The End of Paris

Our last day in Paris was relatively smooth. There is no need to complain about the wait in lines, because we didn’t go anywhere. It’s what a vacation should be – simply go somewhere, pick a spot on a bench, look at something pretty, shop a little, eat something light, a delightful dessert, and go home.

Amanda and I took a train (finally) to the ritzy Paris shopping center. Our experience with Haute Couture wasn’t necessarily rewarding, but it’s always fun to see what people would rather spend their money on. We did some window shopping, talked about the seemingly-diseased mannequins in the displays of whatever absurdly-priced shop we passed. We went into Hermes, a place known for their scarves. I looked around and saw a bunch of 300 Euro cuts of cloth that wouldn’t keep anybody warm in 70-degree-fahrenheit weather. Nobody ever said fashion was functional, right?

After walking around a bit, we decided we were sick of the uniform façade of the Parisian row houses, so we crossed the Seine to the big park in front of the Eiffel Tower. We sat there for about an hour and talked, sipped on water, and avoided the potential scam-artists asking if we spoke English or bending over to grab a ring we dropped, but had never before seen. We decided it was time to head back to the hotel and grab our bags, so we meandered down the street, found a bakery so Amanda could acquire her last round of Parisian macaroons (still delicious), and skiddadled.

We took a bus to Amanda’s train station, Gare du Nord. Once there, we had a few minutes so we sat down at a restaurant without ordering anything, filled out the UK immigration form, and said goodbye. Amanda is now off in London.

I had two hours to blow before my train. Parisian train stations are not exactly places one feels safe hanging around, so I took the metro to the Bastille area just to see what’s there (don’t get excited, that is not the former location of the Bastille Prison.) I found bit of lunch at a market-grocery-store (given the standards of cleanliness I’ve witnessed in other Parisian establishments, I settled for a banana, a bottle of water and the croissants I stole from the Hotel breakfast), nothing too exciting. When the time came, I made my way to MY train station, Gare de l’Est, became frustrated with the disorganization of the French rail system (the departure board said platform 4, but there was no train there. It was really platform 7), boarded the train, and am now back on my way to Germany where I don’t have to aux Pickpocket (as Amanda and I jocularly pronounce aww pee poe to mock the French ability to ignore 2/3 of the letters in a written word), pay too much for a hunk of bread and a bottle of water, where I can enjoy walking down the street without the fear of traversing through a puddle of urine (like we narrowly avoided Gare du Nord), or have to put up with the generally unpleasant French demeanor.

So now I’m off to reconvene with my studies and have a productive week. I have quite a bit to which I should attend in the coming days.

Peace out.

Paris - Much Better, but Still Dirty.

So, I'm clean and slept in a bed that is actually up to Western-World standards. The world is looking nice.

Yesterday we went out to the Musee d'Orsay, which was surprisingly well-organized and interesting (although entirely in French.) I was expecting another Lourve where things were placed haphazardly based on a broad time and geographic period. I really enjoyed their exhibition "Crime and Punishment." It was basically an exposition of works relating to murder, guillotine, femme fatal, and other punishable offenses and/or modes of capital punishment. Yay for gore. Plus, I got in for free because I'm an EU-resident. Whoot-Whoot for my student visa.

Later, we spent some time pilly-paddling around the city. We went to a shopping district around the Opera House (which, by the way, is absurdly huge.) We had some macaroons, which were delicious. Mine was lemon-flavored. It was like eating candy with the texture of a wafer. A+ for French pastries.

Later we went to the Eiffel Tower. The lines were...omg...unbelievably long. Thank God we were smart and made reservations online. Totally worth the convenience fee. It was also the location of a very strange occurrence. It goes a little something like this:

Two strange ladies to the guy standing behind us: "Is this the line to get into the Eiffel Tower?"

Strange guy behind us: "This is the line for people who reserved online. Do you have a ticket?"

Ladies: "No. What do they look like?"

Me: "Like this" I show them my ticket.

a few moments pass

Strange guy: "So where are you guys from?"

Amanda and I: "Texas."

Guy: "Me too. From Midland. What part?"

Adam: "Austin, but I'm really from Amarillo"

Guy: "That's cool. I grew up in Pampa."

Us: "Shut up. Adam is from Pampa."

We then spent about an hour (naturally while waiting in line) talking about Austin Elementary, (former) Celanese and its explosion, and Paris. His daughter was full of energy (not in the annoying "shut up and take a sedative" way) and probably made the trip to the Eiffel Tower more fun. Yay for small world (and super-tourist attractions.)

The top was really cool. If it hadn't been cloudy and rainy or cold and windy, we would have seen a lot more and had the gumption to stay outside on the terraces longer. But given the conditions, the 9-o'clock-ness and the lack of dinner/raging hunger (apparently eating dinner is customary between 8 and 9), we had to make our way down. Amanda and I then promptly ate at a restaurant tucked in a corner, just off of the main avenue of loud tourists. It was awesome, and on average 5 euros less per entree than the restaurant ON the main avenue, only 10 meters away. By the time we were done, it was 11, we were tired, and we had to go to bed. As we made it to the Seine, we looked up and the Eiffel Tower was alight and shimmering. Score. (Turn your head a bit to view the video.)

Now that you're enlightened, I'll tell a bit more about the good things from our first day. Besides the subway smelling of human excrement, the never-ending labyrinth of stairs, and the abundance of beggars, it's incredibly effective and runs pretty frequently (and much cheaper than the subways in Germany, London, or New York.) It gets us mostly wherever we want with a minimal amount of transfers.

We took a walking tour from the Arc de Triomphe down the Champs-Elysees to the Touilleries and to the "Ile de la Cite," home of the Notre Dame. It was much smaller than I imagined after all of those hours reading Victor Hugo (and also thanks to Disney.)

The Lourve was pretty amazing. We stayed until our feet could just not carry us anymore. We managed to scour through most of the

museum. We saw the basic sights: Mona Lisa, Venus de Milo, a few Gericault, Delacroix, and David (which greatly pleased me - Amanda might have wanted me to shut up about them.) Amanda went wild in the Ancient Egyptian Artifacts. We even found a bust that looks (very creepily) like my brother.

As we left, we were beat and wanted to immediately fall asleep, but the sun was still out. It was 10pm and Apollo had forgotten to drag the sun from the sky. Ugh.

Overall, it wasn't THAT bad. You know, besides the sanitation horrors with which I was confronted. Today we're supposed to go to Versailles and take a Seine Cruise - if Amanda ever finishes getting ready.

Paris: The City of Trash

I write to you today from the 2^nd floor of a McDonalds about 500m from the Arc de Triomphe, the Champs-Elysees. I am unshowered, wearing the same clothes as yesterday, and tired of Paris. Already.

Our train arrived about 1:30pm. Immediately, we were assailed by beggars and vagrants of every variety asking if we spoke English, throwing change cups in our faces, and in general attributing to a very tense atmosphere of “oh my God I’m going to be pick-pocketed.” We got to the Metro Station only to stand in line as a long line of tourists fought a ticket machine that only took coins. We got to the machine, and realized that we were about 2 Euros short of our 12 Euro “book” of metro tickets (which, in reality, were 10 pieces of loose paper about 3cm x 7cm). The metro was a maze of staircases going both up and down (just to get to one platform), we had the great misfortune of getting on a train full to the brim of people not normally considered pleasant by the Western World. We had to change trains (which meant another maze of stairs in multiple directions), and finally arrived at our location. The location was loud and busy – the city with a high energy buzz, right?

I booked our lodging around the first of March. The place had 4 out of 5 star customer ratings, excellent reviews, and pictures of a place that I would expect for 60 Euros/night from a liquidation booking agency. It had free Wi-Fi, free breakfast, and an excellent balcony view of the City and the Montmartre Sacre-Coeur, depending on which side of the building your room was on. Turns out all of these criterion were true – except they forgot to mention the following:

1. Wi-Fi was slow, unreliable, and required login information that expires periodically.

2. Free Breakfast consisted of a loaf of bread. Not even French bread. Instead, a loaf of sandwich bread in a bag from a market. The butter came from a big tub.

3. The balcony was excellent, except the room adjoining was a hell-hole. I expound in the following.

The hotel room had no in-room bathroom. The shower was down the hallway and the toilet was on a different floor. Yes – we had to go downstairs to pee. The far-away toilet didn’t even have a sink. The room DID have a sink, but it didn’t drain. It’s not because the plug was in it. It just didn’t drain. There was a hole in the wall next to the sink – and not a beautiful, charming, Parisian hole, but a hole created from water damage and rot.

Now, keep this in mind as I continue.

We arrived around 2pm, but the accommodations weren’t ready until 4. Amanda and I put our luggage in the storage room – a small, unattended corner closet that smelled of dried piss. We thought “ok, this is just the luggage room. We expect it to be kind of ugly.” The hotel had a “charm” of age, so we just thought it was turn-of-the-century Parisian charm. You know, like in the Aristocats. We decided to leave our luggage in the locked room and see some of the city. We took the subway (which, by the way, was still ugly, dirty, and smelly with very un-handicap-accessible stairways) to the Arc de Triomphe. The view was amazing and I thought, “Ok. This is worth it.” We walked down the Champs-Elysees, found a charming sidewalk café and had lunch. It had a charming server with lots of energy, ready to take our order with humor and spunk. We ordered, Amanda went to wash her hands and came back with a very disturbed look. This restaurant, which was charging 12 Euros for a modest bowl of Pasta and 6 Euros for a bottle of water, did not have a sink with running water in the woman’s bathroom. My stomach churned a bit. I pulled out my hand sanitizer, and decided to not touch my food with my hands. The server brought the bread out. It was sliced baguette in a charming little wicker bowl. My hands were still not pristine, so I ate it with a fork – much to the dismay of the Parisians surrounding us. After eating 3 pieces, we saw the bottom of the dish – it had dirt in it. Not like flecks of dirt or a random stray hair, but crusted dirt. Dirt that remains after one carries a clod of dirt in that bowl. It was disgusting. We paid our exorbitant amount for the restaurant and left.

The day went about normal. We visited the Lourve (it was opened until 10 on Friday), saw Notre Dame, walked along the Seine, saw some Tuilleries, and were tired. We went back to this place where some ill-advised people choose to spend the night.

We checked in, were given our key, and got on the lift. It wasn’t big enough for two people to stand in the slightest degree of comfort. Now imagine two people, one with a big suitcase and bag filled for 2 ½ weeks in Europe, the other with a backpack and a weekend’s worth of clothing on this thing. The doors closed (only partially, I might add) and Amanda’s face was squished against the back wall, my arm was pinched by the gap between the doors, and every part of our bodies was touching another surface. “Think Thin, Adam. Think Thin.”

We got to the top, saw our hellhole, and the night was ruined. It was 11pm, no other hotel would accept us that late, we had already paid, and there was nothing we could do. Some choice words were exchanged, lots of complaining, and we went to bed on the old, drooping mattresses of our worn out beds with questionably laundered sheets utterly angry and ready to quit and go home.

The next morning, I went to the downstairs toilet. It wasn’t functioning, and I will save you from the true description by describing it as “full.” I felt my empty stomach begin hurling. I immediately grabbed my computer, used the internet to find another hotel. I made the reservation, went up the 6 flights of stairs, told Amanda to get up and we left. Checked out, complained, only got 1/3 of a refund (“Our cancellation policy doesn’t allow us to refund you the entire amount”) and hauled our stuff.

The subway line serving that place of beds and inadequate plumbing is closed today. Here we were, two Americans who speak no French with lots of baggage at 7am on a Saturday walking long distances to a subway line that actually functions. The curbs had flowing puddles of water, trash covered the streets and sidewalks, a certain Eau de Filth filled the air. Amanda warned me not to let my bag run through the streams cascading through the streets. I turned around and said “at least there is running water in the streets.”

We finally made it to the alternate hotel. Our luggage currently sits in the attended luggage room (which didn’t smell like a litterbox), and we had the opportunity to “freshen up” in the freshly cleaned and functioning downstairs public restrooms. We can check in at 2pm, at which time we will promptly shower and feel human again. After our experience in “Parisian restaurants” where servers handle money, pick up trash off the ground, and then touch your glasses that they put ice into with their bare, unwashed hands, we are jaded. The bistros and brasseries aren’t serving real breakfast (apparently a small cup of expresso is sufficient for this variety of humans), so we went somewhere advertising free internet, which just happens to be McDonald’s. We’ll go to the Musee d’Orsay when it opens.

Until then, we hope for Paris to get better. Really.

Wirtschaftswunder

I know I talk about how people live amongst their history, and I'm going to wax lyrically a bit more now. The reason it's really interesting now is because I'm going to talk about Munich as it relates to the comeback of the German nation after 1945.

As we all know, Germany was razed to the ground during WWII. The German Mark was once again worthless, German Industry was at ground zero again. Instead of leaving Germany to its own devices like after Versailles, the victors invested money to make Germany a productive western nation embedded in respective economic and political philosophies. The lands occupied by the Soviet Union did their thing, and Western Germany took off like a rocket.

The word "Wirtschaftswunder" means "Economic Miracle." So far, no city is a prime example of this as Munich. Much of the downtown area and former “old city” was rebuilt in the old style and gleams today like it was built, well, 50 years ago. Munich is the ultimate Phoenix.

The meaning of Munich is the meaning of Germany. It is the symbol of reinvention amongst tradition. Its architecture spans from re-invented medieval to ultra-modern. It was home to kings and now the most thriving bourgeois in Germany. It is home to industries such as BMW and Siemens and the European headquarters for many global service, publishing, and insurance operations. Muenchners enjoy the highest average wages in all of Germany, but maintain one of the lowest costs of living. The thriving economy looks like London and the cultural aura feels like New York City.

When Munich was chosen to host the 1972 Olympics, it was really the point at which the world recognized Germany as a world player again. Instead of building anything normal, Munich chose to represent itself as a city of the future with some of the (still to this day) most modern architecture and cutting-edge technology, which is yet, as far as I know, to be matched by any other Olympic host. It is a symbol of a city that has recovered from its past and looks forward to the future, a claim not many cities its size can advertise.

Munich proper is the size of Dallas and the size Munich/Augsburg and DFW metro areas are very close. I very much like to compare the cities because they maintain two of the most diversified economies in the western world. It, like Dallas, has fared pretty well in the recent economic downturn. However, what Munich has done that Dallas has not is a plan for stability and sustainability. I had no problem getting around Munich - public transport was a breeze. It was very predictable and convenient. Dallas is a completely different story: one must live in the right places, otherwise getting around is a nightmare (granted, Dallas is planning to expand and make the city public-transport-friendly). Munich has some of the most advanced urban infrastructure I've seen in a European city. Suburbia sprawls around the city and commuters flow into the business parks daily. Highways, byways, express ways, and streets actually large enough for two cars to pass each other connect the far and wide areas, much like the efficient highway system in DFW, yet air quality in Munich was never an issue. Not once did I feel my throat burn as it did in London, Brussels, Hamburg, Amsterdam, or Vienna. I'm not sure how they did it, but it was actually pleasant.

And most of all, I felt safe. No shady corners and suspicious characters. I did not feel the need to check for my wallet as I walked down the street, nor did I have a problem with setting my backpack lazily on the floor in front of me on the subway. Just some numbers to give you an idea: in 2007, there were 13 murders in Munich, a city of 1.5 million people. Compare that to 187 in Dallas and 284 in Houston. Not bad, I say.

The city is clean and pretty much void of peculiar characters. I attribute that to the high standard of living that residents in Munich enjoy, but also the intensive public services designed to keep trash and beggars off of the street.

Also, Munich is easy-going. Not once did I feel the need to rush somewhere like I do when I visited Chicago, New York, or London. Sipping a coffee on the side street is nice, to-go restaurants even have standing places, and the subway wasn't crammed to the brim.

All in all, it is a city that has planned itself well. It keeps its eggs amongst different baskets, looks out for the quality of life, isn't afraid to try something new, and has planned for future expansion. It's no wonder the city is known for its Gemütlichkeit.

Bayern

So, I've lived in Bavaria for about three months now and I've just now ventured into the heart of Old Germany - the spirit and soul of everything anybody ever thinks of when they think of Germany: Munich.

First: Amanda came to visit me as her vacation. She finished school about a week and a half ago, flew here, and will go to work in Dallas a few days after she leaves here. My one-bedroom apartment has suddenly lost all space. I bought an air mattress for her, and it sits between my bed and my desk. This leaves no room for feet, especially when one of us needs to pee in the middle of the night. While I'm in class, she goes shopping, which she loves thoroughly (see blog: everything's so cheap here! These clothes are just what I like! Emily would love this!) Lucky for us, she came during a spell of German holidays - one on thursday, monday, and tuesday. I have class from 8am-10am on friday, but she isn't even ready by then, so we had a 5-day weekend. I told her to meet me at the campus bus stop at 10am, we hauled it to the train station and rode away to Munich.

So there is this great thing called the Bayern Pass. They exist for each of the Bundesländer in Germany (basically, the different "states") It allows you, along with up to 4 other people, to go anywhere within that state for an entire day for 28 euros. This is an incredible deal when you consider the price of gas and even owning a car here. So for 14 euros a piece and 4 hours on a train, we went to Munich. What did we find there? Good-old-fashioned-Bavaria, complete with Lederhosen. I thought this was merely a cheesy tourist thing, but then as we walked more and more through the streets, people actually wore them. Granted, some of them did it for the tourist appeal, such as in the Hofbrauhaus, where a live band played for our own amusement, but as Amanda and I made our way through the city, we realized hordes of people donning their traditional attire. Only too late did we realize that it was because of a Football (American: Soccer) game between the Munich and Milan teams. It was just like any UT football game, except substituting Cowboy outfits with Lederhosen.

We made a trip out to the Munich Olympic Park, which was just amazing. It's one of the coolest locations I've seen in my life. The architecture was so super-sci-fi, yet it serves its function. A+.

We later took a day trip down to Fuessen in the Bavarian Alps to see King Ludwig II's castle: Neuschwanstein. The castles were amazing, but the climb up the mountain wasn't.

Later we went to Nuremburg, which was a big let down. The city was cool to look at, but after about 3 hours, we were tired of the city, so we went back into Wuerzburg.

Friday, we head off to Paris. Whoot Whoot.

Mikrowelle

I've finally gotten a microwave. I've lived here for 2 and a half months surviving on cold food, that which can be made in a pan, or that which can be boiled in a pot. Needless to say, without an oven or microwave and a very small refrigerator, my meals have been pretty bland and unvaried. The story of my acquisition is fun.

I woke up very early today to do my laundry before whisking off to Frankfurt to pick up my much-anticipated visitor. My alarm went off, I threw on some presentable clothing, ran over to the washing machines, shoved my clothes in until no more could fit, paid my high ransom to wash, and pressed "go." It didn't go. Panic ensued. I was running a tight ship - I needed my clothes to wash while I showered, made and ate breakfast, and facebook stalked. After kicking the dumb machine, unplugging it and vainly searching for some alternate solution to make it go, I gave up. I kicked it again.

I decided to take my clothes out and wash them later. I still have at least one day's worth of clothing. Cruel fate ensued. The washer door was already locked, so my clothes were held hostage. No amount of bargaining or force would make the dumb door budge. I guess my persuasion skills aren't very well developed auf Deutsch.

I kicked the machine again.

I huffed and puffed back to my room, checked the flight schedule (to see that it was running two hours late - thank you Chicago O'Hare and your terrible reputation for flight punctuality), so I had two hours to wait for the building superintendent - who should be at work at 7:30 (or so it says on his office door.) He finally showed up - I appealed my case and he worked his magic. Apparently the electricity to the machines was cut off. WTF?

Anyway, in his office there was an array of articles left behind as former tenants evacuated their apartments. Since they're going to bulldoze half of the buildings on my property in the next 6 months or so, many people were forced to move out recently. I asked him if the items were for sale. He said they were free. I grabbed a microwave that didn't look like it was produced in the '70s. It was glorious.

I have yet to test it out. It has turn-dials, but I'm OK with that. I really hope it works well - I would love to eat real, warm food. Hopefully I won't be disappointed and have to kick the dumb thing.

Spargel

It seems like some sci-fi object. Spargel. Beam me up.

Instead, it's asparagus. And it's in season. I've not seen asparagus fever to this extent before. I never thought it would get this bad anywhere. In the US, I've only seen asparagus in the grocery store. It's placed next to other normal vegetables and people grab it when they mistake it for celery or want to stink up a bathroom.

Here, asparagus stands have cropped up. Everywhere. Should you be standing waiting for the bus, you can walk a mere 5 feet and you can fulfill your asparagus craving. It even comes in different varieties. It's like candy! It comes on top of a loaf of pork and they even make a nifty little sauce out of it. Restaurants advertise "Spargel Zeit" in order to entice your patronage.

Has the world gone mad? How could such a banal vegetable receive such celebrity?

I move to celebrate the tomato. I'd much rather have a tomato on top of my pork chop and tomato sauce on top of my pasta.

Topic Change: I have a visitor coming tomorrow. You may follow that blog (with far more wit) here.

Bus

The United States is the land of the Automobile. After all, Ford sent out its Model-T there, the Mechanical Revolution was a product of good-old-american ingenuity. Our society was molded by the car - our cities grew in response to the stretches of highway and the fast speeds of which our cars are capable. Travel time was decreased on average by 700% (average walking speed is 5mph, average car speed during commute is 35 mph from the time somebody leaves the house, sits through traffic lights and rush hour traffic until they arrive at their office). Most people have a speedier commute and the advantage becomes exponentially better the further one is from his/her office. Public transportation in most cities is either non existent or just plain inconvenient. One must walk a very long distance to the bus stop, wait for the dumb thing, wait as it stops every 100 feet for some loser to get on, engage the bus driver in conversation about the places which the bus serves and pays their fare with small coins. And then we have to walk an inconvenient distance from the final bus stop to our final destination. Often, we have to transfer buses. Multiply that inconvenience by 2. Taking the train would be nice, but only a few American Cities (and by that I mean I could probably count on my hands and toes) actually have inner-city commuter trains (subway, light rail, etc.) It's just easier to take our car - if time is money, we save so much by just hopping in and taking an express route to our destination.

Wait. It's the same way in Germany. Inconvenient bus stops, too many intermediate stops, people who can't read a map or pay their fare in the automated machines or with exact change. So why do so many people ride the bus and choose to leave their cars for leisure trips outside of the city? I live in a city of 130,000 people. That is 1/6 the size of Austin, a bit bigger than Amarillo, and nowhere close to the greater DFW area. The city has a commuter train service and comprehensive bus service. I live at the end of a bus route, so I usually get a seat, but after 4 stops, people are usually standing and by the time I get off, I have to squeeze through a variety of grandmas and giggling children. Why?

The difference is density. More people live on the 5-km stretch through which my bus passes than live in most subdivisions of a US city. In the US, apartments are considered "in-between places." One rents an apartment until he or she can buy a "real place." Apartments are no shame here. People buy apartments just as they buy houses in the US. Most "houses" are multi-family with 2 or 4 mailboxes. Only the really rich (and I'm in Bavaria, the richest area of Germany) have their own house (and they are still ugly, by the way.) Germans (and most Europeans, probably) have taken the old-fashioned approach to building: squeeze as many people as possible onto as little ground space as possible. Even before the Elevator, houses were 4 and 5 stories tall and buildings squished next to each other in the row-house fashion. This old-fashioned style of city planning leaves no room for garages or streets wide enough for 2 cars to pass each other comfortably.

So even if you parked your car on the street at home (or rather on the sidewalk, as is customary here), you would go to work, shopping, or school and have nowhere to place your prized hunk of metal. You would have to park in an underground parking garage and pay an exorbitant fee or park way out on the edge of the city and still pay a chunk of dough. Therefore, taking the bus is actually more convenient and cost effective (gas is not cheap here, nor is car insurance, car maintenance or automobile registration.) They save their car to visit grandma in the black forest on the weekend, not to shop at H&M.

So, density. So many people live along those bus routes. That is why busing works in Germany.

A4

So, I'm reaching into the depths of my experiences to bring you the most pertinent of information between the differences between Europe and the USA. Thus I write to you about paper sizes.

We in the USA love our 8 1/2" x 11" paper. It fits so nicely into those happy little envelopes, which themselves are exhilarating to sort, smiling as you see a letter from your long-lost friend or cringing as you see your electric bill.

The Europeans (and the rest of the world) like their A4 paper. It's slightly narrower and slightly longer than our dear American letter standard. It looks like that awkward child in middle school with a super-long and lanky body.

Putting it in an envelope is much easier, though. Most people simply fold it in half instead of that awkward tri-fold. I always fail at that. There is always that one side that is shorter than the other, or I fold along an angle and it just looks awful. Folding in half and sticking in an envelope is just so much easier.

It's also much easier to copy out of books. Apparently, most book publishers use A4 as their standard size. If I lay a book open on the copy machine, I don't have to work some magic with the zoom function in order to get the right side of the page. It's always nice to actually know what those phantom letters actually are.

But it's still awkward and cumbersome. The paper folds over as you hold it up to read it. It's structurally less sound.

Plus, hole punches here only give two holes, and they're close to the center of the binding. Putting papers in a binder now lends them to tri-folding (which is funny, because envelopes require a bi-fold.)

So next time you print out a fresh sheet of paper, take a moment to pause and ponder the wonderfully divine proportions of our 8 1/2" by 11." Its divine proportions should make you glad.

Krank

So, I can't breathe. For some reason, my nose has decided to close up. My ears are stopped up, feels like they're going to pop. Sounds seem muffled. Normally, I'm not an advocate for the use of medicine in minor circumstances - the immune system is designed for that stuff. In the US, after one night of such misery, I would simply go to the store (perhaps even DURING the night) to acquire a box of Sudafed or a some pseudophedrine generic brand for $5. I would take one capsule, it would be good for six hours. It would allow me to sleep through the night until I can stand or sit up or whatever and allow my nose to do as it pleases. I could take a pseudophedrine-daytime to avoid the drowsiness that is usually associated with this miracle drug. I would be able to go about my day as normal, equipped with an emergency stash of tissues should my nose start to run. I would not disrupt the innocent bystanders with my loud and brash battle call in order to expel the ever-reproducing culprit from my sinuses. All would be well in the world until my immune system finally defeated the attacking army (or realized that it was merely a couple of lost pollen bits.)

I was only a fool to assume such simplicity here. I went to the Apothek (medicine beyond a vitamin supplement is not sold in stores) and politely explained my situation: I don't have a headache, I don't have a temperature; my nose is simply stopped up - could you please suggest something? First, the white-lab-coat clad worker suggested a wad of vitamin C tablets. Any fool would already know to ingest a rather large amount of citrus-based vitamins and minerals. I was already chock full of horse tablets - my skin probably reeks of lemons and oranges. I politely asked about pseudophedrine. The lady was shocked. It was as if I had asked for a kilo of weed or something. "Oh, you must go to the doctor to get that."

*Palm smacks forehead*

I asked if there was anything that she could give me that would actually perhaps fool my immune system into, you know, stopping the production of mucus and reducing the swelling in the sinus cavities. I even suggested an antihistimine - Benadryl would have been great. She instead told me that the strongest thing she could give me was this Eucalyptus-based pill. I read the box. 3-4 times daily with 200mL of Orange Juice, 30 minutes before a meal. What kind of hokey-pokey medicine is this? I looked at the ingredients: Myrtol, Eucalyptus and Lemon. Essentially they were giving me a big wax pill with some plant crap sprinkled in - and then charge me 8 Euros for it. I would have been just as well to smear some vicks on my upper lip and suck on a cough drop. And then she had the audacity to say "gute besserung." I'll good your betterment, quack.

Ugh. I asked a German if they were afraid of using drugs for whatever reasons - I find that Germans are a bit preoccupied with buying organic food and holistic medicine. (I don't have a problem with that, but there is a reason pharmaceuticals exist.) He said no. He has taken Pseudophedrine before - after all, we've all battled against sinus blockage, sinus infections and sinus headaches. Germans just like their Doctor (maybe a bit too much); if your stomach hurts, you go to the doctor. If you have a headache, you stay home from work and go to the doctor. I'm not even going to tell you my opinion directly: you probably ate something that didn't sit well - it'll pass; drink some water for your headache and if it's really bad, take a Tylenol - it'll pass.

But if you can't breathe, certain things should be made available outside of the 10-3 opening hours and two-day-in-advance appointment of your local family practitioner.

Say yes to over-the-counter; say no to drugs. Now I sit with my menthol cough drops, package of tissues with menthol lotion, small can of Carmex for the chapped nose, and my vitamin-C tablets.

Krakow

This past weekend I packed up my backpack and hopped on a plane towards Krakow, Poland. The flights to and from were long and possibly unpleasant for a variety of reasons, most of which concern my larger-than-average height and my rather unpleasant disposition for ear and air-pressure conflicts. I'm still battling with the whole "oh my gosh my ear won't pop" situation.

So far my trips have been exciting, exhilarating, and much fun. I've visited places with such rich history of victory and success. London is the world's powerhouse, Amsterdam has museums and beautiful architecture galore, Prague is a symbolic city of the fall of fascism and planned economies and the success of democracy and market economies. Vienna is the manifestation of western culture through thought, architecture, theater, and music. Krakow is the palimpsest of the dark sides of human activity.

Granted, there are many great things about Krakow. It has a very beautiful town center: It's amazing that this is one of the few occupied areas to avoid destruction and one of the few places east of the Iron Curtain to survive that ghastly soviet-block-syndrome. However, the city has not been well maintained. Most of this has to do with the power of polish currency and the general lack of funds for infrastructure reinforcement and renewal. Some view the decaying, crumbling facades as charming and an essential part of the Krakow urban landscape. I think it's sad.

On my first full day there, I took a walking tour through Kazimierz, the former Jewish section of the city. It's really sad to think that the inhabitants who had filled this district with incredible cultural and material wealth with stunning buildings at the beginning of the 20th century were just forced out in 1941 to the Krakow Ghetto across the river. Walking through the ghetto was a mesh of thoughts and emotions - a quarter of me was thrilled to walk through a place with such contemporary vibe and vitality, the other three quarters of me was filled with anguish as I thought about the thousands of people crowded into that place, only to be quickly and bloodily liquidated through a series of deportations to various camps in the vicinity and left essentially vacant for a quarter of a century. Walking on sidewalks smeared with such gory history was indescribable.

The next day I took a trip out to Oświęcim, about 2 hours by bus from Krakow. The town is home to quite possibly one of the darkest remnants of human history, the Auschwitz and Birkenau Concentration Camps. Upon first arrival, groups of tourists wielding cameras and hot dogs see Auschwitz I, a former Polish army base, filter underneath the infamous "Arbeit macht Frei" gate, stopping to take pictures with little 7-year old Susie and 14-year old Bob for Grandma. I was really disappointed at the way the original camp was remodeled, filled with mostly irrelevant museum displays and given a gift shop. Very few areas were left sacred, and even those areas were trampled by groups with a loud tour guide holding a bright-colored cloth on a stick above his/her head. The experience was disturbing, and not for the right reasons.

Apparently, few visitors take the trek out to Auschwitz II-Birkenau. This is the place that has quite possibly had the most impact of any place I've been in my entire lifetime. The camp is situated outside of the city. As one takes the bus from the first camp (surrounded today by city), one passes the green countryside, only to feel his stomach drop as he encounters the most pungent symbol of the Holocaust, the entrance to the Birkenau camp. This place left an impression. It was one of the most sobering experiences of my life. Nobody had to talk, placards in 5 different languages were not necessary. The place spoke for itself.

As the SS retreated at the end of the war, they destroyed the gas chambers and many of the barracks. Many were spared, probably due to time constraint imposed by the advancing Soviets. The camp was not rebuilt and refurbished. It was left alone. The grass grew wild, the rubble remained rubble, and the remaining buildings sat as silent memorials to the unbelievable atrocities to human beings that occurred there. As I walked from barrack to barrack, I couldn't wrap my mind around the reality staring me in the face. No textbook, no lecture, no memoir can explain the complex mixture of feelings of anger, sadness, disappointment, disgust, and nausea that whirl through you as you silently pass from place to place. The expanse of foundations and wall rubble remain visible today. One can see the room divisions and even the drains in the floor. The crematorium apparatuses are still recognizable. The sorting room where prisoners were counted, shaved, tattooed, and dehumanized still bore the room labeling. Phrases such as "Sauberkeit ist Gesundheit (cleanliness is healthiness)" and "Reden ist silber, Schweigen ist Gold (talking is silver, silence is gold) Walking through it was very intense.

It was an experience that everybody should experience. It was incredibly humbling to walk amongst the ruins of such blind hatred. The experience really grounded me and placed a concrete image to hundreds of pages of abstract description. The thought of such acts upon a human being being committed by another human being on that scale and with such organization really causes one to question himself. This was done to real people by real people. It could happen to you, it could happen to me. A memorial like this should hopefully make sure that it is never done by you or by me.