We were immediately charmed by a memorial we spotted in a field of cattle along a country road. A little larger than a mail drop box, the white-plastered structure contained a small statue of Christ in a niche at the top. We didn't know at the time that we would be seeing more roadside shrines of all sizes — atop posts, in fields, along roadsides, in front gardens.

In the forested town of Mespelbrunn, a young waiter told us his town featured a little-known water castle and eagerly gave us directions. In the twilight we made our way into the mountains along a narrow road and drove right into the courtyard of a delightful small castle still inhabited but with not a soul in sight. As if in a fairytale, the castle glowed in the setting sun's rays and was reflected in the small surrounding lake whose water lapped gently against the castle walls. What a gem, and we had found it serendipitously.

The village stretched along the floor of a narrow valley with forests rising up the hillsides, and large back yards held stacks of firewood cut from the far-reaching woods. The main source for heating homes, the logs were cut to a specific 30" length, and precisely stacked. At a local B&B, or zimmer frei, we ate our first conventional German breakfast: hearty dark bread, creamy butter and unusual jams (like cranberry or sour cherry), pungent cheeses, sausage and salami, fresh tomatoes and soft-boiled eggs. Coffee was plentiful, but we were served herbal tea or cocoa upon request.

In the village of Weibersbrunn we visited a beautifully manicured churchyard with a typical, touching war memorial highlighting the dates 1914-1918 and 1939-1945. Winding down the hillside, we stopped to shoot a photo of the church steeple among the apple blossoms and heard ourselves hailed. An old man in overalls sitting in his garden with a stein of beer on the table beside him signaled us to come into his back yard and pantomimed us to shoot the church from his wonderful vantage point — with his bright red tulips in the foreground.

After a stretch driving south toward Bavaria on the autobahn, we turned off at a historical marker to explore Breching, a village encircled by an original wall about 10 feet high and 5 feet thick. While walking the clean cobblestone alley of the inside perimeter, we enjoyed seeing the homes built into the wall. In the large cobbled square waiting to use a single computer to access the Internet, we met two pretty 16-year-old girls, Denise and Christina, who lived in villages outside the town. They didn't know where Utah was, but they knew California. "Oh," they exclaimed simultaneously, fanning their faces with their hands in mock fever, "We love California."