Adventures in Strasbourg

So this weekend I decided I needed a foray into France for the first time. Strasbourg is a close and touristy town with amazing cathedrals, fine wine, and picturesque canals running through the city. Dominating the town is the tallest structure of the Cathedral of Notre Dame (officially, Cathédrale Notre-Dame de Strasbourg), but everyone there simply states it as the Cathe´drale. It is bewildering, majestic, and, of course, full of construction and scaffolding.

The train ride to Strasbourg is only a little over three hours, so that is the way to go for me. I found I could actually take a plane from Frankfurt to Strasbourg for the same amount of money and nearly the same amount of time. But the great thing about the train tickets is they're highly flexible. If you miss a train, you just take the next one, or if you decide to leave a day later, it doesnt matter--still the same price. This proved handy as I ended up seeing two cities on the way back to Marburg. These were Karlsruhe and Heidelburg. Both amazing sites for me.

First about Strasbourg. Being I got an amazingly cheap hotel over the internet, it is on the outskirts of Strasbourg. As long as I can afford it, I am shunning youth hostels--memories of stinky feet, snoring patrons, and shady characters still haunt my nightmares. Besides, if your savvy you can usually find a hotel room for only about 10 euros more than the youth hostel. Well I tried to get a savvy deal. But it was a long walk and I had to ask several patrons where it was. A common question kept coming up when I was asking where this hotel was,''Are you gay?''. What? It was a creepy old man that asked me this the first time and I ended up just excusing myself walking away. But then I got asked a second time--and was wondering if it was something I was wearing. Lets see, beat up shoes, faded jeans, and a sweaty t-shirt--nope, that cant be it. Mistaken for a homeless man, a lost tourist, or a defected soldier from Iraq I can see, but certainly not dressed well enough for gay.

I then come up to my hotel, and all the questions become obvious. The hotel is pink (amazingly pink with all the dark houses around it), with big rainbows, and very colorful everything--especially on the inside. Even the walls were pink and purple. It also smelled a little too good. Hmmm, I think. A gay hotel (see picture above). Well, it could be worse. Getting in was a problem too. There was no reception--he probably had an important date. Just a sign that said STEELE-Room 9. But of course, every door has locked keycodes. I try a bunch of key codes and hope I get lucky--reservation number, my last name translated to numbers, etc. I have no luck. The door is unyielding. So I see a fire escape. I decide to get in this way and Voila! all the back doors up the fire escape are open. I think to myself that this is a very bad gay joke. The only way into the gay hotel is by going in 'the back door'. But I find my keys in my hotel room and thankfully, no one occupying it. I lock the dead bolt and go out the front door. My whole stay there, I never saw the reception guy, and I have yet to pay my hotel room.

In and around Strasbourg I go explore. Later that night I meet another traveler named Anya. She is a student in France, comes from Thailand, and doesnt seem scared to travel alone either. I think she is very brave. We talk some and agree to be friendly travel buddies the next day. I plan on meeting her to go see Heidelburg.

After dinner I try and rush back to the hotel to call the parents. I couldn´t get through so I say it here--Happy 40th Anniversary Mom and Dad!!! It was/is April 28th. I'm two days late, sorry, but calling from France, in a gay hotel room, with pink walls and no soap, while speaking with french operators, was one too many distractors for me. Next time I remember to send a card--pink, with gay men and rainbows on it. That will make number 41 a bit more interesting.

Later that evening, I end up seeing Zrinka, the girl I became friends with while traveling through Croatia. I knew she was in town there with a school trip, but I think neither of us was sure we would actually end up seeing each other. She was busy with her french school class and it didnt sound like she was going to get any free time. We actually did end up seeing each as I surprised her by walking up behind her. By that time it was pretty late. Zrinka, her friend, and I went out for a beer and shared a taxi to her youth hostel and my hotel. As I was talking to her outside the youth hostel, the police came up, asked if were speaking english (in english) and I told them yes. He then asked me if we seen two masked men run by. We told them no. They then ran off.

I think this was a little unnerving for both of us--so she went to bed and I went walking back to my pink hotel, pocket knife in hand, wondering if I was going to get robbed by two masked men. If this wasnt creepy enough, was the fact that I had to walk in a dark street with no lights that ran along a very, very, very old cemetary. So old all the monuments were falling apart and some of the tombs tops were missing. Pretty much every horror movie ever made was running through my mind and a large percentage of them had this exact same seen. Man walks alone. Man gets killed for being stupid and walking out late. After that walk, a pink hotel and brightly covered rainbows never looked so good.

Hackfleisch an Brot

So in the last week my education of the German culture progress. This week I saw a German specialty that made me wonder about the German culinary habits and what America's viewpoint of these habits would be.

I was wondering around Marburg on the bicycle and I decided I would get some groceries from the Marktplatz. This particular part of the town has a Farmer's Market going on their every Saturday morning. It is one of the only places I can find that sells fresh herbs and vegetables. Surprisingly little fresh herbs and vegetables are found in the grocery store by my house. (I want to go back to Zagreb--where the Farmers market is a block wide, 2 levels, and open every day) Also, I have become determined on making the creme of potato soup that actually tastes good, since my first few batches were only so-so. I decided I needed parsley and lemon grass in my soup -- so to the Farmers' market I go. Also there is a couple of butchers who put out there latest and freshest slaughter. I decide to get some pork chops when I saw the dish de jour.

The particular dish that made me wonder is 'Hackfleisch an Brot', or Hamburger on Bread. Why is hambuger on bread so special? Americans eat 1 billion of these a year. You see, the hamburger was completely raw! My stomach cringed. To serve this interesting sandwich scoop some fresh hamburger on a bun, add onions, relish, and a little mustard and Voila! Hackfleisch an Brot! I sat and watched a group eat these sandwiches and was thinking about how the fast food corporations had wasted billions of dollars in cooking the hamburger to 160 F degrees. So I asked my German companions about this sandwich and they assured me that it is very good indeed. I asked them how the butchers could get away with selling it due to Ecoli risk. They told me that the butcher can only use meat that has been ground up that day and then it must be stored at 4 deg celsius the whole time. Hmmm. Maybe I will try a small bite someday and hope I dont get sick for three weeks. There is a small part of my brain that trys to think up how McDonalds or Burger king would advertise Hackfleisch an Brot to germaphobic americans. All I see is meat grinders beside the milkshakes though--maybe you could mix the two and have a Fleisch Frappe´. Mmmmmm.

The german gradaute students got wind of my blog by finding one of my old posted videos on the public computers-my Zermatt video. A group of them spent a couple of hours searching the internet to find my webpage and then the rest of the day reading it and laughing at me. The next day, while we were grilling outside, they came up and were giving me shit about--but it was all in good fun. In regards to the last post, it turns out I was factually inaccurate. They tell me their are in-fact many brothels in Marburg and one can recognize them by the red lights in the windows. I laughed at the guy who said this to me and asked him how does he know? He shrugged his shoulders. I then turned to his girlfriend and asked her if she was mad he was visiting all the brothels--without batting an eye she says, ''Oh no! I drive him there!''. To this response I laughed so hard beer flew up my nose. What a girlfriend I thought. Now thats open minded!

Ich bin ein Superhund.

Here is me at a Freiburg seminar, a trip I took with the graduate students a few weeks ago. We had a german tour guide who is dressed up as a theif (rauber) and took us to all his favorite places to steal (landmarks in Freiburg). We got along very well--even though he didnt speak a word of english. You see, I took a bottle of wine for us graduates to share due to the miserable conditions. It was raining, at night, and very cold. But everyone had fun.


Above is Marburg´s one and only brothel. I had to take a picture. It was one block away from the flea market. It also takes credit cards, as you can see from the EC sign in front. I thought that was very convienent.

And now the title: Ich bin ein Superhund (I am a superdog). It is the current book that I am reading now. It is a first reader book meant for 6-8 year olds. It is a very humbling experience going to the library, into the childrens section, to pickout childrens books for yourself. Especially when all the 'mothers' are giving you strange looks. If an ego problem ever develops for yourself, this is a sure cure.

As for my updated life, I just finished the Intensive course two in my german class. On Monday I start part three. I am having lots of trouble trying to figure out nominative, accusative, and dative cases. Such things never made sense in English, much less German.

Dont ever use Nippon Shipping. Ever. Them !*-&$§!!!. Yeah that will show them. I pay 150 dollars to ship my bike over to germany and then once it gets here, they send me a invoice for 400 dollars in taxes and storage fees. I think I just paid 150 dollars so they can have my bike. Another lesson learned. It makes me want go beat up someone japanese, in which I would probably learn another lesson.

My fish tank now has an amazing snail infestation. They crawl on everything. I think there might be more of them than rock. Oh well, they dont really disturb anything, so I just let them be. Its better then cockroaches in the kitchen.

Speaking of my house, I have a new roomate for a week or so. He is an Italian named Marco. He was in the volkshochschule with me and needed a place to stay for the week. He works as an engineer. Marburg has a solar cell factory here and thats were he works. I let him sleep on the couch, which I think would be a little uncomfortable, but he doesnt seem to mind. He speaks really good english so its easy to communicate with him. It isnt so bad having a roomate (for a little while). Its nice to share dinner with somebody.

By the way, the weather has been beautiful here in Marburg. The days have been 70-80 degrees and I wish I could enjoy it. Too many hours spent in front of the computer-watching the cursor blink, while life goes by.

Nightmare and memories. Tidbit

Tidbit, to this day all I see is the head. For some reason this memory has reawakend in my dreams more grotesque than ever. I write the story here for you, from the perspective of a seven year old Terry.

Tidbit. nonfiction by Terry Steele (C) 2007

I am seven years old. Actually I am seven and a half years old. Seven and a half is much older then seven. My brothers Rob and Bruce are fifteen and walk to school every day. All I want to be is be like them. They are fun and dress up as clowns and talk to girls. I dont know why they talk to girls, but they see to talk alot about them. My dad calls them 'Sexy Mommas' when we drive down the road in the green GMC. My brothers laugh, and I think it must be their nicknames. GMC stands for my uncle, Go Mike Childs. It makes sense to me--what else could GMC stand for? It´s the fall and I just started first grade. I like it. Mrs. Smiley teaches me how to spell fun and cat and dog. I run from the bus stop and ask my brother Rob how to spell fun and cat and dog. Rob is alway being teased about his bad spelling skills, so I want to ask him first. I ask him in front of Dad and Bruce, and they both laugh, but I am not sure at what. Rob says it is F Uckin N. I think Rob just swore, but Dad just laughs, so I tell Rob it is F U N. Rob doesnt seem to want to know how to spell FUN and just walks away from me. There seems always something the matter with Rob.

One of the things our family does is have a big cage of ferrets. Most are white with red eyes and I think this makes them smart. I ask Pat, a women who lived with us, I ask, ''Do babies come from ferrets?'' Pat ignores me, as she does with most my questions. I ask her in the kitchen while I play on the brown carpet floor. One of the ferrets I was holding just disappeared behind the fridge. Pat doesn't like me but I don't know why. I look at Nini, Pat's baby little girl who is very white, and I think she came from a ferret.

We now have many ferrets. The large brown one was put in the cage with the smaller white one and after much biting and tackling, they were separated. The white one has lots of blood stained white fur (on its shoulders where the brown one bit) that matches its eyes. After it awhile its belly bulges and looks fat. It soon has many many babies. They seem to suck everywhere on the tummy. I go down into the basement and look at them everyday. They all get very big, the size of rats in a few weeks. All but one.

Tidbit.

That is what we named him. He was so cute and small and we all wanted the turn to feed him. He was what mom and dad called the runt. The other babies were mean and never let him get to milk. Tidbit was half the size of all the others, seemed blind, and squeaked alot. We all loved him. When we all noticed him, small and weak, we felt sorry and decided to take care of him. We made milk for him. Not the instant dry milk from the food shelter, but real whole milk from the jug. We warmed it up in a small pot, just for him. There was a special dropper Tidbit sucked milk out of--and he would do it right out of the palm of our hand. It was a special event every night--after supper, we would get tidbit, and we would take turns holding him while giving him the special warmed whole milk. I wanted to hold him and feed him, but was told I was never 'old enough'. I hated being told I was not 'old enough'. I was seven and a half.

Tidbit, little by little, got bigger. He was the favorite of the whole family. There were only four names for the ferrets we raised (at least to me)--the momma, the papa, Tidbit, and the kids. For me Tidbit was the only one that mattered. I would look in the glass cage and route for him to get a nipple to suck on. He was always the underdog, but rarely the winner. He was the easiest to find, since he was always half the size. I was always the smallest and so was Tidbit. So I routed for him, and pretended, he routed for me.

There is a great yelling after dinner and everyone rushes downstairs to see the momma and the babies. I dont know how but the next memory is all of us looking in cage--looking for Tidbit. Tidbit is gone and we wonder how he got out. Actually, I am the only one to wonder how he got out. All of them see, but I dont. Everyone in the family is mad and angry and some are crying (mom and my brothers), but I still dont see. I dont want to see--thats not Tidbit I see--Tidbit is whole and real and squeaks and furry and small and, and, and, and thats not Tidbit. Tidbit has not been reduced to just a head and red.... Tidbit has not been eaten all the up to the neck, so it has no arms, no legs, and no torso. Can that be Tidbits head?? Why? How? Why would the other ferrets do that? Why would they eat Tidbit? Eaten alive and at seven and a half, this is something that greatly frightens me. This is not the way it is supposed to be, this seems really really unfair to me and Tidbit. But none of these questions I ask are answered--no one wants to talk about it.

We put the head in a jewelry box, wrap it in plastic and bury it in the ground across the street --under Rob and Bruce's tree fort. It is where many of our pets were buried. 50 feet from a real cemetary.

The passion for raising ferrets soon leaves all of us, in the family. We pick up every baby in the litter as we clean up the cage and silently ask if he or she was one of the ones that ate Tidbit. The rest of the babies grew and I know not what happens next with them. I know a few months after the death of Tidbit, all of the ferrets were gone, and the ferret cages were empty. I think we gave them away and or let them loose in the field and swamp behind us. That was the last time I ever seen ferrets in our family.

It was a long time until we had any pets after that.

Black in Blue.

As you can see up above, the new colors to my apartment are black and blue. The carpet and couches were picked up yesterday and the dear old parents made the beautiful blue curtains in back. I dare say something about me might actually match.

To pick up the couches and carpet I had to rent a 6 ton van and drive about 100 kilometers to go pick them up. The fun part was I got to drive on the Autobahn. You can bet your money that the van was floored all the way there. This might sound like fun, except for the fact that the van had a top speed of about 120 kph (or about 75 mph). This was somewhat disappointing to me. Traffic flew by us like we were standing still. But I survived, and made the itch to buy a motorcycle and traverse the german roadways even more painful. It was interesting to see that some of the Autobahn bridges literally went over cities in Germany. There would be stretches of this highway were you would look down into the valleys and see cities and small vilages.

My Easter weekend looks pretty dull. Mostly writing and reading for me. The home still does not have any computer, phone, or TV/DVD so things are pretty dull there. Easter seems to be a pretty major holiday over here as 1-2 days at a minimum is taken off before and after the weekend.

I did get a new phone number though, which I think is interesting. It is actually a 612 area code number that dials straight to my computer, and lets me talk through the phone lines for one cent a minute anywhere in the world. It seems to come in handy when I have need to yell at my credit card and shipping companies. If any are interested, give me an email.

Join me for breakfast?

No, I did not fall off the face of the Earth. I think I did fall off the party bandwagon unfortunetly.

So today you join me at 6am while I eat a couple of croissants with some Milk. Normally this routine is email and CNN news, along with any funny links R.N. sends me. But today, I choose you.

My ex-girlfriend had a funny way of turning adjectives into nouns. It applies here. I´ve joined the world of Less Fun, and More Boring. I have class, meetings, calendars, appointments, schedules, procedures, procedures to write, blah blah blah.

I had to revamp my schedule to get all my lab work done by 2pm everyday, as my german class is from 2-5:30. After that class, no matter how hard I did try, I could never get any work done. It pretty much sapped all my concentration. So now I wake up at an incredibly early 5am to get in before 6am. My first thought everyday is along the lines of, ''Why is life so cruel?''.

So yup, I pretty much joined the rest of the working world. No more grad student status where I could wake up when I want and work when I wanted to. And have plenty of drinks with the friends when I wanted too.

Such are the reasons the blog has been skipped on many occasions in the last 2 weeks. I have stories(!), wit and fiction to with it, however not much time to write it. The irony, the irony. When I have more balance, I will write more.

Terry