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.