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.