Sunday, March 8, 2015

I Regret Some Recent Life Choices



Oma and Opa are in town for the week, so yesterday I was free unexpectedly. (I usually work all day on Saturdays.) The weather, for the first time this spring, was going to be rather nice all day long, so I decided to make it a hiking day – the first real hiking day since it turned cold. My first plan was to hike south to Burg Frankenstein, the inspiration for Mary Shelly’s novel’s setting. However, this turned out to be a lot further away than I had thought, so it’ll have to wait for a day when I can pay for the train ticket to take me a little bit further along.

Instead, I chose to hike to Hanau, which is about 15 miles west of Frankfurt. I’ve hiked further – like when I went to Falkenstein – but for a first major hike of the year it may have been a little… ambitious.

First I took the train from the city center to Enkheim, which sits on the outskirts of Frankfurt proper. Here, my trusty cell-phone-map-cum-GPS-system failed me a little in that the route it sent me on didn’t actually go through due to some train-tracks. I had to go about a mile out of my way to find a through street, and then the GPS thing told me to hike along the shoulder of the autobahn, which I refused to do, thank ye very kindly. However, these obstacles were soon surmounted by some clever side-street maneuvering, and I found myself on a nice little bike/hiking path that ran more or less along the northern shore of the river Main.

It was a lovely morning, a bit overcast and chilly, but you could practically taste spring in the air. Here – proof that spring is indeed come to us here in Germany, while my kinfolk back home languish amidst snow and ice. :D
My heart bleeds for you.

I also discovered the scene of an alien abduction. 

If the Winchesters or Mulder and Scully would like to investigate, I’d be more than willing to help.
 
I passed through a cute township or two – technically, except for one long stretch along the river, I don’t think I was ever outside of a town, though I passed through Enkheim, Fechenheim, Dörnigheim, and Kesselstadt before I actually got to Hanau. Something very foreign to my Midwestern readers will be that in the same area as from Marshfield to Springfield, you might have as many as 15-20 small towns and villages, all of which eventually tend to bleed into each other, residential areas blurring the boundaries between separate towns.
There are literally houses in this village dating to before the American Revolution. WITH PEOPLE LIVING IN THEM AS THEIR EVERYDAY HOUSES.
 
Spotted this tower. It’s not as old as I had thought from a distance – looks like part of a waterworks area. Still couldn’t resist the picture – honestly, doesn’t it look just like Repunzel’s tower in Tangled? I could practically hear a frying pan clanging about.
*distant singing* "...when will my life begin...?"

 Hanau! You can’t read it in this pic because I was too far away, but the small print says “Brüdern-Grimm-Stadt” (Brother’s Grimm Town), which is echoed on banners and things around town too.


This is the Schloss Hanau (Hanau Palace) which is technically a sort of castle, but more along the palace line than the fortress. Definitely more for promenading ladies in fine dresses than for knights in battered armor. Presumably one can tour it, and I believe I saw a sign for a museum, but I didn’t have time, since I was trying to see what I could and still get back to Enkheim and my train before dark.



And here they are! Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm, brothers extraordinaire and collectors of folk and fairy stories from around the then-known world. Two of my personal heroes, in a way – and heroes to anyone who enjoys speculative literature that can trace its roots back to fairy tales. Thanks to these two, many stories that were only known to small populations were preserved and collected into the lexicon of fairy/folk tales we know and love (or hate) today. To stand in this square, amid the bustle of what was, I think, some kind of spring vegetable and flower market, and know that, 230-ish years ago, these two lived in roughly the same area (though the town’s geography has changed a good deal over the decades)… That was pretty cool, to say the least. I have to admit though: other than this one monument, there’s not much to see regarding the brothers in Hanau. They only lived there until 1791, when Jacob was about six and Wilhelm only about five, so it’s not like this is the place they were living when they collected their stories and things. It’s kind of like Marshfield being the “birthplace of Edwin Hubble”. But still – it’s pretty cool.

I wandered around and came across the city library, which was open, and I found a books-for-sale shelf inside. For one Euro, I got a collection of The Loveliest Children’s Tales from All the World (literally translating the title there) which I thought was an appropriate purchase for the trip.

And here are a few more random pics with explanations in the captions:

Apparently Napoleon the First slept here in 1812 and now there’s a Napoleon Room in this hotel.


Ludwig Emil Grimm, the younger brother of Jacob and Wilhelm, who was a German painter, art professor, etcher and copper engraver.

I honestly couldn't tell if these paintings were graffiti or supposed to be here, but this spinning wheel was painted under one of the overpasses in Hanau.

Got desperately thirsty on the way back and bought this at a grocery store for 45 cents. It tasted like a blue Popsicle and was quite refreshing.

Like the spinning wheel, this art is reminiscent of the Grimm brothers and fairy tales in general -- I'm pretty sure this is supposed to be Hans my Hedgehog. That purple thing a little further on is a castle.


Anyway, so that was the trip. I was staggering by the time I got home, nearly in tears because it hurt so much to move. My feet felt like they'd been scored by delicate razors, and this morning I discovered that the ball of my right foot was (no exaggeration) one solid blister, about two inches long. I've never seen -- let alone had -- a blister that big. I'm a little proud of it. :D

So. It'll be a while before I manage another hike, but as the weather warms keep an eye out, because I've got a couple more planned. 

Laters!

~Mags

Monday, January 19, 2015

A City Mouse



So, in a little bit of a break from catching up on my Real Adventures (current excuse: now Starbucks’ wifi is messing up, and my pictures won’t load. Oh, for the good old reliability of CofO’s wifi! …there’s a sentence I never thought I’d say…) I thought I’d post this. I’ve been working on it off and on – more as a bit of creative nonfiction than as a potential blog entry – for a few weeks now. Anyway, I thought it might be enjoyable.

_______


I grew up with the story of The City Mouse and the Country Mouse. It’s a story with a pretty clear moral: life is better in the country, where it’s safe and good, rather than in the city, where all the excitement and riches in the world can’t make up for its flaws. And it’s a fable! Which means it’s basically the next best thing to scripture, and at least two steps above fairy tales. The half-subconscious idea that I got, naturally, was that only foolish or greedy people (or those who couldn’t escape) lived in the city. Good, smart people lived in the country, or at least in a suburb.
Now that I’m living in a city myself though…Well. I call bull.

I absolutely love living in a city. I mostly grew up in small towns and suburbs, and then from the age of twelve we lived in a farmhouse about seven miles from the nearest town. I wouldn’t say I’m a country girl, necessarily – I don’t have enough experience with various sorts of animal refuse to get my country girl bona fides. But I certainly have more than enough experience with trees and little creeks to keep me from saying I’m a townie either.

Regardless of experience though, I’m discovering that I’m a city girl at heart. The ease of access, the bustle of people, the way there’s always someone awake, about, and on the move… It’s like the fizz in a bottle of pop.

I love the city in the morning, when a few scraps of mist still cling to the spires of the skyscrapers, and the rising sun shines through and turns everything gold, pink, and pearly. The people flowing along, on their way to work and school and various appointments, breath fogging the chilly morning air. The waiter who always sets out the tables the same way, in the same order, every morning on the pavement, weaving in and out of the passing pedestrians like some kind of choreographed routine. The street musician setting up his corner. The taxi drivers standing idly outside Starbucks, smoking and leaning against their cars and waiting for their first fares of the day. The way a tiny breeze weaves around the corners of buildings, questing out little bits of paper to blow around. The pigeons that coo slyly in the eves of café awnings, their bead-bright eyes already watching for dropped food.

I love the city in mid-afternoon, when everyone has somewhere to be – elsewhere, and right now. The sidewalks are crowded with people all trying to get somewhere and only getting in each other’s way, the streets are full of frustrated drivers foolish enough to think that they had a chance at driving anywhere at this time of the day. Honking horns and the low rumble of conversation mingle along with the occasional shouts of street venders and the discordant music of various buskers. The morning breeze is gone, replaced by an ever-mixing layer of air that smells of baking bread from the bakeries, coffee from cafes, Asian spices, car exhaust, perfume wafting from expensive shops, and the battling scents of cologne and cigarette smoke. The shade in the park is a welcome relief from the sun that shines straight down between the skyscrapers, bouncing off miles of glass windows, leaving no shadows and baking the cement. Businessmen on their lunch breaks bowl on the green lawns while homeless guys watch and bet cigarettes on the winners.

But my favorite time in the city is nighttime. When the sun goes down and the lights in the thousands of sky scraper windows checker the night sky. Orange streetlamps, green-yellow-red stoplights, the whiter light from shop windows, blue glows from cell phones, the softer yellow light from restaurants: it all mixes to create a soft blue-and-gold glow over the street. Evening shoppers stroll by or hurry along laden with bags, couples laugh and take goofy pictures in front of local landmarks. Cars flash red and white down boulevards, grudgingly sharing the space with tired businessmen trudging home from long days at the office. The park is dark now, and not quite so inviting. Anyone who ventures onto its darkened paths hurries along with hands in pockets and eyes on the path. The subways are full of tired workers going home and young people going out and school children goofing off. The skyline is a checkerboard of black and deep blues and purples and golds, yellows, reds, and whites.

It’s beautiful.

Every time I walk out my door, no matter the time of day, the city is beautiful to me. If it’s raining, I love the way the rain dapples the stone walls of the buildings and sparkles off the road, reflecting headlights. If it’s sunny, I love the way the light reflects from glass-encased buildings and turns every street into a magician’s light-box. If it’s foggy, I marvel at the tops of skyscrapers, enveloped in wisps of cloud. If it’s snowing, I love the confusion of the pigeons and the way ordinary, dour business-people turn into grinning children. Every one of the city’s moods delights me – nearly silent Sunday mornings, when you can walk for blocks without seeing another soul. Busy holidays when thousands of people crowd the walks and it’s nearly impossible to get anywhere.

I love the short-tempered street cleaners, who have no qualms about shouting at you to get out of their way. I love the mothers on the playground who share exasperated smiles that go beyond language barriers. I love the bakery workers who toss your change on the counter and move to the next person with a smile because the line is out the door and down the block. I love the stringy artists who hang around peddling their canvasses and play music with the instrument cases open in front of them.

I love knowing that there’s a store two blocks away if I realize I forgot an ingredient. I love the subway, and being able to get off or on at any point and just go somewhere sometimes. I love the buildings that send jet streams of wind through the side-streets and the pigeons that are so fat and lazy they won’t even fly away – they just waddle a little faster. I love the bikers that zip through the crowds with no regard for people who don’t see them coming. I love the random jaywalkers who dart around the slow moving cars like fish around whales.

I love that it’s never entirely quiet. I love that you never feel entirely alone – even when you can’t see anyone else, you know that they’re just a wall or two away. It’s a secure feeling, a safe feeling.

And yeah – I do still like getting out of the city every once in a while. I like going for a hike in the nearby national forest and not seeing another human being for hours. I like being alone with just the birds in the trees and the chittering squirrels and the wind whispering through the branches and finding a little hidden brook.

But I also love being able to exit the national forest at the end of the day and catch a train back to the city. I love being able to throw a thankful smile at the train driver who held the train a few extra seconds so I could get on. I love being able to sit, my chin in my hand, and watch the country turn into neighborhoods, and the neighborhoods into the city proper, and then all of it vanishes as the train dives beneath the ground and enters the labyrinth of underground stations. I love taking the escalator back to ground level, breathing in deeply, and turning to head for home.

I come from the country – or at least the small town life. I will always love the trees and the woods and the creeks and the little furry animals that live therein. But now, as I sit in a warm café and watch the city turn grey with a cloudy dusk outside, I feel more and more that my heart belongs to the city, where the pulse of life is palpable and the energy never entirely fades but rises and falls in predictable waves with the punching of time clocks, the opening of shops, and the taking of lunch breaks. I feel like I fit – one more cog in an enormous clock, ticking and tocking away with insane intricacy.

So the Country Mouse had a bad experience. So her foolhardy cousin in the city had some bad ideas and got them both in trouble. But I think that the Country Mouse made her decision a bit too quickly – and even if the city wasn’t for her, I reject the moral that it’s not good for anyone. Thanks, Country Mouse – but I prefer the city.

~Mags

Sunday, January 18, 2015

Fortunately/Unfortunately

Fortunately, I'm still alive, and have 170 days to go!
Unfortunately, the kids were sick this last week and had to stay home.
Fortunately, they're better now!
Unfortunately, this last week was insanely exhausting and frustrating, and I haven't had time to update this blog.
Fortunately, I have the next few entries waiting in the wings!
Unfortunately, it may still be another day or two before I next post.
Fortunately, I have a new surprise for you as well!
Unfortunately, that, too, must wait until I get on a better connection.
Fortunately, I can tell you about it: I'm going to make a new page here and post a bunch of my recipes!
Unfortunately, they're kinda vague, play-it-by-ear recipes.
Fortunately, most of them are still pretty easy!
Unfortunately, they're also quite yummy and not so good on the waistline.
Fortunately, I should have that up and running soon.
Unfortunately, Blogger can be a bit of a pain, so it may not be the most ergonomic of interfaces.
Fortunately, I have time tomorrow to figure this out.
The end. :D
(Apologies to Remy Charlip for stealing his idea. :D The things you remember from kindergarten...)

~Mags

Friday, January 9, 2015

Austria: The Hills Are Alive – and that one tried to eat me



My host mom’s family is from Austria, mainly, and Christmas is the time when that whole side gets together – plus, there was a major birthday for one aunt or another – so the week before Christmas we packed up and headed for Austria. Well, indirectly. Oma took Daniel home first, and Anna and I followed with Elsa the day after. We spent a day at Oma and Opa’s house and then we headed for Austria. 

Austria was great. I didn’t take as many pictures as I normally would have while we were there, because it was a family gathering and I didn’t want to intrude or anything. We spent most of our time with Anna’s extended family – her mother has several sisters and a brother, and they each have spouses and kids and most of the kids had spouses/boyfriends/girlfriends and/or kids… And let me tell you this: Baptists have nothing on eating when going up against Austrians. Our first day, we went to lunch at this little restaurant – a four-course meal that lasted more than three hours. Then we all went back to one of the aunts’ house, and as soon as we got there all the women headed to the kitchen and started bringing out cakes and coffee… and as soon as that was gone, it was time for dinner! I have literally never eaten so much in such a short period of time. It didn’t help that I had a bit of altitude sickness, though, and wasn’t feeling very well.

The kids and Oma and Opa stayed with Anna grandparents – Oma’s parents – in their house, but there wasn’t enough room for everyone, so Anna and I slept at a little boarding-house-style lodging area. It mainly services Catholic pilgrims coming through on a pilgrimage to one of the churches in the region, and instead of just a room with a couple of beds, we basically had a little apartment: a kitchenette, bathroom, bedroom, and a fold-away bed for me.
 
The second day, it had snowed overnight, so Anna, Oma, and Anna’s brother Patrick took me up the mountain to a ski slope. We didn’t ski – there actually wasn’t enough snow for it, just enough for the kids to break out the sleds – but I got to eat Alpine snow. :D Also, I can now say that I was injured on an Austrian Alpine ski slope, because when we were walking back down I stepped onto a patch of snow that was concealing a deep hole. The hill swallowed my entire leg up to the hip and I punched the snow/ice hard enough that the next day, not only did I have a twisted muscle in my leg and a wrenched neck from falling, but my knuckles were bloody and bruised like I’d punched someone in the teeth. :D

I have to admit – I’m a bit proud of that.

On the way back down the mountain, we stopped at this tiny old schoolhouse – I think it was where Oma went to school as a girl. It’s pretty far away from the rest of the village, and when I asked why, she explained that this was the farmers’ school. It was fairly centrally situated for the various farms in the region. Apparently, about eleven kids made up a full class. When we got back in the car, Oma
joked that finally there had been a real teacher at the school – Patrick teaches at a high-school in Vienna.

I enjoyed this part of the trip – though it was somewhat stressful, being the one random outsider in a big family gathering. Everyone was really nice, but I tended to just hang about in corners and play with the kids so I wouldn’t have to talk to anyone. Partly because I was shy, and partly for the purely practical reason that Austrian-German and German-German are not quite the same language. It was hard sometimes, even when people spoke slowly, to understand what they meant because their accent is different, and the vocabulary often included words I’d never learned – or words that I had learned different words for. Imagine someone who’d just started learning English in Canada or England trying to communicate with someone from the back-country of Mississippi. :D But they liked my cookies and I came away with a few new recipes to try, so all’s well that ends well.

Next, I was off to Vienna!

~Mags