Wednesday, June 27, 2012

Fernweh

It took about 5 minutes in Germany for my wee ones to decide that they would like to move there.  Of course, a lot of places that we have visited have tended to provoke the same reaction from them.  (Excluding Kansas on down South for some reason.) 
On May 21 we visited the immigrant museum in Hamburg, Germany, which was the spot that exactly 110 years to the day,  my great grandparents on my mother's side had left from to immigrate to the United States. 

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Mom marking the spot that her grandparents had left from

My oldest brother has been doing some research on our ancestry.  It appears that a side of our family had the genes of wanders.  With no apparent reason, my ancestors picked up their bags and moved.  Gradually through the generations making their way from Europe to England to Ireland and Scotland.  Continuing from there to New York and then gradually moving from the East coast to the West coast, to where my father was born in California. 

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An advertisement coaxing immigrants to America
Some of the 7 kids in my family have picked a spot and stayed there.  Some of us, though, seem to have inherited the Fernweh of our forefathers.  (A German word that literally means "to ache for distant places".)

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The Auguste Victoria that carried my great grandparents to Ellis Island
When I was growing up, we moved so often that I had a friend whose parents questioned whether my parents were running from the law.  To me it seemed totally natural that we moved often, it was more unfathomable to me to stay in the same place all your life.  Even now, I start to get restless after a few years in the same place. 

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Items from a shipwrecked boat carrying immigrants
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Hamming it up at the "immigration office"
It's interesting to think that the same courage and taste for adventure that ran through my ancestors veins, made its way through the generations to affect even our present day lives; giving my children a Fernweh of their own.

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Reproduction of immigrant housing

Monday, June 25, 2012

Camping

In an effort to escape this stifling, crazy kind of heat we've been having, we headed to the mountains for our first family camping trip.  We drove an hour or so up to an old ghost town, Caribou.  Here and there we saw evidence of it's silver mining past, although Mother Nature has erased much of its history.


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Caribou, Colorado

We adjusted to the fire ban that forbid a campfire, but allowed a camp stove.  Although, really, sitting around roasting marshmallows over a little blue flame is not the same experience as having an actual fire.

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Boys and water...
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King of the mountain brandishing his swords
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Off to battle

The kids loved the freedom of wide open spaces, small mountain streams, old ruins, and moose tracks the size of my hand. It was an arena made for adventures.

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Mountain man...before the slip off the rocks that dislocated a knee...

Someone forgot the pan to cook the carefully selected chocolate chip pancake mix in, which necessitated an early departure and trip to the Happy Trails coffee shop for coffee and croissants. Come to find out the younger set doesn't view mesquite flavored pistachios as appropriate breakfast food.


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Roscoe

We brought the dog, who enjoyed his adventure just as much as the kids, and slept outside the door of the tent to guard us from the wilds. Next time though, he needs to carry his fair share.

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A tiny cabin that now houses only wildflowers and grasses
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Columbine

I remembered vacationing in Colorado when I was a girl. My dad kept stopping and exclaiming over the flowers, bending over to take pictures.  I thought it was funny at the time, that in the midst of the majesty of the Rocky Mountains, he was enthralled by the little wildflowers at our feet.  He was especially enchanted with the Columbine. He would have liked this one, I think.

Monday, June 18, 2012

The Gestapo Museum

We got to borrow my sis in law's beautiful, zippy car one day and drive the autobahn the way it was meant to be driven.  We headed to Cologne to see the Dom (more on that another day) and the Gestapo museum.  The clouds were dark and hovering; threatening to deluge us at any moment.  I felt like it fit the mood of the city.

On a narrow street of what looked like an apartment building, so inconspicuous and ordinary that we almost walked past, was the posted sign National Socialism Documentation Center.  Inside was an old Nazi prison, preserved in it's original state.  I'm not sure what I was expecting, but the air felt heavy with the weight of memories.

We accidentally made a backwards loop and started down below where the cells were. 

The prisoners had left behind names, stories, poems and etchings, hoping that by leaving a trace, they wouldn't just disappear into the void.  But that some mark would remain saying, I was here, I lived, I mattered.
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The wall of the first cell
There was a hushed, reverent silence...at least until I smacked face first into the glass of the cell that I didn't realize was there. The burly, uniformed man gave me the eye and came over to make sure that I hadn't damaged anything of his. Nope, just my nose. I smiled as innocently as I could since I was waving my tourist flag bright and boldly with my huge camera slung around my neck, and English tour headphones on my ears. I looked like a dork, but at least a repentant one.
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The original handles were still on the doors to the cells
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An artist who had fled to Holland made this depiction of Hitler's heirarchy
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Padlocks to the doors
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A series of displays showing the progression of events.
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The Jewish star
At the end of the hallway, steps from the courtyard where executions were made, was a silent room occupied only by a wooden bench. One by one, on the wall, were projected the names of the victims murdered in this building in a never ending loop. Just below the names, were dried bouquets of once beautiful flowers left in decaying remembrance.

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Items left behind
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Items found in the cells
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An America soldier scratched his name on the wall the day after liberation, and I whispered to the walls that I was sorry we hadn't come sooner.
It was a little bit overwhelming because of the amount of information presented in all of the levels.  The walls were lined with people's stories, facts and lists of information. I took more pictures in the beginning, but as we went on, I just tried to soak it in, and maybe somehow by remembering, honor the lives that had been touched.

Friday, June 15, 2012

Heidelberg Castle

Heidelberg has a rich and storied history.  It escaped the bombings that decimated other cities because it was a university town. and the US forces also later used it as a garrison base.  As a result, the town retains its charming, old world feel. It was an easy place to fall in love with.  My brother and sister-in-law indulged our wide-eyed flagrant, touristy need to duck into every souvenir stand we saw.  Aidan found a jaunty, green felt hat with a white feather that he has lovingly worn since then. 

I don't quite have the words to adequately describe this beautiful little town, so hopefully some pictures will do it for me.

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Heidelberg Castle
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River Neckar

We were finishing our English tour and sitting in the flickering candlelight of the old chapel when the stone walls began to echo from thunder and filled the space with the sound of heavy rain. It was perfectly glorious. It was over as quickly as it began and the clouds rolled back leaving a trail of mist between the green rolling hills and sprawling village below.

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The view from the castle walls
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The Altstadt (old town)
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Castle view from across the river
The castle has many different layers beginning from around a thousand years ago that have been alternately destroyed and rebuilt through the centuries.  At one point in our tour, I was distracted by a man who was videotaping his dog riding a skateboard, so I missed a whole chunk of the history.


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Dusk on the river
The largest wine barrel in the world is in the cellar of the castle, and the castle keeper of the wine was a dwarf who could out drink any other man.  The story goes that he eventually died because someone dared him to drink a glass of water.

Wednesday, June 13, 2012

Public Urination and Other Important Tidbits

Germans are a wonderfully tidy people.  They seem to like things precise and logical.  And they like to have rules, follow rules, and make sure that everyone else follows them too. 

Flying into Germany with a plane that seemed to be mostly European was an orderly affair.  No one walked around while the fasten seat belt sign was on; they were polite, and distantly helpful when the American lady two rows in front of me threw up.
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Pretty yellow bike

I didn't see any road kill in the 2 and a half weeks we were there.  And I was looking.  Although, I'm not sure why I was looking.

Putting your feet on the empty seat facing you while on the train to relax?  Not okay.  Someone is likely to reprimand you.

Flipping someone off?  Not okay.  In fact, I heard it was a felony.  That, and cussing someone out in public.  You have to keep the road rage under control, people.

Public peeing?  They are totally cool with that.  I don't get that at all.  To me that clashes with a neat and tidy lifestyle.  How can it be okay to urinate on hundreds of years old buildings, but not to jaywalk?

Graffiti is also totally legal.  It was everywhere.  Some of it was really beautiful, like along the railway stations.  But then there were random scrawlings on beautiful old buildings everywhere that were definitely not beautiful.

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Pretty red bike with a basket

There is this thing with the moniker of "The Idiot Test".  If you get so many speeding tickets, the authorities will take away your license and subject you to a battery of phsychological testing to prove that you are mentally competent.  Because in their minds, the only reason that someone would break the rules that many times must be because they were mentally challenged in some way.  (Although I would think having an American passport would also be explanation enough...)

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Cute metal basket

Flying out the Frankfurt airport with a plane load of Americans: 

The lady supervising the lines was frustrated with the lazy sprawling line that we were forming.  She was increasingly frustrated that for some reason we didn't form a SINGLE FILE LINE because people kept bunching up to to talk to each other.  She even tried demonstrating what a single file line looked like.  Then there was a person whose sole responsibility was to be in charge of the line leading into the security screening.  And he stood there all day holding and directing traffic into one of the
MANY screening points to make sure that each line had the same number of people in it.  From there, you were met by a man who supervised you as you put everything into the gray plastic tubs-refolding things if you hadn't done it tidily enough.  Then there was the line at the gate boarding.  The lady in charge of this line took her job very seriously.  She must have had a degree in line management or something.  She reorganized us at least 3 times into different lines based on some criteria in her mind which was never clear to us.  All this was so that we could step outside and all crowd into a shuttle bus (with men's armpits in my face) to be driven out to our plane.  I'm not sure why the lines were so important since we were all going the same place, and had assigned seating.  Maybe the people in the front of the line had more room on their shuttle bus and didn't have to stand smelling underarms in front of you.

The seatbelt sign seemed to be more of a suggestion than a rule because there was a steady stream of traffic to the bathroom regardless.  The only indication that it was not okay was the increasingly harried announcements to please stay in your seat (which had no affect whatsoever).

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One last picture because with so much talk about public urination should at least end with something pretty to look at

In the US airport going through customs, there were numerous official looking signs informing us that cell phones and cameras were NOT ALLOWED.  The lady behind me in line promply whipped out her cell phone to call someone to tell them that she would call them later, because, she was "not supposed to be using her phone"!  I tried to imagine a German doing that.  Nope, couldn't do it.

Monday, June 11, 2012

The Baltic Sea

We visited Wismar on a sunny, sunny day and walked around the open air market.  Chloe delighted two older ladies by simply being American, and they crowded around in halting English asking if we were from California.  I bought a huge floppy straw hat.  Aidan and Chris ate more currywurst, which is a Middle Eastern/German infusion.  It's like a bratwurst with a spicy, curry, tomato sauce.  And it's scrumptious, at least the first couple of times.

It was Chris' first time to drive on the Autobahn and he was really excited.  Until he set eyes on the car our economizing afforded us.  The autobahn has 3 lanes for varying speeds.  We were in the far right lane putt putting along as Chris tried to coax our souped up golf cat into action.  Beautiful, sleek vehicles were whizzing by us at dizzying speeds as we considered whether it would be faster to get out and push.

After leaving the city center, we drove the rest of the way to the sea. I was expecting the sunny, warm weather to follow us. But it was cold, and windy! It was beautiful though, with miles and miles of horizon.

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  The beach was dotted with colorful little huts with their backs to the wind. People rented the huts and would spend the day sitting there in the purportedly therapeutic salt air. We dragged some huts into a semicircle to make a blockade and huddled behind them in blankets and fortified ourselves by frequent trips to the snack stand for hot coffee.

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Our kids made a bee line into the water, never mind that it was frigid. Water is for playing in, catching krill, and hauling buckets up for sand castles.Aidan's head kept bobbing farther and farther from the shore, until a nervous mommy stopped the adventurer by demanding that he stay closer to the beach. It didn't take too long for little lips to turn blue and need a tent made out of blankets and towels to cover shivering bodies.

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I kept turning to Chris and saying, "Can you believe we are here?"

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Daddy lost his sweater to a chilly little girl
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The beginnings of sunset

It had been a gorgeous memory making day when we finally headed home full of sand, and wind, and apple strudel.

Friday, June 8, 2012

New Likes

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A cow I named Rosie
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Narrow, winding streets
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Artistry in a cup
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Old dungeon doors
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Eclectic antiques
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Shades of green
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Friends and cousins
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Love locked on a bridge
Now off for another installment of boot camp because of the chocolate croissants that loved me back.

Thursday, June 7, 2012

St Petri

After a while, old churches seem to blend together for me.  I know there are people who would happily visit churches as much as I visited bakeries, I'm just not one of them.  But this church was the first one that we visited in Germany, and it was my favorite.  It was not the most ornate-far from it.  It was a smallish church with a sweet feel inside.  We were not allowed to take pictures inside the sanctuary so i can't show that.  There was a square of sand that contained votive candles nestled inside.  Aidan and Chloe both dropped some euros in the box to buy a candle to light.  Then they solemnly added their lights and prayers.  It felt significant somehow.

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St. Petri's

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Verboten was one word that I recognized.  And there are a lot of things labeled "verboten" in Germany.
Next, we climbed to the top of the tower.  I can't remember how many steps there were to the top, but it was a lot.  And it got hotter and hotter the higher we climbed, until our faces were damp and our hair was sticking to our foreheads.  The twisting stairs got more and more narrow until we were stepping on a tiny plank.  We kept passing signs that said "RAUCHEN VERBOTEN".  (When we later asked what that meant, our pronunciation was so garbled our friends thought that it was the wording for sliding is forbidden.  Which made sense to us, because-since we have an Aidan-we could understand a temptation to slide down the twisting railing.  Later we found out it actually meant smoking is forbidden, which makes more sense for the general public.)

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The view from one of the levels.
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Another view from the windows.
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Overlooking a little street cafe.
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One of the bells.

On our way down, the floors began to tremble with a great rumbling sound. We froze; not sure what was happening. Chloe thought maybe we were being bombed. But then the bells began to ring. We were on the floor above them, and it was so loud that it was shaking the floor. (Down below my mother's first reaction was that Aidan must have done something. She was imagining him swinging from the bell rope.) We had to cover our ears as we continued on down past the huge, lumbering bells with our bodies vibrating from the sound.

My legs were shaking by the time that we got down.  But we made it, and a sweet, older lady in the gift shop gave the kids a post card to prove it.  Aidan thanked her in German.  And so she must have assumed he was our interpreter because she would try to speak to us in halting English and then would turn to Aidan and switch to rapid fire German.  He played it off by nodding and answering her with yes and thank you in German which seemed to satisfy whatever she was asking.  And she never knew that those were the only two words that he knew at that point.