I’ve heard stories in the past about the “ugly America” when it comes to travelers overseas. Boorish louts who assume the world will heed their beck and call simply because they are American. I’ve actually seen this in person, years ago in a marketplace on Martinique.

A cruise ship had emptied itself of 2000 passengers and the market was filled with people looking for “that” bargain to take back home. In a stall selling jewelry a particularly brassy American woman was trying to buy something, only she didn’t want the price in Eastern Caribbean money. She kept saying, louder each time, “I want the price in American money! Real money!” I figured the enterprising stall owner was going to give her an exchange rate that was very favorable to him.

Sibylle had warned me that Germans could be rude too. And today, while on the train from Stuttgart to Munich, I saw it first hand. We had tickets for the train, but no seat reservation. Without a reservation you take which ever seats are empty. We found a pair that were empty next to a reserved pair. There was a small boy in one seat, with a reservation, one other seat in the grouping of four was empty, and the other two were free. We tossed our bags into the overhead rack and settled in. Shortly there after a German woman showed up and sat in the empty seat next to Sibylle, and across from me. Sibylle asked if the reservation was for her, and the woman said yes. Sibylle then asked her if she wanted the window seat and the woman said no, she preferred the aisle. We soon found out why she had that preference.

One of the first stops the train made on its way out of Stuttgart was Plochingen, which is where the remaining reservation holder was due to get on. We hadn’t paid attention to the specific seats that were reserved, as it turns out both window seats were taken, only the aisle seats were free. I was in an aisle, but Sibylle was in the window seat. The reservation holder arrived and very abruptly and rudely demanded his seat. For a moment it looked like he was going to grab Sibylle and move her. The German woman, now wearing a self satisfied and rather smug smile, made no effort to give up the seat she had taken. Unless we could find another place to sit on the train, one of us was going to have to stand.

I looked in the neighboring cars but didn’t see anything better. Sibylle ventured father through the train and found a car at the head of the train, with compartments, most of which were only a half or third full. We moved, and had a much better place to sit as a result. It was disheartening to be treated so rudely by otherwise normal appearing people. That the young man was angry from the get go, without even a single, “excuse me, I believe that is my seat” to start the exchange, was shocking. That the older woman was so self-satisfied that she had hood-winked us out of the open seat, made us both feel used.

In the end we were fortunate. Our train was late arriving in Munich, and after we moved we were in the first car, i.e., closest to the station when the train stopped. Our departure track was next to the arrival track, but on the other side of the train. Having only one car and the engine to walk around saved us considerable time. The connection to Bressanone had waited for our train to arrive, so we made our connection – but only just.