Wait, is this the beach?

Originally, the bike ride should have taken under two hours, but it turned into about four. We started off in Mitte and headed our way to the land of Strandbad Wannsee. We thought, given my super accurate bike-way directions it would have taken 90 minutes. Given our stopping, starting, tire pumping and map consulting it turned into four. After reaching the S-Bahn stop for Wannsee, we rode our bike down desperately looking for a beach...and some ice cream. Realizing we were on the completely wrong end of the Wannsee, we headed back and finally made it to an actual entrance for a beach. Four Euro to get in? At three p.m.? What time is our gallery opening? No way. Sat on the bench and watched people pick up their kids, young couples and teenagers leave their way to their cars and we sat and sucked in the fact we rode four hours to not go to the beach. Got a coffee and refused the satisfaction of a large wurst and some fried potatoes, opting instead for goulash and coffee. Time to head back, maybe without the construction it would have taken 30 minutes, but we spent an hour and a half hopping S-Bahns with cumbersome bicycles and notices of "temporary bus service" between our key stations.

***

She Does It Better

The following was written by Xiaochang, my travel companion for a lot of trips (and clubbing). In a recent posting, she wrote her impressions of London and Warsaw. I think she describes it all better than me, and a prime example of what happens when you graduate with a degree in literature as opposed to business. Here are her excerpts from her blog, urban hysteria and the carnivalesque, detailing two of our trips. Enjoy.

LONDON

I spent London with the Pet Shop Boys stuck in my head for 72 hours, which pretty much sums up my experience there. Christine's father had booked us a room at the Mandarin, and it was worth the nightmare of the tube in the morning just to see the look on the bellhop's face when we rolled up with our suitcases dragging behind us, walking through the sidewalk construction, instead of in a cab. Our room was the land of amazingness, a paradise of organic apple juice and bath salts and a minibar stocked complete with a teddy bear and the most pillows ever. Met up with Anny, who's taking the year at LSE, and set off a weekend of being useless, debauched brats, with two small bar/clubs near Knightsbridge sucking down over-priced but undeniably tasty martinis. Somewhere in the course of the night, in the cavernous lower-level of some members-only place, I stumbled into a group of private airline lackeys, who handed over mysterious and delicious grapefruit flavored shots. Some guy whose uncle owned the airline gave me his number, but I deleted it instead of saving it, drunk but obviously sensible. Spent all Saturday walking around due to our map's deceptively small scale, was generally underwhelmed by the "sites" ("I thought it would be more . . . grand. Or, you know, big."), bought tea. Went to Fabrik, which was filled with Eurotrash on ecstasy, unbelievable lasers, vibrating dance floors, and dancing with Belgians, which became vaguely terrifying because I was dancing with so many of them and it was so dark and then I was suddenly making out with someone and I have no idea who. Left some time in the early morning, walking through hallways and stairways strewn with cracked out ravers suckling on water bottles, circa 1992. Woke up the next morning and wandered around a city mostly deserted due to the holiday weekend, then retired to the Mandarin for champagne tea with Moet&Chandon; rosé and the most delicious pot of oolong ever and an impressive array of sandwiches and scones and little pastries that made my teeth rot just by looking at them.

WARSAW

Warsaw was a compromise in potential, a liminal space between the west's conveniently forgetful architecture and the east's deep-rooted dark humors, a place of gorgeously designed shopping malls and chain hotels and overcrowded and unreasonably exclusive nightclubs playing the greatest dance hits of the 90s and, memorably, the soundtrack to "Footloose." Christine, Amber, and I hit four different clubs the first night, the strength of the Euro clearly in our favor as we dropped bills like monopoly money, drifting from one cavernous hellhole to another when the douchebag contingent got to be too overwhelming. Imagine that one douchy guy you always see in a club, and now imagine a club full of them, cave-man brows and mouthbreathing, gelled hair tips and up-turned collars, the blurred, heavy expressions of borderline alcoholism and general suckage. The women, on the other hand, were infuriatingly beautiful and fit. Finding the bathroom was always quite the adventure, and we knew it was time to go home when some Australian guy insisted that Amber didn't speak English, and Christine dropper her beer. Spent Saturday being as disappointed by the shopping as by the clubs, but we tried a different tack Saturday night, starting with an enormous Irish pub with a live polish band that specialized in adult contemporary power ballads (quite the rendition of "Take My Breath Away"), the impressive floorspace filled with couple swaying middle-school-dance style. Wandered for a bit before stumbling into Sheesha, an middle eastern waterpipe bar, that started out typical until Amber and I took 8 million years to get drinks and found Christine someone in the midst of a raucous birthday party, the only table in the place getting table service. From there we spent the rest of the night drinking with a diplomat from Azerbaijan (and you best believe I spelled that right on the first try), a Saudi Arabian banking Heir, a Lebanese liquor heir (whose company makes a killer - both in flavor and strength - cognac) and a Swedish Hotelier with his stunning wife in tow. The bar owner came by to crack somewhat inappropriate jokes: "How much to stay in your hotel a night?" "Oh, three barrels of oil to you, my friend!" There was middle eastern hip-hop, a freestyling contest, and at one point, the diplomat grabbed a middle eastern hat (pardon my ignorance at the precise origin) from the Swede and plopped it on his head, declaring himself the Taliban's representative to Poland. Sunday, we wandered the markets of old town, buying hand-painted wood boxes and drinking ice cream coffees in the open squares surrounded by lovely orange-hued buildings, crammed together like the teeth I saw in London, before getting on a train back to Berlin that night.

***

Sorry, no Polski. Part Two.

Sorry, no Polski. Part One.

At the stroke of midnight, April 22, I found myself spending my 25th birthday at an Irish Pub in Warsaw, Poland. Our small table in the very back corner was hidden from the direct view of many other people in the bar and smoke filled the room to a stifling extent. The band was upfront out of view, but we could clearly hear the 80’s cover songs and Polish rock anthems that everyone joyously sang, making me feel like a complete outsider because our table was the only one not belting the lyrics with ecstatic expressions on our faces. I took a drink of my warm, flattened beer and looked up to see a couple sitting at the table next to us, the girl crying so violently that I though she would probably pass out at any moment.

The whole combination – loud Polish anthems, crying girls, thick smoke and warm beer – made me realize how truly strange that exact moment was for me. Uncathartic and bizarre, I seemed to go dizzy, time stopped, and realized that the situation I was in at that exact moment was nothing at all like I had planned. I guess it always is that way, but on a day that is so important, the desire to have things go right is always a secret wish. The music seemed to get louder and more Polish, the crowd more excitable and my desire to change something about what was happening became more pronounced.

Time continued on again and we left finding ourselves at an overly packed hookah bar, filled with musky smelling men and dark haired women from exotic middle eastern places. Loud Arabic music and packed bottle service tables with large hookahs were all around. It still was running slow in my mind and trying to just find a place to sit for a moment, I found myself at a large table in the back.

“It’s my birthday today!” says the stout blonde man next to me. I clarify that it is my birthday as well and of course I am invited to stay at the table, bottles of vodka, 50 year old cognacs, and pitchers of wine are strung about the table. Large, smoky hookahs dot the way down. I grab my glass, we do a toast and I find myself surrounded by a very strange crowd. Sitting next to me, is the general manager of a luxury hotel chain in eastern Europe, across from me is the Ambassador to Poland from Azerbaijan, next to him the owner of the nightclub, to my far right is the son of a Saudi Arabian banking tycoon and kitty corner next to me is the owner of the producer of those 50 year old bottles of cognac on our table. I didn’t hold much conversation, but rather observed and stayed in the comfort of the corner filled with brightly covered pillows and free flowing screwdrivers.

The next day was spent battling a fierce hangover coupled with a burning cold that left me almost incapacitated. My birthday was spent sick, trying to walk, sleeping uncomfortably and intermittently on a six hour train ride back to Berlin.

***

(Distant) Family Visit

I spent the weekend in the small town of Grasberg, which is about 20 minutes outside of Bremen, Germany. It is where the family of my grandfather's cousin lives. In about 1928, a young couple immigrated to the United States. The husband, Diedrich Meyer went first and two years later his wife, Meta, followed with their two daughters. In the United States, my grandfather and his brother were born. This was the third time I had been to visit them, and like always it was a really nice time. We spent a lot of time sitting outside, drinking some beers and making funny little trees on scratch paper of the family history. I stayed with Marion and her family, who is my grandfather's cousin's daughter. Marion's mother found a large envelope full of letters and pictures, one of which possibly reveals a brother of my grandpa that supposedly died in Germany. There we had a photo of "Her Son Richard and Family" which well, no one knows anything about.















The house where my great-grandmother was born. Completely destroyed in the second world war it was rebuilt.















The house where my great-grandfather was born, across the street from the house above.




















Marion, my grandfather's cousin's daughter.















The oldest living member of the family in Germany, my grandfather's great uncle.















Larissa, Marion's daughter

Londontown Dah'ling

Fabric Nightclub with the Vibrating Dancefloor

Fabric Nightclub - London

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Chicago in Berlin

Now that I am fully recovered from Tim and Jenn's visit, going to give a little outline of their trip to Berlin! Big thanks to them for bringing me the following; DVD's, yellow mustard, mac n' cheese (deluxe!) and six tall boys of Old Style.

Day 1 - Thursday
Sat at work for quite some time wondering why they hadn't called me yet or picked up the keys to my place. Finally they arrive about four hours after planned - minus one set of luggage and very tired faces. Did a little recuperation with Jaeger and Coffee, and proceeded to head to the Fernsehturm (TV Tower) and visit the restaurant at the top. Many beers later and closing out the restaurant at midnight, we then headed to 8mm in Prenzlauerberg, one of my favorite spots for drinks in Berlin. Managed to get ourselves quite snickered, and I must say that for being so jet-lagged I was quite impressed by Tim and Jenn's performance in staying awake and coherent.








































Day 2 - Friday
Woke up and headed to the East Side Gallery, taking lots of touristy pictures and walking it all the way down to the Ostbahnhof. Got a call of joy from Tegel Airport that Jenn's bags would be on their way, two hours to kill so we went to Unter den Linden to check out the Brandenburger Tor and all the awesome construction going on down there. Stopped by the obligatory souvenir shop and discovered the disadvantages of drinking out of a glass boot, Tim apparently is an expert on it. Dinner at home, naptime and then out the door again later to Watergate. A great club set on the Spree River with a whole wall is a window and coupled with a Metalheadz show turned out to be a pretty good night. Got lost on the way home, but soon smoothed over as a cab came to rescue us.








































Day 3 - Saturday
Went to Checkpoint Charlie and the Mauer (Mauer) Museum, more pictures and then headed over to Potsdamer Platz for dinner. Tim finally got his first German schnitzel, and I did a little cultural eating myself with my first Berliner Eisbein. Although tasty, not sure if I can handle the upper thigh of a pig on my plate again. Sat for quite some time, talking and watching Tim get uncomfortable and repeat many times, "Wow, this food IS heavy." Picked up some beer for home and then headed out to Weekend, a club up on the 12th floor of an office high rise. Pretty empty when we got there (1 am) but a couple hours pass and soon we are surrounded with lots of bodies gyrating to pulsating techno. Attempted to leave and hit up another bar, but the vacuuming and stool stacking deterred us home.













































Day 4 - Sunday
Tim and Jenn got their first taste of Cafe du Brazil, one of my favorite places to get brunch on Sundays. Tim, slightly hungover, lifted his spirits when I explaimed that there would be chicken wings and endless cups of coffee present. Afterwards, went down to Friedrichstrasse and after running and getting yelled at for not running fast enough, we made it on the last boat tour of the day. The boat ride might have been more pleasant, if it wasn't for the group of 19 year old guys talking about "Dude, have you ever been to a foam party? We should totally find one." and "Yeah, I tried to get her to come home with me, but like she totally didn't." After landing headed to the Ku'damm for more picture taking and their first taste of Kristallweizen. Sunday night me and Tim went for some beers , shot the shit, and I almost forgot for a minute that we weren't in Chicago.











































Yes...his shirt says "Fucking Classy" in script.

Day 5 - Monday
Said our good bye's bright and early and I know it will be only a short time before we're saying hello again! If you happen to see a couple roaming in Amsterdam or Paris within the next week calling each other "Schlampe" and "Fraulein"...it's probably them.

***

Bunk Beds + Jaeger = Bad Things

I spent the past week at this really awesome totally fabulous seminar put on by the people who are running our program, basically a week long time waster (outside of seeing people) comprised of field trips "for cultural exposure for the better learning of German people". The mornings were spent talking about stuff, you know, things...and the evenings were spent either a) drinking or b) recoving from drinking the night before. Well, Tuesday nights at a bar in Colonge called Cafe Schoen there are 50 cent Jaeger shots and 1 Euro beers. In reference from a text I recieved from the United States, "That's dangerous." How very true given what happened after that night of 9 Euros (you do the math and throw in a couple bucks bought by other people).

I get home and pass out the fastest I have in my entire life. Next thing I remember doing is waking up in the morning, still intoxicated and cursing my life. Then I hear this from across the room...

"Hey! Are you okay???"

"Yeah, why?"

"You fell off the bunkbed last night!"

"Huh? No I didn't"

"Yeah you did! I heard this loud thump and I look down and you are on the floor. I asked if you were okay, and you didn't answer me and just went to the bathroom."

The others think for a moment...and laughter ensues as every one else starts remembering me falling out of the bunk, apparently they woke up as well.

"You're full of crap, I totally didn't fall out of the top bunk dude, no way."

I climb down (barely), and get into the shower and notice the MASSIVE bruises all over my body and my hip is significantlly hurting, and there is a tingle in my arm when I extend it all the way. Luckily the Jaeger was pulsing through my body enough still that I think the true pain was avoided to some extent.

After piecing things together, I realized that I recieved a text very early in the morning and my only bet is that I heard it in my sleep (it's like Pavlov's Dog with that damn thing) but instead of actually waking up to check it, I proceeded to sleep walk, probably assuming I was on the bottom bunk, or my own bed in Stuttgart. It's pretty hard to climb down a ladder when you are alseep and I'm guessing with the first step I just kind of well, fell off.

I'm still in a good amount of pain, kind of a little limp on one side. At least my arm stopped tingling.

I still don't remember falling.

***

Ciao, bella! Roma!

In a last minute whim fostered by my friend Bryan, I packed my bags Christmas Eve and on Christmas Day at 5:30 a.m. I made my way to the airport and headed to Rome, Italy. Christmas Eve I had headed back to Stuttgart from Berlin, after dropping my cousin off at her plane. Landing in Stuttgart, I realized how really alone I was feeling since I had absolutley no plans for Christmas or anywhere to go. Bryan says, "Hey, do you want to go to Rome?" and I think, well, "Why the hell not?" Turns out it was one of the best decisions that I have made in a long time. After a semi-long journey and a change plane later, I was walking down Via Cavour from the Stazione Termini (main station) and just through the cars in the street I spot the Colloseum. I couldn't believe my eyes, and on Christmas Day - in a couple of meters I would be standing in front of the Colloseum. I took in with complete awe how massive it was, still relativley intact, surrounded by trees and large crowds of people. Just to the west were the Foro Romano (Roman Forum) which consisted of intriciate ruins of many plazas, temples and columns.

The walk continued and we headed to the western part of the city to find a hotel, passing by the Piazza Venenzia we stopped to take some pictures and Bryan watched me stare at things some more.

After walking some, we managed to get a super sweet hotel right in the middle of the western part of the city, close to everything and super-renovated. A huge contrast to what I had read about hotels in Italy, but I guess Bryan knew I didn't feel like hosteling it this one.

Christmas Day was spent walking around the city, checking out Piazzas and walking the city from top to bottom. I was totally enamoured by the City of Rome. I never thought that I could be so uterlly impressed by a city like I was there. Everywhere I looked, things looked so old I couldn't even fathom, then a corner would be turned - and there would stand something even older. For dinner on Christmas Day I had some authentic spahetti with meat sauce, some great cheese and a fabulous merlot that melted in your cheeks. Headed out to a couple of bars, the most famous being The Drunken Ship, a well known tourist bar that had Elephant Beer on tap. Only problem was the lack of toilet seats in Rome, so after a couple of wines and two large pints of Elephant beer...I have to admit that it got pretty tricky. The rest of the evening was spent walking around the city at night and making our way to St. Peter's Basilica located in Vatican City. The sight of this place at night, with pretty much no one there is something I will never forget.






































Day two woke up pretty early and did a lot more sightseeing, we headed back to St. Peters Basilica, but after seeing the probably 45 minute line to get in (and a little bit of a hangover literally hanging over my head) I decided that I would okay with not going in, besides, Bryan has it on video. After that, we went past the Pantheon for a little bit, took some pictures but left rather quickly due to the very thick crowds and the Gladiator impersonators trying to milk you out of your cash. I've never seen a gladiator with a beer belly, but they exhist in Rome, haha.

The next major spot that we hit was the Fountain di Trevi (Trevi Fountain), which I would have to say was my most favorite spot that we went to in the whole city. it has to have been one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen in my whole life. We spent a considerable amout of time, taking lots of pictures and I threw a coin in there for some good love luck.

The most impending thing I felt in the city was how old it was. Yes, we all know that Rome is old...but I have never been anywhere would I could actually feel that. I would walk through the streets there and in my minds eye, I could smell the city as it was thousands of years ago - the smell of spices and sweat, people yelling, dogs barking, fountains running and smoke swirling. It was a truly magical experience and I will never forget my time there, hopefully that coin in the fountain will ensure my return.

***

Clermont-Ferrand, France aka House Music Weekend

On the 15th of December I hopped a plane to Paris, France in the very early morning to take my flight. With nervousness to the walls, I waited for Chris to come off the plane in Paris to see him for the first time in five months. It was a really great feeling to standing there with him again. I tried, but couldn't help but start crying - it was such a good feeling to be waiting so long for something, and then it happens and everything comes full circle. After his arrival, we hopped the train and took it four hours to Clermont-Ferrand, France. Chris was scheduled to play LeVelvet nightclub on that Friday, and after a short tour of the town, some bomb paninnis and a short nap we were ready to go. The night started with a great dinner with Fred and all of his friends and then off to the club. Apparently it's common for the guest of the DJ to have open bar all night (!) and pretty self-explanatory I had a pretty good time. Stumbled out of the club around 5 a.m. and proceeded to afterhours at Fred's place on the 5th floor of a fabulous building, stumbed out of there around 7 am - got lost trying to walk home but finally made it back. Saturday was spent sleeping off the night before, and grabbing some dinner and taking a ride on the huge ferris wheel in the middle of town. Sunday up super early again, and sleeping most of the way back to Paris. Said goodby and headed back to Stuttgart with a little bit of sadness, but also a good feeling.

Chris Grant Live in France @ Le Velvet

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Die Alpen

Padi's Visit

Padi has come and gone and I have to say that it was really nice to have a friend here for a couple of days. She arrived on the 16th of December and we proceeded in our usual fashion to spend the next three days gulping down beers, trying to act cool, and making fun of euro trash in white boots and gold belts. Sunday night was a great night and headed to a town outside of Stuttgart to watch the Bear's game (they won) and me egging Padi on with Jaegermeister shots and tall pints of beer. Wobbling home after the bears game proved to be more than challenging. Later in the week after Padi had recovered from an unfortunate bout of tonsilitis and her first visit to a doctor in Germany, we went to a town called Alzay-Heimersheim. I attempted to find an actual website for the town, but as far as I can find - none exist (it was that small). We wait around for an hour in the wonderful, cold, drizzly German weather eating cheese and brotchen...in front of the wrong church. Apparently, in a town of 300 people - there are two churches. After going to the right church, we had a tour of the church where Padi's ancestors were baptised, married, etc. and quickly booked out for Mainz where we spent our Thanksgiving. Me, "Schweinshaxe mit Bratkartoffeln" and her, vegetables so covered in cheese and butter sauce you would not have even recognized them as vegetables. Our last night in Stuttgart consisted of lots of beers, political arguments and trying our last attempt to teach Padi German. So far she can do three things: find the bathroom, order a beer, and get laid. But hey, what else do you really need? I loved her effort though, an american with a spanish/russian accent speaking German is the cutest thing ever.

I have to admit that it was actually difficult for me to have someone here with me for so long. It was nothing against Padi, but I've honestly been over here "by myself" for the past four months and I didn't realize how used I had gotten to that. I was always naturally a loner of some sorts in the US, but this is the most extreme I've had to be like this since I can remember. Usually it's just me, my laptop and my thoughts running away and no one around to stop them for me. I thank her for stopping them for a couple of days for me.

Here is a link to Padi's awesome photo taking skills. - please contact me for password

In other news, my German was not as good as I thought. I've been using fabric softner to wash my clothes for the past four months. I wondered why all my whites were turning grey...everything smelled really nice though.

***

CC: Padi's Experience in Stuttgart

The guy next door won't stop singing classic rock and the group kitchen is a total wreck...ah, so nice to be in Germany once again.

A couple of things I have a tendency to forget:
- travel approximates 24-hr high except your feet hurt
- just hearing English can be a really nice thing
- everything in Germany is clean, efficient, and timely. everything. you should see these people when something's not on time.
- euros spend like dollars but cost so much more


So far Stuttgart has been an extension of sorts of most Christine-and-Padi times. We dine in cheap eateries on mounds of tasty food, trek all over the city, dodge wankers in fast cars or maneuver train systems, and gulp down beer all the while appearing deep in thought, trying to look vaguely European and smoking cigarettes. We laugh like assholes at secret jokes and language misunderstandings. And at some point in travel you find those people from Kent State or some other appropriately midwestern venue and start talking about the latest political happenings or sports events. While it's tempting to keep up the expat thing, I am here for far too short of a time to spend it all as we did last night, watching the Bears game 6 hours behind and talking to Ohio guys and gals from the Army base next door. Does anyone in Ohio ever stay there? Jesus, it's like we're locusts or something. I just remind people I didn't vote for Bush and it's generally okay.

So tomorrow we get tickets to Alzey, which is purported to be 10 minutes outside of our "family home" or church...something like that. My mission from my mother is to find records of family members who lived there in Heimmersheim and may have emigrated. In German. Sounds good, huh?

Then we get a ride to Hamburg (Freie und Hansestadt Hamburg) and check out the ports. From Wiki:

"Hamburg is situated on the southern tip of Jutland Peninsula, geographically centred (a) between Continental Europe and Scandinavia and (b) between the North Sea and the Baltic Sea. The city of Hamburg lies at the junction of the river Elbe with the rivers Alster and Bille and the city centre is beautifully set around two lakes, the Binnenalster ("Inner Alster") and the Aussenalster ("Outer Alster")."

So that should be fun...

Much love,

PH

PS: I've never heard so much Meatloaf in my life. There's like a 24hour Meatloaf station. Really forces you to ponder the intricacies of Meatloaf.

***

Brussels, Belgium

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