The Black Forest: Can't Quit You
You keep showing up in my thoughts—and I’m not sure how I feel about it.
Going to the Black Forest felt like chasing a mirage. It reminded me of that time I met a Russian woman on a train in Alaska. We became fast friends, and five months later, on a whim, we booked a flight to Romania the night before Christmas.
Why Romania you ask? It has to do with Jimi Hendrix, an Irish pub and a lamp shade…a story I will have to tell later. Anyways, she had grand illusions of visiting some idyllic ski town, and I... well, I just had illusions.
When we got to Romania, it felt like stepping into a dark fairy tale—eerie, magical, and just a little too real. Naturally, I assumed the Black Forest would give me the same vibe.
It didn’t. Instead, I kept finding myself dropped into cities with hiking trails around their edges, teasing me with glimpses of this sprawling, mythical woodland. Apparently, the Black Forest is way bigger than I thought—less National Park, more entire region of Germany.
By the time I got to Freiburg, I was determined to actually walk in this fabled forest. I hoofed it 40 minutes to find a trailhead, already wondering if I should’ve just stuck it out in Offenburg and planned better. When I finally found the trail, I was tired but committed. I started hiking upward, and about 20 minutes in, I came to a fork in the path. On a rock nearby sat a tiny polar bear stuffed animal.
Now, here’s the thing about me: I’ve been writing down my dreams since 1993. Hundreds, thousands of dreams—documented, dictated, and archived like some kind of dream historian. The night before, I’d had a dream about me, my brother, penguins and a polar bear. I’m not lying. I know it sounds fantastical, but I can’t make this stuff up. What am I tapped into? No idea. But there it was, a polar bear, giving me direction.
Its little arms together in a happy prayer while its face looked on towards the path on the left, so I followed. I mean, why not? It was getting late—about 5:00—and I knew I’d already walked two hours just to get to this point. Should I turn back? Probably. Did I? Of course not.
I picked up my pace, hoping to reach the top before the daylight ran out.
In my mind, once I reached the top, I was going to see the entire country of Germany before me in one breathtaking panorama.
Instead, I reached the top and saw... more trees. I won’t lie; I was a little disappointed. But there was only one way down, so I turned around and started descending.
As the sun dipped lower, it painted the hillsides and houses in golden light, and for a moment, it was worth every step.
By the time I made it back to the bottom, it was close to 7:00. The next train was leaving soon, and the thought of waiting an extra hour for the next one wasn’t appealing. So, I ran. Me, running through Freiburg like I was escaping some fairy-tale witch in a forest I couldn’t find.
I made it onto the train, breathless but victorious. I had planned to make another stop on the way back, but by then, I was done. The day had wrung me out, and I needed to rest. The next morning, I’d leave for Chartres, saying goodbye to Germany. I was sad, most of my train rides through Germany had been at night, so I’d barely seen the countryside.
Tomorrow, though, I’d take the train to Paris and then on to Chartres—a place I was supposed to go to right after the castle. But, admittedly, I was too scared to do it. I didn’t think I could navigate my way around Europe, and now? Look at me. Trusting polar bears to guide me, leaving dinner dates in the dust and a train-catching pro. #stillwinning.