Of the Black Forest

Pardon my horrible delays in getting all of these entries up. In contrast to the ones of Italy, I did not get bring along my laptop this time around so for all of the places I am writing about, I'm recalling them from memory (which may account for why these entries are so short). Of course, you can always tell of the impression that a place has made on you depending on how much you end up writing about it in your journal. So keeping that in mind, we move onto:

The Black Forest, or rather, the two towns that we visited that were near the Black Forest: Freiburg and Triberg. Time spent: 2 days.


Freiburg


Triberg

We arrived in Freiburg at 6AM, after spending the night in an overnight train and almost missing our stop. Luckily, days of waking up at 7AM and sleeping in a room together had acclimated us to becoming very light sleepers. So after what was a very bumpy rest in a reclining seat (since we were cheapskates and didn't want to pay an additional 10 euros for a bed), complete with the periodic waking up in the middle of the night anytime the train stopped , we woke up right at our destination, and hauled our duffel bags and our tired bodies off of the train a minute before it left. Talk about great timing.

What follows is me recalling our first morning in Freiburg where all I wanted to do was take a shower and go to bed. Suffice to say, sleeping on a train is not something I care to repeat, only because of the exhaustion and dirtiness that follow from not being able to shower the night before and from only getting a light sleep. Perhaps sleeping in a bed would have been better...

Yet, one cannot call the morning unproductive since after dropping our luggage off at the Black Forest Hostel, we proceeded to climb up to the old fort on the hill to get a glimpse of the town and the forest that surrounded it. Nothing like a good walk uphill to work up an appetite, especially since that walk gave you the countryside of Germany in the morning light.



I may have been a bit presumptuous (and a wee bit ignorant) calling San Marino in Italy the place of fairy tales, considering that the Black Forest in Germany is where most of them originated. Looking at that blanket, and then walking through it the next day, it was easy to see where such dark thoughts of fairies, elves, talking wolves, and gingerbread houses came from.

Though there were no houses of gingerbread, there was a giant cuckoo clock next day in the town of Triberg, located in the middle of the forest, and infamous for its clock. And we had come just in time to see this one come out of its doors and greet us.



There was also the waterfall, which is one of the tallest in Germany and the mist was so refreshing after such a humid walk up and through the woods. I had never been so close to a roaring waterfall before and it had always been a dream of mine ever since Yosemite at age 8. Of course, at that time, that fall was dried up and there was barely any mist. Not in this one though, we got so close that I could just almost touch the water.



Then there was just the hike deeper and deeper into the forest, with the trees on both of your sides just waiting to envelope you up. They grow so thick and dark. At any moment, the Elf-King could come and take you away and no one would even know...


"Oh, come, thou dear infant! oh come thou with me!
For many a game I will play there with thee;" - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Erlkönig

The most surreal moment of that walk, to me, was just coming out of the forest and as the trees parted, you were greeted to a view that seemed to have come from the pages of a storybook. It was the picture that I have always used to associate with Europe in my mind, the rolling hills of green with cottages, and fields that seem to go on forever with no fence to picket them off. The strangest thing about it was the enveloping silence where nothing seemed to disturb the air, save for the mooing of cows. It was such a strange moment and one that I have not experienced before. Usually, when you go to any of these places, there are always the chattering of tourists or the clicking of cameras. Not then, it was just us, the fields, and the forest behind, waiting to envelope us in again. Strange and yet, so calm. I would never be able to live in such a place but sometimes, it is a wonderful reprieve from the stress of car horns and the cold steel and concrete of city life.



To end our days in the Black Forest, I had what I had been dreaming about the whole time, ever since Allison told me that we were heading towards that area of Germany: the Black Forest cake. It is a dessert concoction of chocolate cake, held together with black cherries and covered with white icing plus just a spray of rum. Bittersweet and slightly tart but that's the way all good fairy tales traditionally end. In our case, it was an ending to replace the lack of gingerbread houses and witches that were supposed to dwell in the woods.



Freiberg, the photo album

Triberg, the photo album

Of 21

We take some time out of our regular programming (ie: the travel blog), to wish myself a Happy 21st away from home. Of course, it lacked Las Vegas (a 21 year old tradition) and copious amounts of alcohol. Yet, what it did include was British flatmates, surprisingly good Mexican food, and cake. Oh, and the lights that they gave me with fun little hand-written quotes such as "It's not my fault, I'm American." All in all, the best thing that could have happened in my home away from home.

Though I must admit, I do not feel as wise as I thought I would be at this age. How very anticlimactic.

Of Lethargy and Amsterdam

To tell the truth, I am not entirely sure what was it the compeled me to Amsterdam. I've never been obsessed with smoking pot that seems to permeate most California university campuses and the only thing I really liked about the Netherlands were tulips and the art. Of course, after walking around the Northern Europe section in the Louvre, and the National Gallery, and the Getty, I feel like I have gotten my heart's content in terms of that area. So why go you wonder?

Probably because I am a college student and I figured I would do what most college students would dream of doing during Spring Break. So time spent in Amsterdam: 2 days.



And I stayed away from the "coffee shops," which did not sell coffee but rather pot by the joint, brownie, or smoothies (I don't want to know). The wonderful thing about walking by coffee shops was that you always knew which ones were coffee shops and which ones were "coffee shops." To differentiate, look at the clientele (older folks reading newspapers for the former) and use your nose. Apparently, a popular chain is the Bulldog.



So, when you are not in the mood for pot but still want Amsterdam culture, then there is always a little bit of history (albeit sad) at the Anne Frank House. I have not been to a Holocaust monument since the Museum of Tolerance (and that gave me sleepless nights for days) but it's amazing when 40 years after, despite the fact that I do not come from that background of people who were any way connected to it, seeing such a place can still move you enough to tears. Not to mention that walking through the house, through those small rooms that housed 8 people, and almost tripping up those narrow stairs that led to the Secret Annex, you cannot help feeling both moved and have your hair standing on ends from the ghost of decades past. I wonder how it would feel to visit Poland...


I found the sight of people posing and smiling in front of the house just a bit inappropriate.

Then, there was the Rijkmuseum, which housed an impressive collection of Dutch art...so I am told. They closed down half of the museum for renovation so all you could see were the highlights. Which would have been a decent sample if they did not charge the full 11 euros admission price to get into what amounted to only a quarter of the museum. Even though I finally saw Rembrant's impressive "Night Watch," as a student, 11 euros was too much to charge for seeing it. Not cool, Rijkmuseum, not cool at all.


Pretty courtyard though.

And there was a very interesting walk through the red-light district with its heavily perfumed rooms that you can smell as you're walking past and its church that is ironically located at the very end of it. I wonder how many confessors and tithes the church gets on a daily basis...



Finally, my favorite part...


Tulips


Lots and lots of tulips sold at the Westermarkt...they even ship them worldwide!

All in all, Amsterdam was basically a place to casually stroll around and maybe take in a sight or two if you were really motivated. But I felt that the majority of the time we spent there was just lethargically strolling around. There was something about the air that made you feel tired even if you had been sitting down previously. Suffice to say, I was glad I went but it probably won't be a place I'll want to come back to.

And now for something completely random while we were there, the carnival!


That sold the largest stick of cotton candy I have ever seen, which took the strength of two girls and one guy to finish.

Amsterdam, the photo album

Of Chocolates in Bruges

So, in order to further procrastinate on writing my essays (I'll get to them eventually, spoken like a true student), I will now take the time to not sulk about California and instead, to reminisce about the latter half of my Spring Break at Warwick. This (*cough*) productive time was spent in the German, speaking nations, namely Belgium, the Netherlands, Germany, Switzerland, and Austria.

In 12 days. Which was a good idea on paper but when put into practice...

Exhausting.

Exhilarating.

Slightly frustration inducing. I do not recommend it unless you have quite a bit of energy and stamina. But, like the chocolates I consumed, this was only a sample tour. The next time I go traveling, I will definitely go to less cities and spend more time there, if only for the sake of my physical health.



The first stop was Bruges, Belgium. Time spent: 1 day.

Languages spoken by the locals: 4 (English, French, German, Dutch) and I kind of wish I was Dutch so I could hold myself above the rest of the world with my language skills.

The number of chocolate shops we passed: endless



If the only reason you will ever come to Belgium is for the chocolate, you are certainly in for satisfaction and then some. Only because there was a chocolate shop on every single block. Sometimes, there was 2 or more on one block and you wonder how all of them stay in business.

The answer: tourism.



Yet, the other reason why it was Bruges and not Brussels was just the change of scenery from the big cities to a smaller, more medieval town. It was a good choice, just because it was so serene and beautifully maintained. Almost like another Venice in terms of the canals except far less tourists and instead, filled with waffles, chocolates, and mayonnaise covered french fries.

In other words, Belgium was basically junk food heaven, if only for the sheer amount of chocolate I ended up eating and that Friday where all we ate was candy, chocolate, waffles, and french fries. Not exactly a well-balanced diet but heck, when you're on vacation...

Not to mention, the weather was lovely and I saw my very first real-life, old fashioned windmill! Now I know I'm in the low countries.



Bruges, the photo album

Of Pub Culture

So I realized that being in England, I completely forgot to write about the most important part of all: the pub! Maybe it was because most of my pub experiences were concentrated in the first month I was here. Or maybe because I find myself deviating towards bars more because of sheer drink variety (I do not like beer, ironically).

Suffice to say, pub culture in England is what Starbucks is to the states: they're everywhere. There's two pubs on campus alone, the newly opened The Dirty Duck and The Varsity. They are similar to the majority of pubs in the UK in that they serve the same kind of drinks, namely beer (Strongbow, Guinness), cider (Bulmers), wine, and the simple mixed drinks (by simple, I mean usually a juice and an alcohol, don't expect any fancy blenders here). During the winter season, they do have mulled wine and rum as well (which makes Allison happy considering she's addicted to it). Of course, the best thing about the pubs near our college campus are the college nights where certain drinks are a pound or a mixture for upwards of 2 pounds.

The best thing about pubs in general are the cheap food, most pubs will have a meal deal of two traditional English fares for 5 pounds, which is wonderful for the budget traveler or the poor college student. The flip side of that is you have to like English food which I will admit, I am partial to (and that's being kind).


And if you come on Sundays, you get roast beef with Yorkshire pudding!

Reasons to go to a pub rather than a bar:

1) The homely atmosphere. It's the kind of place where you can take your parents (if you're comfortable drinking in front of them) and still feel comfortable since the setting is usually in a small, wood-paneled environment filled with other older people and the bartenders are usually really friendly and prone to making conversation. You do not go to pubs to pick up guys (or girls).
2) Better conversation. You can hear what the person next to you is saying since there isn't any loud music blowing out your eardrums.
3) Cheap food. See my explanation above.
4) The names are better. With such classic names like "Tortoise and the Hare," "The Mad Hatter," "The Wild Boar," and other fun, classically English names, why would you not want to go? At the very least, it's funny.


I have no idea what that name means. It's just cool.

Of Things I Miss About California

So I realize that it's been a little more than 3 months since I began my journey east of Eden (aka, California) and I am more than halfway through my abroad experience. To honor that, and to combat the bouts of homesickness, I would like to reflect on things that I miss about California:

1) The Beach
Living in SoCal is worth the immense heat, the smog, the traffic, and the slightly cranky people if only for one thing: the beach. You are not sunbathing until you are laying on golden sand, lulled by the sounds of the ocean waves, and the delicious California sun that would almost threaten to burn you to a crisp if you're not careful. You do not get that feeling of tranquility while laying in the fields of Coventry

2) Free water at restaurants
As a student, I miss being able to save money by not ordering a drink and taking advantage of free water. Especially when in Europe, at 1.50-2 euros/pounds for water, the money adds up and 9 times out of 10, the water is sparking and therefore a bland imitation of soda.

3) Big portions at restaurant
Oh America, land of plenty, how I love you for overfeeding your children and with the price of one meal, actually providing us with the equivalent of two European meals.

4) The bag boy
Tesco's, your friendly British supermarket, do not provide bag boys. The problem with that is since people bag their own groceries, the lines end up moving at a snail's pace. Also, I'm lazy and I like someone else being there to make sure that my eggs don't squish my vegetables.

5) Easy Accessibility
I miss how close everything is, when I could have just walked 5 minutes and there would be a liquor store, or an In&Out nearby. At Warwick, good food is a 30 minute bus ride away and when you have to depend on the rarely punctual British public transportation system to get around, sometimes it's just better to heat something up in the microwave.

6) Close Proximity to Ethnic Food
I would kill for a bowl of phở, Korean BBQ, or even Pad Thai. And even more (which ties in to number 5), I miss having all of the above a mere 20 minute drive (or even less!) from my house. The fact that British food is bland just makes this feeling so much more poignant.

7) Street signs
I hate navigating in Europe, if only because you have to actively look for the streetname, which (unlike the US) are not on poles at the end of the street or overlooking the car lanes. Instead, it's on the end building on every street which are more often than not: small, hidden, scratched, smudged, otherwise unreadible or my personal favorite, absent.

8) Friendliness of the people
I miss going ointo a store and making conversation with a cashier or talking to a random stranger at the market while pondering over vegetables. Here (in Britain), people tend to keep to themselves, the cashiers don't talk to you, and the regular folks would sooner pretend you're invisible than say hi.

9) Cheap living
Somehow, two sweaters for 25 pounds does not beat 2 sweaters for $25. I cannot buy quality clothes for cheap, food for cheap, or gas for cheap (in comparison to the rest of Europe) . Instead, a t-shirt (made in India) is 10 pounds, food is imported and thus expensive, and gas...does not matter since I do not have a car. When the exchange rate goes down, mayble I'll change my mind about this point.

10) Double water faucets
For some odd, backwards reason, the UK is possibly the only country in Europe that still has seperate cold and hot water faucets. The result: either you scald your hands while trying to do something like wash your face, or you're shivering as you're doing it. Choose your poison.

Finally, the thing that I do miss most about California is just California itself. It's home and you never realize until you leave it that it is where you belong. Despite Britain's beautiful green fields, it's history, the culture, the art, California will always be home. In the end, the place where you feel most like yourself is the place where you belong, where your life really is.

Though if someone offered me a chance to live in Paris, I might reconsider this last statement.


image courtesy of Wikipedia

Next time: musings on the Germanic tour (Belgium, Amsterdam, Germany, Switzerland, and Austria)!

Of Antiques and Age

image courtesy of Wikipedia

"How much is this?" I asked the salesperson, holding up a cameo broach/pendant. It was a small, delicate pink seashell set against a gold plating, with a white profile of a elaborately coiffed woman in the center. Just the sight of it inspired feelings of regal gravity and a delicate femininity. On the back, it had a little tag that dated it to Edwardian age. I was smitten.

"30 pounds," said the salesperson hurriedly, before becoming occupied by other patrons, all with more money than a poor college student who was both shopping for herself (when she should not be) and for her family members at home. At this point, I am used to this kind of (what we young people call) "ageism," having encountered it in restaurants in Italy where the waiter took the longest time to serve four college students in sweatshirts and jeans, and in pubs in London where we were asked for ID to prove that we were 18.

Sadly, 30 pounds for a pendant was a bit more expensive than I thought but I was grieved to part with the beautiful object. "Does it come with a chain?" I asked, hoping for some kind of redemption for the price.

She looked at me with a gaze that spoke of weariness from price negotiations and cheap tourists (and students) and answered a resounding "No, the price is only for the broach." With a small amount of grief, I put down the pendant and walked away, cursing the student budget that prevented me from buying things such as cookies or a leather purse in Italy.

But the bright spot was, there were still more stalls to pillage and find the best price. After all, I did not go into London for nothing that day (there was that Picasso exhibit). Mondays at the Covent Garden, a small shopping district in the center of London, was antiques. Stalls after stalls at the marketplace sold everything from antique jewelry, teapots, mirrors, and silver forks. All of the object beckoned to me, especially the teapot, yet sadly, there was no way to buy them and safely transport such fragile objects home.


image courtesy of Wikipedia

And at 50 pounds for a teapot, I was not willing to take the chance. It is the price to pay for being cheap and right now, for being young and relatively inexperienced to bargaining or even really working. Yet, at the moment, there was also another odd juxtaposition. For despite still being relatively young, there is that feeling of kind of growing up.



I am walking around London alone after having deciding last week to go (reasoning that I should go to the Picasso exhibit at the National Gallery but in actually, just needing an excuse to go to London). I boarded the bus alone and navigated the subway alone, without any assistance. Being able to stroll and not having to worry about getting back by curfew, deciding where I want to go and when I want to get there is a kind of freedom that sometimes makes me glad about getting a little bit older and wiser.

Not to mention that I did find a bigger cameo necklace two aisles down that I was willing to pay for (and which I have not been willing to take off ever since buying) and some gifts for my loved ones back home. And of course, getting to walk around Covent Garden, surrounded by music from a live string quartet...So in a way, not a bad Monday.



Britishisms:

• Salespeople are not obligated to say hello to you or wish you a good day. They're not really expected to overtly cater to customers, which kind of makes the whole sales transaction go a bit cold sometimes.
• At the grocery store, you bag your own groceries, which make for a very slow checkout experience.
• "You all right?" = "How are you?" They do not really think that something is the matter with you when they ask you that question, it's just a casual inquiry.