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.)

What? Work?

Many things to tell you today. None of them of great excitement. Sorry.

1. I actually have to do work. I was dumb and told myself "oh, I'll do my presentations towards the end so I will have more confidence in front of the class and a better fluency in German." Well, while these may be true, it also means that I've put them off until the last minute, so I had two last week and one next week. My entire grade for my classes rides on that dumb presentation. Normally (in English) I would have the opportunity to give a riveting lecture of great success and consequence, but instead I stand up and mutter (in German) like a kindergärtner.

2. Professors are scary. They're not scary because they are big, burly, and could beat me up, but because they seem to be ambivalent. I told them at the beginning of the semester that I need this piece of paper called a "schein" with a grade. I told them that I will do what I need to receive this piece of paper, but I've been asked by 2 of them what I need. Dummy-I've told you. We've had this discussion. I'm just afraid that at the end of this semester, they're just going to give me a "participant schein" instead of a real one. And then I'll have to fight with UT, which will be a losing battle. Please, professors, listen to me.

3. It's really hot. I don't know how I ever survived in Texas, because the highs here are only in the mid-90s. I went to the grocery store this morning and I just wanted to hang out in the refrigerated section. On my way back, I put my frozen food in the back of my backpack so that it would cool my back for my hike to my apartment. I stick everything in the freezer, and it would take a lot of motivation (and hunger) to take it out and cook it, because as soon as I turn on that stove and heat a pan, the temperature in the apartment raises. I'd just rather eat cereal and ice cream. It at least makes me feel like I'm cooling off.

4. I'm going home pretty soon. This means that I need to clean this place. Anybody who knows me realizes that I'm comforted by clutter and am a pack rat. 6 months here and I've already accumulated too much stuff. Sometime next week (or the week after that, or the day before my flight leaves) I'm going to sift through my piles, decide if this little paper will be of great necessity in my future or not. Chances are, I'll put it in my "to decide later" pile. I'm not looking forward to that.

So now that I've successfully wasted time I could have spent doing something productive (but probably not), I say to you enjoy your air conditioner.

The 50 cent salad

I had a wonderfully delightful meal of flavorless spaghetti sauce smeared over noodles of questionable origin and makeup with a hunk of chicken-like meat and a side of "salad," or so the little cash register of an incredibly unfriendly lady at the cafeteria showed. In reality, this "salad" was one piece of withered lettuce/cabbage/lawn weed (it was hard to decide, it was in such sad condition) and a slice of tomato.


As I passed through the line to pick up my central cuisine for the day, I looked at the sign under the main dish and it said said "side dish: 50 cents." Normally, one would assume "side dish" entails something rather substantial, like a few baby potatoes, or rice, or spätzle, or in any case something that requires more than one chomp and a mastication time of 5 seconds before it is completely gone.


I did not see anything that passed such criteria, so I just grabbed my plate and headed to the cash register. A small voice in the back of my head said "that's peculiar. There is no side dish, only this partially-aesthetically pleasing garnish. How tasteful." I should have been much more mistrusting of the German cafeteria system. I arrived and I was charged 50 cents for that dumb piece of lump greenery and slice of tomato. I don't even like tomatoes. A voice inside of me screamed "Injustice!," but my outward facade probably made only an unpleased wrinkle of the nose. I turned the other cheek and sat down, mostly because I was too afraid to argue in German with these rather scary ladies.


That was just the tip of the iceberg (and not of the lettuce variety.) The Germans are very willing to charge you (absurd amounts of) extra just for minute things, like ketchup.

A trip to the restaurant is a game with the waitress. She will ask you if you want and as if you would like french fries or potatoes with your meal. An American would say "Oh! I totally forgot to specify my choice of side dish!" and promptly choose on the spot. An inner voice should say "NO! they're trying to trick you!" As soon as you utter "oh, mashed potatoes would be nice. Thank you for asking," BAM! 4 euros are tacked onto your bill, and you can't really argue because the waitress will move from her clear high-german-for-foreigners to her mother region dialect and you will just become red in the face and fork over the ransom fee. That packet of ketchup she brought out with your Wiener Schnitzel? You had better not open it, otherwise BAM, 30 cents tacked onto your bill. The lovely array of bread placed on your table before your meal comes out? DANGER! It costs anywhere from 3 to 5 euros. Don't touch it! Pretend it's not there! RESIST TEMPTATION!

Ice cream shops are no different. Oh, you want to eat that HERE, on OUR property, at OUR tables, at the restaurant you ordered it from? We have a different, higher price for that. You must leave, even though all of our seats are empty.


The "ha! gotcha!" tax does not apply only to food here. Every venture into the real world is a minefield. The only way to be safe is to not trust anybody and watch the little screen for any funny business. I've seen customers explode at the cashier because they were charged for the bag in which their potatoes were packaged. Response from the cashier? "The bag is not necessary, you can take what you want from the (burlap) bag."


A polite question at the travel center in the train station can add 3 to 8 euros to the price of your trip. One time, I went in to ask if I could get off the train at a city and re-board another to my final destination. The simple "yes, you can" was followed by "would you like to buy your ticket from me, since you're already here?" I said "Why, that's so considerate of you." Jerkface was going to charge me 25 euros for a ticket that would have cost 18 at the machines. Good thing I did my homework. I called him out on it and said that it was a "convenience fee." Pssht. Convenient my butt. I had to wait in line for you to treat me like an ignorant imbecile. I politely said "I've changed my mind" and went out to the machines.


Do you have a question about your internet service/phone service? Do you want to call a cab? Would you like to see if your train is on time? Please call this number, and we will be glad to charge you 14 cents/minute while you listen to elevator music until our next available representative is available to help you out. Your call is important to us, because we're squeezing you of your children's inheritance.


I guess I'm just too cheap and too American to appreciate the German "do it yourself, dummy" attitude. Until I finally succumb or fly back to the new world, I will constantly keep up my guard, avoid any semblance of consideration, carry around my bottle of water, and make sure to say "no, thank you" as often as possible.

Roman Currency

So I visited Rome, the capital of the last great pan-European empire. The legacy of the Kings, Republic, and the Empire has had so much cultural value since their demise. Since then, all three varieties of government have reached back and claimed some kind of parallelism. So this made me think how this value of Rome has been seen, and how it really has affected the way we see things.

Karl Marx said that history repeats itself. Mark Twain said that history does not repeat itself, it just rhymes. Adam Hagerman says history is a dialogue between the past and the present, and that dialogue is informed by patterns.

What Adam means by this is that we constantly refigure ourselves based on the values of our time. Other historians agree with him. How we see ourselves today informs our perception of the past, and even how we see the past informs our perception of who we are today. Sounds like a big circle of crazy craziness, but it makes sense if you break it down a bit. My first two references fill out this point. Consider the context in which they were said. Karl Marx said (simplified) that history is just a record put on repeat of class conflicts – the upper class gains oppressive power, the poor is oppressed and becomes fed up with it, the lower classes revolt, lower classes become content and oppression revs up again. Rinse and repeat ad infinitum. The surrounding contexts were largely irrelevant. Mark Twain wrote a book about an anachronistic bureaucrat, the “Yankee” who is transported back in time to King Arthur’s court, and detailed the interplay of change and conservation is played out at a grotesque level, only to show how any time period, even though experiencing different circumstances and experiences, are susceptible to the major themes of history, namely revolution (of a technological and social variety, as Twain uses.) The results are unique in that the effects are unique. So Marx’s world view of the circle of proletariat – bourgeoisie struggle informed his perception of history, just as Mark Twain’s world view of constant change in technological and social development informed his perception of history as a forward-moving train with similar events that smell a bit like the past.

My postulate is illustrated by Napoleon. Napoleon used every opportunity to compare himself to the glory of Ancient Rome, whether it be in portraits by David or the large monuments to himself he erected throughout Paris. France came from a long tradition of classical influence (or so it said.) During the time of the monarchy, Louis (of whichever variety) drew references with the Greek and Roman mythology to emphasis a divine influence of whatever sort. During the age of Revolution, France was home to the reincarnate Roman republic of liberty, fraternity, and equality. Let’s just ignore for a moment that this idea is a farce in the connection they made. When Napoleon came to power and constructed the great French Empire (which, comically for Marx and Twain, follows the same pattern of the Roman Empire), he assumed the paraphernalia of the Romans, from illustrating himself in a toga and laurel wreath to the grand Arc d’Trioumphe which looks startlingly similar to the Arc of Titus found today in the ruins of the Roman Forum.

So let’s talk about how Napoleon was anything but a repeat of the Roman Empire. His power came through a governmental coup (still debatable) and sought out to dominate the European continent with little incentive other than to exercise his military power. His empire fell because he was a weak leader incapable of controlling the (already) civilized and developed lands he unjustly invaded. Rome, on the other hand, expanded to spread civilization to the barbarian lands. Rome failed because it became too large for one emperor to handle.

Now let’s talk about how Napoleon is the rightful heir to the Roman Empire. Napoleon gained his power because he proved to be a good leader and the people chose to honor him by allowing him to serve indefinitely and spread the superior French values of culture and government to the unenlightened areas of the continent. He met his fate because he, too, had met his barbarians while fighting an offensive crusade and could not recover. It’s merely the force of destiny that brought the great French Empire to its knees, forced to shrink back to its former territory. The path of Rome was just the path destined for any great empire.

The first scenario is perhaps how the Germans and Russians would view Napoleon. The second is, of course, how the French would view Napoleon.

Napoleon isn’t the only one to have drawn on the fame and legacy of the Roman Empire. The United States did it, too. Look at Washington D.C. The domes and government offices scream classical from the Washington, Lincoln, and Jefferson memorials’ obelisks, concave roofs, friezes and columns, just like in ancient temples.

This constant reference to the classical world informs our outlook on ourselves, just as it did with the French and Napoleon. We view ourselves as the upholders of democracy, the land of the free, and the pinnacle of the western world. Others view us as the gluttonous heathens who will rot eternally because of our pagan ways. It just depends on who chooses to identify with which role in history and from whose perspective.

I didn’t give the third postulate’s context. We live in a world of information and the abundance of so many perspectives that anybody can form a polemic argument and be completely correct. We live in a world with so much documented history behind us that we can choose to ally ourselves with the great Romans or the heathen tribes from Gaul. The history is there and we are free to make it repeat itself if we so choose. Otherwise we can simply say that this is a new era with only minor similarities. Or it’s completely new. It’s all up to us.

Journey to the Center of Italy

So, I’ve pretty much seen all I want to see, done all that I want to do. I was in Rome for only one day. I attribute my speed and efficiency to the fact that I planned meticulously and bought my tickets ahead of time so as to avoid the queues reaching to infinity. *Pat on the back.*

Last night I had a Mexican meal with a friend from high school who is an intern for the State Department here in Rome. It was nice to meet a bunch of Americans and talk about crap while watching the USA lose to Ghana. (Did I really just say that? You never thought you’d hear me with any sport spirit at all.) In my discussions (after everybody became aghast at my statement “I’ve seen all that I care to see”), I decided I would take a day trip, since I probably won’t come back to Italy for a very long time. Naples sounded good because it’s only 2 hours away and has some pretty exciting stuff on its periphery, like the Mediterranean.

So this morning I hopped on a train (at 7:30am, mind you) and was whisked away to the home of Pizza. The train was not very pleasant (even though it was one of the nicer trains.) No air conditioning and seats in compartments which one must share with 5 other people. The window was forcefully closed by an angry Italian lady who screamed things at me (I have no idea what; probably something like “It’s not hot enough in here for me. Why don’t you go back to the north where you can be a heat wussy?”) Anyway, so I had a seat reservation, but somebody was sitting in it. I didn’t have the necessary innards to ask them to politely move, so I just sat somewhere else. This turned into a chain reaction until I finally confessed that I don’t know any conversational Italian. I can say “Thank You” and “Goodbye.” One of the other people in the compartment spoke English, so we sorted out the whole fiasco with minimal physical or emotional harm. My seat was in the middle of two people. It was an awkward 2 hours.

When I arrived, all was great except I was bombarded with all of the things that make a visit uncomfortable: gypsy cabs, street vendors with their fake Prada and Dolce & Gabbanna paraphernalia splayed across the sidewalk. Luckily I was only going to be in the city for a few minutes. I bought my ticket to Herculaneum and dashed off.

So, I was once again I was confronted with an issue: too many people getting too close to me. I think this issue wouldn’t have been as severe if I were back in good ol’ Germany where people aren’t quite as, well, Italian. There are many social norms that are quite jarring to me, and being the lone tall, blonde, white guy on a train platform really exacerbated by discomfort. Normally I would have just brushed off this feeling, but it is a feeling I felt while in Rome and also around the Italian foreign exchange students. So I feel this is the perfect time to make known my observations.

Italians are very shifty people. This does not mean that they are all untrustworthy. It just means that their continual sharp movement and quick glances in many directions and inability to stand still really makes me nervous. They also smoke like no other. In the US and Germany, smoking is forbidden in most public places and is strongly enforced. Here, people just light up standing in a subway platform, in the train station, waiting in line for a ticket, or (like one person) even on the train itself. In fact, my server at lunch was smoking a cigarette while taking my order (inside, I will add), and still had it in her mouth as she brought out my pizza. They then promptly throw the butt in the street, where it becomes one of many amassed butts accumulated since the last street sweeper sometime last millennium.

Another thing doesn’t really have to do with PEOPLE so much as a company. Italians are “validate” happy. I bought a ticket and I had to validate it. What? I just bought a ticket for the 7:36 train. Why do I need to validate it? It says on the ticket “7:36am to Naples.” You mean you’re going to fine me if I don’t stick that paper into a machine to receive information that is already on the card? No sense.

And then the validation machines were broken! I had to run amok through the train station to find a line of people validating their tickets. That’s dumb. If you’re going to force a dumb validation, make sure the validating machines work.

Anyway, beyond the annoying inflection in their voice (which always makes me feel like I’m being yelled at) and the hand gestures, I’m sure they’re nice people. I would just need some time to get used to them.

Anyway. So I went to Herculaneum, one of the Vesuvius victims. Based on the advice of a former Latin teacher and a few people who made the mistake, I chose this place over Pompeii. It was a good choice. The place was almost empty of tourists and it didn’t require any excess bus trips or haggling with unpleasant people. It was nice and enjoyable.

So the difference between Herculaneum and Pompeii is that H was covered with lava whereas P was covered with ash. As a result, the stuff in H is better preserved (because it was covered by rock instead of ash.) The buildings were really cool and they looked like a present handed down from the past. I was most impressed by the walls, which were painted and looked pretty impressive. The marble floors were cool, too. I think I’ll devote an entire blog to Herculaneum, so look out for it in the near future.

Tomorrow is my last day in Rome. I have the entire morning free, so I’m going to pay that gigantic fee to walk amongst the ruins of the Palatine Hill and then high-tail it back to Germany, where the trains are air-conditioned.

Roma

So I eventually arrived in Rome to be greeted in the best way known to mankind: a beggar. Immediately I rolled my eyes and thought “great, this is another place where I have to keep my wallet in my front pocket. I paid my ransom to ride the train into the city (which cost just as much for me to go from Wuerzburg to the Frankfurt Airport, many times the distance AND had air-conditioning) , dropped off my crap and went out! By the time I was all settled and such, it was already 8:30 and the sun was fast disappearing. I high-tailed it (meaning I looked confusedly at my map – vainly - trying to figure out which way was the most efficient to get from point A to point B.) About 30 minutes later, I approached the Colosseum. It was right as the sun sank into the horizon: the illuminating lights had just turned on, but one could see a vague semblance of the sky. It was magical. Photo-op.

By the time I had finished salivating, I went back to my place of lodging. Naptime. The next day I awoke bright and early. “Free Breakfast” was once again the false promise of sustenance. Nothing disappointing like Paris, but still – people of the world, why do you think a hunk of bread and espresso is enough? I ate my meager early-meal-like-thing and ran to the supermarket to prepare myself for an entire day in the Mediterranean sun: 2 bottles of water (3 liters in total), a bag of bread rolls, and some chocolate (because I’m weak and calories don’t count on Saturday.)

I headed off for my 8:30am appointment with the Vatican Museum. I walked out of the subway station and was affronted by a fortified wall. Yes, it was this big wall surrounding the Vatican. I followed the wall and the signs that say “Museum: that wayà) and felt my stomach drop as I rounded a corner to see the line of poor souls waiting to see trinkets of salvation. I had learned my lesson in Paris: Always buy the tickets in advance. The 4, 5, or 6 euro “service fee” is worth it. I politely (I say that because there were plenty of slow people who decided to stand in my way, giving me the opportunity to not be polite) rounded corner after corner, saying “ciao” to the people who would probably be there until the mid-afternoon. I took my little pre-purchased ticket and joined the “reserved tickets” line. My wait was about 10 minutes.

The collection really reinforced why Martin Luther took a nail and hammer to Wittenburg Cathedral: it was beyond absurd. To think that so much of that was paid for by the poor people from all around continental Europe in the Renaissance. Paying their prayer taxes so some guy could sit with a fancy hat and make decrees about how the world is flat, keeping Portugal from everything West of a certain latitude and telling Henry VIII he can’t get a divorce.

Well, the Sistine Chapel was cool. I made my way to it first (based on some advice) and had a chance to throw my face upward and go crazy. I then made my way through the museum again, frequently slowed down by hoards of tourists. My second round through the chapel was like a fly going through molasses. In a matter of 30 minutes, the chapel went from a few clumps of people to a solid mass of warm-blooded creatures. I would have not been able to enjoy it under those circumstances.

Anyway, it only needed an hour and a half. By 10 I was walking along the Tiber. I had lunch on the Villa Borghese (with really pretty greenery). I made my way to the Pantheon and Piazza Novena. By the end of that hike (you’ve all heard about the 7 hills of Rome; well, they’re hills) I was exhausted. I took a bus back to my lodgings.

There is somebody with whom I went to high school who lives in Rome right now. I think I’ll call them up and find something to do. I really don’t feel like walking right now. The rest of the city can wait until tomorrow.

I fought Frankfurt and I survived

So I flew to Rome. Taking a train would have cost just as much and the thought of sitting in one spot for 12 hours made me slightly sick. I discovered while on my way back to Wuerzburg after the Munich trip that Nuremburg really didn’t have that much to see – at most, it’s an afternoon experience. I assumed the same for Frankfurt, so I left Wuerzburg a few hours early, got off of the train at the Frankfurt Hauptbahnof, saw what I wanted and got back on a train to the Airport (which is worthy of a long-distance train station, because just as many people filter through this airport daily than most medium-sized city train stations.)

A few people have jocularly called “Frankfurt on the Main” (the real name) “Mainhattan” because it has quite a spiffy collection of high-rise office buildings one would expect to find in Manhattan. Yeah, it’s great fun. I laughed a little the first time I read it. Since the decentralization of German power (namely the breaking-up of Berlin), Frankfurt became the money center of Germany. Such a title was only strengthened when the EU plopped its central bank in Frankfurt.

Frankfurt has a population of about 650,000 people, about the size of Austin, but every day 2,000,000 (yes, two million) people fill the city’s offices. So this means that the city has a workforce more than three times the city’s population. Talk about a commuter nightmare. The buildings are tall, the people you see on the street wear business suits with fancy shoes and a tie. What many consider the most powerful bank on the European Continent resides here, along with many of the large banks from inside Germany (and even foreign banks that want a foothold in the Frankfurt market and stock exchange, also the largest on the European Continent.) The city looks and smells like money.

I got bored of architectural-tourism (especially since I’ve traversed through Frankfurt numerous times on my way to elsewhere), so I made my way to the airport. OMFG. It’s huge. Last time I flew (which was to Krakow), I flew out of Nuremburg, a relatively small airport. The trip consisted of a regional train, a quick transfer to the subway, and a quick arrival. The Frankfurt Airport IS a city in itself. I arrived and the big hall was abuzz with activity, mostly people trying to figure out how to check in (read the signs, dumb people. They’re in 4 languages.) Check-in was easy because I had no checked baggage (thank God, because otherwise I would have had to stand in line for an ungodly amount of time.) Security was a breeze (because the airport was actually well equipped for the amount of passengers that pass through – something the Austin airport could learn.) I put my belt back on and looked around a bit. A sign caught my eye. “Walking time to gates.” I thought “oh, this is just because the Germans always stress being on time and love schedules.” No. It was because it actually takes a significant amount of time and there is a good chance you need to know, otherwise you will think you are lost. I was at gate 38. It gave me an estimated time of 15 minutes. And it took that long. It seemed like the terminal was just a long hallway that stretched on forever. I found my gate and sat, apparently far away from civilization (all of the little restaurants fizzled out around gate 20). I sit and look out the window as huge Airbus planes drive past, all nonchalant.

Anyway, so the Airplane was late, or “verspaetet,” which is just a nice way of the german language making an act that irks Adam sound like some passive act – the plane had no other choice than to be late; the gods have spoken.

The airplane ride was surprisingly nice. I flew with Lufthansa; the seats were actually comfortable, I had legroom, and not only did I receive TWO servings of apple juice, but I ALSO got a sandwich AND a chocolate granola bar! Take that, American Airlines. Lufthansa didn’t even have to charge us for a suitcase.

Mozart Fest

Last Saturday I participated in one of the most anticipated events of the Wuerzburg calendar: Mozart Fest. The history of this event is one of great importance; once upon a time Mozart traveled through Wuerzburg on his way to some other important city, played a concert and said "this is a nice city." Ever since, the city has been googley-eyed over this guy and his music and has held a month-and-a-half long festival every year in his honor.

Well, a friend of mine had bought a bunch of tickets and then decided she couldn't go. As a token of thanks for dealing with mean Korean airline companies to change her flight back to Japan (in English...?), she offered them to me. I thought "what the heck." So I paid her 10 euros (the "student discount") and went. I dressed as I would for any normal concert: nothing too fancy, but not a schmuck in holey jeans and a stained t-shirt. I had a nice sweater and a nice pair of jeans with some nice shoes. I got there and I realized I had totally under-estimated the local population. They were in evening gowns (complete with gems) and tuxedos (complete with cumber buns.) Not only was I mortified, but I had no time to go home and change (not that I would have anything to change into, because my entire overseas wardrobe consists of normal-wear clothing.) So I sucked it up, absorbed the judgmental stares and paraded through. Luckily, there were a few other students dressed like I was, so I wasn't alone and therefore not the only target of snobby disapproval.

The concert took place in that big baroque palace that I talk about so frequently. My ticket said "Kaisersaal," which was this former ballroom on the 2nd floor. I was excited-this was going to be like a chamber concert in the good-ol-days. But then I realized that there were way too many people here. I was slightly confused. Then I walked upstairs and it all made sense. I have drawn you a little diagram to help explain:

So, as you can see, they divided the audience into four groups. One group (probably the people who paid lots and lots of money) got to actually sit in the same room as the orchestra. The rest of us had to sit somewhere else (the two wings on the left and right weren't actually rooms, they were hallways) These were rooms connected by doorways. As a concession for our displeasure of feeling like women and slaves in a Puritan church they opened said doors, allowing us slight access to the vast amounts of culture, faith, and enlightenment they would send forth from the pulpit. This allowed for an acoustical phenomenon I call "mish-mash-mush" in which the sound vibrations are forced to reverberate through a hall covered with hard surfaces until they finally make their way through a small opening. As a result, there were some sounds that burst free before others and others were at a slight delay. Now put these two things together. It's like 3 or 4 discrete sonic events compressed and presented simultaneously. The effect was not impressive; in fact, it was slightly nauseating.

Given my seat location and the wall separating me from the ensemble I had paid money to see, I had a fine view of a horn player through the center door. You know, the horn player sitting at the very back and very edge of the left-hand side of the stage. Because I'm slightly ADHD, I couldn't focus all of my attention on this one horn player who played only a fraction of the time (the rest of the time emptying spit or pretending to be cool with lip exercises), I was forced to divert my attention to the absurdly ornate ceiling of the room in which I was confined. It was all cool. What was creepy was the big ceramic heater sitting in front of me. It had little toddlers of indeterminate gender flailing around with bunches of grapes, leaves, and flowers. One in particular was angled to stare at me with a devilish grin. It was at the very least a little uncomfortable.

Anyway, so I was confused the entire time because they don't give out programs - they charge you for them. I'm super cheap and don't believe in concert robbery, so I abstained. As a result, I had no idea if it was time to clap or not. My general sentiment of dissatisfaction would have kept me from clapping anyway.

So no more Mozart-Fest for me. I've decided it's not really about celebrating some good music. It's about wearing a tuxedo and staring at people hitting rods against some expensive hunks of wood. I'll be all pretentious music major and say that I'm more cultured than them, because they probably wouldn't have appreciated all of the cool crap Mozart wrote anyway. They were too busy suffocating in their uncomfortable girdles.

Then and Now

Earlier I told you about Germany's "Wirtschaftswunder" and how Munich's 1972 Olympic Stadium is such a fitting symbol for that rise out of turmoil into one of the most powerful nations in the western world.

So now let's talk about another country that rose from an embarrassing defeat in a different war that consumed much of the same territory in continental

Europe.

The end of this war still saw the country in a mercantile-like economic system with the victors; this country had massive war reparations to pay. This country was forced to produce finished products and sell them at almost cost value to eliminate some of this debt. Its currency was inflated to the point where cash money was more valuable to start a stove on fire than to buy paper for the same use. This country needed an upswing, and it needed it badly. People were starving, labor was hard and for low pay. Right as the situation was starting to get better, the situation got even worse when worldwide markets crashed, bringing said country back to the ground, only without the rich neighbors to buy their goods. Everything was grim, that is until a charismatic young leader took the reigns and m

ade this country a world power again.

Industry was king. The working class had jobs again, the country's currency shot up in value.they could feed their families and shop at department stores. The world seemed to be right again.

At the peak of this country's success, its leader was named Time Magazine's Person of the Year. The Olympic Committee chose this country to host an Olympiad. A grand stadium was built, countries from all around

the world came and participated. The games went off without a hitch. Despite some concerns from the world community that this country might be getting a bit too powerful, overall consensus was favorable.

This country is Germany, and the time frame is between the end of World War I and 1936. The Berlin Olympics were seen as the symbol of Germany's growth again to the world stage, that Germany was once again a country of wealth and civilization.

So what does this mean? It means that signs are confusing. Up until 1938, the world at large saw the new German Leader as a man who cared for his country and was taking charge to get stuff done. We only fully realized what was happening when he started to invade countries for no good reason. It means we don't study history because otherwise we are doomed to repeat it. It means the world is not as clean cut as we hope. It means we can't be lax and ignore signs, but at the same time we can't be too vigilant and squash everything that looks as if it's getting better.

It means "I don't know."

Berlin and the East (or the West)

So we all know that Berlin once upon a time had this little wall. Starting in 1989, this little wall was torn apart – parts of it became walls behind urinals, other parts became chunked protrusions in buildings, and even more parts divided amongst the world’s populace as tourist trinkets. Yeah, I’ve read about this wall. I’ve read about how people escaped in hollowed-out car dashboards, I’ve read about how people were separated for 30 years. But I don’t think I really understood the real meaning of this hunk of cement that circled West Berlin, cutting through the city center. I don’t think I can even really fully understand this meaning, but I was really moved and struck by the flood of epiphanies as I stood where the former wall was.
First, the wall encircled an island of west. It was built not to keep the West out, but to keep the East in. After the East became a state-controlled communist nation, many of the leading intellectuals moved to the West where censorship (not just big black marks through letters, but the dictation of what may/could be produced) thing was not a problem. So up came the wall – immigration laws were made more strict (keep in mind that East Berlin was a totally different country and West Berlin was stuck in the middle).

Imagine if your town were all of a sudden divided. Where you used to work is no longer accessible to you. Where you grew up is now behind this big cement curtain, unsure if you’ll ever be able to see it again. You can tell it’s still there – the sky still hovers above, but it is just beyond your reach.

Suddenly families were separated; mothers from children, husbands from wives. Friends were no longer able to communicate or see each other. Two completely different social, political, and economic systems grew next to each other but largely separate from each other. The Easterners were reminded many times daily that this wall existed – Border police monitored the border around the clock, dogs roamed the “death strip,” and all facades facing the west were bricked over. The city was split in half. The commuter trains and subways that had once connected all sides of the city were partitioned – the West got most of them, but when the trains went underneath the East, they couldn’t stop at the stations. If they did, they were met by the stern glances of GDR police.

Product availability made shopping a hit-or-miss experience. Fashion was designed using cheap materials, fruit was almost non-existent, vegetables had a small selection and the purchase of a GDR-made car had a 16 year waiting list. The Westerners could walk about their day as if the world surrounding them didn’t exist – they could shop at the largest shopping mall on continental Europe (KaDeWe), wear the latest fashions from Paris, New York, and Milan, eat whatever varieties of fruit, vegetables, and enjoy consumer goods from a toaster to TV to a family car from anywhere in the world. The West had its economic miracle, the east continued with its deficit spending command economy, producing products with foreign currencies because the East German Mark was worthless in world markets. Plus, they had tacky fashion because of this government-controlled output of everything. For the West, the wall was a tourist experience: people would look over to see a long strip of nothing and then the mountains of housing projects built quickly to satiate the housing shortage.

Further into the East, it was as if the wall didn’t even exist. As one walks down the showcase-street of the GDR, one forgets that JFK is a donut or that Reagan demands that the wall be torn down. The abundance of Pickles and the shortage of Bananas were just facets of everyday life. One simply acclimated to the perpetual fear of being arrested for libel or treason – the person with whom you speak could easily have been paid by the Stasi as an informant and have a tape recorder disguised as his fourth button down. Loyalty to the state came from a few years of patriotic movements, an education that includes a heavily politicized history curriculum and flag-waving, and public holiday parades. After all, employment was abundant and housing was finally becoming readily available.

When the wall finally came down, yes, there was a celebration that the organism of the city was finally reunited, but by that time the Berliners had become so diverse – the postulate of divergent evolution. Yes, many people in the east flooded through the Brandenburg Gate towards freedom, but what could the do there? Their bank accounts contained money that was worthless, they lived and worked in areas supported, even run, by the government. Incorporating the Eastern neighbors into the People’s Republic of Germany was going to be a significant move requiring lots of money, lots of firm policies, and lots of time.

The newest generation of Germans never experienced pre-wall Germany. They’ve always been members of the BRD. The bridges made for the older generations have been built and everybody may cross them. Will we soon forget the pungent reality of this big scar?

Hauptstadt Detuschlands

So, this is my 50th post. Whoot, whoot. To celebrate such an achievement, I've taken a trip to Berlin. The train ride was long and pretty tedious. First, it must be known that I’m traveling with a group of other international students. This trip was arranged by the International Office at my host university. The personalities by which I am surrounded range from the quite, modest person to the group of loud and obnoxious people who brought a case of beer onto the train just because they could (and were drunk before we even had to change trains.) So far, it hasn’t been an issue with me because I could put in my iPod and look out the window, and my first run-about amongst the city was with people I find pleasing. But tomorrow we have group activities. If they become loud and obnoxiously drunk, I may become angry and annoyed Adam.


Our train left in the middle of the day, which is probably best for the above mentioned group who partied way too hard on Friday night and were unable to get out of bed before noon. We were all assembled in front of the train station and it began to downpour. I reached over to my umbrella pocket in my backpack and realized it was gone. I’m dumb. I remembered to pack an extra pair of underwear, but not my umbrella. I hope it doesn’t rain the entire time I’m here.
We arrived at the Berlin Ostbahnhof around 6:10pm. Our hotel is actually connected to the train station. At first I was a bit sketched out (I’ve had bad experiences with conveniently-located hotels in the past few weeks), but it’s not that bad. There’s no air conditioning, so I get to hear the rumble of a busy street and busy train station, but I’m tired enough I’ll probably conk out despite that. Immediately after check in, we had to wait for some lecture from the advisor: basically, don’t do anything stupid (advice which I’m sure will be duly heeded by all members…) I then departed with a Finnish girl and a Chinese guy. We hit this city.



First was Alexanderplatz, home to the great big Fernsehturm, the pride and joy of the former East Germany. We ate dinner (naturally, Italian Food, because it’s everywhere and has a predictable variety of offerings at a reasonable price) close to Marx-Engels-Plaza. We then walked down Unter den Linden, the Berlin Equivalent to Champs-Elysee in Paris or Broadway Avenue in New York. Along the street were fancy-looking stores, the imposing Russian Embassy, and finally the Brandenburg Tor, the icon of Berlin.
Right next door was the American Embassy. We crossed through the gate and into (the former) West Berlin and walked our way south to Potsdamer Platz, which is very similar to New York’s Times Square in the incredible amount of illumination everywhere. It’s very odd to view, especially since that area used to be the no-man’s-land between East and West – even the subway station was closed off. Now it’s a thriving center with skyscrapers and a regional train station.


By that time it was already 10:45 – the sun had just set. I was tired, my companions were tired, so we took a ride on the subway. I was surprised at how small the platforms are here. In Munich, there was enough space for a crowd of commuters to huddle and wait for the next train. Here, it’s smaller than the platforms in New York and about the same size as those in London. The trains are really narrow, too – not a lot of space for standing. Also peculiar was the decoration in the stations. For 2 stations after Potsdamer Platz (once again towards Alexanderplatz), the stations were made with tiles, marble, and whatever other creative design materials. Once we made it past the “Border” stations between east and west, the style became much more austere: exposed steel beams with Romanesque column capitals with that ugly off-white almost yellow paint. That style continued as we traveled further into the east. It was very interesting to me. I hope it’s not the last contrast I find in this previously divided city.

(Insert Edit)

So now it's 6:40 am and I'm sitting underneath the Fernsehturm mooching free internet from Starbucks (thank you, American brand and your dedication to customer service and comfort.)

I began my search for some Wi-Fi at about 5am (I woke up uncomfortably early.) I walked around, took a train to the city center, but everything was closed. Finally, I decided to go back to the hotel and just give up, but I found a Starbucks hiding out. Enough of that. The real reason I made this edition:



As I left the hotel, I ran into the group about which I complained earlier. They were just getting back from a long night of clubbing and partying (I had heard that the Berlin club scene was pretty intense). Anyway, I shrugged it off - dumb tourists. They were loud, obnoxious, and probably moments away from a narcoleptic fit. I proceeded outside and into the train station only to find more, more, and more poor souls waiting for that train to take them home after they had been out all night. Everybody was still dressed as they were 6 hours earlier when they first entered their party-central. As I progressed throught he city, the exodus progressed as well. Everywhere I went, there were women carrying their heels as they walk down the street, men with their gelled hair flaking and losing its hold, and clothes no longer neatly pressed. It was very funny - I had awoken early and began my day right as they were going home to end theirs. It's really awful.



Today we have a bus tour. I think a few people will sleep through it. Not my problem.

Schwäbisches Toast

So, Stuttgart. I bequeath unto you the whole story, because it's hot and I can't fall asleep.

First: Apparently one of the other 3 students had a deadline on Friday morning, so he threw a small hissyfit about spending the night in Stuttgart. So our plans changed (much to my dismay, because I had packed a day's worth of clothing in my backpack before I went to class - not enough time to go home between the end of class and the last possible train to arrive in Stuttgart on time.) Instead of riding the train, spending the night in a hostel, and then riding the train back the next day, we rented a car, drove there and drove back all in one grand evening. The change of plans gave me a chance to run home, dump out all of the unnecessary crap from my bag, run back into town, and hitch a ride in the rented automobile.

So, we drove in a "mini-van," which was nothing bigger than my grandmother's Buick Lucerne. It was very awkward - 4 real Germans and a German-looking American who still has trouble discerning syllables in this god-awful Franconian dialect by which I am surrounded. We got to drive on the Autobahn, which, thanks to rush-hour, many stalled vehicles, and construction, was not the exhilarating experience it could have been. We arrived in Stuttgart about 2.5 hours before the show began, so the professor drove us to a part of the city he enjoyed when HE went to school (in Stuttgart). Turns out it was actually very interesting - it was an entire section of between-the-wars modern architecture rebuilt after being blown to smithereens by the Allies. It was actually very cool to see all of these bauhaus-inspired designs in real life. As the spirit moved me, I reached into my backpack to discover that I left my camera at home. Ugh.

Well, we walked around for about 30 minutes, decided we were hungry but not "big meal" hungry, so we stopped at a little cafe (also very bauhaus.) I had a buttered pretzel and a bottle of water (gosh it's so hot....). Somebody had hot milk with white chocolate and a scone, the professor had a coke and croissant, and the other two had some cappuccino. All of us were finished with our drinks and snacks, all ready to go, when somebody spoke up and said "wait, I haven't gotten my toast yet." At first I was like "we're waiting for some toast? OMG, let's just ditch your whimpy pieces of crusty bread." Of course, I didn't want to be the jerk, so I sat there and tried to understand the partially-understandable sentences being thrown about. Something about Carrie Bradshaw and Neil Patrick Harris. Who knows.

And then out comes the toast. It's a panini. I was like "that is not toast. that's a panini." I received the most confused looks ever, only to be followed by "no, it's toast." I then had to describe that toast is a piece of toasted bread alone - you can put some butter, jam, or whatever sorted variety of spread you wish. But once you take two grill-toasted pieces of bread and smack lettuce, tomato, mustard, cheese, and deli meats between them, it becomes a panini. Remove the toasted bread and replace with lightly-toasted or "straight-out-of-the-bag" slices of bread, then you have simply a sandwich. This was apparently completely novel to them. "Americans must come from a bread culture, because you have so many different names for toast. You know some Canadians have many different words for snow." It took all of my inner strenght to resist rolling my eyes and to say "but it's not toast." After this short episode, the three students realized that I could both understand what they said and come up with reasonably intelligent responses, so I was no longer that tag-along American: I was a partially-fledged speaking partner (I still spent many conversation topics staring across the table trying to figure out whether they are talking smack about me). It was very liberating and rewarding. But I still refuse to call what was on that plate "toast."

Anyway, afterward we made our way to the un-air-conditioned Opera House, which was all fun and dandy. We had nosebleed seats and the person next to me smelled of halitosis. The performance was good - nothing particularly notable, but better than what I've seen in Austin. It would have been more pleasant if I had about 3 inches more legroom to avoid cramping and/or a 20 degree cooler environment to avoid the perpetual flow of perspiration. Afterward, it was still light outside and we were for real hungry (or at least I was.) It was almost 10pm and dusk was just arriving, so we made our way to the main square. At this time the one who ordered "toast" did something that made me laugh because of the irony: he pulled out his iPhone and looked up the closest fast-food restaurants. He suggested Burger King (you have to pronounce it the way a German would - Bohrguhr Keeng) and started talking about this big-bacon-ranch-something cheeseburger and how delicious it was. I wanted to laugh, because I'm pretty sure they expected that from me. Or maybe it was a joke - but I'm pretty sure it was serious from this kid.

Anyway, majority ruled it out (mostly because we were starving and there were other places to eat within a closer radius), so I partook in my usual "oh my god I can't believe how high the prices are on these menus" meal - a 9 euro bowl of pasta.

When we were done, we hopped back in the car and went crazy on the autobahn. Without the traffic or the daytime construction (the Germans would never be caught doing nighttime road construction), we could just fly by. It was very liberating to drive 180km/hr for some stretches and pass those slowpokes. It makes me want to take my car onto I-40 between Amarillo and the Oklahoma border and just go super-fast. The need for speed consumed me momentarily.

So I didn't have the opportunity to explore Stuttgart at my leisure, but it's OK. I think I saw the really important things: We drove by the Mercedes-Benz world headquarters, saw some super-modern and super-sleek buildings (very similar in style to those built in downtown Austin after the Frost building). I kicked myself a little because I forgot my camera. But it's OK, even if I had my camera I probably would have refrained from going super-tourist because I had to act all calm and cool in front of people whom I would actually have to see again (one of whom will give me a grade at the end of the semester.)

So now I'm here. Tomorrow I will pack (hopefully my camera, too) and get ready for some Berlin.

Field Trip!

Tomorrow, I'm going to Stuttgart. The best part, I don't have to include it in my budget for travel, because I'm going with a class!

I'm taking a class about a specific composer and one of his operas is being performed. I've been told that the Stuttgart Staatsoper is one of the better companies in Europe, so hopefully it will just be super-exciting and will be "begeistert" (one of those weird German phrases that translates to "becoming the subject of a spirit.")

Anyway, I get to skip some class and not feel bad about it. Because we have to spend the night (the class only has 4 people, so we're doing the whole Hostel thing - I hope that the University has some standards when arranging beds), I don't have to go to my 8 am on Friday. Instead, I'll do some poking around Stuttgart and see what's there. I don't think I'll be bound to staying with this group of Germans because there are no "Land" tickets with which we can travel cheaply.

And then the day after I return from Stuttgart, I'm going to Berlin. Be prepared for some really boring (but hopefully enlightening) posts. *snore.* I've waited quite a few years to run amok amongst the crossroad of Europe. I will do my best not to poke fun of American politicians who may or may not have called himself a donut.

Heiß

Well, it's summer. The flowers are all finished blooming, the trees are in full-shade-mode, the swimming pools are open, the large lawnmowers are running amok in the city parks, and people have no problem laying down on the grass and reading a book, taking a nap, or sipping on their open container. The stores now advertise their new seasons after they liquidated everything with a long sleeve or down padding. The best part? Daily highs are somewhere around 30 Centigrade, or 85 Fahrenheit.

In the USA, particularly Texas, which is currently at 40 Centigrade (100 Fahrenheit), this is Antarctica. The humidity is pretty high (I feel perpetually sticky, just like in Austin), and the temperature drops pretty quickly in the evening around 8:30pm (whereas in Austin it's hot the entire night.) There is usually a nice, light breeze wherever I go, complete with the rustling of tree branches, ready to evaporate that slight condensation around my brow. It's not entirely unbearable to walk around downtown and casually pick up an ice cream cone from the Italian vendors on the corner, and the amount of gross-nasty feeling is nothing like how I felt after walking to the mailbox in Austin. So it's not that bad outside.

But golly gee. Inside is just unbearable. The Germans have not come to the advantages of air conditioning.

Granted, during most of the year air conditioning is not needed at all - that heater is what keeps comfort levels tolerable. The Germans have mostly made up for this mechanical convenience by placing windows that actually open in most buildings (good luck finding windows that open out on most buildings in the USA, especially dormitories, school buildings, and offices.) It's fine for my humble abode because it faces north - never any direct sunlight.

The classrooms? Unbearable. Often, there is only one window in the entire room. This room houses anywhere between 15 and 20 students sitting in close proximity. The wiggles of discomfort coming from everybody, the quick brush-by whiffs of the armpit, and the self-fanning with your class handouts are a frequent sight. Many bathrooms also lack proper ventilation, so the rooms are not only scorching hot and stale, but the smell from that woo-hoo who missed tends to ferment and cause nausea.

Even the library is a victim of this stuffy-ness. I went to find a book, and I couldn't help but feel that I would pass out from heatstroke and lack of ventilation. Open a few windows, please. People were frantically typing on their computers, working up a sweat not from the stress of homework and that impending oral report, but instead from the sweatshop conditions in which they were working. It was slightly unbearable. My body feels sticky just thinking about it.

I refuse to partake in another of the behaviors I've seen many Germans partake in: Walking around barefoot. First, they wear their shorts, showing some super-white legs, and then they take off their shoes and not only sit there, but walk around. They not only walk around the room without their shoes (and socks), but they walk down the street, and go into the store, and eat at the cafeteria. Yesterday, there was a man on the bus not wearing a shirt. He sat down next to an old lady who seemed nonplussed by the situation.

For the sake of something holy, it's only 85 degrees, people. Keep your shirts on. But really, it is hot.