I'm my own worst enemy, but Italy's forgiving

I met my friend Hubertus at the Frankfurt main train station. It was good to see him, since he'd been in Peru since February. We went and met up with his older brother who lives in Frankfurt. He showed us his version of a German fraternity. Suffice it to say that his frat made many American frats look like a child's game. Understand that how you want. They fence, even.

Printing off our tickets and looking up information on the internet brought the realization that things weren't going to go as planned. We were going to have to stay up all night and take buses all over the place to get to the right airport in time to fly to Italy. His brother shoved us out of his apartment so he could study. A couple of glasses of wine with Hubertus' adopted African and pregnant sister and her husband, a few buses, one hour of sleep, and a flight later we were in Bergamo, Italy.

We waited for our friends, Franci (Francesca) and Benni (Benedetta) to pick us up. Twenty minutes later we found each other to find out we'd both been waiting on each other. It was a good reunion. Franci and Benni lived in the floors above me in my apartment building back in Eichstaett this last semester. They were some of my best friends, and most days I traveled the many stairs above me to share my food, eat their food, or just chat with them. I had introduced them to Hubi (Hubertus) a few months ago, and they all hit it off really well. Tragically for me, Franci and Benni won't be in Eichstaett this semester as they had to return to their own. As a result, Hubi and I had decided to visit them together, which is what brought us there.

Hubi was desperate for a shower. He'd been traveling for about four days straight and had gotten less than 12 hours of sleep in that whole period, although he didn't complain about the lack of sleep. He insisted that it was no problem. He had been dreaming of a good shower, but Benni and Franci had other plans. They wanted to take us to Verona in northern Italy. So we hopped in the car and drove about an hour and a half to the beautiful old town. Despite his manly and stubborn mentality Hubi passed out, and I joined him gratefully.

I ate donkey for the first time that day. Tasted good. I didn't honestly notice anything too incredibly different from other meats I've had. The donkey came with hand-made noodles, too. It turned out we were eating at one of the oldest restaurants in Verona. At one point we sat down, and Hubi told me a general overview of the city just from looking at the city map. He could tell from the patterns of old walls and buildings, and the general layout of the city how the city developed. What a useful skill. We got back, Hubi took a shower and claimed to be a new man, and I did too. Benni's parents cooked for us, and we spent an hour trying out best to communicate through a combination of English, Spanish, and Italian, and were relatively successful. Her father told us how great America was, and how it equaled freedom for him. I haven't heard that a lot since I've gotten to Europe. Then we slept as we'd earned it.

The plan the next day was Milan. First we saw the university that the girls went to, as well as Enrico. Enrico, or Erri, was also an Italian foreign exchange student in Eichstaett and a good friend of mine. They go to a Catholic University that's very old and unbelievably beautiful. We saw a church there that had been there since...700A.D.? I don't know. Older than any church I saw in Germany for sure. That afternoon we went to the Dome in the center of Milan, a monstrous building that claims to never have been completed. It's been under constant construction for hundreds of years. A friend of the girls named Matilde joined us for the afternoon. A charming and beautiful girl I didn't concentrate on the church as much as I should have. We went back to the University and attended a class with the girls. They discussed a religious book written by a famous leader of a movement, and they did it all in English. There were about 40 people in the class or so. They discussed subjects of theological and philosophical significance all in a foreign language. I was impressed. That night we were treated to a delicious Italian meal at Franci's apartment, which happened to play house to multiple beautiful girls. I felt pampered. Despite language barriers, being that many of the girls' English wasn't at a comfortable level, and Hubi and I couldn't speak Italian, we made it work. Someone pulled out the guitar, the girls put me in a trance with simple and well done three-part harmony with good music. I was forced to play a song or two, which a butchered. I don't usually fair too well in a public setting, but when beautiful girls are watching me I kind of fall to pieces. I tried to charm them with terrible Italian to make up for it. Hubi and I spent half of the night trying to speak German with an Italian accent.

That day we got to climb a few stairs to the top of the Dome. We hung out up there in the shade of the towers and pillars and relaxed in almost 80 degree weather. The girls wanted to take a picture with all of us in it. Hubi refused. The girls tried to force him, but he wouldn't do it. They asked why and he said he refused to take a picture in or on top of a church. It was disrespectful. The girls couldn't understand him, or didn't agree. He claimed you wouldn't take a picture of someone in front of the altar, and the same principle should guide you through the rest of the church.

I was brought up with a similar principle. Every cell phone ring in the church was a disruption in the hearing of God's word. Every flash of a camera trivialized the space we tried to make holy. I always despised the people who would whip out their camera for the childrens' choir and every other slightly remarkable instance that included them. I understand that we want to mark the occasion. A baptism is a special and beautiful moment in a person's life, and photography is a great way to capture such a significant memory, but I strongly believe that coming into the church means leaving your ordinary life in the outside world and the way you operate within it at the doorstep. You're supposed to bring the holiness of church into the outside world, not the other way around. Plus, I don't know how to talk about any sense of the word "worship" if you snapping fotos like the paparazzi.

Despite my strong conviction on the matter, I've taken numerous pictures of churches throughout Europe. I had a pseudo-reason for it, too. You see, I don't have a whole lot of respect for cathedrals in a Christian sense. When I went into the Sistine Chapel, or St. Peters, or Notre Dame I didn't think about God, I thought about humans. In the Sistine Chapel I thought about Michelangelo, and the glory of human creation. I have a hard time being called to humility when I'm being drowned in gold and paint. I get the idea. I get how one could try to justify such a approach, in that all we have should go to the glory of God, but I don't think money or gold does that. Church calls us to a spiritual humility and sharing of God's grace, but if high-arched ceilings and glimmering gold are the tools we use to encourage that, I don't know how some of the beauty of the Bible isn't lost. Anyways, that was my justification for taking pictures. I devalued the cathedrals to the point that I felt okay about taking pictures. I forgot that it doesn't matter if the walls are white or gold, if there's a high-arched ceiling or no ceiling, that God's house resides where worship takes place. I can mock the waste of such human craft and creation, but not the holiness that every church offers despite it's astray intentions. I'm not really sure where the borders begin or end, but for now I'm taking pictures of the outside of churches.

The next day we went to Bergamo, where our plane had dropped us off two days before, to drop off Hubi at the airport so he could fly back to Germany and do a little sightseeing in the city. By the way, all of the cities are in northern Italy. Franci's family lives in Bergamo, and the city happens to be very beautiful, so we did a little tourism before heading to her family's house. I've met her parents before. They're wonderful people. They can't speak much English, so it's always a bit of a struggle, but they always hug me warmly and are very friendly. I did get to meet her sister, grandmother, and niece, and every one of them were a pleasure. Her grandmother showed me the garden she'd planted herself. She's 89 and she's still pretty active. They told me a story of climbing over the fence when she'd gotten locked out last year. The baby still couldn't walk, but she tried for us all. As it was Friday and they are all Catholics, and it's the season of Lent, we didn't eat meet. The father told me about being in NATO, and how the visiting American general was popular, and how he personally liked him. Franci's sister's baby was a little more noisy than nala, but she was still pretty sweet. She was teething and chewing on everything.

After a good afternoon nap the girls and I traveled on to a somewhat nearby lake. It was beautiful, but we just walked around for an hour or so before having to head back to eat with Benni's family. They all dropped their jaws at me as I ate a pizza with mushrooms, onions, and green peppers. Apparently that's a little much by Italian standards...

The next day Benni's family took us, including Enrico, to Torino where her dad and his family were from. First we went to his mother's house for lunch. He cooked a very typical meal from the area that included an entire head of clove's worth of garlic for each person mixed with fish and oil. It was super good, as well as one of the most intense tasting meals I've ever had in my life. I ate about as much as I normally do at thanksgiving. Then her family proceeded to take us around Torino, and her father gave us a very detailed history of the city and it's buildings. We tramped into a church. They had some sort of thing that Jesus was wrapped in. Wait. This sounds familiar. Wait. What's the name of this town in English? Turin. OHHHHH. The Shroud of Turin! Man I felt stupid. I had accidentally stumbled into one of the more famous places in Italy. I didn't actually get to see it. I got to see the box it was held in. Cool?

We drove back. I bade Erri goodbye, as we wouldn't be seeing each other for who knows how long. That night the girls and I watched Benni's brother play in a band. They did mostly covers, but it was good and fun. The next morning the girls had to drive me to the airport so I could fly on to Prague. It was hard for me to say bye. They were a part of my daily life in Eichstaett, always a floor or three away. I was leaving them for a long time, and it's hard to know when we'll see each other again. I hugged them both with a little bit of an anchor in my chest, went in, ran back out to grab my ticket from the car, and left.

Handkerchiefs and stupid myths

There are many famous churches in Germany, but three stand out in the West, and they all are within about an hour's train ride from each other. They're in the cities of Worms, Speyer, and Mainz. The "Diet of Worms" mean anything to you? Anyways, they are known as the Kaiserdoms of Germany, which means that they all were built under the emperors reign, and were visited by the emperor. Main thing is, the things are OLD. They're all roundabout 1000 years old, and they look like it too. They don't have the bang or glamor of gothic and baroque architecture, but a very simple but astonishing Romanesque style. WHOA. Did my fingers just type that? Everybody boo pretentious baby bottom feet over there.

Since I was heading to Mainz, where I'd be able to see one of these churches, why not stop by Speyer and check out another one? So I paid the 10 Euros or so and took a train to Speyer. There was Mother Mary and about ten emperors pasted around the place, maybe a Jesus or two. But really, it was pretty breath taking in its scale. No kind of tour or guide to be found, which is always kind of lame. Then you just sit around and think, "pretty," and leave. Lame.

That evening Lauren, a friend and former college-mate of mine at Hendrix, met me at the train station in Mainz. She's working for an organization called Fullbright in Mainz for the year teaching English in a school. We went to a restaurant with two of Lauren's friends. We saw a Hummer, and I ate guacamole. Wait, what? Where am I? These things do not exist in Germany, but where there's an American military base there's a way. There are so many Americans roaming around Mainz that the locals sometimes talk about the Americans literally behind their back, as they're used to the fact that most of them can't speak German. Someone repeated key words we'd been talking about (Lauren and her friends talk in English with another). We decided they were talking about us. I loudly spoke in German and looked in the girl's eyes who'd repeated our words hoping for shame to slip over her face.

The wonderful host she was, Lauren slept on the floor and gave me the bed. Tamed and trained American that I am I argued, but she shut me up. When we woke up in the morning she said I'd been talking in my sleep. No surprise. Jeff and Jared used to recount being able to hear me talking in my sleep through the walls. The weird thing has always been that I manage rational and complex sentences with clear and enunciated pronunciation. What was different this time? It was all in German.

Lauren and I did relaxed tourism so well I don't know if it was tourism. She knew about the city that she could tell me about neighborhoods and buildings. "This side of the street was bombed, this one wasn't." I saw a lot of Mother Marys on buildings, and only a Jesus or two. Catholics get a little out of hand sometimes. We took blankets and sat next to the Rhein, one of the main rivers in Germany. I took a nap. We read. I did handstands. Lauren laughed at me. I got bird poop on my hand. I laughed at myself. I think some people around us laughed at me. It's nice to be in a city where you probably won't ever be in again, or at least not often enough that people will remember you. If I could only harness the confident mentality that awareness allows on a regular basis...

I hate using Kleenex's. I find it SUPER wasteful. That's a problem in Germany. They like their "Taschentuecher." Just about everyone has a little packet in their pocket or purse. At the first sniffle one should blow. No sniffing allowed. I told Lauren I wanted to find a handkerchief ("kerchief" comes from Old French. It means "head cover." Hand head cover. Hunh), so we went a lookin'. I bought two for less than a Euro. Why don't we use these anymore? It's hard not to become a conspiracy-theorist ranting against the capitalist system. Evil paper handkerchief corporations... WHAT HAPPENED TO THE GOOD OL' DAYS. Our society used to be so much more efficient and less wasteful, and we traded it for...hygiene? What a load of poop. What illness have we avoided at the disposal of cloth handkerchiefs? The booger blues? We traded a tradition and a craft for a stupid myth. We traded an imagined illness for a real one: germaphobia. I know I laugh at hygiene as a product of privilege. It can be a serious deal, but a 15 minute shower every day, even when I haven't shed sweat or harbored filth? I don't know how we don't become afraid of our own bodies. I'll stick to washing my hands...sometimes.

The next day I did very ineffective tourism. That means: it was cold, I didn't learn anything, and I went back to her apartment at 2pm. The day got warmer, Lauren and I went out together, grabbed some wine, bread, cheese, onion and tomatoes and stationed ourselves next to the Rhein once again. As we slid into a smoother rhythm of wine and simple food, we found a comfort in friendship and spring dusk. The English language found my tongue and lips welcome friends, and as the rats perked over stone steps to check the status of the future bread scrap meal we delved into a solemn but patient discussion of marriage, divorce, our privilege to be where we were, and our happy friendship.

I saw the Gutenberg bibles the next day. They were so fortified in their walled off black room and imposing glass cases I was tempted to try and steal one to see if I would meet my death by fire or lasers.

A warm parting and a train later I was in Frankfurt.

"You're speaking to me in German "

You arrive in a famous, beautiful German town at 6:30A.M., and you think "this will be the first town I watch as it wakes. I will observe the sun climbing the hills on to the backs of buildings as it discards its golden cape to massage one of its older friends, Heidelberg, into fresh spring life. I will smell spring flowers and touch dusted stones." You set off with Spring's spring under your heel, and you explore the still virgin city as the sole dedicated tourist willing to scrap sleep for lessons in culture in beauty as yet unknown on this day in late March. OR: you sit in MacDonalds for a few hours and write in your journal and repeatedly turn away the either extremely persistent homeless (?) or drugged out and forgetful man asking for your money. Hey, I made the effort for the sunrise romantics, but then I thought, "This is stupid. I'm tired and I want some Bacon Egg McMuffin and environmental guilt to boot."

I wandered into the "Alt Stadt" and was surprised by its non-oldness. After a while I realized I was NOT in the old city. My plan was to stay in Heidelberg with Hubertus' grandmother, Frau von Lehsten. I had called her a couple of weeks ago. My memory included mentioning the dates the 29th to the 1st of April, but when I got a call from her in Bremen on the 25th it became clear that something was amiss. She asked where I was.
In Bremen, well of course, I answered, is something wrong?
Oh, I thought you would be arriving on the 24th.
Whoops.
I got a call from an unknown number in the morning as I wandered around Heidelberg waiting for a reasonable hour to call her. Herr von Lehsten, her son of which I was unaware, was calling to get things started. We agreed to meet in front of city's university at one. I found the old city and rationalized my way into buying two cheap books to help me with my German language skills, camped in front of the library and read until he found me. Head bent and eyes to the ground with his very traditional German sports jacket he introduced himself and hurried me inside the library, showed me a locker to shove my stuff into, led me upstairs to the library (the whole time rapid firing information about the library and the city at me) and found a book which would provide me with a "literary tour of Heidelberg." He then took me outside and proceeded to give me one of the most informed and educational tours I've ever received of a city. He must have listed at least 50 exact dates, 40 first and last names of German aristocrats, and an intimidating quantity of architectural and artistic terms. His detailed knowledge of his town, region, and of Germany spanned well over a thousand years. I'm starting to feel unproductive here.

We sat in the main church of the old town as he described why for a while the church literally had a wall separating one half of the church from the other. It included one line of protestant aristocrats dying out and the next line, which was catholic, from the family taking over. Despite the majority of the population being protestant the Catholics wanted their space and power. I learned why the doors on the outside were Gothic, or, crap, was it Baroque? Have I learned anything? Or why the building across the way was Renaissance, or why the castle on the hill was all of the above. It was a crash course, and like a crash it felt, in one of the most important regions of medieval Germany/Europe. He had to go back to work, and I trudged up the hill to the castle after eating my bread and cheese. I was WIPED OUT. so I took a nap in the courtyard of this partially 600, 500, 400, and every time between year old castle. Chocolate, apple, ask for a tour, too late. Heave each leg to step for an hour to find the house where I'm staying WAY across town.

Frau von Lehsten had exactly the kind of face you want greeting you after you've born your backpack around a town for a good eight hours. Her smile creased her cheeks to cradle her eyes. Her frizzy hair welcomed my frizzy and worn soul. Still coated in last night's sweat and today's fatigue I smiled my way inside ready to skin myself to get rid of the disgust I'd had to play home to for the last 24 hours, but she offered me a shower and I took that instead. We ate on the back porch as the sun took on it's subtly pink blanket to sleep behind the hills on the other side of the valley, and oh what a recuperative meal it was. Her son, the same who'd earlier given me the tour and lives with his mother (or maybe she lives with him. I'm not sure. He's at least in his 40's), fired questions at me about my home, my education, and my religion. I ate fish and mustered up fellowship. I apologized for my table manners as I realized I had spoken with my mouth full and wasn't following customary German culinary table manners. Herr von Lehsten looked at me in surprise and almost pity as he told me, "Be exactly as you are and nothing else. Don't apologize. These traditions are an old part of our culture, which you are not a part of, and anybody that insists that you should follow them has their priorities messed up." That is actually by no means a direct quote, but it's very close to his meaning.

I found out during that day that they would both be leaving town the day after next early in the morning, which meant I could only stay with them for one night, when I had originally been planning on staying with them for about 4. They immediately made every effort to find housing for me for the rest of my stay, as my options were limited. They called every body they could, and I tried to find hostels. Herr von Lehsten woke up at 1 in the morning to hang up my clothes which he'd washed.

After a breakfast with Frau von Lehsten, I met with her son in town, who introduced me to Professor Strohm, who offered me his place for the next two nights. I asked to stay for one so that I could stay in a hostel the next night and experience the night life in town. I spent the afternoon in a museum learning about the complex political history of Heidelberg and it's surrounding area. Heidelberg was one of the few major areas of Germany that didn't get bombed at all by the Allies. Why? We wanted our headquarters in a pretty place, of course. We "Amis" (Americans), that is. Heidelberg has a lot of Americans.

The next morning Frau Strohm drove me 30 minutes to Schwezingen, where there was a castle comparable to castles like Versailles in it's gardens. After discovering it despite cloudy and cold weather for a couple of hours we went back. I grabbed my bags and soaked myself in the afternoon rain to ride a bus to the hostel. That night I met a pretty girl outside of the hostel who happened to be staying at the hostel. I asked her if she might want to eat with me, and although she'd already eaten she sat with me as I ate. We went to a bar and drank a beer and chatted for a couple of hours, and bade a bitter goodbye after a good connection at the end of a pleasant night. Heidelberg is a charming city at night with its castle on a hill.

I woke up in the morning and spoke to one of my roommates in German for a little. I went into the hallway and found another friendly roommate from Australia, with whom I'd spoken the night before. As she waited on the shower to be open I asked, "Why isn't anybody using the other showers?" She looked at me and soberly explained in her Australian accent, "You're speaking to me in German." 

The next night I stayed with yet another connection made for me by Herr von Lehsten: Tobias, a student at the university. Friendly as could be over the phone, he asked me if I might want to go to the opera with him that night, where his dad as a player in the orchestra could get us a discount. I met him that night and had my first experience of an opera. It was very modern, and I had no idea what was going on as they presented the only opera Beethoven ever wrote, but I enjoyed it never the less. Afterward Tobias, his father, and siblings sat at their dinner table and chatted over a midnight snack and wine. I had a good chemistry with the family and relaxed into the wine and the welcome of new friendship.

In the morning we ate breakfast together and I handed my accidentally stolen hostel key to Tobias, who would return it for me. He took me to the train station and I warmly hugged him goodbye after knowing him for less than 24 hours.

As you can see, Heidelberg was a flood of hospitality and almost unheard of generosity. I've been working on a theme for the last year or so. I've been thinking a lot about being thankful, and I've been thinking a lot about the themes of giving and receiving as the realization has settled in that my life has consisted up to now of mostly receiving. I've been trying to learn how to be better at being thankful, and also giving and receiving, and I've been surprised at how bad I am at all three. I know it's going to be a lifelong process, and I'll never do enough of all three. But Heidelberg was such a grenade of generosity and giving I could barely recover from it. It forced me into astounded humility and wonder as strangers welcomed me into their homes and their stories. They offered me their stories and asked for mine. They asked me to be a part of their stories; some even explicitly. A part of learning to receive has been giving up on pride. I have a hard time receiving a gift without trying to give back, and immediately if possible. I don't like just trusting some sort of natural spirit of giving and receiving, in which what goes around comes around. I'm invested in being an active part of that spirit, which doesn't mean surrendering to a natural course or stream. I want to be aware of the gifts I receive and take them with a "thank you." But I've been learning that a gift has no equal pay back. It asks humility and gratefulness, which is no payment, but it names the gift and grants it its due grace. I'm searching for an opportunity to give. I'm waiting to take in the next guest and show him why I find this world beautiful.

As I helped Herr von Lehsten plant what he claimed would from there on be referred to as "Dan's tree," he planted something in me as well. He expressed a genuine confusion that I'd apologized for my manners the day before. He just didn't get why I would do that. I explained that table manners are personally close to worthless to me, and I understand them as a cultural comfort with little more worth than any other simple comfort, but that as a guest it is a way to honor the host and thank them for their gift. He argued that anyone who placed such worth on manners was wasting energy, not to mention would they be failing to understand the difficulty of trying to fit into another culture. He suggested that, in order to show my thankfulness, I send a card to them once at my destination telling them that I'd arrived safely and in good health. I asked him if people normally did such a thing with a postcard, or what? I misunderstood. He demanded my eyes with the posture of a man trying to pass something on. Dan, he said, it doesn't matter how other people do it. It matters what you do. It matters how you show you're thankfulness. Stop worry about this cultural nonsense and do what's natural to you.

I couldn't help but absorb his wisdom, despite it's cheesy format. I've got a lot of messed up ideas about how these things are supposed to be done, and I don't think I'm the only one. Surrendering my sense of appropriateness could help, I think.

Wait, what? Culture? Where

Hamburg was the next part of the plan. My friend Hubertus' mother found another connection for me there with family friends called the von Knebel Doeberitz (I think we'll survive without me trying to explain the pronunciation). I got in at about 7 and, through the advice of friendly strangers on the street and on the bus, found the house I was supposed to be staying in. One of their four kids let me in. The parents were eating at a friends house. The girls watched a girl movie, the men (me and an 11 year old) watched soccer. The parents got in at eleven. It was honestly kind of weird, but I think for everybody. For kids to let a stranger into their house is an odd event, and to come home to a stranger in your house has got to be an oddity as well.They were a friendly family, and made me feel welcome despite the short time and awkward situation.

The next day I met with my friend Anais in the city. She studies at the same university as me in Eichstaett. She showed me the better parts of the town over a full day despite her three hours of sleep the previous night. I had poorly planned my trip in the respect that Anais was not only a good friend of mine, but she lived in a much more strategic part of the city than the German family I had stayed with the night before. I sheepishly asked if I could stay at her place that night, and she answered yes without hesitation.

Hamburg is really famous. I don't know if you knew. I know I heard the name of the city from an early age, but I never knew why. As I traveled around Europe I heard numerous times that Berlin was the coolest city in Europe. Since being in Germany I've heard often that the coolest city in Germany is Hamburg. Not knowing why people were so hyped about Hamburg I went there with relatively large expectations. As such situations often play out, it didn't meet the expectations that the hype had inflated. There's a lot of reasons for that, one being that the people telling me these things have always been my age. What are people normally doing when they're in Berlin or Hamburg at my age? Visiting, sightseeing, touring, whatever. They're staying in hostels, going out late, staying out late, and mingling with people their age. Berlin is stocked full of every imaginable genre, caste, and type of person. It's bleeding out the ears with blunt and colorful culture. It's freshly scarred by the tragedies of the Cold War and Germany's still healing wound from being ripped in half for 38 years. You walk the streets and it's unapologetic and often daring culture strolls, struts, and stalks with a stylized limp to an ever changing and ever ranging beat right before you. I saw the daylight postured version of Berlin when I was there, but I never got a glimpse of, what I imagine would be, the bare-boned variety that is Berlin youth and life at night.

When I heard about Hamburg I always heard of how pretty it was. In comparison to Berlin, pretty it was. Berlin is cold walls and mixed colors compared to the pampered harbor city that is Hamburg. Don't get me wrong, Hamburg got hollowed out by the Allies much worse than many other German cities. I only say pampered because I felt pampered, but that probably has more to do with sunshine and a good friend than anything else. I think many people prefer Hamburg because it carries a lot of the diverse culture that Berlin enjoys, but it manages a much more dignified and less raw posture than Berlin. In either city you can find the niche you want, and the niche finds you in it's best apparel. You want hipster, you want hippie, you want punk, you want rocker, talker, pop-and-locker, there's just about any stereotype you want and it feels cool.

I came to Hamburg with a respectable enough basis of historical knowledge to feel ready. In Bremen I was told "Hamburg ist die Tür zur Welt, aber Bremen hat den Schlüssel dazu." (Hamburg is the door to the world, but Bremen has the key). Both members of the Hanseatic league, a powerful and influential trading alliance between many cities in the middle ages, both Bremen and Hamburg pride themselves on being "Hansa" cities. Ever heard of "Lufthansa," the most famous German airline? "Luft" means air, and "Hansa" calls upon that powerful alliance that connected all centers of the world for hundreds of years. These cities remained independent throughout the Holy Roman Empire and every other dominating force that tried to shackle them over the better part of a millennium. Hamburg today is still very much a harbor city with cranes and seagulls and all the trinkets thereto. Just about every church has a weather vane like object perched upon it's steeple with a ship right underneath the cross. 

Anais and I sat on the docks and ate, we wandered around the old harbor part of town, we strolled next to the pond in the middle of the city, we gaped through the literally hollowed out and roofless ruins of an ancient church called St. Nikolai,

 and we had a great dinner in the charming dungeon of a restaurant in the cooler part of town. After being too relaxed at dinner I realized I had an hour to take a subway, run to Anais' apartment, grab my bag, run back to the metro station, take another subway, and try to make it to the main train station in time to take by bus to Heidelberg. I left Anais at the metro station with my jackets, jogged a good distance in about 7 minutes, picked up the much heavier bag than I'd previously noted, ran back to breathlessly and far from charming in stench to hug Anais goodbye, took my jackets, and ran on. I got to the bus about 5 minutes before it left and nodded off as Hamburg joined the background. It was a good city. I enjoyed good company more than the city, but the city was still a wonder.

Whose getting burped?

I realized something in Bremen. I've never been around babies. I've done the whole babysitting thing, I think...maybe once. In any case, I've been around enough 5 year olds and older to know what kind of mess that is. Babies and toddlers are another story.

I liked them at first. No I'm kidding. I liked them the whole time, but it's easy to drop your guard and get all sweet when they're smiling and speaking their language, which in this case was only one half German with Nona. The second day in Bremen was something new for me. I went around the city...wait for it...with a baby attached to my stomach. No, not with glue, but I don't know what the device is called. It includes pulleys, clicky things, and back strength. I felt proud. I'm not sure why. Don't get me wrong. I don't want to be a father yet - not for a long time - but I think I'll like it when I am. I enjoyed imagining that people misunderstood me as a young father. Nala slept the entire time. It's a weird feeling to have a baby rub it's face in your chest for a good few minutes. Nona ate a burger by herself. We all celebrated.

BUT DON'T RELAX. I did. We got back to the appartment after relaxingly strolling through the city. Nadja had spent the majority of the day painting their living room again and moving objects around that were five times her size. Did I mention she had a cold? Come about 8 at night she started feeling worse. In a matter of a couple of hours she had a temperature of about 40 degrees Celcius, or about 104. Bad news. Tom handled it like a pro. He fetched the dampened towls, he called the doctor, he read the nighttime story to Nona. What did I do? I carried, cradled, and burped Nala. I even played her a song or two on the guitar and sang her songs from Disney's Robin Hood. I thought to myself, "I can do this. Look at me."

WRONG. The doctor came and all hell broke loose, well at least for me. Tom was calm the whole time. Nona woke up and cried for her mom, who was incapable of coming. Nala couldn't go to sleep because she had something weird going on in the stomach. Long story short: very little sleep. Every 10 seconds of silence I prayed it would remain so. I mean, a kid can only cry so much, right? Even an adult has only so much fluid, right? Sooner or later someone's gotta pass out. Well it turns out it wasn't gunna be the toddler. I fetched the last bottle of warm milk as Tom finally got some rest, and sleep followed.

Tom admited mit upon waking up that he hadn't had such a bad night in a while. I felt justified in my awe and fear. The next two days didn't consist of much tourist fun, but instead a healthy dose of a young family. Tom and I played guitar and chess with each other a lot, him being much better than me in both cases. Saturday we all went to the flea market next to the Weser river; me and the whole family. I was weak. I found Westerns in book form AND German form. I'm talking a book about Doc Holiday and Billy the Kid. 1 Euro. I found an Avatar: the Last Airbender Trading Card Starter Set. 3 Euros and eternal happiness. No I won't say something was priceless. You want it, but I won't give it to you. It cost me money. Here: Happiness = cheap.

The kids and Nadja went back home, and Tom hung around with me in the city until I had to catch the train. We sat down next to the river to drink a beer in the sun. We shared the table with a couple our age. Tom fetched our drinks, and so did the boyfriend. His pretty girlfriend was sitting next to me. I pulled out my newly bought treasures and went straigt to the most important one: my trading cards. I showed them to her and said: "Vom Flohmarkt" (from the flea market). She immediately, without hesitation, scooted over in her curiosity and we started talking. The guys came back and we spent the next hour chatting over our drinks and my cards and my Westerns. How easy it is to meet friendly people. I think I'll remember the feeling that gave me before the feeling from and pretty city.

I just got my face shaved...with a KNIFE. Just kidding, y'all. But really, I just got shaved with a straight edge for the first time, not to mention the guy tapped my ear with fire for a while. I'm a new man.

I'm in Hamburg. The weather's....like a juicy hamburger on the otherside of a clear window: I can smell the potential it holds to improve my day; blasted laws of physics, or in this case climate. Every cloud is a curse and the breaks between a blessing. I've spent the last few hours wandering around Hamburg. I can't even say which part. I only know it's near the Hauptbahnhof (haupt-bahn-hof -> main train station, word for word translated). I wanted to see a museum, because when the weather is discomforting it helps to stare at the imaginations of renowned masters and craftsmen. As a consequent of my lax nature in the last few days, I failed to recognize that today is Monday, which pretty much universally =s no museums. What a dissapointment. I was gunna go see Renoir and stuff. I DIDN'T LET IT GET ME DOWN, I just treked on, knowing that I'm in Hamburg, in Germany, in Europe, living, healthy, well fed, and relativley well rested (the last two being the keys to enjoying traveling, as I'm sure we all know).

I didn't get to far on my last post as the whole time I had Nona at my knee begging attention. I've rarely felt so guiltily irritated; cute faces and non-sense words can have that effect.

That first day, after getting the free gift of a tour, I sat and bathed in the square surrounded by buildings on an average more than 700 years old. That means older than 1300, if I'm still capable of arithmetic (or spelling? German computers don't offer the convenience of automatic ABC check). Without the pressure of a schedule I wondered on the faces of the tourists(?) around me. A croud of russian kids tried to speak broken German to me and ask me how they could rent a bike, with a mixture of English and German I managed to tell them...I have no idea. I studied my book that the nice man from the parliament building had given me.

I stood up and looked for an invitation. "GOLD," said my eyes. "OKAY," said my legs. I walked past a man playing his horn (not sure which type). He stood in an odd corner in the narrow alleyway leading to my golden destination. It seemed to defy any notion of acoustics, of which I have none, as his passionate melody seduced everybody within a one-mile radius. He was good. Travel around Europe, maybe around the world, and you'll realize how rare it is to come upon truely talented street musicians.

The gold was a large piece of art over the entrance into a famous alleyway that I'm sadly forgetting at the moment. Imagine coming from a wide-open city center and crossing into a different universe of a narrow yet comfortable alleyway completely made of bricks in all shapes. Niches and crannies hid wonderful sculptures all over the place from one artist named Hoettger. Different sections were named as different houses (one being Robinson Crusoe, whose father apperently was a citizen of Bremen). Each had a different theme with different designs in brick and sculpture. I slid into a few more places I shouldn't have, but didn't get caught. I watched a man in the art of glass-blowing, and tried to casually stare at women in a shop making chocolates and sweets. It was hard not to smile the whole time.

I wondered back into the Marktplatz (market place translated, but kind of the city center). into the main church of Bremen, St. Peter's church. Outside it's a beatiful enough church (see if you can find a picture from Google pictures for now, later I'll try to figure out how to add pictures to these blogs). Going inside took me off guard. It was a beautiful church. Understand: I've been in St. Peters and the Sistine Chapel in Rome, the Dome in Florence, Notre Dame in Paris, and some of the most well-known churches in the world (you have the right to hate me. I hate me too), but this was one of my favorites. It managed green and red without coming off as christmasy, but instead as graceful. I came in as the sun was reaching it's golden arms throw clear and stained glass alike, as if God were to penetrate this pitiful human attempt at grace and shame it and glorify it in one breath.

I took a break outside and read a book by a famous German author called Max Frisch as I waited on a guided tour. I had only slept a few hours the night before, which resulted in me barely listening and even falling asleep as the nice woman told us the history of this beautiful church, but hey: that's what happens when you sit me in a pew and ask me to listen for an extended period of time, right?! Ha?!

I knew I needed to be headed in the direction of Tom and Nadja's (German j's are pronounced like english y's, so it sounds like nod-ya) appartment, the couple with which I'd be staying with for the next three days. I had an hour or so until they expected me, so I looked for another invitation. Luckily Europe has away of throwing interesting looking buildings into your perpherals, although not every city as well as Bremen. So I just picked a direction of cool looking buildings and skipped along (not really. I retain an imagined sense of manliness). The opera house led me to the justice house and a building with a beer garden in the middle, but I had no time for such pleasantries. Suddenly, to my right I noticed houses/apartments that I identified in my head as modern-looking. They were light shades of pink and green and other almost-obnoxious colors that managed charm in their daring character. "OKAY" said my legs. I accidently stomped my way onto the famous ground of the Schnoor Viertel, one of the oldest and most loved quarters of Bremen, so no Dan, not modern, just oddly colored; turns out that's a reoccuring human tendency, or maybe tragedy in some cases, or maybe they just painted old buildings new colors. That's the most likely explanation. Hundred year old buildings have a way of needing a touch-up every now and then.

I took the bus to where Nadja had instructed me to go, called Tom, and waited for him to pick me up. I'd made the mistake of not seeing what he looked like on Facebook, or asking me how he picked me up. As a result every car that bumped up against my car was my possible new friend, and SOMEHOW there were many of such cars, and they were all driven by males around the age of my friend. I nervously approached many of them, trying to look casual as I tried to catch their eyes and look for a hint of Tomness, or a similar confusion. Eventually, after many failed attempts and stumbled halt/recovers Tom came, on foot, up to me and hugged me a stranger, but friend of a friend. My good friend Hubi (pronounced Hoo-bee) had made the connection for me of a friend he'd had from his study abroad year in Mexico who happend to be a resident of Bremen. Tom greeted me like a brother. Such is the friendship that my friend Hubi encourages. He bonds himself so closely to others that friends of friends can rest assured of the welcome and friendship of each others' houses. This is a gift.

He took me back to his 4-member-family in an apartment in a house. I was introduced to his mother, friend, fiancee, and his two children. If you do the math you'll realize that means, yes, he had kids out of wed-lock. I was introduced to Nona and Nala, which was hard to remember along with Nadja. You see, or read I guess, they all sounds relatively similar. They were painting their living room. I had good time.

The evening was great as I got to know the family through a game of chess with Tom, cooking with Tom for the family, eating with the family, carrying 4-month-old beautiful and quiet Nala, and slowly coming to understand a young and chaotic, but loving family.

Well I guess I'm gunna be playing catch up with this blog thing for a while. It's hard to justify time for sitting in an internet cafe when you're in such places. I'll try to make it work. Be well.

Bremen: I forgot my travel book

Nona came in and woke me up this morning. I'm not sure what she said, but that's probably less on account of my state of consciousness or my German speaking abilitities, but her tendency to speak her own language. She came to my side, babbled nonsense in my ear, hopped on my bed, and rocked me as best she could despite her smallness. A happy toddler is an effective alarm, and a charming one too.

I got into Bremen, a major German city in northern Germany, after about 5 hours of travel that included catching the 4:30am train, the biting morning cold, countless connections, and little sleep. I woke up upon landing with a feeling of knives in my ears and the imprints of a raging bull on the surface of my brain, but fresh air healed that pretty quick. It wasn't until I was heading out of the airport that I realized I had no idea what I was doing. When I travelled through Europe about six months ago I'd always had my travel book to guide me. I didn't even have to think myself; just follow the maps and suggestions. I was tired, but the sun was shining, it was warm, and I didn't want to spend money. I found a map, asked the man at the information desk how long it would take to walk to the city center, and made my way out of the airport. When I reached a fence with airplanes taking off behind it 15 minutes later I realized I'd gone the wrong way and turned around.

I've never been so relaxed while sightseeing. The absense of a set goal was inviting. I could welcome happenstance as my goal. I stumbled upon a playground, slugged my way down the zipline in front of a bunch of kids as though it were built for me, and went on. I crossed a street despite the little red man telling me not too. When I reached the other side I wasn't sure where to go, and as a result the man waiting for the green little man proceeded to chew me out. "You rush across the street despite the red light and you have no idea where you're going! What's wrong with you?" I shrugged him off went on. I knew he was right, but I didn't want to justify his wasted anger.

I've been to many amazing places; Rome, Florence, Munich, Berlin, Barcelona, Madrid, Paris, etc., but never have I taken to a city so quickly. I crossed the river with it's many ancient looking boats into the old city and was shocked by the change. I went from modern to medieval in a matter of minutes. It wasn't just a building here or there. No, all of a sudden every building in the vacinity was made of all manner of bricks in such an appealing style that I found myself a smiling fool in the middle of the town square.What were all these buildings? I had no book or guide to tell me, and I wasn't going to spend money on anything of the sort. So I meandered. Down an alleyway I noticed a small back alleyway with some cool looking walls. As I passed two men one asked me if he could help me. I was obviously where I wasn't supposed to be. I told him I just wanted to find a way into the building I was next to, the Parliament. He put out his cigarette, took out his keys, opened up the elevator doors, and invited me inside.

He ensued to lead me on a personal tour of the building "just for fun" he said, in English. He told me his job title. I didn't understand really what is job was, but it was clear that he was important. He whipped out his keys to show me the conference room, the ball room, the senate chamber. He told me the history, the dates, and showed me pictures. He gave me a small book with pictures comparing modern day Bremen with pre-World War II pictures. I could understand everything he said, as he spoke quickly in German, but I got enough to enjoy it, and I revelled in the grace of his welcoming kindness. He led me to the entrance, gave me his card and shook my hand goodbye.

I couldn't help but hate the allies a little for bombing and burning so much beautiful and old architechture, not to mention people, as I looked at black-and-white pictures of burning churches, neighborhoods, and the moon-like surface of Bremen with it's many craters after the war. It's breathtaking and devastating to realize the havoc we wreaked on Northern Germany. The level of destruction we caused seems unreal. You might try to imagine, but it's not until you stand within the hollowed ruines of an ancient, and beautiful, church that you start to realize what was lost. I humbly yet riteously judge the German people and nation for the leading role they played in World War II, but the sometimes destructive nature of humanity does not negate the tragedy of the lost beauty of our creation, or the beatiful creation that we are. That's part of what makes war so hard.