Ireland

After rendez-vous-ing at the airport, we bused and walked our way to our 200+ accomodating church turned Hostel. Eric and I met Pierre, one of our 9 roommates, a frenchman who was the first of many to exhibit the French pride in their language (a cool thing) and their inabilities in others (a not so good thing. or, an american thing. But with English, other languages are much less necessary. French? eh...non.) He was very nice and played guitar for us. The first three people we met in this hostel were all playing guitars.

After claiming our energies which had flown in a little behind us, we hit up Dublin and found our first little bar to sit in. Then our second (above). Then we went on a musical pub crawl. We were in a group of 25 or so with two leaders, each traditional Irish musicians. They took us to four different bars that were reserved for us, gave us a history of Irish music, and played for us. They encouraged the sharing of musical cultures and asked if anyone wanted to sing at the end. There was a woman who sang rather awkwardly though not poorly, and a quartet of dancers from Florida. I got to sing as well which was good fun.

Eric and Guinness at Musical Pub Crawl Bar no.1.

Carolyne, myself, Eric, and our two Irish musicians. View from our hostel in Dublin.
Morning 1 in Dublin. We headed into town with Manny, a grad student from Freiburg we met in the hostel, currently teaching in London, to take a free walking tour. If you are ever in Dublin, the Free Walking Tour is the best way you can spend 1/4 of your day. Here are some picture tidbits.Architectural chaos/time capsule. The castle on the left (you can see the top of a standing tower in the back left) was built in the 12-13th century and housed the English Royalties until 1922. 5o meters or so to the right (out of picture) there is a massive wall. In the 1800's, the view from this side of the castle looked over a beautiful garden, then quickly to the extreme poverty of the Dublin People. The English administration, in charge of Dublin at the time, decided to build a wall just beyond the garden, so they wouldn't have to look at such distasteful living. This is the most literal action of turning a blind eye I've ever heard.

In the early 1990's, civic administration in Dublin needed to expand and build more office space. They chose the spot just to the left of this picture. During preliminary construction digs, a viking settler village of more than 200 houses was found. People were ecstatic about the discovery, though the civic's department didn't share the enthusiasum. Through great controversy, the department decided to push foward with building plans. They destroyed the entire preservation. There now sits several somewhat tall somewhat skinny cement and glass paneled office buildings. All that is left of the viking village is the photo above. If you look at the cement, you see a 2D stone representation of what a model viking home would look like.

yay.

Potato famine. Ireland's population today is still around 4 million less than it was the year before the famine hit, 1845. Of the 9 million in 1845, 1-1.5 million died and many more fled. The population today is a little less than 5 million. This park is strikingly similar to the Boston Public Gardens.

red men.
A common trash can tag.

Dinner at Ireland's oldest Pub.View from our hostel's front steps.

Beautiful River Liffy through Dublin. bicycle.

A Little countryside. We took a train from Dublin (east coast) to Galway (west coast).

I'm not sure how he felt about this tea at this very moment.

A few pictures from around Galway.Who needs Disneyland characters when there are mimes in the street?

Go Go Guinness.

Go Go morning tea.

On the wall at my hostel. "I travel not to go anywhere, but to go/ I travel for travel's sake/ The great affair is to move" -Robert Louis Stevenson.

Vegetarian/Vegan restaurant in Galway with tasty sheperd's pie.

Organ (and organist) at a modern cathedral to which I took a great liking in Galway.

Possibly our most peacefully content morning was spent at this cafe in the latin quater of Galway. We ordered breakfast specials and tea from this family owned establishment overlooking the water. The best part was the kids table outdoors among the big boys tables. The couple had a 2 year old son who sat outside at his own little table. He even drank from his own mini baby coffee cup filled with coffee foam.

Ireland was grand. Music breathes life into the country. It's everywhere you go; on the street corner and in restaurants and bars. Musicians gather, talk, drink beer, and play acoustic musician that is meant in no way to be a form of entertainment for the others, but only a form of enjoyment and socialization between the musicians. It's just like a family having a conversation at the table across from you, but if you want you are more welcome to pull up a chair and listen in. That's why the music in Ireland is different. It's not backround or foreground entertainment, it's just a part of the daily goings, a part of the culture comparable to sitting down for dinner with friends. It's an active symbol of the culture, of the days transpirings, and of the history.

Galway beats Dublin for a short term visit. International Cities (soon to be expanded upon in segment: Berlin) are tough to get a feel for. It's hard to find the roots, the center, the focal point. Galway is small enough to have it's own identifiable character. Though both cities are undeniable Irish and belong to the same distinct culture, in Galway this culture is less buried under the housing and passing through of dozens of different cultures. The larger the city, the larger the collection of people, the more time you need to get to the foundations, and we didn't have a lot of time. Galway showed me a little more of the Irish feel than Dublin.

It's Spring in Freiburg :)

Nevertheless this blog begins in the snow.

Having not once considered the chance of skiing this year after the Alps, Wednesday's spontaneous excursion came as a spirit-lifting and pleasant surprise. My new roommate, Tobias, Hip-Hop/Rap enthusiast with markedly more knowledge of the underground than I, his girlfriend and a contingent of friends drove to Feldberg, the highest peak in the Black Forest, for some gravity defying action. In the least, some rolling hills. Toby and I went ahead so I could rent my skis and not hold the others up. As I filled out my rental form and asked the counter girl if she could more or less guess my weight in silly metric numbers, she jumped happily at the chance to speak English, properly inferring from my lack of metric-weighing abilities that I was American. She inaccurately presumed that Toby was also American. Though, just as she had, he was more than happy to play along in English. She was a happy English speaking German. She was so enthused, as a matter of fact, that as I sat in line waiting to try on my boots, she called me back to the counter. She then repeated the first part of our conversation, the part we had in German, in English. "You can go back to your seat now. I just wanted to say that" she added in German, with a large smile and a larger sense of humor.

Though they were rentals, my skis and boots provided some of the smoothest riding I feel I've had in a while. They freshly waxed my skis before we hit the slopes. That's gotta help: a new coat five minutes before the first run. Dreamy.

Skiing was a fantastic way to run into the Spring. The snow conditions were impressive and the sun never took a break. I even got a little bit of sunburn on the tip of my nose. I don't have many pictures at the moment, but look at that beautiful blue sky.

Toby. He belongs with the Sunday River Crew. Lunch Break. I had forgotten to bring one, but these wonderful newly met friends had made one for me. :)

Word of the day: share. Sharing, as pictured above, is lovely. Some German variations: teilen (share), mitbenutzen (share, lit. to use with), teilhaben (to have a part, to participate, partake, share). Anything can be shared: a smile, a story, a memory, a sandwich, your time, a heartache. Somethings have to be shared, like hugs. Things that are never shared are rarely better that way. Keep a few things for yourself sure, but most secrets and fantasies are only fun when you share them. Plus, everything loses life and energy when it just sits in your head. Things, thoughts included, have got to move.

One evening this week I found myself, to no surprise, in the apartment above, where the most pulchritudinous feline in our building, if i may say, was feeling a little down on account of the way too stressful German University testing system. In need of a new perspective on a play, we transformed the kitchen into a small theatre/reading hall and read the piece from start to finish. It reminded me a bit of Harry Potter mornings with Henry: bookstore at midnight to get our books, then Henry's living floor until we couldn't keep our eyes open (that is, taking turns reading outloud to each other. See, that memory is better shared than kept a secret. yes.).

The play is called "Draußen vor der Tür," lit.: Outside, in Front of the Door. Eng. Title: The Man Outside. It was written by Wolfang Borchert in less than a week, Fall of 1946. It was written for theatre and for radio, and had its radio debut in Feb. 1947. Wolfgang Borchert died at age 26 on Nov. 20th, 1947, one day before this play's theatrical debut. The Play is terrific. In order to entice you, and show that the play promises to be nothing but spectacular, check out how Borchert introduces his characters. This is the character list right before the play starts.

Beckmann, one of many.

His Wife, who forgot him.

Her Friend, who loves her.

A Woman, whose husband came home with one leg.

Her Husband, who dreamed of her for a thousand nights.

A Colonel, who is very merry.

His Wife, feeling so cold in her warm parlour.

The Daughter, just over for dinner.

Her Courageous Husband.

A Cabaret Director, with daring goals, but less stamina.

Frau Kramer, who is just Frau Kramer, which is horrible.

The Old Man, in whom no one believes anymore.

The Undertaker with a case of the hiccups.

A Street Sweeper, who actually does not have that profession.

The Other, whom everyone knows.

The Elbe.

HOW SICK! You can already tell this guy is a tight writer. He did all of his writing within a year, the year in which he knew, as diagnosed by the doctors, he would die. He, a reluctant soldier, was sent to the front line several times during WWII, broken up by a number of arrests. He was accused of evading service, putting the country in danger, and mocking Goebbels. In 1945 he escaped his French POW camp, and walked the 400 mile stretch back home.

We also had a little Secret Santa/Secret Easter Bunny sort of thing right before our reading. Sunglasses for the summer, chocolates with toys on the inside, and candles that smell like Spring.

Pre make-shift theatre and reading: candles, wine, and best of all, a pineapple.

The weather has awoken Freiburg, just like it does Madison. The people are out. The cafes are out. The sun is out. If I were a greek god I'd want to be Apollo; sunshine has unbelievable capacities, it just makes people happy.

Check out one of the three Magpies that hangs around our balcony and tree (and neighbor's stairway). They are gorgeous.

Life as of late has consisted of frisbee, American football, chai tee overlooking activites in Vauban, picnics, hikes, campfire musicals, and emerging colors.

All is well.

peace.

Frankfurt

I had a vacation this weekend. I have a weak, nevertheless present, instilled and false mentality that, being in Europe, I'm in a vacation. I'm absolutely not. I'm at school, just like i was in Madison. It's just a different place and a different system, but it's an active life with a job (occupation: student). Freiburg is not a vacation spot, a spot away from my "normal running" life, it is my normal life. When I'm in Madison for 9 months to study, it's not my vacation from a grounded life in Boston. It's the same here. When I'm in Freiburg (for 12 months), well, it's living just like living in Madison. Different place. Many, many differences. but not vacation. Frankfurt was vacation, something I haven't had in too long of a time. I slept without an obligation to wake up, I thought of nothing that needed to get done, I went out to eat, i bought a souvenir. Related thought: quite recently, I was walking through a new part of Freiburg, and i had an impulse of "wow I'm in Europe!" I saw a sight of the foreign and exotic land that is Europa, something that I no longer see in my daily goings in Freiburg. Freiburg is Freiburg, just like Madison is Madison, it's no longer "Europe!"

Thank goodness for vacation. It has such a mental savior twist to it, in addition to that curiousity and excitement of a new place twist.

Frankfurt is not a city you hear about (not in my experience anyway) when you think of Germany. It is known for its airport, yes. As a matter of fact, upwards of 50% of the pictures, postcards, stickers, and patches of Frankfurt are of the airport. or of a plane. or just, the sky, with an airplane in it. That says alot about the city, by saying nothing at all about the city.

Frankfurt, however, really isn't bad. I did nothing but walk while there. No bus, no train, although the system is excellent and extensive. I love walking; it's the best way to feel the city and its people, as opposed to the museums (which have nothing to do with the city, they just happen to physically be there). I like sitting in as many cafes as possible, drinking a tea, and watching the everyday life. Here's some of Frankfurt, as seen through by feet and a glass of tea.
Exiting the main train station upon arrival. It's always a promising sign when the first things you see with the above ground sunlight are bicycles :).

One of the gateways to the city center. The entrance of the left is to the Ratskeller! Made me think of Madison. Ratskellers in Germany are cooler.

This is a gem of Frankfurt. It came out of nowhere in the center of the city. It's amazing how, once you notice it, and realize what it is, everything in that area seems to become eerily quieter. It's a Jewish memorial ground for those who died/were killed during WWII. It's small (about the surface area of a football field), grassy, dimensional ground with winding stone paths and tall trees like the ones you might learn to draw in an art class. The ground is enclosed by the wall above. It looks the wall goes on forever when you stand at one end. Each stone has the name of a victim, years (often with an unrecognized year of death), and camp at which they died (also very often unknown).The most frequented camp was Theresienstadt, a ghetto and concentration camp located in modern day Czech Republic, though Germany at the time.

Frankfurt is located on the Main River. There are three prominant bridges over the river, all of which boast resemblance to the Mass. Ave bridge crossing into Cambridge.

This is the main square of Frankfurt. There was a drum collective playing and drawing a hefty crowd with mesmorizing music. These trees line the city; they line the main squares, pedestrian ways, and the river.The city from a rooftop cafe. The elevator that takes one to the aforementioned roof cafe: no smoking, no balloons! Sorry Nena.

This was in many ways an aspect of the city I did not warm up to during my 72 hour stay. This exact spot is cool, yes, it's the old city center. What's uncomfortable is the unfitting mix of new and old. Lots of old, lots of new, thrown together in a strange and rubbing sort of way. There are new and old buildings in most cities, but the ones here don't seem to work together. It's like using silk for half your shirt and wool for the other. The textures just don't work.

Ahh, best part of my days. Cafe, some tea, a postcard or two, and lots of people just living their lives. That is the way to do it.

Hookah bar right under the roof cafe! We had a great seat. See that little window on the front wall? People would, on a minute to minute basis, walk by to go up to the cafe and look in to investigate the hookah bar. The glass is strange and curved and the people looked the fish! But they didn't know it. I felt like I was in a submarine.The beautiful Mary Mo. The reason I was in Frankfurt. She, my New York/Boston-now-living-in-London friend, was there for work so I, being a quick and easy two hours south, zipped up for the weekend. Above: enjoying the best glass of red wine we had the entire weekend.

The city grew on me everyday, and on the last day i started to actually like it. I got to know a few parts somewhat well (as well as you can in... no time at all), but only walked through others once or twice, and would love to have more time in those sections.

Ten more days till the next travels! MEETING ERIC AND CAROLYNE IN DUBLIN! Think about it everday. Very,very excited :D

cheers and love,

Ben.