Wanders in Wien

Slow down, you crazy child you're so ambitious for a juvenile
But then if you're so smart, tell me
Why are you still so afraid? Where's the fire, what's the hurry about?
You'd better cool it off before you burn it out You've got so much to do and
Only so many hours in a day
But you know that when the truth is told..
That you can get what you want or you get old You're gonna kick off before you even
Get halfway through
When will you realize, Vienna waits for you?
--"Vienna," by Billy Joel

My two friends Rebecca and Sarah (whom I visited in London in April) finished off their semester at a university outside of London and began the last part of their Grand Tour, landing in Geneva, going through Switzerland and Salzburg, and then to Vienna, where I met them. I took an 8:20 train out of Munich (I got the Europa special, one way for 29 euro!) and arrived in Vienna just at noon last Friday. R&S picked out the hotel, a little pension AT the U-Bahn stop Neubaugasse, only two stops away from the Westbahnhof where I had come in. I scaled up the escalator at Neubaugasse and there they were, the duo, waiting pour moi! I gave them both a big hug and got settled into the very nice hotel room which we all shared. My mother had given me a Top 10 Vienna Book, which came in VERY helpful throughout the trip and helped me get the lay of the land--I feel like I understand now how Vienna is laid out, how to get from one place to the other generally. We had lunch at a little cafe and then set out on foot. We walked through the LOVELY Hofburg Palace, which was just astounding, saw the Lippianizer (sp?) stallions themselves in their stables, the winter riding school, walked all the way up to the Donaukanal where I flipped OUT when I saw the OPEC building across the river. Oh, I love a good cartel. We wandered through the north side of the city, south of the river. Vienna's lovely, and it struck me (having never really been to France) more as a French-feeling city, with its 19th century buildings, than as a *German* town. Indeed, its German language seemed more to be an accident of nature than anything else. It did not seem to be the culture.

We walked all along the river, and I had a desire to see the famous Hundertwasserhaus which was a way off, but we walked it anyway, and it was well worth seeing. The Hundertwasserhaus is simply an apartment building, but with trees, funky windows, fountains, mosaics--the works. I first remember seeing it in Neue Horizonte, my first semester German textbook, and thought--"Wow, that's cool. I've got to see that if I'm ever in Vienna." So, I got to see it. After this (and walking back), we had traversed the entire southern half of the city and we were EXHAUSTED. We had dinner at a little pizza place right across the street on Mariahilfstrasse. It was a great location because there were so many restaurants and shops right on our street.

Vienna struck me as very cultural, and a more international city than Munich. Immediately, I saw ads for Indian satellite, ads for international cuisine-restaurants, things in German, English, and occasionally French. It was touristy--not too bad--but touristy. It was not nearly as clean as Munich, which surprised me. I saw thousands of cigarette butts on the ground and parts of it felt a little grimier than Munich does, and there were certainly more street beggars there than Munich has. Men dressed in Mozart-era clothing peddled concerts at Schloss Schoenbrunn in every part of the city, and I'm not sure how that raises the "quality" of the concerts at all, but we had to work like heck to evade them. This one guy was like, "Do you speak German? Do you speak German? Are you visiting Vienna?" calling after us as we shoved past him. I feel sorry for them. Like that song "Goin' to Acapulco" says, "Don't everyone got to eat? And I'm no different when it comes to scratching for my meat." Still, I think the economy could help them find more constructive jobs.


We also visited St. Stephensdom, which was a great old Gothic-style church, where Mozart and his wife Constance were married, interestingly enough, and their sixth child was baptized there. We paid the 3,50 eintritt for the South Tower climb and went up and up and up--I think 350 steps. It was much more fun to do the tower climb with two other people. Often, I'm alone and just like, ladeedah, but we had some fun and games. The top of the tower had some views out windows, and I saw an actual skyscraper-Houston-like skyline out one of the windows, which struck me as so odd. One of my favorite things to do upon landing in Houston is to look out and spot the skyline, because often the road seems to lead straight to the Emerald City. Many times, as a child, I looked forward to escaping my small-town tedium with occasional jaunts off to Houston. Thrills would rush in me as our car neared the skyline and we entered this concrete jungle. We would drive down Westheimer and my heart sang for shops! restaurants! huge bookstores! coffeehouses! bakeries! museums! things to do! So I have always had a positive association with skylines, and seeing that tiny tiny bit of Houston here in Vienna, the other side of the Atlantic. . . . strange things indeed.

As we walked--erm, trudged--back to dinner, we saw a very interesting thing right outside the Staatsoper: a gigantic screen on the left side of the building broadcast the concert that was going on live inside, and a huge crowd was outside, and applauded when it was over, after the fat lady sang. (I'm sorry, I had to say that.) They were invested in it. It struck me as FASCINATING. Sarah was a little unsure about this being a tax-supported endeavour, but as I told her, it was a truly an opportunity to look inside the minds of the Europeans. Many times I am very frustrated with how they operate and I know that's because I'm unable to access their perspective. But this was a case when I was able to understand, because I knew their rationale (from previous reading and study): to their minds, the people have a right to experience their own culture. Viennese have a right to access their opera, art, literature. Of course, again, the downfall of this is homogeneity: this wouldn't slide in the U.S. Imagine subsidised tickets to Civil War exhbits, African-American exhibits, colonial exhibits, but not an Indian cultural dancing show or a museum of Greek culture. Who's to say the Indians or the Greeks have any less claim on the history of the United States than the African-Americans and the colonists do? In America (like I explained to fellow German intern), we're all mutts. Every culture brings its own from the motherland and we just mix it in.

On Saturday we went out to the gorgeous Schloss Schoenbrunn, the summer palace of the Habsburg Empire. Franz Joseph did a lot of work here, along with the very tedious hair-brushing and refusal-of-food by his wife, the famous Elisabeth or "Sisi," much beloved in Bavaria and Austria (she was actually born in Munich, in a building on Leopoldstrasse). She sounded like a not very nice female, who didn't even like Franz Joseph that much (who was totally enamoured of her for some strange reason), would refuse to eat with him because she had a figure to watch, hello? And spending hours a day caring for her locks. Not a Princess Diana, huh? Or as my friend Kniquii would say, she did not use her powers For Awesome.


Schoenbrunn was BEAUTIFUL, though. We took the U-Bahn there (the U-Bahn system in Vienna impressed me. There were--GASP--multiple ELECTRONIC Kiosks. I am shouting because in Munich, there is an Old Machine--O.M.--for which one can pay only with CASH, but this is only for short-term cards, up to 3 days and for different types of levels. Then there is a NEW electronic machine--E.M.---for longer cards, which does not take cash and only takes a special kind of card that you have to buy from MVG. So I buy my cards at the little bakery in StuSta U-Bahn, which is an authorized dealer just because they happen to be on site. But I can't buy my monthly card at Marienplatz, though would you not think this a hub? But if I go up to the lady at the window--the official lady at the desk that says Muenchnerverkehrsgesellschaft, the people who are supposed to be running this whole operation--and ask her for a monthly card because, hi, my little bakery kiosk is closed today--she cannot sell me one and refers me to the E.M. But I only have $$$, I say. Ah, then you have to go to Hauptbanhof. I don't curse, but WTF??? Compare this to lovely Vienna, and I have provided photographic evidence for you. You are in U-Bahn. Ah, you think. I need Ticket. You go to Machine. There are Two for Multiple Users But they are Same Type of Machine. You can buy ANY TICKET YOU WANT for the U-Bahn system. You select option. You pay with cash or 5 different types of credit cards. IT PRINTS! You stamp. You Move On With Life).

So anyway, Schloss Schoenbrunn was wonderful. We paid, I think 13 euros with the concession for the Classic Light Tour, which allowed us to see the whole castle and then the grounds. It was gorgeous. The audio guide came free, and it was sad that it was kinda cursory, but it is a big castle and time's always a-wastin'. We were in the room where Mozart gave his first concert and there was this little Indian English-speaking boy, about 8 or so, who was with his brother and listening to the audio guide as it told us this story. The kid got all wide-eyed and looked at his brother and said, "MOZART!" It was adorable. We fell behind a tour group of Asian people. I have to applaud them--they have absolutely no intention of ever blending in to society (as was my intention when I came here), but they are for some reason, since I don't know the Asians well at all, very very curious to explore and travel and learn about Western culture (I was behind a similar group at Mrs. Macaquire's Chair in Australia) and don't let long plane flights and almost insurmountable cultural differences stop them. They just sign up for the tour group and are off their merry way.



After seeing the impressive palace we wandered out to the even more stunning (and large) grounds. We couldn't have possibily done it all, it was just so much. We walked up the hill behind the palace to the Gallerie, a building from which one can look down to the palace but also out over Vienna. It was gorgeous--probably hotter than I had expected, but still gorgeous nonetheless. I saw the rolling hills encircling the city, down to the palace. We had our tickets to the Gallerie, so we climbed up the very very top and enjoyed the crazy gusts of wind while lazing on the benches up there. After spending a little time there, we got off and walked the long walk back down the palace, out of the grounds, to the station, collapsing on the U-Bahn. We took the U-Bahn over to Karlsplatz, near the Belevedere Palace. We had to walk a bit to the grounds (for future reference: don't go down Prinzeugenstrasse, that's the long-way 'round), but we passed a fascinating monument: the Liberation Monument. Believe me, it's a bit weird to be wandering out in Vienna and run into a gigantic monument with Russian all over it. Reminds one how close one is to that Eastern Empire. Budapest is closer to Vienna than is Munich, remember (and the train to Budapest departed opposite the one to Munich, a strange thought to me). My Russian's really bad and I can just make sense of the alphabet, but I did make out the word "Slava," so I was very proud of myself.



The Belvedere Palaces are quite amazing. Built with the reward from the Habsburgs for the defense of Vienna against the Turkish Siege of 1683, Prince Eugene of Savoy did quite a good deal of work over a long period of time on this place. We walked around the gardens behind the Upper Belvedere (yes, there are two buildings!) and then walked out and then rounded down through the impressive grounds through the Lower Belvedere. I wish I could have seen it (Gustav Klimt's "The Kiss" is here), but again, there's just not enough time, and I was glad enough to have seen impressive Schoenbrunn. I'll have to come back to Vienna again someday and complete the tour.


We finally found dinner near our hotel, completely famished again. I had to peel my boots off my feet. We crashed and woke up the next morning to take the train to Munich. We took the Oesterreich-Bundes-Bahn (the nicest train I've been on yet--they had a little entertainment center for children, screens with maps/trip information showing, electronic seat reservation above the seats--and we were in second class!) through Salzburg (that's kinda weird, believe me--oh, we're just passing through Salzburg) where we picked up a group of noisy young Americans. One girl seemed insist on calling out the speed we were going: "We're going 120 kilometers per hour! We're going 55 kilometers per hour!" and others seemed compelled to voice, loudly (it's a big country, you have to scream to be heard), every thought going through their head: "I wish I was taking more pictures. I'm tired. When do we get to Munich? Did you go into Chris' room last night? I got pictures!"


We arrived in Munich unscathed and no worse for the wear, and I took S&R back to my little cubicle. I explored Munich with them on foot and tried to give them a lay of the land, and they spent the next couple of days (plus one more than expected, due to the missing of their flight) exploring Munich, and liked it very much.


I just had a good experience! I went to the bakery in the U-Bahn to get an iced tea (eistee). I don't go that often--maybe once a week or so, and probably less--but I always get the same thing: a Nestea with lemon. I went up and the lady said, "Eistee?" I couldn't believe it! Do a jig! I'm a familiar face! I'm a familiar face!


This will be the topic of my last post (ahem, foreshadowing), but it seemed appropriate:

Kathy, I said as we boarded the Greyhound bus
Michigan seems like a dream to me now
It took me four days to hitchhike from Saginaw
I've gone off to look for America
-"America," Simon & Garfunkel

Photos: (1) Sarah and Rebecca in the Viennese sunset by the Donaukanal (2), entrance to the Hofburg Palace (3), a ticket system that makes sense, Neubaugasse (4), Schloss Schoenbrunn from the Gallerie

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.

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.