tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-324372892024-02-20T23:57:28.182+01:00Fire At Will: Memphis to Munich"Fire at will," a command that to me means living independently and in the moment. I’m currently living and working in Germany after a year spent studying abroad in this foreign country. I invite you to share in my experience and in my zeal for life, hopefully along the way developing your own desire to live in the moment and to explore this fascinating planet. It’s a fast paced world out there, so double-knot your shoes and try to keep up with me as I fire at will.Nick O.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05302680637268168032noreply@blogger.comBlogger109125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32437289.post-82893960905731851052010-06-08T20:11:00.004+02:002010-06-08T20:32:57.122+02:00Passau<span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">B</span></span>ack on May 8th I traveled together with three Czech girls to the eastern Bavarian city of Passau. It was one of the last major Bavarian cities that I had yet to visit. In our brief time there we strolled on the old town's cobblestone lanes and past its Baroque architecture. There aren't really any worthwhile tales to pass along, but here are some photographs from the day. The last of the following images offers a glimpse inside the St. Stephan's Cathedral.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaajHeKeBHXAKvF64wXAJCrSa63r-lxdFuwSqE8gUtNye_ck_T2LhPC_KMeateShBCZddpjLeA4O4HrjWr1lRpFmmEcIbRnkBH2C41FaLw-StBG54Gyz4wM8TOyChyphenhyphenzyqwXgS8GQ/s1600/Passau+%285%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaajHeKeBHXAKvF64wXAJCrSa63r-lxdFuwSqE8gUtNye_ck_T2LhPC_KMeateShBCZddpjLeA4O4HrjWr1lRpFmmEcIbRnkBH2C41FaLw-StBG54Gyz4wM8TOyChyphenhyphenzyqwXgS8GQ/s400/Passau+%285%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480468451040685586" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVPhQj4HnTKimWDdYpRVnkBTfYplunEN39tIykakD5AyQ0q5ySH6R5awpgllW6QeShrhu3wk7f9s9z5VM9lDZNHpgYmlW7ubqQL8JKySuOCn3Swqw15bHmsYbxJua3BUK8x21KCg/s1600/Passau+%2815%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVPhQj4HnTKimWDdYpRVnkBTfYplunEN39tIykakD5AyQ0q5ySH6R5awpgllW6QeShrhu3wk7f9s9z5VM9lDZNHpgYmlW7ubqQL8JKySuOCn3Swqw15bHmsYbxJua3BUK8x21KCg/s400/Passau+%2815%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480468464782830210" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6LF9qJfKfzKVozSiU6yl7eMKwGzRbBe4VDxVPw8FsZVrOOxbrFLggUBBb0kEplDoDX6LBVskUHXkSdaCvSjGr9HCUd8ybn3a7nTmVUtguMCBGnwmVumtsor1v615sFXilid_-9Q/s1600/Passau+%2822%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6LF9qJfKfzKVozSiU6yl7eMKwGzRbBe4VDxVPw8FsZVrOOxbrFLggUBBb0kEplDoDX6LBVskUHXkSdaCvSjGr9HCUd8ybn3a7nTmVUtguMCBGnwmVumtsor1v615sFXilid_-9Q/s400/Passau+%2822%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480468455604202866" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbL1mqWAL9MZ6vAckBYwuT8rQjPyZzo8-bUaJBOdA8tFkvOg6WIVu4UJWR3AOWEvZsHrnmGOos6Y9Wp89FsH_iKnrvty1m2ADlv6nbpJjxG0uSN6wfz0m5pKONrDb1ESdlFNc2Lg/s1600/Passau+%2857%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbL1mqWAL9MZ6vAckBYwuT8rQjPyZzo8-bUaJBOdA8tFkvOg6WIVu4UJWR3AOWEvZsHrnmGOos6Y9Wp89FsH_iKnrvty1m2ADlv6nbpJjxG0uSN6wfz0m5pKONrDb1ESdlFNc2Lg/s400/Passau+%2857%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480471204600432562" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Passau is known as the Three Rivers City because of it location at the confluence of three rivers, the Danube, Inn, and Ilz. The old town rests on a peninsula formed by the Danube on one side and the Inn on the other. In order to get a better look of this nearly water-surrounded city, we hiked up to the Veste Oberhaus, an aged fortress perched over the city on the banks of the Inn and Ilz Rivers.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIvqa6_fzJGBO96vqCmZZptPbDHUoVWMj4WRK49WpOV0EpjM2nZPlSDLByuP6N4UYglXohLz2KrQyhijQ_vOdeBPV5lssB-5hzCl7SABNe8DveOfyo-lTcLTXhspTTWYfAFoyk5g/s1600/Passau+%2834%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIvqa6_fzJGBO96vqCmZZptPbDHUoVWMj4WRK49WpOV0EpjM2nZPlSDLByuP6N4UYglXohLz2KrQyhijQ_vOdeBPV5lssB-5hzCl7SABNe8DveOfyo-lTcLTXhspTTWYfAFoyk5g/s400/Passau+%2834%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480468470969530290" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh7GgEGh7W1nzQoIJzsvEWQCHaOsW0dN60wRVC5LoK3g3aFKzQLAssXp3EM-mmjr5RgV2yyYjFpcK6NCGlYAKpha9-I2NTcdXyRkVemrbb14dxyLRED3IIzddVqxiOV3L6C2Vxnw/s1600/Passau+%2838%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh7GgEGh7W1nzQoIJzsvEWQCHaOsW0dN60wRVC5LoK3g3aFKzQLAssXp3EM-mmjr5RgV2yyYjFpcK6NCGlYAKpha9-I2NTcdXyRkVemrbb14dxyLRED3IIzddVqxiOV3L6C2Vxnw/s400/Passau+%2838%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480468475157900546" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The next post on a trip I took through central Germany should offer a bit more content compared to this one.Nick O.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05302680637268168032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32437289.post-13420125382225920062010-06-07T19:17:00.010+02:002010-06-07T21:12:47.578+02:00Bohemian Travels<span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">T</span></span>he weekend before my cruise on the Rhine I traveled to the southwestern portion of the Czech Republic, part of a larger Czech region known as Bohemia. My fellow travelers on the trip were three young ladies studying abroad in Eichstätt: Brittney from the U.S.A., Cinzia from Italy, and Eliska from the Czech Republic, who proved a very helpful guide in her home country.<br /><br />We started our tour with a stay in the Austrian city of Linz, located south of the border with the Czech Republic. Unfortunately, rain marked most our visit in the city. Though water-logged, we did our best to enjoy ourselves.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAGkXmTsGjLaMyPjWOIYQfySFJX8Q9rTRARCQ20s-NHYSuIX5h-kNggdtn5NuilqA0lmEYRA3qoIQJUTdYAbtnwQwesIYLt95K1wAdMDeyX-HeINWTzmG4mg2GhxlerGoqlu0pRQ/s1600/Linz.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAGkXmTsGjLaMyPjWOIYQfySFJX8Q9rTRARCQ20s-NHYSuIX5h-kNggdtn5NuilqA0lmEYRA3qoIQJUTdYAbtnwQwesIYLt95K1wAdMDeyX-HeINWTzmG4mg2GhxlerGoqlu0pRQ/s400/Linz.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480083931423911474" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK4a1ammkCL1oYywMw8OkRi4BOR-S-VHAAaXP1QYoAZ-QM9eYW2roPEZ32CSm00_Bdb3nPEYeYsUKs1eabxpha9-yQqxib_0WjTe8ysnYopKcKanEval1-bdfPbv2I9z-wH5ChEA/s1600/Linz+%2821%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK4a1ammkCL1oYywMw8OkRi4BOR-S-VHAAaXP1QYoAZ-QM9eYW2roPEZ32CSm00_Bdb3nPEYeYsUKs1eabxpha9-yQqxib_0WjTe8ysnYopKcKanEval1-bdfPbv2I9z-wH5ChEA/s400/Linz+%2821%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480083922953444658" border="0" /></a><br />On the morning of our trip's second day we rode the rails into Czech territory. We changed trains in the city of České Budějovice, or, in its English name, Budweis. The name should be familiar for most Americans, as this city is the birthplace of the original Budweiser beer. The Czech Budweiser company had been brewing for centuries before its American counterpart filled its first bottle and searched for a prestigious beer name to call their product. Supposedly the legal disputes between the two breweries continue.<br /><br />From Budweis we traveled on to the town of Český Krumlov, which is a beautifully preserved community nestled on a sharp bend of the Vlatava River and looked over by an impressive castle complex. Below are some views of the charming town.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheaHzX5k0BJgp_P01w1b8x8kO_RxBXMg43hhA-wv_czC1R5k5GQ9kLHZB7OpBPgv1ZV1W19jIZItNLDpUbh6PUrue5VwQ6w2ojyonXVbrJddLSU1u3800Kk_qdP7Tze-mv8o56Mg/s1600/Bohemia+%288%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheaHzX5k0BJgp_P01w1b8x8kO_RxBXMg43hhA-wv_czC1R5k5GQ9kLHZB7OpBPgv1ZV1W19jIZItNLDpUbh6PUrue5VwQ6w2ojyonXVbrJddLSU1u3800Kk_qdP7Tze-mv8o56Mg/s400/Bohemia+%288%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480087776554085458" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4lI_hDgCf-sH-_RZ6ofyETP_UXxXCWgl611XZoQbGA85iniLv7gl1f1qJ-kOE3aGMa1gDbLUgdyEF0HB-VZP2Zhk4krfb8wKh0_X2yKSjQf_LIZu3_TBT_-msvcw-W7x32fLeaw/s1600/Bohemia+%2810%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4lI_hDgCf-sH-_RZ6ofyETP_UXxXCWgl611XZoQbGA85iniLv7gl1f1qJ-kOE3aGMa1gDbLUgdyEF0HB-VZP2Zhk4krfb8wKh0_X2yKSjQf_LIZu3_TBT_-msvcw-W7x32fLeaw/s400/Bohemia+%2810%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480087785210225042" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJrRt6H0JzEp22YiksqdGL8gxBHKG2d1676pQNH71kgs7vw2p9xAqHEkJGABoA8ooppoXMwvH1OFKm3EGaR69rVgB5JpxUZBXOCLrI2oZRaf-iMKG2gMXvz9-tnUodvk6zhnmpsQ/s1600/Bohemia+%2844%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJrRt6H0JzEp22YiksqdGL8gxBHKG2d1676pQNH71kgs7vw2p9xAqHEkJGABoA8ooppoXMwvH1OFKm3EGaR69rVgB5JpxUZBXOCLrI2oZRaf-iMKG2gMXvz9-tnUodvk6zhnmpsQ/s400/Bohemia+%2844%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480087803592502050" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh24V-0AvTIQpMrxKiRzEHLGExAGwOkHxJi9rty76lNMYNjvM1totcxauyzoET8NfYfUP-8B32P-8UpktT0wQnua4R262FltI1MEHKsnF2SKbzSZzJY7Fb2TkuBwm7UIh_-sake2w/s1600/Bohemia+%2834%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh24V-0AvTIQpMrxKiRzEHLGExAGwOkHxJi9rty76lNMYNjvM1totcxauyzoET8NfYfUP-8B32P-8UpktT0wQnua4R262FltI1MEHKsnF2SKbzSZzJY7Fb2TkuBwm7UIh_-sake2w/s400/Bohemia+%2834%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480087795635809106" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDyeM2mcZp396ijxcc3v1OMm1v1gg9X7ZfOUz9FNuDDwqWua6Z7-Le2SERY4uTyatw-ycYd72oks-4LgzcL0ckpAEfFvlCBqt4MRsK5yz6HtSJKBUMJejuG5bUY5-wVTH4G6niGA/s1600/Bohemia+%2832%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDyeM2mcZp396ijxcc3v1OMm1v1gg9X7ZfOUz9FNuDDwqWua6Z7-Le2SERY4uTyatw-ycYd72oks-4LgzcL0ckpAEfFvlCBqt4MRsK5yz6HtSJKBUMJejuG5bUY5-wVTH4G6niGA/s400/Bohemia+%2832%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480087789011876738" border="0" /></a><br /><br />On our walk through the castle complex we discovered that impaling oneself on the castle fence was apparently not permitted.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLQYIKM6qh1ssBNg0mnAhGoaeX5FTMQPo-A6GZn1VMU99M9Uk7u6Z1hTczpihzVLWu0AIarp9HqWGlXEeZ2EMaelH95XkfS510bUu-fnapGKXvsUIZfxcrU-hkNaTgsm8CyArJGA/s1600/Bohemia+%2817%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLQYIKM6qh1ssBNg0mnAhGoaeX5FTMQPo-A6GZn1VMU99M9Uk7u6Z1hTczpihzVLWu0AIarp9HqWGlXEeZ2EMaelH95XkfS510bUu-fnapGKXvsUIZfxcrU-hkNaTgsm8CyArJGA/s400/Bohemia+%2817%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480088938250456786" border="0" /></a><br />At the end of the afternoon in Krumlov, we headed to the small city of Písek, Eliska's hometown. Our Czech friend let us into her home and showed us around the community where she grew up. Písek's main claim to fame is that the city is home to the oldest bridge in the Czech Republic (built around 1300), pictured in the first photograph below. The second image presents a view from the bridge at night.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih1Y86uBnkP74k2LYhlSYJqDn4Z0sftX0hze9HTW07ZE-SluvCVmzCw1CRuA4AN5qaClWUMjMbQMrhx1NjwD_jzi3Mw0fSyBzdueocbxbwvbbKvuUD7VmcLvEtAFxsnXiMWVsrHQ/s1600/Bohemia+%2891%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih1Y86uBnkP74k2LYhlSYJqDn4Z0sftX0hze9HTW07ZE-SluvCVmzCw1CRuA4AN5qaClWUMjMbQMrhx1NjwD_jzi3Mw0fSyBzdueocbxbwvbbKvuUD7VmcLvEtAFxsnXiMWVsrHQ/s400/Bohemia+%2891%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480090480363133090" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm0B9OFVBrQwoCP9GaAwLIxKrKcOTDwCV6DZMjk8M3F-1XQ23MwUogx5XrX0dpeuqtaFy6Z3YKcq1k4cMMMq9XpryQ6QEQ1hK6tSratj6Kf7Ko1u9MbvaqMtCFFXU3xbtMUv-gUA/s1600/Bohemia+%2865%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm0B9OFVBrQwoCP9GaAwLIxKrKcOTDwCV6DZMjk8M3F-1XQ23MwUogx5XrX0dpeuqtaFy6Z3YKcq1k4cMMMq9XpryQ6QEQ1hK6tSratj6Kf7Ko1u9MbvaqMtCFFXU3xbtMUv-gUA/s400/Bohemia+%2865%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480090483028079538" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAeV0kisEcHcyyinzPOG8seerrZmT5ZujvzkFe3l3cCRiZAnsbcIp7IeqX9zbnDtTgWWdjffvxDRj-VgbAsRAb5SBTlo-aiDIHVEFiuMMDXDPgdYHlwnU1g3gVVyF3ZTk74uk7Ew/s1600/Bohemia+%2892%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAeV0kisEcHcyyinzPOG8seerrZmT5ZujvzkFe3l3cCRiZAnsbcIp7IeqX9zbnDtTgWWdjffvxDRj-VgbAsRAb5SBTlo-aiDIHVEFiuMMDXDPgdYHlwnU1g3gVVyF3ZTk74uk7Ew/s400/Bohemia+%2892%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480090492160453634" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp8_d8Yib_4qWMK4TClWt67NkP038edUKXCzQKKQnnOPjACH5-m-sBOvCQtu1fhivVZUyRTpIxHa4pjj3XC9jWAXcVAiwLJQqss_4TzRoSEQWljRp1OstROifH_9wQuLf2Mi8oUA/s1600/Bohemia+%2890%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp8_d8Yib_4qWMK4TClWt67NkP038edUKXCzQKKQnnOPjACH5-m-sBOvCQtu1fhivVZUyRTpIxHa4pjj3XC9jWAXcVAiwLJQqss_4TzRoSEQWljRp1OstROifH_9wQuLf2Mi8oUA/s400/Bohemia+%2890%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480090503944944738" border="0" /></a><br /><br />On our third day we took a day trip to the nearby city of Tabor. There's not much to write about the city, at least from our brief stay there, but it did provide some scenic views. Contrary to how it looks in the last picture below, the girls are actually not arguing with each other.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXDngPQVHje1eaDHA84nUUidqlSHG503h9ITGMy1HmjnzX9v24o_-MdMZJQ4CwbPph1paqrG9he-UDGi0luWFj0JtqfAG5BxrVZxrRe6UMgpFm5t0aSGMNeK8T_a25cQe5V6bjtA/s1600/Bohemia+%2875%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXDngPQVHje1eaDHA84nUUidqlSHG503h9ITGMy1HmjnzX9v24o_-MdMZJQ4CwbPph1paqrG9he-UDGi0luWFj0JtqfAG5BxrVZxrRe6UMgpFm5t0aSGMNeK8T_a25cQe5V6bjtA/s400/Bohemia+%2875%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480093211648058354" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOj4fjpfdWe79XMOifHKVK7cYac293cjBW_K7wwn-DzXmaDlhlwqrtnwx7yYjzLjUkDIzzmhe8KQvFS2lUlHWrm3Tq8D7JVdl543iRBVZJYYpktXk5ACyMh3xzuMdydlX-SUzCbA/s1600/Bohemia+%2888%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOj4fjpfdWe79XMOifHKVK7cYac293cjBW_K7wwn-DzXmaDlhlwqrtnwx7yYjzLjUkDIzzmhe8KQvFS2lUlHWrm3Tq8D7JVdl543iRBVZJYYpktXk5ACyMh3xzuMdydlX-SUzCbA/s400/Bohemia+%2888%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480093200624685602" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Of course a visit to a foreign culture was not without its new foods. Czech cuisine mainly consists of meat, potatoes, dumplings, and beer, but the Czechs have developed an amazing number of various dishes with these few ingredients. The first photograph below shows one example, neck of pork with mustard, roasted potatoes, bread, and spicy peppers. This tasted alright, although not too unusual. To satisfy my craveing for something truly out-of-the-ordinary, another night I ordered a side dish of something guaranteed to make some readers cringe in disgust. According to Eliska this dish does not appear on menus, but local restaurants can often provide it by request. In the second image below you can see the prepared dish: a pair of fried bull testicles accompanied with a lemon wedge. The edible masculinity tasted, almost disappointingly, like pork, and its texture was not unlike any other fillet of beef. I'd say the challenge here is simply with accepting what it is that's sitting on the plate.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQaspjGc_Tbbv45CLfSk3myPzGG40C71vax39fMVjkzjZj6bPKaZniQs_F0WdR2jpGIlnLo74Cik8ajEmFuqRLFIqPtavUN3Hf-GmGiEkjH36GVMLuSE_A4ZpskEu6o6fOcaGqBw/s1600/Bohemia+%2867%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQaspjGc_Tbbv45CLfSk3myPzGG40C71vax39fMVjkzjZj6bPKaZniQs_F0WdR2jpGIlnLo74Cik8ajEmFuqRLFIqPtavUN3Hf-GmGiEkjH36GVMLuSE_A4ZpskEu6o6fOcaGqBw/s400/Bohemia+%2867%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480101506787868690" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBmuwlB8RfkYiqsm_Dt9_i-_F7EsWLPyvMdLbVM30Ceqee6WhIjYcIKf_wmVQ3zB4lpotAK_aAauqG3yL3T-hRL59ntjzlj8scNIZn7_RgIeyzMLeLxQ0u0Dwd4b7GScaVGTNeQw/s1600/Bohemia+%28104%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBmuwlB8RfkYiqsm_Dt9_i-_F7EsWLPyvMdLbVM30Ceqee6WhIjYcIKf_wmVQ3zB4lpotAK_aAauqG3yL3T-hRL59ntjzlj8scNIZn7_RgIeyzMLeLxQ0u0Dwd4b7GScaVGTNeQw/s400/Bohemia+%28104%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480101515701323858" border="0" /></a><br /><br />On the fourth day of our trip we took a long train ride back home to Germany. The most excitement of the day came shortly after crossing the border. Although I could not believe it myself, I had realized on the first day of our trip that I had forgotten my passport in Eichstätt. The border crossing into Austria and the Czech Republic had gone smoothly, and I had hoped for similar conditions for our return to Germany. I had thought I was in the clear until a pair of German authorities arrived at the door of our train cabin and asked for our passports.<br /><br />All I could give them was a photocopy of my passport and my driver's license. The first officer's reaction was, unsurprisingly, "What's this?" I explained to the men my story and after some private deliberation in the train corridor they asked if I would be okay with only a verbal warning. I found the question curious, as if my conscience would demand a stronger penalty for my forgetfulness, and for a split second I considered answering "no" only to see what would happen. Of course I said that I accepted their offer of a verbal warning, the officers left, and our train ride progressed uneventfully toward Eichstätt.<br /><br />Aside from this potential visit in a German detainment room, our long weekend spent mostly in the Czech Republic made for a fun time. Then again, in a country where a bottle of good-quality beer costs less than water at around 50 U.S. cents, one would expect the locals to be familiar with fun times.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTqoUJg6Vi_IuboT_upg0RDNTYxbo6sU2RKaqxm9ZCSzM3wlU9ds_pCAFv9TkfRkdLWIqlYJya59TH0u3sWvS4wLAuULgAFHzEr8T4hYU8yWPP0m7zn8wS00sZDo996guAsr0POA/s1600/Bohemia+%2856%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTqoUJg6Vi_IuboT_upg0RDNTYxbo6sU2RKaqxm9ZCSzM3wlU9ds_pCAFv9TkfRkdLWIqlYJya59TH0u3sWvS4wLAuULgAFHzEr8T4hYU8yWPP0m7zn8wS00sZDo996guAsr0POA/s400/Bohemia+%2856%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480109144683552322" border="0" /></a>Nick O.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05302680637268168032noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32437289.post-56371194916596374172010-05-31T18:19:00.007+02:002010-05-31T19:22:34.233+02:00Cruise on the Romantic Rhine<span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">L</span></span>ooks like I've got a lot of catching up to do. There have been many a trips taken that remain uncovered here, spanning over multiple months. To try to bring things up-to-date, for this post and the next several ones I'll keep my words to a minimum and mostly let the photographs do the talking. I'll start with my most recent trip and work backwards.<br /><br />Last weekend I headed the Rhine River in western Germany. About 40 miles of the middle portion of the river are famous for there romantic scenery of steep, terraced vineyards, slate-roofed villages, and crumbling castles. For these reasons this section of the river has been listed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Ferries and tourist boats ply the waters of this section as often as Medieval ruins appear around the river bend here. I traveled by train to the small city of Bingen and from there switched to a boat sailing upriver. Here are some views of the route until I disembarked in the small town of Bacharach.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaWZjPZ_h4j2VCstqtuxJ5Ikdzka2CnyZ0GffYg6Kxy1kQysrkl_uTxUhUBTEFug9QcuydqMaaWkTEvv1IlLuxRgCFNJr5rovxgMg3JuZ-bzobf89cSRJ_lB-oITtFZ27FJWt-QA/s1600/Cruise+on+the+Rhine+%2856%29.JPG"><br /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3ClmZhQ5XdX455BsPBBVMBvRZx3E5MBSNHfHFtmBxXRtpyEzA6UWzLOOkMe4Zs9aUKYKF1s4b36z1dnFKa3BFiQOFWYfLUxEQnyZWPatPB2I1k4WvuDJd_KND6GNZaO4jXytf9Q/s1600/Cruise+on+the+Rhine+%2821%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3ClmZhQ5XdX455BsPBBVMBvRZx3E5MBSNHfHFtmBxXRtpyEzA6UWzLOOkMe4Zs9aUKYKF1s4b36z1dnFKa3BFiQOFWYfLUxEQnyZWPatPB2I1k4WvuDJd_KND6GNZaO4jXytf9Q/s400/Cruise+on+the+Rhine+%2821%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477473078431216738" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikymSgsDfqS4gYxfDDPMW7HRaL9uUoJ5J71EBuUOFxVfmNyIKtQ-R-arL9Ke6xJPc19_O2tpKpeCW28HHGc-neFTFwSCgIWLaqreatFwYZNf-Yrk7im4MoaZSuVPi_mpVMxNxw8g/s1600/Cruise+on+the+Rhine+%2831%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikymSgsDfqS4gYxfDDPMW7HRaL9uUoJ5J71EBuUOFxVfmNyIKtQ-R-arL9Ke6xJPc19_O2tpKpeCW28HHGc-neFTFwSCgIWLaqreatFwYZNf-Yrk7im4MoaZSuVPi_mpVMxNxw8g/s400/Cruise+on+the+Rhine+%2831%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477473072668402818" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA-eeRqJvcOphzchvrFQLH8a7P_iWMIxIJZT-Ui5qpgy_MzbmWxGfOI5iqskBnLojXkHLCytUDNAs_NrV9qZ9rdUEkyryq7DwF9LMkMg3Ul96W8M0c5sGquWiEnv3e6hKNMIGW8w/s1600/Cruise+on+the+Rhine+%2847%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA-eeRqJvcOphzchvrFQLH8a7P_iWMIxIJZT-Ui5qpgy_MzbmWxGfOI5iqskBnLojXkHLCytUDNAs_NrV9qZ9rdUEkyryq7DwF9LMkMg3Ul96W8M0c5sGquWiEnv3e6hKNMIGW8w/s400/Cruise+on+the+Rhine+%2847%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477473064637142914" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaWZjPZ_h4j2VCstqtuxJ5Ikdzka2CnyZ0GffYg6Kxy1kQysrkl_uTxUhUBTEFug9QcuydqMaaWkTEvv1IlLuxRgCFNJr5rovxgMg3JuZ-bzobf89cSRJ_lB-oITtFZ27FJWt-QA/s1600/Cruise+on+the+Rhine+%2856%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaWZjPZ_h4j2VCstqtuxJ5Ikdzka2CnyZ0GffYg6Kxy1kQysrkl_uTxUhUBTEFug9QcuydqMaaWkTEvv1IlLuxRgCFNJr5rovxgMg3JuZ-bzobf89cSRJ_lB-oITtFZ27FJWt-QA/s400/Cruise+on+the+Rhine+%2856%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477473061598584882" border="0" /></a><br /><br />On Saturday night I slept in Bacharach, a scenic small town of only 2,000 people. More specifically said, I rested my head that night in a castle-turned-hostel that overlooks the river from a perch above the town. Bacharach offers several attractive example of cross-timbered architecture and cobblestone lanes. The last image below provides a view of my Medieval lodging.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiItRYCrC4qR-yc5p0iqUVGCg_RahUvjC_0rNBnkm7w_0uICd8W_YwGkQYRPc-GI8XPSduvVUCfH12nwJG-y9NCflRj8c55CNIHoqi9Oy-LJsogdDvBqFapXpDC8Aj74nqgr9knmA/s1600/Cruise+on+the+Rhine+%28111%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiItRYCrC4qR-yc5p0iqUVGCg_RahUvjC_0rNBnkm7w_0uICd8W_YwGkQYRPc-GI8XPSduvVUCfH12nwJG-y9NCflRj8c55CNIHoqi9Oy-LJsogdDvBqFapXpDC8Aj74nqgr9knmA/s400/Cruise+on+the+Rhine+%28111%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477475264589729330" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhio9h8Y-c-3X-J0jTQV4qugCNl-yKwdS7BpKTOjMbBlppOEL1vSigzsAdwzp3_JVd_IrzvMRwBOlYBng_bJaw_l6-RTImE3SQGgtmH0wYd0Zjy8SzENRD0PXwty2Oy5pDm67wewQ/s1600/Cruise+on+the+Rhine+%2892%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 464px; height: 260px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhio9h8Y-c-3X-J0jTQV4qugCNl-yKwdS7BpKTOjMbBlppOEL1vSigzsAdwzp3_JVd_IrzvMRwBOlYBng_bJaw_l6-RTImE3SQGgtmH0wYd0Zjy8SzENRD0PXwty2Oy5pDm67wewQ/s400/Cruise+on+the+Rhine+%2892%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477475272957800562" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-R1cPCRaRjF8j36-rf1qXX1_brEgqmmUpH5oeGlHrB8kW3lA3rHVQzl9lzr6MYnFzFtV6uX5icspyAL5ChG3X-6OR3bhwNvyMPW4oMdc77Wt83tK0c3H18vb1MJrZRCLUBKn12g/s1600/Cruise+on+the+Rhine+%2887%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-R1cPCRaRjF8j36-rf1qXX1_brEgqmmUpH5oeGlHrB8kW3lA3rHVQzl9lzr6MYnFzFtV6uX5icspyAL5ChG3X-6OR3bhwNvyMPW4oMdc77Wt83tK0c3H18vb1MJrZRCLUBKn12g/s400/Cruise+on+the+Rhine+%2887%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477475281031031490" border="0" /></a><br /><br />With Sunday morning I boarded another northbound boat. For this segment of the trip castles crowned seemingly every major bluff along the river, and even one on an island in the middle of the waterway. I rode the boat until the village of St. Goarshausen, where I paid a visit to the Loreley.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpPaAL1sCGFW5Tf-C9WOo0C8yw_PSlQ44WPitzju3EGde_vEpxM-8sXt3CmdKyLDChU9qKeB9k2-X2oFi5CjhYQqh4ap9zFQOza20UJ8-Z8ZtOM39d0FTwEFkn_qgcO_nzqU_JQw/s1600/Cruise+on+the+Rhine+%28132%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpPaAL1sCGFW5Tf-C9WOo0C8yw_PSlQ44WPitzju3EGde_vEpxM-8sXt3CmdKyLDChU9qKeB9k2-X2oFi5CjhYQqh4ap9zFQOza20UJ8-Z8ZtOM39d0FTwEFkn_qgcO_nzqU_JQw/s400/Cruise+on+the+Rhine+%28132%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477477571403382130" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho_gImPyIcu6Hsz_yqk-g0RKqFXsX5E3IBy5oeGSVHqPsE0bK2ENs5uFZ0V3Jv8zyxNknBHymMYTBWXws-mSADh6NZGsJXA2RsGUgIaTSHw5G_rkK8hyphenhyphenGPSMUV7ZC2KLBYXQqgBQ/s1600/Cruise+on+the+Rhine+%28136%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho_gImPyIcu6Hsz_yqk-g0RKqFXsX5E3IBy5oeGSVHqPsE0bK2ENs5uFZ0V3Jv8zyxNknBHymMYTBWXws-mSADh6NZGsJXA2RsGUgIaTSHw5G_rkK8hyphenhyphenGPSMUV7ZC2KLBYXQqgBQ/s400/Cruise+on+the+Rhine+%28136%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477477553972273554" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguQ6B32gRul16vwLyDUMSBwIBhIpp7uz8DGRDqFjceH2PutlqLe-WsBYXIxOpfhrRBVpxhv6MLC3UmIB6sReBICylBMG1yGf4-CHBNOC76SISsJRHbBtIR5ymPsb_RZjFrcvXYMQ/s1600/Cruise+on+the+Rhine+%28148%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguQ6B32gRul16vwLyDUMSBwIBhIpp7uz8DGRDqFjceH2PutlqLe-WsBYXIxOpfhrRBVpxhv6MLC3UmIB6sReBICylBMG1yGf4-CHBNOC76SISsJRHbBtIR5ymPsb_RZjFrcvXYMQ/s400/Cruise+on+the+Rhine+%28148%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477477537055321506" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Accoding to local lore, the Loreley was a beautiful siren who sat on the banks of the river at its narrowest point and lured sailors to the rocky shallows and thereby their death with her sweet singing. The legend actually originates from a poem written in the 1800s but in its relatively brief existence has gained the allure of a much older story. The precipitous river bank pictured above is named the Loreley and is the spot where the femme fatale would, following the legend, sing to the passing ships. A, shall we say, well-proportioned statue depicting the Loreley rests at the base of the rocky bluff today. After viewing the statue I hiked up the Loreley rock for a panoramic view of the river.<br /><br />From St. Goarshausen my last section of the river cruise took me to the city of Koblenz, where the Mosel River converges with the Rhine. Below is a last shot from the river and also one of the so-called Deutsches Eck (German Corner) in Koblenz, which celebrates the unification of the German states under Kaiser Wilhelm I, and, unfortunately, was under renovation at the time of my visit. At the Eck a flag flies for each of the 16 contemporary German federal states.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrElopWFzrE1BqLOP8j9wmsm0V7ssbKFdJAsHbnUhgyfdbXr4PH9lPsNLHvfREbpiuwMINXO3Duen2g2VdmKv2Sps_SgQdZjoqnG4qQcDo-xdQM4YRZV_q7mB06cQ1WVbtXMEEVQ/s1600/Cruise+on+the+Rhine.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrElopWFzrE1BqLOP8j9wmsm0V7ssbKFdJAsHbnUhgyfdbXr4PH9lPsNLHvfREbpiuwMINXO3Duen2g2VdmKv2Sps_SgQdZjoqnG4qQcDo-xdQM4YRZV_q7mB06cQ1WVbtXMEEVQ/s400/Cruise+on+the+Rhine.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477482367229627282" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGGsGmUL38xlOeHFi4wUyFV68UgC-D-hJ9Vy3wBn_RmwaOKuhfmslHy9ROjnYy94g655RcnMhYz6nmfAvz_WpXOLjIseL5iyeIYY_mYAedFpQ99oNEGCWgyWt5gnt4PPPfk0iY-A/s1600/Cruise+on+the+Rhine+%2816%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGGsGmUL38xlOeHFi4wUyFV68UgC-D-hJ9Vy3wBn_RmwaOKuhfmslHy9ROjnYy94g655RcnMhYz6nmfAvz_WpXOLjIseL5iyeIYY_mYAedFpQ99oNEGCWgyWt5gnt4PPPfk0iY-A/s400/Cruise+on+the+Rhine+%2816%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477482363343991170" border="0" /></a><br /><br />From Koblenz I decided to cut my trip short, mostly because the local hostel was closed due to remodeling, and took a train back to Eichstätt.<br /><br />One trip covered, only a handful more to go.Nick O.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05302680637268168032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32437289.post-7356034908137404362010-04-05T18:03:00.008+02:002010-04-06T02:28:42.873+02:00Norway<span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">O</span></span>n March 18th I arrived in Norway and, more specifically, the capital city of Oslo. My stay would only last two days, much longer and I think I may have gone broke in this expensive city.<br /><br />Due to the intertwined histories of Norway, Iceland, and Denmark and my previous few posts, you should already be slightly familiar with the background of Norway, but here's some additional information. Like Iceland, Norway didn't separate from Denmark until the 20th century when it gained independence in 1905. Since then the country has developed an advanced economy and one of the world's highest standards of living. Norway has abstained from joining the European Union, and as in Denmark and Iceland I was missing the euro. The country's population stands below five million, and Oslo itself claims around half a million residents.<br /><br />After checking into my hostel on Thursday I moved quickly to take advantage of my limited time in the city. I roamed around the city hall, not always sure if the rooms were meant for public access or not, and viewed the spacious hall where the Nobel Peace Prize award ceremony annually takes place. From the city hall I moved to the rest of the city center. A large regal building from the top of a hill and at the end of an avenue beckoned me.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4njyx80FWcWaaXbrw4z8DmyI6xQ0iaesE6WE57cEvWxY0UTeSNnznNvrA6RI0YgMGm2qwMTJA7zInfWOZKp0SdOIePk__2asxft5bTOREO7xB4gK_57mqWpoIfUv5N6Uo52M5wA/s1600/Norway+%2816%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4njyx80FWcWaaXbrw4z8DmyI6xQ0iaesE6WE57cEvWxY0UTeSNnznNvrA6RI0YgMGm2qwMTJA7zInfWOZKp0SdOIePk__2asxft5bTOREO7xB4gK_57mqWpoIfUv5N6Uo52M5wA/s400/Norway+%2816%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456701914128759186" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The building turned out to be the Royal Palace, the residence of the Norwegian royalty. When Norway gained its independence the nation chose to keep its constitutional monarchy, though today the royal head of state has become more ceremonial. At the palace, pictured again below, I caught the changing of the guard ceremony.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg20T3zFO0nWHoWyRAlSCPQghzLMV1avfgkMcETifr9CqOP1y-23cpHoqnFUpmow4Au_N1H1fkkzRkKHPXIA9axV2CKO4HS4sjYxxCjlXNvxwhP0BsGJPZ9Lw5C8VqiREH193Q4vw/s1600/Norway+%2825%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg20T3zFO0nWHoWyRAlSCPQghzLMV1avfgkMcETifr9CqOP1y-23cpHoqnFUpmow4Au_N1H1fkkzRkKHPXIA9axV2CKO4HS4sjYxxCjlXNvxwhP0BsGJPZ9Lw5C8VqiREH193Q4vw/s400/Norway+%2825%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456701412215988994" border="0" /></a><br />From its setting upon the hill the palace commanded a nice view over the city.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7iPz_qa2FSnKxsEhqvrxiuMc_qnpiaeREqT3OJfxcDi7tmijaZxLE9JDh1l63BJ3uqo4ZOBX_QGm3dwNOvgZU92Ka9FC6SmI_OQkfbtTuH33AcFx0_gJ2TYs81AyXa8r_avwFkQ/s1600/Norway+%2832%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7iPz_qa2FSnKxsEhqvrxiuMc_qnpiaeREqT3OJfxcDi7tmijaZxLE9JDh1l63BJ3uqo4ZOBX_QGm3dwNOvgZU92Ka9FC6SmI_OQkfbtTuH33AcFx0_gJ2TYs81AyXa8r_avwFkQ/s400/Norway+%2832%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456701400812646130" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I finished the night with a visit to the National Gallery. Works from various Norwegian artists were on display. Several presented colorful depictions of the country's natural landscape and of traditional Norse mythology, including giant trolls stumbling through forests and over mountains. The highlight though was a collection of paintings from Edvard Munch, including his well-known, <span style="font-style: italic;">The Scream.</span><br /><br />I started the next day with a visit to the Viking Ship Museum. When three Viking ships were unearthed in ceremonial burial mounds, two of them excellently preserved, a museum was built to house them and the accompanying relics. After seeing the ships, immense considering their origin from ten centuries ago, I could better understand how the sight of these vessels approaching on the waves would frighten a Medieval coastal village. As a point of size reference, be sure to notice the man walking to the right of the ship in the following photo.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJuPGsmfu5pFrsn6h5jdTeasMl5MaJ5yUx3E4o5DeyYKI_h0SXdxnk1AIn3Ptti-xi32zPE-tR7bBPabhPnGQiDHLiUI_toNTX_ttMsYxcaAb2y5Am7ydNEfoXUTMQa0rVWM_pVQ/s1600/Norway+%2843%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJuPGsmfu5pFrsn6h5jdTeasMl5MaJ5yUx3E4o5DeyYKI_h0SXdxnk1AIn3Ptti-xi32zPE-tR7bBPabhPnGQiDHLiUI_toNTX_ttMsYxcaAb2y5Am7ydNEfoXUTMQa0rVWM_pVQ/s400/Norway+%2843%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456701398000290738" border="0" /></a><br /><br />From the Viking Ship Museum I headed to the Fram Museum. The Fram was a ship from the early 2oth century used for three explorations in the Arctic and Antarctic regions. Perhaps most famously, it was used by Roald Amundsen on his historic expedition to the South Pole. The ship's unique design prevented the hull from the breaking when the water froze; instead, the ship would simply be pushed up. The museum was built around the Fram, and visitors can walk through the ship's various decks.<br /><br />From the Fram I went to see <span style="font-style: italic;">The Scream</span>'s siblings at the Munch Museum. In this museum dedicated to Norway's most famous painter were several works that provided some looks into the disturbed life that the artist led, such as <span style="font-style: italic;">Self-Portrait in Hell</span>.<br /><br />The last major stop of the day was the Vigeland Sculpture Park within Frogner Park, home to numerous sculptures and engravings presenting men and women of all ages in some bizarre poses.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQxQCdzg6VUIaLc_yWlUUYhkYZfzc-kH02Wc7WsCBTSru7ZBGfA_xZhpT0JzitShHskuvG6LzcmigbxRpQBnMs41zgSYFvQdRFXhPE3VWiahVOQgVGkqdlCxJdO6WdL30RnYxAqQ/s1600/Norway+%2857%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQxQCdzg6VUIaLc_yWlUUYhkYZfzc-kH02Wc7WsCBTSru7ZBGfA_xZhpT0JzitShHskuvG6LzcmigbxRpQBnMs41zgSYFvQdRFXhPE3VWiahVOQgVGkqdlCxJdO6WdL30RnYxAqQ/s400/Norway+%2857%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456701388031173090" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVXzb___HFMtVQNMOCxTu7b3wLKGYNDmU2ZQIoSVg7q_Fnlxn6w59L6niUUjY5P-AG64fvpl1dal90rxiQ3oiBFBoA_5L-F9XZBFwomrZKkJFKK-5WDGoyaxxJM5g0dY62dkhoqg/s1600/Norway+%2859%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVXzb___HFMtVQNMOCxTu7b3wLKGYNDmU2ZQIoSVg7q_Fnlxn6w59L6niUUjY5P-AG64fvpl1dal90rxiQ3oiBFBoA_5L-F9XZBFwomrZKkJFKK-5WDGoyaxxJM5g0dY62dkhoqg/s400/Norway+%2859%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456701382645668882" border="0" /></a><br /><br />That evening two Americans and a young Irish man from my hostel invited me to come along with them to a karaoke bar. Though I came with no intention of singing, after the others had already gone and the Irish man, Steven, added my name with his for the next song I felt inclined to give it one try. Steven and I soon found ourselves singing Blink 182's "All the Small Things" in front of a bunch of uninterested Norwegians.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WdE3PaTrK2c/S7oM0uz9MVI/AAAAAAAAB-U/6ndnCLmoO98/s1600/Norway+%2877%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WdE3PaTrK2c/S7oM0uz9MVI/AAAAAAAAB-U/6ndnCLmoO98/s400/Norway+%2877%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456687998571458898" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2v3f54N9X50rw5DdRN_YRFFBEUerXnMucGeSqDAZmeeWQS79c7Lw26xUkSBcAW7WZ_FGwJ0V6JTRxjgHyJRbgxqD329AE8Oq4-_ZtjR9i21VtlGnNBL43ZglVI0iYWuflCAeqgg/s1600/Norway+%28195%29.JPG"><br /></a><br />The next morning I boarded a flight to Bodo, in northern Norway. I was in route to the Lofoten Islands, a quiet archipelago in Arctic Norway, and wanted to reach them as soon as possible. I arrived in Bodo too late to catch a connecting flight to the islands, but a ferry was to leave in a couple of hours. I had planned to first go to the town of Svolvaer, the largest in the Lofoten, but the information office in Bodo informed me that the world championship cod fishing tournament was currently taking place there and accommodation without a reservation would be difficult to obtain. I decided to be spontaneous by still catching the ferry but disembarking at the port of call prior to Svolvaer.<br /><br />The ferry I traveled with was one of the Hurtigruten steamers. This line of ferries has been plying the coastal waters of Norway for more than a century, acting as the lifeline for many small villages and towns along the way. Along its north-south route the Hurtigruten travels through many of Norway's famous fjords in order to reach different ports. Because of this beautiful scenery the ferries have changed somewhat over time to also act as cruise ships for tourists merely wanting to enjoy the ride. As my case shows, though, the Hurtigruten still follow their original purpose of simply providing transport for individuals from point A to point B.<br /><br />I arrived in the fishing village of Stamsund in the Lofoten around seven o'clock in the evening. The sun had set about a half-hour before and I had no idea of where to go. The village itself, or what there was of a village, seemed to stretch along only a couple of roads. I was starting doubt my decision to leave the ferry before Svolvaer. Coming across the only establishment that seemed open I entered and asked if there was any hostel, guesthouse, or hotel in the village. Not only did they tell me that a hostel was up the road a kilometer or so, but they also called to make sure that it was open. Assured that it was, I followed their directions over the snowy road.<br /><br />At the hostel I encountered some very informal conditions. The owner of the place, who seemed to be an old fisherman who had possibly spent a few too many lonely nights out at sea, simply walked over from his house and opened the hostel door for me after I called him on a telephone outside the building. The check-in process consisted of the owner simply telling me that my bed was upstairs, pointing to the bathrooms and kitchen, and asking for the money. At least I had a place to sleep for the night.<br /><br />Conditions improved though once I met the fellow travelers who were staying in my room. It was a group of five, three from Germany, one from Spain, and one from France. They were college students studying abroad in Norway and taking a short trip through the Lofoten. After I had settled in, they invited me to eat the dinner with them that they were about to prepare. Considering that whatever restaurants or stores there were in Stamsund were likely already closed and I had no food of my own, I couldn't refuse. They didn't want any money, but I made sure to compensate them by helping with the preparation of the meal and the following clean-up. In the next photo you can see the hostel building on the left in the light of the next day.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJhzhi-KWzy85PnbZm7deNjC5Jaj1NCpSA-Om694QnnPy1oBSMlgBhyrFoRs8uixrDD7ZT3Eaq59uYWjllRWsEFbfxw49MaR4rR2amsOV9U6bKI5GvlY4Zur_tYO45qqlaUQzGqA/s1600/Norway+%28110%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJhzhi-KWzy85PnbZm7deNjC5Jaj1NCpSA-Om694QnnPy1oBSMlgBhyrFoRs8uixrDD7ZT3Eaq59uYWjllRWsEFbfxw49MaR4rR2amsOV9U6bKI5GvlY4Zur_tYO45qqlaUQzGqA/s400/Norway+%28110%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456687980394252210" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Already on the following morning I came across my next little problem. I wanted to travel by bus to Svolvaer, but on this day of the week, Sunday, no buses traveled out of Stamsund. Aware of my dilemma, the students offered me a ride to the next largest town where I could catch a bus. They had a rental car and were planning to drive through the town of Leknes anyway. Again, I couldn't say no. We left quickly after breakfast, but the six of us had a tight fit in the car.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGnn1LuyfeUyP0vgNoLxyBLnRRalYVSFI1iRTiBahAuJI4obuvq67VKhjtM-SQQ8ejSvWnGJvB1HAJr4Gh7VS97AelytfKMvboeB2UevZm9A173waAujVEx9rIDNS5MBlddz8s3g/s1600/Norway+%28112%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGnn1LuyfeUyP0vgNoLxyBLnRRalYVSFI1iRTiBahAuJI4obuvq67VKhjtM-SQQ8ejSvWnGJvB1HAJr4Gh7VS97AelytfKMvboeB2UevZm9A173waAujVEx9rIDNS5MBlddz8s3g/s400/Norway+%28112%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456687975565657794" border="0" /></a><br /><br />They dropped me off in Leknes and I soon caught a bus to Svolvaer. The town is home to less than 5,000 people but is the largest community in the Lofoten. The fishing tournament had ended the previous day and the streets of Svolvaer did have a hallowed-out feel to them. Unfortunately, there was no hostel in town. The cheapest accommodation was a group of harborside guestrooms in a renovated fisherman's cabin. Below are some photos of the town, the second and third show why the Lofoten are often described as a place where the mountains meet the sea.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPvTJQyp5LtZ9vXiFoOgF4PP2V_NwW7YRFaigQ80jL13q1kyowXRBatt-J6GrA_Ezem1qK_Ezw5QtN8SdBFxOlino0Rq3S7z4F3mr35uLb8JWWAqi7gYSf9rxkyPYie9p1dz0WoQ/s1600/Norway+%28127%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPvTJQyp5LtZ9vXiFoOgF4PP2V_NwW7YRFaigQ80jL13q1kyowXRBatt-J6GrA_Ezem1qK_Ezw5QtN8SdBFxOlino0Rq3S7z4F3mr35uLb8JWWAqi7gYSf9rxkyPYie9p1dz0WoQ/s400/Norway+%28127%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456687970819168802" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6h8yFpbFkHphAPr53BZrHDo_n-A7x-nV1W6qxStt80GT4q2lCC-QuKOuAQc0le6EwAEUevF2zIlg6eu3I7EMxXO2x8cu8HOSY0HDDVwomc-0UAUGLvqVuMNUPnoyLk9lSS346mw/s1600/Norway+%28133%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6h8yFpbFkHphAPr53BZrHDo_n-A7x-nV1W6qxStt80GT4q2lCC-QuKOuAQc0le6EwAEUevF2zIlg6eu3I7EMxXO2x8cu8HOSY0HDDVwomc-0UAUGLvqVuMNUPnoyLk9lSS346mw/s400/Norway+%28133%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456693873127428194" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpUOZydhiswSXXF_AA5Src-d03qV8pM9EDKbMMCULV-EYIuZTxgfhIQe_D00_6H-omZxNwgVjCmxHOtfj_plog-cOtlNWaiqwfGiaxsc7KL0NFxv7VDxJdgV3dxHcprZZp5lwwbA/s1600/Norway+%28154%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpUOZydhiswSXXF_AA5Src-d03qV8pM9EDKbMMCULV-EYIuZTxgfhIQe_D00_6H-omZxNwgVjCmxHOtfj_plog-cOtlNWaiqwfGiaxsc7KL0NFxv7VDxJdgV3dxHcprZZp5lwwbA/s400/Norway+%28154%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456693863694029986" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I have to say that my time in Svolvaer was actually a bit disappointing. While I didn't expect ideal weather conditions during my visit, it seems that a visit to the Lofoten in the summer would be far more worth the trip. Almost all attractions and activities in Svolvaer were closed for winter. I made due, however, by simply enjoying the beautiful scenery on walks around the town.<br /><br />Two sights seemed plentiful no matter what the season. One was the traditional red fisherman cabins known as <span style="font-style: italic;">rorbu</span>, as seen in the next picture. Every March schools of cod fish return to the Lofoten Islands and the local communities themselves begin to swarm with crowds of fishermen. This industry has taken place for centuries and remains the main economic activity of the Lofoten. A Norwegian king once ordered the construction of additional housing on the islands so that the seasonal workers could have a place to stay. This took the form of the <span style="font-style: italic;">rorbu</span>, small cabins often standing directly next to or over the water. In recent times, the <span style="font-style: italic;">rorbu</span> have been renovated and rented out to visitors in the summer or fully converted to guest accommodation.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlGghEKlY014XI55kx-UNymM0OcgeL8g8NPYgXEaVXCUvRKPnBIJvlLq3iPjhvC77-nfwuozUd6iUcJ7bXu5aBZz3wAQTC_m6HAJpYE5GVWdbPsHPR68ZGvAdy4zL70mUAFaRy2w/s1600/Norway+%28169%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlGghEKlY014XI55kx-UNymM0OcgeL8g8NPYgXEaVXCUvRKPnBIJvlLq3iPjhvC77-nfwuozUd6iUcJ7bXu5aBZz3wAQTC_m6HAJpYE5GVWdbPsHPR68ZGvAdy4zL70mUAFaRy2w/s400/Norway+%28169%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456693857186033874" border="0" /></a><br />A second sight typical in the Lofoten was the cod fish hung in the open-air to dry. Workers hang the fish on long wooden structures that resemble an Indian dwelling and that are the height of a two- or three-story building. The dried fish becomes stockfish, a popular food in Scandinavian cooking and also one exported to foreign markets. Up close, the fish don't smell as bad as one might expect.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6_w3otzCaMbjw5QzJrjAK5rwuFXuxXKQaDYnK2SIxVnWqAaYJNm45UDbfBNZ3q7dTKclttoXBqjYyp9eILbAaCWirxLAZgoy1hh_nUDIQ2ruqIa8Fx-_Kvp_rVWbpNEi4hIyY8w/s1600/Norway+%28193%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6_w3otzCaMbjw5QzJrjAK5rwuFXuxXKQaDYnK2SIxVnWqAaYJNm45UDbfBNZ3q7dTKclttoXBqjYyp9eILbAaCWirxLAZgoy1hh_nUDIQ2ruqIa8Fx-_Kvp_rVWbpNEi4hIyY8w/s400/Norway+%28193%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456693844518779762" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WdE3PaTrK2c/S7oLafqyf-I/AAAAAAAAB9s/g0wmgAcOPyk/s1600/Norway+%28133%29.JPG"><br /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2v3f54N9X50rw5DdRN_YRFFBEUerXnMucGeSqDAZmeeWQS79c7Lw26xUkSBcAW7WZ_FGwJ0V6JTRxjgHyJRbgxqD329AE8Oq4-_ZtjR9i21VtlGnNBL43ZglVI0iYWuflCAeqgg/s1600/Norway+%28195%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 434px; height: 244px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2v3f54N9X50rw5DdRN_YRFFBEUerXnMucGeSqDAZmeeWQS79c7Lw26xUkSBcAW7WZ_FGwJ0V6JTRxjgHyJRbgxqD329AE8Oq4-_ZtjR9i21VtlGnNBL43ZglVI0iYWuflCAeqgg/s400/Norway+%28195%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456693843187742034" border="0" /></a><br /><br />After two nights in Svolvaer I began my long trip back to Germany. I boarded another Hurtigruten ferry in the late afternoon of my last day in the town. The ferry arrived in Bodo at two o'clock in the morning, but I woke up at about three with the sound of a cleaning lady tidying up the ship's empty bar. The ferry wouldn't cast off until four o'clock, and Bodo's airport wouldn't open until the same time either. I waited until a few minutes before four, and then walked off the ferry and to the airport. A couple hours later I boarded my flight to Oslo, connected to another flight for Munich, and finished the last portion of my return with a train ride home from the airport.<br /><br />The sight that I had most wanted to see while in the Arctic, the Northern Lights, was a no-show. Crossing over from the Lofoten to Bodo I had my last opportunity to see the Lights, which I had looked for each previous night while in the Arctic, but I didn't have much luck. A photographer on the top deck of the ship pointed to some faint lines in the sky close to the northern horizon and said that these were the Lights, but, if he was right, they were too unspectacular to count as an actual sighting for me. As with any weather event, sometimes they occur and sometimes they don't.<br /><br />Before I can be truly satisfied with Norway I'm afraid that I'll have to return someday. Though many of my travels have been out of the high season, I've never felt that I missed out or had any less of an experience because of this until my visit in this country. While I'm content with my stay in Oslo, there are still Norway's fjords and beautiful landscape that I feel I will need to see in some greener months of the year in order to better enjoy. Although as much of a drain as the country can be on one's wallet, if I ever go back, it won't be anytime soon.<br /><br />With the tales from my Nordic travels concluded and a week of rest in Eichstätt behind me, I will soon set out on a short trip though central Germany. Look forward to that post in about a week's time.Nick O.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05302680637268168032noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32437289.post-86628011019468076552010-04-02T00:42:00.000+02:002010-04-02T00:42:48.426+02:00Land of Ice and Fire<span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" >I</span>celand, a small island country that, in more ways than one, divides itself between Europe and North America. Its capital lies the closest to America of that of any European country, its people trace their heritage back to the Vikings, and yet the nation proudly boasts its stand-alone identity. Icelanders feel the forces tugging at them from both sides of the Atlantic, but they aren't pulled away from what they know as home. Instead, they work to ensure that their beguiling country can offer an energetic and culture-packed punch of its own. With enough time, money, and open-mindedness, a visitor could indeed by knocked out by this isolated country of the North.<br /><br />As said, Iceland rises from the North Atlantic several hundred miles northwest of the United Kingdom and east of Greenland. Chances are, if you've flown between Europe and America, you've flown over this rocky island or close to it. Much can be said about the island's geothermal activity, but I'll save that for more appropriate places in the post. Suffice it to say for now that Iceland is one the Earth's most dramatic spots where one can witness the inner-workings of our planet breaking through at the surface. Barren, cold deserts and thick glaciers cover the interior of the country and create an environment where human settlements don't exist. The exterior of the island and its lowlands offer a more hospitable setting. Here, and especially in the southwest portion of country, warm water from the Caribbean meets Iceland courtesy of the Gulf Stream ocean current. This delivery system makes life in Iceland far more possible, warming the air and providing mild winters. Due to this, most of the nation's roughly 300,000 citizens live in this region of the country, and it is also Iceland's only agricultural area of significance. Although the country is not as cold as its name would lead one to believe--the temperatures actually remained above freezing in Reykjavik for the duration of my stay--it was nevertheless a challenging and distant land for the first Icelanders to settle.<br /><br />Tales exist of solitude-seeking Irish monks being the first ones on Iceland, but the island's history of human habitation mostly starts with the Vikings. The so-called Era of Settlement began for Iceland in the early 10th century AD. Most of what we still know about this time in Iceland's history comes from the Viking sagas, written stories that documented life in the society. While Icelanders will try to tell you that the Vikings were not as bad as their reputation, based off of some the historical accounts I've learned I don't think I can agree with them entirely on that point; however, I do acknowledge that the Vikings were more than mere pillagers and pirates. Some of their other areas of expertise were exploration and settlement.<br /><br />During their raids on foreign lands the Vikings also kept their eyes open for any suitable land that they could claim as their own. In time this would prove necessary, as coastal towns and villages in the rest of Europe eventually learned to anticipate the Vikings' attacks. Therefore, the Vikings branched out from Scandinavia with permanent settlements in northern Europe and the British Isles. The exact details of their arrival in Iceland remain unknown, but one tale says that a Viking leaving Norway was blown off course and came to Iceland, such a trip would have been no simple wrong turn. However the Vikings first discovered the island, they were fairly well settled into the 10th century. Incidentally, their westward settlement did not end at Iceland. From there the Vikings pushed on to Greenland and, even if only for a relatively short amount of time, North America.<br /><br />When the first settlers arrived they were pleased to find what looked like a perfect new home. Virgin forests of sturdy trees covered the lowlands and hinted at what was surely fertile soil. Though land animals were few, the ocean provided a bounty of food and dozens of bird species nested on the shores. Best of all, there was not a soul on the island to protest the Vikings' arrival; it was free for the taking. The settlers proceeded to do what one would expect. They cut down trees for wood, and cleared swaths of forest for land to plow and land to graze for the farm animals, like cows, pigs, sheep, and goats, that had joined them on the boat ride over. Unfortunately, nature had tricked the Vikings.<br /><br />Iceland wasn't quite what it had first seemed. For one thing, in the first decades of Viking settlement, records indicate that the island was experiencing an uncharacteristically warm period. The settlers were unprepared when the climate conditions returned to normal. Additionally, the settlers were fooled by the thick forests. While the volcanic soil of Iceland is suitable for farming, the growing season on the island is short because of its high northerly latitudes. The forests that the Vikings had seen had taken decades to reach those levels of mature growth. As the settlers took wood to use in structures and boats, they cut down the trees at a rate to quickly for the forests to replenish themselves. Furthermore, sheep, goats, and the other farm animals devoured the saplings and shoots of young trees and plants. The final blow, though, was with the soil. Volcanic top soil is unlike the soil of most areas in the world; while rich in minerals, it's also very light. With the vegetation cover mostly removed, either by the settlers themselves or their farm animals, the top soil could easily erode away in the wind and rain water, exposing the rough volcanic rock of Iceland.<br /><br />The settlers had unknowingly altered Iceland for centuries to come. To this day forests don't exist in the country, mature trees can only be found in the city, where people can best nurture them. A few decades ago Iceland undertook a reforestation program that continues today. Back then the government collected samples of trees from around the globe's Arctic area for transplant in Iceland. Driving through the countryside nowadays one will occasionally pass a few acres of trees clustered together that resemble a Christmas tree farm. According to one Icelandic joke, if you get lost in a local forest, simply stand up. The following photo shows the mostly barren landscape. Surprisingly, it's popular for many city dwellers of Reykjavik to own vacation cabins out on these empty plains.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkWY7GXL4fqjBbEArL5yyh_mlTRmus5sK83I0y8Jri1X6iBmiScXqvF4SfnCRS5YopeL1fiqzZDDLqIhDUNbRuRGLKUNHlwF0YkULoacJTo-iKQ32SNoAkKM5N3imooftsQJ1LUQ/s1600/blog+%2818%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkWY7GXL4fqjBbEArL5yyh_mlTRmus5sK83I0y8Jri1X6iBmiScXqvF4SfnCRS5YopeL1fiqzZDDLqIhDUNbRuRGLKUNHlwF0YkULoacJTo-iKQ32SNoAkKM5N3imooftsQJ1LUQ/s400/blog+%2818%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453036784064190610" border="0" /></a><br /><br />After only a few generations the environmental damage was irreparable and unavoidable. The early Icelanders realized what mistakes they had made and faced some difficult choices. Leaving Iceland wasn't an option. The mature trees needed for constructing ships capable of oceanic voyage had long been cut down, and the small fishing boats that remained wouldn't survive the journey across the North Atlantic. Trading ships from other Viking settlements closer to the continent came too infrequently to Iceland. In order to survive, the Icelanders decided to sacrifice some elements of their culture and decrease their standard of living. This meant that many of the damaging farm animals, like the goats and the pigs, were killed off or allowed to die out. Diets changed to reflect less traditional Viking foods and more of what Iceland itself could offer. Wood became a more expensive and rationed resource; the trading ships that did come often brought wood from the continent for sale. The top soil would again build up and its fertility increase, but it would take time. Volcanic eruptions would spew mineral-rich ash into the air that would work its way into the soil, but the same eruptions would bring toxic gases lethal to people and their farm animals. The Icelanders managed to persevere through these hardships for the next several centuries.<br /><br />During the first couple centuries after settlement Icelanders ruled themselves, but the turmoil involved with simple survival, in part, prevented them from developing their own centralized society. After initial political stability, Icelandic civilization devolved into rival fractions led by chieftains. These conditions ultimately resulted in the surrender of Icelandic self-rule to Norway, and later, when the Danes gained control of Norway, to Denmark. Remarkably, significant change in terms of politics and everyday life didn't come to Iceland until the 20th century. After Iceland received its independence in 1944, its economy started to take off, the country developed one of the highest standards of living in the world, and the capital of Reykjavik, pictured below, transformed into a modern city.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhxNjFFpRxNFsOb9mY0QjplWVSSbdEpd8PSORGyJke0-snPnSeluKEJ24g63S072WYR_FfJUrn9cKF18Mh3M9yNQfY1jkwXL2QOs1J-LBFn07sjUax8VSFk2Swyh9uNGVzRCVvgg/s1600/blog+%2821%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhxNjFFpRxNFsOb9mY0QjplWVSSbdEpd8PSORGyJke0-snPnSeluKEJ24g63S072WYR_FfJUrn9cKF18Mh3M9yNQfY1jkwXL2QOs1J-LBFn07sjUax8VSFk2Swyh9uNGVzRCVvgg/s400/blog+%2821%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453038664144113842" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The international airport of Reykjavik, where essentially all foreigners arrive to Iceland, is actually almost an hour's drive away from the city. The bus ride to my hostel in Reykjavik's city center offered some first views of Iceland's bizarre landscape, but the capital was not without its own surprises. Because most of the country's economic growth didn't occur until after World War II, Reykjavik resembles many American cities in that it is mostly designed around the automobile. Wide streets, parking lots, and low-density housing characterize most of the city, though not to the extent of a typical American suburb. The city center is the exception to this, but even here I found more two- or three-story houses than mid-rise apartment buildings. Due to Iceland's small size and historical economic conditions there are few monumental buildings in the city, with one exception being the Pilgrim's Church seen in the first picture below. The second photo shows a view of downtown Reykjavik's main shopping street.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfJLt5dGMXAsuz6jiAIoNkuSfux8IFcPolhS8y60BpnDIvDxuyBbWKbx9FRQ0yiULa24AX7fLAryW_G1wGQlNYbUE7WzVo9bjbuJu8uPCW9MzoUtRI-hiEVcUy6zbbVNJRCLn-CA/s1600/blog+%282%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfJLt5dGMXAsuz6jiAIoNkuSfux8IFcPolhS8y60BpnDIvDxuyBbWKbx9FRQ0yiULa24AX7fLAryW_G1wGQlNYbUE7WzVo9bjbuJu8uPCW9MzoUtRI-hiEVcUy6zbbVNJRCLn-CA/s400/blog+%282%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453038278359681330" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0thWnu5PRjRbLuSAm8JPw0_OJf73zvOVG1M9qEBt9ZZ4zYfFiralrU9OF-A3sUZdYkjzPB-qOzyHUxRHK4H_Ia39Wsz8KePydZ_xSOWBUljBYgBChV20rNKXMROHENZGoy0wYzA/s1600/blog+%284%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0thWnu5PRjRbLuSAm8JPw0_OJf73zvOVG1M9qEBt9ZZ4zYfFiralrU9OF-A3sUZdYkjzPB-qOzyHUxRHK4H_Ia39Wsz8KePydZ_xSOWBUljBYgBChV20rNKXMROHENZGoy0wYzA/s400/blog+%284%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453038273145091362" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Even the building housing Iceland's parliament is a bit understated. When I went looking for it, I first thought I was reading my map wrong. Then I realized that the gray building in front of me, and seen in the following picture, was indeed what I was looking for. The nearby city hall of Reykjavik was larger.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKlSp2S7PrBx3-ogahyphenhyphen99Ec8coBl-zf2COiS9qra-H5lveawGt_LcxEJNItT816XPyH7bL-JvRF-k_iEm-kCYtxXmUUS3xtt8SS-Xp0IlIdfMizemksl2EQ49NH5QwyTUm4FRe6Q/s1600/blog+%286%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKlSp2S7PrBx3-ogahyphenhyphen99Ec8coBl-zf2COiS9qra-H5lveawGt_LcxEJNItT816XPyH7bL-JvRF-k_iEm-kCYtxXmUUS3xtt8SS-Xp0IlIdfMizemksl2EQ49NH5QwyTUm4FRe6Q/s400/blog+%286%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453038265561472162" border="0" /></a><br /><br />On the day after my arrival, I boarded a bus bound for the famous Blue Lagoon, which is actually not a lagoon at all but a thermal hot spring and spa. Geologically speaking, Iceland is young at 20 million years old. Similar to Hawaii, the island was born through the eruptions of seafloor volcanoes. Over the millennia, further eruptions expanded Iceland. The Blue Lagoon is one place where a visitor can witness the effects of the geothermal activity continuing beneath Iceland. At this unique place seawater mixes with freshwater below ground and bubbles up to the surface at a relaxing average temperature of 100 degrees Fahrenheit.<br /><br />The Blue Lagoon area sits in the middle of nowhere. The nearest visible sign of civilization is a geothermal power plant harassing the same energy that hundreds of spa visitors take advantage of daily, and actually from where the spa's water is directed. After exiting the bus I first walked on some of the trails around the spa; I may as well have stepped onto another planet. Hardened lava fields with damp, carpet-like moss filling the crags stretched to the horizon. In some directions steam rose in the distance and veiled faraway mountains. The most exquisite quality of this beautiful and empty landscape though was the water of the thermal spring. One look at the second photo below explains how the Blue Lagoon received its name.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiGw8rc2OwDHVBry8sgKiTXqyqo1Qx9uM1l_MXlLtmOpNFxgth2rKkzlQZTDX8xnioi__lCYRCZz5CwXqqjIji75s8p3rzYQ02ewwxYvJrSPzdlGxJb5osIoAVDcwRjRcZvmiI8w/s1600/blog+%288%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiGw8rc2OwDHVBry8sgKiTXqyqo1Qx9uM1l_MXlLtmOpNFxgth2rKkzlQZTDX8xnioi__lCYRCZz5CwXqqjIji75s8p3rzYQ02ewwxYvJrSPzdlGxJb5osIoAVDcwRjRcZvmiI8w/s400/blog+%288%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453038259357234418" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMaNOCCrBznu-td6C2s2X2HaA36yKcgoQRRlNtnQ819TTGiIdEdb8kDVdGS8wvz-7C-lxcRbzLDhs_bh-7_siIkPvmrClJiLNdRUt9gMxZKIukUnyJHR4oikJAEecWj8Z2t9twNA/s1600/blog+%2810%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMaNOCCrBznu-td6C2s2X2HaA36yKcgoQRRlNtnQ819TTGiIdEdb8kDVdGS8wvz-7C-lxcRbzLDhs_bh-7_siIkPvmrClJiLNdRUt9gMxZKIukUnyJHR4oikJAEecWj8Z2t9twNA/s400/blog+%2810%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453038254616907554" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The brilliant color of the water is attributed to its rich mineral content, including silica and sulfur. The silica layers the bottom of the lagoon and is used to make silica mud, a cottage cheese-like lotion that supposedly exfoliates and softens the skin. Spa visitors could apply handfuls of the white substance to themselves at not extra cost from buckets set around the lagoon. Small tubes of the same silica mud sold for about 50 euros in the gift shop. The mineral rich and warm waters in general are also allegedly good for your skin and body. I didn't care so much if the lagoon improved my complexion, I only wanted to relax.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbq_oxaghy2inSjcndIL-O23FnSgv8ih_yEkQPCmpFtvwqyeDfoT19t92U7yVSn4S80yeWDkRRn7pOq-44RGk73g6qOhFHzArn5t4TgmYJcsV2Q88ItIlm0aLYPKXEX_Kp6iI8AA/s1600/blog+%2812%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbq_oxaghy2inSjcndIL-O23FnSgv8ih_yEkQPCmpFtvwqyeDfoT19t92U7yVSn4S80yeWDkRRn7pOq-44RGk73g6qOhFHzArn5t4TgmYJcsV2Q88ItIlm0aLYPKXEX_Kp6iI8AA/s400/blog+%2812%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453036801532687042" border="0" /></a><br /><br />After changing into my swim shorts and taking the required shower, I finally stepped into the lagoon. Dozens of other swimmers from Iceland and abroad were enjoying the spa. The air temperature was cold, but as long as I stayed in the water up to my shoulders I felt fine. Though the water alone was worth it, there were also saunas, steam rooms, and a massaging waterfall. Soaking in the milky blue waters under an open sky, the steam drifting off the lagoon's surface all around, the mountains rising in the distance, and an occasional slight drizzle all added up to one dreamlike experience. I let it last until the closing hour. The photo below was taken from the roof of the visitor's center. The spa area of the lagoon is in the foreground, and in the background, partly hidden by the steam, is the geothermal power plant.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7t-5HxnE2XcQfUCJBCqeHHQDEZfNw4s95gl47EXl8MOAAnZode29YE5H6M_HDU9k1paf9KKyfRkXgsH4qZH1on7LSXKSQ35tHnliQb3i13BUFdQs4MbeURhOqS6MkAKiFQRdiVg/s1600/blog+%2814%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 557px; height: 317px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7t-5HxnE2XcQfUCJBCqeHHQDEZfNw4s95gl47EXl8MOAAnZode29YE5H6M_HDU9k1paf9KKyfRkXgsH4qZH1on7LSXKSQ35tHnliQb3i13BUFdQs4MbeURhOqS6MkAKiFQRdiVg/s400/blog+%2814%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453036794836602658" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The next day I set out on the Golden Circle tour, a circuit concentrating on three natural wonders that several tour providers in Reykjavik offer. To my relief our group was small, only ten people including myself. Beyond the metropolitan area of Reykjavik, where about half of the Icelandic nation lives, pristine nature unrolled in every direction, minus any tall trees of course. The first stop on the tour was a new geothermal power plant. Renewable resources fulfill nearly all of the country's electricity and heating demands. The next quick break was at the caldera of a dormant volcano, seen in the picture below.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhufeppQm9QGPIAHBa4SuS8ChOIIxesvruzraKHRj0GpE44FjQRv9MjafYzhyphenhyphen_h07FmaI2Z02mZk68_mS2kJSZchiM9jpJJZ66qcF56L1hffE3C-W-l6Y_8jEt2TrZenrw7n8zkug/s1600/blog+%2816%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhufeppQm9QGPIAHBa4SuS8ChOIIxesvruzraKHRj0GpE44FjQRv9MjafYzhyphenhyphen_h07FmaI2Z02mZk68_mS2kJSZchiM9jpJJZ66qcF56L1hffE3C-W-l6Y_8jEt2TrZenrw7n8zkug/s400/blog+%2816%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453036788177056434" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkWY7GXL4fqjBbEArL5yyh_mlTRmus5sK83I0y8Jri1X6iBmiScXqvF4SfnCRS5YopeL1fiqzZDDLqIhDUNbRuRGLKUNHlwF0YkULoacJTo-iKQ32SNoAkKM5N3imooftsQJ1LUQ/s1600/blog+%2818%29.JPG"><br /></a>We would stop again to see a waterfall, but the next site was one of the tour's top three. The field of geysers and hot springs appeared only after a bend in the two-lane road, but the steam rising over the hills hinted at what was to come from a few minutes away. Off the side of the road stretched an area at least as large as a football field that was pocketed by small craters of boiling water and bubbling mud patches. Numerous signs warned of the water's high temperatures and asked visitors to be careful of where they stepped. An immediate but invisible quality of the landscape was the stench of sulfur, a bit repugnant at first but soon manageable. Fortunately pictures and video let you experience this living environment without capturing the smells.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ1_5hrNBiSqLjcS_I-3UDHQe3yNLoW1hoOCfbdbTJ5HflyTqFJSL0GzyUwy87n7BuolSg1yh1Il_JQZSLcnfGAyr9chDZbdEI5Blyr4JHpx5BjKzl1L_yUJhpAo6P_gWrSOSyMw/s1600/blog+%2820%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ1_5hrNBiSqLjcS_I-3UDHQe3yNLoW1hoOCfbdbTJ5HflyTqFJSL0GzyUwy87n7BuolSg1yh1Il_JQZSLcnfGAyr9chDZbdEI5Blyr4JHpx5BjKzl1L_yUJhpAo6P_gWrSOSyMw/s400/blog+%2820%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453036777327929458" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0X5qXGevkuHARAWxixvfK9MA2IN6ry9ejKY_IGPvm0JYCS7PkUlFn1mrFKYykQAi8NkLcWowJ2m1iC_62YeMtKJe9Yf2NWZ95w2UL_Dgz-6FYt_PikO1D3JQKJNPMeGJTY5u0Ew/s1600/blog.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0X5qXGevkuHARAWxixvfK9MA2IN6ry9ejKY_IGPvm0JYCS7PkUlFn1mrFKYykQAi8NkLcWowJ2m1iC_62YeMtKJe9Yf2NWZ95w2UL_Dgz-6FYt_PikO1D3JQKJNPMeGJTY5u0Ew/s400/blog.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453034594103382178" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0X5qXGevkuHARAWxixvfK9MA2IN6ry9ejKY_IGPvm0JYCS7PkUlFn1mrFKYykQAi8NkLcWowJ2m1iC_62YeMtKJe9Yf2NWZ95w2UL_Dgz-6FYt_PikO1D3JQKJNPMeGJTY5u0Ew/s1600/blog.JPG"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='400' height='334' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwIlzOuf9uR0OqxXqyBuPz5TUqT1D_0pVVzaPdG3ESXxm1ZKAZCBXdyuFWnt16SkFql2_w1yLJDSIE' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The highlight of the geyser field, though, are naturally the geysers. The largest and most powerful of these at this field is named Geysir, the similarity to the word geyser is no coincidence. Iceland's Geysir was the first of its kind known to Europeans, and the Icelandic name became the origin of the English word geyser. Much to the dismay of many a visitor, however, Geysir barely erupts anymore. After years of complicating earthquakes and human tampering of its geology to force eruptions, Geysir has been mostly reduced to another steaming pool of water. Fortunately, another geyser, Strokkur, is not only a splash away but also erupts every five to eight minutes. Though not as strong as its brother, this geyser can still shoot water up to 30 meters in the air. A short video clip of Strokkur erupting is below the photo. The geyser field definitely counts as one of the most mesmerizing natural environments I've walked through.<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF1apE4gHb9c8LYWHTwoCQ2_unA8lZhObvttMAaRsjJfan5ROdivVRAgOCX2Meruw7dpv-E0AZZ_CzsZRXAs7f6SGktw7QdiDYmhpVk40ld1YeAO68FxaOQUtrwo-T5jAdwsDXwg/s1600/blog+%283%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF1apE4gHb9c8LYWHTwoCQ2_unA8lZhObvttMAaRsjJfan5ROdivVRAgOCX2Meruw7dpv-E0AZZ_CzsZRXAs7f6SGktw7QdiDYmhpVk40ld1YeAO68FxaOQUtrwo-T5jAdwsDXwg/s400/blog+%283%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453034591142313538" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF1apE4gHb9c8LYWHTwoCQ2_unA8lZhObvttMAaRsjJfan5ROdivVRAgOCX2Meruw7dpv-E0AZZ_CzsZRXAs7f6SGktw7QdiDYmhpVk40ld1YeAO68FxaOQUtrwo-T5jAdwsDXwg/s1600/blog+%283%29.JPG"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='409' height='341' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dy9-D1pXfNkWFzYeYc0a0CKirRO7KZRZs9N_cPnoWfRvDFPNuhxGmgTwdYEGBD7sKgoGGyz5xryu9k' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></a><br /></div><br /><br />After our lunch break at the geyser field we continued on to the Gulfoss Waterfall, a thundering behemoth of cascading water that tempts one to come as close as possible. A river of mostly glacier meltwater tumbles into a deep gouge that runs parallel to the face of Gulfoss, so that from certain perspectives the water appears to disappear into the Earth. I felt small looking down on the falls and standing on the edge of oblivion.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz03tyJTFlGNZ7SRCCF6xvQB1AP4LvKZXPNLxkUeJnwH8vZxcOjJwpGquuUOJm5YPfG6s-fAoWEM12opN6IlpdPV1eMVgK6dYH6cMfz0RlY7FGPhjuiGn4dUZ5Zjpj5TlGFkby9A/s1600/blog+%285%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz03tyJTFlGNZ7SRCCF6xvQB1AP4LvKZXPNLxkUeJnwH8vZxcOjJwpGquuUOJm5YPfG6s-fAoWEM12opN6IlpdPV1eMVgK6dYH6cMfz0RlY7FGPhjuiGn4dUZ5Zjpj5TlGFkby9A/s400/blog+%285%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453034578738504978" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAIt0_1sfJObJSqvKjnYgB6OQveZ-uo6tpgxEhCcwX51lgonJDlfMfThOCOKP7BAbaU2t3vlpv6U0_t7cqdYnbUF4cHQ1JDOSK2EHZxahd6FMXy6kpnnorlwW_X5T9bAThq41zRw/s1600/blog+%287%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAIt0_1sfJObJSqvKjnYgB6OQveZ-uo6tpgxEhCcwX51lgonJDlfMfThOCOKP7BAbaU2t3vlpv6U0_t7cqdYnbUF4cHQ1JDOSK2EHZxahd6FMXy6kpnnorlwW_X5T9bAThq41zRw/s400/blog+%287%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453034554305834706" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Next, on the road to our last main sight, we made a pit stop to see some Icelandic horses up close. Our driver simply stopped on the road's shoulder in front of three horses, who looked as curious about us as we were about them. The Icelandic horse is unique in that it is a pure breed species that can trace its legacy back centuries. Slightly taller than an average man, it is also short for a horse. The driver joked that they don't like being called ponies, but that's definitely what they looked like. The reason for their small stature and long hair is another tale from Iceland's history.<br /><br />After the initial period of reaping the rewards of the land, as said, the Icelanders had to undertake drastic measures to survive the consequences of their actions. Though many of the farm animals died, the early Icelanders sought to protect the helpful horses and cows. As wood became scarcer, building barns large enough to winter both animals was out of the question. The Icelanders decided to bring the cows inside the available space in the winter so that they could continue to make use of the cows' milk during the trying months, while the horses were left in the harsh conditions outside to fend for themselves. Those that could survive, because of longer hair than normal or less body mass, did so, and passed on their genes. The short and hairy Icelandic horse was the result of this natural selection. As we fed the horses with some stale bread that the driver had given us, he explained that as the living standards for Iceland's people has substantially improved in the last half century, so has it for Iceland's horses. With more food to go around, the horses are supposedly starting to grow taller.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQdKsh3rD5OamLTBOPAdcbZf4I2YoUHZeuX63vHmgbMhKRIXdzTqZwokMb2m_aOqzSF-9awHCMVVzgaeOHUGUfOt-gtBOGstusytKMT7wpvVG-r4P9ww5skmTreChFzEeNa9FIeQ/s1600/blog+%289%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQdKsh3rD5OamLTBOPAdcbZf4I2YoUHZeuX63vHmgbMhKRIXdzTqZwokMb2m_aOqzSF-9awHCMVVzgaeOHUGUfOt-gtBOGstusytKMT7wpvVG-r4P9ww5skmTreChFzEeNa9FIeQ/s400/blog+%289%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453034541611155074" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The last and perhaps my favorite stop of the tour was the Thingvellir National Park. This expansive valley was bestowed the title of UNESCO World Heritage Site for two main reasons. So that you can appreciate the first, I need to share one more brief lesson of Iceland's geology with you.<br /><br />The reason that one finds so much geothermal and volcanic activity in Iceland is because the entire island straddles a fault line in the Earth's crust. As you learned in science class, the Earth's surface is split into tectonic plates that are constantly colliding into or pulling apart from one another. The North American tectonic plate and the Eurasian tectonic plate meet each other deep under the Atlantic Ocean, that is, with the one exception of Iceland. The fault line that the island straddles is not any mere fault line, but the geophysical division of North America and Europe. Once more, these two continents are moving away from each other at a rate of two centimeters a year. When I opened the post by saying that Iceland divides itself between North America and Europe and that it's being tugged from both sides of the Atlantic, this wasn't only figurative writing; they are literal statements.<br /><br />One of the best places to view this meeting line of North America and Europe is at the Thingvellir National Park, where one can truly see both continents at the same time. The valley of this park is the fault line itself, as such, it widens every year by that length of two centimeters. Here one can view the effects of this continental drift in the sheer rock faces that have been ripped apart from each other over millions of years; tears and fissures scar the valley for its whole length. There are few such places in the world where one can stand between continents.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIweRAAsyj1yOExYoU1HwIiNw5fLbkm53wwJ5eZLgVmRKW_ZC0PLeqMIx8N0I0Pe3t4Rj_Dh8FcvsdaSNvCaB9M1XggquSWivAceJk8PQVKglax3v2MQbmA09XfH3buTgacf5wLQ/s1600/blog+%2815%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIweRAAsyj1yOExYoU1HwIiNw5fLbkm53wwJ5eZLgVmRKW_ZC0PLeqMIx8N0I0Pe3t4Rj_Dh8FcvsdaSNvCaB9M1XggquSWivAceJk8PQVKglax3v2MQbmA09XfH3buTgacf5wLQ/s400/blog+%2815%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453033487663624002" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCX5BTLSjwFPjvPKthlNhvfGszYpizqaIXIl3LLnHR1Pm8no5yH64i4G0tbXnzJfodRD5EL4JHQ1rx3AN3eDKEblTOWLfZZz0wUDbr215jo2kjxwXcgwgviKJBDI7ffcnfetZCvw/s1600/blog+%2813%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCX5BTLSjwFPjvPKthlNhvfGszYpizqaIXIl3LLnHR1Pm8no5yH64i4G0tbXnzJfodRD5EL4JHQ1rx3AN3eDKEblTOWLfZZz0wUDbr215jo2kjxwXcgwgviKJBDI7ffcnfetZCvw/s400/blog+%2813%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453033446708970946" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The second reason for Thingvellir's special status is a political one. After settlement, but before the struggles between the chieftains, the early Icelanders needed to decide on a method of government. The so-called <span style="font-style: italic;">Thing</span>, a meeting of community members to decide important issues, had been a Nordic tradition for generations in towns and villages. The Icelanders posed the question, why not have a <span style="font-style: italic;">Thing</span> for all of us? The result was the <span style="font-style: italic;">Althing</span>, one of the world's first (the Icelanders proudly say very first) democratically elected parliaments. When the Althing first met in the early 10th century AD, its members assembled in what is now the Thingvellir National Park. Their specific assembly point was called the Rock of Law, but to me this resembled more of a rocky outcropping than a grand boulder.<br /><br />In June of 1944, with Denmark under Nazi occupation, Icelanders again gathered at the Rock of Law to declare their independence, and the modern Republic of Iceland was born. The fledgling state's economy was jump started by America and Britain, who both poured money into constructing military harbors and air fields on Iceland during the Second World War. Iceland's parliament is still called the<span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span></span></span> Althing. In the end, perhaps the parliament doesn't need a grander assembly hall in downtown Reykjavik, it can lay claim to an entire rift valley where nature's humbling might is on display for all. For the next photo, which shows a wider view of Thingvellir, I stood on North America and focused the camera on Europe.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqcAx8efwQw8M2Um-4XJRkKcxBcajN3VO0Ht6l6SuaSSFJoU0_bgS-jS9d9qVWgj4cPWnoaoubEVfGJCJHfH_VXouawaYqGZoy2fB7QvBpGlrPm7rf17xm0fi-ZJogvr1bMmfRXg/s1600/blog+%2811%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqcAx8efwQw8M2Um-4XJRkKcxBcajN3VO0Ht6l6SuaSSFJoU0_bgS-jS9d9qVWgj4cPWnoaoubEVfGJCJHfH_VXouawaYqGZoy2fB7QvBpGlrPm7rf17xm0fi-ZJogvr1bMmfRXg/s400/blog+%2811%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453033456540912114" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The next day I sampled some of Iceland's edible curiosities, and there were some strange ones. The picture below shows the items I tried. On the left side of the plate is a slice of fresh Icelandic flat bread with spread butter and smoked lamb on top. The lamb is popular in the country and has a surprisingly sweet and delicious taste considering that it is smoked using dried sheep dung. The small bowl in the foreground contains strips of dried fish, on which butter is supposed to be spread. I found the texture like rough leather, and only the butter provided any taste. The yellow open-faced sandwich in the bottom right is made from a slice of rye bread and a portion of fish stew, which wasn't really a stew at all, rather more of potato salad with chunks of fish mixed in. This tasted neither good nor bad, simply bland really, which was surprising because the restaurant I dined in supposedly made some of the best fish stew in Iceland. On the contrary, the orange sandwich in the top right was very tasty. Here I had another slice of rye bread topped with butter, smoked trout, and cottage cheese. Something gave this a bit of sweetness as well. The most challenging item, though, was what lay inside the second bowl on my plate.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig4ZsWuYLBZqI-PZ8jfByly4MU-xQctuydi5NSyOGmcG5RgIE1HJ4YurvnxwoNCIa9NF368-2oeuXFTfDNKTtrYmIGQVFmBXTlrQ6CjZ5vnTRuJ0YItq9l5HlwF3QG64-KLcfUAg/s1600/blog+%2817%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig4ZsWuYLBZqI-PZ8jfByly4MU-xQctuydi5NSyOGmcG5RgIE1HJ4YurvnxwoNCIa9NF368-2oeuXFTfDNKTtrYmIGQVFmBXTlrQ6CjZ5vnTRuJ0YItq9l5HlwF3QG64-KLcfUAg/s400/blog+%2817%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453033437208541666" border="0" /></a><br />In the picture below you can see some small chunks of <span style="font-style: italic;">harkal. </span>How this dish was ever first conceived and why is beyond me, but here is the basic preparation process. A certain species of shark is fished from the sea and brought to land. After being beheaded, the shark's body is placed in a hole in the ground, covered, and left to rot for a few months. It is then taken out of the ground and hung in the open air for several more months. After about nine months in total, the putrefied shark is, naturally, ready to eat.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMHdJTXcHvQR0eyiBLzfm05GVSpzjFhEZbGpuIQTEk8iI84bpCz09mhyphenhyphenvaTBXTO-Whu9DmEq7qX6g5_7mgVIrXRORDJCeyDdMMWe1KCF1qTKzHUMuuDFwLrxesuZWXfXXRtYyQ0A/s1600/blog+%2819%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMHdJTXcHvQR0eyiBLzfm05GVSpzjFhEZbGpuIQTEk8iI84bpCz09mhyphenhyphenvaTBXTO-Whu9DmEq7qX6g5_7mgVIrXRORDJCeyDdMMWe1KCF1qTKzHUMuuDFwLrxesuZWXfXXRtYyQ0A/s400/blog+%2819%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453033436365089202" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I started this food challenge with a full glass of water and a clear of understanding of where I could find the restroom. To begin, I sniffed the meat. Not surprisingly, it was unpleasant, but not nearly as bad as I would've expected rotten meat to be. The odor was familiar, but I couldn't place it. Then I brought one of the chunks into my mouth and started to chew, slowly. At first there was no taste, and the meat was tough. The more I chewed, however, the more tender it became and the more that strange aroma filled my mouth. The taste spread over my tongue, onto my inner cheeks, and up to my palate, intensifying as it marched on to conquer my mouth. Flashes of biology class and doing the laundry ran through my mind and I realized that the taste was something akin to the pungent smells of bleach and formaldehyde. First there was a tingle, and then a burning sensation on my tongue. As I finally swallowed the meat, the burning feeling traced its way slightly down my throat before being extinguished. And yet I never once gagged or felt the need to vomit.<br /><br />After I had finished my portion of the <span style="font-style: italic;">harkal</span>, I asked the cook about it and specifically if it was safe to eat. She said the "fermentation" process, as if I had asked about a wine or beer, also kills off the deadly bacteria; however, sometimes people will complain of feeling dizzy after eating it. I had come to Iceland curious to try this disgusting dish, and now that I have, I can confidently say I will never again desire to.<br /><br />There were some other foods that I tried in Iceland, but nothing as exotic as the ones above. <span style="font-style: italic;">Skyr</span> was a sweet dairy product that was denser than yogurt but somehow seemed airier. A famous stand in downtown Reykjavik served its budget hot dogs with ketchup, sweet mustard, mayonnaise, and fried and raw onions. The only thing that I really had a problem consuming in Iceland was the tap water because the high sulfur content made it taste like rotten eggs, one disadvantage of the island's geothermal activity. I gagged every time I brushed my teeth.<br /><br />For my last two days in Iceland I stayed in Reykjavik, walking around the city and visiting some of its museums but none too noteworthy. On March 18th I took an early morning bus to the airport and said goodbye to Iceland.<br /><br />This has been a long post, perhaps my longest, but my experience in Iceland was so thrilling and memorable for me that I had much to share. I could say more about the places in Reykjavik, the Icelandic people, or the country's history, but I suppose if I've held your interest for this long some of those things would be better discovered on your own visit to the country.<br /><br />The next post will finish up the account of my Nordic travels with the stories of my time in Norway.Nick O.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05302680637268168032noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32437289.post-52645131260875229152010-03-31T03:27:00.001+02:002010-03-31T23:50:44.679+02:00Christiania: Copenhagen's Dirty Secret<span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">I</span></span>f you have ever wondered what would actually happen if die-hard hippies, anarchists, and other groups of similarly extreme, far-from-the-mainstream political thinkers got their way, then perhaps you should consider a tour through Christiania. I warn you, however, that a visit is not without its dangers.<br /><br />The so-called "independent" community of Christiania finds itself on an island in Copenhagen's harbor, only a bit east of the city center. This social experiment began in the early 1970s when a group of squatters moved into abandoned military barracks on the island, likely motivated by that politically explosive era. They then proceeded to declare their independence not merely from Copenhagen but Denmark as a whole, and set about to organize an anarchistic society. Though a few rules supposedly existed to ensure the safety of the residents, the founders' intentions were to create a community free of any government or state interference and where an anything-goes mentality was the de facto law of the land. As a result, the lanes and shacks of Christiania soon filled with all characters from fringe society. While some respectable entrepreneurs set up stalls to sell organic produce or hand-made utensils and household items, others took advantage of the booming drug market. All of this retail activity took place openly and without any stigma against it from the Christianians.<br /><br />From the beginning, the governments of Copenhagen and Denmark took a wait-and-see approach. With their refusal to pay taxes, unauthorized settlement of government property, and other illicit activities, Christianians were definitely leading illegal lives, but the governments were also uncertain of how to deal with the situation. On one hand, Christiania centered Copenhagen's drug market in one neighborhood. Destroying the community would simply disburse the trafficking throughout the city, making it more difficult to police. On the other hand, the governments were essentially granting Christianians immunity from the laws that applied to all other citizens of Denmark. Within the last twenty years or so this relationship of acceptance has changed as the drug trade grew stronger and influenced a rise of violence.<br /><br />Under increasing pressure from the governments, Christiania entered into talks of more normal integration with the city of Copenhagen. The Christianians remained suspicious of the governments' positions regarding greater access to the community with public utilities and vehicles, points which the governments argued were necessary in order to improve public sanitation and safety. Additionally, though the Christianians had, for their part, tried to reduce the trafficking of hard drugs, their efforts were too little in the eyes of Copenhagen and Denmark. While some progress was made, a climax came in 2004. In that year police raided Christiania in order to crack down on the drug market. Whatever success they had was barely noticeable during my visit.<br /><br />Reading about Christiania in my guidebook made me curious enough to check it out. I expected to simply find a scruffy neighborhood adorned with innumerable Bob Marley, Che, and other similarly themed decorations. The fact that Christiania didn't appear on the city's official visitor's map told me something about it, but the reality of what I soon saw exceeded my expectations.<br /><br />I entered Christiania from one of its two entrances. After leaving a nondescript street of Copenhagen, the path took me though a dusty lane and around an overgrown earthen mound and brick wall. Past all of these barriers, out of view from the street, begins the so-called "Pusherstreet," Christiania's main drag. Imagine a scene from a Hollywood movie depicting urban life in some post-Apocalyptic world, throw in a bit of Disneyland, and you start to develop an idea of what Christiania looks like. Colorful stalls and shacks lined Pusherstreet. The number of these rickety shops selling T-shirts seemed as many as those offering varieties of cannabis, the scent of which hung in the air. Paving on Pusherstreet was patchy at best. Litter floated in the rain puddles and festooned the weedy vegetation. The few trash cans available must have been a joke. Every dozen yards stood a steel barrel with a fire burning openly inside of it; dodgy assortments of people huddled around the barrels seeking warmth from the flames. Apparently any material that sparkled, shined, or added bright color was suitable to attach to building walls as art or decoration. The farther down Pusherstreet I strolled, the more my surroundings boasted their counterculture attitude.<br /><br />At the end of Pusherstreet the path forked. To the right was an opening to what resembled an open air food court that was as decrepit as everything else I had seen. Here stalls sold vegetarian dishes and organic food. A stage rose from one end of the opening, but only a couple thick-bearded men sat on its edge. Back to the fork and to the left, the path led past some more buildings, ones that I can only assume were the original military barracks. An occasionally open front door provided glimpses into dimly lit rooms where I could only distinguish human forms and the glowing red ends of what were likely not mere cigarettes. At a few picnic tables outside of what looked like a bar, a few men sat, conversing in Danish and rolling marijuana joints. A mural on one wall caused me to stop and take notice. It read simply, "Common law of Christiania," and below the text were three depictions: two of clinched fists and one of a gun. Compared to this place, Amsterdam was a playground.<br /><br />As striking as the physical setting was, so were the people moving about in it. For one thing, I had never seen such a diverse collection of all clean and grimy forms of alternative lifestyles. Most individuals standing around presented a grungy look, dressed in ragged clothes complete with the corresponding symbols of their respective extreme political and social views. Teenagers and young adults dressed themselves in punk outfits and the anarchist uniforms of nearly all black clothing. Older men and women wore colorful hippie clothes. Mixed in with these types were those who appeared homeless, street people in the true sense. And then there were the tourists. They stood out like most of the residents of Christiania would in a suburban shopping mall, and definitely did not go unnoticed by the Christianians. During my entire time in the community I sensed the eyes of the locals were on me. Through their looks they seemed to say that they knew I wasn't one of them, they would prefer for me not to be there, but permitted my presence because I could be a potential customer of their merchandise.<br /><br />One can't take ten steps in any direction without seeing a hand-painted sign instructing visitors not to take photographs. Christianians will likely say that this rule exists to protect their privacy, which is probably true to an extent; however, I believe the full version is that they don't want any evidence that could link faces with the illegal activities in the community. Here, with this ban on photographs, is where my personal problems in Christiania began. Witnessing such a unique place, I couldn't bare to walk away without some documentation of it, no matter what a bunch of hippies tried to tell me. Of course, I wasn't foolish enough to take out my camera in the middle of Pusherstreet.<br /><br />After I had seen enough of Christinia I returned to the boundary of the community, whence I had entered. From the last perspective where one could still have a view down Pusherstreet, before rounding the earthen mound, I stopped and looked around. No one seemed to be watching me. No one was close to me. This was my chance.<br /><br />I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out my camera. In defiance of a large "No Photos" sign directly facing me, I quickly turned on the camera, zoomed in, and snapped the picture. There was no angry mob, no yells. Feeling ambitious I tried to take a second picture, but in this moment the battery of my camera died. A bit disappointed, I returned the camera to my pocket and walked briskly to the exit, hearing what sounded like, "No photos!"<br /><br />After the earthen mound I was within thirty feet of the street, almost back to civil society, when a young man looking about my age rode up on my left side on his bike and then abruptly cut off my path.<br /><br />"Do you speak English?" he asked with a strong Danish accent.<br /><br />I thought quickly. His reason for being there was clear. Perhaps if I pretended that I didn't speak English well he would become frustrated with trying to talk to me and leave me alone. The strategy usually worked with annoying panhandlers and souvenir-pushers in other European cities; it was worth a try.<br /><br />"Oh, a little," I said with some fake accent. One advantage of teaching English in Germany is that I've become very familiar with the common grammar and pronunciation mistakes that non-native speakers make. In German, I next asked him if he spoke that language, assuming he didn't. He only stared at me for a second then continued to speak English.<br /><br />He explained to me that photos weren't allowed in Christiania, and that he had seen me taking some.<br /><br />"Ah, yes, um...sorry," I responded. "Uh, I go. I go." I stepped to the right and ahead to go around his bike and to the street, but he moved to block my path again. A brick wall and the mound prevented me from moving any farther in that direction. My assessment of the situation suddenly changed.<br /><br />"No, no, no," said the man. "You have to delete the picture."<br /><br />I briefly acted like I didn't understand, but that changed nothing. Knowing that I was dealing with a guy who had most likely already made some irrational choices in his life and that dozens of his friends were only a shout away, my better judgment won. A photo wasn't worth risking what he was potentially willing to doing.<br /><br />Removing the camera from my pocket I held it so that only I could see the screen. I pushed the power switch into the on position, but nothing happened. Only then did I remember that the battery was dead. At first I thought this was good thing; I wouldn't be able to delete the picture. Then my thinking quickly reversed. What would he demand if I couldn't delete the picture?<br /><br />"Uh," I looked up at the man. "The, the...battery...dead."<br /><br />"What? No f---ing way. I don't believe you. You're f---ing with me. Give me the camera."<br /><br />The tension immediately rose. My grip on the camera tightened. In my own firmer tone I told him again that the battery was dead, but he wouldn't believe me.<br /><br />"Yes!" I extended the camera out slightly so that he could see the screen for himself. "On, off, on, off," I said as I moved the power switch between the two positions. "Nothing."<br /><br />"No, no," he still refused to believe me. The man then reached his hand out so that he could push the switch himself. I held on to the camera with both hands. He pushed the switch into the on position so hard that for a moment I feared he might break it.<br /><br />At that instant another voice from my rear announced the arrival of a second man. "Just delete the f---ing photo, man!"<br /><br />I turned to my left to see this second man dismounting his bike. Now there was no way out. To my back was the wall, to my right the first man blocked my path to the street, the second man blocked my way to the second exit, and the direction to my left led only back to Christiania. I told the second man that the camera was dead, but he was just as incredulous as the first man.<br /><br />"Yes, it's dead," I insisted. "On, off, on, off, nothing!" I yelled while showing the second man the camera screen, flipping the switch back and forth, and continuing my masquerade of poor English. I didn't know what to anticipate.<br /><br />As suddenly as the confrontation had worsened, it ended. Both men took steps back.<br /><br />"You're lucky today, I should take you camera," the first man said as he turned his bike around.<br /><br />"Ya, learn to respect other people, man," the second man added in the greatest of ironies while following his friend.<br /><br />I shouted back my own colorful expression in German and walked to the exit. Finally reaching the street, I quickly walked away with some stressed nerves.<br /><br />In the end, the men were not willing to resort to any more drastic means in regards to the photograph and, in retrospect, it does seem understandable. The police detest Christiania. The government would prefer to raze it, but doesn't know how to proceed. But an attack on or theft from a foreign visitor could have been an excuse for the government to raid the community again. Perhaps these two punks, as damaged as their rationale is, might still have understood that. Then again, as damaged as their rationale is, maybe not.<br /><br />Violence is certainly not unknown in Christiania. A quick look over the community's page on Wikipedia offers headlines describing shootings, a grenade attack, and riots, all in recent years. A Danish man in my hostel room told me later that night that police officers must enter Christiania in large groups due to safety concerns.<br /><br />In light of these issues, one would expect the city to do more to warn tourists. Yet the tourists come to gawk at the spectacle that is Christiania. Perhaps for the reason that the community sits in Copenhagen, Denmark, one of the safest areas of already safe Western Europe, visitors have a false sense of security there. I remember seeing a group of three college-aged American girls walking through Christiana, purses balanced on their shoulders, and saying that they should return that night to hang out in one of the bars. I also wonder what would have happened had I honestly not spoken English. I of course understood what the men wanted from me, but other foreigners wouldn't have been so lucky. Indeed, the city should do more to protect the tourists who wander Christiania's lanes with the ignorant illusions of being in a theme park-like atmosphere.<br /><br />The experience also demonstrated to me the folly and short-sightedness of anarchism. A society that began as a peace-loving and well-intentioned one without laws has degraded to one of low living conditions, drug abuse, threatening methods, and the introduction of rules in order to control visitors who don't think like members of the society and to protect the own good of the locals. I surmise that Christianians can now be grouped into three main categories: the old hippies who likely helped to found the community and who still believe in its original goals but who now number in the minority, the potheads and druggies who only care about their next fix, and the anarchists who have taken over for their own profit and in the name of their political beliefs. Furthermore, not only does a capitalist market flourish in Christiania, but it is also one that offers cheap souvenirs and other junk for tourists. It appears that Christiania is today a society where personal interest, possibly in the form of profit from selling T-shirts or in the form of self-gratification through drugs, and one ideology preside--a stark contrast to the original concentrations on the greater good of the community and individuality.<br /><br />To conclude, here is the cause for my problem in Christiania and the inspiration for this post, a simple photograph recorded before even coming into focus:<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyruVM97yE40kIxZdpRAtxkthbAklNNWZCftbtn-dx_rVSv2mgUWJ5f23TIC2HtqbsFQg_tJxBj5Z0AarCqjj07WP8XcG1oM5lfXm7eg6OYGVqBpAcfqhimNNk_SmNUgti08rVNA/s1600/Denmark+%2893%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyruVM97yE40kIxZdpRAtxkthbAklNNWZCftbtn-dx_rVSv2mgUWJ5f23TIC2HtqbsFQg_tJxBj5Z0AarCqjj07WP8XcG1oM5lfXm7eg6OYGVqBpAcfqhimNNk_SmNUgti08rVNA/s400/Denmark+%2893%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453028183840191538" border="0" /></a>Nick O.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05302680637268168032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32437289.post-49162849764785107852010-03-29T23:26:00.002+02:002010-03-30T20:23:36.200+02:00Nice Copenhagen and Mild Denmark<span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" >M</span>y trip in the North finished last Wednesday, and since then I've been enjoying the comfort of home. This is the first post of several to come over the next days to better present my recent travels. Unfortunately, I have learned that Blogger.com is currently experiencing technical issues with the display of images on many of their hosted blogs, which means that you likely won't be able to see my photographs for the time being. As of today, though, staff at the organization is working to fix the system-wide problem. In the mean time, try to make due with the text, and check back in a couple days to see if the images are displaying correctly.<br /><br />As mentioned in my previous posts, my northerly travels began on March 10th in Copenhagen, the capital of Denmark and the largest city in Scandinavia with about 1.2 million residents. The country lies to the north of Germany, which is actually the only nation that Denmark borders on land. Geographically speaking, Denmark consists mainly of the Jutland Peninsula, the mainland portion of the country that stretches out from the German border, and several islands of varying size to the east of Jutland. Of these islands, Zealand is the largest and home to Copenhagen, which itself is so close to Malmo, Sweden that a recent bridge and tunnel project has spanned the Oresund Strait to connect Denmark, and thereby mainland Europe, to Sweden and the rest of Scandinavia. Though an autonomous region, the disproportionately large Greenland remains under the authority of Denmark.<br /><br />Aside from political meetings and global conventions, Denmark has held little power in the international arena for quite some time, but it wasn't always so. The Danish culture and society as they exist today can trace their origins to the Viking era from around 1000 AD. Like today, the Danes of that time held strong relations to their Scandinavian brethren to the north in present-day Sweden and Norway. With their fellow Scandinavians, the Danes sent out on Viking expeditions to pillage, explore, and settle. One of the many finds from their voyages would be Iceland, but that is a story for another post to come.<br /><br />By the Middle Ages the Danish crown ruled over all of Scandinavia. With the breakaway of Sweden a series of wars ensued leading to the eventually recognized independence of the other country, but Norway, Iceland, and other islands in the North Atlantic remained a part of Denmark. From this glory age of Scandinavian union, in my opinion, Denmark began its slide into relative obscurity. Over the next centuries, and again from the opinion of someone who is not a professional historian, Denmark seemed to concern itself too much with its local, petty interests. Conflicts with Sweden persisted as Denmark occasionally tried with varying success to win back territory long lost. Additionally, the Danes waged war a few times with the Germans to the south over small bits of water-logged lands called Schleswig and Holstein, disputes which wouldn't be fully resolved until the 20th century. Eventually Denmark lost Norway and Iceland, and became a constitutional monarchy with an elected parliament.<br /><br />Though numbering less than six million, the Danes continue to push hard to remain involved in international affairs, as the recent climate change summit in Copenhagen can attest. Closer to home, Denmark strives like the other small countries of Europe to have its voice heard among the powerhouse nations of the continent. Though a member of the European Union, Denmark has chosen like Sweden to so far stick with its own currency rather than use the euro. After arriving in the country and seeing price tags, the euro was indeed something that I missed during my travels.<br /><br />My overnight train pulled into Copenhagen close to noon on Wednesday. After checking in at my hostel I spent the afternoon and evening visiting several of the city's museums, most of which were to my luck free on that day of the week. The first stop was the Royal Danish Arsenal Museum. The exhibit offered an impressive collection of artillery pieces collected from over the centuries, but was otherwise a simple look at various weapons. A view of the artillery hall is below.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCCh_L73NufWVx5Sn1DnxLJTCL_itAuGzFt1cWplrhVX4TXAmerS-1nqphtA2GQLPEOczmjJy4U9oJDxWW4O9rem7pga7S0oLKQgY626eW1O-LKOHlmOZqIR_Nt7KjrBELN2kxAg/s1600/Denmark+%2813%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCCh_L73NufWVx5Sn1DnxLJTCL_itAuGzFt1cWplrhVX4TXAmerS-1nqphtA2GQLPEOczmjJy4U9oJDxWW4O9rem7pga7S0oLKQgY626eW1O-LKOHlmOZqIR_Nt7KjrBELN2kxAg/s400/Denmark+%2813%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453026432296979202" border="0" /></a><br />The museum was located on Slotsholmen, an island in the middle of the old town that boasts several former royal buildings renovated to house many of the modern government's offices. The bridge in the following photo leads to the island and the Christiansborg Palace, where the Danish parliament meets.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO0-a0Ax0rxrp-qizEZD11SsThqVTeFuZFLOJ7va8o__33dJDyHf5oI957GQjJgKT2pAIzO1UQu7066Gb3lqQ_KhobsmjKLZaXNt4U78z7Zqy_fKR8UMmoMegxIwHVvKjvPgBwxg/s1600/Denmark+%2818%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO0-a0Ax0rxrp-qizEZD11SsThqVTeFuZFLOJ7va8o__33dJDyHf5oI957GQjJgKT2pAIzO1UQu7066Gb3lqQ_KhobsmjKLZaXNt4U78z7Zqy_fKR8UMmoMegxIwHVvKjvPgBwxg/s400/Denmark+%2818%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453026426296277122" border="0" /></a><br />From there I moved on to the National Museum, a superb display of Danish history. The exhibits provided excellent insight into the development of Danish culture from Prehistory through the Viking era and up to the year 2000 with informative displays and actual artifacts. It was here where I learned much of what I now know of Danish history.<br /><br />When the museum closed at six o'clock, I walked on to another museum but first with a brief stop in the Danish Royal Library. The original brick and mortar building of the library was constructed about 100 years ago, but in 1999 an extension was built across the street and next to the harbor. This modern portion is a sleek and black granite cube that rises from the ground at an angle. A few skybridges connect the extension with the original building. Here's a look inside the atrium of the extension looking toward the harbor.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvpzL3PRHn6G2s9yHsNa_vZIRrKlyOiyHs6LEsb8OVpRvYIRRtoqoSdluiF9MqcXpk8u_3nT5Ume9fWhS2qbVEP3RWovmhzdEbdIfUiCv1l4fGsFgnUjCm1w8XyChOi3vj0wM61g/s1600/Denmark+%2831%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvpzL3PRHn6G2s9yHsNa_vZIRrKlyOiyHs6LEsb8OVpRvYIRRtoqoSdluiF9MqcXpk8u_3nT5Ume9fWhS2qbVEP3RWovmhzdEbdIfUiCv1l4fGsFgnUjCm1w8XyChOi3vj0wM61g/s400/Denmark+%2831%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453026420321543778" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I soon arrived at the National Art Museum. Though a bit disappointed by the collection and confused by the organization of the pieces, I didn't complain any as the entrance fee was zero Danish krones.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbHnsoT_cUf1YO0ZxNatW_RFInt7d7ZxOxrSnEcY-KKGkPtbmChrHQ7pAUTlApCBhZ36GtDjN0faFttyNsYqc9JzoJ5RBRu_wDTultWajvtytzORhebRyJe-fwzCLqhcoLgvtmHA/s1600/Denmark+%2836%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbHnsoT_cUf1YO0ZxNatW_RFInt7d7ZxOxrSnEcY-KKGkPtbmChrHQ7pAUTlApCBhZ36GtDjN0faFttyNsYqc9JzoJ5RBRu_wDTultWajvtytzORhebRyJe-fwzCLqhcoLgvtmHA/s400/Denmark+%2836%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453026414002653202" border="0" /></a><br /><br />On Thursday, my only full day actually in Copenhagen, I spent time walking the streets of the old town and visiting a couple more sites. The largely pedestrianized old town presented a mix of squares, shops, and classical architectural styles. Perhaps I have only become somewhat jaded from my European travels, but I was not overly impressed by the old town's appearance. Ugly, no, but it lacked that certain charming quality that many other great cities of Europe have delighted me with. Passing a toy store I couldn't resist going inside for only a short look at their assortment of Legos for sale; Denmark is after all the country where these internationally known plastic building blocks originated. A fresh spot in the old town was the colorful Nyhavn canal, a photo of which appears after the view of a public square.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYVO4vl9Qqc9fLyuzXdVOrsSPAynJj9NX-hT2XkfUXmO4z5p-IkHz5kmDgUFPGBJLP753z6GZF280fFmW5wgksK7YA-AiF1bjoNXNB_OLwWP4D0WcT-mb66hG7cPtQK1Rik7q0xQ/s1600/Denmark+%2842%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYVO4vl9Qqc9fLyuzXdVOrsSPAynJj9NX-hT2XkfUXmO4z5p-IkHz5kmDgUFPGBJLP753z6GZF280fFmW5wgksK7YA-AiF1bjoNXNB_OLwWP4D0WcT-mb66hG7cPtQK1Rik7q0xQ/s400/Denmark+%2842%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453025202320703362" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPL6XaMJLdNA1xED2-C1b1C7IoQ7ax0iS-j4Uzwmrlx2lUqG6MJcgsXIg1ZVcR8tNbJ6HBBEVWbDkMYuKfrUvJYy77yX2QkZ4P39sc0-B6wE8uLyxqWFc5j0UaWml3Sbg9-tZt4g/s1600/Denmark+%2859%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 463px; height: 261px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPL6XaMJLdNA1xED2-C1b1C7IoQ7ax0iS-j4Uzwmrlx2lUqG6MJcgsXIg1ZVcR8tNbJ6HBBEVWbDkMYuKfrUvJYy77yX2QkZ4P39sc0-B6wE8uLyxqWFc5j0UaWml3Sbg9-tZt4g/s400/Denmark+%2859%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453025197975014210" border="0" /></a><br />From the canal I continued north along the harbor front. After a little time I reached the Amalienborg Palace complex, the winter home of the Danish royal family. My random arrival coincided with the daily changing of the guard ceremony. A glimpse of this pageantry is below. After the ceremony concluded, a black limousine escorted by a likewise black sedan and a police car rounded a street corner, drove onto the central square and toward the gates of the palace. I should have asked to be certain, but guessing from the excited reaction of picture-taking and hand-waving by the nearby Danes I assumed that the woman in the back of the limousine was a member of the royal family.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGL-fvoE3liPWy_9zIuKK_eVhgnRdZFNTGTC6d_-yuKKEqGtrT49LIlV33cDYmKOvs0eoPG-xpES7jCzpPfD1huARK_q4CUa052lPp-96dCQXvqzuPf1sdJVwlrr9jNgqHI0Na3Q/s1600/Denmark+%2864%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGL-fvoE3liPWy_9zIuKK_eVhgnRdZFNTGTC6d_-yuKKEqGtrT49LIlV33cDYmKOvs0eoPG-xpES7jCzpPfD1huARK_q4CUa052lPp-96dCQXvqzuPf1sdJVwlrr9jNgqHI0Na3Q/s400/Denmark+%2864%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453025182683719538" border="0" /></a><br />From the palace grounds I pushed on northwards along the harbor with a certain destination in mind. I wanted to see one of Copenhagen's best known landmarks, which curiously enough wasn't much of a true landmark at all. On some rocks cropping out from the lapping waters of the harbor rests a forlorn looking statue. The artwork depicts the main character of Danish author Hans Christian Andersen's story, "The Little Mermaid," and the inspiration for the Disney movie. Indeed, the diminutive mermaid could easily go unnoticed by passing tourists expecting something grander.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicvIKUm7SMDI6QTroSUGDREXazqxjGadX5xhwi4wG3Dzrmsa6WW7trh7E2vZoWWkgnuxko2RIzm-qNmw-gjv-YNylUbQhl8MIkywdBkZLJfOenXAgaiB5EmVjjQz681pQ6qkUjsg/s1600/Denmark+%2877%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicvIKUm7SMDI6QTroSUGDREXazqxjGadX5xhwi4wG3Dzrmsa6WW7trh7E2vZoWWkgnuxko2RIzm-qNmw-gjv-YNylUbQhl8MIkywdBkZLJfOenXAgaiB5EmVjjQz681pQ6qkUjsg/s400/Denmark+%2877%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453025144904413986" border="0" /></a><br />From the statue I headed back south and to the Museum of Danish Resistance. The displays at this museum tell the tales of Danish resistance against Nazi occupiers during World War II. When Germany attacked in 1940 the initial battle lasted mere hours before Denmark agreed to comply with the invaders. Germany needed Denmark as a jumping off point to reach and occupy Norway, where deep fjords could provide safe harbors and access to the North Atlantic. Over the next few years during the occupation Germany allowed Denmark to maintain self-rule but with control that grew more limited as the war dragged on. As the museum presented it, the Danish resistance seemed less than I would have expected, as mostly non-violent means were used. Unfortunately for the Danes, due to their country's position of low strategic importance from the Allies' perspective, they essentially had to wait for Germany to withdraw before being entirely free again.<br /><br />From walking around the city I had developed an appetite and knew exactly where to go. Ida Davidsen is local institution in Copenhagen that offers the Danish specialty <span style="font-style: italic;">smorrebrod</span>. The open-faced sandwiches are available from several cafes and restaurants around the city, but Ida Davidsen serves up gourmet versions that even the Danish queen is known to crave. The toppings for a <span style="font-style: italic;">smorrebrod</span> sandwich come in endless possibilities. Simpler styles involve common items like deli meats, cheeses, tomatoes, smoked salmon, and eggs, while fancier ones can include pigeon or smoked eel. Below, photo of an old menu decorating a wall in the restaurant shows the variety. To order, one approaches the glass counter that contains several of the possible colorful selections and picks one. A fresh sandwich is then made for the customer and brought to his table. I chose a version that came with a breaded fillet of a white fish, smoked salmon, black caviar, shrimp, asparagus, and some sweet orange sauce all topping a small slice of rye bread. You can see the delicious sandwich for yourself in the second picture below.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiToHodBrP2s25dx35scFAfpBxWhU16wxMz10ZO2FgyPpWRUGH_f8MSA8oRCns3NOrxX6FXQ_jIEOaTRTZ_a_IhNJ-dqfXibhkxT1JuhXrRutrpNkg0q5cDsSzuNQGJZ_3biDDGlw/s1600/Denmark+%2886%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiToHodBrP2s25dx35scFAfpBxWhU16wxMz10ZO2FgyPpWRUGH_f8MSA8oRCns3NOrxX6FXQ_jIEOaTRTZ_a_IhNJ-dqfXibhkxT1JuhXrRutrpNkg0q5cDsSzuNQGJZ_3biDDGlw/s400/Denmark+%2886%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453021790844073394" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4TIRps855a9OxTLgktG4yuFODOnRvBN4kk3aje6Rwj4hIGEW1bSyXIp7yAh8O_mxcGM2EBRpvWVonBe2PQA9fKa1qKK5C7DSYyt93knXmOnrqrF23E-ZO6PSArZFavj83WAHrIQ/s1600/Denmark+%2885%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4TIRps855a9OxTLgktG4yuFODOnRvBN4kk3aje6Rwj4hIGEW1bSyXIp7yAh8O_mxcGM2EBRpvWVonBe2PQA9fKa1qKK5C7DSYyt93knXmOnrqrF23E-ZO6PSArZFavj83WAHrIQ/s400/Denmark+%2885%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453025131762534322" border="0" /></a><br />After eating, I headed over to a community in Copenhagen called Christiania, where I had my run-in with a couple anarchistic punks. I will save this story though for a separate post to follow.<br /><br />On Friday I took a day trip to a couple towns north of Copenhagen in order to visit some castles. The first stop was the city of Hillerod and its Frederiksborg Castle. This Renaissance fortification spreads itself over three islands in a large lake neighboring the city. Here is a view of it from across the water.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyEhSOTgdbUVC6jRc-PuJxPUJsu-fn-HawkjPmhKvr4q2c8wEtPvCIGVkEQFUUGOod1TKfCDFdYFsNn9D0POYltzyHa7TPIi_ykj_bOQWn6r47CJuCwuXYOhhElZSJz2XH_DDSNw/s1600/Denmark+%2895%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyEhSOTgdbUVC6jRc-PuJxPUJsu-fn-HawkjPmhKvr4q2c8wEtPvCIGVkEQFUUGOod1TKfCDFdYFsNn9D0POYltzyHa7TPIi_ykj_bOQWn6r47CJuCwuXYOhhElZSJz2XH_DDSNw/s400/Denmark+%2895%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453021798121749778" border="0" /></a><br />With construction on parts of the castle beginning in the 16th century, its walls have since then witnessed the coronation of several figures of Danish royalty. Today the rooms of the castle house the National History Museum, and in most cases are the attraction themselves. As the next two pictures show, the interior of the castle has been beautifully restored and maintained. Keep in mind one of the advantages of traveling in the low season while noticing the absence of other people in the photos.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0pE8M-oqg0oT_7uPg5wOvo3s8hQPDSfp3MBvkOg8EWnkzHpfnrEW8lZkV7Ed-LyWB5bRZIFZ0J60fUzGnWlpOrWeJ_DAiQL-TeBlNzlZ15vsTRiP-LUA0NtIub-C_wpXvWXBQew/s1600/Denmark+%28115%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0pE8M-oqg0oT_7uPg5wOvo3s8hQPDSfp3MBvkOg8EWnkzHpfnrEW8lZkV7Ed-LyWB5bRZIFZ0J60fUzGnWlpOrWeJ_DAiQL-TeBlNzlZ15vsTRiP-LUA0NtIub-C_wpXvWXBQew/s400/Denmark+%28115%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453021807411264786" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoGlbawuSXuGQlBLA-GRjX-dtnrtJwihrRyKoq-OEJxIn4btop0kF3-HwhcXpZ11Rpe-aNuKowwe3XMk1XDwfk9WaQ7dRS9teCdYE1a88di8yNLyZkwWGQq1GjDGdpmrspDcfHSQ/s1600/Denmark+%28110%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoGlbawuSXuGQlBLA-GRjX-dtnrtJwihrRyKoq-OEJxIn4btop0kF3-HwhcXpZ11Rpe-aNuKowwe3XMk1XDwfk9WaQ7dRS9teCdYE1a88di8yNLyZkwWGQq1GjDGdpmrspDcfHSQ/s400/Denmark+%28110%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453021806192405778" border="0" /></a><br />From Hillerod I traveled to Elsinore (Hellsingor in Danish) and visited Kronborg Castle. Though I arrived too late to see the castle from the inside, I was still able to stroll around its courtyard and along its ramparts in the dreary afternoon. The last photograph shows a view of the courtyard. Kronborg Castle and Elsinore are famous for being the setting used in Shakespeare's <span style="font-style: italic;">Hamlet</span>, in which the memorable line of, "Something is rotten in the state of Denmark," is used. Satisfied with my walk around the castle grounds, I then spent a little time in a cafe before returning to Copenhagen in the evening.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpE4iEN_3JmsZxLYu65NPf-_TovBliWcOOwiAr8C_rYr3-7dzaJaS4DLMHEP7NaCQyNIWfsYJF8AeUpI_qvZE1-sXwNva4THopkYErneIXrQaBIioqqWUH3bEyyUREEdckZE5mLw/s1600/Denmark+%28120%29.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpE4iEN_3JmsZxLYu65NPf-_TovBliWcOOwiAr8C_rYr3-7dzaJaS4DLMHEP7NaCQyNIWfsYJF8AeUpI_qvZE1-sXwNva4THopkYErneIXrQaBIioqqWUH3bEyyUREEdckZE5mLw/s400/Denmark+%28120%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453021815393945554" border="0" /></a><br /><br />On Saturday morning I checked out from they hostel and rode a train to the airport. From this gateway I would reach the next destination of my trip, Iceland.<br /><br />In the end, I found Copenhagen a nice city with a rich choice of museums and cultural attractions, but the it did not win me over entirely. It was a good city to visit, but it doesn't leave me with the desire to return. Not that I'd refuse to go back for a second visit, but the first seemed to suffice. "Good, but not more," seemed to be the theme of my stay in Denmark, naturally with some of the exceptions noted above. Of course, my experience in seedy Christiania could have affected my impression of Copenhagen. To find out why, stay tuned for the next post.Nick O.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05302680637268168032noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32437289.post-35025606698039615912010-03-22T14:49:00.003+01:002010-03-22T15:12:58.533+01:00In the ArcticFor the second time in my life I'm north of the Arctic Circle. Last time it was in Finland, this time it's Norway.<br /><br />I arrived in Oslo last Thursday and only stayed until Saturday, as my urge to go north could not be restrained. After the diminutive capital of Iceland, Reykjavik, Oslo was a bustling metropolis of large museums, boulevards, parks, and monuments. Highlights included such things as Viking ships and Edvard Munch's famous painting, "The Scream," not to mention a visit to a karaoke bar with some fellow travelers staying at my hostel. "Yes," is the answer to your likely question.<br /><br />I flew to the city of Bodø on Saturday morning, boarded a ferry, and arrived to the village of Stamsund and the Lofoten Islands in the evening. After almost two weeks of travel in the north I've finally encountered snow, layers of it. I asked around in Stamsund and found my way to a hostel, where I met a group of international students who study abroad in Norway and who were taking their own trip. They invited me to the dinner they were preparing and shared their stories with me.<br /><br />On Sunday I discovered that no buses serve Stamsund on that day of the week, but rather than letting me stay stranded in that fishing village, the group of students offered me a ride in their rented car to the nearest town. After hitching the ride and offering a couple dozen thank-you's I took a bus from Leknes to the town where I currently find myself, Svolvær. Here I have a quaint and dockside private room with a view of the harbor, though a sudden snow storm can quickly turn things grey. Indeed, on the Lofoten Islands the weather can change from blue skies to a howling cascade of snow and back to clear skies all within ten minutes. Calling it unpredicatable only begins to describe the weather here.<br /><br />I will stay until Tuesday evening, when I will board a ferry back to Bodø and then fly out on Wednesday morning. By that afternoon I should be back home in Eichstaett. The only remaining thing I desire with this trip is to catch a glimpse of the Northern Lights. I missed them in Finland, and hope that this second chance brings better luck.<br /><br />Once I'm back in Eichstaett I plan to make some extended posts on the stories from this trip and, of course, with photos to help tell the tale.Nick O.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05302680637268168032noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32437289.post-32643110006243656882010-03-16T18:36:00.002+01:002010-03-16T19:04:05.574+01:00Nordic TravelsNo, I haven´t already lapsed on my promise to return to frequent posting. Since last Tuesday I´ve been traveling to one of the last corners of Europe that I´ve yet to see: the Far North.<br /><br />On Tuesday evening I boarded an overnight train to Copenhagen, Denmark. I stayed in the Danish capital for three days, enjoying the several cultural institutions of that city. I visited an impressive national history museum with excellent exhibits on Danish culture, from prehistoric times through the Viking era to the year 2000. The Little Mermaid statue on the harbor, which pays tribute to Danish author Hans Christensen Andersen, looked small and lonely. A gourmet Danish smorrebod sandwich left my mouth watering for more. Two grand castles north of Copenhagen brought me back to Medieval times. One of them, the castle of Elsinore, was the setting in Shakespeare´s play "Hamlet." Indeed, the only bad experience I had in Copenhagen was in the so-called, "independent" community of Christinia, where a couple of anarchist punks were displeased with me taking pictures. That is one story which I will tell in detail once I´m back home and have the time to properly do so.<br /><br />By the Far North though I of course did not just mean Denmark. On Saturday a plane took me from Copenhagen to the northern-most capital in the world: Reykjavik. Iceland is a beautiful country, and the prospect of paying it a visit excited more that many other destinations have recently. The land of fire and ice has not dissapointed me.<br /><br />I spent most of Sunday at the famous Blue Lagoon spa and thermal springs. Imagine eerily blue and steaming pools of water surrounded by an otherwordly landscape of hardened lava fields, this is the Blue Lagoon. To soak in its warm waters is a soothing experience. Expect coloful photographs to come.<br /><br />Yesterday I toured some of the inland parts of this country. Sights included a geothermal power plant, a dormant volcano´s caldera, bubbling field of hot springs and geysers, massive waterfalls, and the fault line where Europe and North America geologically meet.<br /><br />Today I tried some of Icelandic food specialities, and this country does offer some unique ones. Some examples are dried fish with butter spread over it and lamb smoked over fires that use sheep dung as fuel. Believe it or not, the smoked lamb was delicious. And then there was the truly unique dish. Called <em>harkal</em> in Icelandic, it is shark meat that has been left to rot for about nine months under the ground. This putrified fish starts out fine in your mouth, then a taste of bleach starts develop and fills your palate until your mouth starts to burn. Definitely not for those with weak stomaches. The waitress assured me that there were no harmful bacteria, though sometimes people complain of diziness.<br /><br />Photographs and more stories will be posted in near future.Nick O.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05302680637268168032noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32437289.post-21274387598135743892010-03-08T22:21:00.003+01:002010-03-09T00:00:17.812+01:00Sledding in Garmisch<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3umTyEKBIxTOd6entc-H7uV2-w9Fs2UZlSGOCcfUpAhRrZUdx-oUBAUTAwBIAtyCOoE8um81a_yeNx820D5ZSbWe5zy6B4KUT8NWVeSKHgQ-8jCC0TwQ0wvneDEW_KdvQXokTrw/s1600-h/Sledding+in+Garmisch+%2814%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 430px; height: 317px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3umTyEKBIxTOd6entc-H7uV2-w9Fs2UZlSGOCcfUpAhRrZUdx-oUBAUTAwBIAtyCOoE8um81a_yeNx820D5ZSbWe5zy6B4KUT8NWVeSKHgQ-8jCC0TwQ0wvneDEW_KdvQXokTrw/s400/Sledding+in+Garmisch+%2814%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446378484854872946" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;font-size:180%;" >C</span>onsider this an ushering in of new posts. I've been away for a while, but I look forward to a more regular appearance in the months ahead. The reasons for my absence vary, but first and foremost is the fact that, until the last few weeks, little of noteworthiness has taken place. Hardly any trips were taken. Now, however, the winter semester has ended and a new season of travel has begun. That this post marks the return of what should be my frequent writings here is quite appropriate, as this same post also marks the 100th for Fire at Will.<br /><br />To kick things off, we will start with a day trip taken awhile ago, one that I had wanted to write about back then and now finally will.<br /><br />On January 16 (I said it was awhile ago) AK International, the international student association of the university, took a day trip to the town of Garmisch in southern Bavaria. I had first traveled to the town nearly three years ago while studying abroad in Eichstätt. At that time I had hoped of seeing the Alps clad in thick snow; however, I disappointingly experienced spring weather. The purpose of the visit this time around was to go sledding, and we would not be surprised with another stint of unseasonal weather.<br /><br />From the base of the slopes next to town we rented our sleds and rode an open-air cable car to the top of the mountain. The sleds were simple: wooden and without a way to steer them. To brake, one had to brush his feet flatly against the ground. Not until the second run down the mountain did I actually learn this. On the first run I simple dug my heals into the snow, which always resulted in the frozen powder flying into my face.<br /><br />In between descents on the slope, where the land became to level to sled down, we pulled our sleds along the trail, as you can see below. On the reverse side, many steep sections of the trail demanded either constant breaking, the slower choice, or surrendering to gravity and preparing for a forceful tumble into the snow at the bottom of the slope, usually the more entertaining choice.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4obO9c5yaicfdQgDhYauZ8wlqVOJ0XcZF04xPLqr0iKiPvqykA_137YrisBkwAWV8T7ZrpRy3kFbSMrh2BwdhLaRRzQq2grD8TjR0z0HQSixUDo4kqCyAoSYKcqsQleM5_o7b8w/s1600-h/Sledding+in+Garmisch+%288%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4obO9c5yaicfdQgDhYauZ8wlqVOJ0XcZF04xPLqr0iKiPvqykA_137YrisBkwAWV8T7ZrpRy3kFbSMrh2BwdhLaRRzQq2grD8TjR0z0HQSixUDo4kqCyAoSYKcqsQleM5_o7b8w/s400/Sledding+in+Garmisch+%288%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446378474327077922" border="0" /></a><br />This form of sledding, that is, where one takes the sled up the mountain in a lift or cable car as if he's going skiing, seems like a fairly popular winter activity in Germany, at least for those unable to ski. I assume that those who know how to ski wouldn't waste much time sitting on those wooden sleds. Countless other sledders, German and foreign, were having as much fun coasting down the slopes. We even had to watch out for the several teenage boys who soared by us on their fancier plastic sleds.<br /><br />Our time on the mountain was almost already at its end when the group's fun was abruptly cut short. One of the students, a girl from Brazil, apparently took the tumble-into-the-snow choice for one steep descent on the trail, but the outcome wasn't too entertaining. A landing on her back brought significant pain and fear of moving. The German students organizing the excursion called for help, and soon a rescue helicopter picked up the student from the mountain and brought her to the hospital. In the end, I believe the injury wasn't so serious and the student needed to stay in the hospital for only one night. On the next morning she hopefully, at best, remembered the fun we all had had sledding before her accident occurred. If not, she at least woke up to some beautiful scenery.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjojyhyphenhyphenCNnlGP01E73GPFfUHvqsCYHcuYDS2C8Gr8y41gZ7eANQ2EvH_xGqci8Ih87LQwDWxd-7h51Fx6e1v-7_E4tRffAaiINP9rUwRr9KnX4buob5RmsMO1PE6QrSEAZDtLg7kw/s1600-h/Sledding+in+Garmisch+%2822%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjojyhyphenhyphenCNnlGP01E73GPFfUHvqsCYHcuYDS2C8Gr8y41gZ7eANQ2EvH_xGqci8Ih87LQwDWxd-7h51Fx6e1v-7_E4tRffAaiINP9rUwRr9KnX4buob5RmsMO1PE6QrSEAZDtLg7kw/s400/Sledding+in+Garmisch+%2822%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446378462595808466" border="0" /></a>Nick O.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05302680637268168032noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32437289.post-85070034799377931172009-12-16T00:18:00.001+01:002009-12-16T00:18:32.291+01:00At Last Croatia<span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">P</span></span>ardon the hiatus, but several events over the course of the last several weeks, from a nasty ear infection to one of my students being hit by a car, have kept me busy. Here, long overdue but hopefully still worth it, is the post about my trip in Croatia. Incidentally, the student who was hit by the car is surprisingly back to good health.<br /><br />Croatia is a quickly developing land in southeastern Europe, and in its modern form a product of the disintegration of Yugoslavia in the 1990s. The shape of the country on a map resembles a scythe. The blunt handle heads east and inland toward Serbia and Hungary; the tapering blade follows the coast of the Adriatic Sea to the south until reaching Macedonia. All along the way thousands of islands linger off the rocky beaches. Across the Adriatic from the country lies Italy. The four and a half million citizens of the country speak Croatian, and are opening up their home more and more to foreign tourists. The lower part of the country, where I traveled, is known as Dalmatia. The following is brief summary of the trip, with the pictures mostly speaking for themselves.<br /><br />About two months ago today, Julie and I boarded a plane from a low-cost airline and flew to Dubrovnik, the so-called "pearl of the Adriatic." In the small airport a border guard checked my passport and greeted me to Croatia by comparing me to Nicholas Cage.<br /><br />Dubrovnik is a relatively small city of only about 50,000 people but is quickly becoming an international tourist destination. Actually, tourists from Western Europe had re-discovered this beautiful community shortly after the armed conflicts in the early 1990s ceased. Since then it has been growing in popularity with visitors from the Western hemisphere, and for good reason. The city is basically as far south as possible in Croatia before crossing into Macedonia. The old town sits on a rocky peninsula and is surrounded entirely by the city's Medieval defensive wall. Though damaged during the recent war, much of the old town has been wonderfully restored. Walking through the historic heart of Dubrovnik is a tour through marble plazas and lush, shaded staircases.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqe0qtJnzIXo2K05CkrKIUCWHGKLEQbORZCzXTmviPMgRxPXZHlkZrQ72MCL5JV61QOF_quJmBkpLNibiRHqruroZGyek1rYbrg8a7lPAJEJ5wntXkbdOskyHDECtYvDZ5IS90Cg/s1600-h/a.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqe0qtJnzIXo2K05CkrKIUCWHGKLEQbORZCzXTmviPMgRxPXZHlkZrQ72MCL5JV61QOF_quJmBkpLNibiRHqruroZGyek1rYbrg8a7lPAJEJ5wntXkbdOskyHDECtYvDZ5IS90Cg/s400/a.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404399644313295714" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2tCmxUeLX1UBlABEuGZY3ZFbEJfUR7uuHnSocS6nnC8xBeZK_Tgw7wACKnwkypVLg5YDlGi0SF3tLD7HywQtaIt4Ck8I4DElVUiatsOiT6o7NHe4ZkWx4wPw_Dw26BOb6jUqqpQ/s1600-h/a+%282%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2tCmxUeLX1UBlABEuGZY3ZFbEJfUR7uuHnSocS6nnC8xBeZK_Tgw7wACKnwkypVLg5YDlGi0SF3tLD7HywQtaIt4Ck8I4DElVUiatsOiT6o7NHe4ZkWx4wPw_Dw26BOb6jUqqpQ/s400/a+%282%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404399639791732994" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6GqvMRPdNjdaIPBxurgntGbxJcO9dZzwBhl6qAhAkUkltZ5KV2boYOn0P1POxusonp8wOH8Qecqd1eZIWWKNWkRou7Q8eeVjAgcWLfHTNQTOibnTw3JMqENRqVsoa8VIHPePnfg/s1600-h/b.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6GqvMRPdNjdaIPBxurgntGbxJcO9dZzwBhl6qAhAkUkltZ5KV2boYOn0P1POxusonp8wOH8Qecqd1eZIWWKNWkRou7Q8eeVjAgcWLfHTNQTOibnTw3JMqENRqVsoa8VIHPePnfg/s400/b.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404399633722823746" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij1slfExseN5ApX_QxCEdZyZJGjalNBJKED-RxawoQprhUQJhwHtqeIW_kh69GXPW8l2koCkd7RrUPzHS1FusoEqAlPLhjVsbQChmjIwptHCwF_ZPVnwuuUVZ_GxMV1hKxAuEX6A/s1600-h/b+%282%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij1slfExseN5ApX_QxCEdZyZJGjalNBJKED-RxawoQprhUQJhwHtqeIW_kh69GXPW8l2koCkd7RrUPzHS1FusoEqAlPLhjVsbQChmjIwptHCwF_ZPVnwuuUVZ_GxMV1hKxAuEX6A/s400/b+%282%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404399628571680178" border="0" /></a><br />One of the high points with a visit to Dubrovnik is a walk along the city's foremost landmark: it's city walls. A complete circumnavigation around the old town offers some of the most rememberable real-life postcards a visitor may ever see. Here are several shots of the city as seen from the walls. In the first there's a glimpse down the main promenade; as far as I could tell, cars cannot enter the old town. The resemblance to Venice is no coincidence, the cities once competed with each other for glory.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpIdclRsNRaOiLwwZx6dgi_Vs58UpppIymwVhuC00rp27gmDjWkCF7kcbRAvxQTSfg0oZGBI2JmeHZ4ez-OJIkbcD-HVflDrIQOwuV-GZfrXhYjRLMXKm5NIdKGlbiwzzETOxW6A/s1600-h/b+%283%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpIdclRsNRaOiLwwZx6dgi_Vs58UpppIymwVhuC00rp27gmDjWkCF7kcbRAvxQTSfg0oZGBI2JmeHZ4ez-OJIkbcD-HVflDrIQOwuV-GZfrXhYjRLMXKm5NIdKGlbiwzzETOxW6A/s400/b+%283%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404399627384497170" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiytO5WMTU3g_WovlSLDnm8MYSCj-dWk8epIcGnCIBrqaxUiB4_U6kw6VD1Fh6OrTpZ0-G1c2KAdQxPnrHvj0uZ1xDmmMRI7DeIDlC70stg42ioDg4z-uFdIiJvU4lTOw4P5koMHQ/s1600-h/c.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiytO5WMTU3g_WovlSLDnm8MYSCj-dWk8epIcGnCIBrqaxUiB4_U6kw6VD1Fh6OrTpZ0-G1c2KAdQxPnrHvj0uZ1xDmmMRI7DeIDlC70stg42ioDg4z-uFdIiJvU4lTOw4P5koMHQ/s400/c.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404398859625720818" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIWjbuNY4Q52dbFSnK75Cx16aEqIDPNb6NQFCyozXe_XmPEKAgMH155AFq1coMNb-0nbnSYL2vH4YQDkcZvvpy9-pULqHQ_ryWv3sOsAdOJGucakKXz8byBGNYmPiWvrZCDoOLvg/s1600-h/c+%282%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIWjbuNY4Q52dbFSnK75Cx16aEqIDPNb6NQFCyozXe_XmPEKAgMH155AFq1coMNb-0nbnSYL2vH4YQDkcZvvpy9-pULqHQ_ryWv3sOsAdOJGucakKXz8byBGNYmPiWvrZCDoOLvg/s400/c+%282%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404398854019894514" border="0" /></a><br />Look hard and you can still notice the local day-to-day life behind the tourist crowds in the old town. Here a dish-washing hand reaches through a window to set a pan out to dry.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglYgf9ZcjCcsag0UqcLEFfIyAb734TAPqodtXaNFF1P1nh9Vz2m0tfP04-KAPAE6WweSoUoErWmEnBTOUzjiTHuSWE3I3d_G6kdvZ-oFeHfXCeHVlEvjApLr8Ym-NPp6VS16AzhA/s1600-h/c+%283%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglYgf9ZcjCcsag0UqcLEFfIyAb734TAPqodtXaNFF1P1nh9Vz2m0tfP04-KAPAE6WweSoUoErWmEnBTOUzjiTHuSWE3I3d_G6kdvZ-oFeHfXCeHVlEvjApLr8Ym-NPp6VS16AzhA/s400/c+%283%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404398847298829874" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFqofxBMtCK5zz67AekjLeMKhu6yXXQ0EPkpZgqwJApbxtMqof6MmJJ4jFMBuhw3yadz4hjcQk2GUUo-8t6wdwlOWLGUmzk83N56qVxvolW7ZQ41-yyVCnE3e6a0SPcLFvQItG-g/s1600-h/d.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFqofxBMtCK5zz67AekjLeMKhu6yXXQ0EPkpZgqwJApbxtMqof6MmJJ4jFMBuhw3yadz4hjcQk2GUUo-8t6wdwlOWLGUmzk83N56qVxvolW7ZQ41-yyVCnE3e6a0SPcLFvQItG-g/s400/d.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404398846049591250" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNmLtcSKipMhmi_k897QtL4TISNW_3vuQzfWHKp19Sd_XtV8UOMXu5iMqnwd30Tto36s7o6hua5x1YrIOpJnXS-ZYm2vitRcJ5CWHzLpHu-tQONiG4IZqukTf3-7u9G6-BN8Xqew/s1600-h/d+%282%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNmLtcSKipMhmi_k897QtL4TISNW_3vuQzfWHKp19Sd_XtV8UOMXu5iMqnwd30Tto36s7o6hua5x1YrIOpJnXS-ZYm2vitRcJ5CWHzLpHu-tQONiG4IZqukTf3-7u9G6-BN8Xqew/s400/d+%282%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404398841797160338" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJsq_FLKvuTdtRv9u2yGhdvBbZtr2JyyPppB5vlGl_fuiOxKM_mltX8TkobqN2OavGyjP1VfGN5wGO5ev1PJMaYkM97ermsLXntpkwxlL3A155VFOO0KzkYeT3GocpUTVMrgxj0Q/s1600-h/d+%283%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJsq_FLKvuTdtRv9u2yGhdvBbZtr2JyyPppB5vlGl_fuiOxKM_mltX8TkobqN2OavGyjP1VfGN5wGO5ev1PJMaYkM97ermsLXntpkwxlL3A155VFOO0KzkYeT3GocpUTVMrgxj0Q/s400/d+%283%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404397872969928786" border="0" /></a><br />As in the past, the city's life is strongly connected with the sea. Dubrovnik provides more than a couple harbors, but the most charming is located in the old town.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0dDgDIaUOeBN3cCddnhak3HOR3zOvU3xv8tMQ9rD7jR-5VJ2jeN7gxkYv67xqoe64B2kGUMsELakF87iRXjKrbLGaStHT4ZcWSCOgC8xm7fJLog5MIyYYts_z-GEjet5-R9N7Ww/s1600-h/e.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0dDgDIaUOeBN3cCddnhak3HOR3zOvU3xv8tMQ9rD7jR-5VJ2jeN7gxkYv67xqoe64B2kGUMsELakF87iRXjKrbLGaStHT4ZcWSCOgC8xm7fJLog5MIyYYts_z-GEjet5-R9N7Ww/s400/e.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404397869611383986" border="0" /></a><br />I would also have to say that this is a city of stray cats. Their purrs could be heard around nearly ever corner.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkbulgaC0FK3ZegsnVSQq2AV8VLqQgYe1mf0EpVGjyrfx1FysQVGvahHWe4IeLNMGlDVnNKzIWA3_rwfQ8oRTnO0Brx2lrH9gZg10aCvSgxUFWeSg80pzuIwXILIlSWIREYYl7-Q/s1600-h/e+%282%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkbulgaC0FK3ZegsnVSQq2AV8VLqQgYe1mf0EpVGjyrfx1FysQVGvahHWe4IeLNMGlDVnNKzIWA3_rwfQ8oRTnO0Brx2lrH9gZg10aCvSgxUFWeSg80pzuIwXILIlSWIREYYl7-Q/s400/e+%282%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404397866132428898" border="0" /></a><br />A short boat ride from the old town is the inational park of Lokrum, an uninhabited island and national park. Thick Mediterranean forests cover the island's hilly landscape, and rock-strewn beaches and cliffs hug the shores. A Benedictine monastery once housed monks on Lokrum, but today only its ruins remain, as seen in the first photo below. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf0emdbQoiFXMn8aWhkMLiqSYtGsjJY4V-8pcJBn5Hozsv8PRCaaXinJBl9Lsr4lHfq2vQL6aoRGhh6J_pPc66eX5IJd_isJsHRt3ddRQmi2I70FFphhcVaGZ50dlsdv9xrsY4SA/s1600-h/e+%283%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf0emdbQoiFXMn8aWhkMLiqSYtGsjJY4V-8pcJBn5Hozsv8PRCaaXinJBl9Lsr4lHfq2vQL6aoRGhh6J_pPc66eX5IJd_isJsHRt3ddRQmi2I70FFphhcVaGZ50dlsdv9xrsY4SA/s400/e+%283%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404397857298945922" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI6Tt-R1hy3RHLQQLmA7bzo5j7bmbNtgL-QL3tmg-SqvUOyeNPOC-wVcRCUbcJ5ruFRRFZMde6cwvgvhlTe2f3R2Huv2gtwgWcju1Z719mkHAa3KEfvXPxF-b7aetuuFSEzMF2FQ/s1600-h/f.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI6Tt-R1hy3RHLQQLmA7bzo5j7bmbNtgL-QL3tmg-SqvUOyeNPOC-wVcRCUbcJ5ruFRRFZMde6cwvgvhlTe2f3R2Huv2gtwgWcju1Z719mkHAa3KEfvXPxF-b7aetuuFSEzMF2FQ/s400/f.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404397838524142306" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVN95G0GpRT2h1bDY_-HdWVATt9Vfjx23be2TGMmTnCQYIunondV87vtC1pIkZDeF_s_39gkffFubMMT5xFyV8-vLFLamoh8aAXb01mhcB47FBk6yn5Vq1mXpROl2ea7jeI8P9uw/s1600-h/f+%282%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVN95G0GpRT2h1bDY_-HdWVATt9Vfjx23be2TGMmTnCQYIunondV87vtC1pIkZDeF_s_39gkffFubMMT5xFyV8-vLFLamoh8aAXb01mhcB47FBk6yn5Vq1mXpROl2ea7jeI8P9uw/s400/f+%282%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404393786133401090" border="0" /></a><br />The waters of the Adriatic around Croatia are famous for their sparkling blue character and remarkable clarity. Snorkeling at the remote beaches of Lokrum could not be resisted. The underwater environment of several yards deep offered views of colorful schools of fish, sea urchins, and other swimming creatures.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhINnh91elAywTcu5YcKX_DwXggEJL2cAH6l7_TsRE2ww612uHOOYGrep0ezP3UYHXAplqnuP7BNRzrAe0pTiwX21EW4599JQXOktVZC_Oy_XxcZZH2Ean4nWuy_UiIbsJ319IM9A/s1600-h/f+%283%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhINnh91elAywTcu5YcKX_DwXggEJL2cAH6l7_TsRE2ww612uHOOYGrep0ezP3UYHXAplqnuP7BNRzrAe0pTiwX21EW4599JQXOktVZC_Oy_XxcZZH2Ean4nWuy_UiIbsJ319IM9A/s400/f+%283%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404393779753921730" border="0" /></a><br />Night delivered golden vistas of the city, especially around the old town's harbor.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDtPRthbmQsa1FxwXrc69o19ArX48R-wiGHtKOc3QB2eryt7V8_Oey98C6JByWbazirF5h5WvyLm-zTaECNomRmDY26K2BTwdFfy0mDNIYPgJBaAcNFFkkPizJ_12JRMYmfcLK1w/s1600-h/g.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDtPRthbmQsa1FxwXrc69o19ArX48R-wiGHtKOc3QB2eryt7V8_Oey98C6JByWbazirF5h5WvyLm-zTaECNomRmDY26K2BTwdFfy0mDNIYPgJBaAcNFFkkPizJ_12JRMYmfcLK1w/s400/g.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404393774610264050" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2LH8SBceK2u3P8E5L8nQxJ0EFGgTVIGMiioRevxG8qJv66egJ_qY00tRIXhjtbPQftpL_EFXvrPcgwD9c_yWE1iDnEM98Pimk_0On7mZ1jyLvVoUpYUhzXDJvueeAdRNOhkHdzg/s1600-h/g+%282%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2LH8SBceK2u3P8E5L8nQxJ0EFGgTVIGMiioRevxG8qJv66egJ_qY00tRIXhjtbPQftpL_EFXvrPcgwD9c_yWE1iDnEM98Pimk_0On7mZ1jyLvVoUpYUhzXDJvueeAdRNOhkHdzg/s400/g+%282%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404393768912083394" border="0" /></a><br />After a few days we left Dubrovnik and headed north on a bus. The mainland portion of Croatia is interrupted for several kilometers by Bosnia-Herzegovina. During a brief stop at a rest stop along the road in this country I snapped the picture below. Closer inspection revealed that the holes on the sign were indeed caused by gunfire.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaQqRzMDFOXAuNdh4_eKd8itIcNBnuH5JdEuWz-3aqdicJaEcZKHl9c7msAGFUCkW1YRlaBVYgR7nsCwa8RjqDn2c21ekdLSSKdPJwYHSeYdrofGAkIr2Km1S_DC1ds2UawVZguA/s1600-h/g+%283%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaQqRzMDFOXAuNdh4_eKd8itIcNBnuH5JdEuWz-3aqdicJaEcZKHl9c7msAGFUCkW1YRlaBVYgR7nsCwa8RjqDn2c21ekdLSSKdPJwYHSeYdrofGAkIr2Km1S_DC1ds2UawVZguA/s400/g+%283%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404393769406603122" border="0" /></a><br />Soon back in Croatia we reached another one of Croatia's principal cities, Split. From here we transferred to ferry, and by the end of the afternoon we arrived at our destination, the island and village of Hvar. Here we found what looked like a quaint relative of Dubrovnik, fewer tourists, and remarkably clearer water than at Lokrum. The image below shows a view from the harbor into the water, the black dots are sea urchins on the rough floor.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUgTOY3eCgofZX26wWRlj7T2GrTHw3pIBNnx0h00FLU0PRqQ82Do-YoBc1gZ3nb3ewLv9UMBfKgETfS4pTjP3o7yBdnxTtTe-oKpkBlEkWY1ckf3mPfrT20b_ACX3ToCIdbaduXQ/s1600-h/h.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUgTOY3eCgofZX26wWRlj7T2GrTHw3pIBNnx0h00FLU0PRqQ82Do-YoBc1gZ3nb3ewLv9UMBfKgETfS4pTjP3o7yBdnxTtTe-oKpkBlEkWY1ckf3mPfrT20b_ACX3ToCIdbaduXQ/s400/h.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404392961147973522" border="0" /></a><br />A couple days in Hvar gave us plenty of time to walk around the village and seek out its most attractive spots. The first photograph below shows a view from an old castle that overlooks the community.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEFfed8GXSMcT_tBz4moalwS1scbrEgaTyqAnJEpFdREHENP6w4d1IArRgR0udF5ilizFq_kzXw_mKED-mO_wNKp7Mklgwsd-wUN0NNMM3aMmNPTZKOPLshoyzSK7rg_dmnP0T1A/s1600-h/h+%282%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEFfed8GXSMcT_tBz4moalwS1scbrEgaTyqAnJEpFdREHENP6w4d1IArRgR0udF5ilizFq_kzXw_mKED-mO_wNKp7Mklgwsd-wUN0NNMM3aMmNPTZKOPLshoyzSK7rg_dmnP0T1A/s400/h+%282%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404392955435134610" border="0" /></a><br />Here are a few more shots from the harbor and cityscape of Hvar. The dogs in the second photo seemed to be waiting for me.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgLafjjBVqS10dW6RuuO_hlDuJYnBoy_PDpdf40O0KT64U9vvECDtOCovVm4-NjiE-ugeTd8fNIYhnDqJ7j9WKrW574oaP8NlLTwBKQdT2SZ4jQknlXv7JF4vgdAO-w7TBvBYdDQ/s1600-h/h+%283%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgLafjjBVqS10dW6RuuO_hlDuJYnBoy_PDpdf40O0KT64U9vvECDtOCovVm4-NjiE-ugeTd8fNIYhnDqJ7j9WKrW574oaP8NlLTwBKQdT2SZ4jQknlXv7JF4vgdAO-w7TBvBYdDQ/s400/h+%283%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404392953495476978" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwvpvsPD-vvIuL1y3eDGSaatV_r5dRwYcK-zEiYLGMvlmsnoofXI9qApFGBS2wWAMMQhA9K8pe0bSvsqFQYe5tC-7Ito-J3URgU6OobhJQYDNciqw8imLamvA2avMvB963CoDiAw/s1600-h/i.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwvpvsPD-vvIuL1y3eDGSaatV_r5dRwYcK-zEiYLGMvlmsnoofXI9qApFGBS2wWAMMQhA9K8pe0bSvsqFQYe5tC-7Ito-J3URgU6OobhJQYDNciqw8imLamvA2avMvB963CoDiAw/s400/i.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404392946660242386" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrK118SJcWzfpdcsloBGH02dCwwU0QGevzqb8PKQKxSvNE-ObQFxI9BX53AMvdN7SWFJTsn8J9FSodhvcSXRlWWh5w27EWVwZvAmwwET6SxJhh84nrFgnNzPlku35yvCo7wXMXrQ/s1600-h/i+%282%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrK118SJcWzfpdcsloBGH02dCwwU0QGevzqb8PKQKxSvNE-ObQFxI9BX53AMvdN7SWFJTsn8J9FSodhvcSXRlWWh5w27EWVwZvAmwwET6SxJhh84nrFgnNzPlku35yvCo7wXMXrQ/s400/i+%282%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404392944578795154" border="0" /></a><br />On our last day in the country we started our return to Dubrovnik's airport early in the morning so that we could spend a few hours in Split. The city of more than 200,000 offers some trips into classical history with its Roman ruins.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjff8hU3D1U2ct5O5Lx09GsrA8MNRa6sv79r5YkO2NL5g9d8hrVvT9hVn7agDAIyirhUbCuvac_1WEHUfRjWGeTpQn1zQeuK5MIgkF_CxIP16Cn5Y8YResYz0DReAMrEcPzfPKt_w/s1600-h/i+%283%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjff8hU3D1U2ct5O5Lx09GsrA8MNRa6sv79r5YkO2NL5g9d8hrVvT9hVn7agDAIyirhUbCuvac_1WEHUfRjWGeTpQn1zQeuK5MIgkF_CxIP16Cn5Y8YResYz0DReAMrEcPzfPKt_w/s400/i+%283%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404391877413424226" border="0" /></a><br />The old town is literally built into the remains of a Roman palace. Emperor Diocletian of the Roman Empire left his ruling position near the fourth century AD and had a retirement palace constructed for him in Split, the capital of the then-Roman province of Dalmatia. Much of the structure of Diocletian's Palace has remained amazingly intact through the centuries, and today the residences and shops of the old town appear perfectly integrated into the ancient walls. Steps even lead to a subterranean portion that now houses a bazaar. Here a couple photographs of the palace remains and old town.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd3Tu4GfRHj4OcRjjmjv0HsEoWI2m4iSiNhD21hWymA8FoebMSA2pGD-xPgCg8fzOOwOq82e5iTyjJZt2FIRQPIK7uMOwatGqzBzvrenZwMtiTfcHMl57YfNrUCuov7dRtNNQbdA/s1600-h/j.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd3Tu4GfRHj4OcRjjmjv0HsEoWI2m4iSiNhD21hWymA8FoebMSA2pGD-xPgCg8fzOOwOq82e5iTyjJZt2FIRQPIK7uMOwatGqzBzvrenZwMtiTfcHMl57YfNrUCuov7dRtNNQbdA/s400/j.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404391873716719714" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXYfJ_EUpdl2d1cMCu8oNYj0IuxtgH4UtjsdfqtaHZ-Jj4qQ5cELoPxh4hQ1soV0F_vX6lNXx4j2vQOhAbvFGCNNra7Qank6EnJbkp3aO6ACOGUkjbotxvsLaMoPUz32ZmyurA0A/s1600-h/j+%282%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXYfJ_EUpdl2d1cMCu8oNYj0IuxtgH4UtjsdfqtaHZ-Jj4qQ5cELoPxh4hQ1soV0F_vX6lNXx4j2vQOhAbvFGCNNra7Qank6EnJbkp3aO6ACOGUkjbotxvsLaMoPUz32ZmyurA0A/s400/j+%282%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404391867856730546" border="0" /></a><br />Another interesting place in Split was the fish market, though it did appeal more to the eyes than the nose.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT-G4SnN4ctFuUai3krrwh7Che7jrgFIKzd7sdR8XKn3inN-1rQuc1V7cogUSXK46GXdXipQfc-Oi_l8l1h1VhMb4KRpb8yf8Ww_kfZVTzRvy0pTAXUlA26YPsJPPi9iia5n3TRA/s1600-h/j+%283%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT-G4SnN4ctFuUai3krrwh7Che7jrgFIKzd7sdR8XKn3inN-1rQuc1V7cogUSXK46GXdXipQfc-Oi_l8l1h1VhMb4KRpb8yf8Ww_kfZVTzRvy0pTAXUlA26YPsJPPi9iia5n3TRA/s400/j+%283%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404391867068340258" border="0" /></a><br />Pleasantly fitting on our last day in Dalmatia was seeing none-other than possibly the most well-known export from the region--a dalmatian. And this one seemed quite the chic canine.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWO4MLlTlI5jlx8kSHXtNxAw9VJYiNklbE3TOA84SPkvJW_0EZn2FNgasvpQy55AL_pY_s0Wx_j926PHbsuc7z_fpGYZIprvR4GZh1BSuUDtP4pwe68lDBIyc1bU71E6FJkKVnjw/s1600-h/j+%284%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWO4MLlTlI5jlx8kSHXtNxAw9VJYiNklbE3TOA84SPkvJW_0EZn2FNgasvpQy55AL_pY_s0Wx_j926PHbsuc7z_fpGYZIprvR4GZh1BSuUDtP4pwe68lDBIyc1bU71E6FJkKVnjw/s400/j+%284%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404391855305809874" border="0" /></a><br />We arrived back home in Germany close to midnight that day, and the semester would be starting for me in less than a week. With the semester came all of the unexpected events and work that have regretfully kept me from posting more frequently. Fortunately, free time has again found its way to me.Nick O.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05302680637268168032noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32437289.post-89283100860836414952009-11-14T23:21:00.006+01:002009-11-15T01:30:49.978+01:00Return to Oktoberfest<span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">B</span></span>ack on October 3rd I traveled to Munich with my friends Steffi and Masashi to pay a visit to Oktoberfest. It marked my second time at the world-famous <span style="font-style: italic;">Volksfest</span> of Munich; the <a href="http://memphistomunich.blogspot.com/2008/10/first-ten-days.html">first time</a> was one year previous to the day. Steffi took the following picture of me and Masashi shortly after we arrived in the main train station. As last time, a lederhosen-clad man was caught in the shot.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMnMp3oPCdgrEUjint-c6qu4zdn3NihXSTivMkgvLH8p9FS4PPVxNZOIfjhME5BaIyw209l9O6CqxF6w4BSv4hhRbmFkKknCCHgkFSAU4lG-3I-KmMpcKp7zruB14gryOJws5LYA/s1600-h/Oktoberfest+%284%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMnMp3oPCdgrEUjint-c6qu4zdn3NihXSTivMkgvLH8p9FS4PPVxNZOIfjhME5BaIyw209l9O6CqxF6w4BSv4hhRbmFkKknCCHgkFSAU4lG-3I-KmMpcKp7zruB14gryOJws5LYA/s400/Oktoberfest+%284%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404093228719218082" border="0" /></a><br />Originally meant to celebrate the wedding of a Bavarian king, today's Oktoberfest boasts 14 overcrowded beer tents filled with roaring voices and the aromas of roasted chickens and freshly tapped beer. We arrived at the festival around noon, the precious last minutes in the day when one stands a chance of finding a seat inside a tent.<br /><br />We wasted little time after exiting the subway station at the edge of the Theresienwiesen, the fairgrounds home to the annual festival, to find our way inside a tent. We were turned away at our first try because of a security guard unwilling to let me in with my backpack. Terrorist threats this year increased the security precautions. We had better luck with our next try at the Hippodrom tent, seen below, but it didn't last long. After nearly half an hour of searching for free seats we left for another tent.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikDQFOSb3EQWxFg8DIDUyun2lHE4dSRNogxDRFutNjIDYVnt3Bcl2UdAp65QRShwdbC7DNOj0zN25Kc9aB0_NK_tTQiGhRVHa4v15T9jPJpuZBpEUXkCeVZOC-Fjya0Vuz785jaQ/s1600-h/Oktoberfest+%285%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikDQFOSb3EQWxFg8DIDUyun2lHE4dSRNogxDRFutNjIDYVnt3Bcl2UdAp65QRShwdbC7DNOj0zN25Kc9aB0_NK_tTQiGhRVHa4v15T9jPJpuZBpEUXkCeVZOC-Fjya0Vuz785jaQ/s400/Oktoberfest+%285%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404093221904806146" border="0" /></a><br />By then, all tents were full and the doors were closed to new guests. Knowing it was too late to actually find a seat inside, we started to look for openings at the tents' outdoor seating. After a couple more tries we found some open benches and quickly took our seats. Shortly thereafter we realized that we had apparently sat down at the classy tent.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0Qw2JZrrBYmCP5q6vyHlh3uAMhNXQJHMmDxJbqDQnlVEumKrJLougvrEIfrAtCmWsbMqAoZY5mR4ooS_2Fry5DS0Y0qgnRbRRiSSBserkfwTUiyz6fbTVmfsKppBmyO_4g5O6fA/s1600-h/Oktoberfest+%288%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0Qw2JZrrBYmCP5q6vyHlh3uAMhNXQJHMmDxJbqDQnlVEumKrJLougvrEIfrAtCmWsbMqAoZY5mR4ooS_2Fry5DS0Y0qgnRbRRiSSBserkfwTUiyz6fbTVmfsKppBmyO_4g5O6fA/s400/Oktoberfest+%288%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404092548640606818" border="0" /></a><br />So our search continued. Along the way we passed a trash can that was, to put it mildly, in need of some attention.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm8ZGwoqB6Djdyt60pyNQIa_90nft0Js_ZkTORIyANjRRhWBHCFX4O5Bx21zzgxJ_qXiZr9KgpOEJE2RB7F_Zz3Zm3bZy8vGWfuAPpYNI_fDAPIlmvFfMDGOhRAnI6HkHZP05ggg/s1600-h/Oktoberfest+%289%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm8ZGwoqB6Djdyt60pyNQIa_90nft0Js_ZkTORIyANjRRhWBHCFX4O5Bx21zzgxJ_qXiZr9KgpOEJE2RB7F_Zz3Zm3bZy8vGWfuAPpYNI_fDAPIlmvFfMDGOhRAnI6HkHZP05ggg/s400/Oktoberfest+%289%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404092542498836578" border="0" /></a><br />Eventually we came across a back entrance to the outdoor seating of the Schottenhammel tent. With excellent timing, a customer at the tent, likely under the influence of a few drinks, slyly walked to the closed entrance and lifted the rope for waiting fest-goers to pass under. Most in the crowd, either Germans unwilling to break the rules or tourists unsure of what to do, simply stared at the man. Steffi, Masashi, and I swiftly slid through and onto the terrace as a displeased-looking waiter raced by the tables to stop the man. We yelled out a quick "<span style="font-style: italic;">danke</span>" before blending into the crowd on the terrace. Minutes later we found a table and sat down. This would be our table for the rest of the day.<br /><br />The only size available for any drink, whether beer or cola, at most of the tents is one liter. The prices for a glass of beer at the festival seem to be rising more and more every year. A beer-drinker should have been prepared to hand over between eight and nine euros this year, about twelve American dollars. On the bright side, there's no general entrance fee for the festival.<span style="font-style: italic;"></span> At times the liter-glasses can resemble a hand-held trough. As we learned, one should also avoid from making an overly energetic toast<br />.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9LDgE9aAoOQhVGmmQ3sQSxA2P8ISWBUJP-wKS0_f1npApatSBQczGH-bH8XDu3tUKVQZzNUPEFhiptM_-o8d5g_18-Aqsuwp3s85Z6XUbaurOSI5xIgcRWMHDvN4yruxNpdrkkA/s1600-h/Oktoberfest+%2821%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9LDgE9aAoOQhVGmmQ3sQSxA2P8ISWBUJP-wKS0_f1npApatSBQczGH-bH8XDu3tUKVQZzNUPEFhiptM_-o8d5g_18-Aqsuwp3s85Z6XUbaurOSI5xIgcRWMHDvN4yruxNpdrkkA/s400/Oktoberfest+%2821%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404092537094200690" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy_0Tew77hRE-iYnJw3792X24X_93hbn0foBMah1hEJ_ODd-b-ZTAKUxWXhIvnZp0VF2ZIDZwyW9RFeAl7hCvsyKrrtxC_aLTQpF80XSl0JqsBWETw-tIRjA94y_vHfUFHjV-QpA/s1600-h/Oktoberfest+%2829%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy_0Tew77hRE-iYnJw3792X24X_93hbn0foBMah1hEJ_ODd-b-ZTAKUxWXhIvnZp0VF2ZIDZwyW9RFeAl7hCvsyKrrtxC_aLTQpF80XSl0JqsBWETw-tIRjA94y_vHfUFHjV-QpA/s400/Oktoberfest+%2829%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404092531516891682" border="0" /></a><br />We left the festival sometime after eight o'clock that night. The train back to Eichstätt took longer than usual because of the dozens of visitors at the festival returning home. Not necessarily because of each returning visitor, mostly only those who were still inebriated. The train conductors had to wait a little longer at every scheduled stop in order to make sure that everyone exited the train safely, and that the confused had some time to board again.<br /><br />Some weeks later, when I went to Munich to have the new pages added to my passport, I passed by the fairgrounds. Oktoberfest was long over, but not yet gone. The frames of the giant tents remained. Work crews were busy dismantling the beloved festival. The pieces would be carried away and put into storage until next year, or at least until the next <span style="font-style: italic;">Volksfest</span> at the Theresienwiesen.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTkdgTpOjrThY7o3KmTsWS5NaGHCo45x8yGIONW1ix5P8lPksH_wGrz2srT3kas5F6mIhyphenhyphenJ1R81rZ5-T_c_KeWlCR2BDaR2alTZxiT3DZ2y3tW58FybZ6rtNuGN2IbR9pEBtQeCA/s1600-h/Oktoberfest+%2836%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTkdgTpOjrThY7o3KmTsWS5NaGHCo45x8yGIONW1ix5P8lPksH_wGrz2srT3kas5F6mIhyphenhyphenJ1R81rZ5-T_c_KeWlCR2BDaR2alTZxiT3DZ2y3tW58FybZ6rtNuGN2IbR9pEBtQeCA/s400/Oktoberfest+%2836%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404092527043027874" border="0" /></a>Nick O.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05302680637268168032noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32437289.post-59317038397598194212009-10-31T14:48:00.002+01:002009-10-31T17:09:07.696+01:00How I Lost My Visit to Lichtenstein<span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">A</span></span> new year in Germany has begun. I have actually been back since the end of September but a series of events and necessary work kept me fairly busy until now. In the first week after my return to Eichstätt I moved house from one apartment to another, albeit no more than 500 feet away. A stack of paper work greeted me back to the country as well, some associated with the change of address and some with staying for another year. It is this paper work that inspired the title of this post.<br /><br />Immediately after my return I was faced with an important yet seemingly easily achievable chore: the renewal of my visa. My past visa, which granted me permission to reside in Germany throughout the last school year, expired on September 30; I arrived back in the country on September 28, leaving me two and a half days to renew the document. <br /><br />My initial worry dealt with the supporting documents required for the extension. The government officials would need to see confirmation of my position at the university, but I fretted that because of my changed address the needed letter from the school would be delayed. Fortunately the letter awaited me in my new mail box when I checked it on the afternoon of the 28th. The next day I received the last necessary documents from the university during a personal visit that lasted longer than expected, and, along with the inconvenient government office hours, thereby erased any chances of visiting the visa office on the same day. I would have to wait until my last legally granted day in Germany to obtain the new visa.<br /><br />If I could not receive the new visa before my current one expired, chances are that I could have remained as an illegal alien in the country for a couple days without any problems. These were, however, chances that I preferably did not want to entertain.<br /><br />On Wednesday, September 30, I rode my bike over the cobblestone bridge into the old town and up to the <span style="font-style: italic;">Landratsamt</span>, the equivalent of the county office building. I walked into the Foreigner's Office at an early hour so as to assure that I had plenty of time until noon, closing time for public visits, to wait if need. Luckily, only the standard, plain chairs occupied the waiting room.<br /><br />After passing through the last door and greeting the worker behind the counter I started to hand over the forms and documents. To my surprise (this being my third year in Germany I have come to expect unforeseen problems with the Foreigner's Office), everything appeared in order. The current German visa, that is, the document itself, consists of two thick slips of paper that are pasted on two pages in one's passport. These slips display the holder's photograph, his pertinent information, and the conditions of his stay in Germany. Before retreating to the waiting room for the official to finish the work, I asked her if she could simply paste the new visa over the previous one, in order to spare some blank pages in my quickly filling passport. She answered that she wasn't allowed to do that, and I shrugged it off as a small issue.<br /><br />After only a few minutes in the waiting room the office door opened and the official emerged with my passport in hand. <br /><br />"We have a problem," she began. "I've looked through your entire passport and there is only one blank page available."<br /><br />Assuming I had caught on to the alleged problem I quickly responded, "It's okay with me if the new visa covers a page with stamps." The solution would result in the loss of some travel mementos, yes, but considering the alternative I had to allow it.<br /><br />"I'm sorry," she answered, "I'm not allowed to place the visa over any stamps either."<br /><br />Surely, my eyes noticeably widened or my head cocked to the side a bit as my understanding of the "problem" improved. If there was no place for her to place the visa, what then was she suggesting, that I cannot receive it at all?<br /><br />I reached for my passport and, as one does tend to trust only himself in stressful situations, turned each page carefully to see with my own eyes if what she had said were true. There were my two previous visas, one about to expire in mere hours and one from my year of studying abroad, and the many entry and exit stamps I had acquired through my travels. I came to the third- and second-to-last pages, both were blank.<br /><br />"Here, you can use these. These are still blank."<br /><br />"Hm," she thought out loud as she took the passport back, "no, I'm sorry. The titles of these pages read <span style="font-style: italic;">Amendments</span>. I'm only allowed to insert the visa on pages with the title <span style="font-style: italic;">Visas</span>.<br /><br />"I really am sorry," she continued, "but there is no place for me to insert the new visa. You will have to go to the American consulate in Munich and request a new passport."<br /><br />The bureaucracy, the waiting time, and the potential problems involved with that possibility were too much for me to accept. <br /><br />"It really would be no problem with me if you placed the visa over some of my old stamps. I don't need them anymore." I hoped that some of her German bureaucratic ways would waiver, but she again informed that she was not allowed to do that. Then I had an idea.<br /><br />I flipped to a certain page and pointed to the one stamp on it. "Maybe you could cover this stamp? It's from Lichtenstein, but it's not real, not official. It's just a souvenir; I actually bought it. See, the words <span style="font-style: italic;">Tourist Office</span> are even on the stamp." The last truly blank page would be used, and only one stamp would be lost for the needed second page.<br /><br />She inspected the stamp briefly before shaking her head. "I'm sorry, but," I almost repeated the words with her, "I'm not allowed to do that."<br /><br />A long sigh signaled my surrender to her strict adherence to the rules. She returned inside the office to issue a certificate that would offer me temporary permission to remain in the country. From the waiting room I could hear her speak with her coworker, not well enough to distinguish every word, but enough to catch a few phrases. I understood, "not allowed to," and, "Lichtenstein," and then there was laughter. Soon after, as I contemplated when I could go to Munich and how much the trip would cost, the door opened and the coworker walked out. He gave me a brief hello and what seemed to be like a smirk. Not only were they putting me in this situation, I thought, but they also found humor in it.<br /><br />After the coworker left the waiting room into the hallway, the original official cracked the office door open.<br /><br />"After discussing the matter with my colleague, I have decided that it would be permissible to place the new visa over the stamp from the Principality of Lichtenstein. Would this solution be okay with you?"<br /><br />I paused for a brief second as if to actually contemplate her question. "Yes, that would be okay. Thank you."<br /><br />And so it was that I lost my visit to Lichtenstein. If I now hold that page of my passport up to a light I can still barely make out the hidden stamp from the backside.<br /><br />After waiting a little longer for the woman to complete to visa and insert in my passport, I walked toward the exit. While doing so I recalled my visit to the tourist office in Lichtenstein when I bought the stamp last February. As the worker in that office was about to place the stamp on a blank page, I almost stopped her and requested if she could simply put it on a page with previous stamps. However, on quick second thought I decided it wouldn't be so important to keep that certain page blank, and the stamp landed on the page.<br /><br />In order to prevent any future problems dealing with a scaricty of blank pages in my passport, I visited the American consulate while in Munich a couple of Fridays ago. After a tight security procedure at the entrance and about an hour of waiting, several new pages were stitched into the booklet. Hopefully that will suffice until this current passport expires.<br /><br />Following the tiring first week or so after my return, things took an easier path. I traveled to Munich on another occasion to attend the Oktoberfest with a couple friends, and in the middle of October I went a little farther in order to spend a week in the splendid country of Croatia. Look forward to posts about these events in the days ahead.Nick O.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05302680637268168032noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32437289.post-39806414330487676152009-09-04T20:53:00.005+02:002009-10-13T14:48:15.172+02:00Summer Vacation<span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" ><strong>F</strong></span>or the first time in eight months I'm on home soil in America. I'll be staying here for most of the month enjoying time with friends and family. As Fire at Will is mostly meant as a means of sharing my European travels and experiences, I do not forsee any new posts until my return to Germany. New trips are already planned for the weeks after my return, and soon after that the next semester will begin. Check back sometime in the middle or towards the end of October, and in the meantime take advantage of the summer's twilight.Nick O.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05302680637268168032noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32437289.post-9557651450605875722009-09-04T13:55:00.000+02:002009-09-04T20:52:38.660+02:00Eichstätt's Volksfest<span style="COLOR: rgb(204,0,0);font-size:180%;" ><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">A</span></span> couple weeks ago I wrote about the famous <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">Volksfest</span> of Straubing, now its Eichstätt's turn. The festival here is of course not nearly as large or as famous as Straubing's, but it offers it's own charm.<br /><br />The festivities began last Friday evening, but the festival itself did not officially kick off until Saturday afternoon. This is when a short parade carrying Eichstätt's mayor and this year's chosen "queen" for the festival left the town center and arrived at the fair grounds. Before the parade started, hundreds of people gathered on the Marktplatz, the main town square, to enjoy free beer distributed from the local Hofmühl brewery.<br /><br />Some photos showing the staging of the parade follow. <div><br /> </div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5377685323900469426" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyh8oiUJN-20VXiBr53ZDUNnNTMXhJ2CcGFoYx7wZb_Zu_A4NnzrFRiu5RXs2z7N3h-9LezrDxp7Iekq4uTq2OTtYNxf75kxSG-hBxtekjsUw-1-84GVhi0L3pMEHDF3t5dKo3kw/s400/P1020152.JPG" border="0" /><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5377685318130427922" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF7bI_8bkRS_CE-0HivFu6kLCU3VKP-qu-xKqyXaHXf7dXfjfUBN0BqnhUuHeKNPB5-6KuPxeQXLTE1Z-mTaTm32gUQBjb3aGVgTAIBTjNOIG0zd4wH3iXWkZqxt1VW3R-FmP7tg/s400/P1020156.JPG" border="0" /><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"><br />The fairly small and quaint Volksfest Eichstätt offers one massive beer tent, seemingly large enough to contain all residents of the town, a couple dozen vendors and amusement rides. A view inside the beer tent, which I believe was acutally larger than any of the tents I visited in Straubing, is in the first picture below. The blue and white banners correspond with the offical colors of Bavaria. At the end of the tent, or what looks like the distant horizon, is a stage where different bands will play during the entire length of the festival. The last picture offers a glimpse of the festival from the top of the ferris wheel. Eichstätt's <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">Volksfest</span> will continue until next Sunday, but of course by then I'll have been gone from Germany for a handful of days.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj02Hbj4fkt-3yWoG6QhCeLnaTpSJvb59yuB40TvYOThH6rHNONCpTfijL4v3jgHaGrHEnEmKwssZVvMz5Cmc59_1MN2jqC6eyjN-ldQy8gpD4aNYGTblZAfnVTqHFG44E6h7KEZg/s1600-h/P1020162.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376259491255511074" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj02Hbj4fkt-3yWoG6QhCeLnaTpSJvb59yuB40TvYOThH6rHNONCpTfijL4v3jgHaGrHEnEmKwssZVvMz5Cmc59_1MN2jqC6eyjN-ldQy8gpD4aNYGTblZAfnVTqHFG44E6h7KEZg/s400/P1020162.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHL_E_xBiWp9kgaiRWoeVwHZP5oy2ogvtmr46qPJZp7UjoTtE-tFN71SgSUNOhsqVJR9NOFv1Bkn5OBORdXDFZyAq1wqF2P8tFUd_X26bGIkkUhyZoagi6K64u-0-YyvRAjEWXRg/s1600-h/P1020176.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376259486584932434" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHL_E_xBiWp9kgaiRWoeVwHZP5oy2ogvtmr46qPJZp7UjoTtE-tFN71SgSUNOhsqVJR9NOFv1Bkn5OBORdXDFZyAq1wqF2P8tFUd_X26bGIkkUhyZoagi6K64u-0-YyvRAjEWXRg/s400/P1020176.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div></div>Nick O.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05302680637268168032noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32437289.post-34984896601499343242009-08-31T23:55:00.001+02:002009-09-01T00:12:43.727+02:00A Culinary and Sight-Seeing Tour of Brussels<span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">F</span></span>rom last Friday to Tuesday I found myself, for the first time, in the Belgian capital city, enjoying the sights and the food. After arriving I met my French friend Julie in the train station, where Julie's friend, Emily, greeted us. We would stay with Emily at her apartment and with her two roommates for the next four nights.<br /><br />When most people think of Belgium they can instantly find connections with chocolate and waffles, but beyond these things general knowledge of this small Western European country remains lacking. Located between France and the Netherlands, the Belgian nation of roughly 11,000,000 citizens is essentially two cultures living together. The southern half of the country is known as Wallonia, home to the French-influenced and French-speaking Walloons. Flanders consists of the larger northern half and the Flems, who speak a dialect of Dutch called Flemish. The national capital, Brussels, rests in the southern portion of Flanders. The city is the only officially bilingual region of the country, but French is actually the primary language in Brussels. In contradiction to this, the Flems constitute the majority of the Belgian population.<br /><br />As most people's initial thoughts of chocolate and waffles would hint, Belgium has a strong food culture offering several specialties, but there is of course more to the country. For example, Waterloo, where Napoleon was defeated, lies outside the capital. More to the present, several European Union institutions and agencies have their main offices in Brussels, making the city and region of one million residents the unofficial "capital of Europe."<br /><br />The apartment of Emily, who is in the city temporarily to conduct an internship in the offices of the European Union, was in the allegedly posh neighborhood of Brussels located south of its center. The neighborhood was also younger than the city center, though judging by the buildings this distinction was clearly in the relative sense. The following several photos show views from in and around Emily's neighborhood. The first one is looking out the window of Emily's apartment building. In the second you can see an example of Brussels' strong sidewalk cafe scene.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqtPaliVRZI0u94tubMcUE9nxPp3BTafMgvvlSO5dnEObxpG5RDcS_N1ahBfqxxKzJasmNbNx_42cbSZAtwk7gsRRW9oTY3o9TtZ1-Ru80EEggU7Y0RT_mRGfG_LGOdmGt1NKEUQ/s1600-h/blog.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqtPaliVRZI0u94tubMcUE9nxPp3BTafMgvvlSO5dnEObxpG5RDcS_N1ahBfqxxKzJasmNbNx_42cbSZAtwk7gsRRW9oTY3o9TtZ1-Ru80EEggU7Y0RT_mRGfG_LGOdmGt1NKEUQ/s400/blog.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375073014611693730" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuxG2yOcKtOOFvw9AJVhphn_McU-G6rw54ViYkFjXrsfjVi1G6WEQosbiqyli4MCeCrMfOSAWSeyngOGlekmjNvZsRhUSrd8z_osiu8NuK02a7n4HCDweMDk3aK3hIpq4gbMFe_A/s1600-h/blog+%281%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuxG2yOcKtOOFvw9AJVhphn_McU-G6rw54ViYkFjXrsfjVi1G6WEQosbiqyli4MCeCrMfOSAWSeyngOGlekmjNvZsRhUSrd8z_osiu8NuK02a7n4HCDweMDk3aK3hIpq4gbMFe_A/s400/blog+%281%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375072183164689906" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIZWsRmThmayeA2CgXm5Td7FunRjkg8OX_SNcf8e2DIQSWCRublvgnR1tZ0uCgv2cN3SKxFZDtD8h4xUh3qcoZSTelkPXTBFy2TmVx0yyhRpYsR8KS6uMHJFwF-XHYorK30-Useg/s1600-h/blog+%282%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIZWsRmThmayeA2CgXm5Td7FunRjkg8OX_SNcf8e2DIQSWCRublvgnR1tZ0uCgv2cN3SKxFZDtD8h4xUh3qcoZSTelkPXTBFy2TmVx0yyhRpYsR8KS6uMHJFwF-XHYorK30-Useg/s400/blog+%282%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375072177328204738" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9VuJJLJovuR5Y1IMZVPjhHlT_u93_6YrY35CrGwZ6NbP4WO3Fvd2nksTaGuz-lsEu3xbRLhqqeTEdGJ3TaWDPu0uqctPFn5kUFgD0V0mfMKOfNaLIkXZRemjc5o5jmnpo6KurUA/s1600-h/blog+%283%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9VuJJLJovuR5Y1IMZVPjhHlT_u93_6YrY35CrGwZ6NbP4WO3Fvd2nksTaGuz-lsEu3xbRLhqqeTEdGJ3TaWDPu0uqctPFn5kUFgD0V0mfMKOfNaLIkXZRemjc5o5jmnpo6KurUA/s400/blog+%283%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375072169187999378" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Most of Brussels' main sights are located in the city center, a masonry wedding cake with layers of architectural styles. At the very center lies the Grand Place, a medieval public square framed with early 17th century guild halls and Brussels' Gothic city hall. When a French army bombarded the city in 1695 most of the buildings around the Grand Place were leveled; the city hall remained standing with relatively less damage, an ironic outcome considering that this building was actually the French's intended target. A couple photographs of the Grand Place follow, but the city hall is not seen in either.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha5aqpIJYEWt05PzesOqiNvMRXIUC4fG6S2NN4rcV2ymPQqkFkkn5Pju_ekBidMWtAxYr17hSZjakOR_yNYXT_qT8cSqnXrhkURvGn_Rb0Qy9fwNlXRT52oUBT7fLAqLBWG9jxzw/s1600-h/blog+%284%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha5aqpIJYEWt05PzesOqiNvMRXIUC4fG6S2NN4rcV2ymPQqkFkkn5Pju_ekBidMWtAxYr17hSZjakOR_yNYXT_qT8cSqnXrhkURvGn_Rb0Qy9fwNlXRT52oUBT7fLAqLBWG9jxzw/s400/blog+%284%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375072161144908466" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6EFQKHYXBrosxtMzqepkw5ogK_dT_shNtJJEUlh9Zx2CQtzgf_tdbvPwvp2rCCjVmLvpqBhKvuMGodFYQI0Q2ORqBkyJBHgvrfT-Et_ZsoXu9oEWi2nKsDg18udksIm4on6LCTQ/s1600-h/blog+%285%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6EFQKHYXBrosxtMzqepkw5ogK_dT_shNtJJEUlh9Zx2CQtzgf_tdbvPwvp2rCCjVmLvpqBhKvuMGodFYQI0Q2ORqBkyJBHgvrfT-Et_ZsoXu9oEWi2nKsDg18udksIm4on6LCTQ/s400/blog+%285%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375071025108399410" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Branching out from the Grand Place are several narrow lanes and twisting streets. Open air markets selling goods and antiques abound, as do the pedestrians strolling from the stalls on the streets to the shops along them. In the picture below you can see Emily and Julie walking past the art galleries lining this alley.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU2UPi3p1WkIXyLEDcKeDlFLDRdRQ7sOKtludJmHji7xJ9Z-nS4RxMTTS1iu6ZnSnMti1Mps4ZjQ0MduUSbDSKHA54W3jSBwE8DLlWQoZkJtb_mEFwlDt0REYqX1atQa8-KbVEcw/s1600-h/blog+%286%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU2UPi3p1WkIXyLEDcKeDlFLDRdRQ7sOKtludJmHji7xJ9Z-nS4RxMTTS1iu6ZnSnMti1Mps4ZjQ0MduUSbDSKHA54W3jSBwE8DLlWQoZkJtb_mEFwlDt0REYqX1atQa8-KbVEcw/s400/blog+%286%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375071017374682578" border="0" /></a><br /><br />In short walking distance from the Grand Place are two more of Brussels' most popular attractions, both seen below. The first picture shows the internationally recognized statue titled the Manneken Pis. This bronze depiction of a urinating boy is only about a foot tall, but the fountain's edge is usually crowded with camera-toting tourists. Slightly north of the Grand Place can one find the landmark seen in the second image, the Galeries St Hubert. This shopping arcade was built in the mid-18oos and still houses some of Brussels' up-scale stores.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEielLAbnF_bzCTOn8Ln9y2Pee9ejSnBGZ6mqdWNMVY1SFa9iPNjRhtvL3V0WtSqy_PlVfQRuvICzaETwNMRtDIEHyVpdnAzh0ujNuXcoLgSHp3Xk2uMTjlGiFTTmu1SkBlM_Zy3ZQ/s1600-h/blog+%287%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEielLAbnF_bzCTOn8Ln9y2Pee9ejSnBGZ6mqdWNMVY1SFa9iPNjRhtvL3V0WtSqy_PlVfQRuvICzaETwNMRtDIEHyVpdnAzh0ujNuXcoLgSHp3Xk2uMTjlGiFTTmu1SkBlM_Zy3ZQ/s400/blog+%287%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375071008543548818" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcDrIDWT-iScjPbbbz7q2epTO5mPwApoAlAbpN45FBtGPpmfQpbSmUPQ3akXmLymCBVtb0yqEVXmuVBn-EFVAu9bagy3jjeGQbaIbF1oJM4M-4mEotcvsqn0FsGcBdtXtihyphenhyphenYkvw/s1600-h/blog+%288%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcDrIDWT-iScjPbbbz7q2epTO5mPwApoAlAbpN45FBtGPpmfQpbSmUPQ3akXmLymCBVtb0yqEVXmuVBn-EFVAu9bagy3jjeGQbaIbF1oJM4M-4mEotcvsqn0FsGcBdtXtihyphenhyphenYkvw/s400/blog+%288%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375071000295499074" border="0" /></a><br /><br />As said earlier, Brussels and Belgium are both well known for their food offerings. Here are some looks at the foods we tried during our visit.<br /><br />As an appetizer for one lunch I ordered the escargot, though as a dish I had eaten several times before it was selected more for its taste than its novelty. Of course, in the end, prepared snails are associated more with French cuisine than Belgian.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOrbK5hODeUw9QtbH3abxllGGC5M24IBd6ubHpXAUPyO37dgc8u19d3m0imyWEN08rAEEz7nofLHQTE9FHjjd6pBkalNnhMs1mJDwhurGoJr4oQunBJdn8FQ__AUfjOCRMEv45lA/s1600-h/blog+%289%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOrbK5hODeUw9QtbH3abxllGGC5M24IBd6ubHpXAUPyO37dgc8u19d3m0imyWEN08rAEEz7nofLHQTE9FHjjd6pBkalNnhMs1mJDwhurGoJr4oQunBJdn8FQ__AUfjOCRMEv45lA/s400/blog+%289%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375070995819081314" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The main course that followed however was as traditionally Belgian as possible. <span style="font-style: italic;">Moules frites</span> consists simply of steamed mussels in a white wine sauce and French fries, and can be regarded as the national dish of Belgium. An image of the meal is seen below. Emily explained that the proper way to eat the mussels is to use one emptied mussel shell as a utensil to pull out the meat from another shell. Additionally, as one would in do in most European restaurants anyway, the French fries should be brought to one's mouth with a fork. We agreed that it was a simple, yet tasty meal.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVW2KI_ppa5M6WZyNGxaYKsnyTY0lp80JwivhYq8RDjsOOVVmq2JX4F8g6gmjZ_hnXMFi1O0vL6WpT-KnIJhn2XVN6aJUAWt75Ztff_CKn8urQ5O5__XYQsbEX78JQGb8EfhiXdA/s1600-h/blog+%2810%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVW2KI_ppa5M6WZyNGxaYKsnyTY0lp80JwivhYq8RDjsOOVVmq2JX4F8g6gmjZ_hnXMFi1O0vL6WpT-KnIJhn2XVN6aJUAWt75Ztff_CKn8urQ5O5__XYQsbEX78JQGb8EfhiXdA/s400/blog+%2810%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375072154821582674" border="0" /></a><br /><br />When it comes to Beglian cuisine, most people would likely call to mind sweet concoctions before meals of mussels, and rightfully so. Belgium is the birthplace of chocolate pralines; Belgian chocolate in general requires no introduction. In Brussels, the city's main chocolatiers operate multiple stores near the main shopping and tourist destinations. The stores emit a refined ambiance. Associates, for example, wear white gloves when picking up the chocolates. One of these chocolatiers is Neuhaus, which was established in 1857 and is allegedly where the chocolate praline (chocolates with a flavored filling) was invented. Neuhaus' flagship store in Brussels, pictured below, is located in Galleries St Hubert. From here we purchased a small sampling of their pralines, including such flavors as caramel, rasberry, and champagne. All met my approval.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizy-wGyYzxGUXcTnOju3ey2ZJeYZGcfSw4NmBTTmg5QQlxP4CpyNjns5AGfHr5ZiHuC4apS9XUJmwKISFvUK_4juSUhf_P7Z1aFgKhAQ_DyscZyD691vLPovHVhk0rsAnLgy8ROQ/s1600-h/blog+%2811%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizy-wGyYzxGUXcTnOju3ey2ZJeYZGcfSw4NmBTTmg5QQlxP4CpyNjns5AGfHr5ZiHuC4apS9XUJmwKISFvUK_4juSUhf_P7Z1aFgKhAQ_DyscZyD691vLPovHVhk0rsAnLgy8ROQ/s400/blog+%2811%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375069769577307858" border="0" /></a><br /><br />And who could forget Belgian waffles? There actually is not one type of Belgian waffle, rather local varieties that differ from regions and cities in Belgium. That said, the two most popular versions are those of Brussels and Liege. The waffle of Liege, a city in eastern Belgium, is made from a rich batter that contains small chunks of sugar, which essentially gurantee that every bite will be sweet and crunchy. Liege waffles are commonly sold from street vendors and in bakeries, and eatten plain.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidDfjeuLou8Q0pcn_rCF-f6vBqTaep4X6h4ZY7YniIzOjx-GcwUTjjxsqT8mbWwcQ9anNGDdiWoMpZPURvXDwPgDQxH8DdgiNMBQ7PSMM1hpCL1_yw-YQstlTdNKBfQcZCRAljNQ/s1600-h/blog+%2812%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidDfjeuLou8Q0pcn_rCF-f6vBqTaep4X6h4ZY7YniIzOjx-GcwUTjjxsqT8mbWwcQ9anNGDdiWoMpZPURvXDwPgDQxH8DdgiNMBQ7PSMM1hpCL1_yw-YQstlTdNKBfQcZCRAljNQ/s400/blog+%2812%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375069763066662482" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The Brussels waffle is the kind that most Americans are likely more familiar with. Served mostly as a dessert, this version uses a yeast batter lacking the sugar chunks. Multiple toppings, such as whipped cream, fruits, sauces, or ice cream, are placed on the warm waffle. Savory versions also exist, but are ordered less commonly. One of the incredibly sweet Brussels waffle that I tried is the subject of the following photograph. Indeed, under the strawberries, chocolate sauce, powdered sugar, and two types of ice cream is a waffle. After trying both the Brussels and Liege waffles, I decided that my preference lies with the latter, which was evidenced by the fact that I ate at least three a day.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhmBbRDH82y6xWXS6MqGjrI5FcGXZ_TCOYQX5VU3O7iPai6TGNOInthZW2et0GN1ZmCVnwcwAOEOivQUxk1JJ4MAZauzUghZQzK-DXReQwMLdAL7u0qENDi-B7bp0MnY5KTGhVww/s1600-h/blog+%2813%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhmBbRDH82y6xWXS6MqGjrI5FcGXZ_TCOYQX5VU3O7iPai6TGNOInthZW2et0GN1ZmCVnwcwAOEOivQUxk1JJ4MAZauzUghZQzK-DXReQwMLdAL7u0qENDi-B7bp0MnY5KTGhVww/s400/blog+%2813%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375069759443255442" border="0" /></a><br /><br />From waffles we arrive at the last Belgian culinary specialty that I will take time to exhibit: the French fry. Though the reason for the misconception remains uncertain, perhaps it deals somehow with the fact that part of Belgium speaks French, the truth is that French fries are traditionally Belgian, not French. Belgians proudly claim that their small country is the home of this now world-wide side dish, and they demonstrate it by accompanying many meals with the fried-potato slices. This may inevitably lead one to ask what the Belgians call French fries. The answer would be the same names that the French use, <span style="font-style: italic;">pommes frites</span> or, simply, <span style="font-style: italic;">frites</span>. These are the French words for, respectively, fried potatoes and fried (Technically the French name for potato is <span style="font-style: italic;">pomme de terre</span>, apple of the Earth). Whatever the origin, the Belgians do indeed offer some quality French fries.<br /><br />Emily brought use to a street vendor that was a fifteen-minute walk from her apartment. After asking around during her first weeks in Brussels, she had learned that the title for the best Fench fries in the city usully goes to either this vendor or another north of the city center. The line of customers in the first photo attests to the popularity of this stand and its fries. After waiting at least ten minutes to place our order, we waited a little longer for the cook to prepare the fries fresh. Clearly, no bags were being pulled from a freezer. You can see the final crispy product in the second following picture.<br /><br />Considering that I've had an incountable number of portion of French fries in my lifetime, I probably can't say with certainity that they were the best I've had, though I am tempted to do so, but I can definitely report that they were the best from recent memory. The golden slivers of potatoes were consistently firm, yet never over-fried. Not one came close to being soggy, and traces of oil didn't exist. The salty seasoning was light enough that it didn't overpower the taste of the potato or cause one to reach for his drink. Though quite a number of dipping sauces were offered on the side, I chose the Belgian favorite of mayonnaise. The pairing is recommended.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUDzEh-fJJJXYScJILJPqb4MsCC1LZ2So680zDPfPNBkYQrbl2Ps89GF1DOgHYq2ss9VPzInQIUo30uIGznGr5UnqKQv0A7dDiRC6EcEZ6GkTrNWwtMpJU6CFI1HS1FaKRomYFXQ/s1600-h/blog+%2814%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUDzEh-fJJJXYScJILJPqb4MsCC1LZ2So680zDPfPNBkYQrbl2Ps89GF1DOgHYq2ss9VPzInQIUo30uIGznGr5UnqKQv0A7dDiRC6EcEZ6GkTrNWwtMpJU6CFI1HS1FaKRomYFXQ/s400/blog+%2814%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375069747950037730" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWfKRxg9mtl90oCkoFt8S6Hxy9xeNIJ3eOyIZDkZPR_hCC3TXDx-aG0PQ7s006paoEWCG5785_h4lX6EpcoyIOEubXso0DaTiySV2PofsY4BpusJMCP6gIo5h786tqlptPlFzwmQ/s1600-h/blog+%2815%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWfKRxg9mtl90oCkoFt8S6Hxy9xeNIJ3eOyIZDkZPR_hCC3TXDx-aG0PQ7s006paoEWCG5785_h4lX6EpcoyIOEubXso0DaTiySV2PofsY4BpusJMCP6gIo5h786tqlptPlFzwmQ/s400/blog+%2815%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375069740473566114" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The European Quarter north of the city center, where several of the European Union offices are located, is likely less of a destination in Brussels for most tourists (espeically those outside of Europe), but ranked as my favorite experience in the city. Europe is in the midst of a great democratic experiment, and this experiment is known as the European Union.<br /><br />The E.U. is a unique, original goverment body that is changing the face of Europe. Unlike the United Nations, the E.U. is not merely a stage for international cooperation or a collection of government representatives to discuss common issues. Likewise, the E.U. is not a federation like the United States of America because its independent member states retain levels of sovereignty in multiple areas. In other areas where the member states have decided that a regional approach is better, such as trade and environmental protection, they have pooled their sovereignty together to create European law. For simplicity's sake, it may help to think of the E.U. as a confederation of European nations. An additional result is that member states are able to have greater world influence together than they would alone. But the E.U. is not simply an invisible bureaucracy, as it has grown stronger, its presence has been seen and felt more and more across the continent.<br /><br />What started as the European Coal and Steel Community in 1952 with six member states, has become the European Union of 27 members. As the name accurately describes, the E.U. has worked hard to unify Europe. Bridges, highways, high-speed rail lines, and tunnels have been built and funded to better connect member states. The euro was introduced as a common currency to additionally facilitate trade, and is used by most member states. Every five years an election throughout the E.U. takes places for its 500 million citizens to choose their representatives in the European Parliament. The E.U. has a flag (twelve blue stars on a blue background) and an official anthem (<span style="font-style: italic;">Ode to Joy</span>, based on Beethoven's <span style="font-style: italic;">Ninth Symphony</span>). It would be inaccurate to label the E.U. as a country, but with integration continuing and pushes for the E.U. government to hold greater power strengthing, that may one day in the far future be more of the case.<br /><br />In many senses, the E.U. now is similar to the U.S.A. in its beginnings. For several decades even after the first goverment of America failed, the Articles of Confederation, member states held greater power than today and fought for "states' rights." Residents of the states described themselves as citizens of their respecitve states first, then as Americans, partly because American citizenship didn't officially exist until after the Civil War. As time passed, the states united physically and emotionally. The parallels with the E.U. exist, and because of this, at least for me anyway, the evolution and shaping of the E.U. is interesting and entertaining to follow.<br /><br />Due to reasons too complicated to discuss here, many of the E.U. law-making institutions and supporting agencies have their main offices in Brussels. The photograph below shows one building in the European Quarter, the walls of which are labeled with public messages reminding people to vote in the recent elections for the European Parliament. <br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG9Bn9lndtjzZ4Es_blETWJhA8pvOplFkldbjCiasGO6qGD5XpNfON5JTlb6947-maZnCyiwHhyphenhyphenzsVwI41w_7zVa6vhDzaIdNA9aEGAndrDoeW3gMFJE8tY7jVhpg9u1WjU400yQ/s1600-h/blog+%2816%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG9Bn9lndtjzZ4Es_blETWJhA8pvOplFkldbjCiasGO6qGD5XpNfON5JTlb6947-maZnCyiwHhyphenhyphenzsVwI41w_7zVa6vhDzaIdNA9aEGAndrDoeW3gMFJE8tY7jVhpg9u1WjU400yQ/s400/blog+%2816%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375068931096729858" border="0" /></a><br />The main sight to be seen in the European Quarter is the European Parliament. This is actually one of two locations where the parliament meets. The other seat is in Strasbourg, France, and the reason for this is, again, too complicated for this post. Free tours are held inside the parliament building to allow European citizens to see the meeting chamber and better understand how the body works. In the first picture below is a sign on the parliament building indicating what it is in each of the E.U.'s 23 official languages. The second photo shows a larger perspective of the building.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinCuBcdW2htlmotiKPD3Lm7ff03EfZ8yWFHH3HNvpBsY71Q5topsqcdx4JdsYpDkDqPB-a6_UTDY6DkB61R5uVux-ricFOsX48a0MyWBpp6VjSv9Ryl8GQY2i3z8ZEZfnoht6akg/s1600-h/blog+%2817%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinCuBcdW2htlmotiKPD3Lm7ff03EfZ8yWFHH3HNvpBsY71Q5topsqcdx4JdsYpDkDqPB-a6_UTDY6DkB61R5uVux-ricFOsX48a0MyWBpp6VjSv9Ryl8GQY2i3z8ZEZfnoht6akg/s400/blog+%2817%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375068912215871810" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7w41G7EaaroFCGFOBDvCKPfsHRKyT2J-rS7J2R5ZOgj2_s_5Mtb5WHvq0Yuw1WP7lCyDNAjRLfdWQdNEXAJIW9HoKRXxMU-0N9Tz-YMnq7S9yJhPbhSz1vCbLsb0a9obXPlRRXg/s1600-h/blog+%2818%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7w41G7EaaroFCGFOBDvCKPfsHRKyT2J-rS7J2R5ZOgj2_s_5Mtb5WHvq0Yuw1WP7lCyDNAjRLfdWQdNEXAJIW9HoKRXxMU-0N9Tz-YMnq7S9yJhPbhSz1vCbLsb0a9obXPlRRXg/s400/blog+%2818%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375068905923458914" border="0" /></a><br /><br />On the tour, I learned many interesting things, but most fascinating for me were the details involving the language interpreters. On the front circular wall of the meeting chamber, seen below, are rooms for the interpreters who represent each of the 23 E.U. languages. As there is a room for each language and there are three interpreters in each room, at any moment during a parliament meeting there 69 interpreters listening to the discussion. Each interpreter can speak four foreign languages fluently, meaning that each language room has the capacity to translate only twelve languages, which clearly isn't enough. To solve this problem, whenever a more seldom language is spoken, like Estonian, it is first translated byan interpreter of a far more common language, like English, and then the interpreters of the other languages use the English version. In this manner a double translation of the speaker's words takes place.<br /><br />Because a parliament session lasts from nine o'clock in the morning until midnight, the interpreters work in several shifts. The result is that nearly 600 interpreters are needed for one parliament session. Due to this high number, parliament sessions must be planned with consideration for the meetings of United Nations' General Assembly, which uses slightly more languages than the E.U. A meeting of both bodies can not take place simultaneously, otherwise there would not be enough qualified interpreters in the whole world to attend both.<br /><br />The time limit for how long a representative can address the parliament ranges from one to two minutes, depending on the circumstances. When the allotted time expires, the representative is warned, if he continues to speak the microphone is turned off. In most national parliaments this would do little good, as the speaker could simply raise his voice and continue to hold the floor. In the European Parliament though the time limits are rarely exceeded. Once the microphone is turned off the interpreters can no longer hear the speaker, and, as such, no longer translate. If a representative were to continue past the time limit, most of his audience simply wouldn't understand him. <br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAGDDMONYFnAAQTddJWJTyZsJYq7iL3h1xyk94C-vqHkozqSVQqkcsIBd8SU2JYS-VLRjxkzw7IXPs4yk6tzXVI4P99zOKoElXuOS_VYJ4koHPmEnZ_9QuTI06OHt3Qty5PceX3w/s1600-h/blog+%2819%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAGDDMONYFnAAQTddJWJTyZsJYq7iL3h1xyk94C-vqHkozqSVQqkcsIBd8SU2JYS-VLRjxkzw7IXPs4yk6tzXVI4P99zOKoElXuOS_VYJ4koHPmEnZ_9QuTI06OHt3Qty5PceX3w/s400/blog+%2819%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375068897641088434" border="0" /></a><br /><br />One last major sight for Brussels, and a landmark for all of Belgium, is the Atomium. This bizarre structure resembling a giant model set from chemistry class is pictured in the last image. Inside the Atomium is a restaurant, exhibition space, and a viewing deck. As a remnant of the 1958 World's Fair in Brussels, the landmark today is an attraction for tourists and visitors to the city. Apparently, some of the spheres are currently closed due to safety concerns.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3ifJt9wR6tO5m6m0yuF5YWjV7R9G2rsBg06rrsxX3nft0PjtWlpoVUMXzmsiZP52Dk-4YaIHKhTnsoMoKZzwllHTlqDecVX15Y-LvJeLT1bfdqmuLRDtMww4fhn33H32gTuUWyg/s1600-h/blog+%2820%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3ifJt9wR6tO5m6m0yuF5YWjV7R9G2rsBg06rrsxX3nft0PjtWlpoVUMXzmsiZP52Dk-4YaIHKhTnsoMoKZzwllHTlqDecVX15Y-LvJeLT1bfdqmuLRDtMww4fhn33H32gTuUWyg/s400/blog+%2820%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375068891803026770" border="0" /></a><br />On Tuesday we left Brussels, and I returned to Germany for my last week before leaving for my visit home. Though it may not receive as much attention as the other capital cities of Europe, Brussels should not be forgotten or overlooked. Many new experiences await one with a visit to the so-called "capital of Europe."Nick O.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05302680637268168032noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32437289.post-53113329636454628002009-08-27T21:39:00.000+02:002009-08-27T21:40:00.699+02:00Straubing's Festival<span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">S</span></span>mall city, large festival. This describes Straubing and its famous Gäubodenvolksfest, another vibrant Bavarian festival, but a cut above the rest.<br /><br />Straubing lies in eastern Bavaria. The train connections from Eichst<span style="font-family:verdana;">ä</span>tt are less than ideal. As such, a trip that would take no longer than a couple hours were it direct, requires closer to four. The city of 45,000 rests on the banks of the Danube. It has all the features that one would expect of any other Bavarian, German, or, for the most part, European city of similar size: an attractive old town center, a scattering of medieval churches, and the occasional watch tower left over from another time. Were this all that Straubing offered the community would likely only receive visitors from its immediate region; however, for two weeks in the middle of August every year there is something else, something that attracts attention to Straubing from across Bavaria and Germany. This is of course the Gäubodenvolksfest.<br /><br />The festival is not only a classic example of a Bavarian <span style="font-style: italic;">Volksfest</span>, but additionally Bavaria's largest after only the world-renown Oktoberfest of Munich. As a reminder, a <span style="font-style: italic;">Volksfest </span>is essentially the equivalent of a German fair or carnival. The word can be litterally translated to "people's festival." Whether large or small, a <span style="font-style: italic;">Volksfest </span>has the similar atmosphere of a county or state fair in the U.S.A. Vendors sell all sorts of fast foods and comfort foods; amusement rides and carnival games line the midway. Though most towns of decent size in Germany hold at least one <span style="font-style: italic;">Volksfest </span>a year, the festivals in Bavaria usually host a slightly different flair. The most noticeable difference is the beer tents, which I'll get to in more detail later.<br /><br />As said above, Straubing's Gäubodenvolksfest is the second largest festival in Bavaria. Considering that the first-place holder is arguably the most visited annual festival in the world, second place is in fact saying something. The roots of the festival deal with celebrating the local harvest, but aside from some decorations and a home, garden, and agriculture show that takes places next-door that fact can be easily overlooked. Except with its size, only one major difference from Oktoberfest exists.<br /><br />For Bavarians the Gäubodenvolksfest has become a more authentic, not commercialized version of its cousin in Munich. The residents of the state joke that nowadays one has a better chance of talking with Americans, Japanese, Austrailians, or other foreigners at Oktoberfest than with actual Bavarians. Because of its obscurity outside of Bavaria and Germany, foreign visitors to the Gäubodenvolksfest remain rare and the exception. The festival's official slogan proclaims it as Bavaria's prettiest <span style="font-style: italic;">Volksfest</span>, but for many that adjective is code for most unspoiled.<br /><br />Wanting to personally experience the Gäubodenvolksfest, I traveled to Straubing two weekends ago and, better yet, visited the festival with my friend Eric, whose home is in a village outside of the city. Most of my questions could be answered with a local at my side. In the picture below both of us attempt to smile for the camera while the late afternoon sun beams on our faces.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0BLn-9uzc15bDWX1tsamktAgb3cEIM97YF-r4LT2kJVt7Hu1NHUTBkQNwWrTfU7LLFZWz_seLsol7uou2j6Ot8KnWcAwrlfFGPHfj44CoM0S8y0ldXEv4OpS6DEqfnRwGY9ZJwQ/s1600-h/P1010984.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0BLn-9uzc15bDWX1tsamktAgb3cEIM97YF-r4LT2kJVt7Hu1NHUTBkQNwWrTfU7LLFZWz_seLsol7uou2j6Ot8KnWcAwrlfFGPHfj44CoM0S8y0ldXEv4OpS6DEqfnRwGY9ZJwQ/s400/P1010984.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372085326214628930" border="0" /></a><br /><br />After arriving at the festival we ate dinner with Eric's mother, stepfather, and brother. As an employee of the local health department, his mother must inspect the kitchens of the beer tents at the festival. As a "gift" during these inspections, the beer tent opperators usually present her with several food and drink coupons. We made use of these with our meal, which consisted of giant pretzels, halves of roasted chickens, and liter mugs of beer. Among other things, they explained to me that the cooks in the beer tents add extra salt to the roasted chickens in order to grow a customer's thirst.<br /><br />After dinner and too soon of a ride on some spinning amusement contraption, Eric's parents returned home and his brother went to work, but we naturally stayed to enjoy the festival. We stopped in another beer tent as an Elvis impersonator sung from a boxing ring in the middle of the tables to mark the anniversay of the King's death. Soon after boxers took to the ring and Eric told me that it's a typical event for the festival. Exactly as it sounds, the beer tents are cavernous tents where festival-goers can enter for a place to sit, eat, and drink. At the larger festivals where there are multiple tents, each one usually caters to a different target audience. In some the bands play traditional Bavarian music, while others perform covers of favorite pop songs. The tents are usually owned by a different brewery and serve their respective beer, which most of the time can only be ordered in the one-liter mugs. The next photo shows Elvis performing in the ring.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9livDZNDXtamyyXDCggrS3KLv-zrpvBOIkQCkKSk5GFaBLSl3NncwA2t4R8oLs9Hj9WYoFeHCqGmRrcYbI1XY0ZOCdSUTuj_EWkqd42uYTZCpe_0Z9919Zm4c5YtGOQbQai32mw/s1600-h/P1010985.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9livDZNDXtamyyXDCggrS3KLv-zrpvBOIkQCkKSk5GFaBLSl3NncwA2t4R8oLs9Hj9WYoFeHCqGmRrcYbI1XY0ZOCdSUTuj_EWkqd42uYTZCpe_0Z9919Zm4c5YtGOQbQai32mw/s400/P1010985.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372085320034933666" border="0" /></a><br /><br />We eventually left to discover the offerings of the midway, part of which is seen below.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf3wEKHak2KaJxjVBPbmGYBRihrtgzyN1iDpUGKbAEOYXjVr7koQDNLpuGrC6E-syeU9aHLP15CZNGtawoVJtG8sv3fs43voo0ZDRieVEqehhqsmzzjmnM18PGGVyHMSrn5VbIwQ/s1600-h/P1010993.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf3wEKHak2KaJxjVBPbmGYBRihrtgzyN1iDpUGKbAEOYXjVr7koQDNLpuGrC6E-syeU9aHLP15CZNGtawoVJtG8sv3fs43voo0ZDRieVEqehhqsmzzjmnM18PGGVyHMSrn5VbIwQ/s400/P1010993.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372085316316364882" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Having worked up a small hunger since dinner, we looked over the menus and counters of the several food stalls. I mainly wanted to try something sweet, but when we passed one stall something savory caught my eye. Intrigued, I asked Eric if its name was only that, or if it accurately described the item. He confirmed that the name was as literal a description as possible. Always open to a new gastronomic experience, I ordered one <span style="font-style: italic;">Pferdewurst</span>: horse sausage. Most customers were simply taking the short but thick red sausage by the hand and dipping it in mustard. The meat was surprisingly tender and moist, and delicious. Eric also explained that the sausage was actually a mixture of 50% beef and 50% horse; 100% horse meat would give the sausage too watery of a consistency. Rather than a picture of the sausage, here's one of the chocolate-covered strawberries I had for dessert.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnquUtdorTunr690mPzkdliSBpCkyKvIutKY8Q7K4abiRSb-lHjPLa-XkvjtEUZ4-M6jwKwHDYpMXvA-IVMH9aEvtW6eEpv4sR7ojWYT-K7gEaMLjoFnvXlYAnMx6itwLFs52xRw/s1600-h/P1010996.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnquUtdorTunr690mPzkdliSBpCkyKvIutKY8Q7K4abiRSb-lHjPLa-XkvjtEUZ4-M6jwKwHDYpMXvA-IVMH9aEvtW6eEpv4sR7ojWYT-K7gEaMLjoFnvXlYAnMx6itwLFs52xRw/s400/P1010996.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372085305219841954" border="0" /></a><br /><br />When the festival started to shut down a little after midnight we rode bikes to Eric's house and slept for the night. The next afternoon we returned to the city center, seen below, and caught a train heading back to Eichst<span style="font-family:verdana;">ä</span>tt. In the end, Straubing's Gäubodenvolksfest had indeed offered an atmosphere like Oktoberfest but without the throngs of foreingers. Some of the festival's features, like an Elvis impersonator, boxing, and horse sausage, likely rate at different levels on a scale of authenticity, but they definitely all come together to make the Gäubodenvolksfest a distinct and worthwhile event to visit.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2SirP8uM1pAhboUCMTHWEHM-cL1zA7bb6LP45UpQtx8jJE-z-EKW-wE5NeG2s4jDq9VS-jiMl_rw5v17B_ngHpUeWerpvt0AcZ1sAFRiaW-OyDWL6uOfo4nLrL7AAxIsHf8DAmg/s1600-h/P1020013.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2SirP8uM1pAhboUCMTHWEHM-cL1zA7bb6LP45UpQtx8jJE-z-EKW-wE5NeG2s4jDq9VS-jiMl_rw5v17B_ngHpUeWerpvt0AcZ1sAFRiaW-OyDWL6uOfo4nLrL7AAxIsHf8DAmg/s400/P1020013.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372085302901423522" border="0" /></a>Nick O.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05302680637268168032noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32437289.post-69887776978645819262009-08-20T16:15:00.007+02:002010-11-08T05:44:43.485+01:00Bike Ride to the Lakes<span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">S</span></span>ince the beginning of August I have been almost alone in Eichst<span style="font-family:verdana;">ä</span>tt, only a couple German friends remain in town during the summer break. I spent the first several days of the month enjoying my peace and solitude, but restlessness eventually set in. To help cure this ailment, this past Saturday I set out on a bike ride that I had been wanting to do for a while.<br /><br />From Eichst<span style="font-family:verdana;">ä</span>tt I rode west, following the Altmühl River upstream. Bicycle touring is a popular activity in the nature park around town and the proper infrastructure for it is well on hand. In fact the Altmühl Valley rates as one of Germany's favorite bicycle touring areas, and in the summer caravans of bikes descend on the park and the towns within its borders. The main bike route in the park follows the Altmühl River from its source in the west to its mouth on the Danube River on the east, a meandering path of about 160 kilometers. Eichst<span style="font-family:verdana;">ä</span>tt lies at the halfway point of this trail. I was determined to take the trail westward in order to see the source of the Altmühl River.<br /><br />Along the way I passed through the refreshing landscape of the river valley. At times massive stone formations jutted out from the green fields and forests, as seen below. Most of the route consisted of paved or gravel paths intended for cyclists and hikers, but occasionally the directional signs guided me over country roads.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPzz7yJ72ossMReW6bSTQq4siIt6fs0jTbm0EGWlni9aNS0Clln4P8_-Vef5CS4wHfXaC_F5MvY9QIqq0Onj8lUbvkRFrOQmmeGMld3MpyKhPGLzCP-Jrl-A8XASTSJ0iKDOi1dw/s1600-h/P1010928.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPzz7yJ72ossMReW6bSTQq4siIt6fs0jTbm0EGWlni9aNS0Clln4P8_-Vef5CS4wHfXaC_F5MvY9QIqq0Onj8lUbvkRFrOQmmeGMld3MpyKhPGLzCP-Jrl-A8XASTSJ0iKDOi1dw/s400/P1010928.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372055357876683554" border="0" /></a><br />The trail similarly led me through scenic towns and by occasional fortresses that turned obsolete long ago.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglSzFpjITB-C9fS1xlp1ntFdkJzEA3_e161K83ph5_4fWQVziM3-hlk8xDHVJRiBi_leIUeFe6AAL4J5V7W1wgW6B5cV5L7liHICHXynAWysHfiO_tj9F0qq7KR0Izd1HCfMz3Nw/s1600-h/P1010950.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglSzFpjITB-C9fS1xlp1ntFdkJzEA3_e161K83ph5_4fWQVziM3-hlk8xDHVJRiBi_leIUeFe6AAL4J5V7W1wgW6B5cV5L7liHICHXynAWysHfiO_tj9F0qq7KR0Izd1HCfMz3Nw/s400/P1010950.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372055348055407538" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMR4TUlfavNCAeFRnTym78icXa7e8jO8JTPypZM9-WBSbVlfWYoKuzKkp7TfZRDFlRtjmXHN-IZF9vZ9yJrEQdxrhFFbwZraH5YswzI1CTawlA7GcVJzDiBVoQGy5INYEyRsahTA/s1600-h/P1010960.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMR4TUlfavNCAeFRnTym78icXa7e8jO8JTPypZM9-WBSbVlfWYoKuzKkp7TfZRDFlRtjmXHN-IZF9vZ9yJrEQdxrhFFbwZraH5YswzI1CTawlA7GcVJzDiBVoQGy5INYEyRsahTA/s400/P1010960.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372054127815070322" border="0" /></a><br />The goal of my trip awaited me near the town of Gunzenhausen. A little over halfway to this community was Treuchtlingen. Until this point the valley was realtively narrow and created an enclosed world of fertile greenery along the trail. The bike route had also been fairly crowded with other riders who likely had spent the night in Treuchtlingen or Eichst<span style="font-family:verdana;">ä</span>tt and were now continuing their journey. After Treuchtlingen, however, these conditions changed.<br /><br />The valley and its forest covered slopes, along with the other cyclists, all but disappeared. With the frequent thickets of trees replaced with endless crop fields the sun burned brighter. The fact that I rode through only one village during the last 30 kilometers to Gunzenhausen helped the ride to quickly develope a lonely feel. Worse still, for much of that distance the trail paralled a set of tracks that brought the screeches of freight and passenger trains. The picture below shows a view of this poriton of the trail and a sign pointing the way to Gunzenhausen and the village of Aha.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih6kwXRe_HXSMlUElyZ39ecPoquLcXbaXwm-p36yyB5k2fn68LIdMXsDhX0AJWSU5MlfUfHgEuYKNBi3roVYmpQ5V8_EKR-LgvY7rNH8-0B86tyHYOvK0IaHqd-UnjRiqa6YX21g/s1600-h/P1010964.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih6kwXRe_HXSMlUElyZ39ecPoquLcXbaXwm-p36yyB5k2fn68LIdMXsDhX0AJWSU5MlfUfHgEuYKNBi3roVYmpQ5V8_EKR-LgvY7rNH8-0B86tyHYOvK0IaHqd-UnjRiqa6YX21g/s400/P1010964.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372054119966186866" border="0" /></a><br />After about 80 kilometers and a quarter less than five hours I reached Gunzenhausen and the source of the Altmühl River: the Altmühl Lake. Though the river was originally a naturally flowing body of water, the lake was created in the 1970s and 1980s through the construction of a rather simple and unimpressive dam. Therefore, the lake is technically not the source of the river, but suffices so in my mind. Together with other man-made lakes in the area, the region is today known as the Franconian lake distirct. In spring and summer the lakes attract large numbers of tourists to their sand beachs and recreational activities. The next photograph offers a view of a couple of the numerous sail boats and other watercraft that were floating on the lake that day. After that you can see the Altmühl River beginning at its modern source and flowing toward Eichst<span style="font-family:verdana;">ä</span>tt and the Danube.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK1KN3SqMAUq8HPZH2W37oz08SGGUMZYZuTE-z22XWfVLDGftl5N1jpPiLD1fJ-gFwXWW-7H43DhwA67shCW8bauUsUXPiYA55MymY22GRpXXIgvzysHIB-w6nRQ5B3ko2n-aLzA/s1600-h/P1010967.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK1KN3SqMAUq8HPZH2W37oz08SGGUMZYZuTE-z22XWfVLDGftl5N1jpPiLD1fJ-gFwXWW-7H43DhwA67shCW8bauUsUXPiYA55MymY22GRpXXIgvzysHIB-w6nRQ5B3ko2n-aLzA/s400/P1010967.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372054111021178370" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpx_TbovJIdK6nh2wAyA0TC0wUrwNhMU0mk1tz1HsZhwfVMQD-Qgvf41gOGbEfirbAgHCyJ5rmT2due6ejjHJHS11nbRB7zfQLSEY5KCpZVGyOlgz4iukEA3y_zEaW8pUVLautLQ/s1600-h/P1010969.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpx_TbovJIdK6nh2wAyA0TC0wUrwNhMU0mk1tz1HsZhwfVMQD-Qgvf41gOGbEfirbAgHCyJ5rmT2due6ejjHJHS11nbRB7zfQLSEY5KCpZVGyOlgz4iukEA3y_zEaW8pUVLautLQ/s400/P1010969.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372054107689946354" border="0" /></a><br />Following a relaxing rest on the lake and a few snacks, I decided to ride a bit farther. The bike trails radiated out from the town in all directions; it is indeed possible to pedal completely across Germany while rarely riding on car-shared roads. From Gunzenhausen I chose to continue 20 kilometers eastward to the Brombach Lake and the town of Pleinfeld.<br /><br />Brombach Lake is the largest of the Franconian lake district and the last to be completed. The trail mostly led through pine forests and over gentle hills. The closer I came to the lake, the more that vactioners rode ahead of and behind me. I could start to see for myself how popular the lake is for people from the region. After reaching the lake I rode past a few beachs crowded with Germans enjoying their vacations.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgraPVl7jIXLPUyaoE2gvw4zHUeSNR57EFXDK4TspEsoxDHMpgxm3W79ztwrQxK8xeG8rYDUEMhKFytEp78e75kze5FciszeRwuSBe7m-HV7F7wY8F8baIB6XTG2DY-fuGt8iSmg/s1600-h/P1010977.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgraPVl7jIXLPUyaoE2gvw4zHUeSNR57EFXDK4TspEsoxDHMpgxm3W79ztwrQxK8xeG8rYDUEMhKFytEp78e75kze5FciszeRwuSBe7m-HV7F7wY8F8baIB6XTG2DY-fuGt8iSmg/s400/P1010977.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372054098345261666" border="0" /></a><br />By the point I shot the photo above, my bike ride had turned into a game of dodging the hundreds of vactioners crossing my path. I was relieved to reach Pleinfeld soon after.<br /><br />My complete ride strecthed along 100 kilometers of road and trail, approximately 60 miles. Six hours after first pedaling away from Eichst<span style="font-family:verdana;">ä</span>tt my bike and I boarded a train in Pleinfeld and returned home.Nick O.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05302680637268168032noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32437289.post-88797528191488987652009-08-19T21:34:00.000+02:002009-08-19T21:34:20.789+02:00Beilngries' Adventure Park<span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">C</span></span>lasses were over and the month of July nearly was as well. My paperwork had been turned in and my vacation had actually started. A couple weeks before I had celebrated my birthday, but the timing at the end of the semester brought any commitments to most creative ideas out of the question for my friends preparing for exams. Instead of the usual special activity I normally try to find for and undertake on my birthday, we marked the day with more mundane techniques--dinner in a restaurant followed with a couple bar stops. Now that my vacation had arrived, I could find another activity to additionally, though belatedly, celebrate my birthday. In the end, a couple friends arrived at the idea to treat me to a day at the adventure park in Beilngries.<br /><br />The small town lies northeast of Eichst<span style="font-family: verdana;">ä</span>tt in no more than 20 minutes by car. Beilngries is still with in the borders of the nature park that encompasses the region around Eichst<span style="font-family: verdana;">ä</span>tt. Likely due to this location can one find the adventure park in this otherwise quite but attractive community. As a high-ropes course, the park itself has nothing to do with amusement or theme rides, rather tree-high challenges that push visitors to overcome their physical and, mostly, mental limits.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrPt1v8ljNQP6n-KpHFt2kBnijlYGScvS4MVaIB956n3RyhKFqhAsbBQ6Kc4VRr3X7ZYFo62mkhetkrKGZorYXgZhu41W-ErDsPcIHeKQLtxLsm11NSc7GuotX733pUtiqUkHoPQ/s1600-h/Adventure+Park+and+Beilngries.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrPt1v8ljNQP6n-KpHFt2kBnijlYGScvS4MVaIB956n3RyhKFqhAsbBQ6Kc4VRr3X7ZYFo62mkhetkrKGZorYXgZhu41W-ErDsPcIHeKQLtxLsm11NSc7GuotX733pUtiqUkHoPQ/s400/Adventure+Park+and+Beilngries.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371288142134510898" border="0" /></a><br />This was actually my first time at a high-ropes course, but the concept is not so difficult to grasp. At the adventure park visitors begin by climbing a ladder to the starting platform resting several feet above the ground. From here the visitors set out on the course, crossing to the next platform or station one at a time. The park offers six separate courses that range from easy enough for small children to challenging enough for adults only. Each course consists of six to ten stations. To pass from station to station one must cross the divide with the presented method, including simple ones such as an unstable foot bridge or monkey bars to more challenging ones like tire swings or tight ropes. At the end of the course the most common way to come back to earth is by zip-gliding to the forest floor. The picture below shows me crossing to a platform using two steel cables, one for walking on and one for holding.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivBl0O2-lbvDhQnDeUJQs0EKt9NRH4RhQjSkiy9_8CUYscYGNxFjeQRtt_PrOKcVCr0yAQPg9RZGl28wFPgxm6-EToYtCcfbysU8GA_j46ko_F-D50Y08RskmpyTtAMQXI9ykcXg/s1600-h/Adventure+Park+and+Beilngries+%286%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivBl0O2-lbvDhQnDeUJQs0EKt9NRH4RhQjSkiy9_8CUYscYGNxFjeQRtt_PrOKcVCr0yAQPg9RZGl28wFPgxm6-EToYtCcfbysU8GA_j46ko_F-D50Y08RskmpyTtAMQXI9ykcXg/s400/Adventure+Park+and+Beilngries+%286%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371288135640950754" border="0" /></a><br />Safety is of course a major concern. My friends and I started our visit with a introductory lesson that explained how to properly use our harnesses. Attached to the harness are two ropes that must always be connected to the overhead safety lines from the minute of stepping on the starting platforms. As one goes from station to station he must disconnect his ropes from the safety lines of the previous station and connect them to those of the next, one after another. Thus the reason for two ropes on one's harness, should the visitor fall in this process one rope will always be attached to the safety line. Additionally, visitors must wear helmets at all times. Several stations include a swinging mechanism that could, if utilized incorrectly or clumsily, send the visitor headfirst into a tree or the next platform.<br /><br />Never even attempting the children's course, I successfully completed the other five. The two most difficult were restricted to adults only, and at times, as best as I can guess, ranged from 40 to 50 feet off the ground. The picture below shows me crossing a station on the brown course, the most difficult. The station involves several individually hung logs that descend to the next platform.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5OzeWnGGqEGor-My26azYZVN1GlGCTu9owS4bBgLebRbK3zRava3_05N_E25VjuLJ1nwIc4vNYSL_ajp7cFP8qYv02C9Wu2ve4kblynw2btCata_Epw9D_fFlngSXBlMhnFXE8Q/s1600-h/Adventure+Park+and+Beilngries+%2816%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5OzeWnGGqEGor-My26azYZVN1GlGCTu9owS4bBgLebRbK3zRava3_05N_E25VjuLJ1nwIc4vNYSL_ajp7cFP8qYv02C9Wu2ve4kblynw2btCata_Epw9D_fFlngSXBlMhnFXE8Q/s400/Adventure+Park+and+Beilngries+%2816%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371288128791659042" border="0" /></a><br />A couple videos were taken during our visit, but most last too long to post on the blog. This one though was short enough, even if the action seems to be missing somewhat. Clearly, the video starts after my sled ride has already begun on one of the intermediate courses. What you don't see is the very beginning. I had to first retrieve the sled from the next platform by pulling an attached rope. After it reached my starting platform, I buckled the sled into a recycled seat belt fastener attached to the platform and carefully maneuvered myself onto the wobbly seat. Once I was ready, I leaned back and pushed the button on the fastener, thereby sending me on my way. Toward the end of the video you can see that my gravity-driven sled ride ended before reaching the next platform and that I had to pull myself along.<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='353' height='293' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyxvLwwFTWDuVhL0El0YtjvF_yPP7h6u6XBTq3BdBk9p8IMAeKtYkIeBy81XtNcFh0rsD5bvKqvlDg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">During our visit the park hosted several other visitors from all age groups. When we arrived a large elementary school group was spread all around. Several adult and teenage visitors were also there to share the courses with us. Judging also by the fact that I have seen advertisements for many other high-ropes courses and heard others' stories, this activity seems to be much more popular in Germany and Europe than what I have noticed in America.<br /><br />After our thrilling adventures in the park, we rested and picnicked along the banks of the Altmühl River in a calm Beilngries. With full stomachs and drained adrenaline, we eventually returned to Eichst<span style="font-family: verdana;">ä</span>tt.<br /><br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI2woHgKgtCJ_J3KaHTdPu5i88gOOpZD9UBEP4p0yfq-NCw37uQJjkPTKzK8ZQlqSPugeqlLkUFDCN4zarVMNgln7xhtKYt3G8mbWeYR6oIeNGpLlSQJpB1g_RfyP2TLQ8Kc5nWQ/s1600-h/Adventure+Park+and+Beilngries+%2826%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI2woHgKgtCJ_J3KaHTdPu5i88gOOpZD9UBEP4p0yfq-NCw37uQJjkPTKzK8ZQlqSPugeqlLkUFDCN4zarVMNgln7xhtKYt3G8mbWeYR6oIeNGpLlSQJpB1g_RfyP2TLQ8Kc5nWQ/s400/Adventure+Park+and+Beilngries+%2826%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371288116780702690" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /></div>Nick O.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05302680637268168032noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32437289.post-49187051760106219912009-08-14T19:47:00.016+02:002009-08-19T19:59:35.220+02:00And the Festivals Go On<span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-family:verdana;font-size:180%;" >E</span><span style="font-family:verdana;">ichstätt was able to rest for a few days until the next big event on July 16. This time it was the Hofgarten Fest, a festival held on the campus of the university. More specifically the food stalls, music stage, and revelers spread themselves over the central gardens that long ago were part of the bishop's summer residence. Where the bishop and his staff once strolled, students and townsfolk partied until the late hours of the night, though not too wildly of course. Several of the vendors who had set up shop at the Altstadt Fest on the previous weekend had simply moved their belongings east through town. The Hofgarten Fest was actually supposed to take place on the Thursday before that other festival, but rain forced a last-minute rescheduling. Here's a view of the dance floor at the festival.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WdE3PaTrK2c/Sow49a-trHI/AAAAAAAABtg/bIiMXyluxAA/s1600-h/Hofgarten+Fest+2009+%284%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WdE3PaTrK2c/Sow49a-trHI/AAAAAAAABtg/bIiMXyluxAA/s400/Hofgarten+Fest+2009+%284%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371731083411696754" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">On the following Sunday a couple friends and I traveled to Landshut in order to join another festival. The city of 60,000 inhabitants, seen below, rises along the banks of the Isar River in southeast Bavaria. Lying a short distance northeast of Munich's rurally-exiled international airport, Landshut heavily relies on this facility as its modern economic engine. For a few summer weeks every four years the citizens of the city take a break from their work and reward themselves with Europe's largest medieval festival: the Lanshuter Hochzeit.</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmpRB5LrvU_vIZ7TWQ7SVqmwYVpf5V_AXDy3UoxFwa-kz7OPRZ4U9gaGim_xStf9wGS3FD1wP5WV0pRpYcywCEAJFaxSO0_1n6tzNQYUo_ndQg9dXi-DSNKxhTwD3QILrmhJuHhQ/s1600-h/Landshut.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmpRB5LrvU_vIZ7TWQ7SVqmwYVpf5V_AXDy3UoxFwa-kz7OPRZ4U9gaGim_xStf9wGS3FD1wP5WV0pRpYcywCEAJFaxSO0_1n6tzNQYUo_ndQg9dXi-DSNKxhTwD3QILrmhJuHhQ/s400/Landshut.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368360907041485490" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Translated, the festival's appropriate name is the Landshut Wedding. The celebration commemorates the wedding of a Polish king's daughter and the son of the Duke of Landshut in the year 1475. The pair married in the Curch of St. Martin, which you can see in the following picture, and then paraded through the city. Though the honoring festival has only taken place since the beginning of the 20th century Landshuters take great pride in it. Thousands from the city participate in the reenactments of the original newly weds' parade held on every Sunday of the festival and the other continuous medieval pageantry. Landshut's old town is thrown back a few centuries or so with extensive period decorations. Men from the city are known to start letting their beards grow out months before the festival begins in order to more accurately represent the historical period.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL6BBH31fYcMEG_aaHa05jxQGNtSMCfF39sKwCrunfsq6Ejh6ozlXfbtPOIhDRKrdrwQtfWCa7f9i2_CFpTK7F_vGC5p6F1bF27eY4FDimU3UT8eJwqawLAA59PPX9A8m_dxS6MQ/s1600-h/Landshut+%284%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL6BBH31fYcMEG_aaHa05jxQGNtSMCfF39sKwCrunfsq6Ejh6ozlXfbtPOIhDRKrdrwQtfWCa7f9i2_CFpTK7F_vGC5p6F1bF27eY4FDimU3UT8eJwqawLAA59PPX9A8m_dxS6MQ/s400/Landshut+%284%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368359642806353154" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Unfortunately we arrived a little too late on that Sunday and missed the parade reenactment. By the time we arrived the main street of the old town and the parade route was already being cleaned. The festive atmoshphere still hung in the air though as we sought the rest of the party.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4HwavMGppnstUkr9UZWO2Ond8qUp2OHXvGe83ZRpXmv_ObZo8mEfqPCj7EAverwGTzyDYNy-Mf1rQ5GU-TzrOOt_-PVyLwhC1QYWBNoCmZzv4RfoDoZdsfbBXz53Vc_2WwwuEEA/s1600-h/Landshut+%288%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4HwavMGppnstUkr9UZWO2Ond8qUp2OHXvGe83ZRpXmv_ObZo8mEfqPCj7EAverwGTzyDYNy-Mf1rQ5GU-TzrOOt_-PVyLwhC1QYWBNoCmZzv4RfoDoZdsfbBXz53Vc_2WwwuEEA/s400/Landshut+%288%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368359641666223794" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">After nearly half an hour of walking through the old town we had started to doubt the tales of the </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:verdana;" >Landshuter Hochzeit</span><span style="font-family:verdana;">. This was supposed to be Europe's largest medieval festival, and yet not a food both or festival beer garden was in sight. Landshut's old town offered an attractive face, but the streets and squares were empty of emotion. </span><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Eichstätt</span></span><span style="font-family:verdana;">'s </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:verdana;" >Altstadt Fest</span><span style="font-family:verdana;"> had apparently surpassed the entertainment quality of this festival. Where were the bearded and costumed men from Landshut? Where were the jousting tournaments? Where was the festival itself?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">As it was the last day of the festival, we decided that the parade must have been the final and closing event. Dissapointed, we had started to leave the old town in route back to</span><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> Eichstätt when I spotted a geography professor from the university. Some of his first words to us were, "Isn't this festival great?" I responded with a polite lie. He next asked if we intended to watch the jousting tournament. Now intrigued, we asked for and followed his directions to the event.<br /><br /></span></span><span style="font-family:verdana;">Just beyond the old town we came to an expansive parking lot seemingly filled to capacity and to a set of gates. A tall and solid wooden fence next to the lot blocked any views to see the other side, though we assumed we would find the jousting tournament. While discussing if buying the entrance tickets was worth it, as if on cue, a German family approached us and presented their unused tickets to us. Better yet, they wanted nothing in return. With no excuses left we passed through the gates and realized that we had arrived--here was the festival.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVUnVKwNUkbYTEl-8OXwrm1MgnJxSuDbU9Mhau2jBNuon9b9ZYEm6dUD6HHU805FMSHz1EMsMiunUszqr2qxivtws2swphHcB6wj-Ndv7J55AN74IimP1cFYWDdhBa9FqSCpH-Hw/s1600-h/Landshut+%2812%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVUnVKwNUkbYTEl-8OXwrm1MgnJxSuDbU9Mhau2jBNuon9b9ZYEm6dUD6HHU805FMSHz1EMsMiunUszqr2qxivtws2swphHcB6wj-Ndv7J55AN74IimP1cFYWDdhBa9FqSCpH-Hw/s400/Landshut+%2812%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368359622097099586" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Suddenly the tales were proven true. There were the throngs of people at what could indeed be Europe's largest medieval festival. There was the jousting tournament. There were the food and drink stands. Costumed individuals were all around, nevermind that only a few appear in the photograph below.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4U8L6L-OOaZ4dd92DOpfA3cDl9upXXAl-H_GUuTWbcsL2AE7cFeklG-CB22rkY9c3K0RbE9cennjewoZE40gtzLEwnAAPFuigwV4u4LVeg_klqQj7twRBa3aLdNzdatLghqisAQ/s1600-h/Landshut+%2810%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4U8L6L-OOaZ4dd92DOpfA3cDl9upXXAl-H_GUuTWbcsL2AE7cFeklG-CB22rkY9c3K0RbE9cennjewoZE40gtzLEwnAAPFuigwV4u4LVeg_klqQj7twRBa3aLdNzdatLghqisAQ/s400/Landshut+%2810%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368359636940690802" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">We stayed at the</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:verdana;" > </span><span style="font-family:verdana;">festival for a while before eventually returning to </span><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Eichstätt</span></span><span style="font-family:verdana;">. On the next day I would start my last week of classes for the semester. We had found the festival, but missed the parade; maybe I'll be able to catch it in four years when the </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:verdana;" >Landshuter Hochzeit</span><span style="font-family:verdana;"> comes again.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrb-pI9qmORzw_l8DE1Otom4T7WVoiV-sYw1qB6567SQX1ld0mk2Qdrn8vk3bGG893vYVC7X8s06hKEY7szNLkWJoXeOJPw0ad2OvBMi4R2Znw8SEP1RT6oztyqARjSwkRedpwlw/s1600-h/Landshut+%2813%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrb-pI9qmORzw_l8DE1Otom4T7WVoiV-sYw1qB6567SQX1ld0mk2Qdrn8vk3bGG893vYVC7X8s06hKEY7szNLkWJoXeOJPw0ad2OvBMi4R2Znw8SEP1RT6oztyqARjSwkRedpwlw/s400/Landshut+%2813%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368359615576462898" border="0" /></a>Nick O.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05302680637268168032noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32437289.post-60832692669996842632009-08-05T17:52:00.000+02:002009-08-05T17:52:24.540+02:00Celebrating America and Eichstätt<span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" >T</span>he first weekend in July pushed on into the festival season with several parties and celebrations. From the third to the fifth days of the month Eichstätt held its annual <span style="font-style: italic;">Altstadt Fest</span>, or Old Town Festival. In this case the use of "old" is a bit of an understatement; Eichstätt celebrated its 1,100th anniversary last year. Rather you would prefer old or geriatric in describing the town, the festival has far less to do with remembering nostalgic times than with throwing a bash for local residents and visitors from the region. The three-day party winds through the squares, lanes, and back alleys of the town center. Dozens of vendors sell a dazzling array of foods and drinks, from sausages and pizza to pork knuckles and pad thai, from ice cream and beer to roasted almonds and frozen daiquiris. Normally calm public squares transform into raucous beer gardens. The relaxing sounds from babbling fountains are lost in the competing cacophony of music, laughter, and lively conversation. Perhaps unsurprisingly, this is my favorite festival in Eichstätt.<br /><br />As you likely realized though, the dates of this year's festival coincided with America's birthday. In my first year here I did not want the day to pass without some sort of special recognition, and the same applied to this year. Luckily I was in good company to put together a small celebration for the Fourth of July.<br /><br />At the end of June my friend Dylan had arrived in town from Salzburg. He had just spent the previous academic year in that Austrian tourist city studying abroad. With his semester at an end, he would stay in Eichstätt until his return to the U.S. in mid-July. In order to celebrate America's holiday we decided to hold a grill out with a few friends, but it was by no means <a href="http://memphistomunich.blogspot.com/2007/06/cheeseburgers-and-parties-in-germany.html">new territory</a> for the two of us.<br /><br />Invited freinds were asked to bring drinks and meat for the grill, while Dylan and I prepared side items like potato salad, guacamole dip, baked beans, and a Fourth of July cake. For the potato salad I tried to explain to the non-Americans that the reason it looked and tasted unlike the German version was because it was the American style, but I think most of them mistakenly thought this was a joke. However, many did ask for the guacamole recipe.<br /><br />The previous week had also happened to be America week at the nearby Lidl grocery store. Because of this I was able find American flag napkins, hot dog buns, and other themed items. <br /><br />One of the friends present was Daniel. Take this coincidence as an example of how small the world has become. Daniel and I actually went to high school together. I didn't know that he would study abroad for the semester in Eichstätt; nor did he know that I was living there. Only until a random encouonter on the university campus, which was likely inevitable to occur in small Eichstätt, did either of us learn that the other was here.<br /><br />Most of the other friends at the grill out were French. Their presence was fitting in a way; France did help America gain its independence after all.<br /><br />Here are some pictures from that Saturday.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVUegLjEamJV_TH3zLAzikfwZOb1zeyJvZQ1V5qtVJUHeEdQ77osjKIpgFVg8W0rRkD4zEht1zcbWlsAyLNd4BTnBvq61-jQrEy76XgoQ7w-janjkzjriJL3p0Fb8cDlW9AvJpzQ/s1600-h/Fourth+of+July+2009+%282%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVUegLjEamJV_TH3zLAzikfwZOb1zeyJvZQ1V5qtVJUHeEdQ77osjKIpgFVg8W0rRkD4zEht1zcbWlsAyLNd4BTnBvq61-jQrEy76XgoQ7w-janjkzjriJL3p0Fb8cDlW9AvJpzQ/s400/Fourth+of+July+2009+%282%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365404196031747762" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_cB28A6c9q1xs8yUs-C4Z-I3lMRQSJsJOWX-Nzx4V16ncn_0QdxbIBoiU_epiG7MMntaTFlBD2BvG_PlIXBOwSexVKqQCVRlI_1z10ywntjSAEuwAhkE1ciWnYILisGY6ZSsYDw/s1600-h/Fourth+of+July+2009+%285%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_cB28A6c9q1xs8yUs-C4Z-I3lMRQSJsJOWX-Nzx4V16ncn_0QdxbIBoiU_epiG7MMntaTFlBD2BvG_PlIXBOwSexVKqQCVRlI_1z10ywntjSAEuwAhkE1ciWnYILisGY6ZSsYDw/s400/Fourth+of+July+2009+%285%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365404191991675410" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpJkeTb5riu11z8l2ZjTZBWLnH1pEJTvZFJc2Zni9aBObiSxR4RgL4qhr3LKG0o9Z9egnyxKKw09YH3EVad9cw15z5LzBgYFxwoU7iJ877e-qeiJiL5tFoHt5QDwZ0Iv9PKkMoZA/s1600-h/Fourth+of+July+2009+%287%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpJkeTb5riu11z8l2ZjTZBWLnH1pEJTvZFJc2Zni9aBObiSxR4RgL4qhr3LKG0o9Z9egnyxKKw09YH3EVad9cw15z5LzBgYFxwoU7iJ877e-qeiJiL5tFoHt5QDwZ0Iv9PKkMoZA/s400/Fourth+of+July+2009+%287%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366492036462742338" border="0" /></a><br />After grilling and marking the Fourth of July, and like we had done the previous day and would do the next day, we headed to the <span style="font-style: italic;">Altstadt Fest</span>. Saturday was the high point of the festival with the most activities and the largest crowd. In addtion to the rows of vendors, there were four stages dispersed around the town center, each with a different type of music and targeted demographic. The southern most stage catered mostly to teenagers and pre-teens with a DJ playing house, hip-hop, and techno music. North of that, and after a large building to likely shield the noise, came a smaller stage occupied by a live band with wind and string instruments playing traditional Bavarian music. Not unexpectedly, at the tables in front of this stage were mostly elderly individuals. The stage near the cathedral hosted bands that played dancing and drinking songs that appealed to a diverse crowd--the typcial pop music found at Bavarian festivals. From the fourth stage at the north end of the festival one could hear more foreign sounds, like those from a salsa band or even a band from Nashville, Tennessee.<br /><br />As the following photographs show, by the evening hours the festival had become fairly crowded.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEise-I3rg7NG0wwQEaZXBy6CNdZJaiWj67P272TowWrtQijgQtovZ57c0qG28lPupD4JMkM94SDzhb-2ffx2BhDNnptsvfqymrVkYOegIk2D2gQy_14Sn1OT4ZrifaM7hWI-IERvg/s1600-h/Altstadt+Fest+2009+%284%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEise-I3rg7NG0wwQEaZXBy6CNdZJaiWj67P272TowWrtQijgQtovZ57c0qG28lPupD4JMkM94SDzhb-2ffx2BhDNnptsvfqymrVkYOegIk2D2gQy_14Sn1OT4ZrifaM7hWI-IERvg/s400/Altstadt+Fest+2009+%284%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365405831765169154" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCNOpN9pr67Uzpb3TS-rt05Ik8qQKoQw8YoquoaQWU2xcdmWOZsLV54DVA286ZjZY7_mrBeiQNdgz5Lt2wzn8C3h3oVUCFNA9R0968u2OeAmUoYBZFHJTaFhJcvUrIezhAknViKw/s1600-h/Altstadt+Fest+2009+%282%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCNOpN9pr67Uzpb3TS-rt05Ik8qQKoQw8YoquoaQWU2xcdmWOZsLV54DVA286ZjZY7_mrBeiQNdgz5Lt2wzn8C3h3oVUCFNA9R0968u2OeAmUoYBZFHJTaFhJcvUrIezhAknViKw/s400/Altstadt+Fest+2009+%282%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365405822126115362" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Festivals like these are excellent places to witness Bavarian traditions alive and well. For example, take the image below. Here you see two lederhosen-clad waiters delivering liter-mugs of beer to a table. While the lederhosen was the work uniform for these two men, countless festival-goers from teenagers to senior citizens wore the traditional dress of Bavaria. <br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsExUTsrZSNEy2bBjqoykqqXvfT-KyX_4ANbCMNRfJnndratrkXqy58bDgyGOqOZvC1ABNIa2gl9wcshwRoVntfHVdyT8JZmJylg5sYvEzBtHRgS5K1OF6DlR3U0msJWFsvZMwAA/s1600-h/Altstadt+Fest+2009+%2812%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsExUTsrZSNEy2bBjqoykqqXvfT-KyX_4ANbCMNRfJnndratrkXqy58bDgyGOqOZvC1ABNIa2gl9wcshwRoVntfHVdyT8JZmJylg5sYvEzBtHRgS5K1OF6DlR3U0msJWFsvZMwAA/s400/Altstadt+Fest+2009+%2812%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365405832523966098" border="0" /></a><br />Due to strict noise laws in Germany, on Friday and Saturday nights the festival came to a close a little after midnight in the public areas. However, several official after-parties organized alongside the festival in differnt bars and venues assured that the celebrations could continue for those so inclinced.<br /><br />Pictured from left to right below are Daniel, Eric, Dylan, and I enjoying the festival on Saturday evening.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIE3-0rJLkv4MQ-ZXxkKzkH4TKrlsFMwm-yhzOKmlJ-Z6nkya4hdGNGQ8yhkc1qHTBsFAXYaXxPpEavwr8vzvVNXR8UW7-KcNirtWbkwbP2KXLZaujuFiMwTjh-__9elHYNoLpcA/s1600-h/Altstadt+Fest+2009+%2818%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIE3-0rJLkv4MQ-ZXxkKzkH4TKrlsFMwm-yhzOKmlJ-Z6nkya4hdGNGQ8yhkc1qHTBsFAXYaXxPpEavwr8vzvVNXR8UW7-KcNirtWbkwbP2KXLZaujuFiMwTjh-__9elHYNoLpcA/s400/Altstadt+Fest+2009+%2818%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365405846779704322" border="0" /></a><br /><br />By Sunday afternoon I believe that most of Eichstätt had had its fill for at least a week, and the festival took on a much more subdued atmosphere. I was already looking forward to Eichstätt's <span style="font-style: italic;">Altstadt Fest</span> when it comes around next year, but the festival season for this year was still rolling on.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoV8he3vikQeOcGhhCgWLiv0eVbi3fXHxIVShZAWo7Q7IL_Qo8Mp7wUsKCLzFespjHJn2GLQNEwnvdY6Y2eJ5YktFWWt8V2rWyOXLcpawZwwFPqW31a1PZACsnJbDl80U7pCecJw/s1600-h/Altstadt+Fest+2009+%2815%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoV8he3vikQeOcGhhCgWLiv0eVbi3fXHxIVShZAWo7Q7IL_Qo8Mp7wUsKCLzFespjHJn2GLQNEwnvdY6Y2eJ5YktFWWt8V2rWyOXLcpawZwwFPqW31a1PZACsnJbDl80U7pCecJw/s400/Altstadt+Fest+2009+%2815%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365405841990339090" border="0" /></a>Nick O.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05302680637268168032noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32437289.post-84293475764804510702009-08-02T17:06:00.004+02:002009-08-02T18:17:52.376+02:00Neuburg's Medieval Festival<span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" >T</span>o begin the recap of the last month or so, we'll start with the last weekend of June and in the town of Neuburg. I first traveled to the town last November. You can read about that journey by bike <a href="http://memphistomunich.blogspot.com/2008/11/neuburg.html">here</a>. Walking through the community's streets this time around my friends and I found a much livelier atmosphere. Summer had arrived, and with it the Bavarian festival season.<br /><br />For two weekends at the end of June and beginning of July Neuburg holds its annual Medieval Festival. These kind of festivals are popular across Europe and offer a taste of life from several centuries ago. Neuburg's festival offered a high level of detail compared to the other medieval festivals I've visited, including wandering minstrels and significant numbers of townsfolk in period clothing enjoying the festivities. The following photograph offers a view of one of the main squares. In its entirety, the festival spread over the streets and alleys of Neuburg's old town.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjESJfPu-1o5JpDViSTEfMXN6Mu2s1NXwA07alH2Xsap2RYxLY6aCVe_lIvCUZKFJ7cPZIjuZhyphenhyphen5TYsP5W7uo4xtl_qgsMsbgG4eakMwl6aiYQ5kvt_ema_1LsYwZ0mDkOGGbZWJw/s1600-h/Neuburg+Medieval+Festival.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjESJfPu-1o5JpDViSTEfMXN6Mu2s1NXwA07alH2Xsap2RYxLY6aCVe_lIvCUZKFJ7cPZIjuZhyphenhyphen5TYsP5W7uo4xtl_qgsMsbgG4eakMwl6aiYQ5kvt_ema_1LsYwZ0mDkOGGbZWJw/s400/Neuburg+Medieval+Festival.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365384949907657618" border="0" /></a><br />The streets were lined with booths creatively decorated to look like structures from the 1400s. Vendors sold sweet and savory foods, handmade crafts, and other unique goods that met the overall medieval theme. The two images below help give an idea of the festival's ambiance. In the first picture you can see one of the musical troupes that roamed the streets. The second picture shows a court jester asking for pity from an ice cream vendor through the bars of his cage. Incidentally, the vendor was kind enough to give the jester a free bowel of the frozen treat.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0m-FipTm-Bg4fa7_YLIKQ5ssw-soG5lTrLQoB8KXlmCvO9KgtD-s5GbPl8dT37dQSfAqfxL28qFIwMgZGhfd65oWBfLKJS3E6vBC-H_xqO8wkyryBkrACP5_lwK7eRcPd3RJylQ/s1600-h/Neuburg+Medieval+Festival+%282%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0m-FipTm-Bg4fa7_YLIKQ5ssw-soG5lTrLQoB8KXlmCvO9KgtD-s5GbPl8dT37dQSfAqfxL28qFIwMgZGhfd65oWBfLKJS3E6vBC-H_xqO8wkyryBkrACP5_lwK7eRcPd3RJylQ/s400/Neuburg+Medieval+Festival+%282%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365384946279120914" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9yrQtHLD9TTMoF3HNM_Z-ByVkBThxStdOtJLtuu4wNHFOEq1G1d9Jb4xRKyUiO5Qm9f1l3_hk00xKTgq0u8ibuxh3QmYNydA1lQEuydCsKRlevCw_Y49lmCR83V99HP0yQdZjgw/s1600-h/Neuburg+Medieval+Festival+%284%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9yrQtHLD9TTMoF3HNM_Z-ByVkBThxStdOtJLtuu4wNHFOEq1G1d9Jb4xRKyUiO5Qm9f1l3_hk00xKTgq0u8ibuxh3QmYNydA1lQEuydCsKRlevCw_Y49lmCR83V99HP0yQdZjgw/s400/Neuburg+Medieval+Festival+%284%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365384943502200194" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Included in the festivals event schedule was a medieval riding tournament. As the tournament began, contenders, musicians, jesters, and royal guests paraded onto the field. A couple of fire breathers were included in the cast, as seen below.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhybI6FF8_tqsg5cCT1ouNByCR0R5oWeRLhXOCP7XnY_cc25-jJmnrlkz-owAxH24LEE7vXhy1ylQxpp9yojtRoNPe4X4V4v3Xa6Fy-sCzPA6RYBwd9wuwHs2UzpugXIARDuy7dkw/s1600-h/Neuburg+Medieval+Festival+%2810%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhybI6FF8_tqsg5cCT1ouNByCR0R5oWeRLhXOCP7XnY_cc25-jJmnrlkz-owAxH24LEE7vXhy1ylQxpp9yojtRoNPe4X4V4v3Xa6Fy-sCzPA6RYBwd9wuwHs2UzpugXIARDuy7dkw/s400/Neuburg+Medieval+Festival+%2810%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365384935925885714" border="0" /></a><br />After some comedy from the jesters and opening remarks, the tournament itself eventually got under way. About ten riders competed for the tournament's title by attempting to hit targets and capture rings while on horseback. The following video clip provides a glimpse of one rider's turn.<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='396' height='329' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwl00G8THyCeqZNhbt24ICY2NJDgUjf9xJxJ_QRARplbcRUFLZoSFzQlF8zR53e7Km159NkLJArsNc' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">At one point the tournament's judge was forced to resolve the dispute between two arguing gentlemen. One of the men claimed that the other had refused to offer reimbursement for cases of beer taken from the accuser's home village a few kilometers from Neuburg. The judicial process came in the form of a two-round sword fight between the men. In the end, the accuser won. Aside from this incident, the tournament seemed mostly unchoreographed.<br /><br />Our last event at the festival was a medieval fire show consisiting of more fire breathers and other pyrotechnics. Afterwards we returned to Eichstätt and a new week of classes at the university. Our wait for another festival however would last only five days.<br /><br /><br /></div></div>Nick O.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05302680637268168032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32437289.post-56587214464479448702009-07-31T20:27:00.002+02:002009-07-31T20:55:08.830+02:00Summer Vacation<meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 9"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 9"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:/DOCUME%7E1/NICHOL%7E1/LOCALS%7E1/Temp/msoclip1/01/clip_filelist.xml"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:donotoptimizeforbrowser/> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" >A</span>s of this week the semester here has ended. Grades are turned in, and most of the students have deserted Eichst<meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 9"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 9"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:/DOCUME%7E1/NICHOL%7E1/LOCALS%7E1/Temp/msoclip1/01/clip_filelist.xml"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:donotoptimizeforbrowser/> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><span style=";font-family:";font-size:100%;" >ä</span>tt. I've been staying busy over the last few weeks with the work for my classes and saying goodbye to friends. The great news I can share with you is that I will be teaching here for at least one more semester, if not two. After another year of being here, the feeling is the same after my year studying abroad: I've traveled to many places in Europe, yet so many more remain.
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<br />I will be flying home for a visit lasting through most of September, until then I will stick around Eichst<meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 9"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 9"><link style="font-family: arial;" rel="File-List" href="file:///C:/DOCUME%7E1/NICHOL%7E1/LOCALS%7E1/Temp/msoclip1/01/clip_filelist.xml"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:donotoptimizeforbrowser/> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><span style=";font-family:";font-size:100%;" >ä</span>tt and Bavaria. No major plans are foreseen, but I will likely take some short trips in the region. Now that I have much more free time on my hands I will also be creating some new posts covering the events from the last month.
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<br />Look forward for more posts in the coming week, and hopefully, as I've said before, you'll be able to understand the reduced frequency of my writing.
<br /><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" ><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></span>Nick O.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05302680637268168032noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32437289.post-56223452421904124302009-07-11T18:46:00.000+02:002009-07-11T18:46:43.304+02:00Berchtesgaden: A Getaway to the Alps<span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" >B</span>erchtesgaden was a place that I had been wanting to visit since my return to Germany. Since the first week of my arrival I had been casually bringing up the town and region in conversations hoping to find someone else with the enthusiasm to go. With it rated too high on my list of potential destinations though, I planned to go in June, with or without a travel companion. Fortunately, my French friend Julie eventually expressed interest in going and the trip was set. From June 12 to 14 we took in the natural beauty and historical mystique of Berchtesgadener Land.<br /><br />Even for Bavarians and Germans this region possesses a certain allure. Berchtesgadener Land, the name for the region, finds itself in the extreme southeastern corner of Germany and, as such, the state of Bavaria, like a thin patch of splendid Alpine scenary sewn onto the rest of the German quilt. In a matter of minutes you would enter Austria were you not paying attention to the road signs. The region consists of a handful of municpalities, included in which is the town of Berchtesgaden, home to less than 8,000 residents yet at least twice as many scenic views. The community rests at the foot of the towering Watzmann mountain, Germany's third tallest mountain reaching 8,901 feet at it's highest peak.<br /><br />The legends and lore of Berchtesgaden begin with its fabled mountain, the Watzman. Several stories exist to explain its origins. One says that angels charged with disbursing natural wonders around the newly created Earth were startled by God's command to hurry up, and dropped the remaining marvels in Berchtesgaden. Another, more common story tells of an evil king who once ruled over the land of present-day Berchtesgaden. Finally having enough, God turned the king and his family into stone, creating the Watzmann and its several peaks. Since then the landscape has appealed to countless travelers and visitors so much so that Germany declared the southern most portion a national park in 1978.<br /><br />The legends of Berchtesgaden added a darker chapter when Adolf Hitler fell for the region's beauty and opened an official Nazi goverment compound and office near the town. The base could have acted as a southern headquarters if need be, but mostly served as a location of retreat for Hitler, his guests, and other top Nazi officials. For his fiftieth birthday, the residents of Berchtesgaden presented Hitler with a lodge perched high on a mountain slope. Known in German as the <span style="font-style: italic;">Kehlsteinhaus</span>, in English this home became more commonly referred to as the Eagle's Nest. Whatever the name, from its windows one has a clear view of the source of Berchtesgaden's original lore, and my main reason for the trip: the Watzmann.<br /><br />On the first day of our arrival, Julie and I checked into our hostel, and then took to seeing the sights of the town. The first stop was the <span style="font-style: italic;">Salzbergwerk</span>, a tour through an old but still operating salt mine deep into the ground below Berchtesgaden. A picture of the buildings of the salt mine, next to the river of fresh snowmelt, is below.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhug2DCQXWUvLIwoUIFRXzfuklmpjA4js3n4TlpHh0Jz2P5jlqmz8jPBl63rQSJKJeKfoSrS_lldsSbtRaoH7uNW_yJV3mlfMqd768chzyQfK54eDevApEM-uatwYbMCHtzuMSZyQ/s1600-h/post+%2833%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhug2DCQXWUvLIwoUIFRXzfuklmpjA4js3n4TlpHh0Jz2P5jlqmz8jPBl63rQSJKJeKfoSrS_lldsSbtRaoH7uNW_yJV3mlfMqd768chzyQfK54eDevApEM-uatwYbMCHtzuMSZyQ/s400/post+%2833%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350582199431711186" border="0" /></a><br /><br />In the caverns of the mine we descended down long wooden slides and even over a shallow lake, a byproduct of the mining. While an educational component of the mine and its operations was presented, most of the tour consisted of light and music shows to entertain the average tourist. The next image is a view of the underground lake.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxwMOyVszvkC7vzsCuP3UIX3DQ__NFKwgzSVWmLhBvXG9nd_OnT9156XKXZn7cDhyphenhyphen4eCZeoK7cXIubJnshaLf643Iho0bY7Qhvf5Ai63bBeXHr5Qo6WJKybG-1dzlfy1D9opRlFw/s1600-h/post"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxwMOyVszvkC7vzsCuP3UIX3DQ__NFKwgzSVWmLhBvXG9nd_OnT9156XKXZn7cDhyphenhyphen4eCZeoK7cXIubJnshaLf643Iho0bY7Qhvf5Ai63bBeXHr5Qo6WJKybG-1dzlfy1D9opRlFw/s400/post" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350582193926073458" border="0" /></a><br />Later in the afternoon and into the evening we walked the streets of the town. In the following picture you can see a view of Berchtesgaden's train station in the foreground, and in the background to the right, watching over the community, is the Watzmann.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIyN1BYP3m2mItZ6v8Gi4IUNOWlDN0nC6aleWvthRjJ-RCJKoCGNGJV75AeNPN11M1XuzW_nAVp5BIeppp-1cDSW-0R862nQOsd2bOT4H-e9F3pQDimwASxq-4w8vTbc7iLxm1Vg/s1600-h/post+%281%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIyN1BYP3m2mItZ6v8Gi4IUNOWlDN0nC6aleWvthRjJ-RCJKoCGNGJV75AeNPN11M1XuzW_nAVp5BIeppp-1cDSW-0R862nQOsd2bOT4H-e9F3pQDimwASxq-4w8vTbc7iLxm1Vg/s400/post+%281%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350582189301809202" border="0" /></a><br />The streets of the old town provided an environment much like other southern Bavarian towns. Quaint buidings painted light pastel color lined the sidewalks. Murals and other decorations covered several walls along public spaces.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJXb1pjaaCLtWmhjVqyROliTrem3dGMrk0zN0giacKCQ-CQuEQIUXvG-9TTFLQGe6h9qDFfRTeigpJ3GwNZ4oG5_Tx1_TcpYzsxQTdqUkssF8qPFR3D5Sc93UEYs7EWGFYwnbyQg/s1600-h/post+%282%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJXb1pjaaCLtWmhjVqyROliTrem3dGMrk0zN0giacKCQ-CQuEQIUXvG-9TTFLQGe6h9qDFfRTeigpJ3GwNZ4oG5_Tx1_TcpYzsxQTdqUkssF8qPFR3D5Sc93UEYs7EWGFYwnbyQg/s400/post+%282%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350582181046931442" border="0" /></a><br />We eventually found a local brewery and sat down for dinner. As deep as we were in Bavaria, the menu included several regional specialties that one cannot even find in Eichstätt. Determined to try something new, I selected a dish called <span style="font-style: italic;">Beuschel</span> after asking the waiter to explain to me exactly what it was . The bowl that arrived is pictured below. The large round object is a bread dumpling, nothing new or exciting for me, but the rest is a stew-like mixture with the main ingriedent of pig lungs. After a first few cautionary spoonfuls, I continued to finish the bowl.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbUk0jlv460NgY8NyW6t1HOtiuZVk53zXcuJ67dlQEGQciFQJBFI9lUJ0ucZYcrBzvWBuzSCOmSJyYCZ6alq61fZkJvQBEByaoibBNr5S6rCyeJLmDTzZGwnKyjA4wPB1e63ptfQ/s1600-h/post+%283%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbUk0jlv460NgY8NyW6t1HOtiuZVk53zXcuJ67dlQEGQciFQJBFI9lUJ0ucZYcrBzvWBuzSCOmSJyYCZ6alq61fZkJvQBEByaoibBNr5S6rCyeJLmDTzZGwnKyjA4wPB1e63ptfQ/s400/post+%283%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350582005718488434" border="0" /></a><br />The next morning we check out of the hostel, we wouldn't need it for that night, and visited the sights of Berchtesgaden's Nazi past. The first was the Documentation Center Obersalzburg, an excellent museum depicting the Nazi history in the community, World War II, and the genocide. The exhibit includes noteworthy treatment on Nazi propoganda and Führer mythology. Examples of photographs on display are one of Hitler wearing lederhosen and another of Hitler using a pair of reading glasses, a fact of his life that government workers kept secret from the public because it could hurt the image of a strong and powerful leader. A recent extension of the museum includes underground bunkers built to withstand Allied bombings. One of the bunker tunnels is seen below.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhknPZZfqK3pSSMEMkEh8cA9VX573tUrya7FEJxkuey3Zk2BAuWaYujlWF64lYcyUeEr2ilRW7G0s_UQPfb_yHIfCdoY4PbrbaHQRoH9QNrzWj7WCkLwkGtYerRje9zPuW429hoTA/s1600-h/post+%284%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhknPZZfqK3pSSMEMkEh8cA9VX573tUrya7FEJxkuey3Zk2BAuWaYujlWF64lYcyUeEr2ilRW7G0s_UQPfb_yHIfCdoY4PbrbaHQRoH9QNrzWj7WCkLwkGtYerRje9zPuW429hoTA/s400/post+%284%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350582000271177666" border="0" /></a><br />From the museum we took a bus to the end of a steep and twisting road. Next, a tunnel led us into a mountainside and to an elevator. A short ride brought us to the <span style="font-style: italic;">Kehlsteinhaus</span>, or Eagle's Nest. This building was one of the few to survive the Allied bombing raids during the war and subsequent demolitions. Counting as good irony, Hitler rarely visited the house because of his problems with vertigo and fear of heights. The first photograph below shows a view from the <span style="font-style: italic;">Kehlsteinhaus </span>toward the Watzmann, while the second is a look at the house itself. Incidentally, little of acutal historical value remains at the house; it now functions as an over-priced restaurant.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg64SjrLBmg1d6MPzrf-bCV96TgrkV-JzvJfkUYhcHs-dkQmfH8nbk0gcB7mqUoFrnYzTvDQZMHlZKX8yF6ckSpebtvINNSEEcSEM0KNxYT5Ve_LdjINNkHwYfedxl3StBqj-Nx-g/s1600-h/post+%285%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg64SjrLBmg1d6MPzrf-bCV96TgrkV-JzvJfkUYhcHs-dkQmfH8nbk0gcB7mqUoFrnYzTvDQZMHlZKX8yF6ckSpebtvINNSEEcSEM0KNxYT5Ve_LdjINNkHwYfedxl3StBqj-Nx-g/s400/post+%285%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350581999597534290" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3Qj9_ekQM68hUN_4-1eAGy_mnXai6-19_gPItE4XECrBrGlr1C7uktGPL3LKtPrzNDtkn1Eis4Vcm47NC9Vkv_uJi5EBlxnjqx4jOjekIPAoA63lSI3ODj0j6AzTPSMEOVqEOlg/s1600-h/post+%286%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3Qj9_ekQM68hUN_4-1eAGy_mnXai6-19_gPItE4XECrBrGlr1C7uktGPL3LKtPrzNDtkn1Eis4Vcm47NC9Vkv_uJi5EBlxnjqx4jOjekIPAoA63lSI3ODj0j6AzTPSMEOVqEOlg/s400/post+%286%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350581992372838178" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Following our descent from the house, and a quick visit to a grocery store, the highpoint of the trip began. As I had wanted since last October, we set out to hike to the top of the Watzmann.<br /><br />The journey started from a parking lot trailhead in the nearby village of Ramsau. Within minutes the trail pulled to a steep incline and rarely leveled out for the rest of the day. We had officially entered the national park, and the father we walked, the deeper into a natural and bucolic atmosphere we went. The trail led past mountain huts and cow pastures, and through thick evergreen forests. The following pictures offer some glimpses from the trail. In the third image you can see the Watzmann summit still far away in the background.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqTEZkNfcdniVn9evU0HhIsnFLhAcXQB5e_s93Hr3hs9_T2hhXJXbY98t36RNb_amveZkxIdJgl_chWRYYwCYWezPj4lQIBQcajePZL2fYXukTg2bBHaa7_s520CQlKoK4YfaPmA/s1600-h/post+%287%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqTEZkNfcdniVn9evU0HhIsnFLhAcXQB5e_s93Hr3hs9_T2hhXJXbY98t36RNb_amveZkxIdJgl_chWRYYwCYWezPj4lQIBQcajePZL2fYXukTg2bBHaa7_s520CQlKoK4YfaPmA/s400/post+%287%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350581986211860130" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLxJ2r3Dy6_Crtq2gpGTfjcQQxNDGOzh6wGzdShk4Widq68Sy8ciBf2ErH7ee7ABBkxhMKL8x2QKSArhpSO-iS999wCfatRgrIDo4b2VVfwTXNXV8CAHxkHacaORTeKI_UnsBa9g/s1600-h/post+%288%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLxJ2r3Dy6_Crtq2gpGTfjcQQxNDGOzh6wGzdShk4Widq68Sy8ciBf2ErH7ee7ABBkxhMKL8x2QKSArhpSO-iS999wCfatRgrIDo4b2VVfwTXNXV8CAHxkHacaORTeKI_UnsBa9g/s400/post+%288%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350581593825737218" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSk0t-0B7SlkREduDbEUS44IEI305bYxctmXcz56RxOtEOpaxl3GyXPWrr7d_Mz0GRc73KfBIo6HzK9HoJRLly-nijwjuO3gu-t4Bh6Qn76ci3CUzSaiJa0bqLOTePSQgqM7T_-Q/s1600-h/post+%289%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSk0t-0B7SlkREduDbEUS44IEI305bYxctmXcz56RxOtEOpaxl3GyXPWrr7d_Mz0GRc73KfBIo6HzK9HoJRLly-nijwjuO3gu-t4Bh6Qn76ci3CUzSaiJa0bqLOTePSQgqM7T_-Q/s400/post+%289%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350581587914425458" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj414PPA-MD9l-aUkuiC0tus8P0Pup8I41BMz2RGYEK7H1V0nHFSUOP5G1QCkZgUW_FgQGZI_va80Bb-ABYjWX7pGjdo4gmMcs_-9j-BLQOy37cKsPQHSbSxk4tV-EBVkdNJLWJ2g/s1600-h/post+%2810%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj414PPA-MD9l-aUkuiC0tus8P0Pup8I41BMz2RGYEK7H1V0nHFSUOP5G1QCkZgUW_FgQGZI_va80Bb-ABYjWX7pGjdo4gmMcs_-9j-BLQOy37cKsPQHSbSxk4tV-EBVkdNJLWJ2g/s400/post+%2810%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350581582507681298" border="0" /></a><br /><br />After almost four hours of ascending, we reached a wide meadow just below the mountain lodge we would call home for the night. I would say that the views were breathtaking, but that could have been a result from the steep hike that lay behind us rather than the scenery. Below is a photograph of some of the Watzmann summits as seen from the meadow, and then a video clip that takes in the 360 degree elegance. In the opening shot of the video you can see a smaller peak in the middle; on that outcropping of rock stood our lodge. As the camera pans to the left the next large snow-covered peak that comes into view is the summit to which we would hike the next morning.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS0ZURuLQ1DGGQWKxPuuMtYVxZTfcQFwDpEnpzgVbSYy7sN4u5kHWswM20hEnNnK4og6abdqephTvtx4cDngp1w-79gPpr3-8p5dx9NIE4PYga_hKfk9c_K4So3hSEbulQ7quJsQ/s1600-h/post+%2811%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS0ZURuLQ1DGGQWKxPuuMtYVxZTfcQFwDpEnpzgVbSYy7sN4u5kHWswM20hEnNnK4og6abdqephTvtx4cDngp1w-79gPpr3-8p5dx9NIE4PYga_hKfk9c_K4So3hSEbulQ7quJsQ/s400/post+%2811%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350581578287203826" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='424' height='351' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dy_PY-RIKSQgieJ5FvTUuSxiKyeSYxEffKX-rEBUugFG95EdzB1vSz5vPtNACRiKRRSSqCPQBkRAKo' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /></div><br /><br />During the hike on that day and the next, we encountered dozens beautiful, unique, or attention-grabbing forms of life on the mountain. Here are several shots of this diverse flora and fauna.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9wmFuWmVZA08EHetyYG3r5beGbOMazRfy9-dL6cFxAsMZM97dWzCAKDRchzGTDULn3vnE_qY-lXSsUyvB3yIAScFh0sqi6m3FJ2Mr9cp27kyZMxRT6mCxRASxcHuYoZ5hYpQ5Qg/s1600-h/post+%2812%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9wmFuWmVZA08EHetyYG3r5beGbOMazRfy9-dL6cFxAsMZM97dWzCAKDRchzGTDULn3vnE_qY-lXSsUyvB3yIAScFh0sqi6m3FJ2Mr9cp27kyZMxRT6mCxRASxcHuYoZ5hYpQ5Qg/s400/post+%2812%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350581570805318482" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjczEs_xyk0fA_vtHwITnihNbsnBgqaCmUAJC-1niPXsJL2Djem5cKmqrRNROEGmAOqjUj7acXIPqU-leMSqnsFpla3uB4wVDRrI6tpFA-PNB0ZSVB5E4bZk9TYz1fpZjrcn4yxZg/s1600-h/post+%2813%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjczEs_xyk0fA_vtHwITnihNbsnBgqaCmUAJC-1niPXsJL2Djem5cKmqrRNROEGmAOqjUj7acXIPqU-leMSqnsFpla3uB4wVDRrI6tpFA-PNB0ZSVB5E4bZk9TYz1fpZjrcn4yxZg/s400/post+%2813%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350581422472503026" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHabc0eCDVHuc2Dki6L2xGgMUxtx56FtpxaUZ5H37hv4VCqMilKhgVPTMsLcwamSUHX5f_laawXxMvCtjeqVeBrOtGPjP92vaqsPnKGzGpOXmnEdljUk2bxMYoLc013YRxlTRzjQ/s1600-h/post+%2814%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHabc0eCDVHuc2Dki6L2xGgMUxtx56FtpxaUZ5H37hv4VCqMilKhgVPTMsLcwamSUHX5f_laawXxMvCtjeqVeBrOtGPjP92vaqsPnKGzGpOXmnEdljUk2bxMYoLc013YRxlTRzjQ/s400/post+%2814%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350581412556811618" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMNUKZc_-ihhLpWVWsYUNyb4tLEoNISrlafLlQyd4nfoAgEbGHZdo5M-41H1sz3HvZWO9NpSC4rzsjrG0WUEAnoR3WLzaL3MO32n0n0nE_1O70PflTOCKx_TpibHx_oqN6HYyr_Q/s1600-h/post+%2815%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMNUKZc_-ihhLpWVWsYUNyb4tLEoNISrlafLlQyd4nfoAgEbGHZdo5M-41H1sz3HvZWO9NpSC4rzsjrG0WUEAnoR3WLzaL3MO32n0n0nE_1O70PflTOCKx_TpibHx_oqN6HYyr_Q/s400/post+%2815%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350581411129087522" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMhXOa6whcUOUXOC9XGjEETKJu8bAohyphenhyphenXaWq7zXqvhcV6T11t2eaenYoz5TtoNZ49L99GH6Z3DIHTxB9Hqe0-N8aXZ5paqGG5r7ePSQQp6ot55_ysCEecu3cZfoFXxRwLu4DbD8A/s1600-h/post+%2816%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMhXOa6whcUOUXOC9XGjEETKJu8bAohyphenhyphenXaWq7zXqvhcV6T11t2eaenYoz5TtoNZ49L99GH6Z3DIHTxB9Hqe0-N8aXZ5paqGG5r7ePSQQp6ot55_ysCEecu3cZfoFXxRwLu4DbD8A/s400/post+%2816%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350581404378010882" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_0mFlqoAfVx7HBJmvQcORrw6IxNnedExHXNH2ubvcBRyCkM234BTms2NrHXTXSKQTmwAxu3hnYMxcXKii1dvggQ80Vt2X0gLeGHqZXgeFhlHgCId7sUTqzyG6UVtbNo1Y0LS4RQ/s1600-h/post+%2817%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_0mFlqoAfVx7HBJmvQcORrw6IxNnedExHXNH2ubvcBRyCkM234BTms2NrHXTXSKQTmwAxu3hnYMxcXKii1dvggQ80Vt2X0gLeGHqZXgeFhlHgCId7sUTqzyG6UVtbNo1Y0LS4RQ/s400/post+%2817%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350581401090005746" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKrWhT_lb7reQg7sreky8XW7hyphenhyphensYXrJFnbE-VdRL9ogWNhGcqPufZAaOea_-QguedgpYULZ7ujWSPSD6LwAt_MnVSX1lzJAnXKroEhFvChyMvDu8gQKuiWKo79bMBczIE4PdfA0w/s1600-h/post+%2818%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKrWhT_lb7reQg7sreky8XW7hyphenhyphensYXrJFnbE-VdRL9ogWNhGcqPufZAaOea_-QguedgpYULZ7ujWSPSD6LwAt_MnVSX1lzJAnXKroEhFvChyMvDu8gQKuiWKo79bMBczIE4PdfA0w/s400/post+%2818%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350580995298800226" border="0" /></a><br /><br />With a chunk of storage capacity lost on both memory cards of our cameras and our breath regained, we pushed on for the final section of the day's hike. The lodge at the end of the trail was a rewarding sight after nearly five hours.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0jX6OVOPckA69Z9Mkbl8mtSviu-aYc0oM4edqbGJLou-NZ1Oo3b6H-vzC0Yw6qdqz1EAL2WGSd1ym3xYuEfRjLPToBd8RCLdM4d3j7dx_wL_wa9FRgMY-DCnKvQTDf8KZ2ZRgIw/s1600-h/post+%2819%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0jX6OVOPckA69Z9Mkbl8mtSviu-aYc0oM4edqbGJLou-NZ1Oo3b6H-vzC0Yw6qdqz1EAL2WGSd1ym3xYuEfRjLPToBd8RCLdM4d3j7dx_wL_wa9FRgMY-DCnKvQTDf8KZ2ZRgIw/s400/post+%2819%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350580992756563154" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyryhsmhnQmZKIxYXm3ZHVGUUAZ6TWY_DBavUNh4Ow8yCmzETHJkZl4m9om1k-8vUhTc4ao2Z0hJpRC-5Jjx2onBUmoui-0dJ-e9YbsAn4rwtJlc7cpusLFsfOM2uSGldW_Feq0g/s1600-h/post+%2820%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyryhsmhnQmZKIxYXm3ZHVGUUAZ6TWY_DBavUNh4Ow8yCmzETHJkZl4m9om1k-8vUhTc4ao2Z0hJpRC-5Jjx2onBUmoui-0dJ-e9YbsAn4rwtJlc7cpusLFsfOM2uSGldW_Feq0g/s400/post+%2820%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350580985159496562" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTCtAAP48pGynh1W1xYnUo0XtCROLTx_s0DyyO2PP_mXfRoJJSYx6sI4UrgdVf4rw8f4UHQEPFJpKTUuVGPzoa4f8HEhZQ77Wv12AJ61GOkSMCHf2SrzuMLxEpPAzjiqBKWbN-lg/s1600-h/post+%2821%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTCtAAP48pGynh1W1xYnUo0XtCROLTx_s0DyyO2PP_mXfRoJJSYx6sI4UrgdVf4rw8f4UHQEPFJpKTUuVGPzoa4f8HEhZQ77Wv12AJ61GOkSMCHf2SrzuMLxEpPAzjiqBKWbN-lg/s400/post+%2821%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350580979934066978" border="0" /></a><br /><br />We entered the building, placed our packs in a hallway, took off our shoes as instructed, and found ourselves in the company of dozens of hikers and climbers. Of course, what better a way is there to rest after such a tiring day than with a cool glass of local beer brought up from town and a large plate of <span style="font-style: italic;">Kaiserschmarrn</span>, a dessert of shredded pancakes, cinnamon, and apple sauce.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcdd18_mGZPU7jkE86RF0TgBBqYJ1MgqnBMNjt12GmNp9vLMvtw7Ch0H0UNPGceYphC36WHglw5zAt-7hNdveNSmEqrkBi4NJMCnFQKifKRODXqIg2a04nyn38gGrcfGo8kGBx7w/s1600-h/post+%2822%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcdd18_mGZPU7jkE86RF0TgBBqYJ1MgqnBMNjt12GmNp9vLMvtw7Ch0H0UNPGceYphC36WHglw5zAt-7hNdveNSmEqrkBi4NJMCnFQKifKRODXqIg2a04nyn38gGrcfGo8kGBx7w/s400/post+%2822%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350580976351604738" border="0" /></a><br />Soon after we finished eatting, we returned outdoors to watch the sun set over our Alpine surroundings. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXyvQVNfVHFp1C2sArnZY0BMIAThEa0SVJhRHGAm6NMIVCueg0ZD2FNY40z1Oxr1jg2Ms6fYDB7cLrj2apSCn6oU6ATWz0hSuYtRQRe3eccNB_0fI-FNFh36h85piDUHGsdlzPYw/s1600-h/post+%2823%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXyvQVNfVHFp1C2sArnZY0BMIAThEa0SVJhRHGAm6NMIVCueg0ZD2FNY40z1Oxr1jg2Ms6fYDB7cLrj2apSCn6oU6ATWz0hSuYtRQRe3eccNB_0fI-FNFh36h85piDUHGsdlzPYw/s400/post+%2823%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350580568182526274" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUncQ2BOWNhskBgnwuy2Z7WAF2AiQw2PsQQo8f0PqhHV1V0zNm64OdK3bP2zUp-YJf0a74lX5Czs9UTxl7JgHQKe175iK_ZHI-PnjJIeJWZ_37pqB7M9-quKjTCKf1MO8OyEA_wg/s1600-h/post+%2824%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUncQ2BOWNhskBgnwuy2Z7WAF2AiQw2PsQQo8f0PqhHV1V0zNm64OdK3bP2zUp-YJf0a74lX5Czs9UTxl7JgHQKe175iK_ZHI-PnjJIeJWZ_37pqB7M9-quKjTCKf1MO8OyEA_wg/s400/post+%2824%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350580565523247810" border="0" /></a><br />The natural show ended, and we were ready to end the day. Think of this mountain lodge, called the <span style="font-style: italic;">Watzmannhaus</span>, like a rustic hostel. For twenty euros a night, anyone can receive shelter after his or her day of hiking. Because the lodge is below a mountain summit though, you shouldn't expect luxury conditions. For one thing, only a few lucky guests get a single bed. Instead, most people sleep on oversized mattresses and bunks. Each mattress fits up to six people sleeping side by side, whether you know your bedmate or not doesn't matter. Additionally, also due to its isolated location, no showers are available in the lodge. Guests are asked to restrict their use of this resource as the melting snow is the only supply for it. <br /><br />We awoke in the morning to clear skies and the rest of a mountain to conquer. An almost 2,400 feet difference in elevation still remained between us and the summit. The photograph below shows the trailhead for the summit path in front of the lodge. The three main summits of the Watzmann are the Hocheck (8,697 ft), Mittelspitze (8,900 ft), and Südspitze (8,897 ft). Our goal was to reach the first of these three, the Hocheck (which literally means High Corner). The bottom posted sign seen in the photograph reads something to the effect of, "Alpine experience, steady footing, and a lack of fear of heights are essential."<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNDsfcKv-sxgVGVYJWYBFNdBNT9sNsyCONyIaj_cUEmQ8sZHuuoeoJ5FnnMzJgnrbtAoAbaHV44U7I2hmjqhF6oN1QiPKRjw1bZtOlZ5gAVdFI4YEwCgmiHvFSckA5gkz1RFhUBQ/s1600-h/post+%2825%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNDsfcKv-sxgVGVYJWYBFNdBNT9sNsyCONyIaj_cUEmQ8sZHuuoeoJ5FnnMzJgnrbtAoAbaHV44U7I2hmjqhF6oN1QiPKRjw1bZtOlZ5gAVdFI4YEwCgmiHvFSckA5gkz1RFhUBQ/s400/post+%2825%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350580552830838306" border="0" /></a><br />The trail started steep, but straightforward. Other than the occasional boulders lying in the path, we encountered few obstacles to slow our progress. Eventually the trail became rockier and its gradient incresed ever more. A sudden loss in balance could easily send one of us rolling down the mountain slope. In the second picture below you can see Julie navigating the terrain.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwKWghCJj811prpTTvBjdM81suH0Mm0eaM5V4hreU3IFBWpN7zUvPKHg8AnuDF8ZT87aLZj7Fh5nJmFn_EtJ2g1kPb63nnF5K8Rv20172ljuqjX_SJlrvLTqPfydEmeepkdcqpkA/s1600-h/post+%2826%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwKWghCJj811prpTTvBjdM81suH0Mm0eaM5V4hreU3IFBWpN7zUvPKHg8AnuDF8ZT87aLZj7Fh5nJmFn_EtJ2g1kPb63nnF5K8Rv20172ljuqjX_SJlrvLTqPfydEmeepkdcqpkA/s400/post+%2826%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350580549700200786" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtCW1XiSccVXUBNfyAMbhpMt_II9W-Vdt2yqOXewHErph7K3yj-T0scYV6JdUebBc-93XylxeANRLfbB-_GDNE0C9hZ7UiW4KQEqWPxP6AXUpMnew3ZXIXpBl_eLzAwKREPhWBEQ/s1600-h/post+%2827%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtCW1XiSccVXUBNfyAMbhpMt_II9W-Vdt2yqOXewHErph7K3yj-T0scYV6JdUebBc-93XylxeANRLfbB-_GDNE0C9hZ7UiW4KQEqWPxP6AXUpMnew3ZXIXpBl_eLzAwKREPhWBEQ/s400/post+%2827%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350580543139749026" border="0" /></a><br />Around two hours into the hike, the trail turned far steeper than I had expected it would. We came face to face with nearly verticle ascents. Using our hands and feet became necessary as the hike turned into a scramble. In places a steel cable bolted to the rock provided some extra support. The farther the trail led, the more difficult it turned, likewise the more amazing the scenery became. Losing sight of the actual summit behind the sheer mass of stone before us, we pushed on to reach our goal. In the following photograph you see the moutain dropping below Julie, the lodge a distant speck far below, and the forested valley even farther.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGzYbCV97somrY3TlxMOhEUokYffaCwLQNWAhnRoNhFFHFDFUCoCyKIaeOqOR6B9MMnIXSve2Dn0j52MJ7eAhUYpMxae14KkiHvjHdo9TRx0OWt8TSg4UFiI43VsBFI68ce8UEmw/s1600-h/post+%2828%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGzYbCV97somrY3TlxMOhEUokYffaCwLQNWAhnRoNhFFHFDFUCoCyKIaeOqOR6B9MMnIXSve2Dn0j52MJ7eAhUYpMxae14KkiHvjHdo9TRx0OWt8TSg4UFiI43VsBFI68ce8UEmw/s400/post+%2828%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350580253419180994" border="0" /></a><br />At last we reached the summit and took several minutes to rest. To our backs and to the south we could greet Austria. In front of us Bavaria spread out to the north. A couple other climbers set out to reach the next summit, Mittelspitze, with the aid of climbing harnesses and other gear. Feeling content with our accomplishment, and of course with none of the necessary gear on hand, we began our descent to the lodge. In all, the hike, or climb as it might better be called, to the summit from the lodge took almost four hours. The total hike from Ramsau to the summit was an elevation gain of a little more than 6,600 feet. Here are a few views from or near the summit.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVcASeEKgJoCMuDL4DyDMt_7LofwoVJnKTAoJZb7uu3MbYQFPi4w4FMfQXAPPPWV5XgVrMBSGnb38wBW9CEFqgz29SsdcnhobEVgv_9VkP1ZBd3zvS0NarSKnFVMtS47Y3oOSJVA/s1600-h/post+%2829%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVcASeEKgJoCMuDL4DyDMt_7LofwoVJnKTAoJZb7uu3MbYQFPi4w4FMfQXAPPPWV5XgVrMBSGnb38wBW9CEFqgz29SsdcnhobEVgv_9VkP1ZBd3zvS0NarSKnFVMtS47Y3oOSJVA/s400/post+%2829%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350580245814486226" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJWrN5k4hDpBiLP12dhszbgHNHAosftFv0aPqkhJwax_x4vVz4Oc1wf1jXrCjdpIK4ON683dN0qcDAuPZIg1iWvAB09XWcwPX9V_MYVzIa5LlefQ702IzaGyN2NtUPUnhZMnWn5Q/s1600-h/post+%2830%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJWrN5k4hDpBiLP12dhszbgHNHAosftFv0aPqkhJwax_x4vVz4Oc1wf1jXrCjdpIK4ON683dN0qcDAuPZIg1iWvAB09XWcwPX9V_MYVzIa5LlefQ702IzaGyN2NtUPUnhZMnWn5Q/s400/post+%2830%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350580240093808034" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKkfGLWLAPkyNwzsa5fyc_JzxWhXbDCoBxkhLwXEJMaGEh1a3xMD-0E6azAKeyLjCgo6l-pweMV56YcIuy1WkPozLq_dCDr731EQlkYtJKCa2Jr0RdMAd5xIrSegX1HEX-2OW4GA/s1600-h/post+%2831%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKkfGLWLAPkyNwzsa5fyc_JzxWhXbDCoBxkhLwXEJMaGEh1a3xMD-0E6azAKeyLjCgo6l-pweMV56YcIuy1WkPozLq_dCDr731EQlkYtJKCa2Jr0RdMAd5xIrSegX1HEX-2OW4GA/s400/post+%2831%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350580236833813186" border="0" /></a><br />Once we had returned to the lodge, we gathered our belongings and descended the rest of the mountain. From the parking lot we could look up to the Watzmann's summit high in the distance. With a little time left in the afternoon, we drove to the Königssee, a deep and long pristine lake in the shadows of the mountains. The cruise ferries had unfortuanately already stopped service for the day, but the views from the docks were nice nonetheless.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLo-GqjqwGnDOjDqykFoC_b1dcza3XyMPHXXx8dYBKm5Evj7oSYVJBvKRzU3tBoVz2F2TMweXPL1zQUzpnK9n0vPsZi8DgTAg0hE5yylEyQxVkRog7DoVKH6XW5Czch7QZo827Vw/s1600-h/post+%2832%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLo-GqjqwGnDOjDqykFoC_b1dcza3XyMPHXXx8dYBKm5Evj7oSYVJBvKRzU3tBoVz2F2TMweXPL1zQUzpnK9n0vPsZi8DgTAg0hE5yylEyQxVkRog7DoVKH6XW5Czch7QZo827Vw/s400/post+%2832%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350580233440968978" border="0" /></a><br /><br />After a quick dinner we started the drive back to Eichstätt. Our weekend enveloped by the bewithcing natural beauty of Berchtesgaden had come to an end. Other than a small salt shaker included with the tour of the salt mine, the only thing either of us left with in addition to what we had brought was the desire to return someday.Nick O.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05302680637268168032noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32437289.post-67212341897294902022009-07-10T19:35:00.001+02:002009-07-21T20:30:45.653+02:00Erlangen's Festival<span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">S</span></span>ome other priorities have been keeping me busy, but here is one more post to help bring you up-to-date.<br /><br />The Tuesday after Pentecost (May 31) some friends and I traveled to the city of Erlangen for its famous Bergkirchweih Festival, the third largest in Bavaria (which is truly saying something). Erlangen is located northwest of Nuremberg and by car is about one hour away from Eichstätt. The city is home to about 100,000 residents and one of Germany's largest universities and medical schools. Unfortunately, many of the Germans whom I have spoken with about the city refer to Erlangen as as an ugly place not worth a visit. After my several hours there I wouldn't go quite that far; the city does have its bright and interesting spots. Of course, the festival atmoshphere could have helped.<br /><br />Before we made it to the festival, we stopped at Erlangen's small yet first-class botanical gardens. Collections of plants from several diverse ecosystems were on display and led us to wonder how they could all survive in the climate of Bavaria. Below is one picture from the gardens.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsCQT7uoEprkG4eQKgXRpbWSGIqy-HkAlRSA6-Au4sxiuoxJPDWiFwmRRkzYiFb6xoy8-my9djgL6RNujMabxlK41oMXaviXebQhYL_ozWPP_Hz0-zz5xoaYM0xhLUit57Q9sXJw/s1600-h/P1010304.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsCQT7uoEprkG4eQKgXRpbWSGIqy-HkAlRSA6-Au4sxiuoxJPDWiFwmRRkzYiFb6xoy8-my9djgL6RNujMabxlK41oMXaviXebQhYL_ozWPP_Hz0-zz5xoaYM0xhLUit57Q9sXJw/s400/P1010304.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345746049135629458" border="0" /></a><br />Many of the streets of Erlangen's old town were a bit desolate as most of the inhabitants must have been attending the festival. Almost all the people we did see were heading in the same direction: toward the festival. As can also be seen in the following photograph, most of the buildings in the city's historic center were no more than three floors, which provided more of a village atmosphere than that of a city.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAqZaDBgnu9zK_XlDHbYsMiGmnMZ3ZJEBjFsRdR_X0G-kDtlACXg0tW4VfVZvS9WuSQSMMgGPvY_vTzFR3X_vnSaKsqpZP1e6Ry5kIczBoo0W-vC9gdbIEsaCGYMp4eQbQ1cq1kw/s1600-h/P1010305.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAqZaDBgnu9zK_XlDHbYsMiGmnMZ3ZJEBjFsRdR_X0G-kDtlACXg0tW4VfVZvS9WuSQSMMgGPvY_vTzFR3X_vnSaKsqpZP1e6Ry5kIczBoo0W-vC9gdbIEsaCGYMp4eQbQ1cq1kw/s400/P1010305.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345746043271401730" border="0" /></a><br />Finally reaching the festival, we discovered where most of city's residents were hiding. The annual event takes places at Erlangen's former fortress, which rests on the slopes of a forested hill north of the historic city center. From this shady and steep setting one can enjoy the food, music, and other people.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ33HsM2W5zHFDNMkJChIEX2-qrpkmAzfA662nJtqgQn8gxyIlykLOxyc_1PZ_P8dVNW35vw41l2P6HsQu0F6_rk2P_27GxQA3dtRmnFJjkllRlRyNbrETGiodxvXdaimQTco5eA/s1600-h/P1010307.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ33HsM2W5zHFDNMkJChIEX2-qrpkmAzfA662nJtqgQn8gxyIlykLOxyc_1PZ_P8dVNW35vw41l2P6HsQu0F6_rk2P_27GxQA3dtRmnFJjkllRlRyNbrETGiodxvXdaimQTco5eA/s400/P1010307.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345745942706867522" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitRXrkV2dZ1jj-s2VrjGIIaXscIB6TR83_IrA_TyVH9XAfRSPoPiSjum4UrxHX8z-s5iIdxNlEL06dRVmS8JwD8UVuO7za-FY3huygZ-HFWwg2BsDN12r3909_QF-WhLRX9bP2Ag/s1600-h/P1010310.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitRXrkV2dZ1jj-s2VrjGIIaXscIB6TR83_IrA_TyVH9XAfRSPoPiSjum4UrxHX8z-s5iIdxNlEL06dRVmS8JwD8UVuO7za-FY3huygZ-HFWwg2BsDN12r3909_QF-WhLRX9bP2Ag/s400/P1010310.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345745935923175346" border="0" /></a><br />Several bandstands and beer gardens nestled steeply together on the hillside, creating a unique echelon of musicians, partiers, and aromas. Few other foreigners appeared to be in attendance, but that was to be expected as the Bergkirchweih Festival's cousin to the south, Oktoberfest, receives far more international attention (for better or worse). In addition to the beer gardens and bands, several food vendors and carneval rides and games stretched along the hill, providing nurishment and entertainment to the thousands of guests.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLCUBBsb71oDLDUshErFleb6ix7PDSsXw8XWRxbDuttWcft2e9zmzIoxktD2vcGIcaZ2pNayudAs1ZpcX9MtxmMwFRLNFR0BMEnxDABAGWDbFzxjixg3G8xeu_iwTUdGfbinqqyQ/s1600-h/P1010314.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLCUBBsb71oDLDUshErFleb6ix7PDSsXw8XWRxbDuttWcft2e9zmzIoxktD2vcGIcaZ2pNayudAs1ZpcX9MtxmMwFRLNFR0BMEnxDABAGWDbFzxjixg3G8xeu_iwTUdGfbinqqyQ/s400/P1010314.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345745931919632802" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwPiuJLzEKpKSJEtWG1qE50SCOMDp14W0uVFRRUOK0I9if-K67h9kdZmf7riMsl-qm4BDIWHVe3Zqg1vm5g8NNuKm_Uo6afckmVXEwq13hGEWsst_J3f79FAsa1TLqyJ_-jPDIKw/s1600-h/P1010315.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwPiuJLzEKpKSJEtWG1qE50SCOMDp14W0uVFRRUOK0I9if-K67h9kdZmf7riMsl-qm4BDIWHVe3Zqg1vm5g8NNuKm_Uo6afckmVXEwq13hGEWsst_J3f79FAsa1TLqyJ_-jPDIKw/s400/P1010315.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345745928532864162" border="0" /></a><br />Towards the evening we left the festival and Erlangen to return to Eichstätt, with yet another Bavarian festival experienced.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHB-lrv2LuYIt3W89vI6pNiONc1UDlrp8pPQZ5Y4Anv80NbTHq0qspOTBanhIAp8gDmTN6hxHMJ4VRpIrxAjJkIhFO16dAHAw4_BJPlJUul941iMl4TnY7nq5F_Av9g1sGMh1mkA/s1600-h/P1010319.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHB-lrv2LuYIt3W89vI6pNiONc1UDlrp8pPQZ5Y4Anv80NbTHq0qspOTBanhIAp8gDmTN6hxHMJ4VRpIrxAjJkIhFO16dAHAw4_BJPlJUul941iMl4TnY7nq5F_Av9g1sGMh1mkA/s400/P1010319.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345745926864760082" border="0" /></a>Nick O.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05302680637268168032noreply@blogger.com0