Wanderlust

Over the past week, so much has happened, so much has changed. Rather than jumping right into the main events and blowing my philosophical load early on, I'm going to try to be balanced, and write a post that manages to capture the week that was. In doing this, I think that I will be able to ascertain more of the things in me that have changed and how it happened over a matter of seven days, not the whirlwind three it seemed to happen in. After all, that's the main point of this exercise: although writing is a communicative tool, it is in writing one discovers one's own self.

This week was the bye week, so with no game to prepare for this weekend, there was less pressure on the football front. Don't get me wrong, though: we still have done film work and have practiced hard for our next opponent, the Bielefeld Bulldogs. They haven't lost a game in two years, so the competition will be the best I've seen yet. But due to this weekend off, I was really able to get out and about this week. On Monday of last week we got our car. I'm kicking myself for not taking any pictures of it for this; I was planning to but never felt right about it. I also wasn't sure if it is going to be the car we'll have for the entirety of the stay, so maybe when I'm sure I'll share a picture. Until then, I'll hold off on the description, aside from saying that it is most definitely a Tiger Car. With the car comes a problem: I can't drive stick, and, like most cars over here, it's a stick. Between Mitch, Steve and I, actually, only Mitch can drive a stick. Tuesday afternoon, then, was driving class. With Steve still in Amsterdam with his parents, Mitch and I drove out to the emptiest roads we could find, out into the countryside, and I did my best to put the car through its paces. I'm no natural, that's to be sure. Still, I didn't do too badly. After a bit, I could shift without major issue and only killed the engine every few stops. I'm sure I'll get it down soon; I have to to get anywhere. Since the weather finally broke, it was a great day, and we drove out to some old canal locks and walking paths along the water and walked around for a bit. This area was fantastic and helped my mood greatly. The beginning of last week was one of the hardest times I've had, bar none. Missing something missing. Woods and green space have been my refuge since I was a small boy running around my grandparents' woods in Kirtland, Ohio, so the unfamiliar waters and trees and fields of Osnabruck, Germany were as therapeutic as the friendly well-known tracts of home. 

   This sign was on the lock bridge. Tanks speed limits on country roads. Thanks, Germany.

Over the first two and a half weeks I was over here I did nothing socially outside of football practice and games. Being a social person, I did not take this sitting on my hands too well. After last Thursday, that all changed for the better. Thursday here is the big night to go out, and my teammates have been eager to take me around and show that aspect of life off to me. So, when Thursday morning rolled around, a few of my teammates decided to gauge the collective interest in a night out. I jumped at the opportunity, so, lo and behold, around eight o'clock Mitch, Steve and I were headed to my fellow running back Harlem's house to begin the night's festivities. It was interesting to see how things work over here, in regards to the nightlife. In some ways, it's no different than at home. Of course, what differences I found can be written off as my own inexperience with the club scene in the U.S.; I've never been much of a barfly or club guy. Just the good ol' Cove and maybe a trip or two to Downtown Willoughby at home. The club we went to is one of the biggest in the city, Alando, and while there were more people than I'm used to seeing in such an environment, the motions remain the same across the ocean and cultures. Buying drinks for friends, staying in a clump together, occasionally branching out and talking to strangers, but consistently roving together among the garbled din of shouted conversations and bass thumps and bright flashing lights and the faint and surging smells of sweat and liquor and smoke and life. Either way, it was a lot of fun. One thing I have noticed: for some reason, German guys love talking to me. They're quite friendly, and are always interested in what the American stranger has to say or teach them. I think I was explaining to a group of about six how to dance and urging them off to go find girls at one point. It reminded me of being at school with my friends, doing laps around parties. Marcus, J.B., you know what I'm talking about. The German girls were much less enthused. It was a fun night that stretched to the morning and the sun beat us up the sky before we even left the building. Can't say I've done that before, so there's a marked difference. Ah, Germany.

     Steve and Harlem, ready to rumble

The next night we continued the fun, as Harlem, our right tackle, Freddy, and I went to a house party held by some people they knew the next night after our practice. That was similar to any party I've been to at home as a stranger: the same slow awkwardness of the unknown person amongst the familiar group and the same slight resentment at the intrusion, until by some facilitation the wall is breached and fast friends are made all round. Being foreign and new helped after the initial strangeness, and I really enjoyed talking to all of the people there. I think I made a few friends, which is nice, if only to know someone here that isn't a part of the Tigers. Different perspectives and all that.

 To quote Harlem: "Frühstück für champions" (breakfast of champions, one of my famous sandwiches)

Since I've been here, Mitch has been looking forward to a visit from his best friend, who is on a backpacking trip across the continent. Because of some terrible flooding to the south of us, the worst in 400 years, the time for this visit came sooner than expected, if I recall the schedule of things properly. So, on Saturday night, Mike, Mitch's friend, arrived in Osnabruck to stay with us, along with his fiancee Carrie and their friend Caitlin. I was a bit nervous before their arrival; sometimes it's hard to meet a group of incumbent friends, to experience something new with new people, to insert yourself into a group that hadn't quite expected your presence. After our initial meeting this nervousness completely receded, as Carrie looked at me flabbergasted that I was wearing the same tacky bear shirt from Wal-Mart that she has back home and they all immediately had genuinely nice and interesting things to say, even after a long day of travel and broken plans. I had a very distinct feeling, sitting on the couch upstairs and talking to everyone, a sense of easy camaraderie and unity, a comfort that people exist that will step off the bus and immediately look you in the face and be genuinely interested in knowing you. We took the day Sunday to tour Osnabruck, and grilled a nice dinner at home with Monika introducing us to a few of the more exotic liquors she has around the house.

The group at the Brewery in Osnabruck

It was a great day, but I had even more to look forward to: almost immediately after meeting them, Mike asked me if I'd like to join them in Amsterdam on Monday. I'd been thinking of finding my way there soon, having passed up trips with Steve and his parents and my Serbian teammates, so I decided that it was the time to get there. Mitch and I bought a double train ticket, we found a hostel to split five ways online, so by Monday morning early we were off to Amsterdam by train, a three hour trip into a new country and one of the world's famous spots. Carrying just one bag with a change of clothes, two cameras and my Kindle, I took a big step for myself when I walked onto that train: a spontaneous trip. Immediately upon entering the train station in Amsterdam I could tell we were somewhere new. The only experience I can compare it to is that of being in the big airports I went to flying here. Travel hubs seem to be the same in most places you go; however, this was a bit different. Being a major tourist spot, the variety of different people walking around was innumerable, and the easy access of trains compared to planes accentuated this variety. People walking quickly everywhere around me made it hard to take in the sights, but I tried to do as well as I could. This became something I struggled with throughout the trip; the people surrounding the history and quirks of Amsterdam were nearly as eclectic and interesting as the city itself.

The first picture I took, of the train station.

I said that a spontaneous trip was a big step for me, and it was: never before have I gone anywhere less than an hour away without more than a few days knowledge of the trip, along with a very detailed itinerary. I thought that was in my nature. I was wrong. As we ventured away from the train station, without any inkling of where our hostel was (more on that in a bit), I almost expected myself to begin to panic, to feel hopeless and lost in the foreign environment. I didn't. I was too busy taking everything in, enjoying being a part of the everchanging crowd with its zipping mopeds and careless cyclists, cumbersome slow moving cars and unstoppable, unforgiving trains and being a part of my own little group, laughing and joking and finding our way. Above all however I was still my own entity entirely, experiencing everything in my own way through my own means. This feeling of welcome isolation even among the teeming masses is something I will remember. Something I will find again. 

Durty Nelly's: The U. 

Our hostel was located almost immediately adjacent to one of the busier Red Light Districts, along the main road, onto which the darkened maze-like alleys of sin the city is so famous for tossed out the used up husks of their clientele. This made it easier to find, which came in handy later. No, I didn't slip and spell that wrong: the name of the hostel and attached pub is Durty Nelly's, which is what attracted Caitlin to it initially. Even for the name, it was an excellent hostel, and a good one for my first experience. We checked in to a laundry list of rules and stipulations, which put us at ease: no matter how crazy things might get, we'd have a haven at Nelly's. We left our bags in our room and went to explore the city. We would walk for a while, taking in as much as we could, pausing here and there, sometimes following Caitlin's map, more often not, until we got too tired or thirsty or hungry or found a particularly cool place, in which we would stop for a light snack and a beer.

Later that evening, we went on a sponsored pub crawl, which was fun, if not a bit creepy. The type of people that are in charge of that type of thing are not, to say the least, the most upstanding. We met some interesting people, though: from Tasmania, Quebec, Manchester, even Virginia. In a city of tourists one should expect to speak to someone from anywhere but the place itself, although a local and I did have a nice talk at the hostel bar. It was something that Mike said to me before the crawl, however, that really affected me. I thanked him for welcoming me along with them on the trip, and for sharing the experience with me. He told me that, having traveled extensively himself and having experienced living in Europe before, in Austria with Mitch his first year, that he learned that within experiences like this it was always good to share. Share in the rote motions of the travel itself, in the thoughts and feelings that come along with the trips to new places and the adventures that are had. Thanks, Mike. Reinforcement of the importance of the communication and sharing of experiences reinforces my own thoughts on the importance of writing.

How we looked after a night out in the Red City...jokes, failed iPod Panorama picture

So after a crazy night in which I got lost and wandered back to the hostel on my own somehow, we all awoke ready for a half day of wandering the city before Mitch and I left at three and the rest of the group moved onto Berlin later on. It was during this shortened day, though, that maybe the coolest experience of the entire trip was had. We found an art studio, and Caitlin and I were very interested, watching the artist at work, painting the floors and generally acting crazy. I was interested because it reminded me of Philly's Magic Garden, tucked inside the city block as it was. He noticed us, and we asked if we could take some pictures of his studio and his process. He came out to us, bummed a cigarette from Caitlin, and gave us a long talk about how we were welcome to take pictures of him and with him and of his work because he loved our vibe, our energy, that only true artists would be interested enough to stop long enough for him to notice. He also showed us a large piece that he said he had just sold to the Obama administration. After his smoke he invited us in, even through his painted floor, and took pictures and asked us to sit with him a moment. He went on a bit longer about everything (he was quite strung out, on what I don't know, maybe just life) but afterwards he told us he wanted to share his art with us. He called to an assistant to bring us some pieces, and signed for us right then and there three original works: one for me, one for Caitlin, and "one for the mamas, the mamas always need the love." He wished us well and we were off, amazed, flabbergasted yet garrulous, not saying anything beyond wow, wow, wow. Harry van Gestel is the artist's name. I did some research on him once I got home. His work is incredible; both as an artist and humanitarian.

The artist at work and the art he so generously bestowed to us

 After that, the trip wound down. There were some major complications with the trains home; the flooding reared its ugly head and all trains to Berlin were cancelled, knocking out both Mike & Co.'s plans off the docket (they switched their tickets to Copenhagen) and Mitch and I's way home from being a smooth trip. We had a delay and had to switch trains a few times, but we made it back. One last influence from Mike: I'm going to keep a journal whenever I travel. Mike and Mitch took a trip to Peru for school and were required to; Mike still does this. It's a fantastic idea. I spent my last twenty euros on a nice journal and pen at the Amsterdam train station, and have one entry down. Here is the most important part of what I wrote down on the way home, that sums up the self-realization that was borne from this trip: This trip, although only for 2 days and a night, has been alarmingly transformative. I've caught the wanderlust. Now, as I sit in the packed redirected train car, moving at snail's pace away from the Red City, as I will remember it, I realize that I am a wanderer. Not a wanderer out of circumstance; it's out of almost a necessity, an unmistakable part of my nature. Hopefully there will be more entries in the journal to come.

A soon-to-be full travel journal

Do you still walk the streets at night?

With the wanderlust you fight;

back to the corner,

where we went our separate ways.

Wanderlust, Flogging Molly