Bonn is a very beautiful city located near the Franco-German border in the industrial Rheinland. The only reason this city was of any importance was that it had served as the capital of W. Germany for the duration of the Cold War. One would notice this from all of the monotonous, cookie-cutter office buildings situated along a long swath of the main road through town that just screamed BUREAUCRACY!
One of my best friends from middle school, Chris, picked me up at the airport (as promised). It was good to see him again after almost 4 years. He moved back to Germany in 2004 to live with his dad. I hadn't seen him since then, so I was looking forward to catching up and celebrating his birthday, which had passed a week before I arrived.
My first impression of Bonn was marked by lush greenery and highly efficient and expensive cars. They were everywhere! Mercs were bountiful here, and plenty of trendy Volks too.
My second impression of the place is that there was absolutely no sense of fashion. You would see a group of kids, teens, adults, and elderly wearing all sorts of everything that it looked like a mishmash of colors and styles of years past. There seemed to be no continuity whatsoever. Every sort of style can be seen in Bonn, and I suspect the rest of Germany. I will have a better analysis of this sometime this summer when I tour the country proper. Forewarning: mullets are popular in Europe, and I have no idea why.
We got to Chris' flat, a very cozy, efficient flat. The first thought on my mind: shower. I had not showered for an entire day at this point, and was feeling very icky. While I was doing that, I had Chris figure out how my new Flipvideo recorder works. I will be using that to post videos and pictures later when I have something of importance to show. The second thing I did was make myself the fattest Nutella sandwich I have ever eaten. To those of you who are unfamiliar with the glory that is Nutella, think peanut butter spread for your sandwich, except that it is German chocolate. By far the greatest guilty pleasure I have when it comes to chocolate is Nutella.
After an hour or so Chris' dad came home from work. He is the German military's top psychologist, and there is no possible way to lie to him. He is that good. We decided on a classic German restaurant to have dinner in. It was wonderful catching up, exchanging pleasantries, and the food was excellent!. Huge schnietzel, and French Fries (although in Europe they serve them with mayonnaise instead of ketchup. I would have none of this, and requested ketchup even though it cost extra. Lousy Krauts ...)
Luckily we were finished with dinner before discussions of the US economy and politics came up. Concerns over a lengthy American recession and the crashing dollar were on their minds, and I couldn't help telling them that it is what it is, and that America has pretty much brought it upon itself, and that any pity would be best reserved for those who deserved it. They were quite alarmed when I had told them how far civil liberties have slid in the States in the past 4 years. National ID card in the works, expanded surveillance powers of the intelligence community and law enforcement, the suspension of habeas corpus, among other things. All of these things they took in solemnly, with their final conclusion being "We Germans have seen this sort of thing before." How spooky it is as an American to hear this from a people who lived through one of the worst fascisms imaginable. Luckily they asked me who I would be voting for come November, and this gave me great joy to spread word of the Ron Paul Revolution to them, for when I told them Ron Paul, they had no idea who I was talking about. And this did not surprise me in the least.
After dinner Chris' dad had to depart for a business trip to another part of Germany, and left us to our devices. Chris, leading me like the pied piper, took me on a crawl of the many bars that make up the social heart of Bonn. Everywhere we went the beer was relatively cheap (by European standards) and incredibly good. Most beer clocks in at ~9%, so it only took me a couple beers to start feeling sloshy. We eventually met up with Chris' girlfriend, Anna, and her dad, who is probably one of the coolest 50 something year olds I had ever met in my life. We continued to many bars that night, honestly I lost track after the 3rd one. I think we went to this bar where they played electronic versions of old Mo-Town hits and redubbed disco songs. It didn't matter, I was dancing like a drunken fool and didn't care.
We eventually got home, where I preceded to bring out my laptop and put on a South Park episode. This particular one happened to be their spoof on Scientology. Chris told me that Scientology is banned in Germany, and that this was one of the reasons Tom Cruise had scrapped a film to be made in Germany. Ha, right on! I dozed off halfway through the show, so Chris put me to bed. It was the first real sleep I'd had in 2 days, and it was incredibly sound.
Friday, April 25, 2008
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Escape from Fortress USA
I did not sleep the night before I left the USA. How could I sleep when I had booked myself a one-way ticket out of my home country with no idea of when I was to return? Most of the night was spent packing. Some of it was spent consoling friends who were calling in hysterics over my departure. "What will you do? Where will you go? You must promise to stay in touch" etc etc etc. Such conversations were touching, as I never figured I was that important to anyone outside of my immediate family. Ever wonder if anyone would care if you were no longer around? I had tried not to until that night, but I was relieved that there are those out there who really do care. To them I am eternally grateful.
In my family we have a tradition of bad luck when it comes to traveling. You name the horror story, and chances are we have lived through it. The day of my departure was no different. With an hour to go before my flight was to depart, I was still at home. This would be enough to unnerve even the most steadfast, and indeed, even I was biting my fingernails as my brother pulled into the driveway with the family car. "Sorry, had to get you a renewable battery recharger." Have you ever become so overwhelmed by rage that you almost blacked out? It does happen, almost a natural mechanism your body goes through to prevent you from committing homicide on the spot. Well, I was seeing stars as I took shotgun, hands clenched in tight, sweaty fists. We got to the airport with 25 minutes to go. Needless to say the farewell I would have liked to have had with my mother, who was in tears at this point, did not happen. It's ok bro, I'll try not to hold that against you.
At the automatic check-in station I punched in my entry code, only to be rejected because I had typed it incorrectly in my haste. I tried again, and this time it told me that automatic check-in was no longer available due to the proximity of the departure time. Great. Flash over to the check-in counter and the lady was telling me I'll have to take the next flight, which might get me into LAX 20 minutes before my connecting flight was to leave. I told her, as calmly as one could, that I could make it through the gate in time if she would please give me my boarding pass. She did, and wished me luck. In situations like this I hate being wished luck, because you never know which kind you will get.
Halfway through the security line I realized I left my sunglasses at the automatic check-in station. No big deal, they were free, not going back for them now. I brisked through security, grabbed my bag, threw my boots on without bothering to lace them, and made a mad dash for the gate, which was conveniently placed at the very end of the terminal. I made it to the gate while the last passengers in line are giving the ticket lady their boarding passes. Phew! I gave the lady my ticket and she scanned it. BEEP BEEP BEEP! A red light turned on. My heart skipped a beat. "This ticket is for the 9:00 AM flight." So this is the luck the lady at the check-in gave me. She printed me a boarding pass for the next flight, thinking that there was no way I would make my own. I ran over to the gate's check-in desk and asked the lady behind it to please print me my original pass for the flight that was <5 minutes from leaving. Even the ticket lady was on the loud speaker making the last call for all passengers. As she stepped away from the intercom and began to close the door, my heart was in palpitations. "NONONO, please, 2 more minutes!" She looked over to the lady behind the desk. "Sheila, can you get him on the flight or not. They need to go, and they need to go minutes ago." "Sure, sure, it's printing up now." Ticket in hand, I thanked Sheila once, but repeated it 10,000 times over in my head. A few minutes later I was in my seat. I made a call to my mom, and sang her some lines from John Denver's "Leaving on a Jet Plane". She began crying some more. I told her it would be ok, and that I loved her very much. What more could a son say?
I slept the whole way to LAX. It was a rather uneventful 2 hour layover, most of it spent slipping in and out of consciousness. While boarding my flight to Philadelphia, the overhead space ran out. And guess who they turned to first to start checking bags? Muah. Wonderful. The last thing I wanted to do was check my bag on a cross-country flight. The margin for error was low, but the impact would have been astronomical. As the lady checked my bag outside the plane door, she asked me what my final destination was. Even though I was heading to Bonn my last stop with this airline would be Dublin. I told her Dublin. She asked me what I was going to Dublin for. I told her I was going for the Irish spring. She told me she heard that was a lovely time to be in Ireland. I told her I was going for the soap. She handed me my checked bag slip with a look of scorn. I smiled cheerfully and took my seat.
In Philadelphia I found myself hungry and facing another 2 hour layover. With $40 burning a hole in my pocket, I ducked into the nearest cheese steak emporium and had one of Philly's finest. When that was over, I was left with ~$35. Not wanting to save it for Europe in anticipation of a crappy exchange rate, I took refuge in the nearest pub. There I proceeded to get hammered. It was going to be a long flight to Dublin, and I was particularly cranky at this point. Even though I had managed to get this far without any major disasters, spending that 4.5 hours in a tube from the West coast to the East coast had put my mind in a dark place. I maintained my composure while boarding. I blacked out in my seat. I woke up in Dublin. Against an improbable stack of odds, I had made it out of the country.
Mission accomplished!
In my family we have a tradition of bad luck when it comes to traveling. You name the horror story, and chances are we have lived through it. The day of my departure was no different. With an hour to go before my flight was to depart, I was still at home. This would be enough to unnerve even the most steadfast, and indeed, even I was biting my fingernails as my brother pulled into the driveway with the family car. "Sorry, had to get you a renewable battery recharger." Have you ever become so overwhelmed by rage that you almost blacked out? It does happen, almost a natural mechanism your body goes through to prevent you from committing homicide on the spot. Well, I was seeing stars as I took shotgun, hands clenched in tight, sweaty fists. We got to the airport with 25 minutes to go. Needless to say the farewell I would have liked to have had with my mother, who was in tears at this point, did not happen. It's ok bro, I'll try not to hold that against you.
At the automatic check-in station I punched in my entry code, only to be rejected because I had typed it incorrectly in my haste. I tried again, and this time it told me that automatic check-in was no longer available due to the proximity of the departure time. Great. Flash over to the check-in counter and the lady was telling me I'll have to take the next flight, which might get me into LAX 20 minutes before my connecting flight was to leave. I told her, as calmly as one could, that I could make it through the gate in time if she would please give me my boarding pass. She did, and wished me luck. In situations like this I hate being wished luck, because you never know which kind you will get.
Halfway through the security line I realized I left my sunglasses at the automatic check-in station. No big deal, they were free, not going back for them now. I brisked through security, grabbed my bag, threw my boots on without bothering to lace them, and made a mad dash for the gate, which was conveniently placed at the very end of the terminal. I made it to the gate while the last passengers in line are giving the ticket lady their boarding passes. Phew! I gave the lady my ticket and she scanned it. BEEP BEEP BEEP! A red light turned on. My heart skipped a beat. "This ticket is for the 9:00 AM flight." So this is the luck the lady at the check-in gave me. She printed me a boarding pass for the next flight, thinking that there was no way I would make my own. I ran over to the gate's check-in desk and asked the lady behind it to please print me my original pass for the flight that was <5 minutes from leaving. Even the ticket lady was on the loud speaker making the last call for all passengers. As she stepped away from the intercom and began to close the door, my heart was in palpitations. "NONONO, please, 2 more minutes!" She looked over to the lady behind the desk. "Sheila, can you get him on the flight or not. They need to go, and they need to go minutes ago." "Sure, sure, it's printing up now." Ticket in hand, I thanked Sheila once, but repeated it 10,000 times over in my head. A few minutes later I was in my seat. I made a call to my mom, and sang her some lines from John Denver's "Leaving on a Jet Plane". She began crying some more. I told her it would be ok, and that I loved her very much. What more could a son say?
I slept the whole way to LAX. It was a rather uneventful 2 hour layover, most of it spent slipping in and out of consciousness. While boarding my flight to Philadelphia, the overhead space ran out. And guess who they turned to first to start checking bags? Muah. Wonderful. The last thing I wanted to do was check my bag on a cross-country flight. The margin for error was low, but the impact would have been astronomical. As the lady checked my bag outside the plane door, she asked me what my final destination was. Even though I was heading to Bonn my last stop with this airline would be Dublin. I told her Dublin. She asked me what I was going to Dublin for. I told her I was going for the Irish spring. She told me she heard that was a lovely time to be in Ireland. I told her I was going for the soap. She handed me my checked bag slip with a look of scorn. I smiled cheerfully and took my seat.
In Philadelphia I found myself hungry and facing another 2 hour layover. With $40 burning a hole in my pocket, I ducked into the nearest cheese steak emporium and had one of Philly's finest. When that was over, I was left with ~$35. Not wanting to save it for Europe in anticipation of a crappy exchange rate, I took refuge in the nearest pub. There I proceeded to get hammered. It was going to be a long flight to Dublin, and I was particularly cranky at this point. Even though I had managed to get this far without any major disasters, spending that 4.5 hours in a tube from the West coast to the East coast had put my mind in a dark place. I maintained my composure while boarding. I blacked out in my seat. I woke up in Dublin. Against an improbable stack of odds, I had made it out of the country.
Mission accomplished!
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)