#but the opening of a window for a bit is very how the bavarians live

[kurtty-drabbles]

Vampire au

N/A: An sort of mix of Dracula and Hellsing here. Kurt D is too cool to not be both. Also, this is an AU so mutants are here walking and talking and still going on the same social norms as the humans, now, I´d not know all the details on the Victorians social cues...so, I´ll make things up, but, hey, those are fucked up times so...yeah.

@djinmer4 @bamfoftheundead @dannybagpipesarecalling @sailorstar9 @discordsworld @look-ma-no-hands336

Victorian England is a period that is inspiring many writers to write romance, even though, ironically, most of the romances about ladies seeking marriages comes from nobles men.

Romance is a mechanism and hardly is a matter of the heart. Kitty "Ariel" Pryde can testify how Victorian England can be devoid of colour and full of rules.

In fact, the only excitement is when a new neighbour moves to the two storey house in front of Kitty Pryde, the house is pretty old, always give a haunting impression and many jokes the ghost of the past live there waiting for the master to return. Of course, is just a silly legend.

But, someone living in this old house is enough to make many people gossip. Rumour has it and is a very reliable source, a count of Bavaria is coming to stay the season in England and many women are interested in this aspect.

Yet, Ariel(as many like to call her) likes to point out no one knows anything about this man or if he´s really going to live here, and she has to admit is really boring have to gossip about a possible non-existent person.

"Better stick with my books then, at least, I´d know there´s a character there" Ariel is on the balcony of her house, the young woman is blessed to be born in a good and open mind family(many wanted Kitty to marry when she hit 14 but her family manages to dodge this situation until she´s older enough)  a long-suffering sigh escape her lips "alas, I know, soon enough, I´ll have to marry, I wish something more exciting would happen, more exciting then a new neighbour"

Absently her eyes travel to the old house and watch a pair of scarlet eyes in the window. A man with azure fur and a grimace as visiting card caught her doe eyes and the woman suddenly forget her old book, who is now laying on the ground, the old house has really a master after all.

The scarlet eyes have no pupil or iris and Ariel didn´t feel time pass down, until, her mother put her hand on her shoulder telling is dinner time, and when Ariel looks back, the scarlet eyes are gone.

__________________________________________________

Jean Grey is the daughter of a wealthy family, in fact, is safe to say the Grey are so wealth to the point only the Royal family can rival, so, this makes Jean a very suitable wife to be and many, many men try to gain her affections.

Warren Warrington is the chosen one. A young bachelor who is following the decor of the engagement with all the letters, to the point, Jean and Waren, can´t see each other alone.

The Greys once hearing that the Count is in town and living so close of them, decide to throw a party in his honour, as the costume goes, of course, and Kitty Pryde has to admit, she´s too curious to see the Count.

("No one ever saw him, said he´s too ugly" "I heard he´s too handsome" "Too old, bet he has no hair in his head and wears one of those wigs" )

The man arrives, much later, when the full moon is shining in the sky without any cloud, wearing fine clothes, a smirk on his face and his eyes, still scarlet as she remembers. No pupil, no iris, and wearing a new type of glasses, one called googles, that give an orange mix with his scarlet eyes.

The man is terribly late, and the Greys show displeasure in this fact, even if he´s a noble, however, his snarl like a smile is enough to prevent the count to be scowled.

"Guten Nicht, Am I late for the party?" the count looks with a bit of mock to the surroundings. Women were separated in one corner and men in another and all are wearing far too many clothes.

Kitty, in her own little space, saw how the count´s mouth twitch upward in a mock fashion, but, maybe the others didn´t saw or care, and many mothers went to the Count to introduce him to their daughters, and, without any regards to proper education or social norms, the count just refutes saying he´s not feeling well.

"I´m a bit hungry" Kitty heard him speak with his Bavarian accent, the south Bavarian tone, and notices how the man´s teeth seem too sharp, but, her muses aren´t that important. "I´m afraid, I need to drink something, is there´s any good Bloody Mary?"

"Bloody Mary?" Kitty asked now gaining his attention and the fury of many mothers wanting to marry their daughters. Is a bit uncommon to drink Bloody Mary at this hour?  And, the guests already dinner, so, why the count is hungry? Didn´t he eat? "I´m afraid Lord Williams already drink all the Bloody Mary" Kitty speaks in a light tone and she is not lying here "but, I think there´s wine here..."

"Wine?" the count is pondering for a moment "yes, that would be gut" and then he introduces himself amused by everyone´s reaction, if the foreign man wants to be the eccentric one, Kitty can join in the harmless prank. The man kissed her hand and this didn´t go unnoticed.

"Ladies, we´ll be the scandalous thing to drink wine, fret not, I´ll return the good count Darkholme in one piece" Kitty promised to the old ladies and Kurt Darkholme is far too amused.

"You shouldn´t kiss woman´s hands like that" Kitty lightly chastised as they are drinking good wine. "be prepared for tomorrow thousands of old ladies suddenly visit your house to talk about their daughter, oh, what surprised they are single" Kitty jokes and knows very well she´s breaking a protocol here, yet, she´s not caring. Later, her mother and father may chastise more seriously(but, this has to be the only time something fun happens in the Grey´s parties)

"You, English folks, are very funny to me, I´m here to have a nice vacation and I think I've got a nice place" Kurt speaks smirking and showing his teeth, they are really sharp. Kitty shakes her head. "by the way, can you tell me more about the fine people in this party? You seem to be a very reasonable person"

"Thank you, Is a cross I have to carry." she jokes and gives a small sum up of who is who. "And look, I must warn you right away, Jean Grey is engaged to Lord Warrington and this is their celebration party" she explained in the best she could, but, she must have failed as Kurt starts laughing pretty hard, almost dropping his goblet.

Kitty, not wanting to be too defiant or gain attention, put her finger on his lips, this makes the laughter ceased, while, his scarlet eyes are amused. Kitty´s finger has no glove, nothing and is touching his cold lips.

"Oh, this is a party? Oh, I´ve much to learn" Kurt Darkholme states once Kitty takes her finger from his lips.

"Yes, you´d! And, why are you here? count Darkholme?" Kitty asked the man, still gazing at his scarlet eyes.

"I´m here to have fun, Katzchen, and please, don´t call me Count Darkholme, I´m not that old" there´s a hint of a smile on the corner of his mouth again. "Can I ask a question?" the woman nods "are you here with somebody?"

"A husband?" Kitty asked again and shakes her head. Piotr is giving strong hints to want to be her husband and Kitty is giving strong replies of how she feels about that. A big NO. _______________________________________________________________

The men in the corner have enough of their private conversation and take Kurt Darkholme to their side to enjoy a nice chat as a man do. Cigars were distributed and talk about God were offered and Kurt gives a smile for all of them.

Bobby Drake or as he prefers to be called, Lord Williams(Is a name his father gave to him as he inherited the big house of the family), seems very upset the good wine is over and makes some comments about the person who steals it. "Count Darkholme, that woman has no right, I tell you, no right to take my wine" and the man is getting mad and madder. "I´ll teach that woman a lesson"

Count Darkholme only smiles. "Is life worth losing for wine?"

And Lord Williams, not minding the smiles of Count Darkholme nor the other men rolling their eyes at this childish act, replied. "Of course, is worth even die for good wine"

The party is over and people are going home, no one saw Count Darkholme´s carriage, yet, the man is no longer in the house. No one saw Lord Williams either, but, the man must be drinking with colleagues or with one of his girlfriends.

Next morning, one of the maids of the Grey household, spit Lord Williams dead in the wine cellar, attacked as an animal would and left to rotten in next to the finest wine. This news is a hot topic in the city. Along with Count Darkholme.

_______________________________________________________________

Rebellion comes in many forms, and, clearly Ariel most be the most rebel person in London as she often is reading even though, according to the social norms, is not respectable for a woman to read.

In fact, Kitty Pryde often is seen in the library with a good book in her hand and a hairpin in the other, you see, men think a woman should have the basic education, but, shouldn´t be here in the library. This is a place for men.

Kitty notices she´s going to be late, again, thanks to a good book. So, she is walking calmly with her pin in hand as men don´t always are that respectful to a woman who reads.

"Miss Pryde?" the male voice of the Count jolts the woman, but, she feels at ease, Kurt Darkholme never seems to mind how "rebel" Ariel is. "Strolling under the moonlight?" Darkholme asked showing his teeth and makes quips how the night is beautiful.

"Oh, no, not really, I was lost to time thanks to this book" she points the green cover book with a smile" and you?"

"The night is too beautiful to stay inside" and his smile seems far too feral to be humane, but, Kitty is fascinated by his scarlet eyes, it may be her silly impression, but, her eyes seem to get an even deeper shade of red. "But, I´d think I owe you an apology" Kitty is confused and Kurt continues, "you told me thousands of mothers would come to my house to make me meet their daughters...I didn´t believe in you. I´m sorry"

Kitty laughs amused. She remembers faintly, how a woman of her position isn´t allowed to laugh like that in front of a man, yet, Kitty is not caring at all.

"Don´t think too poorly of those mothers, Kurt" she speaks once she got her laughter over. And now, a sad smile creeps on her face "we, woman, live in a very cruel world, this is what we have been taught to do and is hard to think outside the proverbial box."

"Well, you seem to think outside the box, Katzchen" the man replied amused and offers to escort her home. The conversation about gender continues and Kitty notices how Kurt seems to enjoy making fun of the situation.

"In Bavaria is different?" she asked already seeing her house from the distance.

"You can say that," Kurt replied amused. Once, Kitty is greeted by her maid save and sound, Kurt adds swiftly "Save and sound, Katzchen, now, be careful next time, there are many strange things happening in this city and I don´t want nothing bad to happen to you" and with that the man politely retrieves himself.

The maid guides Kitty to the dining room, where Cameron Pryde, is talking in a hushed tone with his wife and now with his only daughter. "Normally, I would share this information with you, as is very delicate, but, I believe you two must know" and Cameron takes no time in giving the bad news "Fred Dukes is murder"

"Well, I hardly think anyone will miss him, the man was creepy and eat anything that he could take his hands on" Terry Pryde replied and Kitty knows stories of cannibalism involving Fred aka Blop.

"Yes, but...the curious part is that a shark eats the flesh of the already dead Fred, after an investigation, turns out someone drink the blood of the man and then feed to the shark, the one Dr Loius is studying, if the poor man wasn´t in another state people would suspect him"

"Well, I never like this Dr...bring a shark here? Is a silly notion" Terry replied again and Kitty mentions, once her mother stops ranting about how Dr Louis is a bad man, how many there are many stories of people with less blood than they should be.

"I´m afraid, Kitten, this is also real, the police has no idea on what to do, several women have been found drained of their own blood" and Cameron comment on the first case and Ariel somehow remembers the first day Kurt Darkholme arrives a woman lost her blood.

_______________________________________________________

Jean Grey is now anaemic. Is news that many, many people are talking about with a genuine obsession. Her fiance is trying to find a cure, and no one seems to understand how a healthy woman is almost on the verge of death, well, they don´t seem to care for that aspect very much.

"A party?" Kurt Darkholme asked as once again they are walking together, more to gossip about, and more to talk about among them. A secret jokes among friends. "Oh, like that joyful party?" the snide is visible on his face and Kitty cracks a smile.

"No, think something extravagant, now add more 10x the extravagance, those are the engagement parties, the one you went to was a mere meeting, you see, the Grey´s parties are so amazing that even the royals show up and people even make their appointment with the seamstress to get something to upper hold the party" Kitty explained with a dull expression, even her dear mother is in this fever, having the seamstress stress out for a perfect dress to Kitty. Something pink is quickly charted away and is promptly refused by Kitty. She prefers blue over pink.

"Oh, another dull party then" Kurt´s own dull face mirrors Kitty and it makes his red scar even more visible. "And how is this Jean Grey?"

"Oh" Kitty rolls her eyes "she´s the perfect example of woman, in fact, she´s not scandalous as me, her fashion is on point and never would wear something so forbidden" she jokes earning a chuckle from Kurt Darkholme. "See, Jean Grey would never show her neck as I do. What a virtuous woman"

"In comparison, your neck is much more lovely than hers"

"Thank you, my good Count, at least, you have good taste"

_______________________________________________________________

Jean Grey´s health is restored thanks to the miracle of blood donation, however, Jean Grey is a bit different and has been seen with many men and woman in her chambers. Has been using different outfits, far too revealing and has acting strange.

Before Jean Grey would blush and smile at the mention of motherhood for her, now, she recoils in horror and there´s a witness that saw a woman too similar to Jean murdering a baby.

Warren is gathering a group to help to unravel what´s happening, and to everyone´s shock, he asked Kitty Pryde for help too. Jean and Kitty aren´t closet friends in the slightest, but, in Warren´s mind, Kitty´s is discreet and good with people, and maybe, Jean could have confided something with the brunette.

They meet Jean Grey, she was in a crypt of her family, drinking the blood of a child and being half naked, not an appealing image to anyone. Especially as her teeth are now fangs and her eyes are dark as her soul.

"A vampire?!" Warren speaks in fear and tries to fight the woman he once loved, but, Jean replied sweetly. "Warren, my sweet angel boy, I´ve never loved you. And now, I´m free" and Jean Grey drains his blood.

Guns were shot as Jean Grey and no success, however, the sun is setting and the first rays of the sun are enough to make Jean Grey hurls in pain and slowly turns into dust.

No party at the Greys ever again.

"At least, the vampire is dead," one of them said, but, Kitty knows the history is not over.

______________________________________________________________

Kitty arrives in the old house, the residence of Kurt Darkholme, and is greeted by the man drinking sangria aka Bloody Mary. A smile plays on his face and Kitty is gazing at his scarlet eyes again, not as red as they were in the past.

"Jean Grey is a vampire" she speaks not minding the protocols and never will.

"I know" is his reply.

"Many people have been killed and had their blood drained"

"I know" again, is his only reply.

"And...are you a vampire too?"

"Yes," Kurt Darkholme does not deny.

"Are you going to hurt me?"

"No" he replied again.

"Why are you here?"

"Honestly? To have laughter at people, your social norms are a joke for me, but, meeting you makes the experience better, Katzchen, I want to ask something and only you can answer that" Kurt Darkholme then replied in a soft tone with a Bavarian accent far too strong to be ignored "do you want to come with me? I can´t force you"

"Didn´t you ask this for Jean as well?" there´s a hint of jealousy in her tone.

"No, Jean was an accident, I drink her blood, but, she didn´t drink mine, so, she was never a real vampire, in fact, the whole experience only wake what she repressed for so long. To turn someone into a vampire the first vampire needs to share the blood, is almost like a marriage, but, with blood"

Kitty closes her eyes and asked. "It will hurt?" and this is a question that answers almost everything.

The Prydes are surprised and happy when Kitty reveals to engage with Kurt Darkholme. Even if the engagement was too soon, it does not bother them, a year from now, Kitty Pryde will be Mrs Darkholme and the Prydes are so happy that their daughter will be a countess. No questions will be made.

#aoa!Kurtty #Kurt Darkholme #vampire au #the writer regrets nothing #aoa kitty pryde #I dont know much about accuracy on the social norms on victorian era but there´s a blood man with red eyes I can make things up here #Jean went cray cray #I used Warren and Jean cause I didn´t want Scott to suffer #Why the sun killed her? Well #maybe it didn´t killed her and she can show up later as a sort of hybrid of half vampire as her mind truly think she is one #and she is jean grey

[180abroad]

Days 158-160: Salzburg & Berchtesgaden

On the border between Austria and Germany is a small corner of the Alps whose fame far exceeds its size. It is German and Austrian and also not quite either at the same time. It's been settled since the Stone Age and grew fabulously wealthy thanks to the local salt deposits, a commodity as valuable in historical times as oil is now. For hundreds of years it was ruled by an eccentric system of elected prince-bishops. It is the extremely proud birthplace of Mozart--though Mozart himself hated it and moved to Vienna as soon as he could afford to.

More recently, it has earned renewed fame as a place of extraordinary beauty--both natural and architectural. And in the 20th century, it was sadly tarred with infamy as the innermost sanctum of the Nazi regime.

The train ride from Vienna to Salzburg was so easy as to be entirely forgettable aside from the verdant alpine scenery. Salzburg is right between Vienna and Munich, so there's no shortage of high-speed commuter trains to choose from.

We were staying in an Airbnb on the outskirts of town, so we took a bus out from the central station. Got to see a glimpse of the city's spectacular Baroque architecture along the way.

Much like our place in Liverpool, our place in Salzburg was a minimally furnished room in a house we'd be sharing with other guests. One improvement was that this room had a proper bunk bed. I offered to take the top bunk, but after a nervous night with me tossing and turning above her--and the fact that one of the top bunk's four support posts came out of joint during the night--Jessica kindly requested that we swap places for the next two nights.

I had to hunt downstairs for the for the wifi router, which was unplugged. Other than that, though, the home was charming if austere. We spent a fair few hours during our stay here at the windowed dining nook, jotting out plans under the gaze of epic mountains.

We had originally planned to spend the afternoon wandering around Salzburg, but neither of us was much condition to follow through. Jessica hadn’t really slept at all the previous night, and I had only done a little better. In the end, it was all we could do to have me walk down the block for food at a local grocery store.

At least the backdrop was spectacular.

Berchtesgaden is a beautiful alpine resort town just across the border into Germany. It is home to some of the rich salt mines that made Salzburg so wealthy, and in the 19th century it became a popular throughout Europe as a destination for tourists and artists.

If an American knows about Berchtesgaden, however, it is probably in relation to Hitler and the Nazis. Hitler adored Berchtesgaden and the surrounding countryside. He finished writing Mein Kampf at a cabin he rented in the area, and later he bought a home in the nearby mountainside of Obersalzberg, which was later colonized by top-ranking Nazi officials wanting to be as close to Hitler as possible. Hitler spent most of his time in office during the 1930s ruling from his home in Obersalzberg.

And the most famous building in the Nazi complex in Obersalzberg is the one Hitler spent the least time at--the Eagle's Nest.

There are plenty of other sights around Berchtesgaden that don’t have to do with that dark chapter in its history. There are the salt mines, the famously beautiful Königssee lake, and innumerable hiking opportunities. But seeing even one of those as well as the Nazi sites would have require a very long day with a very early start. So instead, we slept in and contented ourselves with exploring the town itself.

We had booked spaces on the Rick Steves-recommended Eagle’s Nest Tours, which runs daily four-hour tours from Berchtesgaden starting at 1:00 pm. After a quick breakfast at the station, we caught the #840 bus from Salzburg to Berchtesgaden. We were supposed to arrive at 11:00, giving us an hour for lunch and an hour for wandering the town.

But due to traffic, we didn’t get into town until nearly 11:30. Rather than rush ourselves and risk stressing ourselves out, we decided to just have a nice slow lunch instead. We tried Bacchus wine for the first time, and it was delicious. It is a hybrid grape varietal that was invented by crossing a Sylvaner-Riesling hybrid with a Muller-Thurgau--itself a cross of Riesling and another varietal called Madeleine Royale. It was delicious, combining the richness of Chardonnay with the refreshing fruitiness of a Pinot Grigio.

(Jessica noted the irony of enjoying a hybrid wine in countryside where much of Hitler’s plans for racial purity were conceived and written down.)

Jessica was feeling a bit under the weather, so she only ordered a sausage and a roll. I was hungrier, so I ordered some roasted chicken with French fries. Somehow, though, it took far longer for her sausage to come out than my chicken. Our waiter seemed far more distraught at the delay than we did; he brought us an extra pot of wine on the house as an apology.

The delay did cost us the time we had wanted to spend exploring the town, but it's hard to complain whilst sipping delicious wine in a sunny garden surrounded by paradisaical Alps.

The tour was everything we had hoped for, but we wished it could have gone on even longer. Four hours is really all you can afford to spend on a tour and still have time to catch the last afternoon bus back to Salzburg. We could have easily spent twice as much time there.

After a quick but interesting tour around Obersalzberg--seeing the ruins of former Nazi mansions, as well as local institutions like the Hotel Zum Turken--we stopped at the Nazi Documentation Center. The center provides a brief but chilling account of Hitler’s reign, from its promising start to its horrific reality.

Even with everything we’ve learned about Hitler and the Nazi policies, we still found more things to learn. For example, we knew that people with birth defects would be sterilized or executed. But what we didn’t know was that their entire families could also be sterilized to prevent the risk of them spreading the same inferior genes.

If such a policy had existed in the States, neither Jessica nor I might have ever been born. One of Jessica's uncles on her dad's side was born with a chromosomal disorder, and his whole family would have certainly been sterilized. And Jessica's mom was born with hip dysplasia. Not nearly as serious, but still a defect--one that could have resulted in my grandparents being sterilized and my dad never being born at all.

Also, when the Nazis invaded Eastern Europe, they fully intended from the beginning to exterminate or drive out the existing Slavic population and replace them with Aryan settlements. The mass starvation that gripped the region almost immediately after occupation began wasn’t the result of logistical failures by the German army. Hitler intentionally sent the army in with insufficient food so that they would have no choice but to take the Slavic population’s food and starve them out.

Also, Hitler presented himself as a Bavarian because he wanted to hide his Austrian heritage and most Germans couldn’t tell the difference between a Bavarian accent and an Austrian accent.

Also, the Nazi government awarded women with medals according to how many pure Aryan children they could give birth to.

There were also plenty of examples of anti-Semitic propaganda and a wall of infamy highlighting the life and crimes of all the top-ranking Nazi officials. High among them was Reinhard Heydrich, whom we'd learned about in Prague.

The exhibits are all in German, but there are English pamphlets in each section that cover the highlights, and a massive construction project is underway to expand the center and provide more multilingual exhibits. For some reason, when the German government opened the center in the early 2000s, they didn’t expect it to be of any interest to foreign tourists.

Unfortunately, because of the construction, we weren’t able to enter the underground bunkers that honeycomb the hillsides around Obersalzberg. Still, our guide gave us an interesting overview of the bunker system, how it was developed, and how it was actually used.

The system was never completed, and new areas of it have been discovered as recently as the 2000s. It appears that Hitler had intended for the bunker system to be integrated into a larger system connecting his Obersalzberg compound to Berchtesgaden and even Salzburg, 12 miles away.

Himmler envisioned the bunkers as a last resort in the event that the Allies captured Berlin. Nazi troops could hide in the bunkers indefinitely, carrying on a guerilla war from their mountain redoubt. Hitler didn't like the thought of that, however, and the bunkers were only made to house Hitler and the other Nazi leaders who actually lived in Obersalzberg.

The system is huge and complex, and it was built in less than two years. The Nazis refused to consider the possibility of the compound being bombed until 1943 when nearby Munich was in flames.

Despite their fast construction, the bunkers were apparently well made. When Obersalzberg eventually did get bombed, not a single person who made it into the bunkers was killed. Hitler was even considering plans to retrofit the bunkers to withstand a nuclear bomb–something that at that point hadn't even been invented yet.

Our guide carried a binder of pictures showing what the area looked like during and after the war. She also pointed out a side entrance to the bunker system that's still visible--though not accessible to tourists.

Even halfway up the mountainside, the view was already spectacular.

Looking up, the Eagle's Nest was a tiny shadow up on the peak still high above us.

The only way up to the Eagle's Nest is a road too narrow, steep, and winding for ordinary buses and drivers to traverse. The only way to visit is by taking a special bus driven by specially trained local drivers. The buses run on an extremely precise schedule so that they always cross paths at specific points where the road is wide enough for them to pass each other. You have to buy timed tickets for both journeys before you go up, and if you miss your bus down, you have to wait until the next bus that happens to have an extra seat. And the Eagle's Nest is extremely popular, so you could be waiting a very long time.

On the only-slightly-scary ride up, we were treated to yet more fantastic views of the area, including the nearby Königssee lake and the craggy white mountainside.

And even once you reach the top of the road, you're not done. The last bit is so steep that there are only two options--a long, steep hike or a quick ride in a bronze elevator buried deep inside the mountain. We chose the elevator ride.

I think it's fairly common knowledge--at least among WWII aficionados--that the Eagle’s Nest was mostly just a display piece that Hitler rarely visited and never used his office at. It is even rumored that the Allies intentionally missed it during the bombing of Obersalzberg because they knew it wasn’t strategically important and wanted to be able to take it as a prize.

A common story is that Hitler didn’t like the Eagle’s Nest because he was scared of heights. But our guide dispelled this as a myth. Hitler apparently loved the Eagle’s Nest and visited it over a dozen times in the year following its completion. But it was time-consuming to get to the Eagle's Nest from Obersalzberg, and once the German forces invaded Poland later that year Hitler spent most of his time up in Berlin directing the war effort.

And for that handful of visits, an exorbitant price was paid in both money and blood. Filled with the most luxurious materials and modern conveniences, the house itself cost well over 100 million dollars in today’s money. And that doesn’t cover what it took to build the road.

The road took the better part of a year to build, with two 12-hour shifts working around the clock and through the winter. Several people died during the construction, and countless more suffered crippling injuries. Despite being very well paid, most workers only lasted a few weeks before resigning. And for the  Czechoslovakian laborers conscripted to do the grunt work, that usually meant reassignment to a concentration camp.

Today, the Eagle’s Nest is a fancy restaurant with hardly a mention of its original purpose. Our guide took us into a side room, where she showed us pictures of what the place looked like with its original furnishings.

It isn’t a large building–just a few sitting rooms, bathrooms, a kitchen, and a basement. It doesn’t have any bedrooms and wasn’t meant for living in. Before getting the nickname “Eagle’s Nest” by a visiting ambassador, it was simply referred to as Hitler’s tea house on the mountain.

Outside, we got to walk up onto the summit of the mountain, with spectacular views for miles and miles in every direction. Clouds were starting to come in from the south, creating a very dramatic atmosphere over Königssee.

Because of the crowds and rushed schedule, however, we only had about fifteen minutes to enjoy the summit before having to head back down to the bus for our ride down. On the way, we enjoyed a chat with a young Canadian woman doing her own two-month European journey.

As we left the elevator access tunnel to catch the bus down, we made sure to look for some carvings on the inner doors that our guide had told us about. They were made by 101st Airborne troopers who were occupying the Eagle’s Nest. They had hiked up to the summit and took the building from the top. When they then took the elevator down, they found the doors snowed shut. So they left their mark and headed back up.

Back in Berchtesgaden, we had just enough time to rush up the hill, walk around the old market square for photo ops, then rush back down to catch the last bus of the day back to Salzburg.

We’re glad we did this day trip, but if we visit here again, we’ll definitely try to stay in the town of Berchtesgaden itself. Unless you have a car and can stay as late as you want, there just isn’t enough time to get to the town, see the sights properly, and head back.

Plus, Berchtesgaden is absolutely stunning in its own right. It is an absolute abomination that the Nazis stained it with their touch, and I’m glad that people still flock here for the nature and not just the history. Hopefully, that part of the story will eventually become just an interesting piece of trivia that visitors learn from a plaque when they come here for a hiking trip.

On our last day in Salzburg, we finally visited Salzburg itself.

To be honest, I didn’t have the highest expectations for Salzburg. For American tourists, at least, it seems like it mainly draws two types of people: Mozart fans and Sound of Music fans. And while I don't have anything against them, I'm not especially passionate about them either. And after the imperial majesty of Vienna and the scenic grandeur of Berchtesgaden, I was preparing myself for Salzburg to be a mediocre hybrid of the two.

Perhaps I was just hoping I wouldn't like it so that I wouldn’t feel bad about only getting a single day to see it.

In any case, Salzburg was absolutely charming. A bit like Prague, Salzburg’s Old Town largely escaped damage during World War II, so it retains an authentic medieval feel. But whereas Prague was charmingly chaotic, Salzburg is elegantly organized.

There are winding, shop-lined streets like we’ve seen in any other medieval old town or Gothic quarter. But much of the old town is occupied by a dense network of courtyards between church and government buildings. Which were closely linked throughout much of Salzburg’s history.

From the Middle Ages up until the fall of the Holy Roman Empire to Napoleon, Salzburg was one of several German city-states run directly by Catholic archbishops. Whereas other monarchs of the time often had to balance their political strength against that of the church, these “prince-archbishops” had sweeping authority over the affairs of church and state alike.

We saw the Salzburg Cathedral, which was stunning. The outside is surprisingly plain apart from the western facade, but the inside is magnificently ornamented with beautiful paintings and intricate plaster decorations. At first, we thought that we were seeing painted decorations that only looked three-dimensional–like what we’ve seen in a lot of places across Europe. But no, this was all actual sculpted plaster.

The cathedral’s windows were intentionally designed to keep the nave dark but the main altar brilliantly lit up from large clear windows in the central dome. The effect is extremely impressive.

We also saw this very old baptismal font, which may be the very one that was used for Mozart’s baptism.

In a square on the west side of the cathedral, there is a statue of Mary that if you look at it from the right angle appears to be getting crowned by angels on the cathedral's façade.

From the south cathedral square, there is a fantastic view of the hulking Hohensalzburg Fortress. The foundations are almost a thousand years old, and it is one of the largest medieval castles in all of Europe.

We continued on through the church complex, seeing St. Peter’s Abbey and its cemetery. All of the graves were impressively well maintained, but we soon learned why. In Austria, graves aren’t sold, only rented in ten-year increments. At the end of each period, if no one can be found to pay for the next ten years, the grave is dug up so that it can be used for someone else whose kin can pay. The gravestones of the unfortunately ousted dead are then mounted on the wall of the abbey.

I'm not entirely sure if it was meant as a way to continue showing respect for the dead or more akin to a display of bad checks in a convenience store window.

Lining the cemetery are private gated mausoleums for the most wealthy and respected families.

The church of St. Peter’s Abbey is suitably impressive, with a grand Rococo design. There are some places on the walls and arches where the whitewashing has been removed to expose the colorful frescoes underneath.

Also in the abbey complex, next door to the church, is a fancy restaurant that claims to have served Charlemagne in 803 AD. That would make it the oldest still-operational restaurant in all of Europe, if not the world.

Leaving the abbey complex, we entered the street markets. We picked up some delicious spicy sausages in toasted kaiser rolls. For desert, Jessica got an apricot pastry from one street vendor, and I got a giant pretzel from another.

We saw one of the main medieval shopping roads, the Getreidegasse, which is still adorned with traditional-looking iron symbols over the doors--though most are clearly not medieval.

Getreidegasse is also home to Mozart's birthplace, around which buskers and tourists alike swarmed like flies. We took a few quick pictures and moved along.

And after a quick coffee break, we decided to finish our day with a hike up to the top of the steep hill that divides the city in half. It was a steep climb up stairs and pathways, but the view was worth it.

Even from here, though, the fortress was quite a ways up and a long walking tour once we'd gotten there. Not wanting to exhaust ourselves before a travel day–and knowing that we definitely wanted to return someday–we decided to save the fortress for our next visit and head home for a relaxing evening and plenty of time to pack up for the next day’s trip to Munich.

Next Post: Munich

Last Post: Vienna (The Habsburg Hustle)

#180abroad #berchtesgaden #obersalzberg #salzburg #austria #germany #travel #history #bunkers #eagle's nest #nature #ww2

[frangipanidownunder]

Happy Halloween! Old revival fic follows

We don’t have much of a focus on Halloween where I live but I will be looking forward to seeing all the photos of pumpkins and costumes over the next day or so on here. 

This is the first story I ever posted to my blog, in response to a weekly challenge. And I haven’t taken a breath since! Some of you have probably already read it, so feel free to scroll on by. Tagging @today-in-fic and @fictober

Trick and Treat?

He wound down the window and flicked the handful of shells into the street. The frigid air blasted her face and she clamped down the thought that ran through her head. Until he did it again.

          “Mulder, it’s minus three degrees outside and I’m not dressed for this.”

          He didn’t bother to look at her, and she kept her eyes front and centre, but she knew a smirk lifted his lips. “I noticed.”

          She wrapped her arms around her chest and turned to her window, only allowing her smile to flicker once she’d fixed on the dirty streetscape outside. “Why are we here, Mulder?”

          “I told you. It’s a stakeout. And I also told you that you didn’t have to come.”

          She chuffed. “After all these years, you think that I don’t know your secret language?”

          “What?” This time he did turn to face her. A passing car’s lights caught a glimmer in his eyes, casting off the years so that he momentarily looked like the Mulder of their early years. Eager eyes betraying his cool body language.

          “It took me a while, but I broke your code, Mulder.” She nodded at him, enjoying the flash of wariness that crossed his face. “You don’t have to come, meant I’m going to sulk for the next three assignments if you don’t come.”

          “Take that back, Scully! I never sulked. I am not a sulker.”

          She took a sunflower seed and cracked the shell, knowing he was watching her mouth. “You were too. You pouted, you were short with me, you deliberately left your expenses reports until you knew I would do them. That was also code, Mulder.”

          “For what?” He took a seed in his mouth.

          “I always liked to think it was code for Scully I am so in love with you that you leave me tongue-tied and I don’t know how to say I’m sorry.”

          He put his finger on the button to open the window. She smacked his arm.

          “Don’t you dare open that again. Spit it here.” She held out her palm. He obeyed, shaking his head.

          “I don’t sulk” He shrugged himself lower in the chair, lips pushed out.

          She chuckled. “Fine. But you still haven’t told me why we’re really here. We’re a bit long in the tooth for midnight stakeouts.”

          “Speak for yourself. I am in the prime of my life, Scully. Fifty is the new thirty.”

          “Mulder, you’re over fifty and that qualifies you for discount will-writing services and lifestyle living options.”

          He sat back upright, smirking fully now. “So cruel, Scully. I don’t think I’m ready for lifestyle living just yet.”

          She leant back against the headrest with a sigh.

          “Scully, have you ever played the game, Never Have I Ever?”

          “Mulder, cable tv is not good for you.”

          “It’s fun, you have to propose a scenario…”

          “I know how you play it, I’m just wondering where this is leading.” She wished she’d gone for the bigger coffee. It was going to be a long, scary night.

          “So, let’s play. You first. Never have I ever…”

          “I’m not going first, I didn’t even agree to play.” Now she sounded shrill. He’d love that.

          “Okay,” he said, with a little too much enthusiasm. He had this all worked out, she was sure. “Never have I ever dated two people at the same time.”

          She didn’t think she blushed but it was the momentary hesitation that forced the surprised shriek from his mouth. “Dana Katherine Scully! I am shocked.”

          She laughed. “No you’re not. You’re impressed. I was young.”

          He gave her that throaty chuckle that always caused her stomach to jiggle. “Right. Your turn.”

          She sighed. “Never have I ever used my FBI credentials to gain access to a function I had no right to attend.”

          His laugh rocked the car. “That is such a Scully scenario.”

          She pressed her lips together. “So, what’s your answer?”

          “Of course I have. And don’t tell me you haven’t either. Power corrupts. Profilers, spooky alien lovers. Even educated MDs.”

          “Mulder, what are we doing here? You didn’t call me out in the middle of the night to play games with me.” She instantly regretted her poor choice of words.

He moved closer to her. She could smell his cologne. “Not word games, no.”

She shuddered. “Then what?” Her voice was barely audible above the drilling rain that was falling against the windshield.

“Do you remember Rob and Laura Petrie?” His breath whispered over face.

“Who?”

“Our alter-egos in that gated community. Please tell me you haven’t forgotten that case, Scully.”

She took a deep breath. How could she forget? His smug expression, his arm constantly round her shoulders, his infuriating personal habits. It had been a little window into how life would be with the man. “I remember the damn stork in the yard.”

“Flamingo.”

“And the pedantic interpretation of the rules.”

“CC&Rs.”

“Pedantry. Come on, Mulder, out with it.”

“What would you say if I told you we were sitting outside the American Association of Illusionists headquarters.” He tapped the glass at the ordinary brick building with an ordinary grey door and narrow grimy windows.

“I’d say that you’re imagining things, Mulder.”

“Very droll, Scully. But people have vanished here.”

“Oh come on, Mulder! This is not funny anymore.”

He held up his hands. “Scully. I swear to you it’s a genuine case. A couple of regular members have gone missing.  Vanished into thin air. It’s an X File.”

She shook her head. “It’s a missing persons case at best.” He opened his mouth to respond. She put her hand on his chest. “And I am not entering that premises wearing this outfit.”

“So what did you think was going to happen tonight, Scully? Why did you agree to get in a car with your spooky partner wearing that dress, stockings and a pair of Manolo Blahniks, that, by the way, look perfect on your feet?”

She held her silence, raging on the inside at how she’d been played.

“I’m genuinely interested, Scully.” His good cop voice, that sultry tone that usually got him everything he wanted.

“I thought you were being… I don’t know… nostalgic. I thought you might have remembered…it doesn’t matter. Take me home, Mulder.”

“No, finish. What was I supposed to remember, Scully?”

“Never mind. I’m cold. My toes are numb. I need coffee. Home. Please.”

The door to the building opened and a body tumbled out. Scully went to open the door, but Mulder grabbed her arm.

          “Wait. We’re on surveillance, remember.”

          The man rolled over, staggered upright and walked right to their car. He rapped on the window and Mulder held her eye for a second, willing her into silence, before he lowered the window a crack. “Can I help you, buddy?”

          “They’ve all gone!”

She got a whiff of the alcohol on his breath and chuffed out a hard cough.

          Mulder reached a hand over to her thigh, squeezing it gently. She bit back a moan. And was he wearing cufflinks? The one’s he’d worn when…

“Who has?”

“Everyone. Gone. Poof! Vanished.” He clapped dramatically and fell down.

Mulder got out of the car and she had no choice but to follow. She checked on the man, who had vomited spectacularly over the wheels of the car.

“Mulder,” she said in a hoarse whisper. “Where are you going?”

He turned round, flashing her an incredulous look. “Inside. Where do you think?”

“We need back up!”

“Not if there’s no-one inside.”

He raised his weapon in front of him, looked at her, mouthed to three and pushed the door. She flew through in front of him, heart hammering, gun still feeling unnatural in her hands. He was there, though. Right behind her, his presence enlarged by that ridiculous black trench coat he’d dug out from 1994. It flapped around him, filling the limited space in the dingy passageway. They checked each room. All empty. He holstered his weapon, and she relaxed. 

That was when she saw he wasn’t wearing a trench, but a black cape.       “Mulder!”

          “What?!” He held his palms open to her. “It’s an illusionists cape. I had to be dressed for the part.”

          “Why?” She rubbed at the throbbing pain in her temples. “This was a stakeout not a Halloween party. Oh…”

          He swept the sleeve over his face, so that all she could see was the top of his head. “I did remember.”

          “Yes,” she said to her feet, “you do seem to have remembered.” Her cheeks burned. “But why all the secrecy, the pretend case? The guy outside, who was that?” Her voice was nasally.

          “The guy was just wandering around outside. I gave him a hundred bucks. He must have spent it on booze.”

          “Mulder,” she chided. “You’re still a hopeless romantic.”

          “Is it hopeless?” He wrapped her in the cloak, the satin tickling her collar. “We are still married, Scully.”

          She pulled away. “I can’t believe you tricked me like this.”

          “I thought you could break my code, Scully. And it worked when I proposed. Trick or treat, remember?”

          “How could I forget? You pretended to be having a heart attack so that I would give you CPR…”

          “Fair’s fair, Scully. You owed me.”

          “That was a rotten trick, Mulder.” She couldn’t help but giggle at the memory. “And then you said I had to go with you to the hospital Halloween dress up party to get my treat. And you wore an outfit that was strikingly similar to this one,” she said, tugging at the cape. “And you asked me to dress up as a Bavarian beer wench. Your eyes nearly popped out of your head.”

          “Allow me to demonstrate again.” He pulled open her coat to reveal the little black she was wearing. Not quite Bavarian beer wench, but she indulged him by pushing her breasts up and forward for him. His eyes widened. “I threw out the costume, Mulder. I’m sorry.” She felt ridiculously close to tears.

          “Tell me you didn’t throw out the treat – the ring?”

          She sniffed. “Oh Mulder, never. I would never do that.”

He remembered. Of course he did. But he wanted her to know he remembered. She fell towards him, grateful for his warm embrace.

She had missed those hands on her back, that smug expression. “Why go to all this trouble, Mulder?”

“It’s no fun if it’s too easy. You should know that by now.”

She let out a soft laugh. “I’m not sure that I really do know you, sometimes.”

“I’m a dark wizard?”

She picked up the satin cape, and pulled him towards her. “Something like that.”

“I don’t want to do fake marriage anymore. I want to do the real thing again.”

“Like Rob and Laura Petrie?”

“Only if you don’t ever put that green stuff all over your face again.” He pulled her close again.

She snuffled out a tearful laugh against his white starched shirt. “You never did learn how to squeeze toothpaste out of a tube.”

“And we never did make the honeymoon video.”

“But we did spoon like little baby cats. Back in the day.” She grinned against him.

“I’m not sure that baby cats spoon quite like we did, and back in the day is now, Scully. Come home with me. I don’t think you need to be a code reader to understand what I’m saying.”

He held her face in his hands and bent towards her, giving her the whisper of a kiss that promised so much more than a trick or a treat.

#txf fanfic #my fanfiction #halloween #msr revival #todayinfic #fictober

[backroadblues]

May 29, 2017 - Bavaria & Tyrol

Today was primarily a transit day. We would be making our way from Venice to Grainau - a small town just outside of Garmish-Partenkirchen. We will be spending 3 days in the heart of Bavaria, but first we must get there. The first challenge is to get from our apartment near St. Marks to the parking garages at Tronchetto. To do this we must catch the water taxi. Our objective is to arrive in Grainau by 4:30 in the afternoon. It will be about a 5 hour drive depending on traffic going over the German Alps through the Brenner Pass. We want to have enough time to stop in Innsbruck, Austria for lunch. Our target is to leave our apartment in Venice by no later than 9:00 am. We are actually early. Our plan was to catch the Vaporetto (water bus) at Arsenale and catch the number 2 line that goes to the Tronchetto. We purchased our tickets the night before so that we would be have minimal delay in the morning. It is a good thing that Trent got up early again because he want for his 6:00 am walk and determined that the number 2 line does not pick-up at Arsenale. We will need to walk a little farther to the St. Marks - Zachariah stop. We are at the stop by 9:00 am and are able to walk directly onto a bus. So far, great timing. We arrive at Tronchetto by 9:45 and now we need to find our car in the massive garage and pay for the parking before we head to our car. Once again great fortune, we come across the payment machine right off the bat, pay for our parking and then head up to our car. We find it and we are on the road by about 10:15AM. We are exhibiting military like precision with our timing.

The traffic out of Venice is a little heavy. We will be taking the A4 back to Verona where we will take the A12 north toward Trento and Bolzano. Traffic moves fairly well. As we begin to head up the mountains toward Brenner Pass, we stop for a bio-break and some diesel fuel. We would like to hit Innsbruck by 1:00pm. Our first snag arises. They are working on the roads leading up to the Brenner pass and traffic is very slow. It take us an extra hour to get to Innsbruck. We stop near the Altstadt (or Old City), where we are determined to eat in a Rathskeller - or beer hall. We have selected Stiftskeller based on some of the reviews we’ve read. I come away a little disappointed. We are arriving a bit late for lunch. Our waitress, whom we immediately nickname Helga reminds us a lot of the immigration people we met in Rome. Meaning she has zero personality. She actually seems a bit put out that we have arrived and want to order some food. I promptly ask for a table for 4 in my finest Italian - I have forgotten that I’m not in Italy anymore. I’m not sure why, since Helga is wearing leather britches and traditional Tyrollean apparel. Helga answers me back in perfect English and points us to a table and tosses menus down to us. She comes back and takes our drink orders and is waiting to take our food orders. She seem a bit put out that we actually want to look at the menus she has given us. She goes to get our drinks. While she is gone we look at the menu and are thankful that there is a section in English. Trent orders the “traditional Tyrollean party sampler”, a tray of cold meats and cheeses that we will share. He orders a couple of different wursts (sausages, one beef and the other pork) which are accompanied with a large pretzel. Carolyn and I order the Schnitzel and Elisa orders the pork cutlets with boiled potatoes. As we order, I’m doing my best to dust my German speaking skills so I can try to get a smile out of Helga, but everything keeps coming out in Italian. That is what happens after 16 days in Italy. it wouldn’t have mattered, Frau Helga is determined to be Miss Grumpy Pants. At one point I ask for some oil and vinegar for the salad and her look at me was like daggers. From that point forward the ladies were official scared of Frau Helga. Undeterred, I ask her for some Salt and Pepper and she grudgingly complies. I’m sure, if I could speak German and if I could have asked her why she is so unhappy, I’m certain that she would have told me that this is what she is like when she is very happy. It just goes to show you that we are culturally different from the folks in Austria. We had been joking about how non-existent the concept of “customer service” was in Italy. After Austria, we all agree that maybe it’s not so bad in Italy. We finish our meal and pay our bill. I make one more attempt to get a smile out of Helga, I hand her a reasonable tip - she does say, “Danke” but no smile. Oh well.

After lunch we have just enough time for a quick walk around the old town square. Elisa and Carolyn do a little shopping and we take pictures and we are all in awe at how clean this town is and how well preserved the buildings are. But alas, we must say farewell to Innsbruck and head on to Garmisch. It should only take an hour, but again the traffic is problematic.

We make our way down the mountains into Garmisch. The little town of Grainau, where we will be staying is a little past Garmisch by a couple of miles. Siri is leading us to our destination via my iPhone, but she lets us down. She tells us we have arrived, but our accommodations are nowhere to be found. After studying the street numbers on the buildings we determine we need to proceed further down the street by about a mile and we finally fine our apartment. We have booked this location via VRBO and after our less than ideal experience in Venice, we aren’t sure what to expect. We find the building, it is a traditional Tyrollean chalet style home. It is very large and has been converted to have 3 or 4 large apartments. There are also 3 smaller separate cabins on the property. We called our host earlier in the day to let her know we were coming and hoped to arrive by 4:30pm. Our host Carolin speaks very good English and she tells us not to worry, she will leave the key in the door in case we want to arrive a bit late.

When we pull in at about 5:45PM, we find the apartment with the key in the door and we are promptly amazed at what a beautiful apartment it is. The main part of the apartment is on the ground floor and it includes a spacious bedroom with king-size bed, a large kitchen, bathroom and living room. The windows on the ground floor include a French Door and all that glass looks out upon the majestic Zugspitze mountain. It is sitting right there looking every bit like a painting. The French door leads out to a nice patio and lawn. There is also a lower level that sits in a basement that still has some light from casement windows. the bedroom is again large and has its own bathroom. In addition to the spaciousness of the apartment and the wonderful view, it is appointed very beautifully and it is extremely well equipped. The host has gone out of her way to make this feel every bit like a vacation home of our own. Right down the the bottle of Proseco, water, coffee, tea and nicely equipped kitchen with spices and condiments. This place is the best we’ve been in so far and it may actually exceed our lodging in Positano.

By the time we are done cleaning up and getting settled and making phone calls to loved ones back in the states, it is now going on 7:45. We decide we had better go to the grocery store and get some groceries since we have an early start tomorrow. We get to the Aldi supermarket at 8:00PM and are surprised that they are closed. We try a couple of other grocery stores and all of them close at 8:00. So we stop at a gas station to at least pick up some water and a few other things. We then start to get a little worried about dinner and wonder if they all close early. Once again, a cultural difference between Italy and Germany. The Italians don’t think twice about having dinner late in the evening. We find a restaurant here in Grainau and fortunately at 8:30 they are still open and serving dinner. The restaurant is called Spatzenhaus and it offers typical German cuisine with emphasis on traditional Bavarian fare. We struggle with the menu that is entirely in German and our host speaks only a little English. By the time we order, we think we know what we are getting. Elisa has ordered a traditional Bavarian meal of roast turkey with a brown gravy. It would usually be served with dumplings but since she is gluten intolerant, the host suggest potatoes. Elisa opts for the boiled potatoes. Carolyn and I opt for steaks. I the steak with green pepper corns and Carolyn a steak with herb butter. Trent decides to try the Jager Schnitzel (Hunter’s schnitzel). It is cooked with mushrooms. Trent and I accompany our meals with local German beer and Carolyn a house red wine. When our meals come we are not disappointed. Elisa has 1/3 of a turkey - it includes much of the breast, the drumstick and a thigh. It is covered in a savory brown gray that is delicious. The turkey is a bit different than what we are accustomed to in the States. All the meat is dark, including the breast. Perhaps it due to the way they prepared it. In any case it is delicious and moist and the gravy that goes with it is also very good - though a tad salty. Carolyn are also impressed with our steaks. They filets are very large and well cooked. The fried potatoes are also good. Their German’s sure do French fries well. Trent’s schnitzel is also very good. He is surprised that it is not breaded and fried. Instead it has been sautéed in a wonderful sauce of mushrooms. As is often the case, in Europe, our meals are somewhat bereft of cooked vegetables and we only have green salads to go with our meals.

Our host was very friendly, unlike “Helga” in Innsbruck, the service was very good by comparison.

Thus, ended our day. Tomorrow we have a tour of castles and Oberammergau. We must get up and leave early to meet up with our guide. It will be about a 45 minute drive to nearby Fussen. It is probably only 15 miles away, but to get there we must drive around a mountain.

Aufwiedersehn - for now.

[scotgmeyer]

Germany Beer Journal

Beer journal

DAY 1: Augustina - Pilsner (hell) a at Mokkacino

Next was a weibier. Larger and a bit darker. The beers here are $3 it’s ridiculous.

Each glass here has a fill line on it - I guess so bar tenders don’t cheat their customers. So great.

I’m at this bar and they are playing all of these American hits. And then nickleback comes on, lol. It’s amazing.

Bar tender speaks 0 words of English. I’ve not encountered a language barrier so bad ever I don’t think. In Italy I could speak enough to get by. Same in Costa Rica. Canada speaks English obviously. But this woman speaks no English and doesn’t understand my horrendous attempts at speaking a few words of German based on what I have looked up on google translator. Lol.

I’m finishing the night with an espresso in hopes that it keeps me up until past 9:30 so I can get on the right sleep schedule. At this bar that means nespresso, lol. Still good.

I asked for a glass of water to drink with my beer and she didn’t understand why I would possibly want that. It requires that I point at the faucet and a glass 3-4 times before she was willing to oblige and fill a beer glass with water. Far cry from California where most places keep a pitcher of water on the table.

Day 2: beer 3 - backerei konditorei cafe schmuck

After walking about 12 miles, I stop in the town of Grassau before heading back to my hotel to get a coffee and a snack. Being Germany, that means a pretzel, a mini apple streusel pastry and a beer. This time I opted for a Weizen Hell which seems like it equates to a heifeweizen back in the states. A wheat beer of sorts that is still pretty light.

Coffee is a thing here but it’s not super strong and it seems like just another substitute for water, similar to how they drink beer. Still flabbergasted that a half liter of beer costs 3€ here. The beer is smooth and not hoppy at all like American craft beers that have gotten popular in past 10 years

Beer 4 and 5: Dinner at WEbnerhof Hotel

After initially setting out to walk back into Grassau for dinner, i decide to eat at the hotel instead because a number of cars pulled into the parking lot as I walked out and I realized that I wanted some authentic bravarian food anyway, so that was probably a great bet. It was.

Again, no english whatsoever but I just picked some random items on the menu that looked like soup and wiener shnitzel and went with it. One was a soup with vegetables and two large beef meatballs. After a coldish rainy day, it was delicious.

I started off with an Austeiner Pilsner, similar to my first beer the night before. This seems to be the go-to light beer in this region and I think possibly their replacement for drinking water. Not that its not good, but its very lite and doesn’t seem to have a ton of alcohol in it. Highly drinkable.

With my shnitzel (served straight out of the fryer - awesome and hot) i had a Weibner Hell’s, a golden wheat beer. These are my favorite.

At dinner I sat and observed the people around me, some fo them probably making fun of the fact that I was here eating and drinking alone. I also had my kindle with me so spent time reading The Obstacle is The Way. Looking to finish 3 books on this trip!

NOw waiting in the lobby for the taxi to come grab me to take me to the next town which I think is a ski town where I take the lift up to the top to get started. Just walked in the door so we’re off. Here we go! Day 3 (hike day 2).

Beer 6: about 3/4 of the way through my hike today I stopped at a little mid mtn chalet for a beer and a coffee. The place was amazing. It made me want to come skiing in Europe even more than I already do. The restaurant probably could fit 50-75 people. Being summer/shoulder season there were only 5 of us there - they are still offering the full menu and fully staffed. It’s awesome. You get the sense that many of the owners of restaurants, businesses, bars here take a great deal of pride in their work, presumably because they are family businesses. I sipped my beer sloppy, downed my coffee while I admired the view and read The Obstacle is The Way (Ryan Holiday) on my kindle. Btw I think this beer was hoffbrahaus beer which was a lighter Pilsner like beer.

Beer 7: hells down in Ruhpolding. After arriving in down slightly dehydrated and a bit tired, I found my hotel, showered, and set out for a snack. I settled on a bakery across the way and got a shot of espresso, a pretzel, and a donut with peach filling. All pretty fire. I then proceeded to walk around the town. Ruhpolding was definitely more happening than the other towns I’d been through and it seemed more akin to a normal mtn town with majority of the businesses being focused on activity or dining/drinking. Still no Americans.

I think that has been something I’ve realized about this trip. Traveling solo is great when you know you can go out and meet new people anywhere. It’s more difficult and perhaps a bit lonelier when you go out and no one around understands you or can really communicate with you. Nonetheless I am really enjoying having my time to read and recharge. Just getting over the jet lag I think and hopefully tonight will be a great night’s sleep.

After my pretzel and espresso and pastry I explore town a bit and checked into a few stores to see if anything cool to take away as a souvenir. Nothing really to be had. So I continued on to another coffee shop, bought a full cup of coffee, pulled out my kindle and read my book more. This coffee place felt more like a big Starbucks with a modern aesthetic and quick drink service. I drank my coffee out on the patio which was situated right off a roundabout that seemed like the main intersection in town. It looked out on the mountains and the direction that I think I’m headed for my hike tomorrow. After finishing my coffee I decided to walk around a bit more and explore some shops. That was short lived and I returned to my same seat on the patio and ordered a beer - this one a hells. This is a light type of beer too and fine but not anything special. I think I’ve determined that I like the hefe or weißers - similar to a hefeweizen back in the US.

Beer 8 and 9: people don’t write reviews in Germany so it’s tough to really know which food places, bars, restaurants are going to be good. I decided to wander into Janos, a Hungarian Bavarian place a few steps from my hotel with big wooden tables and more people than any of the other bars. I made the right order this time....a weißer. I also ordered goulash and a grilled meat plate to stock up on some protein. I’m still more than a week out and I’m already looking forward to vegetables when I get Home. That said, I’m loving living the Bavarian diet for right now - beer, meat, potatoes, pretzels, pastries. When hiking 10-12 miles a day I guess that works and you don’t get fat. We’ll see if I’m still feeling fit in a week. Currently sitting at the table in Janos considering #10 of the trip. Why not, right?

Okay. I went for #10. I just asked for whatever the guy recommended. He didn’t’ really have an opinion and answered with “beer is beer, right?” He must not have been German. THe one I ordered was the closest thing I’ve had to an American beer and you could maybe even taste a little bit of hoppy ness in it. Anyway, by this point in the night I’m four large beers deep so I don’t have a ton else to say about that one. I just enjoyed it while reading my book and waiting for a group of attractive Americans/Italians/Brits/Australians/etc etc to walk through the door and be looking for another English speaker to chat with. DIdn’t happen. ;)

———

Today is now Saturday. First fall Saturday I won’t have watched any college football in a long time. Interesting to think about that. I am currently sitting on the balcony of my hotel in Inzel, Germany with a cup of tea and looking out at the mountains. Not a beer entry, and I haven’t had one so far yet today. Not sure if I will? Okay I probably will. I did partake in the German tradition of afternoon Coffee and Cake which is great. Inzel is a super small town. Walking around it felt like most of the restaurants were closed for the season. Anyway, I was looking for a place to hunger down and get a coffee and a baked good - neither of the other two in the “center of town” (haha I say that in quotes because there are legit like 10 buildings with open businesses in the center of town) just didn’t resonate. The cakes looked too much frosting and to be honest, I was kind of looking for someone who might speak english. By the time I walked upon this place I was just ready to get something and this had tables outside where I could sit and listen to some podcasts so that was great. I went in and the girl asked me, in German, “for here or to go?” Naturally I had no idea wtf she said so I kind of just looked at her and then muttered “no speichen de Deutsch”. She responded “oh, for here or to go?”. Awesome when people can transition that quickly. I’m going to try to get to do that with Spanish. Anyway, her english was great and it honestly boosted my spirits just peaking with someone who could understand the words I was saying. I complemented her on her English and she seemed to brush it off like “okay, whatever, thanks weirdo.

It also comes across as a biking town as people are riding around all sorts of bikes. Road bikes, mtn bikes, BMX bikes. Really cool culture around that. Also when i walked into town my legs were still feeling great so I walked over to the speed skating arena in town which is supposed to be an incredible world class training facility for the sport. I peaked in the window and could tell that there were some elite athletes training there. Wonder if it was the national team or any olympians. You can tell an elite athlete by how they move and the dillegence with which they warm up. Especially in speed/ endurance sports like that.

The hotel I”m staying at is a boutique. This kind of thing would crush it in Jackson hole or Ketchum or any mountain town in the US with a bit of a bougie customer contingent. They have what looks like a nice restaurant and a sauna and great views of the mountains. I need to figure out where the skiing is here though, kind of confused by whether there is a lot of downhill or if most of it is cross country skiing and other winter sports. ANyway, signing off now to continue reading my books. Before I do that though I’m actually going to start a travel tips entry. Might post that one publicly too actually. DInner will be my next decision (get to make all by myself! Let’s go! Benefits of solo travel!)

[hail-to-the-republic]

dailyfeed reports new and opinions

Menu Bizarro-World Media It’s obvious that the media abides an institutional racial double standard in how mass shootings and terrorist acts are reported. This double standard has the appearance of a coordinated operation, but it needn’t be to achieve the same effect. All you’d require is a media vastly overstaffed with shitlibs who think alike. Over at Sailer’s, Anonymous[396] calls this Bizarro-World media, Watching the MSM reaction to the Christchurch Massacre is like watching the Bizarro-World reaction to Islamic Massacres. 1) As soon as it happened everyone started calling the perpetrator a terrorist, which was 100% accurate given his elaborate streaming setup. But a Muslim can hack people to death while shouting Allahu Ackbar and we really need to wait until all the facts are in, preferably until people forget about it. 2) Muslim terrorists are lone wolves who have nothing to do with Islam but any time a white(or even partly-white guy) engages in terrorist behaviour, it’s part of a worldwide movement that somehow combines Islamophobes, White Nationalists, incels and 4chan, no matter how tenuous the links are. In fact, many Islamic terrorists in the west are the exact equivalent of Breivik and apparently this guy-people who got all their ideas from a specific messed-up corner of the internet but never attended a training camp of any kind or are part of a large network of co-conspirators. 3) MSM gatekeepers are doing their best not to give viewers any information that might cast Islam in a negative light. During a Canadian round-table on the CBC, the talking heads pointed out the unmistakable reference to Alexandre Bissionette on the terrorist’s gun case, while leaving viewers to wonder what “For Rotherham” meant. I find that the reporting on these mass shootings follows a trend. If shooter was nonwhite, it’s a news blurb then quickly forgotten. If the shooter was white, it’s a few days of “diversity & inclusion” sanctimony and goodwhite virtue signaling, plus candlelight vigils, but no in-depth, exploratory reporting of motives. The media isn’t keen for normies to know too much about what motivates White vengeance shooters. (In the case of the NZ shooter, he was motivated in part to avenge the death of a Swedish girl who was cut in half by a truck driven by a moslem terrorist. Steve Sailer thinks the shooting may have been blowback from the illegal Kosovo War from 20 years ago.) The media DOES NOT WANT anyone to know that the Whites who died at the hands of moslem terrorists is what motivated the NZ shooter. That muddies the anti-White narrative more than a bit, because it calls attention to a fundamental question: If there wasn’t so much moslem terrorism, there wouldn’t be an occasional White backlash. Likewise, if there weren’t so much diversity forcibly imposed on Whites in their own nations, there might not be so much intertribal violence. Normal Whites might begin to reasonably wonder about this whole forced diversity project. Just think how many lives would be saved if White nations were left to be homogeneous. All of anon’s points are spot on. The media gives the benefit of the doubt to nonwhite perps even after all the facts prove otherwise but is quick to indict White perps even before a single fact is known. The media excuses the nonwhite collective for the violent actions of many nonwhites, but blames the White collective for the violent action of one White person. The media hides evidence that undermines the anti-White narrative, but concocts smears to bolster that narrative. We dissident renegades know the score; now we just wait for the great bloated mass of inert normies to catch on to what is already very clear to us: Mass media is the enemy of White people. Polling over may years clearly shows that a significant minority to an outright majority of moslems all over the world say in surveys that they support the actions of islamic terrorists who target infidels. In stark contrast, there is barely a tiny fraction of a percent of Whites who support the actions of lone wolf White terrorists. Islamic terrorism feeds off a vast network of social support and leaders who will excuse their violent foot soldiers. Many islamic terror operations are the result of coordinated operations involving multiple family and clan members and even state level support, occurring within a social context that tolerates violent extremists when not outright arming them up and encouraging them to attack westerners. White reactionary terrorism enjoys none of that. They are almost entirely lone wolf attacks with no support from kin or clan, and no supportive social structure or tacit state encouragement to energize them. Therefore, it’s far more accurate and truthful to blame islamic terrorism on the moslem collective than it is to blame White reactionary terrorism on the White collective. But shitlibs do the opposite, because it’s not about accuracy or truth, it’s about scapegoating Whites for the dysfunction of nonWhites. J. Ross exposes the dark intentions of bizarro-world media, They are moving very strongly to censor social media and criminalize speech. BBC Radio in the immediate aftermath talked about the need to monitor thought in almost those words. No one considers that people might be reacting to what they see around them with their own eyes — there is always this faith that folks are captured by some conjuration and mighty magic, in other words, the thoroughly trashed premise of the SPLC and the ADL which led them to attack Gibson’s Passion of the Christ and Bavarian Easter celebrations. The mainstream national and international news already censors crimes against whites, and police agencies across Western Europe spent about half a year pretending that nothing happened on New Year’s Eve in Cologne. They must be looking at places like this next. Left-wing censorship, exemplified by media whorenalists calling for speech restrictions, is another case of psychological projection. Media shitlibs accuse their foes of fooling people with agitprop that media shitlibs themselves engage in to force an unnatural conformism to their anti-White worldview. The media cries out for censorship of political dissidents because they know the power of propaganda; they’ve been doing it for decades and have largely succeeded, until now, at keeping certain topics of discussion out of mainstream discourse. But the pressure built up way too much; the safety valves are blowing all over the anti-White hate machine. Media shitlibs know normies are “captured by [the media’s] conjuration and mighty magic”, and they want to keep that power out of the hands of the people and for themselves. Thus, Globohomo’s ramped up calls for tyrannical speech restrictions and Big Brother thoughtcrime censorship. By the commutative property of psychological projection, when the media says that dissidents must be monitored, what they’re really saying is “the media must be monitored”. Share this: Click to email this to a friend (Opens in new window)Click to share on Reddit (Opens in new window)Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)2Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)2Click to share on Tumblr (Opens in new window) Related That's An Imam, Baby!In "Beta" Yes We Khan....Send Them BackIn "Current Events" Freelance Comment Of The Week: The Jihad-Hashtag CycleIn "Comment Winners" March 17, 2019 54 Replies « Previous Next » Leave a Reply Your email address will not be published. Comment Name Email Website Notify me of new comments via email. Notify me of new posts via email. stg58animalmother on March 17, 2019 at 4:07 pm My dad was calling them the Prostitute National Press in the 60’s. They’ve been at it a while. Liked by 4 people Reply dblr619 on March 17, 2019 at 6:40 pm Your ol man is(was?)BASED AF bro! Liked by 2 people Reply stg58animalmother on March 17, 2019 at 11:25 pm Yes he was Like Gunslingergregi on March 17, 2019 at 11:35 pm Did u not make it to being professional Athlete? Did he go out hard? Like Looch El Sicario on March 17, 2019 at 4:23 pm I doubt normies will ever have a sense of racial solidarity as long as whites are a majority. Liked by 1 person Reply P.K. Griswold on March 17, 2019 at 5:56 pm Normies won’t have a sense of racial solidarity until they are *scared*. Becoming a minority in your own country might do that. Then again it might not. Like Reply dblr619 on March 17, 2019 at 6:42 pm You’ve seen these twats…..they won’t. Like Jay in DC on March 17, 2019 at 7:00 pm What he said… there is already precedent well established. Every single one that has been killed even children, the family members put up their tail feathers with the bright virtue signaling plummage. They sacrificed their own flesh & blood on the altar of die-versity to wash the original sin of RAYCISS off of them. The brainwashed are religious zealots more than willing to die for their faith. This is nothing new and has repeated many times in history under different radical banners. Mass culling is the play here. Like NeoChronopolis on March 17, 2019 at 8:37 pm The most bizarre part of all is the ritual of self-abasement parents go through when their kids are slaughtered. Explained as an actual Jonestown-level psychosis actually explains alot. It’s remarkable that these killers haven’t, by sheer coincidence, killed a kid of an Ellie Nesler-type. Only a matter of time, I guess. Like Lichthof on March 17, 2019 at 8:10 pm White babies born today in the US are a minority Like Reply snarkwolf on March 17, 2019 at 4:37 pm It is worth noting that the perp shot nine people in the first mosque, then moved on the second mosque. Why did he switch? There must have been plenty more congregants! Then, at the second mosque, he killed about 40 people. Why the early switch??? Anser: Because one of the congregants at the first mosque starting shooting back. Liked by 3 people Reply Mr Meener on March 17, 2019 at 5:01 pm who cares Liked by 1 person Reply dblr619 on March 17, 2019 at 6:44 pm I do. It shows that an UNcucked populous FIGHTS BACK. We can despise them all we want, but we can’t call them cucked……… Theres a lesson in that. Liked by 1 person Lichthof on March 17, 2019 at 8:12 pm Snark…did you watch the video? Like Reply LOL on March 17, 2019 at 4:38 pm I don’t want to sound alarmist here, but it’s plainly obvious to me that the *only* thing that will shut Islamic forces up is more force. Even after 9/11, No-one dared respond with force (in the states at least). Force – even in its mildest form: academic critique -was actively condemned. in the absence of any force these fucks grew bolder. For the first time in years, these fucks are shitting their bitch pants. Rightfully so. Liked by 1 person Reply Corinth Arkadin on March 17, 2019 at 5:57 pm I think that’s only a taste of what’s to come. The genie’s out of the bottle. NZ, Australia…Europe? Or perhaps some enterprising American decides that enuff, no more. Liked by 2 people Reply dblr619 on March 17, 2019 at 6:48 pm Explaining his rage to a(((well placed))) nigress….this is why we lose. Liked by 1 person Corinth Arkadin on March 17, 2019 at 8:46 pm It’s just a clip. Context of the stream is what I was going for Like dblr619 on March 17, 2019 at 6:45 pm YUUUUUPPPPP Like Reply NeoChronopolis on March 17, 2019 at 8:40 pm No one dared? Tom Tancredo used the bully pulpit of a congressional seat to call for the nuking of Mecca in retribution and even Ron Paul called for the issuing of letters of marque and reprisal (an excellent idea BTW). (((Someone))) muzzled, drugged and threw the raging momma bear down a well – and we’ve been there ever since. Well, until Brievik… Like Reply Ironsides on March 17, 2019 at 4:53 pm Well, the jews, the left, and the invaders have been sowing the wind for decades now. Can’t be surprised when the seeds eventually yield a harvest. And the original suggests the nature of what will grow. Liked by 1 person Reply dblr619 on March 17, 2019 at 6:49 pm H3il V1KTORY!!!!!! Like Reply Captain John Charity Spring MA on March 17, 2019 at 5:03 pm Brenton Tarrant did what Breivik didn’t do. He created a live stream of his terrorism and that means the press have literally no story to report and no ability to lie about. Liked by 3 people Reply dblr619 on March 17, 2019 at 6:49 pm You underestimate our foe, sir. Like Reply Mr Meener on March 17, 2019 at 5:16 pm I wonder if the muslims will get billions from homeland security like the jews get Liked by 1 person Reply dblr619 on March 17, 2019 at 6:50 pm Count on it. Like Reply NeoChronopolis on March 17, 2019 at 8:42 pm A millions Somalis in the Twin Cities and Fargo say “DurkaDurka amawahnajihad” which means “Yes” in Skinny. Like Reply Jack Archer on March 17, 2019 at 5:23 pm Do you really believe people are so inattentive so as to fall for media misdirection? C’mon, goys, that all nonsense… Liked by 1 person Reply dblr619 on March 17, 2019 at 6:54 pm WELL PLAYED, JA! Bet that guy gets endless puddy. Like Reply Gunslingergregi on March 17, 2019 at 7:19 pm Talked so many orders so fast Touched him so many Times Had him jumping through his own Asshole Liked by 1 person Reply P.K. Griswold on March 17, 2019 at 6:10 pm “They are almost entirely lone wolf attacks with no support from kin or clan, and no supportive social structure or tacit state encouragement to energize them.” Total paradigm shift with Brenton Tarrant. I was personally stunned by the general indifference so many people expressed and even outright support the guy received from A LOT of people. Liked by 2 people Reply Lichthof on March 17, 2019 at 8:15 pm Yep. Shitlib media sites had to disable comments. The scum at the Guardian never opened a comment section. I read the manifesto and did not see Trump mentioned. Did I miss it? Like Reply NeoChronopolis on March 17, 2019 at 8:47 pm Totally surprised this Christmas talking to a certain Boomer of my acquaintance. He asked “Ever heard of Anders Breivik? What do you think of him.” “Meh, did what needed to be done, it seems,” says I. “Norway’s in better shape than other Scandi nations, now.” I was surprised when he said “I can’t really disagree with any of that.” His churchmouse wife was nodding silently in the background. Former hippies, a Unitarian and Catholic schoolgirl, earlier in life. We’re in a shift for sure. Gen Zyklon will bring the fire whether we’re ready for it or not… Liked by 1 person Reply Blue pill society on March 17, 2019 at 6:15 pm Attitudes are shifting regarding this. People in public are scared to speak their minds for fear of reprisal of loss of employment. The whispering voices supporting this are growing. Western civilization is starting to see through the BS. When you force a nation to accept multiculturalism it usually leads to a resurgence of nationalism. When the west rises this time we may not stop like in previous instances where we had enough. Liked by 2 people Reply Jay in DC on March 17, 2019 at 7:03 pm “When the west rises this time we may not stop like in previous instances where we had enough.” This must occur and in the ways most people are very uncomfortable with which includes women and children. In the same way that you wouldn’t look at a roach carrying an egg sac and think ‘well, they haven’t had a chance yet’. This is no different. They outbreed us geometrically and their women are the vector of that. The next generation will simply be more of the same. If this were to pop off it would have to be scorched earth until none remained. Liked by 2 people Reply dblr619 on March 17, 2019 at 7:51 pm You are welcome in my foxhole bro. Liked by 1 person NeoChronopolis on March 17, 2019 at 8:49 pm Balkans c. 1990s were the pregame. We’re in the top of the first inning of a global-scale Rourke’s Drift now. Like dblr619 on March 17, 2019 at 6:38 pm “Mass media is the enemy of White people.” My stupid cunt of a daughter in law has a home tee-shirt applique machine and this WILL BE printed and worn by me out n about. OT buuuuuuutttt…… MAD PROPS to the Proprietor for scouring his bl0gs kk0mments section and recognizing his pupils greatness. Like Reply Gunslingergregi on March 17, 2019 at 7:08 pm The enemy of all people Liked by 1 person Reply dblr619 on March 17, 2019 at 7:17 pm I get your point GSG but I only care about my own kin and kitlth Like walawala on March 17, 2019 at 6:42 pm First thing Western YTs do is try to separate themselves from this act. First thing Muzzies do following an attack or when a child sax grooming trial is revealed is cry wacism. Like Reply Gunslingergregi on March 17, 2019 at 7:28 pm Nogs give a bitch crack heroin Then cut them off till do what they want No grooming needed really Drugs perfected pimping Like Reply JOSEPH ANGEL on March 17, 2019 at 7:41 pm So, when you say ‘Media’, you are trying to tell us something? It was on the tippy-tip of my tongue. It will come to me. Liked by 1 person Reply Gunslingergregi on March 17, 2019 at 7:47 pm Not all jews in media Just some of them Like Reply dblr619 on March 17, 2019 at 7:54 pm GSG, you’ve seen too much and give too many a pass bro Like Gunslingergregi on March 17, 2019 at 7:56 pm Not all of the jews are in media Like dblr619 on March 17, 2019 at 7:53 pm Jooing intensifies….. Like Reply Pingback: Bizarro-World Media | Reaction Times X on March 17, 2019 at 8:15 pm “I find that the reporting on these mass shootings follows a trend. If shooter was nonwhite, it’s a news blurb then quickly forgotten. If the shooter was white, it’s a few days of “diversity & inclusion” sanctimony and goodwhite virtue signaling, plus candlelight vigils…” In either case, the “trend” also includes the inevitable demands to ban and confiscate guns from the white population, leading them disarmed and defenceless against the brown hordes… Like Reply Gunslingergregi on March 17, 2019 at 8:55 pm Yea Better take up swordfighting and buy bulletproof armour Its pretty cheap online Put rock filled cement Plates n Bullets richoche off Like Reply Gunslingergregi on March 17, 2019 at 8:58 pm Bout three inchi cement rock combined Try it at range Like Gunslingergregi on March 17, 2019 at 9:02 pm Used to shoot cement trashcan like the with ak rounds when young Made little dents in it didnt come close to Going through now a car door yea go through Metal go through But not prob three inches Not Eastwood ahead of its time when he put metal plate over his chest to detect bullets A rope and piece of metal Of world can create own bullet proof body armour by hand Make knights great again Like Gunslingergregi on March 17, 2019 at 9:06 pm Hollywood told US how to defend in a western a long time ago Ironic shit Like Gunslingergregi on March 17, 2019 at 9:24 pm The army didnt really teach me shit bout Fighting i taught myself Just like i taught myself computers Excel and shit Up to other people id of been a moron Just like them lol Like Copyright © 2018. 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23.08.2018 - Journal: Chocolate Bavarians

I watched Brent go about his business in the convenience store while I smoked outside on the street corner. The Asian women behind the counter gave me her usual neutral nod from behind the counter. Brent’s signature full-bodied energy boomed throughout the store, asking the women how her day was while he opened a fridge. He’d told me earlier he was getting essentials like bread and milk but I saw him place a chocolate bavarian on the counter as well as packet of skittles. He paid, scooped the bag from the counter and walked out of the store.

‘Did you just buy a bavarian?’

‘What?’ He said looking away trying to hide his smile. ‘… Yeah … Yeah… I did’

‘Jesus Christ… It’s only 10:30’

I’d always tease him for his super indulgent purchases like HSP’s the size of briefcases or ice cream made from a type of confectionery you wouldn't expect to make ice cream. But I’d always end up eating it with him 8 hours later, sitting on the couch, watching garbage on the television as bad as the food. He always shared his shit. Usually quite aggressively, offering Tim-Tam’s by throwing them across the room, forcing me to catch them. I’d say ‘no thanks’ and place the unwanted Tim-Tam’s on the torn green leather couch he’d found on the side of the road. ‘Come on… You know you want it’ he’d say. I’d say ‘no’. He’d say ‘come on’. And eventually I’d eat it.

Occasionally I’d see James. Sometimes from outside the flat. Sometimes from inside the flat. Occasionally eating, wearing his puffer jacket and looking into space. Which doesn’t sound that strange. But it was the way he looked into space was notable. Sometimes it looked like he was seeing the entire universe in a fast forwarded time lapse yet his eyes and body language indicated it didn’t phase him, like he could take it or leave it. Other times it looked like his soul was dead. Looking into space the same way an ancient old man sitting in a nursing home might gaze at a television. It was certainly worth noting. Brent and I talked about it occasionally.

‘Dude… dude… look…’. I whispered, leaning forward on the manila folder coloured outdoor chair, gesturing inside to the kitchen.

We both looked to see James standing still, looking out the kitchen window. He stood with such calmness or possibly deadness doing nothing, uninterrupted for at least 20 seconds. We’d begin to feel strange watching, then we looked away.  

***

I walked up the door girl. The need to piss helped me to act sober. I pinched the tip of my tongue with my teeth. She looked vaguely at a clip board. She told me the entry price. I asked if a $50 note was too big. It wasn’t too big. I walked up the stairs. Paid the entry. Walked through a door with a circular window into the club.

I saw the others at the bar but my need to piss was so powerful I didn’t even feel like communicating. But after looking around for a moment and nearly walking into the kitchen I asked them. They told me.

2 vodka Redbulls were the same price as a pouch of rolling tobacco. I wanted to buy drugs. A terrible idea but I couldn’t see myself generating a sociable demeanour drinking scooners of Furphy for $10.50. I looked around the smokers area. It was too bohemian. Too many crossed legged people throwing their heads back to exhale smoke and reveal their no longer edgy septum piercings. I was too much of a beginner to be trying to find drugs in this type of environment, this was a few levels above and not the kind of place that people would self-advertise.

***

Later on I remember being in the main dance floor. I danced or what I thought was dancing while I held my eyes shut. I had to keep them shut. I couldn’t really work it out. Having them open felt like they were being squashed and pummelled by the lights. There weren’t even many lights. It was the darkest bar I’d ever been too. But I kept them closed and swayed from side to side.

After a while I realised I’d been watching a circular bunch of orange colour swirls around on a near black background. I watched it for awhile not noticing I didn’t seem to have a body any more. There was a lot going on, a few other swirls of different colours swirled off to the side. Someone brushed my body in the real world and I opened my eyes. I briefly considered the experience to be a bit weird but quickly went back to dancing. It can be a real problem when you can’t even escape your own visual reality by closing your eyes.

***

I kept looking at the sand hoping to see the drink bottle. But I couldn’t see it anywhere. I tried to distract myself. I tried to not look at my phone. I started worrying about everything. I began internally abusing myself. After a bit of that I’d look back at the sand.

I looked out at the sea to try and generate some kind of transcendental feeling. I scanned across but was disappointed to notice you could easily see the shores on the other side however there was one gap. That’s what I wanted. That’s where the good shit is. I don’t know why. That’s where you generate the good transcendental vibes.

I looked through the gap at the sea with nothing on the horizon. I was trying really hard to have a spiritual moment but my throat was sore and my nose ran. I kept looking though. What the fuck was I looking or hoping for I wondered.

Sitting in the car I started to worry about something pointless. We drove past a massive outdoor/camping store. I envisioned getting a job there. I imagined not hating it. I imagined enjoying it. I toyed with having a completely different life and mindset where I loved working there. Where for reason there emited and endless drive to help people buy the perfect tent. I imagined never feeling tired in my body. No aching and no headaches. I wouldn’t be the joking type but I wouldn’t be too serious. I imagined I’d have a bit of a fringe that curled a bit to the side. I imagined getting out of my car in the car park with one of those sort of lanyed key chain drawstring necklace type thing that I’d roll tight over right index finger flicking it back and fourth in a circular motion as I walked across the concrete ground. I’d be freshly shaven but I wouldn't itch or have blemishes on my skin. I’d work fulltime hours. I’d indulge in things at home like television and feel like I’d earned it. Occasionally I’d play a brief game of FIFA or tag someone in a funny meme.

There’s was almost no one on the beach.

On the way back I looked across the water. A green field stretched over like a dashboard. I was envious. I always feel envious when I see stretches of nature from a distance and it doesn’t look like there’s many people around. I imagine walking to get there on my own.

***

Every day I wake up the same. I sleep in. Snooze for as long as possible. Currently I’ve been getting up in the evening. Sometimes as late as 5pm. I missed a shift on Sunday I didn’t know about. I haven’t been to work in 5 days.

I work in a warehouse washing plates and glasses. It makes me insane. At work I listen to Bill Burr’s podcast and lose my entire mind. At the end of shifts I walk out into the car park with my teeth clenching and Bill Burr’s voice sounds unhuman. 

My wrists are sore. Particularity the left one. The job doesn’t pay me properly. They underpay me and having minimal motivation to do almost anything I neglected to deal with it. Then I idiotically hope it’ll sort itself out, turning up to work, secretly resenting my co-workers until one evening I was polishing glasses, my legs aching like the legs of an old dinning room chair when I decided to have the 2nd or 3rd cigarette of the hour (who knows). I knew people were upstairs in the office but no one had come down in a long time. Occasionally I’d look up at the ceiling while polishing glass number 678 and look for cameras. There were no cameras.

So I thought ‘fuck it’, rolled a cigarette and opened the door to the car park. I watched a black guy with his pants down to his knees receive a blow job from the silhouette of a girl. He was leant over in a strange position as if doing awkward push ups on the bench in the centre of the car park. I watched as he gently edged the silhouette of his cock into the girls mouth like it was a camp site puppet show. I looked at all of this for 1.25 seconds with the cigarette dangling in my mouth. My heart started pounding real fast. I locked eyes with the guy. My eyes swirled and flickered, like two dirty share-house microwaves set side by side in the rain, one cooking a potato wrapped in tin foil, the other one cooking a laptop that played a montage of all the ‘public’ porn I’d ever watched. I turned to the right, walking along the side of the other warehouses, then around the corner. I lit the cigarette and breathed/whispered to myself - ‘What the fuck?!’.

I waited a minute and then as slowly as possible tried to peek around the corner. As soon as I saw anything I pulled my head back. Don’t know why. In that moment I didn’t care about seeing the blow job any more. I mean sure, we probably all think we’d like to see some live sex act in a car park performed by strangers in the moon light, but do you want to watch it for longer than a few seconds? Maybe it’s my attention span. It’s so poor I even skip through porn compilations now.

I finished smoking, rustled up some courage and walked around the corner like I was leaving the house during a rainstorm. They were finished. The guy was walking away, very slowly, looking very relaxed. The girl wandered slowly behind him scrolling on her phone not facing me. As I walked up to the door he saw me again.

‘Hey man!’. He said, grinning.

‘Hey dude…’. I said nervously. ‘… Sorry’. I added.

‘Aaaaahahaha’. He laughed as he turned around.

I went through the door to the warehouse and shut it behind me.

I felt shaken up. Which’s weird knowing all the fucked up shit I’ve seen on the internet. I guess everything’s more visceral live. It was almost a real Bukowski moment! I was excited but also sad that I found it exciting.

A girl from the office clopped down the stairs in her medium high heels and made some comment about me still being there or something about it being dark. I squeezed out my last morsel of social energy and said something forgettable. She hovered around the door while more filler conversation happened.

‘Um… I know we don’t know each other very well… but ah… can I tell you something?’. I stubbled out like a less cute, D-grade Hugh Grant with ADD, absent mindedly trying to remember the last time he’d called his Mum.

‘Ah… Yeah...? Sure?’. She replied with politely repressed apprehension.

‘Well… I… you know the car park courtyard thing?… Just… well… I… ah… I don’t… I’m trying to gauge your sensitivity… I… um…’. I said.

‘Aw dude you can say whatever you want to me, it’s fine’. She laughed, stretching her face outwardly like pizza doe with make up on, revealing a missing tooth in the back of her mouth. Her face then settled and I felt a bit of her warmth and realised she seemed quite sweet. I started feeling mean about my general resentment. I told her what I’d just seen. She very much enjoyed the story. We laughed by a big green garbage bin as we smoked. I ran the story into the ground and then she asked me what I did. I talked about stand-up and she talked about Hughesy. I tried to swing the conversation back to comedy. I talked about how brutal stand-up is. At the end of the conversation I mentioned I’d been underpaid. She said she’d help me out. I said goodbye and walked home.

[elainemeyer]

Visiting the ‘Land of Enchantment’

Some states are very proud of their slogans (Florida’s ”The Sunshine State,” Texas’s “The Lonestar State).” Some states’ slogans make a political statement (D.C.’s “Taxation Without Representation,” New Hampshire’s “Live Free or Die”). Some states seem to have pulled theirs out of a hat (Connecticut’s “Full of Surprises,” North Dakota’s “Legendary”). And then there’s New Mexico, whose slogan is under the radar but clearly intentional. There’s a good chance you didn’t know that New Mexico is the “Land of Enchantment” until you visit, and there’s a good chance you’ll agree with that characterization. I had never heard the slogan before, but once in New Mexico, it was everywhere, from the audio welcome recording on the rental car shuttle to t-shirts and other state merchandise, to of course, license plates. 

New Mexico is certainly enchanting, and it is also under the radar, not accustomed to puffing itself up the way some other states do (I won’t name names). And for me, New Mexico has long been near the top of the list of U.S. states I’ve wanted to visit. What has appealed to me its distinctness from other U.S. states, with its unique combination of Mexican, Spanish, and Native American heritage. 

On top of that are the artist communities which sounded charming and protected. I imagined them as walkable little downtowns of adobe buildings with woven Native American rugs hanging over window sills. 

And then there are is offbeat New Mexico: the off-grid movement, UFO sightings, geodesic domes, and all other signs that people were living and thinking differently than the rest of us. New Mexico’s weirdness has intrigued me in the way that cults intrigue me - in one sense they exist on the edge of society, but they address questions and build societies in response to questions we all ask ourselves. What would it be like to live unencumbered from the need for possession? to be able to live off the land? to not work a typical modern job? if there were a supernatural power? How can so many of us live with these questions and not act on them? And what does it look like to act on them?

I visited New Mexico for the first time in early February, on a ski trip with friends in Taos Ski Valley and a stop in Santa Fe. The photos directly below are of the road and property of the home we stayed at in the Taos Valley area. As you can see, the flatness in front of us gave a clear view of the mountains, specifically, the Sangre de Cristo.

Taos Ski Valley

The ski resort of Taos Ski Valley has a nice vibe to it. It was low-key and not super crowded, though still well-regarded. There seemed to be a lot of locals who come out all the time. In recent years, the resort has been spiffing up a bit, with some new or updated restaurants and bars. We particularly liked the Bavarian Restaurant, which was a basic German menu, with a few different types of wurst. We also liked the Hotel St. Bernard’s restaurant and Rathskeller Bar, which reminded me of a place where Cary Grant would have enjoyed a drink in North by Northwest.

I hadn’t skied in two years, and Taos is known for being steep, but I managed to ski most of the greens and a couple of small stretches of blue with only two falls where I lost a ski (and several other falls where skis stayed attached). By day two I was both high on skiing and, by afternoon, so tired from falling that I realized I was liable to break a limb if I kept going. The altitude, the falls, and the demands I was placing on a body usually accustomed to sitting in front of a desk in ergonomically lacking positions had wiped me out – in a good way. There’s nothing better than feeling tired because you did something, as opposed to because you didn’t do something, which is also a tired I have felt.

Taos

Probably the most interesting thing to see in the town of Taos is the Taos Pueblo, a Native American village built in 1000 to 1450 with houses made of adobe that have stayed in tact (with maintenance) for all of this time, including a multi-storied building that could be called an adobe apartment complex. Right below is a photo looking out the entrance to the church front plaza. The Spanish built the church in the 1660s, though it was opposed by the native people of Taos.

Below is one of the adobe houses. Today many of them have been turned into stores that sell Native American art, jewelry, rugs, and other items. Each home has been handed down from generation to generation since people started living in the pueblos, although many of the Taos people now live offsite, in homes near the Pueblo.

While at the Taos Pueblo, my friend and I started talking with one of the store owners, a man with multiple lives. In the 1970s, he had toured with the Native American Theater Ensemble. When the Ensemble collaborated with the American Shakespeare Theater, he met and started dating Helen Mirren. They lived in the Upper West Side of New York City for several years, until he returned to New Mexico, because he was not a city person at heart. His dad was one of the leaders in the movement that successfully won back nearby Blue Lake land in 1970 through a bill passed by Congress and signed by Richard Nixon. The land had been taken during the Theodore Roosevelt administration and designated as part of the U.S. National Forest Service.

America’s First Wine Region

When you think of American wine, you think of Napa, Sonoma, Oregon, maybe the Finger Lakes and Virginia. What you don’t think of is New Mexico. Yet New Mexico was the first region in the United States where human grew wine, at least according to the pourer who I met at La Chiripada Winery, in Dixon, New Mexico, a slightly run down artist colony. I parked in the lot of La Chiripada Winery next to one other car. I was the only one at La Chiripada during my tasting of several wines that I could choose (In fairness, it was a Monday around 12 PM).

The whites were mostly on the sweeter side, as it turns out Rieslings do very well in New Mexico. The dryer of the whites I drank, the Winemaker’s Select was a combination of Seyval/Vidal Blanc, and smaller amounts of Chardonnay and Viognier. The pourer told me that some their combination varietals, like the Seyval/Vidla Blanc, had grown together on the land in such a way that they were no longer distinct. The reds were very light, especially the Canoncito Red 2015 which was a combination of two grapes: Leon Millot and Baco Noir, which I had never heard of. I ended up purchasing the Canoncito part (full disclosure) it was the cheapest of those I had tasted.

Having learned some new things about the New Mexico terroir, I headed back on the road to Santa Fe, calculating that I hadn’t even had a glass equivalent of wine so would be fine to drive.

Santa Fe

My long-standing image of Santa Fe is consistent with the aforementioned artist colony I described above: a sun-drenched, red dirt expanse with open-air adobe homes where Navajo blankets hang on the window sills and residents sit in their front yards selling goods in shallow, straw baskets. I don’t know where this image came from, but this is not actually what Santa Fe looks or feels like.

The real Santa Fe had a lot of old Spanish mission style architecture, a few unmemorable buildings and multi-story parking lots, and was empty and overcast, at least that day. I quickly questioned what I was doing in Santa Fe, realizing I had no intentions to to buy pottery, art or anything made out of turquoise. I wanted a Navajo rug, but they were upwards of $1,000 and shipping it home would have been its own additional costs. 

It seemed like the only people in Santa Fe under 40 were the young people who worked at the stores, such as Collected Works Bookstore & Coffee House. There seemed to be a particular presence of middle aged white men walking around in suits (which I later guessed had to do with town courthouse being nearby) and a handful of tourists. 

At Collected Works, I grabbed a couple of books, ordered a pour over of a Mexican blend for less than $4 and I sat down on a leather couch near the fireplace and began to read, periodically nodding off. 

I finally gave up on the two more ambitious books I had picked up and grabbed a book called Everybody Rise about a startup and New York City socialites. I stayed awake for the 15 or so pages and decided to purchase the book so I could have something to read for the flight.

The Georgia O’Keefe Museum

From Collected Works, I walked about five minutes to the Georgia O’Keefe Museum, like so many buildings in this region a boxy, mud brown, made I think of stucco.

The museum gave nice overview of O’Keefe’s life story, from Wisconsin to New York City to New Mexico (and around the globe). I learned from a video that O’Keefe felt people misunderstood her as a highly sexual woman after the release of naked artistic photographs taken by her husband Alfred Stieglitz. Around this time, she began going to New Mexico regularly, carving out her own path in the West. Stieglitz died in the mid-1940s, and as O’Keefe got older, she spent more and more time in New Mexico each year, until finally she moved there, starting in one house, and later moving to another and painting the strikingly colored New Mexico scenery for which we now know her.

As I looked at photos of O’Keefe and studied her paintings and sculptures, I marveled at how she managed to feel so at home in the barren expanse of New Mexico that I had driven through that day. All day I had felt a tinge of loneliness, made more palpable by the barren expanse, the space, and the lack of people. Yet O’Keefe took this place right away. 

O’Keefe and I were both from the Midwest, which made her affinity for New Mexico even more interesting. Certainly she and I are from different types of communities (hers rural, mine urban and then suburban). I realized in New Mexico how accustomed I am to trees that block my view of the great beyond, and in turn how unsettling emptiness is. I am not the first one to say New Mexico feels like another planet. With its brown boxy homes that seem like they were built as deliberate camouflage to the geodesic domes, to the atomic bomb, to UFO sightings, New Mexico feels not of this Earth, and yet at the same time utterly of America.

Getting there advice

The plane travel was cheap. I took a Jet Blue flight from JFK to Albuquerque for around $215. But what I saved in money, I made up for in sleep loss, since I had to take a redeye that left Albuquerque at 11:59 pm on Monday.  My car rental seemed cheap, at $60, but ended up being over $200 once insurance fees were factored in. A piece of advice: ask the car rental place how much your rental will be with fees, and get a credit card that provides this insurance so you don’t have to buy it with your rental. Make sure you know whether that credit card provides that insurance. I may have indeed had such a credit card, but I had forgotten to check. 

#new mexico #Taos #Taos Ski Valley #Santa Fe #Georgia O'Keefe #travel

[janiklandre-blog]

Tuesday, March 14, 2017

Day of great blizzard - 9:50 a.m. - cool in computer room, back apartments much cooler than my apartment - so wish I could have gotten one - tried hard when they evicted Polish man across the hall from me - tried when Polish woman on my floor moved back to Poland - alas lack all political skills - also no one of froends and relatives was willing to seek out Donald Manning who makes the decision - so I swelter in my apartment, cannot open window due to horrible noise on the Bowery - last night they were still drilling, always drilling, until midnight - and then all the diesel vehicles under my window emitting poisoneous fumes, fat black soot - most likely my lungs are black.

Well, as the the now dead smartipants - I think his name was Ernie Guggenheim - he camw each year to my house on East 6th Street, was a paying guest of our quasi super Dale Legler - I had brought him into the house, he too is dead, could write story about him - called him the bandaid man, he stopped the leaks and kept the house standing, nursed the old boiler that I believe caused the fire and he kept house at 60 - fine with me - prefer it to the steady 80 in my present apt. This Ernie billed himself a poet, member of super rich family, he had also a house in Greece - he got my criminal landlord Greenbaum to write a letter he lived in the house, list everything, made a bee line over here - bribed? charmed the then manager, Cohen or something - got apt on 13th floor facing East - cool, lovely sun rises, great view - he lost nothing, I held his computer during the fire while mine burned - my apt was totaled - he told the manager here: She is a sweet lady - I call it all a fluke - we both moved in April 1st, 2000 - in the hallway he looked at me and said: this is how the cookie crumbles. A few years later - after having a hip replaced, home health care aid - he moved to Greece and died - Dale told me.

The Polish woman who lived across the hall, she too has died - told me she was offered my apartment but waited for the back apartment - I would die she said if I could not have my windows open. Well, she died anyway.

Today I got one of the kindest replies to my this here blog - I asked a friend, am I flaunting things in public I should not - he wrote back - of course you are flaunting stuff you should not - but you are doing it in an amusing and literary way - keep doing it and don't worry (I know I am not quoting this quite right, I never quote anything quite right - but it approximates) - I did write back - I need every little bit of encouragement I can get - thank you. He has been a wonderful friend since 1955 - before the fire I had a tape I played in the car when I drove and sang with it, it had one song saying old friends are gold and new friends are silver - this tape one of so many things I cannot replace - and yes, there is nothing like old friends, who knew you when you were young - who knew me as fun Marianne, high energy, always ready to go, go, go - and not like Martha H., for sure not a friend - who sees the old woman whose moods do change and bills me in terrible ways. Tells everyone how unbecoming - unbearable! - high energy is in an old woman - valium, yes valium - my once upon a time nurse friend - she had a cabinet full of valium and kept urging me to take it. No, thank you.

And so, it is 10:15, the snow keeps falling - I have not been out yet - with that stupid time change - New England plans to stay on the same time all year - hurrah for New England, please do it - with this new time when I get up close to 7 a few days ago this was before 6 - so I got up today close to 7, and in two hours I made my bed, made my muesli and ate it, made myself a cup of nescafe - we used to drink it, not bad - yesterday I bought myself for $1.50 a big slice of the bread I like - huge loave, Baltic sour dough bread - cut off the crusts (makes me feel very old) - butter, jam - not a bad breakfast - and paid teo of the three bills I get every month - con ed and Verizon and also my long time visa card (since 1971) go to bank directly - I pay rent - AT & T and American Express - struggle with three bills, checks - of course it would be "so simple" on line - and wonder how many friends deal with stacks of bills - who also still used old fashioned checks - one bill I realized due tomorrow - there used to be a mailbox on my corner here - presumably mailman also picks up mail in my house - but do I trust that? - only mailbox now across second avenue - will I risk my life to mail a bill? We'll see..

Earlier today I was doing an assessment of my old body - yes, I do still feel 25 - but - the hair on my head has thinned, while hair on my face keeps sprouting, skin on my face is not as nice and smooth as it used to be, my eyes need an operation, my hearing I have not checked but also suspect it is lessening, my teeth are history, my smell and taste buds are not the same, my throat is wrinkled, my esophagus a bit weird at times, my heart is spiking, my bowels no longer function quite the samw, my bladder is weird at times, my gait is dysfunctional, my legs and also my hands cramp, there is some arthritis. my feet are a mess - and my mind? I am terribly grateful for the memory I still have, but often need to search for words, for names - definitely not the same as it was at 25.

Yes, I wish I had the wonder daughter my mother dreamed of having and totally blamed me for not being it - how could I use her these days! She would help me - figure out how to use the ipad - how to write in word, she would  read what I write, edit, get it published - keep my apartment clean, see to it that I eat a healthy diet - help me get my dream housing, drive me, keep my wardrobe in much better shape - be my companion, love me, cherish me and make me want to live forever.

They do exist - my mother always had examples to hold up to me - and my Catholic friends do move with their ageing parents and tend to them - there were two devout Catholics in my family, the Bavarian peasant mother of my father - no picture, no sign of her anywhere - she was totally displaced in Aachen, far from home, wife of a university professor who never took her anywhere, her children ashamed of her - she went to church and died around the time I was born. One of her five children, my aunt Ninon (changed to from Jeanette), a singer, married to a I.G.Farben CEO, early Nazi - she converted from the Calvinist Protestantism of her Dutch father to Catholicism. spent much time in church, he died soon after the war, riding his bike - she went to an old age home in Bad Toelz - took care of the dying, read theology, became a nun and left her considerable fortune to the Catholic church. When I called there after she died a yougoslav nun told me she had asked for her pocessions to be burned - they went to Yougoslavia - and shortly before she died - 97 or so, rail thin - I called her, she wondered who I was and finally said: oh, the daughter of the disgusting Jewish woman my brother married. Rest in peace, aunt Ninon. My mother wished she was a Catholic, never became one, I vaguely toyed with the idea.

The Chinese couple arrived here early today - the snow storm - watching very loud Chinese TV - they always are here at night, never in the day. I'll close soon. Have to get a computer upstairs.

Was still going to mention my dentist and my worries his landlord may have raised their rent and his wife may be blaming him for not charging me - and they may have to close down and I wonder what good dentures would - will? - cost me.

And, so it goes. It is 11 a.m. I may venture out even though TV tells everybody stay put these Chinese are - their movie is loud and looks idiotic to me - I'll be off - Marianne

[be-amazed-daily-blog]

Challenge me blogging world!

Aside form three (really shitty) blog posts for an assessment in Uni, this is all very new to me… why pick it now then you might wonder? It’s a bit late to be honest. I intended to start a blog and write about a goal that i set myself last year which involved lot of travelling and ‘finding myself’ – I know it’s a bit of a cliche but theres a bit of truth in it. anyway I’m going off track, point is I never ‘got around to it’ mainly because I’m lazy and partly because I was worried that no one would read it… I mean there is probably not many of you reading this anyway. Last year I really did have an adventure of a lifetime, an Aussie living in London with a goal of seeing a different country each month – I started with Rome, Italy, in January. A magnificent museum of a city, then ventured onto Dublin, Ireland where I drank way too much guinness and still believe that the Guinness factory was a little less exciting then everyone made it out to be. From there I went onto Copenhagen, Denmark – beautiful city, what did I learn about myself in this country? that you should probably not eat a hash cookie for the first time when you are in a foreign country, alone… unless of course you want to genuinely believe that your hostel room won’t have enough oxygen to sustain you overnight since the windows don’t open and you will be dead by the morning for sure and you can’t even say goodbye to anybody because you forgot your charger and there is no other possible way to charge your phone in the whole world… sooo moving on, the fourth month I was in Amsterdam, The Netherlands let’s just say I held myself a little better when I was here or maybe it seemed that way because everyone else was on a way higher level than me. After Amsterdam it was off to the beautiful Edinburgh, Scotland, I loved this place, the Haggis and all! After this it was Blur of getting my Aussie glow back in The Canary Islands, sailing in Turkey, eating Foie gras in the the South of France, Sleeping in a car To try to see the Northern Lights, and not actually seeing them, getting lost in a Bavarian Village so far from the hotel, and finishing the year in Poland – WITH FALLING SNOW! Can I just say, I underestimated this country…. How wrong I was. It was fabulous, if you haven’t been go! So with all of that adventure last year and having to do grown up things this year, I have come up with a new goal for myself for the year. This year my goal is to do something challenging, either mentally or physically each month. I have January sorted, I’m going to learn how to do a Rubix cube… But from there I need some help, that’s why I’m turning to you… What can I do next month? I’ll keep you posted on my progress with the rubber cube… wish me luck!

#travel 2k17 whatnow poland amsterdam rome edinburgh turkey copenhagen dublin germany iceland canaryislands southoffrance