Zur Mitte, zur Titte, zum Sack, Zack Zack!!

21 January 2011—Kaiserslautern

I arrived in Kaiserslautern in the evening.  Fabian greeting me at the station and we walked back to his apartment where I promptly crashed on the couch, exhausted from the night before.  I was woken about an hour later by Robert as he collapsed onto me for a giant hug.  He had arrived with his roommate, Nils.

Robert and Fabian couchsurfed at my apartment back in October.  While they were visiting Philadelphia, I took them and a third surfer from New Zealand to my friend’s 21^st birthday party.  That evening was certainly a precursor to the weekend I would experience here.

 

Robert, Fabian, Nils, and I road the train to Mannheim.  It was about an hour ride, so we passed the time sipping beers.  We met up with Christina and two of her friends.  Meat consumption number four:  pepperoni pizza.  At Christina’s we had these adorable little shots of schnapps, or something.  They were in colorful little bottles and were accompanied by a charming routine.  On the bottom of the bottle was a number.  Mine was 15.  I tapped the bottle 15 times on my leg, opened it, stuck the cap on my nose and proceeded to drink the shot hands free, with the neck of the bottle in between my teeth.  We all did it together.  And well, if your bottle had the number 99… sucks to be you.

 

We headed out to a club.  After pressing through an impressive crowd to the coat check, we made our way out to the dance floor.  I will again repeat my sentiments regarding the Germans and their dancing.  I love it.  It is so charmingly uncoordinated and awkward that I can’t help but smile and join in.  By the end of the night I was drenched in beer, my own and others’.

A man named Franz was trying to dance with Christina.  She looked at me in desperation, so I told Franz she would dance with him when she finished her beer.  I proceeded to continuously refill her beer whenever it neared empty.  Apparently, I also threatened his life at some point, as he dragged Christina off to say goodnight.

When we left the club, we went to a Döner Kebab Haus.  I really should consider revoking my title as a vegetarian.  Everyone had spent the day insisting I try a Kebab.  I was expecting meat on a skewer.  However, what I got was a pita stuffed with shredded beef, lettuce, a mystery sauce and other goodies.  It was actually quite tasty but I did not finish it, passing the second half to Fabian, who showed no resistance.

I finished off the evening in a Turkish bar with Nils, as the others already headed back to Christina’s to sleep.  Drinking my final beer of the evening, I was surround by celebration.  It may have been a wedding, or a birthday; I’m not quite sure.  Flower pedals coated the floor and crowds danced enthusiastically to traditional Turkish music.

22 January 2011—Kaiserslautern

I cooked dinner for Fabian, Robert, and Nils.  Pasta with a homemade vegetable sauce, nothing terribly special.  However, I must say, it is always an adventure cooking in someone else’s kitchen, and such a process makes me wish I had packed my Shun Santoku knife in my pack (does that make me a loser?).  Instead, I found myself creatively and inefficiently slicing vegetables with a two inch blade. 

After dinner, Robert, Nils, and I played a card game while introducing one another to strange YouTube videos.  So without further ado, I present to you, Big Booty Bitches:

Fabian had arranged a big night out with all of his friends.  There were 17 of us, and we started at the Hofbrauhaus below Fabian’s apartment.  I was swiftly bombarded with a list of names and faces, most of which I do not remember now.  After a few rounds at the Brauhaus, we moved on to another bar, and later to a dance club.

This evening was the first time I felt truly alone since the beginning of this trip.  I’ve wandered cities by myself, gazed out train windows into vast fields of unknown land, but never really felt alone.  While it is the tool of communication, language can be an isolating thing.  When one lacks the linguistic ability to communicate, you lose your connection to humanity.  Isolated amongst a group of friends who speak, joke, and relate with one another at ease, struggling to capture a word or a phrase recognizable phrase, I was essentially alone despite the crowd surrounding me.  I began to question what I left behind, and what it was I was seeking.  What I left was comfort, and what I was seeking was discomfort.  So I was exactly where I wanted to be.  But to see comfort, without feeling it, can be a bit distressing, even when that is what was sought.

23 January 2011—Kaiserslautern

While Kaiserslautern may be the place where I have learned the most German thus far, I can’t really say it’s the most useful.  Or maybe it absolutely is the most useful.

Robert cooked me a lovely dinner which was meat consumption number (what are we up to now?!) six.  Don’t worry, I gave him permission to cook something with meat beforehand, for the sake of experiencing traditional German food.

24 January 2011—Kaiserslautern

I accompanied Robert and Artur (another roommate) to their mathematics class at the University.  The professor was French.  German sounds pretty funny when spoken with a French accent.  I opted to use the time to make progress in my Rosetta Stone program, which I have neglected greatly.  Surrounded by Germans, I felt quite awkward as simple (often comical) German sentences popped onto my screen with accompanying (often equally hilarious) photos. 

Einbahnstraße

18 January 2011—Heidelberg

It seems my packing skills have improved since my arrival.  I managed to eliminate all extraneous swinging from my pack, making it much more manageable.  My converses were not neatly shoved into its belly rather than dangling at either side.  It looks slightly less epic, but more practical I suppose.

I opted to take the cheapest train, which meant there was little storage besides a small shelf above your head.  Impressively, I heaved by pack up—all 58 pounds, and sat cautiously below it.  I knew that if it toppled off it would most definitely hurt like hell.  I was quite proud of my accomplishment.  Hoisting and lowering that pack to such a height is quite a feat for a little lady like me.  One gentleman watched in awe.

Initially, the train was packed, and I kept to my little corner, resisting the urge to photograph and document my pack in the crowd.  However, as the ride progressed, the car emptied and only a few people remained on the opposite end.  Immediately, I busted out my camera and began arranging in on the chair opposite me, setting the self-timer, and essentially entertaining myself for the remaining hour.  The group at the other end must have thought I was insane, hopping back and forth as I was.  And at one point, while I smiled obnoxiously for the camera, a girl from the other car spotted me through the window as she waited to exit and awkwardly smiled back.  She couldn’t see the camera.  I imagine she was rather confused.

The hostel website had directions written from the train station.  I had glanced them over earlier, noted the number 33, and left it at that.  I really should learn from my mistakes.  Disregarding directions rarely ends well.  I ended up riding the bus entirely too far.  I realized this when I saw the German sign for “Leaving Heidelberg” on the side of the road.  Damn it.  I hauled my pack off of the bus, figuring I would catch one in the opposite direction, rectifying my mistake.  I was on the side of a dark road, sitting alone, waiting desperately for transportation.  After a while, a bus came, but it was not the 33, it was the 35… I hoped on it anyways figuring it was going in the necessary general direction.  It did not stop where I needed, but it was close enough, I hoped.  I hopped off and began wandering.  One would really think that the Hauptstraße (Main Street) would be easier to find.  It is never fun to be lost with a pack and two bags dangling from either hand.  Around 20:00, I finally stumbled upon the hostel.

I entered.  I was lucky.  The bartender was a cutie.  I settled myself in, went out for some pictures, and returned around 22:00.  Once back, I set myself up at the bar for dinner (and beer, obviously) and proceeded to flirt and converse with said cute bartender until closing.

19 January 2011—Heidelberg

A rather standard day of exploration.  I grabbed my camera and set off for a few sites.  First, the nerd in me took me to Philosophenweg.  Not only was this known to be a destination for many of Heidelberg’s strolling professors and scholars, it was suppose to offer some spectacular views.

I wasn’t prepared for the climb.  Suddenly, I encountered a steep, narrow, winding alley up the side of the mountain.  Stone walls on either side blocked the view, but two lookouts offered a glimpse of below.  When I reached the top, I will admit that I was fairly disappointed.  It was nothing more than a paved road on the cusp of a large hill.  I suppose there was a panoramic view of Heidelberg, but trees and branches obstructed any truly stunning documentation of this.

I wandered along, enjoying the crisp air.  It flurried once.  It was quite brief, but lovely.  At the end of Philsophenweg is a garden.  Colorful flowers were maintained despite the off-season.  I took a seat on a bench overlooking the city and I decided to try to meditate. Of course, nearly the instant I closed my eyes, it began to rain.  Mission failed.  I picked up my things and began my descent into the city.

Now a bit hungry, I spotted a bakery across the street.  Three cute boys sat it the window.  Okay, looks good, I thought.  I entered and purchased a chocolate croissant and sat by the window, watching the rain fall.

As the rain tapered off, I left and walked toward the river.  I noticed a path and followed it to the river’s edge.  Like all the others in the region, it too was flooded.  I walked along a narrow cobblestone strip, the water only an inch below.  As barges passed by, the waves threatened to crash onto my feet.  

I had looped back to the Alte Brücke.  I crossed and headed toward the castle towering over the city.  Another steep incline, but well worth the climb.  The castle's rubbled walls offered a flawless view of the city below.  It was enchanting, and the castle was a great subject for some HDR experimentation (which I had taught myself only a few nights before).  So, do forgive—I may have had a little too much fun.

20 January 2011—Heidelberg

There we four others in my room this past night.  One of which snored louder than any other human (and possibly animal) that I have ever heard.  Honestly, he sounded like he was dying.  Not even sleeping pills and earplugs offered much relief.  So, even though my alarm was going off in the morning as they left to check-out, I snuggled back into my bed for some much needed (real) sleep.  Around mid-day I was awoken by a serenade in the neighboring room—a charmingly off-tune rendition of “More Than Words” on guitar.

I tend not to eat here, mostly I forget and find myself famished at around 6 or 7 in the evening.  I eat about once a day, unless you count a croissant or beer… then twice.  So, long after the sun had set, I grabbed a slice of pizza.  I really should consider revoking my title of vegetarian.  I ate meat for a third time.  Initially, by accident.  However, I continued out of apathy.  There was some sort of ham, or sausage, or both on the slice of pizza.  I had not noticed it through the window, and since my German is generally lacking, ordering is primarily a process of pointing.  By the end of the slice, I really could not stand the taste of ham lingering in my mouth, so I turned into a McDonalds.  I learned that they have cheap veggieburgers there, but I’m really not sure which is worse and more shocking—my consumption of meat, or my consumption of McDonalds.  But these two have not yet been combined; surely that will be the day that the earth spontaneously combusts… but maybe not.  In the McDonalds, I ordered my first meal entirely in German (insert applause bitte).  And apparently they have bakeries in the McDonalds here, so I finished off my meal with a nice slab of schokokuchen.  You’re allowed to binge on pizza, burgers, and chocolate cake when you have not eaten in 24 hours and walk multiple hours each day, occasionally with a 58 pound pack on your back.  But to be honest, I felt quite awful afterwards.

I wandered to the Hauptbahnhof to meet Nasrin (Nessie), exploring the quiet neighborhoods surrounding the central district on my way.  I had messaged Nessie the night before, asking if she would be interested in going out for a drink.  Going out alone can be awkward, making an early night in quite the temptress.  However, to not go out feels a bit lame, and incomplete.  The company and insight of a local is priceless, and Nessie showed me a great evening.

She took me to a pub that she frequents, and immediately upon entering two men exclaimed “NESSIE!”  Her friends were there, as she had hoped and expected.  Her two friends were American, and they were accompanied by an eclectic crowd—German, Swiss, French, Egyptian, British, and another American.  We enjoyed beer and conversation before heading out to a different bar.  While we had the sprawl of a giant table at the pub, we found ourselves shoved into a corner at the next bar.  It was much more crowded, and apparently known for its shots.  Sebastian, the Swiss, began passing around shots, refusing to inform me of what I was drinking until after it was consumed.  The first few were quite fine… schnapps primarily, a specialty in Germany.  A while later, I am handed a flaming shot.  I looked at Sebastian in shock, “Fuck no”, I said.  He insisted that you did not drink the shot until after the flame had extinguished and passed around more shots to the group.  On top of the shot glass was a lemon slice and a sugar cube (which had formerly been on fire).  Sebastian instructed us to first eat the sugar cube, take the shot, and suck the lemon.

H.O.L.Y.  S.H.I.T.  I guess the flame should have been a sign.  Nothing has ever tasted more awful.  I nearly vomited right on the floor.  In fact, immediately after taking the shot, Nessie rushed to the bathroom to purge herself of the shit.  I tried to maintain my composure, guzzling beer to mask the taste.  Apparently, the shot had Tabasco in it, and a lot of it.  My lips burnt incessantly for the next 15 minutes, and I had to make a trip to the bathroom to shovel water into my mouth from the sink—classy.  The burning didn’t subside until Nessie took a piece of milk chocolate from her bag and offered it to me.

Not Untitled

An intermittent update until I become less lazy, and more interesting... back with Heidelberg soon!!!

16 January 2011—Frankfurt am Main

I ventured into Frankfurt with my lovely hosts of the past few days—Ingo, Claudia, and their son Jonah.  The city was a fascinating juxtaposition of old and new.  Glass and metal stood beside timber frames and stone.  It was a lovely day, one of the few that I have experienced free of rain thus far, so I strolled the streets with an ice cream cone.  Pictures should suffice…

Claudia and little Jonah.

Römerberg Plaza.  This area was destoryed in the Allied bombing of April 1944, laying in ruins for years until the city restored it's historic center in the early 1980s.

Frankfurt seems to be a whee bit flooded...

Dom Sankt Bartholomäus, aka Saint Bartholomeus's Cathedral (for us Amerikaners).

Dom Sankt Bartholomäus (inside).

A fancy building.

Ingo and little Jonah.

The new and the old.

A view of Frankfurt from above.

A view of Frankfurt from above.

Alte Oper.

Pulse.

My poor shoes are not so happy with me.

 

17 January 2011—Offenbach am Main

My German dictionary and I conquered the washing machine, and the grocery store.  Exciting, eh?

Eins, Zwei, Drei Berliner

14-15 January 2011—Berlin 

 

Who Knew was playing in Berlin at the Comet Club.  It was there last show during their (quite short) German tour and I really wanted to see them.  I slept in far later than I intended, and was slow to get going.  I managed to grab a train around 17:15.  It arrived in Berlin at about 21:25 and the show started at 21:00 (or so the internet had told me).  That was perfectly fine, I generally go to concerts about an hour late.

I really should learn to plan better or at least give myself more leeway for the mistakes I inevitably make and the obstacles I encounter.  The train arrived in Berlin at around 22:00.  We had been delayed by a medical emergency.  Stepping into the hauptbahnhof in Berlin, I was immediately overwhelmed.  It was far larger that I had expected.  All I had was the name of a station, and I saw no maps to aid me in deciphering which train I should board.  As I wandered in circles I saw a sign with Warschauer Straße.  I remembered seeing this near my destination on google maps.  I boarded the train and hoped for the best.

When I arrived at Warschauer Straße my instincts told me to go right.  My instinct were wrong.  I walked for nearly a mile before I concluded that I was going the wrong direction.  I was suppose to cross a river and I hadn’t.  I turned around and trekked back the way I had come.  I passed the station again, shortly thereafter was the river, and then the Comet Club, my final destination.  By the time I arrived, I was two hours late.  Which could have been fine, but I had also been mistaken about the start time.  Posted outside, it said 20:00.  I was three hours late.  Scheiße.  I missed the show.  The sign also had an event posted for 23:00, so I went in anyways.

I grabbed a beer (a Berliner, as I was in Berlin) and took a seat.  23:00 is early for Berliners, and the club was sparsely populated.  The music selection was fantastic, leaving me quite content to relax in a corner with my beer and listen. As I observed the room around me, I found myself wondering if I had entered a gay club.  Each collection of people was either exclusively male or exclusively female and no interaction.  It looked like a middle school dance.  However, as more people arrived, and more alcohol was consumed, this changed.

On my third beer, a Colombian approached me.  The ensuing conversation would be comical for an outside observer.  We bounced between his poor English and my forgotten Spanish, while surrounded by German.  He bought me a shot of Yeager and I had a few more beers.  The dance floor had filled and I was finally ready to join the party.

I like how Germans dance—a free-spirited flailing of all limbs that may or may not coincide with a beat.  They dance like I do.

It was not long before I began harassing strangers.  On my first attempt, I was unsuccessful.  I tried to tell one guy that I liked his shirt (it simply said “love music, hate facism).  He didn’t speak English.  And, while I could probably say something as simple as “Ich mag deine t-shirt”, I failed to recover any German competency that I might have.  Later, I saw someone sitting on the edge of the stage.  He looked bored, sad, less than happy.  I approached him, and honestly, I don’t remember exactly what I said.  It included the word “smile” a lot.  I then dragged him onto his feet to dance.  We became friends.  We’ll call him Hans (for anonymity, entertainment, and to mask the fact that I don’t actually remember his name, I likely forgot it immediately upon hearing it… well, mostly the latter).

Now 4 or 5 in the morning, Hans and I left the club with his friend.  I didn’t trust him (the friend, that is).  Eventually, I became fed up with him and simply walked away.  Shortly after, Hans caught up with me, rid of his friend.  We went and grabbed some food.  I’m not really sure what it was I ate; he ordered for me.  There were noodles and I think there may have been some meat (I’m really on a role here with the whole vegetarian thing, aren’t I?). 

I had intended to spend the night in the train station, not wanting to pay for a room, and simply grab an early train back to Offenbach.  Hans refused to allow me to do such a thing.  And, although the sky was turning light with the dawn, he set me up on a futon in his apartment.  When I woke up in the morning (mid-day), he prepared breakfast and sent me on my way.  I probably should have paid more attention when he gave me directions.  As soon as I walked out onto the street I realized I had no idea where I was, or where I was going.  I started walking.  Eventually I found my way.

Oh, and on the train you get your beer in a legitimate glass.  Beer in GLASS on a train?!?!  Only the Germans.  Rad.

Days One and Two

12 January 2011—Mainz, Hessen, Germany

 

When we landed in Frankfurt, the sun was only just beginning to rise.  Despite our long delay during departure, we were only five minutes behind the expected arrival.  I was shocked when the customs officer did not ask me a single question.  To be honest, I was kind of hoping for the opportunity to be slightly obnoxious.  Instead, he simply studied, stamped, and returned my passport in an eerie silence.  I suppose the name “Hoffman” alongside birth in Germany garners one a free pass.  Or they simply do not care as much as I had imagined. 

After a bit of aimless wandering, several failed attempts at attaining internet, one passport scare, and multiple mountings and dismountings of my pack (a serious feat at 58 pounds—I nearly topple over every time I hoist it onto my back), I finally settled into an little bistro.  After paying far more than desirable, I had internet, a croissant, nutella, and a delicious hot schokolade.

My circumstances upon arrival had been less than ideal.  I had about $60 in my bank account and $100 in cash.  Everything else was dependent on USPS, successful forgery by my mother, and a speedy transfer at the bank.  However, a bit of my luck changed when I found an email from Ingo, the son of my mother’s former landlord (and my former nanny) here in Germany.  I may not have had money, but at least I had a place to sleep.  Previously, I had seriously pondered living in the airport for a few days.

           

At the train station, I boarded the wrong train and ended up in Mainz instead of downtown Frankfurt.  A happy mistake, as I hoped to visit Mainz at some point anyways.  I shoved my pack into a locker and began exploring.  It was raining, but otherwise pleasant.  Mainz was freckled with bits of vibrant graffiti hidden in its crevices, which I found incredibly intriguing in contrast with the quaint architecture and age of the city.

It was not long until I found a used bookstore.  It was lovely.  The shelves were packed floor to ceiling with old German philosophy and literature texts.  Such bookstores are my greatest weakness in life.  I succumbed to my desire to indulge, but managed to indulge only moderately.  I purchased a copy of Goethe’s Faust and a book on Wittgenstein.  This was probably not the best idea for several reasons—I am carrying everything in a pack and books are heavy, I cannot read German well (yet), I’m broke—but I couldn’t resist.  Hopefully this will not become a habit.

I knew Mainz was on a river.  So my goal was to find it.  After a fair bit or wandering, intermittently entering shops to escape the rain, I stumbled upon the river.  It was flooded from the recent snows and rains.  The docks were partly submerged and a street sign protruded from the water’s surface.  The chill of the rain was beginning to seep into my bones.  While seeking suitable shelter, I grabbed a pretzel from a street vendor.  It seemed to be the cheapest food I could purchase.  Shortly after, I bought some gelato at a café.  I was shocked to find that neither the vendor nor the server at these locations spoke ample English.  In my previous travels it had seemed nearly everyone spoke enough English that I was spared embarrassment.  Alas, ordering consisted of severely butchered German accompanied by extravagant hand-gestures.  It seems you enjoy your gelato more when it is ordered in such a manner.

           
When I made it back to the train station, I still had plenty of time to waste.  I saw a ‘Hair Express’ with cuts for only 13 Euro.   It was cold outside, I had excess time, and I had intended to get a trim before leaving the states, so I walked into the salon.  No one spoke English except for one customer readying himself to leave.  Upon seeing the coinciding looks of confusion on the faces of myself and the two hairdressers, he proceeded to offer translation services.  He relayed that I wanted “a trim to keep my hair healthy” and the women nodded, shuffled me toward the sink, and the man left.  Intelligible communication ceased and my hair had been surrendered to a women with whom I could not clarify my desires.  About a half hour later she was finished.  I looked normal.  Success.  

I finally boarded a train to Ingo’s around 18:00.  Exhausted, I would intermittently wake from sleep, frantically attempt to figure out where we were, hopelessly try to read the rail map, doze off again, and repeat.  Once in Offenbach, I exited the train and emerged in a city larger than I had expected.  After spinning in circles while attempting to orient myself, a stranger approached me.  I looked lost—and I was.  When I asked him for directions he replied that he was not a local, but promptly herded several others on the street and offered my inquiry.  They directed me toward a map that eased my confusion only slightly.  While assured the street did exist, I still had no idea how to find it.  My pack began weighing on me heavily when I finally stumbled upon my destination.

            
Ingo has a son, Jonah.  Jonah is five and does not speak English.  He talks to me incessantly and stares at me, waiting for a reply.  I often fail to offer one.  He must think I am terribly dumb.  We struck an understanding, however, once he exclaimed 'kitzeln mich.'  Tickle me, simple enough.  As long as I was chasing or tickling him, I really didn’t need to struggle to understand his German.  Problem solved.

           

13 January 2011—Offenbach, Hessen, Germany

 

I set out the day with one goal—to find tomato soup.  I was successful, and encountered these added perks along the way:

...I saw Snookie, but she had bleached blonde hair and was speaking German.  While the former would make her even more ‘Jersey Shore,’ the latter cancels it out.  Therefore, I argue that she is Snookie’s exact equivalent.

...I saw a cute hairdresser through a window.  I seriously considered getting my hair cut again.

...I discovered that large-breasted, hard-nipped mannequins are a universal.

...Oh… and brace yourself… I ate meat.