Bye-bye, Berchtesgaden

Folks, I've had a fling. When I left Berchtesgaden this morning, I felt like I was in one of those movies where a great love affair ends with one person leaving on an epic train journey. That person was me. I was pressing my face against the glass of the window, trying to catch one last glimpse of my love, willing myself not to cry.

Only in my case, nobody was running along the platform as the train gained speed, blowing kisses and shouting promises. There will be no love letters, no sweet whispered phone calls. That's because my new love, the one I can't get out of my head, isn't a person at all. It's an adorable little Alpine town, whose downtown Rick Steves incorrectly refers to as "a touristy mess." Ah, Berchtesgaden, how I will miss you.

I planned to stay 2 nights, and I ended up staying 4. I didn't do a whole lot while I was there. I skipped all the Nazi sightseeing opportunities. I didn't go skiing. I didn't even tour the salt mines wearing one of those cool flashlight hats. What did I do for 4 days? I went on long walks on snowy footpaths. I sat in cafés eating cake and drinking hot chocolate. I went swimming. I pet the cat who lived in my hotel. I read. I stared at the mountains out my window. I thought about buying a dirndl. It wasn't much, but it was perfect.

What's next for Little Ms. Bossy? 2 days in Munich with one of the Bossy cousins, then a nerdy opera weekend in Hamburg, where I'll see Elektra and Tannhäuser and sit in on some rehearsals. After that, a much-anticipated reunion with the Army Brat, in which I will venture into the land of the thumb-suckers once again.

I'm leaving you with the view from my hotel window. See what I mean?