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.