Wednesday, 10th October 2001.
I awoke to a beautiful morning, and it was about time I copped some decent weather
after a couple of weeks of dreary greyness. I had one final wander around town, then
started on my way to Triberg.
A trio of train trips later I arrived in Triberg in the late afternoon. As I exited
the station I filled my lungs with fresh air. Ah, Triberg! The cuckoo-clock capital!
It's a crappy little town. After the initial jubilation of breathing fresh air, I
was quickly brought back to reality when I entered the town centre. Allow me to paint
the picture thus: there was one shop in the town centre called "World of 1000 Clocks"
and another called "The Christmas Shop". Spare me.
Having jousted with the curt receptionist at a hotel and the almost helpful staff
at the tourist information centre, I proceeded to slog it up the hill to the youth
hostel. And I mean slog. I found it eventually, and I slumped in the common area and waited
for the staff to turn up to open reception.
Now that I've bagged Triberg and its population, let me state that the people at the
youth hostel were ace. They were very helpful, they tolerated my rotten German, and
even gave me a room of my own. (A luxury for the budget traveller!)
Triberg, if you haven't already worked it out, is a bit of a tourist town. So
trying to find somewhere affordable to eat was a wee bit difficult. I ended up at a
dodgy kebab joint operating out of a tin shed. Just as I bit into my kebab the
owner had a big cough and splutter all over the shop. Brilliant.
Back at the hilltop hostel, I stood in the darkness admiring the stars, so clear in
the sky. Aeroplanes zipped across the cloudless night sky, and a shooting star
burned brightly like a manufactured pop act before fading into nothingness.