Here and Now

As you gaze across the bobbing sea of heads and cameras, meeting Mona Lisa’s eyes across the room, as the echoes of the constant murmur of “no photo” from Italian polizia fills the Sistine Chapel, as the man next to you exclaims, “It’s a unicorn,” and laughs at the absurdity of the Crown Jewels, one begins to ponder the nature of tourism.

On this trip we have spent not an inconsiderable amount of time in what I would term “dead” monuments. The Tower holds no more executions, no kings live in Neuscwanstein, and the last battle in the coliseum, well, you get the idea.



It’s part of why I enjoy visiting places of worship. Because most of them are still alive.

Now, I will not pretend to be the most reverent of visitors to these embalmed places. I quite enjoy the imagined consternation of the Hapsburg ghosts as they see their venerated grounds invaded by the masses. But why do we go? Where is the line between overprotective snobbery and appreciation, between good humor and a loss of wonder?

When we were wandering the Louvre Chelsea and I were passed by a gentleman with a camera. He walked directly to each case in the room, snapped a photo and walked on. Without looking at what was there. This baffled us then, and still does. Where is the worth in that? What was the point of your admission? To say that you were there?

(And again, I am not above doing some things for the mere purpose of making a factual statement. We took a train ride to Malmo and back, and proudly count Sweden on our itinerary. Yes, yes, laugh at us.)



All of this makes Venice an interesting case. Venice, we were told, is a city of tourists. The old town, the part everyone thinks of when we think of Venice, gave us no evidence to the contrary. We heard a lot of languages, and very little Italian. There were street hawkers and cheap masks, gaudy gondolas and plenty of “I heart Venice” shirts.

And yet.

Some mask shops boast finer ware: fragile metal butterflies and swirls of stiff fabric, glittering crystal and delicate flourishes of gold. Some canals are still a breathtaking aqua, and some streets are deserted, left for the dreamers who wish they were wearing cloaks and lace and had important business about in the floating city.



And then it is back to the irreverent noise of cameras coming on and gelato running down your fingers. And the ice cream is marvelous, and you’ll be glad you got that shot later, when you are trying to convince yourself that you ever traveled halfway around the world.



If any of this seems to contradict itself, then I suppose that’s my point. I don’t know if there is a solution. I don’t know if there is a problem. I’d be sad if these treasures were locked from sight, I am sad that our dead have so little weight.

God's House

Nothing is quite like walking into a cathedral. One immediately looks up, to the dark vaulted ceiling, then ahead, along the row of pillars that disappear into a chapel for Mary or a saint. The weight of that great open space pushes a breath from you, and maybe you forget the camera in your hand and the couple muttering in English next to you.



The first time I walked into a cathedral I was twelve. And it taught me more about religion in a moment then I had learned in all more short life before. It made more sense.

We’ve seen a lot of churches on this trip, and a few spectacular cathedrals – Notre Dame and the York Minister, San Marco and the Sagrada Familia. But in Bavaria we got to see a new kind of church.

Klaus, my mother’s cousin, says that they were built as a catholic reaction to the success of the Lutherans in Germany.



They are perhaps more spectacular because the outsides are so modest – simple pink or white stucco with a copper cap on the bell tower. You do not walk in under a scene of the last judgment, no damned souls.



Where the cathedrals make you gulp, these churches make you want to laugh for joy. They have over-gilded altars, angels and trumpets bursting from the walls, and pink and gold filigree circling clear windows that let the sunshine in. They make you full of wonder rather than the awe of a cathedral.



When you walk in, you still look up. Instead of the imposing stone and shadowed corners are huge rainbow bright murals: more angels and Mary, the infant Christ and various miracles and saints. Even in the small ones. The ceilings are high, and there is still that sense of space, but free rather than enclosed.



On top of that we caught them at harvest time, so in front of every church is a pile of food – cabbages and rice, a round loaf of bread and squash, tomatoes, apples, and zucchini. The expression of bounty is an ancient one: look we have enough food for winter, so we can offer some to God.



On the wall of one of these were small amateur paintings, done by supplicants in thanks to Mary for her help. Klaus deciphered a few, reading the cramped old scripts. And he found one from a family dated 400 years ago. He chuckled because he had taught students from that family.

When we were planning this trip I saved Bavaria as the last place we would stay with family before going south and east to Istanbul. We're very glad we did.

The Mad King

Ludwig the Second of Bavaria might well be my favorite monarch. He’s certainly my favorite crazy one. Where many of the most famous nutters to sit on their thrones got the reputation by the occasional witch burning, random slaughter or horse senator, Ludwig built castles.

And they weren’t just your regular, dime a dozen keeps or citadels, this man dreamed big. Epic. The most famous is unfinished Neuschwanstein, recognizable the world over as the basis for the Disney castle, but he built two others – Herrenchiemsee and Linderhof – which were completed.



Neuschwanstein was dedicated to Wagner and his operas. One room – on the third floor – is a fake cave, stalagmites and stalactites and all, from Tannhauser, and the royal bedroom is decorated with paintings from Tristan and Isolde, along with years’ worth of master carpentry.

I’m sure that as a politician he was a problem. He had a habit of leaving one castle and fleeing to another whenever someone important wanted to talk to him. He did not like to see people. One of his dining rooms has a table that can be cranked down into the kitchen below so he would not have to see the servants.

He drowned mysteriously, along with a psychiatrist who was supposed to testify that he was mad and unfit to rule. He was the last king of Bavaria. Six weeks after his death Neuschwanstein was opened to the public, less than half finished.

The opulence and extravagance of this man, the arrogance and wealth are all apparent in his palace – in the individually painted stones, the gold sculpture of Sigfried slaying the dragon, in the beautiful little fake cave with a window and gilded reading chair looking out on the courtyard.

He doesn’t seem like someone to pity. And we felt so bad for him. Because he never saw the castle finished – because no one tried to finish it for him. Because there is a painting of what would have been his fourth castle on the wall of a throne room without a throne. A tiny silhouette of his next dream.

I don’t know whether he was aware that his eccentricities would make him into a modern fairytale. He certainly had the sense of drama for something like that. I doubt though, that he expected the end. The tragedy. But perhaps he did. He did love Wagner after all.

A Hole in the Ground

On February 14th of this year I sent Hanna an email with the subject "Can we go here?" The only content of the email was this URL: http://maps.google.com/maps?q=47.587801,13.269387

Hanna's reply:

sure ^_^

umm... where is it?

But the truth was, besides the coordinates, I hadn't the slightest idea. All I knew was that, in my search for good reference pictures on gorges, I had found what appeared to be a sinkhole in the ground surrounded by evergreens and oaks with this surreal Caribbean teal water in its belly. It was pretty. I wanted to see it.

So Hanna, bless her, researched these google coordinates, figured out the town they were in, how to get there, and slotted it into our itinerary.

A few days ago we arrived in Salzburg, from whence we took a train to the wee town of Golling-Abentau, from whence we took a bus to the Oberscheffau stop called Lammeröffen.

Yes, those are clouds beneath the mountains :)

A huge informational board stood at the bus stop, extolling the wonders of "The Lammerklam" (klam = gorge). It turns out my hole in the ground was not merely a lone sinkhole, but a winding whitewater river rushing through cracks in the Austrian Alps.

The Path to the Lammerklam

After walking somewhat awkwardly through what appeared to be several persons backyards, we reached an unimpeded view of the river. The water was unreal. I always associate blue/green water with the tropics, which meant, of course, that when I saw the white-green river, I had to double check to make sure it was actually cold.

It was.

"Hanna, my hand, it's cold now!"

A short while after this, both my and Hanna's cameras died. We managed to get a few good shots of the water, first.

Also noteworthy is the weather: a European drizzle that drifted into rain every few minutes, and on top of that Alps-chilled air. On any other occasion, I'd call the weather atrocious, but in this case it just added to the overall atmosphere. It added challenge, it added fun, it made us feel like real adventurers on an epic trek. We loved it.

Sallying forth, brave adventurers!

The coolest part, and the part from whence the initial, fantastic photo was taken, is at the top of the trail. Called the "dunkelklam" or "Dark Gorge", it's a natural dome carved by the waters, like a sliver of a cave, and there the water is at its deepest - and greenest!

Descending to the Dunkelklam!

There's something indescribably charming about going on such an adventure, finding a strange new world in the middle of nowhere that you only caught a glimpse of a long time ago in a digital slice. I broke into this dumb smile at the bottom and turned to Hanna, "We did it! We finally found my hole in the ground!"

Nothing is impossible.

On German Kezboards and Drinking

We are presentlz stazing with Hanna's Great Uncle Klaus and his wife Hilga in Lauterhof, Bavaria. Thez onlz have a land line, so we are forced to use their computer, and consequentlz, their kezboard. It#s not that bad, reallz. There are onlz a few misplaced charactersÖ the y and z for instance are switched, the apostrophe is hidden over the # kez, and everz so often, when zou least expect it, zou get an umlaut. Of course, when I intentionallz want to make an umlaut, saz for the word 'Umlaut', I find mzself mzstified bz the kezboard and absolutelz unable to -- oh, wait, I lied! There it is! Ü


So, here we are.


Now, I want to address mz latest facebook post, something about a blearz memorz of dear Bavaria wherein I have had more alcohol than the rest of mz life combined. I believe this single post got more likes and comments than anz other I#ve made on this trip. What are zou guzs trzing to saz, huh_ That zou want me to grow into a crayz drunkard_ That mz inebriation improves mz character_


I did have the... unique opportunitz... zesterdaz to trz 'Rauchsbier', a tzpe of beer malted over woodfire that retains much of the smokz taste. When Klaus pitched it to Hanna and I, his exact words wereÄ 'It tastes like smoked ham'. ...

SMOKED HAM IN A GLASS!_!_!! (Now if that didn#t have me sold, I don#t know what would.)


I declined a glass, opting for water instead, but Hanna forced me to have at least one sip.

I was suspicious - even the smell was awful

After the sip I was horrified at the signals sent from mz tongue and tried to wash it awaz with water.

Which onlz made it worse.

Hanna dealt with this much more easilz ß in fact she almost finished her glass ß and that evening had another when we were with her other great uncle, Stefan.

The wurst, bz the waz, was amaying. All organic (or 'bio' here in Europe) and with local animals onlz. Deeeelicious.

The wine, which was actuallz the reason for mz facebook update, came from a partz one of Hilga and Klaus#s friends threw. We were invited and promptlz given a cocktail upon arrival, followed bz wine for dinner, and also an offer of beer, followed bz schnapps for dessert. There was no waz I was going to be able to do the beer or schnapps, but I DID drink all of the cocktail and half the wine. See_ All zou people who have been trzing to make me drink ß all zou had to do was put me in a situation where it would be impolite to refuse. It worked for the Englands, and it worked here. Simples!

Transportation

There are many a way to traverse distances. In our time in Europe, we have experienced a surprisingly large quantity of them:

PLANE - Well, obviously. Plane from San Francisco to Cleveland, Cleveland to London. Still stirs memories of wretched blond dutch children screaming at 4 am.

METRO - We were welcomed into the arms of the metro in London, and it has been our predominant means of local travel. The metro maps are all similarly designed, regardless of country, and they scream GAME in a way that only an immensely well thought out and organized system can. 

I don't know why we took this picture, but there you go

CAR - Between Ian, Fangsy, the Englands, Betty, and the Von Wuthenaus, we've had quite a few car trips, some more eventful, or frightening (Hi Betty!) than others.

CAR (ON A FERRY) - One of the more awesome things we did with the Englands was drive the car onto a ferry, cross the river, and then drive off the ferry.

TRAIN - Ah, trains. The absolute failsafe. We have taken trains across the continent, seen the good, bad, and ugly, and they remain one of the most magical types of transportation. There's something terribly muse-like about watching scenery pass you by, actively progressing without any activity. We've had some of our best book discussions on trains, and done some of our best writing.

One of our first trains, in England

TRAIN (ON A FERRY) - So this one really messed us up. I woke up on the train all discombobulated with Hanna poking me being like "Chelsea, we're on a ferry." And I was all "Uuah?" True story. Much like the Car-On-A-Ferry method, our train rolled onto the ferry, we all disembarked, hung out on deck, and climbed back on board when we landed on the other side. (This particular bit was the train from Copenhagen to Hamburg).

TRAIN (SLEEPER) - This deserves its own category just for the sheer ridiculousness that was fitting into a middle bunk.

What is going on?!

TRAM - These are really just above ground metros in my opinion... Most memorable? The ones in Nice. Because we accidentally didn't pay once. We rectified it, don't worry, but it was scary there for a sec.

BUS - I think the most memorable bus would be the one to Monaco, which was actually thisclose to making Hanna throw up. I don't think I've ever seen her look more sick - not even on the ferry to Saint Malo.

BUS (ON A FERRY) - You can thank the Irish sea for this one. That's what you get for being a foot passenger.

FERRY -  The ferry up the Rhine is by far the standout ferry in my opinion, and not only because we didn't start off in the cargo hold (we need to get to the ventilation shaft!). As with the trains, watching scenery pass by is simply thrilling and so inspirational.

WATER TAXI - The Englands took us on a water taxi to get over to Plymouth, wherein we indulged in cherry vodka, fish n' chips, and ice cream with clotted cream.

FUNICULAR - We have been on two funiculars: One halfway up Montserrat, the other to the top of a hill in Lyon to see the church.

On the way up Montserrat

HORSE - Technically, we went in a circle on them, but I still believe it's absolutely legitimate to include them here.

That's Hanna up there on the white horse

FOOT - I don't know what we'd do if we didn't each have a pair of wonderful feet to carry us across this world. We've climbed mountains with these feet, spent entire twelve hour days on these feet exploring Paris or Prague or Vienna. My feet are sore as I speak, and the skin between my pinky toe and the one next to it is actually an itchy, lymph-juice soaked open wound at the moment, and yet we carry on! Our feet have done us good this trip, no doubt about it, so this one goes out to them. Yes, that's what you get for reading the whole entry.

Never Take Candy from Train Stations

Mother always said --- wait, no, that's not what she said. But regardless we should have been far more wary.

It's easy to blame Ethan, our unsuspecting Harvard sophomore we picked up in Padborg, Denmark, and journeyed with through Copenhagen. We had a few minutes before the train, and the store's assortment of multicolored, if predominantly black, candies beckoned him to the point of purchase.

"One of everything!" he said, and the next minute Hanna and I were shaking our heads, but complying. As the Amsterdam science center taught us 'the worst crimes are not those of disobedience, but obedience'.

We didn't get around to eating them until the following night, in the elder wonderland of Tivoli.

One of Everything

You'll note the disproportionate amount of black, and also that some of the black looks to be sugar coated. Now, neither Hanna nor I like licorice, but perhaps, we thought, it would be better with sugar.

Oh, cruel world, had we but known!

T'was not sugar, but salt.

Now, I am almost completely convinced that every time someone eats a piece of salty licorice a kitten gets run over by a car. That is how truly, horrifyingly, inexcusably awful this "CANDY" is. 

And for some inexplicable reason, we kept eating until it was gone. Like climbing a mountain. Made of burning sulfur. 

Never forget.

I Heart Prague

Everyone says that Prague is beautiful. And in this case Everyone is right.



We got into Prague two days ago and after five minutes of wandering narrow streets, gazing at the river and the copper spires turned green with age, we stumbled upon an open air performance.

It was modern dance, performed in full suits to harsh repetitive electronic music and with a dozen or so desks as props. Chelsea and I stood entranced for the whole thing. They managed to work in people dropping pages out of phone books from the five story buildings surrounding us and a naked man in a window with a cell phone.



This is the first city where the tacky “I heart 'insert city here'” t-shirts has been tempting. We love Prague.

Also – 1 USD works out to nearly 20 kroner here. And as opposed to Denmark where a similar phenomenon meant nothing, here we got Indian food for two people for less than 10 dollars. As stated: We love Prague.

We spent most of the day, roughly 9ish hours, walking around today.



This though I blame on Paris. A result of our stay in Paris is that we got used to small spaces on city maps taking us a long time to traverse on foot. Paris is huge, so an inch or so on my Paris map is roughly 15-20 minutes walking. But now, in smaller cities, and especially old city centers, we tend to cross whole blocks of the map without noticing – hence we missed Amsterdam’s red light district the first time we walked through it.

So in Prague, when we look at a map with our hostel and the zoo literally on opposite sides and then gauge from our walking the day before that it really wouldn’t be that bad of a trek we shrug our shoulders and head out.



And as we are heading back, it is less of a bother to walk than to try to figure out the bus.

We are safely in the hostel now – tomorrow we take off for Vienna. Our feet hurt and we could stand to do laundry. Soon. But we love Prague. Ciao!

On Friends

As much as this crazy adventure is about seeing new and phenomenal places, it's also about meeting friends, old and new. We've been incredibly lucky with the friends we've met and who've helped us, so this entry goes out to all of you!

Steph and Michelle

We started our journey meeting with two of Hanna's friends from her writing group in Kent State, Steph and Michelle. They wandered around London with us and warned us about the upcoming journey, being on the tail end of their own (and only slightly worse for wear ;)). Perhaps the most curiously delightful experience we shared was plunging into the brick wall of Platform 9¾.

Michelle and Hanna in front of the Tower Bridge

Michelle and Steph

Raymond “Ray” Rozman

I haven't any idea how Hanna met Ray, actually, but he's currently studying castles in the UK, and that should be enough for anyone to love him. We met up with him in York and he showed us around the wall and took us for our first ever Meat Pies.

At the top of the wall in York

Chilling in the Ace Hotel, home of creepy haunted rooms.

Ian and Trish

Whilst we've already toted the wonder that is Wicklow Town Hostel I'm going to tell you again how amazing this couple was. Having both lost their jobs to the economy, they opened up their house as a hostel about six weeks before we arrived. They are without a doubt the kindest strangers I ever met. In addition to making fresh bread for us every morning, talking with us in the evenings, and going well out of their way to suggest and find things for us to do in Wicklow and beyond (Horseback riding!), they left breakfast out for us at 4:00AM before our wretched Ireland train debacle. 4:00AM. That is love. 

So Ian and Trish, here's to you!

Outside the Wicklow Town Hostel

John and Jackie England

The fun thing about John and Jackie was that they are actually friends of my grandmom and grandad Weidman. They all served together in Berlin during the war and became fast friends, and Hanna and I were lucky enough to reap the benefits. Here or otherwhere I've mentioned the food they gave us: fresh strawberries with devonshire cream, double cream, meringue, and ice cream. Every night. They also toured us all over southern England, putting up with rather wretched weather in favor of seeing a wee outline of stones that had once been Tintagel Castle. I also got to hear stories about my grandparents I'd never heard before, and that's always a treat. Thank you both!

On the water taxi to Plymouth proper

Betty!!!

I really wish we had more contact info for Betty, because she deserves more thanks than we gave her. (Check out the Montserrat update)

At the base of the funicular

Rhynn

We met Rhynn in Lyon and wandered around with her, seeing demon horse fountains and trying to find entrances to the catacombs. Rhynn was the first person to ever draw my D&D character, so we were fast friends, but it's always a little odd to meet people from The Internetz. However, we had an absolutely amazing time - hell, I even tried chicken liver!

Leah

So siblings also count as friends, as Leah, Hanna tells me, is a pretty awesome sibling. We met up with Leah in Geneva, Switzerland, where she's studying for the semester. After a day spent wander about the lake, we took a trip to Lausanne, wherein we found a lovely museum, wherein we found a lovely section on the inquisition, wherein we found a lovely wooden nook room with a jail cell attached. ... So we took a picture.

No one suspects.

The Von Wuthenaus

Kirsten was an exchange student when my Aunt Rachel was still living with my Grandmom Weidman. They kept in touch through the years and now Kirsten is married to Nicholas Von Wuthenau and they've got four awesome kids, Sophie, Juliane, Constantin, and Cornelius. The first day we were in Bad Homburg with them, Juliane, who doesn't speak English, and Hanna and I, who speak pretty awful German, had a chance to play on a trampoline together, where we quickly learned that fun is a universal language.

Etwas Komisch!

Jane and Kiyash

The first day we attempted to meet Jane and Kiyash in Paris failed miserably. We both waited for each other for two hours, in two separate places, about two blocks apart. When we realized this later that night, we were a special sort of sad, but luckily we managed to track them down the next day and discuss all sorts of wonderful fun, like Gameful and near death experiences and Pierre Herme.

Fun makes the best friends

Ethan Pieeeerce

We met Ethan during the Epic Train Fail of 9/15 in the desolate town of Padburg, where we had all been stranded by the 3.5 hours late Deutsch Bahn sleeper train. An argyle wearing Harvard soph taking a year off, Ethan was one of the first travelers we'd met who didn't seem obsessed with sex, drinking, and partying. Insta-friend. We stayed in the same hostel in Copenhagen and hung out together for pretty much three straight days. He is also the madman behind the Great Candy Trial. Gosh, I missed having freshmen!

Hanna, Lee, Ethan, Me! Ethan also loved hot dogs...

Lee Santelle

A friend of Hanna's from Spring Gardens, we met Lee in Odense, Denmark, and then hung out with him again in Copenhagen. He, much like us, is a tad bit crazy, but we channeled that insanity into a bizarre day wandering an old Copenhagen carnival called Tivoli and eating ridiculous food.

In the rose gardens of the Danish Palace in Copenhagen

SO

Thank you, thank you dear friends for making this journey so wonderful :)

Second Recap

Okay – For everyone’s sanity I’m going to do another recap. We will surely backtrack a little in a few days here, as we have been doing, but I figured it might be good to mention some highlights and where we are now.

Since we left Nice a lot has happened.

We got to Geneva, met my sister (YAY!), climbed a tower (awesome, but we feel like after Monteserrat it takes a lot of stairs to impress us), and witnessed what Chelsea has dubbed simply “The Spew”



After that we went to chill in Heidelberg, and experienced, once more, the power of chocolate and the pure ingenuity of the German varieties of this godlike substance.



From there we hid in Bad Homburg, and with the kind and timely help of the Von Wuthenaus, we recouped.

down time + excellent people = happy Chelsea and Hanna



And then back to Paris. The city of lights and love did not disappoint. Well, actually, considering what we were warned to expect in Paris, we were happily surprised. The people were nice. The streets were as clean as one might hope in a huge city. And of course, there was something of historical/literary/aesthetic/artistic significance on every other street corner.



After an epic misadventure involving a cathedral and twitter (which deserves its own post) we met up with Jane and Kiyash. Who, in turn, addicted us to Pierre Herme macaroons (which we hunted, purchased and consumed on each successive day of our stay in Paris. They don’t ship the macaroons. We were sad.)

And that brings us to Amsterdam. Amsterdam has a certain reputation. In order to fully experience the city we did the only thing possible. We went to the science center! Yes, we spent our one day in Amsterdam playing at the Nemo with a bunch of science happy Dutch children. It was brilliant.



From there we took the sleeper (or tried to) to Copenhagen. After running 3.5 hours late (“too late”, according to our charming conductor) it left us in Padborg.

Never heard of it? Well, neither had we. We arrived in Copenhagen 5.5 hours later than planned with an extra Ethan we picked up along the way. He probably deserves a post too.

That brings us about up to the present. We met Lee yesterday – fellow contributor to Auslander (theforeigners.tumblr.com) and are traveling together today. Assuming his train is on time.


Cheers!