Down to Dresden

The list of cities that once looked so long, the painstaking research and follow-up hotel emails, and the 14 page single-spaced itinerary that had taken all summer to work on, had all come down to one last city, one last itinerary paragraph. Jason and I were in Dresden.
After we arrived and checked into our hostel, we walked down to Dresden’s Neumarkt area and found a lovely place to have baked brie and goat cheese on toast with garlic, red onion, and balsamic (sooo good!). We then walked the streets of the “old” city. Recently rebuilt to look exactly as it had before 1945, Dresden’s cobblestone old town district is technically new. The buildings all lit up at night were magnificent, and both of us were excited about touring these churches, palaces, and museums the next day.
Thursday was our last full day in Germany and the whole city sparkled with sunlight. Except for the occasional dotted cloud, the expansive sky was completely blue. I believed it was a sign that we should stay longer, since this type of weather was novel to us rain-beaten travelers. If only we could have… Ok ok, enough of this musing nonsense and on to the day:
We walked first to the Elbe River and strolled along the Bruehlsche Terrasse, an attractive stone terrace that once used to be part of the city’s fortifications. It forms a thick stone wall coming up from the river and canon holes are plainly visible on the side. Yet because its military importance is no longer needed, this “balcony of Europe” (named because of its magnificent views of the river below) was transformed into beautiful gardens by Heinrich von Bruehl. This famous terrace leads right to Dresden’s Hofkirche—a monumental Baroque royal church, built for the city’s Catholics in a strictly Protestant section of Saxony—where Jason and I toured the gorgeous interior before continuing our sunny morning stroll to the Saechsische Staatsoper—the neo-Renaissance building of the Saxon state opera. Although under construction, the telling beauty of why this building is one of Dresden’s famous landmarks remained quite obvious.
Next on the agenda, a 10:45am appointment to keep (made several months in advance) at the Historisches Grünes Gewölbe—Dresden’s historic Green Vault, and the most famous and extensive treasury in Europe. I am not sure if Jason and I were both prepared for what was to come; well, at least I wasn’t. When our appointment time arrived, we had to leave everything at the cloakroom—no cameras, no wallets, no cell phones, nothing. A little line formed in front of these double glass doors and two people at a time were allowed to enter. They stayed between the two glass doors for about 30 seconds while the bottoms of their shoes were brushed with this automated mat, and only then were they finally allowed to enter the first room of the vault.
When we finally crossed this threshold, our eyes feasted on an array of delicately-crafted amber objects, gold and glittering stones, ivory gilded chalices, ornate diamond-studded necklaces, various ornaments and table decorations, golden shields, and bronze statues. To think that somehow, most of these one-of-a-kind treasures made it though the fire-bombing when so much was destroyed, was truly phenomenal.
After our bout with royal jewels was complete, it was time for lunch. Not truly hungry or wanting to pay the steep prices asked by the cute restaurant we chose, I slowly ate my soup and watched Jason make the best of his gelatin-mold covered conglomeration of minced pork meat, vegetables, and other unknown substances. And finally, on our last day, Jason discovered a German food not to his liking :-).
After a slight time delay, we were able to enter the newly renovated Frauenkirche (only completed in 2006). The rubble of this giant church after the war was left by the Communists to serve simply as a memorial and a reminder of the evils of war and Nazism. Only in 1993, were builders able to start reconstruction, and artistically incorporate the original blackened stones into the church’s beige facade. The spectacular interior of white marble and pastel colors floating up and intertwining with all three levels of the church was truly divine. This carefully crafted interior was our favorite of the entire trip, yet to be fair to the 30 plus other church interiors we visited, this one was the newest—made to look old with modern technology, and at an unfair advantage to the ones all made by hand in the 13th century.
After a delicious Kaffeeklatch (or in my case, hot chocolate) at a richly decorated nearby hotel/restaurant, we returned to the hostel; Jason, so he could take a nap, and myself, so I could walk around the block to Dresden’s Hygiene Museum. I was a little wary about visiting this museum, but was recommended to go here by Jens Daehner, a curator of antiquities at the Getty Museum and who is from Dresden. This place was surreal, quite thought-provoking, and at times a little nauseating since its focus was on the human body and each of its systems (in graphic detail) in order to discuss social implications in Germany and around the world. Maybe it was beneficial that I couldn’t understand the placards so as not to know what it was that I was looking at :-). Either way, despite being slightly unnerved the whole time, I was glad I went. (However, I did still have to get through dinner with Jason without thinking about the video I watched of food particles passing through the intestinal tract.)
Our last evening out was made enjoyable by Italian food and espressos, a walk around town, and a slight mist that made the street lamps glisten. It was so weird to think that in such short time, we would be walking the streets of downtown Santa Barbara, although a much-missed burrito in hand would be more likely ;-). We returned early to pack and get ready for our early morning checkout. Our 11am flight out of Dresden’s new airport was quickly approaching, and the only thing that separated us from a long day of travel chaos, was seven hours of sleep in our last European beds.

Braving Berlin (continued) by Bike:

Even though the places I sit down and take time to write are continuously changing (I am now in Palm Desert lounging by the pool on a beautiful, sunny November morning), the memories of the trip are constant and still awaiting revelation. So yes, back to Berlin.
The morning after the wall celebration, Jason and I took our time to get ready, and then headed to Alexanderplatz—the main square of once-Soviet controlled East Berlin, and the location of the city’s Fernsehturm, or the TV tower. It was at this landmark location where we were meeting Fat Tire Bike Tours for our five hour tour of Berlin. One would think that after the third day in the city we would have seen the main sights, but due to the crowds and planned festivities the day before, most of the city remained unexplored. And hence the investment in this incredible company to bravely guide a large group of often aloof native English speakers around Berlin.
Needless to say, 5 hours on a bright orange bike being led by a knowledgeable 25 year old gent from Manchester was incredible (for the art and history of course, although my proclivity for English accents also fixated my attention) ;-). So Jason and I braved Berlin by bike. In laundry list format we saw and experienced Checkpoint Charlie, the Berlin Wall, Hitler’s Bunker, the Watchtower, the Topography of Terror, Brandenburg Gate, Luftwaffe Ministry, (insert here a beergarten break for lunch :-)), the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe, Bebelplatz (where Hitler’s infamous 1933 book burnings took place), Museum Island, the Reichstag (Germany’s government house), Potsdamer Platz (new business sky-scraper business district), Schloss Bellevue (the German president’s house, and the Victory Column. Whew!
By the time the tour ended, it was dark. I suddenly remembered the need to “casually” visit Fassbender & Rausch, renowned Chocolatiers at the Gendarmenmarkt—a Europe Semester obsession—introduced to us two years ago by our fabulous guide Gabriel,. Over and over, I had raved to Jason about this chocolate; over and over, I reminded him to wait for his chocolate purchases—that those who are patient will be richly rewarded (lame pun, intended, as always). Thus on that evening, November 10, 2009, Jason and I spent a combined total of 100 euros on chocolate, or approximately 152 U.S. dollars. It is fine chocolate might I add. Not wanting to take the extra time to return to the hostel, we carried the 10 pound chocolate bags to our next destination: the longest still-standing segment of the Berlin wall. Located in lower southeast Berlin, the stretch of wall follows the river for 1.6 kilometers. In 1990, local artists repainted each wall segment with symbolic murals of peace, reconciliation, reunification, and freedom. Jason and I toddled along this 1.6 kilometer stretch, increasingly heavy bags in hand, and marveled at this cement piece of history beside us.
We crossed over the Oberbaumbrucke—a sandstone, castle-like bridge—to Berlin’s west-side artsy district and found a little place to have dinner. Our eccentric and quite talkative waiter (who used to live in Texas…possible eccentricity connection?) contributed to the two hour dinner and two exhausted travelers by the time they made it home around 11pm.
The next morning, Wednesday, was sadly our last day in beautiful Berlin. Saying goodbye to the Three Little Pigs Hostel, we took our luggage to the train station lockers before navigating our way through Hackescher Markt, searching for the apartment of a certain Gabriel Fawcett—renowned historian, tour guide, and friend of Westmont’s Europe Semester 2007. We found Gabriel just as he was rushing out to meet clients at Berlin’s five star luxury Hotel Adlon. Thus we joined forces with the in-high-demand guide and rapidly chatted as we rapidly walked to his destination. Our interaction was brief, but thoroughly insightful. From Gabriel’s recommendations I headed off to Berlin’s Holocaust museum located underneath the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe and then to the Berlin Wall Museum while Jason visited the Pergamum Museum—one of the most famous museums in the world and the possessor of the Greek Altar to Zeus and King Nebuchadnezzar’s Ishtar Gate (once marking the entrance into Babylon), both fully reconstructed inside the museum walls.
For two and a half hours Jason and I went our separate museum ways. Although I had been the Museum of Tolerance in LA and the Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington DC, walking through the Holocaust exhibits in Berlin was completely different although the memorable subject matter was largely the same. Here I was walking beneath the 2,711 cement blocks above me, knowing that I was engaging in Holocaust memory when I was only a stone’s throw away from both Hitler’s bunker on one side and the Reichstag on the other where Hitler gave the command to commence the Final Solution in 1941 and the subsequent murder of 6 million European Jews. My visit to the Berlin Wall Museum also shared a unique weight since its location beared historical significance as well. Located on Bauerstrasse and at a sight in front of a lengthy Berlin wall segment, the museum devoted much of its information to commemorating the 200 plus people who lost their lives from 1961 to 1989 trying to escape East Germany. In a graphic display of pictures, interviews, and videos, visitors could see and hear first hand videos of people—young and old, male and female, either falling to their deaths or being shot at from nearby East German guard towers. And you look at these images and you read about the victim’s family and friend responses, and you feel more than just sadness. I was angry. An 80 year-old woman was on the list of victims; so was a 2-year old boy. I angrily wondered the conscience level of the Stasi police. Thankfully, the time called me away from the museum since I had to be back to meet Jason for lunch. I hurriedly walked back to the S-bahn station, but has I did, I noticed similar buildings all around me; I was on the same street where so many of the photographs and videos were taken when communism was still in place. It was scary, and I ended up running back to the station, not wanting to be alone with my thoughts, and eagerly awaiting Jason’s accompaniment.
Soon enough, we were reunited, enjoying a delicious lunch of espressos and sandwiches at the Café Einstein. Gabriel recommended this place as one of Berlin’s famous cafes, and although slightly pricey, Jason and I thoroughly enjoyed our last meal in Berlin. After lunch, we quickly headed off the Reichstag to wait in an hour line to climb the colossal glass dome on top and the city’s most well-known symbol of transparency in government. Although the cold wait was tedious, the security stringent, and the elevator ride to the top uncomfortably crowded, the magnificent architecture and views that awaited us were beyond worth it. Jason and I hurried up the spiraled ramp to the dome’s open-aired top, took several pictures of the dome’s glass and mirror-filled interior and hurried back so as not to miss our 4:35 departing train.
We boarded the train and left Berlin’s incredible 4 billion euro train station behind us. We were on our way to the last destination of our journey: Dresden. Halfway between Berlin and Prague, this East German city was the most destroyed city in Europe’s entire World War. With almost 90 percent destroyed in February of 1945 (just a few mere months before the war officially ended) and 80,000 civilians killed by the combined American and British air raid, Dresden was where Jason and I would spend our last day in Europe, and once again be enveloped by such inspiring—although sad—history.

11/09/09

The 9th of November 2009 was a serious blur. It rained intermittently throughout the day, only to turn into a constant pour at the pinnacle of celebration events. From U-bahn station to S-bahn station, Jason and I hopped around the entirety of the inner-city that day. We began our historic morning at the Schloss Charlottenburg—an elegant palace (“its richly decorated interiors are unequaled in Berlin”)—built to serve as the summer home for Sophie Charlotte, the wife of Elector Friedrich III. We then rushed off to my favorite two-storey Starbucks in Berlin’s Hackesher Markt, and walked to the Berliner Dom—a phenomenal Baroque cathedral with a crypt containing all the famed Prussian/German royalty such as Fredrick the Great and Fredrick Wilhem II. On our way to the church Jason purchased an army-green communist hat—red sickle and hammer pin and all—and needless to say, looked ridiculous ;-). Through the rain, I pulled my sick Comrade along until reaching the Zeughaus—home to the German history museum and my most-anticipated museum visit of the trip. Because it was the 9th, the 10 euro admission was free, and Jason and I were swept back in time to the beginning of German settlements in the 600s AD. Luckily the vast museum complex was set up in chronological order, and my quick stride covered 1300 years in ten minutes. This stride suddenly came to an abrupt halt in 1933 and slowed to a snail’s crawl—reaching 1989 an hour and a half later. These years in Germany—and the inspiration for my love of history—really did affect drastically the course of world events. From WWII and the Holocaust to the Iron Curtain and Soviet repression to the building of the EU and the fall of the communism, the 20th century in Germany is a rollercoaster of historical magnormanty.
Although Jason was feeling increasingly sicker, he pressed on with me to the DDR museum (the Deutsche Demokratische Republik Museum) or basically the museum of East Germany under communism. The museum of course was packed, but no better exhibits to view on this momentous day in German history, right? The whole design of the museum was to depict daily life in the East, and its exhibits were all hands-on. From filmed interviews, and secretive written documents, Jason and I were introduced to the world of the Stasi East German Police, uniform socialist living, and waiting ten to fifteen years to receive a car from the government. Truly remarkable. When we left the museum, it was dark, and a mere 90 minutes separated the normal present from an historic future (maybe not exactly with that much gusto, but still the moment was ripe) ;-).
When Jason and I finally reached Ebertstrasse to make the slow climb toward the Brandenburg Gate, it was already raining. The temperature had dropped to below 35 degrees, and wet German and foreigner alike were pushing their way to the crowded front. And yet…. And yet through a sea of multi-colored umbrellas, a television screen I could barely make out, frozen hands and feet, and a very sick friend, I was part of history. Although a mile of crowds separated me from Britain’s Gordon Brown, France’s Nicolas Sarkozy, Russia’s Dmitry Medvedev, and our own Hilary Clinton, I was there. I could hear their voices dubbed over in German as they gave their speeches; I could see the same light show that they were a part of. Surreality. Even the historic figures of Mikhail Gorbechev and Lech Walesa were present, the latter Solidarity leader pushing down the first wall piece, launching the domino-effect. Jason joined the other thousand arms raised up camera in hand to film this momentous event as wall slab hit wall slab and loud screaming and clapping filled the chilled air.
We were part of Berlin’s history. Berlin’s weather, on the other hand, was part of our history, as Jason and I were the coldest in that celebratory hour than we had ever been before. As soon as the last wall piece came crashing down, Jason and I did an about-face, pushing our way through the crowds and toward our hostel. We turned to see the loud and brilliant fireworks bursting above the city, marveled in their close proximity, and continued walking. There would be no beer or dancing for the two tired historians. The cold drove us home early, but our historic journey to Berlin had been successful. 20 days in Germany, Austria, and the Czech Republic we patiently waited (not really a difficult wait lol) to finally witness 20 years of freedom creatively celebrated. And if anyone ever asks me, “Where were you the night of November 9th, 2009?”, I will promptly respond, “This one goes out to the man who minds the miracles, This one goes out to the ones in need, This one goes out to the sinner and the cynical, This ain't about no apology…” And just as I would reach the climax of my singing fiasco with “We weren’t born to follow!”, I would suddenly stop (as the one who asked the question breathes a sigh of relief), for history is not about Bon Jovi singing in 2009, nor is it about David Hasselhoff in ’89. It is about corrective change, marked by great moments such as tearing down walls or toppling totalitarian regimes. It is about taking the time to reminisce and collectively remember those great moments… And that is when I would say, “On the night of November 9th 2009, I was in Berlin with thousands of others commemorating a great moment…”

Braving Berlin

Sadly, I now find myself in Peet’s Coffee in Santa Barbara, CA, staring at my computer screen ready to detail four historic days in the German capital. The sad part is not that I am finally enjoying a delicious (and much missed) cup of Peet’s coffee, but that I am back home, the adventure over, and work to return to. It’s true what they say, that all good things must come to an end, huh?
Instead of remembering the construction and traffic on my way here this morning, or the cold front of only English that greeted me when I opened the door, I will close my eyes and picture myself on the train from Prague to Berlin, arriving in the magnificent Berlin Haupbahnhof—welcomed by four levels of steel and glass, restaurants and stores, and of course German. Yes, a much better picture. And now, let me recount the journey.
After Jason and I checked into the 3 Little Pig’s Hostel (located quite near the action of the November 9th celebrations), we headed off to see the sights of Berlin’s Western centre. On our way, I told him about my conversation with the girl at the front desk. When my affirmative nod answered her question if we were in Berlin for the anniversary celebrations, she said, “I have never seen the city this crowded. I mean, well, maybe for the Berlin Love Parade, but still, it is really bad out there right now”. Not fully knowing the chaos that we were getting ourselves into, Jason and I continued our fast-paced walk through the city’s Kulturforum with its grand Philharmonie and Gemldegalerie. We were also able to walk down Stauffenbergstrasse—the location of the Bendlerblock. Built during the Hitler’s Third Reich, this collection of buildings became the headquarters of the German Army during WWII. It was also the location of where Claus Schenk von Stauffenberg and his conspirators were shot after a failed assassination attempt on Hitler (the plot of Valkyrie).
I then led Jason through Berlin’s beautiful Tiergarten (largest landscaped garden within a city in all of Europe) on our way to the Kaiser-Wilhelm-Gedachtnis Kirche. This church is truly one of Berlin’s unique landmarks. It was destroyed by bombs in 1943, and after the rubble was cleared, only the front tower remained with its bombed out roof. (I still think the best way to describe the roof is to picture an icecream cone turned upside down with the tip broken off). Being inside a bombed out church was really incredible, and brought me back to my last visit to this church as well as to my time spent in Coventry, England, the church there, and the pact made between destroyed churches in England and Germany after the war toward peace and reconciliation since once-enemies were still members of one believing body.
Although it was completely dark by the time we left the church, the night was quite young (as in 5pm), and Jason and I decided to head toward Potsdamer Platz—Berlin’s new financial and business district, and crowded with people. We soon came face-to-face with these huge white wall pieces all hand-painted by various schools and other institutions across Germany. From where we stood we could look down the entire street to the Brandenburg Gate (the symbol of division and reunification between East and West), seeing only the domino-line—a mere fraction of the 1000 piece set that followed the actual line of the Berlin Wall. The slow walk down the street was incredibly inspiring. Each “wall” segment depicted a different scene and message about the fall of communism, the division of a city, the strength and courage of a people, and/or a note of appreciation to the countries involved in the Soviet downfall. On our way to the purple lit Brandenburg Gate (with what seemed to be lasers of white light shooting out from each of the four copper green horses on top), we passed the dark, barely lit 2,711 stone blocks of varying sizes that make up Berlin’s controversial Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe. A brief detour away from our 1989 mindset brought us back to the Holocaust as we walked through the maze of concrete that resembled a mix between graves, cell blocks, or cattle cars depending on one’s perspective, and we remembered another event of Berlin’s darker history. (Historical side note: November 9, 1938 was the date of the Kristallnacht pogrom in Germany or the “Night of Broken Glass” where Nazis and German citizens lashed out on the Jewish community, destroying 101 synagogues, 7,500 Jewish businesses, and arresting 26,000 Jews who were subsequently sent to concentration camps. 91 Jews died of injuries received from physical attacks. The German Chancellor Angela Merkel made sure to somberly mention that anniversary as well when she spoke inspiringly of the anniversary of the wall’s fall.)
After contemplating the past interrupted by the occasional artistic picture, we continued our journey to the gate and its light show. When we arrived, the gate was blocked by security, a concert of sorts about to begin. What we did not realize, was that we had walked into the practice session for the next night’s events. And when the guy on stage started singing, “We weren’t born to follow”, Jason deduced, “he sounds like a German Bon Jovi”. (Only later, when we came across a program for the 9th which reported an 8:30pm showing of Bon Jovi and his “We Weren’t Born to Follow” playing in front of the Reichstag, did we laugh at our deductions). Cold and hungry (but very excited), we left the chaos and found a nice, warm Italian restaurant in Alexanderplatz. A return to the hostel followed, although—too overwhelmed by Berlin—sleep did not….

‘Czech’ing on the weather (and yes, I recognize the lame, and overused pun)

I am not going to lie, it is going to be a little difficult remembering the sights and events that make up our time in Prague, since I am now on a train leaving incredible Berlin and on my way to Dresden. The only thoughts that really occupy my mind right now are the events that transpired over the last three days and my subsequent anxiety to share them. But as the organized blogger must do, I will stick to the order of the trip, and recount our adventure in the Czech Republic.
I broke the news to Jason late last Wednesday night that it was supposed to rain for the next seven days of our trip. At least he purchased an umbrella. Thursday morning was cold and foggy. I was disappointed that upon our arrival in Prague, all Jason would see would be my yellow sweater in front of him instead of the reputed views of Prague’s bridges, castles, and steeples. And yet as we crossed the Austro-Czech border, the brooding mist dissipated into flooding sun. God really wanted Jason to see this splendid city :-).
After locating our hotel (we had this huge room where you could actually climb out on the roof and enjoy Prague’s beauty), we headed out into the city. Walking over the Charles Bridge at sunset was one of life’s truly remarkable moments. From the pink clouds overhead to witnessing the Vitula River split the golden buildings of the old town on one side from the stately Prague Castle shadowing over the red-roofed houses of the other, was beyond picture worthy.
After wondering the cobble-stone streets of the city and going into one after another brightly lit store, Jason and I stumbled upon Prague’s main square, just in time to watch the glockenspiel show when the grand clock struck 5pm, and wooden apostles went around in a circle singing. We then dined at a restaurant I experienced with Carolyn and Nikki when we were in Prague two years ago. The food once again was quite enjoyable—our server’s humor even more so. For instance, when Jason asked for the “check”, he promptly responded, “I am ‘Czech’” and just stood there since we had asked for “him”. We both laughed slightly awkwardly, and of course we asked him if he had used that line before :-).
Although it was late, the city was alive; although Jason and I were exhausted, we walked, and we walked, and we walked. Attraction after attraction passed by our lingering footsteps, until the maze of Prague’s medieval streets confused our directionally prone senses and we were lost. Several map consultations and step retraces later, we finally found our way back to our hotel and the warm comfort of our beds.
The next morning after toast, eggs, and coffee from our lovely hotel, Jason and I set out for Prague Castle (or the slightly airier, wordier description: “the metaphorical and historical throne of the Czech lands”). The building of this colossal structure began in the 9th century, was rebuilt in the 16th century, and it now houses the president of the Czech Republic. Our uphill climb reward was the changing of the guards ceremony that occurs every hour in front of the castle grounds. Our impeccable timing proved itself once again. We witnessed the changing of the guards and toured the remarkable gothic architecture of St. Vitus’s Cathedral (which was also remarkably crowded). Touring the rooms of the old castle was definitely interesting, although not enthralling since my knowledge of and interest in Bohemian history is not much. However, that moderate level of enthusiasm dramatically increased when I discovered that the room I was staring into was where in 1618 Protestant nobles threw two Catholic governors out of the high window—their fall only broken by a large dung heap below (although Catholics claimed they were saved by angels). This incident is declared as the “spark” of the still-talked-about 30 Years War that ravaged Bohemia, Bavaria, and Prussian lands. (I remember learning about that event in my 10th grade European history class because of the seeming hilarity surrounding the war’s origination.) When I saw the “No pictures allowed” sign, I was quite devastated. Yet upon weighing the importance of historical memory vs. rule breaking, I quickly snuck a picture; you know, so that way in 30 years from now, I will be able to remember that room :-). After some handicraft shopping within the castle walls, Jason and I took a much-needed break from the cold and grabbed lattes at Gloria’s Coffee. More walking followed, only to be rewarded by delicious bread bowls of soup and pizza, of course.
We finally arrived at our next destination: Petrin Hill, a large public park above the city. We took a funicular up the hill which of course made watching the steep climb below all the more enjoyable. Once on top, we enjoyed a beautiful walk through the multi-colored forests of Prague, coming across the Strahov monastery which houses the nation’s oldest book collection. We also randomly walked into a Miniature Museum where every art piece was viewed under a microscope. This art consisted of minute copper train cars glued to a strand of hair, or a lock, key, and scissors, glued to the legs of a mosquito. Quite eccentric (especially knowing that someone’s living revolves around creating microscopic every day objects and then gluing them onto various recognizably small things to note the impeccable scale).
Our beautiful walk that afternoon around Petrin Hill ended with an old wooden church and a waterfall, an incredible conversation with my traveling partner, and a delicious two-hour dinner that consisted of chicken in an herb butter sauce, mashed potatoes whipped to perfection, and steamed vegetables. A cinnamon banana bundt cake with caramelized bananas and walnuts on top, white chocolate mouse, surrounded by caramel and dark chocolate drizzle—quite the description mouthful (and several actual mouthfuls :-)) was for dessert.
Jason planned a lot for our second full day in Prague. After a quick coffee at the
Globe bookstore (known for its unique selection of English books), we walked to Wenceslas Square (named after St. Wenceslas—Bohemia’s patron saint, and a sight of historical demonstrations such as Jan Palach setting himself on fire here in 1969 to protest Soviet occupation or the 1989 celebration of the fall of communism). The square also has a reputation to be a targeted pickpocketing area.
Now a small section of our guidebook is devoted to the haunted places of Prague, and when we read that St. James Church—the sight from where a thief attempted to steal jewels, but was stopped when the Madonna statue grabbed the thief, his arm having to be cut off for his release—we decided to go czech it out. A mummified arm still hangs above the door of this church, and its Gothic interior is labeled as Prague’s “creepiest sanctuary”.
Next on the “To do” list: Climb the clock tower of the Old Town Hall. We arrived on the outlook balcony just in time for the noontime trumpet revelry. The sights of the bustling city below satisfied my eyes, the rising music of a distant Dixie land band satisfied my ears, but my stomach reminded me of its needs as well, and I gave in to my latent brotwurst desires upon leaving the clock tower :-)….
And now for the Jewish quarter; with its famous cemetery (the gravestones are layered on top of each other due to lack of available land and anti-Semitism), old and new synagogue, and Jewish museum, it was Jason’s most looked forward to part of our time in Prague. We arrived, only to find everything closed since it was Saturday and the Sabbath. Our misfortune, and one more (big) reason to return.
In the evening of our last night, Jason and I listened to the brilliant musical talent of Handel and Bach in an organ and violin concert at St. Nicholas church. For an hour we listened to this dual instrument concert, the whole time not being able to see the musicians. This meant that I knew the detail of every fresco within my periphery as to avert my concentration away from falling asleep. I left wishing I understood more about music (or more honestly that I cared)…
A brief return to Wenceslas Square to see the Memorial to the Victims of Communism and visit the English-chain Mark & Spencers for my desired McVites purchase, also allowed us to find a tapas restaurant for dinner. Yet with the knowledge of our early morning train ride to Berlin, and a lot of suitcase reorganizing and repacking before us (due to our large contribution to Prague’s economy), we decided to call it an early night. I could not believe that the time had finally coœme for me to return to my favorite city—the epicenter of my 20th century German history interest, and the reason for this trip: Berlin. I was about to be one person out of a hundred thousand participating in the hype of November 9th 2009 in celebrating 20 years of a free, reunited city and nation.

The Adventure Continues: Vienna Part II

On our second full day in Vienna, Jason and I were off to the “let’s show off our wealth” grandeur of Schönbrunn Palace—the Hapsburgs former summer residence. While enjoying the excessively gilded rooms, we took note of the pouring rain outside. Of course it wasn’t raining when we left our hostel—meaning my umbrella was still soundly secured in the front section of my backpack. Unfortunately, the incredible expanse of grounds, fountains, and Baroque villa at the far end of the garden are all part of what makes this palace famous. Thus we had two options: make a run for the underground station—limiting our memory of the beautiful gardens to guidebook pictures, OR purchase an umbrella and traverse those wet pebbled paths. Now when will Jason and I ever be back in Vienna? My point exactly; we chose the latter. One royal blue umbrella purchase later, we were outside—two troopers tiptoeing around growing puddles to become lone (and freezing) tourists amidst several square miles of yellow trees, perfectly-groomed grass, and flower beds.
After our wet morning jaunt, Jason and I deserved a break. What better way to spend it at Café Central—one of the city’s best-known cafes and where Vienna’s intellectuals met at the turn of the 19th century? Done ☺. I mean even Leon Trotsky, exiled to Vienna, plotted the 1917 Russian Revolution here. Jason and I (on the other hand) unsuccessfully plotted how we could not spend more than twenty euros on coffee and pastries. The café, which is actually inside of the Ferstel Palace, was quite grand, the food and drinks quite good, and Jason and I quite satisfied despite the expense.
After the nourishing respite, we proceeded to Karlskirche, a Baroque masterpiece of a cathedral with two gigantic marble columns on the side, and a colossal seagreen dome in the center. Jason settled for guidebook pictures of the inside this time, due to a six Euro entrance fee (I had been able to view the inside two years ago). Located just beyond Karlskirche was Vienna’s Liberation Monument. As we approached its high pillar with a large golden-helmeted soldier on top, we noticed the large Russian characters that engrained the colonnade behind the pillar. I said to Jason that maybe it was made by the Viennese people for the Russians to thank them for liberating their city from the Germans at the end of WWII. Well, I at least had my time period right. Our guidebook explained that when the Russians occupied Vienna after the war (the city was sectioned like Berlin among the allied victors), they built a monument to themselves, their success in defeating Hitler, and in commemorating the Russians who lost their lives. When ownership of Vienna was returned to Austria in 1955, the Russians mandated the monuments permanence. And hence the reason, we saw it today; because Vienna had to keep it—whether or not they wanted to is a different story.
The Belvedere Palace was next on the agenda, and I had to find the perfect entrance: start at the lower Bevledere grounds and walk up to one of the most prized gems of Vienna: the Upper Belvedere. These two palaces together compose one of “the most ambitious building projects ever undertaken by a private individual”—this private individual was Prince Eugen of Savoy, famous for his defeat of the Turks in 1683. Don’t worry; I had to research the above information—obviously my Austro-Hungarian Empire history needs a little polishing lol. (I don’t plan on doing that ‘polishing’ anytime soon either). The upper palace now houses some of the most famous pieces by famed Secessionist artists such as Gustav Klimt, Egon Schiele, and Oskar Kokoschka. I was most excited to show Jason Gustav Klimt’s The Kiss (one of my favorite paintings). Although all of the grand fountains leading up to the main entrance were turned off and drained for the approaching winter season, the view remained phenomenal, and well, the artistic mastery of all the paintings inside spoke for themselves.
After the Belvedere, a quick walk by Vienna’s Spittelberg section (cobblestone streets and handicraft stores), the Museum Quartier, and the Volkstheater (known as the “People’s Theater” and established as a counterpart to the imperial Burgtheater), landed us at a high-end tavern called the Einstein for dinner. Do to the combined breakfast-lunch around 11am, we were starving by five, and both gave in to the cholesterol-increasing menu items that make Vienna’s cuisine famous. Jason’s Berner Würstel (two large sausages wrapped in bacon with French fries) and my Wiener Schnitzel (although I got turkey instead of pork cutlets) with potato salad definitely made up for our lack of distinctive meals earlier.
In all, Vienna truly was a blur of excitement. With the first snowfall, even the city itself was on the move. Everywhere we went, we were constantly reminded of the Christmas season to come, as workers around the city set up wooden stalls for the famous Kristkindelmarkts, strung lights, or hauled in Christmas trees. Although Jason and I saw, toured, and photographed the important sights, the traditional Christmas displays—simply part of German and Austrian culture—reminded me of a different type of trip I hope to take one day, and a place to where I must return.

Onwards to Prague!

A Viennese Adventure: Part I

Vienna was a blur. A literal blur of snow flurries and icy rain combined with rapid cobblestone walking, extended museum visits, 40 euros worth of coffee and hot chocolate drinks, and the ultimate umbrella purchase, all contributed to 2 ½ days in Vienna that seemed a mere 2 ½ hours…. And yet in those dream-like two days, we saw Vienna. Yes, the grand sights such as the Hofburg Palace, St.Stephan’s Cahedral, the Staatsoper (the opera house), and the Albertina, were either viewed quickly from the outside or from the warm comfort of a nearby café.
Soon after our arrival on Monday, Jason and I immediately went to the Hundertwasserhaus, an architectural masterpiece of sorts, elevated to the Top 10 list of things to see in Vienna by our guidebook. Friedensreich Hundertwasser—a flamboyant Austrian artist, designed the ‘haus’, which consisted of both the interior and intricate exterior of an apartment complex. The building is colored reds, blues, oranges, and whites, with a variety of ceramic tiles inlaid on the outside to depict the size of each apartment. Ceramic pillars and onion spires are also part of this unusual dwelling.
After our little Alice in Wonderland adventure (I really felt that was where I was), we took the U-bahn to the heart of Vienna: Stephansdom. Although claimed as “Vienna’s most loved landmark and Austria’s finest Gothic edifice”, a large portion of the church was under construction, and a nearby group of breakdancers quickly caught our eyes instead. After watching the quite impressive performance (and after a few H&M purchases), Jason toured the Haus der Musik (an interactive museum that deals with the digitalization of sound), while I ran around the cold, white stone streets of old town Vienna. Amidst the high end shopping stores, I was able to observe mass at Stephansdom, find the Hofburg Palace in all its brilliance (and walk besides the Roman ruins preserved in front of the palace), see the Augustinerkirche where I went to church with my Europe Semester group two years ago, and silently and thoughtfully marvel at the Albertinaplatz statues built to commemorate the victims of war (in particular the Holocaust) and fascism. I then returned to find Jason, briefly took him on the route I previously walked, and then to dinner.
After our meal, we headed towards the Neues Rathaus (the new court house) to see it brilliantly illuminated at night. We sat on the steps of the Burgtheater (one of the most important theaters in the German-speaking world) and marveled at the lit scene in front of us. Spying two steeples in the distance, my curiosity continued to pull Jason through the cold until we reached what is known as the Votivkirche—a ornately built sandstone church located on the edge of Sigmund Freud Park. Yet as soon as the pictures started, so did the rain, and we made a beeline to the nearby station and returned to the hostel.
The next morning, I opened the curtains of our room to see snow falling from the sky. I immediately yelled at Jason, “Look Outside!”
“It’s snowing”, he said in a matter-of-fact tone, and I tried to calm my excitement knowing the native Alaskan was simply being revisited by the familiar ☺.
Coming out of the U-bahn station that morning, I felt like a little gopher checking the weather, and then scurrying through the snow with Jason, my gopher friend, to Haas & Haas, a quaint tea room, for breakfast. The breakfast was idyllic: I sat looking up through the window to see snow lightly falling on the gothic towers of Stephansdom, while enjoying my frühstücktoast (breakfast toast) which consisted of a big piece of toast with a circle cut out of the bread, a friend egg in the hole, all over slices of bacon. Combined with Viennese coffee, it was quite the scrumptious breakfast ☺.
We were then on our way to the Kunsthistorisches Museum, where our eyes were privileged by the artistic delights of Peter Breughel the Elder (and his Peasant Wedding), Peter Paul Rubens’ fleshy nudes, Madonna of the Cherries by Titian, and some self portraits of Rembrandt, to merely name a few. The forty or so rooms of the museum, the same slow-pace walking and constant observance (don’t want the museum guards to think you are disinterested), and continuous effort to quiet my clicking boots with each step, made me a little weary. Yet after traversing the frozen, snow-blown streets of Vienna to view the Secession building, the Schiller monument, and the Burggarten of the Hofburg Palace, I would have done anything to be back clunking around an art museum in my boots, just to be warm. Our outdoor frozen brigade continued round the palace until reaching the Neue Burg—the palace’s large colonnade (now housing the national library and a few museums), but where in 1938, Hitler stood on the balcony and announced Nazi takeover of Austria. We walked though the magnificent marble and gold-plated architecture of the palace courtyards and made our way to the Café Demel (famous for its cakes that used to be made for the Empress Sisi) and enjoyed hot chocolate and espresso, deciding not to spend 10 euros for a small slice of Sisi’s favorite cakes ☺.
Next on the agenda: the Jewish district and the Misrachi Haus (a little museum that displays the remains of an old synagogue discovered on site as well as information about Vienna’s Jewish community before and after the Holocaust). Despite the advantage of a map (yet unaided by the area construction and of course unrelenting snowfall), we passed it twice, and our numb fingers and toes had the louder voice, and we went back to the hostel.
Now, Jason and I were about to embark on a pretty unique part of our trip. We were going to go to dinner at the home of the Warners who are missionaries in Vienna (and supported by Bethany in Thousand Oaks). I met them when I was in 5th grade, and had emailed them when I knew we were coming to the city. All I wanted was the opportunity to talk to Mr. Warner about his job with Barnabas International and working with educating future pastors or missionaries in former communist countries. Instead, Jason and I were blessed by being welcomed into their home. Thus a U-bahn and a Schnell-bahn ride later, we arrived on a tiny platform on the outskirts of the city. Although it was dark, cold, and the ground sprinkled with snow, we only had a couple of streets to walk before reaching the house. As we walked out of the station, a random guy with an umbrella looked at us and said “Howdy” (or at last that is what I though he said). Jason and I nodded, kept walking, only to be resummoned a few steps later with, “Are you Holly?” To which I replied, “Mr. Warner?” Now I haven’t seen Mr. Warner since I was 11, and since we weren’t expecting him to meet us, you can understand the overlooked “Howdy” ☺. Anyways, after a warm-hearted greeting, he led Jason and I to his home where Mrs. Warner had a delicious dinner prepared for us and we all enjoyed lively conversation with them and two of their children. Quite the delightful evening ☺.

To be continued….

If Mozart and Maria von Trapp shared a meal…

After awkwardly lugging our suitcases through the dining car of the train—desperately trying not to hit the table legs and knock over the crystal wine glasses—Jason and I made it to the second class car, taking a seat next to an old German woman who was most likely less-than-thrilled with the bundled, luggage-bearing Americans now sitting next to her. But here I am, riding the train away from the snowy Alps and the beautiful town of Salzburg, on my way to Vienna—the imperial capital of art, music, and culture. With the journey ahead more than two hours long, no better time than to reflect on my visit to Salzburg and the weekend past.
We arrived in Salzburg from Munich early Friday afternoon, and made our way to the beautiful Hotel Kasererbrau in the heart of the Altstadt. Jason and I were in complete awe of the rooms, the delicious breakfast buffet with unlimited espresso, and the attached Italian restaurant and movie theater. It would be a lie to say I wasn’t the least bit giddy.
Now, Jason was in charge of planning the “to-do” list for this city. I followed him to the Residenzplatz and then to Domplatz, scanning the city hall, the huge Baroque church dedicated to St. Rupert, and the Residenz. The city’s consistent Baroque and Rococco architectural style (mostly designed by renowned Italians), gave the city the name “little Rome”. In fact, the Church owned the city until the early 1800s when it was finally given back to Bavaria. Looking back, Jason and I really took advantage of the Italian influence, since four of our meals were at Italian restaurants.
We strolled the main shopping streets, came across open-air markets with stands selling everything from brotwurst to flowers to hand-painted, wooden toys. I quickly realized two themes that dominate Salzburg. The first has been around since the 17th century: Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. Mozart statues grace the main squares, and Mozart busts, key chains, and chocolates grace the souvenir shops. The second has been around since 1964: the Sound of Music. From von Trapp family dishes to avid fans singing (and jumping) “Do, a deer a female deer; Re, a drop of golden sun…” up the Mirabell Garden steps, it is quite obvious that although winter is quickly stealing the leaves off all the trees, the hills will always be alive here (nerdy pun intended).
Jason and I fully exploited these two themes. We were able to see Mozart’s birthplace, the house where he wrote his first compositions, and the church (the renowned St. Peters) where he performed his first concert. We indulged in round chocolate-amaretto candies called Mozart Balls, toured Mozart’s theater in the Festival Houses, and took a picture next to his statue. On Saturday, I began singing quite early “Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens, bright copper kettles and warm, woolen mittens, silver white winters that melt into spring, these are a few of my faaaavorite things”, much to Jason’s annoyance I am sure ☺. Anyways, we were off to take Panorama Tour’s Sound of Music excursion. Herded onto a bright red bus—the von Trapp family from the film painted on both sides (singing of course, with Maria in the lead)—with thirty or so other Sound of Music fans, we embarked on a four and a half hour adventure through Salzburg and the surrounding towns. The whole point of course was to see all the important places that were in the movie, learn more about the film itself, and of course sing along to all of our favorite songs playing through the bus’s stereo system (which was quite good). While I was spouting off the order of the songs, singing “Edel Weiss… Edel Weiss…God bless my homeland forever….”, and practicing my yodeling, Jason was only slightly bemused. For instance, when I sang, “I am sixteen, going on seventeen…”, Jason jokingly interjected, “Oh no, I am here in Europe with a minor”; he has to have his fun somehow ☺. Through the course of the tour, we saw the lake where the children all fell into the water, the trees they were all hanging from in their curtain clothes, the home that was used for the von Trapp family, Nonnberg abbey, the Mirabell Gardens, St. Matthews church in Mondsee where the Baron and Maria were married, and of course the infamous gazebo where our favorite, oh-so-romantic songs (voice slightly sarcastic) were sung. Jason and I had some delicious hot chocolate and apple strudel with vanilla sauce while we had a break in Mondsee, which I almost forgot to mention (and you should know by now that I always have to detail the “essen” or “eating” part of our journey).
The sights of interest, an extremely witty guide, and a lively atmosphere all made for an incredible tour (even with the romanticism-diminishing knowledge that the real von Trapp family never hiked over the mountains of Austria into neutral Switzerland, but instead merely caught a train to London, and then a boat to the U.S. Oh well.) On Sunday, Jason and I also toured the outdoor amphitheater where the “von Trapp Family Singers” made their debut and won the festival. We also walked up to the abbey, and took pictures at the gate. I wanted to pull the “We’re here to see Fraulein Maria” line, but Jason surmised that wouldn’t be something they hadn’t heard before.
On a different note than the exhausted Sound of Music theme, a highlight of our stay in Salzburg was early Sunday morning when we climbed to the Festung Hohensalzburg, or the large, white castle sitting atop the mountain above the city. A clear, crisp morning welcomed our arrival at the top, and we looked out to see the snow-capped Alps on one side, and sleepy Salzburg on the other. The fortress itself was quite informative (or at least it really would have been if I was fluent in German). Entire sections of the structure were dedicated to a WWI museum, dealing specifically with the Austro-Italian front. The rest of the museum was devoted to the history of the fortress, its 600-year plus building add-ons (each new architectural style depending on the preference of the arch prince-bishop ruling), various rooms, its torture chamber, and marionette theater museum, (which for Jason, with his real fear of these creepy marionette puppets, was a torture chamber).
Jason truly did a fantastic job researching this city. His tour choice, predetermined walking routes, and general knowledge of Salzburg proved to me that it was time to cut those puppet strings, and let the first-time traveler do his own exploring ;-). (Please don’t read into that too much) ☺.

Neu-schwan-stein: more than just a “New Swan Stone”

The much-anticipated tour to the famous Disneyland castle, Neuschwanstein, was finally upon us. Jason and I rose early and shuffled off to McDonalds for breakfast. (Jason had previously quieted my caloric fears, reminding me we would be walking off our breakfast over the course of the day). After a way-too-good sausage and egg Mcmuffin, we made our way to the train station to meet with New Munich Tours and our interesting guide Claire who would be energetically (and slightly eccentrically) detail the history of King Ludwig II and the building of his castle in the late 19th century. This young king who was declared insane and unfit to rule by his psychologist, who was obsessed with Wagner and his operas (and dedicated his castle to him), who was most likely homosexual, who talked to imaginary guests and invited his horse to dinner, and who—at a young age—was mysteriously found dead in a lake (with this psychologist)—the cause of death still unknown, was the subject of conversation for the next ten hours. His intriguing life and history provided our journey’s entertainment, although my grande Starbucks, the jostling couple hours on the train, and my desperate need to go to the bathroom, also filtrated my mind between the 19th century Bavarian history lesson.
We were in the foothills of the Bavarian Alps soon enough—surrounded by green pastures, red-roofed farming villages, and autumn-hit trees. After a quick lunch in the town of Schwangau (the economical Jason and I enjoyed our pre-packed peanut butter and jelly), we collectively walked to the trailhead to begin our upward climb to Neuschwanstein. Nestled among the trees and on a foundation of solid rock, the pristinely white castle juts out of the ground, and there truly is something magical about it. Inspired by medieval castles, Ludwig, whose grandiose architectural projects became an outlet for his royal problems, built Neuschwanstein in 186 , and only resided in it 114 days before the Bavarian government brought him back to Munich on the grounds of insanity.
The walk was breath-taking (in both the figural and literal sense; the sun danced through the golden trees and a cool breeze stirred the fallen leaves. Unfortunately that was not the only movement on our walk; a steady stream of sweat made its way down my back, reminding me that for the first time since arriving in Germany, I had on too many layers). When we reached the top, we had an incredible view of the surrounding countryside, a crystal clear lake, little villages, and the Alps behind. I think the thought “I can’t believe I am here right now” crossed my mind more this afternoon than on any previous part of the trip. After multiple dream-like photographs, we entered the castle for our tour. The whole interior is dedicated to Wagnerian operas as every room is decorated thematically to describe a different opera. The paintings and intricate woodwork on all of the walls are brilliant. A common image throughout the castle is the swan—the symbol of the Bavarian government. Although the castle itself is quite large, only 1/3 of the rooms were completed before King Ludwig died, so the tour—although great—was quite short.
After the tour, Jason and I walked to Marienbrücke—a narrow suspension bridge 190 meters high connecting two mountain ledges—which offered an incredible view of the castle in its entirety. The planks creaked beneath us as the fifty or so tourists were jammed together in midair, and I thought about how mom would not have enjoyed this part of the journey ;). The sun was getting lower in the sky, and it was time to head back.
The return ride back to Munich was uneventful besides changing trains three times—all which were slightly crowded. We arrived back in Munich late in the evening, and enjoyed yet another peanut butter and jelly—Hey, the tour was quite pricey, we have to save money somewhere, right? ☺

The town of “Little Monks” or München:

Jason and I found a great tour company here in Munich called Munich Walk Tours. Every day for the past fours days we have adventured on some unique tour—all which have captured the essence and history of Munich and Bavaria. After checking into our hostel, which is closely situated to the Haupbahnhof and also quite near the center of town, Marienplatz, the Frauenkirche, and Munich’s famous Rathaus and its Glockenspiel (where at 11am, noon, and 5pm, wooden dancers at the top of the clock tower spin around and chime music—quite the entertainment for the first time visitor ☺), we headed toward the meeting place of our Munich Walking Tour (all in English). (Whew, that was a very long sentence). Our tour guide Ralph was great. He is German, learned his English in Australia (excellent accent), and took us all to the main sights of downtown Munich-- from the historical Residenz (which housed the Wittelbach dynasty) to the fashionable Maximilianstrasse (a German ‘Champ Elysees’ equivalent). After our tour, Jason and I (or more so Jason) finally indulged in some ethnic Bavarian cuisine at Weisses Brauhaus. Jason’s five-sausage pile surrounded by potatoes and sauerkraut was anything but stomach settling. (Although he loved every last grease-processed bite.) After dinner, we headed down the street to the infamous Hofbräuhaus—the most famous beer hall in Munich, maybe even Germany for that matter. While the one liter glass mug of their house beer and leiderhosen-wearing band singing traditional Bavarian music are enough reasons for the typical tourist to venture here, Jason and I came for the history. (I promise! Ok ok, their beer is part of their history, right?) It was in this place where Hitler stood before two thousand people in 1920 and introduced his theories of a united and expanded Germany, of Jews being at fault for German war failure, and of anti-communist political thought.
The next morning in Munich was beautiful. We had a quick breakfast at Starbucks located right next to the Hofbräuhaus (I wonder if Hitler would have been a fan of caramel macchiatos, as I am once again drinking one). However, we learned in our Third Reich tour today, that Hitler took advantage of expressing his political ideologies in beer halls because so many men were drunk and willing to support his causes. I am sure that if the members of these political societies were drinking coffee instead of beer, Hitler would have faced more opposition to his Nazi party. (Alright, enough with the historical banter).
The famous Residenz was our next stop. This impressive complex was a maze of golden rooms, marble columns, and masterful works of art. Still under construction from WWII, we were only able to view “some” of the rooms. The forty or so we saw were plenty to formulate this sense of grandeur still existing despite the end of the Wittelsbach dynasty. The French gardens of the palace were beautiful as well—golden trees lined the entire walkway, with a sea green roof gazebo in the center. After the Residenz, we climbed the tower of St. Peter’s church and looked out on the bustling city. Church steeples dotted the streets every square mile or so, and on the distant horizon, the Alps were barely visible. Looking at the city from this vantage point, it is hard to believe that so much of it was destroyed by the British RAF in WWII. Reaching the bottom of the 360-step climb (the six-year-old in front of us counted every step in German—quite annoying although I do recall the dreihundertsechszig step somewhere quite near the top), we were excited about the sandwiches we had previously purchased and enjoyed our lunch at St. Mary’s Column—directly beneath the Glockenspiel. Also meeting at this locale was our Dachau tour group. Although I had researched transportation directions and was ready to commit to the emotionally-draining afternoon of visiting a former concentration camp, Jason and I decided a qualified Dachau guide would not only get us there and prevent our transportation-related arguments, he would also be quite more knowledgeable and informative.
After visiting Auschwitz two years ago and writing a serious research paper which in part dealt with the camp, I did not know what to expect visiting Dachau. I remember the void I felt as our bus drove away from Auschwitz, and I wondered if feelings of emptiness and anger would revisit me. In all, Dachau was a very different experience. It was quite educational, as I learned that Dachau was the archetype camp—the first one ever built back in 1933. Its first prisoners were only political, and Hitler and the Nazi party propagandized Dachau to simply be a reeducation facility. By the time of the Final Solution in 1941 and through the war’s end, Dachau was turned into a death camp. While the Nazis recorded only 32,000 people perishing there, that number is significantly higher since it does not include those the Soviet political prisoners who were murdered, the thousands who died on the death marches directly after leaving Dachau, nor the prisoners who died from disease and malnutrition immediately following liberation.
As we drove away, I found myself thinking more of the little town of Dachau (a settlement older than Munich) and what the concentration camp did to the identity of its people after the war. We learned that many people thought about changing the town’s name, especially since many expectant mothers still travel the twenty minutes to Munich to give birth just so their child won’t have the name ‘Dachau’ on any if his/her identification papers. Yet it was decided that changing the name could be connected with running from an undesirable past, and it was more important for them to memorialize the camp, keep their town’s name, and show the rest of Europe and the world, that they would face their past collectively and deal with the repercussions of former actions.
Returning from Dachau into Munich at nightfall led to a walk around the city, the finding of a small grocery store (which would provide for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for the next several days), and a little pizza place for a quick dinner. Early night, getting ready for a big day in the morning.

‘Függerei’ng Things Out

So I am now sitting in a rather large coffee shop in downtown Munich, and about to rapidly attempt to describe the last few days in the twenty or so minutes I have before the shop closes (as great as this city is, everything closes early unless it is a restaurant or a Brauhaus). Besides eating daily copious amounts of cheese, the last few days have been quite varied. So back to Rothenburg, and where our journey left off.
Jason and I had an early start Sunday morning—successfully out of our hotel by 8am, which left us on the deserted cobblestone streets of the town. (We would come to find out a little later that it was in fact 7am when e were out and about since Daylight Savings Time had occurred the night before). Our bad ;). We ate a delicious breakfast at a local bäckerei, and then toured the town. Although it was drizzling slightly, it was absolutely beautiful. We came to a point where we could look at the far wall of the town with all the red-roofed houses safely tucked behind, and then downward to the lazy Tauber River ambling below. We then proceeded to make our way to the town center in order to climb the courthouse tower (which our map claimed to have the best views). Although the narrow flight of old wooden stairs was slightly unnerving, the view was breathtaking. The grand stone gate towers that marked the four entrances into the city appeared as mere legos—the town itself a child’s medieval play set.
Yet before the rain got too heavy, Jason and I were checked out of the hotel, and lugging our suitcases once more to some distant train station. We did notice, however (and to our satisfaction), several buses unloading hordes of Japanese tourists with bright pink and green umbrellas; we left Rothenburg in the nick of time. The next several hours led to the before-mentioned realization of “No Sunday traveling, bitte”, as all of the trains we were supposed to take to reach Augsburg that night were either hours apart or not coming at all. Oh the woes of ignorance. But onwards….
Well we finally made it to our hotel in Augsburg (by far the shadiest place we have stayed in thus far). Of the major things to see in Augsburg, Maximilianstrasse—supposedly the most beautiful street in all of southern Germany—was the first on my list. (Hold that thought…. I am currently being reminded that the coffee shop I am in is now closed…..
……Ok, I am back. From where, you ask? The McDonald’s next door. Probably the most tacky place to compose a blog, but desperate times call for certain measures that I would never do back home ☺). When Jason and I finally reached Maximilianstrasse, it was pouring rain. We were cold, wet, hungry, and tired, and needless to say, Maximilianstrasse did not appear to be the most beautiful street. And because we arrived on a Sunday, it didn’t help that everything was closed. However, our late dinner (although expensive) improved the testy situation. As I indulged in a delicious Quiche Lorraine with a glass of local Chardonnay, Jason’s stronger taste buds ventured to try the breaded pumpkin with risotto and a hearty wheat beer. The rain did not lift after dinner, and we decided to call it an early night.
The next morning, we shared a scrumptious breakfast of freshly baked croissants with strawberry jam, Müsli with sour yogurt (a typical European dish), fruit, and coffee. We sat at a window that overlooked the courthouse, the neighboring church, and the central Emperor Augustus fountain. Halfway through breakfast the sun brilliantly (and finally) came out, and we were greeted to a quasi-warm morning. After breakfast we went to the Függerei (the world’s oldest social settlement), and by far my favorite part of Augsburg. Now the history lesson (I know, you have been impatiently waiting for this to come). Well wait no longer ☺: Where our hotel and the Függerei are situated is in the Jakober section of town which was the most destroyed section of Augsburg after WWII. The name comes from Jakob Függer, who founded the Függerei in 1521. The complex was set up to serve the needy citizens of Augsburg, and the apartments are still in use by the poor today. During the Second World War, the Függerei housed an air-raid shelter, and many of the buildings—including the Catholic church onsite—were destroyed. Jason and I were able to tour the actual bomb shelter and learn of the destruction and reconstruction of Augsburg during the war along the way.
I happily left the Függerei complex—caffeinated from my WWII morning fix, and returned to the hotel to (also happily) checkout. Immediately upon walking to catch the tram, I began to use the fun word “Függerei” whenever I had the chance. Jason and I were not nervous about catching the 40 minute, non-stop train ride to Munich because we had ‘függerei’d (figured) out Germany’s rail system ☺. Hier kommt die Deutschbahn!

Our own Nuremberg Trials

I am currently standing in what is a German 7 Eleven looking out on dreary day, Jason’s tired face, and the empty station of some random town in the middle of nowhere called Treuchtlingen. We have to wait an hour for a different train to take us to Augsburg, and through the rough course of the morning (2 previous train rides and a bus), I have realized my negligence in not researching Sunday travel (aka, Don’t do it.) Yet with the spare time, and Jason looking up German words, his concentration broken up occasionally by a sip from his KellerBier, I have once again decided to write and detail the journey of yesterday. From Würzburg we headed to Nuremberg, where I was eagerly awaiting our visit to the Dokumentatioszentrum Reichsparkeitagsgelände (or the unfinished building constructed in 1933 to be a venue for National Party gatherings, and the locale of the 1946 Nuremberg Trials) and to Zeppelin Field, where Hitler had his architect Albert Speer model his design after the Greek Altar of Zeus—marbled steps and pillars all included, and the location of the Nuremberg rallies. Yet before we could reach these anticipated destinations, we encountered more transportation woes, hence the entitlement of this blog “Our own Nuremberg Trials”. Although we reached the city with no problem, the time from arriving on the platform to walking into the museum (so yes, we did finally make it there ☺) was disastrous. First, we had to store our luggage in lockers at the station, and after our first failed attempt (where I lost 4 euros), we were finally successful. We were supposed to take the city’s S-bahn to our final destination yet could not find its location in the train station nor which line to take. After some arguing (yes, this is a truthful blog), we decided to try our luck with the tram system. To end the frustration and the growing animosity between us, Jason opted to pay the twenty euros round trip for a cab ride. Although a kind gesture, my better judgment said no, and taking my guidebook and pointing to where we needed to go, a tram operator finally pointed us toward the right direction.
The museum was great. Although all in German, they have audio-tours available for free in English that guided us back in time to the rise of Hitler, the Nazi Party and the SS, and into WWII and the Holocaust. The last few rooms of the museum were devoted to the Nuremberg Trials, and I finally took out my camera to capture the books and tapes of what transpired as well as pictures of the 12 leading Nazi commanders after their executions. Fascinating. After the museum, we took a stroll through a quiet park and ended in front of Zeppelin Field. The “field” itself is now a soccer stadium, and as Jason and I looked up to the marbled structure where Hitler once stood and thousands of soldiers and Third Reich supporters heiled their Führer, our ears received the not-so-historical-treat of ‘Apple-Bottom Jeans, Boots with the Fur’ blasted from the nearby stadium speakers. I stood where Hitler stood that day, and I myself gave a small “Heil” (although Jason would say it wasn’t very subtle).
After leaving Nuremberg, and several more train transfers later, we reached the sleepy town of Rothenburg ob der Tauber, just after nightfall. Now Rothenburg is a German gem to say the least, located on the Romantic road and still gated by medieval walls with cornerstone gate towers. The cluster of houses, shops and bakeries (still maintained from the haphazard planning of the medieval ages) were like lit-up pastel gingerbread houses. After checking into our hotel (Bavarian style with window gables and all), Jason and I set to explore the city although all of the shops were closed. We ate dinner at a cute little Italian place just off the main square, and although we successfully ordered in German, once the waiter found out we were Americans, spoke to us in English the rest of the time. Even my “Zahlen, bittle” (To pay please) was met with “Just one moment” from our waiter. Oh well, can’t say we didn’t try ☺.

Wunderbar Würzburg

Compared to the wiles of previous travel days, our journey to Würzburg am Main (Würzburg on the Main River) was uneventful. We arrived and had a short walk from the train station to our hotel (although it might as well have been a hostel, as the accommodations—in large part due to the weird seafood scent percolating from the restaurant below—were definitely sub par. No urging was needed to encourage us to leave as Jason and I left quickly left to explore the city. The first place of interest was Würzburg’s infamous Residenz. This colossal palace structure (referred to by Herr Rick Steves as the “Versailles of Germany”) was commissioned by two prince-bishops between 1720 and 1744. Inside, Baroque gilding wrapped the marble pillars and archways in gold and the world’s largest fresco by the renowned Italian artist Giovanni Tiepolo graced the ceiling vault of the main staircase. After wandering the halls and appreciating the artistic mastery of each room, we proceeded outside into the misty fog where we found the beautiful garden practically empty—simply waiting for its ivy arboretum, grand stone staircases, and tree-line walkways to be captured by the precision of Jason’s camera.
We left the Residenz and proceeded to a unique pair of steeples in the distance. Along the way, we passed a World War Memorial Site (seriously by chance—I think it is just that I am a walking WWII magnet), which displayed six stone crosses with the years 1939 through 1945 listed on each one. In the center was a sculpture depicting six massive German soldiers carrying the coffin of a fallen Bruder. Needless to say, I was quite excited by the find.
Without a map (I know—huge improvement since the days of Europe Semester), we ambled around town, capturing the Dom St. Killian, the Neumunster-Kirche, and the Markt Square by camera memory and of course our own.
After a delicious dinner, we came across the Rathaus (or City Hall), and what began as a simple picture taking exercise turned into a Zweiteweltkrieg (World War II) history lesson as we discovered a small well-lit room and entered inquisitively. A three-dimensional model of the city’s destruction of 1945 lay before us. From the graphic picture-covered walls, we learned that the bombing raid on Würzburg which occurred on March 16th 1945, only lasted 20 or so minutes yet destroyed 80 percent of the town. Based on the pictures and the information provided (or at least what we could ascertain from German), the restorative effort that went into the post-war skeleton so that it would resemble its pre-war grandeur was phenomenal. Another hour of night exploring brought us back to our hotel and to our beds.
Jason and I woke from our slumber, to a misty morning in Würzburg, but ready to tackle the morning (after a latte macchiato and a croissant, of course ☺). We had to take on the grand Festung Marienberg which sits on loftily on the hill above the river Main surrounded by medieval stone walls and vineyards (I know, a stark contrast, right?). Ok, brief history lesson: in 707AD, a church was first built on this site, and the construction of the fortress commenced in 1201. It served as the residence of the prince-bishops until 1719, and today it remains a famous landmark and houses museum. After a slightly steep climb, we were greeted by the medieval fortress, its garden walking paths, and an impressive view of the city sleeping below. Walking back over the Alte Mainsbrücke—and old bridge with large stone statures erected in each nook—I was quaintly reminded of Prague and the journey still to come.

Das ist alles für heute!

Hurrying to Heidelberg

Well before I commence the telling of a great day in Heidelberg, I have to tell of a horrendous night. Once again, the faster these next sentences are read, the more stressful the situation becomes even to the reader. So here we go. We arrived by boat in Bingen at 8pm and in the dark had to locate the train station. Once found, we were supposed to take a train from Bingen to Heidelberg (according to Rail Europe). No trains to Heidelberg. After confusedly asking for help, we had to take a train to Mainz. From Mainz we had to take an additional train to Darmstadt where in three minutes and to change platforms to catch the last train of the night to Heidelberg. That train put us into Heidelberg a little after midnight. Now for the Heidleberg Bus system. We were told to take Bus 33. Looking at the map, the Karlsplatz stop was the closest to our hostel. Yet after 20 minutes of bus driving and the city of Heidelberg behind us, we realized that the bus line did not stop there and all of a sudden we were pulled into a 45 minute loop, and we desperately tried to ask our German-only-speaking bus driver for help. He dropped us of somewhere near the vicinity of our hostel on the way back and pointed us in the right direction. The streets were completely empty and most of the buildings dark. We finally found our hostel, by now it was almost 1:00 am, and it was closed. Although we banged on the door, nothing. An older man on his bike road by and asked if we needed help. We explained the situation, he suggested us taking a taxi to the youth hostel across the river, which was open 24 hours. I was already on the verge of tears, exhausted, and did not want to pay for another hostel when we already paid for the one we had. As we were walking away, a man with his dog approached, asking us if we were looking for a place to stay. We said we were supposed to be staying at the Sudpfanne Hostel, but we were so late that it had already closed for the night. He said (in English—yay) that he was the owner of the Sudpfanne. My fervent silent prayers ever since the painful bus ride were answered. Gino, the hostel owner, unlocked the hostel, retrieved keys for us, and then carried my suitcase to our room, which was located in a cute building a few blocks away. Definitely believe God sent Gino to us. We went back to the main building twice during our stay in Heidelberg to look for him and say thank you, but both times, no Gino. I told Jason that of course he wouldn’t be there since he was probably an angel ;-). (I am only partly kidding). Ok, ok, enough of the rambling..

Waking up the next morning to get free (delicious) coffee and a butter croissant from the Café below our bedroom was a great start to what turned into a perfect day. The weather in Heidelberg was freezing, but the sun was out and it was beautiful. After viewing the magnificent Heigelsgeistkirche (located about 50 steps from our front door), we proceeded to the Alte Brücke and took some incredible pictures (or at least every picture where Jason and my cameras share the same subject matter, his pictures will be the incredible ones. Stupid Rebel XSI lol) All we did that day was walk the whole city of Heidelberg—from viewing the steeples and stone facades of the Jesuitkirche and Peterskirche (oh, the word “Kirche” is “church” in German) to walking the Hauptstrasse and making a few purchases (I bought boots!!!) to climbing the forest-laden hill behind the Altstadt (old town) and reaching the infamous Heidelberg Castle for a perfect view of the entire city at sunset. After a delicious dinner at Schmidt’s, where I consumed Estragonmistkratzerle (trying saying that ten times fast… or even once, for that matter) which ended up being white chicken and baby mushrooms sautéed in a creamy tarragon sauce over pasta and was delicious, Jason and I went on a long walk on the other side of the river where we were given a beautiful view of the cityscape at night. All said, that day rectified the previous night ☺.

Guten Abend everyone!

Wir sind hier!

Daily Insight: A Kännchen means a pot of coffee. It is for one person. You do not ask for an extra Tasse (cup). Jason and I shared one cup.

Well at last, I am sitting in our hostel room looking out the window and I can see the two bluely lit towers of the Cologne Cathedral—known as the “most famous Gothic structure in all of Germany” (or at least according to my guidebook). Either way, I am finally at a breathing point in one of the longest day(s) (the whole loss of a day as quite confused me) I have had in a long time. I want to briefly recall what has transpired, because as expected today was far from uneventful.
To begin with, 11 hours of plane travel ended us in Zurich where we were immediately bombarded at the airport with gourmet chocolate, Swiss watches, high-end wine bars, and fully furnished waiting areas with multiple electrical outlets, all in a very clean and modern airport. I, on the other hand, took it to mean that the secretive echelon of Swiss bank accounts really does exist ;-).
We left Zurich for Dusseldorf after a few hour lay over. I realized that every time entering or exiting the plane, the steward or stewardess would greet me “Hello” or Thank you, Goodbye”. Yet whenever they saw Jason, every time they said “Guten Abends” or “Vielen Dank” or “Auf Weidersehen”. We decided that he just looks more European (or at least more German than I ever will). We met a helpful young German-American on the plane named Patrick who advised us on the direction of the S-bahn station. Jason helped me realize (after the fact) that the train we were supposed to be on just left, so we waited another half hour to catch the next one. My memories of Dusseldorf are thus confined to the airport, the Mercedes Outlet, and the noises and smells of the main station.
Upon arriving in Cologne a little before 10pm, we exited the station only to come face to face with the afore mentioned infamous cathedral. Although it was no more than 40 degrees outside with the wind-chill factor, Jason and I did not go directly to our hostel that was about a mile away, but instead ran around the main square, snapping picture after picture. Yet the long trek down the darkened streets of empty Cologne in that weather was far from pleasant. I believe the sheer awe that we were actually in our liebe Deutschland allowed us to persevere. At the verge of freaking out that we were lost, there it was: Jugenherberge hostel—where the rooms were quite nice, the people not very friendly, and the computer keyboards retarded. But that is beside the point; at 3pm back home in sunny Santa Barbara, we went to bed in schoene Germany.
Waking up at a quarter to seven this morning confused the both of us as we looked outside and the view and its darkness were the same has it had been when we went to bed. After a quick breakfast in our hostel, and Jason finally being introduced to the cold cut meats and cheeses that Europeans call “breakfast”, we were on our way quickly as possible to the Altstadt (old town) of Cologne. We went immediately to the Dom to finally go inside. We both stood speechless for several seconds as our eyes took in the grandeur of the nave, the colorful vitality of the stained glass windows, and the vocal purity of the practicing choir—yes, the German language (especially when sung) is stunningly beautiful.
After ordering my first Starbuck’s latte in German, I blew my cover when I failed to understand what the barista asked next. Apparently he asked if I wanted it for here or to go. I am thus prepared for next time ☺. And then in a quick turn around of events, we left Cologne and made our way to the town of Koblenz where we were to begin our Rhine River Cruise. With suitcases and backpacks in tow we plowed our way through the cobblestone streets of Koblenz to the Deutsche Eck (known as the German corner), which is where the Mosel River meets the Rhine. From this point we took the Köln-Dusseldorfer River Cruise to journey the 30 kilometers (of the possible 1,320) from Koblenz to Bingen am Rhine.
Although excited about the sights to come, the warmth of the cabin combined with the completion of our first real meal led me to an unplanned little Rhine Cruise nap. Yet when the sun finally broke through the clouds sparkling on the river and on the windows of the houses, Jason and I were pulled from the coziness of indoors and ventured onto the boat’s upper deck. Chilly, but peaceful, we sat snuggled in our peacoats and steadily worked away: me on my blog, Jason on his Life of Pi. With 3 more hours of cruising before us, a handful of famous romantic castles still to see, a late train to catch in Bingen, a 2 hour ride to Heidelberg, and a hostel to find once again in the dark, I take my leave to enjoy the moment. Until next time meine gute Freunden.
Tschuss!

~Hölly

The Journey Begins

So I find myself sitting in Jeannine’s American Bakery—I know, not exactly the right place to bring one’s computer—but with the journey a mere 4 days away and the knowledge that I will not be returning here for a month, I couldn’t help myself. Thus with my warmed lemon scone and non-fat vanilla latte in close proximity, let me tell you of the events to come.

This Monday evening, Jason and I will be leaving Los Angeles and flying Swiss Air to Zurich. Yes, nonstop. (Read this next part as fast as you can): We will then quickly catch a connecting flight to Dusseldorf, Germany, where upon landing we will immediately find the S-bahn station, take it to the Dusseldorf Hauptbahnhof to catch a late train to Cologne, where we will miraculously find our hostel, go to sleep, wake up at the crack of dawn the next morning to briefly see the sights of this historical and charming city, and then be on the 10am train to Koblenz to catch a Rhine River Cruise to Bingen, only to have 30 minutes to find the train station there, to catch the train to Heidelberg, and to arrive at our hostel in Heidelberg at 10pm. End of Day 1. Whew. (Proceed to read at normal pace): If Jason and I are still getting along at the end of the 14 hour plane ride, the chaos of public transportation, finding the hostels, and being on time for all the departures I have ideally (and perhaps idiotically) scheduled into our first day, then we are off to a grand start.

What is next in this crazed journey you ask? Below I have included a copy of our itinerary:

Germany, Austria, and Czech Republic Itinerary

October 19-November 13, 2009

October 19- Leave LAX 7:20pm, Swiss Air, Flight 41

October 20- Transfer in Zurich, leave 5:45pm, arrive in Dusseldorf 7:05pm.

Train from Dusseldorf to Cologne.

October 21- Cologne to Koblenz, Rhine River Cruise from Koblenz to Bingen.

Train from Bingen to Heidelberg.

October 22- Heidelberg

October 23- Travel to Wurzburg (begin Romantic Road journey)

October 24- detour to Nuremberg, spend night in Rothenburg ob der Tauber

October 25 (Sunday)- Rothenburg to Dinklesbuhl to Augsburg

October 26- Augsburg to Munich

October 27- Train from Munich to Oberammergau OR full day in Munich

October 28- Train from Munich to Fussen (then back to Munich)

October 29- Munich (Dachau)

October 30- Munich to Berchtesgaden (Hitler’s Eagle Nest) to Salzburg

October 31- Salzburg

November 1 (Sunday)- Salzburg

November 2- Salzburg to Vienna

November 3- Vienna

November 4- Vienna

November 5- Vienna to Prague

November 6- Prague

November 7- Prague to Berlin

November 8 (Sunday)- Berlin

November 9- Berlin

November 10- Berlin

November 11- Berlin to Dresden

November 12- Dresden

November 13- Leave Dresden 11am, Swiss Air, Flight 4285, leave Zurich

1:20pm. Arrive at LAX 4:45pm.

By now you might be wondering the precise purpose of this trip since most of us know the best time to go to Germany is not late October/early November. Brrrrrrr. I will thus explain in as few words as possible how this trip came to be. First, my favorite area of study as a-now-History-graduate is 20^th century German history. About a year ago, I wrote in my journal a simple question: “Can I be in Berlin on November 9^th?” (That fateful date this year will mark the 20^th anniversary of the fall of the wall and its symbolic end of an era of communist controlled Germany). I laughed when I wrote that down, knowing the unlikelihood that I would be able to go. However, I received plane tickets to Germany from my parents for graduating from Westmont this past May, and the chance of my presence at the Brandenburg Gate on the 9^th gained quite a few percentage points. Next, by working two jobs for the past five months, I have been able to save enough money to spend the above-mentioned 26 days in Germany, Austria, and the Czech Republic (all three of which I visited during October and November two years ago on Westmont’s Europe Semester program). The history major in me (and the slight ability to speak German, ie “Ich spreche ein bisschen Deutsch”) has prompted my return. Lastly (and quite importantly), I have found an incredible friend willing to embark on this journey with me. Jason and I have devoted our summer to researching, planning, working, saving, and practicing German. And here we are; eagerly and nervously awaiting Monday’s departure, finishing packing, and saying our good byes.

I hope you too will follow our journey.

And now that the last of my latte is cold, and all that remains on the porcelain plate is a few scattered yellow crumbs, I must take my leave.

Vielen Dank für Ihr Interesse (much thanks for your interest).

Liebe Gruesse,

Holly