Christ, what a day. We hit the road from Trier at 8 this morning, German time, for a 548-kilometer (er, 340-mile) burn across southern Germany to Mittenwald, this tiny hamlet tucked away in the Bavarian Alps. A couple of hours in, as we navigated the tunnels and narrow river valleys of the upper Black Forest, a blip of German radio news broke through: ". . . blah blah scheigen fergen swaller explosion blerghof London derkaderk doppel-decker bus auf blahgerzwei Russell Square dergblekkerdanke . . ." Holy crap. We flipped around, and over the next half hour or so, what we gleaned or thought we gleaned from the German gibberish -- neither of us has any working handle on the language -- only instilled in us a deep sense of unease. Did he just say a bus
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