Day 13

We left Munich and headed to Stuttgart and the home of Porsche :-) and its own museum. The roads in Germany were at least equal to those in Switzerland, if not better. And the autobahn. No speed limits - say no more! Richard took absolute full advantage and we hurtled along at just over 100km/hr hanging on for dear life in our bouncing house and hoping to heavens we never ran into another low bridge... O,yes, I forgot to mention that little incident in France near Ars...:

There we were happily bumbling along the little village roads, in the rural French countryside, when something made Richard look a little more closely at a rapidly approaching bridge. The height restriction was 2.4 metres, and he was worried that we might not clear it with the house on our back. So we came to a screeching halt, stopping the small queue of cars that had formed behind us as we had slowed earlier to carefully negotiate the narrow back roads and avoid knocking over postboxes and pub signs. So I hopped out and ran around the front of the vehicle jumping up and down in the middle of the road, craning my neck trying to see if we would make it without ripping the protruding hatch off the camper. I then ran around the back and hopped up the ladder to clamber on the roof, confirming Richard's suspicion that we would not, in fact, clear the bridge. There was no other way out: we would have to back up and take an alternative route. An elderly old biddy had wandered over in the meantime and undeterred by my blank and growing confused expression, explained to me in increasingly voluminous French that our camper would not fit under the bridge and we had to go around. I turned to the now not insubstantial line of vehicles behind our camper that, because they were unsighted, had not dared try and pass the camper and momentarily thought I should ask them to reverse, but doubted that they would take kindly to this, and while Richard remained stationery, directed them to drive around the camper van, worried that another crazy Frenchman would come racing down the road from the opposite direction and cause a head-on collision and I would be held responsible for a fatal accident. In the end, all ended well, and we managed to turn the camper around, but not before reversing all the way back to the nearest intersection as the road was too narrow to execute a 3 point turn, and all the while, under the watchful eye of the old lady who stood on the corner, waving her stick at me as I directed traffic and mumbling advice throughout the whole episode.To this day, I think she still believes I could understand her every word, but was just being an obstinate youngster.But I digress.

The Porsche museum in Stuttgart is part of a few city blocks within Stuttgart that seems to have been taken over completely by Porsche - a massive dealership, Head Office, etc. Parking was nowhere to be found as we blundered clumsily around the small streets in the camper - like the Griswalds in the Chevy Chase movie. We came to the entrance of a large open air parking area - immaculate green lawns and trimmmed hedges with remote booms and fancy lighting etc. So we drove up and discovered that there was no place to push a button and get a ticket and it appeared to be the private parking for Porsche employees. Another bloody queue had begun to form behind us as we faced the closed boom. We could see that at least 2/3 of the parking lot was filled with Porsches and there was no way I was emerging from the camper van looking like a hill billy to ask these Armani wearing gentleman to reverse their sports machines that cost more than the houses we collectively owned in SA. So Richard pressed the intercom for assistance. A lady fuher amswered in German and he responded in English. A pause. Obviously she was thrown. The only thing we can think of is that she must have assumed it was international visitors as she said something in return and the boom lifted and we drove in and looked for a parking place. There were some empty spaces, perfect for Boxters or even Cayennes. Unfortunately none appeared, for some obscure reason, to have been designed large enough to accomodate a 3.5ton camper can. No worries. We found the largest bay possible, backed the camper in, nudging the hedge back over as far as we dared without uprooting it, and switched off the engine. About a third of the camper was still sticking out into the narrow parking roadways, but we figured that people that drove 500 000 Deutchmark cars would be more scared of hitting our camper than us of them hitting ours so we left it as it stood. We did wonder for a split second if the lady on the intercom had told us in German that this was private property and we were to come in, turn around and exit, but we dismissed the thought almost as soon as it occurred. So off we walked down the road to find the museum.

The Porsche museum is an imposing building that seems to defy gravity. It is awesome - Richard has included a photo above. Really impressive and very interesting. Their commitment to quality and pride in their brand is obvious and we drooled all the way through the building - which takes up around 5 floors. I have included a picture of Richard in front of a Porsche GT1, which was unpriced, but is more expensive than its brother - given that it is a limited edition of only 1270 units. The cheaper sibling sells for 1.5million Deutchmarks - I don't know how much that is in Rands exactly, but it is a lot! After the tour, we ate at the restaurant on the ground floor, complete with Porsche serviettes! It was surprisingly very reasonable and the servings very generous. The real pricey restaurant is upstairs - dishes from 26 Euros upwards.

Then we headed back to our van parked quite a ways away and glad that it was. There were groups of well-heeled Germans and obviously preferred corporate clients outside the museum awaiting factory tours and we joked as we walked that we would rather die than be seen in our hill-billy camper! Of course as we exited the parking, the GPS indicated that we proceed down the road and turn right, which we did, only to realise that it was taking us to the motorway directly past the Porsche museum, the robots in front of which, naturally turned red just as we approached and guaranteed us some bemused glances from the Porsche elite. Kerry and Carmen hid in the back while Richard stared stonily ahead concentrating on not stalling the van. All ended well and we escaped down the motorway into welcome oblivion.

The road from Stuttgart to Amsterdam is mostly Autobahn and I need to mention that about 20 minutes out of Stuttgart, we were passed by a string of around 7 or eight Porsches with a Ferrari in their midst, travelling at probably well over 220 kilometres an hour. The sound had to be heard to be believed and it was an awesome sight! We felt quite sorry for ourselves as we urged our protesting donkey van up yet another hill and onwards to Amsterdam.

At the risk of embarassing myself, I have to confess that on the road in Germany, I was quite amazed at how many different offramps and therefore different routes there were to a place called 'Ausfhart'. I stupidly wondered at this aloud. Until Richard, in a rather uncharitable and I daresay, even mocking manner, told me that Ausfhart means highway exit. Well at least my wife doesn't talk in her sleep, which Kerry has been prone to do on this trip, even starting arguments with Carmen and Richard.
Goodnite.