Bathing in Budapest

Early morning RyanAir. Woke up 3:00am. No, that’s a lie. Started getting ready at 3:00am. Never went to sleep. Was out the door with Eva at 3:30am. Walked to Eichendorfring to meet the others for the 4am/4:15am taxi to the train station. Train station by 4:35. Train at 5:20am to Frankfurt. Slept. Frankfurt by 6:15am. Breakfast. Boarded the bus to Frankfurt Hahn airport at 6:45am. Left at 7am. Slept. Hahn at 8:45am. Checked in. Flight at 10:20am. Slept. Arrived in Budapest around 12:30…

The 11 people split up. 7 were staying in one hostel, 4 in another. It was actually 6+1 in the one hostel, but Steve, the hostel owner, knew we were together and put a 7^th bed in the 6 bed room (both for us and for ease of the room key situation). After getting settled and receiving maps and city tips from Steve, we headed right across the street for lunch (a place Steve highly recommended). Traditional Hungarian style. I ordered Goulash, along with two others. It came served in a hanging tin pale with a live flame below, keeping it warm. The flame eventually burned out shortly after refilling my bowl from the pale.

The rest of Friday was picturesque. We walked passed St. Stephen’s Basilica where we met up with the remaining four. The tower closed just before we got there, so we vowed to return again the next day. From there, we headed to the Chain bridge. There I was called the paparazzi; after which I decided to earn my given title. [See the Budapest album if you haven’t already.] After crossing Chain Bridge, many of us headed up Buda hill. Four decided there were too many stairs to climb, and didn’t join us. They missed out on some beautiful views. The parliament was a popular photo subject while I kept myself quite busy shooting Fishermen’s Bastion.

After the day of sightseeing, the seven of us found dinner at an Indian restaurant. Dinner for seven came to 32,000 HuF (15% service included). After counting and recounting, we finally came to our total (the waitress refused to give separate checks). Three different people counted and arrived at 32,000. Someone insisted on handing the money to the waitress, for whatever reason. Probably thinking someone would swipe 32,000 from the table. Two people handed the waitress the money down by the register while the rest of us waited outside. The waitress counted the money and came up with only 28,500 and a slight of hand. That left the group 3,500 short, or 500 HuF short each. Which amounts to €2 a person. Sucks. But €2 isn’t the end of the world. The waitress earned herself a quick €14 with her equally quick hand.

Saturday’s highlights included St. Stephens Basilica inside and above. Then again up Buda Hill, this time over to Buda Castle, with a lunch stop at the foot of the castle, at the top of the hill, overlooking the Buda bank of the Danube and the entire Pest side. We watched a rain cloud come in. Eventually we dodged the 10 minute shower by hanging inside the entrance to one of the two museums in the castle. It was 15^th and 16^th century renaissance art, so waiting for the rain to pass what the only thing we did there. Buda castle around the outside was also worthy of a photo shoot. From there we played phone tag with the other four, who were headed to the citadel, atop Buda Hill’s neighboring slope. We must have passed them on our way up the hillside as they were coming down from the citadel. The refreshing ten-minute rain shower after hiking the hill in the lovely warm weather was almost as enjoyable as the view.

We finally met up several hours later for a group dinner at a guidebook-picked restaurant. It was supposed to be the most traditional Hungarian meal available, but it was not as cheap as the guidebook claimed, nor was it as traditional as the restaurant right across the street from our hostel. Again we were refused separate checks, but at least this time we were allowed to pay and get change back individually, which is almost the same thing, just without the paper that guarantees how much one actually owes. Watchful eyes (often multiple pairs) looked over the waiter’s shoulder to make sure we weren’t going to get scammed again. Three of us met the other four in a bar for drinks later that ..early morning (1am). We stayed out long enough to see the sun come up, after the bar herded us out at 4 o’clock.

Day Three started with the Great Synagogue, which was unexpectedly closed to tourists April 27 even though it was Sunday (not Saturday, though it was obviously closed then too). We walked around the side, where remnants of a cemetery lie protected inside the synagogue’s gate. Tombstones side, doubtfully atop the remains of the name they each read. All - every single one - disturbingly marked with the same year:

1945.

We attempted to get into Parliament, for which tickets were sold out for the day earlier than our 1pm time of arrival. Instead, we relaxed in the sun and green grass just outside Parliament for about half an hour, enjoying the beautiful spring weather. Afterwards, we received a vivid history lesson of WWII and Communist Hungary in the “House of Terror” Museum. We were shooed out of the museum at its 7pm closing time; though it was clear they were pushing us along ever since 5:30 when we got there.

Later, we met the remaining four in Heroes’ Square and the surrounding park on our mission to find Turkish baths. Steve said to ignore the (many) guidebook recommendations and head to the baths in the park instead of the other one the books recommended. I can’t compare to the book-recommended baths, but the four of us that enjoyed the baths certainly weren’t let down. The Turkish baths were an amazing way to wrap up a fantastic trip in Budapest.

Köln/Cologne: Stimulating all Senses

I haven’t had a bad trip yet. So close to home (two and a half hours), Köln /Cologne was the most awe-inspiring thus far. I will do my very best to put into words, every sight, sound, smell, taste and feeling. I don’t know how often I do something knowing in advance that I’m going to fail. Even aided by my pictures (which I’m well aware, without intending to come across as conceited, are absolutely incredible - can’t deny it; this time I can’t even be shy about it), this is one of those rare times I know in advance I’m going to fall short. Nevertheless, I’ll try:

Stepping out of the doors of the Hauptbahnhof, the Kölner Dom (n. dōm) sits approximately 100 meters away. That’s just under ten seconds if you happen to be an Olympic sprinter. I’m not one, and even if I were, I would probably be too busy gawking at the gargantuan structure to make in there in medal-winning fashion.

There it stands, with its two twin spires reaching for the sky as if it were being held up by John Wayne in the Wild West Germany. And yet in spite of its beauty (or perhaps due in part to it?), I couldn’t help but think the Dom would have been “the popular girl” in high school: beautiful, nose toward the sky, looking down on all who walk by.

I was looked down upon by the 100 meter finish line first thing Saturday afternoon. You know the cathedral is big when after your first two steps into the city, you realize your lens isn’t wide enough to capture the whole thing at once, from where you're standing. We left Nate and Lacy, who went to check into their hostel by their 1pm arrival time. After snapping our preliminary round of pictures, Karl, Greta, and I went to find lunch. The goal of getting away from the tourist prices surrounding the Dom failed fairly quickly once we happened to spot a Chicago steakhouse. I enjoyed a half rack of ribs sided by a delicious steak. I was disappointed in the non-existent barbeque sauce accompanying the ribs, but the salsa provided was tasty; an interesting combination, but tasty nonetheless.

After lunch, it was back to the Hauptbahnhof where we figured out the daily pass situation. Interestingly, two people splitting the price of the €9,40 (up to) 5-person day-pass is cheaper than buying the single-person €6,70 day-pass. So between the three of us, it wasn’t a bad deal, even though we were never carded in the two days we were there.

...That said, we only bought one day pass…

After making it to our hotel (note the lack of ‘s’ before the ‘t’), we collapsed and rested for a good half-hour. Even though we’d been sitting on public transportation or in a booth with the local Kölsch sitting in front of us for the better part of the day, nobody had the motivation to get up and go right away. And after all that sitting, my feet were surprisingly tired.

We were well aware that resting meant we weren’t going to see the German-Roman museum that closed at 5pm, and we were likely going to miss the Chocolate museum that closed at 6p as well. So after resting, we headed back out, back to the Dom again. We checked out as much of the inside as possible, and stayed until the priests kicked the tourists out. Outside in the plaza, we heard the bells sound signaling the call to 6:30 mass. This would be the first time I wished I had more than just a camera to capture the moment. Even just a sound/voice recorder would have been sufficient.

We randomly spotted Nate and Lucy outside the Dom. They’d just come from climbing the church tower, to which entrance closed minutes before we showed up. Dinner was together at an authentic Italian restaurant run by real Italian-speaking Italians. Somehow it reminded me of my many journeys in Italy (figure that one out).

Dinner was followed by gelato (as if my first taste of Italy wasn’t enough). On our way back through the streets of inner-Köln – well, first we passed by another Bachelor party and two Bachelorette parties, one of which happens to make for a not-very-appropriate-to-share story. In addition to the soon-to-be-wed street vendors, we encountered a couple that already had a crowd. It was just after 8 or 9 – I can’t remember, it was right after almost all of the stores closed, which even though it was a Saturday night, likely means 8pm in Germany. The vagabond couple was sitting in the entry way to an H&M, jamming away on their guitars. They were good (hence the crowd) and had likely scouted out their spot in advance or had been there before, as the acoustics were also better than street quality. For those keeping score at home, this is the second time I wished for more than just my camera. Once again, a sound recorder would have sufficed, but this time video would have been terrific too.

Back at the hotel after once again parting ways with Nate and Lucy we watched FC Bayern München pull out a 2-1 extra time win over a BVB Dortmund team they easily should have beat based on reputation but definitely should have lost to based on the quality of play we witnessed after the 90^th minute. 2 minutes into injury time (so 90 +2), Dortmund tied the game at 1-1. Even though Dortmund was attacking throughout much of the extra time, Bayern-München pulled ahead on a foolish re-direct that was enough to just squeak past a keeper who’d been leaning the other way. From there, it was downhill for Dortmund, who soon went a man down after the Dortmund’s 8^th yellow card of the match resulted in a yellow-red for the man who tried to do too much.

Breakfast in the morning wasn’t bad – and it was included. Our first stop of the day was the Dom, yet again. The goal was to climb the tower we hadn’t been allowed to ascend the day before. Instead, we read a sign that said the tower wouldn’t be open until quarter after twelve. “So why not check out the inside again?” We walked in on mass which already had a sufficient number of on-lookers. It also happened to be one of the most mystical, spiritually moving events I’ve ever witnessed. Not even video would have been able to capture this one. There was a distinct smell as soon as we walked in. But it was so subtle at first that I didn’t even realize I’d been smelling it until ten minutes later. It was incense. Incense was being burned and fanned as if they were sending smoke signals to God. A small but complete symphony and a signing mixed choir supplemented the smells. I felt like I had been transported six hundred years back in time. Or at the very least, to Hollywood. The whole experience seemed unreal.

When the mass was heavy enough, someone thought it would be fun to climb more than six hundred steps. Our workout was rewarded. After checking out the tower, mass was over. The lingering incense smoke combined with the perfect time of day to let the sun on through was the perfect storm for an assault of rainbows and a seemingly non-stop photoshoot.

Once we mustered up the strength to drag ourselves away from the awesome sight, we headed over to the Römisches-Germanisches Museum to check out what the Roman Empire left in Köln. The museum is incriminating evidence that the German government is guilty of mass grave robberies. All of the jewelry in the museum came from graves. All of the headstones did too, obviously. As well as many of the daily items like hair combs, toys, figurines, etc. Relatively speaking though, that’s far from the worst thing the German government has ever done…

On the bright side, one of the best inventions/improvements to come from Germany (or at the very least, the German speaking region), is the solid, creamy chocolate bar. What’s better than a chocolate bar? …a chocolate museum! €3 bought an entrance ticket and a free sample (the smartest thing the museum could possibly do. More on that later).

The first floor was the history of chocolate (way to go Imperialism!), followed by the production of chocolate on the second floor, much of which was explained by demonstration – by machine mostly, with the exception of the grandma caged like a zoo animal behind Plexiglas walls, sitting on a stool, bagging the wrapped mini chocolate bars as they come off the mini-conveyer belt. Around grandma’s glass walls stood a chocolate fountain where another elderly woman smiles at you (probably because she’s not caged) and hands you another free sample: an airy cookie dipped in the liquid chocolate. After the free samples we got to witness the making of chocolate truffles. At the end of the truffle conveyer belt was a service counter at which one could purchase one of these fresh, delicious, chocolate truffles for €0.50. …After that free sample at the gate, and the taste-test of liquid chocolate, it’s impossible to resist a fresh truffle for 50 cents. After which, it is impossible to resist the chocolate gift shop at the end of the museum. The only way one can even try to resist it is if you don’t even enter to begin with. …After 3 chocolate samples, who can really do that?? Three chocolate bars later, I proved I couldn't.

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Random Facts: Lindt was Swiss. So I’m not sure why his chocolate museum is in Köln. Lindt was the genius who invented whatever process it is that makes chocolate so smooth and creamy. Prior, chocolate was too brittle and thus was enjoyed almost entirely in the liquid form, not the solid bar.

Planning Drama

Thursday on our way to the Mensa between history classes, I asked one of the girls what the plans for the weekend were. Everyone wanted to get out of Hessen, because everyone, well, except me, had stayed in Hessen the weekend prior as well. The answer I received was “we’re probably going to go to Köln.”

Flashback

Two and a half weeks ago, I attended the (university) President’s greeting of the exchange students. This greeting was more of an orientation to the different groups/clubs on campus than a “meet the president” event, but the president did say a few words:

Welcome. I’m happy you’re all here and that you took advantage of the opportunity to study in Gießen. We, here at the Justus Liebig University, believe an integral component of any university is the international student body. And we, here, take great pride in the international reputation we have built and in the number of international students who decide to study here each semester.

It’s true. There are a lot of internationals here. The university has approximately 25,000 students. Of that, 1,600 are international or exchange students.

It’s good to have you here. Have a great semester. And enjoy the
Apfelwein!

After the ceremony and time to chat and get to know people, most of whom we already knew because half the people there had attended the March language course, we were invited by one of the student groups, who (independent of the International Office) plan activities for exchange students, to join them at a nearby pub for Apfelwein tasting. Come. At least for a little bit. The first Apfelwein is free.

I was sitting at a table in the relatively tiny bar with Alexandros from Greece and one of the German students who organized the small outing, whose name I can’t remember, even though I ran into her two days later. It’s good that it was still pretty early in the evening, because the 30-35 people who actually made their way from the greeting ceremony to the pub, plus the 3 people who were already there, filled the entire bar.

We had the standard get to know you conversation with the German student. I am American. Word must have spread. Because that’s the only possible explanation for what happened next.

Alexandros and I were headed out. I forget why, but I think I had stuff I needed to get done. This was still at a time when I needed to register in 137 difference places. Granted it was towards the end of that phase, but still stuff to get done nonetheless. Alexandros was already at the door. I was 10 steps behind him, because I’d turned around to put my jacket on. In my path steps a cute, short, German girl:

(in German)

Girl in my way: “Are you American?”

I think I blend in fairly well to the European style. Especially in Germany, where my hair- and skin-color aren’t flashing neon signs screaming Foreigner like was often the case in Italy.

Confused: “Was it really that easy to see?”

Not really answering my question: “No, no. Do you have a partner?”
?! That took me by surprise. I know Germans have a tendency to be direct at times, but wow. That couldn’t possibly mean what I thought she meant.

Off guard, and holding a conversation like an improv game where the whole conversation must be entirely in questions: “What do you mean?”
Still playing the improv game: “Do you want to learn German?”

In retrospect, that still could have been a less direct and very cheesy pick-up line. But I was finally understanding where this was going.
Withholding an intense desire to say, “that’s the whole point of me being here”: “Ja, natürlich.”

There’s a tandem program I had heard about that pairs people up with others who want to learn your language. Say you’re French and want to learn or improve your Spanish. The program will find a native Spanish speaker who wants to learn French. After that point, the program does nothing. The pair is on its own. In the five minutes that I kept Alexandros waiting, I basically bypassed the tandem program, exchanged names, numbers, and walked through the standard get-to-know-you questions.

Fast-forward

Thursday evening, I got a call from Karl while I was sitting in an apartment filled with Germans. Katharina had invited me to her place, because she was having a small get-together. This entailed having ein Bierchen (yes, just one) and watching/laughing at Germany’s Next Top Model, hosted by Heidi Klum, identical to America’s Next Top Model with Tyra Banks, except that in the German version, someone is crying every 10 minutes, instead of once an episode. …Not that I’m an expert on these shows.

Karl was calling me regarding our plans for the weekend. We were either going to go to Köln or Düsseldorf for the weekend. And it was going to cost about €65-70 with train ticket and hostel. Not really wanting to spend €65-70 just go there and sleep for a night (and pay even more for whatever we wind up doing there), I told Karl to hold off booking anything for me until they knew exactly where they were going, and I’d think about it.

It is extremely unfair but very helpful that in a room full of foreigners, everyone can understand the private conversation I was having in my native language.

Immediately after I hung up, the Germans were clamoring for a turn to talk. The consensus among the Germans was that Köln is way better than Düsseldorf. It’s far prettier, and it rivals Berlin for the best city in German in which to go out at night. There’s just as many good clubs and bars as Berlin, but Berliners (so the stereotype among Germans is) can be snobbier (but it doesn’t mean they will be). Whereas in Köln, the people are very friendly, very open, and very helpful. Also, there’s no way it should cost €65 for just a train ticket and hostel. A hostel in Köln should be no more than €20 (which was on target) and each Bundesstaat (federal state) has a day pass between €30-35 that covers five people. Meaning €6-7 each. Given that we’re staying overnight, that means just €12-14 roundtrip. I called Karl back when I left, told him the good news, and “I’m in.”

Then he told me about the drama. I don’t know what happened exactly, because I only got his side of the story, but either there was a complete overreaction, a misunderstanding, or a combination of both. But in the end, it meant Ms. “We’re probably going to Köln,” who was at the center of the mess, had no interest in going to Köln anymore, and was set on Düsseldorf. Whatever.

Following the advice of my new Bekannte, and being a grown-up, …at least enough to be able to make my own decisions and not feel obliged to travel like a herd animal with other exchange students around Europe, I decided I was going to Köln regardless of what the others decide. Karl and his sister Greta, both from Wisconsin schools as well, listened to the advice I passed along from the Germans and settled on Köln too. Coincidentally, Nate had already planned a trip to Köln with his girlfriend, who is studying 20 minutes away in Marburg. So there we had it. 5 people for the train pass. Nate and his girlfriend can still do their own thing, and we can all get there and back for cheap. Everyone else can travel in their herd for all I care. …and many did.

Of the 15 people …too many to travel together in my opinion… who were initially going to go to Köln, three (or four, depending on whether not Nate was counted in that initial 15), actually went. Eight went to Düsseldorf, and three or four dropped out when they found out the Düsseldorf clan had no plans to stay overnight in a hostel, but rather see the city in the afternoon, stay in a club (or museum open til 2am as it wound up being) and then catch the first train back in the morning. I don’t care how much fun they claim they had in that museum (or how beautiful they say their 20 minute stay outside the Kölner Dom at 6am on the return trip was), I wouldn’t have given up the trip to Köln for anything. Almost ironic, considering I had zero preference when I very first asked about the plans for the weekend.

The only downside was due to the last minute booking drama, we missed out on the chance for a €20 per person hostel. Instead we had to settle for a €30 per person "budget" hotel (It was actually quite nice).

In the Middle of NO(r)W(ay)HERE

As the plane approached Sandefjord (aka not Oslo), I stumbled upon the realization that I would be the first member of my immediate family to set foot in the country most of our heritage is derived from. I beat them all.

Just before landing, I spotted what must have been a Coca-Cola distribution site. I saw a parking lot where a dozen semis sat with the red and white Coca-Cola logo on their roofs. America beat me. Not that it was a surprise. I doubt there’s a single country out of the 200 in the world that America hasn’t already beaten me to.

Tim met me at the station in Ringebu after my day-long travels. His pad wasn’t the first stop. A pub was. I enjoyed an Aass or two; first one courtesy of Tim. On our way our, I also met a girl who would be a key contact during my stay.

Tim whipped up an American breakfast Saturday morning. French toast, Bacon, Orange Juice and Coffee. It was so beautiful it could have brought tears to my eyes. Maybe it did. But writing a month later, I really can’t remember. I do however recall exactly how tasty it was.

Tim is well connected on the mountain, and the connections are generous. Grateful for all he’s been given during his time at Kvitfjell, and in Norway in general, Tim felt it necessary to spread the generosity further. Working on the mountain, he gets 20-50% off just about everything. Sounds good, but still remains expensive. Even better is when he is lucky enough to earn his 100% off discount.

Tim hooked me up with most of the equipment I needed. Ski pants were borrowed from his extremely giving boss Lars. Goggles came from his roommates (plural. Different pair each day). The gloves I wore were Tim’s own. Using his discount, my two-day ski and boot rental was 50% off. After I picked up my skis and boots, Tim went over to the register to pay. Generosity was working behind the register, and Tim’s 50% discount became 100%. Tim continued the theme, buying my first day’s lift ticket for me. I got day two’s lift ticket at the same 20% discount Tim paid for day one.

Fresh snow greeted me my first morning on Kvitfjell. April 12. …and people in Wisconsin were complaining. I wasn’t. The fresh snow was a blessing. For all except Snow White anyway. In the week or two prior to my arrival, it was slowly starting to turn into spring. This meant melting snow which washed much of the spread gravel off the road up the mountain. Combining that with the fresh white stuff meant Snow White could only make it halfway up the mountain, studded winter tires and all. We were left with a detour-by-foot up the top half of the mountain. The hike was breathtaking, in more ways than one.

Tim and I stopped for lunch half-way down the hill after a few hours. Breakfast had only been a few hours earlier, so I wasn’t hungry yet, but he needed to eat before he went to work. Tim’s lunch came at half price, thanks to the contact I was introduced to at the pub. My hot chocolate and whatever Tim was drank came without a price tag at all. We fit in a couple more runs before Tim had to go to work. It gave me time to stop embarrassing myself on the mountain. I chilled in Koia for a bit. I devoured a house hotdog/sausage and hot chocolate free thanks to the man with the snow pants. I had a second, again for free, before I hit the slopes for a few more runs before they closed for the day. When I came back, Koia was crowded. I decided on yet another hotdog. Tim suggested one wrapped in “a sort of flat potato pancake” instead of a bun. Once I had it in my hands, I realized what it was. …"Flat potato pancake"?? C’mon Tim, I’m Norwegian too. I know what Lefse is. I took my hotdog and a post-skiing beer onto the patio after finally paying for something. Although I think I only paid the price of the beer. But I wasn’t going to argue.

Saturday night at dinner, I found out why Norway is obsessed with Grandiosa. I also discovered the entertainment value of most Norwegian commercials.

Skiing on day two included company. We found Vivi and Ditte, two of Tim’s housemates, on the mountain. We stopped for lunch again at the same place halfway down. Right before, I took the worst spill of my two days on the mountain. Somehow I managed to wind up turned around minus one ski. Tim was nearly to the restaurant so he didn’t get to witness it. Vivi and Ditte had to help me get my ski back on. I’d crashed on the steepest stretch of that run, which made stepping back into my ski quite a task, hence the need for help.

At lunch, I got Tim’s discount even though he wasn’t even at the counter when I ordered and paid. Half price food and another free drink thanks to the girl from the pub.

Post-lunch included time for a few photoshoots.

That evening I met even more of Tim’s friends, learned what an Irish Christmas is, and wondered what the Irish have to do with ski poles. We enjoyed ourselves, shot embarrassing footage of each other, and days later watched how selective Hollywood film editors can be ;-). At 5:40am, Ditte drove the scenic route to Ringebu. I was at the station just after 6:00 to catch my 6:30am train back to Sandefjord. I slept on the train.

I met Tina for the first time during my 4 hour stay (thanks to the train/flight schedules) at Sandefjord Torp. Tina’s a distant relative. Distant enough that I occasionally have to draw myself a map to figure how exactly how we’re related. But we’re related nonetheless. And she was kind enough to keep my company during my time in Torp.

I was back in Gießen around 9:40pm. And thanks to late-night bus schedules, I was finally back in my room at 10:30, after having walked half way across the city, before picking up the second bus I would have been on anyway. …After 16 hours of sitting on my backside, I didn’t feel like waiting for the bus.

Blackberry II

Eine Kleine Fortschreibung.

Ich hab' eine Bekannte von mir heute getroffen. Sie ist auch der einzelnen anderen Amerikaner des ca. 100-personen Kurses.

Ich hab' ihr gefragt, ob sie gestern in den Unterricht gegangen war. Was für einen Zufall! Sie hat mir gesagt, ja, sie war dort gegangen, aber es gab keinen Unterricht. Er war abgesagt! So ich habe gestern nichts in den Literatur Kurs verpasst. Und ich habe immer noch zwei unentschuldigten Fehlen zu benutzen. :-)

Grüße von meinem Blackberry:

Ein Geschenk für Tante P.

Ich bin heute Morgen früh aufgestanden. Ich sollte Unterricht um acht Uhr besuchen, aber ich war einfach zu Müde. Ich habe mich geduscht, ein paar Emails geschickt, und dann habe ich um acht Uhr entscheiden, nicht im Unterricht zu gehen. Zwar meine einzelne echte deutsche Vorlesung: Literatur in der DDR. Aber während des Semesters dürfen wir zweimal unentschuldigt fehlen. Heute morgen habe ich eine meiner zwei Fehlen benutzt.

Später habe ich versucht meinen anderen Mittwoch Kurs zu besuchen. Ich bin mit meinem Rad gefahren, nur herauszufinden, dass niemand ins Klassenzimmer war. Ich suchte ein Schild, irgendwo, das sagen würde, dass die Lehrerin Krank war. Aber es gab kein. Nach eine Minute habe ich mich erinnert, dass wir sollten heute am Marktplatz treffen. Die Hälfte der Leute des Kurses sind ganz neulich in Gießen angekommen, und die Lehrerin wollte uns die Stadt zeigen. Ich wusste schon, dass ich Spät wäre, und ich kenne die Stadt schon. So ich bin einfach gerade zurück nach Hause gefahren.

Ich hatte denn Zeit, mein „Blackberry“ zu benutzen, mehr in meinem Blog zu schreiben.

Which Way to Norway?

Bus. Feet. Bus. Train. Bus. Plane. Bus. Train.

7 am wake up call from my alarm clock.

Finished drying my laundry from the night before. Shower. Start packing. Finish packing. Out the door just after 9am. Caught the 9:09 bus right outside my building and took it to Berliner Platz. Walked from there to Marktplatz, searching for an internet café along the way (or anywhere with a printer, really).

Found one.
Opens at 10:30am.
Scheiße.

Arrived at Marktplatz. Spotted an internet café with open doors.

Kann ich hier Sachen vom Internet ausdrücken?
:: Ja.
OK. Gut.
:: Nummer fünf bitte.

Printed off my online tickets for Ryanair. Decided to also print off the confirmation email for my train in Norway, even though the email said it wasn’t a valid ticket, and all you needed was the confirmation number and phone number, both of which I’d stored in my Handy, to print the necessary ticket from a machine at the station.
Good decision.

6 minutes, 2 printed pages: €1,10.

Walked outside. Saw none of the buses I could take to the Bahnhof had arrived at Marktplatz yet. Headed for a bakery with a walk-up service counter. I needed breakfast.

Waited behind a lady apparently buying bread to feed the five-thousand. Saw one of my potential buses pull up. Sometimes buses sit for as long as five minutes at Marktplatz to adjust their schedules. Is this one of those buses, or should I ditch this bakery and hurry for that bus? I decided to play it safe and jogged across Marktplatz to catch the bus. Good decision. The bus took off as soon as I was on board.

Got to the Bahnhof with about 20 minutes to spare. My train to Frankfurt doesn’t leave until 09:53. I used my time to spend less than €2 on a Croissant and Bretzel. Take that McDonalds. In retrospect, it vaguely reminds me of World War II. (The clip is 5 minutes, but WWII is only the first 1:30)

I caught my free 42-minute train to Frankfurt Hbf. Free with my student ID. …well, “free” courtesy of €70-80 of the €180,95 student fee I paid upon my arrival here in Gießen. And Hbf: that’s Hauptbahnhof. As in: main train station. As in: not the airport. I wasn’t trying to get to Frankfurt International. My €37 Ryanair flight departs from Frankfurt Hahn, which really isn’t in Frankfurt at all. …in fact it’s not even in Hessen.

After twenty minutes, two trips outside, and asking the service desk where the heck I’m supposed to find this bus, I finally found it. I had just under ten minutes to spare. And then it was an hour and a half bus ride to Frankfurt Hahn.

I checked in online before I even left Gießen. With my printed online ticket, I attempted to make my way thru security. The first guy manning the entrance to the queue let me right though. But the second security guard standing at the metal detector looked at my ticket and shook his head. He knew the rule is dumb, but played by it anyway. With “Check and Go” (online check in), you have to be from the EU or one of the other Schengen countries (which explains why I initially couldn’t select “USA” where it asked for the country of the passport to check in. But I found a way around that..).

So because I had a US passport, I had to go back to the check-in desk, pay the extra €4 check-in fee, and then back to security with my “real” boarding pass. …as if the first one was fake. Eventually, I boarded my 14:10 flight to Oslo Torp.

…Which isn’t Olso at all. Sandefjord, actually. Just over an hour south of Oslo by train. But I knew that beforehand. What I didn’t know was that the Sandefjord Torp Flughaven train station wasn’t actually connected to the Sandefjord Torp Flughaven. My plane arrived 15 minutes early, so it gave me time to figure out where I needed to go and how I was supposed to get there. It was only 10 minutes to 16:00. My train didn’t leave until 16:40.

There’s a free shuttle bus to take passengers from the airport to the train station. …I’m gonna stop calling it that though. It wasn’t a station. In fact, there wasn’t even a building there. There was just a covered bench. A single bench. Like a bus stop.

…So there’s a free bus to take passengers to the train stop. But there’re two different buses. One for the northbound side and one for the southbound side. At 16:18, I found the shuttle bus.

The southbound shuttle bus.

After a short conversation with the bus driver (in perfect English mind you – it seems most Norwegians are more fluent in English than I am), I found out the bus for the northbound side leaves at 16:33. …:33???? My train leaves at :40!! How is that ever going to give me enough time to get to the station, print out my ticket, and catch the train? I decided to grab one of these taxis instead. …at least I tried to. The driver I approached was actually about to refuse my money. He explained to me that he can’t drive the same way the buses can – he has to go all the way around the airport, which would take about 10 minutes. It only takes the buses three. On top of that, the 10 minute taxi fare would be about 200 NOK, or roughly $40. The shuttle bus is free. I explained to him I would feel much more comfortable if I got there with 5 extra minutes, figuring that would give me enough time to get my ticket. …That’s when I found out it’s not a real station.

Norwegian refusing money: there’s no place to print off a ticket. It’s a small station in the middle of no where. There’s nothing there. You’ll make the train in time. That’s why they have the buses – it works perfectly.

So it does. I hopped on the bus once it showed up at 16:31. Left the airport at 16:33. Arrived at Sandefjord Torp Flughaven “Station” at 16:36. Train showed up at 16:39. Showed the conductor my email confirmation (that I “didn’t need to print out”) and asked how I get my ticket. He explained to me that there’s no where here to print off or pick up a ticket (thanks, I already figured that one out), and that the email confirmation would suffice. So I hopped on the train at 16:40 and immediately departed for Ringebu.

Just under two hours after leaving the bench (I really wish I’d snapped a picture, but the perfect Norwegian scheduling doesn’t account for dumb American tourist photographers), the train passed the real Oslo airport (50 km north of Olso), and I thought to myself, “It would have only been 3.5 hours to Tim’s if I’d flown in here…”

One stop, or 50 minutes, after Lillehammer, I met Tim at Ringebu. Current time: 21:45.

Just over 5 hours since leaving the bench, and a mere 13 hours after leaving my front door.

Hung Up

The brother of a friend of a friend I'm still getting to know
committed suicide last week.
But it's not too late for me to learn something from him.
Through this tragic event, my eyes have been opened to
his amazing work.
It was a tough (...nearly impossible) choice to choose a tribute photo.



I told you it was impossible
to choose just one.



But do yourself a favor and check out that link above.
Or maybe save it for when you have an hour to spend.

Fast Food Philosophy

I’ve received a few comments/questions regarding the debut of my profile picture here on my blog. This is my response.

Yes. That is me diving into a delicious cheeseburger from McDonalds, here in Gießen. …ok, delicious might be debatable, but it satisfies my taste buds nonetheless.

Yes. Last semester, I made the effort to avoid McDonalds the entire time I was in Italy. And I succeeded.

But if there are two things Europeans know of America, they are McDonalds and Coca-Cola. …ok, and Bush. But for the most part, they know 70% of America is embarrassed to admit that third one. Regardless, he’s still led America to become fodder for foreigners’ jokes. ..Thanks Mr. President. Those jokes are about at funny as Hillary’s.

McDonalds is more imperialistic than Bush appears to be. It seems there’s a McDonalds in every single German town. And here in Gießen, it’s impossible to avoid. The McDonalds sits right at the intersection leading into the Innenstadt from the university’s side of town. That forces everyone to walk past it when they go out to the bars, or come back from the bars, or when they’re simply running downtown to do some shopping.

The picture comes from my second week here in Gießen. ....a week that caused my Facebook status, for which the general formula is: (name) is (fill in the blank), to read “Adam is a stereotype.”

In this week, I forced six cheeseburgers into my body, including four in one day. It was a Monday. Early in the afternoon, I was heading downtown to buy something – can’t remember what. It was somewhere around 2:30 or 3:00. At the unavoidable crossroads, I spotted the McDs and remembered I hadn’t eaten lunch yet. I was a little hungry, so I walked in, laid my €2 coin on the counter and walked away with two cheeseburgers.

That’s the problem. It’s just so easy. And it was the first place I came across. …and around bar-time, McDs is one of the only places open for food after 8pm. And most of the Döner places (the only other places open past 8pm) aren’t on the route to/from the bars.

So naturally when I was headed out later that evening to celebrate Happy Monday and I realized I hadn’t eaten anything since my 3pm burgers, I decided it was best to stop in and throw another €2 on the counter so I wasn’t drinking on an empty stomach.

Later that week, on Friday, McDs became a post-bar stop. And I once again gave in.

I’ve “only” had three burgers in the three (or four?) weeks since then. Still more than I normally eat at home. Though, that’s a little hard to judge, seeing as how I’ve only been home for 2 of the last 7 months.

But don’t worry about my German experience. I’ve eaten almost as much Schnitzel in the Mensa. Plus, in many ways, Germans are practically American anyway. …in some respects, maybe more than Americans themselves, if by definition that’s even possible.

And P.S. The film The Day After Tomorrow has the same English title in Germany, even though the title is translated in every other non-English speaking country. …I told you they’re practically Americans.

So for a true German experience, I'm heading to Norway for the weekend.

Mein Kampf against Fruit Flies

I’ve been fighting an ongoing battle against fruit flies off-and-on ever since I moved here. The full garbage can when I first moved in, even though my roommates were all or mostly gone for at least a week and a half prior to my arrival, might be the origin of my problem.

The population started small, and slowly grew. It became a nuisance when we used my kitchen to host the first of our semi-regular dinner parties. But the nuisance was also a blessing in disguise, as it led to a significant decline in the fruit fly presence courtesy of several pairs of hands. It also added a tiny bit more protein to the dinner. …but I don’t think I should let the others know that.

….just kidding about that last part.

……..the others know.

The problem subsided for some time, until recently. I pitched an apple core in my trash five or six days ago. “Apple in a trash can” must be the new local hot spot for honeymooning fruit flies. I emptied my trash vorgestern (a single German word meaning “the day before yesterday.” Similarly, übermorgen means “the day after tomorrow,” which makes me wonder how the 2004 Dennis Quaid film title was translated, if at all).

I opened the lid to empty the trash and was greeted by a swarm of 20-30 fruit flies.

Immediately, I developed a better exit strategy than a leafy green shrub. I dropped the lid back on the garbage can, trapping about half the swarm inside. I opened my window (which is half a step from the garbage can) as much as possible, and quarantined my room, shutting my bedroom door to prevent a second front in the kitchen.

I swatted the flies towards my wide open window with a hand towel, killing the stubborn ones with my bare hands. Soon it was time to open the lid near the window, hope most of the remaining flies flew away, and start the extermination all over again.

My room and kitchen are now almost entirely fruit fly free. (Say that 10 times fast.) I say almost because I’ve seen one or two since. ..I think the regular removal of garbage from the kitchen helps, now that people live here again.

Oh yeah, by the way, people live here again.

"It's a Small World Afterall"

Many (about 20) of the exchange students went out to a nearby billiard hall Tuesday night to celebrate Sweden's birthday. At the billiard hall, I unexpectedly ran into a girl I went to highschool with back home. Through the grapevine, I knew Megan was in Gießen, but given that Gießen is about the size of Appleton and I'm taking strictly Germanistik courses here, I didn't expect to run into her. Turns out Megan is in one of Josefin's classes, so she (and a couple others from that class) came out to celebrate too.

This chance meeting makes me feel less like I'm in Germany and more like I'm sitting on a boat in "It's a Small World" at EPCOT in Disney World. The attached clip is sped up, so it sounds like a bunch of chipmunks singing, but I think it's less torture that way.

I can even hear the annoying repetitive song in my head now.
(for the disturbingly curious, I came across a techno remix on YouTube)

..and I think how the stupid ride i used to love is likely the highest concentration of stereotypes in the world.

...and as I project the prejudices Disney has taught me, I picture all my German Mitbewohners in Lederhosen and Dirndels - even though none of them are from Bavaria - and all the Polish students in their traditional dresses as well. The Greeks all wear togas. ...everyday, not just at toga parties. And the french students all have handlebar mustaches. ..even though all the french students I've met have been female. ...and Josefin has to have blonde hair and blue eyes. ...wait, she does already. But now she lives in a little scandenavian cottage at the end of a Fjord, too.

..and I picture all my friends as 3 feet tall dolls standing on the edge of the lazy river on this Disney ride, repeatedly chanting the darn tune over and over again. The only problem is that the people I know are alive. ..Not that that's a problem. It just means my stereotype is more like a Chuckie horror movie than a lovely little ride at Disney World. ...and this thought has carried way too far....

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"I dislike feeling at home while I'm abroad."
-George Bernard Shaw