because it needs saying.

I love it when things fall into place so perfectly. You get your stars aligned right, and the universe just says, "Oh, well, actually, that works out quite nicely for you. You'll do," and the path is revealed to you, and. . .

the river opens for the righteous, and the river opens for the righteous, someday, someday. (JB, duh.)

I'm going to leave you here, try to get down to the sea somehow

"Once more. Say you are in the country; in some high land of lakes. Take almost any path you please, and ten to one it carries you down in a dale, and leaves you there by a pool in the stream. There is magic in it. Let the most absent-minded of men beplunged in his deepest reveries--stand that man on his legs, set his feet a-going, and he will infallibly lead you to water, if water there be in all that region. Should you ever be athirst in the great American desert, try this experiment, if your caravan happen to be supplied with a metaphysical professor. Yes, as every one knows, meditation and water are wedded for ever." -Moby Dick by Herman Meville

"I'm going to leave you here, try to get down to the sea somehow, rock me on the water, sister will you soothe my fevered brow?" -Rock Me on the Water, Jackson Browne

Yesterday (Saturday), I needed to get out of the city for a while. On our trip to Murnau, our trip leader mentioned Lake Starnberg was a lovely place to visit as train passed, our jaws gaping at the huge lake crashing into the mountains. Later, I put two and two together and realized this was the lake which took King Ludwig II's life in his murky, mysterious, and untimely end. It was high time to visit. Saturday morning, I woke up to a gorgeous, sunny, clear day. I took the U-6 down to Marienplatz, paid my 5 euros for the train ride out to the 4th arena, and hopped on the S6 to Tutzing. I was lucky enough to score a booth to myself, and journaled and looked out the window. Across the aisle, another lucky guy had the 4 seats to himself, was leaning back, foot propped up on the opposite seat, his iPod in his hand, looking out the window. I saw how comfortable and blissed-out he was in his own little world, and imitated him, with a journal for an iPod and a pen for my earbuds.

The train ride from Marienplatz to Starnberg is only about 30 minutes--a good travel time. I got off at Starnberg to see a line for the boat ride--not exactly what I wanted at the moment. I left the city to get away from the maddening crowds, not to queue up with them. I glanced at the map, saw that Berg (where the Votivkappelle, Votive Chapel, to Ludwig II is) was to the left about an hour to an hour and half's walk, and started off in that direction. I had to walk through part of the town of Starnberg (or the remants of it, toward the lake), where the lakefront was private property for about 15 minutes, and then got, at last, toward the public lakefront. It was gorgeous--a path separated lawns covered with wildflowers from the rocky beach on the lakefront. People were tanning, unpacking their picnics, and just basking in the glow of the sun and the postcard-perfect views out toward the mountains.

I stopped for refreshment at a little kneipe and had an Eisschokolate (ice chocolate) and a cake, and just reveled in the moment. After that little break, I thought I had enough energy to set off. I walked and walked and walked. I took another journaling break on a shady, wildflower-covered grassy knoll across from the path, not 15 feet from the water. I seriously felt like that meadow scene from Twilight (filmed on the golf course at Griffin Park in Los Angeles), where Bella and Edward lie in the wildflower-covered grass and look at each other, and the crane spirals the camera up--it's one of my favorite scenes in the movie. I wrote out the entire song of Jackson Browne's "Rock Me on the Water" out in my journal, since it seemed to fit my mood exactly.

I kept on walking and walking and walking, passing a lot of cyclists, going through little woodsey areas, just following the water around, thinking, ruminating on the beauty around me. After a while, I came to the town of Berg where the path continued out toward a street in the township itself, and continued to follow the signs to the chapel. And kept following--and kept following. I entered this wood out of a fairy tale. The most recent fairy-tale like book I've read was The Book of Lost Things, and I began to feel like the boy who has unknowingly stumbled into a world he thought belonged only in his imagination. The odd cyclist came down the path, or the hiking family, but there were several moments when it was me and the woods. And that was wonderful. I was reminded of Muir Woods--the tall trees scraping the sky, again, surrounding me. Only the blue coolness in the air hinted at the presence of a lake not far off.

The path diverged several times, forking off in a Robert Frost sort of way, but this time, I took the path well-travelled by, since my destination was a well-travelled one. I thought about the irony of this choice in the Frostian context. Finally, I saw this sight emerging into the trees, like a castle. But it was the Votive Chapel. Some cyclists were hitching their bikes down the stairs toward the chapel, and I followed them down the path. Just in front of the Votive Chapel is the cross, erected by Ludwig's mother, in the shallow end of the water, marking where they found Ludwig's body. The chapel was QUITE beautiful, especially for something so out of the way. It was very reminescent of Neuschwanstein, and I shook my head and tsked, "Ludwig, Ludwig, Ludwig." It's curious how everything to do with King Ludwig is so far out of the way from everything. He even died in an obscure place, and not intentionally! I'm not sure what the cause-and-effect of this is, but this is Europe, and every township certainly dates before King Ludwig II. He was really into the isolation of the forest medieval.

After I saw my sights, I returned through the woods, not really wanting to leave. I had a Coke at the Cafe Schloss Berg overlooking the water, and judged myself hydrated enough to make the hike back. By this time (around 4ish), a lot more people had set up beach spots. A dad was helping his pre-teen son surf on that boat thingy, little girls were splashing in the water. . . . idyllic.

(Editing note: I'm having some issues with the format of this post. I apologize for any difficulty in its readability.)

Are there Words?

I AM THE LUCKIEST GIRL IN THE ENTIRE UNIVERSE. THE ENTIRE UNIVERSE.

Yes, it concerns Jackson Browne and his concert at Circus Krone Bau.

God bless America, Americans, Jackson Browne, and Nice Roadies Everywhere.

Ger-English and Other Foibles

The above photos were taken at Munich Airport when I was waiting for my flight to London. They're from a pretty . . . tabloid-esque newspaper called TZ (I judge people reading TZ). Apparently the Fahrkartenkontrolle are learning English, and the article had the pronounciation guide. . . . So funny, especially if you know German, and are trying to pronounce your native language like a German would. It's quite hysterical.

Also, another trend: when one goes into an establishment (like San Franscisco Coffee Company, or Starbucks) with English names on the menu, it's really tricky not to get spotted out for one's American accent-pronounciation of these words. I have resorted to eavesdropping on Germans and listening to them order so that I can mimic their pronounciation of these English words.

For example (so diligent am I, I made a list!)

Coca-(Cola) Zero Kolah Zay-roh
Caramel Kah-rah-mel
Medium May-dee-um
Large Lah-ge
Chocolate Schok-let

In 98 days my mother ship comes to beam me up back to my home planet. . .

. . . where stores are open on Sunday.

. . . where debit and credit cards are commonly accepted, because people actually would like to have your money in any way, shape, or form, thanks! (Why would the zoo NOT TAKE CREDIT CARDS? Not that this was at all a problem for me, but still! The logic behind that decision baffles me!)
. . . where I understand everybody and everything.
. . . and they understand me! It's beautiful!
. . . where we all have a common cultural background, and I don't feel like an alien with 5 eyes and blue hands after ordering a muffin.

I'm going to go get a Coca-Cola now. School starts tomorrow. I cringe.

Photo: view toward New York, Mexico City, and London from the Olympiaturm. Can you see America from here?

Sorry, ich komme aus America.

Who in their right mind brings their pet rat on the U-Bahn? I thought watching that thing writhe on its owner's neck was going to give me a heart attack.

I was the only one in the vicinity notably fazed by this occurance.

Collective Subconscious & Cultural Observations

The time has come for more cultural observations. Being in England sparked some new trains of thought. It's a strange thing to be American, studying abroad in Germany, but vacationing in an almost-American-culture like England.

The following are not ranked in any particular order, and bear in mind, they are only my experiences. We are a part of all that we have met. . . .

(1) The reason I titled my last post "Where the Collective Subconscious Dreams in English" is because I was struck so much by the plethora of advertisments all over London for theaters, movies, books, etc. I suppose I see this to some degree in Munich, but not to the extent I saw it in London. With the gray weather always overhead, they must dream...

(2) I have seen dogs pee in U-Bahn stations. For some reason, leashing is not that popular here in Munich. It bothers me a little. I will say that the dogs are very well-trained, and ignore pretty much everyone except for their owner, but I'm afraid they're going to start attacking small children and I will be forced by good conscience to intervene.

(4) Transportation. London's Tube station seems to have been built for a much smaller population than it has at present. By contrast, the U-Bahn system is quite roomy and comfortable, especially if you, like me, have claustrophobic tendencies. Also, cycling doesn't seem to be that common in London, due to small streets, no doubt. There exist parts of Munich where one can almost certainly be killed by a cyclist. Not owning a Fahrrad myself, I can't comment as to their experience, and I imagine they feel quite vulnerable and that vulnerability is the cause of their bitterness toward the non-cycling world--but they are very frightening. Step one toe into their zone and they will screech at you like harpies.

(5) One becomes very desensitized to sexuality over here on the Continent. I have to say, my body image has never been so good. For one, you have to walk an inordinate amount. Not having a car, you are your own driver, passenger, holder of drinks and food, and trunk/sherpa. This keeps you in tip-top form, if it doesn't leave you with bruised feet. Then, nudity is regarded almost as an art form here, and there just comes a time when you've seen enough naked men in the Englischer Garten that it just ceases to faze you so much.

(6) It's much easier to fit into the London scene clothes-wise. In London, anything goes. Europeans tend to dress up much, much more. Grown ones, anyway. Teenagers seem obsessed with wearing Converse All-Stars; I have never seen so many of these shoes in my life. College students wear an Adidas-like court shoe, then grown-ups wear nice shoes all the time. (As a former worker in the footwear industry, I'm sensitive to these things.)

(7) When we were in London on Friday going toward Westminister Abbey, there was a huge protest opposite Westminister Abbey. Sarah, Ashlee, and Rebecca were about to cross the street against the light, which is a huge no-no in Munich. I was a bit worried because there were policemen crossing against us, and I didn't want to be ticketed for jaywalking. Then I realized that there was a huge, five-day hunger strike / protest going on not 20 yards away, and the police were probably much more concerned about that than about my potential jaywalking. Oddly, a feeling of relief went through me. I no longer felt like potential line-crosser criminal. Munich's crime rate is pathetically low--as a result, this means that every tiny little infraction becomes magnified 10,000X. I have seen a policeman ticketing a lady with her little 20's style basket-and-bicycle. Automobiles attempting to cross into pedestrian zones while their light is green don't get shouts like they would in NYC, they are instead subjected to the Societal Shaming Glare of Death.

(8) I went into WHSmith Books at Heathrow to seize my last opportunity to browse through English-language books. I adore being in bookstores in general, but it's frustrating when I'm at Hugendubel and the books could be in Chinese for all the good it does me. (Side note: at Hugendubel, they make huge reading areas in the middle, and the cushions snake alongside the center in a somewhat-circular like fashion. This seems to recreate the experience of being on the U-Bahn / tram / bus. Why on earth would anyone do that? Maybe it's to prevent people from stuffing books into their bags in dark corners, but geez. This is a big city, and people are always surrounded by other people all the time--at work, going to / from work, at play, etc. Why can't they just make nice cosy corners like we do in the U.S. ?) So I was browsing around (and the two British-Indian women working there were chatting about Henry VIII and his wives--I love England) and saw Moby Dick by Herman Meville. In high school, I had attempted to read this book, but had gotten bored with it. But I always believe sometimes one isn't ready to read a book until one's had the experience to appreciate it. I realized that now I was ready, since I had enough distance from America to appreciate it as a culture on its own.

(9) I love speaking English. There's nothing like fluency, the information being seamlessly transmitted from aural / visual stimuli to instant understanding. There's this sign in Munich, called "ueber die man spricht. . ." and it roughly translates to "what people are talking about" but it literally translates to "about the things one speaks" which BOTHERS me to no end. I hate seeing it. I adore being in an Anglophone enviroment. I was at the platform in Marienplatz yesterday, and saw a group of three men only a little ways from me being introduced to each other, and thought I heard American English. They were laughing quite jovially and smiling, and I was like, "oh, yeah, they're Americans." Closer analysis confirmed my guess.

I do see why we Americans get the "You're all just like a big, happy dog" rap: we have a habit of not seeming to take anything too seriously--but I think, in fairness to us, that we do--whereas the Europeans take everything seriously. My average rate of smiling has gone down by 120%. I don't smile at baristas, students in the hall, no one. I occasionally copy the Europeans and will allow small children to elicit a tiny, tiny, no-teeth, smile. They just don't. San Antonio's a big city, but people smile there all the time, because it's just a friendly, open city. Europeans tend to view this as "fake" and "exhausting." It's interesting. No perspective is really wrong, just different. But seeing those guys, having just met, laughing like they'd been friends for years, was quite cheering. Fake? Or just projecting the reality that they hope will come?

(1o) Convenience. So few stores take credit cards, or even debit cards. Mammon is God. Why can't you buy your books at the cafe in Hugendubel? Noooo, that would interfere with The System, which mandates, like so many European things, that you stand in line with a huge group of people and Wait Your Turn.

"My country is all I know. . . .And the river opens for the righteous, and the river opens for the righteous." --Jackson Browne & Steven Van Zandt "I Am a Patriot"

Where the Collective Subconscious Dreams in English

On the brave and crazy wings of youth, they were flying around in the rain
And their feathers, once so fine, grew torn and tattered

In the end they traded their tired wings
For the resignation that living brings
And exchanged love's bright and fragile glow
For the glitter and the rouge
In a moment they were swept before the deluge

Let the music keep our spirits high
Let the buildings keep our children dry
Let creation reveal her secrets by and by
By and by
When the light that's lost within us
Reaches the sky
--"Before the Deluge," Jackson Browne (Is the man NOT a poet, visionary, speaker of human nature?!?!)

This past weekend, I journeyed off to London to visit dear friends Rebecca and Sarah who are studying abroad at Royal Holloway in Egham, a suburb of London. The occasion? Two tickets I purchased in a moment of utter spontaneity on a late library night last September, to see Jackson Browne at the Royal Albert Hall in London on April 12, 2009. I hadn't the foggiest clue how I was going to get to London then, but I was. Jackson Browne is 61 and getting older every minute, and anyone who knows me well knows the unswerving devotion I have toward him and all his music, a good portion of which I can recite by heart.

I flew out of a sunny-is-it-really-getting-warmer?-Munich on Thursday at Munich, and a couple hours later flew under the omnious grey clouds shrouding Heathrow and her environs. I cleared customs without incident (although the British guard was very prim: "What. Are. You. Doing, In. The. United. Kingdom?" "On holiday," I replied. "Where are you staying?" "With a friend in Egham." "The nationality of your friend?" "American," I said. "What is your friend doing in the United Kingdom?" "She's studying abroad at Royal Holloway," I replied, really unsure if I was going to get into the country at all, but determined to see Jackson. "Are you studying abroad in Germany, too, or do you just live there now?" "Yes, I'm studying abroad in Munich," I said. "And what are you studying?" "German?" I said in an unsure voice. Learning how not to make a fool of myself? ) Rebecca and Sarah had taken the one-hour bus ride from Egham to Heathrow just to meet me. I exited the terminal, went straight down to the Central Bus Station, where, at that exact moment, a red-haired girl and her curly-haired companion had just entered, looking a bit bewildered at the crowded room before them. I clutched my roller bag and went straight toward them, almost careening into Sarah.

We took the bus back to Egham, and decided to hang out in Egham for the evening, and we'd venture into London on Friday. Ashlee, another friend of ours studying abroad in Scotland, had been there since Monday, and was staying through Saturday. We had quite the time together, and Sarah and Rebecca were the most gracious of hosts. On Friday we all ventured into London, taking the 45-minute train directly from Egham to London Waterloo, and we went to the Good Friday service at Westminister Abbey, which was unbelievable. When the boys came forward in their red-and-white choir robes, tears escaped from my eyes. I couldn't believe I was hearing this all in person. After the service we wandered around London. Sarah has a small travelling gargoyle named Guy Fawkes, who she bought in York for her brother, and he appears in many of her photos. Ashlee thought it would be hysterical for Guy Fawkes and Sarah to pose in front of Parliament, so we did that. I had never seen the Millenium Bridge, so we walked over there and walked across it to walk around Shakespeare's recreated Globe theater, which is right next to the Tate Modern. I was endlessly impressed by the constant old-new-old-again nature of London: Tate Modern at the foot of the Millenium Bridge, across from the London Bridge, which led up to St. Paul's Cathedral, Tate Modern next to Globe, etc.

On Saturday, Ashlee and Sarah stayed in Egham (since Ashlee had to rearrange her travel plans much at the last minute) while Rebecca and I went into London again, and messed around the whole day. We went to Portobello Road, which was crowded but still a ton of fun. Rebecca's been on the lookout for a 19th-century book, so she took me to this lovely antiques bookstore off Portobello Road, and she finally found her prize: a beautiful blue crinkled Tenneyson from 1871 for 25 pounds. After that we wandered (well, moseyed with the crowd) toward the end of Portobello Road, where Rebecca spotted a nice, reasonably priced restaurant. They were offering pizza with black olives in a showcase and I knew it was Meant to Be (since that is My Pizza), so I took two slices and a chocolate shake (I require large amounts of chocolate to get me through) which I drank in two long gulps. Rebecca and I found a nice cozy couch next to an large open window (despite the drizzly, but not cold, weather) where we just sat, ate, and people-watched. It was quite nice and comfortable. After that we wandered around back toward our Tube Station, and took the Tube to Trafalgar Square, which was barricaded off all the way to Whitehall. We hypothise that this was due to a large protest going on front of Parliament, asking for intervention in the Sri Lankan civil war. I had collected a leaflet from someone passing them out on Friday, and I found it interesting that it supported the Tamil Tigers, a faction whom I have always heard linked with terrorism. I suppose it'll be difficult for anyone to really know. Anyway, they had a scheduled march on Saturday, and I think the police/barricades were there to prevent them from marching on Whitehall.

So we walked down Whitehall and took the resquite pictures in front of 10 Downing Street, home to Gordon Brown. We also wandered over to St. James' Park and Buckingham Palace. The Queen was not in residence. . . .

We took the train back to Egham and met up with Sarah for dinner out at The Monkey's Forehead, a pub down the street from the university. Ashlee was now safely off to Ireland. I had fish & chips and peas. Aaaaaa. English food >>>>> German food. Plus, it has the added benefit of being in my native language. We hung out Saturday night and had a very good time.

Sunday was The Day. Not only was it Easter, it was The Jackson Browne Concert, the very idea which had sustained me in many a dark hour. Rebecca had a Skype date with her parents and Sarah a lunch with a friend, so we opted to attend an earlier Matins service at St. Paul's Cathedral. We did that, and it was really lovely, although nothing quite like the Good Friday service at Westminister. After that, we all journeyed back to Egham (Sarah to Staines, a stop before Egham), and recouped for a bit. Rebecca had kindly lent me a book of hers, The Time Traveller's Wife, which might explain my headiness the whole weekend. When I get involved in plot, I'm still there until it's all been resolved. It's very good (sad, though), well-written, so there you go.

Around 4ish, Rebecca, Sarah, and I headed back to London. Sarah would join us for dinner and then head back to Egham, Rebecca and I would continue to the Jackson Browne Concert. We ended up eating at a very nice Pizza Hut off Trafalgar Square. Sarah went with us over to the Knightsbridge area, and then took the Tube from there back to Waterloo. Rebecca and I walked down Knightsbridge toward Royal Albert Hall. We loitered outside with the 50+ plus crowd, then at 7:15 easily went through the doors. I couldn't believe the beauty of the hall when I stepped in. I had A Moment. It's circular, red-velvet cushions, the lights from above casting a haze over the stage. . . .

At 8, the Jackson Browne Concert Began. He came out (insert my heart stuttering) and performed "Off to Wonderland" as his first song, and then "Doctor My Eyes" not long after that. When I heard him perform that song, I just couldn't believe it. He was there. In front of me. Singing the song that I had listened to on so many of those road trips of my soul. The concert was amazing. Just amazing. It was everything I'd imagined. I sat next to a British gentleman who took one look at me and said, "I've been listening to Jackson Browne longer than you've been alive." He apparently had been to Jackson Browne's first concert tour in the UK for his "Late for the Sky" release in 1975! At the end, he performed "The Pretender" and the crowd went into a rock-roll-wave shouting, "ARE YOU THERE? FOR THE PRETENDER? ARE YOU THERE--FOR THE PRETENDER? ARE YOU THERE--FOR THE PRETENDER?" At the end, he sang "Running on Empty" with the electric guitar and the crowd was now screaming "RUNNING ON EMPTY! RUNNING ON BLIND INTO THE SUN!"

Monday I toured Windsor by myself, to give Sarah and Rebecca some breathing room after entertaining guests for so long, and the weather finally cleared up--just when I needed it! Windsor was spectacular. Rebecca helped me plan the train schedule, which was really simple, and it was only about 20 minutes by train altogether to get to Windsor. On the way there, the conductor announced, "We're coming up to the castle; on the left side there's a very good view." I had been sitting on the right side, and was very grateful to him for announcing that. I moved over to the left side and couldn't believe it--it was the side of the castle, and jaw-dropping. My parents had bought a very interesting and informative "Windsor" BBC production, so I was a bit familiar with it, but it certainly did not prepare me for that sight. I couldn't take it all in! The train station was practically at the foot of the castle, so I decided to see Eton first, in the opposite direction. There's not much touring around Eton to be had, but I had to see it. After that I walked back toward Windsor and approached it from the side to get a look at the view from "The Long Walk," which was pretty crowded. Then I went back up to the entrance, got in line, bought my tickets and picked up my audio guide, and went into the castle. I decided to visit St. George's Chapel first, as the audio guide said that closed at 4PM, and it was 1ish. It was stunning--a bit smaller than I had expected, maybe. I saw the tombs of George VI and the late Queen Mother Elizabeth, as well as the stone that marked the vault of Henry VIII, Queen Jane, and the infant child of Queen Anne. Wow.

After that, I headed toward the State Apartments. They were all fantastic. There was a whole room full of Hans Holbein the Younger portraits--the famous portraits of Richard II, Thomas Howard, Sir Henry Guilford. . . . I couldn't believe my eyes. I honestly was not expecting that much artwork, for some reason! The Waterloo Chamber was hands-down my favorite room. It had been featured in the BBC "Windsor" production for the performance of "Les Miserables" put on in this room for the arrival of French president Jacques Chirac, and I remember the video footage of them taking these huge, precious Lawrence portraits down (portraits of everyone who helped defeat Napoleon). It was all beautiful. I also saw that original portrait of Elizabeth I at age 13, the portrait of young Edward. . . . My mother, years ago, had bought a comprehensive, glossy book called The Lives of the Kings and Queens of England, of which I had made a constant study when I wanted to know facts about their lives, and it seemed that over half the portraits I had seen so long ago in that book were here at Windsor. I remember walking into one room and seeing a portrait of George I astride his horse, and thinking, "Wow, that looks familiar," and realizing that this, before me, was the very original of the one I had seen in that book.

Windsor isn't to be missed. It was wonderful and the weather was perfect. And---the Queen's Standard was flying there!

Oh, let the sun beat down upon my face

Oh, let the sun beat down upon my face, the stars to fill my dreams
I am a traveller of both time and space to be where I have been

To sit with elders of the gentle race, this world has seldom seen

They talk of days for which they sit and wait and all will be revealed

--"Kashmir," by Led Zeppelin

Photo: Angel statue in Nordfriedhof

Nymphenburg, Muenchner Freiheit, & Nordfreidhof (Freitag)

I've had quite the weekend. On Friday, I headed out to see Schloß Nympenburg, the summer palace of the Wittelsbachs, built in the late 17th century. It's a little to the east of town, slightly out of the way. I think there is a bus that goes very close to the castle from the Rotkreuzplatz U-Bahn station, but my knowledge of the bus system is lacking and I didn't do any further research. Photo: Schloß Nymphenburg with swans.

It was a beautiful day for Nympenburg. I followed the canal all the way up to the palace, which completely encompassed the grounds. It was stunning. Swans swam in the lake in front of the grounds, dogs ran around. I had lunch in the Cafe Palmenhouse, behind and to the left of the palace, which was nice--there is a snack bar there as well. The palace itself is stunning---particuarly beautiful was the large white-with-gold-inlay- ballroom in the center of the palace, with a high ceiling painted with clouds and rainbows. I wanted to spin around the floor in a long, swishy dress. Also striking was the Schoenheits Gallerie ("Beauty Gallery"), which has portraits of (mostly young) women from all classes and stripes, commissioned by King Ludwig I (I tell you, that man was busy! Between working with the university, the library, having portraits of beautiful women commissioned, as well as a statue of himself on practically every block of Munich--I exaggerate, but still!) and hung in this wing of the palace for his personal enjoyment of female beauty, which apparently fascinated him. I suppose one can tell this was in the days before Internet. The grounds behind the palace are even more stunning, so many little gardens and statues and gorgeously kept.

I walked around Nymphenburg some more, walked back down through the suburbs, had an ice cream, and decided to take up a suggestion from my guidebook: to look at Herz-Jesu-Kirche, a very modern Catholic church built in 1998, not far from the Rotkreuzplatz U-Bahn station. Upon the first look, it is a dark blue cube. But the dark blue is from the tiny little mosaics of "nails as crosses." It was very pretty. Inside, it was very light, and open. There's another "cube" inside blue cube, which has the church proper, and alongside the church proper was one of the most fascinating examples of contemporary church art I've seen: the Stations of the Cross (divided on each side) or the Kreuzweg as black-and-white photographs printed on an almost transparent material and mounted on large silver stand-alone frames. All the ones I recognized were from Jerusalem, photos of people with the architecture depicting that Station of the Cross. I"m not explaining it well, but for example, when Simon helps carry the cross, there was a b&w photo of a gate in Jerusalem alongside the Via Dolorsa which has that station engraved over the stone gate. It was really, really cool. I would have never thought about the Stations of the Cross in that way, but the change was very refreshing. Photo: Ballroom in Schloß Nymphenburg.

After that, I hopped back to Sendlinger Tor, took that one to Muenchner Freiheit, and decided to walk all the way from Muenchner Freiheit to StuSta, since it was such a pretty day. It was about a 2 mile walk, and utterly worth it. I truly believe you don't get the feeling of a city until you've walked it. I stopped by the charming Erloeserkirche, which is actually an Evangelical-Lutheran church. It was really intriguing to see the difference (and the similiarities) between this church and all the Catholic ones I've been seeing: there were still crufixes, but more emphasis on writing/reading than images (the Beatitudes were written along the columns, which one wouldn't normally observe in a Catholic church), and, despite the stained glass, it still had a distinctly Protestant feel (you'll laugh, but the presence of carpet has a lot to do with it!). Someone was playing the organ and I was the only one wandering around, and I had a feeling I wasn't really bothering anyone--which isn't always the case in Catholic churches I've been into. It seems like Catholics see their churches less as buildings and more as places, while Protestants tend to view it in the reverse: the building's only as good as the people in it, no people in it, you're not bothering anyone. Photo: Erloesherkirche in Muenchner Freiheit.

Maybe Protestants (modern ones, anyway--historically, Protestants are quite literally iconoclasts, icon-breakers) have a better feel for the distinction between religion and art, while Catholics tend to view the church art as an aid to worship, and not meant to be viewed as art alone. Hmm. Insert tangent re: iconoclasts, Protestant destruction of English religious art, what does that mean, etc., here.

What was also very fascinating about this church was a memorial of the names of soldiers who had died in World War II. Yep. German names. World War II. You know what that means. I can't tell you how odd that feeling is: being on the other side of the WWII fence. Usually, when I view a memorial of American/British/Allied soldiers fallen in WWII, I'm thinking, oh, those brave men who were killed by evil, power-hungry Nazis! And now? Wait. . . . the Allied forces killed those people named there. Maybe some of them died of gangerne or scurvy. It's amazing, though, what time heals, and how quickly. It's been, what, 63 years since the end of the second World War? And here I am, an American, quite amicably studying abroad in a city utterly ravaged by bombs my country and her allies dropped just over half a century ago. Of course, I probably owe a lot of that to the Denazification (Entnazifizierung) of Germany implemented by the Allied forces.

I walked all the way to Nordfriedhof, and decided to walk through the cemetery, which is huge! Some of the graves were so beautifully done, and there were women about everywhere, bringing in fresh flowers, cleaning down the tombstones, and it was the perfect time of day: about 5 o'clock, still light but not overwhelming, and so quiet and calm! I definitely want to explore Westfriedhof, the other cemetery near Nymphenburg, and I'll certainly walk through Nordfriedhof again.

Photo: Two ladies talk in Nordfriedhof.

Regensburg (Samstag)

Saturday was our group excursion to Regensburg, a town northeast of Munich, near Nuerenburg. It was about an 1 1/2 hour train ride. I'd go into how civilized trains are, and how much I enjoy train travel, but most of you know my feelings. It's just so darned simple! Walk to center of town. Get on train. Get off at center of town. Go where you want. Regensburg is a looooooooooovellllly town. A perfect size: I think about 10 or 11,000 people. We had a tour with our fearless leader, a professor from JYM, through the city, and then were let loose for a half hour or so for lunch. I grabbed lunch and hit the church circuit. I, visited St. Josephskirche, which was one of those churches with the gates-around-the-narthex deal (old form of protection?), and so my photos of the gorgeous church were somewhat limited. It was odd, though: there was one man sitting toward the back of the church (closer to the narthex), and a lady who had walked in front of me tried to get his attention by waving, and then she made several bows from the waist, almost jamming her head against the gate, when she finally got it. He exited the pew and I did a double take: he was clad in a long, dark brown gown. Sometimes I feel like I am in a history novel. Being from such a Protestant, "new" country, I'm not quite accustomed to so many remnants from the past walking around me in friar form, as if I have accidently wandered into a Shakespeare play. His long habit swished over the floor and he disappeared from sight via a side corridor, and the lady disappeared, too (see? Shakespeare plot begins).

I also went by Alte Kapelle, which is right across from St. Josephskirche, and that was a gorgeous church, again with the gates-around-narthex feature. I bought a couple of postcards from the stand in the back, just as a "I was here" memento to myself, and I always pick up a brochure or leaflet from the church proper, because, to be honest, it is a lot of churches, and if I don't take care to get something from each church, they'll all blend together.

Then we rendevous'ed for a tour of the Dom. The Dom is HUGE. STRIKING. HIGH GOTHIC. I peeked in about 10 minutes before our tour, so I wouldn't be hindered by a group for a little bit. I had to take a moment to collect myself when I first entered into it, and I've been into a lot of churches across Europe. It's better than Frauenkirche in Munich, hands down. The tour was great, and gave us so much information about the detail in the church, which has just been added to over the centuries, but built around the mid 1200s. Gosh. It was so beautiful! And so Gothic and dark inside. The Dom St. Peter is a place of pilgrimage, apparently.

Photo: Dom St. Peter

After the Dom tour we headed over to the other side of town. We walked by another Evangelical-Lutheran church, across from which was a Protestant academy, which had, of course, a carving of Martin Luther guarding the doors, and I shot a photo of him. We were headed to see a castle of the Von Thurn und Taxis family, who were the postmasters for the Holy Roman Empire and were elevated to nobility by the same powers. Albert Von Thurn und Taxis, aged 29, is one of the world's most eligible bachelors. The castle. Is. Something. Out. Of. Fairy. Tales. It's got the perfect amount of decay in the stones, and the grounds were surrounded by lush, lush green grass and an ABUNDANCE of blue, blue flowers. As one member of my group put it, "It looks like it's been digitally retouched." The castle is still a private residence of the family, and as such isn't available for frolicking. Sad. But there were images in my head of myself as Christine von Thurn und Taxis, (nee Cavin) maybe playing with my little von Thurn und Taxis out here on the grounds. "I married you just for the castle," is a good enough excuse, right? There is a museum of the family, but we didn't get to see it. Regensburg is certainly worth another visit. It needs it. We stopped by the St. Emmaumskirche, which was, again, jaw-droppingly beautiful, but they were having Saturday evening Mass. A couple of us peeked in for a further look. It was gorgeous. Photo: Von Thurn und Taxi 's castle, with blue flowers on the grounds.

We headed back to the Bahnhof to catch our train back to Munich. A couple of us girls had to use the restroom, and so we went off to find it, only to realize each stall was guarded by a stall asking a 50 euro cent toll to use the restroom. European cruelty at its worst; it was hardly the Ritz of bathrooms. I had used my last 50 cents to donate to an accordion player in the Regensburg plaza, HELPING the Regensburg economy, and now they wanted me to pay-to-pee. One of our number, much more adventrous than I, put her foot and hoisted herself up on a shelf next to the stall, scaled the stall, and, as she came down, kicking the latch open from the inside as she went down. I was so impressed. That is a major benefit of group travel/interaction: sometimes people have different M.O.'s, and can shock you into realizing another perspective--and you can carry that knowledge/experience with you forward in life. As a result of our one-stall-usage, we had to book it for the train, but you know what? Whenever that happens to me, I just feel really alive.

The following is an entry from my journal yesterday as we rode back:
"The setting sun's light slants over green, green fields where deer nosh in small groups. The half moon is a white smudge in the blue sky. Forests, fields, small towns, a group of friends having a picnic over a gorge are all part of the view outside my window. Rolling hills punctured by onion-domed churches. 'How happy is the blameless vestal's lot! The world forgetting, by the world forgot. Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!' (Pope)"

Wandering in Englischer Garten (Palmensonntag)

Journal entry from today: "All the advertisements that said: "endlich Fruehling in der Stadt" (finally spring in the city) as it snowed down on Munich have seen their prophecy fulfilled. I sit on a green bench, the streets empty because this weekend marks the first sunny weekend in what must be a long time, and Munich celebrates by bringing their significant others, strollers, dogs, children, and bicycle into Munich's expansive backyard, the Englischer Garten. Jackets are slung over shoulders, young Golden Retriever puppies rejoice in their first spring as they bound through the grass, families rent boats from the boathouse, the young girl, perhaps not yet burdened by the world, happily steers as Mom pedals and Dad directs from the back."

I had just grabbed an ice cream cone in Giselastrasse and saw a sign that said, "Englischer Garten: 0,5 km" and decided to follow it. That's what I love about Europe. It's just so set up for spontaneity. I sat on bench alongside the boat-cluttered lake, people-watched and journaled. I happened to be sitting in front of a pretty swan at lake's edge who was attracting a lot of attention. An Asian man with an expensive Canon DSLR spent quite some time crouching along the edge taking photos of the swan, and someone's Collie came up to him and was at his ear before he realized it was there! He jerked back, scaring the dog backward, and looked at the dog's owner (now laughing) with a funny "I almost had a heart attack" expression, and the dog's young male owner just laughed and said, "Er hat mehr Angst!" (he was more afraid!) It was a hysterical moment.

Closing words from the movie Sabrina:
" I came here from Provence alone, uneducated, for 6 months--no more than that, a year--I sat in a cafe, drank coffee, and wrote nonsense in a journal, then suddenly it was not nonsense - I went for long walks and I met myself in Paris. You seem embarassed by loneliness, by being alone--but you see, it’s only a place to start."