Round and Round It Goes

Into the Dublin

Friday

As I walked back to the hostel this evening, I looked up at the sky over the Common House. The green dome was lit against a dark denim sky, and I was surprised to see the full moon floating above it, nestled among faint clouds. I knew it was a full moon tonight -- we would have celebrated V-night had it not been Good Friday, had people been able to make it. Still, the sight of something so familiar and friendly in this city that is so strange to me was unexpected. It's the first full moon I've actually seen since moving to the UK.

The day has been very long. I made it harder on myself by getting so engrossed in a story I was writing last night that I didn't go to bed until ~3 a.m. (The story? It's called "Wish in One Hand" for now. I wonder if anything will come of it.) Up this morning to pack and clean the house before heading to the Vic to meet the rugby boys and board the coach. The way this little trip came up, after all, is that the Menai Bridge Rugby Club (Paul's team) is going on tour to Thurles, Ireland this weekend. I thought it was thoroughly unfair that Paul would get a fun weekend away and I didn't, so I hitched on with the boys as far as Dublin. I'll spend the weekend on my own, exploring the city.

The coach and ferry ride over was a raucous affair. Half the boys were drunk before they got on the coach, but the other half quickly caught up. Their theme was silly hats, and they created rule after rule for the trip, all designed to be violated at every turn, resulting in either monetary fines or alcohol consumption.

I tried to nap a bit on the ferry, my late night catching up with me, but Paul made a poor pillow as his drunk-ass shifted and hollered with the rest of them. Why I married a man whose voice is at a perfect timbre to burst my eardrums and sauté my brains I'll never know. (Lie, but whatever.) That, added to the group "HeeeEEEEYYYY!!!"s as guys fell, spilled, or got caught sans silly hat, was enough to disrupt any rest I might have gotten. On top of everything else, we shared the ferry with the inevitable trashy, hammered girls who alternately screeched, threw bottles, or shook their boobs at all the guys. They even attempted to start fights between the boys and an English rugby team also on the boat. The last didn't work terribly well, as the Welsh settle their battles with the English by -- what else? -- out-singing them. Most of the lyrics involved some form of "Stick your f**king chariot up your ass." Ah, centuries-old rivalries.

At one point, the trashy girls actually turned on Paul and Stan, accusing Stan of having diminutive genitals. Stan, who could fill in for Van Damme, was not at all fazed by slights to his appendages. "Eh, I'm not worried about the size of my dick -- I know how to use it. But if you really wanted to hurt me, you'd accuse me of being emotionally stunted and incapable of intimacy. I'm not so sure of myself there."

We reached Dublin, and the coach dropped me in the city center. I was on my own. I headed for Isaac's Hostel to check in and stash my pack. At age 29, this is the first time I've ever stayed in a hostel (I don't think the teepee one in Taos counts). I chose it out of tight-fistedness primarily, but also out of curiosity for the experience most of my friends had 10 or more years ago. So far, it's not bad -- it resembles a college dormitory more than anything, with common areas, lockers for personal belongings, and community kitchens. There are a lot of youngsters, but I'm definitely not the oldest (thank goodness for old hippies!). The Americans are as easy to spot as ever, with their UCLA Ts, LL Bean backpacks, and loud voices. I have to admit, I avoid them.

I checked in and stowed my pack, then headed right out to find Excedrin (the ferry ride was hot and noisy, a lethal combo for my migraines), and some dinner. The chemist (pharmacist for the Yanks) seemed so grateful I knew to ask for the drug by its ingredients, including "paracetamol" instead of "Tylenol" or "acetaminophen."

I wandered for a little while, snapping a few pics. The city was teeming with people. Heaving. On every corner there is some sort of queue with 15-20 folks, I presume waiting for the next bus. The sidewalks are cramped, clouds of cigarette smoke tufting overhead. Groups of 5-10 cluster in doorways, laughing, smoking. What is striking is how young everyone is. It's like being on a huge high school campus. In a city of 1.4 million, half are under the age of 28. And like teens and 20s everywhere, they travel in packs and loiter. All over the city. It's startling, especially after being in North Wales for four months, where it seems like there are maybe 1000 people total, and they all have gray hair.


The River Liffey from the O’Connell Street Bridge

The city itself, what little I've seen of it, is a little New York. The streets are old, European in their cobblestones. The buildings are cramped, rows and rows of 2-3 story storefronts with apartments above. On this holiday evening, many shops are locked behind roller doors, their faces covered with graffiti. Then, on the next block, sits a building in proud Georgian splendor, lit up for the tourists, or a cathedral, draped in spotlights, spires and crosses soaring into the midnight sky. The River Liffey bisects the city, with several bridges spanning, including the O'Connell, which is the only bridge in Europe whose width exceeds its length, and the Ha'penny pedestrian bridge, so called because the toll to cross used to be half a penny.

I eventually found myself in the Temple Bar district -- dozens of pubs, a bunch of tourist traps, hotels, and eateries. Many places were closed for Good Friday, but I found a shop selling cheap crepes, and settled in for a break. The man who handled my order was young, Indian (I believe). He smiled, thanked me for my order. Even when he cleared my plate, his face softened and smiled again. Like the visible full moon, it was unexpected. I hadn't realized how accustomed I have become to the brisk and impersonal attitude of service people in Wales. The difference was lovely.

I had hoped to wander a bit more, getting some night shots of the sites. I'm planning to do the Literary Pub Crawl tomorrow night, and I don't know what chances I'll have for night shots then. But my exhaustion caught up with me, threatening me with a full-on migraine. I headed back to the hostel to snuggle into a sofa with my iPod, my journal, and a book.

So far, I love the traveling alone thing. No decisions by committee. I do what I want to do, period. I was scared to do this alone, terrified, really. I've never been anywhere by myself, let alone a completely new city. (Note: Now that I've typed that out, I realize what a lie that is. I've been alone in a lot of places, not the least of which was LA. I seem to have a rather selective and dramatic memory.) I almost backed out a dozen times. But I rock at this. The hostel clerk even seemed relieved to check me in after spending forever with several others -- I bothered to read the notice behind the desk that told me everything I needed to know. This is cool.

I'm going to read for a bit, then head to my assigned bed. Haven't been there yet, we'll see how that goes.


Saturday

Note to self: "coed" rooms in a hostel means me and seven guys. Oi. I didn't remember choosing coed, but it must have been cheaper. Damn my miserly heart. It wasn't that bad, really, except that I kept thinking I was in completely the wrong place, and some inebriated 19-year-old Czech was going to crawl into my bunk at 1 a.m., thinking it was his. But other than the reveille trumpet of farts this morning and an unbidden glimpse of naked ass (his, not mine), it wasn't horrible. I'm not even sure they knew a female was in the room with them, as my hair is pretty short at the moment.

I got up and made my way down to breakfast, which at that point was some tasteless bread and Styrofoam cups of what attempted to be coffee. I gave it up, grabbed a chunk of bread and headed out.

This morning the city was relatively empty, especially in comparison to last night. It gradually filled up, mainly with tourists. Today I can see more of the disparities: grand, soaring monuments of architecture, art and culture alternate with dirty, graffiti-covered alleys, homeless wrapped in sleeping bags, and ugly glass and chrome evidence of corporate money.

I marched around the Common House and up Marlborough Street. Passed the Millennium Spike (Why does this exist? I dunno), James Joyce, the big beautiful General Post Office.


Common House


Corner of Marlborough and Abbot


James Joyce


General Post Office


I went up Moore Street, full of colors, fruit and flower vendors. I bought a box of strawberries from a nice lady who called me "love" at least 10 times in the course of our transaction: "What'll it be, love? One box is one Euro, love. There you go, love, have some grapes, too. All right then, love."


Moore Street Market

I immediately chomped into the grapes, and pressed on past the Gate Theatre to the Dublin Writers Museum. Frankly, for a city that touts itself as a literary powerhouse, the museum was paltry. A bunch of old library books and "facsimiles" of personal correspondence does not a fascinating exhibit make. Oh, well, at least I only paid the student entrance fee.


Dublin Writer's Museum

I was getting tired, so I headed down Canal Street toward the Castle, expecting a place for lunch to pop up somewhere. I wandered past the Four Courts and Christchurch Cathedral, where the sky suddenly spat sleet. I had a turkey sandwich in a little shop, then made my way to the Castle.


Four Courts


Dublin Castle

The line to get in was thick and long, however, and filled with Americans, so I abstained. What is with the American obsession with castles? I guess it's because, with the exception of Barbie-plastic versions at Disneyland, we don't have any.

It began to sleet again, turning cold and nasty. I decided to seek out the infamous bookstores in search of a place to rest and get out of the cold. I first popped into a tiny bookshop near Temple Bar, across from the Bank of Ireland. It was cramped, long and narrow, but with a mezzanine along one side that curved out from the wall like this:



I very much wanted pics because it was such a neat space, but it was packed and I didn't think people would appreciate me taking photos of them.

I next hit Hodges Figgis, Dublin's oldest and largest bookstore. I browsed a bit, happening on a thick tome of literary criticism all about how all the stories in the world boil down to only seven plots. Let's see if I can remember them:

1. Overcoming Monsters
2. Quest
3. Voyage & Return
4. Comedy
5. Tragedy

Well, 5/7 isn't awful. (Further research indicates the last two are "Rags to Riches" and "Rebirth.") Anyway, I sat down with this book, and quickly found myself too tired to comprehend it and too tired to get up.


Hodges Figgis

So I pulled out my copy of The Subtle Knife and finished it. I find it annoying that Philip Pullman gets away with switching 3rd person point of view mid-scene (not that he really gets away with it -- I don't think it works -- but somebody published it as-is), but whatever.

Knowing I won't get through the next day and a half without a book, I bought another and set off again.

But my little guidebook was gone. It had been falling out of my pocket all day, and I guess I finally failed to notice it. Probably the worst place to lose a book is a bookstore, and I was unable to track it down.

I meandered, found The Duke, where the Literary Pub Crawl starts, then strolled along the shops on Grafton. I had hoped to stop at the Bewley, an old coffee shop the guidebook recommended, but without the book I was clueless as to where it was. Luckily, I stumbled upon it. After waiting interminably for a table (and traitorously eyeing the half-empty Starbucks across the street), I got a mocha and some choc cake, hoping they'd help kill the headache the Excedrin wasn't totally able to vanquish.

The Bewley is all right, but not the paragon of early 20th century atmosphere it claims. It's just a 3-story coffeeshop, nicer than most, but a coffeeshop all the same.


Bewley's Oriental Cafe

This area is very Americanized. Starbucks, the Gap, Urban Outfitters. Everything is watered down, catering to the tourists. I suppose you have to get out of the city, into less well-traveled areas of the country to really get the feel of Ireland.

The Literary Pub Crawl:

Okay, by this time last night I was way tired, my migraine making me nauseous, and all I could think about was getting to bed. But this was the one thing I had planned to do, and I didn't know if it would run on Easter Sunday. So I went anyway.

We started at The Duke, where the two actors (one male, one female) did a scene from "Waiting for Godot." Then to Trinity College, where we all gathered around the first stone placed as the school was built in 1592. They did a bit of Oscar Wilde in Leadville, CO, schmoozing with the miners as part of his tour of America. On to O'Neill's, a rather huge pub, to sit and twiddle our thumbs for twenty minutes. Well, I guess everyone else drank and chatted, but I was sick with migraine, and I had no one to talk to (the thought of making the effort over the noise made my skull shriek).


O'Neill's Pub

Then another brief, cold performance outside the tourism center -- something about men forced to beg on the streets after the workers' strike of 1913. Led by Jim Larkin against the big cahuna employer of the day, William Martin Murphy, the workers were unsuccessful, and many were forced to the streets. The characters were engaged in judging whether passersby were Catholic or Protestant, so they could choose the proper hymn to sing as they held out their hands.

On to The Old Stand, formerly the Monico, for another twenty minutes packed into a noisy pub. At least this one had rugby on. Apparently, this pub was near Michael Collins's (freedom fighter) secret meeting place, and its proximity to the Castle (where the local Brit government was) made it a grand meeting spot for the British agents.

There's a lot of convoluted history in this town.

Then on to The Duke again, where they did a little quiz to give out a T-shirt and some whiskey, and to chat about the next pub, Davy Byrnes. A whole chapter of Ulysses is set there. They also talked about Brendan Beehan, who spent a lot of his short life in jail for IRA activities, and the rest serving as the village drunk.

They went on to Davy Byrnes, but I didn't. I headed to the hostel, a shower, and bed.

Sunday

Last night was quieter than the previous, maybe because I took some Excedrin PM before bed. Unfortunately, this morning the seven other guys in the room had to wake up at 8 to discuss the night's debauchery and fart in one another's faces. There's a lot to be said for hotel rooms, expensive as they are.

I spent today hitting the major sites I missed the day before. The city was empty, either because it was Sunday morning, or because it was Easter. Hard to find a place open for breakfast.

St. Patrick's Cathedral -- truly impressive. It seems like every city -- hell, every village -- in Europe has several cathedrals to draw tourists. They get a bit old after a while. But St. Pat's, built for the man who brought Christianity to the Irish, is really something. Spires anchored to the building by arching spans rise above long silvery stained glass windows. Celtic crosses top the roof peaks. The gardens hug the building, allowing children to play in the shadows of the intricate structures. There are so many angles, so many nooks and crannies for light to play in, it's a photographer's dream. My only regret was the fencing keeping me at a distance, and the clouds that sheltered the church from the sun.




St. Patrick's Cathedral

Back past Christchurch Cathedral -- the sun out enough now for me to play with reflections -- and down Dame Street to Trinity College. It's a lovely campus, but the gray buildings and the gray day didn't make it very picturesque. Perhaps if I could have captured the dissonance between the gorgeous gothic buildings sitting stately beside 1970s concrete shoeboxes, I would have some meaningful photos to share. As it is, I had to be content with the bell tower (the site of the 1st laid rock of Trinity), whose bell only rings when a virgin passes underneath. It has not made a peep in a very long time.


Christchurch Cathedral


Trinity Bell Tower


The New and the Old

I played with reflections again here, and did manage one "dissonance" shot -- a modern sculpture fronting a Dracula-esque building.

Onward to Merrion Square, a park surrounded on four sides by famous and colorful Georgian doors, and the street artists selling little paintings of them. Then around St. Stephen's Square (a bit of a larger park), through the Santa Monica Promenade-like Grafton Street, on to Temple Bar to meet Paul and Stan.

Beers at Temple Bar, lunch at some pizza joint, beers at the Quays (pronounced "Keys") and the Oliver St. John Gogarty (serenaded by some very unnoteworthy Irish musicians), back to Temple Bar to meet up with the rest of the boys. Then bus, ferry, bus, and finally home. Yay -- I missed my bed and my dogs and kitties.

I have to admit that in the end, the trip probably would have been more fun with a good traveling partner like Paul or Mom. I'm not a drinker, and Fri-Sat's mild migraine kept me from appreciating the pubs very much. But a little live music and a couple of drinks with friends would have made a big difference (well, that and no nausea-inducing migraine).

I would love to be able to go back when I have more time to take some day excursions out of the city, or to do an entire island tour, really. Someday soon, I'm sure, Paul and I will get it together enough to do our bike tour. That will be awesome.

posted by Lyle Skains @ 3:54 AM 0 comments

My Trip to Germany: Berlin

Berlin – July 10, 2006

It’s all over. I might cry, mostly because I don’t want to go home. Though I will have all the games to watch on DVD…

We heard the game was playing at Potsdamer Platz so we headed there, figuring it was in the Sony Center. Of course, it was full and closed, so we went to a nearby bar per our usual custom. We had dinner and Dunkelweiß (mmm…), then discovered the movie theater upstairs was playing the game for 3Є. Sure, the bar was free, but cush seats, A/C, ginormous screen, and new experience! It was worth 3Є.

France was awarded a PK in the 7th, which Zidane tucked away. Italy was insanely dangerous on corners, scoring on one. France turned it on in the second half (by which time I was sick to my stomach for the first time on the trip), and I thought they were going to pull it off. I hoped, anyway, as I can’t bear to cheer for Italy with all their crying and diving. Every 30 seconds Toni was on the ground, writhing and grabbing some new fake injury.

France was definitely the stronger, and Zidane, Henry, and my man Ribery put in awesome performances, but it still ended 1-1 and went to OT. Where it all fell apart. Tresuguet came in for Ribery, and Wiltford for Henry. There were cold and had no touch, didn’t know where each other were.

Zidane had his shoulder dislocated, and this is what makes him different from other players (and other Frenchmen, too): he just sat there, waiting for the whistle to blow, then when they finally noticed him, he just gave a wan smile and gestured to his dangling arm, waiting for someone to come put it back so the game could go on.

Zidane, however, was not present for the penalty shoot-out, as he received a straight red with only a few OT minutes to go for head-butting Materazzi – of f the ball – in the chest. So far, we haven’t really seen what provoked him, other than some fairly non-head-butt-worthy grabbing by Materazzi. The only thing I can figure at this point is that Materazzi jabbed him in that injured shoulder, or called his mother a really bad name (as it turned out, he called his mother AND sister really bad names).

So shoot-out without Henry, Zidane, and Ribery. On the second shot, Trezuguet bounced it off the crossbar, but unlike Zidane’s PK in the 7th, this shot did NOT bounce down over the line. This would be the end for France, as Italy nailed all 5 of their PKs.

I was sick that the whiners and divers had won, but also increasingly sick to my stomach, period. Even J, after cheering for Italy, admitted they didn’t deserve the Cup. We didn’t stay to see them crowned, though we did see the Italian national team cut off Camoranesi’s nasty hair-knob in some ritual of victory.

Back to the hotel for some 1-on-1 time with the flush valve. I’m impressed I made it this far into the trip without getting to know a random toilet intimately. It’s a record, I believe.

Berlin – Later…

Today we gave over all decision-making to Jeff, our tour guide at Fat Tire Bike Tours
(affiliated with Mike’s in Munich).

The tour started in Alexanderplatz, and toured a lot of East Berlin, which we hadn’t seen much of previously.

• Marienkirche and the TV Tower. The TV tower arose as an East Berlin structure. West Berlin had built a tower, and East Berlin felt the need for a bigger and better one – but they didn’t have the knowledge or technology. So they hired the Swedes (snuck them in and out, really), only later to discover that when the sun reflected off the giant disco ball, it sent of rays of light in the form of a cross. West Berlin called it “the Pope’s Revenge.” Only the T-Mobile stick-on soccer ball decal was able to cover it up.
  
  (© hermitthecrab 2006)
  
  
• Neptune’s Fountain
  
  (J's pic)
  
  
• After passing the Rotes Rathaus, the East Berlin Town Hall, we came to Marx-Engels Platz (the framers of The Communist Manifesto), and sat in Uncle Karl’s lap.
  
  Don't cry for these Argentinians (J's pic)
  
  
• Bebelplatz, the site of the infamous Nazi book-burnings, but also home to Humboldt University, where Einstein and the Grimm brothers studied (not at the same time, of course), the opera house, Hedwig’s Cathedral (a replica of the Pantheon), and currently the Buddy Bears. Turns out those are nothing more than a traveling exhibit; the U.N. called out to artists to paint them however they wanted, and around the world the bears go. Our Aussie ass man (the guy stuck at the back to round up stragglers) said they’d been in Sydney for 3 months. Mystery solved.

Another mystery solved is that of the Walk/Don’t Walk guys. The ones with hats were East German, and disappeared post-reunification. As a gesture of sentiment, Berlin brought them back, but mixed East and West all over the city.

Humboldt University and the Buddy Bears (© hermitthecrab 2006)

• The balcony from which Kaiser-Wilhelm declared WW1. Eh.
  
• I hadn’t quite realized before that Germany got so egregiously split up among the Allies after WW2. Jeff drew us a lovely chalk map to illustrate:
  
  J is balancing in Berlin (© hermitthecrab 2006)
  
  
• The “Deathstrip,” the area between the two walls that formed THE wall, where snipers were free to kill anything that moved.
  
  (© hermitthecrab 2006)
  
  
• The last remaining sniper tower. Something like 5000 people escaped to the West from East Berlin, but 700 died, including one man who was killed two days before the wall came down.

And come down it did. The full story is that in 1989, Hungary opened its borders with Austria, creating a huge hole in the Iron Curtain. East Germans could go to Hungary, then to Austria, West Berlin, and West Germany as a result. The East German/Russian government decided to fight this by granting travel visas to East Germans could see how “truly horrible” the western world was, and subsequently come running back to the loving arms of the Communists.

They called a live press conference, handed the spokesman a bunch of notecards and let it go from there. But the only info the spokesman had was that travel visas were to be offered…when asked when and to whom, he floundered and responded “Immediately, to everyone.” East Berliners flooded the checkpoints by the thousands within minutes. Having no orders, the soldiers held them for a while, but finally just let them through. And the Communists’ game was up.

• The huge Coke billboard at Potsdamer Platz, which has already been altered to reflect Germany’s hopes for 2010.
  
  (© hermitthecrab 2006)
  
  
• Hitler’s bunker, where he and Eva Braun hid out, got married, and killed themselves. It’s a parking lot now for a fancy apartment complex, though the 18-room bunker lies below as the Russians were unable to blow it to smithereens despite their whole-hearted attempts.
  
  (© hermitthecrab 2006)
  

Time for beer and more beer. We traveled through the Tiergarten to the biergarten, making friends with father and son D & S from New Jersey. They were in Berlin for the whole cup, and S is moving on to Munich & Austria tomorrow.


The Tiergarten biergarten, and yet another ginormous bike lock (© hermitthecrab 2006)


More friends (J's pic)

We each drank a dunkelweiß and shared a radler (hey, it was hot out there), so the ride back was a bit tricky. Made even moreso by the sun – we forgot sunscreen, so now have lovely burns from our very last day in the country.

Wobbling a bit, we cruised on the Spree River, spotting the National Chancellery, where the Chancellor usually resides, though the current Chancellor Angela Merkel does not. Over a nice bridge, past the Hauptbahnhof and the ginormous soccer cleats fronting the Swiss Embassy, and around to the Reichstag.


The German Chancellory on the Spree River – and some crazy boaters who must want a bacterial disease (© hermitthecrab 2006)

Our last stop was at the Berliner Dom, a lovely Protestant church, and the Altes Museum, full of old junk.


The Berliner Dom, the Altes Museum, and a random sapling (© hermitthecrab 2006)

We got T-shirts, a coupon for Barcelona, and 50¢ Pilsners from the tour shop before we headed on our way, buzzed and sunburned.

In search of the Michael Ballack calendar that so amused us in Bad Homburg, we caught a train to the shops we knew near the Zoologischer station. Of course, we found the calendar in a newsstand in the station before ever boarding a train, but had forgotten our original purpose (um, beers), so got on the train anyway.

We wandered back through the Kaiser-Wilhelm Gedachtniskirche to the KaDeWe, a ginormous department store. About the only things interesting there, besides its sheer size, were the prominently displayed seasons 1 and 2 of Baywatch on DVD (in German, of course) – gotta have the Hoff! – and all the WC toys they had. Action figures of the players (with kicking motion!), 3-D puzzles of the players, the balls, etc., stuffed animals, coins, just about anything they could make a buck off. It distracted drunk-us for about 15 minutes.


Berlin's just crazy about Walk/Don't Walk signals (© hermitthecrab 2006)


The Ka De We, the largest department store ever (J's pic)


Who needs a guidebook when you've got manhole covers? (© hermitthecrab 2006)

At this point, it was nap time for J, as usual, so back to the hotel.


The daily nap (© hermitthecrab 2006)

Dinner – a revisit to the House of 100 Beers for the best apple strudel ever, and the funniest beer I’ve had, a nearly clear radler served in a Guinness glass. Ah, the irony.


That is so not Guinness (J's pic)

Pack, then airport in the morning. I’m not at all ready to go.


Can I please stay in Germany? Please??? (© hermitthecrab 2006)

The End!!! (Finally...)

posted by Lyle Skains @ 11:51 AM 0 comments

My Trip to Germany: Stuttgart

Stuttgart (3rd Place Game) – Later…

That was awesome.

We got lucky at the Hauptbahnhof and barely snagged a locker for our bags – I had to buy a postcard in order to get change, but whatever.

We got all smart and bought a round-trip ticket on the S-bahn before we read our game tickets – WC ticket holders get free local transport on day of the game. Just when we’d got the hang of it.

We got off one stop early, hoping to hit some fan gear stands. I don’t think the Fan Fest was really near the stadium here, because the crowds were thing and the capitalists were scarce. We did find a T-shirt vendor selling T-shirts 1 for 2Є or 2 for 3Є, so I bought a few with my friend C in mind (her gift request: a cheap T-shirt to rib my mom for calling me “tight” a few weeks ago).

The stadium didn’t open its gates till 6 (kickoff at 9), and we arrived at about 4:30. We shared a beer in a very plain bar outside the gates playing Spanish music, and watched the mullets and rattails go by.

Finally, the gates opened and the fans streamed in. We grabbed some brats and drinks and toured around, hoping for something to look at or do, but food and fan gear tents was all there was. Nothing at all like an American stadium, though it was much better organized: few lines, separate security and ticket checkers, with lockers for bags.


Me in the stadium at Stuttgart (J's pic)

So we bought R (J’s boy) a T-shirt (J finally decided) and I bought a couple of scarves for me and Mom, then headed to our seats. To sit, and wait. For three hours. So, of course, like the extreme geek that I am, I read a book. Hey, I was almost finished.

Waiting...waiting...waiting (J's pic)

Warm-up time, and Oliver Kahn emerges. We got to see the great Ollie Kahn play (he hasn’t played all tournament). It was incredible. Oh how the Germans love that man.

Scheider, Schweinsteiger, Klöse, and Podolski all played. Ronaldo got fearsomely booed every time he touched the ball. Figo came in as a sub. Kahn made some great saves, and Germany had some great runs. I finagled my film in order to get game shots, though I didn’t have any color film fast enough.


J and me at our seats (J's pic)

The atmosphere crackled – we were up and down for cheers and songs. Every player who got subbed had his name chanted affectionately, and Kahn and Klinsman go the loudest cheers of all. Ballack didn’t play, which was understandable but still a disappointment.


The starting lineup (J's pic)

J made friends with the girl sitting next to her, who after the game gave her her scarf (extreme jealousy on my part). The girl gave me a plastic banner, not as cool but still nice.


J with the scarf girl (J's pic)

Fireworks went off after the game, which we couldn’t see from the stadium, to celebrate Germany’s 3-1 win over Portugal. We made our way to the S-bahn, stopping briefly to buy more scarves, then got uneventfully to the Hauptbahnhof.

Now here we are, having a bit in a nearly empty train station restaurant, listening to the drunken celebratory chants, yells, and songs from the station below. Our train for Berlin leaves in an hour…thank Christ we have reserved seats!

Berlin – July 9, 2006


Long, tiring train ride. Drunk kid passed out in the hall outside our compartment on the Stuttgart-Frankfurt train, making everyone climb over and around him to pass. I think I nearly crunched his head, not that he would have noticed.

Hotel this time is farther from the center of things, but closer to the airport. We made it in time to eat breakfast before crashing, but there’s no A/C in the room, so it wasn’t the best of rest days.

Final game in about 3 ½ hours. Allez Les Bleus!

Note: Purchasing a buttload of scarves may have been a cheap souvenir tactic, but damn they take up a lot of luggage space. :/

Go to next Entry: Berlin

posted by Lyle Skains @ 11:48 AM 0 comments

My Trip to Germany: Munich

Munich – July 6, 2006

(At this point, I’d run out the ink in two pens. Did I do ANYTHING but write in my journal on this trip???)

We made it yesterday, finally. We met our buddy M, who kindly offered his apartment up for our Munich stay, then had dinner (our first food since breakfast) at a nearby Italian restaurant. The waiter kept teaching J German, making her repeat after him.

We finally learned how to tip – you only tip about 10%, and since the waiter/tress carries a money wallet, you just tell them the total amount you want to pay, bill plus tip.

M also taught us how to toast in Bavaria, by looking directly into the other person’s eyes, clinking the bottoms of glasses (for delicate wheat beer glasses), and saying “Prost!”

We then went to a biergarten to watch the first half of the Portugal-France game. They had beers as big as your head, but I couldn’t get a small Radler, my new favorite drink. We watched some kid running around with no pants on and poo schmeared all over his bum. The score on unbidden penis sightings goes up by one.


The biergarten with beers as big as your head (© hermitthecrab 2006)


No lie (J's pic6)

We watched the second half from Outland, the Aussie bar near M’s apartment. I was way full of beer and a bit tipsy at this point, but the game ended in regulation for once after Henry’s only goal in the first half. So the final is to be Italy vs. France. At least we’ll get to boo the big baby Cristiano Ronaldo in person at the third place game.


The Aussie bar (J's pic)

This morning we managed to accomplish another first: visiting a place J was interested in, the Deutsches Museum. It focuses on engineering, with a little science, a miniscule amount of history, but not much. I was pretty bored and could have left after an hour, but J was in her element so we stayed for three. They did have a Gutenburg Bible, though, which so filled me with reverence I felt the need to whisper.


The Deutsches Museum (© hermitthecrab 2006)


The book that changed the world (© hermitthecrab 2006)


Inside the Bridges exhibit in the Deutsches Museum (© hermitthecrab 2006)

We headed out on a walking tour of Munich. Munich is known as Germany’s wealthiest city, and it shows in all the expensive boutiques and shops that line the streets. Bikes are a preferred method of transportation, which means pedestrians really have to watch their asses. Dogs are pretty common, too – I hadn’t even noticed their absence from previous cities until we came here.

(In an effort to save space and not make you read until you are dead, I’ve combined the walking tour pics with the next day’s bike tour pics below, other than this one, a freaky doll with a soccer ball for a head. For the sake of your sanity, I have only posted one of these pictures.)


Not only is it a soccer ball head, it's a deflated soccer ball head (© hermitthecrab 2006)

The rain that had been threatening all afternoon finally started falling, so we hoofed it toward M’s apartment to write out postcards (I got silly and wrote one to myself, plus one to J she doesn’t know about) and dry off, and had planned to go swing dancing, but it’s rained out. So I suppose we’ll head to dinner and figure something out!

Later…

Went for dinner and had another traditional German meal, Käsespätzle, which is pretty much mac & cheese with onions (only a gazillion time better). I had Apfelschorle to drink, a mixture of apple juice and mineral water, not bad. They like to throw random liquids together here, it seems.

Then we walked toward the university for dessert, stopping to take a pic of a store called “Suckfüll” with a huge ad in the window screaming “Dick.” Just too funny to pass up. Dessert of Kaiserschmarrn was yummy, kind of a fatter, doughier funnel cake with ice cream and raisins.

We decided not to go to castles tomorrow, as the trip is 2 ½ hours each way by train and bus. We just can’t handle more train rides than necessary. New itinerary for tomorrow: bike tour, Olympic Park, stadium, and shopping.

My head issue has been officially diagnosed as cooties. But it’s not so bad because J has developed cooties, too, on her foot. Ha ha.

Oh, and Munich has their equivalent of Berlin’s buddy Bears: Lions. They’re everywhere here, too. City mascots, I guess. A little freakish, really.


Me with a literary lion (J's pic)

Munich – July 7, 2006

Super full day today led by Sideshow Bob with a bunch of sorority girls from Miami-Ohio.

Munich – July 8, 2006

Well, I wrote the above last night and then never finished. We’re on the train to Stuttgart now, so here we go…

While J showered I took a few shots of the view from M’s 5th floor apartment. The buildings are all very packed together, but unlike Russia, they have lovely little courtyards with trees popping up in the middle. And a lot of bike parking.

With an hour to kill before the bike tour, we managed to catch the Glockenspiel, the clock display in the Neues Rathaus that our tour guide later claimed was the second most overrated European tourist attraction, after the people of France. But I got some fun crowd shots.

Note: there is not a single German in any of these photos. Japanese folks and Americans have completely taken over Munich.


The Glockenspiel in the Neues Rathaus (J's pic)

Almost as soon as the little clockwork jousting display was finished, it started to rain, so while the street cleared of tourists, we pulled out our rain gear and beat it to the Bacchus statue we’d missed the day before, just under the Karlstor. The pics are slightly rain-blurred, but oh well.

(For those wondering why Bacchus is so important, it has to do with me being a know-it-all yet again, this time when I first met P. Everyone seems to think it’s soooooo funny.)


The drenched rat is me; the statue is my old pal Bacchus (J's pic)

The bike tour started under the Altes Rathaus. It was actually sort of a whirlwind tour of our walk from the day before, but with some great stories. Justin, our guide, was from Papua New Guinea, and as he later joked, he really did resemble Sideshow Bob.
The history of Munich is that some monks built a bridge for themselves across the Isar River, then found it was a lucrative business to charge folks to cross. Henry the Lion, Duke of Saxony and Bavaria, thought so, too, so he blew up the monk’s bridge and built his own. The Holy Roman Empire caught wind of this, so to keep his head Henry proposed to give 1/3 of the tolls to Rome, 1/3 to the city, and keep 1/3 for himself. It was agreed, and Henry became the first king of Bavaria. His symbol was the lion, so that’s why the lions are everywhere, as is the monk, the symbol for the city. Monks are drunks!

Bavaria itself was its own kingdom for a while, and is a lot like Texas in its independent nature. The attitude of Bavarians toward other Germans, and vice versa, is also like Texas in its mutual condescension. The statue of a woman often represents Bavaria – at the Feldhernhalle, the General’s Hall, the central statue represents the fierce warriors of Germany, while the woman is Bavaria. She has her arm around him, supporting him, but is looking away, showing Bavaria’s independence.

So much of Munich was bombed and rebuilt after WW2, it’s extremely common to see an 1850 structure standing next to one built in 1970, and so many historical structures (including the residence, Hofbrauhaus, Chinese tower, etc.) are rebuilt “exactly as they were.” Though none has been rebuilt so often as the church outside Marienplatz, which burned to the ground several times, then was bombed a couple of times. It’s liable to explode at any moment.

• Altes Rathaus, Munich’s old city hall
  
• Marienplatz, where we saw the Neues Rathaus (the new city hall), and Peterskirche, which we climbed all…the…way…to the top (300’) to get a 360˚ view of the city. We could see all of Marienplatz, a biergarten, the Frauenkirche (domes look like overflowing beer mugs, tallest structure in the city).
  
  
  Marienplatz, with Frauenkirche & the Neues Rathaus (© hermitthecrab 2006)
  
  
  Peterskirche...all 300 feet of it (© hermitthecrab 2006)
  
  
  Inside the Peterskirche (© hermitthecrab 2006)
  
  
• Hofbrauhaus, where Hitler and his cronies used to whet their whistles and brainstorm on how to ruin the world. There are paintings of flags on the ceiling that were designed to cover the Nazi swastikas, and they still bear the shape. In case you’re wondering if we stopped here for beers, the answer is no, huh-uh, no way. It is the Disneyland of beer halls, definitely not worth having a brew in.
  
  
  Thinly disguised swastikas (J's pic)
  
  
• We walked to Karlsplatz from there, passing shops, more museums, and a number of fountains. Saw a cool rooftop with some fun weathervanes at the Kaufhaus Oberpollinger.
  
  
  Why am I laughing so hard? The stone was wet and I had attempted highly unsuccessfully to "hover" for the pic (J's pic)
  
  
• J got all excited at the Lamborghini dealership, though she totally missed seeing a bright yellow Ferrari in the street as she was photographing a random building.
  
  
  J's idea of sightseeing (© hermitthecrab 2006)
  
  
• Theatinerkirche, built by Elector Ferdinand Maria and his wife, Henriette Adelaide of Savoy, as a gesture of thanks to the lord for finally delivering him an heir after 12 years of trying and praying in 1662.
  
• Feldhernhalle – Behind the Feldhernhalle is a cobblestone alley through which a ribbon of gold cobblestones threads. During Hitler’s reign, he constructed a monument in front of the Feldhernhalle dedicated to several of his stormtroopers killed there in a battle with the Munich police. Everyone passing by the memorial was required to offer a “Heil, Hitler!” Those who did not sympathize avoided walking past it by diverting to this alley, and the gold cobblestones are in honor of their courage.

The Feldernhalle and Theatinerkirche (© hermitthecrab 2006)

Opposite the Theatinerkirche is what was once a residence, where four lions guard the gates. In the time of Bavarian kings, one was such a philanderer that a student at the university wrote an open letter, calling him a bad Catholic, a bad husband, and a bad king. The king put a price on his head, but instead of waiting to be arrested, the student marched with 2000 others to the palace. He saw the king on his own, and said “Do with me what you will.” The king was so impressed with his bravery that he gave the student the bounty money and let him go. On his way out, the student rubbed the brass noses on three of the four lions, because to rub all four would be greedy and would destroy his luck.

It was still raining at this point in the bike tour, so of course I’d gotten cold and my legs had broken out in hives from knee to hip. I went a little crazy every time we had to stop, and my legs are still marked from my scratching.

• Hofgarten (royal garden) and Royal Palace
  
  (© hermitthecrab 2006)
  
  
• Chancellory of Bavaria and the sunken crypt of a German soldier (equivalent to our Tomb of the Unknown Soldier), bombed and severely damaged during WW2. When they rebuilt the wings, their desire to make amends to the public was so great they made them out of glass, so the people could always see what their government was doing.

On to the university square. This was the site where students protested Hitler, passing out anti-Nazi pamphlets. A university chancellor was a Nazi-sympathizer, so he locked the leaders of the movement in the main student building and informed the Gestapo where they were. When the Gestapo came to arrest them, one student tossed hundreds of pamphlets from and upper story window down into the square below. The students were arrested, tortured for four days, then publicly guillotined. Today, these pamphlets have been embedded in the granite around the square, and the White Rose monument was built in honor of all the students who stood against Hitler. Every day someone replaces the rose, and others place pebbles around it.

At this point Justin noted something we hadn’t quite thought of before: that after WW2, nationalism and patriotism became sentiments the Germans were ashamed of. Until this WC, flags were not flown, songs were not sung. The WC has imbued a new life to German nationalism, tinting it with positive connotations, moving forward from past hurts.

M said WW2 is a very touchy subject here, especially among the older generation. It is still illegal to own a copy of Mein Kampf. Both M and Justin seemed to think the younger generation is more open to history, better able to study and explore the events without revisiting the horror.

• English Garden, stopping briefly at the rebuilt Chinese Tower biergarten – a gift from the Chinese in the Prussian era – though we didn’t even get a beer for the road, whizzing past the Greek Temple, and watching the surfers. We wound down a shady path along the Isar River, no longer suffering rain (though my legs continued to itch), but sloshing through mud and puddles.
  
  
  Me at the Chinese Tower (J's pic)
  
  
  J with the Greek Temple (J's pic)
  
  
  Surfen verboten (J's pic)
  
  
• The oddly ornate (for a Protestant church, anyway) first Protestant church in Munich
  
  (J's pic)
  
  
• Volksbad (Munich’s first public bath)
  
  (J's pic)
  
  
• Bavarian National Museum

We lined up our bikes for lockage outside the Hofbräuhaus, then walked around the corner to Augustiner Am Platzl. It was a good thing, because we were close to fainting from the need for meat and beer.


The longest bike lock ever (J's pic)

Justin explained our beer selection – Helles, lightest and least flavorful; Weißbier, wheat beer; Dunkelweiß, darkest, for purists only, “like drinking a loaf of bread” (not really – it’s nowhere near as heavy as Guinness); and the Radler, an “abomination” (I still like it). Out of ~60 people, J and I were 2 of only 4 who ordered the Dunkelweiß (how’s that for math post-beers?). All the sorority girls on the tour went “Like, what was the lightest?” Ugh.

J and I shared a pork knuckle, kind of a mini-pork roast, and a great meal with the four non-college folk on the tour: D & E from WA, a married couple about our age, and B & K from Las Vegas. B is E’s uncle, and K is originally from Germany. B told us a lot of cool facts about Germany, and stories of places they’ve been. E (a world history teacher) and I commiserated about D and J’s lack of history knowledge, and our awe at all the amazingly significant things we’re seeing (she totally got my excitement over the Gutenburg Bible – “It changed the world!”).


J, me, K, B, E, and D at the Augustiner Am Platzl (J's pic)

We settled our tab and headed back to put away the bikes and pay for the tour. As soon as we got back on the bikes the sorority girls started whining about how their vaginas were bruised from the bikes. Over and over. Rather than being my know-it-all self and giving them an anatomy lesson to tell them their vaginas were NOT in fact the bruised appendages, I just went elsewhere. I’m sure they felt better last night when they went out to “get tanked like everyone else! Jell-o shots rock!” Since they hadn’t really been able to ride the bikes, and were bitching about how uncomfortable the California Cruisers were, I didn’t feel that sorry for them.

Tour finished, we headed out shopping. I bought some junk for folks back home, and a beer stein printed upside down for me (the Aggie in me couldn’t resist).

Some other Munich sights:


The Neues Rathaus (© hermitthecrab 2006)


A Munich street – believe it or not, I was standing at the edge of a crushing crowd (© hermitthecrab 2006)


Toys! (J's pic)


A brain-assed lion, just for P (J's pic)

With almost no rest, we went to dinner at a more traditional Bavarian place, the Bratwursthertzl, among smoke and almost no English whatsoever. Not a bad thing considering how sick we were of Americans. We couldn’t go anywhere in the city center without landing in the middle of a horde of tourists, something we haven’t experienced in any other city so far. I had more Käsespätzle for dinner, and a Radler, making me officially the child of the group. Oh, and Kaiserschmarrn for dessert, much better at this place than last.


Mmm...kaiserschmarrn (J's pic)

This morning before we caught the train M took us to have a traditional Bavarian breakfast: weißbier, white sausages, and pretzels. Traditionally, the white sausages can’t “hear the noon bells toll,” and we gobbled them just in time. The one beer also made me quite a bit drunk, and I wish I could start every day that way.

The train now is nice and cool, quiet, and not terribly crowded. Thank goodness.

Except for my family and pets, I really don’t have much of a feeling of homesickness the way I did in Russia. I will miss Germany, the ease of transportation, the relaxed atmosphere, the outdoor cafés. They’re allowed by law to have 1 L of beer at lunch, even in the office. Except for wheat beers, no additives and preservatives are allowed in the beer. They get 5+ weeks of vacation, more holidays, and rarely work weekends or overtime. America sux. :(

Go to next entry: Stuttgart

posted by Lyle Skains @ 11:43 AM 0 comments