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.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Monday, March 28, 2011
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.
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.
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.
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