Happy Holidays, y’all!

Flying home.

I’m jet-lagged because I just got home from a three-week visit to the US to see my family and to spend Thanksgiving with CarrotCakeMonster’s family. I helped my parents settle in to their new house and town and I got to spend time with BigSisterMonster and my brother in law, MotorcycleMonster. I did some hiking in the American wilderness that I have sorely missed and I learned to do some basic electrical wiring, which I’ve been meaning to learn for years. And I got to meet my new niece, NieceMonster, and catch up with NephewMonster (last time I saw him he was just learning to grab objects; now he’s making up ever-changing rules to kick-ball which skew heavily in his favor). It’s so cool to see CraftBeerMonster and BackYardGourmetMonster in action as parents. CarrotCakeMonster and I celebrated our birthdays (I made him a carrot cake, of course; CarrotCakeMonster and his mother made me a chocolate cake with neon green polka dots). As did CarrotCakeMonster’s dad, KeyLimePieMonster and, earlier this Autumn, his mom PotteryMonster. And our Thanksgiving was thoroughly wonderful, mostly thanks to PotteryMonster.

A place card at Thanksgiving dinner made by NephewMonster, showing me in my true nightmare form

CarrotCakeMonster’s place card. “Oh no, look how fat I am!” he said. The red thing is his beard. I really like this one, and I’ve seen him make this face.

His Grandma, PotteryMonster. This one is so cute! She is noticeably short.

Pop (his Grandpa, KeyLimePieMonster). This one is my favorite because it is quite accurate. He has very long legs. NephewMonster clearly adores his grandparents. He drew all 10 people at the table and spelled out their names!

My first few years living in Germany, I had a tough time explaining Thanksgiving. Germans also recognize a day for giving thanks, but it’s a modest and relatively somber Christian day of prayer. You have to convince them that isn’t the same thing. And no German really wants to sit through the history of Pilgrims celebrating with the Wampanoag and Patuxet tribes, then the later history of Manifest Destiny and Native Americans. It finally occurred to me to describe what it really is: a harvest festival. A rare day when most businesses are closed, when families get together to cook a feast and appreciate what they’re thankful for, followed immediately by an orgy of consumerism. A day that is simultaneously beloved and notorious for relaxation and stress, the best and worst of family comeraderie and friction, a day for gorging ourselves, driving in poor weather conditions, and struggling to use someone else’s kitchen. It’s also fun to introduce Germans to pumpkin pie. Pumpkin, for Germans, is a vegetable not a dessert.

A pumpkin pie I made with a chocolate-orange-brandy swirl and graham cracker crust (highly recommend this crust with a pumpkin pie over the traditional one). No one wanted to take the last piece so we split it, then split it again when the same issue arose. In Spanish they call this last piece that everyone is too polite to take, “la vergüenza,” or “the shame piece.” I’m holding the last tiny sliver here to go with my coffee.

I’ve been learning a bit about old holidays: the Celtic, Norse and Germanic practices where some of US and European traditions come from. To me, and most modern people, a holiday is a break from “normal” when you do something strange and unusual. But what I found interesting was that holidays used to be a celebration of normal daily life, of what everyone was already doing anyway. Yule was about using candles because the sun sets early, going hunting, eating the stuff you harvested in Autumn, putting a gigantic log on the fire. Midsummer was just a celebration of the fact that everyone was in the mood for sex and had the energy to stay out all night. St. Brighid’s Feast was a celebration of lambs being born and of making butter, an enormous chore they had to do anyway because that’s the time of year when calves and lambs are born and cows started producing milk. They took daily tasks like farming, cooking, and household chores and made celebrations out of them. A “whistle while you work” attitude, I guess.

Hiking.

It reminded me of a Far Side cartoon where one dog whispers excitedly to another as the human feeds them, “Oh goody– dog food again!” Oh goody, we’re plowing and fertilizing again this year. Goody, we’re growing the stuff again. Hooray, we’re cooking it. Oh yay, now we’re eating it. Hooray, the moon is doing the thing it always does. Hooray, we’re all horny again this summer. Hooray, we’re all tired this winter.

A photo of a fire burning taken by Francisco Belard, via Wikipedia.

The closest modern version of this that I can think of might be Spring cleaning. There is also a German word, “Fierabend,” which translates to “party night,” but it means “quitting time celebration.” Every quitting time is a mini holiday. When you’re one of the last customers before a shop closes up, you can wish the staff a happy Fierabend and are guaranteed a smile. Of course modern people still get together to celebrate things like the NFL or the Oscars, but normal people and their daily lives are not being celebrated. It’s all exotic spectator sport.

It would be cool if we celebrated the tasks we all have to do anyway. Like a tax season where we all get together to help each other and then feast and get drunk on April 16. Or Alt-Advent every January, a collective 25 days of cardio, mental health and re-adjusting to sobriety. Or one day in May when we all get our first sunburns together and officially start shaving our legs and armpits again. Medusastag, the one day a week when all the people with complicated hair routines wash and style their hair. STD-Testmas and Suspicious Mole Check Day. Vehicle Maintenance Week which ends in a parade where we all drive our sparkling clean cars through the streets on our properly inflated tires, honking at each other. Laundrorama, the weekly cake-and-wine potluck at the laundromat where we all fold stuff and sing our laundry carols. Annual Scrubbing of the Google, when all the people who have been dragged on Twitter or been publicly proclaimed “annoying,” can apply for pardon.

A picture of a party that I painted during Inktober, which is a month-long daily art project that I participated in the past four Octobers. It was exhausting.

This Christmas I still plan to celebrate the bizarre traditions that have nothing to do with my daily life. Decorating, baking, music, candles. Probably going to German Christmas Markets if they’re open and eating some traditional dishes like stewed kale, quark donuts and gingerbread. Getting in touch with my friends and family (I’ll be staying in Berlin). But I also want to go to the park and spend time outside as often as I can, get some exercise, eat some seasonal veg, pay attention to what’s going on in the night sky and wake up roughly with the sun so I don’t get too depressed (dawn starts around 7:30am in Berlin in December). Probably spend a lot of time drawing and making things. If I didn’t celebrate Christmas and Thanksgiving traditions, I probably wouldn’t enjoy late November December very much. I’d probably just be annoyed by the weather without appreciating anything.

The sun in the morning shining through a privacy film we put on our window that makes rainbows.

I hope everyone reading has a fun, relaxing season and I’ll be missing you all!

What’s COVID-19 like in Germany?

Friends and family, mostly in the US, have been asking COVID questions, and I feel like I’ve done a pretty bad job of answering. Before COVID, I sometimes suspected I was over-reaching to find cultural differences between the US and Germany/Europe, that in the 21st Century there really wasn’t that much of a difference. But once the pandemic hit things really did become different, in the old fashioned way where you really don’t know what’s going on overseas unless you ask. The cracks in each society have been as exposed as their different characters. So here goes, the FAQ’s:

Do you have the vaccine yet? When will YOU get vaccinated? I will not be vaccinated for the foreseeable future, even though I’d like to be, because I’m in the lowest risk category. So is CarrotCakeMonster. Of course I’d like to be vaccinated and free again, but I’m relatively content staying home compared to others: we have the privilege of easy physical isolation, I like my husband and we continue to get along as housemates (and we’re both introverts anyway), we have enough space, we have no kids, and for entertainment we have a cat, a balcony, and an internet connection. It’s only right that we should be the last in line. In the meantime I’m trying to protect myself by exercising for healthy heart and lungs and otherwise isolating as much as possible.

But Germany is moving right along with the vaccines, right? No, not really. We’ve only vaccinated 6% of our people so far, mostly the elderly and essential high-risk workers. This is on par with the rest of Europe. Compare that with UK, which has vaccinated around 25% of their people and the US, which is just behind the UK in numbers and way ahead of Germany. Then this unexpected thing happened: it came out that the Oxford-AstraZeneca vaccine (the type of vaccine currently available in Germany) has not been tested enough on the elderly and thus has not been proven effective yet, though it likely will be when testing is complete. Many people mistakenly took this to mean that the vaccine was proven risky or unsafe, even though the Minister of Health reassured everyone. So several thousand Germans actually skipped their appointments to get the vaccine. Some of the unused vaccines went to homeless people, who are also very high-risk, while others went to the next in line. The government is super frustrated because we don’t have nearly enough vaccines and they’re tearing their hair out trying to get more, yet many people are declining what little there is available. Of course, the vast majority of those eligible for vaccines have been happy to get it.

Wait, why aren’t there enough vaccines? I though the Germans had their sh*t together? Every nation has had to negotiate to get vaccines for its people. This puts small nations and poor nations at a huge disadvantage. Therefore the EU negotiated as one group on behalf of its many small nations. While negotiating, it appeared that three major vaccines were on the cusp of being announced and released, so the EU planned to split the order between the three. But two of those didn’t pan out, so the EU was left with only a third of what they should’ve had. The EU’s mismanagement (about which they’ve remained admirably transparent) has been an ongoing scandal and has created some worrying resentment and discontent. However small nations like Estonia have been satisfied to be included on equal grounds, whereas big rich nations like Germany have been frustrated to be left behind other big rich nations like the UK. Meanwhile many poor non-EU nations have received no vaccines at all. A second reason that Germany hasn’t enough vaccines is that we don’t yet trust the Russian vaccine in development which would even out our numbers if we purchased it. I’ve done my best to explain the whole vaccine situation, but I admit I haven’t educated myself very well. I’ve been a little unmotivated in that regard because I have no control over any of this and I can’t vote anyway, so I’m neither outraged nor informed.

Are you on lockdown? What’s lockdown like? In early 2020 Europe went into lockdown. Countries like Spain and Italy were hit the worst and their lockdowns were the most strict; one couldn’t leave the house at all. France also went into strict lockdown, though people could walk about with some sort of permission. Germany was lucky to be spared the worst rates of infection, but we also went into a lesser preventative lockdown similar to other Northern European and Scandinavian countries: all stores closed except the essentials like grocery stores, bakeries, and pharmacies. All workers were protected as well as possible, with masks, gloves, hand sanitizer and big plastic dividers between them and the customers (which have remained up). Restaurants accepted takeout orders. Schools, gyms and clubs closed. Vets and doctor’s offices remained open and accessible (because most aren’t located inside hospitals), and the subways continued to run. Masks were required everywhere except walking around outside. People were allowed outside, even encouraged to go out and exercise, ride bikes and jog.

Midway through 2020, since our infection rates were getting lower and it was summertime, Germany tried a bold experiment: “Lockdown Light.” Everyone was encouraged to be responsible (and most were) but restaurants opened back up with mostly outdoor seating spaced 2 meters apart. Most restaurants have some outdoor sidewalk seating anyway (they aren’t surrounded by parking lots here so the foot traffic draws people in). But to increase outdoor seating space some roads were blocked off from car traffic, allowing restaurants to spread out seating to the middle of the street. CarrotCakeMonster and I went out to eat a few times on date nights and it felt thrillingly normal. Up to three households could gather if social distanced and masked, and then groups of ten or so. We even met up with friends across town to pick up Indian food and picnic on popular river bank, and we had some friends visit our neighborhood, freely roaming from bars to outdoor restaurants. Most summer festivals were cancelled but some were able to go on with social distancing. We also had an enormous Black Lives Matter protest (with social distancing and masks) in downtown Berlin; I wish I’d found out about it ahead of time instead of the day after. I guess that’s what I get for not being on social media much. Individual families went on vacation as always, taking a camper van to some rural Alpine lake and spending weeks or a month on its shores. As borders opened up, many people even traveled for vacation. I judged, but I did cat sitting for them. Most employers allowed people to work from home whenever possible.

Lockdown Light was very popular but sadly it didn’t work. Our infection rates inched up, then spiked way out of control. A lot of this was Berlin’s fault, honestly, because we’re notorious party animals. While the early 2020 outbreak was mostly Bavaria’s fault (they just HAVE to get together to drink beer and be jolly and religious), each state was free to set its own restrictions and Berlin was embarrassingly lax. When Berlin’s teeming, tightly packed techno clubs were shut down we turned the Spree River into a giant floating drunken rave, photos of which scandalized the nation (Berlin has always been good at that). Merkel announced a return to the earlier, stricter lockdown in autumn 2020, to last through Christmas. It was extended into 2021 and we’re still in it. It has succeeded in lowering infection rates, but since the arrival of the mutated British COVID our infection rates have inched upward again. Schools have just reopened in 10 of Germany’s 16 states. CarrotCakeMonster continues to work from home. We’ve been getting our groceries delivered for the last month so we really haven’t been out much at all. I figure it’s the nicest thing we could do for the essential workers.

How does everyone else feel? I don’t know because I never go out or meet up with anyone. There’s no “word on the street.” CarrotCakeMonster says his coworkers mostly talk about Netflix and video games, except his coworkers who have children and have no free time at all. The extroverts are really struggling here, as they are globally. On the news I see right wing extremism on the rise especially related to lockdown protests. I fear that this new lockdown and the slowness of the vaccine rollout will bolster new right wing sentiments, but it’s hard to grasp what the current national mood is outside of media reporting. It’s also worth noting that the German government’s quick preventative action and frequent testing in early 2020 made Germany a world leader in COVID management. But being first to go into lockdown had the effect of being first to want out of lockdown. The resultant lower infection and death rates meant people didn’t take it as seriously as in Italy or Spain. People were DONE with caution and isolation by summer 2020, so I’d say the German government’s wise decision-making was unwittingly also the architect of further outbreak and deep resentment against those very politicians who helped to contain the infection rates, even though they were supported by the German people at the time.

How bad are the infection rates in Germany? Bad. But not nearly as bad as the US. We measure infection rates using R-value. R 1 means every person who has Covid transmits it to 1 other person on average. On a graph the new infection rate would be a plateau. R 0.5 means rates are declining, only every other person with COVID is passing it on. R 2 means rates are rising exponentially because every infected person is infecting 2 more people, who in turn infect 2 more people. Our current R-value is 1.07, meaning it’s slowly rising. Last week we had 1,562 new cases; this week it was 7,676. We’re worried because schools just reopened even though rates are rising and the British COVID mutation is on the rise. That mutation now accounts for around 30% of infections and is more aggressively spread. We’re bracing for third COVID wave, which is part of why everyone is so anxious about the vaccine shortage.

Since 2019 Germany has had a total of 2,416,037 confirmed COVID cases (the US has had 28,336,097); 69,170 deaths (the US has had 505,890); 2.9% of cases were fatal (1.8% of US cases were fatal); 83.41 have died for every 100,000 people (154.63 people per 100,000 have died in the US). All these cases and deaths have come in waves as a yo-yo effect of harsher and lighter lockdowns.

We’ve had concentrated outbreaks as well. At its worst there were a few outbreaks in Berlin which were contained to apartment blocks; the police shut those blocks down. There was a notable outbreak at a meatpacking plant in Northwest Germany earlier in 2020. The plant was essential to Germany’s food supply and had to stay open, so they supplied workers with all the required safety gear. However all that was useless because the plant employed big groups of Romanian migrant workers who shared very cheap housing together. So they’d work all day with plastic separators, then cram as many people as possible into a car to go to a house that was even more crammed with migrant workers. The plant of course knew this, so even though it followed regulations it came under heavy fire. The incident highlighted Germany’s exploitative migrant situation.

Do people wear masks? Are they smart? responsible? Yes people wear them willingly. A more fitted type of mask is required in certain spaces now instead of fabric masks (but I still wear my fabric masks when out and about). They’re required in the subway and supermarkets and any stores. They’re not required outside but many wear them anyway. I jog without very often and I rarely see joggers with masks. People give each other distance for the most part, except when they lose their minds at the grocery store.

Why do people follow the rules? People trust the government and the media more. Germany has handled COVID differently than the US and UK, but the main difference hasn’t been COVID handling at all. It is societal differences long before the pandemic. For instance Germany as a very different prison system with shorter sentences and a much greater focus on rehabilitation. They’re also state-run and not-for-profit; the cells look like small clean Ikea showrooms. So the German prisons have not become the COVID hot-spot that they are in the US. Socialism has long had a greater effect on the social and legal balance in Germany, therefore the mood is different because of a more functional social safety net and much more accessible, higher quality healthcare. People are of course devastated when a business shuts down or they are laid off of work; parents feel the crunch and people are afraid. But it is a different sort of fear than Americans naturally feel, and when Germans ask why Americans are behaving the way they do I can only describe it as a reaction to trauma, on a national level.

Some of the extreme right-wing propaganda new outlets have made their way to Germany, and with them have come an unwillingness to believe experts and mainstream media or to trust the government and society. And of course chaos ensues. But so far the “fake news” effect is far less than in the US. The “fake medical news” movement (i.e. anti-vaxxers, misinformation spreaders and supplement snake-oil salesmen) has gained less traction first because people have frequent lifelong access to real doctors, and second because education is better. In general people do trust mainstream German media (which is very dry, calm and reliable). The average German probably wouldn’t admit to trusting their government but I can see that they do; after all they’ve lived with decades of accessible healthcare, well-cared-for green spaces and similar quality of life efforts for normal people, affordable education and a social system which takes the average person into account, as compared to the US. Trust is, after all, earned; and it is only after decades of relatively progressive German government that Germans readily agree to wear masks, believe doctors and follow rules as opposed to Americans who, having been treated unrelentingly as garbage, will sometimes behave like garbage. Since the US government has left many vulnerable populations to harsh chaos, it is only natural that a sort of Mad Max national character has arisen.

Of course, Germany is far from perfect and to get a better idea of the ways they fall short, one should probably ask a real German. Or a non-white immigrant. From my point of view, I can’t help but compare my somewhat privileged experience of Germany with what I know of the Trump-era US. And I’m sure you’ll be happy to know this is the end of my political musing in this post.

Something many Americans would be surprised to learn about Germans, given the stereotypes of Germans as rigid rule-followers, is that civil liberties and personal freedoms are sacrosanct in this society. When people want to sun their naked pasty bodies in the Tiergarten, who is the government to tell them they cannot? When tenants want to smoke, who is the landlord to tell them they cannot? When people want to drink their beer on the sidewalk, who is anyone to tell them they cannot? Germans tend to be self-directed in a very particular context. If they want to surf in the rapids under an overpass in the middle of a Victorian park, the police won’t stop them. People use public lands as theirs, belonging to the people, not police or the state. Yet there is also the expectation that they won’t destroy anything or cause harm (when I think of Americans using a public space with no oversight, the first thing they’d do is harm the property). Those tenants who have so untouchable personal freedom in their own homes are also expected to maintain the unofficial quiet hours of German society and to respect their neighbor’s privacy. Germans have been living in high-density populations for a very long time so society has adapted to getting along. When I say Germans are self-directed, I mean that if there is an unclaimed rundown building, someone will take it and make it a dance club at night and community art space during the day. If there is a nook someone will make a “free library.” If there is a head of hair or an unpierced lobe, someone will do something unprecedented to it, and no employer can stop them.

The loss of such personal freedom has been very difficult for Germans to bear. Summer is coming, and you can’t keep a German from running wild in the summer. You just can’t, it can’t be done. Still, the conversation around freedom is a bit different than in the US. It’s a swirl of concern, understanding and indignation. Given German history, people are naturally very averse to losing personal freedoms or any sort of government overstep. People accept it now for the greater good, but I suspect that once the Pandemic has abated the German government will have to wholeheartedly demonstrate its commitment to personal liberties.

Do you have The Lockdown Haircut? CarrotCakeMonster has officially achieved a mullet. In the first few months I gave him a standard snappy businessman haircut with kitchen scissors (which I learned on YouTube), but it’s a tedious process which neither of us enjoys. CarrotCakeMonster eventually declared his intention to grow his hair out, so that was that. I was already trying to grow my hair out, and considering that I have only stepped foot a salon a total of four times in my life, lockdown has had virtually no effect on my hairdo. Our daily style has taken a nosedive though; at first we wore the same thing every day until it started to smell; now we wear it until the other person actually complains that it’s started to smell. No one has called us out via video chat, because they’re also doing the same thing. I’ve enjoyed only having to do laundry once or twice per week. I don’t put together fun outfits anymore because I never go out, but to my surprise I still do makeup sometimes because it makes me sad not to. I also have new insight into why people stopped wearing corsets and petticoats in the 1920s, considering they’d just emerged from a 2-year flu pandemic lockdown. Since COVID I’ve noticed an increase in people not wearing bras while out in public. Everyone is wearing heavy coats right now, so it’s hard to tell just how much fashion has changed since lockdown.

Wait, are you really not going out? like at all? Nope. I go outside or to the park to jog or walk two to three times per week. I have done a little cat sitting for old customers. Once in a while I go to the drug store or the Asian grocery.

Snow in Berlin

After a long warmish winter, it’s been snowing for weeks. Then it the temperature dropped below freezing– way below– and it resulted in the powderiest, prettiest blanket of snow. I was planning to go jogging that morning so I decided to take a full “snow day” and jog up to the Tiergarten (which is just far enough away that I only go a few times per year).

Admiring my plants in the windowsill before I left. I planted some bulbs in late January and this one turned out to be a tulip.

This was difficult to jog in; it was so powdery it felt like sand. But it was a great workout. As you can see, traffic was completely messed up.

What really impressed me were the intrepid bikers. The building in the background used to be a cathedral before WWII. After it got bombed they left the bell tower as a memorial and Berliners nicknamed it “the Rotten Tooth.”

The S-Bahn. It sound weird but the snow made the graffiti look great. Berlin is proud of its street art, which is lucky because it is everywhere.

The road to the Tiergarten goes right by the Zoo. Here’s a peek through the fence at all the empty animal enclosures. I caught a glimpse of some ducks in a pond and heard what I think were moose from one of the buildings.

Another view inside the Zoo. It took me a minute of wondering what was wrong with this guy before I realized this was a sculpture. I guess he’s supposed to be some sort of folk Bavarian.

A traffic barrier (with more graffiti).

Crossing the bridge which runs over the locks in the canal.

The base of a fancy lamp post in the Tiergarten. The park seems to have been outfitted and landscaped during the Belle Époque so all the ironwork is lovely.

The long pond (stream? lake?) that runs through the center of the center of the park. The ice was clearly too thin to walk on– although I have ice skated on this pond before a few winters ago– but as the week wore on and got even colder the ice thickened. In another park I saw people skating on a pond which, being so tiny, was quite frozen. There are several large lakes surrounding Berlin which did not freeze as thickly, but people were out skating anyway, so Police sent helicopters to hover above the lake with a loudspeaker telling people it wasn’t safe. Berliners penned some very angry articles in local papers about how the Police had no right to interfere.

Look at this cute little bird!

A tree covered with some sort of bean pods, which were the only color around.

The fork of several branches which looked like a mountain ravine.

A park bench in that rare moment before it’s been sat on, slept on, or peed on by dogs.

The view from a little foot bridge.

This tree and its neighbors were covered in scarred graffiti.

These ducks were just sleeping, getting covered in snow like loaves of bread.

A few ducks on the outskirts of the group paddled up to me but when they saw I had no food they started bobbing under the surface for their own food. I just can’t imagine how their feet can function in ice-water.

Some people sledding. A few days after I took this photo I went to another park and it was absolutely full of kids with sleds, screaming and having an amazing time. Berlin is full of parks with suitable slopes, but we had a local scandal a few days ago at a park in a neighborhood south of me. There was a huge hill where all the kids were sledding, and some a-hole came in the middle of the night and salted it so when the kids showed up the next day there was no snow. The park service is angry because they have to put new turf down, the environmental groups are angry because no one is supposed to be salting the green spaces, and the parents are VERY angry because those kids have been cooped up for a long time and they need to get some energy out. If they ever catch the person who did it, I fear for their safety because they are NOT popular in Berlin.

Here I am in jogging gear. The top of me was warm enough but my thighs and butt were pretty numb by this time (two layers of running spandex wasn’t enough). It’s hard to tell from this photo but I’m standing in front of one of the beer gardens in the Tiergarten where during the summer (except during Covid) people gather at picnic tables to drink cold beer and eat sausage (and in the winter sometimes to gather around an outdoor fire and drink cold beer and eat sausage. Germans will drink cold beer outside no matter the weather, nothing can or will stop them. I saw a few people drinking cold beers while ice skating).

A pile of Christmas trees. I know they feed discarded Christmas trees to the elephants in both zoos in Berlin, who love them, and I’ve seen public landscaping where gardens have been insulated from the cold by being covered in Christmas tree branches; sometimes they just chuck a bunch of Christmas trees on top of the area without breaking them up. I don’t know what they do with the rest.

Some rental bikes painted a nice high-visibility neon red. In the last two years Berlin has been taken over with little groups of bicycles and especially electric scooters to rent (the kind that look like skate boards with handles and motors). There are a bunch of companies with apps where you can easily pick up and drop off bikes through the city at a moment’s notice, and people seem to love it. The tourists think it’s fun (and they don’t understand the rules of the sidewalk, you can hear them screaming at each other with American accents), and to be fair Berlin is a physically enormous city which is exhausting to explore on foot. Locals like the bike sharing apps; it helps bridge the awkward gaps in public transport. There was a serious environmental issue with the electric scooters because their motors can only be recharged a limited amount of times, which produces quite a bit of waste, but after the programs started and money was made, I didn’t hear anything more about that.

The Siegessäuler, a landmark about which I’ve previously written, looking very picturesque. The little dog in the yellow jacket kept jogging next to me, but whenever I looked down it pretended it didn’t notice me, then when I looked back up I could see it staring at me like a goof ball.

Some more lovely iron work on a foot bridge. I was going to get a more “artistic” photo, but to my surprise, my phone died (it had a full charge when I left home). I was actually a bit concerned, because by that time I had gotten very cold– maybe too cold– and still had a half hour walk ahead of me to get back home. So I jogged all the way back to keep warm, which was absolutely exhausting as the snow had become quite deep. When I got back I made some hot tea and took a hot bath (which I had to partially drain and refill with hot water halfway though my soak because my butt was so cold it had cooled the tub like a giant ice cube).

I took these photos just over a week ago and the snow is still on the ground outside, albeit somewhat melted (and a bit warmer). I’ve been able to jog like normal since most of the sidewalks have a path cleared down the middle. I’ve noticed that in Germany instead of salting the sidewalks they use tiny gravel like kitty litter and just let it sit for a few weeks. It works pretty well.

A Trip to the Vet

My cat as been back and forth to the vet lately for a variety of small problems. Her final stitches were removed this morning! Actually her final stitches were out five days ago, but her wound came back open so I took her in and they simply stapled it back together with a metal staple gun specially designed for animal surgery. Cats must not feel pain in quite the same way because it didn’t seem to bother her at all. Yet if you touch her belly it’s the end of the world. So today was technically the removal of her staple (using a veterinary staple remover that looks exactly like a staple remover). It’s week… I think… three of her wearing a plastic cone and she has adapted well.

I hadn’t left my house in a few days so I had a chance to see how Berlin was adapting to Covid19 conditions. Very few cars were on the roads. Not many people were out, but there were a few. Bikers mostly, random pedestrians, a jogger or two, and a few grocery shoppers.

This street is usually crowded with pedestrians: people emerging from the subway (where the red lights are), families hanging out near the Latin American Evangelical church to my left, little kids running around at the school just in front of me, and people from the assisted living facility next door using their walkers.  

Usually full of cars.

This subway station was open and the train was running but very few people were coming in or out.

Sheltering at Home for Covid19

Last night Merkel addressed the nation and urged everyone to stay home. Our schools and shops are closed (except necessary businesses like grocery stores and banks). And everyone who can, is working from home. However we currently have no enforced lockdown like Italy and France. The rate of infection in Europe and Germany has ballooned just in the last few days.

Because we’re able to, CarrotCakeMonster and I are “sheltering in place” in our apartment for the foreseeable future. We’re at low risk ourselves, being youngish and healthy (ish), but of course we could transmit it to others.

The big run on the grocery stores was actually a week ago, when Germans, me included, descended like locusts and bought up all the essentials: milk, cheese, beer, bread, beans, pasta, potatoes, baking stuff, and broccoli (!). If you want to know what Germans will not eat under ANY circumstances, the picked-over shelves were still scattered with soy and nut milks, skim milk, margarine, whole grain pastas, low fat versions of any food, eggplants, tortillas and other ethnic foods, and frozen kale.

The Amis, meanwhile, me included, had snapped up the peanut butter, salsa and plain tortilla chips (the German grocery stores sell mostly noxious flavored tortilla chips like paprika, nacho cheese, or other nonsense, which no one EVER buys. The plain salted are always sold out, yet they never consider stocking more of the most popular flavor and less of the unsold. This is consistent across Germany).

Since Locust Friday, as I’ve named it, the stores have been stocked back up to about 60-75% and I haven’t witnessed any shortage of toilet paper. Yesterday was the last time I was out, having jogged in the spring sunshine and enjoyed every last bit of it, and then picked up some last minute groceries.

As country after country faces lockdowns and travel bans, I feel so incredibly lucky that CarrotCakeMonster and I have gotten to visit so many places. We moved to Europe in order to travel easily, and in the short five years since we’ve been here things have changed so much. Since the first time I visited the Christmas Market nearest my neighborhood to snap photos, sip hot cocoa, and watch the Germans laugh and drink together, that market was attacked by terrorists who fatally drove a truck into the crowd. Things can never be quite the same. Meanwhile many of the places on my blithe sightseeing list were changed by the refugee crisis, and then by far-right reactionaries. When Tom and I visited Paris, there was so much we couldn’t see; we took one look at the line to get in to the Notre Dame and said, “oh screw it, we’ll just see it next time we’re in Paris. It’ll still be there.”

Now with the Covid19 pandemic I keep recognizing the places in the news from our travel photos on this blog, only eerie and deserted. The big plaza in Madrid, the streets of Paris, the ice cream stands in London, the trains in Italy. I wonder if any of the people we met in Italy were among those killed, like the talkative cab driver who had raised his kids in Amalfi so they wouldn’t get into trouble like in some places (ahem, Naples), or the old man who waved his cane, applauded me for simply having pizza and yelled “brava!” or the serious grizzled nonnas I could see through the windows in the old Spanish quarter of Naples hunched over their sewing machines making old-fashioned bras and leather handbags. An Italian man in the newspaper who lived in a town badly affected by the virus lamented, “a generation has been lost.”

I know it’s silly and shallow to see a place on the news and feel, just because I was there for a day on vacation, that I’m seeing someone I know on TV. It’s hard not to see videos of people singing to each other from their balconies in the narrow streets of Naples and feel that I have some small stake in their pain and their pride. When I hear about the effect on Paris, I’m hearing about my city– even though I don’t live there, I’ve never lived there.

Of course I really feel it for the US where my friends and family live. I’m so angry for Americans who have no paid sick leave, or not enough, who have no childcare options or job security. I’m angry about the health care system in the US, and the government’s inadequacy. And the constant predators ready to make a buck by lying on the TV in the atmosphere of hostility from neighbors to their fellow Americans.

I feel ashamed, now that I’m personally affected, that I’ve been so cavalier about deadly epidemics in the past, in other places. I tried to truly care at the time, of course, I felt sorry for those people and wished I could help, but the news was just too overwhelming to feel real at all. My school friends and I would joke about sharing food, “don’t worry, I don’t have ebola!” Haha, why would we? We weren’t in Africa or somewhere like that.

Nowadays I’m also ashamed of that first second after I hear that I’m not in the especially at-risk category– phew! I’m not older. I’m able-bodied, healthy, I have a safe home, I’m not in this or that town, I’m not a healthcare worker or a working a high-risk job. Because that knee-jerk reaction is just an illusion of invulnerability. The naked truth is that my life is filled with people who are especially at risk, and I’d be devastated if something happened to any of them– innumerable people in their lives would be as well. Even the little cracks and crevices of my life are filled with people who are at risk right now, people I have never even spoken to but they’re part of my world that I appreciate. I’m saddened every time I see media that seem to throw those at-risk under the bus with casual phrases like, “but they had underlying conditions,” “most will suffer only mild flu-like symptoms,” or “many will die.” They may be true, of course, but they seem to me to be a one-two punch to those at risk, of terrible fear followed by the impression that most have abandoned them with relief. It isn’t true!

I’m especially lucky that I’m going to spend the next few weeks or longer stuck with someone I actually like, quite a lot! I’m lucky that I’m an introvert and that “sheltering at home” is basically my natural habitat anyway. I can cook my own food, no problem, and I have a balcony where I can sit and enjoy the first days of Spring. Tomorrow I plan to go out there and celebrate the Equinox, maybe plant a few seeds in planters and keep the cat company while she surveils all the small animals she’d like to murder.

Normally this week would be an unofficial celebration of Spring in Berlin. The cafe patios would be packed with people facing directly into the sun, their exposed alabaster skin reeling at the first vitamin D since September. The shop widows would be filled with painted eggs and rabbit decorations. People’s patios would be overflowing with flowers fresh from the nursery and restaurants and hardware stores alike would be competing with each other to have the prettiest planters. The woods and parks would fill with people playing frisbee, jogging, lounging around in circles smoking pot. The springtime beer would appear (yes, there are beers specifically for Spring). The church bells would be going berzerk every holy day leading up to Easter. The Asparagus Time would be upon us.

As deeply worried as I am right now, it’s difficult not to be optimistic in this kind of weather.

I hope everyone reading is healthy and in good company, and that your friends and family are well!

Brand new NieceMonster

Happy recent birthday to a fresh new Monster in BackYardGourmetMonster’s, CraftBeerMonster’s and NephewMonster’s family!

Garmisch-Partenkirchen

Everyone in Germany seems to have visited Garmisch-Partenkirchen and found it really beautiful. The tourist season, though, is winter and we were there in April, definitely an off-season. So the town wasn’t crowded. The weather was lovely, but as a ski resort village Garmisch-Partenkirchen’s main draw is snowy slopes. In fact it was the site of the winter Olympic ski event when Munich hosted, and the massive ski jump still stands on the outskirts of the town. What makes Garmisch-Partenkirchen especially busy is the Zugspitze, the highest peak in Germany. You needn’t be at all physically fit to visit, you can just take a cable car up, buy a souvenir, and catch a train back down.  And finally, it’s easy to get to Garmisch-Partenkirchen by train from Munich. Most Alpine villages are a bit more remote.

I wasn’t especially interested in any of those features, except the easy access by train. I just wanted to see some of rural Bavaria, walk around in the more wild outdoors, and finally witness the Alps for myself. Eat local food, hear local accents and peek into people’s backyards to see how they stacked their firewood and to see just how deep the “picturesque” really runs. Garmisch-Partenkirchen completely satisfied my curiosity but I’d love to explore the area more if I get a chance.

CarrotCakeMonster asleep on the morning train from Munich. This ride was incredibly picturesque.

A view out the train window. We passed several scenic lake resort towns and villages.

Our beautiful hotel. We got a last-minute discount on a cancellation (April is not tourist season there), and it turned out to be the top floor suite! We didn’t use most of it, but I did take a very luxurious bath in the cavernous master bathroom.

The view from the balcony of our hotel room.

All I REALLY wanted to do in Bavaria was hike in the Alps. Berlin is a very green city with plenty of outdoor space and forest, but it’s very calm and manicured. I was excited to see some more wild Germany. Wildness is the American element I miss most (that, and salsa). I spent a few days researching good hiking in the area and assembled a hefty list, but couldn’t find a good hiking map. This was posted just outside the train station, so I snapped a photo and it came in very handy! The red lines are trails, the black lines are cable car lifts, and the dotted are small trains.

The hiking did not get off to a very good start. CarrotCakeMonster fell asleep for a while (he was dealing with some health issues, that’s why he was asleep on all the train rides), then he wanted to revise the hike to be less exhausting and put together a more solid plan for where we were going to hike, EXACTLY, by searching the internet. A reasonable plan, yes, but super annoying because the hikeable day was disappearing fast. We eventually settled on a popular gorge with tours near the edge of town. But when we walked to it we found it was closed. The second gorge we were interested in, farther down the highway, also closed. Apparently April is a dangerous hiking time, with mudslides and unstable ice. So we walked along a 2-lane highway to plan C, about 20 minutes away. That was also closed, but in the most confusing way possible. The hand-posted signs were short, but NOT to the point. So with half the day gone we decided to take a cable car a short way up a mountain and hike back down. According to the schedule it should still be running, and the sun shouldn’t set for hours. We walked 30 minutes to the lift station, then circled the perimeter trying to figure out where to get on. A man in overalls pushing a beer barrel on a dolly finally told us the station was closed for the season, and was shocked that we’d assumed it was open, even though the closure wasn’t listed in any schedule; this is a surprisingly common experience in Germany, really. Behind him, a cable car lifted slowly up the mountain. I guess it was for beer only. So we thanked him and headed 45 minutes back down the highway to another cable station that we’d seen in operation with our own eyeballs. The ticket guy there was amused when we asked for tickets and said the last car had already run for the day. By this time I was exhausted. Either me or CarrotCakeMonster always has an absolute sobbing breakdown once during every vacation (we’ve come to accept this), and this time it was my turn. The lovely field pictured above is the exact place I sat down on the side of the highway, devastated, and wept openly, wailing at CarrotCakeMonster, “you don’t underSTAAAAND!” until I ran out of energy. Feeling better, CarrotCakeMonster and I decided to take our only option left, which was to tour the lovely historic town and its shops. CarrotCakeMonster exclaimed, “it’ll be GREAT!” in an attempt to cheer me up. Actually, it was great.

Exploring the town.

The main drag of Garmisch-Partenkirchen, with chocolateries, breweries, trachten stores, gift shops and cafes. We stopped at a cheese shop and bought some curious local sheep cheese and a harder local variety to nibble on as we walked. It was extremely good, and took serious restraint not to buy every cheese in the store.

More of the main drag with a string of beautiful painted buildings. The frescoes are a well-maintained local tradition. Most buildings had simpler images on them: a few decorative images and some painted window-frames. The mountain in the background, by the way, is called Wank Mountain. You better believe the goat-strewn trail up to The Wankhaus was at the top of my hiking list.

More details from the same building, showing the beautiful woodwork under the eaves. Nearly every building had this dark wooden part at the top, though most were simpler. The small family homes tended to use the wooden beams under the eaves to store rakes and farm equipment. We got some coffee near this place as I continued to pull myself together.

More painted buildings on another road. These are either hotels or vacation houses.

The sun setting behind one of the local churches. The reason Garmisch-Partenkirchen has such a ridiculous name is because it used to be two separate towns divided by a river, which eventually merged into one town. This is back on the Partenkirchen side, along with our hotel. The previous images were of Garmisch’s town center. The unified town is still quite small; you can walk from one side to the other in a half hour.

CarrotCakeMonster used Yelp to find us the best-rated traditional Bavarian restaurant in town; it was centuries old, if I recall. Waitstaff wore traditional trachten and, even more Bavarian, were All Business. People in Germany regard good waitstaff as being busy experts of food management, so chatting and syrupy sweetness simply isn’t expected of them like in the US. They’ll joke and chat if they have the time and are in the mood, especially at Italian and Greek places, but once a waitress puts on a Dirndl you better not get in her way or act the fool, she has Things To Do and trays of giant 2-liter beer steins to hoist. Coincidentally, I had some dollhouse furniture when I was little with these exact chairs; I recognized them from Snow White, which was inspired by the region.

Locally hunted deer sausage with fresh bread, sauerkraut and spicy mustard. Local game is a specialty of regional cuisine. I can’t resist something I’ve never had before, and I’d never eaten deer. I’d say they were so fatty that they tasted much like any other pork sausage. Delicious! But I couldn’t finish it all because it was so heavy. Luckily CarrotCakeMonster helped me out.

Grilled local fish with butter herb sauce. Even if I remembered what type of fish this thing was (trout?) I have a tough time translating fish and vegetable varieties. Apps and dictionaries translate to things like, “river fish” or “the ancient cabbage,” which isn’t very specific. Oh my God, the first time I needed baking soda, versus baking powder, for a recipe I had such a tough time because of this issue. I had to ask for it by its Germanized chemical name at an apothecary, and they brought me a dime bag full of it from the back room. I eventually figured out how to buy it like a normal person instead of a drug addict.

More amber beer. I strongly prefer amber and dark beers to pilsner (as long as they aren’t ridiculously thick and chocolatey– I’m looking at you, Guinness). It was delicious.

A satisfied CarrotCakeMonster.

Continuing the next day….

CarrotCakeMonster and I didn’t have to catch our train back to Berlin until late in the day, so that morning we tried for the mountains one last time. We did the single most touristy thing in Garmisch-Partenkirchen, therefore guaranteed to be operational, which was to take a cable car up to Zugspitze, the highest peak in Germany. You take a small train that runs near the highway we’d trod the day before, then switch to a cable car (rather like an enclosed ski lift) which takes you to a tourist facility at the top of the peak, then another cable car down to a less prominent but more walkable peak, then take a special funicular train back down the mountain.

Leaving the train station in Garmisch-Partenkirchen in the morning.

A cabin from the window of the train.

View out the train window of the landscape at the foot of the mountains.

A working farm at the foot of Zugspitze, with painted details on the building.

We switched to the dangling cable car, a large glass enclosure that held around 60 people. A teeming swarm of middle schoolers followed us in to the cable car, and their fever pitch exuberance did nothing to ease CarrotCakeMonster’s anxiety over heights.

Beginning our trip up the mountain.

Passing a tower that holds the cable.

Those little fuzzy dots are huge evergreen trees directly below us.

The cable car lifted extremely quickly. In a matter of minutes the parking lot where the cable car started was just a dot far below and behind us. We were much, much farther above the ground than CarrotCakeMonster was comfortable with. The car also swayed back and forth in the air.

A view out the window of the cable car.

Below us a funicular train exits a tunnel through the mountain. We later took that train on the way back down.

Nearing the top. CarrotCakeMonster is very concerned.

Approaching the building at the peak of Zugspitze where the cable car docks.

Entering the cable car docking station, its beams caked with snow.

More of the facility where the cable car docks. We all emptied out onto a platform and filed in to a building with an enormous observation deck.

A view of the docked cable car from outside the facility.

Another view of the cable car docking thing, this time from behind. The entire facility reminded me of Hoth from The Empire Strikes Back.

A view from the observation deck. The view, obviously, was amazing. It was snowing and windy up there, and when the sun came out it was blinding.

Peering down the edge of the viewing platform. The tourist facility is built at the very pointy peak of the mountain, so it’s impossible to walk around outside on the steep craggy rocks.

To get an idea of how high up we were and how vast the expansive view, here are three shots of the same lake. The first is at the parking lot where the cable car lifted off. The second is en route up the mountain, and the third is from the observation deck.

The view. The facility itself was extremely impressive. Inside they played a video on a loop of the engineers and workers constructing it, dangling from harnesses in the wind with their tools in hand. It was a bit stomach-turning just to watch.

A selfie.

A very aggressive bird.

A selfie with the aggressive bird.

CarrotCakeMonster stays away from the edge of the observation deck, snacking on the cheese we’d bought the previous day in town.

You can descend down the other side of the mountain into Tirol, Austria. But since I had no passport I abstained.

The super-modern facility is actually built around the existing original cabin of the 19th century mountain guide who made Zugspitze a tourist destination. The little stand at the left is shuttered, but has a sign reading “Lovely postcards with original Zugspitze post marks– travel memories, souveniers, Zugspitze panoramas.”

Some of the original cabin.

Sign reads, “German Weather Service.”

Sign reads, “Zur Erinnerung an den ersten Beobachter auf der Hochstation Zugspitze: J.J. Enzensperger, 1900-1901.” or, “In memory of the first occupant of the Zugspitze station, J.J. Enzensperger, 1900-1901.”

“Ihrem Mitgliede dem Erbauer dieses Hauses, Adolf Wenz– die Alpenvereins Section München. 1897.” or “The builder of this house, Adolf Wenz, was a member of the Munich Alpine League. 1897.” (I think).

Sign reads, “Betreten der Dachfläche verboten. Vorsicht! Lebensgefahr.” or “Walking on the edge of the roof is forbidden. Warning! Danger of death.”

Selfies. We are too close to the edge and CarrotCakeMonster is concerned.

A beautiful little room inside the facility to sit and observe. So quiet, so warm, like a library in the middle of a blizzard.

CarrotCakeMonster observing.

We finished up on the observation deck and took another cable car a short way down the slope to a penultimate peak where you can get out and walk around.

A view of the cables leading down to a restaurant and, to the upper left, that small dot is a tiny church. You can snowboard up here, probably ski too though we didn’t see any skiers. 

Inside the cable car, enjoying the view

People were sledding on the hill near the tiny church. 

Selfies at the church. 

CarrotCakeMonster is concerned about the safety of the snowy slope. 

A peek inside the little church through the glass in the doors. 

Plaque reads „Zum Gedenken an die Opfer des Lawinenunglücks vom 15 Mai 1965 (lists names) Requiescant in Pace“ or „In memory of the victims of avalanches of 1965 (lists names) Rest In Peace“

we wait for some food at the cozy restaurant. CarrotCakeMonster is concerned about the snowboarders. 

View from the restaurant. 

Waiting for food at the restaurant. We got hot goulash soup with really good bread. 

Waiting to take the train back down. It has a funicular rail and cable up top. The grade is so steep that the cars each adjust to sit level. The train travels through a wildly long tunnel before emerging (where I snapped the photo shown earlier from the cable car). I can’t even imagine how much effort it took to build that tunnel and rail. 

CarrotCakeMonster is concerned about the train ride, but he ended up really enjoying it. 

Some of the train’s cables behind us after we emerged from the tunnel. The wooden blocks on the outside of the train were open storage where you’re meant to hang your skis and equipment. The train itself was in perfectly good order but quite old and simple, almost like a very complex toboggan. 

Another view of the train’s cable and ski storage. 

A view out the window showing how steep the grade was. 

A lovely landscape.

The train can be operated from both ends. When we came to a stop the operators left this unattended so I took some photos. 

And that concluded our trip. The rest was a train ride back in town, some quick pastries from a delicious shop, a train back to Munich, found a completely unexpected hipster Tex-Mex place with great burritos, then a train back to Berlin. We were very glad to get home.

Waiting at the station in München we saw this cookie. Usually these huge traditional cookies are gingerbread hearts with names or words and borders piped on then strung up on a little bow. I see them everywhere. But this cookie stand got creative with a magical pony. I’ve never actually had one of those gingerbread things, I suppose I should try one someday. 

 

 

 

München

A few months ago my purse was stolen (phone, cards, keys… passport). To replace a passport all you need to do is report it stolen then apply for a new one in person. Unfortunately due to construction at the US Consulate in Berlin, I had to go all the way to Munich to make an in-person appearance. Having my bag stolen has so far cost about ten times the worth of its contents, and that’s if I count my half-used favorite drugstore lipstick as having “worth.”

But since I had to go anyway CarrotCakeMonster came along and we made a mini vacation out of it. I’d only been to München for one day, four years ago, and never seen any of Bavaria or the Alps outside the city. We took the high speed ICE train to München and spent the evening exploring the city, then had the appointment the second day at the consulate. The third day we took a local train to a small ski resort and farming town an hour away called Garmisch-Partenkirchen. We spent the night there before heading back to Berlin.

Ever since CarrotCakeMonster read about the ICE high speed train in his middle school science book it has been his dream to ride it. We finally had a chance (it’s a long ride otherwise, about the distance from Knoxville to Memphis). Around thirty minutes after we boarded, CarrotCakeMonster was fast asleep and slept the whole way. The train didn’t feel especially fast, but it must have been because it only took 4-5 hours. It was remarkably smooth and quiet, though, with an interesting view of small villages and their churches.

Munich is the metropolis of Bavaria, known for being beautiful and wealthy. It really is lovely, with a medieval town center and narrow winding streets that turn the corner from centuries-old timber-frame pubs to sculpture-encrusted Gothic marvels. And giant H&M’s and night clubs thrown into the mix.

Our passport appointment was in the middle of the day, so we strolled through the nearby Victorian park in the morning.

At one spot the water flows through a bridge and down some rapids just so that you can surf across the waves for about 20 feet. That is such a quintessentially German thing: to value and maximize recreational space and, even though it’s Munich in April, you put on your thermal wet suit and surf back and forth.

Waiting their turn, posing for Japanese tourists.

Our passport appointment went off without a hitch. We had all the paperwork we needed and more (and more).

We asked the guards on the way out of our appointment where we should eat, but they balked at the idea of Bavarian food. “Oh, it’s disgusting! Too fatty.” Yes, too fatty for Americans. They directed us to an Asian place but we went for Italian instead. It was delicious! The staff spent about 15% of time waiting tables, 30% strutting around chatting and leaning against things, and the remaining 55% gardening vigorously beside the lunch patio.

We tried to go to museum after museum but they were all closed for one reason or another. I pointed out this art museum’s wall and called it an “Instagram wall,” then had to explain to CarrotCakeMonster the phenomenon of decorating businesses and exhibits to create attractive photo backdrops so that cool kids post their photos and make your business trend on Instagram. Sure enough, a posse of cool kids was gathered near the wall taking photos and engaging in collegiate loafing. CarrotCakeMonster decided to give the Instagram Wall a try, and this is the very first attempt! It looks like an album cover. For a Christian musician.

A close up of the wall. These are glazed ceramic pieces mounted over a painted steel grate.

Nearing the central plaza of the medieval and Gothic city center, a cluster of UNESCO World Heritage sites.

A pub just off the main square.

Around the corner is the Gothic Rathaus (municipal building) with its world-famous Glockenspiel. I didn’t even bother taking photos, I don’t even know where to begin. Here’s a video of the clock’s performance when it strikes a certain hour (someone else’s video, not mine).

A shop window with very expensive artisanal Bavarian things. Easter is a VERY big deal in Germany, and this store was all decked out.

More Easter merchandise from this store, featuring two rabbits in Trachten (traditional Bavarian dress, which people still wear especially during Oktoberfest. It’s more like formalwear, made with brocades and embroidered leather, and quite pricy. It’s considered stodgy and socially conservative in Germany, not raunchy or suggestive like in the US. It’s definitely not just for barmaids).

So many beer steins.

We encountered this unexpected disco tunnel leading from one Gothic cobblestone street to another. It was scented like Axe deodorant. Another Instagram moment.

CarrotCakeMonster found us a highly rated Bavarian brewery and restaurant for dinner (rustic-modern cuisine). It was delicious! It’s a bit rare to get dark and amber craft beers in Germany; it’s almost all pilsner.

 

 

Cheesy risotto with grilled veg and a parmasan sail.

CarrotCakeMonster encounters a hot potato. He ordered some sort of beefy thing.

We still wanted to be out on the town after dinner but didn’t want to drink, so we headed to a nearby hookah bar. They brought us this understated smoking apparatus. It was a coconut caramel vanilla type of flavor; you just breathe the flavored vapor, it isn’t smoky.

CarrotCakeMonster enjoys the hookah.

Me and the hookah.

We went to bed and got up early the next morning to take the train to nearby Garmisch-Partenkirchen. I’ll save that till next post.

It is crucial that the canary does NOT fall into the wrong hands!

We were sitting in our living room with the windows open when I heard something buzz past my head like a huge wasp. I turned around to see my cat about five feet in the air swatting at a small white and orange tropical bird, and before we could intervene she smacked it right out of the air. It escaped and she leapt for it again like a great breaching whale. It may have been the best moment of her life.

Once the cat was locked in the bedroom the little bird hopped calmly around our house, singing a weird call and making soft slapping noises with its feet as it hopped around. Crafty CarrotCakeMonster managed to trap it in the cat carrier.

I put up some “found: pet bird” signs around the neighborhood and posted it found on Kleinanzeigen (like a German Craigslist), but over several days the owner never reached out to us.

Instead the Kleinanzeigen community introduced us to the sordid world of bird crime.

“Beware,” wrote someone in German, “there is a bird thief in Berlin!”

“A fifteen year old was just arrested in my neighborhood for illegally hoarding birds in his apartment! Our culture is sick.”

“Don’t just give it to any old asshole, who will sell it illegally or feed it to their snake!”

“You must take down the photo,” explained another, issuing dire warnings over several paragraphs that grew more alarming until his final words: “IT IS CRUCIAL THAT THE CANARY DOES NOT FALL INTO THE WRONG HANDS!”

What had begun simply enough was now an enormous pain in the butt. We were stuck with this unclaimed bird that could not survive on its own, and it was driving our cat slowly insane. We got several offers to take the bird, but what if they were the Bird Thief of Berlin? How could we tell?

We chose a lovely woman whose Kleinanzeigen replies seemed the most normal, and she came by to collect the canary and chat. She has devoted her home to caring for “rescue canaries,” the existence of which I’d heretofore remained ignorant. She leaves their cages open so they can fly around the sunny canary room and interact. Apparently they are a social bird. We received several photos of the rescue canary settling into its new home. She actually apologized for the dirtiness of the windows in the photographs.

Toulouse – day 6

We packed up and left the AirB&B but still had most of the day before we had to fly back. So we wheeled everything over to the BoatMonsters’ boat to store it there in the meantime. Here I am wheeling my suitcase through a garden in the center of town– the same one we walked through the previous day where people were tango dancing in the gazebo near the big fountain. We would spend the later morning in this park as well with the BoatMonsters. I distinctly remember hoping my massive sweat stains wouldn’t show in this photo, because it was HOT out there.

The BoatMonsters had another great recommendation for us, so we all headed over to Bistrot de l’étoile for a fantastic lunch. This is a casual restaurant “for normal people” which serves fixed menu 3-course lunches and is frequented by local business people. The BoatMonsters go every year, and made a name for themselves by sending the owners some anti-Trump memorabilia for their massive collection of wall knicknacks. They were greeted warmly this year.

Here I am trying to subtly photograph the meal without bringing too much attention to us. My salad was great– as I mentioned a few posts back, the area has fantastic produce. Those are eggplant croquettes, and in the foreground, a pale ale.

Another salad, with a mushroom stuffed with a deviled egg situation and another eggplant croquette.

Our refreshing table wine, a bread basket, and NachoMaid.

Mr. and Mrs. BoatMonster about to enjoy their starters. It wasn’t just salad; we ordered fish, meat and veg for a main and then a “cafe gourmand” for dessert. That is a cappuccino or similar, with a small sampler of desserts. I remember a tiny créme brulee, a little chocolate truffle, a tiny square of cake, and something else which, taken altogether, was quite a lot. The BoatMonsters are good travelers and their recommendations were excellent.

After lunch we walked back over to the park in the center of town and sat around in the shade, digesting and chatting. NachoMaid, CarrotCakeMonster and I decided to check out the Capital Building– again at the recommendation of the BoatMonsters– and its famous late-19th century murals.

The entrance to the Capital.

One in a long room of Impressionist style murals by Henri Martin, illustrating the stages of life and also the seasons of the year. This was enormous and made a strong impression in person.

Henri Martin, showing a later season and stage of life.

A long gallery showing paintings related to France’s military history by many different artists. It was being set up at one end for a wedding.

NachoMaid strolling through the gallery.

A painting in a different gallery of the Capital, this one featuring painting and sculpture about the military history of France and Toulouse, including old folk tales. This is by Antonin Mercie.

This is meant to be the Athena guarding over Toulouse, and I believe she’s floating over the town square behind the Capital where we visited the flea market. It appears to be dusk after the vendors have left, so she’s probably not shopping. This is by Destrem, called Minerva Guarding over Toulouse.

A view through one of the windows of the gallery showing an inner courtyard of the Capital building. This would be a good place to make a speech.

Another by Henri Martin, but it was blocked off for the wedding and I couldn’t read what it depicted, but it’s surely an old folk tale about Toulouse’s military history.

A depiction of Napoleon’s army marching (sneaking) into Cairo at night. by A. Rixens.

One of a series of sculptures of women representing various abstract ideas like achievements in math and science, etc. because it’s a plaster sculpture I thought the inscriptions were especially attractive. You can’t really do this with stone carving.

One of several ceiling murals, this showing France (the woman on chariot pulled by lions) preparing to fight, aided by Mars. This entire gallery would have been completed about 15 years after France was defeated by Germany, so I suppose it’s about rallying morale. Forty years after the completion of this series of murals, though, Toulouse would become a stronghold of French resistance against the Nazis.

NachoMaid and CarrotCakeMonster are waiting impatiently for me to finish looking at the military history paintings. They’re waiting in the Henri Martin room; the paintings above them are Autumn and Winter. We left and went wandering around downtown Toulouse.

A view of “normal Toulouse” via back balconies. I love how the people on the ground floor drew in yellow on their window.

NachoMaid waits outside Briocherie Croustine.

Inside Briocherie Croustine, a row of giant nougats is guarded by a man on his phone, and on the other are a series of bins of dried fruits.

Nougat Speculoos; I’ve only seen this flavor in gelato in Berlin. It’s what Germans think of as quintessentially Italian, and here it is in a nougat. The photo doesn’t convey how huge these things are.

A violet flavor in front, topped with candied violets. Violet is a famous Toulouse export; there are also a few violet-themed gift shops in downtown Toulouse.

CarrotCakeMonster helps himself to some dried candied fruit. I strongly dislike candied fruit and “gummy” snacks of any sort, so this is his chance to load up on candy I won’t steal. Nougat, on the other hand, is fantastic.

Mangoes, bananas, pomeloes, hibiscus, and farther down apples, apricots and citrus.

NachoMaid and CarrotCakeMonster got cold beverages just to take advantage of the air conditioning while I checked out this vintage poster and reproduction store. The other side was a stationary and gift store.

Oddly enough, the last thing we visited in Toulouse before leaving was this huge fabric store. It’s locally famous, apparently. It’s also air conditioned.

Goodbye, Toulouse. Our trip to and through the airport was uneventful, as it should be.

In-flight entertainment. I’m editing out blurry photos of Toulouse, probably. Or reading more of the Complete Works of Jane Austen that I downloaded before the trip. The short stories she wrote when she was a disgruntled tween are mean and terrifically funny. There is no “happily ever after,” instead everyone dies at the end, and you don’t feel at all sorry for them.

Our cat was happy to see us. We paid for a cat sitter, and it was money very well spent. We got photo updates while we were away, and when we got back the house smelled normal and the cat wasn’t a complete maniac.

The “rock on, Berlin” gnome I saw in the window of a local bank (LBS, on his cap). I’ve wanted one of these gnomes ever since I saw him. And I think he’s a good “welcome home” symbol.