Finally, an epic post about Amy's visit in March!
It was awesome to have her here. On the one hand, mid-March is not the most aesthetic time to see the Pfalz -- winter is over, spring has not yet arrived, and the trees and vineyards are just a bunch of wet sticks -- but as Amy pointed out, hey, at least your view of the landscape is not obstructed by leaves! She was a real trooper on arrival, too, sticking it out until after 9:00pm Saturday night. Of course it didn't help that in my brilliant reasoning, a quiet, dark museum and echoing Speyer cathedral were just the place to take a person who really needs sunshine and physical activity to reset her sleep-clock. But despite my best efforts to put her to sleep (including a nice relaxing, gently-rocking train ride and a heavy homemade Jägerschnitzel) she was able to surmount the jetlag quite well.
On Sunday, we attended the Hansel-Fingerhut-Spiel, the very first wine festival of the year which includes giant, singsonging, fighting cones, a soot-smeared raggedy man, and a bonfire. After hooting at the incinerated winter (it didn't work, by the way, the burning down of Winter. It stayed cold until well into April), we hiked a thousand miles straight uphill to the Wachtenburg, where we fueled up on hearty German foods and enjoyed the atmospherically rainy view.
Monday... Monday rocked. We absolutely spoiled ourselves. (Or actually for a lot of it, Amy spoiled me, since I spent much of the time secreting penny-shaped sweat beads and wondering if we shouldn't go for the discount this and cheap-ass that. I think I need a better-paying job...) We took the train down to Baden-Baden and made sure our first stop was every chocolate store on the main street. Champagne truffles? Sure. Egg-shaped fondant things? Pile 'em on. Are these mint discs actually filled with minty filling, or are they just, you know, solid chocolate flavored with mint? Oh good, they do have the layer? Then we'll take some of them, too, my lass.
Mouths full of exotic sweetmeats, we slowly ambled down the cobblestone roads to the Friedrichsbad, aka Best Damn Spa This Side of the Mortal Coil. Cheerfully we stripped, showered, and proceeded to luxuriate in quiet hot-air rooms, hotter-air rooms, natural mineral sauna, baths and swimming pools of varying depths and temperatures... Of course we got the "soap brush massage," too, which as Amy pointed out, is only something you'd find here. They lay you out on a table, demand to know if you want a hard or a soft brush (soft, we volunteered wimpily) and then proceed to scrub off every dead skin cell with firm strokes of a foaming, bristly brush. And yeah, even the soft brush was pretty bristly! When they're done, they give you a slap on the butt with the brush and send you off to the shower. I have never felt so squeaky clean -- and ready for a full-body oil massage, which followed after!
By the time we were bundled into warm sheets in the memory-foam mattresses of the "Ruhe Raum," we agreed that it might not be a bad idea to just scrap our plans for the rest of the week and just come back here every day.
Alas, the sights called, and on Tuesday we explored Heidelberg and its castle, and walked along the Neckar river, taking pictures of the castle, old bridge, various waterfowl, and flowers before enjoying a steaming Bratwurst over a golden pile of fried potatoes at the Vetter Brauhaus in town.
Wednesday, it was off to Berlin. The best part of the whole trip, of course, was having so much one-on-one time together. I think the last visit to Seattle, Amy and I sort of saw each other in a drive-by visit that included John and his kids, and thus we realized we hadn't really just sat and caught up in a long time. So we sat on the train and talked books and philosophy and future plans and travel, and basically just grokked for the five-hour train ride. That, and watched a bunch of "Firefly" episodes on the laptop...
The first day in Berlin consisted of finding the hostel (fanciest one I've ever stayed at, by the way! Grand Hostel Berlin, check it out!), finding some Italian food (a tasty little restaurant and a nice insider tip, although we both ended up regretting that we hadn't gotten the other dish) and then moseying over to the Salvador Dali exhibit. Now that was cool. Amy, what were the features we want to put in our counterfeit Dali painting, again? We need some stylized eyes; melting clocks; Y-shaped crutch things; an unexpected object with drawers in it. Wasn't there more?
We also made it over to the Erotik Museum, conveniently located over the Beate Uhse shop (10% discount with a museum ticket!), and had a gander at some 800-year-old phallic carvings and instructional Kama Sutra-type paintings from all over the world. Very interesting, the history of eroticism in the arts. And by the time we left, we were both rather numb, possibly blind. Amy said, "I think I've seen enough penises for one evening."
Thursday was super. We had the Best City Tour Ever, led by the Best Tour Guide Ever, the astonishingly well-informed and informative Mike from England. It was supposed to go from 10 to 2, but our group was so interested and Mike was so fascinating and knowledgeable that it must have been almost 4:00 by the time we all parted ways. I learned so much, it felt like visiting Berlin for the first time!
When the tour ended, we were just in time to wait in line to enter the German Parliament Building, the Reichstag, at sunset. The hour-long wait went surprisingly quickly, and we slowly perambulated the glass dome with our audio guides, tugging at each other's sleeves to point out cool views over the city and take pictures of the light. Then we emerged into the city night below and went looking for a show or cabaret, anything to watch while we rested our poor feet in some chairs.
Well, what did we find was none other than the Biggest Show in Berlin, called (mysteriously) "Qi," at the Friedrichstadt Palast. I was unaware of this, and simply called the number in the guidebook around 7:30 to see what the Friedrichstadt Palast had on offer that night. "Um," hesitated the ticket guy, the way you might regard someone in Munich who just asked if there wasn't some kind of autumn beer festival going on somewhere, "Qi is tonight." Me: "Chi? Key?" Him: "Yes. You'd better hurry, the show starts in 30 minutes." Me: "All right. Did you say 'kee'?"
It was quite cool. The only two seats next to each other were right in the front row, so close we could put our feet up on the stage (and frequently did). The sights and sounds were overwhelming. A singer in ethereal silvery garments floats down on a huge, sparkling crescent moon while a hundred disco-ball stars of varying sizes twinkle around her; an ice rink rises from the floor to show off dancers doing impressive feats on skates; tumblers balance on and throw each other around, making the audience gasp as they catch each other, just narrowly avoiding a face-plant into the stage; athletic dancers writhe in skimpy (sometimes revealing!) leather outfits and swimmers leap into a pool which has now replaced the ice surface; trapeze artists spun high over our heads. Finally, all the female performers appeared in classic feather-bedecked costumes to execute a stage-chomping kickline that culminated in a floor full of singing fruits, peacocks, and other weird and wonderful forms all working up to a musical crescendo before the lights went off.
Whatever "Qi" means, it was pretty spectacular.
We slept in a bit on Friday; oohed and aahed at the "Return of the Gods" exhibit at the Pergamon Museum (one room devoted to each Greek god! So cool!) and then hurried over to the Berlin Philharmonic box office to get tickets to a performance of Mozart's Requiem for that evening. Got some hearty German dinner at the Kartoffelhaus No. 1 on the Alexanderplatz, and then barely made it back to the Philharmonic in time for the 8:00 performance.
Actually, it was not quite 8:05 when we rushed, breathless, up to the ticket guy and tried to hand him our tickets. "Ooh, I'm sorry," he said, "They just began, and I don't believe there's late entry."
"Rats," we said, disappointed. "Missed it by 3 minutes! When is the next break between pieces?"
He promised to check. Soon, another colleague came by to see where our seats were. "Go up to that door over there," she said. We did. It was locked. "Erm," we said, "It seems we'll have to wait until this piece is over." She furrowed her brow and went to find yet another colleague.
Do you know what happened? They would not admit us to the performance. AT ALL. That was it. You arrive at 8:03? Sorry, no Mozart. Sure, I find it annoying when the music gets going and then some latecomers push past you fifteen minutes after the performance has started. But not even between sets? Apparently the conductor had decided that this would spoil his artistic vision, to have, you know, live people in the seats, and banned all door-opening from 8:00 until the end of the show. The attendants even sheepishly explained that, if someone had to go to the bathroom, he or she would not be re-admitted. Even worse, they wouldn't even refund us our money! The lady behind the counter was quite haughty about it, too. "This ticket is essentially a contract saying you will be in your seat at 8:00. We are not responsible for refunds when you don't hold up your end of the bargain." Wow. This kind of attitude is not infrequent (though, thankfully, nowhere near universal) in Germany, vendors treating the customer like some sort of nuisance, like they're granting us a privileged service that can be revoked at any time, should we fall out of lock-step. After all this time, it's still maddening.
I mean for goodness sake, this was not an airline ticket or a mob deal or a signed contract. It's eine kleine bloody Mozart. And the conductor's "vision"? Of all the absurd, out-of-touch, snobby self-importance! This was clearly not music for the listeners, this was the conductor deigning to apportion out a little of his artistic brilliance in miserly bits as long as you held quite still and pretended not to be there. Maybe the audience was also instructed to keep their eyes on the floor and not look at His Radiance as he entered and left. It's a long time since I have felt so angry, so cheated, and barely restrained myself from snarling as we exchanged clipped, heated retorts. But in the end, Amy and I had essentially just donated our money to the Berlin Philharmonic, and I stood in front of the doors and demonstrably tore up my ticket and threw it on the ground before we stomped away.
We were full of self-righteous wrath.
"WELL WHAT SHALL WE DO NOW?" growled Amy.
"IT SEEMS WE HAVE AN EVENING FREE IN BERLIN," I hissed.
"MAYBE WE SHOULD TRY ANOTHER SHOW," she spat.
"NO DICE! THEY'VE ALREADY ALL BEGUN." I gnashed my teeth.
"LET'S GO SHOPPING ON POTSDAMER PLATZ." She rent her hair.
"GOOD IDEA, THAT'LL SHOW THOSE BASTARDS!" I shook my fist at the asymmetrical Philharmonic building.
And off we flounced to try on shoes and buy the entire contents of a chocolate shop.
Saturday was great again. We took the train to Leipzig, a splendid city. It's so easy to navigate, too, and soon we had checked in and were off to find the Kartoffelhaus No. 1 for some tasty German grub. We just happened to be there on Bach's birthday (!) and so we were able to attend a 2-Euro (!) organ concert on the largest pipe organ in east Germany (!!) in the historic Nikolaikirche (!!) by one of the top organists in the world (!!!). Did I mention Leipzig is cool? We also ate our way through mounds of ice cream at the San Remo Eiscafe, explored the town, and came home in the evening to rest and get showered before heading out to one of my all-time favorite clubs, the Moritzbastei.
It happened to be very, very crowded on a Saturday. And our feet were, at this point, swollen beyond recognition from days of tramping the cobblestone streets, so we didn't stay long; just enough to explore a little, wiggle around (as much as the packed crowd allowed) to the music, down a beer, and head back home for a foot bath and some much-needed sleep.
We both woke mysteriously early on Sunday, and decided what the heck, let's get a head start. We found a hearty Irish breakfast at an outdoor cafe in the Barfußgässchen before grabbing the tram out to the creepy, atmospheric Völkerschlachtdenkmal in the rain. This is the Monument to the Battle of Nations fought against Napoleon near Leipzig, but I keep trying to call it the Battle of Five Armies, like in The Hobbit. I've been there a couple of times now, and its eerie monstrous size and solemn carvings still just arrest me. It was the first time, however, that they were playing some sort of background music in the main gallery. Which was sometimes pretty neat (the monastic choir sounds suited the location perfectly) and then sometimes a bit odd, like Sting's "Desert Rose." Oh layee oh lay? Oh well. The monument is often despised as a bit of nationalistic bombast, but I still like it, out of context. Guess I wasn't around when the National Socialists held rallies around it in the '30s, and so I just picture Indiana Jones scooping cobwebs away from its sandstone arches.
The rest of Sunday was spent cozily bundled in the train, letting the rain sluice by the windows as we hungrily absorbed the remaining episode of "Firefly" on Amy's computer and then watched the movie made from the TV series.
Monday was sad. I hate the the train-station, stand-on-the-platform-goodbye thing. Except this one was extra long, because the train sat on the platform for a good half-hour after it was supposed to depart. See, it was overcrowded for a couple of reasons:
Monday was the first day of school break in Baden-Württemberg.
The train had arrived one wagon short.
Lufthansa had reserved an entire wagon just for itself and its passengers. (Regardless of whether the passengers actually took advantage of this service or not.)
There was only one week remaining in the 66€ Aldi-Deutsche Bahn Ticket Special Event, use it or lose it.
It was Monday morning, heading to the airport.
The train got so ridiculously, unsafely full that police actually had to board the machine and forcibly remove some people! I stood talking to a DB employee while Amy and I made quizzical glances at each other out the window (she had nabbed what must have been the last available seat) and he explained that there is no limit on how many tickets can be sold for a particular train. They don't have this problem in Denmark, he continued, where you have to show a seat reservation before being allowed access to the platform. He sounded a little wistful, as if there weren't enough Ordnung in Deutschland and we should take a cue from the organized, efficient Danes. Heh heh.
Finally, Amy and I snuck to the open door for another hug and then it was choo-choo, off to the airport.
Thanks for the catch-up time, dear friend.
I needed that. :)
