Wittenburg-Lutherstadt, home of that one guy...

During our time in Germany, besides long weekend trips, we also did a good deal of travelling during the week while my lazy good-for-nothing brother went to 'work' at his law office. One huge advantage of travel in Germany is Deutsche bahn, the highly efficient private rail service which will take you across the entire country without being more than a minute late at any stop. After struggling with Amtrak for 4 years, this was completely astounding to me.

Anyway, we were able to get a 5-day unlimited couple's travel pass, which allowed us to take nearly 40 different trains for a very reasonable price. Since we are pretty poor, most of these trips consisted of getting up at 6 am, 3-5 hours on trains, 5-6 hours of sightseeing, and 3-5 hours back on trains, where we again got a free night's rest in beautiful Ladenburg. Our first stop was Wittenburg, home to Martin Luther and the cradle of the Protestant Reformation.

Since Wittenburg (also called Lutherstadt now in Luther's honor) was the farthest away of all our destinations, we had the least sightseeing time there, but there's not a whole lot to see here: the Luther Museum/Home is extremely extensive and informative, and there are two churches to see - the City Church where Luther preached, and the Castle Church, where he famously nailed the 95 theses on the wall and was later buried.

The City Church, where Luther preached and was married.

We went to the museum first and then saw both churches, which is the order I would recommend: the museum takes you step-by-step through Luther's life, such that seeing the churches afterwards becomes a very powerful experience.

I was very curious to see how the Luther museum treated the narrative of Luther's life. The traditional Protestant story I heard growing up portrays the Catholics of his time as something akin to demons, and Luther as some sort of angelic crusader against them. Meanwhile, the revisionist version I heard in college focused more on the political entities involved, emphasizing the fact that Luther's movement was only successful because powerful people decided they could use him for their own ends.

As usual with polar extremes of a story, neither is wholly true, but I don't think I really understood the middle ground of Luther's life until I went through the museum. It carefully presents the beginning of his struggle with the papacy, and we see that he is indeed no divine being. However, Pope Leo and Archbishop Albrecht do come across as pretty horrible people (mostly through primary sources, and some of their own words) focused on their own wealth and reputations above all else. Certainly, Luther would have been just another John Hus if the elector of Saxony hadn't stepped into the fray, leading to the inevitable Protestant-Catholic wars and feuds which would continue for centuries, but I don't think that tarnishes the moment of Luther's big decision to criticize the biggest institution in the world essentially by himself. The Pope had legions of theologians to support him - Luther went up against them alone because he was convinced that the truth did not allow him to do otherwise.

The museum portrays Luther as an extremely conflicted, brilliant man desirous of absolute truth in a world full of compromises and hypocrites. Once the theological conflict became a physical conflict, Luther wondered if it would have been better if he'd just been quiet. Yet he knew that he had to speak the truth as God gave him to see the truth. Despite decrying the Catholic practice of veneration of saints as idolatry, he continued to hold the Virgin Mary in high regard for the rest of his life. Not a simple character, that Luther. If you can't tell, I highly recommend the museum to anyone vaguely interested in church history.

Jumping in front of the '95 Theses' door at the Castle Church.

09/11/09

Hey all,

No time for a full post today - just wanted to remind everyone of the date (note: putting the date before the month is the way they do it over here - thus 9/11 is not remembered for terrorist attacks, but for the 20th anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall, and the 23rd anniversary of the birth of my favorite person).

Happy Birthday, Laura!

Czech It Out

So according to the peanut gallery, I only post "once-every-cow's-gestation-period." Though neither I nor my beef-farmer's-daughter wife are exactly sure how long that is, I'm taking it as a prod to post more often. Just remember, you brought this on yourself, Ken.

The weekend after our return from the Low Countries, we decided to forego the eco-friendly bandwagon and instead take advantage of my brother's car and Germany's lack of speed limits to go visit Prague. Due to Zack's schedule, we didn't leave on Friday (barely), but instead left around 5 am Saturday morning. After a very bumpy nap, I awoke to see the wonders of the Czech Republic unfolding around us, said wonders consisting mainly of mud and road construction.

But once we made it in the city center and dropped off our bags at the hotel, Prague turned out to have quite a bit going for it. If any of you are familiar with Prague, we did see most of the stuff you're supposed to see, but I'll filter out some of it for brevity's sake. The things that stand out to me most about Prague are:

Jumping in the castle courtyard

1) The castle. It's the biggest in the world, by some measures. It has a cathedral in the middle of it. But most importantly, it was the site of one of the most hilarious-sounding historical events of all time, the Second Defenstration of Prague (yes, there have been more than one). Basically, a council of Protestants tried two Catholic governors and threw them out of a window, but they survived. The Catholics claimed this was a miracle that showed their innocence, the Protestants (correctly) claimed that it had more to do with the pile of horse dung on which they landed. Then they started the 30 Years' War. Too bad about that.

An organ grinder tips his hat to Laura as she tips him (photo: Zack Boren)

2) The music. Prague supplants San Francisco for the best street musicians of any city I've been to. Some of them do traditional Bohemian music with accordion, clarinet, and auxilliary percussion. We were serenaded by an organ grinder as we ate pizza on the beautiful Charles Bridge. My favorite one of these groups was a small jazz quintet further down the bridge, though. There was a Czech guy singing "Mack the Knife" in a wonderful Eastern European accent through a megaphone. Can't beat that.

The Classical Music scene is pretty developed as well, with several concerts going on both nights we were there. We saw Mozart's Requiem Saturday night, which was a nice end to the day. Also, we can't forget that great rock opera inspired by Prague's own Franz Kafka (which was stuck in my head the whole time we were there, much to Zack and Laura's chagrin).

The Old Jewish Cemetery

3) The Old Jewish Cemetery. For 300 years, this was the only place that the Jewish residents of the city were allowed to be buried, even though it covers a relatively tiny area. Though it contains 12,000 tombstones, there are an estimated 100,000 burials in the space.

Enjoying the food while the accordionist serenades us

4) U Fleku. A huge, traditional Czech beer hall and brewery whose beer is not served anywhere else. You sit at communal tables, and an accordionist comes around and plays songs from your home country while you sing and sway loudly (we got "Home on the Range," and put our hearts into it, have no fear). The goulash (completely unlike US goulash - sort of like beef stew without vegetables) was delicious, and you can't beat the atmosphere.

The Dancing House by Frank Gehry

5*) The Dancing House. An interesting curvy-design by Frank Gehry, Laura was quite happy to find this by accident as we were strolling along the river. It was originally named for Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers.

*Just so there's no confusion, this was something that stood out to Laura, not me specifically. She said she'd studied it in an Art History book, but never thought she'd see it in person.

All in all, Prague is a beautiful, stone-covered city in the heart of Bohemia. It could stand to invest in some more green space - all those cobblestones get to you after a while - but if you ever find yourself in the neighborhood, it's well worth a stop. 7.5/10.0.

Amsterdam: Brevity Isn't One of my Gifts

I’d like to publicly take issue with the claim that, “Laura has called dibs on blogging Amsterdam.” Mostly I figured it would be fitting, since I haven’t contributed to the blog at all up to this point, to be overly critical of Braxton’s opinion. What are wives for, right?

I don’t believe I ever called ‘dibs’ on this post, nor did I imply that Braxton would do anything less than a wonderful job explaining the sites in Amsterdam. I have full confidence in him. I say all of this not only to be finicky, but also to let you all know that I’m not an art historian, and I may, in fact, be nearer to an uneducated cretin than even Braxton. ; )

Now, with all the formalities out of the way, on to Amsterdam – figuratively speaking. Holland is a beautiful country, as you might imagine, so having Braxton’s brother Zack drive us through the countryside was really a treat – lots of cows and old-style windmills. I never expected to go to Amsterdam. It always seemed kind of scary and made me think of marijuana and prostitution. As it turns out, though, Amsterdam is a beautiful city and the only thing to really be afraid of are the bicycles. Bicycles are everywhere. You may dodge the cars and the people, but if you miscalculate while crossing the street or aren’t paying attention, chances are you’re going to be mowed down by some crazy hooligan going 40 mph on two wheels. The thing is, these people seem very kind when they’re off their bicycles, but once they’re on that seat they seem to be after you. Zack mentioned that it was very much like a cartoon, and Braxton and I had to agree. Imagine. We’re standing carefully on the curb with our full attention on the task of crossing the street. All heads turn first to the right and then to the left. The way is clear, so the right foot is just extending over the pavement in full confidence ready to cross the street when all of the sudden fifty bicycles come out of nowhere and from every direction for the express purpose of ripping that limb from its associated socket. This is the point in the cartoon where all three of us are whizzed around in circles and come out with googly eyes and dizzy lines above our heads. It was a dangerous business, this crossing the street.

We survived, nonetheless, and in the process we not only got to see several Coffee Shops, which sell marijuana instead of caffélattes (We saw them from a distance, just to clarify.) and the red light district (also from a distance), but also wonderful art museums, the Anne Frank house and a city full of lovely architecture and a great canal system.

Amsterdam boasts two well-known art museums – the Rijksmuseum and a Van Gogh Museum. Luckily for me, Zack and Braxton endured them both. The Rijks is currently undergoing a renovation project, so most of the collection is not on display. Of course, the collection is quite expansive, so I don’t think the fact that they have just the masterpieces on display bothered my companions. The most famous painting in the Rijksmuseum is The Nightwatch by Rembrandt, but there are also many other wonderful paintings by Rembrandt, Vermeer and other Dutch masters. Here is a link to the museum’s website, if you’d like to check it out.

The Van Gogh museum in Amsterdam is really amazing, and, incidentally, my favorite thing we viewed in the city. Since Van Gogh was Dutch, it makes sense that his country would have the most extensive collection of his art. The museum gives a great picture of the artist’s life by showing his paintings in chronological order and with biographical information. It is a lot to take in, but the viewer can really come to grasp a better understanding of Van Gogh as a person and an artist. And, if you choose one artist to know better as a person and an artist, Van Gogh is a good one to choose. He was a self-taught artist who was, cliché as it sounds, never really appreciated in his lifetime. It’s fascinating to watch the work transform throughout his lifetime. He began with an aversion to the colors and techniques that would eventually make him so famous, but he slowly grew to use color and texture and movement in a way that’s proved to be quite striking and important to the direction of Modern Art. It was very informational and (as an artist) encouraging to see this gradual shift. It also makes me wish he hadn’t killed himself, so we could have seen the further progression of his skill and exploration 119 years later. Here is a link to the Van Gogh Museum. You can change the language in the top left corner.

Both of these museums are excellent places to visit if you ever find yourself in Amsterdam. The Anne Frank museum also has quite an impact and is well designed and informational. The museum is actually in the building where the Frank family stayed and visitors get to climb through the secret swinging bookcase that hid the family’s living quarters into the rooms where the Frank family stayed to avoid the insanity of the Nazis. Here is a link to that museum as well.

As you can see, brevity really isn’t one of my gifts. Overall, I gave Amsterdam a 7.0 on the 10 point scale. I’ll go ahead and leave you with a few pictures of the city. Good times.

Breaking Chronology

So I realize we're a little behind - we're actually in Cambridge now, just so you don't worry. But we can't tell you about that until we tell you about all the cool places on the continent we saw before we came here. Since Amsterdam came after Brussels, it would be the next logical story to tell. But Laura has called dibs on blogging Amsterdam because (as she has informed me) it involves too much art to which I would be patently unable to do justice, being the uneducated cretin that I am.

But, say I, what need has our postmodern generation of a worn-out metanarrative and a meaningless chronology? Actually, one of my professors said that once - I didn't really understand it at the time, but it does give me license(ce?) to tell things out of order, so you pre-postmodernists out there will just have to deal.

While staying at my brother's house in Ladenburg, Germany, we borrowed bicycles from his landlords to ride the 6 miles along the beautiful Neckar River to Heidelberg, that romantic jewel of the valley. After 10 minutes of pointing and laughing (the only true universal language) with Heinz, the very non-English-speaking owner of the bike, we embarked on a beautiful ride through the German autumn (which is incidentally pretty similar to the autumn in central Illinois). Unfortunately, before we got to Heidelberg, I got that sensation of bumpiness that cannot be wholly attributed to cobblestone paths, even in Europe. I had a flat tire.

It's little things like this that cut you down to size when you're travelling - normally, this would be no big deal. But halfway across the world, away from your supply base, where you don't even speak the language, there's nothing to do but stop riding and start walking the bike back the 3 miles or so to Ladenburg (I told Laura she could go ahead and finish the ride, noble husband that I am, but she steadfastly stayed with me, loyal wife that she is).

After we had walked the bikes perhaps half a mile, we came to a crossroads where an elderly German couple was looking at a map and a signpost, evidently trying to decide which way to go. They had huge luggage cases on the backs of their bikes and looked like they were going on a pretty long ride. As we went past them, the husband stopped me and asked me what was wrong with our bikes (by 'asked,' I mean he pointed at the bike and spoke in German. Evidently they didn't speak English either). After a few minutes of more pointing and other extraneous charades (no laughing by this point - we were getting tired), we conveyed that my tube had burst, and the couple immediately went to work - fixing my bike. I told the husband he didn't need to, in that halfway insincere way you do when you really want someone to help, but feel that odd bit of irrational individualism even though you're completely helpless at that moment. Then I realized he didn't understand me anyway, so I just shut up. While his wife found a new inner tube that fit my bike, he removed the wheel, tire and tube while occasionally asking me questions I did not understand. Then he changed the tube, inflated the tire, put it back on the bike, and began looking at his map again, as though nothing had happened.

Laura and I didn't know what to say (except 'danke'...about a hundred times), so we just tried to look thankful. We didn't have any money on us, didn't know how to offer to pay for the new tube, and suspected they wouldn't have taken it anyway. As the woman said what seemed to be some form of salutation to us, I noticed she was wearing a cross necklace. It appeared that we had just been Good-Samaritaned.

As we rode back, relieved that we wouldn't have to try to explain to Heinz why his tire was flat, I thought more about that little dose of altruism we'd received. Sometimes it seems like random acts of kindness on the side of the road are a thing of the past, but it happened to us through people who knew without a doubt that they had nothing to gain from us clueless Americans and a perfectly good inner tube to lose. So if any of you out there are contemplating your good deed for the week/fortnight/year, save it for somebody who can't possibly repay it - perhaps someone who doesn't even speak the language. Not because you'll feel better, but because that person was me.

Hitting the Ground Running

(eating pommes frites in the Grand Place)

So anyway, when we landed in Frankfurt, tired and forlorn, we met my brother Zack and got one night's rest before continuing on a 4-day tour of the Low Countries (Belgium and the Netherlands). We drove Friday morning to Brussels, the capital of Belgium and the European Union, where we proceeded to get rained on off and on. Brussels, like many old European cities, has a sort of charm which is not diminished in the rain, probably like you would have if you got rained on nearly every day for hundreds of years. Brussels doesn't have a lot of famous sites (except the Mannikin Pis, the statue of a little boy urinating which is the symbol of the city - no one is sure why), so the main tourist attractions involve eating.

I was initially skeptical of this, since the first food I thought of was Brussel sprouts, but apparently that isn't really a hot item here. The four foods you are supposed to eat in Brussels are

1) pommes frites (like French Fries, except that the Belgian apparently invented them, and you're supposed to eat them with mayo instead of ketchup)
2) chocolate (no problem there)
3) waffles (they actually are Belgian, it turns out)
4) mussels (moules in French)

The first three seemed to make sense, but what about these mussels (aside from the fact that they rhyme with Brussels, albeit only in English)? Apparently mussels and pommes frites are to Belgium as a burger and fries are to America, only they're a lot more work to actually consume. At any rate, we ate all of them and saw many old buildings and a pretty amiable beer festival in the rain at the Grand Place. (possibly the best Belgian waffles in the world)

Crossing the Pond

Well, we made it over. Not that it was an easy process, mind you - moving to another country brings up all sorts of considerations you never thought of before. For one thing, it costs a lot of money, which leads you to work at your summer job up until the last minute, which leaves you less time to pack everything you'll need for a year into two suitcases, which leaves wondering why perhaps your parents couldn't have been oil tycoons so you could have been packing all summer, which leads you to begin contemplating interdimensionality and time paradoxes. You know how it goes.

Though I lived in the small town of Pittsfield, IL for most of my life, it still surprises me. The lady at the post office who had to deal with my large amount of flat-rate boxes, who I don't think I've ever seen except at the post office, knew I'd just been married and that I was moving. The lady behind me in line at the post office not only knew I was moving, but had just stopped by my mom's office to give me a card (I don't think I'd met her in my entire life). Then, on the last day in Pittsfield, I'd transferred a prescription to Wal-Mart to get it filled before we left, because I don't want to bother with it in England for a while. The girl at the counter (who I didn't know, either) not only knew my name and knew why I was coming, but proceeded to tell me that they were out of the prescription and would have to order more, which would take a couple of days. I was about to tell her not to bother, since we were leaving town the next day, when she said, "But I knew you're leaving soon, so I checked at County Market, and they have it, so I can transfer it over there if you'd like." Sheesh. Everybody doesn't know everybody, but it seems like they all know you.

Anyway, on Sept. 2, we were driven to Chicago, where we had a very gracious checker-in lady from Aer Lingus who coolly ignored the fact that all four of our suitcases were overweight. We flew to Dublin, then to London Gatwick, where we met our friend Jon for lunch - small world. We then took a long bus ride to London Stansted, where we met our friend Tobi, who by some miracle lives 15 minutes from Cambridge -very small world. Since we're flying Ryan Air, we wanted to avoid checking bags (very expensive), so Tobi picked up our excess bags and we just took carry-ons with us to Germany, where we'll stay until the end of September. It was a long journey, and not one either of us would care to repeat soon, but we made it safely to Germany and met my brother Zack, who is so graciously putting us up (and putting up with us) for three weeks.

Hope things are good in the old country.

Testing, 1, 2, 3...

Okay, I'm not really testing. I'm pretty sure that this will work. I just needed to have some content up to make the blog look legit. Since we haven't actually left the country yet, there's not a lot of travel-related content to put up yet. We leave Sept. 2, if you haven't heard.