There is a huge hole in the ass of my pajamas.

Don’t know how long it’s been there, but I realized it the other morning at breakfast. And by that, I mean, in front of at least 20 Germans who were also eating their breakfast. They kept smiling at me, and I thought, they’re soooo nice – I wish I could speak better German. And then, If I did, I might sit down at one of these tables and make some friends. Nope. They were staring at my bare ass, and then laughing in German about it.

Also, I think I might lose a toenail. I’m being dramatic, my toenails are fine. They do hurt though – I’ll tell you why later.

These are the only two bad things that happened in Ostrau. You could count the accidental mountain climbing, if you hate awesome things. But I LOVE awesome things, so we’ll keep the count at two.

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That was a preface. Here’s the real post:

Remember when I said I was going to this craggy-rocked national park? (I took a boat there, which you can read about here: Ahoy, Bitches) So I thought it would be enough that the craggy rocks were super craggy and cool, and the weather was perfect, and I was on a f*cking boat. But then I got OFF the boat. And it got EVEN BETTER…

I had booked a hotel in a little tiny town called Ostrau, which is right outside a slightly bigger but still tiny town called Bad Schandau, which is one of several tiny towns in this big park. Ostrau is not even on maps*. That’s how tiny it is.

*I’m lying, it’s totally on maps. Just trying to make a point. Stop being so goddamned critical.

Also, it’s on the top of a mountain, WHICH NO ONE TOLD ME. Now this is bad if you’re in a wheel chair or something. Maybe if you’ve got little kids with you – pretty inconvenient. Oh, and if you’re carrying a backpack that weighs A THOUSAND POUNDS… yeah.

So I get off the boat at Bad Schandau, cuz that’s where it lets you off, and I head to the Info Center, which is usually this great magical place where they tell you all the stuff you need to know. Uuuuuusually, I said. Not in Bad Schandau. The woman there was not feeling me at all. She basically scowled a lot and pointed angrily at this crazy map that I’m pretty sure was drawn by a caveman. I understood exactly two things she said: “Lift here,” (What’s that? I think, but don’t ask because I knew she would scowl some more and I hate being scowled at), and “walk here.” These were my options. Take a “lift,” whatever that means*, or walk. Now I’ve learned a bunch of things on this trip, and a big one is that I really like walking places. You can stop and take pictures if you want. If there’s a cute little store or a museum, you can pop in, no bigs. “I’m walkin’!” I say. And she scowls some more shoos me away.

*I recognize this should have been obvious, but I get confused when people are mean to me, okay?

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Side note: Before starting off, I ate some schnitzel and an ice cream. This made me feel very German, and I feel like it’s important to tell you, even though it has nothing to do with the story.

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Right, so I’m walking this lovely road. It’s really, really lovely.

There’s this house…

And these flowers…

And a whole bunch of trees…

And then there’s this beautiful little stairway leading to the new road I’m supposed to follow.

Lovely, right?

Right.

THAT SHIT DID NOT END. It was uphill, that steep, for like 10 miles. I don’t know how long it was – probably not 10 miles. But A LONG time. It was so steep, they had to put a rail there to keep you from falling off.

Once I got to the top of the mountain, finding my hotel was like a weird version of Are You My Mother?

Are you my hotel?

Are YOU my hotel?

Because there were no less than FOUR streets with exactly the same name. HOW IS THAT LEGAL, GERMANY???

It went on and on and on (much like this post, I realize… I’m getting there, promise).

When I found it, I literally did a little dance and then took this picture to commemorate my victory.

My room was nothing special, but I thought it was glooooooooorioussssss. An ENTIRE, ENORMOUS BED ALL TO MYSELF.

A little patio thing with sweet little windows.

A beautiful shower that NO ONE ELSE GETS TO USE OR PEE IN. (I’m talkin’ to YOU, hostels.)

I took at least 4 showers there, and I only stayed one night.

And this sweet little backyard thing where you could sit or hang out with people or write your blog. (Or realize you have a hole in the ass of your pajamas – you can do that there too, turns out.)

So I settle in, take a couple of showers, write a bit – so lovely. And then I realize I’m starving (from the mountain climbing, right?). Starving.

I find this restaurant around the way, and order this salmon/carrot/kraut/spinach thing that was INSAAAAANE. Like maybe the best meal I’ve ever eaten. I can’t even explain how good this meal was. It was good y’all.

Walk home, shower again, sleep like a drunk baby.

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The next morning, I go down to eat breakfast – we’ve already talked about what happened there – but what I didn’t mention was that the amazingness of the meal completely overshadowed the ass-showing. A total win. I swear this mountain had magical food powers.

What the mountain DIDN’T have was good signage. I found this out when I tried to get back to Bad Schandau to catch the train to Prague. Remember that “lift” the scowly woman mentioned? I was thinking I should take that, right? Because I don’t like taking the same route twice, and also because my legs were pretty much useless from the previous day – another mountain, even downhill, was not in my plans.

Thing is, you have to FIND this lift in order to use it. And all the signs were in German. And none of them said any of the words I know. I walked around that mountain for probably two hours, for real. Luckily, I was in the most beautiful spot on the planet, so if you’re gonna be lost, I guess it’s cool to do it there.

And it wasn’t just the nature stuff. There were all these sweet houses and things.

THERE WAS EVEN A PONY, Y’ALL.

Okay, so I finally figure out the way to the lift – just down that road, the old woman said. Yeah…

…for at least 45 minutes. Downhill, so not nearly as bad, although I’m wearing a house on my back, which means it ain’t easy to keep from tipping the eff over. Thus, the toenail issue. You try this shit and see what happens to your big toes. It isn’t pretty. (I’ll spare you photos.)

I eventually arrive at the lift, which is hilariously close to the BOTTOM of the mountain. Real cute, though, so I wasn’t mad about it.

And then there was THIS. FUCKING. VIEW.

And a slide puzzle, which is my favorite thing in the world (other than boats and craggy rocks and showers in hotels, of course).

It was pretty much the best. And I thought, Wow, big win today. The bruised toes and ass-exposure were all worth it. I climbed a freaking mountain in Germany. Who gets to do that?

Me. I can’t believe it – I do.

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So I want to tell you what happened when I got to the bottom of the lift, but if I do that now, this post will be out-of-control long and no one will read it. Everyone probably stopped reading a while ago, in fact.

Mom, Dad, I tried lesbianism and it’s awesome. Also, I’m getting a sex change. And moving to Germany.

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…and here is a random assortment of other crap you should probably read/watch/look at/listen to:

A thousand puppies will live forever if you share this post, I totally swear.

A thousand puppies will live forever if you share this post, I totally swear.

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