How do I describe our last night? The hotel was completely dead. Sometimes it felt like they had staff posing as customers so you wouldn’t feel like you were the only guest. The first time we stayed, tour buses packed the parking lot. Now, the hotel is quite rundown.

A hotel near the airport (and nothing else) should have a decent restaurant that serves food until at least 10 p.m. When we returned at 7 p.m. and enquired about whether the kitchen was open, she said that only the schnitzel and cold food was available.

With no other alternatives, we dropped off our coats in the room and returned downstairs. Apparently we sat at the wrong table. The first one (of three) was set for tomorrow’s breakfast. So we moved to a table by the stairs. Or should I say we thought it was one table.

But apparently it was two tables pushed together, with a square table cloth turned at 45 degrees and covering the centre part, but not your actual place setting area. Why am I telling you this? Because NosyNeighbour’s beer was accidentally spilt. And while we were cleaning up the mess, mine almost spilt as well because the table was actually two tables and you couldn’t see that they were at different heights because of the table cloth.

So we moved to our third table. We ordered the schnitzel. It came with a small side salad, which arrived first and was drowning in salad dressing. If it hadn’t been for too much liquid, it would have been alright. Then the schnitzel arrived. It was rubbery and tasteless and the accompanying fries, while hot, were overloaded with salt. Ketchup or mayonnaise was not offered.

Now that we both had the nasal thing going, sleep was going to be a challenge. We woke up at 6 a.m., with the goal of being in the lobby by 6:30. We ate the remaining fruit, juice and corny bars for breakfast.

Down in the lobby at checkout, the guy at the counter says we owe 5 euros. NosyNeighbour responds that we paid for our meal last night, but wondered if it was a charge for the spilt beer. While he loaded up the car I waited for the guy to figure out what it was for. Apparently somebody had two coffees and charged it to our room. I asked the time, thinking maybe it was while we were in Nuremburg. The response was at 22:00 hours. I would never drink coffee at that time of night, so I asked to see the signature. It wasn’t there of course. Then a woman, who might have been the manager, said not to worry about it.

And so, we said our goodbyes to Germany.

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