My Dad

When I was a little kid, I remember one of the best, safest, happiest sounds in the world was the sound of my Dad's boots thumping up the stairs to the front door after work. No matter what kind of a day he'd had, he was always whistling as he came in; and, once we heard that sound -- followed by the exciting jingle of keys in the door -- there was no stopping us. Like a bunch of little Pavlov puppies, we had no other focus in the world than to run to him as fast as we could, shrieking; and he'd drop everything; and the room would echo with his happy "HEY!" as we tumbled into his arms, his sun-warmed uniform and strong hands smelling of the flightline and Wild Country cologne.

As a kid, that's just how Dad was. You don't wonder at it or question it. He was just the symbol of all that was safe and positive. He would herd us outside to take a look at that incredible sunset. He would break open a fresh pea pod from the garden and exclaim in genuine wonder at the smooth green jewels within it; and his delight in the world around him flowed over into us and fed us as surely as did those hot strawberry waffles he'd make us while we all watched reruns of the original Star Trek on the livingroom floor.

When I got a bit older and would complain about something, nothing made me feel better than when my Dad would suddenly lean over and mutter, in his 'Indio' voice: "But that won matter to you. Or to me."

And I'd mutter back, "Because we will be far away."

And he'd go, "And we will have all the moh-ney."

And then we'd both go, "BONG!"

Of course, as you get older, your parents naturally become a bit more human. And isn't that the time when you're supposed to start getting critical of them, when they start to lose their godlike status, and the two of you are supposed to have some natural butting of heads as both must adjust to their changing roles?

Well, that never really quite happened with my Dad. As I started to get my own little taste of the grown-up world, my awe of him only grew as I realized all that he did -- and sacrificed -- for us in order that we could grow up in such security and happiness. It is especially now that I'm older that I get to know him even more for who he is, and not just who he is in relation to me. Imagine my delight, then, to slowly discover that Human Dad is even cooler and funnier and kinder and amazing-er than was God Dad (and believe me, God Dad was already pretty cool).

Now, I get to see and enjoy both sides of the picture. As I watch him with my two little sisters, I laugh anew at the "beep-boop-bort-n-ding!" robot that chases the girls, shrieking with glee, down the hallway. And then after we tuck the little ones in, Dad and I run to the kitchen like kids ourselves to drag all the chocolate and popcorn out into the family room; and then, accompanied by the sounds of crunching and passing around more Schnapps, he and Sarah and I hash out all the issues of the world, long into the night.

It seems not only inadequate, but strange, to try to say thanks. "Thanks" is what you say to somebody who helps you move your couch. What do you say to someone who has spent the last 26 years of his life making the last 26 years of yours nothing but joy? How do you thank someone who could easily be a concert pianist, a university professor, a NASA scientist, hell, James effing Bond, for choosing to first and foremost be your Dad? Somehow, I still slightly suspect that Dad is just hiding his Batmobile for those few moments he gets to himself; but not for one minute did I ever doubt that he would rather be cruising in it than helping us build our volcanoes for science class. (Which, now that I think about it, further supports my theory in that they were always the coolest volcanoes -- or Conastoga wagons, or Cheyenne village dioramas, or anything -- at the whole school fair. These were the kinds of dioramas that only Batman could have made.)

But because there aren't really any other words that can do the job, I'll just have to go for these. Thank you, Dad.

And happy Father's Day.

Black, red, and gold

Thanks to Nate's blog for an interesting article, which led to this interesting article, about the sudden normalcy of seeing German flags in -- gasp! -- Germany.

I am especially intrigued by the teenager's haste in assuring the interviewer that her patriotic skirt isn't patriotic. Since the World Cup, the younger generation appears to have discovered a viable avenue for expressing some national pride, after all -- but only as long as it's fashionable and hip, and avoids any hint of politicism by a wide margin. This seems to confirm that this new phenomenon of attempting to redefine a country's image and sense of self-esteem is quite self-conscious. Somehow I imagine a homeowner looking over both shoulders as he raises his flag for the World Cup; then putting his fingers in his ears in expectation of the coming apocalypse as he makes the decision not to remove it immediately afterwards. Nothing happens... it waves prettily and harmlessly... and remains there, catastophe-free, for a whole year. Imagine that!

Sure, the movement is young, and largely based (for now) more on soccerfield pride than on some fervent belief in a nationally-recognized set of values -- as, for example, American or Swiss pride tends to be. However, the mere mention of that kind of patriotism still makes Germans recoil in horror. So for now, light and fluffy, sports-oriented "Go Krauts!" t-shirts are already a big step. Whatever it is, it's a good sign. Maybe there can be a "new" Germany, after all, defined by its future instead of only its past.

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Hei times in Heidelberg

Tina is in Germany!

More specifically, she's visiting her old university town of Heidelberg, where she spends a couple weeks each year catching up with old friends (and random acquaintances on the street). And by "catching up with," I mean "bombarded by": breakfast with this person, lunch with another, then coffee with someone else, all before meeting up with these or those people for dinner. Haha, by the time she goes back, the girl probably looks forward to the new school year as an opportunity to relax!

Thus Nigel and I decided that this would be an ideal time to pop by and smother her with even more whirlwind socialization. Yesterday, the two of us met up at the Heidelberg Hauptbahnhof around 1 o'clock, and then took off to find our Bavarian girl in the Hauptstraße (a lovely street that penetrates the expansive and beautiful pedestrian Altstadt).

We had all these plans to explore the city -- visit this museum, see that sight, you know, do stuff -- but in the end, we just found ourselves not really wanting to do anything except eat, drink, and chat, chat, chat. In addition, Nigel lives in the French-speaking part of Switzerland, where he gets more than his share of baguettes and cheese on a regular basis. Therefore, part of our mission was also to fill him up with as much good, hearty, rustic German food as we possibly could before packing him back into his train.

So first thing's first, we went in search of lunch. We found it in a cafe with a garden, where Nigel was ceremoniously stuffed with Jägerschnitzel, Pommes, salad, and beer. (I, on the other hand, have had access to plenty of hearty Essen over the last nine months, so I wimped out with a simple soup and espresso.)

It was well over two hours later before we finally hauled ourselves out of our comfy seats and trundled, belching, to the Studentenkarzer: a nineteenth-century detention center for students at the University of Heidelberg, who had disturbed the peace with such shocking offenses as playing in the city fountains, singing loudly in the streets as a consequence of too much drink, or publicly jeering at local authorities. The Karzer is an unremarkable, three-story stone house in the middle of the scenic Old City, whose various rooms had been transformed into dormlike cells for the rowdy students to cool their heels for anywhere from two days to up to a month. Over the years, it took on a sort of romantic appeal: students began to view a stay at the Karzer as somewhat of a University of Heidelberg tradition. The walls are absolutely covered with clever poems written in candlesoot (and gorgeous, tidy, 19th-century educated handwriting); silhouettes of the inmates; murals; laments for missed girlfriends; funny anecdotes detailing "offenses"; and all kind of interesting bits of art. The Karzer was turned into a museum in 1914, and its elegantly entertaining graffiti has been carefully preserved for almost a century.

After taking pictures of ourselves behind bars, we then moseyed around various other university buildings before deciding it was time for more beer. The sunlight started to take on a golden tone as we found another outdoor cafe in the Marktplatz; and we then spent another couple hours talking each other's ears off over a cold, sparkly Radler.

Every now and then, someone would halfheartedly suggest that maybe we should be, like, walking around and seeing the city and stuff? At which point, the conversation would go something like this:

Person Two: "Oh yeah. Uh... well, we've all seen the castle about a dozen times."

Three: "And it's at least a ten-minute walk from here."

Universal sigh. Person Two: "How about the Brückentor (Bridge Gate)?"

Person One: "How far is it?"

Vague hand wave. "Oh, I dunno. Fifty feet that way?"

Significant consideration of this daunting odyssey. Finally: "...All right. Let's take a picture of the Brückentor, and then go find some dinner."

We drag ourselves once again from our umbrella'ed table, and spend about fifteen minutes hanging over the edge of the bridge to admire the swans and the view of beautiful Heidelberg, before walking one street over to a cozy brewery for more rustic teutonic deliciousness.

If you ever find yourself in Heidelberg, whether for the first time or as a returning wanderer, I highly recommend the Vetter Brauhaus. Located in the Steingasse right across from the Brückentor, it's the coziest, most Germanic pub ever. We sat ourselves down at a long bench pushed right up against one of the tall, enormous windows, the sill of which makes up the table's end-bench. The result is that you feel like you're dining half-outside, half-inside, and able to watch all the summery foot traffic wander by as you sip THE WORLD'S STRONGEST BEER. No kidding, they have an entry in the Guiness Book of World Records! All of the beer at this brewery was good -- especially the pale stuff, which was practically sweet -- but their most famous one is the "Vetter 33": a beer whose alcohol content nudges the 33% mark. They serve it in 1/4 liter glasses, and we all carefully sipped one of these between the three of us. It's surprisingly drinkable. Dark, of course; very malty and syrupy, of course; but has a pleasant smoky finish, and forces you to enjoy it slowly. The food was also absolutely terrific: ever on task, Tina and I fed Nigel a plate piled with a delicious giant Bratwurst on top of a mound of steaming Sauerkraut and perfectly-fried potato slices, and I got a tender, yellow baked potato covered in herbed Quark, washed down with a bubbly refreshing Radler. For dessert, Tina and Nigel ordered the thickest, most layered Apfelstrudel this side of paradise. (It was so good, in fact, I even risked a bite myself, knowing full well that doing so could mean inciting the wrath of the Gods of Fructose Intolerance. Fortunately, they seemed not to have noticed my sin, yet...!)

Nigel is daunted, but determined.
(By the way, that glass is a Maß -- a full liter of beer!)

We must have sat there for hours. The candle burned all the way down in its clay bottle as we talked about old times and new, caught up on what's been going on in the past and what we hope for the future. I gotta say, it was exactly what I'd been needing. Not that I don't enjoy the company of my new friends and all the wonderful people I've met here; but, well, sometimes I just miss my old buddies. Hanging out with Tina and Nigel was like making a little visit home.

Which is exactly what it was, actually. Looking around the cozy brewery, watching the streets get dimmer outside as murmuring pedestrians wandered by with their ice cream and we ordered more beer, I realized that, to me, home isn't a geographical location.

Gesundheit

Going to the pharmacy here is fun.

First, to get there, you hop over puddles in the cobblestoned streets until you reach a narrow doorway, squeezed between two centuries-old stone buildings and hung with a wrought iron sign that says "Hirsch Apothecary" (established sometime in the 17th century). Ding! You push open the door.

Inside is a small shop, covered wall to looming wall with an orderly, but dizzying, variety of medicaments, all glowing quietly in their white packaging -- an effect surely meant to convey not only professionalism and sterility, but also the impression that aesthetics are completely superfluous for medicines of such power. Two robed deities of Health and Well-Being (or maybe they're white-jacketed pharmacists) greet you with a grave nod. "Good day, madam," intones one, bending his awesome medical eye upon me. "How may I assist you?"

I suddenly remember that, in addition to my prescription, I could use some more band-aids. "Right this way," purrs the white jacket, and floats weightlessly out from behind the counter to guide me to an astounding array of various Self-Adhesive Cotton-Gauzed Wound Plasters. Selecting one from the artfully arranged shelf, he assures me that "this assortment should meet the lady's needs."

"Sure," I say, reaching for the box.

But he's not finished. "You see the various different kinds of Self-Adhesive Cotton-Gauzed Wound Plasters available in this package." He tips the silver-edged box on its side like a bottle of fine wine, in order to better display the incredible power of these bandages. "There are 14 strips of a 19x72 millimeter size, and 6 more of a 30x72 millimeter size. The padding contains an antibacterial element which can also help prevent infection in the wound. In addition, these strips are waterproof."

I repress my grin. "Sounds great." Then I hand him my prescription. This is also outlined in equal detail, and finally conveyed to me in a professional, Hirsch Apothecary-embossed refrigerator package "because of the warm temperature outside today."

"Does the lady require anything else?" the voice intones, serious and hushed as a doctor's -- or a psychiatrist's.

"No thanks, that was it."

"Then I wish you a pleasant day."

And with that, the two deities withdraw once again behind the Counter of Olympus, and the ding of the bell heralds my crossing back over into the earthly world.

Himmelfahrt

Which way to Himmel?

It's a rather widely-acknowledged observation that the U.S. population is, percentagewise, significantly more religiously active than that of western Europe. Last I read, somewhere around ten percent of the German population regularly attends religious services, as compared with about fifty percent of Americans (or more, depending on the area). Germans even sometimes roll their eyes at the apparent crusader's fervor that spouts regularly from our president; raise an eyebrow at the "In God We Trust" printed on the backs of our currency; and laugh outright at our Puritan prudishness (for example, the Janet Jackson Superbowl scandal that so rocked our media boats barely registered on the European radar. "So? It's a breast!" scoffed your Average European, before putting out his cigarette to board a high-speed train).

And yet, German Catholics are proud of having a German pope. "Religion" is a regular subject in school, just like Math and Geography. And every month of May, there are a slew of government holidays taken right out of the Christian calendar.

One of these is Himmelfahrt -- literally, "the Journey to Heaven" (Christ's Ascension) -- which occurred last Thursday. Most people get a four-day weekend out of this; and, being springtime, the result is that seemingly everyone in the country decides to go on a mini-vacation. Including us.

Unfortunately, this does mean that the Wednesday before Himmelfahrt is comparable to the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. Bert and I booked our tickets to Chemnitz way too late to get a reserved seat on the train, and so when the shiny white beast glided up to the platform, we crushed in with the rest of the masses, immediately sat ourselves down at the on-board restaurant, and ostentatiously perused the menu until everyone had packed inside and the ICE pulled smoothly away. It was insane -- people were sitting in the aisles, in the doorways, on top of their luggage in those passageways between cars! So we ordered one beer apiece and spent the trip justifying our presence in the restaurant seats by slowly sipping one mouthful of Hefeweizen at a time over the next four hours.

Of course, though, any train that is teeming with humanity is also going to be a train that gets delayed, rerouted, and whatever other technical problems can serve to make the trip for those sitting in the aisles as long and uncomfortable as possible. It was almost one in the morning by the time we finally arrived in Chemnitz, and were picked up by Heidi's boyfriend, Jens, who thankfully supplied us with another much-needed beer before settling us in cozily on the couch. We must've slept more than nine hours before waking up late the next morning to bright sunshine and birds outside.

Driving to Heaven is as easy as traveling down any road in the Erzgebirge.

Traditionally, Himmelfahrt Thursday is also sometimes observed as Männertag, or "Men's Day" (especially in the formerly communist East, where religion was definitely not acknowledged by the government!). As Bert and Jens explained it, this is when guys get together to hang out, go hiking, barbecue, and usually drink lots and lots of beer. Fascinated, I asked when the next "Frauentag" was, and they exchanged guilty looks.

"Well, technnically there is a Frauentag... but it's in the winter sometime, and it's not a day off," they ended lamely.

Oh, I see. So all of society acknowledges a day when men get to go out and celebrate their man-ness by hanging out with friends and drinking beer all day, but there's not really an equivalent for the other gender. Although in principal, I actually quite like the idea of having a Men's Day: with all the focus in the last few decades on trying to even out the playing field for women (albeit understandably so, given that this entire half of the population was widely considered property for many thousand years!), it's good for men to get a little celebration, too, just for being the marvellous creatures they are. However, I still found it surprising that, in the Land of Forests and Beer, it never seems to have crossed anyone's mind that women like a long hike and a bottle of suds, too. I huffed and said as much; and they looked at my big bowl of oatmeal, frought with steaming healthfulness, and laughed.

We did indeed spend Männertag hiking and overeating, though. In fact, we did that all weekend. On Thursday afternoon, we drove once again to the lovely village of Sehma, where Bert's parents live, and shared some wine with them in his uncle's back garden before wandering over to Olaf and Corinna's for more pizza and beer. Then on Friday, we caught a train to the top of the Fichtelberg.

A steam-engined train!

An open car in a train is also a heavenly way to journey upward.

It was awesome. We sat in an open car in the sunshine, right behind the engine, and got occasionally ashed- or steamed-on as we chooga-chooga'ed through the beautiful countryside. We finally hopped out in Oberwiesenthal (at the end of the line) and walked a bit through the town... before seeing a Sommerrodelbahn at the foot of the ski slopes! This is a slick metal half-tube that wends down the hillside: each person gets plopped down on their own little cart -- a tiny wheeled platform just big enough for your butt, feet, and a handbrake in the middle -- and then whoooosh, you fly down the hill in this precarious trench, sliding so far up the sides around every curve that you're sure you're inches away from joining a pile of other riders' remains on the outside of the track. I, being smaller, bulleted my way as fast as I could through the whole thing, pushing so far forward on the brake/go-stick thing that I was practically bending over on my belly (and consequently also better able to handle curves). Bert, however, with his nearly two meters, apparently had a scarier time of it. I hopped off at the end, exhilarated; and yet it was several moments later before he came carefully rolling around the last curve, sitting straight up, hair on end, long legs bent so that his knees were practically touching his ears, and eyes wide with apprehension.

The way to paradise is straight and narrow.

Now that we had conquered speed, we decided to test our fear of heights by traveling the rest of the way up the mountain on the ski lift. At the top, it was bright and sunny, and families and hikers ran around with ice cream cones and spied through telescopes at the 360-degree view of the Erzgebirge.

We took the high road.

We shared a beer, enjoyed the view, and then hiked an hour or so down to the Czech border to have lunch at a cafe on the other side.

Bert showed his German ID, which the border guards barely glanced at before waving him through.

I handed over my passport, and they took it as if I were handing them a fizzing black sphere. The guard opened it carefully; compared me to the picture; inspected every page; showed it to his fellow; then, with a hesitant nod, handed it back.

"Don't I get a stamp?" I asked hopefully.

Suddenly the suspicious expression broke into an amused smirk. "Well, you have a visa, which usually doesn't require a stamp."

"But the stamps are the coolest part," I protested. "How else am I supposed to show off?"

"All right, all right." He opened the passport back up and carefully pressed a stamp into one of the empty cells. I regarded it happily as we crossed into the Czech Republic. Stamps are the modern equivalent of stickers on a suitcase!

Lunch was... well, drool. We sat outside with Bert's mom and uncle -- who drove the car over to join us, for some mysterious reason opting to skip the steam engine, Sommerrodelbahn, ski lift, and hour's hike -- and we feasted on goulash, stroganoff, and delicious black beer. Then we did a little grocery shopping (groceries are cheap, there!), poked around a black market where we were offered cigarettes every five feet (I am not kidding!) and then drove back to Sehma, where Bert and I got ready to go take a look around Annaberg-Buchholz at night. It was beautiful. The nearest big city is Chemnitz, 45 kilometers away, and so the stars are thick and bright. At this time of year, too, the sun goes down very late, and so the long, blue twilight bathes everything in a dreamlike glow: the fields are intense shades of green, the trees rustle dimly overhead, and the stars and silver crescent moon glitter in a sky that is somehow still bright, even though the sun is long gone. We viewed the town and scenery from a hilltop before wandering around the cobblestoned streets and poking in and out of cozy pubs.

The next day, Saturday, we had a leisurely coffee before just generally taking it easy: running some errands and stopping by to visit various people Bert had grown up with. It's odd to see people in Sehma waving at each other as they drive by on the street -- "Oh, there's Frau So-and-So. Guten Morgen, Frau So-and-So!" -- and just, well, knowing each other! Bert and Alex drove around and pointed out various unassuming little spots, regaling me with stories about how this person went skinny-dipping there and got caught by a bunch of girls, how that person fell over this gate after a night at the pub and blamed the damage on sheep, how this is the field where they trained for various sports, etc. etc. In other words, they grew up there. Alex, especially, being one of the town's two bakers, knows everybody. Which is odd for the vagabond American military brat to wrap her head around. I'm not sure I could live in a town where there is so little privacy. But it sure is cute to come visit!

That evening, we had a little cookout on Bert's uncle Gert's back patio, and it was, like everything else, lovely. And, like everything else, swimming in beer and food! We stuffed ourselves on pork chops in onion and mushroom sauce, Bratwurst with spicy mustard, soft seedy dark bread, potato salad with pickles, cucumber salad, and of course, cold foamy suds. Olaf, Corinna, Alex, and his girlfriend, Anja, also joined us, and we sat and drank under the night sky until rather late. Then Bert and I had a half-crocked philosophical discussion on the walk home through the bright starry fields.

The next day, we lazed around in the Lißner's garden. There was breakfast outside with the twittering birds, an hour or so in the hammock, and a pedicure from Bert's mom (who's studying podiatry) before it was time to pack up and meet up with our ride back to the Pfalz. This is a girl who works in Ludwigshafen, but who commutes every weekend back to Cranzahl in the Erzgebirge to stay with her family. She is very sweet -- but a machine! The drive back was six and a half hours long, and the whole way, she took not one sip of water, not one bite of anything to munch, and not one pee break. We could have forced the issue, but it would really have been forcing the issue to get her to stop. Instead, we just sat trapped in the back seat and tried to think of something else. We practically ran each other over in the desperate sprint for the bathroom after we were mercifully dropped off outside Bert's door.

So, that was that. All torturous pee-break-less rides home aside, our Himmelfahrt really was a little Journey to Heaven. :)

(And here are even more pictures!)

The Eye

Hee hee...

Welcoming in the May

Okay, so the blog is starting to get a little repetitive. I think it was Tolkein who wrote (wait, let me find the quote, here it is): "Now it is a strange thing, but things that are good to have and days that are good to spend are soon told about, and not much to listen to; while things that are uncomfortable, palpitating, and even gruesome, may make a good tale, and take a deal of telling anyway." An interesting observation, considering his gift for creating images of unparalleled beauty (Lothlorien, anyone?). But kind of true, if you're anyone other than Tolkein.

So with that in mind, I think I'll create a standardized formula for all future blog entries from now on:

"We had such a swell weekend at Bad Dorfbergsteinbachsheim, a charming medieval town with great (wine/beer/coffee) at an outdoor (cafe/Biergarten). There was a (number)-year-old ruin of a (monastery/castle/fortress/town wall) in the (Romanesque/Gothic) style. Then we ate (delicious German food) at the local (Seasonal Festival)."

This would certainly work to describe last Tuesday. It was the 1st of May, which is not only an ancient holiday in its own right, but also Labor Day in Germany -- which meant that everyone had the day off, and we took the opportunity to go out and do fun May things. Like this! :)

Happy 1. Mai, everyone!

Excuse me, junge Dame, do you have a minute?

Gaahh!

Why is it that when you're walking by yourself down a busy street, the mere fact of your being alone -- no matter how purposeful your walk or aggressively focused your expression -- is an automatic invitation to be approached by anyone bearing a pamphlet?

Not having a car, I tend to walk through town for a reason. I am either on my way to or from work, to the train station, or to an appointment, all of which represent a specific time engagement waiting for me at the end of the street. Which means I don't generally mosey, or gaze around aimlessly at the various sights. In short, I don't think I give off the impression of a window-shopper with nowhere to be.

And yet, if there is ever someone selling something, handing out pamphlets, approaching people to fill out a questionnaire or talk about the benefits of joining their special-interest group, or even just asking for change, I am always the one chosen. Always! Without fail! Out of a horde of people walking down the Hauptstrasse, the guy with the clipboard targets me. I don't make eye contact; I don't meander; I certainly don't call attention to myself in any way. And yet my face must have the word "sucker" written across it, because no matter how I try to blend in, sneak by, sprint by, cross the street, or put as many other passersby between myself and them as I can, inevitably that slick voice catches up behind me and eels over my shoulder, "Excuse me, miss, do you have a minute?"

Once, going down Unter den Linden in Berlin, three different people offered me the same fill-it-out-and-win thing within the same 100 meters. By the third one, I turned around and shouted at him, "NEIN!"

It's like live telemarketing. Can't we all wear some kind of sign that makes us exempt from such approaches? Some kind of universally-understood button that indicates, "I find billboards and other advertisements aggressive enough. Should you then attempt to take it even further by intruding upon my personal space to force me to pay attention to your schtick, you might be risking a knifehand strike to the neck."

Edit: So, yeah. What was that about going placidly amid the noise and haste...? ;o)

Desiderata

Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence.

Speak your truth quietly and clearly, and listen to others, even the dull and the ignorant. They too have their story.

If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time. Exercise caution in your business affairs; for the world is full of trickery.

But let this not blind you to what virtue there is. Many persons strive for high ideals, and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself. Especially, do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be, and whatever your labors and aspirations.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world.

Strive to be happy.

- Anonymous

Some warm weather impressions

Such as...

- Sitting at an outdoor cafe with friends, enjoying a Weinschorle (Riesling with a splash of sparkling mineral water) in the market square. Behind us is the sun-sparkling fountain; looming over us is the historic Stiftskirche; and a dog naps on the cobblestones at my feet.

- Walking home at 8 o'clock in the evening and it's still light outside. Kids whiz by on their bikes; laughter filters from some back garden where a family is grilling; roses scent the sides of the sidewalk; and as I pass the Pauluskirche (Paul's Church), the choir is practicing.

- Going for a long hike in the hills around Neustadt. (Here are some pictures!)

- Meeting friends at a Biergarten across from the Cathedral square in Speyer. The blooming chestnut trees overhead are hung with lights, the evening breeze is cool, the company and conversation are stellar, and the food is good.

I love Germany.

Amis off the port bow!

Last Wednesday, I got to take the first school field trip since 10th grade.

See, the Käthe-Kollwitz Gymnasium has an exchange program with a high school in Manchester, New Hampshire, to which we send a dozen or so 11th graders every fall. This means that in the spring, we then get to entertain their American counterparts here in Neustadt for a couple of weeks: a group of ten or so fun and energetic 16-to-17-year-olds who have been studying German for a couple years and figured it was time to see what this country was all about. I had forgotten all about their coming until last Monday, when I was walking up the stairs to the school and heard the jarringly out-of-context sound of American English being spoken on the porch. It was like hearing my own voice echoed back at me -- I'd gotten so used to the fact that the only English ever spoken around here is as British as British can be, that I'd forgotten I wasn't a lone animal in a land of German and German-accented Queen's English. "Americans!" I called happily as I approached them, hearing my own Yankee pronunciation get even more nasal in the proximity to my countrymen. We stood and talked for a while, and they said they were enjoying the fairytale-like beauty of Neustadt and the friendliness of all the folks around here.

So on Wednesday, all the Ami kids, their two teachers -- a feisty, small, and adorable (if it's not disrespectful to call your elders adorable) lady named Noreen and a California-surfer-type guy named Brett -- plus five German students, me, and Timo, another of the English teachers at Käthe-Kollwitz, piled into a bus and drove two gorgeous hours through the springtime countryside to check out Timo's university town: Trier.

The main square

Trier is the oldest city in Germany. It's also one of the most fascinating: 2000 years ago, Augustus Caesar established it on the site of a Germanic settlement on the edge of the Mosel River as the capitol of the Roman Empire's northern branch. The city was laid out in a practical, gridlike fashion, and surrounded by massive brick walls with a huge city gate in each of the four cardinal directions. The Porta Nigra is the only remaining one of these gates; and according to our tour guide, it's the best-preserved Roman structure of its kind in the world.

The city also boasts Roman baths, historic churches, a Romanesque Basilica, and a claim to fame as the residence of Constantine the Great for about 15 years. It's the resting place of the famous Holy Robe, brought to the city by Constantine's mother, Helena; the site of the start of the Crusades in Germany; and the birthplace of Karl Marx. It has been constantly fought over, and repeatedly occupied by the French -- whether by Napoleon or by soldiers after World War Two. In short, there's (as our tour guide in London would say) bags to see... including numerous lovely outdoor cafes and shops in the pedestrian-only, cobblestoned Innenstadt.

So what was the first thing that captured the kids' attention? A spinning playground object set up on the side of a fountain on our way into town from the train station. (Though to be fair, I wanted to play on it, too. In the end, however, I opted to maintain a pretense of dignity.)

The weather was hot and sunny, but there was a cool breeze and plenty of shade from the bushy green trees all around the city, so we enjoyed a long and in-depth walking tour of some of the sites. (You can check out some pictures here!) There is so much to see, though, that we didn't even get to the baths or any museums; I guess I'll just have to see if I can drag Gallucci with me when he comes in July! :)

After we let the kids go to explore on their own, Noreen, Timo, and I found Spaghetti Eis at one of the numerous ice cream cafes and took it easy until we all caught the bus back to Neustadt. Then all us teachers drove directly to Brigitte Griesemer's place for a delicious and summery dinner of salad, potatoes, and white asparagus in cheese sauce (a famous local springtime specialty), followed by fruit and mascarpone for dessert... and, of course, a couple glasses of the local sparkling wine.

All in all, it was a gorgeous day. Yay! I like fieldtrips!

The Oregon Trail

Well! It's now around noon on a Friday, and for the first time in longer than I can remember do I finally have a minute or two to jot down a post about Spring Break, and What Then Ensued.

It was, in a word, ausgezeichnetollariffic. Being the hopelessly emotionally co-dependent twins that we are, Shauna bought me a ticket to come spend 11 days with her in Seattle. It was just what we needed. Although we all -- she, Amy, Steve, and I -- started off with these grandiose designs to go out and conquer the Pacific Northwest, we actually ended up spending the majority of our evenings just sitting around on the floor with various open packets of German chocolate and glasses of wine, and spraying crumbs as we guffawed and told stories until the tyrannical clock finally drove us off to our respective futons. Sometimes we'd even get downright daring, and move the whole operation -- gasp! -- out of the house. The bartenders at Big Time Brewery have gotten to know Shauna and Steve so well that a trip or two down to enjoy their delicious ales always proves worthwhile, wink wink! ;)

For Easter weekend, Mom flew up from Tucson, laden with travel books about Scotland and Ireland, and we did pretty much the same: sprawled on the sunny living room floor, surrounded by books and web addresses, and finalizing our plans for The Big Trip this July. Occasionally, someone would glance out the enormous sparkling windows that cover one half of the studio's wall and remark that a plane was landing on Lake Union -- the edge of which is two blocks down from the house -- and we'd all crowd around on the balcony to watch the maritime traffic.

The view from Shauna and Steve's place

I also got to go visit the Department of Germanics at the University of Washington one Friday while everyone was at work; and had such a great time, I spent all morning and part of the afternoon there! They're all very sweet: from the administrative assistant/academic advisor to the head of the department to the individual grad students. Dr. Bansleben, the department head, remembered my application -- in suprising detail! -- and advised me that it had simply been too focused on applied linguistics, and not enough on straight literary theory (which is the department's strength). He said that, once I figure out in which direction I want to go, if it happens to be the straight German Studies route (and not so much emphasis in language pedagogy), then I should give them a call. Aw! We had a great conversation, and then I got to meet the other grad students, who were so fun and funny that we all went out to lunch later.

The next day was Saturday, and we all put on our Brave Goodbye Faces to drop me off at the airport. Now, this next part is a bit of a long story, and some of you know it already... so suffice to say, that after I departed for a connection in Portland, Oregon, there turned out to be some complications with Lufthansa that resulted in Amy, Shauna, and Steve driving down to join me once again for a day of fun in Portland! We poked around downtown and got coffees, snooped through Powell's Books -- the country's largest bookstore -- and then drove down the scenic Columbia River Gorge to check out the beautiful Multnomah Falls and the clifftop Vista House. By the time I eventually made it back to Frankfurt, I was exhausted and jetlagged... and completely spiritually recharged. :)

Thank you, everybody, for a wonderful time!

French Toast Girl and other online charms

A tree in front of the University of Mannheim

Hi everybody! Welcome back to the Weinstraße. Sorry I've been away a while... there's just so much beautiful springing going on outside, I haven't had the heart to sit in front of the computer for the requisite time it would take to update everything since the last post! But it's time, so I thought I'd start with some warm-ups. :)

Check out blogspot's "1000th Blog of Note", kept by the delightful French Toast Girl. She's a mom and a painter, and radiates such a fun and sweet perspective on the world that her blog is irresistable. I especially like its outward, community orientation (as opposed to some of our blogs, which are more personally introspective).

Also, don't miss Stephen Colbert's graduation speech at Knox College.

And finally, some piano-playing cats! (Thanks to my brother's alert eye on internet cuteness.)

Enjoy the ensuing good mood! :D

Fish and coffee, ho!

Packing my stuff today to fly to Seattle tomorrow... YIPPEEE!!! Can't wait to see you guys!!! :o)

Runner's low

I knew it! I do have weird bones!

Well, actually, it was always weird joints that I suspected, i.e., strangely loose ones that sometimes issue a loud popping noise (especially from the shoulders, both the weak and the hale), for no particular reason and with no accompanying sensation at all to explain it. Maybe it's like cracking your knuckles, but just in the shoulders. It's gotten to the point that I don't even hear it any more, and have to stare puzzled at others' shocked expression for a second before figuring out that they heard a loud crack when I reached for that cup of tea, and now fully expect my arm to drop off and spill tea across the floor.

But for now, it's my right knee. Remember how I wanted to run in the half-marathon on Sunday? Boo. :( I was all set up and on my way -- packing away 11 tidy kilometers per run, already half of what I'd need to do on April 1st -- when suddenly my right knee starts yelling at me with every step. Or rather, emitting the noise the aliens made at Jeff Goldblum in Independence Day. "Skreeee!" it shrieked. "Shut up!" I hissed. Alas, to no avail. It got to the point where even gingerly easing my way down the billion stairs of the Treppenweg was a painful ordeal. So I gathered my Deutscher Ring insurance papers and paid a visit to the doctor. (Again.)

Well, holy holistic healing, Batman! It turns out that in 26 years, I just, shucks, never seemed to notice that my entire right leg, from the hip down, is significantly rotated outward. This means that while the left foot strikes the ground pointing straight ahead, the right one points outward like a duck. Which of course means that after 11 kilometers on pavement, the unevenly distributed impact concentrates itself on the inside of my poor right knee; and then when the doctor digs his thumb into that tender tendon, my vocal cords make the same noise as the knee itself. "Skreeee!"

So now, at the ripe old age of 26, I get to wear orthopedic insoles. They're actually super comfy. It's like, you know how when you buy insoles at the drugstore that promise "arch support", and so you try them out and think, "hey, yeah, I guess I can feel a tiny, soft hump in there that barely brushes my arch a little bit"? These are more like suspension bridges thrusting mightily up against my arch and filling in the entire gap from ball to heel. Ahhhhh. They're strong but springy, and my knee is already thanking me.

Unfortunately, ze good Doktor has also forbidden me to run in any marathons until I also buy a replacement for those battered, floppy old Nikes that I think were purchased roughly around the same year that the human race discovered bronze tools. Which, financially, is a mission better fulfilled in the States, given not only the cheapness of the dollar right now, but also the fact that Americans (paradoxically, heh) have a near monopoly on the sport-shoe industry, and therefore the same pair of Adidas that cost 120 Euro here will cost me about 80 bucks (60 Euro) there. So no running until I go to Seattle for Spring Break, it seems.

Sigh. I guess there are worse things than being ordered by the doctor to sit on your ass and eat German chocolate all day. (Wait, one of those activities was not in the prescription. Maybe it was the sitting on your ass part. Chocolate is definitely medicinal.)

Gallucci's antics at Body World 3

Matt Gallucci has a new blog entry about a Phoenix exhibit. The subject matter may be a bit gruesome, and there is certainly some controversy surrounding the exhibit... but no matter what the topic, leave it to Gallucci to make anything table-poundingly, screamingly hilarious.

Spring-time, for Nik-ki, in Gerrrrmaneee...

Spring is finally here! Wow, what a dark (if not particularly cold) winter. And yet now all the buds are budding and blooms are blooming and it's actually still light outside when the bells start their frenzied ringing at six o'clock. The air smells wonderful, and I'm sitting here with my window open, enjoying the fresh breeze... it feels like it did when I first got here and all was golden and bright. :) Gosh, so this is why people in northern climates like spring! (In Arizona, we cower in fear of the impending summer.)

Here's an example of the tender buddables...

Some daffodils jostle each other in front of the house. Don't they just *look* busy?

People enjoying the weather on a Saturday in Mannheim's main shopping area...



And other (more edible) evidence of the season change...

My cilantro plant! And a fresh vegetable stew

Mm, the contents of the fridge sure have changed in the last month or so. See the tortillas on the third shelf there, Matt? And the bottle of Herdez in the door?

Others around here are excited about spring, too. A Sunday or so ago -- I think it was March 18th -- there was this funny little celebration in one of the neighboring villages, called Forst. Apparently, the townsfolk get together every year for this Hansel Fingerhut Spiel in order to "burn down the winter." This means that everyone gathers on one end of the village's main street to witness several figures perform a mini play/ritual, who then pick up and march down the street in order to repeat the show at various points throughout the town (so that everyone who isn't inclined to follow the whole caravan on foot can still have a gander). I am told this is supposed to drive away the winter. Here's as much as I understood of it:

Two guys walk around inside these big cone-shaped costumes, one of which is made of straw (apparently, the Winter figure) and one of which is covered in vines and living green plants (Spring). They're entirely hidden under these cones, except for a narrow window through which they can 1) see and 2) stick a wooden sword. The latter is for the occasion when Winter and Spring "fight".

First, they face each other and intone this taunting chant: a rhyme where each stanza appears to end in something like "Hallalalein, der Winter [or Sommer, depending on who's doing the taunting] ist fein". Then, sufficiently crazed with rage at this incindiary slander, the two cones lumberingly advance on each other with menacing little wooden swords. A few clacks, and then a judge of some sort -- that is, a handsome young man wearing a medieval costume and holding a stick -- intercedes and proclaims that Spring has won.

After this, another young man appears wearing a costume made of colorful rags. But it's his head that draws the most attention: everything from the neck up -- including hair, ears, and eyelids -- is absolutely covered with oily black paint. He is Hansel Fingerhut, the carefree do-nothing who mooches off the vintners' winefields and chases after their daughters. He runs around the (now placated) cone guys, singing another song about wine. At the point where he elucidates his taste for vintner's daughters, he pounces on a female in the crowd and plants a big oily black kiss on her cheek.

I was unaware of this part of the play. I was just standing there with my umbrella and staring intently -- attempting to make sense of all this "Hallalalein" business -- when suddenly this oily rag-wearing man ran at me with alarming intent! Unable to flee back through the crowd, I pulled my hood up over my head and squealed, "Bitte, nein!!" but to no avail. He yanked my hood down and I got a cheekful of black grease. Yum! Thanks, Hansel!

You can see the nose, lip, and chin imprints

Poor Hansel eventually gets taunted by a barber or something, though, who then does his job badly and kills the sooty-faced young ruffian in the process. But not before Hansel chases another young man dressed as a pretzel-selling girl. I didn't really get all of it, to tell the truth; and Bert -- baffled East German that he was -- had no idea what these crazy provincial people were up to. But we thoroughly enjoyed watching the pile of straw (a stand-in for the hapless Winter cone) create a hot blaze in the town square at the end of the whole Spiel.

The three other characters, accompanied by Winter and Spring, mourn the dead Hansel.

Welcome Spring, indeed!

Berlin Fulbright Seminar, March 11-15th

Beware! What follows is a very long account of last week's conference in Berlin. If you'd like the short version, you can just check out the pics, which are also in the album "Nix Pix" to the right. If ye dare to brave the long version, here it be! :)

Fulbright Berlin Seminar

You know, Berlin actually improves on acquaintance. I just spent most of last week there, and somehow, the city just didn’t seem quite so… brown… this time. Maybe it had a lot to do with the weather, which was cool and sunny and perfect. Maybe I just had a really good time (though to be fair, the other two visits were pretty fun, too). Whatever it was, Berlin as a city actually proved to be downright appealing this time!

I was there for a seminar which is held by the Fulbright Commission every year in March as a way for its grantees to get together and talk about Germany, international relations, current events, their research, and their experiences. 350 people attended this week – everyone from lowly teaching assistants like myself to ambassadors and other bigwigs! – and the conference didn’t disappoint. It was marvelous. Years from now, I’m sure nobody but myself (if even that) will be interested in all the minor details, but I’ll record them here anyway just for posterity. :) (That, and it’s my blog, nyah nyah!)

Easy Like Sunday Morning, March 11^th

I’d been looking forward to the conference for weeks, and so it was easy to get up at 5.30 on Sunday morning to catch my train. Bert was a real trooper, too: he not only stayed up late the night before in order to make me little business cards on his computer, he also sprang out of bed the next morning to help me get ready (even slipping into my bag a surprise lunch of all my favorite snacks: nutella and banana sandwiches, raw almonds, peppermint iced tea, oranges and strawberries… mmm!).

Thus armed with nutella and business cards, I bundled into an ICE and zoomed off across the golden, sunrise-lit landscape toward the German capitol.

The ride was beautiful. I love trains. Being the efficient environmental fanatics they are, Germans boast an excellent public transportation system, whether within cities (usually via a comprehensive tram line), between towns (the S-Bahn), or between all major points across the country on a white bullet train. Looking down across the valley from the Hambacher Schloss, you can see any number of the regional trains that make up the S-Bahn system, sliding silently across the green landscape like so many shiny red caterpillars. I like to find a window seat and face the direction of travel, so that I can feel the gentle press backward against my seat as the powerful engine pulls us smoothly away from a platform, and watch the rails glide by outside as we slip from town to town.

ICE’s (InterCity Express, the bullet trains) are even cooler, ‘cause they have comfy seats, tables, and snack bars in addition to the big picture windows. I kept trying to get some work done on the train on Sunday, but my eyes were drawn irresistibly to the hills, forests, fields, and villages lit up in a springtime sunrise on the other side of my window.

Landscape loveliness

I arrived at the bustling new (read: sunny and glass-bedecked) main station in Berlin around 12.30, and set off to find an S-Bahn to take me to the Alexanderplatz, a square near the city center which is home to one of Berlin’s most famous landmarks: the Fernsehturm. I’ve never been quite sure why the Fernsehturm is so interesting, frankly. It looks like a disco ball on a skewer, and hosts a ridiculously overpriced rotating restaurant somewhere inside its round body. But it was pretty neat to stand at my window on the 28^th floor of the Park Inn Hotel and see nothing but its mirrored sphericalness looking back at me, blinking merrily in an indisputable reminder that “HEY! You’re in Berlin!”

The view from my window.

Oh yeah, and the hotel was posh. It’s the tallest hotel in the city, and greets you with red carpet and chandeliers. Breakfast and dinner are served in a plush restaurant on the third floor that is surrounded by picture windows, and you can feast on treats like grilled salmon and steamed vegetables and mountains of salad, not to mention the typically fantastic array of breads and rolls that is standard to every German restaurant or bakery: whole wheat with toasted pumpkin seeds, oat and sunflower, croissants, sourdough… you name it. Mm, I’m getting hungry again just thinking about it!

Anyway, so I dropped my bags under the watchful silver eyeball of the Fernsehturm, met my roommate (Amanda, a sweet fellow TA from Alabama) and then joined a small cluster of other Fulbrighters to go sightsee at the Tiergarten, the largest park in Berlin. It’s quite pretty; apparently it was set aside as hunting ground for the king somewhere in the beginning of the 17^th century, and has stayed a state park/garden in various forms ever since. It is also the home of the Siegessäule (sometimes also called the Siegesspargel, or “Victory Asparagus”), that famous column you always see in pictures of Berlin, topped by a flying golden angel holding a torch in one hand and a prostrate figure of some kind in another. I guess I could have looked more into the meaning behind this famous sculpture, but Conny and Nate appeared at the base of it with their bikes; and at the mention of “Biergarten in the park”, I forgot all about prostrate golden figures at the possibility of making myself prostrate with golden bubbles.

Conny and Nate bike all over the city.

We had a great couple of hours, wandering around the (pleasantly wild-ish) park and catching up over a fresh tomato and basil pizza at the Biergarten. Then they walked me all the way back to the Alexanderplatz, and I made it just in time for the welcome dinner and official start of the seminar in one of the conference rooms at the hotel.

It was so nice to mingle with some other people in my program. That evening consisted simply of a couple of speeches and dinner, followed by everyone hanging around and taking advantage of the open bar; and the everyone there was so friendly and interesting that it must have taken me an hour to actually get out the door once I began to head for it at the end of the night (in the meantime being very grateful for the little cards, as I must have “exchanged cards” with at least ten people just that first evening!). I got to pick the brains of professors and politicians, and swap stories with other TAs who are “stationed” anywhere from bustling München to tiny fishing towns on the northern coast.

Just Another Manic Monday, March 12^th

Monday was great. After stuffing ourselves with a delicious breakfast, everyone met in another of the bright conference rooms to hear about some of the research projects being conducted by Fulbrighters all over Europe. We heard presentations on alternative energy, the (mystery-surrounded) Russian pipeline, propaganda in the architecture of East and West Berlin, open-source code in Scandinavia, Klezmer music, international security, and cultural diversity. There are some fascinating studies going on out there!

When we broke for lunch, I gave Conny a call to see where we could meet up. What was between the Technische Universität Berlin, where she works, and the Alexanderplatz?

“Let’s meet under the Brandenburg Gate,” she said.

Well okay, then! Shall we do the Eiffel Tower tomorrow, and maybe Buckingham Palace on Wednesday?

I walked down Unter den Linden – what you might call the Berlin equivalent of the Champs Elysees – and we picnicked on one of the benches next to the gate, watching tourists take pictures while Conny filled me in on her dissertation work.

That afternoon, everyone met up again for a discussion panel comparing the undergraduate education systems between Germany and the States. Apparently there’s been an agreement in Bologna, which plans to practically overhaul the European university system in an attempt to standardize higher education between Europe and North America. Imagine a German university no longer offering a Magister, but instead Bachelor’s and Master’s degrees! Weird. The idea is an interesting one, and well-intentioned; but of course this is no small tweak, and there are countless little arguments and counterarguments – which we, of course, picked apart in heated detail.

That night we had the “official” opening ceremony, which included lots of speeches by public officials and an address by the German Ambassador Ernst-Jörg von Studnitz . It was interesting, but I wonder at which point a person becomes so internationally renowned that he drowns in his own importance…? Maybe that sounds cynical. But while many were thoughtful and relevant, some of the speeches sounded more like an opportunity to indulge in long-winded self-congratulation than to offer particular praise for the Fulbright Exchange or insight for the current grantees. But it comes with the territory, I guess, and many of these folks certainly have earned the laurels they flaunt.

Ruby Tuesday, March 13^th

Tuesday’s structure was similar, with panel discussions and research presentations, except that the debate got even more heated. No wonder, considering the topic was “Immigration in Germany and America: How Much Do We Need?” To their credit, the panelists came prepared with a wealth of current information on the consistency, distribution, and trends in the populations of both countries, along with potential opportunities, problems, and ideas to approach both. They argued for cultural diversity but against current policy, and I thought the session was informed and sensitive. However, I think there are some topics where people’s first reactions are of the knee-jerk variety, and the panelists were challenged again and again by individual audience members who wanted to hear them address every detail of an impossibly gigantic topic in under two hours.

For instance, one of the panelists made the mistake of using the term “ethnic Germans” at some point. What he was referring to are those communities with German ancestry who live in Russia or the Czech Republic, who can claim German citizenry based on their heritage. By “ethnic German,” the panelist meant to separate these communities from their other possible identities, like “Czech citizen”.

But instead of taking in the entire context, one audience member simply fastened onto the term “ethnic German” and took it to mean current German citizens with non-migrant backgrounds, as contrasted to those whose parents or grandparents might have immigrated to Germany from somewhere else. Suddenly the panelist had to defend the term against charges of implicit racism!

To say the least, the panel was anything but boring. I was happy to get out into the sunshine, though, and picnicked again with Conny on the grass in front of one of Berlin’s landmarks: the monstrous Cathedral. (Did I mention the weather was perfect??)

All you need for a springtime picnic: sunshine, carrots, and a cathedral

Tuesday afternoon we got to hear about more presentations, and then that evening was the “Fulbright Music Gala.” This means that several amazing musicians on an exchange year at various music schools around Europe performed a variety of enjoyable pieces for us – we got to hear Beethoven, Fauré, Bach, and even some 20^th-century musical numbers either sung or played on violin, oboe, piano, cello, etc etc etc. The tenor even sang Eichendorff’s Mondnacht, one of my favorite poems of German Romanticism, set to music by Schumann.

Wednesday Morning 3 a.m., March 14^th

Yesterday, we assembled in the Rotes Rathaus (“red town hall” – so-called because of the bricks, not out of any particular political reference ;) ) to hear about the experiences of teaching assistants from Norway, Hungary, Sweden, Angora, Spain, and the Czech Republic. This was a fun and feisty exchange of stories between the “featured” grantees and the audience, and there were points when the entire hall was roaring with laughter. Immediately afterward, we were received by Barbara Kisseler, Head of the Senate Chancellery. She was an excellent speaker, and fielded questions from the audience with intelligence, thoughtfulness, and humor.

Excellent a morning as it was – and lubricated by free wine as it also was – I decided to be a bad little grantee and skip out on the afternoon’s workshops. Casey, a friend of mine from Arizona, was going to be in town for the day, and we had plans to run around the city and eventually make dinner with Conny and Nate that evening.

Which was exactly what we did. We checked out a booksale in front of the Humboldt University, got a cappuccino at the Hackescher Markt, window-shopped, walked around the Charlottenburg castle gardens, fed the ducks, and just talked talked talked talked talked. Then we had beer, salad, goulasch, Spätzle, Sauerkraut, bruschetta, and dessert (all delicious! I was so full!) at Conny and Nate’s apartment and talked even more – politics, education, you name it. Then they all walked me back to the S-Bahn station so that I could spend one last featherbedded night in the company of my buddy, the Fernsehturm.

Me, Nancy, Casey, Conny

Thursday Never Looking Back, March 15^th

Today, like every other day this week, has just been laid-back and lovely. I slept in until – gasp! – nine-thirty, took advantage of the gorgeous hotel breakfast one last time, stowed my baggage at the Alexanderplatz station, and took off to get a little sun and exercise before boarding a train again for five and a half hours that afternoon.

The first stop was the Egyptian Museum, the institution which boasts the famous bust of Nefertiti. (I’ve discovered that I often like to travel on my own for short periods of time. The entire last four days had been full of socializing and chitchat – albeit with fascinating and educated people – and I was ready to just be free and independent for a while.) So I moseyed across the river Spree, poked my head into some shops, then wandered up the marble stairs to the museum and picked up one of those informational headsets. I then got to spend a leisurely couple of hours being inside a Discovery Channel special on ancient Egypt: approach a cool-looking sandstone figure, press a button, and a smooth History-Channel-type voice guides you all around it. “Now take a look at the gold plating at the nape of the neck,” the voice purrs, as mystical “ancient Egyptian” music tinkles softly in the background. “This is all that is left of the decadent headdress that was removed after this advisor displeased Queen Hatshuphotetankenatneripatratihousethatjackbuilt…” There weren’t any mummies (alas), but lots of exciting art history and the pages and pages of hieroglyphs that seem to fascinate everyone who has ever learned to spell their name in 5^th-grade history class.

Queen Nefertiti

On another floor of the same museum is also a pretty nice collection of classical Greek vases and Roman busts. And while none of those exhibits compare to the impressive marbles and gates in the Pergamon Museum, I especially enjoyed the Greek vases, with their elegant cartoonish illustrations of scenes from the myths that still comprise some of our culture’s favorite stories, thousands of years after they were first told. Though many illustrations are less elegant, and vastly amusing: as in, some of those satyrs are having a really good time!

Well, speaking of history, I think I have officially written the longest blog post in all of Weinstraßendom. Time to enjoy the sunset from my train window and get ready to go back to normal life in wine country tomorrow… and for those who have plans to visit, we might now have another stop to put on the agenda! :)

HAPPY BIRTHDAY NIGEL!

Starting today, my yellow and sketchy friend, Nigel Fullerton, can officially rent a car in the States without paying extra fees. Herzlichen Glückwunsch, buddy. May your father ever smell of elderberries.

Geburtstagskind!

A... thing.

Walking along the banks of the Rhein River, I came across this eerie apparition. At first I thought it was a clock. But look closer....

I later found out what it was, but first, any guesses (except the weirdest bit of creepiness you've ever seen)?