In the Footsteps of Rübezahl

Raindrops drum on the roof and wake me from sweet dreams of streets where milk and Pilsner flow. We are standing at the Czech border. 

I have a week off, and I thought about following my roots, choosing the Oder source near Olomouc as my travel destination, right in our southeastern neighboring country. After all, I grew up on the banks of the border river.

The caravan still needs repairs sitting in the garden at home, and now the heavy rain drips onto the robber's cave. The hero takes the small stove from the mobile catering box, which has already become quite wet in front of the car door. Today, breakfast is served in the smallest camper space, and we look out into the gray morning. 

The forecasts for the coming travel days are also rather mixed, and we miss the warm and dry luxury of the Mistral just a little bit. But do we want to waste the precious vacation time with complaining? Absolutely not! 

Monsieur has discovered a very special attraction in the Giant Mountains as a stop on the way to the Oder source. At the Polish-Czech border, the Adršpašsko-Teplické skály can be admired, a grouping of sandstone rocks covering an area of more than 17 square kilometers. A labyrinth of rocky wonders and superlatives, an unforgettable natural phenomenon. We definitely do not want to miss this and head east. As if to confirm the change of plans, a sunbeam peeks through the thick clouds and lifts our spirits. 

The roads are narrow and bumpy, with many potholes, the drive takes a while, and soon we are looking for a spot for the night. A spot becomes available by a babbling brook; nearby, a rustic trappers' camp has a campfire going. A burly nature guy in a lumberjack look passes by our campsite with his imposing mastiff on the evening dog walk and warns urgently about local wild boars. 

They take off at the sound of my awkward strumming on the travel guitar, and we secure our food bear-proof in locked pantries out of habit. Therefore, after a bucket shower by the brook, we can continue on the path to the mythical rock town without incidents. 

We get shaken up properly on Czech roads, not just stirred, take a detour to a traffic jam on the young Elbe with Rapunzel towers, and need a lunch break just before reaching our destination in Adršpašsko. Both of us are puzzled by an electronic display in the narrow alley that announces 'Osvědčený' in red letters. Red rarely means good, and after consulting Google Translate, we suspect that all parking options at the destination are taken. 

The further research reveals that during peak season, several thousand visitors storm the highlight daily, it is advisable to book online tickets in advance, and to be prepared for long waiting times. Entrance and parking fees amount to 20 - 30 euros. Not only do we have the mega-super-peak season, but we also have Saturday, meaning it's the weekend! 

But we won't let ourselves be blown off course so quickly. After a little break with a strengthening lunch snack, we pack our things and want to explore the circumstances with our own eyes. 

No, too much was not promised: jagged rock formations pull along a strikingly long and high wall seemingly endlessly across the horizon. Just like the hordes of onlookers, travelers, vacationers, the curious, guests, hikers, and pensioners.

There are ice cream stands, fries, Pilsner, and small rock cities made of plastic available for purchase. Everyone who owns even the smallest piece of land sells it as parking to the highest bidder. There is an overwhelming hustle and bustle, a commotion and press. I have the Riquewihr effect: I need to get out of here! 

After the hero has let pedestrians cross the street at the zebra crossing for a whole ten minutes, he seizes the gap that two ice-cream-smeared kids leave and initiates our escape from the tourist hell. We will come back in winter. 

At the end of my nerves and on the edge of a panic attack, I must, to my endless chagrin, realize that my irreplaceable, precious, and beloved Tour de France mountain stage cap with the wonderful red dots has disappeared.

Oh no-oh no-oh no! This fantastic headgear has provided me with indescribable service against the sun, is an irreplaceable memento of our very first tour stage in the French Pyrenees, accompanies me on countless small and large trips, and has become unimaginably dear to my heart. Is this treasure now to be lost forever?

We scour the entire robber's cave for hour after hour. Every bag, every crack, every hollow is searched, examined, and turned inside out. Nothing! I am inconsolable and have to wipe a tear from the corner of my eye. Oh no-oh no-oh no! 

My hero embraces me and always has good advice: we rattle back over the entire bumpy stretch through the Giant Mountains. We drive every single kilometer. 

We rattle over tracks with countless potholes to the garbage container in Trutnov - no cap with red dots on white background.

We pass elongated road villages with the roughest bumps on the asphalt to the Elbe jam at Dvůr Králové nad Labem - no sun hat in the unauthorized, well-occupied parking lot! 

I even crawl under the blue Škoda, watched with curiosity by Saturday excursionists. No, the snazzy speedster has not come to a stop over my headgear.

I am getting more and more discouraged, despair written all over my face. Now the piece of clothing can only have remained at the start of our stage today, which is very unlikely because we always take one last look at possible forgotten items when departing - from painful experience! What beautiful things have not been left behind at nice places and had to be picked up again?! Corkscrews, slippers, glasses, shoes, frying pans with roasted chicken legs - we could tell stories! 

After what feels like endless hours rattling over what feels like endless kilometers of bumpy, narrow, pothole-filled Giant Mountain roads, we land again by the brook. In the trappers camp, the fire is already being lit again. 

And a million rock cities fall from my heart; it is hardly believable! The wonderful, irreplaceable, precious, mountain jersey cap filled with countless memories lies in the tall grass by the bubbling water!

Now I remember again: I took a photo to translate the sign in the bushes. An info that merely states that fishing is prohibited. 

I am happy! I hold my cap as tight as I can. It has gotten a little bit of red mud on it and looks slightly battered, as if the tractor had rolled over it. But I have it back in my hands, pressing it against my heart with thick tears of joy and will now take special care of it. 

You can bet on that.