They Should Have Said Something

Don't worry, I'm not going to go day to day with this blog, but I do need to relate an incident from day 2. You'll remember that we rented a transporter van to convey our 15 bags and dog kennel to our home in Unterschleissheim. That accomplished, we no longer needed the van and so my task was to drive it back to the airport and exchange it for a VW family mini-van. The only complication I could foresee was that I didn't know the airport, or where specifically I needed to go to return the rental van. This turned out to be a minor issue as I just followed the signs to "rental car return" (oddly, in english). I turned where indicated, rolled over the one way tire puncture things and, like a cow to slaughter, drove down a a narrow single lane chute toward a parking garage.

I don't generally drive transporter vans and was focussed on not missing the designated turns. Ergo, I wasn't at all thinking about the fact that the van was about 12 feet high until I went under an iron bar holding a security camera. Sickening sound of metal bashing and scraping metal, followed by sound of something glassy smashing, followed by security camera smashing to ground behind me. Shit.

Ok, now the height of the van is front and center on my mind, so I stopped before heading into the parking garage with the 9 foot clearance. Predictably, a couple of rental car employees came out, looked at the damage and at the idiot behind the wheel. I conveyed my many sorrys via the international sign of upraised open palms, shrugged shoulders and sheepish look. They ignored me for the time being and tried to work the problem. The van couldn't go forward, because of the garage height. Couldn't go backward because of the security bar. The real problem though was with the half dozen cars now stacked behind the van; rental cars that needed returning and drivers that were no doubt late for flights.

Since it wasn't my van the problem wasn't really mine to solve. And since I hadn't technically committed a crime, I was free to leave. I was though ushered into an office and asked to fill out a form, explaining my version of the incident. This I did like a lawyer, pointing out that there were no signs regarding clearance and no one had said that I shouldn't return the transporter van to the regular rental car return area. Haven't heard anything since.

Arrival

I've been keeping a running list of impressions and events from the first month so I'd better get to it. We arrived at our new home tuckered but excited after dark on September 1 after 18 hours of travel. The landlady and her husband were waiting for us to let us in, meet the kids and show us around. They clearly are proud of their rental property and looked carefully to see how we'd react to the new kitchen installed a week before our arrival. They were pleased as we smiled and exclaimed with each opening of a drawer or cupboard. We were really smiling because a rental company had come in that morning and completely furnished the house, including laying in a coffee maker, dishes and silverware.

Before leaving the airport we had our first encounter with the legendary German officiousness and, fortunately, found it wanting. First stop was the baggage carousel where we waited until the last bag to compile our load of 15 bags + doggie carrier. I tried to commandeer an unused luggage cart to make the transport but was shut down by the porter that used the cart to make a living. Carrying was not an option, so he was hired to take the bags 300 meters to the rental car desk. For this he charged us 60 euros (at an exchange rate of 1/$1.27).

On the way, we were directed to stop at the Dog Inspection room. Now my preparation for Marcy's transport included a stop at the vet in Seattle the day before we left to get her current on the main vaccinations, obtaining in the process a handwritten declaration from the vet that stated all was well with this dog. We therefore confidently handed the Dog Inspector Marcie's newly created dossier, expecting that he'd be pleased and impressed at both our organization and the envelope, chosen by us carefully for its heavy paper, strident manila color string-tied clasp, with the words "Dog Documents" clearly visible. I knew I'd miscalculated when the Inspector looked at the documentation and began vigorously shaking his head. "This is no good. You only got the rabies shot 2 days ago. It is too soon. It must be at least 30 days ago. Does she have a chip? She must have a chip or a tattoo. This is no good."

"Well," I responded, I get your point on the rabies shot, but even if she had a chip, it would have a Seattle address, and what would be the point of that." Even as I finished this sentence, I realized he meant that the chip should reflect the new German address. "Ok," I said. What should we do now." I said this with confidence and no fear of consequence. The reason, I'm reluctant to say here, is that if Germany wanted to take custody of my 14 year old dog while we got settled into our new digs, well, that was ok with me. Whether this lack of fear had any affect, I don't know. But the Inspector looked at his assistant, looked at the 15 bags, looked at the three tired children and said "Just go, you must get a chip", and handed me the papers.

From there it was a smooth shot to pick up our extra-sized Euro-Transporter with a Tom Tom navigation system. We loaded up, punched our new address into the Tom Tom and sunk back into the warming envelope of the woman's pleasant, slightly accented recorded voice guiding us with "In 200 meters, bear right, then get on the autobahn."