Figs From Thistles: Schloss Freudenberg

Deutsche Welle, DW, recently published a missive that quoted various politicians (including Merkel) going on record as wanting to expand the German work week to 40 hours versus the current 37 hours in order to bolster the enervated German economy. Incidentally, Germany offers its employees (on the norm) eight weeks of vacation each year (when one considers the inordinate amount of national/regional holidays), the highest the number of vacation days of any EU country.

What does this have to do with Schloss Freudenberg? The 37 hour work work is buoyed up by the fact that nearly every kind of establishment closes their doors on Sundays: groceries, shopping centers, et al. I can't say if the closures are due to religious reverence or not. Typically, J and I take the kiddos on long bike rides, on picnics or to parks on Sundays. I was surprised to learn that Schloss Freudenberg, a kind of sensory/art museum, held Sunday hours. I also learned that hands-on activities negate the need for me to translate which was an added bonus.

The museum itself was housed in a one-time elegant but now crude building what with its peeling paint and uneven floorboards. The kiddos were drawn into the exhibits which catered to one sense or another: prisms, musical instruments, scents, jars meant to be reached in to filled with various concealed materials, and a Dunkelbar, which was arguably the best 'exhibit.'

The Dunkelbar was a 12-seat cafe of sorts which was pitch black; in fact, the barkeeper was blind. After being led to bar stools by the hostess, who instructed that we all join hands, we sat waiting for our eyes to adjust to the darkness when Sebastian, the barkeeper, approached and asked for drink orders. A temporary fog of madness overcame us as we ordered GRAPE JUICE for the kiddos (something we are really reserved about serving them even in the light for fear of spills and indelible stains), hot chocolate and cake. Log was fearful that he would be made to eat something gruesome and expressed concern that Sebastian might trick him into eating something unsavory like snails which Sebastian found quite funny.

Enveloped by silence and dark, we were surprised to hear Sebastian's voice in close range reaching for our hands and indicating where he'd placed the grape juice bottles, cakes and hot chocolate. Based on taste alone, I'd surmise a guess that the cake was filled with apricot jam and dusted with pulverized almonds. Poor Log seared his face on the glass chocolate mug when he bent his head to sniff it having misjudged the distance.

We could eventually hear the conversation of others seated around the bar, and Sebastian moved deftly here and there delivering drinks he'd prepared. After twenty minutes of sitting in the dark, Log began to panic. Sebastian kindly offered that we needn't stay for the musical performance, and I groped in my wallet (in the dark) for a 20 Euro bill and hoped that I hadn't given him something larger.

Change in hand, we felt our way to the exit by following bar stools and walls; panic really set in for Log then. Sebastian then verbally directed me as to where the exit was located but Log cried out each time he struck a new texture with his hand: radiator, leather bar stools, smooth walls, fabric curtains. Sebastian then walked along the curvature(?) of the bar speaking to me so that Log and I could follow the direction of his voice. Deposited in the daylight once more, our eyes reflexively shut again as the light scorched our retinas. Log then announced he was thankful for his eyesight.

Back of the Schloss which overlooked a playground that employed laws of physics in its swings, balancing wheels and beams

Littlest enjoyed tightening and slacking strings to make different sounds.

I couldn't help but laugh heartily as Log enthusiastically pumped various smells down rubber tubing only to be met with things like pepper and body odor which caused him to retch and recoil in disgust. Don't worry, though: he also smelled pleasant things, too!