Party in the DE

It has been awhile. And now I am using time on the train, and the fact that I decided to take my computer this weekend, to catch up on blog posts. First off, I will touch on a few subjects that are quite in the past. And I am sorry about that. But hopefully, by the time this train makes it to Essen (about an hour) I will have a good amount written (but not posted, as there is no Internet on this train, but the details of train travel will come later).

One of the number one things that Americans, and really the rest of the world, associates with Germany is Oktoberfest. And really, the Germans just like to party. The weekend before Lent begins, known in America as Mardi Gras, summed up this party experience. To the rest of the world, its called Carnival (Karnival). I traveled to Düsseldorf and Köln (Cologne)to partake in the partying before the 40 days and 40 nights fast began.

I was told that to “fit in” during Karnival, one must wear a costume. Finding a costume on a budget, in a foreign country, was going to prove difficult. So I looked at my wardrobe, and make the realistic choice, a cowgirl. I had jeans, I had lace up brown boots, I had a denim button down shirt. I could braid my hair, and find a cowboy hat. In strolling through the Dutch version of Target, I found small red, white, and blue pinwheels, that I fixed to bobby pins and added to my braided hair. I splurged a bit, and bought supplies for a real Karnival mask, mainly glitter glue, feathers, and well the mask.

Once adorned in Red, White, and Blue Cowgirl Pride, I set out to the party. Elin was dressed as a 50’s Rockabilly girl, and Myrthe as Robin Hood. We first wandered the streets of Düsseldorf, saw the day time party that included great deals on cocktails, full families dressed up in matching costumes, and delicious crepes. After finding four Waldos having a beer, and seeing boys dressed in cat costumes climb trees, we hopped the train to where the real party was supposed to happen, Köln.

Our group then a bunch of strangers dressed up in quite the elaborate costumes

Düsseldorf and Köln have a rivalry, and each has their own city song. One must not sing on song in the rival city. And the only Karnival song we knew was “Viva Kölnia”.

It was dark by the time we arrived in the great city, and we first holed up in the only place one can find free Wifi in Germany, Starbucks. Even the baristas were dressed up.

We were meeting other au pairs and friends from around the country who had planned to be in the city that weekend. After a few minutes of waiting, our group of three, two Dutch and one American, grew to a loud, fun group of fifteen, including American, British, and Spanish au pairs, as well as friends from Germany, Spain, and Mexico. I had never heard more Spanish spoke in Germany.

From the train station we set off into the night. The Köln Hauptbahnhof sits right next to one of the grandest cathedrals I have ever seen. And right in front of the cathedral was a drum line concert, people blowing bubbles, singing, drinking, and of course, partying.

We passed wine and beer bottles around, and headed into the crowd. After moving from party to party, crossing the parade route, we found ourselves on a street that ran parallel to the Rhein River. We set up camp, near a cheap beer stand, and started dancing. As it was February, it was freezing, and beer and dancing kept one warm. We met more Americans, other Germans, and heard about every European language. Köln is known for its parting, and its partying is known for Karnival. Sometime in the early morning we convened and headed home.

Now that I have experienced a real Karnival, with broken beer bottles at every step, fireworks set off in the streets, and bands setting up and playing at will on the sidewalks. With smoke and bubbles in the air, a 1000 year old cathedral lit up with golden lights, and an entire city, complete with international tourists, coming together to sing one song, Now I know why one must rest and fast for forty days and forty nights.

Along with Karnival, I have attended other parties and celebrations in Germany. Most recently my own small city’s Wine Fest and a near by city’s Kirmes or city fair.

The Kirmes, while free to get in, was expensive for any food, drink, or tickets for rides. My group, once again, was diverse. It was the usual suspects, the other au pair girls from the area, another America, a Dutch girl, and a girl from Spain. In addition to our foursome, we had invited two people from my German class, another girl from Spain who taught Spanish in Germany, and a young man from Pakistan who worked as an engineer at a nearby rubber plant. All together we spoke a mix of English, German, Spanish, and for the first time I heard Catalonia. A dialect from southern Spain.

The Kirmes was like any state fair, just without the animals. And like any state fair, we gorged ourselves on fair food. However, instead of hamburgers and funnel cakes, we had corn on the cob, fries topped with curry sauce and onions, and of course, crepes.

We all decided to buy tickets to one ride, a fun house that was themed in a mix of Caribbean, Spanish, Mexican, with a touch of Hawaiian. We were given leis, and told to take a shot of tequila before jumping on wobbling stepping stones in two feet of water. After climbing a robe ladder and sprinting down moving sidewalks, we played on tilting surfboards and laughed our way to the the exit, a replica of a tug boat.

We then ate more food, sauteed mushrooms in garlic sauce, churros, and real cotton candy.

The Wine Fest in Marl was a small event, taking place in the open air market that I often take Eliano to walk through. In front of my favorite pharmacy was an American Hot Dog stand, and down the way was of course, more crepes. The wine was German wine, made from sweet grapes of the river valleys, or more dry from the south. Either way it was delicious and only five blocks from my house. The DJ played Glee covers of old rock songs and the middle aged of Marl danced their heart away. The girls and I were not only the only ones speaking English, we were the only ones under the age of 45. It was relaxed, and fun, and a great way to kick off a weekend.

4th Trip to Frankfurt: Becoming a Tour Guide for an Actual German Citizen

It is odd to think that I have been to a foreign city more than once, or twice, or three times. Frankfurt, Germany may not be the ideal vacation spot, however, I have found myself there four times within the past five years.

This time, I was meeting Boyfriend halfway (he lives in eastern Germany, just a few hours from the Czech border, I live in the north west, just an hour drive from the Netherlands border).

We also met up with my dear friend Charlotte, who was my first tie to Germany. She was an exchange student when I was a junior in high school. We developed a fast friendship that has kept going over distance, relationships, going weeks without talking.

The first time I ever visited Germany, I flew into Frankfurt to stay with Charlotte. I was there almost a week then hopped a train to Berlin.

The full name of the city is Frankfurt am Mainz (Frankfurt on Mainz). 

And here is a bridge over the river Mainz.

The second time in Frankfurt, I was there for just over a week, with Whitworth University on a German Language and Culture trip.

Frankfurt Altstadt

The third time was just over 24 hours, the time Amanda and I spent wandering around till she flew back to the US.

Boyfriend, had never been to Frankfurt, other than the airport and train station.
So guess who became the tour guide.

A Berliner buying me Berliners while in Frankfurt. 

Explaining the history of a German city to a native German was interesting, and a ton of fun.
(hmmm, maybe I should become a tour guide).

The weather was cloudy, a bit chilly, with some rain. We went to a wonderful art museum with an exhibit of Van Gogh, Picasso, and others. 

Not part of the museum, but near by, street art. 

We also discovered a "modern art mini golf" place, and took a swing at it. 

Charlotte golfing. 

Boyfriend putting. Yes, you had to stand on the table. 

I also showed Boyfriend one of my favorite buildings in all of Germany. The Mall with a Hole, as I call it. And it is simply that. It also holds one of the longest escalators in the world. 

We wandered along the river, ate pastries, and found a ridiculously dangerous playground for children. 

Even I had trouble with the "slide".

For more Frankfurt fun photos, visit my photo blog.

Bacharach and the Disciples of St. Steve

During spring work and before harvest my father would take a hour lunch break. He would come in and have a sandwich or reheat the tacos from the previous night, and sit down in his work clothes, boots left at the door of course, to watch an hour of TV. As it was also lunch time for us girls, we would watch with him. Thirty minutes of Julia Child followed by thirty minutes of Rick Steves.

My father was always impressed with Rick Steves. He would even drop his Julia Child impression to comment on the canals of Amsterdam or tell a quick memory of his college years in the Alps. Mr. Steves would take us through German castles, point out the best place for authentic Italian pizza, and shoot out random facts of London buildings.

I grew up with Rick Steves.

Yet when I arrived in Bacharach, a small town on the Rhein River in Germany, to meet my dear friends Julia and Max, I was still surprised to see that their travel bible had been written by Rick Steves (or Stevo as the couple called him).

Stevo led us on an informative walking tour that allowed us to see corners and sites of the city we may have overlooked. He suggested our hotel (a small bed and breakfast ran by a lovely elderly German woman. She didn't speak a word of English, and despite the flock of gnats at breakfast, the place was impeccably clean and comfortable), restaurants, and explained that the houses that sat five feet from the train tracks had been given money to sound proof their windows.

 The town from the river. Yes that is a castle on the hill. It is now a hostel. 

Historical post office. The horn is a symbol of post in Germany, and comes from the tradition of the post men blowing a horn as they rode into town to announce the arrival of the post.

Julia and I, with vineyards, an old watch tower, and a crumbling bit of wall from centuries ago.

Bacharach was like a real live Leavenworth. In the off season. We found one pub and one restaurant (Greek) and one cafe that were open. And a few slightly sketchy souvenir shops. We basically had the town to ourselves, which was glorious. A quite weekend off, in the beautiful, and historical Rhein River valley. 

 Standing on the hill that is behind Julia and I in the last photo. 

 Street to our hotel. 

Now you see why fairy tales were based here. 

Bacharach was a fantastic time with great friends. 

We give our thanks to St. Steves

St. Rick Steves

Want to see more fantastic, artsy shots of this lovely weekend getaway? Then click this. 

No Longer Crying. Still Eating Chocolate.

Yes, I know I haven't written in a while. In over a month actually.

I believe I realized the reasons why:

1. I blame an au pair friend who shared with me a website where I  can watch American TV shows, including all 10 seasons of Friends.
2. My inner laziness came out. 
3. The weather changed; warm sun, blue skies, and wildflowers blooming. 
4. The novelty of living in a foreign country has started to wear off. 
5. I realized I am living in the German equivalent of Moses Lake (Washington). 
6. I needed an outlet to write about just life, not just travel life. 

And so I changed the tagline of this blog. No longer is it "the story of my painless addiction to travel."

Because after tonight, which started out perfectly fine with me sitting down with some chocolate to google how to become a substitute teacher, and ended with me near hysterics about the future, making a decision on what career, masters program, and life I should plan; I figured I needed a place to convey the wildly see-sawing frustrations of my quarter life crisis. Instead of blubbering over Facebook messenger to the boyfriend. Who handled it quite well, although he does now know to never really give a Mills woman advice, or if you do, to figure out a way to hide it in off handed comments and chocolates. 

The only things I was successful at tonight was adverting a potential grave misunderstanding between Boyfriend and I, registering and paying for the GRE, and realizing I need to reorganize my iTunes playlists. 

After registering for the GRE and handing off enough money to finance a weekend trip to Paris, I started questioning my choice on masters degree (those of you that are not updated on my forever changing current area of study, I had decided about a month ago to pursue creative writing). Then I wondered if I just study something similar to creative writing, such as publishing or grant writing.

Or maybe I use the degree I paid an arm, a leg, and a few fingers for (Psychology), and I go into science.

Or maybe I get really good at the 12euro set of pastels I bought and just sell those for a living.

Or I kidnap Anthony Bourdain and force him to give me his job. Even though I know nothing about haggis and good wine, I'm sure I could figure it out.

And so I thought I would write a blog post about my frustrations and annoyances at the American higher education system and how expensive it is, how paying thousands for education just burns holes in the pockets and dreams of young adults. I even brought up the wikipedia page on "quarter life crisis" to reference. (Its a blog, not a doctoral thesis, I can reference wikipedia all I want).

However, something else happened. In the midst of me scrolling the internet for quotes on independence, and jumping back to Facebook to rant to Boyfriend about how my life sucks as I want to study everything but society won't let me, I realized it wasn't about me.

(Well not everything, I mean, goodness, somethings still are.)

Boyfriend had stayed up hours after his bedtime (he wakes up at 4am for work), to read message after message from me ranting about socialism and american politics, about the pros and cons of a MFA in creative writing, of wanting to travel and not having money. He tried to give advice and I told him to stop, I hate making lists and will not make one about my future. He told me he loved me, and I doubted that, covered in snot and tears streaming down my face,  sweating through my baggy T-shirt, and with a new crop of pimples emerging.

But what made me realize it wasn't about me, and it was not something Boyfriend said. It was something I remembered. November before last, I had a similar night (the only difference was a bottle of wine during that night's frustrated tear fest), and I did make a list. The three things I wanted in life, wanted just for me, and for no one else.

1. To Travel.
2. To Write.
3. To Be With Boyfriend (Well, To Tell Him I Loved Him And To See What He Said And To Maybe See Where It Would Go And Then Apparently Reference It On A Public Blog And Embarrass The Crap Out Of Him)

And well, I am with my dear Boyfriend. I am traveling (current Germany residence card anyone?), and I am writing (look at me, writing words, writing writing, words words words).

No, I do not have an acceptance letter into a grad school, let alone a reference letter from a previous professor. I don't have a job that I can pay my bills off of and save money. I do not have organized iTunes playlists (it really is annoying, I try to be introspective and Justin Timberlake starts singing about bringing sexy back).

But I have the things I wanted.
And I asked myself where I think I will be in five years.
I see myself in a small but cozy house, in South Africa (Boyfriend wants to work there), with a masters degree in something I am proud of, but might not be pursuing. I see an easel on the balcony, homemade chocolate chip cookies cooling (the only baking recipe I can do from memory and scratch), books on every surface, and myself curled up on the couch, talking on the phone, to my mother.

I see myself being happy.
And if I am that confident in being happy in five years time, what is the point of worrying now? I may sound overly optimistic and idealistic. But I am 24 years old. I do think its my damn right to be optimistic. I grew up in a country, in a family, that told me I could be, and do, whatever I want as long as I work hard.

I want to travel.
I want to write.
I want to help people.
I want to love and be loved.
I want eat chocolate every day, and never forget the feeling of deep breath relief after a good cry.
I want to one day hold my child in my arms and smell the soft hair.
I want to have downs, just to know I can get back up.
I want to be as happy as I am at this moment, knowing that I know myself (as well as anyone can know themselves), that I know what makes me happy (a glass of cold milk and a good book for starters).

And I may look back at this in five years time and think I was stupid, and blinded. That I should of started studying earlier for the GRE, spent my money more carefully, and eaten less chocolate.

But I don't think I will.
I should "eat less chocolate?"
That doesn't sound like me.


Note:
You may wonder why I am mentioning Boyfriend like Boyfriend and not his name. Well despite the fact that you can search me on Facebook and easily figure out who the hell I am dating, I figured I would protect his privacy a bit.

Note 2:
Yes, father, I will still go to grad school.

Note 3:
Yes, I will catch up on where I left off last in my travel posts.

Note 4:
For all those readers over the age of 30 (or just really dull 20 somethings), if you think I am overly optimistic and idealistic, well, I am sorry. Foxnews is calling your name.

Note 5:
And for a hilarious and true quote I found while surfing that didn't quite fit into this post:

"26 shows up in the middle of coffee one morning and hands you a freshly printed memo that reads: 'You’re going to get old one day and die. You’re cool for now, but it will happen. You’re officially on notice. You won’t be young forever.' And then 26 struts out of your office, like an unconcerned dick, having nonchalantly just changed your entire perspective."

- Jessica Blankenship 

Vielen Dank!

Just a thank you to all those reading who don't have any other contact with me what so ever.
Mother tells me your comments.
Usually something like this, "Well Linda just loved the last post. I haven't had time to read yet. Harley needs another haircut."

Thank you, Linda. You know who you are (hopefully).

As I am not shy, I love to share this part of my life with those people who have supported me and were excited to see me leave and travel. Well excited to see me travel but not excited to see me leave. I assume all of you tear up at every blog post realizing that I am not there telling you my adventures in person (hopefully).

If anyone wants to get a hold of me, you can add me on Google +, Facebook, or whatsapp me, or if you click my profile in the top left hand corner, it will take you to my Google + page, there under "About" will be my email (please no email forwards. Not only are we no longer in 1998, they are annoying, and I will block you).

Or you can simply remain anonymous on my stats count (although I do know who the reader in New Zealand), and enjoy the posts (hopefully).

Love you all,
Gute Nacht,
Amelia

Leipzig: Legos, Lemurs, and Lightly Salted Pommes Frites

The next stop on my winter travels was the east Germany city of Leipzig. With a history dating back to the Roman Empire and being known as the home and burial place for Bach, the city's history excited me.

Also I was visiting my dear friend, an exchange student I met six years ago in high school, Thomas Mösch (Moesch in English).

After a brief confusion in the main train station about where to meet (who knew there were three different McDonalds?) Thomas grabbed my pack, handed me a travel ticket for the weekend, and we headed back to his apartment. A small flat up six flights of stairs, with a kitchen the size of my shower and resembling what I always imagined young, energetic, poor, twenty somethings lived in in NYC. So of course I loved it immediately. I thought it adorable how the bathroom light flickered eerily, how the dishwasher was the width of my old PC, and how the top floor windows allowed a small balcony, and over looked the city and church spires. From his bedroom window you could spot the church Bach was buried at, the old city hall that looks like a castle I would very much like to live in, and the rest of the city that has seen countless wars, immigrants, monarchies, democracies, communism, and still the fading daylight bounced off the red tiled roofs, a warm glow embracing the new shopping mall built into old stone buildings.

The shopping was fantastic. And in a great location. The mall was huge, but the open area was even cooler. Built around a city block, with its alley ways enclosed with beautiful tile and sculptures, with courtyards opening up to monuments and churches, the shops that surrounded catered to everyone. Fossil, Armani, Prada, Coach; shopping for us more normal folk, H&M on every corner, quirky art stores, cafes and sushi places, movie theaters, museums, a lego store (that I spent an hour in), and street food.

Thomas took me to this one particular Pommes Frites stand (fries) to eat. All we ordered were fries "with white" (mayo), and the fries rivaled those of Dick's Hamburgers. We ate while watching children chase the pigeons in front of a church built in 1400 or something.

Thomas also took me to the zoo. Leipzig is well known in Germany for its zoo. It is huge, and we spent three hours and barely saw anything. The main attraction in the zoo is not the big cats, or elephants, or dolphin shows, its instead a huge enclosed building that looks similar to the sports "bubbles" seen on college campuses. Inside was a small river boat cruise, not unlike the one at Disney Land, and miles of dirt paths, stairways, and swinging bridges. You walked through the rain forest, seeing ant eaters on the ground, climbed through the trees to see birds, lizards, and monkeys of course. It was very cool, very warm, and full of children.

At my insistence we also toured the St. Thomas Kirche (St. Thomas Church) where Bach became famous and is buried (in the altar, like right in the altar). The church was closed. Thomas asked why, and found out there was a concert later by the Princeton Glee Club. Well that explained all the American accents I kept hearing on a weekend in January in a non major city in Germany. We waited for the concert and then experienced some beautiful music (sung in Latin) while admiring the church (as it was Lutheran it wasn't decorated as pretty as the Catholic churches, but still cool). Attending the concert was one of those spontaneous things that happen while traveling. I probably would never had the chance to hear a national award winning glee club sing classic Bach songs, let alone in The Bach Church. I loved it. And it was 40 minutes long, music and sermon, which was a perfect length. Because sung Latin Bach songs on a Saturday after I have been traveling for ten days can make one very sleepy.

 Bachy. Or Joe. He likes both nick names.

 Facing the alter, and the pulpit where the sermon was preached.

The Glee Kids moving about. 

After Leipzig I headed home. 12 days of travel through London and Germany was finished. And I was freaking exhausted. 

I arrived home at about midnight, and slept through the next day. When I woke the next afternoon, I went down stairs to get something to eat and greet my host family. Eliano stared at me for about five minutes before shrieking, "Ahma!" (his version of Amelia), and running to me on his short little legs, grunting the whole way. He is an adorable little fellow, and it warms my heart to know he missed me. 

To see more photos of Leipzig, check out my photo blog 

Its The Little Things

Things I miss about home that I didn't realize I would miss:

1. Free public bathrooms. Most bathrooms here, in train stations or malls, you tip the attendant (or place a coin in the machine so the door opens). This money goes to helping keep the bathroom clean, and some attendants clean after each person. Others don't seem to move. And others are non existent and you have to pay 1 Euro to use a port a potty like deal. 
2. Free water at restaurants. Water is not free, you get bottled water and at times its more expensive than soda, and is always the same price as soda. So I bring a bottle of water with me, and drink that at McDonalds or wherever we go. 
3. Free WiFi, except for Starbucks, most public places (including airports) do not have free Wifi. Really, its 2014.
4. Popcorn. Most popcorn here is kettle corn, and seen as normal popcorn. It is not. It is so not normal. 
5. All TV shows and movies from the US are dubbed over. Big Bang Theory is not funny when Sheldon does not have a higher pitched voice than Raj and when Raj does not have an accent. 
6. Still water. Its available here, and I can find it easily. But really I just hate sparkling water. Its so weird. Like a Pepsi on a severe diet. 
7. Stores, malls, and most restaurants being open on Sundays. In Germany, its a real day of rest. Want to browse the book store on the weekend? Saturday only. 
8. Free banks. Most banks in Germany charge a monthly fee to use their bank. 

Things about Germany I wish were the same in the US:

1. Two words "FREE EDUCATION", no student loans ever! 
2. Kinder Eggs. Its so sad that they are illegal in America. Because children can choke on the small toys, and you can apparently smuggle drugs in the hollowed out chocolate egg. 
3. No sales tax. That is lovely. Especially when learning a new language and currency. Although the Euro Store lady got a little testy with me when I asked her twice what the price was, and she then counted my items in front of my "Eins, zwei, drei, vier. Vier Euro." (four euros).
4. Dogs not on leashes, and really well trained. They just wander while walking with their owners and sniff and come up to you for a pet and then wander off. 
5. Dogs everywhere, on the trains, buses, in the malls, cafes, or patiently waiting outside the bakery for their owner, or carrying their OWN BASKET in their teeth through the farmers market. 
6. Almost everyone, including all hotels, don't use top sheets, instead use a duvet and cover. Which I love. I hate top sheets. 
7. My cell phone bill is less than 10 euros a month. 
8. Real hot chocolate can be found everywhere.
9. Crepes are street food. 
10. Curry Wurst
11. Really all the food. 
12. Mainly the cake. The cake is always epic. Always.