Tag Archives: true crime

anecdotes, Police

A brief interaction with the Polizei…

A hearty “vielen dank” to Wikimedia Commons contributor Garitzko, who has kindly and graciously released the featured photo of the Polizei car into the public domain. I am grateful.

Yesterday, I had an unexpected encounter with the local police. It’s all because I impulsively ordered a new bookshelf for our bedroom. The new shelf is part of my quest to make our house more livable and less cluttered. I also bought a new “trolley” for our bathroom, to put toiletries and cleaning supplies in, as we don’t have a built in cabinet or closet. I got tired of seeing random stuff strewn all over the bathroom, and the pile of dusty books on my nightstand was getting out of hand. While I was at it, I also ordered fancy new toilet brushes! Maybe they will arrive today.

I feel somewhat accomplished, finally buying this trolley after four years in this house… It arrived a couple of hours after the minor police drama, and seems to have done the trick of giving me a new place for my stuff.

So what does this Amazon.de shopping spree have to do with my interaction with the local cops? Well, it seems that the shelf was shipped to me via GLS, which is a company that delivers parcels. The guy who was delivering the shelf was apparently “lost”, and he rang my neighbor’s doorbell, looking for my house. He claimed I wasn’t home, although I was actually home all morning.

Recently, someone in our neighborhood Facebook group posted about random people who seemed to be casing the neighborhood, possibly looking for places to burgle. I guess, to my neighbors, the delivery guy looked and acted like he might have been up to no good.

My neighbors got suspicious and called the cops, perhaps because they were going to start their vacation yesterday, and were worried about a break in while they were gone. I was none the wiser when this was happening, as I was writing a post on my regular blog and practicing guitar.

Anyway, the delivery guy eventually found my house, rang my doorbell, and dropped off the new shelf, even bringing it into the house for me. I appreciated that, given the rainy weather and the item’s cumbersome size. I still had to haul it upstairs, but aside from being kind of hard to carry, it wasn’t too heavy.

The shelf was very easy to set up– took maybe two minutes, once I opened the box. I moved our laundry hamper and set up the shelf where the hamper had been, then put the books that needed a new home on it. Then I went downstairs to do my daily routine dog poop search and destroy mission in the backyard.

I had just collected and bagged a fresh pile of Noyzi’s shit, and was about to take it to the grey bin, when the doorbell rang again. This time, it was my neighbor wanting to ask about the delivery. In my hand, I still had the bright red bag of fresh dog crap, recently deposited by Noyzi, the Kosovar wonderdog. I tried to hold it out of sight as I spoke to my neighbor.

Who knew this new shelf would cause such a ruckus?

My neighbor asked me about the delivery. I said I had just received it. His wife came over and asked me more questions. I got the sense that maybe she was the one who was suspicious about the delivery man. I reassured them that yes, I had bought a new bookshelf, and the guy– who was admittedly a little unkempt– had dropped it off a short while ago. I was kind of wanting to hurry up the interrogation, so I could finally rid myself of the bag of crap.

Then, they went back to speak to the male and female police officers. I dashed out to the trash cans so I could throw away Noyzi’s poop. I was dressed in my nightgown, and it was still steadily raining. Nevertheless, the cops wanted to talk to me, too, and tried starting a conversation in the middle of our cul-de-sac. I looked up at the sky and suggested we talk on my stoop, which has benefit of a balcony for shelter from the rain.

The cops asked me to explain everything that happened, right down to showing them the label of my box, verifying that it was delivered by GLS. I described what I remembered of the man and his white van. Then they asked for my phone number, which I struggled to recall, since I don’t call myself or give that number out to too many people.

I noticed, as I was talking to the cops, that they were both VERY young looking. They looked like they were in their early 20s. The woman was quite pretty, too. Both of them spoke English, and they were very polite and even pleasant, and not in the typical “American” sense. Germans, as a rule, are more formal than Americans are.

Lately, I’ve been watching a lot of U.S. based police videos, and I’ve noticed a lot of the American cops are pretty horrible. In fairness, so are a lot of the people they have to deal with… so I guess it’s understandable that they’d be the way they are.

Still, I was quite impressed by the German cops I spoke to yesterday. They were very mature, thorough, and professional, even though they looked like they were barely adults. They took my neighbor’s complaint seriously, even though it was probably clear to them that the delivery was legit, and not some guy looking to break into their house while they’re gone. My non-existent hat is off to them!

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Our Heidelberger Birthday Holiday! Part four

After a nice “lie in”, as the Brits would put it, Bill and I headed down to breakfast, which I had pre-booked with the room. There are plenty of breakfast options nearby as well as a grocery store, so it wasn’t necessary to have breakfast at the hotel. But I like to try everything I can when I stay in a hotel, and this was a splurge. We were seated outside in the lovely garden area, and a very friendly and professional waitress seated us, brought us coffee, and a three tiered serving tree with smoked salmon and roe and mustard dill sauce, cold cuts, and cheeses. She also brought a basket of bread. There was a buffet in the dining room, but I never even looked at it, because she also offered eggs and bacon, which we did order. The orange juice was excellent– fresh squeezed– and if we’d wanted it, we could have had sparkling wine. I passed on the wine at breakfast to give my liver a much needed break.

I think my favorite item at breakfast was the excellent smoked salmon. The mustard dill sauce that came with it was a perfect accompaniment. Here are a few photos from breakfast.

  • An explanation of how things are done in the COVID-19 era.
  • We probably could have been satisfied with this alone…
  • The orange juice was very fresh and delicious. The cappuccino was delicious. I almost never have coffee drinks…
  • No German breakfast is complete without bread…
  • I had sunny side up eggs. Bill had scrambled. Good thing we took a walk and went swimming later.
  • Need to charge up? The hotel has you covered.

After breakfast, it was back to the Hauptstrasse, which was bustling with activity. It felt strange to be among so many people after hanging out with Bill alone for most of the year. We headed for the Neckar River, which famously runs through Heidelberg. We know this river well, because it also flows down near Stuttgart. The Neckar is a major right tributary of the Rhein River, which is probably Germany’s most famous. The Neckar passes through some pretty awesome German cities. According to Wikipedia, one can see and sail the Neckar in: Rottweil, Rottenburg am Neckar, Kilchberg, Tübingen, Wernau, Nürtingen, Plochingen, Esslingen, Stuttgart, Ludwigsburg, Marbach, Heilbronn, and Heidelberg.

There were several boats available for tours. In the distance, we noticed the Patria, which is a ship operated by the other spendy hotel I had considered booking. One can book a very special floating meal on that vessel, which cruises the Neckar. Maybe if we get a chance to go back to Heidelberg, we’ll try the Heidelburg Suites and take a cruise. Hopefully, the pandemic will be even more controlled by then. It looks really nice. Here are some photos from our morning walk.

  • A little library for the community! I always love to see these.
  • This wasn’t a windy street.
  • First view of the Neckar.
  • Hemingway’s Guest House. Apparently a very popular place. It was packed on Saturday night.
  • Care for a cruise? Take a Schnell Test.
  • These were all over the city. Thanks for the “food” (trash).
  • The black vessel in the background is the Patria.
  • Love locks have a small presence in Heidelberg, as they do in other parts of Europe.
  • The old bridge…
  • This is a historic building. I was sad to see it littered with graffiti.
  • But here’s the history…
  • Next door, someone had posted this. I guess public urination is an issue as people come back from drinking by the river.
  • Lovely flowers…
  • And if you want to shop for wine…
  • Make an appointment.
  • I liked the way the person on the second floor decorated with flowers.

Once again, we were steaming hot after our walk, which was pretty leisurely. We went back to the hotel and Bill booked us a slot at the pool. Because of COVID-19 regulations, it’s necessary to make appointments to use the pool and sauna area. We were assigned 1:00pm until 3:00pm, but when we got there, the spa manager said we could stay until 5:00pm if we wanted to. All we really wanted was a quick dip and a few laps. There were a few other parties who joined us, so we had to be extra considerate about sharing the pool. Only two people are allowed in the pool at a time and they have to be from the same household. Did I mention what a pain in the ass COVID-19 is? Still, everyone was considerate, so it was a nice way to cool off. We were satisfied after about 45 minutes and decided to go find a snack to tide us over before dinner.

  • Quiet please!
  • The pool. In the left corner by the window, you can turn on jets.
  • The spa manager said they usually offered more in the bar area, but again– COVID-19. Still, one can have cold water or coffee.
  • A view from the terrace. There’s a high wall, so I had aim the camera over it.
  • There’s a rainfall shower out there, too.
  • Another view.
  • And a look at the courtyard from the terrace.
  • COVID-19 rules. They weren’t a huge deal for us.

Since we had dinner reserved for 7:00, we decided to have a snack to keep us going until then. As we walked along Hauptstrasse, we became aware of a commotion. A man wearing mismatched blue socks had set up a station near the Galeria– a great place to be on a hot day, thanks to the super strong air conditioning that can be felt all the way across the street. He had a dog and a sign asking for money. He was yelling at someone.

My German isn’t so great, but I noticed two people– a young man and an older woman– holding a heavyset, middle-aged woman with straight black hair and many tattoos on her legs. People were crowded around, gawking at the scene. She was screaming and fighting, and I got the sense that maybe she’d been caught shoplifting or something… or maybe had even tried to rip off the guy begging for change. She was wearing what looked like Birkenstock slip on sandals, which had come off her feet during the struggle. The man and woman who were wrestling with her were being humane enough. The guy handed one of her shoes to a bystander, but she slipped from their grasp before she managed to put them on. The woman took off running barefoot down a side street, and she quickly disappeared.

One thing I noticed was that no one seemed to be videoing her, which I thought was pretty classy. I think in America, there would be many people training their phones on the spectacle. I don’t know what happened, but it appeared to me that she was up to no good. Someone probably did get a video… but at least it wasn’t everyone.

We stopped at the Dubliner Bar, an Irish pub and hotel. The inside looked really nice. I kind of wished we’d flashed our vaccination paperwork so we could sit in there and listen to the excellent classic rock they were playing– American music in Germany at an Irish pub! But we sat in the Biergarten instead, which was small and lacked umbrellas. The one table in the shade was booked, so I ended up sitting in God’s flashlight for about 30 minutes. Still, it was an enjoyable stop. We used our QR code scanner to see the menu on our phones, although printed menus are also available, of course!

  • Another dirty joke.
  • Bill decided to have a Guinness, even though it’s a winter drink.
  • So I made a filthy comment about creamy head… it’s probably the closest he’s come to it in a long time.
  • We shared a finger food basket– fries, baked potatoes, spicy chicken wings, mozzarella sticks, chicken strips, and calamari. It came with three dips and mayo and ketchup.
  • I stuck with German beer. I prefer Guinness when the temperatures are cooler.
  • He’s a very good and patient husband who indulges me endlessly…

The Dubliner appears to be very popular. The waitress told us the tables in the back were all reserved, probably so people could watch soccer. I think if I wanted to watch sports, I’d rather do it at home. But we were only there for fuel. While I was sitting there, my watch started ringing– probably because my phone was near. This was the first time I ever got a phone call on the Apple Watch. It was the restaurant, Chambao, which is where we enjoyed Saturday night’s dinner. They were calling to make sure we were still coming, since they were fully booked. Apparently, people have a habit of making reservations and not showing up. I assured the caller we’d be there… and boy, did I make a great dinner choice! More on that in the next post.

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camping, United States

A random travel memory from my youth…

Warning: this is kind of a horrifying story about a trip I took to the Eastern Shore when I was about ten years old. It was originally posted on the Blogspot version of my Overeducated Housewife blog. I would put it on my newer WordPress version of that blog, but when it comes down to it, this is a travel story… and this blog needs some love. So here’s my mortifying camping story from the 80s. It’s not for the faint of heart!

The featured photo is of a 1977 Volkswagen Westfalia camper van. My dad had one exactly like it back in the early 80s. In fact, this guy’s video below shows a van that looks very much like the one my dad had, right down to the green plaid upholstery. Wonder if it also smells like pancake syrup, like my dad’s van did… When the top wasn’t popped, I could swing on the bar used to push up the camper top as we cruised down the interstates. In those days, kids didn’t have to be strapped down.

Here goes…

Back in the early 80s, when I was about nine years old, I went with a friend to Annapolis, Maryland.  I stayed with her and her grandparents for about a week.  Then my parents picked me up and we drove back to Virginia by way of the Eastern Shore.  I seem to remember stopping in Chincoteague and Assateague, where there are wild ponies. 

Being a horse crazy kid, I was pretty excited about visiting there.  My dad was driving an ugly, bright orange, VW van with a popup top.  I remember spending the night in it at a campground in Maryland.  The next morning, my dad decided he wanted to go swimming in the pool.  I went with him.  Unbeknownst to us, the pool was closed, but for some reason, we were able to access it.

After a few minutes, my dad got out of the pool, but left me in the water.  Next thing I know, I hear this old man yell “Hey!  What’s that kid doing in the pool?!” 

I quickly got out.  He confronted me, asking what I was doing swimming.  I told him my dad had gone swimming and I was with him.  The guy said, “Oh, so your father can’t read either?  There’s no swimming when no one’s around!”  In retrospect, I realize that guy was unnecessarily mean to me, but at the time, I was really humiliated and upset.  I’m sure he yelled at me because he was worried about liability, but as a young girl, I didn’t know about such things.  He made me cry.

Mortified by the man’s sharp words, I ran back to the camper, where I refused to sit on a seat, lest someone see me.  My parents took me to breakfast at a Hardee’s.  Because it was late morning, I wanted a cheeseburger, but they weren’t serving them and my dad said, “This is one of those places where you have to order what they want to serve you at the time they want to serve it.”  

My parents hadn’t seen the guy yell at me, and when I told my dad about it, he kind of blew it off.  I stayed upset, though, because it was his fault I was in the water in the first place.  And hell, he hadn’t even gotten me out of the water when he decided to get out himself.  As an adult, I realize how stupid that was.  Nowadays, someone might have called CPS.  Fortunately, the only harm was my extreme embarrassment and shame.

Later that day, we went to Assateague and Chincoteague. I remember going to the beach at Assateague, marveling at how much less crowded it was than Virginia Beach usually is. We drove through the national park and picked up a book about the wild ponies, though I don’t remember if I actually saw any. I did have a friend in school who owned a Chincoteague pony and used to win a lot of awards with her in barrel racing. Then later, we visited a water slide… the very first one I had ever been on in my lifetime, at that point.

It was a pretty cool slide and I couldn’t wait to get on it.  As I was about to sit down, I slipped and went down backwards.  I was terrified, but apparently going down backwards impressed a bunch of people, including a cute teenaged boy who congratulated me for my “bravery”, even though I had only gone down backwards because I’d totally slipped and fallen.  The water slide fame made up for the scary encounter with the campground guy.

Over the years, I remembered that trip so fondly. Even the campground was kind of fun… at least before the guy yelled at me. I haven’t been able to visit Chincoteague or Assateague since then, but I always fantasized about going back, and maybe riding the slide again.

Don’t read any further if you’re squeamish…

Years later, I wondered about that water slide. Out of a sense of nostalgia, I went looking for evidence that it still existed. I finally found it when I read a story about the man who had owned the slide at a water park he and a friend had opened called “Wet & Wild”.

Turns out he was a sex offender named James Jenkins, and years after the water slide closed, he got caught molesting a 13 year old girl. That, in and of itself might be shocking, except for the fact that Jenkins was so upset about his uncontrollable urges to molest little girls that, in 2003, he decided to castrate himself with a razor while taking a shower in jail. He’d asked a guard for a razor so he could be clean shaven for court the next day. The guard had hesitated, but then gave him the razor. Jenkins put an apple in his mouth to muffle his screams and tied a shoelace around his scrotum as he removed his own testicles. Having cut them off, he then flushed them down a toilet in the jail.

Needless to say, I was shocked to read about that.  At the time that I found the news story, it was the only thing I could find that mentioned the 80s era water slide in Chincoteague that I remembered so well.  I don’t think the slide is still in existence.  I’ve looked for pictures or mentions of it.  I’m pretty positive that Jenkins’ slide was the one we visited because, at the time, it was the only slide in the area.  

So, on that trip to Chincoteague on the way home, not only did I get yelled at by a scary, mean old man at a campground, but I also visited a water slide owned by a pervert.  And not only was the guy a pervert, but he later actually took it upon himself to cut off his own balls with a razor and flush them down the toilet. The up side to this story is, Jenkins later said that castrating himself “saved him” from his obsessions.

And all those years, I thought it was the mean guy at the campground who was offensive.

I’m glad childhood is over.

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Our first French Christmas, part eight…

Our hosts at Au Miracle du Pain Doré were out in the vineyards when we arrived at their gite the second time, so they left the front gate unlocked and the keys by the front door. Checking in was simple, especially since we’d been there the week prior. Bill was pretty rattled about the car and even worried the people who punctured our tire might have even put something on the car to track it. Fortunately, they were complete amateurs. We found nothing on the car and it was totally safe outside of the gite, under a streetlamp.

Bill went to the supermarket, which was within walking distance of the gite, and picked up essentials for Friday night’s dinner and Saturday’s breakfast. The next morning, he got to work on reporting the crime. First, he called USAA to tell them about the tires, which apparently weren’t covered on our policy. Even if they had been, we have a $500 deductible, and today is New Year’s Eve. USAA took down our info and Bill later got a call from the German USAA liaison working out of Frankfurt, who was sympathetic.

Next, he called ADAC (German auto club) to ask about where to locate tires. He went to two places on Saturday. One couldn’t help at all. The other “fixed” the tire by patching the sidewall and advising us not to go further than 100 kilometers. Germany is, of course, much further than 100 kilometers from Beaune. Still, he made it so we could at least drive around the city if we needed to. The hole in the tire was near the tread, but still in the sidewall. We learned that driving on a patched sidewall, especially at high speeds, is a recipe for disaster. Bill is usually super safety conscious, but I think he was worried about getting home for work. Fortunately, good sense prevailed and he axed the idea of trying to drive on the patched tire.

Our poor tire.

ADAC was very communicative and helpful. They called us a few times to coordinate where to find tires. Yes, that’s right. We had to buy two of them, because French law dictates that unless you find the exact same brand of tire, you must buy two tires that match per axle. We couldn’t find a single Pirelli brand tire that was damaged on the Volvo, so we had to buy a pair of Bridgestone tires. That was 470 euros yesterday, when we finally found a place that had them in stock.

Bill then went to the local police station in Beaune, where he was told by the one English speaker working there that he’d have to go to the Gendarmerie, since the crime hadn’t happened in Beaune proper. So Bill drove the Volvo to the Gendarmerie office and spoke to two sympathetic but non English speaking ladies who used Google Translate to take his statement. They seemed shocked and relieved that we weren’t robbed and told Bill that there are gangs of people doing this… not just in France, but in places all around Europe. Hell, I think it happens in the States sometimes, too. It’s a well-known crime that probably doesn’t get reported as often as it happens.

Since it was clear we weren’t going to be able to leave Beaune on Sunday, as we’d planned, we asked the owners of the gite if we could extend our reservation. Much to our surprise, they let us stay Sunday night free of charge! That was really nice of them and completely unexpected.

Unfortunately, due to all the time spent running around Beaune trying to get the tire mess sorted out, our plans to shop were thwarted. But France doesn’t totally close down on Sundays the way Germany does, so we were able to get a few bottles on the “Lord’s day”. We walked into downtown Beaune and Bill bought a few nice bottles from one of many wine shops in Beaune. Then we stopped at a cafe and had a glass as the sun went down. Yes, it was cold, but they had outdoor heaters going… and Arran was mostly good until he met a female bulldog in a pink jacket who apparently said something he didn’t like. He raised a little ruckus, but everybody just laughed at him and kept drinking their wine or coffee. It was kind of nice not to be scowled at. Here are some pictures from the weekend.

  • French “sliders”… they were pretty good. They had ketchup, cheese, and pickles on them.
  • A shot of chocolate mousse in a glass! We bought it at the store.
  • A salmon quiche… French frozen food is pretty good heated up.
  • At first, I thought that silver tower might be a portable toilet… but it was actually a projector.
  • One of the wine stores we visited.
  • Are they in line for crepes, vin chaude, or waffles?
  • Nice little cafe…
  • I love this picture of Bill. He’s stylin!
  • More cafes, including the one where we ate last week.
  • We went in this place…
  • But no one was home.
  • If wine from Burgundy is what you love, Beaune is your place.

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Our first French Christmas, part one…

Bonjour, faithful readers. I am currently sitting in Beaune, France. We were here in this same gite (holiday home) a week ago, when we were on our way to Nimes to see my friend, Audra. Now we’re on our way back to Germany, and I have arranged to stay at the same house until tomorrow morning, provided we can get out of here due to a misfortune we encountered yesterday at a rest stop. More on that later. For now, I want to start at the beginning and explain how it was that we’ve had a “French Christmas”.

Audra is American, and we met back in 1987, when we were students at Gloucester High School in Gloucester, Virginia. We both had the same journalism and world history classes during the 1987-88 school year. When we met, I was fifteen and she was fourteen. We got to be friendly in journalism class, since it was a course that required collaboration.

It wasn’t just school that brought us together. Our dads were friends back in the day. Both were Air Force veterans who participated in singing groups in Gloucester. Audra and I are also both graduates of Longwood College, now known as Longwood University, in Farmville, Virginia. We didn’t run in the same crowd when we were at Longwood, so it’s only been within the past ten years ago, through Facebook, that we’ve become closer.

Back in May 2014, Bill and I took our third military “hop” from Baltimore, Maryland. He was on “terminal leave” from the Army, just before he retired. We landed at Ramstein and decided to travel through France by train. On that trip, which I’ve chronicled in this blog, we visited Reims, Dijon, a suburb of Lyon, Nimes, and Nice. Then we flew from Nice to Frankfurt, took a quick trip to the Rhein, and flew from Ramstein back to the States. You can find the story of that trip by searching the blog, although I haven’t yet gotten around to reformatting it since I moved my blog from Blogger to WordPress. I will fix those posts when I get home to my desktop computer. When they’re fixed, I’ll link them to this post.

We visited Audra, her then boyfriend, Cyril, and Audra’s kids during that 2014 trip. A few weeks after we got back to Texas, where we were living at the time, Bill got a job in Stuttgart, Germany. We moved back to Europe, and ever since then, Audra and I were hoping to arrange another rendezvous. A few months ago, she and Cyril, who is now her husband, invited us to spend Christmas with them. They even invited our dog, Arran.

Originally, the plan was that we’d stay at their house, since two of Audra’s children were visiting their dad. But since Audra has cats and Bill is allergic, and Arran loves to harass cats, we decided to book another gite in Nimes. Beaune, which is where I am right now, is roughly halfway between Nimes and Wiesbaden. It’s actually slightly closer to Nimes. I had originally tried to find another gite in a different city, but had difficulty finding one that offered what we wanted and was pet friendly. So here we are, once again, at Au Miracle du Pain Doré, a charming apartment within walking distance of Beaune’s lovely center.

Today’s plan was, originally, to go into town and purchase some wine to bring back to Wiesbaden with us. Unfortunately, we were victimized at the rest stop at the northbound rest stop heading into Beaune. We had stopped so I could pee and we could let our hosts know that we were almost at our destination. During what was intended to be a short stop, a lowlife criminal gouged a hole in one of our tires. So, instead of wine shopping and wrapping up what was a mostly wonderful trip to France, Bill is making a police report and trying to come up with a way to fix our car so that it will get us back to Germany. He did manage to get the tire patched, which makes me a bit nervous, since the gouge was on the sidewall. But the other option is to have the car towed home, since the local tire shop did not have the size we need and we can’t drive it with the “donut” tire spare. The closer we get to Germany, the better… I just hope we don’t have a blowout and cause an accident.

I’m pretty sure the asshole who punctured our tire was hoping to relieve us of our dirty underwear. Unfortunately, this scam is rampant in Europe. Pirates linger near high speed roads and damage motorists’ tires, then offer “help” while an accomplice steals purses, electronics, and whatever else they can find. They target tourists, especially those in rental cars. Tourists are more likely to be unfamiliar with the area, loaded with cash and valuables, and eager to accept “friendly” help. They’re also less likely to make police reports and press charges.

We were not robbed yesterday. I think the would-be crook was spooked when I stayed in the car with Arran and Bill got on the phone with ADAC, one of Germany’s auto clubs. He lingered for a moment, then vanished once Bill gave him the stink-eye. Still, he and his maggot accomplice managed to ruin a perfectly good tire that has only been on the car since July, when it was built in Sweden. And though he’s given me a new life experience and a good story for this blog, I am actually a bit concerned about our safety tomorrow. If it weren’t going to be a Sunday, I think we’d wait and try to get a new tire. If you’re the praying type and you don’t mind, please offer up a few kind words for us.

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