Bäck

Loaf of Bread. Not too exciting.

Today I went to the store (where most exciting things happen, right?) and I splurged on some baked deliciousness. No, not that gross, black, seedy blob of rye, but those tempting, golden yellow, jelly-filled buns of donut. I began to think about how, in 2 months, I will sorely miss those sweet morsels of deliciousness.

Those dessert cakes are actually quite the interesting phenomenon here. In the USA, yes, we have that array of donuts at the supermarket, 59 cents each, or the box of dozen that we can pick up fresh between 5 and 7 am on Saturday, but, I'm sorry Krispy Kreme, it does nothing to top a trip to the local Konditerei.

On any given day, my favorite little bakery shop has a wide assortment of apple-filled turnovers, chocolate-dipped Hörnchens (croissants), almond-sprinkled swirls, and strüdel-covered danishes. Biting into my favorite, the apple-filled turnover, is like eating a slice of heaven. If I arrive early enough on my way to my 11:30 class on Thursday, the glaze is still slightly melted on top of the flaky crust, and the apple filling is of the right consistency to make me just oh so happy. It really sets up the rest of my day (and the flaky remnants remain somewhere on my clothing.)

So really. What is it with desserts here? They have a name for so many things: The Amerikaner (of unbeknownst-to-americans fame), the Berliner (of JFK fame), and Marzipan (of every kid during Christmastime fame). A trip to the student cafeteria gives the opportunity to try out this kind of cheesecake with geletanized strawberries on top (also delicious) or some sugar-coated brotchen (it's like a hot roll.)

Oh, it's like a smörgåsbord of things that will cause one to instantly gain 5 pounds (3 just by looking at it.) And the great part? They're not really that sweet. Often, I'm overwhelmed by the glazed donuts from my local supermarket - the sweet remains in my mouth for an hour, and sometimes it's so strong I feel sick. I've never felt sick after a binge-bakery-run here. It's like the pastries (and also the ones I tried in France - namely the Macaroons) have the right amount of sweet balanced with the right amount of fruit with the right amount of dough. The three together give you something that tingles your entire tongue without the stomach sensations thereafter.

It would just be perfect if I could buy them at the grocery store and have them for a whole week, but sadly they become dry and stale after about 1 day, inedible after 2. Plus, they get squished in my backpack as I lug them on the bus. The battle of bottled water vs. Berliner usually ends with jelly smeared inside a bag.

Modernizing a City

My recent trip to Paris allowed me to witness a very rare thing for any European capital: City Planning.

We’re all familiar with the Rue de Champs-Elysees, Rue de l’Opera and what other French-sounding boulevards we’ve all heard of. They spread out like a system of veins delivering the life-blood of Paris to virtually every area. In the USA, we don’t really think twice about the virtues of a well-planned city – barring that nasty snarl of traffic, we simply hop into our cars, go down Blah-Blah Street and turn right at the Rue de l’Whatever. Magically, we arrive at our local sundry goods store. Assuming that one can arrive at his destination with only a few right-angle turns is a mixture for malady in most European cities. The streets seem to go in non-concentric circles. Intersecting streets appear to be radii from the city center, but are really cords of the larger circle, bringing you back to the street on which you were just traversing. Heck, there’s even a good chance that your much-beloved path of Rue de l’Easy becomes Boulevard du Purgatory shortly after passing Place de la Something.

Streets in Europe are only for those with an extremely fast metabolism and/or a SmartCar. I complain frequently of the long journeys on the bus during which other cars play chicken with my bus for the right-of way. Those “think thin” moments hang upon the hope that some other cars pull over and lets the opposite direction pass. There are circulation blockages everywhere – from that DHL van double-parked to that bus at the bus stop waiting for some loser to find a 5-cent piece in his/her wallet to complete the fare. In a hurry? Too bad. You should have walked.

Paris was sort of a different experience. Yes, there were those narrow streets that annoy every speed-oriented gas-pedal-pusher, but they are short and mostly intersect with those giant, thriving arterial Boulevards. Granted, they’re still congested like one would expect in any large city, but the traffic actually moves at a respectable pace. A journey between the Paris Convention Center and Gare du Nord took about 30 minutes, which is less time than it takes for a bus to travel between Kensington and the City in London, and is about the same distance.

This didn’t come about by accident. We all know that these cities grew slowly for a few hundred years between the 10^th century and the Industrial Revolution. Suddenly, populations exploded exponentially. Post-plague numbers place Paris at about 100,000 people (1340s, and remained relatively stable thanks to disease outbreaks for 500 years). The end of the Franco-Prussian war sees Paris at 650,000 people (6x as many people in about twice the space), which grew through the Industrial Revolution to today’s 60 Million inhabitants. The tiny, winding streets became a danger for sanitation, fire abatement, and, you know, violent uprisings by the bourgeoisie against the monarchy. Given France’s (in particular Paris’s) affinity towards protest in the streets, overthrowing the government, blockading said streets and waging guerilla warfare behind sandbags and overturned tables, it was time to do something. Plus, Paris was choking itself in the maze of medieval, sprawling capillaries that don’t even allow for efficient movement between different arrondissements.

The fearless French leader Napoleon III recognized this impending disaster/threat to his rule. He hired (the French, not German) Haussmann to do something about it. Haussmann came in, destroyed building after building to give Parisians a method of getting from Point A to Point B without relying on a Guillotine to remove some protruding body parts. This renovation discouraged/prevented those pesky revolutionaries (also enabled those pesky invaders) and gave Impressionists something to paint. (See THIS and THIS) It really was revolutionary. Suddenly, the idea of city planning was everywhere – New York could spread north, the ring-and-radius method of highway planning was enabled, and cities could anticipate the boom of the Model T.

Haussmann took major Parisian landmarks or locations (Arc d’Triomphe, Paris Opera, Place de l’Concorde, etc), built a ring in front of/around them, and connected each of them with a series of rays emanating in multiple directions.

Naturally, this meant razing entire sections of the city, plopping down a chunk of thoroughfare, and rebuilding around it. The new buildings had a series of interesting building codes setting standards for height, width, alignment of windows, façade motif, roof slope, and whatever else. Since Haussmannization (1852-1884) didn’t happen overnight, there is a bit of variance between the early-stage rebuilding and the late-stage rebuilding; however, in general, it gave the streets of central Paris a uniquely identical atmosphere.

And thus it gives Adam a strategy as he plays SimCity instead of reading for class.

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.