Note Excerpts from Recent Travels in Europe

Upon Arrival in Munich...
    Wandered around the Hauptbahnhof for a while looking for Tram16. Found the right stop, then Tram17 came by. I was wondering if it would get me to the same place when a guy who'd been standing nearby said, "After you. Yes, this goes to The Tent; I live there." And that was how I met Oskar, a longhaired young man from Spain. He has a summer job working at a Biergarten, and gave me some interesting info. He said Oktoberfest actually is in September, from about 15.9 - 27.9 so I may miss it. He also said it's not that special and it's very expensive (10euro for a pint as opposed to 7 for a liter). Unfortunately after checking in and buying some pasta for dinner, I got pulled into a long philosophical/theological discussion with some dude from Santa Barbara, so I wasn't able to talk further with Oskar. He was very helpful though.

Radstadt...
    Amazing hike today. I think the big difference in the forests here is there aren't any medium-sized bushes. There are some small ground foliage like blueberries and ferns, and then there are the trees; so you can actually see alot more than the forests in California. Top of the mountain was incredible; the whole town spread below, two glaciers within sight, tons of ski resorts and amazing mountains and cliffs everywhere. Spaetzel und Kaese is really yum.

Daytrip to Venice...
    Left the house at 5am and started the 3-1/2 hour drive to Jesolo, Italy. I slept most of the way to Udine. In Italy, the countryside drastically changed though. It flattened out and there were large fields of corn and grapes (vinyards) and ancient tumble-down brick houses. The architecture took on a major change as well, light tile roofs, older buildings had more of a rennaisance look than gothic. And things were generally in a state of disrepair. Rather like an older, wealthier Mexico.
   We arrived in Jesolo, the main point from which ferries leave for Venice. It was crowded and chaotic, but Peter speaks some Italian, so he was able to help us get on the right ferry. Then began our wanderings in Venice.
    We started in San Zaccaria, on the border between the San Marco and Castello quarters. The skinniness and romanticness of the streets, alleys and canals was overwhelming. And the buildings were astonishing. Architecture from centuries over, cute shutters, arched doorways and incredible sculptures amazed me.
    There were a lot of people though, and most of the city stank. Billions of tiny shops, bakeries and cafes, a lot of them selling similar things; bags, purses, theatrical masks, scarves, clothing, coffee, glasswork, leather shoes...
    We passed one super fancy shoe and purse shop, on a corner enclosed in glass. There were a husband and wife, the husband was trying on shoes, and the shop clerk helping them, the only one in the store, was wearing a tuxedo. Haha.
    Stopped at a cafe for coffee, and in Venice, Italy, a place known for good coffee, I had the worst cup of my life, ironically. I ordered a "cafe corretto," there being a large menu and not knowing what to try. It was a shot of espresso with a shot of grappe. Disgusting. It didn't have enough coffee to really be a "coffee," but there was just enough coffee flavour for it to not be a shot. Gross. Most definitely something I will never forget.
    On the exciting ride home in the dumping rain, we went over a mountain pass. The rain turned to snow and it was 1degree celcius. Near the top, Viola and I got out and ran around barefoot throwing snowballs for a few minutes. The way down the mountain was trickier because the car still has the summer tires. Got home to find that we had locked ourselves out of the house, which was another adventure altogether.

A Day in Munich...
    The couple who sat next to me on the train helped me get the right tram to Marienplatz, and thus began my adventure in Munich. I saw a lot, much of which I forget what the building or story was.
    Except Asamkirche. When I saw that, I realized in full what Fred meant when he talked about the Baroque style. Embellishments, over-the-top gold leaf, sculptures in every imaginable location... The church was built by the Asam brothers (I forget exactly when) because they vowed to build a church if God saved them from a terrible shipwreck.
    At about four I was in the garden by Max-Josephplatz and it really began to dump rain. Sitting in the gazebo, I came up with a brilliant plan to keep both my umbrella-less self and my backpack dry [at this point I had everything for 2weeks of my trip with me]. I draped my coat over my pack and the hood fit perfectly over my head, accomplishing my goal and creating a ridiculous hunchback at the same time. Happily, living in Santa Cruz has taught me not to worry about outward appearances, and I continued my sightseeing in the direction of the Hauptbanhof. Had a little difficulty find the actual station... for about half an hour... on the same block...

Vienna...
    I got up early to get standing room at mass, where the Vienna Boys Choir and the Vienna Phil were playing Schubert's Mass in Gminor. That was how I met Amber, who was staying at the same hostel. We got brunch together afterwards at cafe Ruedigerhof and shared single-traveller-stories. She left today unfortunately, but it was a very enjoyable morning. The waiter was funny, he seemed the sort of man more suited to construction than waiting on tables. He plunked our coffee and food down disinterestedly and that was the last we saw of him until we walked up to the bar an hour later to pay. The stereotype for the Viennese waiter is quite humorous.

London...
    After reading The Perks of Being a Wallflower, or actually halfway through, I started wondering if I myself am a wallflower [...] I'm having some Bulmer's apple cider, which is quite good and reminds me of Fantastic Mr Fox which makes me smile and feel fuzzy inside. It's been entertaining to legally buy and consume alcohol, but also I've learned how to simply enjoy a beer or drink in moderation, something I knew I should learn after [...] Also all this writing is helping me, I can feel it working through my system, all the months bottled up now to come spewing out of my pen at last. Sometimes I just forget to write. Or I'm afraid to. Maybe I am just like the wallflower.

Leaving London...
    I got to Canada Water station at 01:35 like the stationmaster told me to... and waited...and waited. There was no bus. There were a couple other people standing around, so I asked this guy if he was waiting for the bus also. He wasn't and he said I wouldn't be catching the bus at this time of night, but inquired as to where I was going. Then he asked, "Wait, are you American?"
-"Yes."
"What state?"
-"California."
"REALLY?! Are you from LA???"
-"No, I'm closer to San Francisco actually."
"Oh... Well, I do have one American friend, and for his sake I will help you get to Stratford."
    One of his friends had just got in from Portugal, so they were waiting for a cab to get them to the flat she was staying in, and then he was going home, which was quite near to Stratford. The cab was quite late, and it seemed to take forever to get to the apartment. After his friend was situated and he's gotten a jacket (poor guy was freezing at the station in a t-shirt), we headed towards the Stratford part of town, which is East London. The cab driver turned out to be an old neighbor of his fathers, and consequently he said we didn't need to pay him. I think they were speaking Portugese, but I'm not sure. The cab dropped us off at a bus centre, and the real race against time began.
    We almost got on the wrong bus, and it was lucky he was with me because I wouldn't have known the difference if I were told it was the right one on my own. We found the right bus, which dropped us off near his flat.
    He said we had 15minutes to get to the bus stop that would get me to the station, so we alternated between running and walking, and I think it must've been over a mile altogether.
    He said the three other American girls he had met in the past had all been on a European trip to get over their breakups, and I had to disappoint him in saying that wasn't the reason I'd gone. He said it was very strange, 2 would be a coincidence, but 3 was starting a statistic.
   As we got closer to the bus stop I thanked him heartily for helping me, because honestly I wouldn't have known what to do otherwise and I didn't even have a phone to call a cab. He said it was no problem.
    I had to run the last block and around the corner to make sure I hadn't missed the bus, which thankfully I hadn't. As the bus pulled up, I dug through my bag and gave him a package of Manner (Austrian cookies). He asked if I could find the rest of the way myself, and I said I was confident I could. He said goodbye and good luck, I thanked him again and that was the last I saw of him.
    I got off at the stop for the main station, but to my consternation I had no idea where I was. Again, a divine intervention I believe, there was a girl with a suitcase and I followed her through the empty shopping mall, and when we came out the other side we were at the station.
    The bus I caught to the airport was late, and when I got through security there was no information for my flight. There were mobs of people and it was awful and crowded, worse than airports normally are it seemed. Perhaps because it was nearly 4am.
    There being no gate information, I bought some groceries which took probably about 15minutes. Then I checked the screen again and it said final call for my flight! I ran as best I could, and there was a horrible mess of slow people in the hallway to the gates, and guess what - there was a terribly long line at the gate. Horrid. Bloody fishpaste.
    Anyhow, I got to the gate and the girl there was simply cruel. First she said I had to put my handbag inside my luggage "because, madam, you are only allowed one bag only." So I crammed, reorganized, smashed my crackers and got it all to fit. I started walking, but she said "Oh, now you have to fit it in that grid" By this time I was the last person, and I frustratedly jammed the thing in and couldn't get it back out. There was a nice man who kindly helped me pry it out, and then I ran to the plane.
    Of course I was the last person, so everything was packed. Then they made me move. "Excuse me miss, you can't sit there, evne though the rest of the plane is packed and the girl at the gate made a mess of your luggage and made you last, and you're about to cry." When I finally got a seat - next to a window ironically - I did cry. I just wanted to go home and forget this stupid airline and these idiot snobs and all the crap.
   I arrived in Salzburg, it felt like home, and immediately got a bus from the airport to Mirabell Gardens, and took a nap. I love that place.

Graz...
    Riding our bikes to church, albeit late, was amazing. The fresh air of the morning, the bright fall colours everywhere, the incredible Austrian architecture... a great experience.
   On the crowded buss to the Hauptbahnhof there was this cute little boy in the stroller I was standing next to. He was probably about a year old, and all smiles. Being the bad influence that I am, I stuck my tongue out and made silly faces, and he stuck his tongue back at me whilst grinning. Then it stayed there, and he kept sticking his tongue out at me delightedly, and his poor mother noticed, and tried to push it back in with her finger, all in vain of course. Hilarious.   

A Story Waiting to be Written

I usually am inspired to express myself in writing, but lately I've been using other mediums. Anyhow.

Dropped the business class! I feel a little pressure relieved... This thing should be totally doable now. "Should" being the operative word here. I'd really like to do Nano again this year, so we'll see how doable that turns out to be. I even have an idea if I do Nano.

This box of books ended up in the Word Shop. That wasn't the remarkable thing; there are multitudes of boxes that end up in the shop in any given month. There was a small book lying amongst a bunch of other old musty books, and Alliee set it in front of me as she rooted through the box. The book had a navy cover with a yellow poppy on the front. It was a book of poems in German about California. The first page was autographed by the author and looked like it had originally been given to a friend. The poems had been written between 1898 and 1906 and were organized according to subject - Yosemite, Love Songs, Nature Songs... As I thumbed through the timeworn pages regretting my poor recollection of college German, a photograph fell out. It was a small one, apparently taken with a Brownie camera. There were 3 men in the photo with a dog. After a detailed discussion with Justin about the many small things we picked out in the photo, we decided it was probably taken in the 1930's. Another thing that was hidden in the book was a pressed carnation. Most intriguing.

A Piece of Blue Sky...

It's clouded back over today. Not really what I wanted, but I suppose I can deal with it. I'm going to start working on German again. I don't know exactly why, I'd just hate to lose it all. The last few days it started uncovering itself in my mind and I'd try to remember the words and phrases for things. I forgot the word for Table - can't believe that- Der Tisch...

New-to-me cd of Yiruma, First Love. I like his creativity, but I almost wish he'd follow through with the Inevitability and let the ideas develop a little more. No need for new material, but just let the Inevitability work itself out and escape near-repetition. Unfortunately, most of the jacket is in Korean... one of the few parts in English is a poem he wrote:

When the love falls in your dream,
the time flows like a river in you.
When you're in love,
that is the time when the night falls.
But I wish you wait until the morning comes.
I've finally found you.

I was having this discussion of sorts with a friend about the importance of romance in a love story. It would be an interesting love story that had no romance in it, but wouldn't it be rather dry? It would just be so much work. Which was his point. I can see how that would be useful, but how is it realistic? True, our imaginations conjure up more romance than there actually is, but how could a love story exist without it? Every beautiful action taken in love is how it makes itself known. Those are the things you notice, and then you realize it's presence and it is an exquisite moment. It's true I am a romantic, so I suppose I should stop arguing and realize that the Romantic era is technically past with impressionism and and huge emotional paintings. Somehow the ideas still live on, though. With certain individuals who can't reconcile themselves to this age of technological advancement...