5.26.2011

münchen, teil 1...

The color of Munich is red.

Okay, so I know the city’s colors are black and gold and the Bavarian colors are white and blue, but my experience thus far has been red, both in the sense that you see red when you’re beyond angry and in that mouthwatering red that promises a juicy sweetness as soon as your teeth pierce the skin.  Let me start from the beginning…

 I arrived at the Wombat Hostel around 6:30pm, with enough daylight to settle into my room without having my awkward crashing around waking anyone at odd hours (well, it would have been an odd hour if they were asleep anyway!), and with enough time to complete what is fast becoming my favorite hostel ritual: Lidl shopping.  I know what I like in Germany: Brötchen (translates to rolls, but they’re so much better than plain ol’ dinner rolls), Fol Epi cheese, cucumbers, tomatoes, pasta, and Knoppers.  (If Augustiner gets to be the golden liquid of the gods, I would classify Knoppers and Kinder chocolate as the chocolaty delight of the gods…)  I have begun to take for granted that hostels will provide me with a place to store/cook these goods.


The Wombat Hostel has its perks.  It’s colorful, friendly, loud in the common areas, quiet in the rooms, free (crappy) wLAN, but it does not provide a guest kitchen.  Suddenly, the 8,72 I’d spent on food for the four days I was here quit looking like a good way to save money.  For dinner I ate raw macaroni from a Tupperware like a dog without a spoon.  By the time I woke up my cheese was kicking it and the frozen veggies I’d bought as a treat were soggy and smelled of cardboard.  Well, shit.  Color me pissed off.
(And I was pissed off, but let’s not get into that.)

Which brings me to yesterday.  I ate what I could salvage of and tossed the rest of my spoiled food, ate a piece of bread and an apple, and decided for a new start.  I can afford 8,72 for a learning experience.  The day began with a free tour run by the tour-for-tips philosophy.  You pay what you think the tour deserves instead of a rate upfront.  Like many of its kind, it’s a good philosophy…until it’s put into practice.  As a German minor and not-so-closeted hater of any large group of tourists, I probably shouldn’t have been on this tour.  I can’t say I appreciated being talked to so loud in English, nor did I appreciate the almost condescending repetition of dates and questions even a five-year-old could answer.  Plus, he talked about what caused the U.S. recession during the entire Glockenspiel.  Good thing I wasn’t paying attention.  Let me give you his tour in a nutshell:

He mentioned a lot of 9-11s without specifying he was speaking of November 11th until some American mentioned how weird it was that that date kept coming up in history, and then he condescended to her and the rest of us the entire trip.  He kept saying that his goal was to make us "local" (whatever the hell that means) by getting us to think like real Bavarians.  Okay, so the book on the evils of "authentic" tourism spoiled me for that experience.  I know I'm not Bavarian, and I'm not going to pretend to be, so please stop pandering for tips!  He made a lot of religious generalisations that I also didn't appreciate, such that the biggest difference between a Catholic and a Protestant is the Pope.  Um, hello?  Transubstantiation vs. Consubstantiation much?  And finally, probably my biggest pet peeve, he spoke like Berlin and Munich were the only two cities in Germany.  Berlin is ___; Munich is ___.  Like, nevermind the fact that there are other beautiful places/regions in Germany off the beaten track that you could be recommending.  Hessen!  Saschen!  Hello!!!

one cool thing he did teach us is that the bayern flags on the ceiling of the hofbräu haus used to be swastikas... basically this was, like, the nazi hq 

Needless to say, I didn’t pay him.  In retrospect, karma is going to kick my ass, but, honestly, I spent the whole time feeling awkward and wanting to let every single German that suppressed an eye-roll in our general direction that I’m not like that!  I speak German!  I’ve been to Munich before!  I was just lost and needed an easy way to get to the Marienplatz!  Honestly!  I’m not one of them!

 theatinerkirche: these people are cheering for the environment... no, really... "k-l-i-m-a, klima!!!"

(Which, I realize, is incredibly unfair to my fellow countrymen and travelers abroad.  Regardless of how they are doing it, they are trying to experience a culture just as much as I am.  Whether or not they speak the language or know anything about the country doesn’t make them dumb, annoying, bitchy, ditzy, bros, spoiled, or any other adjective I may/may not have used in my angry thoughts yesterday.  Everyone starts somewhere, whether it’s an annoying [there I go again] tour or a three day homestay in Tannheim with no German skills and only an undying love for chocolate cake and farmlands [yes, cake and cows are the real reason I’m so in love with Germany]…)

Okay, so, ranting and raving aside (or maybe not—dun dun dunnn!), after I departed from the tour, I was a little disappointed in myself for not having met anyone, but considering I lied and said I was from Ireland, maybe it’s a good thing I was only able to initiate a ten-minute conversation in which I described the game of hurling and gushed about Galway in a sufficient-but-otherwise insufficient false-voice… Anyway, I was a little sad to be on my own after the tour, but I was also really, really glad to be set free.  My lonely itinerary was as follows:


1) Theatinerkirche where I encountered/touched a rather chilling saintly relic

2) Back to Marienplatz to read a while in the Hugenbudel (supposedly the largest bookstore in Germany)


3) Getting lost while trying to find, and then turning around and actually finding the Viktualienmarkt, where I had a conversation with a lovely lady selling strawberries and learned a new useful word: Schale (means a carton or a box of ___ [i.e. strawberries, blueberries]).  I did have some issues with her dialect, but I was proud of myself for understanding when she told me I could taste one before I purchased a box, that she would check to make sure they were all pretty, that I could have the ones she picked out as “bad” for free and that they weren’t actually bad, just a little squished, and that I didn’t have to wash the fruit because they were organic.  Phew, I understood a lot!  Hooray for me!

abschaffen!  abschaffen!  abschaffen!

4) Then I went to Alter Peter and as I was exiting the church, I bumped into and joined a student protest.  They were protesting “high” university fees (which I just have to scoff at as someone who’s tuition costs $50,000/year), which I agree are ridiculous!  Since I could understand what they were saying and protesting, I decided to grab some red protest stickers (“Wissen. Macht. Reich.” and “Arme Uni”) and a balloon and join in the chanting!  My favorite protester was a guy dressed up as a Spartan with a red cape and a sign that read “MADNESS?!?!  THIS…IS…BAVARIA!!!” 
 
And then I came back to the hostel only to discover that there is a guest fridge!  So I went back to Lidl and bought—wait for it!  Two pots of strawberry yogurt, strawberry and johannesberry jam, and the red version of Babybel cheese.  So between being so frustrated I practically saw red, having nothing to eat but apples, cold macaroni slathered in tomato sauce and the cherry tomatoes I’d bought to make sandwiches, going on a dumb tour that (I will admit) did teach me a few things (like that Cincinatti, Ohio is Munich’s sister-city and that the Bavarian flags on the ceiling of the Hofbräuhaus are covering up swastikas), eating half a carton of strawberries from the Bodensee, and buying my second round of food, I have come to the conclusion that the color of Munich is red.  

Which, in the end, is really more sweet than sour.  :)

5.17.2011

keine panik!

I have just returned from my first day of real travel in Germany.  Yesterday doesn't count because I spent three hours on a bus from Galway to Dublin, three hours in the Dublin airport, two hours on a plane from Dublin to Berlin, and about two hours trying to figure out how to get from the airport in Berlin to my hostel.  Thankfully, I met an Irish couple with a map and kind hearts who became my surrogate parents for appx. 1 hour.  I was able to return the favor by translating the transportation notices that were coming over the train's PA (there was a detour and then a signal problem).  After finally arriving, all I wanted to do was sleep.  Unfortunately, the big snorer in the bed above mine had other ideas.

Four hours of sleep, sore arms, and hardly any breakfast was not exactly how I wanted to start my adventures in Germany.  But, as is my nature, I persevered, ate some peanut butter, and headed out to Potsdam (specifically: Schloß Sanssouci) where disappointment continued to reign.  It's been almost 7 years since I was last in Berlin and Potsdam, and all I could remember about the palace was this beautiful, beautiful room with shells and pearls covering the walls.  I remember walking in from the almost oppressive June heat and feeling the cool, blue breeze of a grotto kissing my cheeks.  It turns out, there's a lot more to the palace than just that room.  In fact, there are at least four different buildings, one of which, the New Palace, is closed on Tuesdays.  Just so happens, that's the one I needed to revisit that magical place.  Of course, ever the optimist, I didn't realize that until I'd paid 8 euro for a tour and came out wondering where on earth that grotto had disappeared to.

But, you know, I wandered around the palace gardens for almost four hours, a luxury we weren't afforded due to the organized-fun nature of high school trips.  I saw things I've never seen before, and I was able to buy a beautiful postcard of the grotto which is better than any picture I could have taken (tripods and flash are not allowed).  I didn't get to relive the magic of seven years ago, but I got to experience so much more.  Besides, I'm only twenty years old.  I can still come back and try again!  I didn't miss one train or bus today, and I didn't get lost either, and I think that's certainly worth celebrating.  I shouldn't dwell on the fact that the Berliner Dom wouldn't let me in unless I paid for a ticket or that I didn't make it out to the Berlin Wall.  I fit a lot into one day (Sanssouci, Alexanderplatz, Brandenburger Tor, mich verlaufen...)!  So I've decided to live this trip the way Frederick the Great's palace has advised me to: sans souci, ohne Sorge, without worries.


And you're probably all dying to know how little timid Jenny is coping with the language.  Well, I'll tell you, I'm doing just fine for myself.  So far I have asked questions of about 5,000 DB (Deutsche Bahn) personnel, approached the desk at my hostel, and ordered food.  I'd give myself a 95% for participation and a 70% for success.  Even though I start off shaky and nervous, I must sound better than I did four years ago, because people have been mostly responding to my inquiries in German, something that never happened before, and I can understand much better when they give directions, though sometimes I do zone out as if I were sitting in a class instead of throwing myself into the real world.  I did have a moment today though.  I went to order a sub at Subway and I made a very common English-speaking mistake when I asked the kid "Can I have a Veggie Delight?"  He responded, like a snotty brat, with that trick parents and schoolteachers worldwide seem to adore: "I dunno, can you?"  My blank stare was met by a dumb grin for a few moments before I realized and tried to correct myself, which made me seem even more stupid.  "May I...?" I asked.  He laughed harder and I blushed more, but we pushed forward to something I actually knew how to say--vegetable names.  Thank you, high school German!  So, in spite of the embarrassment, I can happily say that my German is not so bad that people only ever respond to my attempts in English.

A step in the right direction?  I think so!

5.11.2011

do you feel my heartbeat, europe?

It's the most wonderful time of the year!  It's live!  It's tacky!  It sparkles!  It's EUROVISION 2011, and it's on!  For those of you who are unfortunate enough to have never experienced a Eurovision, it's like a ridiculously hilarious mix of American Idol and the Olympics.  The song competition debuted in 1956 in Switzerland as a way to heal the divisions in a war-ravaged Europe and it is now one of the longest running television programs in the world.  The basic premise is that each country submits one song for judgment, which is to be performed over a live broadcast that reaches all countries in the EBU (European Broadcasting Union). Countries vote for other countries (voting for yourself is prohibited) and, eventually, someone wins.  In case you were wondering, you can thank Eurovision for ABBA.

 ABBA ca. 1974 [http://msbeaker.blogspot.com/]

But what makes Eurovision such a riot is the cheese factor.  The announcers are typically desperately unfunny, the costumes and props unbearably tacky, the lyrics irritatingly catchy and nonsensical, and the performers shamelessly flirtatious.  Case-in-point, Russian's entry Alexei Vorobjov is coming to get you and Hungary wants to know--what about my dreeaaaaaammmz?!:

 

Good stuff, man.  There are some charming groups, too, that warm the heart and make you go "awwwww" like Iceland:


Ireland will be performing in the second semi-final round on Thursday.  The submission?  Strange, intergalactic, amazeballs twins from Dublin who call themselves Jedward (John + Edward) with very bizarre yet somehow endearing personalities (in small doses, of course).  Now, I'd heard an awful lot about the UK's submission (a sufficiently cheesy boy-band, Blue) but I hadn't heard of Jedward at all until I looked up the Eurovision listing on RTE.  They're pretty fantastic.  I'm not going to say I want them to win just yet, but Ireland holds the record for most Eurovision wins (7) and it'd be cool if the youngest competitors this year could add one more to the list?

completely sober.  i can't wait until tomorrow when i'll be drinking that druid that's been in the fridge since st. patrick's day.

That's it for now, folks.  Stay tacky!

5.08.2011

to my mother.


Happy (U.S.) Mother's Day.  I know you'll always protect me from muddy Renaissance miscreants.  I love you!

5.01.2011

adventures close to home.

It seems crazy that in sixteen days, I will be flying to Germany for the start of a whirlwind tour that will also bring me to Austria, Italy, Switzerland, England, and potentially Wales.  It seems crazy, but it's true.  I have sixteen days to say goodbye to everyone and Ireland, book hostels, pack my things, ship what doesn't fit home, and buy my soon-to-be seventeen-year-old brother a birthday present.  That's two weeks.  That's terrifying.

Thinking about it now, I've just made an attempt to plan a bit for Dresden, Florence, and Laussanne, and the languages are already kicking my butt--even German, because the vocab is completely unfamiliar to me.  I haven't "booked a room" since we booked fake rooms in high school, and real money wasn't at stake back then.  I think I did a better job bullshitting my way through the Laussanne tourism page, which randomly kept switching back to French whenever I tried to find an ice rink that would be open in June, than I did trying to figure out how exactly to get from Dresden to the Säschische-Schweiz and back.  Oh, well.  You live and you learn, and I'll come back to conquering the booking process tomorrow.


What, outside of finalizing my hectic month of insanity, have I been up to in the merry ol' land of Eire?  With only two weeks to go, I've decided to adventure (mostly) close to home.  (I may have one last big trip to see the Ring of Kerry or hang out in Ennis [since the Siege of Ennis was one of my favorite group dances growing up].)  Plus, there's so much that I haven't experienced yet so close to home, and I feel like it would be a bit of a cop out if I said goodbye to Galway too soon.

 on the beach where we breaked for lunch and wrote in the sand in a multitude of languages including irish, german, spanish, and japanese


hanging out on the edge at dún aonghasa

On Thursday, I journeyed to the Aran Islands (Inis Mór [literally: the big island]) for a sunny day trip.  The weather was amazing and held out the entire day, despite Met Eireann warnings that there would be wet spells throughout the day along the west coast.  (Whenever I look at the weather before I plan a trip, I always feel a bit like I'm playing Russian roulette and I'm about to lose.)  We hired a bike for the day and once I got over the fact that there were cows and ponies and awesome views every few feet, it was nice to just cruise along with the wind in my hair and my vision unobstructed by awkwardly placed plastic curtain-holders.  I am definitely a proponent of biking when you can, in Ireland and anywhere.  Something about it is just so liberating.  Plus, you don't have to pay for petrol.

the cliffs at dún aonghasa

Like Carraroe and Dingle, the Aran Islands are a Gaeltacht region, meaning that Irish is everywhere.  I'm always tempted to practice in the supermarket after hearing people ordering chicken or telling their kids to go grab some cookies (I only know that's what they're saying because it's what they do only seconds later), but my courage fails me at the last minute.  But, aside from the exciting immersion in an Irish-speaking region, the Gaeltacht just refreshes my entire body.  Even in Dingle and the Aran Islands, where you really can't walk three feet without bumping into a tourist, everyone seems friendlier, happier, more laid back (which is saying something because the Irish are incredibly friendly, mostly happy, and super laid back).  The air is fresher, the atmosphere cleaner as well.  It's just the kind of place where you feel like you can touch history, and, in this case, it's a long one indeed.


 is maith liom rothaíocht

Only about 1.5 hours from Galway City Centre (1hr shutle, 1/2hr ferry), Inis Mór is practically in our backyard so to speak, and I'm glad for that.  It just reinforces my already strong feeling that I am in the right place this semester.  I honestly couldn't ask for any better.

Saturday was another adventure day, this time even closer to home.  On the way back from Connemara, driving along the coast, I like to look out the bus window and make a list of all the places I want to go but will probably never get around to visiting.  One one side is the coast, lots of beaches and sparkling water.  On the other side, sometimes I see cute little towns or shops or animals out at pasture.  Well, one day I was looking out the window and I saw Barna Woods.  Really, it's like peering into some mythical creature's secret garden.  That may sound beyond dorky, but I'm telling you... I was so enthralled I resolved to find it, looked up its location, found a bus that went to Barna, bought a ticket, and wandered around until I found it.

 spring flowers


It was smaller than I was used to as far as wooded parks go, but it was a lot more magical.  It's (apparently, if you like to believe everything Wikipedia says) one of the only places in Ireland where oaks are growing naturally, and it's really neat because you can see some of the history of the land in its trees--the older ones are broad and fat, perfect for climbing and as shade trees for grazing stock.  They were able to really stretch their limbs out as far as possible because there were no other trees competing for light and nutrients.  Younger trees are skinnier and longer.  So you can tell kind of where they reclaimed the land from former pastoral land.  It's really fascinating.  If I would have been more prepared, I would have brought a book to read in the tree I climbed.  I could have spent hours there had I had the time.  Alas!  I was pressed for time because there was cool stuff happening in Galway that I didn't want to miss!

 pretty much what i saw from the bus window multiplied by a magical factor of 815.

When we were walking through the city on Friday to get lunch, we stumbled across these signs for a (FREE!!) music festival in the Latin Quarter.  After finishing my Castles essay at race pace (4,000 words in 4 hours--wow!), I just didn't feel up for it that night, but on Saturday, Natalie and I hit the streets for some great craic.  We saw some trad at Tigh Coili and sort of rock-ish outside of Evergreen, but I think I can say with confidence that our favorite act was the North Strand Contra Band from Dublin.  They were an eclectic mix (drums, double-bass, trombone, sax, clarinet, banjo, accordion) with an awesome, totally dancable sound.  I did dance, actually.  A couple of mishmash reels and some Charleston.  :)  We loved them so much that we even saw them again tonight outside of the Townehouse and then again outside of Evergreen.  And for anyone who's going to be around: they're playing again on May 27th in Monroe's.

the north strand kontra band.

It's a little sad now knowing that I won't have great music to look forward to every evening starting at 5pm, but the Bank Holiday festivities just reminded me how much I love it here.  We even stumbled upon some cool restaurants we want to test out before we leave.  So, Galway's good and it's going to be really hard to leave and go back home and to Oberlin where, as much as I may have wanted it to, life didn't stop when I was gone.  Oh, well, that's a long time coming.  For the time being, I'll keep on living in the moment and enjoying life for all it's worth!