I walked with no real purpose beyond the desire to walk, after a typically heavy German dinner. In fact, it was a salad this time -- but covered in enough meat to feed a small family -- so I couldn't sit for the night without a stroll. I used to laugh at the very British term 'constitutional' as it applies to a post-meal walkabout, but tonight it all made sense to me. When your own internal constitution demands a settling bit of stride, why not call it that? So off I went, down a fairly dark labyrinth of never-ending short and curving streets. The aroma of active fireplaces, one that conjures up New England small towns or simply Christmastime for an urbanite like me, drifted through the chilling air as it often does at night lately.
For some reason, the distinct smell of horses overwhelmed that pleasant scent this evening, which struck me as bizarre since I've never seen a horse in Boblingen. I suppose the fuel for these fires could in fact be dung, but one way or another, the town stunk like a stable. I kind of enjoyed it, as if the traditional way of life somehow sent up a ghostly reminder to the car-packed town of its very origins (Stuttgart itself was founded as a stud farm...that's its name, in fact).
My goal was to reach the large ponds in this burg's center by a different route, but as I arrived in a commercial zone unrecognizable to me, the goal changed to simply finding my way back. Some turns later, after fruitless attempts to decipher faded and graffiti-covered maps, I made my way to the overgrown garden of modern art which abuts the park around the ponds. Signaling my way there was the one truly classic piece of town; the old church atop a hill.
Upon reaching the pond, I found a solid rock taller than me but worth clambering up for a very pretty night view of the whole panorama: the church, the nautical fountain in the larger pond, and the very modern-Teutonic illuminated walkway alongside the opposite bank. The surprising peace of this scene was interrupted only by loud scrapping ducks somewhere on the black water. My meditative moments were so starkly shattered by one's mocking cackle that I had to wonder if in fact it was my subcontinental prayer pose he found so funny. I even thought to myself that if that's the case, then the Almighty has one very humorous way of delivering hints on theological matters. Walking away later, the loudest duck sounded off again, as if to emphasize who won this round...yet I was so happy for the scene I got to enjoy.
Still I was left wondering...why the stable smell? I await that particular answer, Boeblingen. But as you're the closest I have to have to a home right now, I'll look forward to cracking that code on another night's wander.
A snapshot of Crete, late Summer night... Lights shine all around these endless coves, even where it seems inhospitable by day. Dogs bark incessantly -- though unlike many places I've been, it's the canines who seem to live in the compounds while feral cats run wild all over the island. They go wherever they want, chase each other constantly, and fight in elaborate bouts in which they leap in the air to launch their attacks. The roosters which crow all morning and most of the afternoon are finally silent. Down where the calm Mediterranean meets the viciously sharp rock of this coast, you can still see clear to the bottom despite the darkness of a moonless night. The slightest breeze is welcome, as a muggy humidity has taken hold and suffocated the clarity since last night. Greek families across the street are as loud and rowdy in conversation as if they were from central casting, and inside, Marines and other hotel guests who've imbibed since before dinner are getting just as loud. Macho rituals, across the street yet a world removed from other macho rituals, all rising with intensity as the night plies on...
