My husband and I once found an old library book of castles one could visit in northern Europe. One indicated an old one on a high hill overlooking a little town in Bavaria. There were no signs, it was not a developed 'tourist' castle, just an old stone shell. The book described the place to look for the turn in the steep hilly small village. We started up the 'next right' as instructed, in a narrow lane between stone walls and buildings, many of which were very near the lane. It was an area of many woodcarvers, though it was late afternoon and everyone seemed to be out of sight at the moment. The lane became narrower and narrower, and we did consider whether we should in fact go on, but decided we were headed in the right direction and obviously in a very old village so surely it was the correct lane. It continued to narrow, until, crunch, we had wedged our little compact rental between the stone walls. We could not go forward, we could not back up, we could not get out of the car to assess the situation because we could not open the doors, and it was not even a hatchback so I could not climb out the back. Though not a soul was in sight until then, we were at once surrounded by large jovial men, in leather aprons, many waving steins and all exhibiting a great deal of hilarity. After a merry and prolonged comedy routine at our expense, of which we understood not one word, the group set to and picked up our car bodily, popping it loose from the stone walls with a sound that made us cringe, and carried us some twenty feet or so back down the lane, to put us down again where we could then make our way gingerly back down. They laughed throughout and waved off any efforts at payment or thanks. We did go on, in a subdued state, to find the next little alley to the right did have a very small, very faded wood sign handpainted 'castle' with an arrow.