Travelogue Part 1
Hello all, here's a (depending on on how much a get into it/the different keyboard holds me back) quick overview of my trip so far. I may expand on this once I'm back:
Friday the 25th:
Congestion on the tarmac at JFK, so the flight to London takes off 90 minutes late (all of them spent sitting on the plane).
Saturday the 26th:
After arriving 45 minutes late in Heathrow, we go through flight security again (I hate changing planes in London!) and then deal with the beaucracy on American Airlines AND British Airways, we got rebooked to a flight two hours later to Hamburg. Since that flight is full, my dad and I get bumped up to first class (WOOHOO - although really I just say that for the leg room) and I spent the flight talking to the retired psychotherapist sitting next to me . (When he wasn't ranting about the current American president) He told me that he was born in Germany and he kept on hinting that something happened during the war ("I went to school in Hamburg for 5 years before the war happened and kept me from going..."). After I asked whether he was a WWII vet, he told me surprisingly matter-of-factly "No, I was in Auschwitz" and gave me a quick glance at his tattoo'd number. This was somewhat of a surprise, since I didn't expect him to be so unemotional about it, but also because I hadn't actually ever seen a Concentration/Death Camp survivor before in person.
And while an immense curiosity about Jew-in-Drittes-Reich was awakened, I refrained from asking him about that, since that's a can of worms I don't want to be responsible for opening at all. But he did draw a fascinating and completely convincing comparison between Nazi Germany and Bush II America, specifically between the treatment of Jews/Gypsies/Homosexuals/etc and the torture victims in the War of (T)Error:
While being liberated and living in a displaced persons camp with regular German civilians, noone who hadn't experienced the Holocaust would believe that it happened with the blessing of the government. They couldn't believe that such a thing could happen, except that it was the acts of a few bad, evil persons. (Abu Ghraib anyone??)
Well, we arrive in Hamburg, go to the train station and catch a 3 hour train to Westerland. The train arrivesat 1730, we catch a taxi to the vacation home, meet up with my Grandma, eat some lovely fresh asparagus (you won't understand this love for it unless you're German) wait for Sven to arrive, and fall into bed, exhausted.
Sunday the 27th:
After sleeping in, we pick up my cousin Michael, who decided to visit us since we don't all come over at the same time so often anymore. We walked around central Westerland for a bit, headed back home for dinner, and then decided to pre-game before heading out for the night. This turned into drinking with the parents, in which we learned about some of the stuff that my dad did as a kid that we would a) never think of b)not survive, thanks to our parents)
At 100, a bottle of paint-thinner vodka and one of anis-liquor later, we decided to head out on foot. On the way there a Taxi passed us, so we hailed it and told him to take us to "where something's going on". The first bar we're at is called "American Bistro" and it wasn't really either. Inga being Inga, she tells the people taking the cover charge at the door "Would you believe that we're actually from New York?" After showing them her NY driver's license, they let us all in for free. My cousin being the smart, intelligent man he is, tells them "No, I'm from Flensburg, I can pay." without even realizing what he said until 30 minutes later.
Monday the 28th:
After barhopping until 530, we went to a food place nearby and got a bunch of Currywürste (I'll explain later) and watched some un-sober people with a little to much of drug-of-choice really wanted to start something. It got good when someone there called the police because he knew that something was going to go down. Once then showed up nothing did, but it was still amusing to watch the crowd, including the people who decided that that was the perfect time to smoke a joint. At 730 we got home, which was quite fortuitous, because that was just when my Grandma got up that morning. This meant that Michael didn't have to sleep on a couch.
more to follow...
Friday the 25th:
Congestion on the tarmac at JFK, so the flight to London takes off 90 minutes late (all of them spent sitting on the plane).
Saturday the 26th:
After arriving 45 minutes late in Heathrow, we go through flight security again (I hate changing planes in London!) and then deal with the beaucracy on American Airlines AND British Airways, we got rebooked to a flight two hours later to Hamburg. Since that flight is full, my dad and I get bumped up to first class (WOOHOO - although really I just say that for the leg room) and I spent the flight talking to the retired psychotherapist sitting next to me . (When he wasn't ranting about the current American president) He told me that he was born in Germany and he kept on hinting that something happened during the war ("I went to school in Hamburg for 5 years before the war happened and kept me from going..."). After I asked whether he was a WWII vet, he told me surprisingly matter-of-factly "No, I was in Auschwitz" and gave me a quick glance at his tattoo'd number. This was somewhat of a surprise, since I didn't expect him to be so unemotional about it, but also because I hadn't actually ever seen a Concentration/Death Camp survivor before in person.
And while an immense curiosity about Jew-in-Drittes-Reich was awakened, I refrained from asking him about that, since that's a can of worms I don't want to be responsible for opening at all. But he did draw a fascinating and completely convincing comparison between Nazi Germany and Bush II America, specifically between the treatment of Jews/Gypsies/Homosexuals/etc and the torture victims in the War of (T)Error:
While being liberated and living in a displaced persons camp with regular German civilians, noone who hadn't experienced the Holocaust would believe that it happened with the blessing of the government. They couldn't believe that such a thing could happen, except that it was the acts of a few bad, evil persons. (Abu Ghraib anyone??)
Well, we arrive in Hamburg, go to the train station and catch a 3 hour train to Westerland. The train arrivesat 1730, we catch a taxi to the vacation home, meet up with my Grandma, eat some lovely fresh asparagus (you won't understand this love for it unless you're German) wait for Sven to arrive, and fall into bed, exhausted.
Sunday the 27th:
After sleeping in, we pick up my cousin Michael, who decided to visit us since we don't all come over at the same time so often anymore. We walked around central Westerland for a bit, headed back home for dinner, and then decided to pre-game before heading out for the night. This turned into drinking with the parents, in which we learned about some of the stuff that my dad did as a kid that we would a) never think of b)not survive, thanks to our parents)
At 100, a bottle of paint-thinner vodka and one of anis-liquor later, we decided to head out on foot. On the way there a Taxi passed us, so we hailed it and told him to take us to "where something's going on". The first bar we're at is called "American Bistro" and it wasn't really either. Inga being Inga, she tells the people taking the cover charge at the door "Would you believe that we're actually from New York?" After showing them her NY driver's license, they let us all in for free. My cousin being the smart, intelligent man he is, tells them "No, I'm from Flensburg, I can pay." without even realizing what he said until 30 minutes later.
Monday the 28th:
After barhopping until 530, we went to a food place nearby and got a bunch of Currywürste (I'll explain later) and watched some un-sober people with a little to much of drug-of-choice really wanted to start something. It got good when someone there called the police because he knew that something was going to go down. Once then showed up nothing did, but it was still amusing to watch the crowd, including the people who decided that that was the perfect time to smoke a joint. At 730 we got home, which was quite fortuitous, because that was just when my Grandma got up that morning. This meant that Michael didn't have to sleep on a couch.
more to follow...