Good morning.
I know it has been a few too many days since I last wrote anything about the latest happenings in Germany and beyond. The first few days here were a mix of subtle exhaustion and awesome times but now things are looking…well… much the same actually, which is a great.
Stepping into our time machine lets zip back to the lovely terminal in the portland airport were the trip began- a trip on which I have no lap top, only two pairs of underwear for two months, and american football in my backpack, and a manuel on hybrid cars. (favour for a friend). Things at the airport are going surprisingly well, minus the fact that I have gotten 3 hours of sleep thanks to my procrastination. The two remaining ladys at the United check in desk are semi-friendly, despite the fact that the stupid automatic check in counters once again don’t work, and after only a few clicks on their key board I am on my way past the security check in into the deep dark depths of the terminal. Armed with a coffee, which I was hoping would be delicious, but turned out to be more of a mix of sour, bitter, and nasty, I am sitting in the always comfortable terminal chairs, studying the latest correlation between rolling resistance and hybrid car efficiencies. Only five minutes late the groggy passangers are shuffled on to one of the worlds tiniest freakin planes- I almost hit my head as I shuffle through the…. well, what could be called an isle, but is probably more acurrately described as a prision gang way. The lonely stewardess is not semi-friendly as her companions at the front desk were. She is flustered and tired, probably hating her job considering she too can’t stand up straight in the tiny plane. Her mood is not getting any better. The group of japanese tourists just entered the plane with 5 oversized shopping bags each. Afraid to break their epensive gucci goods, they set the bags on their laps, a big NO NO in air transportation safety haha. The stewardness ‘kindly’ takes the bags and stuffs the even more ‘gently’ into the oversized luggage crate type thing at the front of the plane. She returns to the slightly angered tourists and spots another violation. Bam! she goes to the women. “That bag won’t fit under the seat, you will need to buckle it into the empty seat next to you.” I didn’t know that one could buckle luggage into empty seats, maybe this is why we now get to pay extra luggage fees. Now buckling some luggage into a seat seems like an exciting prediciment to me, but the tourist women was less enthused and did, well, nothing and just left the bag. One minute later the stewardess police woman returns and asks the lady again. We are already late cuz she can’t put her stupid bag into a seat. I think theirs an american saying- Third times a charm- this time it was third time and imma come back here, take you’re oversized non carry on bag and stuff it in the back of the plane. And that’s what happened. Suck it tourist lady! An hour’s flight, and a delicious baby sized cup of apple juice later, and we are in seattle.
In seatlte begins the wonders of how to occupy oneself in an airport terminal for 5 hours while waiting for your next plane to leave. Thanks to the awkward arrangement of the seattle airport terminal I get to walk down some escelators, wait for a train, get in the train, get back out a few stops later, wait some more. get in another train, wait in it, get back out, wait some more, get in another train, breath wonderfully recycled air, get back out, go up some crowded stairs, and pow we are in some isolated terminal. I am looking around and thankfully the terminal is equipped with a few food joints-one of which was a knock off burger king with a poster of a burger saying “Burger, Eat Here”. I quickly eliminate this as one of my lunch choices. Half of my lunch money goes to buying the economist from the Hudson’s Bay news stand. A wise investment, but one that took a while to make considering a lady, unaware of her surroundings, failed to notice me and cut me in line. Not cool. An hour of reading later I am only a few minutes away from the beginning of the world cup game. The akward postion of the TV makes my neck hurt after only five minutes of watching, but the delicious cheese quesadilla makes life good again. The place gets packed quickly with either socccer enthusiasts or hungary lunchtime people. I assume the 92 yr old later which seats herself at my table is more on the food hungry, not soccer hungry side of things. She is friendly, and spends some time telling me of her travels. I look at her chili soup and can confirm that my quesadilla was a wise choice. At 2:15 the plane leaves on time.
Four hours of sleep, a constantly crying baby two seats in front of me, a pretty good looking stewardess,a marginal breakfast, and a good movie later, and I am in Frankfurt, Germany; possibly one of the worlds most annoying airports.
The time machine takes us forward a few more more hours and we are in Berlin, Germany. Me, my carry on, and my not luggage, since this was apparently lost by lufthansa. But I tell myself that everything will be alright especially after I get my overnight care package filled with a tooth brush that is sure to make ones gums bleed, a razor that pulls hair out rather than shaving it off, and an XXL white t-shirt. Score!!!
26.06.2010 – Abi Ball (a.k.a. German graduation festivities)
The ticket to the Abi Ball says that the festivities begin at 19:00 (7pm american time). Well the ticket didn’t actually say those exact same things but thats really not important. Thanks to lufthansa I would have only had a sweaty t shirt or a white XXL one as formal wear for the abi ball, but my cousin supplied a few fresh looking items. I go to the abi ball hoping I look at least a little ‘portlandy’ Galen and I arrive at 8ish o’clock; a reasonable time for american standards I would argue, but not ok for the punctual and functionally mined german folk. We walk towards the entrance, everyone in the giant banquet hall can see us through the floor to ceiling windows. We see them too, notice we are hellas late, and turn back to plan our next move. Great. Now everyone saw us half walk in and walk back out. Backs already turned a voice call “Hey-Tim”. Damit. We have been spotted. Inside we are standing awkwardly in the back watching old class mates perform a humorous singing skit that rivals, in quality, some of the singing acts on american idol which everyone laughs at in the first few auditions. The singing skit is followed by a class rap song which is about as good as the raps by the ‘Zimmerman’ (Those in sherwood will know what I’m talking about). The location of the Abi Ball is quite exquisite; the large hall is outfitted with two all important bars, at which i can use my two free drink tickets, a stage, a back terrace, and majestic view of the Scharmuetzelsee (lake), awnings under which there are mountains of delic food, and a white tablecloth covered table filled with champagne glasses. Things are looking good for this evening. The program, which included the singing skits, thankfully ends shortly after we find ourselves drinking our first good german beer while chatting with good friends Maria und Sibel. Galen and I are sitting at the end of the table which has an awkward triangle point that juts out into the walkway. Two bites into my dinner and the first person rams their leg into the point moving the whole table. I figure our close proximity to the bar makes the less than adventageous table position ok. Two minutes later another person ram’s into the table, so i place a fork at the point, hoping to deter any other oblivious, maybe half drunken folk from running into the table. Maria’s parents graciously order a bottle of champagne for us, and after some dessert, another beer, and new found motivation we are dancing to 80′s pop. Hellas euro. As I am awkwardly dancing, something I’m sure the mormon parents at sherwood high school would be proud of, I look over my shoulder to find my old, smoking dependent, religion teacher dancing with a good friend of mine. This must also be ‘euro’, and i think nothing more of it. Later she tells me she got a free beer out of it, and I figure I might try my luck at dancing with a teacher later in the evening too. The rest of the evening is a combination of chill’n outside on the terrace talking with friends, teaching Galen some new german words, and dancing amongst parents, teachers, and students to a mix of 70′s 80′s house techno and hip-hop music. I am even forced to try my luck at dancing some waltz and another formalized dance. I only count stepping on my partners toes 4 times in two songs. Great Success!!! At 1am I find out that the bar in the west wing is giving out free drinks for some unbeknownst reason, but I don’t question their motives and take advantage of this monumental and unprecidented opportunity. Shortly after, dancing to 80′s dance pop was both easy and not awkward for the rest of the evening. We are dancing the night away, literally, as it is now 3 am. Galen sits down to, what I think is a dancing break, but turns out to be a “My pants ripped, so now I have a large tear down my backside break”. I take this to mean that Galen is also having an awesome time dancing to 80′s dance pop. At three thirty we are out front and find ourselves waiting for a taxi with Dwayne and his brother as the sun is already coming up. Our 5 minutes of latness make us miss the taxi, but at 5am we are home, ready to get up at 9 for a bike ride.
27.06.2010 – Bike ride around the scharmuetzelsee
The sun is shining, my legs are fresh, and my eyes are dreary after only a few hours of sleep. We climb onto a pair of badass trecking bikes that feel something like luxary after riding on a variety of campus commuter bikes all year. The bike ride takes us exactly past the same place last evening festivities took place. 15 miles into the bike ride we stop to take a picknick lunch. My aunt unpacks a few sandwiches, then sun carrots, some tomatoes, a few beers, some more sandwhiches, potato salad, and some chocolate. No wonder my panier was so damn heavy! Then my other aunt unpacks even more food, and I wonder how all germans are not obese. 10 more miles and we stop to take, what i would consider, another much deserved beer break on the other side of the lake where Galen discovers his new favourite beer; Hefeweizen. The last 7 miles home Galen sets the tempo. He leads the echilon down the road. With four miles left my one aunt drops of the back, she must stop and eat some cookies, as she can’t keep pace with the peleton. Galen slows the pace and the peleton is back together, winding throuhg the delapidated streets of Fuerstenwalde. Thanks to his speed we make it to the Herrlicher Cafe ontime to watch the Germany play England, together with about 150 other enthusiastic fans. A half sunburn later and germany win’s 4:1! Hellas Yea!! A few minutes later mayhem erupts as many pour into the street to celebrate the victory.
28.06.2010 – Berlin
Galen and I are thoroughly fascinated with the stands littered with communist era pins, hats, flags and trickets. I almost decide to buy Galen a communist pin to fashion to his bag, however the folks in eastern europe might not find this so funny so I decide against this. All that remains at check point charlie is a flood of tourists, a display outlining the history of the wall, and a small check point booth comparable to those at state parks in Oregon. Two fake american guards pose infront of the boothe, waiting for eager tourists two pose smiling infront of a piece of history. Most of them probably failing to understand the significance of the point they are standing on, and the events related to the Berlin wall. But it is one more thing they can check off their list. Our treck through berlin brings us past more monuments, an extended piece of the wall, a few museums, all the way to the next curry wurst stand infront of the brandenburg gate. Cultural experience here we come! The curry wurst is something of a sausage sprinkled with curry powder, and oversized but essential mount of ketchup, alongside a pile of french fries or with a fresh role. In essence it is pure deliciousness and satisfies any hunger especially when enjoyed with a cold Hasseroeder beer. Also the official beer sponsor of the world cup. Our treck continues to the TV tower, where along the way my aunts never fail to point out the next starbucks store. Admiring some site a voice says “Do you speak english?” and natrually i say well YES. A small car gets shoved into my face, on it written some story about how the gypsy woman has little money and needs some change. Judging by her nice baby stroller and the colorful clothes she’s wearing I call B.S. In the next 15 min we are asked several more times wether we speak english so we derived stratagies to trick the gypsies. Yes we speak, but we don’t read. Or galen answers something in french. Our plan works marvolously! A trip to the top of the TV tower and our day in berlin is done.
