We left St. Goar with one thing in mind: beer! Although Germany makes a lot of wine (the Rhine Valley is FILLED with vineyards), if you ask anyone what alcoholic beverage he associates with Germany, it'll be beer.

We stopped for lunch at a swanky rest stop in Germany. I realized that I was very nervous for my first real German encounters. (The few people we interacted with in St. Goar all spoke perfect English.) Hans told us that we would be impressed by the bathrooms. Obviously I had no idea what he was getting at. If it was anything like the bathrooms in Amsterdam that lacked shower curtains, I probably wasn't going to like this. First, you had to pay 50€ cents into a machine, which gave you a ticket. Then you had to insert this ticket into a subway-type turnstile. So far so good, and very high tech. Then I was in for my big surprise: not only were the stalls exceptionally clean, they had the coolest toilets I have ever seen. When flushed, a mechanic arm comes out of the tank behind the toilet, latches onto the toilet seat, and cleans the entire thing, as it rotates the seat around. I was so amazed by this that I flushed the toilet again and filmed the entire process (1).

Thoroughly impressed by the toilet, I was very excited to see what else this rest stop had to offer. As I was waiting in line to attempt to order food in German, a woman going to use the super-cool bathroom bumped into me and turned around and immediately apologized, "Entschuldigung!" (Excuse me). Although I understood her, I realize I didn't know how to respond appropriately in a timely fashion. My first snag with German. Although I could formulate sentences and understand simple phrases like "Excuse me," I couldn't translate more advanced stuff in my head (either my response or their responses) fast enough to keep up. The food-ordering was a struggle, and I finally had to ask for things in English. I think the woman appreciated the effort though.

On the way to our hotel (a Holiday Inn Express, one of the "better" hotels we'd encounter), we passed by the Olympic Stadium that was built for the Munich Summer Games, which were held back in the '70s. We also saw BMW's and Mercedes-Benz's headquarters. The Merc building (2) (Europeans call Mercedes-Benz cars "Mercs") showcased all of its different models in silver. The following month the showcase would look identical, except all of the cars would be red, the next month blue, etc.

We arrived at the Holiday Inn Express around 3:30pm and were told to meet up at 4:15 if we wanted to see the Glockenspiel ("Clock Rock") go off at 5:00, and then go straight to the Hofbräuhaus for the evening. I raced to take a shower, and get ready in 45 minutes for the evening. Around 4:05 Becca and Zeeni stopped by our room, not ready to go. When I asked why they weren't dressed or ready, Becca said that they weren't going to the beer hall, and furthermore, they were leaving the tour and going to see Europe on their own terms. With ten minutes before we had to be ready and my hair was still soaking wet, it was probably not the best time to drop a bomb of this magnitude.

To be perfectly honest, I wasn't surprised. The first night in Amsterdam made it clear that what Becca and Zeeni wanted out of this trip didn't necessarily sync up with what everyone else wanted. After the wine tasting the night before I thought things might have improved but I guess not enough to make a significant difference. It wasn't the people on the tour (although Canadian Jen calling Becca ignorant for not knowing much about Canada didn't help the situation—to be fair, I don't know much about Canada either, but that's no reason to call someone ignorant), but the rigid schedule, and set itinerary that made the tour not right for Becca. (I think Zeeni was more "go with the flow" and could do either, but didn't want Becca to be by herself.)

In my best effort to not be rude, I told the girls that we would have to talk about this later and that I had to finish drying my hair and meet up with the group. I was not going to miss another night trying to make everyone else feel better. And I know it is weird, but in a way, a weight was lifted. I wasn't going to have to worry about everyone being happy and getting along and liking what was going on. I could enjoy my trip without concerning myself with whether everyone else was having a good time or not.

So, at 4:15pm Mikki and I met up with everyone else, sans Becca and Zeeni, and took the subway to the Glockenspiel. We arrived at 4:55, just in time to see the clock go off at 5:00 (3). It was much better than the cuckoo clock we had seen that morning in St. Goar. I started to film it, but it was like the Energizer Bunny™ and kept going and going. I didn't think it would ever stop. But after about seven minutes, it finally finished.

We headed over to the Hofbräuhaus Biergarten (4) for dinner, entertainment, and some great comradery in one of Germany's most historic buildings. During Hitler's rise to power, he often gave speeches at the Hofbräuhaus. The Nazi party had several rallies there, and even painted swastikas all over the ceiling. After World War II, the Germans tried to cover up a lot of the Nazi markings, but the pesky swastikas on the ceiling would not stay covered up. The painters had to get creative to cover up the bright red and black paint, and if you look closely, you can still make out the swastika's shape within each set of flags (5).

Seated and starving, I ordered—what else?—a beer. And I'm not talking about at glass of beer, I'm talking about a stein of beer. Hans swears each stein is one liter. I'm no metric system expert (I am American, and any red-blooded American rejects the metric system), but I say bullshit to it being a liter. The stein I bought in St. Goar I'll agree is a liter. The ones at the biergarten had to be 1.5 to 2 liters each. Look at how huge they are! (6)

Knowing that I needed to order some food along with my beer, I took a look at the menu. Ack! Not an English word in sight. I could still recall some of the basic German words for foods, but this was unbelievable. I struggled and managed to figure out at least the categories: appetizers, beef, pork, poultry, bread, and vegetarian. Then I had to figure out enough of the main words to help everyone else at my table (7) order something to eat. When the other tables started to get their food, and I knew that I was the only one in our entire group that spoke even a little German (not including Hans), I was baffled. Finally I asked how they knew what to order because I was struggling with the German menu. Ha ha, the joke's on me, all of the other Contiki tables got English menus. Damn you Hofbräuhaus!

I ended up ordering pork knuckle, based on Reuben's recommendation, and it was really good. German food is all really heavy, which is meant to absorb all the beer. I'd say the meat and potatoes were doing a good job of soaking up the beer because I drank one stein, and noticing Mikki order a second round, I had to too. (I can get a little competitive when I drink/eat—a term I have dubbed "larkining" after my friend Larkin would unknowingly have eating and drinking competitions with me. In my effort to prove that I could eat/drink as much as him—or sometimes more—even though I was a girl and at least 50lbs. less, and often made myself sick in my quest.) Anyway, I started to larkin myself when I saw that Mikki was getting another beer. So I finished off my first beer, and started on my second.

Everyone was having a grand old time (8), (12), (14), (15), even Hans, to whom I must give props for being so spirited to break out his Lederhosen (9), (10), (13). I like to call beer "liquid courage" and although I'm a pretty extroverted person as it is, I made the effort to get to know everyone else better on the tour, including Reuben (11), ask him what prompted him to move from New Zealand to Austria, and inform him that I thought he was hot. Yeah, I was definitely getting drunk.

After I finished my second stein, I stood up and everyone applauded me. I would be very surprised if there were a single person on our tour group that did not have some variation of this picture of me holding the two steins (16). Crazy and drunk as I was at that point, I wanted more beer, but didn't want a third stein. So I drank some of Reuben's and some of Chris's beer before realizing I had to go to the bathroom. It dawned on me that after all that beer and food I had not yet needed the bathroom. After I "broke the seal" all the alcohol hit me and I threw up. I wonder how many people throw up in the Hofbräuhaus each year. If there are many, they are probably all stupid Americans like me. The Canadians and Australians take pride in how much beer they can hold, so I'm sure they don't account for much in the cookie-tossing category. I must have been in the bathroom for a while, because someone came in to check on me (I honestly don't remember who).

For the sake of argument, let's say Hans was right and one HB stein = one liter. That means that between the two steins and a lot of Reuben and Chris's steins, I had about 2.5 liters. That translates to 84.5 oz., or over seven cans of beer. Even sophomore year in college, when my tolerance was at its highest, this much alcohol would have gotten me trashed. But since graduating from college three years ago, and my desire to party has dwindled, so has my tolerance. It's no wonder that the next hour or so was a complete blur...

Mikki finished her second stein and we decided we wanted to explore Munich. We wandered around, and decided to go sit down and order something (water maybe?) at an upscale restaurant nearby. As soon as we sat down, I realized I needed another bathroom pronto, and I found them downstairs. After taking care of business (I use a vague term because I really don't remember if I threw up again or just peed), Mikki and I headed back upstairs to our abandoned table. When we got there, I realized I didn't have my purse and went back downstairs to retreive it from the stall. Mikki also left her cardigan at the table, and somehow we remembered to get it before deciding we didn't want whatever it was that we came into this restaurant for. How we had the sense to make sure we had everything with us before leaving is impressive, considering our current condition.

So we wandered off again, and the next thing I remember is going into Burger King—I have no idea why we went into a restaurant of any sort. Maybe I was hungry after throwing up my dinner, and everything else that I had eaten that day. Feeling brave, I attempted to order a BK Broiler (in German), but didn't see it anywhere on the menu. The cashier looked at me funny and had no idea what a BK Broiler was. I tried to explain it, and finally she figured out what I was talking about—a Chicken Whopper. Duh, it's not called the BK Broiler anymore, not in the US, and evidently, not in Germany. So, while we were waiting for our Chicken Whopper meal, Mikki flashed me, and probably the few people working behind the counter at Burger King, though I doubt she realized she was doing it. I burst out laughing, but being the good friend that I am, I made sure she covered herself back up. (She had a stapless top on, underneath a white jean jacket, and the strapless bra she was wearing had fallen down to around her waist. With no considerable shelf to hold the strapless top up, it started to slide down, and when she opened her jacket, she flashed us. Oops.)

We finally got our food and sat down to eat it. I ate one French fry and realized that this was a bad idea. Again, I found a bathroom in the basement, and headed down there to use it. Mikki came down a few minutes later. While I waited for her, I spoke with the bathroom attendant, whose name was Peter. He told me that my German was pretty good and asked how long we'd be in town and probably some other stuff. Why I remember this guy's name was Peter, but I don't remember how we got to Burger King baffles me.

After I finished chatting with Peter, Mikki and I decided to go back to the Hofbräuhaus and meet up with the group. Only problem was that we had no idea how to get back. Not to worry, Kamsie was going to use her German skills to ask for directions back to the beer hall (Mikki nicknamed me "Kamsie" in the spirit of Germany, to rhyme with Hansie). I sort of understood the directions I was given, thanks to a lot of pointing. Fortunately, the woman I asked spoke English (God bless all the Germans for speaking English), and then told me how to get back so that I definitely understood. We got back just in time to meet up with everyone before they left to head back to the hotel. I honestly have no idea who took this picture, and I don't remember taking it, but it is one of my favorites of the trip, since it really captures the moment and how much fun we were having doing Lord knows what (17).

Sure enough, Friday morning sucked. I was dragging ass, and Mikki, in her typical hangover fashion, woke up way too early again. Fortunately, she had a lot of energy and packed up everything for both of us. I had the hardest time just making it down to breakfast. It's not that I had a headache, I was just exhausted, like I hadn't slept at all.

One of the tour's optional excursions was to go white water rafting in Austria. This was only possible if 36 people signed up for it. There weren't enough people so instead we all went to Dachau Concentration Camp. What a sobering experience. It was eerie walking through the front gates, which read "Arbeit Macht Frei" which means, "Work frees you." Dachau started out as a work camp in 1933 and people that disagreed with the Nazi party were sent there to work for short stints before going back home. It wasn't until 1939, and Germany was at war, that Dachau became a concentration camp.

Dachau closed at the end of World War II. In the late 1960s the site was reopened to the public as a reminder of the horrors of the Holocaust. Three building were erected to honor those who died in the camps: a Protestant memorial (20), a Catholic memorial (21), and a Jewish memorial (22). The Jewish memorial was filled with stones (23), candles and flowers in honor of those lost. There were also a lot of flower bouquets (24) at the front of the medical building that was converted into a museum (25).