Jonathan im Deutschland - Sixth Day

Today has been spent almost entirely packing or traveling, and as a result I have little of note to share today. I will remark, however, that German security is more stringent than its French counterpart. As example I offer my own experience.

Upon arriving at Paris Charles-de-Gaulle airport I rushed through security and soon found myself ready to take a plane. To get through security I merely evacuated my laptop from its bag, dumped my coat and jacket in a tray and strolled with leonine steps through the metal detector. The security guard gave me a nod, I returned it, replaced laptop, jacket and coat, and then strolled on before having a coffee and pondering some Molière.

For "pondering some Molière" read "sitting down, realising that the plane was boarding and leaping up again." but really, why let the truth get in the way of a pleasing phrase?

Now, on my way back, I went through the same procedure, only this time the metal detector went off. I was wearing almost the exact same outfit, note, but the detector went off anyway. It could smell my apprehension, my fear of being shouted at in German again. So it went off.

I was waved to the side and what followed was the most intimate examination of my being I've ever had while still wearing clothes. This security guard knows which way I dress. He knows whether or not I'm circumcised. He knows my collar size, my trouser size, and the length of my hand from the wrist to the tip of the longest finger.

That's not what he measured, but he knows it all the same.

So my advice to travelers is this: if you are passing through a German airport, save yourself some time and dress in canvas trousers, a cotton shirt, and rubber sandals.

Jonathan im Deutschland - Fifth Day

We woke up late today, our bodies clinging to the last vestiges of sleep. These early starts were conflicting with the weight of human belief, which is that holidays are for lying about in bed. We finally left at ten and were soon on the autobahn, heading to Cologne. There's a little cathedral in Cologne. Well, maybe not little. In fact, it's so huge that I may well need to spend the rest of this paragraph explaining its size.

The cathedral is a work of extraordinary architecture. You can climb to the top of this tower to look out across the city, and I say you because asking me to climb that high via a helical staircase while other people come down the same staircase is a waste of breath.

The thing is, I have absolutely no fear of going up. Getting me down, however, might require a parachute. Even a few chaps with a wee trampoline.

The point is going up is easy. Coming back down without becoming a messy stain is a little more tricky.

In any case, it's a huge tower, and since Ali is kind and sensitive to my hatred of seeing nothing but air between me and concrete she did not even suggest we venture up.

For that I am indebted to her.

She's also driven me round and let me live in her living room (which I maintain is the purpose of a living room) but this is more important.

We went in after circling the building to find Mass in full swing and the only people being allowed into the church proper were the faithful. I was tempted to fake it, but there were other things to do, and I'd had my fill of being angrily shouted at in German last night. So instead we wandered. We wandered to the little train that takes people through the town to the Schokoladenmuseum.

In English: the Chocolate Museum.

Pause for a moment. Rest your weary eyeballs from their continual race across the electronic page and drink in those words. Chocolate. Museum. With a display by Lindt. It was utterly beautiful. The smell that assaults you the moment you mount the steps up to the building is glorious, and you swim against the tide of the chocolate smell until you enter the building and stand, soaking in it. Entry for adults is €8, but with that smell ensnaring your senses you'd gnaw off your own arm if they asked for it.

We roamed through the halls, drinking in the scent and the history - the story - of the humble cocoa bean. Did you know that the name of the cocoa tree is theobroma cacoa, or food of the gods? I didn't. Now I do, and so do you.

The exhibition also didn't shy away from the fact that cocoa workers are gratuitously and hideously exploited. Approximately 75% of all cocoa harvesters will never taste their finished product. They subsist on little wages and have to include their children in the harvest. The situation is getting better, with co-ops and Fairtrade organisations, but still - there's some way to go.

After that depressing episode, we went to the chocolate room, which seemed to have been transplanted from Willy Wonka's factory. I am convinced that with a top hat and a cane I could have breezed through the locked doors and found the chocolate river. And then sailed it.

Right here we have a lovely lady standing by a facsimile of a cocoa tree from which flowed a little chocolate river. Behind is the gorgeous Rheine. I didn't get enough pictures, but all I can do is implore you to visit if you ever find yourself in Cologne. It is money well spent.

Plus, the shop at the end will ensure your kids don't get any inheritance. Chocolate everything, everywhere, in every variety you could imagine and some you'd need to drop a tab before you could even imagine them. Such utter, total, glorious cocoa beauty.

Go. Go now. If you find the chocolate river, for God's sake tell me.

Speaking of God - but we'll get to that in just a second. First: lunch. Steak was on my mind, and we found a passable steakhouse in the cathedral's main plaza. It was excellent, although the Polish waitress who spoke only German made ordering hilariously difficult.  We did it, we ate, we paid. I was so happy to be back in a restaurant that had a normal system that I overtipped enormously. The tipping may have been helped by the Jäger I tilted down my throat. I couldn't say why, but I've been lusting after just a little of it all week.

We headed back out, with the aim of getting back into the cathedral in the hope that Mass had ended and we could fully explore the gigantic structure. Instead, we walked into a pillow fight.

Well, not quite. As we walked back towards the building, we saw little white feathers floating above us. Had angels descended? Unlikely. Had someone hit a seagull with a baseball bat? Also unlikely, but being students in Aberdeen a small part of us wished it to be so. The small part that had been robbed of a bacon sandwich at half past eight wished and hoped it, but no.

As we got closer to the source of the feathers, we heard joyous shouting. And then we rounded the corner. The longer version I recorded will come later, but for the moment here's a little clip of what we saw:

Utter, wonderful, chaos.

And a fitting end to my week here in Germany. Tomorrow I go back to France, but I will miss this place, the language, and the incredible scenery. I need to travel more.

But then I suppose we all do.

Jonathan im Deutschland - Third Day

Today dawned grey. I looked out across a beautiful vista that was simply a mass of grey. Things did not look hopeful for our early morning journey to Frankfurt, or The Fort of the Franks, the barbarians (the bearded ones) who would go on to make Frankreich - or in English, Frank-land. Except we dropped the -land, and the hard k, and ended up with France. 

Etymology lesson over for today. Onwards and upwards!

A short drive, two trains (a train station is no place to stand about for fifteen minutes, especially when it's so cold you can actually feel your toes tingling as they cling onto sensation) and a change later we found ourselves in Frankfurt. Our first stop was for liquid fuel, and to my enormous surprise my German was sufficient to order a cup of coffee, a cup of tea and a waffle.

Do not underestimate the ease with which my ego can be stroked. The mere fact that I ordered in German and was understood was enough to put a spring in my step and an easy, winning smile on my face. I imagine I was utterly insufferable. As we sat with hot drinks we bent our heads to planning, having acquired a plan of the city in the tourist information centre for a mere fifty cents.

(I also acquired an interesting book in French about Frankfurt, which the lady sold me in French. Because she speaks French, English and German and instantly won my eternal respect.)

The plan was to head out of the town centre and in the pursuit of knowledge and museums. We puzzled our way through the U-bahn (underground trains which, puzzlingly, convert themselves into trams with no warning.) system and set out an itinerary. We were so intensely involved in the planning, in fact, that my waffle that I'd left warming over my coffee sagged and sunk into it. Fishing a caramel waffle out of a cup of hot coffee is not an exercise I recommend to anyone.

With our bodies refueled we set off like jet planes except slower and with legs. Our first stop was the Explora science museum. It's not a science museum like the one in London, it's just a wee thing hidden away ten minutes from a U-bahn stop. It's over four levels, each floor with something fascinating for the eyes or the ears. A path is laid out, and you go up to the top floor first. There are these lovely images, which use mirrors to construct an image of the painter of the images that surround the mirrors.

It's a bit complicated when I explain it, but the images should help explain what I mean - for example, on the left here we've got Picasso in the mirrored pyramid with paintings in his style around it. I couldn't work out how the image got in there, so perhaps someone with a bigger brain than me can figure it out and leave a comment to let me know.

I also really like this one, which is - well, it's obvious who.

There were also a load of holograms, some of which were seriously unsettling and some of which were simply surprising.

We also agreed that clowns, all clowns, could go fuck themselves, and further that any adult who thought children would not be emotionally scarred by clown-doctors could join the clowns in auto-adoration.

I really don't like clowns.

After the museum we headed back towards the old town. Our stomachs were gurgling and hunger was setting in - Ali and are people who need to be fed regularly or we become snappy and grumpy. I know people who can play video games all day and need nothing more than water for sustenance but I am not one of those people. I am a person for whom food is an addiction and the withdrawal pangs more than I can face.

We were momentarily distracted from the onset of starvation by a cathedral. It takes a lot to take my mind off my next meal, but this building was sufficient. The cathedral is astonishing. It is a work that has been in progress since the 14th century. That's unbelievable. It looks astonishing, and although it's impossible to capture such a mass of stone in a photograph, I've given it a go. 

It's absolutely incredible, both outside and inside. The inside is enormous, with two organs and an incredible mix of artwork. I say mix because it's not every day you have ancient sculpture:

One of the thieves at Jesus' side will be going to heaven.
Odds are it's not the chap with the most clothes on.

With this quite frankly disturbing interpretation of the crucifixion, although it does raise interesting ideas about the nature of Christ, vis-à-vis his humanity versus his divinity.

Or at least it does to nerds like me. To everyone else maybe not.

The middle skull has a crown of thorns, just in case the viewer is not as obsessed with Christ-mythology as me.

However, even the incredible works of humanity could only do so much to stave off the pangs of hunger, and we descended once more into the bowels of the earth in search of food.

We found it. Oh, god did we find it.

We found a little place that served me a burger that I ate (ate is the normal verb, but demolished, devoured, destroyed would better describe the action) with haste, while Ali had a club sandwich for which even the most homesick of Americans would shred his or her passport.

Lunch took a goodly long time, and it was 4pm before we left. Both Ali and I were excited for our next stop; the Natural History Museum. It can be found opposite the Goethe University and is a mere 4€ for students. Plus, dinosaurs. 

MOTHER

FREAKING

DINOSAURS

I like dinosaurs. They were terrible thunder lizards and this guy was the king of the terrible thunder lizards.

Saying that, I also like Economics, French, etymology, physics, mathematics and apparently now German, so I'm kind of slutty when it comes to giving my attention to things.

Knowledge is there to be picked up and learnt. It loves to be learnt. Get it inside you.

Alright, enough silliness. Onwards to the exciting time we spent in the natural history museum...

Or didn't. It was half past four when we arrived, and the museum would close at five.

We turned ourselves around and headed back towards the station to catch our train, but before we did, we stopped off at Willy-Brandt-Platz.

Stop sniggering at the back there.

In...the Platz, there is a giant European symbol. This was good for me, because I love Europe. Europe is sexy and full of different languages and you don't need to change your money. It's probably infantile to be pleased by this, but I can take money earned in Paris and spend it in Frankfurt and at no point will an exchange earn commission for changing my money.

I like that. I like a lot of other things about Europe, but that's the thing that struck me today.

Note that one of the stars is broken. Notice how I make no political comment at all here, because this is a fun blog about my third year abroad and also because a broken light is literally meaningless, unless you need to see your way to your bathroom or you've forgotten it's broken and you bruise your foot trying to turn it on.

Don't ask me why you'd turn a light on with your foot, because I agree that it's insane.

Another two trains, another brief car journey, and we're here. And I've written all this to you and uploaded photos from the day; if you're interested in seeing them, just click here.

Europe. I love you. Frankfurt, I'm going to be in you again tomorrow. We saw something by the Europe symbol that means we'll be back in the fort of the Franks tomorrow. To find out what it is, you should probably follow me on twitter.

Jonathan im Deutschland - Second Day

German beer. A multitude of flavours but the hangover tastes the same.

Ali and I got up a little later than we'd hoped to and had German breakfast; toasted rolls with meats. I could get used to this - it's a solid start to the day and comes with seriously black coffee. The German people approach mornings as something that needs to be fought against, and stocking one's stomach with Brot und Bratwurst is an excellent starting step.

Speaking of starting steps, we took our own out to the car. Ali lives in the absolute middle of nowhere; the Black Forest encroaches on the back garden. But the views are spectacular, she tells me, and I'm hoping for some sun before the end of the week so that I can show you. In the meantime, however, you'll have to be content with pictures from the charming little town of Limburg.

Before that, however, we went to see something else. It's at a place called Hadamar, and it looks completely bizarre surrounded by modern buildings. It's really just a wooden hut:

It's the parking garage for the buses that brought victims of the National Socialist's insanity to the victims of their regime. Those considered mentally insufficient were taken from nearby asylums by bus, brought here, and taken to an underground room where they were gassed by nurses and doctors. From January to August 1941 10,072 human beings were asphyxiated by carbon monoxide, and the administrator of this lethal poison was not an ideology but a human being. 

Other human beings then threw the bodies into incinerators, usually two at a time, which meant they burned improperly. As a result a thick pall of stinking smoke hung over the town. The people of the town knew what was happening; people arrived on buses and never left. More than ten thousand people arrived by bus and never left. According to contemporary reports, children in the town would taunt each other: "You'll end up in the Hadamar ovens!"

On the occasion of the 10,000th corpse burnt, the staff had a party in the crematorium and toasted their successes. Remember: it had taken only 8 months, from January to August, to exterminate ten thousand and seventy-two people and utterly destroy the evidence.

And then they had a fucking party.

People. People did this to other people. Not an ideology, but people who decided that their own lives were more important than the lives of the people they gassed to death.

Evil starts, says Pratchett, when you stop treating people like people and start treating them as things.

There's a memorial there, too. A spike of stone, with an inscription: 

Mensch, achte den Menschen

My very rough translation of the script would be: "Man, look after mankind." If you have a better translation, do please suggest it, because my German is old and rusty as all hell.

There are also stones scattered about which look like children have inscribed them. Quite how infants managed to scratch these designs into solid rock is beyond me, but they're beautiful nonetheless.

In thanks for the sacrifice

Nonetheless...what a silly thing to say. They're beautiful because they are. 

 After this rather sobering tour, we headed out to neighbouring Limburg, which was rather more jolly. A beautiful little town, with a sprawling, wandering Altstadt (old town) which has at its peak a glorious cathedral. The cathedral is 750 years old. That number is just ridiculous, and as you step inside you feel every second in the weight that presses down on you and the towering dome that you see flying high above the altar.

Even now, as an avowed atheist, there is nothing like a cathedral to inspire total awe in me. It just went on forever. Over the altar hangs a chandelier, and the cord just goes up and up and up until you feel dizzy at the height. On the walls scenes are painted, and for the first time I saw a second floor to a cathedral. It was blocked, but the view from there must be incredible.

It's also worth noting that Assassin's Creed should not be played by anyone more impressionable than me, because I found myself idly wondering whether, if Ali caused a distraction, I could jump on the altar, up to the chandelier, and then shift my weight so that it swung close to the second floor. A short leap properly timed would see me at my goal.

I didn't do it, as I'm here typing and not in a cell, but it was a wonderful idle thought.

I noticed the crucifix, as I am wont to do, and it shocked me. I should stop being so easily shocked, but this Jesus had skin tones. This was still more wrong than a Jesus wrought of wood, because this guy was whiter than the driven snow, but the ethnicity of Jesus wasn't what shocked me. It was the blood.

Blood ran from his hands, down his arms, down his sides. It ran from the crown of thorns on his head and stained his loincloth. It was absolutely one of the most violent depictions I've seen in a while.

In any case, here is that magnificent building:

Was already 500 years old when the US was formed. Still has no nuclear weapons.
'MERICA!

Tonight we're having spaghetti and hitting the hay early as tomorrow we're on the 9am train to Frankfurt. So I'll be getting up at about 7.

I'm on holiday, and getting up before I would normally. And I'm loving it.