MUNICH, GERMANY -- Day two in Germany and I'm already getting a severe education in everything.

The first awakening came while checking out of the Hotel Pension Schmellergarten in Munich. Paying the bill, I met Max and Julie, who were in Munich for his brother's wedding and both spoke incredible English.

Julie works for Germany's public radio and Max is a big biker. I sat and picked their brains for travel tips; both agreed I should get a better map than the AAA version I brought from home.

"A bike store or book store will carry maps specifically showing bike trails," said Max who had short, brown hair, thin rectangle glasses and looked dressed for the wedding.

The topic of lodging and youth hostels came up and Max bluntly said he didn't think youth hostels would be an option. "I stayed in them when I was in Ireland and Spain," I said.

Max, asked how many years ago that was, because the government now subsidizes hostels and there's a strict age restriction.

I pressed Max for more detail. "Youth is basically what they're looking for," he said with as much empathy as he could muster.

Maps

With one foot in the grave, I set out on the day. The plan was to get out of Munich to a more comfortable community.

I picked up a map, the Deutschland Sud Travel Mag, which included Munich and much of the southern region of Germany.

The map is about the size of a stage curtain and about as easy to fold. Once I'm on my way, I find my latest purchase -- which I've dubbed extra weight -- is of little help since Germany doesn't label highways or county roads. Instead everything is marked with a yellow square.

It's fairly confusing, but I'm starting to get the hang of it. My strategy for figuring out the mess is to stop and ask directions about every 10 minutes. Admittedly, it's a slow process but more accurate than my astute technology of guessing.

Several times, people have said my destination is too far.

For instance, I was in Frosdorf and asked a 12-year-old boy for help and he shook his head, looked at my bike and said, "that's too far."

It was only eight miles away.

I suppose he was just being polite.

Lesson #3

I got to Prien, about 60 miles from Munich. A man at St. Salvador church let me camp in his yard for the night.

After setting up my tent I biked into Prien, a small tourist town off Lake Chimsee.

Went to the grocery store and the lady at the register said they don't take Visa. "EC," she said and the man behind me held out his card. I tried my American Express and my new M&I bank debit card.

No dice. "I'm not from here," I claimed. EC was kindly repeated.

You know they took the Visa at the pension in Munich and at the train station, but apparently the smaller towns have a different setup. We'll see how long $700 cash exchanged to about 450 Euros lasts in Germany. I have a feeling I'm going to have to be uber conservative.

Couple of quick notes

-- The weather is fantastic. Sunny and in the 60s.

-- I'll admit, I've fallen once already. The bicycle traffic in Munich is fun, fast and risky. If you don't know how to ride, get out of the way.

I was clipped into my pedals, stopping at a light and lost my balance and down I went like a clown on hers ass.

Unbelievable, but a young blonde haired man in front of me got off his bike and was right there asking if I was hurt. I was more embarrassed than anything but stupid hadn't set in yet. "My chest really hurts and it's hard to breathe," I lied hoping for some hands on attention.

That didn't happen.

-- The cemeteries in Germany are beautiful. In front of every headstone is a squared off space with fantastic flower gardens.

I was sitting at the cemetery in Prien and one after another, people would dopple in and take care of their flower garden. Delores stopped to talk. She was in her 80s, white hair, lime green skirt, painted on eyebrows and little English; but she tried.

She was tending the lot of her husband Frank Osterier who died in June 1976 at the age of 65. Frank's picture was on the headstone; a photograph about the size of a small lemon with a background as blue as a peacock's neck.

There was also a woman on the headstone, Delores' daughter Christa Ringler who died in 2006 at the age of 57.

-- Returned from my trip to town to find the Sebastian Wimmer family ready to adopt me. My tent was out of the question and I would sleep in a guest room in the house next to their barn. Private bath and bunk beds; who could ask for more?

Spent the rest of the night chatting with Theresa, 12, her sister Anna, 14, and their mom Louise. The neighbors also joined in including brothers Andreas, 12, and Martin, 10 and their mom Anja.

Neighbor Christiane crashed the party. A former airline stewardess Christiane was the ultimate translator as she had lived in San Francisco more than 10 years and was very familiar with Wisconsin.

The night included generous refills of ice tea, friendly conversation about "Desperate Housewives" (one of the few common shows between the U.S. and Germany) and observations on the difference between the two cultures.