As all you international finance gurus know, the dollar is in the proverbial toilet. It is at something like a millenium low in terms of value. This has a number of effects, including (hopefully) less cheap imports and more cheap exports (for the U.S., anyway). This brings me to my first point. While a weak dollar was not such a boon for J-Amy (to whom, by the way, we bid a fond farewell on Thursday), it's like David and I are getting little raises every month. At least for the money that we suppose will one day make it back to the U.S. before the euro tanks. In dollars we are making nearly $400 more a month than when we started. Now that's what I call value.
Although, once the government gets their 40% bite, it's more like a $200 a month raise. But, hey, whatever. If I were spending dollars, I'd have more to spend. Be that as it may though, we are spending euro and until we sally back 'across the pond' as the Brits like to say, wir erwerben, was wir erwerben as the Deutsch like to say. Next point. Since, with a high level of confidence David and I are pretty sure we'll evntually settle in the U.S., we are currently trying to figure out just how to get our big, strong euro back to the U.S. so that they can become wimpy, flabby dollars. This isn't as easy as one might imagine. Short of going to the nearest exchange kiosk (try finding one of these in 2007) to physically change a sack full of euro into dollars and stuffing them all into a 'fat suit' so that we can pass undetected through customs with what would surely be a sum of money that would make homeland security perk up and take notice (any sum greater than $45), I am at a bit of a loss.
Mostly, it seems like we might somehow get stuck tax-wise. Not sure how this works and I can't find a legitimate online source for information. Oh, sure, I can find all kinds of crappy dotcom advice from your choice of random 'certified financial advisors,' but there is a genuine absence of anything reliable short of paying $1000. I think the fat suit is looking more appealing all the time.
What else? As I said, J-Amy left last Thursday. We had a really great time hanging out with them. Stella especially dug having them around. In fact, she stalked them in the morning and threw stuffed animals at them as soon as they were awake. I think Stella was pretty excited to have some company while we were at work.
David got back from Azerbaijan the day J-Amy left. They may have crossed one another over the English channel, they were so close. Unfortunately, David brought back more than some very cool Azeri scarves (which are really pretty, by the way). When I got home from work, David was huddled under a blanket on the couch with an outrageously high fever and a serious case of what seems to be food poisoning. The doctors (to whom David went kicking and screaming on Friday) took blood and said 'yep, you've got an infection. Good luck with that', and summarily sent him on his way.
We are both hoping he is feeling better soon as Wednesday is his birthday. And nobody wants to feel like crap on their birthday, unless it is self-induced by one to many keg-stands and tequila shooters. We are also leaving on Saturday for a five day trip to Florence, Italy. I am really excited to see the Mona Lisa and drink espressos. More on that later.
One final point. As is typical in the northern hemisphere this time of years, I am noticing that the days are getting decidedly shorter. This led me to investigate just how little daylight there is around the winter solstice. You may be shocked and appalled to know it is right around 7 and a half hours (give or take about 5 minutes). Ouch.
I still love Hamburg (even if I won't really be able to see it come December).
Monday, September 24, 2007
Monday, September 17, 2007
Bob Ross and Me
Largely because David is in Azerbaijan at a conference and J-Amy are touring the hinterlands of Germany, I found that I had a good bit of discretionary time this weekend. I had also worked a lot of overtime to submit a proposal and I was feeling both tense and lazy. If anything other than the gas station were open on Sunday in Germany, I probably would have rounded up the ingredients to bake a cake or an apple pie. Man, I've got sweets on the brain more than usual. Dangerous.
Anyway, I don't know what triggered Bob Ross. Maybe something about the way the light filtered through the window at 2 in the afternoon on Sunday - sort of happily. I recalled nostalgically the excitement that would come over me if I were lucky enought to catch The Joy of Painting on a weekend afternoon. Nearly anytime during the day that a free TV was to be had, I would flip to PBS just to see. I'm not sure why I never consulted the trusty TV Guide lovingly placed by the recliner. The mind of a 10 year old.
But on those fortuitous occasions when I saw his big, orange 'fro brightly contrasted against a prepared canvas, I would blissfully settle in for a half-hour of little kid meditation. Sitting upright and perfectly still, I would zone out while Bob talked me through the stages of some landscape painting, complete with happy little trees and fluffy clouds (as few or as many as you decide). The paint colors rolled off his tongue like exotic bird names or French cakes - thalo blue, cadmium white, yellow ocre. My favorite, for no good reason, was Van Dyke brown. I don't even like brown, but it sounded so great to hear Bob Ross say it while he loaded his fan brush with a combination of oils to bring mountains and trees and bushes to life. I especially liked when he would take this paint knife and sort of cut a line through a gob of paint to collect a perfect little roll of color, which invariably became a rock formation or the outline of some fantasy mountain range.
Bob Ross was no classic painter. In fact, most of his stuff was slightly tacky and might have looked most at home surrounded by shag rugs and animal heads mounted to walls. But Bob had a knack for making you think that you could create a respectable oil painting in 30 minutes, too. And as he moved across the canvas, 'pulling paint' here and 'adding mist' there (as much or as little as you want. It's your world.), I was always convinced that he was just about to ruin the painting. Angst would occassionally intrude on my zen moments with Bob. I would cringe as he added a big rock over the carefully highlighted trees. But everytime, the painting was somehow better for it.
With all of these memories in mind, I YouTube-d Bob to see what was out there. Sure enought, Royal Majesty in three parts was free for the viewing. So I settled in and nearly felt 10 again as Bob tried to inspire the artist in me. It was all the same. The same, nearly intoxicating, effect of watching Bob Ross 'drop' a few clouds in (anywhere he wanted, in his world). Bob also showed his at home viewers where little green grassy things might live and how not to add too much highlighting to trees. Even though, he admitted with a reassuring grin, he did it all the time. The end result was the same, too. A pretty, yet slightly tacky painting left me feeling at ease with the world. And while I know I'll never paint anything but a wall, it's nice to know that if I wanted to, I could drop in happy little trees, fluffy clouds and as few or as many trees as I want, in my world.
And on that note, I think I might watch Royal Majesty again before bed - to put everything right with the world.
I still love Hamburg. And I love the vegan ice cream in the Schanzen quarter now too!
Anyway, I don't know what triggered Bob Ross. Maybe something about the way the light filtered through the window at 2 in the afternoon on Sunday - sort of happily. I recalled nostalgically the excitement that would come over me if I were lucky enought to catch The Joy of Painting on a weekend afternoon. Nearly anytime during the day that a free TV was to be had, I would flip to PBS just to see. I'm not sure why I never consulted the trusty TV Guide lovingly placed by the recliner. The mind of a 10 year old.
But on those fortuitous occasions when I saw his big, orange 'fro brightly contrasted against a prepared canvas, I would blissfully settle in for a half-hour of little kid meditation. Sitting upright and perfectly still, I would zone out while Bob talked me through the stages of some landscape painting, complete with happy little trees and fluffy clouds (as few or as many as you decide). The paint colors rolled off his tongue like exotic bird names or French cakes - thalo blue, cadmium white, yellow ocre. My favorite, for no good reason, was Van Dyke brown. I don't even like brown, but it sounded so great to hear Bob Ross say it while he loaded his fan brush with a combination of oils to bring mountains and trees and bushes to life. I especially liked when he would take this paint knife and sort of cut a line through a gob of paint to collect a perfect little roll of color, which invariably became a rock formation or the outline of some fantasy mountain range.
Bob Ross was no classic painter. In fact, most of his stuff was slightly tacky and might have looked most at home surrounded by shag rugs and animal heads mounted to walls. But Bob had a knack for making you think that you could create a respectable oil painting in 30 minutes, too. And as he moved across the canvas, 'pulling paint' here and 'adding mist' there (as much or as little as you want. It's your world.), I was always convinced that he was just about to ruin the painting. Angst would occassionally intrude on my zen moments with Bob. I would cringe as he added a big rock over the carefully highlighted trees. But everytime, the painting was somehow better for it.
With all of these memories in mind, I YouTube-d Bob to see what was out there. Sure enought, Royal Majesty in three parts was free for the viewing. So I settled in and nearly felt 10 again as Bob tried to inspire the artist in me. It was all the same. The same, nearly intoxicating, effect of watching Bob Ross 'drop' a few clouds in (anywhere he wanted, in his world). Bob also showed his at home viewers where little green grassy things might live and how not to add too much highlighting to trees. Even though, he admitted with a reassuring grin, he did it all the time. The end result was the same, too. A pretty, yet slightly tacky painting left me feeling at ease with the world. And while I know I'll never paint anything but a wall, it's nice to know that if I wanted to, I could drop in happy little trees, fluffy clouds and as few or as many trees as I want, in my world.
And on that note, I think I might watch Royal Majesty again before bed - to put everything right with the world.
I still love Hamburg. And I love the vegan ice cream in the Schanzen quarter now too!
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Ahh, Antwerp (or 'Life After #1')
The plan for last weekend (a three day weekend, since we took Friday off) was to take the train to Amsterdam and go experience the city and all of its stereotypical offerings - the Van Gogh museum, a canal tour, buying wooden shoes, and (of course) a visit to a cafe and possibly the red light district. Wednesday we decided it would be cheaper to rent a car. On Thursday the plan went awry, as plans so often do. With a rental car waiting on the street, we got just slightly more ambitions. Instead of Amsterdam and the land of tulips, funny hats and wooden shoes, we put a new destination in our sights.
It's all David's fault. He suggested Belgium in the first place, which was surprising because his only comments on Brussels during a short trip last summer was 'boring' and 'expensive.' Although, to be honest, his assessment of Amsterdam during the same said trip wasn't much (if any) better. I think 'dirty' and 'full of asshole rich kids on European vacation getting high and puking in the gutters' pretty much summed it up. Maybe the slight change in plans wasn't so innocent after all.
Regardless, after some poking around on the web, I discovered that Antwerp, a mere 5 hours' drive from Hamburg, was home to the #1 beer pub in the WORLD! (As ranked by ratebeer.com). As my loyal readers might remember, J-Amy are visiting. And as my loyal friends might remember, J-Amy, David and I all have a proclivity for the sudsy stuff. That settled it. We were on a pilgrimage to our analogous Mecca - The Kulminator - reputed to have over 500 varieties of almost exclusively Belgian beer. It was also reputed to have a nice atmosphere and fair prices.
Again we consulted the internet where we found a camping spot just outside the city and since the weather was supposed to be fair and the hotels outlandishly expensive, we went for the camping option (more cash for beer). Amy graciously agreed to drive the 5 hours in exchange for a three day supply of apples. This turned out to be a challenge as Amy can go through a half-dozen apples in a day, core and all, no problem. As early as humanly possible, we picked up our four-door Kia and hit the road. Almost exactly 5 hours and a few hundred kilometers later, we arrived at the camp spot. As the boys set up the tents, Amy and I toddled over to the Esso station across the way and picked up the cheapest six-pack of beer we could find (just to see, in the name of science, how cheap Belgian beer stacked up, of course). Canned Jupiler turned out pretty darned ok. It certainly puts anything the Germans or the Americans are mass producing to shame.
But, really, we were chomping to get onto bigger and better things and I could fairly hear the Kulminator calling. After the tents went up and the sleeping bags were safely stowed inside, we grabbed the sub-par tram downtown and walked the cobbled streets of Antwerp to the Kulminator. The bar was on an entirely unassuming side street and looked mostly haunted by locals. It had nice, old wooden tables and a similar bar. We took seats in the garden and as we cracked the menus our collective jaws dropped. It was true - well over 500 different beers, nearly all from Belgium. There were Trappists, Abbys, Krieks, 30 or 40 different Chimays (dating all the way back to the 1980's), Lambics, you name it. The vintage beer selection was out of control - it went back to 1979 that I noticed. You could get any year, any variety from any monastary in Belgium. Unglaublich!
Beautiful Belgian Beer:
Say 'cheese' happy beer drinkers:
We spent Friday evening at the Kulminator sampling several beers and eating cheese with Trappist mustard (a real treat). I'm hear to tell you, I don't know if I can ever be bothered to drink the rubbish Pils that Germany tries to foist on me. I have officially crossed into beer-snob land and I may never come back. Hurray for Belgium!
Saturday we spent doing the gratuitous tourist things - looking at old buildings, museums and churches and generally prowling the streets to get a feel for the city. Antwerp is slightly dingier and slightly less well run than anywhere I've been in Germany. It has more of an exotic feel - like you are somewhere different. I loved it. The farmers market was great - a hundred (seriously) different kinds of olives, heaps of apples, cheap avocados and lots of produce we just don't see up north. Around 2, we couldn't take it anymore - we moved onto the next pub on the list (Oud Arsenaal). It was more crowded than the Kulminator and didn't have nearly the beer selection. Although, honestly, who could?
Oud Arsenaal:
Ah, the other great thing about beer in Belgium is that each and every single beer gets it's own glass. Over the course of the weekend, we had beers in maybe 30 different styles of glasses, all designed for maximal enjoyment of the particuarl beer you are drinking.
During the course of the day, we hit two other pubs. Afspanning ’t Waagstuk was very cool. It had lots of beers, was located in a great old building and had a pretty little beer garden. Paters Vaetje was just ok (by Belgian beer pub standards). One theme of the weekend was the folly we committed by starting out at the #1 Kulminator. I mean, it's all down hill from there. And it was. Deliciously, enjoyably, wonderfully downhill. I imagine the other pubs would have knocked out socks off had it not been for the Kulimantor. BUT, alas, our socks remained firmly on.
Lovely Waagstuck pub:
In any event, Antwerp was excellent - both the city and the beer. Oh, and did I mention that Belgium is also famous for chocolate and waffles? Oh, lord, I must have died.
I still love Hamburg (and I love Antwerp, now, too!)
Pretty Antwerp:
For the beer geeks on my readership, here is a list of the beers we tried. These were jotted on the back of a receipt and a coaster - apologies for mispellings and other errors. Read 'em and weep:
At The Kulminator:
Orval Trappist Ale
Saint Feuillien Tripel
Corsendonk Agnus
Avec Les Bons Voeux
Sint Bernardus Tripel
Rochefort Rodestop 6 (1998)
Karmeleit Tripel
Cuvee des Trolls
Chimay Grand Reserve 2003
Caracole Bruin
At Oud Arsenaaal:
De Koninck Winter
Kappitel Bruin
Troubador
Jessenhofke
Ename Cuvee
Ename Dunker
Rochefort 80
Westmalle Tripel
At Afspanning 't Waagstuck
Saison Dupont
Zeppelin
De Koninck
Trappist Achel
Grimbergen Cuvee de l'Ermitage
Grimbergen Dubbel
De Koninck
Rodenbach Grand Cru
Paters Vaetje
Westmalle Dubbel
Corsendonk Agnus
Chimay Red
La Trappe Tripel
It's all David's fault. He suggested Belgium in the first place, which was surprising because his only comments on Brussels during a short trip last summer was 'boring' and 'expensive.' Although, to be honest, his assessment of Amsterdam during the same said trip wasn't much (if any) better. I think 'dirty' and 'full of asshole rich kids on European vacation getting high and puking in the gutters' pretty much summed it up. Maybe the slight change in plans wasn't so innocent after all.
Regardless, after some poking around on the web, I discovered that Antwerp, a mere 5 hours' drive from Hamburg, was home to the #1 beer pub in the WORLD! (As ranked by ratebeer.com). As my loyal readers might remember, J-Amy are visiting. And as my loyal friends might remember, J-Amy, David and I all have a proclivity for the sudsy stuff. That settled it. We were on a pilgrimage to our analogous Mecca - The Kulminator - reputed to have over 500 varieties of almost exclusively Belgian beer. It was also reputed to have a nice atmosphere and fair prices.
Again we consulted the internet where we found a camping spot just outside the city and since the weather was supposed to be fair and the hotels outlandishly expensive, we went for the camping option (more cash for beer). Amy graciously agreed to drive the 5 hours in exchange for a three day supply of apples. This turned out to be a challenge as Amy can go through a half-dozen apples in a day, core and all, no problem. As early as humanly possible, we picked up our four-door Kia and hit the road. Almost exactly 5 hours and a few hundred kilometers later, we arrived at the camp spot. As the boys set up the tents, Amy and I toddled over to the Esso station across the way and picked up the cheapest six-pack of beer we could find (just to see, in the name of science, how cheap Belgian beer stacked up, of course). Canned Jupiler turned out pretty darned ok. It certainly puts anything the Germans or the Americans are mass producing to shame.
But, really, we were chomping to get onto bigger and better things and I could fairly hear the Kulminator calling. After the tents went up and the sleeping bags were safely stowed inside, we grabbed the sub-par tram downtown and walked the cobbled streets of Antwerp to the Kulminator. The bar was on an entirely unassuming side street and looked mostly haunted by locals. It had nice, old wooden tables and a similar bar. We took seats in the garden and as we cracked the menus our collective jaws dropped. It was true - well over 500 different beers, nearly all from Belgium. There were Trappists, Abbys, Krieks, 30 or 40 different Chimays (dating all the way back to the 1980's), Lambics, you name it. The vintage beer selection was out of control - it went back to 1979 that I noticed. You could get any year, any variety from any monastary in Belgium. Unglaublich!
Beautiful Belgian Beer:
Say 'cheese' happy beer drinkers:
We spent Friday evening at the Kulminator sampling several beers and eating cheese with Trappist mustard (a real treat). I'm hear to tell you, I don't know if I can ever be bothered to drink the rubbish Pils that Germany tries to foist on me. I have officially crossed into beer-snob land and I may never come back. Hurray for Belgium!
Saturday we spent doing the gratuitous tourist things - looking at old buildings, museums and churches and generally prowling the streets to get a feel for the city. Antwerp is slightly dingier and slightly less well run than anywhere I've been in Germany. It has more of an exotic feel - like you are somewhere different. I loved it. The farmers market was great - a hundred (seriously) different kinds of olives, heaps of apples, cheap avocados and lots of produce we just don't see up north. Around 2, we couldn't take it anymore - we moved onto the next pub on the list (Oud Arsenaal). It was more crowded than the Kulminator and didn't have nearly the beer selection. Although, honestly, who could?
Oud Arsenaal:
Ah, the other great thing about beer in Belgium is that each and every single beer gets it's own glass. Over the course of the weekend, we had beers in maybe 30 different styles of glasses, all designed for maximal enjoyment of the particuarl beer you are drinking.
During the course of the day, we hit two other pubs. Afspanning ’t Waagstuk was very cool. It had lots of beers, was located in a great old building and had a pretty little beer garden. Paters Vaetje was just ok (by Belgian beer pub standards). One theme of the weekend was the folly we committed by starting out at the #1 Kulminator. I mean, it's all down hill from there. And it was. Deliciously, enjoyably, wonderfully downhill. I imagine the other pubs would have knocked out socks off had it not been for the Kulimantor. BUT, alas, our socks remained firmly on.
Lovely Waagstuck pub:
In any event, Antwerp was excellent - both the city and the beer. Oh, and did I mention that Belgium is also famous for chocolate and waffles? Oh, lord, I must have died.
I still love Hamburg (and I love Antwerp, now, too!)
Pretty Antwerp:
For the beer geeks on my readership, here is a list of the beers we tried. These were jotted on the back of a receipt and a coaster - apologies for mispellings and other errors. Read 'em and weep:
At The Kulminator:
Orval Trappist Ale
Saint Feuillien Tripel
Corsendonk Agnus
Avec Les Bons Voeux
Sint Bernardus Tripel
Rochefort Rodestop 6 (1998)
Karmeleit Tripel
Cuvee des Trolls
Chimay Grand Reserve 2003
Caracole Bruin
At Oud Arsenaaal:
De Koninck Winter
Kappitel Bruin
Troubador
Jessenhofke
Ename Cuvee
Ename Dunker
Rochefort 80
Westmalle Tripel
At Afspanning 't Waagstuck
Saison Dupont
Zeppelin
De Koninck
Trappist Achel
Grimbergen Cuvee de l'Ermitage
Grimbergen Dubbel
De Koninck
Rodenbach Grand Cru
Paters Vaetje
Westmalle Dubbel
Corsendonk Agnus
Chimay Red
La Trappe Tripel
Monday, September 3, 2007
Too old for all-nighters
As many in my faithful readership know, J-Amy (aka Jeff & Amy) have landed in Hamburg. Many thanks to all who sent care packages for Jeff (not so thankful) to carry. We are fairly awash in maple syrup, vacuum cleaner bags and Adidas deodorant (everyone is thankful for that). Unfortunately, many brain cells were sacrificed this weekend in our quest to show J-Amy a nice time. As a result this post may be slightly lacking in flair. I'll do my best.
Fortunately, it's festival time in Hamburg. And there was a world-class triathlon here this weekend. We participated in the festivals. Not so much in the triathlon. Go figure. On Friday we did attend the triathlon where we watched the under-23 men's triathlon. There were beers all around. It made us feel only slightly guilty watching all these elite athletes while we swilled beer and woo-hooed the Americans. The athletics were followed by dinner at an Afghani restaurant (more beers) and a visit to a reggae festival (and more beers). This was our "playing it cool" since we were scheduled for an all nighter followed by the Fisch Markt on Saturday and we wanted to save energy.
Saturday rolled around gloomy and rainy (TIH - This is Hamburg). The nice thing is that the rain doesn't usually last all day and the clouds broke in time for us to attend the Methfesselstrasse fest right around the corner from our apartment. This was the start of our 6-to-6. Here we saw an awful band, drank beer and Jeff ate festival sausage. The rest of us had really great falafel - made fresh right there. Amy was convinced that the lady in the band was just plucked out of the audience for the occasion. It was embarrassing to watch, really.
We next hit up the reggae fest from Friday night. The band was excellent, Dubtari, I think they were. And the show was free. This is something that is common around here and really nice. Lots of festivals fund their shows with beer. Reasonably priced beer (3 euro). The reggae fest might have been about the time that we decided each person would be designated "party director" for some set period of time. The PD would decide where to go and how long to stay. Amy took first shift and the moniker "PDA."
Anyway, we went to a bar that was reminiscent of Colors. It was dark, shabby, and you could DJ. This was followed by a trip to a Hooka Bar (Amy's idea). By this time we'd been drinking for many hours and hadn't eaten in nearly as many. As a result, we all sort of felt like we were hit by a small truck after huffing on the hooka. This might have been the start of my demise.
But we knew we had to last until AT LEAST 5 am, when the Fischmarkt opened. So, I had to stay strong. About this time Amy, who was PDA as you might remember, was summarily impeached with a 3/4 majority as a result of bad Hooka decisions and because she was drunk on power (or something like that). I was the next PD and after much consultation with Amy we decided we really needed a snack to keep it going another 3 hours. While Amy and I ate delicious Turkish snacks, David and Jeff took this opportunity to investigate Davidstrasse (see earlier post). The report is that Davidstrasse features beautiful, scantily-clad women sitting on stools in windows applying make-up and nail polish. I'm not sure why that's off limits to women.
After our delicious Turkish snack we proceeded to the next Colors-like bar where we got our asses kicked at fussball by some kid and his girlfriend. Well, it was actually David and Jeff. Amy and I watched. By this time, I was really dragging (and clock watching). Finally, it was 5am and we marched ourselves down to the River Elbe and the Fischmarkt, which turns out to be pretty lame at 5am. Or maybe I was too drunk and tired to really appreciate it. And I had the hiccups. In any event, we muddled around for about an hour and then caught the train home.
Sunday sucked, but I still love Hamburg.
Amy and Jeff are day-tripping around Hamburg and we are planning a long weekend to Amsterdam. Ugh. More brain cells.
Fortunately, it's festival time in Hamburg. And there was a world-class triathlon here this weekend. We participated in the festivals. Not so much in the triathlon. Go figure. On Friday we did attend the triathlon where we watched the under-23 men's triathlon. There were beers all around. It made us feel only slightly guilty watching all these elite athletes while we swilled beer and woo-hooed the Americans. The athletics were followed by dinner at an Afghani restaurant (more beers) and a visit to a reggae festival (and more beers). This was our "playing it cool" since we were scheduled for an all nighter followed by the Fisch Markt on Saturday and we wanted to save energy.
Saturday rolled around gloomy and rainy (TIH - This is Hamburg). The nice thing is that the rain doesn't usually last all day and the clouds broke in time for us to attend the Methfesselstrasse fest right around the corner from our apartment. This was the start of our 6-to-6. Here we saw an awful band, drank beer and Jeff ate festival sausage. The rest of us had really great falafel - made fresh right there. Amy was convinced that the lady in the band was just plucked out of the audience for the occasion. It was embarrassing to watch, really.
We next hit up the reggae fest from Friday night. The band was excellent, Dubtari, I think they were. And the show was free. This is something that is common around here and really nice. Lots of festivals fund their shows with beer. Reasonably priced beer (3 euro). The reggae fest might have been about the time that we decided each person would be designated "party director" for some set period of time. The PD would decide where to go and how long to stay. Amy took first shift and the moniker "PDA."
Anyway, we went to a bar that was reminiscent of Colors. It was dark, shabby, and you could DJ. This was followed by a trip to a Hooka Bar (Amy's idea). By this time we'd been drinking for many hours and hadn't eaten in nearly as many. As a result, we all sort of felt like we were hit by a small truck after huffing on the hooka. This might have been the start of my demise.
But we knew we had to last until AT LEAST 5 am, when the Fischmarkt opened. So, I had to stay strong. About this time Amy, who was PDA as you might remember, was summarily impeached with a 3/4 majority as a result of bad Hooka decisions and because she was drunk on power (or something like that). I was the next PD and after much consultation with Amy we decided we really needed a snack to keep it going another 3 hours. While Amy and I ate delicious Turkish snacks, David and Jeff took this opportunity to investigate Davidstrasse (see earlier post). The report is that Davidstrasse features beautiful, scantily-clad women sitting on stools in windows applying make-up and nail polish. I'm not sure why that's off limits to women.
After our delicious Turkish snack we proceeded to the next Colors-like bar where we got our asses kicked at fussball by some kid and his girlfriend. Well, it was actually David and Jeff. Amy and I watched. By this time, I was really dragging (and clock watching). Finally, it was 5am and we marched ourselves down to the River Elbe and the Fischmarkt, which turns out to be pretty lame at 5am. Or maybe I was too drunk and tired to really appreciate it. And I had the hiccups. In any event, we muddled around for about an hour and then caught the train home.
Sunday sucked, but I still love Hamburg.
Amy and Jeff are day-tripping around Hamburg and we are planning a long weekend to Amsterdam. Ugh. More brain cells.
Monday, August 27, 2007
Casual indifference and rules of the road
I've noticed a new phenomenon here in Hamburg, specifically. Deutschland, in general. Bike riding is riddled with nuances that I am slowly coming to understand. Here's one: don't make eye contact with oncoming traffic. This is particularly true if you are riding with the right-of-way. By that, I mean you are riding in the bike path on the right (as opposed to left. Or wrong, really) side of the road. The point is, you are cruising along on the right side of the road, and someone, who is clearly breaking German rules, is riding in your direction (the wrong way). If you make eye contact, you have officially issued a challenge and the process becomes a game of chicken. And if you make room on the path, you lose. Really, you lose either way - because Germans don't really concede once the game is on. I think they'd rather wreck.
On the other hand, if, in your peripheral vision, you see an oncoming bike (wrong direction, necessarily) but don't acknowledge it or the rider, the person on the bike will obligingly get out of the way, no questions asked. No crash risked. Hmmm...
This leads me to the casual indifference that I feel like is the common approach for German drivers/pedestrians/strangers in general. No one is malicious. Not that I can tell. And people are much more patient. You really don't experience road range or even agitated honking, really. The most I have seen, when I, due to narrow or crowded streets, block traffic, is that people (especially station wagon drivers) will rev their engines as they pass me and shifting gears really quickly. That's it. No one intentionally crowds you out or cuts you off. Just casual indifference.
Same thing when you are walking on the sidewalk. Mostly, you look straight ahead. No gratuitous head nod or brief welcome smile. No real greeting at all. I'll catch people shooting sideways glances if, for whatever reason, I am somehow interesting (or weird). I'm mostly voting on weird, because I usually
try to make eye contact and maybe even smile. :-)
Dog people are only slightly different. There are the occassional kooks who want their dog to play with Stella. They march right up and ask if Stella is a girl. When I say yes, they let their dog off the leash and Stella goes to great lengths to avoid the offending dog. Unless it's Max. Max is Stella's Deutsch-love. He is a small-ish shiny black dog who does not participate in butt-sniffing (which suits Stella extra-fine). Instead, Max likes to be chased. Fast. If you've met Stella, you'll understand what utter bliss this instills in our predator-dog. She'll chase Max until I or Max's owner breaks it up. We haven't seen Max in a few days. Hopefully he's not on vacation.
What else?
Deutsch class is over!! Woo-hoo. I can't even begin to tell you. All kinds of time on my hands. Nice.
J-Amy arrive Wednesday. It's a good time since Deutsch class is over and it's festival time here in Germany. Street fests every weekend. There is one a block from here this weekend. It should be heaps of fun.
Autumn is in the air - you can feel it and the leaves are changing (yes, already). It's not yet September and the air is crisp and cool and getting cooler. Oye. I hope the Autumn is a long one.
On the other hand, if, in your peripheral vision, you see an oncoming bike (wrong direction, necessarily) but don't acknowledge it or the rider, the person on the bike will obligingly get out of the way, no questions asked. No crash risked. Hmmm...
This leads me to the casual indifference that I feel like is the common approach for German drivers/pedestrians/strangers in general. No one is malicious. Not that I can tell. And people are much more patient. You really don't experience road range or even agitated honking, really. The most I have seen, when I, due to narrow or crowded streets, block traffic, is that people (especially station wagon drivers) will rev their engines as they pass me and shifting gears really quickly. That's it. No one intentionally crowds you out or cuts you off. Just casual indifference.
Same thing when you are walking on the sidewalk. Mostly, you look straight ahead. No gratuitous head nod or brief welcome smile. No real greeting at all. I'll catch people shooting sideways glances if, for whatever reason, I am somehow interesting (or weird). I'm mostly voting on weird, because I usually
try to make eye contact and maybe even smile. :-)
Dog people are only slightly different. There are the occassional kooks who want their dog to play with Stella. They march right up and ask if Stella is a girl. When I say yes, they let their dog off the leash and Stella goes to great lengths to avoid the offending dog. Unless it's Max. Max is Stella's Deutsch-love. He is a small-ish shiny black dog who does not participate in butt-sniffing (which suits Stella extra-fine). Instead, Max likes to be chased. Fast. If you've met Stella, you'll understand what utter bliss this instills in our predator-dog. She'll chase Max until I or Max's owner breaks it up. We haven't seen Max in a few days. Hopefully he's not on vacation.
What else?
Deutsch class is over!! Woo-hoo. I can't even begin to tell you. All kinds of time on my hands. Nice.
J-Amy arrive Wednesday. It's a good time since Deutsch class is over and it's festival time here in Germany. Street fests every weekend. There is one a block from here this weekend. It should be heaps of fun.
Autumn is in the air - you can feel it and the leaves are changing (yes, already). It's not yet September and the air is crisp and cool and getting cooler. Oye. I hope the Autumn is a long one.
Monday, August 20, 2007
Hotcakes, hiking and Hogwart's (aka Luebeck)
I have nearly abandoned Deutsch lessons and I only feel a vague, nagging sense of guilt about it. Last week I skipped Monday all together and only went to half of a class on Thursday. I think my and David's mood has infected the class. Most other students either don't show or leave early as well. Stefi, our teacher, is disgusted. She says she has never had a class like this. I just shrug and ask for the homework. I don't really know what else to say, what with my limited vocabulary and all. Since we are Deutsch drop-outs we'll be no help when visitors come, other than to order beer and bread. Those are no-brainer items.
Being a dead beat student has freed up all kinds of time. David and I basically lounged around and drank wine tonight while searched the net for a cheap trip to enjoy when Jeff and Amy come next week. It's weird how much time we've got on our hands. David is looking now at a newcomers guide to Hamburg to find a hobby. He skipped right over the language lessons section.
Backing up just a bit, David and I had nice weekend that involved pancakes, a hike and a trip to Lubeck. We decided to take it easy on Friday and get up early to go to an American restaurant we had heard about near the university. So, bright and early Saturday we mounted our trusty bikes and headed across Hamburg for hearty portions of flapjacks. The portions were not so generous but the pancakes got the job done - they were fluffy and authentic, not at all crepe-like. At 7 euro a plate I expected (but did not get) genuine maple syrup. Ho hum. That reminds me. I am making an open call to all visitors to bring syrup. It's pricey and hard to find here. The best I've done so far is a quart bottle for 20 euro. I would have bought it, but it was grade C. I didn't even know there was such a thing. We used to buy grade B at the coop and it basically tasted like molasses. I may, in my desperation, buy a little bottle to try it out.
After breakfast we took the city train south to a small village across the river and southwest of Hamburg. To our surprise there were genuine woods and even hills. Acres and acres of them. After Illinois, this was so unexpected, I was beside myself. We walked around all afternoon enjoying the countryside and picking wild blackberries - it was great. Stella ran like a banshee and peed all over. After our long walk we made our way back to the train through the village. You could certainly tell we were not in the city - everything was closed up as tight as a drum. Not even a cold beer to be had on a Saturday afternoon.
Sunday we took the regional train to Lubeck, a city founded in the 12th century. It was the seat of the Hanseatic League (part of an old trading alliance started in the 13th century) and was an independent city until 1943. As you might imagine, Lubeck is rife with old stuff - churches, an old (I mean seriously old) hospital, castles and houses. The best part is that the city is on a very small island. I don't know if the island was natural or due to design, but it made for a very fairy tale-esque setting. Lubeck is accessed through medieval city gates that look like something straight out of Harry Potter.
This is from Wikipedia:
Pretty cool, huh?
Our next adventure may be to an island via a catamaran. We'll keep you posted.
Of course, I still love Hamburg!
Being a dead beat student has freed up all kinds of time. David and I basically lounged around and drank wine tonight while searched the net for a cheap trip to enjoy when Jeff and Amy come next week. It's weird how much time we've got on our hands. David is looking now at a newcomers guide to Hamburg to find a hobby. He skipped right over the language lessons section.
Backing up just a bit, David and I had nice weekend that involved pancakes, a hike and a trip to Lubeck. We decided to take it easy on Friday and get up early to go to an American restaurant we had heard about near the university. So, bright and early Saturday we mounted our trusty bikes and headed across Hamburg for hearty portions of flapjacks. The portions were not so generous but the pancakes got the job done - they were fluffy and authentic, not at all crepe-like. At 7 euro a plate I expected (but did not get) genuine maple syrup. Ho hum. That reminds me. I am making an open call to all visitors to bring syrup. It's pricey and hard to find here. The best I've done so far is a quart bottle for 20 euro. I would have bought it, but it was grade C. I didn't even know there was such a thing. We used to buy grade B at the coop and it basically tasted like molasses. I may, in my desperation, buy a little bottle to try it out.
After breakfast we took the city train south to a small village across the river and southwest of Hamburg. To our surprise there were genuine woods and even hills. Acres and acres of them. After Illinois, this was so unexpected, I was beside myself. We walked around all afternoon enjoying the countryside and picking wild blackberries - it was great. Stella ran like a banshee and peed all over. After our long walk we made our way back to the train through the village. You could certainly tell we were not in the city - everything was closed up as tight as a drum. Not even a cold beer to be had on a Saturday afternoon.
Sunday we took the regional train to Lubeck, a city founded in the 12th century. It was the seat of the Hanseatic League (part of an old trading alliance started in the 13th century) and was an independent city until 1943. As you might imagine, Lubeck is rife with old stuff - churches, an old (I mean seriously old) hospital, castles and houses. The best part is that the city is on a very small island. I don't know if the island was natural or due to design, but it made for a very fairy tale-esque setting. Lubeck is accessed through medieval city gates that look like something straight out of Harry Potter.
This is from Wikipedia:
Pretty cool, huh?
Our next adventure may be to an island via a catamaran. We'll keep you posted.
Of course, I still love Hamburg!
Monday, August 13, 2007
You can't go shopping with Stella
So, on Tuesday - our weeknight off from language class - we decided it would be nice to go to the park and have a little picnic. The stars were really aligned since the weather was nice AND we had a little free time. David had an appointment for a haarschnitt (hair cut), so I left him at the friseur while I walked down to the grocery store to grab some treats for our outing. I had Stella in tow, who always gets nervous when we take her to the shopping street by our house. In fact, a couple of weeks ago she chewed her leash in half and ran all the way home (through city traffic), stopping to take a giant dump in the middle of the street, the sight of which actually clued me in that she was headed home.
I figured that I had her little chewing problem under control when David and I made a leash from a length of chain and typical leash hardware - a handle, a clip for her collar, you know. I even knitted the handle so I wouldn't have to hold onto a piece of chain. It was great. Or so I thought. When we got to the store, I chained her to a sturdy pole and walked into the store relatively satisfied that there wasn't much she could get into.
As I was just ticking off the last item on the list, I noticed a woman frantically walking around the store and asking people a question and pointing outside. I thought I heard her say "hund" and she confirmed it when she asked me the same question - "blah, blah, hund, blah blah?" I sort of shook my head to indicate I wasn't sure what she wanted and mumbled in my best German that I didn't speak the language. She looked at me with some annoyance and moved on. Unfortunately our German lessons are limited to plain and slow speakers who often repeat themselves. I certainly wasn't advanced enough to listen to frantic German. I figured I better finish my business and get outside in case Stella completely lost her mind and bit a passer-by or who knows what.
By the time I hustled outside, a crowd of eight or ten onlookers had gathered around Stella. Most people were standing around looking concerned with furled brows and much lip biting. One guy was putting down a bowl of water while a woman was unfastening Stella's leash from the pole. Stella looked utterly terrified. In my very most panicked German I said, "Excuse me, that dog is mine," as I relieved the woman of Stella's leash. The crowd took on a definitively mob-like tone, with the water bowl guy and the unleasher dressing me down for my apparent indiscretions and extreme neglect. I quickly turned around to leave and the woman who was questioning everyone in the store yelled at me for good measure. I told her again that I didn't speak German. She didn't care. Dear god, I thought, a small natural or man-made disaster would sure be handy right now.
To make matters worse, David and I agreed to meet in front of the grocery store after his haircut. I didn't dare stay there with all of the angry dog people, so I headed down the block hoping to bump into him. As I hustled away, I noticed that Stella had eaten the knitted handle. I wasn't sure if this was the cause of or a reaction to the crowd that gathered. In either event she was outside a total of ten minutes. Ten. I've seen people go in to do their weekly shopping and leave their dog outside the store for 30 minutes or more. I've also seen guys belly up to the bar with their faithful pooches longingly staring in the pub door. I'm not really sure what gives. Maybe it's that shelter dog look Stella has about her - sort of thin, scared and nearly feral. She always manages to look freshly abandoned. Whatever it was, I am very hesitant to show my face there, after that ruckus. It could have only been worse if the police had come. Jeez.
Otherwise, our little picnic in the park was nice. The park was really pretty - lot's of weeping willows and a big pond in the middle. There were also quite a few mosquitoes, but I don't think I'm allergic to German mosquitoes. Again, I don't know what gives. I do know that those little bastards can keep you up all night, though. This I discovered last night, when our friend Florian, on his way back to the U.S., stayed over for a visit. We went out after dinner for a beer at the little pub-in-the-park by our house and since it was so nice out, we decided to leave the big French doors at the front of our apartment open. When we returned about an hour later, I noticed a couple of mosquitoes in the bathroom, where I promptly smashed them. After cleaning up the smeary bug guts, I got ready for bed and went to lay down. About 20 minutes later I heard this high pitched buzz. I knew right away what it was. I figured the pesky little blood sucker would have a bite and then take a rest. Either he was exceedingly hungry or there were a whole flock of them. The buzzing went on all night. Finally around 3 a.m., I wizened up and stuffed my ears with toilet paper. This helped some, enough to sleep, but I could still hear that whining buzz from time to time. Ugh.
Even after mortifying embarrassment, I still love Hamburg. We are planning a day trip to Lubeck this weekend. I'll keep you posted.
I figured that I had her little chewing problem under control when David and I made a leash from a length of chain and typical leash hardware - a handle, a clip for her collar, you know. I even knitted the handle so I wouldn't have to hold onto a piece of chain. It was great. Or so I thought. When we got to the store, I chained her to a sturdy pole and walked into the store relatively satisfied that there wasn't much she could get into.
As I was just ticking off the last item on the list, I noticed a woman frantically walking around the store and asking people a question and pointing outside. I thought I heard her say "hund" and she confirmed it when she asked me the same question - "blah, blah, hund, blah blah?" I sort of shook my head to indicate I wasn't sure what she wanted and mumbled in my best German that I didn't speak the language. She looked at me with some annoyance and moved on. Unfortunately our German lessons are limited to plain and slow speakers who often repeat themselves. I certainly wasn't advanced enough to listen to frantic German. I figured I better finish my business and get outside in case Stella completely lost her mind and bit a passer-by or who knows what.
By the time I hustled outside, a crowd of eight or ten onlookers had gathered around Stella. Most people were standing around looking concerned with furled brows and much lip biting. One guy was putting down a bowl of water while a woman was unfastening Stella's leash from the pole. Stella looked utterly terrified. In my very most panicked German I said, "Excuse me, that dog is mine," as I relieved the woman of Stella's leash. The crowd took on a definitively mob-like tone, with the water bowl guy and the unleasher dressing me down for my apparent indiscretions and extreme neglect. I quickly turned around to leave and the woman who was questioning everyone in the store yelled at me for good measure. I told her again that I didn't speak German. She didn't care. Dear god, I thought, a small natural or man-made disaster would sure be handy right now.
To make matters worse, David and I agreed to meet in front of the grocery store after his haircut. I didn't dare stay there with all of the angry dog people, so I headed down the block hoping to bump into him. As I hustled away, I noticed that Stella had eaten the knitted handle. I wasn't sure if this was the cause of or a reaction to the crowd that gathered. In either event she was outside a total of ten minutes. Ten. I've seen people go in to do their weekly shopping and leave their dog outside the store for 30 minutes or more. I've also seen guys belly up to the bar with their faithful pooches longingly staring in the pub door. I'm not really sure what gives. Maybe it's that shelter dog look Stella has about her - sort of thin, scared and nearly feral. She always manages to look freshly abandoned. Whatever it was, I am very hesitant to show my face there, after that ruckus. It could have only been worse if the police had come. Jeez.
Otherwise, our little picnic in the park was nice. The park was really pretty - lot's of weeping willows and a big pond in the middle. There were also quite a few mosquitoes, but I don't think I'm allergic to German mosquitoes. Again, I don't know what gives. I do know that those little bastards can keep you up all night, though. This I discovered last night, when our friend Florian, on his way back to the U.S., stayed over for a visit. We went out after dinner for a beer at the little pub-in-the-park by our house and since it was so nice out, we decided to leave the big French doors at the front of our apartment open. When we returned about an hour later, I noticed a couple of mosquitoes in the bathroom, where I promptly smashed them. After cleaning up the smeary bug guts, I got ready for bed and went to lay down. About 20 minutes later I heard this high pitched buzz. I knew right away what it was. I figured the pesky little blood sucker would have a bite and then take a rest. Either he was exceedingly hungry or there were a whole flock of them. The buzzing went on all night. Finally around 3 a.m., I wizened up and stuffed my ears with toilet paper. This helped some, enough to sleep, but I could still hear that whining buzz from time to time. Ugh.
Even after mortifying embarrassment, I still love Hamburg. We are planning a day trip to Lubeck this weekend. I'll keep you posted.
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