I just got into Frankfurt a few hours ago. How different my arrival in Frankfurt was this time around. I look at the public transit map lazily and get on the right train, as naturally as breathing. Also, since it is a Wednesday and September, I didn't even bother calling the hostel. I just took the S-Bahn (Suburban train, i.e. MAX) right to it and walked in and booked a room. Then I didn't even have to consult a map as I walked from the hostel to a nice internet cafe and the cheap restaurant district. Come to think of it, I don't have a map with me. This travelling thing gets so much easier once you've done it for a while.
Now the plan is to go to a little convenience store, buy a beer, and sit in the park that lines the Main river. I'll use the back end of a lighter to pop off the lid and sit there and drink and watch the last German sunset I'll see for a while.
I am looking forward to seeing you all over the next few days!
/blog end
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Sunday, September 6, 2009
South
Two days ago I left Berlin. I miss it a little already. Such a great city. I never did get a chance to write the homage to it that I wanted to. One day.
I took the train down south to Munich (6.5 hours) and then from there to Garmisch-Partenkirchen (1.5 hours), which is Marty's hometown. I am typing this email at Marty's parents' place, where I have stayed the last two nights.
Everyone has been tremendously generous. I have been here 48 hours and have barely managed to spend any money. And the money I did spend I really had to fight to spend. I have come up with a new strategy now though. Before I would mention in a desultory way that I was thinking about grabbing some coffee, as one is wont to do as a prelude to going to a coffee shop. But this is a tremendously dangerous thing to do in Garmisch. A few minutes later, someone will show up carrying two coffees and wave away any attempts to give them money. Their defense against repayment is simply impenetrable.
But where open assault has failed, stealth can sometimes succeed. My new strategy is to bide my time silently and quietly slip into the coffee shop when no one is looking. And at the bar, to be very watchful. I need to time it perfectly and make my move once the glasses hit about 15%. I think then I can buy the next round and show up at the perfect moment, and they would be forced to accept it as a fait accompli.
It must be a law in Garmisch that any empty glass must be replaced with a full glass within 30 seconds. And the punishment for breaking the law must be truly terrible. I have never seen people so strictly adhere to a law before.
I only have another seven hours or so in Garmisch, so I do not know how successful I shall be with my new strategy in that time. Perhaps the only thing to do is to admit defeat and accept the generosity in the spirit in which it was given.
Last night I went out with "ze Crew," Marty's band of old school friends. They often say that in their heydey in Garmisch they were "never liked, but always respected." It was a tremendously enjoyable evening.
Tonight I go to Munich with Naveen, one of ze Crew who was in Garmisch last night. I am going to stay with him for a few days and then back to the States!
As for now though, eating lunch and going hiking through the Alps sounds like a tolerably pleasant way to spend the day.
I took the train down south to Munich (6.5 hours) and then from there to Garmisch-Partenkirchen (1.5 hours), which is Marty's hometown. I am typing this email at Marty's parents' place, where I have stayed the last two nights.
Everyone has been tremendously generous. I have been here 48 hours and have barely managed to spend any money. And the money I did spend I really had to fight to spend. I have come up with a new strategy now though. Before I would mention in a desultory way that I was thinking about grabbing some coffee, as one is wont to do as a prelude to going to a coffee shop. But this is a tremendously dangerous thing to do in Garmisch. A few minutes later, someone will show up carrying two coffees and wave away any attempts to give them money. Their defense against repayment is simply impenetrable.
But where open assault has failed, stealth can sometimes succeed. My new strategy is to bide my time silently and quietly slip into the coffee shop when no one is looking. And at the bar, to be very watchful. I need to time it perfectly and make my move once the glasses hit about 15%. I think then I can buy the next round and show up at the perfect moment, and they would be forced to accept it as a fait accompli.
It must be a law in Garmisch that any empty glass must be replaced with a full glass within 30 seconds. And the punishment for breaking the law must be truly terrible. I have never seen people so strictly adhere to a law before.
I only have another seven hours or so in Garmisch, so I do not know how successful I shall be with my new strategy in that time. Perhaps the only thing to do is to admit defeat and accept the generosity in the spirit in which it was given.
Last night I went out with "ze Crew," Marty's band of old school friends. They often say that in their heydey in Garmisch they were "never liked, but always respected." It was a tremendously enjoyable evening.
Tonight I go to Munich with Naveen, one of ze Crew who was in Garmisch last night. I am going to stay with him for a few days and then back to the States!
As for now though, eating lunch and going hiking through the Alps sounds like a tolerably pleasant way to spend the day.
Monday, August 31, 2009
So a while back, I went to Sachenhausen concentration camp. It is 10 km north of Berlin. It was quite sad and quite moving. But I cannot write about the enormity of it. Perhaps I can write about a tiny sliver.
In one of the rooms of the Jewish barracks, foot-washing basins line the walls. There is a sign on the wall that says "the SS brutally drowned some prisoners in these basins." I wonder at the word "brutally." They were ambivalently drowned? Gently drowned? Delightfully drowned?
The whole exhibit is like this. A thousand adverbs cling to the events they describe, as if by their presence they could make the reader believe that the events they describe were brutal, savage, and evil. If only adverbs had this power. Seventeen years ago, Neo-Nazi arsonists set fire to the building of the "brutally drowned." The adverbs burned along with all the rest.
It is only the humanity of the reader that will give words their meaning. For most, "brutally" is superfluous. For some, no adverb will ever be enough.
In one of the rooms of the Jewish barracks, foot-washing basins line the walls. There is a sign on the wall that says "the SS brutally drowned some prisoners in these basins." I wonder at the word "brutally." They were ambivalently drowned? Gently drowned? Delightfully drowned?
The whole exhibit is like this. A thousand adverbs cling to the events they describe, as if by their presence they could make the reader believe that the events they describe were brutal, savage, and evil. If only adverbs had this power. Seventeen years ago, Neo-Nazi arsonists set fire to the building of the "brutally drowned." The adverbs burned along with all the rest.
It is only the humanity of the reader that will give words their meaning. For most, "brutally" is superfluous. For some, no adverb will ever be enough.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Omnibus
Last night (Saturday) I went out to my first proper European club. On a Saturday night. In Berlin. The music the DJ played was called dubstep, which is apparently some sort of techno. Maarten, the Dutch guy I went with, was absolutely crazy about it.
I found the whole experience rather underwhelming, as when I've done it in North America. Clubbing really just isn't for me.
On Friday I had the most delightful dinner with Lisa, Lisa's mother, and Marty's parents. It was a superb evening. And I heard all sorts of embarrassing stories about Marty from his childhood.
Friday morning I had breakfast with a girl from Montreal who has been living in Paris and Tel Aviv for the past eight months. Apparently the Jews are profoundly racist against the Arabs, and vice versa. There is an enormous amount of hatred. The guy she was staying with in Jerusalem carried a gun around with him all the time, even slept with it under his pillow. The lack of peace in Isreal and Palestine makes much more sense to me now.
I made reference a long, long time ago to "inflaming" North-South German rivalries. What I meant was that most of the people I know from Germany grew up in Bavaria. (Marty, Messi, Jesse, Christine, Daniel.) Bavaria was described to me as the Texas of Germany. It's independent-minded and has a lot of state pride.
So a fun conversation starter with non-Bavarian Germans (almost every German I meet in Berlin) is to say something rather provocative about how "When foreigners think of Germany, everything they think of comes from Bavaria." (Wurst, Bier, Liederhosen, Oktoberfest.) Then we get into a lively discussion about the relative merits of different parts of Germany. It is quite fun.
Oh yes, a completely-unrelated but funny story from a while ago:
I got profoundly fucking drunk on the most amazing combination of apple juice and vodka. It was 60% apple juice and 40% vodka, yet it was so very smooth. The Austrian who gave it to me made me get out my notepad so she could write down its name. She must have realized that I was too far gone to remember a specific brand of vodka. (To be honest, it took less than Sherlock-Holmes-level investigatory powers to figure that out at that point.)
And she was right. I have completely forgotten everything about it, except that it was delicious and German. A few days after I remembered and took out my notepad to get the name: "Büffelgras-wodka."
These same Austrians were going to Amsterdam the next day. They were going there to compete in a hot-air balloon race. I assumed this was some complicated marijuana metaphor. But no. They were literally going to compete in a hot-air balloon competition. Something about landing on a certain spot with the most exactness.
I found the whole experience rather underwhelming, as when I've done it in North America. Clubbing really just isn't for me.
On Friday I had the most delightful dinner with Lisa, Lisa's mother, and Marty's parents. It was a superb evening. And I heard all sorts of embarrassing stories about Marty from his childhood.
Friday morning I had breakfast with a girl from Montreal who has been living in Paris and Tel Aviv for the past eight months. Apparently the Jews are profoundly racist against the Arabs, and vice versa. There is an enormous amount of hatred. The guy she was staying with in Jerusalem carried a gun around with him all the time, even slept with it under his pillow. The lack of peace in Isreal and Palestine makes much more sense to me now.
I made reference a long, long time ago to "inflaming" North-South German rivalries. What I meant was that most of the people I know from Germany grew up in Bavaria. (Marty, Messi, Jesse, Christine, Daniel.) Bavaria was described to me as the Texas of Germany. It's independent-minded and has a lot of state pride.
So a fun conversation starter with non-Bavarian Germans (almost every German I meet in Berlin) is to say something rather provocative about how "When foreigners think of Germany, everything they think of comes from Bavaria." (Wurst, Bier, Liederhosen, Oktoberfest.) Then we get into a lively discussion about the relative merits of different parts of Germany. It is quite fun.
Oh yes, a completely-unrelated but funny story from a while ago:
I got profoundly fucking drunk on the most amazing combination of apple juice and vodka. It was 60% apple juice and 40% vodka, yet it was so very smooth. The Austrian who gave it to me made me get out my notepad so she could write down its name. She must have realized that I was too far gone to remember a specific brand of vodka. (To be honest, it took less than Sherlock-Holmes-level investigatory powers to figure that out at that point.)
And she was right. I have completely forgotten everything about it, except that it was delicious and German. A few days after I remembered and took out my notepad to get the name: "Büffelgras-wodka."
These same Austrians were going to Amsterdam the next day. They were going there to compete in a hot-air balloon race. I assumed this was some complicated marijuana metaphor. But no. They were literally going to compete in a hot-air balloon competition. Something about landing on a certain spot with the most exactness.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Back in Berlin. Amsterdam was nice, but it feels good to be back in Berlin. Oh Berlin, how I love thee.
I met up with a cool Dutch guy on the train. We are staying at the same hostel, and he is also studying history. Post-Napoleonic France to be specific. So we are just going to hang out in the park and drink today, the traditional German Sunday pasttime.
His name is Maarten and this is his first time in Berlin. I took him to a döner shop late last night. He said he wanted something bigger than "just a döner." I suppose I should have explained to him what Berlin döners were like, and this shop in particular. Oh well. In the end, he managed to roll himself away from the table after eating his döner plate (like a döner sandwhich, but bigger and on a plate) and fries.
If only I had a picture to capture his face upon the first bite. It was a look of pure bliss. The scales had finally fallen from his eyes. He saw for the first time that the Dutch "döners" upon which he had been raised were but a shallow imitation of the one True Döner, which can only be found in Berlin. For dinner tonight, I think we will go to the same place again and have another döner.
Upon finishing the döners, then we took our half-full dinner beers with us from the restaurant, and sipped from them as we strolled up this awesome street filled with bars and cafes, called Simon-Drach Strasse (Strasse = Street). It is sort of like NW 23rd in Portland. But more diverse and less expensive, with more energy and fewer cars.
I went to Sophie Charlotte's Palace and then a concentration camp used by both the Nazis and Stalin (Sachenhausen) before I left Berlin and went to Amsterdam. I shall write about it next time though, as I am now out of time.
I met up with a cool Dutch guy on the train. We are staying at the same hostel, and he is also studying history. Post-Napoleonic France to be specific. So we are just going to hang out in the park and drink today, the traditional German Sunday pasttime.
His name is Maarten and this is his first time in Berlin. I took him to a döner shop late last night. He said he wanted something bigger than "just a döner." I suppose I should have explained to him what Berlin döners were like, and this shop in particular. Oh well. In the end, he managed to roll himself away from the table after eating his döner plate (like a döner sandwhich, but bigger and on a plate) and fries.
If only I had a picture to capture his face upon the first bite. It was a look of pure bliss. The scales had finally fallen from his eyes. He saw for the first time that the Dutch "döners" upon which he had been raised were but a shallow imitation of the one True Döner, which can only be found in Berlin. For dinner tonight, I think we will go to the same place again and have another döner.
Upon finishing the döners, then we took our half-full dinner beers with us from the restaurant, and sipped from them as we strolled up this awesome street filled with bars and cafes, called Simon-Drach Strasse (Strasse = Street). It is sort of like NW 23rd in Portland. But more diverse and less expensive, with more energy and fewer cars.
I went to Sophie Charlotte's Palace and then a concentration camp used by both the Nazis and Stalin (Sachenhausen) before I left Berlin and went to Amsterdam. I shall write about it next time though, as I am now out of time.
Friday, August 21, 2009
So I had my first encounter with an obnoxious hostel roommate last night. It was early evening, and I was relaxing on the bed after a long day spent walking around the city. He walked in, turned on the light, and declared that I was in his bed. In general, he seemed quite stressed and hurried. I managed to talk him down after a bit, and we figured out the reason why he has been having such trouble with the cleaning staff and his roommates over the past five nights: he has been sleeping in the wrong bed.
To his credit, he was quite embarrassed about it and apologized profusely. So I think he will be an amiable enough companion for the rest of our roommate-dom.
By the way, I was in Amsterdam last night. And the night before. And am sitting in an internet cafe in Amsterdam right now.
(Important Dutch cultural note: I am in an internet cafe. In Amsterdam, the cafes sell coffee. The "coffee shops" do not, which I learned when I went into one on my first afternoon here.)
I feel as if the experience with the roommate could serve as a model of my experience in Amsterdam in general. People are busy, hurried, uptight, and irritable. The bed mix-up would never have happened in Berlin. Partly because of the more relaxed, easygoing atmosphere of people in Berlin. And partly because in all the hostels I stayed at in Berlin, they just assign rooms and trust everyone to choose their own beds, first-come first serve. Which we did flawlessly for the sixteen days I was in Berlin.
This experience of Amsterdam is as far from my expectations as possible. I expected it to be laissez-faire, tolerant, and generally pleasant.
To be fair, it has been incredibly hot for the whole time I have been here. The humidity of this port city is quite high. And it is August, the height of Tourist season. So there are a large number of people packed into a small, hot area, with a large proportion of them either travellers or having to deal with travellers. This is not a recipe for patience and kindness. Even if the distinctive scent of marijuana can be smelled every few minutes when walking around here.
Everything is also almost exactly twice as expensive in Berlin. Hostel for 1 night? 13 euros Berlin; 25 euros Amsterdam. An hour of internet? 1 euro Berlin; 2 euros Amsterdam. Dinner at a cheap indian restaurant? 4.5 euros Berlin; 8 euros Amsterdam.
And don't even get me fucking started on the doners here.
Pehaps there is a lesson in all this: no matter the natural tolerance and kindness of the people, when they are hurried, hot, and stressed, people are assholes.
Today, the weather is reasonable, people seem to be in better moods (TGIF), I have accepted the fact that I will have to pay twice as much for everything, I have figured out the public transit system, and I know my way around reasonably well. So it is much more pleasant.
By the by, I went to the Amsterdam Historical Museum this morning. They talked forever about how cool Amsterdam was in the 17th and 18th centuries. Those exhibits were really cool. Then they rushed right past the nineteenth century, and barely mentioned what happened in the Second World War. Quite disappointing.
To his credit, he was quite embarrassed about it and apologized profusely. So I think he will be an amiable enough companion for the rest of our roommate-dom.
By the way, I was in Amsterdam last night. And the night before. And am sitting in an internet cafe in Amsterdam right now.
(Important Dutch cultural note: I am in an internet cafe. In Amsterdam, the cafes sell coffee. The "coffee shops" do not, which I learned when I went into one on my first afternoon here.)
I feel as if the experience with the roommate could serve as a model of my experience in Amsterdam in general. People are busy, hurried, uptight, and irritable. The bed mix-up would never have happened in Berlin. Partly because of the more relaxed, easygoing atmosphere of people in Berlin. And partly because in all the hostels I stayed at in Berlin, they just assign rooms and trust everyone to choose their own beds, first-come first serve. Which we did flawlessly for the sixteen days I was in Berlin.
This experience of Amsterdam is as far from my expectations as possible. I expected it to be laissez-faire, tolerant, and generally pleasant.
To be fair, it has been incredibly hot for the whole time I have been here. The humidity of this port city is quite high. And it is August, the height of Tourist season. So there are a large number of people packed into a small, hot area, with a large proportion of them either travellers or having to deal with travellers. This is not a recipe for patience and kindness. Even if the distinctive scent of marijuana can be smelled every few minutes when walking around here.
Everything is also almost exactly twice as expensive in Berlin. Hostel for 1 night? 13 euros Berlin; 25 euros Amsterdam. An hour of internet? 1 euro Berlin; 2 euros Amsterdam. Dinner at a cheap indian restaurant? 4.5 euros Berlin; 8 euros Amsterdam.
And don't even get me fucking started on the doners here.
Pehaps there is a lesson in all this: no matter the natural tolerance and kindness of the people, when they are hurried, hot, and stressed, people are assholes.
Today, the weather is reasonable, people seem to be in better moods (TGIF), I have accepted the fact that I will have to pay twice as much for everything, I have figured out the public transit system, and I know my way around reasonably well. So it is much more pleasant.
By the by, I went to the Amsterdam Historical Museum this morning. They talked forever about how cool Amsterdam was in the 17th and 18th centuries. Those exhibits were really cool. Then they rushed right past the nineteenth century, and barely mentioned what happened in the Second World War. Quite disappointing.
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