Around Interlocken

So, after a couple of breaks for phone calls and photos, I’m finally up to writing about today. It’s a nice circular form, really. I’m sitting here in Alp Lodge Hostel, the very same place my day started. This morning, though, I was leaning on a small red button desperately willing my bladder not to explode while I waited on the manager to come check us in. I gave up after 15 minutes and ran up the road to public bathrooms while Tiff continued to buzz. On my return trip from my natural duties I paused to read the hostel sign closer. “Check in time: 3:30-11:00PM.” That explained that pretty well. Lucky for us, there were lockers in the hostel’s foyer that we could (or at least did) use to store our packs. Then we set off to see the rest of Interlocken.
It doesn’t take long to see the town, really. It’s a bunch of tourist shops set in front of key streets with bars and houses on the rest. The altstadt (“old city,” remember?) is cute, and has a Museum of Tourism that shows the city’s early mining of the traveler’s pocketbook. The twin churches near the west station are gorgeous on the outside, but the stone gothic one’s contemporary interior is startlingly barren. During the summer, there’s a Wilhelm Tell festival in town, but it’s too cold for the famous archer right now. A shaky hand would make his apple stunt much less impressive.
Tiff and I found the highlight of today’s trip to be the hiking. Trails criss-cross this entire area, mostly thanks to the various tourists that have been exploring nearby Jungfrau mountain for ages. We’re going up part of Jungfrau tomorrow, but we just couldn’t swing the 160 Swiss Francs to go all the way to the top, and it’s cloudy anyway. It seems like it’s always cloudy when I come to Switzerland, but I think that’s just the weather here.
The first train we took after seeing the churches and booking tickets for tomorrow’s train ride. It led us up along the Aare canal that connects the lakes Thunersee and Brienzersee. The water here is so clear that you can see to the bottom of all but the deepest areas, where it turns a light blue color. I think the color’s actually called “alpine blue” since it occurs only (or at least mostly) in Alpine streams, but I’m not sure. It’s gorgeous, at any rate. We followed the trail across a railway bridge, which was exciting, and up a rather steep hill to the ruin of Goldswil. Goldswil was a 13th century monastery that was abandoned in the 14th century and forgotten soon thereafter. It was rediscovered at the beginning of the seventeenth century and in 1944 it was restored and the cemetery around it was opened (I’m assuming the part about the cemetery because that’s the earliest date I could find on any of the tombstones). We sat there among the dead and their memories to munch on our peanut-butter dipped doppel-keks, Reeses’, peanuts, and Gushers fruit snacks. The hike up had us both thirsty, and guzzling down the water in the suddenly very chilly wind made me feel very much alive.
We took in the view for another few minutes before heading back down the hill and up the opposite bank of the river to a nature reserve. There we saw mountain goats and marmots in decently constructed environments (or so Tiff says). I took plenty of pictures because the entire set up reminded me of my family reunions in Gatlinburg. You can see in my various pictures the older goats perched in the cabin at the top of the hill while the younger ones run around the lower area. Also, the larger quantities of food are all at the bottom of the hill, so when the goats all eat together, they do it there. They all have secret stashes closer to the cabin too, though. They all appear quite content up there, too.
On the way back through town I saw a woman feeding the ducks and swans. I had to take a few pictures. I ended up going overboard, with something around 30 pictures that I can’t bring myself to get rid of. I’ve always liked ducks, and they’re cute pictures, so enjoy!
After the ducks, Tiff and I went to the ruin of Unspunnen. This hike was a little more uphill than the other one, but for a shorter length. We passed the old gallows, which were built facing the fortress and the church, as well as overlooking all the town. They were uncovered as recently as 1992, and it’s easy to wonder what else is lying below these hills.
I don’t actually know what Unspunnen was used for, but it was well fortified. The ruin shows an outer wall, an inner wall, and a still-standing central turret. The arrowslits are mostly whole, and the view is spectacular. You can also tell that the original fortress was built right into the mountain. I’d like to know more, but the historical marker has been removed. I’ll have to research Unspunnen more another day.
Darkness fell as we hurried back around the hill and past the gallows. We grabbed a dinner of bread and cheese which was much more filling than it sounds, and are now slipping off to bed. Tomorrow starts early with our trip around the area, and tomorrow night will be spent upright on a night train, which means I’d better sleep while I can.

Florence and the Pilazzo Vecchio

Our last day in Florence was wonderful. It involved a lot of walking, like all our days, but that was mostly just due to poor planning. Our original time estimate was far longer than we actually spent in the Medici Chapel and Duomo, and the ended up putting off the Vecchio Palace tour until later in the day.
The Pilazzo Vecchio (aka “the Old Palace”) was probably the highlight of my trip. You’ll recognize it in my pictures as the big, square brown stone building with a tower, a copy of the David in front of it, and the Neptune Fountain on the side. It’s the old town hall, more or less. Once the Medici rule fell apart, the local government used it and abused it for a while before building a new one. The museum came in and (luckily) fixed it up a little nicer. In the 15th century Cosimo Medici fixed up the 13th century structure by adding his house and a great hall to the back. The front part (currently covered in scaffolding) was left alone to show that he respected the history and past of his great city. Fredrico, his son, was much more a lover of art. Where Cosimo tended to use it for propaganda, Fredrico genuinely loved it. He was a little odd anyway, though. His desire for privacy seemed to have run as thick as his father’s need for the spotlight, and his fascination for art was also accompanied by an obsession with alchemy.
The tours were great, and cheap (1 Euro on top of museum fee for an hour and a half!). Our guide spent as much time answering questions as he did actually explaining things, but they were mostly valid questions. Our group was small, around 8 people, but I imagine in the summer it gets more crowded. We met another Brazilian, a nice girl named Isabella, who we chatted with during the tour and then ran in to later.
The tour began by going up a tiny, dark stairwell that runs from Cosimo’s apartment to a secret exit on the side of the building. It was small, and better suited for a servant than a lord, but it served its purpose well. Cosimo could slip in and out whenever he wanted. The road is two ways, though, and valuable pieces of art were stolen by people slipping in.
Adjacent to Cosimo’s room was Fredrico’s treasure chest. Literally. This hall is shaped like the inside of a treasure box, and treasures of art hang on every available part of the wall. In the center of the ceiling Nature (personified) gives the imprisoned Prometheus a stone in which he will discover a diamond and with which he will ultimately create man. Such interpretations of classical pagan themes were apparently common for the Medicis, and maybe for Italians as a whole in that time. The four elements are then represented at the corners of that fresco by four more frescos. Under the frescos two element-related gods hold up the corner of the wall (Vulcan and Apollo for fire, etc). Below those the paintings begin to show the harnessing of those elements for various purposes, and then at ground level the harnessing goes from utilitarian purposes to artistic ones. And behind each painting the real surprise comes in. The hall was built so that the doors were hidden behind paintings. One really gets the feeling of being in a box when all the doors are shut. And if you start tugging on the paintings, doors aren’t the only things you’ll find. Shelves hide actual treasures related to their images, like the pearls behind the portrait of Cleopatra and Anthony, which is in turn under the bounty of the sea being harvested while Neptune looks on. Also behind one painting is a stairwell up to Cosimo’s dressing room, in which God passes the arts down through the apostles and into society.
While Fredrico’s treasure box was beautiful, the great hall was magnificent. It’s a lot like the one I described in Venice, with oil paintings hanging from gilded frames in the ceiling and heroic battles taking place in frescos on the walls. What’s different here is the centerpiece, though. In Venice the last judgment is represented on the far wall with the Venetian lords just as involved as everyone else (albeit with a little divine favoritism), but in Florence the centerpiece is Cosimo himself, sitting godlike on his throne and watching over the scene like the Judge of Ages.
Just a little dose of the common Florentine attitude.
Lucky for us, tourists are welcome in this fiercely proud city. Sure, speaking Italian helps, but any other language is fine if the cash still flows. Much of Italy is run this way, it seems. Actually, the mob still runs part of it. They were making the news in Naples. Apparently 6 people were killed in relation to Mafia actions the day before we arrived. We came and went completely oblivious, like thousands of other tourists.
Back in Florence, the tour ended and we wandered the many other rooms of the palace. The map room was quite impressive and included a very old globe along with detailed maps of the world as the 15th century knew it. I found Regensburg on the map, just for kicks.
After that it was getting dark, but we had to collect souvenirs. So we wandered the roads, then ran in to Isabella again and walked with her up to the train station. The streets were strangely empty, and we soon pieced together why. The open market is closed on Mondays because there aren’t as many tourists and it’s too cold for them Oh well. We eventually gathered most of the things anyway, except for the patches I’ve been getting from each city. I’ll get those later.
That was pretty much our trip. We had dinner after shopping, loitered around the train station for a couple of hours, where I took the pictures of the sleeping guy. He was snoring loud enough to drive most everyone to the other side of the room, and occasionally muttering to himself in Italian and making (I kid you not) kissing noises.
The overnight train to Interlocken was the best train we’ve been on in Europe. Tiff and I ended up being the only people in the spacious car. The nice Italian man waited patiently while Tiff laid out exact details of everything for the customs declaration, and brought us tasty croissants and Italian coffee for breakfast. I only got half-shaven because we got to the station earlier than I thought we would, but I think I’ve been ok. I don’t seem to have gotten too many strange looks.

Forget San Francisco, My Heart's Florentine

I remember now why when I was last here I chose this as my favorite city. Florence is wonderful. Its old city is enchanting, and blessedly modernized in its own creative ways. There really is no line between old and new like you find in most cities. Florence lives now, just like it lived 1000 years ago, just on a bigger scale.
A lot has changed since I was last here. Major restorations are being done all over the city, including the Pilazzo Vecchio and Dante’s house. They’re both wrapped up in construction, the Pilazzo covered in a precise grid of scaffolding. The David’s been fully restored, along with dozens of new-to-me Michelangelo paintings and 6 uncompleted sculptures.
Since it’s the low season, Tiff and I have been able to move at a more comfortable pace. We’re staying at the Ostella Santa Monaca (a youth hostel), which is a nice mix of rooms in an oddly-shaped building built in 1817. It’s quiet, which is surprising since there are so many beds here and most guests are under the age of 25. I think most of them are still out, though. They have two more hours before they’re not let back in.
I’m tempted to join them, but it’s cold and I’m tired. Besides, we leave on a night train at 11PM tomorrow, and somehow I don’t think I’ll be getting my required amount of sleep then.
Tomorrow’s a Monday, so like I told you already we had to fit a lot into today. We did a good job of it. When we arrived we came straight here and got our beds, then dashed back across the bridge and up to the Gallerie Del Accademia. Along the way we passed the beginnings of a Pinocchio festival, but it was still setting up and we wanted to make sure we got in to the Galleria. As it turns out, we had no trouble. There was no line whatsoever. Quite a change from my summer visit.
Since the Galleria was relatively crowd-free, we took our time and saw all the paintings. Michelangelo’s paintings were beautifully restored, with incredibly fine details like flower petals and silken veils visible for the first time. The unfinished statues guard the hall to the David like men pulling themselves free from marble coffins. The David, of course, stands in all his glory, naked as a jay bird. Seriously, though, it’s quite a feat of sculpture. Not only is it perfectly done (the scale is intentionally skewed, Michelangelo was big on that), it’s massive. Pictures don’t really give you an idea of the sheer height and mass of this slab of marble. The nice people at Stanford designed a “virtual David” during the restorations in 2003. It consists of a fully movable scan of the David with adjustable lights and 360 degree rotation. Details of the face, hands, arm, and leg are also part of the program, accessible by a series of buttons above the two billiard-sized balls that control the light and rotation. It’s pretty neat.
We contemplated David for about 20 minutes, the rest of the gallery totaled up around an hour, and then we set to seeing various outdoor sights, including a couple of the churches. We wanted to take today at a fairly leisurely pace since we found out most of what we’re really interested in will still be open tomorrow. The Uffuzi Gallery, which houses works by just about every Renaissance master you can name, won’t be, but we couldn’t have possibly dashed through it in our remaining hour anyway. So we shopped, reserved train tickets, and generally soaked in the city. Dinner was a tasty Marinara pizza from a little stop out of the Europe on a Shoestring book. That thing must be a best seller, by the way. I walked in to my 16 room bunk and saw no less than five guys sprawled out on their beds reading it. One Canadian sitting out on the steps discussed what a frustrating pile of useless information it was, and how that made it all the more miserable to depend on it through the journey. Such a companion is good for a paper weight and heavy weapon, anyway. The maps are terribly small, but the food guides are ok if you’re in a hurry. The 1-3 page treatment of major cities is rather frustrating and incredibly vague, but it’s not as glib a gloss-over as Rick Steves can be.
I think I still prefer Rick Steves if a book must be used, but if you don’t agree with him than his books are of no use whatsoever, since the hand-drawn maps are a joke and the content is as much opinion as fact. Sometimes he works in some rather amusing tales, though, which helps a little.
Anyway, I prefer a local guide or no guide, but guidebooks are a frustrating medium to rely on.
Back to Pinocchio. After we left the train station we wandered up toward the plaza it was on, just to see what it was all about. Low and behold, it was a Pinocchio modern ballet! It was a production of the one that seems to have swept all over Europe and left cute little souvenir Pinocchios in its stead. Anyway, it was really a fun musical, and the “stage” was great for pictures, so I took quite a few while enjoying the show.
We wandered through some more shops and down to the alleged best view of Florence. It was a great view, but the hike will kill anyone who’s tired ahead of time. It’s a few minutes out of town and zig-zag stairs all the way up. But, as you can see by more of my pictures, it’s worth the hike. The entire city is spread out below you, the wall wraps it up like a present, and the river glitters a reflection of it like a darkly glimmering ribbon. If it weren’t cold out, I could stay there all day.
Of course, I can’t tell you about Florence without mentioning the great Duomo. It’s hard to find the words for it, though. I was here before, so conjuring an original image isn’t as easy. They restored some of it in 2003 also (busy year!), and are still cleaning the north face of the church. It’s still beautiful, and it’s still amazing to think of how much marble is on that façade. Yes, it’s not solid marble, but that’s purely an engineering problem. You just can’t use solid marble for everything. The façade’s impressive enough anyway. 3 main colors of marble (red, white, & green) with variations in every piece. The Dome is Michelangelo’s prize work, one which became an ongoing project for most of his life. I don’t think we’ll be climbing it, we didn’t last time I was here either, but really I don’t see it being worth 3 Euros. Anyway, it’s meant to be admired, not climbed on.
The whole city is worth it, really. I love Florence, and now I know it’s not just my sparkling eyes speaking. I’ve been across a good bit of Europe, seen a good number of cities, and still love this one. Clean streets, nice people, beautiful architecture, and still a large enough city for a couple of dozen theatres and other arts to be available. There’s enough English to get by without Italian, but not so much English that it seems to have taken over. Yet.
Yes, I still sound star-struck, but I assure you it’s the honest-to-God truth. This is Florence. Come here, challenge my opinion. I promise you’ll leave just as in love with it, and feel just as torn as Dante and all the others at leaving it behind.

Back in Termini

I’m back in Roma Termini, but this time I’m comfortably reclining in a cozy Trenitalia lounge. I blame Trenitalia for the conditions of the rest of the Italian trains. You can’t ride Trenitalia on a Eurorail pass without paying a supplement. The Trenitalia trains seem to be about the quality of the German ICE trains. The ones we ride are more like local lines. No electricity, no heat (that’s a common Italian thing anyway), and typically overcrowded because no one wants to pay the Trenitalia fees.
Still, their lounge is nice, and the guy at the desk assured me that I wouldn’t be thrown out.
I’m sitting here guarding my bag and Tiff’s bag while she dashes to and fro after various souvenirs. With any luck, I’ll be getting a T-Shirt to wear. I think the one I’m in is starting to stink.
One flat-screen TV is ticking news in English and Italian. I’ve read most of it in a copy of the Herald Tribune that a man on the train kindly donated to me after overhearing me talk to Tiff. He’d read it all anyway. It’s got several great stories, mostly on the non-politically charged issues. Of course, even those carry a certain overtone to them, because everything we read or write today seems to relate in one way or another to the “War on Terrorism,” the war in Iraq, or the general conflict between Islamic Supremists and the world as a whole. That, or money.
I wrestle with this form of writing. After all, even those who don’t write about their generation are writing in it, and thus doomed to comparison. How will a critic evaluate my writing in fifty years, provided it ever gets to the point of critical analysis? Idon’t think it’ll be an issue here, anyway. This is a travelogue and a journal, but it isn’t the High Literature that the academics concern themselves with, nor is it the entertainment of the masses. No, this is a purely selfish venture, with the added bonus of a close readership in my circle of friends, family, and acquaintances. Maybe stories will spring from it some day. I hope they will. This hefty collection of ramblings could drop out a gem or two, if properly mined. But that’s a while off yet.
The other TV is showing us heathens and travelers a rather nice Mass in a pretty Romanesque church. Even the protestants can appreciate the music and art of these productions, I imagine. I can’t offer any insight into the message, since it’s all in Italian and (of course) occasional Latin.
I don’t know if I mentioned the book I’ve been reading yet. It’s Paer Lagerkvist’s Barabbas. That’s an umlauted “a” in Paer, by the way. The man’s name is not “pear.” The book, a tattered 1951 copy translated from Swedish by Alan Blair, celebrates the winning of a Nobel Prize and the transition to a film starring Anthony Quinn. I’m unfamiliar with the film, which is usually a good thing when gauging the value of a novel.
I really hope the rest of this journey doesn’t destroy that 53 year old book. Not only because was it a good read; it doesn’t belong to me. It’s borrowed from the Program. Griffin doesn’t seem to worried about it, all those books are donated anyway, but I prefer to return the things I borrow relatively unscathed. I prefer to avoid wandering through monsoons as well, but that just wasn’t in my luck this week. It’s sunny now that we’re spending the day on trains again.
Once Tiff and I arrive in Florence, we have to run. We forgot the Monday rule, that which all who travel Europe should write across their foreheads. ALL MUSEUMS CLOSE ON MONDAYS. It’s an unpleasant fact, but it does help the various states and countries keep them beautiful.
So we arrive in Florence at 3:30, rush to the TI (Tourist Information) to grab a map, hurry through the old city to where our hotel is, then rush north about a half a kilometer to see the David. His museum closes at 7, but I imagine we won’t get there until about 5 (maybe 4:30, if we’re lucky), then we have lines to get through and general bad luck to account for. I’m learning to factor bad luck into the plans simply because if I don’t, it strikes. If I do, we sometimes end up with moments of less stress where we can look around and say “that went well,” then have a little added enjoyment.
The guy next to me has an internet signal, but I cannot figure out from where. There’s no wireless signal here. Ah, wait, there it is. They have phone outlets in that corner. I have no dialup provider and no Italian phone adapter anyway, so I’ll have to once again live without. Our hostel in Florence isn’t likely to provide any. The Italian hostels would charge for air if they could find a legal way to limit its availability. The one in Florence is a slight step up from the one in Naples because it at least has private rooms. It came with a trade off, though. The bathroom is across the hall.
I want to talk to you more, but I’m not sure there’s more to say. I’m becoming quite the backpacker, though not as much of a wilderness trekker as I’d like. My pack’s too heavy to carry more than about 8km (roughly 4 miles), and it’s a few hours work to make it that far. On the bright side, I don’t look like the massive tour group that just staggered into the lounge where I’m typing. The practically collapsed once in side, and now the dull roar of English in drowning out the soft mumblings of the televised Mass. They look and sound like a high school group, but it’s hard to tell.
Security decided to slip in and make sure nobody decided to help relieve these poor tourists of any of the weight in their packs. Good for them. Tiff’s back now too! Time to go, apparently she’s found an earlier train.

Naples

I’m sitting in the lobby of Naple’s Ostella Mercellaria Youth Hostel International watching 5 Italian’s play cards. Tiff’s over my shoulder, trying to see what I write, so whenever she comes over for a look, I quit writing. 5 cats are wandering around the lobby. 3 orange tabbies were curled up around my chair until the manager came and chased them off. It seems to be a great game to them. He comes, stops and waves his arms, and opens the door to toss them into the storm outside. They dash out, then slip back in with the arriving guests. Since this place accommodates several hundred guests, they have ample opportunity.
Europe is an amazing place. In Germany, Tiffany and I can almost blend in. We speak enough of the language that people think we’ve been there for a while, and mistake us for most of the neighboring countries rather than thinking we’re Americans. Often they don’t even bother to ask. We speak German, that’s enough for them. Here, with Italian thick in the air, we’re the type of hopelessly lost tourist every Italian hates. The language is so fast and melodic that we haven’t got a prayer of communicating out of our phrase book. Besides, my pronunciation is horrible in the languages I doknow.
So we get yelled at, pointed in random directions, or ignored. The latter is the preferable option, since most Italians seem extremely irritated by American tourists and can often turn rude. Such has often been the case since our arrival.
The trip came about rather haphazardly. I told you last time that we were leaving for our night train from Munich. We didn’t make it there. A little ways down the road Tiff realized she didn’t have her passport. If we’d only been visiting Italy, we might could have risked it (the ISIC card US licenses, our University ID, or any other in a mass of cards could pass a lenient guard), but we’re going from Florence to Switzerland, then Barcelona and Paris. That would have definitely caused problems.
Back in Regensburg we checked the schedule. There were other trains going out, but they would cost quite a bit extra to jump on. Having already lost our 30 Euro deposit on the missed night train, neither of us was in the mood for further spending. So we hauled our too-heavy packs back to the room, grabbed Tiff’s passport, and took a 6 hour nap. Then it was back to the train station to catch the 7:45 AM train.
Now we’re talking to a Brazilian man who’s been studying in France for several years. He’s describing an amazing place to hike near here, where the roads are just stairwells and you can pass through entire cities that way. He looks like a backpacker, with his broken in boots and well-worn sweatshirt. He speaks very good English, and is quite amused by our Pielenhofen hike. It really is a great story, in retrospect. I imagine it’ll be repeated many times yet.
We talk a while longer about language (the Swiss German, oh how painful!), the United States (how wonderful to travel around!), and about the many strays wandering around Naples. They are really sweet creatures, but there’s so many of them in this city! Earlier today we passed by a pet shop with puppies that couldn’t have been more than 3 weeks old in cages meant for birds. It was terrible. They were also selling the tiny little turtles that are illegal to sell in the States and, most astoundingly, chipmunks. Those little creatures were utterly panicked in their cage. Dozens of birds squawked in the back rooms and fussy Italian echoed around the front. It was a sad, scary place.
Our Brazilian friend said something that sums up the difference in the cities here: “In America, 100 years is a long time. In Europe, 100 kilometers is a long way.” To see a city as sprawling as Nashville is just as shocking to the European mind as it is for us to hear someone say “eh, it’s just another 17th Century church.”
Sueskind’s “Das Parfum” is apparently a German novel that has been getting recent renown. I’ll have to check it out.
The Brazilian left with a pack of locals. Now Tiff’s curled up beside me, as is my orange-tabby friend, and I can continue the narrative without finding better things to mention.
As you can imagine, we did eventually make it here in one piece. The train ride makes every other one I’ve ever taken seem brief. It lasted a total of around 16 hours. We had a nice conversation with a military family based somewhere near Regensburg. I opened the bathroom door on a girl from Pennsylvania who had apparently not figured out how to lock them. Despite that rather embarrassing incident, I managed to have a brief, polite conversation with her friend. Tiff and I slept a lot. We talked to a girl from North Italy who was on the way to meet her boyfriend outside Florence. We watched a lot of Swiss and Italian countryside blur by. We lived off Reese’s Cups, Butter-keks (which are like gram-cracker and chocolate sandwiches), a loaf of bread, water, and cola. We complained a lot about the Italian Trains, which are the worst we’ve experienced in Europe.
Finally, around midnight, we arrived in Naples.
This city has always been large. It was a joint Greek-Roman trade town, which is where the name Naples came from (“Neapolis” = New City, to distinguish from Palepolis, the Greek town). That city was built on a grid system, which has thankfully been mostly maintained through today. It’s not very difficult to navigate, but it can be a lot of walking. Supposedly Naples is one of the most densely populated cities in the world, and it’s definitely one of the most densely populated ones in Europe. The buildings seem piled on top of each other, and people from all over wander on the narrow streets between them or run for their lives across them. Italian driving is here, as everywhere, a force to be reckoned with. I think they enjoy life so much here simply because a walk to a neighbor’s house could see it quickly ended.
Lonely Planet’s 2004 Europe guide told says that this city has an energy that will either “sweep you along or swamp you.” Dragging in at midnight, slightly rained on from the get-go, I was feeling swamped. A mile down the road and 7 flights of stairs later, me and my swamped pack were finally to the Hostel of the Sun.
Listen to me all ye who travel. TRAVEL NOT HERE!
I imagine the Hostel of the Sun is a nice place if you’re lucky enough to get in, but reservations are like buying a ticket for the lottery. A gangly, upset Italian man told us rather angrily that ours had not been made, he had no record of them, and so on. Tiffany drug her mom onto the phone to give him her opinion on the matter, since she was the one who had booked it for Tiffany, and eventually he confessed that he had made the reservations, but it was no matter now, the beds were all full.
He got us rather quickly into a cab he paid for and sent us here before we killed him. Later we discovered it’s a pattern with that place. Perhaps they send all their “extras” here for a little kickback.
Anyway, it was 2AM by the time we crawled into our youth-hostel beds amid the grumbles of our five already-sleeping suitemates. As usual, the guy in my room doesn’t ever seem to wake up. I’m beginning to think there’s one like that in every room.
I don’t particularly care for youth hostels, and this one is no exception. They have cats, which helps. But only a little. When tying your pack to the bottom of a bed to make sure no one steals it, it’s hard to appreciate the cats or the linens.
Naples is a massive city, like I’ve already mentioned. Naturally, Tiff was ready to get out of here as soon as we set foot in it. So this morning, that’s what we did. We hopped a train to the reason 80% of the tourists come here: Pompeii.
I hadn’t realized what a metropolis Pompeii was! Supposedly 10,000 people had lived there. That’s not much by today’s standards, but for a Roman city in the times before Christ, it’s quite a bit. Of course, everything was perfectly preserved. I have a bit of Pompeii red now, picked up off the ground, not pulled off a wall. Pompeii red is the painted plaster that has baffled artists for years because there seems to be no natural way to recreate it. It’s truly unique, like the rest of this city.
For preservation purposes, the Roman forum can’t hold a candle to this place. There’s not the grandiose scale, but there is the day-to-day shape of an entire city! The streets are there for you to walk to. You can wander past the Necropolis, where all the dead rest outside the city walls, and down to the theatre where the living celebrate every drop of their lives. You can go to the cobbler’s shop, the baker, or the temples (there’s a few of them). You can slip into the rich man’s house and admire his marble floors, friezes, fountains, and pools. Then peek into the forum, where he and the other rich men argued for the city’s decisions, and ultimately suffered its fate. Now several of them rest in sarcophagi of ash and stone, perfectly preserved from hair to bootstrap.
Tiff and I spent 4 hours wandering the streets, and skipped a large portion of the city. It went back and forth between rain and monsoon the whole day, only occasionally resting in light drizzles. My camera must have gotten wet, because it quit working and no amount of effort so far has revived it. I think 3000+ pictures were just too much for it to handle in less than 4 months. So now I’ve adopted Tiffany’s, and she steals it from me when she sees a picture she wants too. It’s going to be a lot more uploading from here on out, I have a feeling.
You’ll get to see all of it by ’06 ;)
Pompeii.
The great, looming Vestuvius is such an ominous reminder of how fragile all our grips on life really are. The Italians have it right there. I think that maybe it’s the reminders like Pompeii that help them realize how short a time we have here. So why not enjoy it?
Many people here probably think that I, tip-tapping on my keyboard while surrounded by cats and listening to the Duke, am a poor example of living life to the fullest. But I am living every bit as fully as they are because I am writing. It’s such a great thing, really, to be able to not only live the moment (with my cat and the crowd and all the life constantly circling this city), but to relive the past at the same time. Daily reflection really should be at least tried by everyone. It brings the entire time together so fully, so completely. I can unite it in a theme and show the contrast of life and death in Italian life, or I can go step by step through every experience (like the woman who led us to the train station when all we asked was what direction it was in). Scenes spread out like a deck of cards in times like this, and every page is a new game. Or maybe it’s a puzzle, and I’m just adding another few pieces. It’s life, all right. The best kind.
No, not the best. There’s no story without adventure, after all. To really learn these things I had to come halfway across the world and lose tons of money to various countries, schools, rooms, and taxes. I’ve been rained on, splashed, fallen on my tail end repeatedly. Bruises, cuts, and scrapes make the writer every bit as much as words and phrases.
Here, I am alive.
And I love it.

Summary

Yesterday we went to Bayreuth, a German town north of here that houses Wagner's remains, a french palace, a gorgeous theatre, a big baroque church, a brewery, and a college. Oh, and the German Mason's Lodge museum, I think it was? We didn't go there. All of the tour was given in German, which Tiff and I kept up with pretty well, but which gave our tired brains severe headaches after a while. It was a pretty town, but in retrospect I had way to much here to do. We were up all night getting clothes ready and booking places. We leave for Naples tonight!! I'm going to take the laptop, so I'll tell you all about it when we have more time.

It's 3 AM and Staying Up is Worth Every Minute

It's 3AM, and I'm up again. I'm turning into my father. At least I still have my hair.
Today's been really fun, mostly. The German test was easier than I thought it would be, though I still made quite a few stupid errors ("Wenn" and "Als" mixed up, "werde/wurde" that sort of thing). Anyway, it's said and done now. Life goes on.
Afterwards we had a great art tour. We went to the Thurn und Taxis Bibliothek ("T&T Library") and actually held and handled 7 books dating between the 15th and 18th centuries. It was quite an experience! One forgets how far book binding has come, but holding a 12 inch by 8 inch wood-and-leather bound tome serves as a quick reminder! The books were both secular and non-secular, and you could see the annotations in the margins move from scholarly to bored doodlings (practice of letters and rhymes about their teachers!). One book had been munched on by so many book worms it looked like it had recieved a thousand tiny shots. Another had been cut to bits so the paper could be used elsewhere. A psalter had all the liturgical music for the year written in it using the early forms of music notation. I wish so badly that I could show you photos, but this was a private little library and besides not being allowed, it would have been extremely rude to even suggest it.
The man who helped us out was a very nice, very typical Bavarian. When we entered he asked Frau Andres (I've just decided that's how our art teacher's name ought to be spelled, I'm not really sure) if we spoke German. She said yes, that we spoke a little, but not Bavarian. He chuckled and promised to do his best to stick to proper German (hochdeutsch), and did a pretty good job of it. We were still lost from time to time, but not nearly as often as we would have been ages ago.
The books were, of course, mostly in Latin. Being religious works, this is typical. Just as typical were the heavy abbreviations, that reduce words like Christos down to "Xts", which is where our abbreviation for Chrismas comes from ("X" being actually a greek character similarly shaped). For a slight prayer of comprehension, he gave us a latin abbreviation phrasebook, so now we could stretch the small latin words back into their big ones. Once we got to that point, Tiff was able to read them and I was able to fake it a little since a lot of our modern "church words" come from the Latin or Greek.
Looking at these manuscripts, with their scribbles and editorial marks throughout, it's very difficult to take the ideal of a perfect biblical translation seriously. Not to say that God's Word is falliable, but it does shed a certain ironic light on the idea that the KJV is the ideal translation. KJV is nice, especially for the books of poetry, and it is what a lot of us are raised on, but the translation methods of the time are sooo primitive by today's standards! These scribes had arguments in the margins over which letters were even used in their texts, and every one of them translated the Hebrew very differently. If they didn't know a word, they just copied the Hebrew as best they could and someone else came along to translate it, often ignoring the context. Manuscripts were based on copies of copies of copies, and speculation was left to fill in the blanks. These men built the foundations for our modern biblical studies, but I have to put a whole lot of trust in divine guidence to see their works as perfect interpretations.
I may be selling the medieval scribe short, though. Certainly, in their own ways, these fellows did more for the circulation, preservation, and construction of Christian ideas than we can imagine today.
It's pretty exciting to think about really. I just wish I knew Latin, Greek, and or Hebrew. Every little penstroke can make such a difference!
Illuminations were scarce in the Thurn und Taxis texts. I imagine they were of somewhat lesser economic standings, which is probably also why we got to handle them in the first place. The Thurn und Taxis library once housed much greater texts, such as the Lexicon I mentioned seeing in Munich. Those valuable books rested in the gorgeous reading room at the library, an open two-story room renovated in the seventeenth century and painted by the same man who did the Baroque ceilings in St. Emmeram. The Christian images of Paul witnessing Christ on the Cross, King Solomon composing his Proverbs, and... I can't remember the third one... there was an angel and a curtain, maybe it was a scene from the Genesis? Anyway, these major Christian images dominated the domed ceiling, then across the support beams and in the smaller alcoves lurked the muses and the pagan scholars of ancient Rome and Greece. It was very beautiful, especially with the evening sun pouring in through the massive west windows, but very cold. We flipped through a gigantic book-map of Paris from the 1750's, noting the Louvre, the fat-burning lanterns, and the future spot of the Eiffel Tower on two and three square inch blocks. It was a wonderful detail of the city. Then we left with many thanks.

Scott, my friend and RA, was at Stammtisch tonight with Elena. It was nice to catch up with him, and to trade stories. He's graduating in three weeks, so I'll just see him sporatically when he's in Murray. I gave him a link here, feeling a little bad for not having gotten it to him or Elana sooner.
Since I stayed at Stammtisch longer than I thought, then put off my paper to drink coffee and clean up another broken glass (3 so far this year, I'm way too clumsy!), I'm going to have to sleep now. If I reach unconsciousness in the next 10 minutes I'll get 4 hours total, which is the best I can hope for tonight.

Another Quick Note

The first page or so of Berlin pics are actually from a silver mine outside regensburg. There's a corrosponding post here somewhere. The very first three are actually from last summer, and were supposed to still be on my camera's internal memory. I'm not sure how they got in that folder. Anyway, that space shuttle is probably recognizable for some of you, it's right by the Smyrna Airport.

Touring Munich with a Cloud Over My Head

Yesterday morning started like so many weekend mornings here: with a mad rush to the train. At 9:30 we met at the train station (which I may interchangeably call the Bahnhof, it’s gotten to be a habit and it’s less letters to type). Our art teacher (whose name I do know but can’t spell), Griffin, Mulligan, Tiff, Kristen, Lisa, Matt, Natalie (not the German teacher, the other Natalie), and I all made the train. Liz had to meet us in Munich, but I haven’t gotten to that part of the story yet. We split 2 bayern passes, compliments of the program, to go on our art trip. Not a bad deal. Griffin produced the latest issue of Time, which Tiff snatched up before me. I contented myself with studying the genealogy of all the Dukes/Lords of Munich and Kings of Bavaria for a little while, then went to reading over her shoulder. The account of the battle for Fallujah was very well written, but too eerily similar to All Quiet for me. I imagine the author intended it that way, given Time’s slant which even I can’t ignore. It got the desired effect, anyway. I was curious, fascinated, disturbed, and ultimately concerned with our “progress.” But I’m here and it’s there and no amount of frustration, confusion, or any of the other plethoras of emotions that this war is evoking can ultimately make a difference. It’s just something we just have to buckle down and get through.
Even looking back on it brings a little melancholy back into the day. I was in a dark mood after that article, only slightly lightened by the “What’s a Democrat to do” comic on the back page (“Marry into Canada?” and a couple of Bush slams I’ll leave out for my Republican audience). It came on the heels of a heated discussion between our ultra-liberal (and by “ultra-“ I mean making Kerry and Dean look like Laura Bush) Thanksgiving host and Tiff. It was an unpleasant discussion, particularly since I didn’t agree with either side. I don’t know if any of you have ever felt like bonking the heads of every political party, but right now that’s about where I am. Autonomy looks better every day.
Anyway, I’m pulling back toward the present again, which is not the point of this story. Nor are my political views, which have come under constant assault here and are thus defended without even thinking any more. You’re not an attacker (yet), so I’ll try and spare the defense.
It began to flurry as soon as we got off the train, and spent most of the day coming and going. Our art teacher gave us a little walking tour that eventually led to the Modern Art Museum. We poked into the massive white structure, with its surreal brightness that bounces off every wall, floor, and ceiling. The building was built in ’02, so the flat-panel computer screens flashing art exhibit promos behind the counters blended right in. The fresh-clean look fit the mold perfectly, but I wonder what the place is going to be like whenever modern art goes out of style. Our art teacher expressed similar concerns, but that’s just another thing we have to wait for.
Griffin stayed there. Of everyone in our group, he’s the most likely to appreciate it. Several others made comments about polishing up their old bikes, sticking them to a wall, and calling that art too.
The Alte Pinakotheka was much more interesting for the rest of that. It houses art from the end of medieval times up to the beginning of the 20th century. We saw many of the originals we’ve discussed so often in class, including the Bavarian Albrechts (Duerer and Altdorfer), along with Raphaels’ and Rembrants’ (“the Sacrifice of Isaac,” so often seen in fancy KJV’s, in person!). Altdorfer has a modern imitator who has painted a neat little poster of Regensburg that I think I’ll be bringing home. I passed up 50 Euro signed original prints last week and am kicking myself already for doing it. I have to buy something artful to compensate.
That tour lifted my spirits, strange as that may seem. Museums are soothing, and art can be doubly so. All the emotion, the force, and the life of paintings can just suck away the things that haunt one the rest of the time. We’re in a war? There’s one for every generation. At least I’m not drafted, dying of the plague, or starving yet.
The German girl across from us is reading about what countries do and don’t (or at least, should and should not) have the Bomb. Just another reflection of the big black witch looming over our shoulders (Gunter Grass personifies Germany’s post-war guilt as a witch that sulks in the shadows of every mind. Our witch, I believe, is fear).
So the Alte Pinakotheka got me to feeling a little better. Good eats further improved my mood, and by the time we took our walking tour I was feeling great, if a little chilly.
In my pictures you can see the museums built to represent all the different forms of Greek art. Hitler liked to use the area as a parade ground, and his administrative offices and Nazi Headquarters can be seen behind them. The squat, gray buildings are so chillingly imperial, and thankfully dead. Today the pair of massive sarcophagi house works the very artists Hitler and the Nazi’s tried so hard to get rid of.
The walking tour went through several of the beautiful churches in the area: the Frauenkirche, with its twin towers, and a baroque church built as a private chapel next to the architects house. Also the royal Residence, with its gorgeous theatre and many courtyards.
A lot of these things have been restored after the war, which bothers some but it didn’t matter, to us. Some even left their damage as a reminder of the memory.
Of course, it was just a taste of the city, a reminder that even though I’ve been in Regensburg for 3 months now I still haven’t touched the surface of Bavaria. Maybe I’ve been too set on seeing the rest of the world. Anyway, Munich is going to get another visit from me another day, be it on this trip or another.
We ate in the Augustiner Pub, I think is what it was called. Basically just a beer hall, , but that’s most of German dining. It was delicious, anyway. Tiff had a currywurst (a hot dog with curry-ketchup stuff all over it) and I had some kind of Swabian ravioli that was filled with pork, covered in onions and bacon, and bathed in meat sauce. It came with potato salad, too, which was better than most of the stuff I’ve had in the States.
The train ride back was filled with thanksgiving stories about our families and friends. Some might still find it a little tough for some to be here without them, but it’s nice to hear all the stories everyone has.
When I got back to Regensburg I fetched pictures off Matt’s computer then stayed up talking to Lisa for a while. As I said, we’re all getting along, which isn’t always the case with traveling companions. Thank God it has been for us, mostly. We’ve certainly had (and have) our differences, but at least we can get past them. And Giese’s coming over to Murray in February, so I think we’ll all be getting back together to show her our country!
I’m catching my breath now. We just ran from one ICE train to another. This trip is taking a total of 6 trains to get from Regensburg to Triberg. This one’s only a half-hour trip, so I probably shouldn’t get too cozy on here. Little Dell’s a great companion, and filling up the page is always cleansing for the mind, but it can only last for so long, and I have another train to catch.

Plug & Plea

Firstly, congrats to fellow blogger Breakup Babe on her first book getting published. It's a fun site, and the book (Breaking Up and Blogging On should be equally entertaining).

Read patiently over the next few days. It's crazy. I'll catch you up on the rest of the trip when I have time, which won't be until after my German Final, Art essay, and Humanities final are behind me. I've posted a few backed up posts, and I have tons of pics I'm slowly posting. The picture server will probably be up if you go visit it. Maybe I'll get a study break in this afternoon sometime.

Train Thoughts

I’m sitting in the Wurzburg Haupbahnhof (“main train station”) typing on a wide table in our ICE train. Another distinct advantage to the Eurorail pass: you can ride where the Bayern or Schoenes Wochenende passes won’t let you. ICE (“Inter-City-Express”) trains are like first class jets with less turbulence. I snapped a pic of Tiff so you can see what it’s like whenever my picture page goes back up. A project for when I get back to the states is to take all these pictures and link them directly to the text (probably with a cute little icon, a footnote number, or just an “*”) so you can click and see just what I’m talking about. Essential graphics are, of course, going to be scaled and integrated.
Ambitious, aren’t I?
It’s good to have a project.
So, we’re rolling now. How refreshing! I’m sitting on a train, typing away on a new laptop while scenery goes by. This is a mode I could get used to, because everything out the window brings up another thought or memory. The Wurzburg Hbh, for example, had a series of H-shaped roves in a series just like the Bauhaus Archive, which you can read about in my Berlin entry. A monastery we just went by had beautiful, if somewhat dead, English gardens. And the snowy countryside around Regensburg was like something out of a postcard.
I’m hoping it’s still like that when I get back. I’ll snatch up granddad’s Minolta (thank you Granddad!) and use up a few rolls of film. The Dom in snow should be quite a sight.
We actually have the laptop here for a practical purpose, too. Tiff and I are working on our Humanities essays. Hers is outlined, mine is still in the formative stages, which is to say that I’m putting it off for another few hours. Isolation in All Quiet on the Western Front, Heart of Darkness, and maybe Faust just don’t strike me right now.
Let me rephrase that.
They strike me alright, but in the mood I’m in now the paper would not turn out well.
I’ve had a lousy morning. I got up and piddled around, happy to have an hour left to just toss my things into the bag and head on to the train station at a leisurely pace. I went down to Tiff’s room to grab my daypack and she’s flittering about tossing things into her bags. I settle down onto my laptop, which now lives in her room since we’re only supposed to have one PC per room. About 10 minutes into my email run and msuracers visit, she’s asks if I’m ready yet. I mutter a mostly, and am told to make it a now. I shove everything into my pack and we race out the door. I’m in my big puffy blue coat, so I nearly fall down the stairs trying to get my backpack on. Halfway to the Bahnhof I lose my hat, a nice little gray ski-cap that had kept my head nice and warm for several weeks now. I’d pulled it off quickly because I was roasting in my artic gear, despite the snow falling around me. I’m not really sure where it went from there. I thought it was in a pocket, but it must have fallen onto a street corner. Not that I realized at the time. It took me until the train to check all my pockets and realize I didn’t have it.
Wow, we just passed a frozen over creek. It has to be seriously cold out there, even if there is no snow here.
So I once I was on the train I just collapsed into a cozy snooze. An “Urban dressed” German in front of us had his headphones loudly blasting Eminem, so my nap wasn’t exactly peaceful, but at least it was something.
I wouldn’t be so tired if I hadn’t stayed up all night last night, but yesterday was such a good day that I couldn’t just come home and crash. I tried to tell you about it then, but I couldn’t really find the words, so I’ll split off into a separate post and tell you about it now.

Happy Early Thanksgiving!

Tonight's Thanksgiving was so much fun! We ate all the typical American food in mass quantities. Turkey, Pumpkin Pie, Chocolate cake, Green Beans (casserole, with bacon, and just plain beans), Sweet Potato Casserole, Hashbrown Casserole, Corn Casserole, 7 layer salad, bread, brownies, stuffing, dressing, gravy, homemade butter (made by Tiff, Karen, and I over 4 hours with a Jar). You know, all of it. Once we'd had about 3 towering platefuls we layed around to digest and chat among ourselves. By that point there was about 30 people, by the way. Jen's parents, our hosts, most of our teachers, and several of our friends or friends of our friends. Matt and Natalie's French suitemates were introduced to a lot of the forementioned foods for the first time, and sampled them with relative enthusiasm.
There was a lot of conversation. Natalie, our German teacher, spoke English to us for the first time. It was stranger than the German seemed when we first got here. It was our last class period today, and we're all going to miss it, but we plan to keep in touch.
I also met a girl who came over on the program a few years ago, met her boyfriend, and now goes back and forth between Murray and here fairly often. I found out that Mulligan, our history professor, grew up in Brooklyn and learned latin in school. He's never played football for a team, but as we found out in Haidplatz he's got a mean arm.
That's right, we played football in our cobblestone plaza. 4 on 4, two hand touch, with Mulligan as all time quarterback. My team lost (probably because 1/4 of the team wasn't really good at football, being all small and geeky and all), but it was fun. After the game we crawled back to the room for more dessert and more talk.
Just, wow, you know? I hate to put it so colloqually, but sometimes nothing else will do. It really was a good time, a nice mix of Americana with several of the Germans we've become friends with. I'd forgotten how good home cooked food can be, too. There are pics of that, also up whenever the server is.
Also of note, Blogger's now offered in 9 languages, including German! So for all you German readers out there (Natalie, you may be the only one), viel spass ("have fun" for you confused english speakers).
Happy Early Thanksgiving everyone!

Following the Man with the Keys

Yesterday we toured the Salzstadel (“Salt Barn”), which I’d show you a picture of if my server were up. It’s the big Swiss-cheese-shaped building by the Stone Bridge. I think it’s one of the first 30 or so pictures I took. It was part of a restoration tour with our art class. The man who took us around was the head of restorations in Regensburg for some time. He was a nice guy, very Bavarian. Our art teacher called him "The Man with all the Keys," which was pretty accurate given the size of the massive key ring he carried around like a mace. His accent wasn’t terribly thick, though, which was good since the entire tour was given in German. Dr. Griffin and our art teacher occasionally translated when we started looking lost, or when they were afraid we might be. I’m really not sure what Dr. Mulligan (who is just now learning German) did. Anyway, our guide led us up and around the Salzstadel, showing us the pine rafters caked with set-in-salt and explained how the entire building had to be kept at about the same temperature to avoid (more) damage to the wood. This is accomplished by a heating and cooling system built into the thick walls, so the air in the room doesn’t dry out from the heat or thicken with humidity.
The Salzstadel is almost 400 years old, by the way. It’s one of the city’s more recognized features, and was built for that purpose. It sits right on the Danube and right by the stone bridge, so all the traders from all over the world see it’s big yellow wedge. It’s not meant to look like cheese, it’s meant to show how much salt (the “white gold” of the middle ages) is available in Regensburg. Then, as now, economic prowess mattered most.
After the Salzstadel visit we hurried through the cold to a couple of restored houses. Regensburg’s old city was in pathetic shape until it was bought out to be turned into an interstate running alongside the river. Luckily, that project was dropped, and the city found itself in possession of dozens of historic homes that it could rent out instead. They did so, but only after extensive renovations. Many of the old features are still on these buildings, like indoor wells or original work. Our guide put it this way: “The goal of restoration is never to return to one single period in development. Rather, a true restoration shows the development of the building from its creation to the present, and in this way shows its life as well as its history” (as translated by our art teacher, who I think added a bit of the poetic flourish on her own). So in one building there was a well on the ground floor, original oak paneling and archways from the 16th century, a 17th century banister, 18th and 19th century doors upstairs, a 20th century stairwell and added supports. Such a progression is typical of architecture here in the Altstadt. I often find myself wondering how long the walls around me have stood, and what’s been added recently. Often it’s hard to tell, but sometimes it can be amusingly obvious. For example, in the second house we visited there was an old door leading out to the courtyard. Either the building had sunk, the courtyard grown taller, or the door was just that low to the ground because people were shorter back then. At any rate, the door was probably not even 5 feet tall. So one day a resident decided to fix the problem the easy way. He took out the top of the arched door and cut out a rectangle. With this new feature, the door is about 8 feet tall, with a pretty window at the top and an utterly bizarre shape.
It wasn’t the first time I’d wished for my camera on this trip, but all the wishing never did any good.
Anyway, as I’ve told you before, Regensburg has proven to be a marvelous example of a living medieval city. Things from the past and present exist here in relative harmony, though sometimes restoration isn’t done as quickly as it should be and sometimes it isn’t done at all. The altstadt has more layers down every little alleyway (“fox’s alley” and “unicorn alley” were two we visited) than I’d ever imagined.
Also, I’m going to attempt to hunt up a book one of our tour guides wrote. It’s the stories of many of these little alleyways and the people who named them. It sounds like quite a read, and since all I have left for humanities is to write a paper (which I have to choose a topic on soon!), I should have a little time for books again.
After this our art teacher took us into a little Rococo chapel. I can’t find the exact name right now, but I imagine it was something about the Holy Cross, since that’s what it was dedicated to. It’s attached to a large Benedictine convent that serves a large school and runs a program to feed the poor of Regensburg. We were monitored by a white-gowned nun the entire time.
Describing this church is difficult. Rococo is just one of those overwhelming things you really have to see. Everything there was typical of the style, which is kind of a playfully ornate Baroque with brighter colors and an emphasis on the theatrical feel. Most of the art there was by local masters, which I found impressive, and it was all done to look more expensive than it actually was. It’s one of only a few truly Rococo churches because Rococo was typically reserved for secular buildings. Once again, I am unable to provide you with pictures. Forgive me!
Now I have to hurry off to meet Dr. Griffin and discuss our thanksgiving plans, our closing plans, and anything else I’ve forgotten about. When I get back I’ll try and tell you more about the past few days, and hopefully this won’t be a problem again!

Friends and Uncertainties

Well, I’m glad to tell you that I am officially back online. Thank God! It wasn’t anything terribly legalistic, the last person who had lived in my room had just forgotten to sign out. Two people can't be registered to a room, and they figure it's up to us to decide who's where. They give everyone six weeks into the next semester before the school does anything about it, and those six weeks were up.
Anyway, it’s all good now.
More pics are up. There’s going to be a flood of them over the next week, I have 400 megs worth that need to go up there. It’s everything from our fall break, and will also include our thanksgiving celebration and probably some other stuff I’ve forgotten to mention.
So, here we are.
Since last night I haven’t been able to get this thought out of my head. One of the other Americans over here was accused of being here in body, but still back in the States at heart. It’s a fairly common idea, I guess, but as we’re looking toward the end of this program, I wonder how much of this culture I’ve really allowed myself to be immersed in. Since returning from fall break I’ve withdrawn even more than usual from the loud evening conversations in the kitchen. I write it off to just “not clicking” with my flatmates’ friends, but usually I’m back here partaking in some little Americana that I brought with me (Mario, news, etc). Since my internet’s been out (6 days now), I’ve had no clue what to do in the evenings. I can’t read the news, so I go down to Tiffany’s room and talk to her flatmate, Karen. She’s great, we’ve really gotten along well these past few days, and talked more than I think I’ve talked to anyone else since arriving here. Does becoming a good friend with another American defeat the purpose of this program?
Of course not.
That’s in all the pamphlets too, after all. “And we’re all such great friends!” Of course, anyone who’s actually been on the program will tell you that’s not the way it is. Sure, you get along, but it’s only because you have to. There’s only 8 of us here! And we butted heads all through the election, and now just have a sort of quiet piece about it. I like my fellow MSU students, but I honestly don’t think we’ll see much of each other once we get back to MSU.
So no, being friends with the Americans here is definitely not a problem. But have I really made any German friends? I like my teachers and I get along with my flatmates, but no, I’m not sure any lasting friendships have been established.
So maybe I’ve let that opportunity slip by. Maybe not, there’s still a couple of weeks left for me to be in town. You never know.

Delayed

Pink Floyd’s “The Gunner’s Dream” is giving me chills. It’s been a few days since we talked, and as you can imagine, a lot has happened. I’m sitting on Karen’s computer now, quickly dropping you a line while I tap out an essay on Michelangelo’s Pieta and Tizian’s Assumption of St. Mary. I'll give you a lot more details tomorrow, when I can pull what I've written off my computer and back onto here. Pictures (lots and lots of pictures) are coming up soon too. I have about 800mb worth, I think. Semester's winding down, too, which you know means lots of work to be done. I'll do my best not to let that keep me from writing.
Sorry about all the delays!

Cut Off

The rat-bastards at the University cut off my internet access.
Apparently you can't plug the same computer up to the net in two rooms unless you've paid the mandatory 6 Euro for both rooms. I had a nice little external adapter so I could switch out if I needed to, and all would be good. I didn't see anywhere in the rules that said I couldn't. The Uni didn't see it that way. There's one line, fine print on the bottom of the page, that says I have to register each computer in my room, even if they use the same device to log on (it says it in a roundabout, German type way, but that's the basic message).
I don't know how long I'm cut off, possibly for the rest of the semester. They don't believe in informing you of little details like that either. I'm going to have to plea my case with them in person on Monday, and wave another 6 Euro's in their faces if that doesn't work.
I'm sitting in the lab typing on a German keyboard now. Typing loudly. Their keyboards are backwards and upside down, with the z where the y goes and the ÄÖßµ symbols all in the way. Double the frustration. I won't be dealing with this for the next few weeks, no matter what.
I don't believe they cut me off!

Just a Sleepy, Snowy, Bittersweet Day

Tommy's playing a make-shift horn (constructed from cardboard tubing and paper) along with Wagner's "Vikings" (most Americans know it as "that airplane song") while his friend plays the timpani part on the floor. I'm hearing all of this crystal clear through several walls. Earlier Sofie was singing along to Bjork.
Needless to say, I'm a long way from Clark College (my "Residential College", kinda a ultra-social dorm), where noise complaints get called after 10 PM.
It hasn't snowed as much today. Yesterday it did all day, forming a nasty slush that we slid around in and generally disliked. Today I think it might have a little this morning, but mostly yesterday's snow and slush just lounged about lazily.
I'm jealous.
I spent most of the day in a sleepy haze. Sadly enough, I woke up (with the aid of an expresso) a few hours ago and am now trying to wind down. I have an art essay due tomorrow and I was afraid I wouldn't finish it in time. I realized a little after I dosed up on caffeine that I can turn it in Friday also. But I'm going ahead with most of the research. It's an interesting story anyway:
"A few days after being placed in St. Peter's, Michelangelo overheard someone remark that the work was done by Christoforo Solari. In a rage, Michelangelo carved 'MICHEL ANGELUS BONAROTUS FLORENT FACIBAT' ['carved by Michelangelo of Florence'] on the sash running across Mary's breast. He later regretted his outburst of pride and swore to never sign another work of his hands" (Wikipedia).
Just another amusing little tidbit. I never thought that art would be such a fun class for me, but the history in this class has (generally) been quite interesting. It's a connection to a lot of my private studies, particularly my Medieval studies, that I may have otherwise never found. Sometimes it gets a bit muddled, though. Then again, sometimes all these things get muddled.
I also read Kafka's "The Judgement" today. You can read the full text here if you're interested. Quite a piece to mull over. Kafka's another good reason to learn German. I want to someday read these pieces in their native tongue, not just taking someone's word for it. I may never get to that point, but I hope to.
We visited the Historic Museum today and got a glimpse at Regensburg's history. Casta Regina, the Roman fortification here, left quite a bit of junk behind. We saw coins and heard our guide (oh how I hate guides, but this one was at least informative) explain how they were used to research the dates of Roman occupation. We rushed by a lot of art to look at a couple of skeletons and a lot more history. He spent a lot of time emphasizing the drop in living conditions after Roman times. The Romans had invented a method of indoor heating in which the floors and walls were hollowed out and warm air flowed from an outdoor furnace. They had make-up and mirrors and global trade. It was interesting to view the pieces as representative of this, but it took away from viewing them on their own worth and, as I mentioned, we were hurried along far too quickly. They didn't punch my ticket, though, so I'm going back to take my time there. I snapped a few pictures for you, but dad's server is down so they won't be up for a while.
Tiff's still a little homesick. I haven't told you about Switzerland or coming back to Regensburg in the blog yet because, unlike the Rome and Venice entries, I didn't write in Switzerland. Their adapters were different and I was ill prepared. Not to mention our hotel, which was definitely not the 3 star it claimed, had serious power issues. It just wasn't a good enviroment to try and write in.
Anyway, trying to get ready for Thanksgiving, and thinking about the holidays in general has reminded everyone of what we're missing. It's bittersweet, though, because everything here is so fascinatingly different. Christmas here lasts for weeks, with several traditions lined up. We've had Christmast stores open since Halloween! It really has put everyone in a better spirit, especially since we're not stressing about the election anymore. We've just got a few more weeks and then we can take all these experiences back and (ideally) share them with everyone back home.

Black Screen of Death

A black screen of death is like a step beyond the blue screen of death. I guess if the blue screen implies a computer's preperation for heaven, the black screen is it bracing for hell. Right now, my Toshiba's about ready to burn.
Luckily, I have Little Dell. Unfortunately, all my pictures from the past 12 days, along with all the blog entries are on the Toshiba.
I'll try and coax them out when I have more time.
We were welcomed back into Regensburg yesterday by hours of snowfall. It stopped late last night, and is supposed to pick back up sometime today and continue for the rest of the week. None of it stuck to the ground in anything thicker than that slushy-mix that challenges uncoordinated people like me. I'm hoping it'll start sticking soon so I can hunt up pictures around the various cathedrals. I have to get over my Tennessee instincts, though. As soon as I had a chance yesterday I stocked up on groceries ("just in case") and now all I want to do is sleep and look out the window at the pretty white fluff.
In a country that isn't daunted by a foot of snow, I don't think I'm going to be able to function that way.
But I want to.

Back home

It's been a while since I've posted and you've probably been a little worried, but I'm back now and will soon make up for it. Our rooms didn't have internet access, but I kept a rather extensive blog in word the whole time. You'll get it tomorrow because it's on the Old Toshiba and I'm on the new Dell now. Words cannot express how glad I am to be in a German speaking region again. I couldn't understand a word of what the Swiss said, and I got yelled at in Italian constantly. Their English was ok too, but they liked to complain in Italian.
You'll hear those stories later.
Today we rode trains. Lots of trains. Lucerne to Zurich (1.5 hour layover) to Salzburg (4 hours touristy-time) to Munich (1 hour dinner) back here. Total time... 14 hours. Lots of trains. Nice Alpine views, but too many trains.
I'm really too tired to make coherant since right now, so if you come back tomorrow I'll try and set things straight for you.

Venice for the Well-Off Traveller

This city was made for getting lost in.
Tiff and I spent a couple of hours out and about, taking in the sights and riding the public transportation to pretend they’re gondolas. A day pass for the waterbus lines is 10.50 Euro and worth the price only if you’re dragging along luggage or plan on going to visit some of the islands. It took us the better part of an hour to get from the train station to our new hotel by St. Marks.
That’s right, our new hotel. Mary’s been poking into various hotels scouting them out for her new travel agent job and this one, the Metropole, made her an offer she couldn’t refuse. As you can see by my pictures, this place is plush. I mean fully stocked-mini-fridge-antique-everything-and-a-view plush. A big Venetian glass chandelier hangs in our room along with antique wooden furniture. It’s all reds and golds, very regal.
A little after we checked in the hotel paid a water taxi to take us around the canals then up to one of the islands where they make Venetian glass. I hadn’t realized how quick the master glassblowers work. He made a gorgeous horse in front of us in just a few quick motions. They gave us a tour of the entire place, including a beautiful collection that (like so many other things I’ve seen here) I wasn’t allowed to photograph. They put us on what I think was their company boat and took us back to our hotel. They offered to take us to the lace-makers, but we were running low on time and still hadn’t seen the Duge’s Palace.
A Duge is similar to a Duke, as best I can tell. Venice’s aristocracy is more than complex. They have had a council of three, of 17, plus Duge’s and judges and moral advisors and all these other positions working together in this one big palace. They’re all registered in the Gold and Silver Books, which are also stored there. We spent two hours at a hurried pace, seeing something like 50 rooms full of frescos, paintings, weapons, and the famous Bridge of Sighs (where prisoners get a glimpse of the beautiful bay before being locked away). It was a little steep for a museum (7 Euro Student Discount, 11 Euro regular rate), but we’ve gotten spoiled with cheap tours anyway. Once again, no photos are allowed, but I’d already taken about a dozen by the time they told me that.
Like I mentioned earlier, Tiff and I spent last night riding around water buses pretending they were gondolas. We stood in the front of the hundred-or-so person boat with twice as many tourists and snapped what pictures we could. I glimpsed over the shoulder of a fellow writer, a 23-year old with his little leather journal and handwriting nearly as bad as mine. I have to admit, he chose a good spot. The biggest problem with my attachment to writing on a laptop is that I really don’t get the opportunity to sit around places like that and write as I see things. Retrospection is always clearer, but there’s something to be said for writing the moment. With my new laptop, which actually has a decent battery, I’ll have to try it some time.
Tiff and Mary are sitting around now putting on their bits of makeup, and we were originally planning on being out of here in an hour, so I’m going to start urging them toward breakfast now.

Vaguely Taking in the Art

Ok, now back to Venice. It’s not easy, sitting here with CNN chattering in my ear about the election, but it’s what this blog is here for.
First thing yesterday we shot straight to the Basilica dei Maria dei Frari de-something, the one we had to see for art class. I’m sorry I’m not more specific, but there’s no less than 20 churches of Maria de-something-or-anothers here, and I’ve peeked in at least half of them. This one was a great big gothic thing, done in brick and very Italian. Our piece was Tiziano Vecellio’s “Pala dell’Assunta,” the assumption of Mary. It’s a great big oil painting, an altarpiece showing Mary ascending to Heaven with dozens of fat little cherubim carrying her away from the panicky masses. Someone, I assume it’s Joseph, her worldly husband, reaches up to her desperately, but her eyes are locked on an old man held fast by angels, presumably God, but maybe Moses. I’m not sure what I’m going to say about it in my essay, but I imagine that’ll be most of it. I enjoy art, but I’m not always well spoken about it.
I’m missing a Salvador Dali exhibition here. I would’ve liked to have seen it, Dali’s an intriguing artist. It’ll be here until February or March, I think, so if you’re on your way to Europe, stop by Venice and have a look.

"Congratulations, Mr. President"

W. won.
I’m going to bed.

Fixated by the TV in a Flooded Disney Land

Still in front of the TV. Republican Senate, Republican House, and maybe a Republican President. Tom Daschall’s already gone, what are the Democrats going to do now? And what good are the Greens doing anyway?
This is all so very strange to watch, especially from across the world.
I don’t think we’re going to know who’s president any time soon.
Venice is difficult to put into words. If Disney Land built a new theme park and then flooded it, you’d probably have a close facsimile (with less churches and more rides). Picturesque doesn’t do the city justice, it’s absolutely unreal. It’s a little New Orleans, a little Italy, and a lot of shopping.
We spent yesterday wandering the streets blindly. The city is ideal for it, because there’s no way you can navigate while walking the streets anyway. If you want to know where you’re going, you take the canals. All the roads change names and numbers every couple of hundred meters anyway.
Mary and Tiff love it. I’m comfy wandering the streets, and the various churches are nice, but all in all it’s a little too touristy and a little too crowded. Like Neuschwanstein and certain places in Rome, this place has more English speakers in it than Italians.
St. Mark’s was the highlight of the cathedrals. Like all the others here, I wasn’t allowed to take pictures inside. The cathedral was built to house the remains of the Apostle Mark, supposedly swept away from Egypt and brought back to Christian safety in Venice. The panels above the main doors tell the story. Like everything else here, half of the more interesting aspects of the church cost money to go see. We think we spotted Mark’s little relic box (I forget the actual term), but we had to pay money to get closer to the altar. The treasury cost extra to see, of course, as did access to the second story and the tower. What was free was the exquisite gold mosaic ceiling (difficult to hide) and, of course, the outside architecture. The building is an interesting mix of what I think is Romanesque and Gothic. It has a rose window on the north (or south?) end of the transept, rather than the east of the Nave (where you typically would find it). That entire side of the church sports more gothic design than the rest of the building, and was obviously the last to be completed. It gives it an odd side-to-side transition, rather than the radiating out from the alter like you get in some older churches, or the expansion from the nave and transept like you’d find in others. I’d love to hear it’s history, but I’m not going to get that yet.
Several other churches had little machines that charged to light the well painted ceilings (typically Baroque or Renaissance oil paintings). I had to give in and drop a Euro into a couple of them, but after a while I stopped caring.
We saw another saint, mostly whole, in one of the other churches. For some reason, one of his/her items was a pair of spurs. I imagine there’s quite a story there. The saint’s name was like Sammo or Sallo or some such, I don’t really remember. Looked like a recent one, though.
I hope to visit St. Sebastian today. We’re also going to see our last art piece today. I don’t have its name handy either, but you’ll hear about it tonight.
Our British friends invited us again to give them a call whenever we’re on the island. Tiff and I think we might. The lake district they live in is only about 3 hours by train from London, and we really can’t afford to tour around London this trip anyway. We still have some time to figure it all out, but that may be an exciting alternative.

MTV

For a good chuckle, google “Nader Debate” and watch our forgotten candidate take on the Presidential Debate he wasn’t invited to… with dolls of Bush and Kerry.
We’re taking our time getting out of here today. We slept in a little longer than we thought we would, and now the train doesn’t come by again until 12:30. Mary and Tiff don’t seem too worried about it. I’m a little stir crazy, but I’ll manage.
The Blue Man Group did the music for the World Food Program commercial. Neat.
I’m having to fight the urge to work on my fiction during these extra couple of hours though. Travel is the best thing for writing I’ve found. By traveling I am forced to always look at things through new eyes, to see them all again for the first time, and to always reexamine myself in relation to these new surroundings. Europe, particularly Germany, has challenged my political views even as our weekend travels have challenged my goals and ambitions. Of course, you may be able to see that in here anyway, but to me it’s a motion of which I am not always totally aware. Mary’s visit here has helped me realize some of it, and I’m sure I’ll see a lot more changes in myself come December.
MTV’s refreshing. That’s probably a little sad, since it is the great American corporate expert, and often just shoves lousy music down the throats of the masses. The videos are interesting, though, and at least the music compliments them, regardless of how good or bad it actually is. It’s about the visual.
Well, Madonna’s pushing the visual a little far for my taste.
Ah, but A Perfect Circle just brought it back around: “Imagine no possessions… no need for greed or hunger / full brotherhood of man… imagine all the people / sharing all the world. You may say I’m a dreamer / but I’m not the only one. I hope some day you’ll join us / in the world as one.” (“imagine”)
They rock.
Wait. That was Lenin’s first. Oh well, they still rock.
Tiff’s about gotten over the shock of turning 21. Everyone over that age probably just groaned reading that, but for us it is rather shocking. You plan your life and your ambitions and so often think “by the time I’m twenty one I’ll have…” and here we are. Some of it’s been realized. I’m here in Europe, after all. I have a novella in a half-finished shamble, and piles of other works that may or may not ever culminate into one thing. I have fiction, non-fiction, science fiction, and outright lies. I am my writing. Tiff? I think sometimes she’s her work, but her poetry is it also. I’m not sure where she sees herself now, but I don’t think it’s where she thought she’d see it.
Depeche Mode “Enjoy the Silence Remix”
“Words are very unnecessary / they can only do harm”
Great Video.
If you haven’t seen it, it’s one of the cel-shade CGI types that’s been invading the scene for about a year now. This huge, red flowing plant overruns the black-and-white corporate world. Good stuff.
Ugh. Snoop Dogg. Not so great.
Music tags along with us all throughout this, doesn’t it? I remember Snoop Doggy Dog, P-Diddy, whatever bursting on the scene. Didn’t like him then, but he just keeps on coming. Same with Madonna, though she was pouring out garbage before I even realized there were different radio stations available. For Tiff, I think it’s just another way of feeling old. For me, it’s the realization that the thinks not worth keeping are often the ones that stay.
Italian video now. Entertaining anyway.
Ahh…mtv.

The Waiting Game

We’re in Venice now. We made it here about 9 PM, wandered down from the train station in the general direction of the hotel and ran into some Brits along the way. They were very nice, and reminded Tiff and I repeatedly that London is no more representative of England than New York is of America (that is, don’t judge the country by the city). We talked about England a while, the election briefly (without specifics, thank goodness), Rome, Venice, and Germany. Once we got to the hotel our British friends traded email addresses then we headed up to our room.
This Holiday Inn is much like the one in Rome, but thankfully with working air conditioning. It still has that ugly carpet, and the modern look with all the straight angles, light wood, and bright colors or metal. It’ll due.
Today’s been very nice. Before leaving Rome we walked along about a quarter mile of the Appian Way, seeing a few nice houses and a couple of old buildings. Most of the exciting stuff was further down, and we hope to see it another time (possibly in December). It was neat to walk in the old chariot tracks, though, and reflect on the things that have passed. I still don’t have internet access, because every hotel in Europe seems to think “high Speed” means “dial up.” Sure, I can have “high speed” access if I put in my dial up access number. Idjits.
We spent the rest of the day on an Italian IC train. It was a sleeper train running during the day. We rode with a pair of Venetians who spoke nearly no English. For a brief stretch we also had a cute Italian kid with us, but he got off pretty quickly. With light conversation and plenty of time it was a wonderful change of pace. I read The Three-Penny Opera just out of curiosity. Quite a piece. Once again, I think you have to be German to really get it. Bits clicked and connected, but it just wasn’t all that astounding. It’d be interesting to see, though.
I need a new book now.
Venice is going to be mostly a church and city tour, which will be nice. Our British friends said the most flooding (beyond usual, of course) is during the high tide around midday, so we should be ok for a few hours in the morning and again in the evening. We’re going to scout it out tomorrow. We’ve got 4 days, so we should be ok.
Yay for Election Day tomorrow! Finally free of the waiting!
I’m going to bed… it’s like Christmas Eve with more of a gamble.

"Ich bin der Schweiz"

I just successfully navigated a pre-recorded message completely in Italian. Considering my complete lack of Italian, I found that pretty impressive.
I’m watching BBC today. More interesting global stories. Also, British mothers with HIV can have their embryos screened to check for HIV.
Venice, or destination for tomorrow, is flooded (even more so than usual). 80% of the city is underwater today, which is even more than usual. Several of the major landmarks are drowning, and the city’s using wooden boards to route the tourists. On a trip where we’ve avoided protestors, wound around a UN signing, and heard the Pope speak, visiting extra-flooded Venice really isn’t that big a deal any more.
I swear, if I have to listen to politics much more I’m going to go to a small island somewhere far far away. I thought that here would provide that, but it’s made it worse. And, of course, traveling with other Americans you have to discuss their views as well, which is something that can be even more frustrating.
Ich bin der Schweiz.
Actually, Switzerland’s no longer neutral, so I guess I can’t be.
Well, Ich bin neutral.
Yeah right.