Beer with Satan

Yesterday we got back from a 2-day trip to Normandy, France. Last weekend we went to Darmstadt, Germany. Both trips were really nice, and we plan to post some stuff about our adventures (if our stupid Belgacom ADSL connection ever stops moving at a snail's pace. For now, I'll start at the beginning, with our very first adventure.

When we got to Darmstadt Friday night we asked the hotel desk clerk for a place to eat, and she recommended a bunch of ethnic restaurants. Germans seem to have a huge inferiority complex about their country and can't imagine foreigners actually wanting to eat German food. But we finally pried a couple of places, and a city map, out of her and went to the Ratskeller, which really is in the old city hall, on a lovely square, in a cute little pedestrian area. They had good beer and good food. Sarah hated it. In fact, she had decided that she hated all of Germany (it may have had something to do with us walking to the restuarant; she changed her mind later), so we left as soon as we ate. But Rita and I went back for a late-night beer. We sat outside. It was a lovely evening and very cool. Now, Germans believe that no one should be denied the pleasure of drinking a beer out of doors just because the weather is bad, which it frequently is in Northern Europe, so they put up huge umbrellas to protect you from either sun or rain, and they have a stack of blankets you can borrow if it gets cold. One of the first things we had noticed when we arrived was a small group of guys, one of whom was dressed in a devil costume, complete with tail and pointy ears. And we thought, "Oh, it's a guy dressed in a devil costume." We don't even understand all that goes on in the US, so we don't waste too much time wondering about euromysteries. A little later, though, the devil guy came over to our table with several of the blankets and started talking to us. Switching to passable English after Rita told him, in passable German, that we didn't speak German, devil boy explained, "This is the last night I am not married," and he was having to "sell" the blankets to earn money to buy his beer. It was apparently a German version of the bachelor party; we've since heard other stories about brides and grooms having to wear strange costumes the night before their wedding.

Anyways, we didn't "buy" a blanket, but I felt kinda bad about that, especially after the sales pitch the devil gave us: "Feel how soft is the decke" (he didn't know the word for blanket, but Rita did, and I backformed it from my rapidly dwindling Dutch). So when the waiter stopped by our table to ask about refills, I bought the Devil a beer. That was a big hit with him and his buddies. He even came over and had his picture taken with us. I came this close (image my thumb and index finger about a quarter inch (6.3 mm) apart) to giving his photographer buddy my email address so that we could have had a picture and shared it with you. But I didn't. Which I still regret. Stupid OPSEC indoctrination.

And the trip got even better.