Chicago you really know how to roll out the red carpet. After nine hours in a flying tin can, we collapsed into a cab at O’Hare on Saturday night. Minutes later we sat in a traffic jam on 94, courtesy of the Magnificent Mile Lights Festival.

“People come here from Wisconsin!” said our incredulous cabbie, still chatty before we ditched him for the subway. “They should get their own lights up there!”

They really should; it took two hours to get home.

The Resident Feline usually requires a few days to get over her separation anxiety. She pulled out the stops this time, squawking away like an injured bird for two days straight before entering the silent treatment phase, which features her accusatory, Village of the Damned face.

I’m in trip withdrawal. Last week I had pretzel bread at my fingertips. Now we’ve got a diminishing pile of German sweets and nearly 600 photos, several taken, finally, in a mostly open, mostly ruined castle.

As evidenced by this last picture, the castle is geared for commerce, featuring banquet halls, a church for wedding services and even a youth hostel. The grounds were largely deserted during our visit save for two elderly women in the restaurant who talked the ears off anyone within earshot. Renate and I smiled dumbly and nodded while they gabbed with Nina.

“They said with all the Americans here, there will never be war,” Nina told us as the women helped each other out the front gate and up to their parked car. How cool is it to go out to the local castle for a beer with a friend?

The American military presence permeated our visit; the army base at Baumholder that hosted Nina’s teaching program houses 15,000 American troops, making it the largest base outside the 50 states. Nina received a copy of Stars and Stripes every morning, and the TV pumped in American shows and curious military commercials warning people not to talk about their travel plans. “You never know who’s listening,” said the ominous narrator.

I had no expectations for the trip, which made it easy to be captivated by Germany’s charm. The Rhineland, located in the southwestern part of the country, is sensibly developed; small towns hug the riverbanks and valleys of the heavily agrarian region. Fortunately no one appears intent on flinging strip malls across the area.

So, I loved it, had a blast, can’t wait to go back. Of course, it helps to have the right travel companion.

We popped over to Idar-Oberstein yesterday where they got a church in a rock and you should see it.

I imagine two enterprising builders of yore sitting at the Nahe river’s edge, chewing on grass stalks and staring up at the massive cliff that overlooks this small town. The setting sun lights up the rock face. One of the men tilts his head to the side, squints, then nudges his friend.

“Bet you I can wedge an episcopal church in there,” he says.

Not only do they got a church in a rock, they got TWO ruined castles, and of course both are at least 1000 feet in the air.

Some people in the Myler household don’t really like hiking up big hills (or hiking period), but they do it because they love their husband very much and because they know he REALLY wants to wander around a medieval castle for an hour or so. They would like him to acknowledge, however, that they are not dressed for this kind of thing. So noted.

Unfortunately we discovered after our 15 minute trek into the air that these castles were ALSO closed.

Damn.

I will find an open castle in this country before leaving.

As if the church in a rock and the NOT ONE BUT TWO castle ruins weren’t enough, they got John McClane here. Bruce Willis was born to a German woman and an American soldier stationed in Idar-Oberstein, but I must have missed the museum marking his birthplace. Perhaps they’re dreaming up a more appropriate commemorative effort.

On a country highway several miles outside of Ruschberg stands a modest house covered with hand-painted messages, written mostly in English. The signs praise the United States and NATO; they warn enemies away from Israel; they praise peace-loving countries.

The homeowner, an older Polish gentleman, attends the same church as my mother-in-law Nina. She reports that he arrives at church dressed in army fatigues and greets Americans with “God Bless.” She knows that the Americans saved or rescued him during World War II; the rest of the details are missing.

His home is a curious sight, especially given the rampant anti-U.S. sentiment boxing around Europe these days. It’s also a reassuring one, a reminder that strong ties bind us to the older Western world.

For those following along without the use of an RSS reader, I’ve posted my notes from Koln and Bonn chronologically, so skip down to the next post for the recap.

Back to the castle portion of the program:

German word of the day: Kartoffelplätzchen!

My sole requirement for the trip to Germany: I wanted to stay in a castle. The countryside is littered with them, and we found lodging at the Earl of Daun’s old place perched on top of a large hill in the center of town.

There’s no moat, no drawbridge, but this castle has 30 guest rooms, a spa, wireless internet service and two house cats. When we arrived, church bells were clanging away outside, and a light snow was falling. In short: picturesque.

On the ride from Bonn we tried to visit a few other castles, but distance and inclement weather kept us from our intended targets. Fortunately castles pop up around every twist of the highway in the Rhineland, so we stopped off at this one:

Unfortunately, it was closed for the season.

Still, it had a nice view.

A street market sprang up overnight in Daun, effectively blocking our exit from the hotel. An interested crowd of at least a dozen locals watched us attempt to find a way out, some pointing in various directions and others shooting dirty looks. You’d think the hotel management might say, “oh by the way, you’re going to drive right into a street market at the bottom of the driveway. Take your first right past the underwear stand.”

I’ve never seen so much underwear on sale. I bought a pair of woolen socks to get in the spirit of things.

German picture of the day: buttons for sale.

German word of the day: entshuldigung!

I could smell Germany all day. It’s like fireplace smoke and snow 24/7. I could also eat Movenpick yogurt and pretzel bread all day.

Four German cities later and I have yet to see a piece of litter. You could eat off the streets they’re so clean. The environmental sensibility here is humbling; you have to BUY a plastic bag at the store or else walk out clutching your grocery items in hand. (The locals bring their own bags or baskets.)

Pearls of wisdom gained on the streets of Koln (aka Cologne):

1) Don’t buy German pop music without recommendations.

2) Eat as much bread as possible.

3) In a similar vein, don’t be afraid to look like a tourist if there’s an amusing picture to be taken.

4) German Music TV rules. So far I’ve seen Bobby Brown’s “Rock Wit’cha,” Samantha Fox’s “Touch My Body,” and best of all Cameo’s “Word Up,” which features LeVar Burton as a detective with a vendetta against dancing. If you’re keeping score at home: LeVar Burton loves reading, hates dancing. Write it down.

6) Speaking of reading, Harry Potter looks different in Germany.

After Koln, we journeyed to Bonn where I risked death to snap the German Picture of the Day:

Renate welcomes me to the birthplace of Beethoven and a van nearly runs me over in the process. But I stand strong; I take the photo. And it’s blurry.

More pics:

German Word of the Day: Kaiserslautern!

(The German Word of the Day must be shouted, no exceptions. Hit each syllable hard for full effect.)

I’ve had some sleep and some coffee, so I’m ready to go. (Note to Unisom: you’re useless. I took you on the flight here and you failed miserably. You’re off the Christmas card list.)

So we’re in Germany for a week and let me tell you, these people know what to do with a potato. I’ve had them french fried, home fried, croquetted, blended into soup, and, best of all, slivered with pumpkin, deep fried and served with cream cheese sauce. I love you, cream cheese sauce. Last night they smothered my weinerschnitzel with you. I hope to see you again tomorrow.

Working on a full night’s sleep, we ventured to Trier, a small-ish town about 50 miles west of our home base, Ruschberg. On the way to Trier we passed roughly eight thousand wind farms and a football field’s worth of solar farms. It reminded me of the battle to prevent a Nantucket Sound windfarm; it’ll be an eyesore and an environmenal hazard, so goes the argument. Laughable. The windmills are nothing less than majestic, looping slowly through the air like so many giants in Don Quixote.

Trier once belonged to the Roman Empire, which means lots of people died entertaining the locals in a stadium setting. The ruins still stand:

The ruins also produced the German Picture of the Day:

Renate is telling me why she won’t follow me up into the stadium seating area; it’s muddy, ick.

Local flavor abounded in Trier. We stumbled upon a local festival celebrating funny costumes:

Trier wound up with a fair amount of our hard-earned tourist dollars. Could someone please stick an IV into the dollar? We dropped seven bucks on a bag of peach-flavored gummies.

I took 155 photos today. Renate and Nina learned to keep walking and let me catch up. Here’s a few of my favorite pictures from the day. A few more of my favorites are on flickr.

I also started tracking European logo/signage design. Lots of strong color and light:

I’m hoping to post every day we’re here. Funny things are bound to happen, such as my attempt today to enjoy the local oddity of beer mixed with cola:

Yes, it’s as disgusting as it sounds.

More tomorrow from Koln.

That’s right; I traveled 4700 miles to have Starbucks.

In my defense, it was 4am Chicago time and we hadn’t slept all night; the eight hour, overnight flight to Frankfurt was bumpy, and our seats reclined two inches (Renate’s) or not at all (mine). I just needed caffeine, even if it cost me roughly five dollars.

We are now safely bivouacked in Baumholder Ruschberg (oops), a picturesque town surrounded by green, rolling hills. The crisp, clean air smells like fireplaces. Someone should bottle it and sell it stateside, I think they’d make a killing.

More from Germany as it unfolds. Perhaps tonight we’ll sample the local Burger King.