Home (?)

I'm home.  What that means anymore, I don't know.  For years it's been New York City, the Big Apple, Capital of the World (UN kinda proves that), simply "the city."  And that's where I am, but with my belongings tucked away in a storage unit, ready to move.  Think of that science lesson about passive and kinetic energy; that's how I interpret it.  If I'm wrong, oh dear science teachers who tried so hard over the years, then so sorry!  My stuff seems to be loaded with passive energy, just stored up and ready to burst when I set in in motion...waiting for the spark.  Guess my eventual U-Haul provides it.  It's all...up...to...me?

The travels of two weeks (plus) left me drained, jet-lagged and physically sick, as if my body really patched it together as best it could through all-night parties, all-day wanderings, brain-taxing attempts at learning at least a couple words of each new language...while suffering the ravages of a fierce cold which accompanied the early burst of European Winter.  It ends up being one of those experiences upon which I say, "Wait, I survived that?"  And following that, "Why on Earth did I push myself so close to the breakdown brink?!"  To which I can happily say that I'd do it all again...

On the flights back (Zadar, Croatia to Stuttgart; Stuttgart to Frankfurt; Frankfurt to JFK, NYC), I mused on how I've been taking air travel for 30 years now and the only strange part to me -- rather than the old observation that we are but hundreds of people hurtling through an oxygen-deprived atmosphere at 35,000 ft with only a microscopically thin metal skin between us and said atmosphere, propelled by the most dangerous of means we could have in proximity, flaming jet engines -- is that I actually rather like the distinct scent of a (CLEAN) airplane john.  Not the smell after Aunt Hilda is done following up her third meal of wurst for the day, but the still-fresh odor.  Maybe it brings me immediately back to all those trans-oceanic flights as a kid -- I mean, crossing the International Date Line is a mind-blowing thing for an inquisitive eight-year-old!  I was fortunate, plain and simple, to have parents willing to trot our little butts to the other side of the world for a few truly educational years...and will never forget that, nor quit bearing out its vast influence on my mindset as I thirst for more, more, more of the globe in my index of experience.

(Only the last photo, the Lufthansa turboprop I took from Munich to Stuttgart above, is from this European adventure. The others are from a previous return to NYC, a domestic flight -- hence, the Laguardia vista.)

Berlin blues

Thoughts while wondering why Germans use tag lines in English (such as "Breaking News") when the rest of the text or report or story or what-have-you is in their native tongue...

I've learned that Berlin is the kind of place where you should avoid the temptation to throw down the gauntlet and say, "OK, bad ass capital of fun times...what you got?"  Because it just may kick your tail for having challenged it so.  Let's just say that getting up early to see sights is a mighty mighty challenge when you consistently are representing with the last stragglers to make it back to the hotel each morning.

And then there's the thieving.  It's someplace actually as bad as advertised.  On consecutive nights I've had my cell phone swiped from my jacket while it was checked, then the jacket itself taken while it sat on a table not ten feet from me.  So that kind of puts a damper on things.  Oh, and apparently girls from Dusseldorf assume you are a "cokehead" if you wear an Irish cap and look to be in good physical shape.  They won't tell it to your face, but they'll insist it to your Aussie friends.  Cocaine is a hell of a drug, as I learned only from Rick James.  It's about the last thing I'd ever try.  How wearing a Murphy cap and displaying your Kanonen Shau (my ridiculously badly translated version of "gun show") makes you a fiend of the white powder is a connection I'd never make!  And after I refused to indulge their repeated attempts to have me strip for them.  How rude.

It's time to get back to the Mitte and see more of this incredibly vibrant city.  Before I do, I want to share that I had a look at our likely future in the realm of grocery store habits, and it's pretty interesting.  If you're in the know, you place your plastic and glass bottles in a machine at the back of the market, which sizes them up and spits you out a receipt for your refund.  And you don't get offered a bag, not plastic or even paper, for your purchases.  Bring your own, or you're walking back with an armful.  It's one of those days where I'm glad I took the time to pay attention to the locals.  When in Berlin, do as the jelly doughnuts do (fun fact: President Kennedy famously said "I am a jelly doughnut" when he proclaimed himself "ein Berliner").  Tschuss!

(These images are just wacky random shots from Berlin websites, not meinen photos)

Bidin' time in der Bodensee

I took a solo excursion to Lake Constance, known by the Swabian Germans as the Bodensee, a couple of weeks ago, and fell for the "seaside" ancient town of Meersburg.  Konstanz itself (the big town) was cool too, and really did have the feel of a late season resort town on a gulf somewhere, rather than a large lake sitting directly below and in sight of -- on a clear day, anyway -- the Swiss Alps.

 

 

 Hey, this is a gallery window on the stately main drag of Konstanz, therefore it's art.  Stop giggling now.  Besides, my night on the town was kind of a bust - standing there taking this photo was the most fun I had!

 

 I don't know how many hostels are this cool, but I dig the whole converted-water-tower thing.  In my very first hostel experience, I checked in to an empty room, went out for the night, and greeting me when I flipped on the light at 2am was an old german dude in one bunk with little to nothing on.  I managed to not look closely.  He bantered on in German for awhile, even after I made it clear that I speak "nicht Deutsch", so thankfully the ipod was on hand.

 

 And the view I looked out to in the morning mist?  Something I didn't detect when I walked up at night...a freakin' cemetary next door!  Good morning campers - look to your left now for a view of the deceased and contemplate mortality as you break fast for the day.  Yowzah.

 

 Those of you who know me well can imagine the supreme coincidence of staying in a neighborhood of Konstanz named apparently for the greatest jamming rock band that ever did exist.  I'm going to have to write Gregg and ask what he knows of the pre-redneck family tree.

 

 Just a local church.  Mein Gott, do I love Germany sometimes.

 

 It was full-blown election season at this point, one week from the big day, and campaign posters abounded.  They were rarely billboard size, though.  Here's the eventual big winner, in the standard 'look nice and smile for the camera' pose that must be mandated by German election law.  Really, every poster is large and has a full photo of the candidate...they dotted the whole long walk I take each day to the base.  It's far more entertaining than our boring and ubiquitous name placards...I put words in their mouths and imagine what pearls of wisdom they dispense.  Good times.

 

 The Allmansdorf neighborhood and harbor in the rearview, I headed off on a Sunday morning ferry for Meersburg, across that piece of the Bodensee.  Rain came in bunches, and it did not look like a promising day for wandering, but I was determined.

 

 

 Who let the sporty Irishman on the boat?  He must be suffering an identity crisis, pre-lederhosen.

 

 

 The vineyards of Meersburg's surroundings hills emerged from the mist only minutes after departing.  The lake is crisscrossed by ferries all over the place...it's the efficient way to travel in the area, unless you sport gills instead of boring old lungs.  I wonder if my Aquaman underoos would have helped.

 

I wish more local maps were this cool.  A 3-D wood carving of the area showed some routes at the small ferry terminal.  They moved like clockwork, transported cars on and off more efficiently than anything you've ever seen, and had hot coffee and cold beer inside.  Again, they got it right!

The Edge of the World

It's getting ridiculous, I think. Hundreds of photos later of places and events during the past month in Germany, and here I am at 3 am on an early Saturday still posting photos of Crete? Well, you should see 'em, so here they are, dear followers...both of you (ha ha).

On the last full day I had there, I went for a bit of an aimless drive with another Marine, and we attempted to locate the coast on the other side of the stark ridge line of mountains that formed a spine along the peninsula. Being curious sorts, we figured we'd find it by driving around the flank and navigating by a local map. Each time the choice was there at a fork, we'd go for the one likeliest to hook us around the end of the peak which anchored the ridge. What we eventually learned was that no road traveled to our intended destination...but one traversed a plateau before zigging and zagging up that prominent peak, by switchback after switchback. We ended up with a completely different adventure than the one we were after, and wound up catching unforgettable views, startling wild and wooly mountain goats, and surviving the very steep ascent & descent, by rental van, to tell the tale...

This church sat on the edge of the most beautiful cliff ever seen.  I wish the photo would do it more justice...it was simply incredible how the azure sky and equally azure sea, only a shade darker, would meld into one.  The horizon was nonexistent in this direction, and on a beautiful day, because of how seamless blue faded into blue...

Looking back down toward the plateau from which we started, and the bay beyond that, and the rest of Crete beyond that.  It was awesome, in the true meaning of the word.

 

That sailboat off to the left looked like the absolutely most perfect place in the world to be.  See what I mean by the endless blue-on-blue vision?

 

The first sighting of scattering mountain goats!  They took off like we were an invading horde.

 

This was my favorite mountain goat shot.  Right before plunging, this one looks back as if to throw one last "You lookin' at me?"

 

 

It's a goat's mountain, for sure.  We were just the unwelcome intruders.

 

 

 

 

This is when they started acting like lemmings.  It seriously looked like they were throwing themselves off an untenable cliff!  But their footing was impeccable, and not one goat was harmed in the photographing of this adventure (unlike the one tied to a truck in Adam Sandler's most hilarious bit ever).

 

 

 

On the way back down to safety, and the less fascinating world below. I think the goats know what they're doing, hanging out up there where people (mostly) can't mess with 'em.

The relaxing side of Crete

Reaching back now a few weeks, and skipping over all the Deutschland & Osterreich since then, here are some more of my favorites from beautiful Creta.  I did actually do some work there, despite what all of you must think!, but this slideshow is all about the beaches, and the resort at which they were kind enough to put up the exercise staff.  Sometimes it's actually GOOD to be staff and not a worker bee.

This was the view from outside my bungalow door.  Honestly, as much as I enjoy Germany, do you think I wanted to leave this place?

The hotel pool. Two levels: the deeper swimming lanes actually above the shallow stand-under-the-cascading-umbrellas end.  Now raise your hand if you want to kill me...

Another view of the pool, with the Med beyond but down a treacherous rocky cliff.  This was taken from the balcony off the dining room -- at which we were offered a varied buffet each morning & evening.  Continental fare, Greek specialties...but to my disappointment, lamb only twice out of six days.  I craved it nightly.  Feta always, olives and olive oil in abundance, and souvlaki often.  Yasu!

The chapel behind the pool.  Seemingly every home of substance, and even some of not, had a personal chapel in Crete.  They were among my favorite sights no matter where the roads took me there.

I never did get the story of this fort, but it was on the road between Souda Bay (where work was) and the far-flung hotel.  I like to imagine the eras it could have seen, as this island has quite a significant history.  Myceans, Macedonians, Romans, Turks, Germans, Carthaginians?, and Lord knows who else...

These were in abundance too -- I call them Church Mailboxes, though surely they are for offerings and not the postal service.  Every home without a chapel, and even some with one, seemed to have one in front.

This was the island I swam around when I made it to a beach.  Much harder than it seemed, it turned out!  See where the water is dark blue?  Well, the calmness in the foreground turned to seriously choppy action out there, and it was a struggle to keep my distance from the sharpest rocks I've seen in many years.  I survived to tell the tale though...and was transfixed by the water's incredible clarity the whole time.

Hey, fun boys -- get a room!  These backgammon players in teeny bikinis made my day.

Ah, life's a beach.  As I down my tasty Mythos pilsner, I contemplate joining in the backgammon fun.  Yes, mesh shorts are classy...I didn't know there'd be beaches!  Board shorts were not on my packing list.

Another beach down the road, just off a rocky peak but filled with soft sand, had the classic Greek fishing boats inside the cove as well.  I was expecting Zorba to appear at any minute, and rally the locals.

 

My future home.  When I offered 100 American dollars for it, I was refused, much to my chagrin.  I'll be back to renegotiate.