Farried Across

The other day, I had my weekly full day off, and Chris had taken his on that day, too. So, we drove some hour and a half away to see a car that we were interested in. When we were finished (and had decided to pass on the car), we drove to France, only about 30 minutes away. We had, in that our appointment had been in a small town north of Karlsruhe, found ourselves in rural Pfalz, and decided, rather than taking the Autobahn, to take the country roads to the French border. The rule of law with the Chris/Josh-Mobile is simple and typical. I drive. He co-pilots. German roads are excruciatingly difficult to maneuver from my American perspective, and to get form one place to another often seems like that old Newhart skit where a man tries to get somewhere in New Hampshire and is always answered with “You can’t get there from here.” So is it in Germany. That’s why you need either a navigation system or a co-pilot. You can’t get anywhere on the non-Autobahn roads without first going somewhere else. Guess that what happens when your roads are sometimes older that God Himself.

So, were traveling along. Chris is navigating. And I say (a usual line):
“Is this the right way?”
“You followed the sign that said Rheinfährte, right?”, he says.
“Yes.”, thinking that Rheinfährte is either some hokey name for a place or is some kind of industrial depot.

We turn a corner, and there to the left of the car in an instant is a huge, rushing torrent of a river. I was surprised not just because I hadn’t really thought about how close we were to the Rhein, but also, that the Rhein is a really big, powerful river not unlike the Mississippi or Missouri. In other words, even by my standards, it was big. And it was moving fast. And we weren’t looking down on it, it was just sort of right there next to us, not even a real ditch or levee separating us.

So I guess you can understand my surprise, then, considering I was just mesmerized by a giant barge floating by so close that it seems I could just reach out of the car and touch it, when Chris says:

“Stop. We have to turn left here.”
I stop the car. “Huh?” (Immediately to the left is the raging Rhein, as I said before.)
“Yeah. Back up and turn left there.”
“Your kidding, right.”
“No.”
“You’re joking.”
Insert about 6 or 7 more of these same sorts of lines and you’ll begin to understand the dialogue at this point...

I back up. I stop. Look left. There is a giant barge there, docked on the grass embankment.

“What do you mean, Chris?”
“Drive onto that boat.”
“You’re joking, right?” (Again insert more bantering.)

Trust. I must trust. (Remember that old hymn “Trust and Obey.”?)

I drive off of the road, onto the grass, approach the boat and stop again. It just seems extremely wrong somehow. This can’t be. My mind wouldn’t wrap around it. Then the captain of the boat comes out of his station and waves for us to come on, seeing that we (I) are dazed and confused at best. We drive onto the boat, pull all the way up to the little red gate (that was obviously not made to actually hold anything onto the boat, but, rather as a symbol saying ‘do not pass this point. but if you do, hey, good luck.’), stop the car, and just sit for a moment in amazement.

You know there is a reason that rivers are said to be “rushing.” It’s because, sometimes, and definitely in this case, rivers flow by at a break neck speed, giving you the feeling deep in your gut of danger. Danger if you get mixed up in it. Danger as it swallows you whole. And I’m supposed to drive our little two-seater mini European car onto it... I just can’t stop picturing the final scenes of the Mothman Prophecies as those cars fall, one by one, off of the bridge, into the murky ebb, and one sees only the cars’ headlights scattered about as they rest on the river bottom, the cries of their passengers unheard for the river’s din. Creeeepy.

The back gate shuts and the big engines of the boat begin to moan, carrying us upstream. I am stunned and, like a little kid, hop out of the car and start taking pictures. It is like some story out of a book, or something. I mean, a ferry to cross a river? This is just too funny. I look upstream to see where we will be going. There is nothing. Huh? How far is it to the crossing? I find our port, but it is directly across from the one we took off from. We just have to go upstream to fight against the current and then float back down to the other side with some deft maneuvering from the captain. Pretty cool, actually.



What strikes me as funny is that it cost us 3.70€ in order to cross. We were the only ones on the boat. This boat was a barge, really, a giant. You can’t tell me that 3.70€ paid for that. We are talking major government subsidies here. And, these subsidies would not buy a bridge? Hmmm. Someone might want to crunch some numbers. I just don’t get it. But, hey, if it weren’t for subsidies, I wouldn’t have a job. Never mind. Thank you Germany and your medieval ways!