Sometimes Bad is bad…

We spent the first half of Saturday last weekend trying to crawl out of our absinthe-induced stupor. I took the kids to the park where, despite blinding sunlight and incessant high-decibel shrieks, fun was had by all. We had arranged to go out to dinner that night with Wolfgang and his wife so we spent the afternoon doing a little shopping and resting.

I wrote in a previous post about our dinner at Da Vinci. I didn’t mention that Wolfgang picked an excellent wine from a village in Tuscany he took the Mrs. to while they were still footloose and child-free (and for you wiseacres in cyberspace, I’m talking about his Mrs.). Although I enjoyed it, I switched horses very quickly to my latest passion (obsession? addiction?), Hefeweitzen. What can I say? ‘Though daily I toil cutting crude swaths through the corporate jungle, it’s quite easy to spy my (light) blue collar.

On Sunday, we began reaping what we had sown (insert your own fertilizer joke here). What I failed to realize is that slight hangovers are contagious, and our kids apparently have little resistance the common German hangover (referred to hangoverus germanus in most medical texts). What I’m trying to say is that we were all, to a person, in a bad mood (save Sandra, a.k.a. "Wondernanny"). Unfortunately, we were unable to escape the shadow of this foul cloud as we raced at un-Chrysler-like speed toward Bad Wimpfen, an almost Disney-like city about 30 minutes East of Heidleberg (as the bat out of hell flies). By the way, no one sports a bad mood like Emily. The little girl from the Exorcist was an amateur.

Bad Wimpfen is a beautiful little town with plenty of German charm. It has a nice view of the river than runs through it and some nearby towns. The drive there was at times breathtaking. The pedestrian area is quaint and well kept and we certainly couldn’t have asked for better weather. However, Bad Wimpfen, much like us on Sunday, lacked a certain spark. We hung out in BW for an hour or so before we decided to cut our losses and head back to our compound in Kirchheim. B, as usual, was being completely unreasonable. I, as usual, was a paragon of patience and virtue. Why can’t B be more like me? Ouch! (Did I really type “ouch”?) B just jammed a ballpoint pen in my ribcage.
On the way out of our Bad trip (get it? "Bad" trip), we saw an interesting restaurant with an artificial pond in front of it. We stopped there and paid the tourist tax on some mediocre fries and ice cream. The menu was mostly traditional German fare and we were not in an experimental mood (“bad trip” references notwithstanding).

A speedy retreat put us (mostly) out of our misery. I spent Sunday afternoon with Robert and Emily on their bikes. The next cross street up from us is blocked off so kids can play without dodging the Formula-1-drivers-in-training that are our German neighbors. Not a bad way to end a Bad day.

Higher res pics here.