Taking Castles For Granted     By Katie Atherton The Rhine River valley in Germany is the place my dad told me was like a fairytale when I was a kid. I don’t know what sort of fairy tale you would have in your childish, demented head, but mine was the most, magical, romantical, fantastical in the world. Think flowers, chocolate chip cookies, unicorns …in the sunlight…with rainbows. So one day, I decided to go. I researched for months. I researched my little heart out. For eight months I looked forward to this trip. I wondered if it would be everything I’d dreamed it would be. The language barrier was about the only thing I wasn’t freaking out about. The Web site searches were valuable and gave me the routes I needed. I figured out what trains to take ahead of time, where to stay, and I even studied the history of the area. When you work in a cubicle that sucks the life out of you on a daily basis, what better way to escape the monotony than to research a trip? When the office gossips went into a frenzy about the newest inane topic, I was thinking about the castle we’d stay in overlooking the river. Let me tell you a story of how this started. Once upon a time, in a land far far away (or San Jose Ca, whatever) I would sneak a book called “The Rhine River Valley” off the bookshelves at home. My dad had it since the 1950’s and it had all black and white pictures of the ruined castles, vineyards on steep hillsides, the quaint towns with cobblestone streets, and views of the Rhine River twisting its way past the steeples and clock towers. I figured that since the book was more than forty years old, the Rhine River valley would be overrun with billboards, McDonalds, and cheap tourist rip off stands. Finally the day came and we got on a plane. You’re wondering if it was like a fairytale when we got there. Are you ready to know the answer? Drum roll please…. It was as friggin’ cool as I thought it would be. And then some. Cruising the Rhine River valley from Mainz north to Koblenz, there are 30 castles to keep your mind occupied. The largest dates from the year 1245, Burg Rheinfels, in a tiny town called St. Goar. It’s peaceful as the sun goes down on the green hills over the river. There are no glaring lights, no signs pointing to the castles; they just sit there as they have year after year. Walking into a low-lit local bar in Mainz, the bored girl behind the bar recognizes an out of place American and asks in perfect English, “why did you come here?” As much as I’d dreamed about visiting her backyard, it seemed she could care less about it. You can go to Vegas, walk the strip in the hot sun, pay $20 to get in a club, and check out all the backless wonders strolling through the casinos. Don’t get me wrong, I happen to have had some great times there. But let’s face it, those are trips designed for spending dough and getting some hearty American instant satisfaction. A trip that is hungered for is worth more as the years go by. I can’t remember most of my Vegas trips. This could be the result of too many $12 blue martinis, but the point is that I appreciate the places I go based more on how much thought has gone into them. How could I ever explain this to the bored girl behind the bar? She’s too busy dreaming about visiting Vegas for me to bother.