Europe

I’ve been back in the US for a week now. I will now force you to read my reflections on my experience as a whole, after I rid my system of the urge to give you a step-by-step account of my last day. I may cry a little. Luckily, you won’t see it. I win.

Thursday, July 29, 7:45am. I woke up for the last time in my German apartment. I had made the place super-clean to appease the Superintendent, for whom “Cleanliness is very important.” There was nothing I could do about the rust that had appeared on the base of my hot plate, so I just left it. Cheap materials equal short lifespan. I had cleaned the floor with a hand broom and a makeshift mop made of damp paper towels and refuse clothing I did not wish to transport across an ocean. It was quite impeccable, at least by my standards. The Super at least said it was OK.

A friend met me to help me to the train station, since I was again carrying my livelihood in two suitcases and a backpack. The time came and I turned off my lights, shut my door and locked it for the last time. I think I left my window open.

Since the Super was on vacation that day, I threw my keys into his mailbox with a little note that said “hey, I’m gone.” And then I was. The bus was horrendous as always, but it was the last time, so I chose to spend the time waving goodbye to Würzburg as I passed everything. And then, before I knew it, I was on a train to Frankfurt, sitting across from a bicycle that took up two seats.

I got to the Airport and I had no idea where to go. I asked somebody and they said Terminal 2, so I hopped on the shuttle bus to said terminal, only to discover that it was the other one. I didn’t allow much time for major screw-ups, so I went into panic mode and became very impatient with the slow people leisurely loading their stuff. I eventually got to my terminal, ran like a madman around the women with children, checked in, and sat down at the gate. Everybody was speaking American English, so it started to feel like home again. I had to pee, but it would mean that I had to leave security (the security was right at the gate, how convenient), so I held it.

We finally boarded, found my seat and tried to relax. 9 hours on a plane to Chicago was not really what I wanted to do with my day, but it was necessary. The person next to me took up more than her fair share of space, so I got to squish myself against the window (at least I had that privilege.) The flight crew spoke with a variety of US-regional accents, which sort of made me happy. The flight attendant from Buffalo was my favorite.

The plane took off and the chorus began. Apparently Flight 83 from Frankfurt International to Chicago O’Hare had advertised a special: “Bring your screaming children across the ocean today, but only today.” Plenty of people had taken them up on their offer, so from the instant the captain said “prepare for takeoff,” the screeches and howls began. It was everything people have nightmares about. A brief moment of peace graced the passengers somewhere over Greenland, which, by the way, had no clouds and thus a beautiful view from my window. The glaciers, coastline, and ragged mountain ranges were picturesque.

We landed (much to my pleasure) and made it through customs. Since I was finally in my homeland, I (finally) got to go through the express customs/passport line, so I was in and out without stopping long enough to fall asleep. Since customs involved leaving security, I had the joy of going through it again. Angry Chicago people told me my carry-on bag was too big (even though it was clearly of size for my last flight) and I had to check it. I was too tired to fight back, so I paid my fee and trudged my way through security again. Since I had drawn the unlucky number and looked passive and maybe doped up, I was chosen to walk through the new full-body scanners, so some creep behind a curtain got to see me in my birthday suit. I feel violated and no more secure. Thank you, Patriot Act.

My first goal back on American Soil was to find a real cheeseburger and margarita. I had heard rumors that O’Hare had a Chilis restaurant, so I broke free from security, put my shoes back on, and traversed through the terminal. I reached the end and felt sad because I hadn’t seen my restaurant. A map told me that the place of my desire was in fact right next to security, but I was too anxious to flee that wretched area that I failed to notice. I sat down and ate. It was glorious.

My flight to DFW was late, so I might have fallen asleep standing up (thanks to American Airlines’s love of overbooking flights and not providing enough waiting room space at the gates) waiting to board. Once on board, I promptly entered unconsciousness with my neck awkwardly placed against that plastic wall. Before I knew it, we were at DFW. After a rather long wait to leave that port of entry, I fell asleep and awoke later that day in my homeland. I promptly drove a car, shopped at an outlet center, and drank a Dr. Pepper. After the initial culture shock of having somebody bag my groceries and shopping after 7pm, I began to fit in again.

So now I get to sit and ponder my experiences as a whole. I flew across the ocean expecting to see the Old World and feel all cultured and stuff. I left feeling not particularly better cultured, but at least left with a better understanding of how I fit into the world.

I discovered that Europe does not exist. Contrary to many of our conceptions that Europeans are high class, snobby, and the beacons of western civilization, I have come to terms with the fact that Europe is some rusty remnant of the old world. Choosing to view Europe as one common thread and studying it as such is a naive notion. Regional differences prevent the kind of cooperation we take for granted in the United States, and these regional differences stem back thousands of years. Within small geographic distances, people speak different languages and harbor deep-down grudges and jealousies that really don’t exist between regions in the US. Even through the disparity between Republicans and Democrats in the US Congress, at least that is split into two parts. Europe is split into at least 25 combinations of opinions. The EU is artificial, and it will take a few generations before Europeans will start to identify themselves as citizens of a united continent. The common culture of the arts and literature is in reality a chasm between Italy, Germany, France, and the East. The small countries insist on their sovereignty in the face of the super-powers trying to take them over via the European Parliament. Ideas of race and ethnic identity make Europe a mixture of explosives, not a melting pot. The warring tribes continue to fortify their walls from their neighbors, strengthening the tension.

My view for the future of Europe involves lots of time. Slowly the regions are blending and becoming peaceful, but it’s so slow that my generation will probably not reap the fruits of that tree. Maybe by the time my great-grandchildren’s grandchildren are of age, Europe will be one if the path continues, but I’m not even convinced that’s a path that should be taken.

So thank you for reading. I hope you’ve enjoyed it. I’m sure I’ll start up another blogging venture eventually. But until then, keep your mind open and active, do something new and exciting, and write about it.

Auf Wiedersehen, Deutschland

It's 11:30 pm on my last night in Germany. This time tomorrow (does some math) I will still be on an airplane, probably somewhere over Canada.

I've said goodbye to everybody. I've had my farewell games of table tennis, farewell dinners, farewell coffees, farewell hugs, and even gave away some of my stuff that I can't take back with me/would be foolish to throw away to other students who will remain here.

I've cleaned my floor, kitchen, and bathroom with my own hands and elbow grease (nobody seems to know of a mop or broom available to residents, so all was done with sponges, paper towels, and a hand broom.) I spent my last euros (on gummy bears and rust remover...?) and have enough cash left over for a packed lunch from the bakery next to the train station. I have my bottle of water (all of which I must drink before I can get through security) and my bags are packed.

My life is once again in two suitcases (hopefully which are not too heavy, but probably are.) I'll probably take some of the paper items (namely those books I just had to take back with me) and shove them in my carry-on. Every bit of space counts, as does every distribution of weight amongst my bags. I'm prepared to make some last-minute discards at the airport.

As I walked back to my apartment for the last time, I looked out on the city of Wuerzburg from the central library and thought how I will never have this perspective - my favorite which I've found - ever again. It's over. My European Excursion is over. No more exciting weekend trips which are only a short train ride away. No more evenings at the pub or playing ping-pong. I will wake up in the morning, eat my bowl of cereal, and head out for the last time. I'm sure some pretty strong feelings will briefly sweep over me.

At the same time, I'm ready to go home. I'm ready to speak English, go to the grocery store at 9:30pm and take classes that are actually stimulating. This whole "suspended reality" in which I've been living has gotten old. I'm ready to be a functioning member of society.

So Goodbye, Germany. Hopefully we will see each other again sooner rather than later.

This was Adam, reporting for the last time from across the ocean. Farewell.

Lasts

This is my last week in Wuerzburg, thus the week of lasts. I’ve taken my last “vacation” (as Amanda calls them), and I begin saying goodbye to people (sad) and the German Bureaucracy (happy). I’ve attended my last classes (happy), taken my exams (also happy), I’m receiving my grades (mostly happy), I’m awkwardly saying farewell to professors for the last time (no comment.) I’ve hopefully washed my last round of dishes (happy – I miss my dishwasher), I’ve washed my last round of clothes (very happy – I hate these washing machines and I miss my dryer.)

On Friday I closed my bank account, so I’m living on a cash-only basis. Except for the deposit I paid on my cafeteria card, all of my European liquid assets are in my wallet (which will be no fun if I’m pickpocketed.) On Monday I will de-register with the city, make my last trip to the grocery store (I ran out of cereal…) and I will go to my last trip to the pub with friends.

My trips with that wretched city bus are numbered, as are my days without air conditioning. Before long, I’ll be in my own car with air conditioning, my own radio and my own route to wherever I want to go, and I won’t look like a pack mule on my way home from wherever I went.

I’ve started cleaning. That means that I’ve basically reorganized my piles of stuff into “throw away,” “take with me,” and “decide if I have enough room” piles. I’ve put all of my winter clothes along with auxiliary items into my checked suitcase, made a pile of clothes that I decided are not worth the transatlantic voyage (even though I decided that my comforter was worth the space it took up in said suitcase – I really do love that thing.) My bookcases (where my piles of junk used to sit) are now empty. I’ll start filling my carry-on suitcase later, perhaps tomorrow.

So now I guess I just wait until I fly away. When I get back, I’ll resume my life where I left off. Now I will go and put off cleaning.

The Former Capital

Today was a day of fail. I woke up early, about 7:15, to a text message asking if I was dead. I moaned, rolled over and decided to start my day.

So I got ready. My plan was to fly off to Bonn, see the capital of (west) Germany during the Cold War, visit this one highly-recommended museum, pay homage to the Beethoven-God, and finally round out the day with some gummy bears from the gummy bear headquarters of the world.

All bright and shiny-faced I walked to the Aldi store not (too) far from my Hostel, stuck my two plastic bottles into the deposit-giver-back-machine, and was told that my bottles were not acceptable. Like hell they aren’t. My instinct was to kick the machine and say “you’re going to take these bottles if it’s the last thing I do,” but I decided instead to ask politely the person on the floor if there was something I could do about it. She said no, because the bottle types aren’t sold by Aldi or its managing or subsidiary companies. So I carried some crushed bottles in the bottom of my bag all day until I found a Netto later in the day. Despite this unpleasant experience, I still bought some new bread rolls to accompany my jelly and another bottle of water before I headed out.

The train cartel was my next adventure. I wanted to ride a Deutsche Bahn train to Bonn because it would be faster and cheaper, given my handy-dandy 50% off card. Since there is no commuter train between the two cities, but they share a metropolitan-transit authority, all of the machines in the station were trained to make sure that no deals were given to any customer (namely me.)I fought the machine, tried to specify only fast trains, but I lost. Normally, a trip of that distance would have cost me 4.5 Euros with my 50% off card, but the machine wasn’t letting me choose that option. So I gave up and paid the 7 Euros to get to Bonn with the Zone-4 commuter rail ticket out of sheer frustration.

So I arrived and eagerly toured the former capital area. That was all fun and dandy. I went to my first much-anticipated museum only to realize that it was Monday, and museums are closed on Monday. I consulted my travel guide to see how many of my other planned destinations were closed only to realize that would be all of them. So I winced in pain and probably muttered something along the lines of “d’oh” and retreated back into the old city. My fault, there is nobody else to blame (except cruel fate.) I decided that since I had paid a prince’s fare to get here, I should enjoy it.

Well, Bonn looks like every other old city: glass-windowed shops and grey stones. I was just absolutely elated by this new discovery that all I could do was run for the river and plop down in the garden behind the University and read a book for about 3 hours.

I came back to Cologne and found another park, only to read for about another 2 hours. I came all the way to the Ruhr Valley to sit in a park and read a book - wonderful use of my last Euros, right? Planning fail.

So I went back to Aldi, bought some sausages and will cook them for dinner, after which I will probably go back to a shady green spot and read some more until it gets dark. Finally I’ll go to bed early. Tomorrow I’ll visit the stuff in Cologne, buy a train ticket home, route it through Bonn, try my much-anticipated museums one more time, and then hop back on a train to get home. Minus 5 points for travelling on a Monday.

East (and West)

This morning I took a leisurely trip through Dresden. I took the streetcar into one of the GDR developments and have since decided that the much-detested apartment buildings are actually a good idea. They provide lots of housing in only a little space. Great. What’s better is that the designers planned green space into the grid; between each of the 5-7 story tall buildings is a large park with playground equipment for the kids. Even better, it’s well connected to the city with a street car line. Riverside and Slaughter Lane in Austin should be jealous. If you’re going to complain about how ugly and boring they are, you should look at the rest of Germany, yes, even in the west. I’d rather live in a 7-story tall building with identical floor plans and some tile decoration on the outside than those ghastly pastel-colored cardboard boxes that litter Würzburg, Munich, and the rest of these havens of individuality and free choice.

Besides my affinity for staring at East German Housing solutions, I got to gawk at a giant VW factory made of glass. Had I found it during normal working hours (which for Germans may end as early as 4pm), I would have seen the multi-story assembly line in action. I probably would have spent hours in utter fascination, but that is neither here nor there. The fact is that I saw it on a Sunday morning, so there was no way anything in the city would be open, much less be productive.

Then I realized that time was not on my side and bolted across the city on foot with my bajillion-pound backpack (what? 30 minutes until the next streetcar? No way) to the Neustadt Bahnhof, and approached the automated ticket machine, only to be foiled by an old man who beat me by mere fractions of a second. The other lines were occupied by tourists who (1) didn’t read German and (2) weren’t smart enough to choose one of the other 8 language options. As the aforementioned old man dutifully contemplated his options for a train to Chemnitz (by the way, there were only two,) I anxiously tapped my foot because my train would be leaving in 4 minutes. I received one of those looks that old people give which means “calm down, you whipperschnapper” in any language. Finally, he made his decision, I went “tap, tap, tap, tap" on the screen, paid with my exact cash, grabbed my ticket, ran to the appropriate platform (which, naturally, was one of the last ones at the end of the train station), took the stairs three at a time as I heard the conductor blow the “all clear” whistle, and bolted for the door just like we’ve all seen in movies. I made it to the nearest door just as it was closing (and tripped on the last step.) Luckily there wasn’t an old lady with a cane or a parent with a baby stroller; otherwise there would have been collateral damage. I picked myself up as the train nudged its way out, and found a seat while celebrating my small victory of arriving by the skin of my teeth.

I gave my heart rate some time to return to normal before I busted out the book that got me through the next hour and a half. When I arrived in Weimar, I was ready for another adventure.

Unfortunately, Weimar is not the place one goes to find adventure. I paraded out of the Hauptbahnhof with my itinerary and routes planned out on my map. I was impressed by the turn-of-the century architecture by the train station, but that was about it. I made my way through the “highly recommended” sights, only to discover they were just boring things that I’ve seen everywhere else. Woo. The house where Goethe lived? It looks like a cardboard box. Schiller’s residence? Now it’s a glass-façade museum. The stunning palace and fortress? Nothing that great. So I turned around and made my way back to wait for the next available train out of there. It was already 2pm and I was hungry, so I thought I would look around at the charming little restaurants. Bad Idea. Since apparently the only industry in Weimar is the tourist-trap industry, everything was a good 4-7 Euros more than I would be willing to pay, even if I weren’t in austerity mode. So I settled for Subway, where apparently the words “big or small” have their own dialectical twist. I asked for the sandwich of the day (which was actually appealing, Turkey and Ham), but somewhere in the laborious task of not putting olives on my sandwich, the guy forgot that I asked for the special price (you know, the one advertised every 2 feet in the restaurant) and charged me the regular price. I didn’t even get a cookie. I wanted to throw my Fanta in his face, but I did my usual “Gosh, I wish I could complain and argue in German” grunt and evil glare as I went out onto the patio.

Finally, the time came for me to zip off to Cologne. After 200 pages and a short nap, I was there with the big Dom hovering over me. This dome is everything I had ever expected out of a cathedral. This is what I wanted when I saw (the puny) Notre Dame in Paris. The spires seem to go up forever. Even as you approach it from afar, your eyes are required to look upwards for the full extent of the steeples. The façade is worth 45 minutes of awe. I just had to go inside.

They were tuning the organ. This was interesting. While tourists filed past the crypts and chapels, the organ-tuner would belch out a tone, manipulate it to a very sharp extreme, a very flat extreme, and then find a happy center. People walked around with their fingers in their ears, only to remove them as they snapped a (not allowed) picture. The Tuner did this for every chromatic note on the keyboard and the foot pedals. Luckily for me, I bolted before he made it to the high register.

So then I decided, Ok, bedtime. Except it was only 9 pm. I went to the lobby of my hostel (which, by the way opened on the 5^th of this month) and watched some BBC news. It was actually pretty interesting. News followed by an educational but pertinent segment about a very interesting/polarizing event/policy, and then a short inspirational piece about people who save the world (or at least kittens in Morocco.) I would probably watch BBC for hours on end if they had it in the USA.

So then I went to bed. The place still smelled like new, so it was a comforting sleep.

Bach-Land

Today I started an adventure into the East. My taste in Berlin did not satisfy me, so I hopped on a train bound for Dresden. I got off in Leipzig to see what was there, and then continued on.

First, the train ride was absurdly long. I keep thinking “fast train=2 or 3 hours.” No. I got to sit on a train for 5. Not going to complain, because it was air conditioned, but I sort of got hungry, and my desire to not withdraw any more Euros has put me in austerity mode: that means no food from the BordBistro. Thank goodness I had packed my last (browning and mushy) banana, so that held me over until I made it to Leipzig. I’m also thankful that I bought a book (in English, I’m getting lazy), because I turned on my iPod to see the little red battery, so I decided to conserve it for the tedious ride home, which always takes 4x longer than the ride away from home.

Leipzig was surprisingly cool. The train station rivals Frankfurt and Munich (even though it handles probably ¼ of the traffic.) There are 3 floors of shopping in the front part of the station, and luckily there was an Aldi (one of my preferred grocery stores.) I bought my usual travelling meal of a bag of bread rolls (6 for 89 cents), a small jar of jelly (99 cents), and a bag of gummy bears (89 cents.) I have some disposable knives which I’ve acquired through my travels thus far. The bread will last me 2 meals, the jelly will probably be thrown away after the trip is over. The gummy bears were gone by the time I got to Dresden (oops.)

Anyway, I made my way to the fringes of town to the gigantic war memorial, then I peeped into the churches of Bach fame, perused the Forum for Contemporary History in Germany (End of WWII until today), and the former Stasi Headquarters in Leipzig. The penultimate was really cool, because it dealt with those banal details of everyday life that are actually quite interesting (at least to me.) I got to tour a DDR-era prefabricated apartment, look at some toys, watch some TV from the 70s in the east, and take a look at food selections. The Stasi Headquarters was OK, but I think the impact was lost because I already saw the “national” headquarters in Berlin (which was larger and more comprehensive). But it’s still really interesting (and disturbing) to see the machines designed for opening up and resealing mail without the recipient knowing it and gawking at the huge shredding/mulching machines for confiscated material (you know, such as newspapers from the West). Next door, there is a big archive of all the documents that the Leipzig Stasi kept. One can go in and read the files that the “Security Police” had kept on you – everything from notes from when they observed you to samples of your hair and fingerprints. I’m pretty sure I would have given it two thumbs up, but I didn’t have an appointment, nor do I have a file.

I then meandered back to the train station and finished the stretch to Dresden. I was immediately greeted by my good friend, the East German Crossing light. He makes me so happy. Checked into my hostel, received a free upgrade to a private room (because they had run out of dorm beds, with which I’m OK),and then I made my way around the city – a bridge from the 19^th century that survived the 2-day long bombing raid, the rows and rows of prefabricated apartment buildings (which are actually slightly appealing to me), and then the old city.

I was really worried that I was rushing my stay in Dresden, but since I crossed most everything off of my list after 3 hours, I know I made the right decision. I’m going to finish off my list and then I’ll flee to the complete other side of Germany.

I'm Still Alive

So you came here hoping for a great piece of blogging literature. Sorry to disappoint you.

The past week or so has been rather dull. I've had to put my nose to the grindstone and actually study, prepare for presentations, and, well, do nothing exciting. However, things are winding down here. I'm finished with four of my five classes and I've already received my grades for two of them. I took a killer exam today, but I'm taking the class on the pass/fail basis, so as long as I scrape by with a D, I'm fine.

I had to pay the remainder of my rent contract (the two months during which I will not live here) in cash, so my bank account was drained. Now I feel like I usually do at the end of a semester - counting my dimes (um, Euro coins?) and asking myself if I really needed that bottle of wine three weeks ago (I could eat food for a whole day for that price). Anyway, so I've done some math to discover just how much of this foreign currency I need in order to survive while I'm here (which, by the way, happens as the Euro escalates again.) So the next weeks will consist of grocery shopping with that nasty voice in the back of my mind saying "will you have the desire to laboriously prepare this food and eat all of it before you leave?" The answer is usually no, which means I will go back to the subsistence level of my first few days: cereal. Joy.

I've been having some frustrations with the German concept of customer service lately. My internet connection is apparently a 12-month contract (jerkface salesman told me I could end my contract early...liar), so my attempt to end my contract has turned into a nightmare. I thought I would be efficient and go to the customer service center in town (which, by the way, is out in the boonies), but I arrived to find out that it is a place for people to go when they want a new connection, and that is it. I showed up and told them I wanted to end my service, only to discover that I need to do everything over the e-mail. I e-mail the appropriate robot only to get vague answers and broad instructions such as "you need to return your modem" with no hint as to where I should send it. I think (after 4 days of replying with more and more specific questions which SHOULD solicit a clear answer, but only realizing that I continue to receive vague answers) I'm finally getting to the point where I can safely end my internet contract. It would just be nice if I could call somewhere (you know, and not pay 14 cents per minute) and efficiently get stuff done.

So now I'm roasting bratwurst, drinking the fantastic orange soda which I will miss so much (but will gladly sacrifice for Dr. Pepper), and meticulously planning my last excursion in Europe. I'm going to Dresden in the morning (with a stop in Leipzig), followed by a sweep across Germany to Cologne (with a stop in Weimar), and then home (with stops in Mainz and Darmstadt.) Afterward, my available resources will be limited to about 30 or 40 Euros, which need to get me through the remaining 8 days (my train ticket to the airport is already paid for.) The impending task of cleaning lies ahead of me, but I keep putting it off. The internet is just so much more interesting.

So peace out, world (I had a reader from somewhere in Russia - shout out to you. Привет, кто вы.)