Sorry about Naples, Rome and Berlin never actually being typed up. It will happen. At some point.
Meanwhile...
Mwahahaha. So, we were promised a 30€ rebate from the program if we go see a show on our own. Some combination team of Levi, Jackie, Kareem, and Anne convinced Shanga and Julie that this counts as a show. That's right, this. To be fair, they actually do have two shows, but it's not exactly the focus of the place.
Tropical Islands is basically a piece of the tropics indoors. It has a rainforest, a beach, a lagoon, gorgeous architecture in the styles of various warm countries, a tower of water slides, and a large spa section. All in freaking Germany. And we essentially get free admission, since a ticket to both halves of the building (spa and beach) is 25,50€. Oddly enough, the water slides are 3€ each, but I'm not too worried, considering the rebate on the admission.
I'm a little nervous about the spa, as it's required to be naked in the saunas and steam rooms. You might get a fluffy white towel; I am unsure about this. The spa has various skin treatments (mud, scrubby salt) for 4,50€ or 5,50€. It's a bit to pay, but, an actual skin treatment in an actual spa? I repeat, an actual skin treatment in an actual spa? The prices of the massages aren't listed online, so I probably won't get one of those, but...this is going to be so great.
I want this.
You have no idea how pleased with this I am. I love warm beachy places. That day on Capri was magic. Last time I was in Hawaii, I spent the last two days saying, "And you're sure we have to go home?" Why do I go to school in Seattle? Why did I decide to do study abroad in Berlin? Mmmm. No idea. (Haha, can't you just see me trying to sunbathe and swim in Lake Washington?)
I just can't decide what to take with me!
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Okay, I didn't realize I hadn't posted MY vlog
This is my vlog, from Friday, August 29th. I signed up for the first Friday so I'd have time to get settled in, but it would be out of the way fast, and that day just happened to be the day we went to Sachsenhausen. Later that night, Elizabeth, Rachel S., Prano and I went to the Kreuzberg Carnival.
Also, a special bonus, here is Michael's vlog. I like the last shot.
Also, a special bonus, here is Michael's vlog. I like the last shot.
Two other blogs
This is Rachel's, based on last Wednesday. (She got the date wrong...) A couple of the things you probably won't get without the whole story, but feel free to ask.
This is Prano's, based on our second day here. It's very sweet and cute.
This is Prano's, based on our second day here. It's very sweet and cute.
Monday, September 1, 2008
Luzern
Luzern was a gorgeous little Swiss tourist town. It had everything you could want – an amazing lake, a decent mountain, and that adorable Swiss architecture. Stone buildings for everyone!
The first train out was a 6.04, and got us to Luzern some time around 7.30, I don’t remember. We checked in at our hostel (a bus-ride from the city center) and left our luggage in their lockers.
We walked most of the way into town, rode a bus for a few blocks, and then went south to get coffee at a non-tourist place the woman at the desk had recommended. She originally pointed out Starbucks, but said it was expensive, and noted our scandalized Seattleite faces. There was road construction, but Café Salü finally appeared. We ordered two cappuccinos, but they didn’t take cards or Euros, so I was a little bit worried until we finally convinced them to take 3 Euros for the 4 CHF coffee.
The cappuccinos were served in mugs, with a dusting of cocoa as a sort of decoration on the saucer. I never order cappuccinos at home, so I’m not sure what’s standard, but these were thick, bitter coffee under milk foam about three inches thick, with cocoa powder on top. The ideal sip had cocoa-covered foam and a touch of the coffee in it, but this was a lot of multitasking for a coffee novice. Once I’d about gotten the hang of tasting it all, rather than just tasteless foam or too-bitter coffee, it was excellent. I really wanted a photo of it, but didn’t feel comfortable breaking out my camera among all those non-tourists.
We walked from there in the direction of the old town, stopping at a Geldautomat (I believe you can guess what that means). I thought 50 CHF for one day in town might be too much, until MG pointed out: Swiss chocolate. CHF, or Swiss Francs, were close to even with the dollar while we were there.
Our first stop was the Kappellbrücke (“Chapel Bridge”). It’s the bridge next to the Jesuit church, and had flowers all along the sides, and dates back to the 14th Century. Like practically all old bridges, it had a thatch-y roof covering it, and under that roof were triangle-shaped paintings. Those in the Kappellbrücke looked mostly like medieval war scenes, to me at least. Not necessarily fighting, but they seem to be full of knights and such. The tourist information says they are scenes from Swiss history. These were the original paintings dating back to the 17th Century, most of which were destroyed in a fire. The surviving paintings are there because the fire didn’t damage the two sections closest to the banks on either side, and because some paintings had been removed when the bridge was modified and shortened before the fire.
We walked across it, being snaphappy at every chance. The lake is full of swans, the waterfront has some nice restaurants, the Jesuit church is impressive, the mountains were so picturesque, etc. I took pictures of a number of the paintings.
From the far edge of the bridge, we walked along the expensive restaurants on the water’s edge, crossed at a newer bridge, took more photos of swans, and headed toward the Spreuer Brücke. (The name refers to the fact that this is the only place it was okay to dump chaff from wheat, spreu, into the river.) It was completed in 1408, making it the oldest covered bridge in Europe. It doesn’t quite run over the lake, but the river that comes out of the lake. The path we happened to take to it narrowed from a wide, comfortable sidewalk into a narrow sidewalk between a sheer, doorless building and a rushing river.
The triangle paintings in the Spreuer Brücke were put there between 1626 and 1635, and represent “The Dance of Death.” My pictures of those didn’t come out quite as well. In the middle of the bridge was a little room on one side with a statue of Mary, stained glass windows, and an extremely neglected-looking crucifix, covered in cobwebs and dead gnats.
I took a couple pictures of the supports of the bridge’s roof on one side; massive chunks of wood and ancient-looking metal.
Part of the river was dammed – two dams next to each other, one very old looking, one modern-looking. The spillway, for the old one, consisted of a bunch of boards, vertical like in a fence and shaped at the top like an expensive fence, not-quite-flush with the old-style paved ground. I don’t know exactly how that worked, and apparently I missed the sign that explained.
From there, we went shopping. (Yay.) We walked up a fairly wide cobblestone street, stopping at a department store called Coop. (I don’t know if it’s Coop as in chicken coop, co-op farming, something in German, something in Italian…) As Luzern is primarily a tourist town, it had an entire chocolate department, which was right by the door. Mary Grace spent 25 CHF on chocolate right there; I conservatively bought 3 bars and a box of Smarties and said I could come back if I wanted anything else. Other departments seemed similar to Macy’s – clothing, watches, jewelry, housewares. It also had a grocery store in the basement, a restaurant in the top floor, and random things such as a large yarn collection.
At this point, we’d been up for about 28 hours with a couple small naps. We ate a very light dinner at the train station in Frankfurt the night before, and had a small breakfast in Basel. I had had an orange and half a roll. Mary Grace was hungry, and I was starving. Logically, we kept shopping.
It was only about 9.00 in the morning, so most lunch places were closed anyway. We just made our way up that now narrow cobblestone street, passing many cute stores, and looking vaguely for food. We passed bakeries, but were sick of them, and nothing they had looked like food to us at that point. Finally, though, something captured our interests! Shirts for 5 CHF!
A purple one with orange flowers was tempting, but I don’t think it would have suited my figure. MG looked into the store, however, and things seemed to be of a price we could take. It all seemed very much like a US mall store – a little was Hot Topic-esque, most was more like Pac Sun. None of it, however, seemed as tired and overdone as the clothing in malls. I walked out with two sale tank tops (2 for 9,90 CHF), which were utterly excellent: a vibrant pink tank with a black bat, and a vibrant purple tank with a raccoon. I’m sure they were getting summer clothing out and fall in.
We stopped by a bookstore or two as well before we actually found food at a little place attached to a grocery store and K Kiosk (a convenience and souvenir store chain, which was everywhere). I had a very decent Schweinbratwurst (pork sausage) and “Country Cut” potatoes. I ordered in German, for the first time of the trip, and the freaking woman shorted me. I’m certain it was intentional. I’d only been working with Francs for three hours, so I didn’t question her immediately when my change looked a little odd, but a local should have easily seen the difference between a 1 CHF and a 2 CHF coin. The size difference was probably 150-200%. Yes, I’m still angry, but with language problems and the time elapsed between getting my incorrect change and the woman returned from whatever back corner of the store she’d run to when I turned my back, I wasn’t sure I could win back my Franc.
Like I said, the sausage was a very respectable representative of meat. The potatoes may have been the best mini-jojos I’ve ever eaten. This may have been the starvation talking, however. Mary Grace’s chicken and potatoes au gratin looked good as well. Kari’s right – European ketchup is different somehow. It was a little more sour, and a little less salty, and somehow managed to taste more sophisticated. I ate everything, even after I was full, because I was totally in “you may never eat again” mode.
We waddled out of there, and found ourselves close to the Lion. We decided it was must.
I’d seen photos online, and I actually wasn’t impressed with them. From my first glimpse of the monument, though, that changed.
We passed the last shop, and a small rock cliff came into view. Small for being in the country foothills, it seemed huge within a thoroughly civilized city. The monument was enclosed in a small ring of trees, separated from the city. The cliff face was met by a shallow pool, full of coins. The ground around the pool was paved with the ubiquitous rough stone cubes with small tufts of grass between them. People stepped up to the edge and turned around for their photo continually. MG and I did this too, of course, but I was unsure how much time other tourists spent looking at the lion versus looking away from the lion.
Mary Grace and I sat on the low wall that was edging the trees. We studied the lion, the tourists, and the rest of the cliff. I threw in a 5 Euro cent coin, and MG contributed an American penny. I got up at one point to study the coins. Most were Francs and Euros. A few were American. Most of the rest were unidentifiable, but some were clearly Asian.
I sat back down on the wall. Mary Grace had already told me the story of the lion; unimpressed by the photos online, I hadn’t bothered to look it up. The lion is for the Swiss guards who died protecting Louis XIV. The lion, laying in a cave carved into the cliff, is dying. He had a spear in his side, and clutches at a shield with a fleur de lis on it. Another shield, with the Swiss cross, leans against the cave, behind his head. His face, naturally, is a look of pain. I thought he looked deeply dismayed as well, both at dying and at losing the battle. Whatever the exact look was, it was deeply moving. We sat on the little wall holding in the trees, feeling wholly mournful for the lion, but more at peace than we’d been in a while.
Beautiful and soothing as it was, we hadn’t slept in about 31 hours. We got up, and just as swiftly as we went from town to grove, we were back in gray stone again.
We figured it had to be close to 2, our check-in time, but it was only 1 when we got there. Mary Grace sat down at the computer to use the internet, but, as a continuing theme, I didn’t have the right money. I had a 20 CHF bill, and some ½ F, 10 cent, 20 cent coins, but the computers only took 1, 2, and 5 CHF coins. I wasted half an hour with brochures, pacing, and sitting on a couch eating my chocolate. Finally, the desk opened at 1:30, and I was able to get change and check in early. I paid for 20 minutes at the computers, and managed to read my email, reply to Kari, and start to check out facebook. My facebook status ended up as something like “Kristin is in Switzyg,” because I just hit random keys at the very last second before I ran out.
We went upstairs, made out beds, and gave my phone just enough charge for it to wake us up after an hour nap. I read Dexter and ate Smarties while it was charging and MG was sleeping. The Smarties were amazing – a soft gummy fruity center, with a hard M&M-like shell on the outside.
Some time while we were sleeping, it started raining. It alternated between clear, drizzling, and pouring like crazy for the rest of the day. We went out anyway, but all the gray stone that looked charming in the sunlight looked incredibly depressing in the rain. The only store we really looked at was the same department store as before, where we both bought more chocolate. MG got cherry-chili Lindt for her mother, which I desperately wanted to try, but couldn’t talk myself into buying a whole bar of. [These are presents. I will insert the actual line after the presents are given. Finally, I decided I needed one more bar of chocolate just for myself, so I bought a Lindt cherry-liqueur. You can buy Lindt in Germany, so I really didn’t want to buy it for top secret present information again.
After chocolate, we browsed through hats. I rejected the alarm clocks, because we had phones, and the alarm clocks they had were expensive and bulky. I looked at watches, and finally selected the least expensive one. I looked at locks, to replace mine that got left in Munich, but as MG said, what all did we have to steal that we actually kept in our suitcases? Everything valuable was in purses and moneybelts. The locks were three times what I paid for mine in Shopko. But at least I now own a Swiss watch.
Mary Grace found dinner at a döner place, but I didn’t have enough Francs to afford anything other than the cheese and veggie sandwiches. We stopped by the Starbucks, hoping for maybe a tasty muffin and a fruit smoothie. The pastries were 3 CHF and up, and the drinks ranged from 7 to 9. As Seattleites, we were outraged. We culturally own Starbucks. It is ours, and we will not be overcharged more than we are accustomed to. We had thought the hotel clerk had called it expensive because, as a foreigner, she could not grasp the Starbucks way, but apparently she was completely right.
Finally, we just went to a bakery. Wieder. I got a sandwich, which was entirely delicious, the best thing I’d ever eaten, for the third time that day.
We got back to the hostel. We’d napped, but we were going on 40 hours without sleeping-sleeping, without REM and such. We’d made the mistake of going to bed too early in München and resetting our clocks to mid-Russia. We agreed we would go down to the lounge and socialize for a couple hours. First, however, MG wanted to shower and look around the hostel a bit, so I laid down to read Dexter while she did that. I found myself falling asleep, but MG had an alarm clock, so she would get me up.
Some time around 5.00, I woke up with my bedside light and my glasses on. I managed to take off my glasses before falling back asleep.
I really woke up at 7:10. Our train was leaving at 7:21. I woke up MG and undoubtedly our Canadian roommate, and we checked out immediately.
The first train out was a 6.04, and got us to Luzern some time around 7.30, I don’t remember. We checked in at our hostel (a bus-ride from the city center) and left our luggage in their lockers.
We walked most of the way into town, rode a bus for a few blocks, and then went south to get coffee at a non-tourist place the woman at the desk had recommended. She originally pointed out Starbucks, but said it was expensive, and noted our scandalized Seattleite faces. There was road construction, but Café Salü finally appeared. We ordered two cappuccinos, but they didn’t take cards or Euros, so I was a little bit worried until we finally convinced them to take 3 Euros for the 4 CHF coffee.
The cappuccinos were served in mugs, with a dusting of cocoa as a sort of decoration on the saucer. I never order cappuccinos at home, so I’m not sure what’s standard, but these were thick, bitter coffee under milk foam about three inches thick, with cocoa powder on top. The ideal sip had cocoa-covered foam and a touch of the coffee in it, but this was a lot of multitasking for a coffee novice. Once I’d about gotten the hang of tasting it all, rather than just tasteless foam or too-bitter coffee, it was excellent. I really wanted a photo of it, but didn’t feel comfortable breaking out my camera among all those non-tourists.
We walked from there in the direction of the old town, stopping at a Geldautomat (I believe you can guess what that means). I thought 50 CHF for one day in town might be too much, until MG pointed out: Swiss chocolate. CHF, or Swiss Francs, were close to even with the dollar while we were there.
Our first stop was the Kappellbrücke (“Chapel Bridge”). It’s the bridge next to the Jesuit church, and had flowers all along the sides, and dates back to the 14th Century. Like practically all old bridges, it had a thatch-y roof covering it, and under that roof were triangle-shaped paintings. Those in the Kappellbrücke looked mostly like medieval war scenes, to me at least. Not necessarily fighting, but they seem to be full of knights and such. The tourist information says they are scenes from Swiss history. These were the original paintings dating back to the 17th Century, most of which were destroyed in a fire. The surviving paintings are there because the fire didn’t damage the two sections closest to the banks on either side, and because some paintings had been removed when the bridge was modified and shortened before the fire.
We walked across it, being snaphappy at every chance. The lake is full of swans, the waterfront has some nice restaurants, the Jesuit church is impressive, the mountains were so picturesque, etc. I took pictures of a number of the paintings.
From the far edge of the bridge, we walked along the expensive restaurants on the water’s edge, crossed at a newer bridge, took more photos of swans, and headed toward the Spreuer Brücke. (The name refers to the fact that this is the only place it was okay to dump chaff from wheat, spreu, into the river.) It was completed in 1408, making it the oldest covered bridge in Europe. It doesn’t quite run over the lake, but the river that comes out of the lake. The path we happened to take to it narrowed from a wide, comfortable sidewalk into a narrow sidewalk between a sheer, doorless building and a rushing river.
The triangle paintings in the Spreuer Brücke were put there between 1626 and 1635, and represent “The Dance of Death.” My pictures of those didn’t come out quite as well. In the middle of the bridge was a little room on one side with a statue of Mary, stained glass windows, and an extremely neglected-looking crucifix, covered in cobwebs and dead gnats.
I took a couple pictures of the supports of the bridge’s roof on one side; massive chunks of wood and ancient-looking metal.
Part of the river was dammed – two dams next to each other, one very old looking, one modern-looking. The spillway, for the old one, consisted of a bunch of boards, vertical like in a fence and shaped at the top like an expensive fence, not-quite-flush with the old-style paved ground. I don’t know exactly how that worked, and apparently I missed the sign that explained.
From there, we went shopping. (Yay.) We walked up a fairly wide cobblestone street, stopping at a department store called Coop. (I don’t know if it’s Coop as in chicken coop, co-op farming, something in German, something in Italian…) As Luzern is primarily a tourist town, it had an entire chocolate department, which was right by the door. Mary Grace spent 25 CHF on chocolate right there; I conservatively bought 3 bars and a box of Smarties and said I could come back if I wanted anything else. Other departments seemed similar to Macy’s – clothing, watches, jewelry, housewares. It also had a grocery store in the basement, a restaurant in the top floor, and random things such as a large yarn collection.
At this point, we’d been up for about 28 hours with a couple small naps. We ate a very light dinner at the train station in Frankfurt the night before, and had a small breakfast in Basel. I had had an orange and half a roll. Mary Grace was hungry, and I was starving. Logically, we kept shopping.
It was only about 9.00 in the morning, so most lunch places were closed anyway. We just made our way up that now narrow cobblestone street, passing many cute stores, and looking vaguely for food. We passed bakeries, but were sick of them, and nothing they had looked like food to us at that point. Finally, though, something captured our interests! Shirts for 5 CHF!
A purple one with orange flowers was tempting, but I don’t think it would have suited my figure. MG looked into the store, however, and things seemed to be of a price we could take. It all seemed very much like a US mall store – a little was Hot Topic-esque, most was more like Pac Sun. None of it, however, seemed as tired and overdone as the clothing in malls. I walked out with two sale tank tops (2 for 9,90 CHF), which were utterly excellent: a vibrant pink tank with a black bat, and a vibrant purple tank with a raccoon. I’m sure they were getting summer clothing out and fall in.
We stopped by a bookstore or two as well before we actually found food at a little place attached to a grocery store and K Kiosk (a convenience and souvenir store chain, which was everywhere). I had a very decent Schweinbratwurst (pork sausage) and “Country Cut” potatoes. I ordered in German, for the first time of the trip, and the freaking woman shorted me. I’m certain it was intentional. I’d only been working with Francs for three hours, so I didn’t question her immediately when my change looked a little odd, but a local should have easily seen the difference between a 1 CHF and a 2 CHF coin. The size difference was probably 150-200%. Yes, I’m still angry, but with language problems and the time elapsed between getting my incorrect change and the woman returned from whatever back corner of the store she’d run to when I turned my back, I wasn’t sure I could win back my Franc.
Like I said, the sausage was a very respectable representative of meat. The potatoes may have been the best mini-jojos I’ve ever eaten. This may have been the starvation talking, however. Mary Grace’s chicken and potatoes au gratin looked good as well. Kari’s right – European ketchup is different somehow. It was a little more sour, and a little less salty, and somehow managed to taste more sophisticated. I ate everything, even after I was full, because I was totally in “you may never eat again” mode.
We waddled out of there, and found ourselves close to the Lion. We decided it was must.
I’d seen photos online, and I actually wasn’t impressed with them. From my first glimpse of the monument, though, that changed.
We passed the last shop, and a small rock cliff came into view. Small for being in the country foothills, it seemed huge within a thoroughly civilized city. The monument was enclosed in a small ring of trees, separated from the city. The cliff face was met by a shallow pool, full of coins. The ground around the pool was paved with the ubiquitous rough stone cubes with small tufts of grass between them. People stepped up to the edge and turned around for their photo continually. MG and I did this too, of course, but I was unsure how much time other tourists spent looking at the lion versus looking away from the lion.
Mary Grace and I sat on the low wall that was edging the trees. We studied the lion, the tourists, and the rest of the cliff. I threw in a 5 Euro cent coin, and MG contributed an American penny. I got up at one point to study the coins. Most were Francs and Euros. A few were American. Most of the rest were unidentifiable, but some were clearly Asian.
I sat back down on the wall. Mary Grace had already told me the story of the lion; unimpressed by the photos online, I hadn’t bothered to look it up. The lion is for the Swiss guards who died protecting Louis XIV. The lion, laying in a cave carved into the cliff, is dying. He had a spear in his side, and clutches at a shield with a fleur de lis on it. Another shield, with the Swiss cross, leans against the cave, behind his head. His face, naturally, is a look of pain. I thought he looked deeply dismayed as well, both at dying and at losing the battle. Whatever the exact look was, it was deeply moving. We sat on the little wall holding in the trees, feeling wholly mournful for the lion, but more at peace than we’d been in a while.
Beautiful and soothing as it was, we hadn’t slept in about 31 hours. We got up, and just as swiftly as we went from town to grove, we were back in gray stone again.
We figured it had to be close to 2, our check-in time, but it was only 1 when we got there. Mary Grace sat down at the computer to use the internet, but, as a continuing theme, I didn’t have the right money. I had a 20 CHF bill, and some ½ F, 10 cent, 20 cent coins, but the computers only took 1, 2, and 5 CHF coins. I wasted half an hour with brochures, pacing, and sitting on a couch eating my chocolate. Finally, the desk opened at 1:30, and I was able to get change and check in early. I paid for 20 minutes at the computers, and managed to read my email, reply to Kari, and start to check out facebook. My facebook status ended up as something like “Kristin is in Switzyg,” because I just hit random keys at the very last second before I ran out.
We went upstairs, made out beds, and gave my phone just enough charge for it to wake us up after an hour nap. I read Dexter and ate Smarties while it was charging and MG was sleeping. The Smarties were amazing – a soft gummy fruity center, with a hard M&M-like shell on the outside.
Some time while we were sleeping, it started raining. It alternated between clear, drizzling, and pouring like crazy for the rest of the day. We went out anyway, but all the gray stone that looked charming in the sunlight looked incredibly depressing in the rain. The only store we really looked at was the same department store as before, where we both bought more chocolate. MG got cherry-chili Lindt for her mother, which I desperately wanted to try, but couldn’t talk myself into buying a whole bar of. [These are presents. I will insert the actual line after the presents are given. Finally, I decided I needed one more bar of chocolate just for myself, so I bought a Lindt cherry-liqueur. You can buy Lindt in Germany, so I really didn’t want to buy it for top secret present information again.
After chocolate, we browsed through hats. I rejected the alarm clocks, because we had phones, and the alarm clocks they had were expensive and bulky. I looked at watches, and finally selected the least expensive one. I looked at locks, to replace mine that got left in Munich, but as MG said, what all did we have to steal that we actually kept in our suitcases? Everything valuable was in purses and moneybelts. The locks were three times what I paid for mine in Shopko. But at least I now own a Swiss watch.
Mary Grace found dinner at a döner place, but I didn’t have enough Francs to afford anything other than the cheese and veggie sandwiches. We stopped by the Starbucks, hoping for maybe a tasty muffin and a fruit smoothie. The pastries were 3 CHF and up, and the drinks ranged from 7 to 9. As Seattleites, we were outraged. We culturally own Starbucks. It is ours, and we will not be overcharged more than we are accustomed to. We had thought the hotel clerk had called it expensive because, as a foreigner, she could not grasp the Starbucks way, but apparently she was completely right.
Finally, we just went to a bakery. Wieder. I got a sandwich, which was entirely delicious, the best thing I’d ever eaten, for the third time that day.
We got back to the hostel. We’d napped, but we were going on 40 hours without sleeping-sleeping, without REM and such. We’d made the mistake of going to bed too early in München and resetting our clocks to mid-Russia. We agreed we would go down to the lounge and socialize for a couple hours. First, however, MG wanted to shower and look around the hostel a bit, so I laid down to read Dexter while she did that. I found myself falling asleep, but MG had an alarm clock, so she would get me up.
Some time around 5.00, I woke up with my bedside light and my glasses on. I managed to take off my glasses before falling back asleep.
I really woke up at 7:10. Our train was leaving at 7:21. I woke up MG and undoubtedly our Canadian roommate, and we checked out immediately.
Trains and Trainstations
We got back to Frankfurt with little incident, and retrieved our luggage. The train was ten minutes late, but no harm, we had a two hour layover in Stuttgart. There, we browsed books, and we ended up splitting the third Dexter book, because we both adore Dexter. With still almost two hours left, we decided that I needed to try this thing that Germans call "beer." We almost failed to find a beer, but my occasionally excellent memory came in handy and located beer in a place we hadn’t (and probably wouldn’t have) checked. We had kleine Lowenbraus, and MG had the thought “I’ve been drinking. Even if it was just a tiny amount, I should double-check the ticket.”
It was at this point she realized that she had mistaken the arrival time in Basel for the departure time in Stuttgart, and our train had left almost the second we arrived late in Stuttgart.
We hurried down to the Reiseburo and ended up with a clerk that didn’t speak English. By that time, trying to get a train to Switzerland was difficult.
We took the next train to Karlsruhe, where we suddenly realized that the last city on the train list the Reiseburo gave us was Zürich, not Luzern. The last train to Luzern from either Basel (our next stop) or Zürich has already left.
We decided to go to Basel and just wait it out. I managed to sleep just a little on that train, until MG woke me, saying we were at Basel and needed to get off. We got out, and it was a desolate, tiny, cold station, with no walls, only a rook. Even if we were inclined to go to Zürich, the train on our schedule wasn’t leaving.
In fact, the only upcoming departure was to…Basel SBB. Apparently, there were two Basel stations, and we’d gotten off on the wrong one. So, we sat out in the cold, with no protection from the weather for 20 minutes. I got really angry at losing my only real chance to spend time in Switzerland.
We got on the train, which turned out to be an S-Bahn, not a train-train. Our tickets only covered actual trains, meaning we were riding without a ticket, schwarzfahren, for this trip. We started talking to the adorably eccentric-looking woman across the aisle. She was living in a suburb of Basel in a sort of hostel. She was the housekeeper, but I got the impression it was more like being an RA or house-sitter than an actual labor job. She offered us a room in her hostel, what amounted to the best accommodations so far on the trip, so we got out with her at Basel SBB. Unfortunately, her last tram had already left, and the next S-Bahn to her suburb was in more than an hour. She could wait for the train, or crash at an in-city friend’s place. She offered to wait the hour with us and still give us a room, but with how early we wanted to take the train to Luzern, we decided it would be easier not to.
I know this sign is blurry, but is there really a Swiss town named Frick?
We made our way to a long bench, curling up partially on top of our suitcases, so if we did happen to nap at all, people would have to wake us up to steal our stuff. I put on my money belt fro the first time of the trip, my purse strap around my torso, cuddled my luggage close, and tried not to freeze to death.
After no more than an hour of this, we gave up and sat up. MG finished Dexter, then gave it to me and returned to Oscar Wilde. We were pestered by a drunk, but ignored him. The guy sleeping on my left snored like an insane walrus. I was about ready to snap after 45 minutes of it. The police came by and woke everyone sleeping most indecorously on the floor.
The bathrooms were closed. For once in my life, I had gotten enough water, as it was free that afternoon, and the bathrooms were closed. During the day, they cost two francs, and rather than lose that money at night, they closed. Freaking….I definitely needed in there for my own rather obvious reasons, but it’s also good to note: MG and I were dressed for comparatively warm Frankfurt. Sure, it was windy out at das Haus der Andacht, but it was still warmer than the train station. I had shorts. MG had a skirt. The bench we were sitting on was aluminum and felt like ice against your skin. In America, which I was wholly missing at that point, I could use the bathroom, and we could both put on jeans, because the freaking bathrooms would be open. By around 5, I was wondering if I could hop on an early train, use its bathroom, and hop back out before it left.
I ate half a roll that I’d saved from whenever, but it wasn’t very filling, and Mary Grace had nothing at all. Finally at 5.00, the shops started opening, and we got some food. For me, an orange. For Mary Grace, an orange, a banana, a coffee, and a croissant.
It was at this point she realized that she had mistaken the arrival time in Basel for the departure time in Stuttgart, and our train had left almost the second we arrived late in Stuttgart.
We hurried down to the Reiseburo and ended up with a clerk that didn’t speak English. By that time, trying to get a train to Switzerland was difficult.
We took the next train to Karlsruhe, where we suddenly realized that the last city on the train list the Reiseburo gave us was Zürich, not Luzern. The last train to Luzern from either Basel (our next stop) or Zürich has already left.
We decided to go to Basel and just wait it out. I managed to sleep just a little on that train, until MG woke me, saying we were at Basel and needed to get off. We got out, and it was a desolate, tiny, cold station, with no walls, only a rook. Even if we were inclined to go to Zürich, the train on our schedule wasn’t leaving.
In fact, the only upcoming departure was to…Basel SBB. Apparently, there were two Basel stations, and we’d gotten off on the wrong one. So, we sat out in the cold, with no protection from the weather for 20 minutes. I got really angry at losing my only real chance to spend time in Switzerland.
We got on the train, which turned out to be an S-Bahn, not a train-train. Our tickets only covered actual trains, meaning we were riding without a ticket, schwarzfahren, for this trip. We started talking to the adorably eccentric-looking woman across the aisle. She was living in a suburb of Basel in a sort of hostel. She was the housekeeper, but I got the impression it was more like being an RA or house-sitter than an actual labor job. She offered us a room in her hostel, what amounted to the best accommodations so far on the trip, so we got out with her at Basel SBB. Unfortunately, her last tram had already left, and the next S-Bahn to her suburb was in more than an hour. She could wait for the train, or crash at an in-city friend’s place. She offered to wait the hour with us and still give us a room, but with how early we wanted to take the train to Luzern, we decided it would be easier not to.
I know this sign is blurry, but is there really a Swiss town named Frick?
We made our way to a long bench, curling up partially on top of our suitcases, so if we did happen to nap at all, people would have to wake us up to steal our stuff. I put on my money belt fro the first time of the trip, my purse strap around my torso, cuddled my luggage close, and tried not to freeze to death.
After no more than an hour of this, we gave up and sat up. MG finished Dexter, then gave it to me and returned to Oscar Wilde. We were pestered by a drunk, but ignored him. The guy sleeping on my left snored like an insane walrus. I was about ready to snap after 45 minutes of it. The police came by and woke everyone sleeping most indecorously on the floor.
The bathrooms were closed. For once in my life, I had gotten enough water, as it was free that afternoon, and the bathrooms were closed. During the day, they cost two francs, and rather than lose that money at night, they closed. Freaking….I definitely needed in there for my own rather obvious reasons, but it’s also good to note: MG and I were dressed for comparatively warm Frankfurt. Sure, it was windy out at das Haus der Andacht, but it was still warmer than the train station. I had shorts. MG had a skirt. The bench we were sitting on was aluminum and felt like ice against your skin. In America, which I was wholly missing at that point, I could use the bathroom, and we could both put on jeans, because the freaking bathrooms would be open. By around 5, I was wondering if I could hop on an early train, use its bathroom, and hop back out before it left.
I ate half a roll that I’d saved from whenever, but it wasn’t very filling, and Mary Grace had nothing at all. Finally at 5.00, the shops started opening, and we got some food. For me, an orange. For Mary Grace, an orange, a banana, a coffee, and a croissant.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Kristin's vlog of Friday the 29th
So, as you can see clearly on the google calendar (that you don't use), one of our assignments was to make a video blog of one preassigned day. My day was last Friday, when we went to Sachsenhausen, the concentration camp in the greater Berlin area.
I'm really excited about this video. That doesn't necessarily mean I think I did a good job, but I'm definitely excited about it.
Der Lange Nacht der Museem...
A post made in the same city it happened in...OMG!
So, kind of funny. I kept asking people how much the Long Night at the Museum cost, and my classmates and instructors kept saying free, and I kept doubting it. So, for those of you who want to know, a student card was 10€ on the day of the event. (That's $15.) You know, if I hadn't just spent the last three weeks at museum after museum with the expectation of the next three weeks being full of museums, I simply wasn't thrilled. If everyone else put up the cash I might have gone, but I think it was just Rachel S who bothered.
Anne, Prano, Phil (for a while), Kareem, MinJeung, Wonkyung, Jackie, Rachel K, Levi and I all went to this art market next to it. It mostly consisted of stalls with a bunch of paintings and even more prints. Practically all of them were good. I don't know if I saw more than three stalls that I didn't want a painting from. They also had some food, soap, lots of jewelry, wooden carvings, glassware and stuff, but most of it was in fact paintings. Possibly my favorite was this artist that did dozens of paintings with an ultrablue sky, ultragreen (several colors of bright green, in fact) grass, and a farm animal dropped onto the landscape like an imprecise photoshopper. Most of them were the classic Holstein cows, but there were a few sheep and pigs. Most seemed to be silkscreened paintings of Berlin, and these were basically gorgeous. I bought a card with a fox in socks, a postcard of a colorful fish, a postcard with a purple cat, and an old metal cup that I intend to use as a vase. (This made it an expensive day, as I bought a pair of earrings and a video earlier.)
After that, we sat on the museum steps and listened to the bands. It was a really great atmosphere, along the same lines as sitting in Seattle drinking coffee, but it was outdoors and a beautiful night. I bought a crepe with chocolate sauce. ^.^
So, kind of funny. I kept asking people how much the Long Night at the Museum cost, and my classmates and instructors kept saying free, and I kept doubting it. So, for those of you who want to know, a student card was 10€ on the day of the event. (That's $15.) You know, if I hadn't just spent the last three weeks at museum after museum with the expectation of the next three weeks being full of museums, I simply wasn't thrilled. If everyone else put up the cash I might have gone, but I think it was just Rachel S who bothered.
Anne, Prano, Phil (for a while), Kareem, MinJeung, Wonkyung, Jackie, Rachel K, Levi and I all went to this art market next to it. It mostly consisted of stalls with a bunch of paintings and even more prints. Practically all of them were good. I don't know if I saw more than three stalls that I didn't want a painting from. They also had some food, soap, lots of jewelry, wooden carvings, glassware and stuff, but most of it was in fact paintings. Possibly my favorite was this artist that did dozens of paintings with an ultrablue sky, ultragreen (several colors of bright green, in fact) grass, and a farm animal dropped onto the landscape like an imprecise photoshopper. Most of them were the classic Holstein cows, but there were a few sheep and pigs. Most seemed to be silkscreened paintings of Berlin, and these were basically gorgeous. I bought a card with a fox in socks, a postcard of a colorful fish, a postcard with a purple cat, and an old metal cup that I intend to use as a vase. (This made it an expensive day, as I bought a pair of earrings and a video earlier.)
After that, we sat on the museum steps and listened to the bands. It was a really great atmosphere, along the same lines as sitting in Seattle drinking coffee, but it was outdoors and a beautiful night. I bought a crepe with chocolate sauce. ^.^
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Frankfurt
There is really nothing to see in Frankfurt, and I think I rather dislike the place. It was one of Mary Grace’s must-sees, however, because one of only seven Baha’i houses of worship, das Haus der Andacht, was built in a small town nearby. MG, ever a devoted fanatic of religion and religious interaction, wanted to go to their Sunday service. So, we arrived in Frankfurt in the early afternoon on Saturday, and started following the directions from the train station to our hostel.
They were actually fairly well-written, compared to our hostel directions in other towns. So, when every turn and every block started looking creepier, it was rather discouraging. There were sex toy stores, strip joints, women who must have been professionals, and porn places. It must have been 15.00, 3:00 in the afternoon, and there were already icky men giving us ugly looks. We must have looked like the beginning, fully-dressed stage of some school-girl-fetish act. MG was even wearing her adorable fluffy blue skirt, knee-length, the exact opposite of exposing clothing. I believe I was wearing my loose, knee-length green shorts. We did not blend in.
We found our hostel just across the street and down a little ways from, of all things, a Mexican strip joint. We checked in. Inside, it was alright. The paint was bright, the colors eccentrically charming. The locks were odd, and our roommate had to let us in, even though we had the one key to the room. He was an Italian, working for Nintendo, and trying to find an actual apartment in Frankfurt. He had a good sense of humor. After introductions, he said, “So, you found a really nice neighborhood to stay in. ‘Bitches’ over there, ‘broads’ over there.” We had a good laugh, but I was feeling ill, and went to bed.
Mary Grace, meanwhile, was trying to find a Catholic church with a Saturday night mass. I curled up in bed with a mystery novel, fell asleep, and she was back when I woke up. She had gotten a little lost coming home, but whenever she started to see the sketchy part of town, she walked toward it, and eventually found her way to the hostel.
We both immediately dismissed going outside for a look around. It was probably 7:00, and the creeps had multiplied. We probably could have stood the 7:00 guys for the sake of adventure, but the thought of who would be standing around when we returned was just too much. She curled up in her bottom bunk, me in my top bunk, and we both fell asleep early again. Mostly. The pounding stripper music wouldn’t stop.
We both woke up some time around 5.00. The music was still on. We had a new roommate that had arrive at some point while I was asleep; another short-haired girl took up the fourth bed. Trying not to wake her or the Italian, I tiptoed to the door, but was unable to open it. I’d opened it from the inside the afternoon before. We only had one room key, so as long as I was in, it was my job to open the door. This time, though, it wouldn’t budge. I went back to my bunk, disheartened, and slightly ashamed.
Eventually, I realized MG was as wide awake as I was, and she realized I was awake, so we both compared notes. By that point, we’d each tried the door at least twice. We didn’t just go up and jiggle the handle, we turned, pushed, pulled, played with the bizarre lock in every way possible. And yet, the fact remained, we were inside, and the bathroom was outside. We sat there, mostly in silence. I continued reading Justice Denied. Every twenty minutes or so, one of us would try the door again. The booming stripper music remained. By about 6.30, I was getting strangely paranoid that someone had locked or jammed or superglued the door closed, and we were meant to suffer in cruel bathroomless silence. It was probably lucky at that point that I was so extremely dehydrated, but I can’t imagine it had any good effect on my mood. MG had ventured out to buy döner kebabs before her church trip the night before, but I was just too ill to eat more than a third of mine. Other than that extravagant breakfast, that was what I had that day.
Döner kebabs, by the way, are a ubiquitous Turkish sandwich you can find almost anywhere in Germany. (They were sadly absent in Italy and Switzerland.) They are cheap, and extremely tasty, and it seems like the staff is usually friendly. The meat is a giant chunk of something (maybe lamb?) that rotates on a vertical spit next to a heat source. The purveyor shaves off the toasty warm bits, and they are placed in a toasted sort of flat bread / pita bread. The sauce is either a yogurt sauce or a spicy chili sauce, sometimes garlic. They generally have some sort of lettuce or cabbage with tomato and zucchini slices. They are noticeably different, but they always remind me of the gyros everywhere on The Ave. My sister, Kari, raves about the silly things.
Some time shortly before 7.00, our new female roommate woke up. We explained we’d been having difficulties with our door, though I don’t think it was wise to say exactly how much trouble it was. She got up, fiddled with it, and the door opened easily. MG and I thanked her, and nonchalantly walked out to use the WCs. (They always seem to be called WCs, even in languages where it can’t possibly stand for anything.)
We started talking to the girl. She was from Milwaukee, and hadn’t slept a wink. My bed was decent, though the frame creaked ominously every time I got up or down, and probably if I rolled over very vigorously. She had what appeared to be a fold-up rollaway, but instead of one foldable mattress, it had two small ones. This left the metal bar in the middle completely exposed and manifestly uncomfortable. Additionally, without my extreme exhaustion/sickness/pain, the stripper music made it hard to sleep. They finally cut it out at 7.00. The Italian slept through all of this, and gave us that “Do you really have to be talking? I won’t complain, but do you really have to be talking?” look from his bed, before rolling over.
MG and I went out at that point to find some breakfast. She’d eaten all of her döner, but was also really hungry. We finally found a bakery in the train station (bakeries: another thing everywhere in Germany), and got a little bit of baked stuff. The street was almost bearable at 7.30 in the morning. After that, we sat grimly in our bunks until it was time to go catch the S-Bahn to Hofheim. We stored our luggage in the lockers at the train station, unwilling to go back to that hostel. Even at 10.00 or so, the creeps were back, and the walk to the station was unpleasant.
After catching the S-Bahn, we sat in Hofheim not really sure what to do. MG had directions from das Haus der Andacht’s site, but the bus it recommended didn’t run Sundays. (Nothing is ever open in Germany on Sundays.) There was supposed to be a taxi-shuttle that was cheaper than an actual taxi, but the directions didn’t say when it came. We asked, and we had almost an hour to wait. Eventually, after moving twice, taking pictures of the quaint little town, and reading, we caught the “taxi shuttle,” which just seemed to be a taxi, and went off to Langenheim. The taxi driver was crazy, as usual, so it was a very short trip.
There, we stepped into the visitor’s center, and were promptly offered tea by a very nice staff woman. Even I accepted, and she put everything on a nice little tea tray and led us up to a seat in the bookstore. MG went nuts, I sat and drank my tea (with sugar, sorry Kay). The books looked interesting, but tasted of research and long nights preparing for class. I didn’t buy anything, but MG collected two prayer bead sets, a card with the Arabic for the Baha’i’s major saying on it, and a book of their prayers. I picked up two very basic pamphlets on the Baha’i faith and the construction of the House of Worship.
The Baha’i faith is based on the idea that we are all one, and should probably start acting like it. For different cultures and times, God has revealed Himself in different ways, so during their services they read from the books of other religions. The House of Worship was built as the central one for all of Europe.
We went outside for a walk through the gardens, which were very sad this time of year, took some photos, and sat on some benches with trees around them. The wind was up, and I could probably have sat listening to it for longer, but we were both getting cold, so we went back into the visitors’ center, and had more tea while chatting about high school classes.
Close to 3.00, we walked up the driveway to the main building. The service was a blend of signing and reading. The singing was mindblowing. I don’t really know how to describe it, just, it was astonishing. MG claims there are videos of it on YouTube, so you can probably look that up if you wish. When I get back to regular internet, I will. The prayers were Baha’i, Torah, and New Testament. I hadn’t intended to record the signing, but I wished I’d asked in the visitors’ center if it was appropriate, because I haven’t wanted to record anything else quite that badly this trip.
Half an hour later, MG and I failed to catch a taxi. It still isn’t clear whether we waited in the wrong spot, or if it was late enough that it came after we gave up on it, or if it never came at all. The nice lady at the visitors’ center called the taxi company and gave them some very sharp comments on their service, and was going to call us a taxi when a family from Lichtenstein that was driving through Hofheim offered us a ride. A family, father, mother and teenage daughter, seemed safe enough, so we piled into the minivan. We held up a decent conversation with the mother and somewhat the daughter. The mother’s name was Trudi, and she said it was funny she ran into us because she had been thinking about Seattle just that morning. The daughter’s name was something like Sarah, and was starting on a year of community service. (She wasn’t in trouble; a year of service is a Baha’i thing.)
Click here to see the whole photo album.
They were actually fairly well-written, compared to our hostel directions in other towns. So, when every turn and every block started looking creepier, it was rather discouraging. There were sex toy stores, strip joints, women who must have been professionals, and porn places. It must have been 15.00, 3:00 in the afternoon, and there were already icky men giving us ugly looks. We must have looked like the beginning, fully-dressed stage of some school-girl-fetish act. MG was even wearing her adorable fluffy blue skirt, knee-length, the exact opposite of exposing clothing. I believe I was wearing my loose, knee-length green shorts. We did not blend in.
We found our hostel just across the street and down a little ways from, of all things, a Mexican strip joint. We checked in. Inside, it was alright. The paint was bright, the colors eccentrically charming. The locks were odd, and our roommate had to let us in, even though we had the one key to the room. He was an Italian, working for Nintendo, and trying to find an actual apartment in Frankfurt. He had a good sense of humor. After introductions, he said, “So, you found a really nice neighborhood to stay in. ‘Bitches’ over there, ‘broads’ over there.” We had a good laugh, but I was feeling ill, and went to bed.
Mary Grace, meanwhile, was trying to find a Catholic church with a Saturday night mass. I curled up in bed with a mystery novel, fell asleep, and she was back when I woke up. She had gotten a little lost coming home, but whenever she started to see the sketchy part of town, she walked toward it, and eventually found her way to the hostel.
We both immediately dismissed going outside for a look around. It was probably 7:00, and the creeps had multiplied. We probably could have stood the 7:00 guys for the sake of adventure, but the thought of who would be standing around when we returned was just too much. She curled up in her bottom bunk, me in my top bunk, and we both fell asleep early again. Mostly. The pounding stripper music wouldn’t stop.
We both woke up some time around 5.00. The music was still on. We had a new roommate that had arrive at some point while I was asleep; another short-haired girl took up the fourth bed. Trying not to wake her or the Italian, I tiptoed to the door, but was unable to open it. I’d opened it from the inside the afternoon before. We only had one room key, so as long as I was in, it was my job to open the door. This time, though, it wouldn’t budge. I went back to my bunk, disheartened, and slightly ashamed.
Eventually, I realized MG was as wide awake as I was, and she realized I was awake, so we both compared notes. By that point, we’d each tried the door at least twice. We didn’t just go up and jiggle the handle, we turned, pushed, pulled, played with the bizarre lock in every way possible. And yet, the fact remained, we were inside, and the bathroom was outside. We sat there, mostly in silence. I continued reading Justice Denied. Every twenty minutes or so, one of us would try the door again. The booming stripper music remained. By about 6.30, I was getting strangely paranoid that someone had locked or jammed or superglued the door closed, and we were meant to suffer in cruel bathroomless silence. It was probably lucky at that point that I was so extremely dehydrated, but I can’t imagine it had any good effect on my mood. MG had ventured out to buy döner kebabs before her church trip the night before, but I was just too ill to eat more than a third of mine. Other than that extravagant breakfast, that was what I had that day.
Döner kebabs, by the way, are a ubiquitous Turkish sandwich you can find almost anywhere in Germany. (They were sadly absent in Italy and Switzerland.) They are cheap, and extremely tasty, and it seems like the staff is usually friendly. The meat is a giant chunk of something (maybe lamb?) that rotates on a vertical spit next to a heat source. The purveyor shaves off the toasty warm bits, and they are placed in a toasted sort of flat bread / pita bread. The sauce is either a yogurt sauce or a spicy chili sauce, sometimes garlic. They generally have some sort of lettuce or cabbage with tomato and zucchini slices. They are noticeably different, but they always remind me of the gyros everywhere on The Ave. My sister, Kari, raves about the silly things.
Some time shortly before 7.00, our new female roommate woke up. We explained we’d been having difficulties with our door, though I don’t think it was wise to say exactly how much trouble it was. She got up, fiddled with it, and the door opened easily. MG and I thanked her, and nonchalantly walked out to use the WCs. (They always seem to be called WCs, even in languages where it can’t possibly stand for anything.)
We started talking to the girl. She was from Milwaukee, and hadn’t slept a wink. My bed was decent, though the frame creaked ominously every time I got up or down, and probably if I rolled over very vigorously. She had what appeared to be a fold-up rollaway, but instead of one foldable mattress, it had two small ones. This left the metal bar in the middle completely exposed and manifestly uncomfortable. Additionally, without my extreme exhaustion/sickness/pain, the stripper music made it hard to sleep. They finally cut it out at 7.00. The Italian slept through all of this, and gave us that “Do you really have to be talking? I won’t complain, but do you really have to be talking?” look from his bed, before rolling over.
MG and I went out at that point to find some breakfast. She’d eaten all of her döner, but was also really hungry. We finally found a bakery in the train station (bakeries: another thing everywhere in Germany), and got a little bit of baked stuff. The street was almost bearable at 7.30 in the morning. After that, we sat grimly in our bunks until it was time to go catch the S-Bahn to Hofheim. We stored our luggage in the lockers at the train station, unwilling to go back to that hostel. Even at 10.00 or so, the creeps were back, and the walk to the station was unpleasant.
After catching the S-Bahn, we sat in Hofheim not really sure what to do. MG had directions from das Haus der Andacht’s site, but the bus it recommended didn’t run Sundays. (Nothing is ever open in Germany on Sundays.) There was supposed to be a taxi-shuttle that was cheaper than an actual taxi, but the directions didn’t say when it came. We asked, and we had almost an hour to wait. Eventually, after moving twice, taking pictures of the quaint little town, and reading, we caught the “taxi shuttle,” which just seemed to be a taxi, and went off to Langenheim. The taxi driver was crazy, as usual, so it was a very short trip.
There, we stepped into the visitor’s center, and were promptly offered tea by a very nice staff woman. Even I accepted, and she put everything on a nice little tea tray and led us up to a seat in the bookstore. MG went nuts, I sat and drank my tea (with sugar, sorry Kay). The books looked interesting, but tasted of research and long nights preparing for class. I didn’t buy anything, but MG collected two prayer bead sets, a card with the Arabic for the Baha’i’s major saying on it, and a book of their prayers. I picked up two very basic pamphlets on the Baha’i faith and the construction of the House of Worship.
The Baha’i faith is based on the idea that we are all one, and should probably start acting like it. For different cultures and times, God has revealed Himself in different ways, so during their services they read from the books of other religions. The House of Worship was built as the central one for all of Europe.
We went outside for a walk through the gardens, which were very sad this time of year, took some photos, and sat on some benches with trees around them. The wind was up, and I could probably have sat listening to it for longer, but we were both getting cold, so we went back into the visitors’ center, and had more tea while chatting about high school classes.
Close to 3.00, we walked up the driveway to the main building. The service was a blend of signing and reading. The singing was mindblowing. I don’t really know how to describe it, just, it was astonishing. MG claims there are videos of it on YouTube, so you can probably look that up if you wish. When I get back to regular internet, I will. The prayers were Baha’i, Torah, and New Testament. I hadn’t intended to record the signing, but I wished I’d asked in the visitors’ center if it was appropriate, because I haven’t wanted to record anything else quite that badly this trip.
Half an hour later, MG and I failed to catch a taxi. It still isn’t clear whether we waited in the wrong spot, or if it was late enough that it came after we gave up on it, or if it never came at all. The nice lady at the visitors’ center called the taxi company and gave them some very sharp comments on their service, and was going to call us a taxi when a family from Lichtenstein that was driving through Hofheim offered us a ride. A family, father, mother and teenage daughter, seemed safe enough, so we piled into the minivan. We held up a decent conversation with the mother and somewhat the daughter. The mother’s name was Trudi, and she said it was funny she ran into us because she had been thinking about Seattle just that morning. The daughter’s name was something like Sarah, and was starting on a year of community service. (She wasn’t in trouble; a year of service is a Baha’i thing.)
Click here to see the whole photo album.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
München - this is where my blog starts to be difficult to load
We didn't really spend that much time in München, to be honest, and much of that time was trying to recover from exhaustion. It was a very pretty European city, replete with older buildings and newer ones, narrow streets in places, and such.
Eventually, without dying, we touched down at the München airport. We took the S-Bahn (a rapid subway train) to the Hauptbahnhof, the main train station. Our hostel was located conveniently nearby, and as soon as we found it, we actually agreed it was convenient. We couldn’t check in for a few hours, but we left our suitcases in a tiny luggage closet and went for a walk around München.
Our S-Bahn pass was good for the day, so we took a quick train down to Marionplatz to get a good look at the Frauenkirche. Marionplatz, named for the Virgin Mary, the Frauenkirche meaning Church of our Lady. München's Frauenkirche was built during the 15th Century and renovated since WWII damaged the structure. The façade was under a little bit of construction, but we got photos of the inside and the good part of the outside. We went to H&M, a giant department store, and I bought a replacement messenger bag. It’s a dark gray, with leather details that make it look a little like it’s staring at you.
Eventually we went back to our hostel and checked in. Our room was a cute little 8 or 10 bed dorm, but each person got their own wooden locker, and the beds were comfortable.
The next order of business was to head down to the Munich HBF (Hauptbahnhof, central train station) to make reservations for trains we were worried about. The ticket guy we were talking to was not the most skilled in English, but was extremely serious about getting us the right trains, and making sure we had the times we definitely liked best. It took us about an hour and a half to arrange eight days worth of trains in a satisfactory way, and by the time we stumbled home, we were exhausted.
Intending to take a nap, we woke up eleven hours later at about 4 in the morning local time. American time zones tend to make American travelers stay up late and have problems getting up in the morning, but with maybe four hours of restless sleep at Mary Grace’s house, restless napping in an airplane, and nothing else, we accidentally set ourselves to something more like Russian time or Australian time. We got on the hostel computers for twenty minutes or so, just enough time to send Mom and Dad and Kari emails about the seat belt, and about a German man who mistook me for another German and kept trying to ask me directions.
This hostel had a good free breakfast, so we filled up with fruit salad, coffee, juice, rolls, honey, salami, cereal, yogurt, and/or cheese at 7.00, and went for a walk through gardens and town squares. We got back around 10.00, and filled up on fruit salad, coffee, juice, rolls, honey, salami, cereal, yogurt, and/or cheese, and wrapped up a couple rolls to go before heading off to Frankfurt.
Click here for the whole photo album.
Eventually, without dying, we touched down at the München airport. We took the S-Bahn (a rapid subway train) to the Hauptbahnhof, the main train station. Our hostel was located conveniently nearby, and as soon as we found it, we actually agreed it was convenient. We couldn’t check in for a few hours, but we left our suitcases in a tiny luggage closet and went for a walk around München.
Our S-Bahn pass was good for the day, so we took a quick train down to Marionplatz to get a good look at the Frauenkirche. Marionplatz, named for the Virgin Mary, the Frauenkirche meaning Church of our Lady. München's Frauenkirche was built during the 15th Century and renovated since WWII damaged the structure. The façade was under a little bit of construction, but we got photos of the inside and the good part of the outside. We went to H&M, a giant department store, and I bought a replacement messenger bag. It’s a dark gray, with leather details that make it look a little like it’s staring at you.
Eventually we went back to our hostel and checked in. Our room was a cute little 8 or 10 bed dorm, but each person got their own wooden locker, and the beds were comfortable.
The next order of business was to head down to the Munich HBF (Hauptbahnhof, central train station) to make reservations for trains we were worried about. The ticket guy we were talking to was not the most skilled in English, but was extremely serious about getting us the right trains, and making sure we had the times we definitely liked best. It took us about an hour and a half to arrange eight days worth of trains in a satisfactory way, and by the time we stumbled home, we were exhausted.
Intending to take a nap, we woke up eleven hours later at about 4 in the morning local time. American time zones tend to make American travelers stay up late and have problems getting up in the morning, but with maybe four hours of restless sleep at Mary Grace’s house, restless napping in an airplane, and nothing else, we accidentally set ourselves to something more like Russian time or Australian time. We got on the hostel computers for twenty minutes or so, just enough time to send Mom and Dad and Kari emails about the seat belt, and about a German man who mistook me for another German and kept trying to ask me directions.
This hostel had a good free breakfast, so we filled up with fruit salad, coffee, juice, rolls, honey, salami, cereal, yogurt, and/or cheese at 7.00, and went for a walk through gardens and town squares. We got back around 10.00, and filled up on fruit salad, coffee, juice, rolls, honey, salami, cereal, yogurt, and/or cheese, and wrapped up a couple rolls to go before heading off to Frankfurt.
Click here for the whole photo album.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Planes
So, we left Seattle at about 6 in the morning. I don’t remember much of Seattle-Philly, except that I was between two strangers and I curled up on top of my fold-down tray and tried not to think of Fight Club.
The second flight was less pleasant, despite the better seating. MG and I actually got a seat together, but after napping for the first flight, I was unable to sleep for the second. I’d borrowed my sister’s green messenger bag for the trip, and ten feet from the plane, the strap broke. So, I was sitting there fuming. Every time I tried to get something out of the bag, the strap would flap into the aisle and demand that I move it.
The really memorable part of the flight was vaguely horrifying. I’d dropped my pencil or deck of cards or book or something. I bent over to get it, and felt the seatbelt pop. I looked down to the buckle, and it was still attached. Um? With the gentle strain of a bending summer-fattened Kristin, the seatbelt came loose from the seat.
I was sitting there freaking out. The airlines insist we wear seatbelts. Obviously they keep us from just falling over during turbulence, but the absolute “SEATBELT SIGN ON” thing always left the impression that it could help during a bad landing, or even a small crash. Maybe the jet would miss the end of the runway, and run smack into a building, and those obedient few would crawl out saying, “Wow, I’m sure glad I was wearing my seatbelt. I could have really been hurt,” and those who shunned the Seatbelt light would be sitting there, freaking dead.
I pushed the flight attendant button, and one of those really stereotypical overly-made-up middle aged women arrived. I just held up my seatbelt. She gave me this really bored look, and told me to stand up. She picked up the seat cushion, and started trying to snap the belt into place. She couldn’t quite get it, but another flight attendant snapped it in right away.
So, some conclusions could be drawn from this.
1. No one was worried, SO
2. This must happen all the time, SO
3. It is not just my random bad luck, SO
4. There are a number of faulty seatbelts everywhere that will give out with a few pounds of pressure, SO
5. These seatbelts have little to do with our safety, SO
6. Why do the airplane people keep telling us, fasten your seatbelts, keep your seatbelts fastened, when they see this enough to look bored?
7. Also, I’m a little bit paranoid.
I was tempted to just leave the stupid thing unbuckled for the rest of the flight, but...I buckled it every time anyway. I just wasn’t happy about it. Back to Fight Club, anyone? (I really need to stop watching that so much. Brad Pitt’s character asserts that the oxygen masks are just there to give us an oxygen high, to make us more cooperative. But like I said, Brad Pitt.)
The second flight was less pleasant, despite the better seating. MG and I actually got a seat together, but after napping for the first flight, I was unable to sleep for the second. I’d borrowed my sister’s green messenger bag for the trip, and ten feet from the plane, the strap broke. So, I was sitting there fuming. Every time I tried to get something out of the bag, the strap would flap into the aisle and demand that I move it.
The really memorable part of the flight was vaguely horrifying. I’d dropped my pencil or deck of cards or book or something. I bent over to get it, and felt the seatbelt pop. I looked down to the buckle, and it was still attached. Um? With the gentle strain of a bending summer-fattened Kristin, the seatbelt came loose from the seat.
I was sitting there freaking out. The airlines insist we wear seatbelts. Obviously they keep us from just falling over during turbulence, but the absolute “SEATBELT SIGN ON” thing always left the impression that it could help during a bad landing, or even a small crash. Maybe the jet would miss the end of the runway, and run smack into a building, and those obedient few would crawl out saying, “Wow, I’m sure glad I was wearing my seatbelt. I could have really been hurt,” and those who shunned the Seatbelt light would be sitting there, freaking dead.
I pushed the flight attendant button, and one of those really stereotypical overly-made-up middle aged women arrived. I just held up my seatbelt. She gave me this really bored look, and told me to stand up. She picked up the seat cushion, and started trying to snap the belt into place. She couldn’t quite get it, but another flight attendant snapped it in right away.
So, some conclusions could be drawn from this.
1. No one was worried, SO
2. This must happen all the time, SO
3. It is not just my random bad luck, SO
4. There are a number of faulty seatbelts everywhere that will give out with a few pounds of pressure, SO
5. These seatbelts have little to do with our safety, SO
6. Why do the airplane people keep telling us, fasten your seatbelts, keep your seatbelts fastened, when they see this enough to look bored?
7. Also, I’m a little bit paranoid.
I was tempted to just leave the stupid thing unbuckled for the rest of the flight, but...I buckled it every time anyway. I just wasn’t happy about it. Back to Fight Club, anyone? (I really need to stop watching that so much. Brad Pitt’s character asserts that the oxygen masks are just there to give us an oxygen high, to make us more cooperative. But like I said, Brad Pitt.)
Sunday, August 24, 2008
I am angry.
Remember how I kept saying I'd fill you in when I got to Berlin?
Julie said said said we'd have internet. Maybe not in every apartment, but we'd have a wifi spot in the building. Sooooo guess what? Kein internets!
I am currently sitting in a cafe a decent walk from our apartments, because its internet is free. (You are still obliged to order something, and it is not cheap.)
I am pissed. Everyone I've talked to is pissed. I could pretty much kill at this point. If Julie had actually, you know, come through, I probably would be up to Switzerland in my story by now. As it is, this blog seems incessantly useless, because I am not carrying my widescreen laptop through Kreuzberg every day. I may be able to type something beforehand and then do one big post in a week or so.
I don't think I can even afford to update my HOMEWORK blog. That's what at least Rachel is telling Julie, and I plan to do the same. I'm not paying for these expensive little cafe thingies when I have good, cheap food in the apartment. We paid good money for these apartments, this program, and we expect internet, particularly because the program demands we BLOG everything.
I shall try not to explode.
Julie said said said we'd have internet. Maybe not in every apartment, but we'd have a wifi spot in the building. Sooooo guess what? Kein internets!
I am currently sitting in a cafe a decent walk from our apartments, because its internet is free. (You are still obliged to order something, and it is not cheap.)
I am pissed. Everyone I've talked to is pissed. I could pretty much kill at this point. If Julie had actually, you know, come through, I probably would be up to Switzerland in my story by now. As it is, this blog seems incessantly useless, because I am not carrying my widescreen laptop through Kreuzberg every day. I may be able to type something beforehand and then do one big post in a week or so.
I don't think I can even afford to update my HOMEWORK blog. That's what at least Rachel is telling Julie, and I plan to do the same. I'm not paying for these expensive little cafe thingies when I have good, cheap food in the apartment. We paid good money for these apartments, this program, and we expect internet, particularly because the program demands we BLOG everything.
I shall try not to explode.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Don't worry, less than a week until I have time to do an extended entry.
There are people waiting for the computers, and a 30 minute limit. Let me say that Roma has been fabulous, and I can't wait to upload my pictures and show everyone.
Forgive me, but I have no time to spellcheck these...
We've been to:
the Colloseum
Palantine hill
the Roman Forum
Piazza Popola
Piazza Navona
Piazza Spagna, including the Spanish Steps
St. Peter's, including the Dome and the Crypts
the Vatican Museum, including the Sistine Chapel
the Pantheon
the Fountain of Trevi
a number of smaller churches and fountains and stuff
And, well, they were amazing. I have ten minutes left, so, yes, description later.
Buongiorno! Non posso mangiare i frutti di mare. Arrivederci!
Forgive me, but I have no time to spellcheck these...
We've been to:
the Colloseum
Palantine hill
the Roman Forum
Piazza Popola
Piazza Navona
Piazza Spagna, including the Spanish Steps
St. Peter's, including the Dome and the Crypts
the Vatican Museum, including the Sistine Chapel
the Pantheon
the Fountain of Trevi
a number of smaller churches and fountains and stuff
And, well, they were amazing. I have ten minutes left, so, yes, description later.
Buongiorno! Non posso mangiare i frutti di mare. Arrivederci!
Friday, August 15, 2008
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
So, I'm in Napoli!
Wow. It is really astonishing how hard it is to get around without Italian. Ah well. We haven't really done anything besides get to the hostel yet. I'm waiting for MG to get ready, then I think the plan is going to a flea market? I have a novel-length account of my exploits in a notebook (I had to do something on the train), and I'll probably transcribe abrdiged sections to this once I get to Berlin. It feels weird trying to write anything until then.
Luzern has been my favorite so far. I did not expect to be so moved by the lion, and I can't be sure it wasn't partially because I hadn't slept in over 30 hours, but it was amazing.
Just in general though? The Swiss landscape, the old stone buildings, the beautiful mountain lake...all perfectly amazing.
The train ride through the Alps was also pretty impressive. We only wrote in our journals while we were in tunnels, and spent the rest of the time looking around. There were all these incredibly adorable little towns! In parts, the mountains were clear, in others there was mist exactly like my last hike. Then we started playing cards with a couple of guys from Holland, which is another story entirely.
So far? Italy is just plain hot.
Luzern has been my favorite so far. I did not expect to be so moved by the lion, and I can't be sure it wasn't partially because I hadn't slept in over 30 hours, but it was amazing.
Just in general though? The Swiss landscape, the old stone buildings, the beautiful mountain lake...all perfectly amazing.
The train ride through the Alps was also pretty impressive. We only wrote in our journals while we were in tunnels, and spent the rest of the time looking around. There were all these incredibly adorable little towns! In parts, the mountains were clear, in others there was mist exactly like my last hike. Then we started playing cards with a couple of guys from Holland, which is another story entirely.
So far? Italy is just plain hot.
Monday, August 11, 2008
Well, I'm in Switzerland.
Do trips ever go exactly as planned?
Our time in München was gorgeous, our time in Frankfurt sucked beyond belief. Don't stay at EasyBed24! Don't do it! Humorous tales to follow when I have more than 8 minutes and a non-satanic keyboard. Suffice it to say I haven't slept in 35 hours, missed a train, and am a little bit out of it.
Luzern is gorgeous!
Our time in München was gorgeous, our time in Frankfurt sucked beyond belief. Don't stay at EasyBed24! Don't do it! Humorous tales to follow when I have more than 8 minutes and a non-satanic keyboard. Suffice it to say I haven't slept in 35 hours, missed a train, and am a little bit out of it.
Luzern is gorgeous!
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Calendar is up, but private
So, I added a link to a page with my calendar on it. Right now, my calendar is set to private, and you will be treated to a lovely blank calendar, but if you want to look at the events on it, just comment or email me (at kriscope at u dot washington dot com) with your email address. You need a google account for it to work, but they're a cinch to create.
I've added all of the tours, guest speakers, lectures, workshops, etc that Julie and Shanga (the program directors) emailed me. While we're a little overbooked right now, many of the tours look just excellent! Julie sent me a reply to my concerns, saying they plan on being flexible around interviews and whatever else we need to accomplish, but I don't plan on missing much of it.
I've added all of the tours, guest speakers, lectures, workshops, etc that Julie and Shanga (the program directors) emailed me. While we're a little overbooked right now, many of the tours look just excellent! Julie sent me a reply to my concerns, saying they plan on being flexible around interviews and whatever else we need to accomplish, but I don't plan on missing much of it.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
The schedule is finally ready!
Hooray! We have the last of our hostel reservations!
So, here is the itinerary:
So, here is the itinerary:
| Dates, Location, What I'm doing | ||
| 7-7 to 8-6 | Yakima | I've just been chilling, ever since my %^&$ing job laid me off yesterday. I have to clean up my end-of-the-school-year mess, and pack for Europe and Seattle, but otherwise I'm just watering the plants and napping all day. I'm getting to know cable programming fairly well again. |
| 8-6 to 8-7 | Seattle | I believe my parents are giving me a ride over to Seattle, and I'm spending the night at Mary Grace's family's house, until we wake up at an unholy hour to go to the airport. |
| 8/7 to 8/8 | The Sky | MG and I fly from SeaTac to Philly International to Munich. |
| 8/8 to 8/9 | Munich/München | We're essentially just spending the night there...I don't know what we'll do besides recover. |
| 8/9 to 8/10 | Frankfurt | This is one of Mary Grace's destinations. There is a church about 45 minutes away from town that she wanted to go to. I think she said it was B'hai, one of the few churches of that religion left. I'm guessing it will be very interesting. |
| 8/10 to 8/12 | Lucerne/Luzern | I wanted to visit the Alps, and Switzerland sounded interesting. Luzern is a nice tourist city there, by a lake in/near the mountains. |
| 8/12 to 8/16 | Naples/Napoli | You would not believe how difficult it is to book a hotel on the Mediterranean in August! We finally got a hostel in Naples for a reasonable price. It's close to the waterfront (by which I think it means docks), but at the very least we can take city buses to the beach. |
| 8/16 to 8/22 | Rome/Roma | This is for both Mary Grace and myself. There are so many things to see, I don't even know what to do! Mary Grace, because she is a practicing Catholic, wants to go to Mass there, of course. I have a few other places on my list, but we'll see. |
| 8/22 | Venice/Venezia | We are not spending much time in Venice, but we plan on taking a fairly early train from Rome, stopping briefly to see the canals and gondolas, and then take a late train to Berlin. |
| 8/22 to 9/20 | Berlin | This is where I get serious, and actually do research and earn credits and such. My program is taught by UW staff, but our classroom is at Humboldt-Universität. Many of our lectures will be with Humboldt staff, as well as our own Julie and Shanga, and we have an HU grad student as our TA. I'm sharing an apartment with Mary Grace, in the same building as the other UW students. Both HU and our apartment building are in the city center of Berlin. |
| 9/20-9/22 | Munich/München | We fly out of Munich — after a couple days at Oktoberfest. |
| 8/22 | The Sky | MG and I fly from Munich, to Philly, and back to SeaTac. Because we're flying West, we gain time instead of losing it, and if you don't look at the timezones, the trip appears to take 9 hours. If only. |
| 9/22 | Seattle | I'm moving right into my room for the year, without going back to Yakima. Classes start 9/24, so I'll have one day to get over jetlag |
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Why I now have so many blogspot blogs...
Guten Tag! As probably anyone who I gave this url to knows, I'm taking a two week vacation in Europe in August, and then living in Berlin for a little more than three weeks in late August and September. It's required for my class to have a blogspot page to record assignments and observations in, and you can certainly visit that at my class page, but I also wanted another blog for any friends or family that wonder what I'm up to, without boring technical stuff like a response to a book no one I know outside of my class has read. (Boring technical stuff will not include the more interesting aspects of my project. Be prepared to be deluged with photos and comments about German advertising.
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