The newest Olympic sport: Drinking.

In the spirit of remembering better than our recent Beer Olympics, I figured I may add a sub entry to cover the past few days.

To start with, now that my computer is alive… again… one of the American girls from West Virginia and I have decided to undertake a trans-European adventure during the week of Pentecost, the week that I was originally slated to road trip to Prague, Vienna, and Munich. Well, if I hadn’t already said, those plans fell through and I thus have gone to plan B.

We’re flying out of Frankfurt Hahn on June 10 to Poland, the city of which escapes me. All I know is it is roughly an hour out of Auschwitz, the infamous Nazi concentration camp. I confess that this is not exactly high on my priority list of places to go in Europe due to its depressing history, but I think it will be a good experience. That, and my friend is a psychology major who cites it as one of her must-go places before leaving Europe.

The fact that plane tickets to and from Poland are dirt cheap doesn’t hurt either. Search me as to why this is… everyone I’ve spoken to that has visited Poland says it’s a beautiful country, so I’m not sure why airlines are bribing people with low prices to go there. For example: flying to Barcelona from Frankfurt Hahn costs roughly 100 Euros. From Poland? 12. That’s worth the flight to Poland as it is, being that flights into Poland are only 22 Euros right now. Two cities for the price of one! (Technically, far more… but you get the idea)

Speaking of Barcelona: that’s where we fly to from Poland on June 12, two days after our Polish arrival. I just watched a movie about Barcelona at an event the university’s international organization put on [Spanish Abend (night)], and the shots were beautiful. Penelope Cruz being in it was certainly not hurting the movie’s case either. Not that it is particularly a surprise in either case… when one thinks Barcelona, one thinks beauty. Likewise for Penelope. But maybe that’s just me… I’ll be able to say for sure in about 2 weeks! Probably not so much for the Penelope bit, but hey… one can hope.

From Barcelona, we fly to Rome on June 14. Yes, these are relatively short stints in each city, but there’s so much to see and so little to see it in! My poor camera is going to be raped for the better part of a week before I fly back into Frankfurt Hahn Trier-bound on June 16. From there, I will literally stop by my dorm to gather a few things before catching a train for Stuttgart to see the Southside Music Festival from June 17-19. Epic win.

Yes yes, it will be an action packed week-plus. Funny thing is, after Southside, I’ll be in Trier for a day and some change to attend the Monday and Tuesday classes I have that week, then head out Tuesday night again train-bound for Paris until the 25^th, at which point we will literally go straight into class from the train for a two day seminar that counts for a semester class. June is likely to make my head spin a bit, but hey… people always say youth is wasted on the young, and I intend to set that mentality astray.

All this traveling (at least, the flights to Poland, Barcelona, and Rome) only cost about 120 Euros… not bad! I think the initial week’s traveling will cost less than 500 Euros when it’s all said and done, which is not too bad for the money I’d say.

What is money for if not to be spent anyway, right? Money is replaceable. Memories are not. Now, someone write a book titled that please.

In other news, the past few days have been epic to say the least. Friday, I was so ridiculously productive that I scared myself. I somehow managed to roll out of bed prior to noon, and over the course of the day managed to get two projects done! Well, mostly done anyway… not much more to do. Two separate presentations that I have been putting off are not in the rear view mirror, so I am quite happy. I did, though, look like a bit of a nerd sitting in the Menza (cafeteria) stealing internet until around 7 in the evening, though.

After that, the friend I will traipse across Europe with in the coming weeks invited me to Spanish Abend (as mentioned earlier), where we met some interesting people over a few homemade Spanish dishes and watched the movie about Barcelona. Quite enjoyable.

Then, Saturday came. Oh, was it epic. The Erasmus Beer Olympics, thoroughly organized by one of the rugby-playing Brits. It was quite an undertaking, too; roughly ten teams of four joined the events, which included beer pong, quarters, flip cup, chug race, handless beer-chug suicides, and something involving tearing up a cereal box with nothing but your teeth… before chugging a beer. Quite entertaining, really, although I must admit I don’t really remember the last bit of it; when I woke up on my floor this morning, I had to look through the 600 some-odd pictures I had taken. See, there are those memories again!

Each team represented some nation that typically has little recognition. I seriously had not heard of several of the countries represented, but I was on the team for Sweden. If you have Facebook, do feel free to see those epic pictures. Needless to say, body paint was involved, and flags were proudly worn. Literally.

The team for Belgium had the most original costume in my opinion. Custom made shirts said (in French or Flemish, I’m not sure which) ‘Beer in, beer out’ with arrows pointing up and down. Clever. Then, panties were worn on the outside of tights with the word “Belgi-b-um” with lovely hand-crafted drawings of different specialty waxes for that region of the female body. They were truly hilarious.

Each team was required to bring two half-liter beer kistes as entry fees. A kiste contains 20 beers, and a half liter is roughly the equivalent of a “40” in America. As of this morning, I saw very few left. I’ve no idea what happened to the used kistes; you technically get paid to return them, as you must pay a deposit for every bottle you buy in Germany, with money being given upon the bottles’ return.

Winners were put on pedestals made from varying numbers of empty kistes placed on a picnic table in the courtyard of Martinskloster (where the event conveniently took place—my residence). Once announced (through the drunken screaming, of course), the Brit organizer played the winning team’s country’s national anthem… quite a lot of thought went into the planning of this event, to say the least!

All the while, there was a random group of Germans who had decided that Saturday was Monk day, and ten or so of those living in Martinskloster came out dressed in full monk and priest garb (gaudy crucifix necklaces included). They took a little blow-up raft to the Mosel and put putted about for a while before coming back to Martinskloster to bathe in a blow-up kiddy pool while drinking with the best of the Erasmus students. I think they were highly amused with the coincidence of our Erasmus (et all) Olympics, just as we were highly amused at their religious sentiments. Or lack thereof.

All in all, I must just say that life is good. Where else can you go to play beer Olympics at a student dormitory?

This morning, when I went down to survey the damage, I was pleasantly surprised to see that someone had already cleaned up the place. I was going to help, but I guess some others beat me to the point… a 50 plus person beer Olympics naturally generated quite a mess! I was a bit unnerved when I walked into the hall leading to the “party room” and saw a blow-up sex doll chilling with a beer propping her up. The religious Germans had christened her the day before, and decided she was destined to an existence of beer guarding. Hilarity. Once again, the politically correct world I am used to in America dissolves before my eyes!

Today I’ve been quite lazy, lounging in the sun on the bank of the Mosel river catching a tan and reading a good deal of Robinson Crusoe. Random, I know, but ever since I read Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse 5 in one sitting en route to my friend in England’s place a few weeks ago, I’ve gotten back into the reading kick. Unlike me, I know. I’m pretty sure I read this book back in 4^th grade or so (my more intellectual days), but obviously can’t remember. New to me!

Thanks to Skype and a coffee shop whose internet I have been stealing all afternoon, I got to talk to a friend of mine and some family. Skype allows you to call regular phones for a marginal price… something like 5 cents a minute or something. This comes in handy considering none of my family thinks to log onto Skype for the free-ness that exists… figures.

So, I bid adieu for now, as I sit in the calm afternoon of pleasantry that is Trier, all the while looking straight at the ancient Roman gate Porta Negra. 

Life is grand.

Which language do you want today?

First of all, let me just express the edited version of my feelings towards this brand new laptop: I’m going to kill it. If I were home, I would have already reformatted it and sold it on eBay to buy a Sony Viao like I should have done in the first place.

The entire entry to follow, which, prior to my computer crashing for the THIRD TIME since I’ve had it for just over a month, consisted of over 8 pages, is all retyped today, less than 24 hours later. Words cannot express my anger here. I have no idea how I keep getting whatever virus it is that causes my laptop to turn off and not turn back on, with the only remedy being to reinstall Windows. I wasn’t even surfing the internet! I wish I had been downloading porn or something to make me at least aware of why this keeps happening, but I wasn’t. 

Autosave in Word works great when your computer will START UP again, but without it… well, just make sure you hit “Ctrl + S” to save your documents every ten seconds or so. For now, I have just learned that I cannot trust this computer for one minute, and am continually backing everything up until I get home and can sell this… well, I won’t say the names I have for it now.

Luckily, I have a lot of experiences with computers, and am able to salvage files when my computer crashes for the most part. In fact, the only thing I lost this go around was this document. Go figure. Here’s my advice for the day: BACK EVERYTHING UP OFTEN.

Yesterday, prior to writing this blog, I spent several hours sorting through the 800 plus pictures I took of Belgium during this past weekend’s trip, as well as several more re-doing an intern listing for the Trier Center for American Studies, the department I am interning with this semester. I had already done this list, but due to my computer’s LAST dying incident, I could not for the life of me find the original Word document with the list to edit, so I just had to start over… much as I am doing now. Ever heard the expression “spinning your wheels?” That’s me.

ANYWAY.

I have just recalled that I offered to post links for pictures of England last week, which I will list at the end of this entry alongside those photos from Belgium.

So: as I mentioned last week, I decided at the last minute to join a group of two Americans, a Brit, and an Italian on a road trip to Belgium for a “Weekend by the Sea.” I must say, it being my first European road trip, I made the right decision; it was a blast!

Because I am shaking in anger that I must retype this entire journey, I’m going to just give the abridged version; my mind can only focus on throwing this laptop in a lake, causing the details of our trip to escape me. 

I digress.

We left Trier around noon in a Hertz rental car which, although it cost around 150 Euros for the 4 day trip, is not too expensive considering it was split 5 ways between us all. Hertz only in the last two weeks has even opened up renting cars to those under 25; I tried renting one for my trip to Milan next week, but they would not even consider it. Now, they just add a 20 Euro per day surcharge or something to rent between ages 21 and 25. However they can make a dollar, I suppose.

The car itself was a little Hyundai hatchback, just large enough to fit the three ladies’ and the two of us lads’ luggage and not want to kill ourselves… well, not right away, anyway. The trip to Nieuwpoort, the town on the North Sea in Belgium where our apartment was reserved for the weekend, took roughly 4 hours and some change, including the several stops to let the ladies smoke. Once again, here’s that lovely smoking habit that I won’t miss.

After hitting traffic on the outskirts of Brussels, we realized we were going to miss the 5pm deadline to pick up the keys from the rental office and needed to call the rental agent. This, luckily, was somewhat less of a problem being that the British girl speaks both German and French, so all we had to do was figure out the area code for Belgium in the car. Here, the Italian girl came to the rescue with her smartphone.

The call to the rental agent was somewhat funny; although our Brit speaks French, it is not as fluent as she would like it to be, and after her saying the French equivalent of “there are cars on the road” [literally—not moving, just cars exist on the road], the agent asked her if she would like to switch to German, which she speaks better. We all found this highly amusing, especially considering we were sure the agent also spoke English but preferred to bask in the amusement of our trying to fluently speak in other languages.

[Saving every paragraph now]

In any event, we finally arrived at our apartment [which we fancied calling cabin] just after 6pm, and the day was yet young. The apartment was a quaint loft-style abode with a strangely steep Spanish tiled roof reaching almost to the ground. The Italian naturally had to sit on it and have her picture taken first thing.

We paid roughly the same for the apartment rental as the car for the same time, which again was made quite cheap by there being five of us. So, we made off to get groceries for the weekend… far cheaper than eating out every night. That didn’t take too terribly long, and after we bought everything under the sun and had unpacked it, we made off to watch all of our first sunset over the North Sea.

Our apartment was only about a 15 minute walk from the beach, and we got to walk along a river-turned-intercostal waterway complete with a lovely boardwalk and marinas all the way to the beach. Because of our northern latitude, the sun literally did not set before 9:40pm any day we were there, so we had plenty of time between our 6pm arrival and the sunset to enjoy.

Upon arriving at the beach, the girls could not resist the urge to head straight for the water. Keep in mind, here, that the temperature outside was somewhere in the lower 60s (Fahrenheit) not counting the steady blowing wind chill. But, I sometimes forget that I am lucky in my close proximity to the beach on Tybee Island, Georgia; next to me, the next closest person to the beach was the British girl, and even she had an hour drive. The two Americans live in Salt Lake City and Minneapolis, and the Italian lives in Milan, so a jaunt to the beach isn’t exactly easy for any of us save me.

After getting thoroughly soaked, two of the girls didn’t even make it for the sunset; they walked their popsicle selves back to the apartment while the remaining three of us stayed for the beautiful sunset. Naturally, I took a multitude of pictures to document the occasion, and I think it was moving for us all. Sunsets have a habit of doing that to people.

Once back to the apartment, the Italian girl elected herself to cook an Italian dish for us all. Win! It was quite delicious, and after partaking in it we moved on to activities coinciding with a group of college students renting a cabin for the weekend at the beach. Let’s just say for the sake of political correctness that the makers of any given college-centered film would be proud of us.

The next morning, having awoken surprisingly early (i.e., before ten), we noticed the weather outside was surprisingly warm compared to the day before, and after making delicious omelets (I haven’t had breakfast since I arrived in Europe… it was a treat) we made for the beach. Oh, it was nice! Again, I probably wasn’t as surprised with my enjoyment of it as the other four were, but I must say that I was equally exuberant at the chance to enjoy the beach for the day.

Towards the evening, we decided to go back to clean up and head to the nearby city of Brugge, Belgium, for a light dinner. Naturally, due to being an imbecile, I had not worn sunscreen, so I was a nice shade of pain… but hey, that’s what happens when you play with the largest bit of fire in our solar system.

Brugge is only a 30 minute drive from Nieuwpoort, so it was a relatively painless journey in our little cramped Hyundai. We realized, as before, that passing people on the interstate was a fruitless endeavor even more than before, though; as it was Saturday, many were trekking into the city for the night life, and what with the only power we could muster from the Hyundai derived from turning off the AC, it was easier just to… well, not pass people.

After arriving and eating in a quaint, delicious, and somewhat expensive little sidewalk café, we had to play on our childhoods and visit the fair that was happening in the city center right across the street from where we were. Being twelve again, we all opted to go on the scariest ride around. This ride, called the Virus, was one of those kamikaze-styled basket-on-an-extremely-long-arm deals where, at the top, you could see the entire city… and probably the entire country. Of course, being upside down at the top didn’t exactly make this easy, but we rode it all the same. It was well worth the 6 Euros a head we paid to get on.

After the girls rode another ride, we decided to head back to Nieuwport, being that we planned to return to Brugge the next day (Sunday). So, we returned well after dark and played it easy for the night; the previous evening counted for at least two.

As soon as breakfast was over the next morning, we made for Brugge again. It really is a beautiful city; I wouldn’t go so far as to say magnificent, but it did hold that typical European old and historical feel to it, all the while containing Venice-like canals throughout much of the city. The city itself smelled of nothing but Belgian waffles and chocolate, something I had always heard of but never actually tried within the boundaries of Belgium. It’s rather difficult to do that when you’ve never been to Belgium…

Most of the day, the girls shopped (surprise) and the American dude and myself wandered about the city acting as though we worked for some travel magazine with the number of photos we each took. We, naturally, partook in a Belgian waffle and some chocolate, and eventually met back up with the girls for a light lunch at a Belgian café before deciding to return back to Nieuwpoort by mid-afternoon.

As soon as we returned, two of the girls decided to stay in our humble abode to rest for a while, leaving three of us to make a special trip to Dunkerque, France, to see the historic WWII site. Apparently, this [former] city was the site of the largest retreat by Allied forces in the entire second world war. It was only a 20 minute drive, so we made it in no time.

Now, I can officially say I’ve been to France. The city itself was actually a bit depressing as one would expect of a city with such a history; due to heavy destruction in the war, all of the buildings reflected a typical shoddy building style of the 1960s and 70s. 

Upon reaching the beach (the site of the actual retreat), we felt quite an eerie feeling of desertion; it being a Sunday afternoon with unbelievable constant wind (a typical Spring day on the North Sea, apparently), there was hardly a soul to be seen. The beach, in fact, hade no one else on it save the three of us. It was quite odd, standing on a site where only just over a half a century ago thousands upon thousands of Allied soldiers were scrambling to board waiting vessels near the beach to escape German forces. Silence is the best way to describe our reactions, for lack of a better word.

But, having fulfilled our history for the day, we made back for Nieuwpoort. To top the travel off, we had to listen to the French radio on the way back, finding some odd music sounding like a mix of oldies and Latin music. While this occurred, the British girl made continual mockeries of the Flemish language we kept seeing and hearing; Flemish is literally an odd combination of German and Dutch (not Deutsch—that’s German). The language tends to add random letters into otherwise German or English words to spice things up a bit, hence Nieuwpoort instead of Newport. The Brit, in typical sardonic humor, made her opinion of this uselessness quite clear. Quite entertaining.

Upon our return, we still had a good two hours of daylight before the sun set. Being me, I couldn’t resist going to see the sunset just one more time; we had to leave the next morning, after all, and I wouldn’t get to see the beach for a long time! Well, this technically isn’t true; in exactly a week and a day from today (Wednesday the 25^th), I will be staying at a hotel on the beach in Nice, France. But I digress. Again.

I wondered about casually towards the ocean, taking pictures here and there to document the natural beauty that is native to any waterscape (to me). The beach was absolutely frigid, reflecting the what I have found to be bipolar weather that exists throughout Europe in that the day before was borderline hot, but I feel it was worth the cold to see the sun set. Sunsets have a habit of making [at least] me feel extraordinarily small; they’re always a good scene to put a good perspective on life. Look at me getting all thoughtful.

Anyway, after returning to the apartment for our last night, we decided it would be ridiculous to try to repack the leftover groceries and booze we had bought two days previously; the girls had bought numerous souvenirs in Brugge, and the car was only so big. So, being the economical people that we are, we did our very best to destroy our remaining stocks. And that we did; needless to say, this night ended similarly to the first night. College is great, and strip poker tends to end poorly. Those are words you should remember for future reference from the wise old Sam.

Unfortunately, we needed to be back in Trier by around noon the next day for all of us to go to class. We did manage to drag ourselves up around 8am to clean the apartment, per the terms of our rental, and were on the road less than an hour later than we should have been; not too shabby! 

When running late already, though, fate tends to take a stance that ‘if you’re already late, may as well be really late.’ So that’s what we did… accidently. Rather than go around Brussels again as we had on the way to Nieuwpoort, we somehow managed to go IN to Brussels. No big deal, right?

Wrong. Brussels, in all its beauty and seamless mix of historical buildings with modern high-rises, does not believe in road signs. At all. As in, ever.

Still, it gave us all a chance to see a good deal of the city from the car. The girls, being far less laid-back than I am as I discovered, were not quite so amused. I, though, loved the detour; at one point, as the other American dude went in to ask for directions, I got out of the car and walked up to a river not far from where we parked. On one side of the river, I could see Brugge-like old and distinguished buildings. On the other, modern high-rises fitting of the capital of the European Union.

It being the capital of the EU, though, I would think the traffic would be better. Aside from the total lack of road signs, there were several roads where our British girl may have felt she was back in England and started driving down the left side of the road rather than the right; there were several streets wide enough to have three lanes in them without any lines painted on them… at all. It rather surprised us all; this is something I would expect in an undeveloped country, not the capital of the European Union!

So, we got to see a brief bit of Brussels, and then were on our way back to Trier. This time, due to our detour, we took another way home. I’m so glad we did! The scenery here was beautiful… I felt as though I was on the set of the Sound of Music in Austria with all the rolling hills and gorgeous countryside. Who would have thought that the seemingly tiny countries of Belgium and Luxembourg could be so beautiful!

Needless to say, I ended up missing most of my classes. I did make my last Business English Presentations class, where I sat listening to our eccentric professor literally telling us to bring rum during our upcoming presentations to bribe our classmates (audience) to ask us questions at the end. Without questions being asked, we cannot pass the presentation. And, the professor just coming back from Haiti for a conference, rum was on her mind. As it should be.

All that being said, I think I have finally caught up to where I was yesterday just as my computer died. [Insert profanity here.] I’m realizing my grammar is likely highly off today, being that I am trying to rush through this by quickly typing so that I may go to work on the presentations I was supposed to be working on all day today. I figure, though, that remembering the events of my European adventures are more important than silly presentations, though.

Hopefully this recount is a good as what I had before. Unlike any English teacher who will drill it into your head that revisions are key to a good piece of writing, I feel that spontaneous recounting of the subject you’re writing on results in the best writing. That is probably why many English teachers of late do not get along with me…

Speaking of spontaneity, I’m supposed to be working on a creativity and its influence by spontaneity for my Differential Psychology seminar. I guess I better pack up the laptop and head to Uni or the highly expensive Starbucks equivalent with internet her in Trier; I have no internet in my room, again, after having lost my internet USB stick. No matter; it was out of credit anyway. 

Here are the links to several Facebook albums referencing some of my recent trips, for those of you bored enough to care:

England:

http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.1983230431126.2117733.1554191092&l=edbf17846c

http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.1983050946639.2117712.1554191092&l=66e0fab3d1

http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.1983023985965.2117711.1554191092&l=0df5aefb81

Belgium:

http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.1994497952807.2118267.1554191092&l=ce860dcf33

Side notes:

Time for a few other side notes. Something I’ve noticed throughout Germany: people have a tendency to over-dress for the current weather. Obviously this is personal preference, but when it is upward of 75 degrees Fare height outside, I tend not to wear a jacket, jeans, shoes, and socks; it’s too hot. But those here seem to find that the norm.

Another note: whereas in America, drainage systems (even in the mountains) tend to have water directed by intricate systems of pipes and sewers. Here, though, I see gravel and other rocks contained inside armadillo-trap-styled metal grids as a means to slow the flow of rain down the hills. This is quite ingenious to me; it saves much effort for drainage that would destroy roads and other engineering projects while also managing not to make the beauty of the mind-boggling rural countryside an industrial wasteland.

Most buildings, as I have said, do not have air conditioning in them. I’ve figured out why I haven’t died of a heat stroke yet, though: the majority of the buildings here are made of concrete or stone of some form. At first I thought nothing of it, but now I am realizing that these buildings stay cool far better than the traditional wood/metal buildings we have in America, thus eliminating the need for AC to a certain degree. This architectural style allows buildings to be easily heated via the [in my mind] archaic radiating heaters in each room while largely eliminating the need to cool the rooms. Brilliant!

Diesel, at least at the time of this writing, is cheaper than gas here: one station showed 1.64 Euro/liter of gasoline(about 6.23 Euros, or $8.87) versus 1.43/liter of diesel (about 5.44 Euros/Gal, which is $7.75). So… if we think OUR gas prices are high, hit up a German.

Apparently the government here does not see the need to tax diesel as harshly as America, and I get the feeling that this is due to the widespread use of trains as transport methods, which I also suspect are unofficially subsidized by the government.

More side notes to come.

Productivity at its finest.

Phew, this post has a lot to say and not enough energy to say it all. I just got back from my first trip to the UK (certainly not my last), and I’ll try to hit the highlights.

First: the coach ride I mentioned in my last post from Trier to Frankfurt Hahn Airport? Words cannot truly describe how breathtaking the countryside en route was. And is. And always will be. It’s simply amazing that such beauty can exist in the most industrialized country in the EU, not to mention the fact that the nation has been inhabited practically since the dawn of humanity. 

Sheer beauty is profound throughout the rolling hills, inviting lush and aged timber, and the quaint windmills speckling the rolling skyline outlining occasional villages. 

I had brought a book with me to read for the ride, which I supposed would be quite boring, but could not even get past the first page. Seriously, I felt like I was filming Julie Andrews as she sang “The hills are alive… with the sound of music!”

When I say “village,” I actually mean it. Often, it seems to me that people say they are from a village to denote a quaint (albeit often useless) place of habitation. However, whomever lives in these I saw on my ride from Trier, Germany’s oldest city, to Frankfurt Hahn (a key RyanAir hub), as absolute sovereignty in my mind to say village. A small cluster of houses, a church or two, and sometimes a windmill… and that’s IT. Farmland dominates the country, something I am used to in America but not in such quantities of beauty.

It was seriously surreal, being on a state-of-the-art bus coach driving along state-of-the-art two-lane roads (as Germany is famous for its wonderful roads), surrounded by the lushness of farming tradition. Think of history as we conceptualize it in America, then try to think of something ten times older. There are thus two different definitions of history: there’s old, and then there’s REALLY old. I could go on forever of this portion of my journey, which was equally beautiful during my return, but for now I will let it go.

Wait- one more thing: this wonderful bus was a stick-shift. I’ve never seen a stick shift bus before… random side note.

Upon reaching the Frankfurt Hahn Airport, I realized why these airlines can fly for so cheaply: for those who have been to the Savannah/Hilton Head International Airport, imagine a smaller, far less ritzy airport and then throw a bunch of Germans in it… and you have Frankfurt Hahn. But hey, considering I paid something like $75 for a round trip ticket to and from London, I have no complaints.

And remember: Frankfurt Hahn is not Frankfurt’s primary airport; each city typically has a “main” airport and one or two satellites where the “nobody” airlines serve. So, just because RyanAir says you’re flying into Venice, for example, don’t for a minute think that you’re actually in the heart of the city. Likely, you’ll be twenty kilometers or so out. Again, remember the price!

RyanAir itself, Europe’s leading “discount carrier,” has truly hilarious in-flight experiences. First, upon boarding you literally take a seat on a first-come, first-serve basis. I think it’s brilliant. The cabin itself is quite cramped, as you would expect on a cheap and short flight, but otherwise a solid aircraft. And, aside from constant announcements and advertising from RyanAir during the flight to buy random articles including scratch-off lottery tickets, the flight is just as you would expect on a Delta flight.

The funniest part of the whole flight is the way in which they advertise the articles they want patrons to buy. Drinks, for example: the punch line of the intercom advertisement? “So refresh yourself with one of our delicious beverages. Chillax.” I was amused.

The next funniest part: upon landing, they literally play the military-styled Bugle Call as you would hear waking up in the army. Hilarious.

London Stansted Airport is far superior to Frankfurt Hahn, but then again… it serves probably three times more airlines, even though they’re all discount airlines as  well. STansted makes it easy to catch the cheap British trains virtually anywhere, being that the airport literally sits on top of the train station. I think I paid something like 13 pounds round trip from Stansted Airport to Leicester and back, which is roughly 2 hours each way. Not too shabby!

On the train, once again I was dumbfounded by the abundance of rural farmland; I just cannot fathom how Europeans have managed not to develop every square inch of land in urban sprawl as seems to be the intention of Americans. The particular train ride I took went through England’s East Midlands, which is very flat country; apparently, until relatively recently the entire area flooded each year, and only a handful of small towns dotted the landscape due to this. They called these towns, such as Ely (more on that later), “islands.” Literally, half of the year you could not get to the towns without a boat.

That being said, the countryside was beautiful, but I wouldn’t go so far as to say spectacular as the ride through Germany. However, I didn’t get to see much of the UK, so this is an uneducated argument on my part.

During this entire trip, I did something totally out of character for me: I read a book. Not just part of a book, an ENTIRE book. Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse 5 was my victim, and as you can imagine by someone such as myself who has barely the attention span to blink reading the entire novel, it was quite good! It’s good that I read it, too, being that I have a presentation on the class I’m taking on Vonnegut in Trier. How about that… I’ll actually do a report on something I’ve read for once!

England… well, it was amazing. That’s all I can really say. The weather was lacking, though; I left Trier in shorts and flip flops, and arrived in England to rain and cold which lingered almost my entire visit. I certainly couldn’t live in England, as neat as it is; gloomy weather is apparently quite common throughout much of the country, as is chilliness. Not my cup of tea, but great to visit!

Leicester, the town I stayed with my friend in, is a lovely little city of about 300,000 people. Shopping is EVERYWHERE; I felt as though I was in an old version of Atlanta. It still has history, as does most of England, but none compared to Cambridge, which I visited Saturday the 14^th.

Funny story, that: my intention was to visit Turville, a small village in the district of Birminghamshire, but I made a mistake with the train stop to go to… and ended up literally in the middle of nowhere. It never occurred to me that there would be cities named the same thing in the UK, even though it’s quite common… everywhere. So, I went to the city which I thought was closest to Turville… only to find myself in a small small small village, smaller than Brooklet, Georgia, for those of you who have been there… literally two hours from my intended destination. Oops.

I called several taxis from the train station on a pay phone I found using my credit card (bad idea), but none of the companies had even heard of Turville. That’s when I realized my lurking feeling was true: I was in the totally wrong place. It was quite difficult to understand the taxi operators, too; this particular part of England hosts accents that are quite heavy.

I wanted to visit Turville because it is the village in which the British series “The Vicar of Dibley” and the 1968 film “Chitty Chitty Bang Bang” were filmed, and it would truly make my entire life to see it. Yes, I’m a materialistic American tourist, but hey… don’t judge. In any event, after my mistake I found the true location of it, and will visit when I go to London in August; it’s only an hour train ride from London, apparently.

So, in keeping with my spontaneous nature, I decided to take the advice of the couple standing in this random town I ended up in and return to the nearby “island city” of Ely. When I got there and realized I wouldn’t find a way to the real “Turville,” I noticed Cambridge was about 30 minutes train ride away and said… well, what the hell. So I went to Cambridge.

Excellent choice! I managed to strike luck and hit the city on the Saturday of the University’s graduation, so there were thousands of people walking about in traditional British graduation garb… quite lovely! I’ve never seen so many top hats in my life.

The city itself, as one would expect, was gorgeous; old architecture, a quaint river/stream, shops, and churches of all forms inhabit every corner of sight. I even visited the Cambridge Folk Museum, which was quite amusing in its relation of various witch hunts that had occurred in the area in years past, as well as the general historical points of Cambridge.

For example, apparently the University of Cambridge itself, in times far past, acted almost as the notorious controlling Catholic Church of the Middle Ages; the University controlled everything in the city until King Henry VIII decided it was not the right way to be. Imagine that.

Cambridge, like Birmingham which I visited the next day, showed me the predictability of English culture; everything is well preserved (well, mostly everything), and tradition overshadows the modernization of the nation. History and modernism are mixed exquisitely to the tune of a lovely city!

Although the cities themselves are predictable and tame, English weather is far from it. I’d go so far as to say the weather in that part of the country is truly bipolar; one minute, the sun would barely shine out from behind the clouds, and it would be quite warm. Thirty seconds later, the sun would hide again and it would seem to drop ten degrees. A minute later, it would start raining… and then the process would repeat. No one save me seemed to notice…

On the way back, I decided to actually get off the train and explore Ely, the city whose train station I had already visited three times that day. I could see a massive cathedral from the train station, and decided it was worth a look. Oh, am I glad I did! It was absolutely spectacular. Whereas I expected great things from Cambridge, I had no inclination of seeing anything better than a well-built church as it usually is in a small town. Ely, however, hosted this massive cathedral as a surprise, far larger than any cathedral I have seen in Europe thus. Another surprise lurking in the city, literally right next to the cathedral (about a 20 minute walk from the train station), was a home of Oliver Cromwell, leader of the short-lived Commonwealth of England. Who would have thought!

More specifically on Birmingham: it is only an hour-ish from Leicester, so it was an excellent day trip. It is the most American-feeling city I have visited thus, giving me the notion of New York City business mixed with the newness of Atlantian shopping. It also is host to several AWESOME concerts, which makes me quite jealous.

While in Leicester each evening, I pursued the usual University student activities: partying. One specific note on this: I went in what is likely the largest club I’ve ever seen in Leicester named Republic. It holds 4,000 people, almost exclusively students. It was insane! However, some random blonde girl stole my beloved hat, of which I am quite unhappy. Oh well, that just means I’ll have to go to Key West upon my return to America to get another one. J

All in all, England was lovely. Because I did not have time to visit London (a must as I am told), I am now planning to fly to London before flying home in August… likely somewhere around August 8. Tickets, although still absolutely ridiculous, are cheaper flying from London to Atlanta, than any others I can find presently, so I think it will be worth the trip.

As of about 30 minutes ago, I have decided to join a small group of people going to Belgium this weekend. We are splitting the cost of renting a car and riving to Brussels and Bruges, then staying a few nights in a cabin literally on the beach… I can’t think of a much better thing to do! It will be my first road trip, so we shall see how it goes…

I’m sure I’ve forgotten much, but in the event I remember any more I’ll try to update in subsequent posts. For now, my battery is about to die and I have about 1,200 pictures to sort through. I’ll post links to some from my Facebook albums soon!

Thank you for smoking.

I may or may not have mentioned it before, but it seems as though EVERYONE here in Trier smokes. Luckily, most establishments prohibit smoking indoors, but there are still some that allow it; as best as I can discern, it is against the law to allow smoking inside, but many law enforcement agents do not enforce it. Either way, any gathering I attend ends with me leaving feeling as though I’ve smoked a carton, and all my clothes reek of smoke.

I find this highly odd considering the Germans’ general thoughts towards healthcare; they are quick to point out how wonderful European Union healthcare systems are, how generally obese Americans are, and how healthy their dietary habits are (eat most in the morning to work it off throughout the day). Yet still, they will be doing so while holding a cancer stick. It’s baffling to me… in any event, that is one thing I could live without.

Moving on, I thought that, being that I focused on the social aspects of college life this week, I may need to comment on some of the aspects of the theoretical reason I’m here in the first place: school. It’s a stretch, I know.

So, why not begin with something quite common in all of my classes save two: presentations. Because most of my classes are “seminars,” a core component of each is student participation, primarily in the form of presentations. First, it’s interesting how much each of my English-speaking professors emphasize the need to practice presentations “to keep up with America.” I guess this is not something I had ever considered, but apparently Germans are far less used to giving oral presentations in class or other settings. This being said, you couldn’t tell (for the most part) that the students are ill equipped to deal with these situations.

The presentations themselves, though, are almost all identical in organization no matter what the topic is. All of them are highly structured, beginning with a dedicated introduction including a specific outline, highly ordered information following that outline model, and a specific closing restating the key points of the original outline. Many (if not most) presentations that I have heard thus also state the precise duration of the presentation the person is about to give. Needless to say, it’s typical of the structure Americans stereotype as existing in German culture.

I’d go so far as to say it’s a bit unnerving; the exact order and structure, in my opinion, overshadows the purpose of the presentation itself in that the audience tends to focus more on the organization of the report than the content itself. All of my professors also stress the importance of the content over the delivery, something quite different from speech and presentation instructors in America; if someone’s presentation cannot hold our attention in America, we don’t bother listening to the content no matter how interesting it is. But maybe that’s just me.

I suppose this distinct style is conducive of the process of learning English still, along with different mentalities on how people perceive others in a presentation setting. Still, the lack of fluidity tied with the notion that students should learn to do presentations to compete with Americans is a bit ironic to me.

Other notes pertaining to classes thus far: I have had at least two professors discuss the idea of speaking in “active voice” as opposed to “passive voice,” something common in the classes I have taken in America as well. However, both professors I have heard on this topic use different definitions of “active voice” than I am used to; “we are going” is considered active here, whereas my understanding of the style would state “we go” as a more active manner. Interestingly, different experts on the same subject teach different meanings for the same idea.

Touching back on political correctness (or lack thereof), I literally had a speech professor tell me yesterday that we should (and I quote) “go hit up a bar before coming to give [our] presentation[s]. Germans are notorious for being boring speakers, and I do not want to fall out of my chair after falling asleep.” I love it. This teacher is from South Africa, and no one or nothing is off limits.

Oh, and the Germans (like everyone in Europe it seems) do not much care for the French. Entire classes have revolved around the insanity of the French and their public policy. It’s quite amusing to me…

Another funny/strange thing to me: I’ve mentioned before that you can buy beer in vending machines on campus. Well, yesterday there was an exhibition of the local technical school’s work (which greatly resembled a SCAD art exhibit), and the number of people walking through the halls of the school building carrying glass bottles of beer would appall your grandmother most likely. I find it amazing that, as Americans, we are so surprised by this European way of thinking; what are we, still in the ages of the Puritans?

One more note on Uni, being that I just came from this place: the library. Although *literally* the only thing I can think of that is politically incorrect in Germany is to call something/someone “Nazi,” I am going to have to say that Universitat Trier’s library is a Nazi establishment. Why? Well, aside from the one-door entry I complained about a few weeks ago, the rules in the Bibliothek are as strict as I have ever conceived. Not only can you not bring in a bag of any form (laptops even must be taken out of their bags and carried in after storing the bags in a locker room), but you also must visually prove to the librarians that you have no books with you when you leave the guided ques in and out of the building. And they’re serious. I cannot count how many times some old librarian has yelled at me in German over something I was holding, even though I haven’t the faintest idea why.

If you want to carry in a bottle of water, you better bring pants with deep pockets and stash it in there, too… none of this would bother me so much if the technology in the library ever worked properly. But I’ve griped about that already, so I’ll move on.

I somehow managed to lose my glasses the week before last, and thus ended up a few days legally blind before getting a friend of mine to help me go find glasses in Trier. To my amazement, aside from the language barrier it was quite easy! In America, thanks in part to our brilliant past president Bush’s law saying you must get an optometrist to give you a medical eye test and vision check every so often, you cannot just show up at a lens store and get glasses; you must have a prescription much like you would if you wanted amphetamines or something. Doesn’t make much sense to me, but whatever.

In Germany, however, you do not need all of this ridiculousness. Simply show up at any place that sells glasses, they’ll do a vision test on you for free—if you want them to. Otherwise, just tell them your needed prescription (which I knew), and they’ll make you glasses. Easy as pie. Of course, thanks to our brilliantly performing US Dollar, it cost me a bit more than a cup of tea: 156 Euros, or $250 for a cheap pair of glasses. But hey, I feel like I got a deal being that A) I’m not running into buildings anymore, and B) the glasses I got were from the kinder (child) department, so they’re literally flexible enough to bend in half and they snap right back. Win for me.

Here’s another topic I have yet to discuss: essentials to know in Germany. While there are many, I believe there are two you absolutely should realize prior to coming. First, the bathroom. No, there is not a sign that says “bathroom,” “restroom,” or even “toilet,” as is the most common literal conveyance of a bathroom. Reach back into the pages of history and remember the term “water closet.” Why? Because almost every public restroom is denoted simply as “WC” in all capital letters. Once you manage to find this WC, don’t assume it’s separated by sexes, either; while many have the universal symbols of the stick women and men to denote the gender, it is not uncommon to have unisex restrooms. Just a friendly heads up; even my dorm has both unisex restrooms and showers (funnily named “douche zimmers,” or shower rooms).

My second recommendation: realize before you come that if you order/buy water [wasser, pronounced “VASS-er”] anywhere in Germany (and much of Europe, as I understand), it’s likely to be fizzy/carbonated. Personally, I can’t stand the taste of it, but unless you ask for “still” water [the word for which seems to vary, but I usually say “STH-ul”], you’re going to get champagne without the good taste. Water fountains are hard to come by, too; in fact, I couldn’t name the first one I have seen since arriving in Trier. Here, be prepared to pay more for a water (carbonated or not) than you do for a beer.

With those key things to remember out of the way, I’ll briefly detail the past week. For starters, I must again denote my amazement at how interested Germans are with meeting Americans. Randomly walking down the street last Friday night, I got grabbed by three random German girls studying law and dragged into a law fraternity party they were hosting. I didn’t even know Germans had fraternities, but apparently I was mistaken. They were brilliantly smart, as one would guess from being law students, yet still knew how to have a good time as all Germans do. One had even lived in Minnesota for a year, and could not tell me enough how it was the best year of her life. I guess it stands to reason that, just as I am having the time of my life abroad, Germans staying in America would have a likewise response to the new environment.

The rest of the week entailed the [now] usual series of events: a few barbeques in the park, socializing for dinner, gathering for a few drinks after classes… in other words, the high life. Yesterday, however, did stand out a bit in that as I was walking down the street, I discovered a few of my friends had taken a random couch which had been put out onto the sidewalk by an unwanting former owner. Discarding of furniture and other items is quite common this way; place it on the sidewalk, allow passerby people to pick what they want [which is illegal for some reason, yet not enforced just as the smoking ban indoors], and the city picks up the rest. 

Anyway, my friends were using it as a bench to drink beer under a random picnic table. Whilst doing this, they were playing  a game on the paper coasters given with every beer in Germany which *literally* entailed judging the size of the breasts of any lovely lady that walked past them. What’s even funnier is that there were several girls among them. Again, political correctness and shyness towards traditional American taboos such as sex and drinking simply have no meaning here. I love it.

Well, I’ve gabbed enough for one sitting. I’m in the process of trying to plan several more trips in the next few weeks, possibly one to Madrid or Greece. For now, though, I’m off to England for five days to visit my friend who stayed with me last week! This will be my first experience both taking a coach (bus) shuttle to an airport and flying with one of Europe’s “low cost” airlines: Ryanair. We shall see what happens…

Ah, the social life.

Well… let’s just say the last week has been quite interesting. Being that I was so academically minded last week, I decided it was time to celebrate in the only way you can in Trier: all out. When you party in Trier (or anywhere else in Germany, as I have been told), you typically “pre-game” with friends beginning around 9pm before going out to whatever clubs and/or bars for the evening around midnight. If you do not begin beforehand, you’re likely to spend an arm and a leg when you go out; drinks, like in America, are quite expensive in said establishments.

Even so, I’ve found the time table for “college life” (or here, “uni life”) is quite later than what I am used to in America; typically, in my experience, clubs and bars close between 2-3am, depending on the city and atmosphere. In Savannah, for example, all establishments close around 3am as a general rule. Here, though, there apparently are not ordinances telling establishments when they must conclude the evening’s business, and if the party is “hopping,” last call will not occur until well after daylight.

That being said, the Germans can certainly drag out a good party. Only the Irish and a few Italians I have met can “hang” with the German people. Of course, I include myself in this statement being that I am both Irish and Italian, and I must say, it’s quite fun trying to learn German from those who have been partying all night.

Note here, also, that I am referring to college life in a vague and politically correct way: partying. Americans tend to look down on these activities as a general rule… not in the sense of actually participating, but in the sense of feeling long-term partying is immoral or somehow bad. Here, though, the thought process is far different; it’s almost a competition (as is a common German cultural standing) to see who is able to party hardest and still function for the necessary events the next day.

So, being that I’m in Germany and do not have to be politically correct for them, I can confidently say that partying entails what we would consider colossal amounts of drinking, dancing, and “hooking up,” so to say. Does this occur in America? Of course! But here, people openly embrace the activities in daily conversations with little regard to how other people would judge them. In fact, many of both sexes even brag about their forays the night before to complete strangers, whereas an American would typically do such a thing only to close friends in an attempt to “keep up their image.”

Again, remember here I am generalizing; I, for one, tend to spend my weekends doing the same thing as the Germans are, as do many other Americans at a similar level. The biggest difference, aside from the mentality of others toward night life, is that although the Germans can party hard (going back to the politically correct mentality), I believe that they are able to function in sober society to a much higher level afterward than many Americans I know. The saying “play hard, pay hard” (thank you Grandmama) holds true for them, but I have seen very few of them allow the night before to change their plans for the next day. I’m not quite sure how, but apparently they’re good at acting immune to hangovers.

The alcohol here, though, seems different too… as hard as that is to believe. Booze is booze, but for some reason even the cheapest of beers or liquors here result in a far less-bad hangover than my experiences with low-grade alcohols stateside. I’m not quite sure why this is, other than taking off my hat for their embracing of alcohol as a non-negative recreational activity. Call me crazy, but I believe this is why America seems to have a more negative stance on the effects of alcohol and socializing publically: the general mindset of the activity is relatively negative, so when Americans party there is less of a knowledge of the boundaries of what is “too much.”

So, this social commentary aside, the weekend consisted of several different parties. The local club Exhaus (the one I said I’d probably avoid) had a huge party last Thursday (April 28) that was quite fun. Then, Friday came and went with a bit of school work and celebrating in the evening. Saturday, the local Trier rugby team (an unofficial minor league) won the match in town (which I attended), so all night (and until dawn) consisted of celebrating for the victory. Essentially, the whole weekend was similar to a New Year’s celebration in America… just randomly placed the week after Easter.

In fact, I somehow managed to lose my keys, student id card, phone, flip flops, glasses, and even my hat was stolen by a few girls. I’ve recovered the keys and phone, but the others are still MIA… the price you pay! I don’t feel too bad, being that I lose things all the time regardless of whether or not partying is involved…

At the same time, though, I’d say the good times from the weekend have been more than worth it. For example, during the Exhaus party night, I ended up being the only dude out of twelve girls pregaming between two places. For whatever reason, they decided that, me being the only boy, I should be carried into the building from outside. Literally. It was great success, likely a highlight of my life.

Sunday was also quite special for the Europeans. For reasons I cannot understand, the first of May is a reason to celebrate; many Germans had what they called a “beer walk,” whereby hordes of them loaded up hordes of beer and walked along the Mozel River to various destinations. The goal was to drink all of the beer prior to reaching the destination, then try to find their way back to a pre-set bar. Yes, typically German, and needless to say it was general debauchery.

I, however, was invited alongside roughly 30 other exchange and other students to one of the Finnish students’ “Vappu” celebrations. This celebrated the same concept as the German beer walk, but we celebrated more with various foods (especially some lovely homemade Finnish doughnuts) and sports. It was quite lovely; we spent the better part of the day singing Credence Clearwater Revival songs with the international students, eating, drinking lightly, and playing sports. I had not played volleyball since the 7^th grade, but I made up for it in the three hours or so I played yesterday!

My friend from grade school arrived Saturday as well, and is staying for a week. He is studying in England at Leicaster University (pronounced Lester, as I was aptly informed), and I will be going to visit him from May 12-17^th. I’m hoping to show him a good time in the city; Trier is truly a beautiful place, and it’s hard not to have fun!

Today, I have my dreadfully long day. I am actually typing this through the only lecture-style course I am taking out of my nine, which are updated as follows:

Kurt Vonnegut (an author)
British Linguistics and Society
Deutsch Phonetics (beginners’)
Business English Presentations (speaking class)
American Minorities in Film
American Speech and Rhetoric (Masters-level class)
Late Modern English Linguistics (Masters-level class)
Differential Psychology (meets only 4 times; class on “creativity”)
Northwest [Americas] Coast Writing (meets only 4 times in June)

So yes… I have nine classes. This course on British linguistics had promise to be interesting, but unfortunately the Scot teacher is more monotone than an automated message machine. I am taking it, though, because I get 3 of my 24 needed ETCS points to transfer back to America for just sitting in the class—no assignments or tests! The remainder of the classes will likely provide me with more than 24 ETCS points, but I figured it’s better to be safe than sorry; I’m honestly not sure of how many points each class gives, being that they depend on many factors including the level of the class, assignments/papers completed, and tests. But, even the teachers do not know, so I do not feel too dumb.

I’m also doing an internship with the Trier Center for American Studies (TACS) through the professor from my American Rhetoric class. Thus far, I am assigned office hours Mondays from 12-2pm (if needed), and am in charge of organizing a list documenting names, studies, and pictures of the fifteen or so interns in the office this semester. As the semester progresses, we will all help out with the ten or twelve speaking events organized by the office. Again, I’m not totally sure what I’m doing her; I doubt this will allow me to knock-out the internship requirement through AASU at home. But, I figured it’s a great way to make new contacts… and an internship (especially abroad) always looks good on a resume!

Tonight, I have been asked to be the unofficial photographer of the Multicultural Concert I mentioned last week. I’ve been deemed the “Erasmus Paparazzi” by my friends; due to my honestly fantastic camera, I elect myself (and others elect me) to take pictures at all of our events. Tonight’s event should provide several interesting photographs as well, and I do love to take pictures! Even so, I’ll be tired; I have class from 10am-8pm straight, with little more than 15 minutes between each.

Who knows what this week will entail; I’m know for my lack of planning. It makes life so much more fun that way! In any event, I’m sure it will be another wonderful week in Trier; it’s hard not to have a good time here!