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.
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