We had been traveling for hours in the cold. Over 4 hours to be exact. On trains, and metros, and taxis. We wanted to get into our comfy rented apartment and crash before heading back out to Munich’s Christmas Markets. But it was December 23rd in Germany, and most everything would be closed for a few days over Christmas. So we dropped our bags at the entrance and went off in search of food and supplies.
After getting plenty of provisions, we were ready to climb the 4 flights of marble stairs (luggage in tow). However, our German housekeeper was…quite German. She insisted that she hand wash our rolling luggage before we’d be able to take it up the stairs to ensure they were clean. She also insisted that we take our shoes off. I had already injured my ankles and I wasn’t excited at the prospect of taking 4 flights of slippery marble stairs in only socks. So I grumbled a bit as I took off my shoes.
And then we heard it. The housekeeper shrieked. “YOU CANNOT WEAR THOSE PANTS INSIDE!” She hissed. I was confused and looked down. My heart sank. I’m very short, and cannot often find pants or jeans my height. I like flare jeans, and I’m also lazy and cheap, so I don’t get them hemmed. That means my jeans often bunch around my shoes and ankles…and occasionally slip past the shoes so I end up walking on the back of my pants, slowly wearing them out. But it was rainy, snowy, and we had walked so much today, that the bottom few inches of my pants were a bit dirty.
Me in Salzburg a few days later, still wearing the offending pants. I liked these as they fit over my massive snowboots.
I looked back at her hopefully, while hiking up my pants. She shook her head. “Take them off!” She demanded. I was surprised and frustrated at the same time. Did she really expect me to now carry my bag without shoes AND WITHOUT PANTS? And what was I to do, strip naked every time I entered the 4 story condo, and hope the other tenets didn’t see me.
Why yes, that was the exact plan she had. And she had no time for nonsense and so my pants flew off.
Thankfully it was winter and I was wearing an extra layer of long underwear (abet not flattering and not something I wanted to walk around in). But that is what I did over the next few days. And since we had to be let in and out each time by her, she dutifully checked my pants each time, and each time required me to strip down and take them off or watching me to make sure I only put them on moments before exiting out into the world.
While the place was lovely, and she obviously took pride in her apartments, she also passive-aggressively cleaned while we were out. She’d leave us notes to not leave things here or there, she’d put my jeans in bags (even though my jeans were laid out on my luggage, not any of her things), and she’d never give us fresh towels. Things (even our own items) had to be organized and placed exactly how she wanted it. For example, she seemingly HATED that I had two stuffed animals that I’d leave in my bed. Each morning she’d move the Triceratops and put it on the desk. And then put the dog on a nearby bookshelf. It was almost like she was saying “These are too nice to play with.” (And I was a college student…) It was a strange experience. And I accidentally pissed her off again later by buying a miniature Christmas Tree (meant for decorating graves.)
Me, pantless. I resorted to wearing a blanket like a skirt for most of my time in this apartment.
Travel Missteps is an every-other week series on how sometimes part of the journey is making mistakes and getting lost.
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