The ghost of electricity howls in the bones of her face

Inside the museum, infinity goes up in trial
Voices echo, "This is what salvation must be like after a while,"
But Mona Lisa musta had the highway blues
You can tell by the way she smiles
-"Visions of Johanna," Bob Dylan


So, Monday will be my 9th week in Germany and I will have 10 weeks until I push off for Never-never-land. I started my internship last week, which promises to be very rewarding for my written German, in particular. Indirekte Rede and so forth.

Last Saturday I went to Zugspitze, which is Germany's highest mountain. It was quite the random, spontaneous moment (reminding me of a line said by Dr. Joel Fleischman in Northern Exposure: "Premeditated spontaneity is about as fun as getting the measles twice." Which explains me. So this was quite the departure from my M.O.). I had originally planned on going to Garmisch-Partenkirchen (the two towns at the base of the mountain), but then I thought it might be too crowded and I should perhaps save that for a Friday travel day. I decided on Nürnberg (Nuremberg) instead, to continue the Dachau train of thought and see Dürer's house in addition to the War Crimes Museum. I headed over to Hauptbahnhof, but the next train to Nürnberg was not leaving for over an hour, so I asked the lady, "OK--what about Garmisch?" she looked at me in a particular way. Hey, I'm a student. Do I look like someone who has Fixed Plans?

Waiting in line for my tickets, I had an interesting What Americans Should Not Do Abroad (WASNDA) experience. In the line parallel to mine was an older, mid-50s American couple with their luggage, and I heard them at the window, saying, "We need 2 train tickets to Salzburg, no stops." The ticket lady responded to them in English, but I don't think the American woman understood the accent, and was--not rude, but not exactly polite either--saying, "I don't speak German. Do you speak English?" An American woman behind me, who had obviously done her homework, piped up and said, "Sprechen Sie Englisch?" which the first American couple parroted back to the Deutsche Bahn rep, rather badly. The DB rep was a well-heeled woman in her late 20s at the most. Of course she speaks English, you dolts! And besides, have you realized you are, in fact, in another country? I hate to break it to you, but, despite what Warner Brothers led you to believe, The Sound of Music does, in fact, take place in a German-speaking country, not an annexed part of America with yodeling and dirndls.

They eventually did work out their communication problem, though, and the nice, I Did My Homework Before I Came American lady behind me asked me her line, "Sprechen Sie Englisch?" (Insert my current favorite movie line from A Good Year: "Oh, you speak English." "Like a native.") "Yes," I replied, and she asked me about her U-Bahn ticket. I answered it and sent her on her merry way. I often wonder if these Americans who find me in chance encounters realize I'm American, or they think I'm a German with an impeccable grew-up-watching-American-TV-accent. I should collect addresses and send out surveys.


So, I was off to Garmisch-Partenkirchen on a whim chance. Good thing I brought my trusty guidebook. The I.C.E. (Inter-Citi-Express, primo, primo train) whipped us off into the mountains. There was almost no one in my entire compartment, I had some ice tea I had purchased at the kiosk in StuSta, had a clean restroom nearby, was looking out from my window seat to the mountains--pretty awesome.

I stiege aus at Garmisch-Partenkirchen, to lovely, clear skies, and headed directly over to the adjacent Zugspitzebahn, the train that goes up to the "base" of the Zugspitze from G-P, from which you can take the cable car. I paid a pretty penny for the Zugspitzebahn (it's 48 euro in the summer, 37 in the winter, I believe), but you know, I'm only here, just an hour and a half away once, and have already paid for that plane ticket over here. Carpe diem, eh? I sat near two very nice older German ladies who took my photo on the bahn, which was nearly empty. I positioned myself just in front of these nice flat screens which outlined our itinerary, and the options for getting to the top of the mountain, and the train chugged slowly up and upward to Eisbee, affording beautiful views of the villages around G-P as we passed through. At Eisbee I got off and got on to the cable car. I took one look up from the stationary cable car up the cables at the top of the mountain and gulped. It was. . . . STEEP. But I was determined to be courageous. Only a couple of other people were on the car up with me, and a Zugspitze official, which made me feel better. He seemed quite nonchalant about our 45-degree ascent up to Snowy-Mountain-Land.

The cable car went higher and higher, occasionally passing through these towers which adjusted the angle of the car's movement. I took some fantastic shots of Wernfeldsee and of Garmisch-Partenkirchen, then I saw the mountain to my left and right was getting whiter and whiter. I hadn't really thought about snow. A window had been left open and I could feel the draft. As we climbed higher and higher I was certain death was imminent, but soothed myself by pretending it was just a dream, and I was just going to enjoy it and not think about my impending demise. Besides, I told myself, what an epic way to die.

I did survive, however, with little incident. As we approached the landing area, we stopped for a couple of seconds, or long enough to convince me that perhaps we had to climb out the car and abasail up the mountain platform? Was I supposed to bring my climbing boots? But we chugged up to the platform and my simple shoes were fine for getting off and going into the main building.

Every other person in the area was wearing a ski coat at least. Me? Three-quarter length shirt from Eddie Bauer, not Jack Wolfskin or The North Face. I looked at them, supposing them to be judging me, and glared back, "Hey! I was supposed to be going to Nürnberg today, OK? Lay off!" I went out to the large viewing platform at the top of Zugspitze. I hadn't really thought about "Germany's Highest Mountain" and its implications. Germany has a lot of mountains. Really big ones. Which means the highest one is really high. Somehow, this had remained an abstract conclusion for my time here (and my previous visit), and I hadn't actually followed it down its little path until now. It was cold outside, but not as cold as I thought for being surrounded by tons and tons of snow. To the south were reams of snow-capped mountains. It was so beautiful that it was hard to take in. (Actually, my first thought was of those Snow Caps? You know? That neat little candy with chocolate chips and granulated sugar particles on top to resemble snow on a mountain? I loved getting those at the movie theater.) To the north was Garmisch-Partenkirchen and mountains, but not as much snow, greener, pristine-r. The contrast was astounding. Weather patterns and geography. Amazing. The view was gorgeous, and worth every penny and every thought of death knocking at my door. I did, however, very much want to be at the bottom of the mountain before 5 o'clock, as I know how the Alps can be--sunny one second, forbidding another, and I didn't want to be careening in the cable car on the way down. Also, I wasn't entirely certain when the mountain "shut down," so to speak, and had visions of myself getting stranded, being handed skis for transportation back and being told, "Viel Glück!"

I had cake in the restaurant below the platform, and it was quite good, and not a ripoff at all. (Insert economics tangent here about high entry costs and low cost-per-unit. Kind of like telephone service.)

I headed back down the mountain ("she'll be coming round the mountain, she'll be coming round the mountain when she comes"--I have a memory as a child of singing this with Dad while playing around with my yellow toy camera in the car. Shout out to you, Dad.) in the crowded cable car. No other eventful things--got back on the crowded Zugspitzebahn (crowds always de-romanticize experiences, so it goes) and went back to Garmisch-Partenkirchen Hauptbahnhof and got on the regional train, which was way more ghetto than the classy I.C.E., but the last I.C.E. that day had left shortly after my arrival. Sad. I had my own booth area for a while, and was absentmindedly staring out the window and half-eavesdropping on the two squeaky-voiced teenage males sitting across from me. I heard a strange, repetitive clicking sound and looked over briefly, only to realize to my horror they were both playing with switchknives! I had visions of being stabbed, ala vampire, on my left neck. This was Not Done. Luckily, they didn't seem agitated or anything, and they got off a couple of stops later much to my relief. Then the train crowded up and we all collectively headed back to München.

Photo: View toward south from Zugspitze.

Road Trip of the Soul

Looking out at the road rushing under my wheels
Looking out at the years gone by like so many summer fields
-Running on Empty, the great JB

I'm looking forward to road-tripping back to San Antonio in August. Texas and the Western U.S. are very good for road tripping. Not too hard, relatively flat, big skies, great for thinking. Nothing I love more than some precious time alone in my car, Jackson Browne and some other C.D.s blasting out of my car stereo, A/C just the way I like it, blue skies and the sun beating down upon my face, and a destination, to which I'll come to in time. . . . in time.

Photo: Drive from Sedona, Arizona, to Grand Canyon. Summer 2008. (Really?!? It seems so long ago, yet it was only last July.)

The Sorrows of a Young Mädchen

Thursday

On Thursday, I had decided to get Out and About. There was one church that I hadn't seen in Marienplatz, and I'm a big believer in leaving no church unseen, so I decided I would see Heilige-Geist-Kirche and then perhaps leave my day open for going to the top of Frauenkirche. I went over to Viktualienmarkt first and bought a delicious Schmalznudel, a fried-dough-and-sugar-concoction, from Cafe Frischut. I ate it on the short walk over to Heilige-Geist-Kirche. The church had no services going on, so I walked in and looked around. Very shortly I was accosted by an old German man who grabbed my hand and put a medallion of Maria in it, and proceeded to go on. and on. and on. and on. about Mary and Mädchens such as myself. Those were the only two words I pretty much understood; everything else he said went totally over my head. I just nodded like a fool. Then he asked me a question that I didn't understand, and I just said, "Nein," and he said, "You don't know your Theologie?" in a voice expressing such shock that the state of my soul was even worse than he feared. I was like, "uh, well, uh, I have to go. Bye!" and then freed my hand from his grasp and walked out, n'er to return. I was really shaken by the experience. It bothered me for some reason, as funny as it was.

After that, I decided to go up Frauenkirche, so I paid my little entry fee, climbed up a couple of flights of stairs, and came to a large landing with an elevator to the top. There was an Australian couple with me, so I interrogated them about Australia and they seemed receptive and were very kind. They were quite shocked that I was over here alone, even with a program, living in a German dorm, away from my parents back in the U.S. It was very kind; they exuded a sweet caring vibe. The man gave me his phone number and address and told me if I ever wanted to see Kangaroo Island (as I had mentioned to him earlier), they lived just near the ferry to the island. It was uplifting.

Then I decided to go up and see Altes Rathaus as well---so I went over there, paid my entry fee, took the lift up to the top. I liked Altes Rathaus because it was outdoors and right in the center of the action, literally the heart of Marienplatz, so I could look down at the Renter's Party protest against raised rents and the various tour groups meeting up.

I went over to Karlsplatz to see what was happening and found an Israel Tag celebration going. I hadn't realized that it was the anniversary of Israel's Independence Day. The whole scene was fascinating--Israeli flags everywhere, little booths set up alongside Karlsplatz selling Israeli things. Amazing how time changes things. These people were coming out and saying, "We're Jews." 60 years ago, in the very same spot, they would have been killed for it. A board proclaimed the history of German-Israel relations: apparently 2/3 of Germans consider the state of Israel the greatest threat to world peace.

Inspired by this, I looked into my guidebook and said. . . hmm. It's time to go to Dachau.

Dachau

I took the 20-minute S-Bahn out to Dachau. My guidebook suggested taking the bus out to the KZ-Gedenkstätte, the concentration camp, but I was like, "meh! Everything's close in Europe."

55 minutes later, I arrived at the Gedenkstätte.

Admission is free, but the audioguide is 2 euros (reduced for students), so I got that. I couldn't believe how huge the place was. The photo I have up here shows the famous gate in Jourhaus Bridge through which prisoners entered the work camp, "Arbeit Macht Frei," or "Work Makes You Free." Behind the gate you can see a huge area: this was the roll-call area, and at the height of the camp, would hold 40,000 prisoners.

The Maintence Building in the center of the camp has a large exhibit in it. Behind the Maintence Building is the bunker, or punishment cells. I was in the bunker by myself, and it was utterly creepy. I half-expected to be thrown into a cell myself. The entire Western Wing is open, so you walk along and along and along the hall past all the cells, which have their doors still intact and their numbers above it. Some of the cells had been broken up into fourths to torture people by putting them in a cramped space with little light or air for days on end. However, when the Americans liberated the camp, they were so revolted by this they smashed all the divisons and kept the cell itself intact. They did use the bunker as their own jail for a short time--note, "jail," not "torture center." As I approached every cell, I expected to find a screaming, bloodied person behind the door. . . really creepy.

I went over to see the barracks, which stand on the other side of the Maintence Building from the roll call area. Even the arrangement of prisoners in the barracks lined up to Nazi racial ideology: Germans and Western European prisoners were housed in the first barracks, with it getting progressively "worse": the Soviets, the Poles, and of course, the Jews at the very far back. All of the barracks, except two, have been dismantled, but there is a concrete outline of the barrack structure filled in with gravel so you can still get an idea of the place. I went into the barrack to see the living conditions: just beds stacked as high as possible, like chicken cages. They soon ran out of little boards to divide the beds, so many bed structures were just large boxes were people had to sleep crammed head-to-toe.

At the back of the complex are some religious memorials.

It wasn't a chilling experience, but it was an eye-opening one. In my German literature class, we read this book called Tonio Kröger by the famous German author Thomas Mann, in which the protagonist, Tonio, is the child of Slavic mother and a Nordic father. His best friend, Hans, is "blonde and blue-eyed," and you can see how he envies Hans; the girl he loves, Inge, is also tall, blonde, and blue-eyed. A friend joins Tonio and Hans on the walk back from school and calls Tonio by his last name, "Kröger," because his first name sounds so "foreign." The book was written in 1906. It's the failing of homogenous societies. They may be nice, and safe, because everyone essentially one huge family (thus socialism works very nicely) but they have some severe shortcomings which I couldn't accept in my native country.

Photo: Photo from Altes Rathaus. Also, please note that the title of this blogpost, "The Sorrows of a Young Mädchen," is a funny (to me) reference to Goethe's work of a similiar title, The Sorrows of Young Werther.

America, America, America.

When the Zetas Fill the Sky

This weekend:
Thursday--JYM Bayernabend

Had a family perform for us. I swear, it was right out of The Sound of Music except in German. The melodies sounded exactly the same! It was wonderful, though. This was followed by American-style stomping and shouting of popular American songs, including a rendition of "American Pie." The German family looked at us a little askance as we got in to the large circle and jumped up and down and shouted out the lyrics: "WHEN THE JESTER PERFORMED FOR THE KING AND QUEEN IN A COAT HE BORROWED FROM JAMES DEAN AND A VOICE THAT CAME FROM YOU AND ME. . . "

Saturday-Attempt to go out to Olympiapark. Am successful, but it rains on me, and I have no Regenschirm with me. Walk out in rain and try to revel in the sensation, but am wet. Decide to return to warm room.

Sunday-Glorious day at last! It's been wet and rainy and cold, and I never mind these. With weather I am mostly indifferent. I try to make my mood fit the weather rather than the other way around, and I find I am much happier. I decide to try out Olympiapark again as I want to read and journal. Go over there and climb Olympiaberg--at the top there's a luxurious field overlooking the Munich skyline and the Alps to the south. It's wonderful---cue dogs, children, women with strollers, cyclists (grrr). I find a nice little spot overlooking the southern skyline and journal and read for several hours. In a large city, especially when you don't have your own car, you never the the luxury (outside one's own room) to actually have a tiny bit of space to yourself (see earlier complaints about Hugendubel lining up the reading areas so that your elbows can be touching someone else's). So it was lovely to lay out under the sun and not have anyone in my immediate vicinity. I had an area next to the shade of a little low tree and would alternate between the two. When the sun came out, I lay out there. It was so bright I had to throw my arm over my sunglasses, but it felt sooooo good. Then I witnessed the photo above (a Suddeutsche Zeitung--that's a regional newspaper--whatchamacallit) and pondered commercialism taking over the skies and thought of the Muse lyric, "When the Zetas fill the sky . . . I'll wait, I'll wait for the sign."

Social Upheaval

I am reading The Drifters by James Michener. I picked it up at The Munich Readery which isn't far from the JYM program offices and is a large second-hand English-language bookstore. Of course, I have zero impulse control when it comes to books, those cadres of knowledge and escape. . . . So I'm still mulling over Jackson Browne and the Baby Boomer generation and I see this book about youth in the 1970s (published in 1972, I believe), a James Michener book that I had never heard of before, I had to get it. It's very, very good, and it's making me think about my parent's generation (well, not so much them--but the people about 5 to 10 years ahead of them, who came of age during, and not after, the Vietnam War) and all the upheaval they faced.



I've always been perversly interested in social revolution, especially the kind that seems to have more of internal than external force, because I'm fascinated about what fires up the boiling point for a society to collectively groan, "We have had enough, and we are breaking the system and putting something else in its place, because this isn't working." But that's much easier said than done: to shatter all social constraints is one thing, to agree upon and establish new borders is quite another. We see this especially in the Iranian Revolution, when all these ideologies and forces are waiting just outside the gates of Shah rule, and one little *flick* of the domino tips the scales heavily toward one group's favor.



So, the Baby Boomers grow up with the televised assassination of President John F. Kennedy, the passing of the Civil Rights Act of 1964, the assassinations of Martin Luther King, Malcom X, Bobby Kennedy, Vietnam, an undeclared war not-so-silently snatching a good portion of young men to be shipped off into thick jungles of the East and returning many of them back in wooden boxes, the Women's Lib movement, as women decide what role they'd like to play in society, African-Americans struggling to define a role for themselves in mainstream society, and mainstream society trying to push some room over to allow them in, man walking on the moon, Russia ever in the background, Roe v. Wade, and the new playground of drugs. . . . Heady stuff.



What impresses me the most about this generation is not the events to which they were exposed, but the collective response of the generation. It seems as if they truly did desire to break up the old order of things ("Come mothers and fathers / Throughout the land / And don't criticize / What you can't understand / Your sons and your daughters / Are beyond your command / Your old road is / Rapidly agin'. / Please get out of the new one / If you can't lend your hand / For the times they are a-changin'" -Dylan), leading to a "generation gap" between their values and the values of their parents' generation. Yes, many, and I say again, many of the ideas propogated were quite preposterous, but that doesn't mean the desires behind them were necessarily bad. One day someone from my child's generation will write on my generation, and yes, we have experienced quite a lot. . . but what's our response? Some argue that Generation Y seeks meaningful work and isn't seduced so much by money but by ideals. I see some of that. . . but not very much. I would say that it wouldn't be entirely out of hand to extend the "MTV Generation" name to mine: a homogenous youth culture responding mostly to consumerism--which the Baby Boomers wouldn't have stood for! One thing I do think is interesting: I would argue that race, sexual orientation, and gender makes very little difference to members of my generation. We have a, "So, Person A is (fill in the blank). So what?" attitude, which is fascinating to me that in just forty years--not even half a century--we've gone from the constrained society of my grandparents' generation to this pretty carefree society, and the Baby Boomers are that missing link.

Führen uns nicht in Versuchung

I'm seriously this. close. to throwing away 949 euros on this baby:

http://www.apple.com/de/macbook/white/

There just comes a time, when one tires of being part of the PC System. The only drawback: huge dent in savings. Also, buying it in German. Nicht viel Spaß.

Tag der Arbeit, Diversity, and German / American Cultural Differences

Diversity

The time has come (the walrus said) for me to write about something that's been brewing on my mind: diversity in German culture. I've never lived in a homogenous country before, and most of my schooling has been conducted in that most melting pot of places: American public schools. I've had friends among every stripe, brand, and creed. But here in Germany, I'm honestly shocked how surprised I am to see a black child in a group of blonde-and-blue-eyed German schoolchildren, or an Indian or Asian person outside of Marienplatz and the tourist area.

It's not a very handicapped-friendly. The escalators on the U-Bahn (which get you out of the U-Bahn platforms and out into the real world) frequently break down, and I have to see old, crippled people hobbling up the stairs or men pick up the stollers as the wife takes the baby. There are lifts, but not near every exit, which means, if you had to take the lift, you might end up several blocks away from your desired destination. As a result, I have decided not to use the escalators unless I feel burdened, because I am abled-bodied for the most part, hindered only by a tendency toward clumsiness, and am perfectly capable of walking up and down the stairs. I would prefer to free the escalator use for others who need it more. This does not seem to be a recurring thought in many of my fellow U-Bahn Fahrgäste's heads. But I march up the stairs triumphantly and pride myself on principle.

My dorm? Laden with thick doors I find requiring most of my strength to open. To get to my door, I must go through 5 doors such as these. There are elevators--on the landings between every other floor. So if you want to travel to say, the 6th floor, you'll end up on the landing, looking at the stairs that go up to the 6th floor and looking down at the stairs that go to the 5th floor. The elevator doesn't start at the Erdgeschoss, on the ground floor, it starts between the Erdgeschoss and the 1st floor. Doesn't that render elevators usless? Or at least much more cumbersome? Grünes Haus is a little different in this respect, as it does have elevators on every floor (being some 15 stories high), but one still faces the issue of gigantic, heavy doors that can't be opened feasibly by someone in a wheelchair. At Trinity, almost every major door has to have a wheelchair button. I mean, maybe except classroom doors, but that's it. I seldom see any activism for Germans with disabilities. I presume they must rely very heavily on their families for support. I have been in establishments with stairs (and they make it accessible for people with strollers, but not people in wheelchairs) and have personally watched someone in a wheelchair wait outside while their friend goes inside to get something for them.

Tag der Arbeit (1. Mai)

Today is a holiday--Tag der Arbeit, also the Maibaumfest, or May Pole celebration. Today I was around in Marienplatz, and also walking around my latest discovery, a little place called Karlsplatz, which I'm also quite fond of. There's something about Karlsplatz--I can't quite put my finger on it, but something about it endears me. But the other day, I was in Karsplatz and was crossing the street, and a truck on the street was actually trying to get through before the pedestrians crossed. There was . . . honking. And a general antagonism in the air--and I felt. What was I feeling? I asked myself. A feeling of comfort. Surprise washed over me as I realized that I was reminded of home. That I liked this feeling, that I wasn't living in a perfect, Stepford-like-cars-stopping-on-a-dime-when-is-it-my-turn-to-be-implicated-for-a-teeny-infraction society.

So, Marienplatz was occupied by the usual throngs of tourists. I passed a group of Italians on a tour, I noted by their little Italian flags on the brochures they carried, how very interesting. I walked down further several blocks, took photos of Frauenkirche, and enjoyed the nice weather. About 15 minutes later as I was approaching a movie theater to see its offerings (I have a burning desire to see 17 Again, which I wouldn't pay a cent to see in theaters at home, but now I'm craving American happy endings and comedies and silliness), a man approached me and asked, "Italiano?" "Nein," I replied with a shake of my head. "Deutsch und English." He shook his head. I switched over to English, and said, "Italians back this way, a group," I thought about using the word mafia or familia but decided against it. Poor guy. Sucks when no one else outside your home country speaks your language. Very glad I am not in that situation.

I was shocked (I'm frequently shocked) to see how many stores were closed! Pretty much everything except restaurants and cafes were closed. Hugendubel, the major bookstore, was closed, all the major clothing stores. . . everything.

I'm sorry. I'm American. We don't believe in holidays.

What we also believe in is credit cards. I tried to paid for my Monatskarte with a credit card the other day (it is 38 euros, after all), and they were like, "Oh, nope, only Bargeld," or cold hard cash. OK. I'll be the very first person to admit we Americans are addicted to those things, and I think Germans see it as, "no cash, no pay," i.e., you don't have the money in the bank, you don't buy it. This is a worthy perspective, indeed. But credit cards can be followed, and credit cards are far safer than cash, and it's just good to have a credit card. Presuming one lives in a society that accepts them.

Then I went over to Marienplatz (my need for cash being largely the reason I went over there) to withdraw some cash, and went to the MVG (Münchner Verkehrsgesellschaft) station to ask to buy my Monatskarte, since I now had enough money. Oh, no, the lady said, you need to go over to the station over there. But I only have money--I don't have the BahnKarte that you need to pay with it (yes, my friend--there are two kiosks. One is an automated kiosk that sells Zeitkarten, like 3-day cards, single tickets, one-day cards, and it takes cash. Then there's a more complicated machine that does sell Wochen- and Monats- tickets, but it only takes the BahnKarte, which you have to reload. With what, I don't know.). She said, oh, well, if you only have money you need to go Hauptbahnhof. I just looked at her and was like, "Five brownie points to you for defending a stupid, inconvienent system."

In other exciting news, a nearly toothless middle-aged German man approached me in Marienplatz as I was taking a photo of the Rathaus and said he could take a photo of me. I was like, "yeah. Right." I'm not sure what was winning out in his head, my body or my camera.

Photo: McDonald's at Karlsplatz, in the Latin , Russian, and Arabic alphabets, where all creeds come together under the auspices of the Big Mac.