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.
No comments:
Post a Comment