My Worst Vacation
My Worst Vacation Ever
The purpose of the first leg of our ill-fated trip was to attend my sister-in-law’s wedding in a tiny suburb of Nuremburg called Weilersbach. Weilersbach is an adorable little town where men push empty wheelbarrows and women stand on their doorsteps sweeping nothing. I assume that the town was bombed during the war, but the Germans have restored it to what it looked like when gingerbread men roamed the earth.
There are several businesses, quite a few homes and a windowless warehouse-like structure that I am certain contains a secret munitions factory.
In other words, Weilersbach is not exactly Rio.
The wedding took place at City Hall. Naturally, I was the only Jew present, and I suddenly found myself in the town square, surrounded by 40 raucous Germans, all of them holding champagne flutes. When the newly-married couple emerged, there was a toast, and all those German arms were suddenly thrust straight up in the air. I know it was only a toast, but maybe there should be a law that prohibits Germans from raising their arms higher than their shoulders if Jews are in the vicinity.
The day we were finally to leave Weilersbach, I woke up unable to swallow. I also had a sore throat, a horrid cough and I could not speak. The members of my wife’s family are all very sweet and offered me a plethora of Germanic remedies, but none had any effect on The Flu From Hell. So, on the way to the airport, we stopped at a pharmacy.
Interesting point: The Germans invented aspirin, BUT THEY DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT TYLENOL IS. The pharmacist – who achieved his position by being good at mixing things – Googled acetaminophen, and gave us something which he said was about the same.
It almost destroyed my stomach lining.
Next stop, Munich. By now I had every symptom known to man and was semi-delirious. Our destination was Genoa, so we boarded an Italian plane. It didn’t go anywhere. We spent an hour on the tarmac, another hour at the gate for maintenance and
The purpose of the first leg of our ill-fated trip was to attend my sister-in-law’s wedding in a tiny suburb of Nuremburg called Weilersbach. Weilersbach is an adorable little town where men push empty wheelbarrows and women stand on their doorsteps sweeping nothing. I assume that the town was bombed during the war, but the Germans have restored it to what it looked like when gingerbread men roamed the earth.
There are several businesses, quite a few homes and a windowless warehouse-like structure that I am certain contains a secret munitions factory.
In other words, Weilersbach is not exactly Rio.
The wedding took place at City Hall. Naturally, I was the only Jew present, and I suddenly found myself in the town square, surrounded by 40 raucous Germans, all of them holding champagne flutes. When the newly-married couple emerged, there was a toast, and all those German arms were suddenly thrust straight up in the air. I know it was only a toast, but maybe there should be a law that prohibits Germans from raising their arms higher than their shoulders if Jews are in the vicinity.
The day we were finally to leave Weilersbach, I woke up unable to swallow. I also had a sore throat, a horrid cough and I could not speak. The members of my wife’s family are all very sweet and offered me a plethora of Germanic remedies, but none had any effect on The Flu From Hell. So, on the way to the airport, we stopped at a pharmacy.
Interesting point: The Germans invented aspirin, BUT THEY DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT TYLENOL IS. The pharmacist – who achieved his position by being good at mixing things – Googled acetaminophen, and gave us something which he said was about the same.
It almost destroyed my stomach lining.
Next stop, Munich. By now I had every symptom known to man and was semi-delirious. Our destination was Genoa, so we boarded an Italian plane. It didn’t go anywhere. We spent an hour on the tarmac, another hour at the gate for maintenance and