We knew the lady in Uberlingen was trying to tell us something when she sold us our tickets from Prague to Vienna. It was only on the train that we realized what this was. Number One was that you needed to pay for a reservation. An extra 8 Euros each. Number Two was that the deal she found us only took us as far as Bratislava…we had thought that Bratislava came after Vienna, and we'd just get off the train early. Not the way this train went. "And what about the ticket to Austria?" said the train conductor when the stop for Bratislava passed. "Uh…oh, sorry. We'll pay for it."
"That is a good idea. Otherwise, you will be outside the train with your luggage."
Images from the movie "Euro Trip" flashed in my brain. When the recent high school graduates get out of the German truck after hitching a lift and realize they are not in Italy (where they wanted to go), but Bratislava, they see only tall Soviet-era apartment blocks and three-legged dogs. "Where are we?" EASTERN EUROPE! Oh no! We paid the 15 Euro each. No getting thrown out of the train for us.
You can, by the way, get Jaime's take on our adventures as well, by checking out:
http://ubergonian.blogspot.com
Happy reading!
Thursday, September 10, 2009
A Very Merry Unbirthday in Prague: La Vie Boheme et Culinaire
Don't plan an eight-hour train/bus trip for your birthday when you are carrying 30+ kilos of luggage and expect to have too much fun. I did get birthday hugs and wishes from Jaime and Tim, a birthday phone call from Botswana, lots of emails and facebook messages, and a Magnum ice cream bar before the bus left Nuremburg. And the trip wasn't that bad, just long. The birthday improved markedly when we arrived at our Prague couch surfing destination around 7:45 pm, and Evgeny (from Russia, near the Black Sea) immediately realized we needed dinner, and promised to take us to a salsa dancing club with some of his friends later that evening. Dinner at a nearby restaurant was a miracle dish of kale, bacon, cheese and potato dumplings that tasted much healthier than it probably was. Oh, the caloric joys of being back in Eastern Europe. After dinner, Evgeny took us to the promised salsa club, where I realized I don't really have any idea how to salsa. I felt bad for the toes of the guy who asked me to dance. Luckily, just watching with a Czech beer in hand was perfectly acceptable for the rest of the evening, and eventually the salsa gave way to non-ballroom dancing music I could actually move to.
Since the real birthday was a bit of a bust, Jaime and I decided to just pretend that the next day was the celebration, and live a Bohemian lifestyle to the fullest in Prague. The first requirement for acting Bohemian is to find good food, preferably in a café. We were feeling quite hungry and desperate when we got to the Old Town Square at 10:30, and almost succumbed to the evilness that is tourist-land breakfast fare. Prague has become something of a tourist mecca since the fall of the Berlin Wall, particularly for Americans, and the town square, featuring a unique clock tower, churches, cute architecture, and statues, is the center of tourist activity. While the square is prettier in the summer sunshine, the atmosphere was much more appealing last time I was here in winter, when gluhwein flowed like Niagara Falls from the taps of the temporary holiday village on the square, and the tourist hordes were either smaller, or you were tipsy, so you didn't care. The experience in the restaurant on the square that we almost ate at went something like this:
*Look at the menu at the entrance. Breakfast looks affordable enough, and it is served until 11!
*Sit down at an outdoor table. Realize the breakfast menu the waiter gave you (in ten languages) is more expensive than the one you looked at outside. BUT, it says the prices are 50% cheaper if you sit inside. Waiter confirms the prices are cheaper inside, but not a full 50% cheaper.
*Move to table inside by the window.
*Indoor waiter brings bread and another menu, which doesn't feature breakfast.
*You ask for a breakfast menu, and the waiter says that breakfast is only served until 11. But it's not 11 yet, you say. The waiter assures you it is after 11, even though your watch says it is 10:40.
*Leave, fed up and still really hungry.
But the food would have sucked, and leaving was certainly kinder on our stomachs. Instead, we found a little juice bar that also served delicious baguette sandwiches. The perfect snack to stave off our hunger for another 20 minutes until we found the café of perfection! If you find yourself in Prague in the future, please find au Gourmand Café (www.augourmand.cz) and prepare to be wowed. I haven't had hot chocolate so thick and rich since my first trip to Spain 12 years ago. I'm not sure which crepe I liked more: the sweetness of the apple with brie and walnuts, or the savory cheese and mushroom. Since we had walked in the rear entrance of the café garden, we didn't see their display cases until we left. We contemplated buying quiches or pastries for later, but decided to get something that traveled better to share--so we settled for the chocolate chip cookies to take back to Evgeny that evening as a thank you for his hospitality. They were so delicious he made sure to get the address for the café so he could go back for more.
Nutritionally satisfied, the Bohemian adventure continued with a stroll across the river, up the hillside, past a giant metronome (we don't know why it's there) and a double bench swing (that didn't actually swing very well), and through the park to Prague Castle. Aaagh, we were back in tourist land. These people are so uncultured! Ok, yes, I know we were also tourists, but I get skittish in the massive hordes of photo-snapping, oblivious, check-something-off-in-your-guidebook people. Nor can I understand the couple we saw in St. Vitus' Cathedral where the man was filming a stained glass window and the woman was reading aloud from her guidebook the description of the Biblical scene depicted. I pity the family and friends that are forced to sit through that film showing.
Eager to escape the tourist lemmings, we opted not to pay to take the unguided castle tour. Instead, we made our way down the hill and toward the Charles Bridge. We stopped at a hair salon where Jaime got a Czech haircut from a lady who didn't speak much English. The blowdryer made her hair a bit poufy, but after a wash that evening, the cut actually turned out quite good-- excellent considering the limited stylist-client communication.
A walk across the Charles Bridge took us back to the old town, where we found a café on a quiet side street and had a fruit salad and mint ice tea. Refreshed and re-Bohemianized, we started to make our way toward the opera house for our final dose of Bohemian culture for the day: the 7 pm ballet performance of Swan Lake. Of course, on the way, we window shopped for clothing, and stopped for more culinary happiness at a quiet restaurant near the museum: I had the zander fish, and Jaime had the schnitzel. And the waiter managed to convince us we wanted dessert. It's my birthday celebration, and the only cure is more sacher torte!
We went to the ballet wanting to feel cultured, but instead left Swan Lake somewhat confused. The dancing and costumes were certainly beautiful, but no program was provided for the show. Unfamiliar with the tale, we struggled to understand just what the storyline was. Why don't you people talk? When you flap your arms, I think I've figured out you're a swan, but I don't understand what your leg-wiggling and all those pirouettes mean! And good god, prince ballerino who looks like Owen Wilson in "Zoolander"…put some pants on! Your tights are too tight! And are you in love with a bird? It's never going to work! Back at Evgeny's we looked up the plot--apparently, the prince is supposed to be choosing a wife, but while hunting, falls for a girl who has been cursed by a sorcerer, and is transformed into a swan by day/girl by night. The prince falls in love with her because he pities her (wow, that's romantic), and wants to profess his love to her (and break the curse). But the prince is tricked by the sorcerer into thinking that another girl is the one he loves (she is transformed to look identical), and he professes his love for her by accident, meaning that the spell can't be broken. There are various endings with varying degrees of sadness, but the ending we saw was actually fairly positive: the prince kills the sorcerer and almost drowns in the river, but doesn't. The girl finds him, permanently turned back into human form: happily ever after, curse is broken, hurrah. All you need is love…even if it's from a bird.
Our cultured day wasn't quite over though. Evgeny had prepared dinner for us, so after watching the end of the World Cup qualifier (Russia beats Wales, 3-1!) we had yet another meal, which was quite tasty (pork and salad). Then, Evgeny told us how he is trying to translate Seinfeld episodes into Russian for broadcast (I think on Youtube). So if you ever see the Russian version of the episode where Jerry freaks out the masseuse, thank Evgeny. And if you understand the lines:
Elaine: "It's a slap on the wrist!"
Jerry: "Yeah, but I still don't see any dinner invitations forthcoming,"
in their Russian version, thank us too, for clarifying the English meanings.
Before finally turning in, Evgeny showed us videos of him and his fiancée in ballroom dancing competitions (impressive), and another of him as a 10-year-old in an ice skating competition (even more impressive!). He was one of the champions of his region in Russia when he was skating!
Completely cultured out, we went to bed. Vienna is on the agenda for Thursday, and more artistic endeavors and culinary adventures are sure to come.
Since the real birthday was a bit of a bust, Jaime and I decided to just pretend that the next day was the celebration, and live a Bohemian lifestyle to the fullest in Prague. The first requirement for acting Bohemian is to find good food, preferably in a café. We were feeling quite hungry and desperate when we got to the Old Town Square at 10:30, and almost succumbed to the evilness that is tourist-land breakfast fare. Prague has become something of a tourist mecca since the fall of the Berlin Wall, particularly for Americans, and the town square, featuring a unique clock tower, churches, cute architecture, and statues, is the center of tourist activity. While the square is prettier in the summer sunshine, the atmosphere was much more appealing last time I was here in winter, when gluhwein flowed like Niagara Falls from the taps of the temporary holiday village on the square, and the tourist hordes were either smaller, or you were tipsy, so you didn't care. The experience in the restaurant on the square that we almost ate at went something like this:
*Look at the menu at the entrance. Breakfast looks affordable enough, and it is served until 11!
*Sit down at an outdoor table. Realize the breakfast menu the waiter gave you (in ten languages) is more expensive than the one you looked at outside. BUT, it says the prices are 50% cheaper if you sit inside. Waiter confirms the prices are cheaper inside, but not a full 50% cheaper.
*Move to table inside by the window.
*Indoor waiter brings bread and another menu, which doesn't feature breakfast.
*You ask for a breakfast menu, and the waiter says that breakfast is only served until 11. But it's not 11 yet, you say. The waiter assures you it is after 11, even though your watch says it is 10:40.
*Leave, fed up and still really hungry.
But the food would have sucked, and leaving was certainly kinder on our stomachs. Instead, we found a little juice bar that also served delicious baguette sandwiches. The perfect snack to stave off our hunger for another 20 minutes until we found the café of perfection! If you find yourself in Prague in the future, please find au Gourmand Café (www.augourmand.cz) and prepare to be wowed. I haven't had hot chocolate so thick and rich since my first trip to Spain 12 years ago. I'm not sure which crepe I liked more: the sweetness of the apple with brie and walnuts, or the savory cheese and mushroom. Since we had walked in the rear entrance of the café garden, we didn't see their display cases until we left. We contemplated buying quiches or pastries for later, but decided to get something that traveled better to share--so we settled for the chocolate chip cookies to take back to Evgeny that evening as a thank you for his hospitality. They were so delicious he made sure to get the address for the café so he could go back for more.
Nutritionally satisfied, the Bohemian adventure continued with a stroll across the river, up the hillside, past a giant metronome (we don't know why it's there) and a double bench swing (that didn't actually swing very well), and through the park to Prague Castle. Aaagh, we were back in tourist land. These people are so uncultured! Ok, yes, I know we were also tourists, but I get skittish in the massive hordes of photo-snapping, oblivious, check-something-off-in-your-guidebook people. Nor can I understand the couple we saw in St. Vitus' Cathedral where the man was filming a stained glass window and the woman was reading aloud from her guidebook the description of the Biblical scene depicted. I pity the family and friends that are forced to sit through that film showing.
Eager to escape the tourist lemmings, we opted not to pay to take the unguided castle tour. Instead, we made our way down the hill and toward the Charles Bridge. We stopped at a hair salon where Jaime got a Czech haircut from a lady who didn't speak much English. The blowdryer made her hair a bit poufy, but after a wash that evening, the cut actually turned out quite good-- excellent considering the limited stylist-client communication.
A walk across the Charles Bridge took us back to the old town, where we found a café on a quiet side street and had a fruit salad and mint ice tea. Refreshed and re-Bohemianized, we started to make our way toward the opera house for our final dose of Bohemian culture for the day: the 7 pm ballet performance of Swan Lake. Of course, on the way, we window shopped for clothing, and stopped for more culinary happiness at a quiet restaurant near the museum: I had the zander fish, and Jaime had the schnitzel. And the waiter managed to convince us we wanted dessert. It's my birthday celebration, and the only cure is more sacher torte!
We went to the ballet wanting to feel cultured, but instead left Swan Lake somewhat confused. The dancing and costumes were certainly beautiful, but no program was provided for the show. Unfamiliar with the tale, we struggled to understand just what the storyline was. Why don't you people talk? When you flap your arms, I think I've figured out you're a swan, but I don't understand what your leg-wiggling and all those pirouettes mean! And good god, prince ballerino who looks like Owen Wilson in "Zoolander"…put some pants on! Your tights are too tight! And are you in love with a bird? It's never going to work! Back at Evgeny's we looked up the plot--apparently, the prince is supposed to be choosing a wife, but while hunting, falls for a girl who has been cursed by a sorcerer, and is transformed into a swan by day/girl by night. The prince falls in love with her because he pities her (wow, that's romantic), and wants to profess his love to her (and break the curse). But the prince is tricked by the sorcerer into thinking that another girl is the one he loves (she is transformed to look identical), and he professes his love for her by accident, meaning that the spell can't be broken. There are various endings with varying degrees of sadness, but the ending we saw was actually fairly positive: the prince kills the sorcerer and almost drowns in the river, but doesn't. The girl finds him, permanently turned back into human form: happily ever after, curse is broken, hurrah. All you need is love…even if it's from a bird.
Our cultured day wasn't quite over though. Evgeny had prepared dinner for us, so after watching the end of the World Cup qualifier (Russia beats Wales, 3-1!) we had yet another meal, which was quite tasty (pork and salad). Then, Evgeny told us how he is trying to translate Seinfeld episodes into Russian for broadcast (I think on Youtube). So if you ever see the Russian version of the episode where Jerry freaks out the masseuse, thank Evgeny. And if you understand the lines:
Elaine: "It's a slap on the wrist!"
Jerry: "Yeah, but I still don't see any dinner invitations forthcoming,"
in their Russian version, thank us too, for clarifying the English meanings.
Before finally turning in, Evgeny showed us videos of him and his fiancée in ballroom dancing competitions (impressive), and another of him as a 10-year-old in an ice skating competition (even more impressive!). He was one of the champions of his region in Russia when he was skating!
Completely cultured out, we went to bed. Vienna is on the agenda for Thursday, and more artistic endeavors and culinary adventures are sure to come.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Not Over Hanover
Europe on the cheap is not easy. But one way Jaime and I tried to save money was to buy the not-so-direct train tickets to Hanover, featuring two hour-long stops in some random German towns. So the 20 Euros we each would have spent on the faster train we instead spent on:
-1 hour of luggage storage in Ulm. Amazingly, we fit all of our bags into one big locker, so this only cost 4 Euro (2 Euro each!).
-Sangria! We wanted to check out the giant cathedral in Ulm, and right next door to the cathedral was a wine festival. The Spanish tent had sangria for 3 Euro a glass, which looked so good, it made us forget that it was only 11 am. Delicious!
-Lunch in Augsburg. I'd had doner for lunch two days in a row--this time I mixed it up with a GIGANTIC pide from the food stand run by a man from Malatya. 4 Euro.
So in the end, we saved money. And we found a couchsurfing option last-minute, so we had a free place to stay, right in the center of Hanover. I knew I was still in Africa mode though (and a little tired) when I talked to our future host, Tim from Australia (a chemistry PhD student in Hanover), on the phone. He offered to meet us at the train station, and I felt the need to describe what Jaime and I looked like to facilitate his job of identifying us on the platform. The adjectives I chose were:
1. Tall (most people in Northern Germany are tall)
2. Bonde (Jaime is not blonde)
3. White (this one was unique in Botswana)
Jaime's suggestion, after a quizzical look (since I had just described the average North German): "What about: we have a lot of luggage?"
I guess I'm not used to fitting in when I travel.
For those who don't know couchsurfing, this is a great way to meet locals or people living in an area and have some memorable cross-cultural experiences. The premise is that you can offer up your couch or spare room to travelers (or be willing to meet for coffee), and ask for places to stay in return when you are on the move. And an online reference system significantly reduces your chances of staying with anyone creepy. Tim was a fabulous host, and an excellent cook. After meeting us at the train station to take us to his flat, he made us a delicious pasta dinner, and we enjoyed a good bottle of wine and great conversation while relaxing after a long day of travel.
Hanover is a relatively attractive but completely unpretentious city. While it features a beautiful old town by the river (the part that survived WWII bombing), and the gargantuan Herrenhauser gardens, there are very few tourists. Residents are friendly and welcoming. In short, it would be a lovely place to live for a while, and I might have to do just that. On Monday morning, I visited the offices of EMZ, an organization that advocates for improved immigrant health care services in Germany, and runs several programs promoting health education in immigrant communities across the country and with partners across Europe. I stumbled across EMZ online while researching sponsor options for the German Chancellor Fellowship, and the organization seemed like the perfect combination for my interest and studies in health care and most things Turkish (a vast majority of immigrants in Germany are Turkish). EMZ was incredibly welcoming when I contacted them about sponsorship, and willing to meet with me if I could come through Hanover. After arriving at the office, I spoke with the organization's founder/CEO and a program coordinator for almost two hours about their work and potential for collaboration. I also got the office tour, and an offer to meet some of the organization's employees that evening for drinks. What a great opportunity this would be if it works out! I'm so excited to go and write the application essays!
In the afternoon, Jaime and I walked around old town, enjoyed a sushi lunch (but not the $2 they charged us for water--apparently, you can't get tap water in restaurants in Germany, they'd rather rip you off), and toured the gardens. To get to the larger, fancier gardens, you have to walk down the longest, most symmetrical tree-lined walkway I have ever experienced. You get almost dizzy from the perfect alignment. After what seemed like eons, we reached the Grossgarten entrance, and spent a few hours looking at a grotto, fountains, flowers, secluded tree groves, and a Baroque garden maze. We had hoped the maze would be a little more challenging, but with four paths leading to the center, I don't know if there actually were any dead ends. Jaime, the landscape architect, thinks she could design a better one, and I am certain she could.
After a wonderful evening of drinks, dinner, and a walk by the river with some of the EMZ crowd, Jaime and I were going to head back to Tim's place, but were side-tracked by…wine tasting! Ten Euro for three glasses of wine with some olives and ciabatta on the side sounded like a perfect early birthday celebration. And the outdoor seating was literally on the street…couches and a table in what should be parking spaces couldn't be passed up. Having the flustered waiter an restaurant manager explain the German wines to us in English made it even more worth it.
Tomorrow, Prague.
-1 hour of luggage storage in Ulm. Amazingly, we fit all of our bags into one big locker, so this only cost 4 Euro (2 Euro each!).
-Sangria! We wanted to check out the giant cathedral in Ulm, and right next door to the cathedral was a wine festival. The Spanish tent had sangria for 3 Euro a glass, which looked so good, it made us forget that it was only 11 am. Delicious!
-Lunch in Augsburg. I'd had doner for lunch two days in a row--this time I mixed it up with a GIGANTIC pide from the food stand run by a man from Malatya. 4 Euro.
So in the end, we saved money. And we found a couchsurfing option last-minute, so we had a free place to stay, right in the center of Hanover. I knew I was still in Africa mode though (and a little tired) when I talked to our future host, Tim from Australia (a chemistry PhD student in Hanover), on the phone. He offered to meet us at the train station, and I felt the need to describe what Jaime and I looked like to facilitate his job of identifying us on the platform. The adjectives I chose were:
1. Tall (most people in Northern Germany are tall)
2. Bonde (Jaime is not blonde)
3. White (this one was unique in Botswana)
Jaime's suggestion, after a quizzical look (since I had just described the average North German): "What about: we have a lot of luggage?"
I guess I'm not used to fitting in when I travel.
For those who don't know couchsurfing, this is a great way to meet locals or people living in an area and have some memorable cross-cultural experiences. The premise is that you can offer up your couch or spare room to travelers (or be willing to meet for coffee), and ask for places to stay in return when you are on the move. And an online reference system significantly reduces your chances of staying with anyone creepy. Tim was a fabulous host, and an excellent cook. After meeting us at the train station to take us to his flat, he made us a delicious pasta dinner, and we enjoyed a good bottle of wine and great conversation while relaxing after a long day of travel.
Hanover is a relatively attractive but completely unpretentious city. While it features a beautiful old town by the river (the part that survived WWII bombing), and the gargantuan Herrenhauser gardens, there are very few tourists. Residents are friendly and welcoming. In short, it would be a lovely place to live for a while, and I might have to do just that. On Monday morning, I visited the offices of EMZ, an organization that advocates for improved immigrant health care services in Germany, and runs several programs promoting health education in immigrant communities across the country and with partners across Europe. I stumbled across EMZ online while researching sponsor options for the German Chancellor Fellowship, and the organization seemed like the perfect combination for my interest and studies in health care and most things Turkish (a vast majority of immigrants in Germany are Turkish). EMZ was incredibly welcoming when I contacted them about sponsorship, and willing to meet with me if I could come through Hanover. After arriving at the office, I spoke with the organization's founder/CEO and a program coordinator for almost two hours about their work and potential for collaboration. I also got the office tour, and an offer to meet some of the organization's employees that evening for drinks. What a great opportunity this would be if it works out! I'm so excited to go and write the application essays!
In the afternoon, Jaime and I walked around old town, enjoyed a sushi lunch (but not the $2 they charged us for water--apparently, you can't get tap water in restaurants in Germany, they'd rather rip you off), and toured the gardens. To get to the larger, fancier gardens, you have to walk down the longest, most symmetrical tree-lined walkway I have ever experienced. You get almost dizzy from the perfect alignment. After what seemed like eons, we reached the Grossgarten entrance, and spent a few hours looking at a grotto, fountains, flowers, secluded tree groves, and a Baroque garden maze. We had hoped the maze would be a little more challenging, but with four paths leading to the center, I don't know if there actually were any dead ends. Jaime, the landscape architect, thinks she could design a better one, and I am certain she could.
After a wonderful evening of drinks, dinner, and a walk by the river with some of the EMZ crowd, Jaime and I were going to head back to Tim's place, but were side-tracked by…wine tasting! Ten Euro for three glasses of wine with some olives and ciabatta on the side sounded like a perfect early birthday celebration. And the outdoor seating was literally on the street…couches and a table in what should be parking spaces couldn't be passed up. Having the flustered waiter an restaurant manager explain the German wines to us in English made it even more worth it.
Tomorrow, Prague.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Uber fun in Uberlingen, and Reunions: Part V
Jaime found me! Thank goodness for technology! I found an internet café after not being able to get ahold of her by phone, and a couple emails and a few facebook messages later, we met up in her small little German town on the Bodensee. Uberlingen! How glorious to have an internet connection again! And eat doner kebabs. And enjoy walks by the lake and farmer's markets and lazy Saturdays and cocktail bars with good company. We also went to the train station to buy tickets for our travels, and didn't decide when (or even entirely where) we wanted to travel until we were waiting in line at the Deutsche Bahn office. I wanted to visit an organization in Hanover on the 7th to discuss the possibility of a fellowship, and we had to be in Vienna before our flights left the 14th. And why not stop at Prague to break up the trip in between the two? Here we go…
Friday, September 4, 2009
The Story of the Stowaway Scorpion
First I mutilate a cow with an automobile. Then I fail to pay my Botswana speeding ticket. But my record as an international outlaw continues to grow. I am now a smuggler of agricultural products across international boundaries. The customs officials didn't look hard enough! The story goes something like this:
One day, a usually cheery yellow scorpion was tired. He was tired of being in the heat of the Namibian desert. He does not remember where exactly he was--it could have been the Trans-Kalahari border post; perhaps by a hostel in Windhoek or Swakopmund; or maybe near the Intercape bus. Where he was is not important; what you need to know is that he was hot. And he wanted relief in the form of shade. As he scuttled around at a rather slow pace, he wondered if he was feeling the effects of heat stroke. He didn't know how much longer he could go on if he didn't get out of the sun.
Then he found it! A medium-sized, olive green backpack, with just the smallest of openings of the zipper on one pocket. It looked like a very cool and inviting backpack, and the yellow scorpion began to cheer up again as he climbed down inside the pocket, and burrowed into the shade of toiletry bottles and a toothpaste tube. Yes, this was a good place to relax.
The scorpion stayed in his pocket a very long time--at least a week, if not more. Then, one Thursday evening, his little pocket started to jostle and shake more than he was used to. "This is not comfortable at all," he thought, as the bottles bumped him around. "I am leaving!" And he scuttled out into the light.
When he emerged from his pocket, he could not figure out what had been causing the bumping (my guess is that the cause had gone to fetch her clean laundry from the line while packing her bag to leave in the morning). The scorpion was a little hungry, but could see nothing in this strange environment that could offer any help for his empty stomach. There was fuzzy carpeting, a giant desk, and what looked like an oasis of solitude under the bed in the spare room in Oliver's apartment. He scuttled under the bed, and tried to hatch a plan for how to get back to the Namib Desert He did not know this world was far far away--in fact, over a 20 hour bus ride away!
After a day and a half, with no sign of any food coming his way under the bed, he decided to wander a little in search of sustenance. Climbing his way up some sheets and onto the softness of a pillow, in the early morning light he saw great potential just a pillow's length away: a human! The scorpion began his approach. But the human, Sean, must have a sixth sense for scorpions when crashing at friends' houses the night after travelers unknowingly leave predatory animals from Namibia in the spare room. Sean woke up eye to eye with our yellow friend and, with lightning-like reflexes, jumped out of bed, grabbed a glass, and captured the unwitting arachnid.
The yellow scorpion would never see the Namibian Desert again. After becoming the apartment's focus of attention for the day (Etienne researched where the little guy was from, and learned how much scorpions like cool dark places like backpacks), the scorpion moved to the Cape Town Waterfront offices of Maersk Shipping to keep Etienne company. But the scorpion was not happy being a pet, and the diet on the Cape did not suit his stomach. The yellow scorpion decided to depart for the desert in the sky, and Etienne honored him with a Naval funeral.
Author's Note: I am relieved that the scorpion did not pop out of my bag sooner (like when I was digging clothes out during the week in CT), and am glad he chose the night after I left to make his presence known. I did not learn of this rather amusing tale until after arriving in Germany. Oddly enough, I would soon be on my way to Hannover, home of the famous 80s band, Scorpions. Coincidence? Perhaps...for as Klaus Meine will tell you, scorpions are "Always Somewhere".
One day, a usually cheery yellow scorpion was tired. He was tired of being in the heat of the Namibian desert. He does not remember where exactly he was--it could have been the Trans-Kalahari border post; perhaps by a hostel in Windhoek or Swakopmund; or maybe near the Intercape bus. Where he was is not important; what you need to know is that he was hot. And he wanted relief in the form of shade. As he scuttled around at a rather slow pace, he wondered if he was feeling the effects of heat stroke. He didn't know how much longer he could go on if he didn't get out of the sun.
Then he found it! A medium-sized, olive green backpack, with just the smallest of openings of the zipper on one pocket. It looked like a very cool and inviting backpack, and the yellow scorpion began to cheer up again as he climbed down inside the pocket, and burrowed into the shade of toiletry bottles and a toothpaste tube. Yes, this was a good place to relax.
The scorpion stayed in his pocket a very long time--at least a week, if not more. Then, one Thursday evening, his little pocket started to jostle and shake more than he was used to. "This is not comfortable at all," he thought, as the bottles bumped him around. "I am leaving!" And he scuttled out into the light.
When he emerged from his pocket, he could not figure out what had been causing the bumping (my guess is that the cause had gone to fetch her clean laundry from the line while packing her bag to leave in the morning). The scorpion was a little hungry, but could see nothing in this strange environment that could offer any help for his empty stomach. There was fuzzy carpeting, a giant desk, and what looked like an oasis of solitude under the bed in the spare room in Oliver's apartment. He scuttled under the bed, and tried to hatch a plan for how to get back to the Namib Desert He did not know this world was far far away--in fact, over a 20 hour bus ride away!
After a day and a half, with no sign of any food coming his way under the bed, he decided to wander a little in search of sustenance. Climbing his way up some sheets and onto the softness of a pillow, in the early morning light he saw great potential just a pillow's length away: a human! The scorpion began his approach. But the human, Sean, must have a sixth sense for scorpions when crashing at friends' houses the night after travelers unknowingly leave predatory animals from Namibia in the spare room. Sean woke up eye to eye with our yellow friend and, with lightning-like reflexes, jumped out of bed, grabbed a glass, and captured the unwitting arachnid.
The yellow scorpion would never see the Namibian Desert again. After becoming the apartment's focus of attention for the day (Etienne researched where the little guy was from, and learned how much scorpions like cool dark places like backpacks), the scorpion moved to the Cape Town Waterfront offices of Maersk Shipping to keep Etienne company. But the scorpion was not happy being a pet, and the diet on the Cape did not suit his stomach. The yellow scorpion decided to depart for the desert in the sky, and Etienne honored him with a Naval funeral.
Author's Note: I am relieved that the scorpion did not pop out of my bag sooner (like when I was digging clothes out during the week in CT), and am glad he chose the night after I left to make his presence known. I did not learn of this rather amusing tale until after arriving in Germany. Oddly enough, I would soon be on my way to Hannover, home of the famous 80s band, Scorpions. Coincidence? Perhaps...for as Klaus Meine will tell you, scorpions are "Always Somewhere".
They don't speak English here...Türkçe biliyor musun? Döner var mı?
I was once told that these days, everyone in Germany speaks English. If you are lost, no problem--anyone can give you good directions. This is not true. In rural Germany, there are quite large pockets of people that speak no English whatsoever. I suppose this doesn't surprise me when I really think about it--people that have never left their little Baden-Wurttemburg home on the edge of the Bodensee really don't have any reason to know English--the tourists they cater to (if any) all speak Italian or German or French. Americans and Brits simply don't come here.
This is slightly problematic when you are trying to buy a train ticket without a Deutsche phrase book in hand, or need to know where the public telephone is so you can call your friend who is some place in this small town, but you have no idea where. Luckily, nice bank tellers let you use their phone to place international calls, and the tourist information center you eventually stumble upon points you in the direction of internet access. You survive. But if you were ever to be really truly stuck in this part of Germany, and could not find a soul speaking English, you should hope that you know Turkish. One day, two small towns, four people that speak Turkish. Almost guaranteed to find Turkish speakers if you walk into a kebab shop. Ne güzel bir şey!
Not only will speaking Turkish win you huge brownie points with the kebabçılar (they will put on as much cacik sauce as you want! You will drool over your döner as you walk around town!); it will also earn you free beer at the train station when Turkish guys assist you with your massive amounts of luggage and you say a nice "teşekkürler" in return. That's right, şerefe to free beer. At 10:30 am on a Friday. Even during Ramadan. Now if only I could find a Turk the next time I need to know where the public telephone is...
This is slightly problematic when you are trying to buy a train ticket without a Deutsche phrase book in hand, or need to know where the public telephone is so you can call your friend who is some place in this small town, but you have no idea where. Luckily, nice bank tellers let you use their phone to place international calls, and the tourist information center you eventually stumble upon points you in the direction of internet access. You survive. But if you were ever to be really truly stuck in this part of Germany, and could not find a soul speaking English, you should hope that you know Turkish. One day, two small towns, four people that speak Turkish. Almost guaranteed to find Turkish speakers if you walk into a kebab shop. Ne güzel bir şey!
Not only will speaking Turkish win you huge brownie points with the kebabçılar (they will put on as much cacik sauce as you want! You will drool over your döner as you walk around town!); it will also earn you free beer at the train station when Turkish guys assist you with your massive amounts of luggage and you say a nice "teşekkürler" in return. That's right, şerefe to free beer. At 10:30 am on a Friday. Even during Ramadan. Now if only I could find a Turk the next time I need to know where the public telephone is...
Don't Plan Your Travels
Not planning is a wonderful thing. When you arrive in Zurich at 9 pm, too late to get to your friend's small German town on the train, and without a hostel reservation, be grateful for lovely airport information ladies like Irene. Because if the least expensive room available in Zurich is 99 Euros (cyclists' convention taking all the cheap rooms), when you tell Irene you're going to Uberlingen, she will call her B&B-owning cousin in Romanshof (on the way, where the trains still run). When that's also full, she will find you a youth hostel in Kreuzlingen, just across the lake from Uberlingen (what does "lingen mean, anyway?), and print you the train schedule to get there. And happily, for my wallet, the hostel cost less Swiss francs than the taxi from the train station to get there at 11 pm. The hostel is in a park by the lake, but since no one is at the reception late, I camped out on a couch in the hostel lounge, after a much-needed shower (ugh, Dubai). In the morning, when I explained to the man at reception where I'd slept, I guess he took pity on me, and only charged me for the hostel breakfast I'd eaten. It is still possible to stay somewhere in Europe for $10 a night!
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