celestial intervention to cure her daughter’s arthritis, was a confident, yet anonymous, assertion that could only have been written by someone under thirty.
“Actually I have no wishes at the moment, and I suppose I am my own God anyway.”
Oh to be so satisfied with one’s lot. It won’t last. Life will pick her up, I say her because the handwriting was distinctly female, and toss her around before too long.
One day she will have plenty of wishes, if not for herself, for her children, her partner, her elderly parents…and while she may never believe in God, she will realise, eventually, that none of us are our own gods, we are simply human beings together, all struggling to make sense of this strange experience we call life.
I have been feeling a bit grumpy these last few days. Earlier this week we were forced to stop in the very small town of Muhlhausen in lower Bavaria for some emergency repairs to the motor home. Nothing serious, but it did mean we had to stay in a hotel for two days while the Hymer mechanic, Herr Haglet worked his magic.
We found a “pension” right next door to the repair shop, a short bus ride from the city of Augsburg. It looked great on its website – they always do – but alarm bells started ringing when we asked if the heating could be switched on in our room. It was around ten degrees and my hands were tingling with the cold.
“I know it is cold, but the heating is switched off until September,” barked the handsome, but strangely detached owner. He seemed far more interested in his DIY than his guests, so we gave up and put on another layer.
The room was Ikea basic, the curtains were a calming shade of green, but only closed half way and were so sheer that the 4.30 dawn woke us each morning.
There were no water glasses or wastepaper bin, and when, on the first night of our stay, we asked what time the restaurant opened, we were taken aback by his answer.
“We are closed tonight, you could try the campsite down the road, it has a pizzeria.” It did, and we did.
Our stay reminded me of the worst of Scottish hospitality and those awful hoteliers who are more than happy to take your hard earned cash, but less keen to offer a decent service in return.
My worst experience was one Valentine weekend in the East Neuk of Fife, when, on telling a hotel receptionist that there was no hot water in our room, was startled by her response.
“Did you have a shower last night?” she asked.
“ Yes”, I responded warily.
“Then you won’t need one this morning,” she said triumphantly.
Welcome to Scotland, and lower Bavaria. We are off to the Champagne region.