Act IV and V: Licking our Wounds and Heinrich, Heidi and Das Jaeger Schnitzel

Act IV: Licking our Wounds

I am currently reading a book about how the Portuguese explorer and his fleet was the first to circumnavigate the world.  The book starts by describing only one tattered ship pulling into port after years at sea, only a skeleton grew who were emaciated, weather worn, and quite traumatized from the entire journey. I imagine that this is how we looked as we limped our swamped canoe and entirely water logged gear to shore.  It was apparent that it was a dog park, because the sight of such a strange looking object pulling up onto shore caused confusion and stress in the pack of dogs running around, their owners trying to calm them. I stepped off into the sand, barefoot, trying not to look at the people staring at us just as confused as their canines.  I felt a pain on the bottom of my foot, looked down and saw a few gashes on the bottom, no time to worry about them just yet. We unloaded the canoe and spread our gear on the grass, trying to avoid setting it in the prodigious amounts of dog poo which littered the enclosed space.  The shock and disappointment started to set in. In the first few minutes we were just glad that our life jackets worked and we didn’t get stuck in a recycling current, happy we managed to retrieve most of our important items, but only now could we feel slightly upset that we lost the most valuable item, Toby’s phone, and all our food stores which we just bought the day before.

                We mingled around checking our equipment, in a depressed daze, toby looking more upset than, after all, I still had my phone. For the most part, our water proof bags did their jobs, a little damp is better than soaking wet, but I’m doubt the “proofness” of anything relating to water.  I spread my damp sleeping bag on the ground which was immediately trampled by a pack of dogs chasing a dog, at this point, I didn’t care. We made small talk to some people, but for the most part, everyone remained oblivious to the unorthodox placement of a canoe in the middle of a dog park or even the presence of two men looking like they spent the last hour in an industrial sized Maytag washing machine.  My foot was hurting, well bleeding, so I decided I should probably not walk barefoot in a dog part with an open wound. I sat under tree and began to proverbially “lick my wounds”, which then a curious dog came near and literally licked my face.

                After processing our situation, we decided that getting back on the river was not an option.  Luckily, I actually had cell and data coverage. We found the cheapest hotel we could online and called a cab.  It was as if providence had planned the day would snowball into drudgery because thunder storm was brewing in the distance, thunder rumbled, and we hoped the cab would come soon.  Thankfully it did.  Out stepped mark, tall, tattoos up his arm, a sweat stained hat around his oily long hair. When he talked I noticed his only two teeth, a pair of yellow and brown stained buck teeth which protruded prominently from his mouth.  Mark was his name, according to a little plaque in his car.  We had found a cheap hotel online only 3 miles from us, but had too much stuff to carry there. We tied our canoe to a tree and hid it in some bushes by the river bank, and let mark take our sorry selves to the hotel.  He drove slowly, intently listening to our adventure so far. I watched the payment numbers growing and growing, I wondered if buck tooth mark was driving in circles to make up for a slow day.

                The storm that was brewing finally let lose. A torrential down pour fell, winds picked up and we were all glad were not in a canoe, trying to piece together any remnants of optimism we could.  We walked in the lobby still soaked, the rain pouring outside, I’m sure the Indian man at the desk wasn’t use to seeing paddles being dragged in.  We tipped buck tooth mark and crashed in our room.  I wasn’t sure what to think about the hallways smelling like Lo Mien Noodles, but I knew behind the odorous halls, a soft, probably clean bed, was waiting.

Soggy clothes dripped from various racks and outcroppings, toby set up the tent to dry out, and we went about deciding what to do.   We decided in the morning we would rent a U-Haul Pickup truck to run around town because it would be so much cheaper than a taxi.  We lounged around, enjoying being out of the elements.  There was a pub next door which was closed for a one day remodel, and the rain was too heavy to find food any place else. We ordered pizza, and crashed in bed. Very very glad to end a day filled with far more adventure than needed or wanted.

Act V:  Heinrich, Heidi and Das Jaeger Schnitzel 

                It felt good getting our own truck to ride around town, having the freedom to get what we need without having to worry how much we could carry. Our plan was to replace Toby’s phone,  and replenish the supplies we lost to the river.  It felt awkward being in a mall in our river attire, a random assortment of jeans, boots,t hsirts and long sleeves, obvious that we gave little thought to matching or coordination. We at least smelled better than usual.  Suzi the AT&T rep was incredibly helpful in getting toby set up with a new phone, our conversation evolving to the point to where we had to explain that all Amish are Mennonites but not all Mennonites are Amish. I even decided to change providers to AT&T since T Mobile has wretched service down the river.  Although the price tags were entirely crippling to our estimated budgets, we understood the necessary sacrifice, as well as the lesson that IPhones work better when they float.

                After the mall we got lost in the materialistic labyrinth also known as Wal-Mart, piling our cart high with food we lost in the rapids. Hot dogs, noodles, rice, butter,  beans, and bacon soon filled the cart. Checking out was painful, seeing a whole week of budged food be tallied up for the second time in two days. We loaded up the truck and dropped off our supplies at the hotel, taking back the truck which proved quite useful in our day of recovery.  Getting back, I couldn’t help but notice the seedy bar was finally open. Now just to clarify, ( Mom and grandma), I’m not a fan of seedy bars specifically, but I am a fan of finding a good adventure or story to tell, and seedy bars are never short of those. Toby did not feel like going, and I didn’t want to go without back up, so I bribed toby and said the bill was on me. 

                A “skywalk” connected the hotel to the restaurant, if a in closed hallway 15 feet off the ground and that smells like grandmas basement can be called a skywalk.  I was prepared to walk into the bar and see more seedy bar stereotypese named nelson, bubba, glen, but it was entirely empty. A strip of neon lights lined ceiling, the furniture was a light mint green, whose upholstery had seen much better days.  A lady was at  bar texting, I assumed her name was barb.  I tried to look like a regular as I sauntered up the bar, but everyone knows us Mennonites can’t pull off the bar look well.  “Busy night eh?” I said, testing how much humor the barmaid was capable of. She laughed at least, so I felt more comfortable.  Like everyone we happen upon, the jaws began to drop at our journey. Barb the bar maid though didn’t jus sit and listen, she interjected her own experiences between each part of our story, creating a collage of recollections which confused even me.  We told her about the weather, the lakes, the owls, the rapids, and she told us about her RV, her crazy ex-boyfriends, her friends friend who loves to dress up like a Nazi but only for “historical” reasons. “ Oh you guys need to meet Heinrich!, he would love to bullshit with you guys, he likes adventurers like this,” “Who’s that” we asked, “ The owner!”, I asked if he was German, Heinrich being a very specific type of name. “Kind of, Austrian” she said. Although the bar we were at was generically named “Michaels”, resembling a place where serial killers come to unwind after night of murder, it was actually an establishment which offered an extensive menu of authentic Austrian cuisine.

                I was taking a swig from my stein when Heinrich walked in, an old man, white beard white hair, who walked intently and with purpose, dressed in black slacks and grey button up. Barb, whose name we found out as Heidi, quickly gave him the rundown of us, he sat behind the bar and began to ask us questions. I pulled out the only German sentence I know, “Vo zint die welden frauen?, which translates as “where are the wild women”, he was impressed at least. “Ver did you start”, “Oh zast is incredible!”, Imagine Arnold Swartzenegger with a heavier accent and higher older voice and you have Heinrich.  I asked inquisitively, “So how did you get to the states?”, “Vell, on an Aero plane!” he said without missing a beat.  I was hungry so I asked Heidi what as good. She said today’s special was her favorite, Das Jaeger Schnitzel , I only caught that it came with homemade cream and fresh mushrooms, but anything like a name like Jaeger Schnitzel must be good.  The cook, named randy, came out of the kitchen, fat, balding, and in a stained white tee, he grabbed our order and shuffled into the kitchen to begin whatever process makes Jaeger Schnitzels.  We “bullshited” with Heidi and Heinrich more while randy was in the back. The jaeger schnitzel came out hot and ready.

                Like many northern European foods, they are not entirely colorful, but they are quite hearty. A slab or pork covered in cream and mushrooms  filled a plate.  A side of purple cabbage and Austrian dumplings called Spaetzles.  I was not sure what was the Jaeger and what was the schnitzel, but I greatly enjoyed it.  I sat there wondering how Mennonite could ever separate beer from this type of regional food. Cleaning off my plate, Heidi told Heinrich that they need to give us a parting gift to warm up. I didn’t assume she was reaching under the bar for warm socks. She pulled out a bottle of what looked like chocolate milk. I assumed it was “hard”.  They watched us closely as we downed the drink.  “Now, vhat du you sink it ist, Milk Chocolate, Chocolate cream, Chocolate mousse?”. Mousse sounded more European so I went with it. Mousse?” no. Cream? No. Milk? No. Each wrong answer had him enjoying the questions more. “ Zis ist Choco-vine!, chocolate infused wine!”  Barb then explained that if we needed to seduce any women, choco-vine would do the trick. 

The meal was done, and I was feeling a little dizzy from the large plate of schnitzel, Toby said it was probably something else.  I told Heinrich I will send him a postcard from new Orleans. He smiled and reached in his pocket. He pulled out his card and handed me two dollars for stamps. I took that gift and said in my halting German, “danke”.  We said our goodbyes and we walk out the door glad we decided to take a risk and scout out the seedy bar. Tomorrow we are back on the canoe, resupplied, and our egos mostly healed. No more sinking Iphones, just more paddling.