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.

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."