The excursion did not begin auspiciously. Mom, Dad, my three-year-old brother, Casey, and I piled into the trusty Volvo we'd had shipped over from the States, but when Dad turned the key, the engine wouldn't start. We made it to the bus depot in time, but when we tried to board, the driver claimed that we had paid for just one person. After Dad produced our receipt, we were allowed to get on, only to find that passengers were already squeezed in two to a seat. Three uncomfortable hours later, we stopped at a roadside Gasthaus, where we were met with cold blood sausage and potatoes. Mom was horrified. Dad nibbled cautiously. My brother and I made do with crackers. Outside, the sky darkened and the temperature dropped.