Checking In
27 April 2009, 6:44 p.m.
48° 35' 0.62" N, 7° 44' 16.42" E
After a few minutes, someone from the hotel shows up with one of those carts to help me with the luggage, and together we roll it into the lobby. As I head to the front desk, I give the guy a tip—maybe it’s a little too much, but I think I need to make it clear that I’m the sort of person who gives tips, not the sort of person who gets tips.
Henry is nowhere to be seen, but Bertha’s nearby, talking on her cell phone. When I look at her and try to give her the International Tourist Sign Language for “Is this the right place?” (upraised palms and quizzical eyebrows), she nods and points to the desk. So I go and book a single room for myself, and as I take my credit card back the clerk asks me about the rest of my party.
“Any additional rooms, sir?”
As I put the card back in my wallet, I glance around—no sign of Henry, Bertha’s still on the phone, Lambert is sitting on a couch, his nose in that black book, and Bruno’s on a more distant couch, watching over Conrad, who is playing peacefully for once with his PSP.
The clerk looks at me expectantly.
Now this is the point where you might be asking, “How the hell does he not know what’s happening?” But I swear I’ve made myself very clear about who is going to pay for what on this trip. I could look up the emails—I know I kept a copy. I told everyone I would handle the driving, and the minivan rental, and the gas—basically all the transportation costs and duties—but I’m certain I made it quite clear that we’d all be on our own for food and lodging. Those were the very words I used—“we’ll all be on our own”—something like that, anyway. That’s clear, isn’t it?
Well, the clerk seems to be used to dealing with groups, and he murmurs something, in very good English, about how there are several rooms available now but not for much longer, and with a credit card I could hold all the rooms that my party needs, and of course I’ll be able to work out the final payment details with companions at my leisure. So I get out my card again and book a room with two singles for the monks, and a family room (double bed and cot) for Henry, Bertha and Conrad. At the very moment my credit card touches the counter, I hear this voice behind me.
“Hey bro, are you ze vun? Ze steward?”
It’s a big blond kid, early twenties, kind of a jock, with a big duffle bag over his shoulder.
“What?” I say.
“You know, ze keeper of ze money? For Henry? For our Kaiser?”
“No, no... ” I say. “I’m just a blogger, I’m driving the minivan.”
“Yah, yah, you’re ze vun. My name is Feller ze Blessed! Good to meet you, bro!” He turns and gestures to a group of about half a dozen other guys, who bring their duffel bags up to the front desk.
“So,” I say, “You guys... you’re Henry’s entourage... his retinue... his... ”
“Ze secret soldiers of the Kaiser!” says Feller. “Ve are Die Kaninchenkrieger! Fastnacht Fanatics from Spargelgemeinde!”
“Spargelgemeinde... ” I say. “I think we drove past there... ”
“You can call us ze Rabbit Varriors!”
“The Rabbit Warriors? Wow. Uh, cool,” I say. “So, you’re coming with us? To Canossa?”
“Yah, for sure, ze Rabbit Varriors vill make ze expedition nach Canossa vit you. Ve vill be ze vuns to take on all ze danger in ze mountains!”
“Well, great,” I say.
And then, while I’m shaking hands with the other Rabbit Warriors, Feller the Blessed tells the clerk he needs a couple of big rooms. He doesn’t care how many beds there are. He laughs and slaps my shoulder. “Ze vuns zat don’t get lucky vill crash on ze floor!”
He turns back to the clerk. “Yust put it all on zis guy’s card!”
Next episode: Le Bar
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