Thursday, June 26, 2008

Eight days ago, I was above the Atlantic Ocean, and now, I sit grounded at my desk, hundreds of photos still needing organized, printed & arranged in albums. When did the time between applying for my passport, reserving flights & trains & now go? When did complaining about football in Vienna become reading about its cultureless effects in the New York Times? I reread these entries & think fondly, longingly of my experience in Europe—a tour I was only planning a few months ago. “No one really excepts the futures, no one truly believes it can happen. All that is, is now” (Oates), And now, the future is past. Memories. Even those can never be entirely captured or recalled—

An evening in Liverpool spent locating Brian Epstein’s grave, the sun setting on our return to the bus stop. Children circling the block on their bicycles, cars parked on lawns, Allison’s first order of chips. A long wait for our bus, but no matter: we told stories of high school & marveled over the moon’s fullness—the same moon glowing around the world. A lucky pence. Missing our stop on a late-night London bus & retracing the route to our hostel. Subways! Our first glimpses of Houses of Parliament & Big Ben; approaching the Eiffel Tower—oh, Paris! Sporadic, random recollections (green grass, dusty paths, disguised beggars) will surface, some recorded, others eventually forgotten. And that’s life—

Regretfully, my entries of Europe are coming to an end. Upon deciding against teaching in Korea, a dear friend reminded me of my unique ability of seeing the world by way of art. It’s true, but not traveling. As laborious as living out of a suitcase is, as physically & mentally exhausting as constant movement is, countries, cultures, are more realized, more deserved. Earned. I can experience the world via art, but I cannot exist interactively in Erie, PA. A semi-frequent homesickness hindered my activities (often induced by situational stress), yet sorting photos, rifling through souvenirs & scraps, I want nothing but to return! Great to be home, of course (awkward, first stepping into the sunroom, my bedroom; everything felt short, as congested as the insides of my luggage), friends & family treating me to restaurants in exchange for my company & stories of Europe. I’ve eaten out so frequently this past week, it’s as if I’ve abandoned eating at home! And coincidentally, a used copy of Renée Fleming’s autobiography (waiting for me) at Salvation Army, rescued from the shelf with excited immediacy & pride. Considerations of Ireland next summer (finances permitting) to celebrate William’s graduation; further explorations of France & an introduction to Spain with Rae when I complete my graduate studies. (Wanderlust.) Again, I arrived at my question: will future ever materialize into present?

It was relieving, once again, to hear (in Paris) French, and finally, English. Not that I ever felt insecure or lost amidst German—I didn’t (at any rate, so many, especially younger generations, know English, too)—or even minded it, but how refreshing to hear the familiar sounds (hardly noticing British accents) of one’s native language. I could’ve been fluent in French and/or German (and would, one day, relish knowing French), and still, I’d fell relief, my brows relaxing—English. And then, Chicago, and not five minutes after Allison says, “Ah, American accents,” I overhear a woman working airport security: “It don’t make no difference.” “And there are America’s double negatives.” I’d so immersed myself in Europe’s culture, I forgot I was running from them. Interesting (in hindsight, expected), no fluency in French (un peu, un peu) and few German words (danke, bitte, schloss, Sprechen sie Englisch?) one notices, based on tone, appearance, dress & body language, if x native is speaking properly or poorly. Foreigner or not, first impressions are rarely misperceived, and language is everything (please, Plato, hush). And so, the issue of surrounding myself with other educated individuals living for (unable to live without) art.

Speaking to me it’s made obvious, and reinforced in these entries, the significance (essentialness) of history & history’s relationship to art. What weddings, coronations were held in x cathedral? What tragedies, wars occurred in the streets of x city? Whose attendance has graced grand theatres? Oh, if these buildings could talk! If art could share intimate secrets! Who sneered—“That’s not art!”—another crying over the exact piece. Legendary or not (thought I’m giddy over art’s celebrated figures), I devour history’s (nonpolitical) stories. Strange enough to remind myself Virginia Woolf sat, worked, in the very Bloomsbury Square I’m visiting, Beethoven walked the same cobblestones, saw the city wall (now graffiti-covered ruins) I’m now seeing, let alone the amazement of world-traveling family & friends: Aunt Pat at Westminster Abbey, Linda at Versailles, in Paris, Grand Dad & Grandma Madeline at Mozart’s Salzburg Geburtshaus, in Munich, Aunt Pat & Uncle Tom at Neuschwanstein, living in Germany. Never odd locally; we’ve all went to the same malls, libraries, theatres & beaches, but abroad? How selfish to think, upon my departure, a place ceases to exist! Again, familiar vs. unfamiliar (or foreign). I enjoyed (though my checkbook argues) sending postcards chronicling my travels, proving the continual growth & lasting endurance of cities. Just how many cards? 64. Sent, that is—73 for my album. 5 letters. On postage: £7.62, €59 (c. $100)! Money spent well.

I wonder, has Dad flown out of Heathrow? As I recall, only Gatwick, but either way, he’s never spent the night! Only GE-provided luxury hotels & first class airfare. What an experience that was, washing my face & brushing my teeth while nightshift janitors cleaned around me; writing; restless sleep with my travel pillow (“Slumber Jack”) softening our luggage, repeatedly started awake, only to discover ten minutes had passed. By 6:30, signs of life appeared, the only coffee I paid for in Europe was bought, and by 8:30, Allison & I had our boarding passes, checked our suitcases and were in line to be potentially raped by security, no questions asked—my scissors (in British accent: “Sorry, you can’t carry on your Harry Potter scissors.”), surviving college & now, five weeks (unused) in Europe, were confiscated & tossed. How did an endless night end? How many others (we certainly weren’t alone) have since undergone such ordeals to return home? A day—fourteen hours (three trains & London’s tube)—from Berlin to England’s capital, deciphering departure screens, payphone calls to Erie & using the airport’s restroom as if at home (utterly obvious, sitting on cold linoleum floors, that I was not.) I was out, seeing the world—current schedule: experiencing graveyard shifts of international airports. But this time, no eavesdropping on British passengers, catching casual glimpses (as if they appeared differently) & wondering what they has done in the US & to where they were returning. Manchester? Nearby? A connecting flight? Now, it was me coming home, noticing a couple’s Chicago guide, thinking, “No the Windy City—you’ll have certainly read that—isn’t remotely near my residence. Liverpool & London aside, I’ve been all over Europe, if you’re curious.” If I wasn’t so nervous over flying, if I’d an irritating, overfriendliness about me, I could’ve bored neighboring passengers for eight hours with romanticized travel adventures.

Nervous? I’m terrified of flying. “It’s nothing,” everyone (save a few) casually informs me, as if I’ve never before flown. “People do it every day.” I’m aware. I’m also aware people die every day, too. Somehow, crashing to (or grounded) my premature death never grows old. I know the statistics; I know more die daily in auto accidents. But flying? Shouldn’t only birds fly? A pilot taking so many lives in control so high above civilization? I make no sense; I’ve no fear of others driving. (Again, familiar vs. unfamiliar.) But phobias aren’t meant to add up: “Marked and persistent fear that is excessive or unreasonable, cued by the presence or anticipation of a specific object or situation [etc.]” (Quick Reference to the Diagnostic Criteria from DSM-IV-TR 213). Anxiety medications interact with Coumadin, so what do I do? Clutch my knees, try not to panic, rid my mind of Patsy Cline & “Ironic”, closely watch a pretty flight attendant (if she appears—oh, appears!—calm, it’s okay, right?) & this flight, a perfume ad depicting Kate Winslet, too.

(continuation of June 14 journal entry)

Later: Began our day at Brandenburg Tor & ate enormous soft pretzels from a street vendor. What a sight to behold, coming up from the S-Bahn station, immediately greeted by Hotel Adlon (cue: Greta Garbo, “I want to be alone.”), a social gathering of international embassies (including the newly relocated US Embassy) & the Gate, all surrounding the busy Pariser Platz. Berlin! And I thought I was in love with London & Vienna (naturally, Paris watched over my travels on its gilded throne)! Or, out of sight, out of mind, am I repeatedly seduced in every city? Reichstag wait (to ascend the dome & explore the view) was an estimated 1.5 hours, so pictures sufficed; while we’d like to return, there’s no time. Moved on to memorials: Politicians Who Opposed Hitler, Murdered Jews of Europe & later, in the center of Bebelplatz (directly across from Humboldt University), a room of empty bookshelves below the cobblestones (covered in glass), remembering 1933’s burning of twenty thousand books. By the educated. What ran through their minds, these deranged professors & students? Were they aware of the bonfire’s full effect? Or didn’t they care? “Das war ein vorspiel nur, dort wo man bücher verbrennt, verbrennt man am ende auch menschen” (“When you start burning books, you’ll end up burning people.” Heinrich Heine, 1820). His writings were thrown into the flames.

(excerpt from June 15 journal entry)

Memorials, then a day’s worth of Unter den Linden, which rivals (& may surpass) Champs-Elysées. Not surprising, entire books have been written on the city’s illustrious street, once lined with 250-year-old linden trees, but cut down by Hitler & replaced with Nazi flags; local outrage & he replanted linden trees, naturally far younger & smaller than their predecessors. Grand hotels (pun intended), cafés, antique shops, and, of course, souvenirs; a few blocks south on Friedrichstrasse for fine clothes & jewelry (i.e. Chanel, Escada, Cartier) & Fassbender & Rausch chocolatiers, where I got a can of drinking chocolate, small bars & molded candies. Checkpoint Charlie & again to Unter den Linden for churches, opera houses, university & national library. Glad we’re staying in East Berlin, but oh, more days are needed here! A magnificent city, Berlin; an exciting beautiful street, Unter den Linden, adorned with architecture flaunting intricate facades. It’s amazing, what survived destruction by war, the majority’s fate brought by fires, bombs & pillaging. I complain about the US’s youth, but with Europe’s glory comes devastation. Can Sartre’s philosophy be successfully criticized after life during WWII? Should his reason not be lauded? With the war, our world would never again exist in the same way. But Berlin’s grand promenade is returning to its pre-Nazi era; time eases (& heals, sometimes scars) all things.

Don’t take seriously my European flings (Paris aside)—London, Munich, Vienna, Berlin! As time passes both slowly & rapidly, I anticipate my return home & regret my departure. Dinner last night at Zum Schusterjungen Speisegastsätte: for me, bratwurst, sauerkraut & boiled potatoes, dumplings, ice cream & fruit parfait & Berliner Bürgerbräu Pils, all for 11€30!

Later: Flea market in Tiergarten this morning & as desperately as I tried to find gifts for Dad & William among antiques & junk, nothing. What will I do? I must (and want) to find something special, meant for each individual. If was such fun shoving through crowds & looking at antiques, jewelry, dishes & silver & odds & ends, but nothing jumped out at me. Atmosphere was splendid, of course. On to Schloss Bellvue (flags flying: Germany’s president in), Siegessäule & Otto von Bismark monument, all in Tiergarten.

(June 16 journal entry)

My thoughts were flowing, so close to being caught up on entries (one day left in Europe). Enter: a group of drunk guests who crowded themselves around the table. “Siegessäule & Otto von Bismark monument, all in Tiergarten…” Forget concentration.

Now, waiting to see a dermatologist at Universitatsklinikum Charité.

(June 17 journal entry)

I’ll backtrack to Sunday night, as I was interrupted by noisy, drink, cliché student backpackers (whom spend a single night in Paris, so as it can be checked off as done & boasted about to others).

Spent a good deal of time getting to Potsdamer Platz (our route, U2, wasn’t operating), and how disappointed we were. Berlin’s Times Square? Ha! No billboards, no neon lights, no annoying tourists. Not even boutiques I’d wish I could afford as I gazed at window displays. So, onto Altes Museum to see the Bust of Nefretiti & whatever else we could in two hours, conveniently missing a brief, heavy downpour. Spent most of my time with gods, mythological heroes & the Praying Boy of Ancient Greece, but what beauty, untouched by 3,000 years, radiated from Nefretiti, restoration unnecessary. She was just as I’d imagined her, painted limestone skin glowing, jewels & headdress colorful, as if freshly painted. Don’t worry, I made my way through swarms of people & multiple photos were taken, so as one shot it suitable to frame for Dad.

(Our train from Berlin to Paris is passing through Belgium; unfortunately, an additional €20, as our rail passes only cover France, Germany & Austria.)

East Side Gallery (far longer than expected; gives one the smallest inkling of how the divided city might’ve appeared), where I initialed a painting & copied Socrates: “Time eases all things.” Grocery shopping for seeded rolls & loaf (€2,28), salami & cheese (€3,78), vanilla yoghurt (€1,80) & Berliner Bürgerbräu Pils (€1,98, which I’m bringing home for Dad, Denny & William, also) & another delicious spaghetti dinner.

Which brings me to yesterday morning…

Later, Paris: (How tormenting to have one hour at Gare du Nord, glimpses of the city through large windows scattered around the station. And unable to do anything but sit.)

Later, London: (Four countries, one long day.) Initially, I was quite hesitant about our hostel—a small, privately run spot, lax rules & organization, rather ghetto & dirty. It grew on me, the small flat, and I’d wake shortly after the sun (others, naturally, still sound asleep) to shower & sit alone in the kitchen, drinking strong coffee, spending dawn with my thoughts, meditations & daydreams. Listening to others stir, starting their days. What does Berlin hold? What can I do for myself? I was, for those few moments, a character from a Joyce Carol Oates novel: struggling university student living in small-town (okay, so Berlin’s enormous) boarding house. I was—am—myself: a homesick, thoughtful man, excited to be in Europe only weeks before grad school & teaching commence.

This is why, on my last day in Berlin, my last non-travel day, I was awake at 7, showering, and—wait—what is that? No glasses, I guessed a large splinter (the backside of my knee was tender), but no, an insect. In my leg! An insect in my leg! Repulsive! I shook Allison out of bed, I read information online, convincing myself it was a rare, disease-carrying klesh that would cause irreversible dementia; I called home (2:45 EST). I ended up in a nearby (not-so-urgent) emergency room to have the tick (yes, only a tick) removed. €100 hospital bill, €5,85 prescribed cream. Not how I planned (or wished) my final morning & semi-embarrassing (completely disgusting), face down on an examining table, jeans around my ankles & staring at distorted trees through cut-glass windows, doctor picking & prying a bug (apparently not considered enormous in Germany) from my leg. Attractive, no?

An afternoon in Wittenburg Lutherstadt & a second, well-deserved dinner at Zum Schusterjungen.

(June 18 journal entry)

“Home Again.

Aunt Em had just come out of the house to water the cabbages when she looked up and saw Dorothy running toward her.

‘My darling child!’ she cried, folding the little girl in her arms and covering her face with kisses; ‘where in the world did you come from?’

‘From the Land of Oz,’ said Dorothy gravely. ‘And here is Toto, too. And oh, Aunt Em! I’m so glad to be at home again!’”

(June 9 journal entry)

As of yet, my only experience with the city is walking from the Westbanhof station to our hostel, and a short meander down Mariahilfer, where Allison bought herself (and kindly shared) a small cheese pizza; seating outside the restaurant on a lovely evening (and partially as to avoid televised football games) with splendid people-watching! So little to relay, and already I'm in love with Vienna's atmosphere, its look.

And early night for me, and dreams of Ringstrasse & opera!

(June 12 journal entry)

Oh, how exhausted I am, yet so many things to write of since my arrival in Austria's capital! Still out-beat by Paris (and I'm not sure Berlin, or any other European city I might one day see, could surpass Paris), Vienna is as marvelous as London, somewhere I could spend a couple years (whereas, Liverpool, Munich & Salzburg are summer escapes). Big-city (one-fifth of Austria resides here), elegant & elaborate architecture & fashion that once only existed in dreams & visits to New York. Food! History! Music & theatre! Art!

On Donauinsel, enjoying the river & surrounding until returning to the city for my second Staatsoper production, I Vespri Siciliani. Craziness, but this time I'm prepared, a pashmina (my Parisian gift for Mom) in my bag, waiting to be knotted around the rails!

Our first day in Vienna, plenty of sightseeing was accomplished (Stephansdom, Karntner Strasse, Stadtpark & Monument Against War & Fascism) before a late lunch at Kurkonditorei Oberlaa. Everything was forgotten (or set aside) after my magnificent night at the opera. Richard Strauss' Capriccio. 3,50 standing-room tickets, orchestra level immediately below the Emperor's box. RENEE FLEMING. After waiting over two hours for unfathomable inexpensive, precious tickets, you run to said level, waits impatiently for the house to open & then push, shove your way like untamed opera beasts to the best place to mark your territory with scarves. It was hot outside, and we didn't plan on leaving our coveted rail space, so it'd be okay, right? No scarf, no spot; whether you choose to remain or not, your marking (no jackets; the ushered speedily removed mine) claims your space, otherwise, it's fair-game. Kind, middle-aged women in front & behind us offered tissues & newspapers, securing our places, assuring we'd see & melt at the first notes to come from Miss Flemming.

(June 13 journal entry)

Austrian countryside; ten hours on the rails (one transfer in Nuremberg) to Berlin. Enough time to concentrate on my too-brief affair with Vienna?

One might expect the Staatsoper house to be gaudy, brimming with gold & decorative arts -- it's not -- but its appearance expected, so familiar with photos & recordings, it felt I'd already attended dozens of operas & ballets there. Acquainted with a handful of lovely (some infamous) theatres, I'm still partial to the Benedum's illustrious house, but lobbies & exteriors? Ah, there's the rub, the Wien Staatsoper in rivalry with only a few others. Delectable. How do performers remain focused on their roles amidst glory?

Regardless, conductor raises baton, orchestra sounds, curtains separate, presenting sets, costumes & actors, all rushing over you in hurricanes. Capriccio was no exception, even more exhilarating, a virgin of Viennese opera & performing arts. I absorbed music, lighting, blocking, and as wonderful as Skovhus, Erod & Schade were, my eyes strained and grew at first glimpse of Fleming, seated behind a corner of a sumptuously mirrored revolving sets. No time to read a synopsis, as all I gathered during the production was two men, Oliver & Flamand, both desire Grafin's heart, one wooing with music, the other with words; she must decide. It didn't annoy me in the least, knowing no other details. Yes, storytelling is essential, but so many more components begged for my glutinous attention. I was enthralled, enraptured, my eyes & ears all over, even taking in a bit of the audience & their reactions. Later, I read the opera is left open-ended, Grafin choosing neither Oliver or Flamand, her final words, "Gibt es einen Schluss, der nicht trivial ist?" ("Is there an ending that is not trivial?")

Americans are mocked for their celebrity obsessiveness, I'm aware, but I thought I'd at least try meeting Renee Fleming at the stage door to give my amateur compliments (the same she hears nightly, I'm sure). Little did I expect, hoards of international opera goers flanked the exit (some even shoving their way back into the theatre, so as actors & crew could only exit with great difficulty), waiting for Miss Fleming. And there she was, in a simple black dress & crimped teal shawl that floated with her, flawlessly styled hair (wasn't she wearing a wig for three hours?). With experience, she moved the crowd from the stage door, was encircles & as she moved, admirers followed, hurling programs, photos & notebooks at her for autographs. I've never seen anything like it! (Not even Broadway!) When the mob (really, it was a mob!) died away, I approached & had the inside cover of my notebook signed (upon seeing my stickers, she remarked, "Lucille!") & magazines for Angela & myself. "I loved watching you New Year's Eve at Lincoln Center." "Oh, wonderful!" she replied, smiling & I waited a few moments more as she crossed the lamp-lit street (with business partners, of course) to Hotel Sacer. Magical! Unforgettable!

My night ended with a small (inexpensive) jar of caviar & crackers.

Later: Day two, Allison & I took a streetcar out of the city to successfully find the graves of Beethoven, Brahms, Shubert & J. Strauss in Central Cemetery & then on to nearby St. Marx Cemetery, where the smashed remains of Mozart's skeleton are buried. How wonderful Amadeus is, but oh, so dramatically fictional!

Moved on to other sites (Austrian Parliament, Burgtheater, Rathaus & Hofburg), and I climbed stairs along Vienna's old city wall to better see Beethoven's residence. Sorry, Austria, if I had to choose between Mozart & Beethoven: Ludwig! Unfortunately, Vienna's west side was littered with fences, enormous screes & drunken sports fans all cheering for their football teams (in Vienna, Austria & Poland played). I come to Europe for culture, and what greets me all the way back in Manchester? Sports. Insignificant, petty sports. We're forced to walk around the Burgarten (which I wanted to enjoy for its statues & roses) -- set aside for Fanzone.

Cooked spaghetti in Wombat's guest kitchen & called Dad at his office (no one answered at home), which lifted my frown. The closer this journey comes to an end, the more I anticipate my return home.

(June 14 journal entry)

Brennan's 13th birthday!

Delicious coffee steams -- some in my mug, remains (not for long!) in a French press -- and after eager first sips, strings of saliva still run from my deprived mouth & down my chin. No coffee for eight days (by force of pocketbook, not willingness; our two stops in Austria did not include breakfast in their rate)! It's a pleasure sitting alone at the kitchen table & writing, the hostel slowly waking, but still relatively quiet. So, this must be when I finish relaying my Viennese adventures. "I'll catch up tonight. I'll catch up tomorrow," I tell myself, but every day new experiences beg to be written of, and I find my eyelids growing heavy.

Scattered sights our final day in Vienna (how much more time I need there & already know the same shall go for Berlin) on many interlocking Medieval roads & plazas that required careful attention (a maze, some roads not marked on maps) & a good deal of walking. Highlights included Karlsplatz & Karlskirche, Ruprechtskirche (city's oldest -- 11th century -- church) & a stone memorial -- a library turned inside-out -- to Austria's murdered Jews in Judenplatz, a 15th century Jewish community & once one of Europe's largest. Did Kohlmarkt, Graben & the plague monument (survivors' bribe & thanks to God), Augustinerkirche (in which the Hapsburg's hearts are interred) & on to Donauinsel for a picnic lunch & a few hours of relaxation in nature before my second opera.

My nerves were revved up, knowing what to expect, but without Miss Fleming (and despite Verdi), no seasoned theatre goers (or very few), only tourists without a clue. And I was in-the-know, scarf tied onto my center rail, mind lost in music. Nothing mattered but the world on stage. I'm reminded, tragedy or not, of escape through theatre & tragedy's ability to comfort. Comedy is great fun, but I prefer tragedy. Nothing beats a good tragedy!

Love walking alone, lips sealed. I must reek of American stank, yet I find myself imagining I'm native to x city (or in the very least, a permanent resident).

Just a quick post before bed for my last entry before we leave Europe tomorrow (via Köln, Paris, and finally London). Exhausted but feeling very accomplished.. I will miss Europe but I'm looking forward to being home as well.

See you all back in the states!

Love to all.

Happy Father's Day, Dad!

Happy 13th birthday, Brennan!

(June 7 journal entry)

Oh, how long this tour seems! how it flies by me! Only yesterday -- wait, over three weeks ago -- I was in Liverpool! Now, I know better than ever why so many letters were once written. I see separated families, men at war, explorers, all sitting down near flickering candles at gorgeous desks, in tattered tents, writing. My beloved, You are all that I think of. How your voice is missed. I'm grateful, as sporadic my usage, for the telephone! How did a young Mozart, his father & sister survive three years travel around Europe? How did (do) families split by immigration, families of soldiers, survive? A voice is everything. Joyce Carol Oates was on target, recognizing a "mood of loneliness, dislocation, and general melancholy-malaise" while on sabbatical in London. As she describes, these feelings descend upon one's self when abroad, but when they evaporate? Well, scholars & amateurs have Oates journals, her novels & at worst, one has their own unforgettable adventures. It's normal to feel away. I read a battered copy of Steinam's Marilyn: Norma Jeane; I'm easily lost within the pages & feel at home, curled up in bed. I wander the local grocery store, Spar (imagining I'm at Giant Eagle with Mom), selecting needed foods (ten rolls: 1,20) & treats to lift my spirits: biscuits & chocolate (0,89), Fugi apples (1,99/kg) & lemon drops (0,99). "Where troubles melt like lemon drops/away, above the chimney tops/that's where you'll find me."

Don't think I'm not having a wonderful time in Europe, in Austria! Only fantasies of travel fed my imagination, and as strong, as urgent my wishes, Europe didn't seem feasible at this point in my life. I wondered if I'd ever actually make it. Depressing. But here I am on a Saturday night, ignoring a televised football game (sports bore me, no matter the country), aware of the Alps, recording petty thoughts, listening to Judy Garland (whose final apartment I tracked down while in London) in Europe. I wouldn't have guessed. And what an appropriate time, the summer before beginning graduate studies & teaching English Comp at John Carroll. I'm in Austria!

Last night, Allison & I enjoyed delicious dinners (myself, Schweinsbradl mit Krautsalat und Semmelknödel -- figure it out!) at the foot of Hohensalzburg Festung, in a small restaurant hideen from tourists, St. Paul's Stub'n.

(June 8 journal entry)

I've become a journaler who records activities & thoughts in days to follow. Oh, how I hate that, but I'm left unable to deny it any longer. With infinite discoveries to absorb, process & write of, by night-time (which seems to come much later than at home; or is it then lengthening of days?), I'm starving & whooped. And yet I constantly recall Vita Sackville-West's reminder: "It is necessary to write if the days are not to slip emptily by. For how else to capture the butterfly of time?"

I split from Allison yesterday, while she participated in a Sound of Music tour, beginning my morning at the nearby grocer (fresh rolls & yoghurt for breakfast), wandering streets in my cardigan, carrying my messenger bag & canvas grocery bag (everyone carries bags in Europe: logical & best for our environment), feelings as natives might. I heightened my experience & blasted Pink Martini; headphones are more common in London & Paris, but I didn't care. Sky a perfect blue, sun beaming warm rays, I wanted to salsa my way down Franz-Josef Strasse. Already, how much cheerier my spirits. This is living.

Lunch packed (more rolls (which I must stock up on before departing for Vienna), an apple, cookies & sparkling water -- I climbed my way up Monchsberg to Hohensalzburg Festung for views of the Salzach, Altstadt, Neuestadt & mountains that no camera can convey: wondrous depth & distance. A three-hour walk took me around the cliff, along the Medieval fortress walls, to landscapes that must be experienced in person for a proper rushing of one's blood. So grand & endless a view, I wouldn't have been surprised had I seen Neuschwanstein in the distance. I climbed over iron fences, ate my lunch in a deserted corner near the shade of a watchtower & let nature command my thoughts. I walked. And walked. I sweated, in the shade breezes chilled me. I walked, finding a private area left undiscovered by tourists to sit (carefully & precariously) on a section of the wall covered in ivy & protected by old trees. I enjoyed my times alone with sights unlike any others, ate my apples & wrote postcards. How mind-cleansing! I was quite close to forgetting my whereabouts on Monchsberg, only of my existence in Austria's natural magnificence. I walked for hours, and when it was finally time to return to city-life & meet Allison for a self-guided tour of Mozart's residence on Makartplatz 8 (an original piano of his on exhibit), I passed Muller Kirche (on Salzburg's outskirts; a wedding having just occurred) & returned to the city's center along the Salzach.

TODAY, Allison & I started through Mirabelle Gardens, umbrellas out (wrong city, miss Andrews!), sadly, the free Sunday concerts in the garden was cancelled as a result of the rain, but I can't complain: we've had mostly fair weather. Afterwards, the graves of Mozart's wife & father, Constantine & Leopold and a walk down Steingasse, a Medieval road -- only route south of the Alps to Venice -- free of tourists. Great history: Josef Mohr's birthplace at 9 (author of "Silent Night"), carved beggars' graffiti on doors, Altstadt & river views & more fortifications (able to survive for centuries only to be bombed during WWII). But most interestingly, a building whose side was gouged out by and American GI, attempting to squeeze a tank down the narrow street to 24 -- Masion de Plaisir, a centuries-old brothel still open daily: 12-4 -- and left as a reminder. Looking for fun? Hooray for Americans...

As the rain stopped and the sky cleared in the evening, after a catnap & reading Marilyn, I walked again through Mirabelle Gardens (nearby our hostel), my mind free of any worries & Puccini my company.

Viennaaaa...

My first, last, and only post from Vienna. We got here on Monday and are leaving tomorrow, sadly. Vienna is very beautiful and we've seen and done so many amazing things. I love Austria as a whole. It's so mountainous and green (with blue lakes)! We've been indulged in Mozart culture up the wazoo, but it's wonderful. I like to call him the latest love of my life, but Colin likes to substitute Wolfie's name as Tom (Hulce, who played Mozart in Amadeus), who he insists I truly love. Bah, whatever. Don't ask (especially Colin...)

Currently, we're caught up in soccer fever here, and it's oh so delightful. So delightful that it's been shutting down and blocking our view of some of the most important Viennese sights, like the Rathaus, Theater, and Parliament. Boo! Everyone is nuts, but it's pretty cool too. Today on the subway, the Austria and Poland fans were yelling at each other, LOLZ.

I'd better cut this short, but tomorrow we're off to Berlin. Then home. I'm somewhat sad, but far more tired, and I'm looking forward to a nice long rest. But I'll miss Europe A. LOT. I really love it here.

I had more to say but I forget.. haha, oh well, only four more minutes left on the timer anyway. Ask me about my opera story!

GOOD LUCK TOMORROW, JON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Love to all!

Far less than Colin. But that's okay, because I like to be funny.

Anyway, yesterday I went on a guided tour of the Sound of Music sites. I enjoyed the tour but it was a little cut and dry (there's the lake where the kids and Maria fell into the water, the back porch, Nonnberg Abbey, blah blah) until our trip took us into the Salzgammetgut.

Amazing. The rolling mountains and hills and lakes, clear blue, were something out of a fairy tale. Little houses dotted the hillside, and I was so jealous.. it was so beautiful and those people get to look at it every day! There were the Alps.. snowless, sadly, but it was June, so what can you expect? A rather tall mountain shyly peeked out from above the clouds. So amazing. I now know what it's like to feel teeny tiny next to a huge chunk of earth.

The tour also allowed us about an hour of free time in Mondsee (German for "moon lake"), including a trip into the church where Julie Andrews as Maria walked down the aisle in her wedding to Captain von Trapp. The church/aisle is neither as long or wide as I thought it would have been, strangely. But the town was beautiful and I took some time to eat my overpriced apple strudel in a little cafe. It was worth it.

After I returned last night, Col and I went to Mozartswohnhaus, his second residence with his family in Salzburg. Pretty cool, but the audioguide focused more on his music and less on the person. Personally, I think Wolfie and I would have been good friends; we both share the same type of "it's either funny or it's not" type of humor, which can be construed as politically incorrect at times. But for what it was, the museum was good.

Today we braved the rainy morning and ventured to Mirabell Gardens (think "Do Re Me" from the Sound of Music, because it was mostly filmed there) for a concert, but no luck. So we headed to St. Sebastian's cemetery and found Mozart's wife and father, a pretty easy task compared to some of the other graves we've tried to locate on this trip that were much harder (Sophie Scholl). After that, we went on a Rick Steves-guided walk through Steingasse, the most medieval street in Salzburg, featuring the residence of the composer of "Silent Night," some hobo etchings, and a brothel. Oh yes, it was an interesting walk.

Off to Vienna tomorrow.. I hate to leave Salzburg. It really is a gem of a city with a small-town feel to it. I've really enjoyed it here, but Vienna should be just as beautiful.

Love to all!

A rainy daytrip (our last in Munich, so there was no choice) to Schloss Neuschwanstein, and what fairytale glory! Only one as flamboyant as crazy King Ludwig II -- "Mad King Ludwig" -- could ever set out to accomplish such a brilliant feat. Forget architects & engineers; first, artists were called in to design the castle atop the German Alps, then the others would simply have to make it a reality. And there it lies nestled in the mountains across from Maximillian's castle, Hohenschwangau, emerging to announce its splendor to passers-by, demanding attention, requiring genuflection (if only in one's mind). How could one's blood not boil up in excitement? How does such a castle exist outside of legends, of Brothers Grimm? Well, it's made apparent what someone obsessed with stories, mythology-based operas (by Wagner, of course) & life's drama might do with a nation's taxes. (Better than war, right?) Is the beautiful Cinderella castle all? Of course not! no, no: add scandle! Only 172 days of inhabitance, and Ludwig was expelled, dethroned & found drowned in the nearby lake. Neuschwanstein was never completed. A sense greater than the unexplained (haunting?) lingers as one moves from one elaborately carved & painted room to the next, important furnishings never created (i.e. the throne room's throne). What would have been, had the castle been finished? It's gorgeous, yet leaves one with a sense of its emptiness. What exactly was Ludwig's fate? Does he still fill Neuschwanstein's corriders, rooms? Ghosts are not logical, but chills of beauty and mystery run through one's bones. Oh, Neuschwanstein! Nothing is left to the romantic's imagination: cliffs, ravines, waterfalls, spires & turrets, paths winding through forests to meet a castle (once only existing in legends) on its rocky throne. It is a storybook castle -- no animators, no cinematographers could surpass Neuschwanstein. A bit disappointed in the rain, but how marvelous to see mists rolling down the mountains, enveloping Ludwig's hommage to Wagner. How thrilled I was to hike through the Alps (me, in the Alps!) to Marienbrucke for the view, clouds so dense they cushioned my steps.

When I return home, I'd like to spend time camping in the Appalacians, hike & write.

Greetings from Salzburg, Austria. We got in last night and took yesterday to rest. I did, however, go for a LOVELY walk on the banks of the Salzach River with Jon (via phone) where a creeper tried to give me an ad for some marijuana-related business. Fabulous! Gotta love cities.

We spent this morning in the Altstadt and went on a Rick Steves-guided walk through some of the highlights including Mozartplatz, the Salzburg Cathedral (the prettiest church I've been to yet), the oldest bakery in Salzburg (yummy 95 cent rolls), St. Peter's cemetery and church, and a million different squares. We were going to go into Mozart's birthplace and his residence, but opted to come back to the hostel and relax instead, and leave the Mozarting for tomorrow.

I did have a "Mozart ball" (as I call them), which are EVERYWHERE here in Salzburg. Although Wolfie left Salzburg never to return, went to Vienna, and died there, people here treat him like he's their golden child. Kinda like Warhol and Pittsburgh/New York.

Tomorrow Colin is hiking up to the fortress on the hill (craaaaazy) and I am going on a Panorama tour of the Sound of Music sites, including a drive out to the Salzergammet, the Salzburg lake district. Tonight, however, we're going back to the Altstadt, especially Getreidgasse, to check it out in the nighttime. And get some good Austrian cooking! (PS - I feel like I've eaten my way through the town today - a Mozart ball, McDonald's happy meal (I'm trying McDo in every country haha), a roll, and some ice cream. Wow.) Don't worry about me starving, Mom.

Should go now while I still have a little time left. I originally thought I could put up some pictures, but the computer isn't letting me. Oh well. Hope everyone is having a great day/night.

Love you all!!!!

(June 3 journal entry)

Words fail me. I cannot attempt to describe my visit to Dachau. How could I? How were the camp´s survivors able to begin again, to live? And to write eloquent, disturbing accounts of their experiences as victims under Nazi regime? One immediately notices the entrance gate into the prisoners´barracks: Arbeit Macht Frei ("Work makes you free"). Roofs of the building where men were stripped, shaved & tattooed once read, "There is a path to freedom. Its milestones are: Obediance, Honesty, Cleanliness, Sobreity, Hard Work, Disicipline, Sacrifice, Truthfulness, Love of thy Fatherland." All jokes. I listened to historical information & personal testimonies at each marked site, and there, across the main yard I could see hundreds of prisoners (a camp, built for 6,000, holding 32,000) lined up & beaten at roll call, the dead dragged, too, I could head the SS screaming. I could feel an anguis, so insignificant, so meaningless in comparison. None of this has (or will ever) depart from Dachau. It appears physically different sixty-three years later, trees grown, gardens planted, memorials erected, only barracks´foundations remaining, but many photos remind you (as if you could forget?) of how it appeared from 1933-1945. Unlike a reconstructed barrack, the camp´s original two crematoriums stand, gas chambers and ovens as they were abandoned in ´45 (the chambers unused for mass executions, but most likely for small "medical" experiments & torture), and walking through rooms that held 11,000 corpses waiting to be burned -- how can I describe that? I cried quietly to myself & tried not to panic. Maybe a few months from now I can return to this entry and describe the camp & my reactions more coherently, in greater detail, but now, my loss for words & images of Dachau are burning holes into my tired mind. And yet, I looked up, and there was a faint rainbow -- hope -- that I was able to capture in photos. Some ask, "Why visit a place so depressing?" Without education, without visits, the Holocaust, the victims of the Holocaust will be forgotten. Don´t argue, how could they be forgotten? Visits, remembrance, is necessary. A memorial reads in multiple languages: "May the examplpe of those who were exterminated here between 1933-1945 because they resisted Nazism help to unite the living for the defense of peace and freedom and in respect for their fellow men."

(June 4 journal entry)

Munich (or appropriately,Munchen) is a lovely, strange city. Strange meaning, for Germany´s third largest city (population 1.3 million), it still maintains a small-town atmosphere, a feeling it´s no larger than Erie, PA! Locals run into old friends, buildings are (by law) no taller than church steeples, and great parks & plazas abound. Where does its charm lie? Well over half of Munich was bombed to smithereens at the end of WWII, but instead of removing debris, bulldozing as many cities opted, it was rebuilt, restored (as well as it could be) to its original Mideval & Renaissance splendor. Plazas remain automobile-free zones & a vital part of city life: fresh food markets, restaurants, shopping & musicians peddling for tips. A lot of original architecture does remain, and what was destroyed is depicted in photos (well, Nazis did neurotically record & document everything) in entrances to renovated churches & other public buildings. How uncrowded and leisurely Munich seems for a city of so many inhabitants! Read about it in travel guides prior to arriving, all expected, but still taken by surprise. Not sure I could live here (unless involved in teaching/studies at LMU, and I know no German), but a long, how summer in Munich would be a delight.

(The subject is to the tune of a Spring Awakening song that I've been singing to Colin since last night's stroll in Marienplatz. Don't ask why, but it started out with a Streisand-tastic "Colin, can you hear me?")

Even though I am on a European holiday and am enjoying myself, I can't help but be saddened by what is going on back in the US. So Barack Obama has clinched the democratic nomination? Although it was predictable, I'm still shocked and a little confused about where my ballot will count in the fall. There's no way I would vote for McCain, but who CAN I vote for when I truly don't believe in the democratic nominee? At least it'll be easier to unite the party; God knows if Clinton would have gotten it, Obama fans (no offense PC, Libbi) would have threw a temper tantrum enough to rattle the world and would have continued to flame Hillary. I still think she would be the best candidate to run the country, but now it's between an old codger and an inexperienced young pup. Hmph.

Sorry for that.

In other news, RIP Bo Diddley!! I saw that he had died on the cover of a USA Today in the train station in Füssen and was deeply saddened.

Speaking of Füssen, it was the setting for today's adventures. We got up at an ungodly hour and took the train two hours in order to visit Neuschwanstein Castle, King Ludwig II's Cinderella-esque castle. The castle is world-famous and is lodged on the side of a giant cliff. We opted to take the bus up to Marienbrüke (Mary's Bridge) instead of enduring the rainy hike. The views from the bridge were AMAZING - picture a fairy-tale like Bavarian forest, Austrian Alps, waterfalls, and a castle fit for a king (or queen). If you can't picture that, Wikipedia it.

The bridge was also pretty scary and I wanted to get off of it ASAP! So I left Colin taking his millions of pictures (mistake #1) and left the bridge from the opposite way that we came, thinking that was the way to Neuschwanstein (mistake #2). Little did I know, it was actually a 2.5 hour hike through the woods on a path teetering on the edge of a freefall - and me in flip flops! Luckily, I ran into two British gentlemen who were also lost in the Bavarian wilderness and we found our way back to the path to the castle. I ended up making our tour (Colin was already there since he thought I went back early) by one minute. Sure, I was sweaty from practically racing to get there in time, flustered from being lost in the woods, and slightly annoyed (although I had no right to be since I left HIM) at Colin.

The tour was good though and we enjoyed our time in the castle, and the castle's gift shop, as it turns out. Colin bought a beautiful swan (Luggie's favorite animal) and I opted for postcards and a Bavarian chocolate that was disgusting, haha.

The train ride was great, too, because it allowed us to see Bavaria's finery. Awesome.

Well, my time online is running out, but Colin will be posting in a minute. Love to all!!!

Hello and happy June to everyone. Jon, can you believe it's been a month since we graduated? It's crazy!

Like I said before, we're in Munich now, and enjoying Germany very much. Munich has a small-town feel to it, but it's still very much a big city. Colin said it reminds him of Liverpool, and he's right. We've been spending most of our evenings at Marienplatz in the Altstadt, eating ice cream and sightseeing through the churches. Oh, and Frau Reed would be so proud of me, my German is still pretty good! I'm shocked how well it's all coming back to me. I need to get in contact with her so I can tell her.

And can I say how nice it is to be typing on a fairly normal keyboard? The only key that is really out of place is the 'y.' And, as you can see, this sentence was full of y's.

Today we took the train out to Dachau, the concentration camp. I didn't know too much about it before we planned on going there when we came to Munich, but it was the first camp, and was mainly a labor camp. However, over 40,000 people died there, but thankfully, not via mass executions in the gas chamber (there is one there, but it was never used for MASS executions - there is speculation it was used on individuals, though). Much of it is reconstructed today, but it still has parts of the original road the prisoners used to walk into the camp, and the "Arbeit macht frei" gates (meaning "works makes you free"). And there's the crematorium as well.

I would be a liar to say I didn't shed a few tears between the documentary with images of the terrible conditions, the religious memorials, and the experience of walking through the gas chambers and crematorium. In school, you're always taught about the Holocaust and told that you should care, and you DO care. But this really drives it home when you imagine that the room you're standing in was once piled high with dead, malnourished corpses. How terrible.. and I think to myself, this could never happen again, but what about Darfur and Tibet? How long can they go ignored while thousands of innocent people die?

I didn't mean to make this a political crusade. I digress.

Dachau was a great experience though. I definitely think that if we hadn't gone, we'd have been missing something huge from our trip. Although it's not wonderful, that period of time is a big chunk of Germany's history.

Tomorrow we're off to Neuschwanstein Castle in Füssen. After that, Austria and Mozartland: Salzburg!

We miss and love you all!! See you soon!!

(May 28 journal entry)

On the train to Versailles.

It isn't easy seeing cities in the rain, but out we were exploring Ile de la Cite, taking pictures (mediocre, thanks to the rain & my neurosis) of Pont Neuf, the Conciergerie, Palais de Justice & what little we could see of Saint-Chapelle towering over the palace's center without paying admission (no sun, no stained glass!). Sanctuary was granted within the stone walls of Notre-Dame, where many more "eh" photos were taken (even with sun gleaming through the colored glass, it's likely they wouldn't have turned out -- the cathedral is far too massive). Allison & I attended noon Mass, and I lit a candle for Aimee before a statue of Saint Denis. A climb to Sacre-Coeur in the evening, and what a view of Paris!

(May 30 journal entry)

Every intention was there to document my experiences at Versailles the day of the journey. Some journalers routinely write in mornings of the previous days' events, but not me. It doesn't feel as real, already a day (at least) in the past. I meant to write, honest, but first a jaunt across the river to see the Eiffel Tower in its nighttime glory, lit up against the sky (tacky when it sparkled at midnight, though). Unfortunately, we didn't make our transfer to Montmartre before the trains ceased running for the night & were forced into taking a cab from Madeline. It was nice driving through the Opera Quarter at night (and not nearly as expensive as I'd expected), but really?

(May 31 journal entry)

It's difficult to keep up with my journal while in Paris: so many sites & not enough time to accomplish everything on my list let alone record it all! We've (sadly) checked out of our hostel & headed down a few doors to "a la laverie" to do some wash before catching our mid-afternoon train from Gare de l'Est (only socks & underwear for me, for now). Oh, I didn't even visit le Marais, I didn't meander through the Tuilieries Gardens, the Luxembourg Gardens! Spent too much time in cemeteries? But I had to see those I so admire, and how lovely, how peaceful! Had I enjoyed the gardens (and as much as I look forward to Munich), I'd still regret our departure from Paris. I certainly need to work on my French, but as I've said earlier, I could live here.

Rails to Munich, speeding by the Black Forest. And now, Versailles. As one might suppose, no photos can capture the monstrously grand grounds. Naturally, the palace itself overflowed with spectacular craftsmanship, gold & art for gluttonous royals. Delicious. At first glance of the map, it appears manageable -- a full day of exploration, but manageable. Boy, an underestimation! A walk from the palace to the end of the Grand Canal, I'm told, takes an hour; in our six hour visit, Allison & I were unable to make it to the canal's end. Between the chateau (Halls of Mirrors & Marie Antoinette's bedchamber my obvious favorites), only scratching a small surface of the gardens (gardens with looming, labyrinthine greens that one would absolutely become lost in without a map, why didn't the royal family hide there?) seeing a small portion of Marie Antoinette's Estate -- impossible. No time for the Grand Trianon, and I was upset to find the Petite Trianon closed until July (so close!) for renovations (as were many exterior areas of the chateau). It was a pleasant, even riveting, return alone from the hamlet to the palace gates, earphones blasting a dramatic soundtrack, Mendelssohn, to my promenade. If dozens of violins playing as Versailles appears above the canal's slant, becoming steadily more vast, isn't exciting, then ladies & gentlemen, excitement doesn't exist. Must examine my photos, research the grounds' fountains & Greek statuary & read more!

(Winding through lush mountains of Bavaria, sky blue, sun high above at 20:00: stunning images from coffee table books made reality!)

Our last two days in Paris (already, I miss it & bade farewell with a raspberry & chocolate tart, topped with the most incredible whipped cream) consisted of a great deal of running around, aside from an afternoon on the second level of the Eiffel Tower, in which it feels as though you can see the entire world (and I mailed my postcards, all fourteen, from the tower's first level). Saw hotel des Invalides/Dome Church, took the necessary & enjoyable stroll down the Champs-Elysee (though more enjoyable had my wallet been fat, able to afford fine restaurants & new outfits from Lacoste & Louis Vutton), Arc du Triomphe & Place de la Concorde (where Marie Antoinette was executed). Split off and saw La Madeline & St.-Germain-des-Pres (Paris' oldest church, one of three original bell-towers still standing from 567A.D., and where the remains of Descartes are found), the Pantheon, and Shakespeare & Co. (highly overpriced due to its fame, but still a great browse across the river from Notre-Dame).

(June 1 journal entry)

Museums today.

Saw the Musee d'Orsay & Musee du Louvre in Paris. As I've told many, the MoMA spoiled me rotten, and concerning modern art, nothing has compared equally, seeing painting after painting recognized by scholars & amateurs around the world. Great old train station the d'Orsay is in (imagine, at the d'Orsay metro stop), filled with Marcel Proust's gossip of impressionists, the hustle & bussel of travelers now that of museum goers, all certainly excited to see Manet's "Olympia" & Whistler's "Arrangement in Grey and Black; the Artist's Mother" among well-known works of Renoir, van Gogh & Picasso...Like Versailles, at first glance, the Louvre seems nothing to fret about (an all-day event, but manageable) until you realize it takes twenty minuter simply to get from one (of many) wings to another. You're running back and forth like a madman, trying unsuccessfully to locate Julien's "Dying Gladiator", listening to one gallery attendant, then the next. "Commercialized art", no trouble: "La Jaconde" (colors more stunning than any print & actually larger than I'd imagined), "Venus de Milo" & Michelangelo#s "Dying Slave" a cinch, but the rest? Some favorites include Carvaggio's "Death of the Virgin", Delacroix's "Liberty Leading the People" & "Dante and Virgil in the Underworld", Gericault's "Raft of Medusa" & Ingres' "Odalisque": And that's only a small selection of an even smaller bit of my Louvre checklist!

Alte Pinakothek, Neue Pinakothek & Pinakothek der Moderne all today, each 1 Euro admission on Sundays (art overdose). Saw Picasso's "Motherhood" & Dali's "Mystery of Desire", a painting that reminded me much of the death of one's (or the author's) mother. Ma mere. Ma mere. Ma mere. Depressing impacting. Ma mere. How I miss my mother. Evening discoveries around the museum complex & Marienplatz; sausages & Augustiner beer for dinner.

(June 2 journal entry)

A wild chase, trying to find the graves of Sophie & Hans Scholl & Christoph Probst this morning ("next to Stadelheim Prison" actually translates "in Friedhof am Perlandrer Foest"), but they were found, a single rose & lit candle adorning their markers. It was difficult, these heroes, the White Rose (whom I've looked up to since, at least, the 10th grade), now before me, my hands resting on their headstones. Would I have done as they did, condemning Hitler, the Nazis? Looking death in the face & spreading the necessity of tolerance, of ending war? Approaching the guillotine with pride, screaming "Long live freedom!"? And here they are (along with their parents) at reach. Here is the very atrium they distributed their leaflets and were arrested at, 18 February, 1943, at LMU, spectacular memorials now both outside and inside the university & an entire library on the White Rose & WWII resistance groups open to the public (which I'll return to tomorrow, before Dachau). I don't mean to lessen or degrade the importance of those artists whom I visited in Paris -- art is all that lasts! Yet three simple crosses reading "Hans School", "Sophie Scholl" & "Christoph Probst" meant more to me. Art is connected to it author and separate, standing individually, but history cannot exist without its players. Maybe tragedy insures remembrance? Maybe not. Words, images, and emotions rush to mind -- "Stop at once! You're under arrest!" -- and I leave the cemetery, the university, saying, "The sun is shining...Long live freedom!"

We're safe and sound in Munich after a 6 hour train ride. I'm exhausted so I'm keeping this short, but stay tuned for our German adventures! Guten abend!

Happy birthday, Jeanne (said with French accent)!

(Well, the blog reads "May 30, 2008", but it's May 31, in Paris -- and technically May 31, 3:30am, in Erie!)

Please ignore the subject line; it's not a cry for help, but rather the title of a Buddy Holly cover that I have stuck in my head. (Also covered by the Beatles, but the Holly version is better. For the record I think the original version is by Carl Perkins.) But this has nothing to do with the trip and you all are bored to tears.

Yesterday we visited the lovely Versailles, including the palace that once housed Marie-Antionette and many different Louises. The palace was gigantic, but with the help of our trusty audioguides (free with the one-day pass bought at the Paris train station - thank you, Rick Steves), we found our way quite easily and enjoyed seeing the palace in all its splendor. The Hall of Mirrors was especially pretty, and me (the history nerd) enjoyed the fact that the treaty of Versailles was signed in that room.

However, while we were inside the palace, Colin whispered to me as he looked out the window, "this is daunting." He was so right. The grounds are IMMENSE. So much so that the map estimates that the time it takes to walk from the palace to the end of the Grand Canal at the end of the property is 60 minutes. We didn't go that far. We did walk around the gardens and down to Marie-Antionette's "domaine," which included a view at the presently-being-renovated Petit Trianon and her picturesque village behind it. The grounds were beautiful, but when it came to the trek back to the palace, Colin (bless him) decided to walk, and I decided to pay 3.50 euros to ride the tram, which, for those of you keeping track at home, is my second "stupid, arrogant American" thing I've done in Paris. (The first involved an italian restaurant, a hole in the ground and a 6 dollar can of Coke. Don't ask.)

We were pretty exhausted when we got back to Paris, but we decided that to close out the night we would go see the Eiffel Tower in all its splendor. I wanted to see it all sparkly, but Colin wanted to see it with only white light, and happily, we got there in time to experience both. We sat down for a moment underneath the base and looked at the time: 12:20 am! Our train stopped running at 1! We booked it backed to the station to wait for our first train that didn't come until after 1, leaving us stranded at the Madeline stop, pretty sure that the 12 train (our train to get home) had stopped running from the policeman and the giant, muzzled German Shepard blocking our path.

We dashed to the street only to find that buses had also stopped running, so being the savvy New Yorker I am (save your comments), I hailed a cab and we went for our first Parisian car ride up to Montmartre. We even passed the Opera house, which was cool. Bottom line is, we made it home safe and sound.

I'll leave today's events for Colin to tell you about in the morning or whenever, but a small preview: the Arc de Triomphe, Champs de Elysee, Dome Church, Concorde Square, the Opera House Garnier, more churches, and the Musee D'Orsay. I'm going to try to get out of here ASAP because there's an asian man, who I'm pretty sure is my new roommate, eating his dinner VERY loudly at the table next to me.

We still love your comments and we miss you all very much!

Love to all!!

I don't know what's scarier, the fact that I'm using a French keyboard or the fact that I'm typing on a British keyboard that's set to the French typeset, which means I'm typing by memory basically. And not doing too bad I might add.

Another rainy day in Paris. We decided that the weather would not deter us from sight-seeing, so we set off for the Ile de la Cité, the island in the Seine River on which Paris was born and where Notre Dame and Saint Chapelle are located. Although it was crappppy out, we found refuge inside Notre Dame, which I might add is GORGEOUS. We stayed for mass and I was pretty excited to take communion (bragging rights, holla!). A good hour, hour and a half was spent inside before we braved the weather and visted the dozens of souvenir shops right by there. I also had my first Parisian crepe. Yum!

After that, we strolled around the island before we went back to our hostel to dry off. After a brief jaunt on the internet, we decided that our last adventure would be to Sacré-Coeur and the souvenir shops that are scattered around its base. Colin chose to take the stairs aaaall the way up to the top, but I, the ever sensible and somewhat lazy one, took the incline. The view from the top was unbelievable. Montmartre is definitely on a huge hill. Paris looked so tiny from the top. We went inside and gazed at the beautiful artwork and the architecture. Definitely a gorgeous church. A great end to a rainy day.

Now I must go and tend to Colin, who is being his usual neurotic self and complaining that the patch he bought for his bag in Paris is bigger than the one he bought in London. Get ready, Mrs. McAndrew, I'm sure he'll need you to do some sewing when he gets home.

Love to all!

(May 26 journal entry)

Eurostar wasn't what I expected (crowded, yes; unairconditioned -- only car 18! -- no), but we arrived in Paris, tired, stressed & feeling like deer-in-headlights (resembling them, too, I'm sure, despite efforts not to) from Gard du Nord to Montmarte. Would Paris be everything I'd dreamed? What if it wasn't? My bags clattered behind me into the night and there was the city my imagination has already known: brick & whitewashed buildings, every window adorned with beautiful (and individualized) iron balconies, green trees meeting rooftops, shading, protecting sidewalks & streets ending at the next blocks' corners as a puzzle overlooking the city. Do I like Paris? Cafés are abundant with patrons chatting over cigarettes, red wine & food -- being French -- fresh food markets aren't difficult to locate. Edith Piaf certainly stands on nearby street-corners singing as sparrows do, in spirit anyway. Not to mention our hostel on Rue Caulaincourt: floor-to-ceiling window (with iron railing, naturally), wallpaper, light fixtures, writing desk:chair, stylish bathroom & delicious breakfasts (esp. croissants & granola cereal with dried fruits) -- 25e/night!

An exciting first day yesterday (isn't every day?), stop one: the Eiffel Tower, not as stupid Americans, but to convince ourselves (as if Montmarte didn't) that we are indeed in Paris (pronounced with a French accent, sil-vous-plait). As enjoyable as London was (esp. the company of Ashleigh & Martin), even with eyes glued to Big Ben, we weren't mentally positive of our worldly whereabouts. But I could still easily spend a few years of my life there teaching, writing. And go to Paris, of course.

In the evening, after an afternoon at Cimetière du Passy and de Montparnasse visiting with the likes of Debussy, Beckett & Sartre, Allison & I made our way down the hills, umbrella (from home, not Cherbourg) at hand, for food & decided on the lovely, reasonably priced Café de Ciné, the restaurant's windows offering another wonderful view of the neighborhood from its corner; for me, salmon & pasta with a delicious sauce, bordeaux to drink & an assortment of French cheeses for dessert: my one special Parisian meal & money well-spent. Returning for a good night's sleep, we could clearly see the Eiffel Tower lighting up our evening & the night sky.

And now, my entry meets today, which was an extension of yesterday afternoon at Cimetière du Père Lachaise to pay honors to (and leave with grave rubbings of) many more first-class artists (Wilde, Piaf, Chopin, Proust, etc). It began to rain as we made our way from the cemetery to Sacré-Coeur & our umbrellas weren't on us, so we ate croissants at the foot of the hill in the protection of old trees (we'll walk up soon enough!) & then browsed souvenier shops to avoid rain as we made our way to the metro station. Moulin Rouge tonight & crepes avec chocolat noir liquide from a corner vendor.

Oh, for the record, I've meet only very friendly Parisians, even giving a middle-aged couple directions in broken French!

Please pardon typos, as I'm now using French keyboards!

(May 23 journal entry)

Gone With the Wind: The Musical last night on the West End. How bizarre, GWTW a musical, which really is why I went: shock value. A flame can never be held up to the novel's & film's melodrama, but for what it was, enjoyable. And I wasn't sure I'd actually see a show on the West End (as much as I wished), but I did! Jim Gandolfo, wherever you may be, think of arrogantly & pathetically looking down upon a fourteen-year-old student of yours, thinking, "He knows nothing of theatre." Saying "Gone With the Wind will never be produced on stage." Who saw it? Who's still directing high school performances (if lucky!)?

During intermission, I couldn't help overhearing a man, in the row behind me, a teacher, elaborate on why he felt Americans are incapable of proper English, why their accents damage professional opportunities. Don't great minds, great artists, come from the US? Of course they do. How closed-minded! Ignorant! Complaining Americans can never properly do My Fair Lady, but please, sir, don't confused it with Pygmalion: My Fair Lady is American; Musicals, as a tradition in theatre, are American. I've a working mind, always questioning, always criticizing & you are only teaching children's grammar.

Disappointed with the Tate Modern (though they own Uncertainty of the Poet), but after a glimpse of St. Paul's, I split off & wandered in company of Michelangelo, da Vinci, Botticelli, Caravaggio & van Eyck in the National Gallery -- by far, England's greatest collection. Again, so large one must run through the first time around, focus on the "it pieces" (they're famous for good reason) & ignore the crowds, but there is Botticelli, Madonna on the Rocks & Arnolfini Wedding staring you down -- it takes every ounce of strength not to pull them from their places and run.

On my way, I happened upon Twinings (in my haste, I never did check its address prior to leaving home), picked up various individual tea sachets & was interviewed on the Strand (outside the Royal Courts of Justice) on my opinion of rising airfares for the BBC!

Greetings from a very rainy Paris! We're trapped inside right now because of the nasty weather outside. We managed to see all of Père Lachaise cemetery today (Jim Morrison!) and walked around the Sacre Coeur pricing postcards as we went before there was a giant downpour.

I'm currently running on 30 minutes of internet time and a wonky French keyboard on which all the letters are rearranged, making it extremely hard to type! So, unfortunately, this entry will be short, but I can see Colin two computers down from me chicken-pecking, so I'm guessing he'll be posting soon enough!

Love to you all!

So sad to be leaving London later today, but also excited to explore new territories. Yesterday, Ashleigh and I went and saw where Paul McCartney works (no trace of him, sadly), and the Beatles' Apple offices, as well as the Linda McCartney photo exhibition at the James Hyman Gallery. So cool. Today before we leave, we're off to Buckingham Palace.

I'm keeping this short because Colin's going to jump on and use up my remaining £1 = 30 minutes worth of internet time so I can go eat breakfast and finish packing before our 10 am check out.

Just a quick note though, on the technological side of things, if you experience problems with the website, just try back later because I think some of my coding may be expiring. I see the coding at the top of this page, but try to ignore it. Haha. If things get really messed up, I'll fix it when we get back.

Love to all!

(May 20 journal entry)

Got off to a late start this morning (we must do better Wednesday), but there Allison & I sit on the south bank of the Thames, marveling at the Houses of Parliament & Big Ben, dodging the clouds for photos. Still hard to believe -- London! We must appear as annoying tourists, snapping pictures of one another on Westminster Bridge, Big Ben modeling with us.

(May 22 journal entry)

One can't possibly see everything in grand museums in any detail in a single day, so I ran from gallery to gallery in the British Museum for glimpses, saw t heRosetta Stone and then focused on ancient Greece and the Enlightenment, where I now sit safely with my notebook.

It's difficult to keep one's journal updated when so many things fill the days: Tate Britain (esp. lady of Shalot), Tower of London, Jack the Ripper walking tour, and far more photos of Big Ben than I'll ever need. A surreal experience at 23 Fitzroy Road after the sun set: I could almost see the body of Sylvia Plath carried down the few stairs to an ambulance, her poetic genius self-extinguished; I could almost reach out to stroke her face, snowflakes melting on my hand. Know it for what it is. Love it for what it is.

Can't believe our time in London is fast-ending (though, at times, a short eternity). Only last night, wasn't I lounging around the Epstein hostel? It's owner (his name?) showing us the gardens after a night out in Liverpool, telling us of Brian Epstein & boyfriend in relationship to the yard, shouting through an open window at a showering guest, "Nice ass! Ah, the joke didn't go over and now I'm going to get a bad fucking review!" Wasn't it only a lazy Sunday, collecting our thoughts for the week at Ashleigh's & Martin's? We've been spolied, but the Astor Victoria (£12.50/night) is an accomdating hostel, with everything available one might need & included breakfast. Not gourmet, but food! And Ashleigh's come along for sites, also. Oh, exploration: how exhausting, how thrilling!

Greetings from our new home in the section of London known as Victoria. We've moved into a hostel here on Belgrave Road, and so far so good. Sure, the beds could be a little comfier, but they have free breakfast and gave us £2 worth of internet access free to start out.

Over the past two days, we've seen some amazing stuff, included an up-close look at Big Ben and the houses of Parliament, the Globe Theater (we saw "A Midsummer Night's Dream" last night), and Trafalger Square. We also attended a choral mass last night at Westminster Abbey, and were subsequently yelled at for taking pictures inside the cathedral after the service. Hey, you can do it in St. Patrick's in New York! I'm sure they were thinking "stupid Americans."

The highlight was last night when Ashleigh, Martin, Colin and I were walking through the Westminster subway station and saw Boris Johnson, the (somewhat hated, from my experience) mayor of London. It was pretty neat!

I'm sure I'm leaving out some things, but we're going on a Jack the Ripper walk tonight, so I need to go get freshened up. I think we're also trying to get to a grocery store today to get some things, namely a phone card for me since I'm running up our cell phone bill like woah.

Also, a little shout out here to Libbi, who was just named drum major for the Pride of Salem: WOOOHOOOO! I knew you could do it!!!!! I'm so excited/happy/proud/jealous. Hahaha. Anyway, on that note, I'm going. Colin will probably post later. We love reading all of your messages!!

(excerpt from May 18 journal)

Trains in England are far more effective (as expected) than in the US, and within four hours (due to major detours around rail construction) we arrived in southeast England -- the same route by car, well over eight hours! Sleepy (second move in two days), but a plesant ride filled with scenery (yes, there were some blue skies and sun over yellow-flowerd fields) and cards.

A night out (Ashleigh thoughtfully met Allison and I at Marylebone & Martin picked up the three of us) neaby by Notting Hill for drinks, dinner & a show (a band Martin plays for, the Prellies, headlined the gig). Going about town on a Saturday night as locals do was worth experiencing; a random crowd from late teens/early twenties to middle aged, jeans to leather to suits. I was upset over the fare home (unsuccessfully hidden), but upon Ashleigh announcing to the driver, "There are two Americans in our cab that have never been to London!" he took us through the city center -- off meter! Seeing extrememly upscale London houses, Royal Albert Hall, St. Paul's, Houses of Parliament/Big Ben on my first night in London! Driving over the Thames!

It's been a lazy Sunday, a homemade, traditional English breakfast and French pressd coffee courtesy of Ashleigh & Martin (my first English meal last night, sasuage & mash). Productively mapped out plans (A Midsummer Night's Dream at the Globe tomorrow evening!), great company & a spontaneous run to the grocery for cheeses, olives, ham, fresh bread & wine.

Later: Delicious British Chinese food with prawn crackers and then, Ashliegh never seeing The Wizard of Oz (!), we held a screening!

Just a quick post to let everyone know that you all can view my first album of photos on Facebook. These include plane photos and Liverpool. Here's the address:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2022786&l=6505b&id=170500358

At the moment (11:38 pm), the four of us (Ashleigh, Martin, Colin, and myself) are waiting on some delicious Chinese food and will shortly be watching "The Wizard of Oz" and doing a bit of laundry. Can you believe Ashleigh's never seen "Oz"?! Wow.

(excerpt from May 15 journal entry)

A blue, sun shiny day, sitting in a park behind St. George's Concert Hall (St. Gerorge's park?), listening to the dulled sound of traffic (wonderful how large city parks provide an escape to nature, but still,l a humming reminder of the city).

Jet lag and a cold got the better of me for the most part of yesterday, in combination with other factors. (Though I was down in the dumps my first day in New York, too; one must readjust.) By the time we made it from Manchester to the city, purchased bus passes, and checked into our hostel (the house of Brian Epstein's grandparents), it was well after noon; Allison had booked our Magical Mystery Tour before leaving the US at 2:30, which in the end was best, or we'd have zonked out, ready to roll as Liverpool tucked itself in for the night. Whether it seemed like it or not (as I regret being grumpy), I had a blast riding around in the vintage motorbus, seeing various Beatles-related sites (i.e. John Lennon's house, Strawberry Field, Penny Lane).

My inability to relocate myself lies in the absence of an initial culture shock (traffic patterns aside). Despite our flight, despite being surrounded by accents (or our accents), there's no Thames, there's no Seine. Am I in England? Well, of course I am, but it doesn't seem so (maybe being abroad is still surreal?). Nevertheless, Liverpool is a splendid city, much bigger and busier than the image I'd created in my mind, the people generally very kind. Beautiful weather, though a calling for rain tomorrow. Allison is presently touring McCartney's and Lennon's houses (how excited is she?), but should return soon. How I love walking, sitting in parks and letting my thoughts run, or simply daydreaming (and eavesdropping on natives!). When she returns, a picnic lunch on River Mersey's Albert Dock and two museums I've been anticipating: Merseyside Maritime Museum and Tate Liverpool.

Later: Can't quite grasp passing row after row of identical houses (always one building, two homes) -- it's a Brenda Blethyn film made reality. Mix housing with occasional trashy British women (the queen's crown adorning each back-pocket of tight jeans) and mothers accompanying daughters to dance classes, and I've become a (foreign) part of films I enjoy dearly (esp. Little Voice and Billy Elliot); something tangible. And no one has cell phones attached to their ears!

Leaving the Brian Epstein hostel tomorrow (due to weekend booking regulations), and how it's spoiled us! Allison and I have a five-bed ensuite to ourselves (we must've picked an off-time to stay; other hostels we've booked are full), a hot pot, mugs, tea, towels & garbage (rubbish) changed daily! What a change it will be to stay in six, eight, and twelve-bed (Munich) rooms. While I basque now in privacy, it will be a valuable, enlightening experience to share rooms with travelers from every corner of the earth. But what a £18.80/night luxury!

Oh, at the Maritime Museum: many chilling artifacts from Titanic (and Lusitania), including the telegram Bruce Ismay sent from Carpathia to New York to inform the world of disaster. Really, no words.

(May 17 journal entry)

On the rails to London!

Royal Liver Building, cemetery at the foot of the Liverpool Cathedral, telegram sent by Bruce Ismay from Carpathia, imforming White Star Line & the world of Titanic's fate

Well, needless to say, we made it safely to England! I kind of freaked out on the takeoff from Pittsburgh, but that flight was actually cool - we flew around downtown Chicago and got to see everything from the air. Awesome. The 7.5 hour flight was pretty uneventful except for about about 15 minutes of turbulence. Not bad!

Liverpool was pretty glorious. I'm posting three of the pictures I took. One of them is me by the river Mersey on Thursday afternoon after Colin and I had our lovely picnic lunch. I had fun feeding the pigeons, even though I probably shouldn't have. The second one is of me, Colin, Ashleigh, and Martin, taken tonight at the Prellies show here in London. I'll get to that in a minute though. The third is me taking my own picture in front of Brian Epstein's grave in Liverpool.

I'm going to try to keep this post short because it's after 3 am here in London, and we're all still up talking and having fun. But a few of the highlights of Liverpool for me: EVERYTHING! The people are so genuine, and so so nice. I melt when they call me "love" (haha). I really enjoyed the John/Paul house tour, and the Magical Mystery Tour. And, Christine, we did make it out to spend some time with Brian! That'll be a whole story in and of itself. I loved Mathew Street and especially the Cavern Club.. so AMAZING. And we were definitely spoiled at the Brian Epstein hostel.. our own room, bathroom, teapot and flatscreen TV!

It made me so incredibly sad to leave it this (Saturday) afternoon, and I still sort of miss it. For me, Liverpool has left some really big shoes for any other city to fill. I had such high expectations for the city and it surpassed all of them. I definitely want to go back sooner rather than later, and for a longer time. Even though I saw a LOT, I feel like I could always see more. It's such a wonderful place.

Now we're in London. The train ride was really nice, expect we got sort of turned around in Birmingham (it was a quick fix though). We saw some lovely English countryside and Wembley Stadium. When we got into the station (Marylebone, where the Beatles filmed the opening sequence of 'A Hard Day's Night'), my friend Ashleigh was there to meet us and took us back to her place to shower before going to a show by her boyfriend Martin's band.

We had a great time at the show and ate a dinner of "sausages and mash," very traditional. And very good! British food has a bad rap in America. Anyway, after the show, we had to get a cab back to South London where Ashleigh and Martin live. Ashleigh was talking to the cab driver (Edward) and convinced him to take us on a tour of central London for free on the way home. Haha! It was SO pretty and full of people (Picadilly Circus = Times Square). We also got to see Big Ben and the houses of Parliament from a distance, as well as the London Eye. Can't wait to explore more!

Well, like I said, it's after 3 am. I miss all of you, but I'm having a great time in England. For those of you I promised to call, I will call soon! Bloody phone cards... We love reading your comments and guestbook entries though, so keep 'em coming and we'll keep posting whenever we can!!

Allison, I'll see you in a few hours at the airport! My god, how I despise flying!

...and I'm starting to get nervous!

I definitely need to do my fear of flying course again tonight. I'm getting nervous about going through the checkpoint because I had no trouble getting Colin's boarding pass today, but I have to wait and see an agent at the airport. Of course! Make me a little more nervous before my first flight!

I've been printing out things like crazy over the past few days, when I'm not hoarding things to take in my suitcase. Good thing one of my mad skills is packing. (Seriously, I think people should hire me to pack for them). I still need to make one more trip to the