A brilliant blue lake surrounded by lush, rolling mountains, covered in the deep green of bordering-on-black forest. Schwartzwald. Titisee. The sun breaking the water’s surface into a million glimmers of spangles. Boats loaded down with day-trippers, scuttling off into the deep center of the lake, pampering each guest with cooling breezes and a cloudless sky. The tourist industry is alive and well here, as the dozens of shops lining the main street from the train station to the lake attest.
I pass ticking cuckoo clocks and racks spilling over with sunhats and tacky t-shirts and follow, instead, the smell of fresh fruits laid out underneath a striped awning. I cave for a basket of ripe strawberries, and plop myself down on a shady bench overlooking the lake and vendors offering paddleboat and canoe rentals. As I finish devouring yet another berry, I look up to find a dark-haired hunk staring in my direction. His eyes hidden behind darkly shaded sunglasses, I can’t be certain it’s me he’s looking at. But I smile back coyly as I bite into yet another berry, and watch as he leads two customers to the dock, where they clamber into a chunky paddleboat and being ploughing through the placid waters.His long legs and muscular upper body are more tempting then the strawberries I’m cradling in a plastic basket, and finding my appetite for the tasty fruit suddenly diminished, head off in the direction of a new craving. I work my way down to the shore and stand in line at the ticket counter to buy myself an hour of boat time in one of the empty canoes shored in the ochre sand. (To be honest, I was contemplating renting a canoe before even arriving at the lake, but seeing how expertly this suave, mysterious man handled his watercraft sealed the deal. Besides, I wasn’t going to leave without at least getting his name.)
The man at the desk motions me toward a two-person canoe, and I wait there, more than patiently, until this dark-haired stranger emerges from the dock and we are face to face. We exchange smiles and he asks where the man is. Where is the man…. What man… Oh! No man! He’s hitting on me, and I densely pick up on it, almost too late. I tip my half-eaten basket of strawberries in his direction and I sneak a peek at his chiselled arms as he reaches for one.His name is Feme, he’s a Serbian born and raised, and has spent the past ten years living near Titisee where he works as a boat captain. I can feel my mouth stretching into a giddy school-girl grin as he talks. His English is basic, but the accent is killer. And that smile… I’m so curious what those eyes look like underneath his shades that I nearly reach for them myself. But minding my manners, I ask him instead what he’s doing for lunch. He’s working straight through until 7 PM, he tells me. I shrug disappointedly, feeling his eyes search me for interest. And reaching an impasse, as he’s about to be called away to yet another customer, he pushes me out into the lake, water ruffling along the sides of my canoe as I take the oars and paddle out to infinity.
An hour later, I return my canoe to the dock, and manage to take my sweet time packing up my few belongings while Feme makes his way over. We small-talk for a minute or two, and finally, I tell him I’ll stop by before I leave for the day, to say goodbye. And with that, I’m off, walking along the lakeside trail that leads up into the Black Forest bordering south. The trail itself is scenic and cool, mostly shaded from the tall, imposing trees. I stop midway back on a sunny bench next to a lakeside café and stretch out, drenching my skin in the sunlight and feeling my body grow limp as the sun’s warmth works its magic on my muscles. Before long, I sink into a shallow sleep and wake, nearly an hour later, a bit groggy as I wipe sweat from my brow. I check my watch. It’s only 4 PM. I decide to head back, say goodbye to dream-boy, and take the next train in to Freiburg. But when I get to the dock, that smile just melts me. And I tell him I’ll be back. 7 PM. Look for me.Later that evening, after indulging myself with the region’s famous dessert, Schwartzwald-torte (Black Forest Cake, layers of chocolate sponge sandwiched between thick cream, a thick cherry filling, and – yes, I can taste it – a strong cherry-flavored liquer), I head back to the dock. I purposely show a few minutes late, not wanting to appear too over-anxious.
Feme’s colleague sees me coming and calls to him from a storage shed where Feme is hidden from my sight. He emerges, a look of surprise on his face. He didn’t think I’d return. We walk part-way around the lake together, trying to scrape together an intelligible conversation with the bits and pieces of English that he can speak. Since I don’t know a lick of German, I’m at his mercy.Using his special-privelege captain’s key, he unlocks one of the canoes from the line where they’re tied up for the night, and pushes me out into the water. For the second time today. And then he jumps in the boat with me. He rows and rows, and I watch the mountains recede as his arms pump the paddles in a rhythmic motion to the middle of the still water. There is no one around, no one to share the water space. It’s all ours. We own the lake and hell, the mountains around it to. We stay there in the silence as the sun begins to arc across the sky, and share a few romantic moments before paddling back to the shore, and walking on to the train station, where we say our goodbyes. This was most certainly the most romantic night of my travels thus far, with most probably the best looking guy I’ve crossed paths with. And it will be a long time before I forget Feme, the cherry on my Black Forest cake.
~Melanie
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