Luckiest Man Alive

I had to type this before going to bed.

I have always been told I am a lucky person, that things tend to go my way in sometimes big ways.

I have been told correctly.

After leaving Köln, I planned on going to Neerpelt where I'd stay the night at a local hotel before going to Achel in the morning. I took all the right trains to get to Neerpelt, despite some less-than-stellar signage and indications of what trains were where, when. I did, however, get off one stop too early, in Overpelt. This is where my luck went mund-numbingly well. Or, arguably, I made my own luck by taking a situation and making the literal best possible outcome from it.

There was one other person that got off at Overpelt with me. I was unaware of our location and I asked him where we were. He spoke English, thank goodness, and told me. I explained who I was and where I was going and he said I'd have a problem getting anywhere, because the buses don't run to Achel this time of night (I arrived at midnight) and there is no hotel in Overpelt or Neerpelt. No hotel. As in, when I arrived in Neerpelt, there'd not have been a place to stay. Not any tourists, is the reason he says. Fair enough, the place is a seriously small-town look from what I can see. I walk with the guy (Peter is his name) and find out something. This something is not lucky but almost horrifyingly coincidental. He's a Linguist, like me. He focuses on translation work, and has a degree in Linguistics as well. My jaw almost fell off when I heard that. He spent some time in the states, a few months, back when he was my age (so perhaps 25-30 years ago) in Massachusetts and everyone was very kind to him there so he said it was nice to have the opportunity to help out an American in need. I was touched.

So, Peter and I go to this local little night-shop 7-11 kinda place, where an Indian guy comes and greets us. Peter speaks with him in what I presume to be Dutch, it sure sounds like it. After some talking back and forth the Indian guy starts talking in English, which makes me wonder why he didn't from the beginning, but hey. They look up a local taxi service for me in the phonebook. Disconnected, they're not around anymore. The only other taxi service nearby says they're closed, but call X in Y and see if they'll do it. Peter asks me if we should, and the Indian guy says he'll drive me so long as we can find the address of the hotel in Achel, which is a couple towns over. I'm floored again. What a nice thing to do! The only two people I've met in Overpelt Belgium are extremely nice people who've gone way way out of their ways to help me. We figure out where the hotel is in Achel, and Peter calls them. Again, super lucky because they were about to close for the night but will now stay open long enough to receive me. Holy crap. I'm driven by the Indian guy to Achel and we find the hotel and I come in. Only 80 euros for a room, and I get to the room. It's the nicest I've stayed in so far, easily, and costs less than the most expensive by a good 35 euros. Friggin' awesome. AND they have wifi, which is how I'm able to post this. I know I ought be asleep by now, but I had to write this while it was fresh. It is simply too amazing a tale to me to not write down now.

So, to recap:

If things had gone according to my plan I would be in Neerpelt and have no immediate way of coming here. If Peter hadn't been there or been awesomely nice and going out of his way to help some kid from America for about thirty minutes after he'd have been able to go home, I'd have been up a creek with no paddle. If I had managed to make it to the 7-11 place Peter brought me (which I will admit I'd probably have stumbled across in a desperate search for someone, anyone if Peter hadn't been there) on my own, I would have lacked the knowledge of the language to navigate the white pages to find the taxi service that didn't work, nor would I have had any idea about this specific hotel Peter knew of. And even if I DID manage all that, if Peter hadn't helped or the guy simply wasn't really nice that worked this night shop, I'd still have not made it.

So, simply put, every single thing that could have gone right, did. And not only that, but that is perhaps one of an extremely tiny pool of possible paths, perhaps the only one, that would have ended with me in this hotel for the night instead of on the street.

If my luck were measured in explosive terms, it'd have to be in megatons. I almost cannot believe how lucky I am/was and how things turned out tonight. So instead I will just go to sleep, as happy as can be. The only thing that could be even more in my favor would be getting some acceptance letters from universities, I think. That or winning the powerball. Or both, which would be more in line with how lucky I have been tonight.

Köln

My stay in Köln was a bit shorter than expected, primarily because there was no virtually no hotel space in town, and it'd cost twice as much to stay the second day I wanted to. A big business conference was coming into town, it seems, and it was hard enough to find the hotel I did. So, only one day then.

Arriving late-ish in Köln, my first priority was finding a place to stay. The first 3 or so hotels I found, of varying degrees of niceness, were completely booked. The next one, though, struck my fancy and I took a room. Only 55 euros? What a bargain! Tomorrow would be 120 euros? I'll... pass. Very pass on that. My room was about a step below my freshman year at UF's dorm room, small and cramped with no bathroom. The bathroom was shared for the whole floor, like in a dorm also. Not a terrible problem, since I'm young and have dealt with it, but not exactly the "hotel" experience one usually seeks. Still, can't argue with the price. Of course, considering what I got, I sure would argue it if I stayed two days. Imagine what a normal hotel would cost for that second day... glad not to be a businessman coming into town here.

My day started off early for me, with me leaving the hotel before 10AM and paying the guy at the front desk 5 euros to watch my luggage through the day (apparently this one place didn't normally do that for free, or perhaps at all) I headed off to the one thing everyone sees in Köln, the Dom. The cathedral in all its impressive height and splendor, and it wasn't even a three-minute walk from my hotel. Neat! I even got to hear the big organ in there being played and listen to a bit of some sort of service in German before heading on.

A bit of backstory before I mention where I went next.

Back in the 9th through 11th grades, in High School, I had to take a language and had zero desire to learn French and Spanish. I wanted something different, something unusual. So I took German. It's why I chose Germany for my trip to better my language skills and why I wasn't starting quite from scratch here.

When in German class, I don't know what year, we had to do a report on a city in Germany. I picked Köln/Cologne. I don't remember much other than one very specific thing that stuck with me about the city, something I vowed one day to visit. A chocolate museum. A museum, dedicated to chocolate. As in, the history of and applications of CHOCOLATE. How cool is that? Very, very cool is what I was betting on.

I bet well, because when I finally got the chance to visit Köln (I feel a bit bad saying finally, it's only been 6 years at the most and I'm still only 22) I knew where I wanted to go. The chocolate museum. Heck yes. After the cathedral I walked my way there, ambling through a very cool shopping district and taking my time to look in a few shops and buy an umbrella, since the weather wasn't terribly great outside. I finally wound up right at the fast-flowing Rhine river, with a wonderful view of the other side, and began following it. I saw a building that to me embodied Köln as a whole as I'd been seeing it, which is very modern mixed with very old. The two had come together in this one mixed building, and I appreciated it just long enough to realize it was the building I sought. That was the chocolate museum! Even cooler! I then looked a bit harder at the flag waving atop the building and noticed it said "Lindt" on it. Oh.

I quickly made my way inside, not failing to notice across the way a mustard shop and museum across the street. That tickled my fancy, as I love weird things, and I made a note to go there next.

The chocolate museum surpassed every single one of my expectations. It was much alike the Potsdam Biosphere I visited early on in my time in Berlin in some respects, in that it has a (small) greenhouse in it, which I loved. I didn't think I'd see any mango trees in Germany, but I did! The exhibits were very neat and somewhat modern in design, with some interactive exhibits using buttons and light-up walls or speakers, or even computers in a few places. I learned of the history of chocolate from where it comes from to the people involved in its early European use to the father of modern taxonomy. I saw how cacao is shipped and where it is made and what goes into preparing it every step along the way. As I left the first floor of the exhibit I found myself in the more modern part of the building that I saw from outside. A cute little fake factory! How cool! I saw the various machines involved in smashing the beans and so on, every step to finished chocolate. Except something wasn't quite as I thought it was. This was no fake chocolate factory. It was an actual chocolate factory, in miniature, with people working it and machines making chocolate and seeing them bagged and boxed. Yes, on a very small scale and perhaps some of the earlier steps were left out so as to reduce the machines needed, but a significant portion of the chocolate-making process was THERE. I walked through it, seeing the machines and people working, and couldn't keep a big silly grin from smearing across my face as if painted on with chocolate.

At one very end of the mini-production floor was a beautiful fountain-looking thing with golden-colored cacao bean adornments. It was gorgeous, and I got close to take a picture. Huh, I wonder why there are ropes around it, there's plenty else equally as nice without ropes. Wait, why is there a table with vanilla wafer-looking things on it?

The beautiful sculpture I saw was actually a chocolate fountain! And to compound my delight and surprise one of the workers came over and unhooked the rope, letting herself in. She took one of the wafers and dipped it in the fountain and handed it to me. To say this was warm, fresh chocolate heaven is an understatement. It was simply divine. I was given another and then tore myself away after thanking the woman and went up the staircase to the second floor.

One the second floor was a mini shop where I saw one of the very boxes taken recently from the mini production floor with truffles I had seen being made not two minutes earlier, and indeed could still see being made if I so much as looked over the guardrail to the floor below. I was astounded, and bought one (only fifty cents!) It was amazing.

Next to the little shop was, apparently, some sort of press room where a chocolatier or chef or man posing as such was holding chocolates and bars and mods and such as a prss person photographed him for a magazine or something. Very very VERY cool.

Through a door to the right of that was a dimly-lit room that astounded me yet again. It was an example of chocolate being a "food of the Gods" and showed how the Olmecs and Aztecs and such used and traded and saw chocolate and the bean from whence it came. There were actual statues and rollers and pottery and more from well into the B.C. era depicting these cultures and signs saying what they had to do with chocolate. Once again I was completely amazed and found myself smiling like a fool. And after that room were a few rooms depicting the history of chocolate advertising and modern-day chocolatiers and their history. A small theater ran constant ads for different chocolates from perhaps fifty years ago. A hallway showed the evolution of different mascots of chocolate makers, and more. This was astounding.

After all was said and done I went to the cafe for a bite to eat. A nice linguini lunch with some sort of meaty sauce along with a water and of course a big hot chocolate, one of the better ones I've had outside of France's delicious and thick drinking chocolates. I'm also glad the lunch items there didn't have a need or feel to include chocolate in their dishes just for the sake of having it.

I reluctantly left what may have been the coolest museum I've ever visited and walked across the street to a much more reserved place, which seemed to be mostly a mustard shop. Lots of mustards which you could try and tons more that adorned the walls of many many types. I bought a ticket to the tour and waited for the hour, this time being joined by a group of about 8.

The tour was only in German, but I understood a good deal of it. The history of mustard, and especially a lot on how it was made. A replica of an old press (that may not be the correct term) was there and it was actually fully functional. We saw the rough paste in one vat and were allowed to smell it as it mixed. I got my face right in and took a whiff. WOOOH was that a bad idea. My eyes immediately started watering and I almost choked. I backed away and tried to regain my composure as the others in thr tour blindly followed suit from me, each in turn being completely and utterly overwhelmed by the superhumanly strong smell that can only come from a vat of unfinished mustard. The tour guide seemed to get a real hoot out of letting us smell the mustard, I think that's her favorite part of the job. She then showed us (with the machine going too!) how mustard is ground with a giant stone more finely and then deposited in barrels, and I must say it was enlightening if not perhaps quite as thrilling as the chocolate factory. It was certainly more of a sensory overload, at least for my nose, though.

After that I figured out how to move my plans all up a day then spent my remaining hours wandering through Köln, and wound up at a bar for the one other thing I wanted to do/try in the city: Kölsch. It's a kind of beer, and I'd liken it to an exceptionally smooth and somewhat bitter Hefeweisen. It went down very smoothly and was a neat little taste (literally) of the local flavor.

As I write this, I'm on my way to Neerpelt, Belgium. That means my internet USB dongle won't work, but I'll just post this once back in Germany. Along with a few other wonderful tales, like tomorrow. I'm expecting to make my way to the Achel Trappist monastery which is only 7 in the world that can call themselves true Trappist breweries. Apparently the beer is world class and I'll get to see the brewing process and the abbey, at least a bit. So, very much looking forward to that.

Kassel

I'm a guy that loves adventure. Being thrust into exciting and unusual situation, figuring things out, and making my own way.

My trip to Kassel was short but sweet, marked by me seeing exactly what I wanted and some other stuff along the side too. I came to this town for one main reason, actually, which was to see Löwenburg, which wasn't exactly what I was calling it. I was referring to it as "Löwenburg Schloss" but it turns out Löwenburg was more of an awesome midieval home for a family, best I can make out. There's a castle nearby, in the same national-park-esque surroundings. Absolutely beautiful hiking, I was there when there was still plenty of beautiful white on the ground but many trails were semi-traversable (albeit slick!) and water was flowing through the little streams, not to mention the abundant evergreen trees and shrubs all over. A simply stunning location.

Anyways, I did make it to Löwenburg. It took we a good while, taking first one tram to the outskirts of the park then finding the bus doesn't run there that time of year. I went back into town, took another tram to the other end, then figured out the bus doesn't run at all that time of year. Oh well, as I said, I did a lot of hiking, which started right around the time I figured there was no bus.

It was absolutely worth the trek, too, I got to spend some time with nature I otherwise wouldn't have and really enjoyed seeing everything. I must say though, while the Germans have a well-deserved reputation for being very straightforward and marking everything terribly well in their cities, the park was nearly completely devoid of signs denoting which way went where.

As a result I ended up first at a nearby castle which these days houses a good many Rembrandts as well as other paintings of a somewhat similar style, and plenty of sculptures from Egypt, Greece, and more. I opted not to go inside at first, seeking out my main attraction first. It was found not terribly long after that, and it was everything I could have imagined if perhaps a bit smaller. Very old Gothic architecture, walled, nestled atop a hill, it was perfect.

I went inside and took some pictures before finding and going into the little gift shop and getting a ticket for the tour, and I had to wait the ten or so minutes until the hour for the tour. Far be it from me to keep the Germans from staying to their meticulously-planned schedules, despite the fact that I was the only one there for the tour. I was informed that the tour was only in German, and I said "kein Problem" (no problem). I only asked for them to use smaller, more common words and speak a bit slowly, and since I was the only one on the tour, my guide was happy to oblige.

It was made clear right off the bat that I was not allowed to take pictures, and I agreed. After all, even without the flash on pictures can be a bad thing, right? No, of course not, that's stupid. But I agreed nonetheless, and simply kept my camera behind my back in my hands, snapping upside-down shots as we walked through. They were none the wiser, and some of my pictures actually turned out decently. Most were blurry and too low of an angle, but when life gives you a no photography sign, you take photos behind your back. As the old saying goes.

There was a living room with multi-hundred-year-old games inside, a bedroom with equally ancient adornments, a hunting room with actual crossbows, pikes, old rifles and mounted heads. Very cool. My favorite, I think, was the armory, though. It had lots of armor for both humans and horses, and weapons all over. Morningstars, swords, lances and so on. It really was amazing.

Next up was the aforementioned castle, which was very nice if exactly alike any other museum you have ever visited inside. A few stories with varying exhibitions, some very impressive (especially some of the paintings, and it was neat seeing real Rembrandts up close!). After some time spend there I treked back to the train station then took that to town, and walked around. The town of Kassel was not particularly big, I would guess perhaps 40,000-70,000 residents. It had quaint shops as well as bigger stores along its somewhat-packed streets that every city in Germany I've seen thus far has had. It did have its own Opera house, though, and a good smattering of museums. One I really wanted to visit was the Brothers-Grimm museum, one I didn't know was there until already in the town. How fortuitous! They apparently do some language research there, which I bet has a lot to do with differing versions of the Grimm brothers' stories in differing locales, or the evolution of the tales over time. I was very excited to go. Unfortunately, the museum was undergoing renovations scheduled to end perhaps a week or two from now, and so I didn't get to see it, a real bummer. Still, I really enjoyed my time in Kassel.

After Löwenburg

Last few days in Berlin and leaving

This last weekend, my last weekend alone in Berlin, was a fun (if not particularly special) one, and a nice visible change.

When I got here, it was bitterly cold every day, getting colder still for the first few weeks. Days where the temperature hit -20C were common, which was insane to me.

These last days the snow has been melting, and I have even seen some of the ground lately. The day I leave I can see some green peeking out in areas, and entire sidewalks are free of snow, slush, or ice.

That's a wonderful change. When I arrived I was literally dragging my suitcases through snow and ice, making it very hard. Now as I left it was muddy and muddly everywhere, and so I had to maneuver a lot but the going was much easier.

The weekend before I left I spent more time riding the S-Bahn around the city, planning out my trip after Berlin and studying. While on the S-Bahn, as often happens, a hobo came on. I had already been here for a bit and planned to be here longer, and wasn't bothered by him. Yet instead of beg for change or play an instrument he sprawled out over a couple seats and promptly went to sleep. He slept for perhaps an hour, and when he awoke it must have been with a massive thirst. He pulled out a bottle of wine I didn't see him bring on with him and wanted to open it. Rather than using a corkscrew to remove the cork, he took out a wooden stick and began forcing the cork inside. With a BANG! it went in, and wine went violently out in a spray. The hobo was covered as was a good amount of his seat and the ground between us, but fortunately no other people.

Noone said anything, but many glances were exchanged.

As soon as the bottle was 'open,' in spite of being suddenly drenched with wine, he mulled it up to his face and began greedily sucking on it as though a baby with a bottle. It was a bit surreal.

After leaving that train and heading to my temporary home, there was the usual congregation of hobos selling tickets for the U- and S-Bahns, perhaps real and perhaps not. There was another one, though, his face painted in a bizarre scheme consisting mostly of polka dots, blowing giant bubbles. That was unusual and he actually did a few 'tricks' with the bubbles, namely getting one bubble inside another, and so I gave him a 20cent coin. Usually I only spare a bit of change for the better musicians, but the novelty and face-painting got the better of me.

The last day in Berlin was nice, I went to class but left early because I knew it'd take a long time to get to the Hauptbahnhof (main train station) with my suitcases. I was right.

When I packed to come to Germany I knew I'd need some cold clothes, and I don't do well with the cold. So I went nuts and packed every piece of cold clothing I had, and then some, borrowing from my dad. It turns out at least half of the cold-weather stuff I brought I haven't even touched. Two jackets and overcoats, one middle layer, and shirts were enough for me for tops, and I always made do with one layer for pants. Oh well, better safe than sorry. Except now I'm sorry that my arms are coming out of my sockets from dragging the enormous weight of my suitcases, but hey.

Leaving in and of itself was not special if perhaps very heavy, and once I got to the Hauptbahnhof I realized I had a Berlin U- and S-Bahn ticket that still had a week left on it and I couldn't use it. So I sold it to someone going into a ticket office for 10 euros, and to boot I did it in German! The person immediately knew I wasn't German, but did compliment me on my German. That and the fact I could articulate myself to explain what I was selling, how, and why really made me know that I learned a lot at the Goethe Institute and via the Rosetta Stone, and so I'm very very happy with how things went.

The train to Kassel, my first stop, arrived exactly on time and stayed for only a couple minutes before leaving. I stowed my suitcases and sat, only to be told after a few minutes my seat was reserved. Oh. I was then told (in German, still!) how the seating system works and that I can sit in unmarked or "frei" seats, as shown on electronic signs above each seat. Nifty. The train got up to 150mph (250kph) a few times and I really enjoyed the ride. I chatted with someone next to me in German for a while, and felt really good about myself that I could do so.

I arrived in Kassel, got situated in a nearby hotel and went to a neat place for dinner. It was a very local place, a bit out of the way, a 20 minute walk in a light drizzle, but worth it. Fantastic local beer and a very local dish (or so I was assured by my waitress) of bread with serrano chicken and egg on top. It was unusual, but good.

I would like to pat myself on the back now, if I might, for doing so well outside my 'element.'

I'm in an unusual town in an unusual country speaking an unusual language and eating some very unusual foods. And loving every minute of it. It's all new and all a great great amount of fun.

Etymology isn't just for words

Do you ever hear something and immediately think "I've heard that before! WHAT IS THAT?"

I sure did. Many days over almost the last month and a half. I head it on the S-bahns here in Berlin, Germany.

What sound, pray tell?

Oooh, I'll tell you what sound. It's the sound that has been haunting my dreams, cheeky in tone and infuriating in my inability to tell from whence it came. (Or, if you want to hear it, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NG3Nc_WMg-w&feature=related from 1:08-1:12 or so.)

It's a crisp three note, two-tone beeping as the doors are closing and the S-bahn (not the U-bahn, it has a different repetitive beep) is readying to leave a station.

Fortunately for me and my sanity, I like pirates.

Rather, I really like Hans Zimmer's music, and also the movie Pirates of the Caribbean. I have been listening to the soundtrack a good deal lately, and just today bought the movies (in German) to watch in my room tonight.

It was then and there, of all times and places, that the mystery of that S-bahn noise became crystal clear.

It's the same sound on those... whistles you hear in the background of pretty much any movie involving a nautical anything.

What is that thing called?

Thank you Google, that didn't take me long at all.

It's called a Boatswain's whistle, or a Bosun's whistle. It serves its function by being high-pitched and thus easy to hear over a lot of noise, and can communicate a great deal of orders to crew. They are still used, or at least an electronic synthesization of the sounds, from time to time. Like in the S-bahn of all things.

Here are a few links relevant:

http://www.sccheadquarters.com/UserData/root/Files/Training/Proficiencies/Piping/Boatswains%20Call%20Handbook.pdf

http://www.hellenicnavy.gr/multimedia_en.asp?multimedia_type_id=4

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Boatswain's_call

I believe the two-tone, three note call on the German S-bahns is the same, or a near derivative, of the "General Call," as it were, on ships. In movies and on the train we do not hear the initial steep ascending note separated from the low-high-low call. If one takes a look at a good many of the sounds on the second site there, the helenic navy one, you will hear on most the easily recognizable sound.

While the General Call was usually preceding a broadcast order and on the S-bahn it follows it (or is used in lieu of one), I can easily see the similarities.

One, the tones are roughly the same, if not arguably the same entirely. Phonological similarity.

Two, the timing and order are the same. Morphologically similar, if you will.

Three, the semantic properties of the call. In naval uses, often preceding a call, and that call could often be used to indicate that one is or is about to be underway. cf. the Navy calls, especially "Sailing Execute."

So, with that, I can say with a degree of certainty that the boatswain's General Call and the call used on the German S-bahn before it leaves a station are etymologically related.

Not often you see something like that, huh?

The Flying Dutchman: The Review

So!
I'll post soon some of the minor things I've been up to, but mostly it's all jsut studying and such these days.
Though yesterday I did get the chance to see The Flying Dutchman, the opera, at the Deutche Oper! I was very excited to go. I spoke with someone in the seat next to me beforehand, for a while, in German, and felt very good about that. The opera had subtitles, which was great so you can tell what people are singing. Unfortunately while my German is getting better by the day I still couldn't follow too much of it. To add, it was a very 'modern' adaptation with a different setting, I think, but all the same music and words. So, I'm going to describe the opera, running through what happened. I will take my best guesses (of which there are a great many guesses) and simply rattle them off as if they were fact, rather than hemm and haw about what might have happened. I will often miss the mark completely due to misinterpreting the adaptation of the opera or not understanding the German. In only a few cases will I list the alternative explanations, and also please keep in mind the entire thing was very confusing to me for a multitude of reasons. I may have the order of events somewhat wrong too due to my confusion.
I was not the only one not appreciative of the modern interpretation, by the way, there was a good deal of booing at the end of the opera. You might see why soon.
So, without further adieu, the basic plot and my review of the Flying Dutchman!

The story opens on a busy stock market, with a great many people singing about a ship and the sea. A south wind is mentioned, or rather the lack thereof.
A girl, later revealed to be the boss' daughter, stops a man from suffocating himself and he seems rather displeased at this. He is the Flying Dutchman or perhaps the other love interest. The boss (kapitän) ends up meeting a Dutchman (Höllander) and inviting him to join them, on the boat, not the stock market. The boss is speaking about his daughter and the Dutchman is speaking about how he really wants a loyal wife and can't go home, and boy oh boy does he want a wife. The boss for what appears to be very little reason thinks his daughter would do nicely for this stranger, and there is much singing to this effect.
The second main scene takes place in a nail salon. Many women are talking about men, and one in particular (the boss' daughter) is speaking about who she likes. She sees a wall of pictures and begins marking the guys she doesn't like. Someone takes some of the pictures from the wall and then there is a game of keep-away, and someone takes a cellphone picture of the daughter (Whose name started with an S, and was rather odd. Seela or something.) There is another man, definitely the other love interest for her and possibly the guy trying to kill himself earlier, that tries to get her to run off with him. He is sad when she says no, and then he reveals a dream he had where the girl's father comes home with a guy for her. She then leaves.
Next comes a scene where the girl meets her dad, who is mad she doesn't kiss him hello, and she meets the Dutchman. The girl doesn't seem too happy about it, but they are to be wed at once and everyone seems at least ok with the idea. Immediately following that is a big party where one guy is already dead, another guy drinks till he dies, and then a good many guys (about 5) are killed via suffocation. There is no explanation for this. Also, a baby carriage is set on fire on stage.
The next scene, the final scene, depicts the daughter and the Dutchman watching over the scene with dead people. Then many other alive people come out, there is some discussion, and the other love interest comes out. The daughter may or may not want to be with him, but she shows what a loyal wife she is by killing herself. Every other woman present follows suit.
End opera.

So, considering that even those that speak German had no idea what was going on because the adaptation was so weird, and a bunch of people were booing (I clapped, I loved the music) I have to give this play 2/5 stars. The music was incredible, the actors were great, the singing was wonderful, but the actual opera, the production and what happened, was absolutely inappropriate, insane, and a total non-sequitor.

Dixieland Jazz and Whores

Every Wednesday, the Goethe Institute (where I am studying) has a meeting of sorts for the students, called Stammtisch. One translation is "table reserved for regular guests." I suppose that's not far from the truth, in that it is a regular occurrence for us to be there. I don't know if anything is resevred, though.
I had not gone the first 4 weeks I was here. I knew it was a bar atmosphere, with lots of Goethe people, but the middle of the week was a hump I could not easily surpass. I tended to take "naps" during that time, great big 4+ hour naps. And then I would miss the party.
I heard there was live jazz played there, and I dedicated myself to go. Live jazz? Yes please.
Having never gone before, I made sure I had the correct address and so on before leaving. As it would happen, the address I was given was either crap or an estimate, as I would find out later. I spent about an hour walking back and forth up and down this street, looking for the bar. I shared the street with a great many party people, and quite a few ladies of the night. It must be a popular spot for them; they were everywhere.
After a long time of fending off surprisingly bilingual requests to spend the night with these women and becoming more dejected as I could not find the bar I sought, and therefore my friends, I began heading home.
"Where you going tonight, honey?" one of the women asked me. Now, I knew what she meant, but I figured I had nothing to lose. I told her where, and then said I couldn't find it. She smiled. I think she'd seen me wandering back and forth a few times. After asking if I'd rather go with her, and me reassuring her that while she was very pretty (much prettier than whom one might find on the streets in the US, and not just her, all of them) I just wanted to find the bar. She was nice enough to tell me. It wasn't even on the street I was told, but rather a side-street nearby. I found the bar in quick order and joined my friends. I was instantly reminded of a Lewis Black quote, "If it weren't for my horse, I wouldn't have spent that year in college." Except for me it was "If it weren't for helpful whores, I'd never find my friends."
Take note, dear readers. If you ever find yourself unable to find something, and even asking locals doesn't help, find a whore. They likely know the area very intimately, and probably won't even charge you if all you want is directions.
When I arrived, somewhere around 10:30PM, there was no band but a great big pile of people in the bar, full beyond what any fire marshal would allow back home. Probably here, too. I grabbed a beer and ended up having to sit on the edge of the stage, and chatted with friends (although in order to chat I pretty much had to yell.)
Around 11, some mostly older guys came up to the stage, taking their time to set up. I was very excited. My friends didn't seem to care too much for the music, but I couldn't wait. A trombone, trumpet, clarinet, piano, drums, bass, and a... banjo?
I'll admit that while I knew I'd end up seeing some live music here in Berlin, of all the instruments I expected to see the banjo was not among them. Yet here it was, in Berlin, Germany, and they were all warming up.
A few minutes later they opened up, with a song whose style I could instantly describe as Dixieland or New Orleans Jazz. It was mostly in a standard blues progression, each song starting and ending more or less together with some semblance of a tune, but each song most of the players would take 16 or 32 bars or so for soloing, then passing off to the next. It was amazing. It was completely unexpected. I had a big silly grin on my face that wouldn't go away.
Berlin continues to surprise me.

This next bit certainly isn't big enough for a whole post, so I'll stick it here, almost as a postscript.
The day before the Stammtisch I went to Potsdammer Platz, a revitalized part of Berlain (as best I can tell it used to be somewhat cruddy and has had a lot of development to bring people in) and went to a TV and Film museum. It was fascinating, though I couldn't so much as bring my phone inside. Very serious about taking no pictures there. Two things stuck with me from that. One, WWII was none too kind to TV and Film people in Germany, and it was interesting to see how people from all walks of life fled the country, not just "ordinary people." The other thing was that apparently a lot of early, B&W films were actually in color, but not from color film. They were hand-painted, frame by frame. Mostly by women, and stencils (they didn't specify what type) apparently helped speed up the process. I even got to see an example, in motion. It was amazing, to think that was once how things went.

That's all for now!

History, and Also Doorknobs

This past weekend, I decided that some more history was in order.
I spend the first part of the day at and around Brandenburger Tor, reading the plaques and signs and such. The area has quite a bit of history. Fairly close by is a monument of a very somber note, but historically important.
The murdered Jews of Europe.
There are a great many slabs of some type of stone, of varying heights, giving one an area for reflection, contemplation, and a physical reminder of events past, but not forgotten.
I would not stop there. Next on my list of places to visit was the Jewish Museum, a place where I spent quite a few hours. It did not focus entirely on the events surrounding the Second World War, but rather focused on Jewish history as a whole, and more specifically the importance and history of the Jewish people in Germany.
There were exhibits showing how early Jews in the region lived, near rivers and how they interacted with other groups. From an early time, Jews were prosecuted, much as they have been for almost all history. Certain events were blamed on the Jews, including the Black Death, and great numbers were killed at other points in history, not just during the Holocaust. There was of course a great deal, an entire two floors arranged in very different ways, about that. Unusual architecture on the bottom floor meant one was always walking upon a strange angle, and no room was quite rectangular or square. Hallways were sparsely decorated, giving more room for contemplation. The other floor was more of a traditional museum piece, with winding passages through abundant galleries and exhibits.
Germany does not try and hide what happened. Nearly every time any piece or memorial and so on is mentioned, it is always to "the murdered Jews of Europe," going on in most cases to specify, just in case, fascist Germany as the perpetrator. The floor whose events primarily have to do with the time before, during, and after World War II are very detailed and are meant to provoke thought at every turn. The amount that can be seen showing what were used as reasons then to persecute Jews and the very differing views of today are often shown, to highlight the importance of understanding the past so a better future can be forged.
I spent a good deal of time there, with an English audio guide (my German isn't good enough yet to have really been able to take much away from it if it were German.) It was strange, to see the history so many think of when they think of Germany, through the eyes of the place responsible. But Germany today is not the same place as it once was. To hold a grudge against the present-day neighbor to France would be for all Australians to be upset with the UK for shipping them there. For Americans hating the same group for requiring to fight for freedom. All that remains of Nazi Germany may be a few skinheads in the counter-culture groups you might find anywhere, or perhaps some very old racist people. This Germany, the Germany I am visiting, is a very accepting and multi-cultural place that is not afraid of its history, and has made no attempt to sweep it under the rug. Instead it accepts its past and is determined not to be as it once was.

On a much lighter note, on Sunday I went to two flea markets, one of which had a vendor selling only doorknobs of various types. Never seen that one before. I also ate Burger King, as I could find nothing else nearby, and am rather displeased with myself for eating there.