May 19 - Schwangau

We have checked into a lovely guesthouse called The Landhotel Guglhupf. This small family-owned hotel is within sight of Ludwig II's most famous castle, Neuschwanstein, and his parents' castle, Hohenschwangau. The two castles sit on the mountains, across from one another-- within sight, but not within easy walking distance.

This guesthouse is wonderfully comfortable, and Monika (the owner) is a third-place award-winning chef of Bavaria. Homemade breads, delicious desserts, hot-stone dinners (fresh fish and meats cooked on a flat hot stone right at your table). She is the most gracious hostess we've met in this beautiful country. Which isn't meant to discredit any of the others, but Monika just had something extra, something special.

On the first evening at the guesthouse, we walked all over Schwangau, a small town at the base of those beautiful mountains. Houses large and small, each with gardens, all tidy and neat and charming, any one of which we would have bought and happily settled into. This was, once again, a lovely little town. Monika assured us that if we came back in five years, ten years, or fifty years, the town would look the same. If there are, for example, two hundred homes in any given town like Schwangau, then there will forever be two hundred homes. No more, no less. No more to be built, no apartments, no private homes, no large stores. Just those homes, guesthouses, and the tiny shops that are already there. The green fields filled with wildflowers, crops and livestock--- they will stay just the same, for always. That just made us smile.

Our first dinner that night at Monika's was cooked on the flat hot stones that she heats up in the oven until the stones reach a temperature of 400 degrees. When she brought our stones (resting on top of heavy wooden boards) to our table, my stone held a sizzling piece of local fish, and my husband's stone held a thick slice of locally grown pork. Before the main course, we had helped ourselves to fresh vegetables beautifully arranged on a buffet table, and with our dinner, Monika made the most delicious roasted potatoes, which she called baked potatoes.

That first night in Schwangau was damp and drizzling, and those hot stones sizzling at our table surrounded us with a private warmth that made us feel as if we were eating in the sun. The fish was delicious and tender, as was my husband's dinner of pork (a sweet maple-ham-flavored kind of pork steak). The little chunks of potatoes were out of this world, and the little pot of chamomile tea was just the icing on the cake.

And, with Monika being an award-winning chef, we couldn't leave the dining room without dessert--- she had baked an apple streudel, which was filled with the sweetest apples and surrounded by the flakiest of pastries. We ate every bite, then went out into the town and walked around for almost an hour.

We found a path that wove around the houses at the bottom of the mountains, and for as long as we walked, we could see the two castles nestled up into the trees. Endless fields there around the walking path, one field holding half a dozen huge cows. Each of the cows wore a brass bell around its neck which sang like a windchime as the cows walked around the pasture. When the cows saw us approaching, they came right over to the fence by the path. They didn't meander over in a slow-cow sort of way.... they rumbled up quickly, their bells beating out a symphony which echoed all over the mountains, or so it seemed to me.

My husband picked some grass and tried feeding it to the cows, who were clearly not going to be hand-fed by a stranger. They made grumbling noises, their bells not singing, but striking against their necks. I started to back up, my husband tried getting still closer to the cows. I looked behind me--- could I outrun a cow? And where would I run? Behind us was just a walking path surrounded by flower-filled fields. Could those cows jump the fence if they had a mind to? My husband kept telling me to relax...... I kept telling him to get away from the fence, away from the cows.

Finally, finally, my husband said goodbye to the cows and started walking towards me... and I, by that time, had walked farther away from the cows and their private pasture. My husband said I worry too much. I told him that we had a wonderful, delicious dinner, and I just didn't want that memorable dinner to have been our last. Besides, we still had lots of castles to see.