If we had blogs in 1999: Berliner communist spies

Berlin. What a city. When I had gone to MUDEC the year before the 1999 Transatlantic Seminar on the European Union, I had imagined spending most of my travel time in France, the Benelux countries, the British Isles, and Italy. For whatever reason I hadn't been drawn to Germany. But that was before I visited, and my introduction, aside from our class trip to Munich for Oktoberfest, had been forced by our week long study tour in the autumn of 1997. One of our scheduled stops had been University of Göttingen. From there, a few of us went to Berlin. I loved it before I even stepped off the train at the Zoo Station.

This is the latest entry into my 1999 Transatlantic Seminar journal, and it is, as are most of the other ones, written by a kid who was learning to write. This journal entry is lengthy. Much of it is tabloid fodder and a student complaining about school work. As always, spelling, grammatical, and factual errors have been preserved. Today's comments are in red italics.

Begin journal entry

That same day we left Poland for its WWII oppressor (one of them). We originally were supposed to go to Wittenburg and Dresden - the whole situation is confusing & difficult to remember but at any rate it was another overnight train - no couchettes - and much crowding. We all had squeezed into one cabin; apparently JAB John, Abby, and Bill didn't get the concept of overnight trains. I had no room for my clausterphobic self and sat in misery most of the night. Bill had been on the floor - I had nowhere to put my feet. I was pissed, but somehow either I moved or he moved during the night to make the cramping less torturous. Guilt should flood me for not giving thanks for the space I had instead of the cattle cars of the Nazi victims. We had just visited Auschwitz.

Needless to say, I was a bear when the sun arose. We arrived in Dresden, I believe, but all I wanted to do was sleep. I had some Deutsche Marks I had exchanged in Frankfurt on the journey to Prague so I was able to grab some food. No con men on the trains had tried to get us to exchange money here in Germany like they had upon our Prague arrival. I wish I could have seen Dresden, though not at the time I was there. I decided that I was going to Berlin that day to sleep. Bill was livid. I was getting on the train no matter what - I would go by myself if I had to. Bill didn't understand that we didn't have to do everything together. It was a last second decision to leave Bill behind, the four of us did, as he went to Wittenberg. I didn't care, I was sick of American Bill. Abby was really concerned. Brad was angry we left Krakow. John said nothing as usual. We had to switch in Leipzig. The train was crowded. We sat in seats that were supposed to be for bar service people. The train conductor was nice enough to let us keep the seats. I tried not to crash as I wanted to see as much of this great country as I could, but physical limitations got the best of me. It was a drooling sleep, but much necessary. However, the debate wasn't over - it had just been delayed by the train ride. When we got to the Zoo Station (I love to say that), we had to find a place to stay. I wanted to stay in a hostel. Brad did too. JA wouldn't except anything less than good quality. John made it known to us that he was too good for a hostel.We walked forever looking for this particular place until Brad got sick of it and told them they could find their own place. We got out a map and found a great hostel with a private room and a balcony - that was the best. I sat out there trying to write in my journal or read Ulyssess but I couldn't do it. Brad was out. I went to sleep. Wait, that didn't happen yet. First we checked in, relieved to get those packs off our backs. Then we showered and went to the zoo. It's a great zoo, huge, really, for a zoo in the middle of a city such as Berlin. What'd they do with the animals during the war? Anyway, back up. We ate first, before the zoo, at the Hard Rock Cafe. As fate would have it, our table was right next to the U2 wall. And the place had been pretty much empty at 2 in the afternoon. I had a hamburger. Then we went to the zoo. Then we went back to the hotel room and played cards and took a nap and said we'd go out later. We never did. Sleep was plentiful that night, as we both had at least 12 hours. We unloaded our gear at Hotel Berlin, awesome, then headed for Potsdam, a place I will return to someday to further explore. What a marvelous city, despite anti NATO spray painted slogans to greet us. (There were fewer here than in Prague, whose slavic ingredients complimented Serbian interests.) The many palaces of Potsdam did not...  (continued in "Other stuff I'd like to remember) 

...have our presence, as we had little time to add depth to our journey. It was a cool place, but we had to be back by 5pm for our Sunday seminar. I wish we'd skipped it. Sunday evening was our first encounter with the commie bar. I hadn't realized, even with the big picture of Mao in the back, that we were surrounded by communists. There were about 15 of us capitalist americans, each more desperate than the other to get as drunk as possible. The beer, Jever, was shit, but the bar's specialty was mixed drinks, as I later found out. Many seemingly uneventful things began to unfold at this time. The first was Brad & Eva. The second was beer for beer with Bill. The third happened when I staggered back to the hotel to get my U-bahn ticket and had to ride the elevator up with Dr. Mason in my state of intoxication.

Angela Merkel, before she was the most powerful person in Europe. And before I knew who she was. She looks so young!

Let's start with the first: Brad & Eva. Brad had been determined to hook up with someone on the trip. Abby was his first try, but she had a boyfriend back home. (This is interesting considering the events yet to come this evening.) Kate was next. He was really turning it on the night of Guy's birthday party in Prague. (This night was strike two of Bill's nightlife ideas. Actually, it was strike three - there'd been a failed night in Paris, too. He had no idea how to walk into a local bar - he always had to have recommendations and could never find the recommended places. But he was enthusiastic, and enthusiastically loud, so other students followed him anyway. After Guy's party, we went in search of a dance club. Bill had "talked to some people" to find a good place to go. He led us through somewhat sketchy Prague park at night, across a bridge which Brad puked over and I had to help it look like nothing was going on, to this place called Rock Cafe or something. We went in, maybe 8 of us, and there were only two people dancing and two people at the bar, and they played the shittiest hard music. It wasn't even a good time. I remember this place. I hadn't spent a lot of time in Eastern Europe, but as I later came to discover, many of these types of hard rock/heavy metal bars can be found scattered throughout the region. They're like something out of the 1980s, and the people dress as such. Their countries were opening up to the West in the age of hair bands; perhaps this has something to do with the existence of so many of these kinds of establishments? This is all relevent to future events of this Commie bar evening.) So Brad had found out in Prague that Kate had a boyfriend back home and then turned to Eva. More to come.

The second beginning was "beer for beer." I had been consuming so much alcohol over the previous 3 weeks that my tolerance was unreal. I could match 7 foot Bill beer for beer (but not hard liquor). The third event was when Dr. Mason found out how much of a drinker I was which may have changed his whole view of me. (He later made a comment about how much I enjoy my beer.) We certainly did a lot of drinking over these weeks. We'd spend all day going to, sitting through, and leaving seminars in various parts of the cities we visited, so when we had free time in the evenings, museums and tourist sites were usually closed. Brad and I wanted to be among the locals; although we did go out with other students, we often spent our evenings in local bars. But bars are a part of American college culture, aren't they?

So, we're at the commie bar, I now have my U-bahn pass (as the hotel is right across the street), and then Bill wants to go find this "Blue Note Cafe" someone told him about. So we take the U2 to Fredrickstrasse and begin searching. We walk, and we walk, and we give up, and Bill leads us into some Mexican bar and everyone's doing Tequilla shots except me, who's totally sober and pissed because the buzz is gone and the bar sucks, and Eva, who was sitting by herself, and Brad, who's pissed off. I'm observing numerous body shots initiated by Bill, watching Abby kissing some stranger, watching sober Jen pick up strangers, eating nachos, watched Michelle do a body shot off of some strange girl, watched her do one off of Bill, came to the conclusion that she claims to be a lesbian to get attention, watched her do another one off of Bill (significant), was glad to get in a taxi that I didn't pay for to go back (after Brad left and Eva left, separately, and both pissed off, not at each other), saw Michelle holding Bill's hand, went to sleep, woke up the next morning wishing I had more sleep.

Now it's time to go listen to the Turkish Consil General with the hair growing in his ears, and I tell you there's not a single student in the room listening. Our eyes are drawn to that hair; it's disgusting. I've never seen anything like it. Next is the EU Commission in Berlin, but that's after Brad, Eva, Michelle, and I eat at this Italian restaurant. It is cold - I wear a skirt and a sleeveless shirt because yesterday was 90 and tomorrow is 90 but today it rains and is cold. We sit outside with an umbrella to protect us from wet. Tonight I will go with Bridget, Guy, Amanda, and Megan to an American deli so that they may see Checkpoint Charlie. I wander around a bit while they're at the museum even though it's closed, but then I realize it may not be smart to walk alone around East Berlin, being an american female and all. So we all go back and I sleep and wake up the next morning wishing I had more sleep, and then we go to the Berliner Rathaus, after a wonderful breakfast, of course. No one paid attention in that seminar. It's not that it was uninteresting - it's that everyone's so tired, and the juices on the table don't have enough sugar to keep us alive. The building is cool, and I can tell everyone I was inside. We had to cram in some lunch after the seminar - literally - before we were rushed to Humbolt University. The rushing cannot be emphasized enough. We were always late, on account of people waking up late, walking extremely slow (so annyoying!), and having to ride public transport - all 30 of us. One time in Paris only half of us made the metro and we had to wait for the others to catch the next one.

Anyway, at Humbolt there was no student discussion panel which I had been looking forward to, sort of like a Nitra experience. On our spring study tour at MUDEC, one of our stops had been at a university in Nitra, Slovakia, where we interacted with students there, something I had really enjoyed. For some reason, though we'd had something similar scheduled at Humbolt, it was cancelled. No one paid an ounce of attention. I was getting burnt out. Then there was the whole where's the U-bahn stop experience where our idiot students had to wait for Dr. Mason, who was talking to his professor friend, before they could go back even though we were free for the evening. I was fed up with the group. Brad was too. We left with Eva despite warnings from the group that only Dr. Mason knew how to get back. It was about the time people realized that we didn't really fit the group, and right before it was common knowledge that we were experienced travelers. Berlin was the city where Brad and I learned we were thought to be spies by the group, a semi-frightening thought that the whole group had made up this spy story about us. This U-bahn stop incident was a breaking point. We had entered our third week in Europe, and most of the students still needed their hands held by Dr. Mason. Brad and I had spent our junior year at our Luxembourg campus (MUDEC.) These students were different than the MUDEC types - they were spending their summer in Europe rather than committing themselves to a regular semester. They had no interest in immersing themselves in culture. Berlin really was the point where Brad and I divorced ourselves from the group.

After construction rerouted Brad, Eva, & I, we finally arrived at our hotel stop & headed for the Commie Bar for a five hour long happy hour. The waiter was awesome, the weather beautiful. What a thrill, to be sipping cocktails in the summer sun after a hard day after "work", sitting in business attire conversing about everything and nothing. Drinks gradually loosened the lips, revealing personal stories I hadn't thought about for years. I even showed them my Oktoberfest scar.

At one point I began to feel like a third wheel (what's new?) and also like I was sick. I can't remember if I took the walk before or after puking; however, I had gotten up, walked a bit, sat back down, got back up, and stumbled blindly around the block with the sun still scintilating like a golden coin. I reached for it but couldn't grab it. Frankly, I can't tell you my thoughts or actions as I walked around that block, nor could I tell you how long it took, though Brad says it took awhile for me to return. I only remember the coolness of that sun, a blurred vision at which I looked with clear eyes and a weak smile. I don't recall coming back. I don't recall the Greek philosopher coming to sit with us. I don't recall Eva leaving. I don't recall the sun going down. I do remember having a lovely anti-American discussion on world politics and the Greek guy asking why American girls were fat. I don't remember leaving but I do remember having a beer with Jen & Giovana and trying to have another great conversation with some guy, but that didn't take off. I do remember giving Eva 40DM ($20) the next day to pay her back from the night before (and those were half price drinks!) It was a lovely day. I still remember walking around that block and the way the sun hung in Berlin's summer sky in those early evening hours. I had felt a moment of utter joy, a sort of freedom of the soul, a gratefulness that I was walking the streets of Europe, of Berlin. Too rare and fleeting are these moments in life, this joy and freedom and desire to wrap your arms around the whole world.

The next morning wasn't so lovely. It would have been horrible even if the last evening had not taken place. At least we had a lengthy train ride to Potsdam when I could sleep. And they gave us cool stuff. If I'd had Siemens in the morning I'd never have made it through. What a wretched and treacherous morning traversing the streets and suburbs of Berlin, an existance that dulled the joy of the European air and spirit which filled my pining lungs. The pounding - that terrible pounding - like an implosive mass turning inside-out, how it pains my thoughts! Take me from this place...no, no, not to - SIEMENS! The torture was almost too much. At least they provided Cokes. But for two hours a guy read from a paper about SIEMEN's operations - at least, that's what I could gather from the bits I heard. I was sitting in another white room; the usually pleasant sunlight was beating through the glass making it extremely difficult to feel any sensation of comfort. I imagined myself standing outside in that sunlight, looking through the windows much like I would look at animals in...  (continued on Things I Plan To See & Do)

...a zoo. The neckties are like leashes on guys; the women looked as if they were attending the funerals of their own personalities. The posture and body language of each young professional told me that free will was slowly being tortured to death. German, French, American - the accent changes, but the story remains the same. As I sat at the conference table of Siemens, I realized that I had thrown myself into a corporate nightmare.

I continued to sit there, becoming anxious. Physical existence began to struggle with my rapidly increasing mental insanity that had crept into my head, at the insistance of the monotonous essay that was being read to us from the head of the table. Slowly my arms and legs began to tingle from disuse until I was a mass of shaking apendages combatting the boredom and sleepiness that I had been dealing with all day. This was Berlin, city of the next millenneum, but even the kinetic air of its new existance could not excite my sleeping brain. If any positive energy had been floating around the room, it had swarmed the professor, and to the students' good fortune, he was sitting miles down the table and had to make an effort to set his eyes on the attention spans which had left the building. Empty Coca-Cola bottles lined the tables, teasing the consciousness which had been surviving on the periodic intaking of the liquid sugar of the american champagne. The sunlight showed the dullness of the glasses, covered with wanting fingerprints. Pens danced in hands, some of  them making their ways up to the mouths that were beginning to whisper to neighboring ears.

Now I didn't say it before, but Siemen's is a city within Berlin, complete with U-bahn stop. The headquarters is still in Munich, but since Berlin has been recalled to life, I wouldn't be suprised if an increasing number of its operations are conducted from Berlin. What Joy to escape this corporate prison and the eyes of Big Brother! The evening brought Adam, Tim, Brad, Eva, and I to a restaurant near the hotel, one which I had stumbled by the night before but hadn't noticed. I ordered pork, kraut, and dumplings, but it was a shoulder, dark meat, and too much. My night ended after a trip to the Reichstag, and the next morning I had to meet with Eric and Dr. Mason to discuss some theories. Eric and I were the only students taking the course for post-graduate credit, so we had additional work we had to do. Eric didn't show up. I was a half hour late. I had only glanced at the reading - I hadn't a clue what I was talking about, and for once I couldn't bullshit through something. It was quite frustrating and I felt stupid. But I had Berlin for the day - Brad & I were going to Lux at 11pm. I was supposed to meet them at the Pergamon, but I went to Potsdamer Platz and felt the excitement of watching a new city being built before my eyes. In a moment of awe I was determined to reside in Berlin in the near future. The thought has yet to escape me. Fifteen years later, it still hasn't.

I did meet Adam & Brad at the Pergamon, but Tim didn't show. I decided not to go in. There was too much of Berlin to breathe, and my lungs had no desire for the stuffy air of a museum. The previous night's trip to the Reichstag had served as a catalyst for the excitement I felt on this last day in Berlin. We had climbed to the top for a spectacular view of Berlin's cranium. (Might I add this word choice is excellent to describe the sight that stood before us. We stood with the cranes, on top of the infant city with the knowledge that it will mature into a fine speciman, a leader in the free world and also of the enslaved.)

Upon departing the Pergamon, Brad & I went to Fredrickstrasse for lunch. We left Adam at the museum; Eva had to depart for wherever she was going for the weekend. The restaurant we chose was excellent, but skeptism abounded upon entrance. It took quite awhile to be served, though it was worth the wait. Thirst had seized us, Cokes were all important. The food was good, too. We had found the arts district of Berlin; by sight one could tell this area once was glamorous, tuxedos and evening gowns had adorned the streets, motorcars of the prosperous parked in front of dazzling hotels, now hollowed by a century of evil. Despite the deterioration of these buildings, a symphonic air still lingers as a reminder of glory days passed and hope for the future.

I can't remember the rest of the day, only the waiting in line for train tickets, for which we were too late to make reservations, Brad being upset by that (probably because he wouldn't get his beauty sleep.), and the actual waiting on the train with Adam, Tim, and Brad, listening to my Dancemaxx CD that I had bought at a CD shop by the Kaiser Wilhelm Kirke earlier in the day. We had split up after the failed reservation episode, though Adam sort of followed. I looked at a junk market and went back to the hotel. Here I find a five hour gap; I remember not dinner, only waiting around for Tim and the bus ride to the Zoo Station.

End journal entry

Potsdamer Platz is finished now; I wonder what it looks like without the towering cranes and skeletons of skyscrapers. I really want to see Berlin again.

If we had blogs in 1999: Evil lives

In this entry from my 1999 Transatlantic Seminar journal, we spent half a day in Oświęcim, Poland, forever to be known by its German name that became a synonym for evil. We were treated to a beautiful spring day; I couldn't get over the irony of blues skies and mountains on the site of one of the most heinous chapters of human history. I tried to imagine the terror of the camps' prisoners. I tried to feel the souls of those who had perished. I tried to picture a snow of human ashes falling from that same sky, gaunt faces peering out from crowded bunks, stolid guards in clean, pressed uniforms performing the work of the damned. Instead, I had sunshine and chirping birds.

I still remember how I felt that day, the otherworldly pain, a profound connection to the communion of souls that is humanity. Is it possible to understand how the homo sapiens sapiens species can implement the systematic eradication of a group of people based on the coincidence of their birth, having come into this world with Jewish genes, or gay ones, or having had the grand misfortune of natality on the European continent at a time when it was trying to annihilate itself? I don't know. I don't know if there is any explanation, if there is any reason, any at all. What is it about human beings that drives us to such destruction, that lets it happen over and over again? It's no wonder people believe in the devil. The devil is real, and he is us.

As always, spelling, grammatical, and factual errors have been preserved. Today's comments are in red italics.

Begin journal entry

We took the bus to Auschwitz the next day, a beautiful day which shouted the absense of clouds from across the mountain tops that stood at a majestic distance. Like I said, I was learning to write. It wasn't always pretty, but at least I had gotten past the "It was incredible" phrase I had used to describe everything I saw during my year in Luxembourg.  Bus rides are such a wonderful way to see a country. The thing that stands out in my mind more than anything about the trip is the people with their hoes and shovels, working their small plots of land without a machine in site. Poland was very poor and the land still divided into plots, having suffered communism a mere decade earlier. Our arrival to Auschwitz was not what I had anticipated. I hadn't been aware that there were two camps, and I didn't feel the impact of being there until we got to Birkenau. When we first got to Auschwitz I, Bill wanted to take a guided tour. Guided tours are disgusting at a place such as this; I'm glad we didn't take one. I don't like guided tours as it is - they don't permit time or silence for reflection. We watched a film before going out. At the entrance to the camp were the infamous words "Arbeit Macht Frei." Posted above every concentration camp, "Work makes you free" is a chilling sight. Bill chose to clear phlegm from his throat about this point, leaving a large puddle of mucus on the ground. Long live America. Disgusting. We looked around the camp for awhile, went to a few but not half of the exhibitions. I grabbed some pastries and a Coke before departing for Birkenau and the lingering horrors of the extermination camp. These horrors woke up within me upon seeing the same sight that was the last sight from outside the camp's barbed wire that most Auschwitz Jews ever saw. The experience was frightening as I searched for an emotion within the same ballpark that could imitate what those brought here felt as they awaited their doom. It proved to be impossible as life's ironic sunshine tanned my skin and birds provided sweet music, perhaps as part of a calming peace that seemed to hang over the green pastures of the cemetary for the living. The picturesque mountains and the breezy trees took my sense of historical reality time and time again, but I only had to step into a bunk room in solitude to remind myself that the tales I had heard so many times had actually happened. The most telling and fascinating remenent of the ordeal was a painting on the ceiling by an unknown artists. "Konigsgraben" was its title. It will forever remain in my mind as strong and vibrant as it did the first time I saw it. And it has.

The most important lesson I received from the visit was the realization that the more I know, the less I understand. Perhaps it's not meant to be understood. But the sheer existance of such an idea is enough to make me wish I hadn't the capacity to contemplate it.

Krakow pics on left, Auschwitz on right

End of journal entry 
______________________________________________________________________________


The serenity of the day was a statement: that this is what our beautiful planet would be like without the scourge of human parasites who collectively have no qualms about its destruction.

The Jewish Holocaust is not the first of its kind of tragedy, nor has it been the last. Did we learn anything from it? I don't think we did. Sadly, genocide is a common theme throughout history, and there have been many genocides since World War II. After the war the global powers created the state of Israel and the world war moved to the Middle East, where it continues to persist, as rockets rain down on Israel and Palestine, both sides intent on obliterating each other in the name of something they can't even remember anymore. ISIS is currently destroying everything in its path in the name of some ideology, erasing Iraqi culture, history, and people. Assad has used chemical weapons and mass destruction against Syrians who aren't of his ideology. Capitalist ideologues are destroying everything, too, but that is for some reason permissible, no matter the human price, no matter how many sweatshops are built or how many miners die over conflict minerals so we can have the latest iGadget, no matter how many people suffer cancer from unbridled pollution and chemical contamination or how many terrorists are created in our lust for oil, no matter how many Americans die because we refuse to limit guns or because we permit pharmaceutical companies to sell whatever they wish because it's making someone rich. Why? Why why why?

Ideology is a dangerous disease, the most dangerous of all diseases, of all harms. Nazism was one of a seemingly unlimited number of ideologies that have plagued human existence since our supposed evolution from inferior beings, but the horrors of the Holocaust are greater because it happened so swiftly, wiping out a significant percentage of an entire group of people. Everyone should have to stand on the soil of Auschwitz and think about what happened there and why it happened. Everyone should realize his role in it happening, even if he weren't born yet, because how it happened then is how it is happening now and how it will happen again.

If we had blogs in 1999: Kraked out on Poland

I continue the journal of my 1999 Transatlantic Seminar on the European Union. Our time in Prague was short, so we had an extended weekend to travel on our own. Some of us went to Krakow and Auschwitz in Poland before heading to Berlin, where our seminar continued on Monday.

As always, spelling, grammatical, and factual errors have been preserved. Today's comments in red italics.

Days of the same speech passed, and we were to quit Prague for Krakow. Meaning all of the seminars in Prague seemed to be the same speech on the idea that joining the European Union would solve all of the country's problems. Bill, Abby, and John came along for the ride but really were noisome tag-alongs, sucking all of the adventure from Brad's and my weekend. Brad's and my. Really? At first it was ok; I was glad to have people come along. They just ended up being the wrong people. The train ride from Krakow that's supposed to say "to Krakow" was spent in couchettes. All five of us were in one cabin. Once again, at first, I thought it'd be cool. I'd never been in a couchette before. Brad & I were going to get them from Paris-Prague, but we waited too long to make reservations. All worked out, as we got a cabin to ourselves to catch a couple hours of sleep. The couchette was different. You could only lay down - there were no options. We couldn't play cards, have wine, or even talk. It was very uncomfortable, but Brad's vanity would except oops nothing less. It was about this time that I noticed the vanity; however, at this point it had not yet become a problem. Brad acted differently than he had been at MUDEC. At this point, I can't say what it was that was different, but I remember he didn't have as much patience for the budget travel we had enjoyed before. Maybe it was because the program booked us in four star hotels, and spending the weekends in hostels was just not as appealing. To be honest, though, any tension between Brad and I was simply the result of being together 24/7 over eight weeks of a very exhausting trip across Europe.

We arrived in Krakow and immediately began searching for a hotel. John, Abby, and Bill, henceforth known as JAB collectively, didn't mind paying for a hotel with four shimmering stars giving their light from within. Brad & I would have settled for a hostel. We settled for an overpriced two star for $30/night, breakfast not included, no bathrooms in the rooms. It was across from the train station. I hadn't slept on the train. We all wanted to shower & crash, but it was 7am - our rooms wouldn't be ready until after 2pm. Set out to explore Krakow is what we did - JAB convinced that nobody could be apart. I was cranky already, bad news for the other weary explorers. We searched for a place to eat breakfast. They wanted McDonalds. I think I threw a fit. I had vowed to abstain from fast food for the duration of the trip. See my If we had blogs in 1997 and 1998 series on eating American fast food in Europe. I don't remember where we ate. I just wanted to get away from Bill's obnoxious American behavior. He was so loud, so loud, SO loud and already I was tired of him. I remember now. We ate breafast in the hotel. It was a European buffet. We had a little trouble with the guy with the tickets, since we had none, but the breakfast was good. I ate fifty rolls. We sat at a table that was reserved for someone else. Oh well.

I so wished we could go up and nap. This huge group of Asian males, I think they were Japanese, had been drunk in the cabin next to ours and stayed up all night. That was a reason, one of several, for the lack of sleep that we all shared. My main reason was that transportation and sleep do not mix. I can't sleep on trains. That's why we crashed in the park after we went to Wawel. That's the castle in Krakow. We all went. Every child in Poland was there on the field trip. We took pictures with them, though they didn't know it. It was great fun. The actual exploration of the fortress was not as interesting. The climb up the bell tower was quite frightening, as I tripped up the worn, narrow, old, old passage way. The view was quite breath taking, as all views are forced to be upon ascent of a dangerous trip to the top. Ugh. That sentence. Or perhaps it was that exact climb that took my breath rather than the rooftops of an old Polish city. At any rate, the climb was worth it. The bell was cool, too. I only had a moment to enjoy my solitude at the top before a group of school children crowded the room.

The other big adventure in Krakow came after a brief nap in a park. The park was packed with sunbathers by the river. I couldn't sleep long; there was much to explore. I walked the river's edge as the sun scintillated across the calm of the water's flow. Scintillated. I had taken the GRE in April. My vocab had greatly expanded, but I was still struggling to use it without sounding awkward. And I thought it was pronounced "skintillated." I just wanted to see what was around the bend. The bend kept bending and I kept walking. I walked for 20 minutes and decided to turn back, but wait - what's this? I had to explore a picture of serenity that passed before my eyes. As I was looking through a large yard of grass to a church across the way, I noticed a bunch of men in white robes who were running and came to the conclusion that I was standing at a seminary and these guys were late to class. Further down the way I saw the corpse of an old church, no doubt the victim of a murderous Soviet regime. What I meant by this is the communist rulers of Poland who had taken their orders from Soviet Moscow. Even now I'm still fascinated by the effects the Soviet Union has had on the satellite countries, especially in the post-World War II rebuilding phase. We were a mere decade removed from Solidarity and the collapse of the Iron Curtain; the Communists had neglected so much. Buildings that had been damaged in World War II often went unrepaired or were patched up with cheap concrete. Although the new communist government gave the Catholic Church more room to operate than you saw in other countries, rebuilding churches and repossessing church properties that had been confiscated by the Nazis was costly. Many were never rebuilt. Post-war Poland was a drastically different country than it had been before the war, and communism ensured it would never resemble what it had been.  I tried to go up to the church, but large fences kept me out. I walked through a residential area and was saddened by the obvious economic problems of a crumpled nation. I felt at the time as if something had called me to this area for a reason, though I never found what reason that was. I was halted in my quest to find an answer by my urgent need to find a restroom. Always the same ending. I headed back to try to find the others. Even Bill, who had skipped Wawel to sleep in some grass by a road, was gone. I wondered if he had been arrested. I walked up and down the street for some time, finally deciding to go to the hotel. It was 2pm. It was time for a nap. The others were there when I returned. I fell asleep. I was awakened for dinner. I was grouchy. We, or should I say JAB, were discussing plans for the rest of the weekend. I wanted to stay, but I thought Brad wanted to go, so I didn't say anything. I later found out that he did want to stay. At any rate, we were going to Auschwitz the next day, even if it was to be our last in Poland. Bill had found a place to eat lunch and brought us back there for dinner. It was good. I had some soup with horseradish and quali eggs, which were wierd, a good entree, and some great beer. John had a whole trout - pretty disgusting. I have since learned to deal with being served a whole fish on a plate. It was good atmosphere and inexpensive. We had thought about going out after dinner, but only Bill ended up doing that - the rest of us were still exhausted.

End of journal entry 

That's Brad posing with Polish kids, middle top left, Wawel Castel in middle left, and John staring at his whole fish, bottom left. Auschwitz is on right, will post that entry in next post.

____

With that, my description of our time in Krakow ended. The purpose of our trip to Krakow was to visit Auschwitz, anyway, but I was surprised at how much I liked the city. It has been to this date my only venture into Poland, a neglect that must be rectified some day. The sooner, the better.

A guy I know on Twitter visited Krakow and Auschwitz last week and has been blogging about it. I encourage a visit to his blog. Here's his post on Krakow. Read that, then read the rest.

Next up, Auschwitz...

Saga

I had to laugh when I saw the email in my inbox.

"Cathie, now is a great time to restart your membership."

The email was from Netflix. While I'd love to go into the details of why I cancelled my membership in the first place (type of movies weren't my thing, don't watch TV shows, etc.), my story is one far better than what can be found in a Netflix movie selection. You see, mine is a real life drama, full of crime, heartbreak, courts, shady characters, romance, and vampires (of a sort.)

The story has no beginning, for everything that has ever happened in history has had some effect on how I ended up at the ugly house on Kenyon Street. At the time I moved in, I could have afforded to pay twice the rent of the place. But I thought I'd be frequently traveling (mostly for a long-distance relationship) and wanted to use the saved money on airfare. Funny how things never really end up the way you think they will.

I ended up taking an $800 room in an apartment with four total rooms and a shared kitchen and bath. I rented from - and let me use the dickhead's real name here - Evadin Galeano, an illegal immigrant from Paraguay, who had two rooms for rent at the time. Evadin collected the rent from the other tenants and paid the landlord, whom we'll call "Gary," in one sum. I gave Evadin a rent check on October 1, 2011, as well as a check for a security deposit. I signed no written lease and didn't think that was a big deal. I didn't know who the landlord was and wouldn't for quite some time.

I lived a quiet life. Evadin ordered DirecTV, which I received as part of the rent, as well as internet, so I was content with the living situation, even though there were some issues with the place. My work situation, however, deteriorated rapidly. I had gotten a great job at an international media development think tank, where I was supposed to focus on "digital media" issues. I did not anticipate working with Sycorax. I did not anticipate the necessity of having three people load a cart of soda, with Sycorax screaming down the hallway if three people weren't doing the job of one person. I did not know that you can't separate "digital" issues from traditional media, that one is the evolution of the other, and that I would struggle to define my job duties. Sycorax treated her staff...how to put it? Let's just say that three people in four years had left the team of five because of her, and around Christmas time of that year, I led a mutiny that resulted in our human resources director telling her one Monday morning that she was going to lose her entire staff. She was subsequently sent to management and sensitivity training.

Nothing got better. I could barely get out of bed in the mornings, the dread weighed on me so. What do we Americans do in times of great stress? Some exercise. Some do yoga. I made myself a regular at Lou's City Bar. At about the time I couldn't take the abuse from Sycorax any longer and resigned my position, I met an obnoxious guy named Chris. He listened to me complain about Sycorax on a nearly nightly basis, and though we were just friends at the time, he was the first person I texted with the news that I quit.

We started dating around my last day of the job that April. By July, he had moved into my room, and he's been there for two years now. In those two years we've had many problems with the place (pestilence, dripping faucet, an electrical fire, and more.) Evadin, who was supposed to manage the property, was very slow in telling the landlord to fix things, and the landlord was even slower to fix them. But we finally met him that autumn, after I'd lived there for a year. We had periodic contact with him after that, and Chris even helped him work on the apartment above us. He knew we lived there. He knew Evadin rented the rooms and that two of the rooms were a revolving door. He knew it was essentially a boarding house, and he knew that it wasn't exactly legal. Apparently, though, he didn't know that Chris lived there.

I found a new job in August 2012 that was beneath my qualification level, a huge pay cut ($9000 a year less), and wasn't in my field. I didn't even have an office. I had a cubicle. I'd had my own office since I was promoted out of an assistant position in 2004. But it was a job, and during the presidential campaign, I actually enjoyed it. I received a big Christmas bonus, big enough to give Chris a trip to Italy for Christmas. That trip made me remember who I was, that I wasn't some admin person paid to put things on a website. I am a thinker, a strategist, a writer. I stopped caring. I went to the office for the paycheck. The environment in the office didn't help; no one cared about what I did, no one contributed, not even when I asked them to. I gave up on them. I gave up on the firm.

That's why a typo in an email changed everything. And why did I make that typo? Vampires.

Yes, vampires. Blood-sucking creatures who haunt the night. I'm talking about bedbugs. I wrote about it in my post Nightmare on Kenyon Street. Last September, about two years after I moved in, we had a major infestation. We think they started in the room next door, because I saw them crawling up the wall from the floor. I texted Evadin and told him we needed to get an exterminator immediately. I pulled everything out of the room, washed the walls with Pinesol, vacuumed every inch of everything, even mopped the carpet. Chris caulked the entirety of the baseboards. We discovered a cartoon-like mouse hole behind the radiator and stuffed it before sealing it. The wall was crumbling behind the radiator; we found a metal bar in the house and used that to help seal the wall up. There were holes in the closet, too, holes made by wear and mice, so we stuffed and sealed those. They had laid colonies of eggs in the boxspring we had recently gotten from Chris's friend in the Maryland suburbs (she was in no way responsible for the bugs), so our new bed was ruined and we couldn't get the old bed back. I bought bedbug mattress covers at $40 each to seal them in. We just couldn't afford to get a new bed, although the more than $200 I spent on combating our vampire problem could have been a deposit on a new one.

Two days later I texted Evadin again and repeated the demand, as there had been no action. The next day the landlord came over. It took him a week to bring us some bug killer, diatomaceous earth, and plastic-glued-to wood things for the legs of the bed. We were supposed to put the diatomaceous earth in them, which would kill them and prevent them from crawling up the legs from the floor. He said, "This worked when we had them before." When we had them before? BEFORE?

In the week it took him to bring us this supposed bedbug solution, I did not sleep a wink. How can you sleep when you have bugs crawling on you and biting you and you feel like your entire body is one big itch? That Tuesday, Bill de Blasio won his primary campaign in the New York City's mayor's race. Or, as a certain political research firm called him in an email subject line, "Bil" de Blasio, a congratulations message blasted to the entirety of the firm's mailing list by a sleep-deprived employee of said firm who had failed to notice a missing L in the name of the firm's most important client at the time. Oops.

Well, you know what happened to the vampires? Nothing. They'd go away for a week and come back. I continued to complain to Evadin. Nothing was done. I've sprayed, cleaned, vacuumed, rearranged the room enough times that Chris loses his mind, and they go away for a bit but always return.

Evadin had at some point last summer had lost his job or his visa (if he ever had one) and couldn't find employment. By October he found something in New York City. He said it was temporary, that he'd work there for a few months and return, so he sublet his room to the first guy who came along. I made bank transfers directly to his account instead of writing checks, as did the other tenants. He'd return every now and then to check on things, I guess.

The back room had been a revolving door of tenants since I moved in. People would rent the room, stay for a few months (or less), and leave. The failure to make repairs was sometimes cited, but mice in the room was probably a bigger issue. That, and the windows failed to open, which, in the summer months with no central air, made the room nearly uninhabitable. Because of the frequent turnover, there were gaps in rent payments from that room. Instead of pushing the landlord to make the improvements that would keep a tenant, Evadin fell behind on payments. DirecTV and internet kept being shut off and I'd have to text Evadin and tell him to pay the bills. He received a yellow envelope from the electric company at one point, indicating a final warning before power would be disconnected.

I paid for these things. I was pissed. Chris and I began to argue frequently because he didn't think I did enough. He thought I should withhold rent since I wasn't getting for what I paid for and because of the recurring bedbugs. Chris is an opera singer. Chris is LOUD. We bothered everyone, especially the people upstairs.

In May, the guy next to us, who's lived there for at least a year, was fed up with the bedbugs and told Evadin he was moving out. But Evadin refused to return the guy's security deposit (because he didn't have the money, no doubt), so the guy said fine, he'd stay another month and not pay rent. At the same time, a weird guy who'd only lived in the back room a couple of weeks moved out, so the back room was empty. Chris and I paid our share of June rent, and I - not Evadin - found a tenant for the backroom, a nice Lithuanian woman with impeccable English who was obviously well-educated. She was going to be a good tenant. We thought nothing more of it until June 23 when we found a yellow slip on the shelf in the hallway that we use for mail. It was a court paper. Gary the landlord was evicting Evadin for failure to pay June rent. The court date was a mere four days later. Neither the landlord nor Evadin had bothered to notify us. I had only received a text from Evadin a week or two earlier saying he was going back to Paraguay and the services would be cut off.

The paper said that unnamed people who live on the property should show up to the hearing. We called Chris's friend who is a lawyer and asked for some advice. He listened to the story, confused by the situation since we're technically subletters under Evadin's arrangement with Larry, and told us to go to the hearing.

We learned that the total rent for the apartment had only been $2000 a month. I had been paying $900, utilities included, and the three other rooms were paying $750. Take out $100 per room for utilities, and that's still $2850. What did he do with that other $850? When he had been living there, he was taking in $2100 after utilities, so he had been living there for free and collecting extra money from us. How on earth could he not pay electricity, gas, tv, and internet with $400 a month? (Water is paid for by the landlord.)

His thieving did not stop there. While he probably did not violate any laws by overcharging the subletters (before he stole our June rent money AND my security deposit, which I will never get back), he did violate the law by breaking into the room of the tenant who refused to pay rent and stealing his television, laptop, electronics, and, from what I understand, an impressive shoe collection.

Two of the tenants moved out of the apartment almost immediately. Chris and I showed up for the hearing, and Gary saw us. We had no clue what was going on. The tenant/landlord court hears up to 250 cases a day. You have to show up at 9am, and they go through a roll call. From what I could tell, most of the tenants don't show up, and the case is dismissed. Evadin's case was first on the list, and when it was called, it was dismissed because Evadin was not there. It happened so quickly we didn't even have time to speak up. Gary left. We sat for a few minutes trying to figure out what to do. That's when we decided to go to the legal resources center, where you can get pro bono legal advice.

We were there for two hours. Even they were confused by our situation. The subletting laws of DC are murky, so they couldn't even tell us what rights we had, if any. They suggested filing a "motion to intervene" so we could present our case to a judge and argue our right to stay, as we had paid the rent. Another hearing was schedule for July 10. Filing the motion was not without risk, however. If we lost, my name would be part of the eviction, making it hard to rent from anyone who did a background check.

In the meantime, tv and internet had been cut off, and we didn't have them turned on again due to the uncertainty of our situation. We didn't pay rent on July 1 because why should we if we were getting evicted? Evadin had stolen my security deposit anyway. If we ended up working things out, we'd pay up later.

On the Saturday before the hearing, I ran into Gary as I was leaving the house. He had purposely avoided us up to then, refusing to say anything to Chris when he saw him at one point. But I had filed the motion, and he couldn't ignore us anymore. He was scared. I had revealed to the court that he was running a boarding house when his license was for a single family unit. We talked for forty-five minutes until I told him I had to go to the farmers market before it closed. He didn't want Chris and I to stay because the people upstairs had on more than one occasion complained about our late night noise and fighting and Chris's drinking, which had gotten bad, probably due to the stress of our life situation. I saw his point. I had known we needed to be more considerate before this, despite the racket the people upstairs make and how we can't even sit on our back porch without their brats dropping food and drink all over us. Couples arguing makes everyone uncomfortable. Chris and I don't want to fight, either. We won't when we get out of this financial duress that is crushing us.

Gary and I never finished our conversation, and Chris and I went to the hearing on Friday, this time a bit more confident when Evadin's name was called. I said, "I'm a tenant in that case" and approached the judge, who read my motion to intervene, and despite Gary trying to say I had no case, the judge granted my motion. That didn't mean I had won the right to stay; it just meant that I had won the right to be heard. Gary was really scared at that point. We agreed to talk to a mediator before scheduling a hearing.

The mediator, Crystal Soloman, was excellent, and she should be commended. She dealt with Gary's eccentricities with ease. Gary had thought he was owed $4000 and that he'd actually get it. He's not the brightest bulb on the tree, and she had to make him understand that without a new agreement with us, he was going to be out the entire $4000, as neither I or the guy next door who wants to stay were legally obligated to pay him a dime, if he was sticking to his "it's one unit" story. We worked out a deal to pay July's rent, minus the two tenants who moved out because of the eviction proceedings, and Chris and I would become the new property managers, finding tenants for the two vacant rooms for August 1, when everyone on the property would sign a lease. We'll collect the rent, take care of the utilities, and make sure everything is up to par. What's more, as part of the agreement, the pests must be exterminated and repairs made. Maybe the best part of all is that our portion of the rent will be reduced by $200 a month even though the total will be increased to $2400. The only downside to the deal is that we're going to have to pay another security deposit, even though Evadin stole my first one. That's going to be a struggle for us to make, which could jeopardize the whole agreement. We'll have to manipulate paying the utility bills to buy us extra time, and there won't be any television or internet until we make that payment. But once we get through that, we're going to be ok.

Why such a fight to stay in a dump, you have probably asked yourself countless times as you've read this? It's the location, the neighborhood. We LOVE Columbia Heights. It's a community. We stop to talk to people we know as we pass on the streets. We drink beers with people like the local bank manager and the guy who runs the parking garage. Our friends are here. We have a big backyard with a (struggling) garden. We're a three minute walk from the Metro (same line as Nats Park!), the Saturday farmers market, the supermarket, and the Target, and five minutes from our local pub. You're not going to find a better deal for this neighborhood.

We're going to turn this place from a dump into somewhere people will enjoy living now that the thieving bastard is out of our lives. I already have plans to repaint the kitchen and hang some photos on the walls of the hallway to bring some life to it. I want to move into the front room, which gets a significant amount of light, so I can have plants and grow herbs even in the winter.

So why did I laugh at that Netflix message? Well, because I'm sitting in a coffee shop typing this story because I don't have internet right now. I don't have television either. I'm laughing because the entire situation is ridiculous and because it will all be resolved soon.

*wood knocked*

If we had blogs in 1999: Meet the Czech Rainman

As I continue posting my journal from my 1999 Transatlantic Seminar on the European Union program, I must remind you that all spelling, grammatical, and factual errors have been preserved. Today's comments in the journal entries are in red italics. The journal begins below my photos. 

The next part of our course was held in Prague, in the still newly created Czech Republic. The Velvet Revolution, which had peaceably split Czechoslovakia into the Czech and Slovak republics and ended decades of communist oppression, had occurred ten years earlier. A long enough time had passed that Prague had ceased to be the "new left bank;" the adventurers had moved on to Budapest by that time. Tourists who had been denied access to the beautiful city for so long now swarmed in hordes after those first new left bankers had paved the way for them. The Czechs were still struggling economically, but they were hopeful and excited about their prospects for joining the European Union and finally being considered part of Europe again.

I understood this. I didn't write about it because the week was a whirlwind and my journal entries are short, but I remember the feeling, and the subjects of my photos showed this. Here are some of them:

Onto the journal:

Bring on the Czechs (I need some checks), let us see how they define boredom. Prague, the left bank of the nineties. Early nineties, maybe. It's a beautiful city at about 7am, before it is littered with tourists, many american. Americans on Charles Bridge, Americans buying Russian winter hats with Soviet sickles and hammers on them. Americans buying t-shirts that read "They tell me I was in Prague but I don't remember" and pictures of drunken americans on them. Americans populating the grand square with three dollar beers when a couple of blocks over are half litres for sixty cents. Americans shopping at Wencelas Square for Levis at imporeted prices. Americans reenacting the scene from Mission Impossible. (I did that.)

I like Prague. It's just not one of my favorite cities. The language is frustrating. I actually feel like I'm in a foreign country when I go there. Food is good, and cheap, if you avoid tourist land. Beer is good. Great. The people aren't exceptionally friendly, but if I had to deal with all of those tourists...Prague has a strange, reserved feeling to it. Blame it on the commies. I wouldn't trust us westerners, either, after we gave the country to Hitler, then again to Stalin. We didn't give the country to Hitler, but we, the West, let him take it and did nothing to stop him. We did give the country to Stalin, at Yalta, where FDR, Churchill, and Stalin carved up post-war Europe.

Architecturally, Prague may be unrivaled in its splendor by any city, even Paris, though it may be past its bloom. It looks to flower again, a second life after a torturous quietus in this century of abhorrence and miscreancy against humanity. One of the things you'll see throughout this journal are sentences that feel as if I pulled words directly from a thesaurus. Well, I did. Although these sentences and the use of those words read awkwardly, they actually helped me develop as a writer. I first had to learn the words before learning how to use them. Outside the ring of tourism sit crumbling buildings, thirsting for paint, existing with bones broken, blood lost, and lungs screaming for air. The ring itself is of high quality gems like diamonds and emeralds. Garnets. Crystal. Fit for emperors. Fit for americans. As you can see, I was starting to realize our status as a neo-imperial power. Magnificent paintings adorn the facades, scintillating with golden trim, staring down at each person as if kings themselves. Americans cannot imagine Prague unless they visit. Not even if they see it on Mission Impossible. Obviously that movie had recently come out...

The seminars in Prague sucked. Boredom in its purest form I really don't need to describe them. They were all the same speech! How the Czechs are preparing for entry into the EU. Lovely. Credit goes to Kate for her interesting nomenclature. One speaker, a robot from Prague Securities, was dubbed "The Czech Rainman," a name not lacking veracity. I must say that was the best seminar, only because the man's lack of capacity for public speaking gave us permission to lend our attention spans to something other than his robotic monotone. Never once did we consider that English was not the guy's first language and that maybe he just didn't feel comfortable using it. Sitting at the far corner table in a darkened hotel wine cellar, we could not focus further than the microcosmic forces that were driving us. Coke became our savior, our weapon against sleep. Our pens became clocks, doodling away the time, and communication, notation covering the margins of our notebooks in an effort to entertain ourselves and each other. We conversed through paper, our rude snickers ignored by the Czech Rainman and Dr. Mason, though they were scarcely inaudible. We were americans, doing our thing, glorifying our reputation, and we continued to holler through beer stines throughout the evening and wee hours of the next morning. Yes, we were rude, very rude, during that session. But the guy really was a terrible presenter.

Birthdays and beer start with the same letter. Absinth does not. Neither does Guy, nor seminar. But he mixed them anyway, and lived through Czech Rainman to tell about it, and to advise against it. Absinth is illegal in the states. It is an alcohol that contains a hallucenegen. Enough said. A student named Guy had celebrated his birthday the night before and was really struggling that day.

End of journal entry.

That's it. My Prague entry ends there. No mention of speaker Alan Levy, founder of the English language newspaper The Prague Post and a well-known journalist who chronicled the Prague Spring and wrote the book Rowboat to Prague/So Many Heroes. Mr. Levy died in 2004, a mere five years after he spoke to us in his position as editor-in-chief of The Prague Post. What a life he had lived. Also omitted from my journal was our visit to the Globe bookstore, where I bought a signed copy of Mr. Levy's book, which I still have. There is a bit later in the journal under "Fun facts I learned" that says, "that the editor-in-chief at the Prague post defines the word arrogant, that the Globe is smaller than its reputation..." But being arrogant doesn't mean I didn't enjoy the session.

To be honest, though, aside from The Prague Post and the Globe, which were thrilling, the seminars were forgettable. So forgettable, in fact, that I don't remember any others. There was a session at the East-West Institute. That's all I remember, though.

There are a few other bits and pieces scattered throughout the pages of the journal, like when we were fined by the Prague Metro because Dr. Mason told us the wrong kind of ticket to get, and the four star Best Western, which I described as "disgusting breakfast, moldy yogurt, great rooms. Bridget was a good roommate except for the one drunken night." Whatever that was. And I loved the food. "Prague - the food is to die for, so is the beer. Dumplings, pork roast, so wonderful. $0.60 beer at that awesome restaurant under the bridge. Fantastic servers. Best food of all cities, excluding hotel dinners that we skipped." Though we had paid for dinners, the food was so good that we decided to find restaurants rather than eating what the hotels would serve us.

It was my second time in Prague. Unfortunately, it is also the last time I was there. Fifteen years is a long time, especially in a city that was undergoing a massive transition from one politico-economic system to another. I'd love to go back with all of the experience I've had, to see how it has changed, to see if those crumbling buildings thirsting for paint have been renovated, to see if there is still that hope for the future, to see how much the price of beer has risen...

If we had blogs in 1999: Bienvenue a Paris

I may have finished posting my 1997-1998 study abroad journal, but I have a lot more. I guess I didn't keep a journal during my senior year at Miami U, but I did keep one on the six week program I took after graduation in Europe, and it is much better than the other one. My mother bought it for me as sort of a joke. It is called "Trips Are FUN! A Travel Journal for Kids." I went all out with colored pens and photos and drawings. The writing is much better than my MUDEC journal, but still very amateurish. The first few pages are inane; please see the real stuff towards the middle of the page, as well as my commentary at the end. I've scanned the pages, though some have turned out dark around the corners because the book is slightly larger than the scanning surface.

The program was called the Transatlantic Seminar on the European Union, a course on the political economy and history of the EU, and was taught by Dr. Warren Mason, a man who had been instrumental in establishing the Miami University Dolibois European Center in Luxembourg, where I had attended during my junior year. I was one of two graduate students in the seminar and had separate sessions with Dr. Mason that sometimes I felt I had to bullshit my way through because it was rather theoretical at times, though now I laugh at how I struggled to grasp the material since I live in that realm today. In fact, I learned so much from the course that I was hired by the Center for International Private Enterprise a few years later because I had demonstrated a sound understanding of institution building. I had taken Dr. Mason's EU course during the prior semester, so I was well-informed about how the EU worked. I should note that the euro didn't exist in paper form at that time, but it was already the currency of exchange and prices were written in both the national currencies and the euro.

Most of the students had never been to Europe. Brad and I were the only ones from MUDEC and we spent nearly all our time together and traveled to the same places on weekends.

As with the last journal, I will preserve all spelling, grammatical, factual, and emotional errors. My current day thoughts are written in red italics.

Before the Trip

Interesting facts about where I'm going: Paris is the place where they used to have this thing called the guillotine that chopped off people's heads when they were bad, or even if they weren't bad.

Prague is the place where Charles IV ruled at the same time he ruled Luxembourg and he has a bridge named after him and Jim Phelps fell off of it when he pretended he was shot in Mission Impossible.

Krakow is in Poland.

Berlin used to have this big wall around it but then some people got mad and started painting it but it was so ugly that they tore it down and then had a big party.

Number of miles between here and there: too many

Things I plan to see and do
Here's a drawing or picture of something I hope  to see on my trip
 

I plan on seeing this big tower with a flag on top and some churches and some old buildings and some skinny streets and some idiot drivers and lots of statues of famous people and a club called the tourists and some fountains and a lot of shops. They speak funny and eat strange things and drink stuff called wine and beer and I can't wait for that part. I'm going to see some rivers and mountains and I get to ride on trains and go on an airplane across a big ocean. I get to stay in hotels and see people who work talk to us and I'm gonna meet new people and go to things called bars and I'm gonna walk a lot and sleep in parks and cross old bridges to new sides of the water.

How I got ready for the trip

I packed my suitcase which is really a big backpack and another bag real full with nice clothes and stuff like soap and shampoo and toothpaste until nothing else would fit. I had to take stuff out and put it in again because it wouldn't all go in so my bag would zip. I carefully chose 24 CDs that I could not live without for the next 7 weeks and 3 of those were U2 and 3 were REM. I had to find addresses of my  friends so that I could send them post cards like to Andrea and Vicki when I was in Dublin and to Matt and Erika and the others who lived in Luxembourg when I did so I would send them post cards from Luxembourg when I got there. I didn't bring my pillow this time because it was too big. I called a few people just to say bye but it was wierd because I didn't feel like I was leaving and I knew 7 weeks would be over way too fast and I'd be back and bored before I knew it.

Stuff I got for the trip           

I got lots of stuff. I got a new suit. It's black. I got shoes too. They're black too. I got a new bag from Eddie Bauer. I don't know who he is. I got some film for my camera so I could take lots of pictures. I also got lots of batteries for my discman, and a new alarm clock. Oh, and I got some gum to chew on the plane just in case my ears started to pop so I could make them stop.

Here is a drawing of some of the stuff I got for the trip

Stuff I packed for the trip   

1 suit                    three t-shirts                   1 sandals        

1 pants                 2 shorts                          1 shoes

1 skirt                  1 coat                             8 underwear

1 jeans                 1 hiking boots                 8 socks

three hole punch                       1 long sleeve t-shirt

1 briefcase                                towel & washclothe

toiletries                                    laundry detergent

Ulysses

17 roles of film & camera

discman with 24 CDs & 20 batteries

binder & notebook

waist pouch1 GAP bag Garfield PEZ dispenser and refill  

On the Road  

How I traveled (car, train, plane,etc.) 

The plane ride was rather uneventful. I was bored. It was quite painful actually, not only mentally, but physically as well. My legs bore a pain of immobility, and my skin cracked from dehydration only planes and deserts could imagine. Of course, my boredom could have been eased had I tried to do anything besides sit there. I bought Ulysses to read while on the trip, and I also had the packet with which Dr. Mason so thoughtfully provided us. The packet is packaged in blue, the color of the EU flag, and countains academic reading materials that I have since decided not to read. 

Who went with me/New friends I met along the way

Brad sat directly in front of me. Next to him was Jen, who also sat next to Adam. Behind Adam was Kate, who provided the other piece of bread that a girl of whose name I am still uncertain (Mariem?) sat between. I managed to get less than two hours of sleep, and those brief moments were sporadically interruptions of extreme discomfort. I was awakened by strong bouts of turbulance, and these rude inconveniences led me to think each time that there was something wrong with the plane. Each time I regained consciousness provided me with seconds of fear that I would be plunging into the Atlantic ocean. Anyway, I touched down safely at Charles de Gaulle and was immediately annoyed by those group members with whom I would have to interact on a daily basis. Despite the fact that we touched down a little after noon, we did not get to our hotel until three. The worst part was that we had to wait for the idiots to exchange money and eat and make stupid american comments like <<I can't understand why they won't accept american money here.>> Because it's FRANCE, you dumbasses. However, when we finally embarked on bus from the airport, I was able to drown the buzzing sound of american english and one annoying analysis of Paris by Dr. Mason in my enthusiasm for my Parisian arrival.  It was annoying because it was basic info of which I was well aware. I had probably not known the first time I went to Paris, but I couldn't recognize the newness to everyone else, even exhibiting snobbery as a result of my well-traveled experience. Nevermind that we had all acted the same way when we first arrived at MUDEC. But I also remember feeling annoyed because I wanted to show the students around and teach them what I had learned, but they didn't seem willing to, um, utilize my services.

Photo is of Rodin's Gates of Hell sculpture at the Rodin Museum. ESA (European Space Agency) and SNECMA (defense contractor) were two seminars for the course.

We settled in to our hotel. Three stars, very nice. My Parisien roommate was Megan. Nice, doesn't drink, thinks she knows everything about Paris, takes long metro routs, sycophant, clean. I wish we could keep the same roommates. We slept for a half hour before meeting in the lobby to sight-see. Mason led us on the tour of embarrassment. Here we were, 25 jet-lagged americans, loud, obnoxious tourists following the mother hen. Mason had on a black leather coat and looked as if he were European. This tour began with a trip to Gare de Saint Lazare to eat, which of course, I found to be quite annoying. Because everyone wants to eat at the train station when they go to Paris... There I found who the people were who had been to Europe before, and of course, they knew everything about the continent. Pot, meet Kettle. Eric speaks fluent French and is the picture of prentention, Abby went on a summer program, though I don't remember which, and a few others have been, but I ignored their omniscient talent.

Pics from the Paris portion of our trip.

 

Interesting stuff I saw along the way  
Opposite page is for "Drawings or Pictures," but I wrote (Pictures with words) and text

On the first walking tour, after the train station, Mason took us to see the department stores. Our hotel was only a couple of blocks from Au Printemps and the rue of department stores, including Galleries Lafayette, which is really amazing inside, if you can mind the crowds. It was here where I caught a glimpse of my first euro price tags, on a case of sunglasses - or was it watches - one of the two anyway. When you get to the center, there is a dome with circular balconies descending from it, and the merchandise can be seen on these balconies from below. Leaving the Galleries, we then proceeded to the Opera House which is beautiful inside and out (despite the scaffolding.) I had never before seen it. Standing inside, I imagined myself ascending the red carpeted staircase in an evening gown, about to witness one of the great Italian operas, music swirling about as a gentle breeze, only the music began to swirl like a gnat in my face when I awoke from this fantasy. I left the building, and turned around to encounter a grand structure that added to the Parisien attitude that had constructed everything to make a statement. Following the opera experience, we walked to the place de vendome, a rich man's place that included numerous jewelry stores and the Ritz, swarming with Mercedes and BMWs.

Upon our passage of this grand place, we came to the Tuilleries, much thanks due to Brad's persistance. Dr. Mason had obliged, but did not allow us entrance to the garden of my own Parisien memories. Instead I was made to stare at the wooden longhouses and teepees of a Quebecois cultural exhibition, and I commented on the fascination that could be evoked by a European emotion not familiar with the culture of the American Indians of which we have learned throughout our days of suburban elementaries.

How embarassing it was to line up along the grand boulevards like a giant rattlesnake that has just swallowed up the spirit of the Parisien air, shedding our American skin onto the streets and waiting for our next victim's stare so that we may prey again on its air. Relief came briefly as we returned to the hotel. Dinner came at a late 7 o'clock, and we at some sort of fishy appetizer followed by some questionable entree and desert. We did get free wine. The restaurant itself was a place of elaborate decor where I should have been 20 years older to have permission to sit there. I know that if I ever make a lot of money I will never eat like that. One day we did have this great salmon, but veal & hen are foods of the rich & snobby, and I did not feel comfortable eating there. I felt angry for having to pay so much for food I did not really enjoy. Also, the hotel, a three star, was $168 per night, which really upset me. I already have a huge debt, and some of these expenses have been completely unnecessary. Despite having learned a certain appreciation for food at MUDEC, I still had not refined my palette. I really was more upset that I was forced to spend more when I would have been happy with some brie and a baguette from a grocery store. I knew of hotels that cost $50 a night. I realize the logistics of keeping the students together, but, like at MUDEC, I was of limited means while the other students didn't have to worry what they spent.

The whole weekend was a complete blur. Jet lag descended over me and I just wanted to sleep. We went on a three hour walking tour with Mason which began with the president's palace and ended with the Hotel des invalids. Behold, an area of much grass...

Souvenirs I bought

Bought an eiffel tower key chain for mom’s shelf & a shot glass of Paris. Bought a shot glass from Prague and a Prague marathon t-shirt.

---------------------------------------

...grass, something at which to marvel in the midst of a city drowned in cemented oceans and finite space. There was a welcomed rush of activities as footballers danced through the green halls, limited by the barbed wire that was traffic and streets, emprisoned by their own city which sucked life from its colonists, only to project it back by means of a radiant energy too mythical to exist in the realms of the conscience. One throw seemed to break the confines of the city as I rushed to return a stray ball to its cell. It sailed across the street almost as if it were constructing a bridge that would allow me to traverse the river of my citizenship.

Alas, a comment blown my way by another American threw me into the pit of my own reality, and the moment disipated as quickly as it had come. Here I must mention that untraveled American tourists really are a bad breed. They think that everything should be as it is in the US and that everyone else is doing it wrong. I don't remember what was said, but I can imagine.

The day ended with a trip to the Latin Quarter, though the precise event is now unclear. There had been the night with Mason, his buzz and the crepes, now too distant to recall any real significance. The other night was the night at the jazz café, one in which insight came to me. This was the first night Bill led us to a place which did not exist, so he found an American type of entertainment to suit his ethnicity. Drunken American night #1. Brad and I left before the others and came across St. Eustace, an incredible church to which we returned later. We had no map, nor did we really need one, but we did manage to overshoot our destination by twenty minutes, so I called home from a payphone across from the Hard Rock Café. End of weekend.

It did not take long before I began to wonder if the trip was a mistake, especially after the ESA seminar. Four hours of utter boredom later, I had yet to ask a question. Nor would I that day. I had spent eight hours and thousands of dollars to get to this giant outdoor museum, and I was wasting time learning nothing at the European Space Agency. I’d love that seminar now. I understand the global defense industry, I love space topics, I have a better academic mindset, and frankly, I was a student who was in love with Europe and wanted nothing more than to go out and explore the world. For some evasive reason, the Parisian air failed to penetrate into the depths of my lungs, and I began to think the second trip to Europe killed its magic. Something was missing - ah, yes - Matt and Andrea, already the names clashed like eighties clothing. A year had passed and the two names had ceased to be words of the same language, and even had they remained together they would not have been here, in this mythical city, their absence like raindrops in the puddles of my discontent, clinging to other droplets consisting of the obnoxious american students with whom I was in company. An unfortunate condition it was, to be drenched, standing in the cold air of Paris filled with absense.

Dressed in a black suit that was too big and unaltered and armed with a briefcase stuffed with new notebooks and purse fillings, I sought knowledge to an unknown subject. I had not an idea about the topic of my research, only that it had something to do with the new governance of Europe. Question me, question me, I will not sound intelligent, for I have not a clue as to the theme of my journey, only a vague notion as to why I have returned to Europe drives me to take interest in any of the seminars. Into and out of the American Embassy, littered with extra security as a result of involvement in Kosovo, entrance and exit the Ministry of Defense - France has nukes and Europe doesn't! Through the walls of Aerospatiale sits the heated air suffocating some american students. Kill me now at SNECMA, for I cannot bear this torture! Return my money, FX Concepts, I don't give a damn about foreign exchange rates since I won't have to exchange separate monies in France and Germany! Get me a Metro ticket, I want to go home! But the Metro will not go that far, it can only get me to the weekend, when I will board a train (bored a train) to Praha.

______________________________________________________________________________

Current thoughts on those pages, in black to facilitate the reading process: 

You have to understand how exhausting it was. Imagine trying to sit through seminars, jet lagged and lacking sleep and trying to enjoy Paris for being Paris in the evenings. I'm not sure that I understood what the course was really about when I decided to take it. I'm sure I only signed up because it was a way to get back to Europe, though I really did have interest in the European Union. I mean, here's a continent whose history books are divided into chapters based on this war or that, and, after nearly committing suicide, found a way to ensure that if one started a war, they all would fall. This was a time when yet another war was happening in Western Europe's backyard, after the breakup of the Yugoslav states and the Dayton Peace Accord, when Kosovo was exploding and everyone was worried about the spillover effect. World War I, after all, had begun with the assassination of a Serbian archduke. Sure, there were Euroskeptics - they were the nationalists and the libertarians and the people who generally didn't understand why the EU was necessary, but though Europeans grumbled about it, there was a general consensus that it existed for the greater good. It's so different fifteen years later, when there are many people working to destroy the EU rather than trying to make it work and when some states are rethinking their participation in the euro entirely. Are we that far removed from World War II that we have forgotten all of its lessons? Have there been so many Hollywood movies about the Holocaust that people forget that wasn't why the war happened, that it was a tragic reaction to Germany's unfortunate successes? Do those who advocate against the EU as being "bad for business" not know that corporate ambitions aided Hitler's rise to power and continued to profit from the Fuhrer's exploits? 

The EU makes overbearing - and sometimes downright stupid - decisions on occasion. But this is because voter turnout is low for EU elections, ensuring that clowns find their way into office. And before you say it's not my business to judge Europeans for caring so little for or being hostile to the institution that can keep them out of war, may I remind you that we had to rescue their asses twice, at great cost to us, and that we would do it again should they need it. One would think that avoiding another continental war would be enough to motivate them to vote...

It's strange to think that my education came after I had left the university, that I ran on curiosity about the things around me and in history rather than academic ambition. I had yet to realize that I wanted to learn everything, that I wanted to understand how the world works and why people do the things they do, why wars are fought and people live in poverty or riches...it's funny, too, because then I thought I was well-rounded. I thought because I bought Ulysses and The Metamorphosis that it made me one of those renaissance folks who could tell you anything about anything in the world. It was the beginning of something, though. I was no longer confined to textbooks and required reading. A genuine intellectual curiosity was budding, and even though I felt bored in many of the seminars, it wasn't as if I weren't absorbing the information. It was exposure. I suppose you could compare it to tee ball. The ball was setting there; it was just waiting for me to learn how to make contact.

Up next: Prague