Ireland and Closing

As I sit and write this post, I look backwards and forwards. Last week at this time, I was wandering through Dublin City, Ireland, the city and country I've dreamed of visiting for as long as I can remember. Next week at this time, I will be sitting at home in good ol' Chesterland writing a final post reflecting on my entire adventure, Lord willing. It's a surreal feeling, being caught between these two extremes, the peak of my travels and the completion of them. Normality beckons all while my head and heart are still in a flux from the place I returned back to Osnabruck from. I've thought about how best to share my experiences in Ireland here, and I think the best way is to list my activities day by day. Hopefully by doing this I will cut down on the rambling eccentricities that have emerged each time I've described the trip since my return, and keep my word count down. I could talk about my adventures for hours, and have since I got back, but I don't have that much time to write.

Before the Trip

Last Saturday, we lost our game against the Cottbus Crayfish. There's not much to say, aside from mentioning my frustration at our performance. It was undisciplined and lazy and one of the worst games I've been a part of, especially considering the situation. Due to this loss, and other circumstances, I do have one final game this coming weekend. I'm thankful, because my last game here and probably ever does not have to be that farce of piss-poor officiating and substandard effort. 

That said, the weekend closed quickly, as I dropped Mitch off early Sunday morning on his own trip up to Denmark and Sweden. Soon enough, it was time for me to leave on Tuesday.

Tuesday, September 17

I had packed the previous two days, so I was ready for my afternoon train ride to Dusseldorf airport long before I needed to go. Monika was able to drop me off at the train station, albeit over an hour early, so I had quite a bit of time to myself to read and wait. I caught the train, late as it was, and I was off, lugging my backpack and knapsack along with me south to the airport. I almost missed a connection in Frankfurt and had to run from platform to platform, but the journey went smoothly. I made it to the airport and found my gate and whatnot without much issue...until I presented my passport to the German airport agent. Due to how long I've been in Germany, he took issue with my status in the country. One can only stay in Germany without a visa (or most other countries, I believe) for ninety consecutive days. I held up the line as the man looked at my passport, furrowed his brow, and did his best to explain the issue with me. I was oddly calm, considering the fact that they were well within their rights to deport me. Thankfully we were able to iron out the issue - since I had been to Amsterdam since I had arrived in Germany, I was cleared - and I was able to pass through and board my plane. The agent assured me that I'd be able to re-enter the country the next week as if it weren't even a point of concern, but I didn't care about that ambiguity at that point. Ireland was calling me. The flight was a bit delayed, but went well, and I found Niall, my Dublin connection, right away. For those of you who don't know, he is my mother's cousins' cousin's husband. So, definitely close enough to be called family. He immediately took me to his local pub and bought me my first Guinness. Yes. It is better in Ireland. I enjoyed the drinks and the atmosphere; it wasn't like the other pubs I ended up seeing later in my trip, it was local, authentic...it wasn't as tainted by the commercialism brought about by the major tourist areas of the more immediate city area of Dublin. Or so it seemed to me. After two quick pints we popped down to his house, quite literally a few doors down, and I met his wife Annette, my mother's cousins' cousin. We sat up talking for a bit, discussing the connections we had back in the States in my cousins the Sweeneys and quickly forming a strong familial fondness. Having family and a base camp for my adventures proved invaluable to my experience, and I cannot express how grateful I am to the Moores for their hospitality. I went to bed in my room in the kids' playroom happy and excited for the rest of my trip.

 That first Guinness. Heaven.

Wednesday, September 18

I woke up early Wednesday morning, too excited to keep sleeping. After everyone else had woken up, I met James, Niall and Annette's three year old son. What a funny kid. James is into everything, whip-smart and mischievous, and, as Niall said, "three going on forty-three." As Niall cooked a traditional Irish breakfast for us (wonderful), I played with James and met his little sisters as Annette brought them down, twins Faye and Hannah. After the breakfast, Annette took me out to Dublin City to my hostel, Abigail's. She pointed out a few points of interest on the way, which proved helpful later on. I was staying very literally in the middle of the city, right along the Liffey, with the major bar district of Temple bar behind me and the rest of the city within easy walking distance. After being dropped off and promising to keep in touch if I needed anything, I dropped my bags off at the hostel (I couldn't check in till two, it was only eleven), grabbed a free city map from the welcome desk, and went a-roving. Immediately I could tell I loved the city; this was in the alley three steps out of my hostel door:

 There was a whole alleyway of tributes to the great artists of Ireland, specifically Dublin. I think there was an artists' collective right in the building behind it.

I wandered a stretch of the city, keeping the spot that I needed to meet for the free tour at two o'clock close enough that I could easily find it. My head was spinning, but I loved it. The street art, the buildings, the brogue floating through the air...I was where I wanted to be. And this brings me to maybe the most important thing I've learned over here in Europe, at least about going to new places: I want to be a traveler, not a tourist. A tourist will take a guided bus tour through a city and be content, watching the major landmarks pass by in fifteen seconds, just enough time to snap a decent picture and listen to the bare essential details of the place, minus the strain of getting out of the bus and finding the place themselves by walking along the gritty sidewalks between the less esteemed proud buildings and the washed and unwashed people of the city itself. A tourist buys a t-shirt emblazoned with the city's name immediately and puts it on then and there, as if to remind the place and everyone in it that THIS IS WHERE WE ARE, I'VE BEEN HERE, even before they've had the chance to really be there, to soak up the vibe and the feelings the place gives off. Most of all a tourist doesn't give a damn about the local people or their sensibilities; they must experience the place HOW THEY WANT and WHEN THEY WANT. Everything is about them, and I loathe them for it. I hope to embody a different role, that of a traveler, who walks the streets and soaks up the sights, the sounds, the smells, the vibe. I'm there to see everything, yes, same as a tourist, but I want to fit into the natural order of things without interrupting it, without inserting myself into it by force. I want to go along with the natural pace and flow of things, to wander and discover on my own and for myself and not in the order set down by a tour company set on exploiting only the pretty and proud things about the place. I want the dirt and dust and grime, the ugly things, because at the end of the day most of the time in those things is where the character of the place will come out. I realize I will have to do some touristy things while I travel; it's unavoidable even while seeing things with locals, as I learned with the Moores later on in the trip. But I can avoid committing the aforementioned offenses wherever I go. 

All that said, I did take a tour. Oh, the hypocrisy of it all. But, it was a walking tour, which is essential, and it wasn't the only way that I saw the city. I used it more as a means to orient myself within the city than anything else. The tour was decent; I saw many of the things I had been planning on seeing, which was nice, but unlike the tours I took of Hamburg and Berlin, I didn't come away feeling that I'd learned all that much of the area. That is undoubtedly because I've studied and been interested in Dublin for a long time, but it didn't phase me all too much. After the tour, I needed to buy a bus ticket for my trip across the country to Co. Clare the next morning. To do that, though, I needed to find the main bus depot, Busarus. So, time for more wandering. I walked from one side of the city to the other, attempting to use my map and the directions of friendly strangers. No luck. But what did I care? I was happy going from one street to the next, stumbling upon landmark after landmark. In that fashion I walked through  St. Stephen's Green, rediscovered Trinity College, and found where I might want to check out later once the sun went down. No luck finding Busarus, however, so by six or so I decided that I needed to cut my losses, check into my hostel, and find somewhere to eat before the pub crawl I was planning to take later that evening. Once I got to Abigail's, I decided to ask to see if I could find the depot and buy my ticket on the way to all those things, and I found out that I had been searching all that time on the wrong side of the Liffey, and that Busarus wasn't more than a fifteen minute walk from where I was. Undaunted, I followed the directions I was given and my map, found an old friend along the way, and bought my bus ticket to Doolin for the next morning at seven AM. 

  My old friend James Joyce, on Earl Street.

After buying the ticket, I had to find the pub where the pubcrawl started at, so, naturally, I was once again unreservedly lost. I wandered through Temple Bar, looking at every pub sign in vain, until finally I grew so hungry that I knew I needed to eat or my night out would become alarmingly dangerous on an empty stomach. Thankfully I stumbled right upon the Braddock's, the fish and chips shop Annette had recommended as the best in the city. She was right. I got my walking around food and continued my search in vain. 

Brilliant.

As the eight thirty start of the crawl approached, I became a bit annoyed. I had been using a small promotional map which had the location marked on it in relation to where my tour started earlier that day, but I couldn't find it for the life of me even while it appeared to sit just across the street. I finally took out my city map and looked for the street name...and realized that the pub was located along the same street my hostel sat. Of course in Dublin every street changes its name innumerable times, so I had been looking all over the city when all I had to do was step out of my door, turn left, and walk for three minutes. I made it just in time, met up with some firefighters from Texas and some university students from Bristol and had a fun night. I turned in a bit earlier than usual, though, because I had a five forty-five wake up and a seven o'clock bus to catch the next morning. 

  The coolest thing I saw on the pub crawl: This was in what billed itself as a "sports pub." It's the text of my favorite poem, "Raglan Road," by Patrick Kavanagh. That's why I love Ireland. There's poetry in the sports pubs.

Thursday, September 19

After a long night out, thankfully waking up in the morning to catch my bus was easy. I never met anyone staying in my hostel room (an 8 person mixed room) so I did my best to be quiet getting dressed and getting my stuff together in the dark. I was out on the street by six o'clock, and by the time I crossed the Liffey carrying my bag and possibly getting lost trying to find the station sounded majorly unappealing, so I hailed the first cab I saw. It was only a five euro fare, so it was worth it. I caught my bus at seven, and off I went to Doolin, to the west of the country to Co. Clare, to see the Cliffs of Moher and the county where my last immediate relative to immigrate to the States came from (my great-grandmother Theresa Noonan earlier in the twentieth century, she was alive until I was twelve). The bus ride was five hours or so, so I wrote a bit in my travel journal and read. I learned a valuable lesson about the Irish bus system: they'll always be late. Without any major delays or issue I still missed my connection in Galway by over forty-five minutes, so, rather than arriving in Doolin at one, I left Galway at two, and made it to the coast around four thirty. Doolin is a tiny little coastal town, that an old English lady on the bus informed me had no running water as recently as the late sixties. She also told me she'd lived there since all the houses on the main street were lived in, which I didn't quite understand. Upon further explanation I learned that the main street is now filled with shops and the like, to serve the tourists who provide a major part of the local economy. I was a bit worried if all I'd find was a tourist trap. Upon arriving, though, my fears we assuaged. I checked into my hostel, which also served as the town's bus depot, and upon checking in the proprietress gave me a map, telling me go out the door to the left are the Cliffs, to the right is Doolin Cave, down across the way is the dock and coast, and circled the three major pubs that held traditional music shows every night. So, considering the four or so hours I lost, I decided to just plop my bags down in my room and head straight out to the Cliffs. Walking the path alone was wonderful, never dull, never lonely. Just peaceful, the countryside and me, wind whipping at my hat and spray jumping up from the inlets every time a big wave crashed in. The Cliffs were breathtaking, incredible, indescribable. So I won't try. I'll just share some of the pictures.

 This picture was taken a step off the porch of the hostel.

 I spent half my walk trying to use the self-timer on my camera...whoops.

 Classic view of the Cliffs

 I was walking as the sun was setting. Perfect timing. None of these pictures were put through filters.

After walking for about two hours and change, I decided to head back to eat some dinner and find a pub I wanted to stay in for the evening of music. I didn't make it all the way down the path though, about a 7k walk according to the proprietress, so I resolved to wake up at dawn the next morning for the sunrise for the entire cliff walk. The walk back was quicker, and I showered and headed out to three pubs. I ate at the first and had a pint in each before deciding to stay at the first, which was closest to my hostel and seemed to be the most popular of the three. The only issue I had was the atmosphere of the pubs; although the music and beer and food was all great, the other clientele were solely middle-aged American tourists. I was hoping to spend the evening quietly, but a bit of conversation wouldn't have been the worst thing in the world. Not with these people, unfortunately. But in the end it was probably a good thing. I enjoyed a few pints and the music immensely. The band playing wasn't on any type of stage, just two guys with accordions and one with a guitar sitting round a table, while the most stereotypical-looking old Irishman (wool sweater, long white beard, glittery-quick eyes) stood and sang folk-songs, many of which I knew. It was a wonderful evening.

Friday, September 20

Like I said, I planned on waking to walk the Cliffs again at dawn. I woke up with my alarm and was outside before the sun was up, but decided to walk down to the dock. Upon getting down there, I saw that I could walk along the rocky shoreline. It was a beautiful morning, with even better weather than the day before, and I was the only living soul awake and about. Walking along the shore alone with the sun was one of the more incredible, peaceful experiences I've ever had. I felt a part of things, even as I was very definitely separate from such an ancient and serene place. I didn't see another person until two labs out on a walk with their owner ran up to me and jumped all over me, trying to play, as I was on my way back in. Once again, it's a heavy task to describe the shore itself, so I'll let my pictures do the talking. 

Again, no filters were used in taking these pictures. And they don't do the morning justice.

I went on another walk later after a quick breakfast, to check out the tower placed in the hills and to get a good view looking down on everything. I have to share pictures from that as well.

After an amazing time in Doolin, I took the bus back, and, of course, it ran later than it should have. I had scheduled a place on a literary pub crawl for Friday night, starting at seven fifteen, and of course I missed it. I wasn't worried about the loss of the spot on the crawl, because the trip was worth it, but I was a bit nervous about what I might do on a Friday night completely by myself. Thankfully, all those fears were gone within five minutes of checking back in to my hostel in Dublin. When I opened the door there were three young guys hanging around, looking like they were discussing what they were about to do for the night. After only a few minutes conversation, I got their names (Matthew, Bobby, Bret) and we decided to all go out on the same pub crawl I had been on earlier in the week, which I could go on again free of charge. Also joining us was Patrick, a nice German guy from Frankfurt, but he didn't hang around for very long. Which was unfortunate, because with him we had kind of a boyband thing going on (we joked), a whole bunch of random, very different guys thrown together to go out into the world. It was a good bunch; we had a good time from the fun yet awkward pre-crawl dinner of stew in an almost closed white tablecloth type restaurant (not the type of place to go with four other guys you met ten minutes before) to the end of the night, or rather, the early morning. Lots of funny stories came out of that night, and by the end I was glad to have missed the literary pub crawl.

Saturday, September 21

Saturday morning I woke up first out of the room, which had grown during the night to include a few students in port from the Semester at Sea ship. After a shower and getting breakfast together, Matthew, Bobby, and I decided to go out to the Guinness Brewery and the Jameson Distillery, while Bret needed to book new travel plans. It was great to have some friends to go with on these tours, and we even ended up meeting Bret at Jameson after we thought he had gone on to London. They were things I was planning on doing myself, but were much more fun with other people, especially these two guys. We told stories and got to know each other a bit better throughout the day; even though Bobby and Matthew were old college buddies they allowed me to be a part of their Dublin experience, which I appreciated more than I think they know. I love travelling solo, but after two and a half days I was ready to welcome company. I'm glad I found it, even if we didn't end up getting those tattoos we were so intent on getting. Maybe next time. 

 My perfectly (eh) poured pint.

 Me, Matthew, Bobby

 Bobby and I in the Gravity Bar at the top of the Brewery

The whole group at Jameson.

We stuck together for the rest of the day, eating stew twice to bring the total tally of the group up to three bowls each, and planned on going out again in the Temple Bar area that night even though the guys had a six-forty flight. I found a cool street sale and bought my Ireland book, something I wanted to do when I was over there. I got a copy of The Collected Poems of W.B. Yeats; it didn't seem worth it to buy another copy of a Joyce work, and poetry has been growing on me ever since Comps. Since they didn't have any Kavanagh, Yeats will serve. The night Saturday was fun, but we headed in earlier than the night before so the guys could sleep. If I'm ever in the Seattle or NorCal area, I know that I won't have any issue contacting Bobby to see if he's up to go get a drink, and I know he knows the same goes for me in Cleveland. It's good to meet good people on the road. 

Sunday, September 22

My time in the city had wound down. The guys left before I woke up on Sunday, and Niall was coming to pick me up from the hostel at eleven. After breakfast and a quick souvenir shopping trip he got me, and I was off for a day with the family. First, he took me up on a walk up the Montpelier Hill outside of Dublin, site of the ruined legendary Hellfire Club and overlooking Dublin City. It was a beautiful day (I had great weather all trip, Niall said it was the best September weather he could remember) and I could see the whole city. We went back home for lunch, an amazing Shepherd's Pie Annette made. After spending some time with the kids, we loaded everyone up and drove out to Wicklow to see Glendalough, one of the famous scenic areas relatively close by. It was similar to my family going out on a walk to Chapin Preservation in Kirtland, with walking paths and nature everywhere...but here was the site of ruined monasteries over a thousand years old and one of the most beautiful lakes and glacial valleys in the world. Annette told me that this was where they filmed Braveheart, and it looked about right. It was a wonderful day out, minus me kicking a rock so hard I ripped my boot, but the drive home was possibly the best part. Niall took us the scenic route home, the R115 Road from Laragh through the Sally Gap to Rathfarnham, just as the sun was setting. As we were just reaching poor James' tipping point of being out and about (it's tough being three), I thought we were done for. We were still in the middle of the mountains with no home in sight. I thought we were in for a tough rest of the ride home...when Niall assured him we were only five minutes away from home and dinner. True to his word, in five minutes we were home. I had no idea the mountains were so close to their house; they really live in the perfect place. They're about fifteen or so minutes from the city, about the same distance they are from some of the most beautiful scenery in the world. I'm so lucky to have visited such generous family to have taken the time to show me both. After a quick takeout dinner, I went to bed early, because of a seven o'clock flight and a four forty-five wake up time. 

View of Dublin

Hellfire Club

So many Celtic Crosses!

James and I

Glendalough

Of course there are sheep.

So on Monday, I left Ireland. I was able to return to Germany without deportation, clearly, and I'm back for my last week in Germany, my last football game, and the last little time I have before I dive headfirst back into the real world. I'm so happy that I was able to take my trip to Dublin. It is something that I'll remember for the rest of my life, but it's not something that will truly end. It was just the start of a lifetime of experiences and journeys as I navigate the twists and turns of my time in the world.

Minimalist

For these next two posts I don't think I'll have enough time to write complete, coherent posts as I have throughout the summer. So, this week and next week, if I even write next week, I'll only quickly provide descriptions of the games I took part in over the weekends. It's been a long experience, and while I want to follow through on my goal of writing a post a week, I just don't think I can reflect much more than I already have about being over here until it's time to leave.

This weekend we played the Hamburg Huskies for the second time. This is the team that I was ejected against when we played previously, so I was looking forward to having a second chance at playing a good, clean game. We were late to get to the game by almost an hour, which was the first cause of stress. Secondly, due to maintenance work on their normal field, we were forced to play at their practice field. It was the worst field I've ever had a football game on. I understand that we're in Germany, and that this was their practice field, but it was almost to the point of being unacceptable. People paid to watch us play. They deserve to at least see a decent product at a decent venue. Thirdly, field conditions aside, we had to be ready to field another short-handed team, like every other week. I give Mitch and the other decision makers a ton of credit. Week in and week out, we have the least desirable circumstances to play with, week in and week out, we manage to at least compete with other fully rostered teams.

Beforehand

The game started slowly, with an interception by our defense and a stalled drive by our offense on the first two possessions. Then, things sped up. I scored the first touchdown of the game on a long run, and Hamburg began to score as well. By the end of the first quarter, the score was 13-7, them. Then, they scored on consecutive possessions in the second and we fell behind 23-7. It would have been easy to have folded then, and allowed them to continue scoring while only putting up a small fight of our own. But we did not. The entire team rallied and the defense stood firm for the rest of the half while we scored twice more on offense to make the score 23-21 at halftime. We decided that it was put up or shut up time, and that we needed to take control of a game that we needed to win.

The third quarter was tight, and ended with each team scoring a touchdown each. The fourth quarter started with the score 30-28, them. In the fourth quarter we blew the game wide open. We started using a new wrinkle in our offense against Hamburg. All season, I've taken direct snaps and run with them. This week, we added an option for me to either run or throw a quick pass to either side of the field, dependent upon the defense. This worked well for us all game, but it really began to hurt Hamburg in the fourth quarter. We gained big chunks of yards on runs and passes and were able to keep them really off balance. Along with that, the defense had their best late game stand of the season. We scored three touchdowns in the quarter to their zero, and in the last few minutes the game that looked like a Hamburg blowout in the second quarter wasn't even within their grasp. The final score was 49-30, us. What made the win all the more satisfying was that Hamburg was hands down the dirtiest team I've ever played against, which is exactly what my teammates had warned me leading up to the game. I was discussing this with one of my teammates: while football is a tough, violent, confrontational game, there is a certain level of decorum required to its playing. Sure, you talk and posture during the game in between plays, but between the whistles while the action is happening you go about your business. Hamburg's players (minus their American linebacker) lacked that decorum. They were as focused on smack-talking and cheap-shots as they were on playing the game. When they talked as plays were going on, rather than merely between them, I knew they had crossed the line. I would never want to play on a team like that, and beating them validated that we had played the right way while they had not.

Postgame

Final stats for me: 12 rushes for 153 yards and 3 TDs, (65 yds, 2 yds, 20 yds), 3 of 4 passing for 17 yards, 1 reception for 22 yards, 1 punt return for 12 yards, 1 kickoff return for 50 yards. Most diverse list yet.

Next weekend may or may not be our last game; I'll explain when the time comes. Either way, come next Wednesday, Lord willing, I'll be in Dublin, so I might be too busy to post. I promise that I will provide some account of that game before I write my farewell post. Thank you for all of the birthday wishes I received on Tuesday - apparently I'm 23 now, weird, and no, I'm not holding out on you for not describing what I did for my birthday, just a nice dinner and travel planning, no clubbing - and thank you for reading.

Fall Ramblings

In keeping with the theme of last week's post, this week continued the trend of things moving quickly here. Thanks to prudent planning and a willingness to explore, the time spent between games is going by faster than it has throughout this whole summer. Perhaps one of the biggest culprits to this is the sudden realization that came upon me this past weekend: it's not Summer anymore. All of my friends at home are back at school, the people I care about had their first athletic contests, the days here grow ever shorter...most shockingly, it's September. Summer in my mind is June through August; September is firmly rooted in the Fall, no matter the weather conditions or the circumstances of my life. Going into this experience and throughout it, I've thought of this as strictly a Summer gig. Here I am, still in Germany, and it's unmistakably Fall in my mind. It's a bit jarring, but I think it will only help in the transition to leaving here and going home in a few weeks.

Since the clock on our time here is ticking, on Thursday Mitch and I finally decided to take a hike to an area we've had in mind for most of the summer, the Osnabrueck Peisberg. We've referred incorrectly to it as a mountain; it's more of a big, big hill. The weather was perfect, overcast yet still warm, and we made it to the area we wanted to get to without getting too lost. We were treated to some impressive views of the city and surrounding areas and got a great walk in the bargain. This hike is something I would have regretted not doing if we hadn't, and it killed time on an otherwise slow afternoon.

Pictures from the hike

This weekend, we played the Rostock Griffins at home. They were our second win earlier this season, in which I had my first breakout game statistically and we coasted through most of the second half after building an early lead. In the weeks preceding this second match-up, however, the Griffins, who played through most of the season winless, played well to a close loss and first win. That win came against a team that beat us handily twice, so we spent the week of practice preparing for this new look team. We would not take them lightly the second time, especially considering our own circumstances.  Saturday came and we had more players than we have in weeks, but we were still determined to play as hard as we have with the depleted rosters we've grown accustomed to. 

 Waiting for the start of the game

The game started off slow, but then picked up quickly. Although Rostock had visibly improved, they were still beaten soundly. Since our receiving corps was almost back to full strength, and the weather was good, we focused mostly on the passing game. We scored easily, on drives and big plays, and our defense played its best game of the season. I didn't have to play any defense for the first time in seven games, since the first time we played them back in June. Even with this extra rest, I had the least touches I've had all season. The offense was still potent, though, so I'm just happy with the win. Next week I'll have to make up for all the in-game downtime. 

 After Stra's first TD

Postgame huddle

Statline for me: 12 rushes for 88 yards, 3 touchdowns, 1 catch for 1 yard, a kickoff return and a punt return for 20 and 16 yards, respectively. Team: 45-7 win. Unfortunately, the most important statistic from the game is a negative one: three of the offensive linemen that played were hurt at some point in the game. We're not sure about the status for all of them for next week against a strong Hamburg team, but with an already depleted group, we might face major issues to close out the season. Somehow, I'm sure we'll find a way to make things work.

 

A few more pictures from the game

Also this ridiculousness...lots of press

A few weeks ago, Mitch and I decided that we needed to visit Berlin. It's one of the most major cities in the country, probably the most famous, and, for me, where my brother-in-law Curtis grew up, so it was a must-see after having lived in Germany for so long. After doing some research, finding out about costs associated and looking at our schedules, it appeared that the most logical thing would be to drive down ourselves and spend a day in the city. After planning for a Monday day-trip and being foiled by the forecast of rain, we settled on Tuesday for our day in the city. We prepared our things for the long drive Monday night and planned to spend most of the day exploring.

Berlin is a four to five hour drive from Osnabrueck, so we planned to leave at five AM. We were both up by four thirty, and on the road around five because we were shooting at making an eleven o'clock free tour. We're both on a money crunch because of our upcoming trips, so we weren't planning on spending money on much of anything outside of gas for the trip, so eating breakfast and packing food for later was important. The drive took even longer than we expected after we hit an hour-long traffic jam following what looked like a bad wreck. As fast as you can drive on the Autobahn, you can be stopped to standstill just as easily. This is the second time I've been caught in an hour-plus jam, and really only the second long car trip I've taken on the road here (discounting bus trips). So, we missed the tour and had to wait to catch the next one at two, but we got into Berlin and parked around eleven o'clock. Nothing like a six hour car ride to kick off the day.

 The first sign I saw after leaving the parking garage

Immediately upon stepping foot onto the sidewalk I realized that this city was different than any other I've seen thus far in Europe, or in my life. Our parking garage was located not even a few hundred meters from Checkpoint Charlie, and important historical spot. This is the only place that people could pass between Germany's Iron Curtain from the West to the East and vice versa, and as such was essentially the front line of the Cold War. Seeing this right out of the car set the tone for the day. Nowhere else have I seen that so embraces its history, the bad and the good. I use the word embraces, but that's not quite the right word for the vibe Berlin emanates; perhaps 'acknowledges' or 'presents' are more appropriate. History permeates the streets here. This is in part because the history is so recent, some of it only as old as I am, but it dominates the landscape nonetheless. Within fifteen minutes and very little movement we had seen Checkpoint Charlie, the remains of the Berlin wall, and a museum dedicated to the history of the Topographie des Terrors, the district that housed the headquarters of many major Nazi agencies, including the SS. Somber doesn't begin to describe the mood in visiting these landmarks.

Piece of the wall

 These are a series of pop-art projects that the city has presented on pieces of the wall. They're incredible.

The section of wall still standing

Beyond the immediate history, Berlin buzzed. It is the busiest city I've been in; the craziness of the traffic was something I don't think anyone ever grows accustomed to. What seems like half of the street crossings are without any type of crosswalk or direction, with cars and bikes and mopeds and pedestrians all jockeying for the right of way without any authority siphoning anyone into their proper places. After a bit more wandering on our own and finding good things on what seemed like just about every corner, we had a quick, cheap bite to eat (maybe the best doner I've had here) and met up with our free tour at two o'clock. On the tour, we saw a great deal more than we did on our own and had many of the things we found ourselves explained at length. This is the second tour I've taken through this company, and I've not been disappointed yet. I plan on taking another in Dublin when I'm there. That's probably the best advice I can offer to anyone traveling the major cities of Europe: find the free tours if they're available. They are an invaluable tool to become acquainted with things. I was even more impressed by the city after the tour. We saw the things from before the conflict, the more majestic, European areas of the city. And these were the most impressive of any I've seen yet.

Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe

After the tour was a bit of a walk back to the car and the long drive home. Thankfully there wasn't much traffic on the way back, and we made great time, a bit over three and a half hours. Even after an entire summer together, Mitch and I managed to hold a good level of conversation for the majority of the trip. He's been a good travel companion; it's strange to think that this was most likely our last trip together until the journey to the airport in Dusseldorf at the end of our stay here.

And so the time winds down even more. Another week down, another trip down, another trip on the horizon. As always, I go with the flow as much as I can, and enjoy it while it lasts.