After the smoothest flight across the Atlantic that I’ve ever had, we landed at Dulles around 1:30.  After a trip through passport control and customs, it was over.  Now my suitcases are strewn across the apartment and I’ve dispensed gifts to Yakov and the dog.

Speaking of Yakov, let me tell you a bit about what he went through with the puppy while I was gone.  While I was in Nashville for the anniversary party, Sasha came down with a UTI.  Yakov made a midnight run to the emergency vet to get her some antibiotics and pain killers.

About a week ago, I called Yakov to catch up.  When I asked him what he was doing he said he was taking care of the puppy because she has a splint on her paw.  Just like that.  Turns out she got her paw caught in the gate that goes around her area and broke a small bone.  After a day of limping, the vet decided she needed a little cast to help the bone heal.  The first cast didn’t last very long as Sasha chewed it off the next day.  Another visit to vet and another cast has left her looking like this:

Pitiful, no?

Needless to saw, it was quite a sight to see her wriggling like mad with one paw clunking on the floor and her lampshade rattling around.

It’s almost 6 pm and I’m still awake thanks to a decent amount of diet coke.  It’s fun to see the trees around our apartment start to change as the weather has cooled.  I’m looking forward to being back in my own bed after three weeks of various hotels.  (I’m getting tired, can you tell?  Sorry for the randomness.)  First up on the list tomorrow is replacing the cell phone that I lost somewhere in London.  And then loads and loads of laundry.  I think it’s going to be nice to be back.

Despite the rocky start when I landed in London almost three weeks ago, it turns out that it really was for the best.  I’ve developed a solid love for London that I don’t think I would have if I hadn’t had all four of those days in the beginning.

I used to say that if I ever ran away, you could find me in Florence (big surprise).  After this trip, I think I may change that statement.  Don’t get me wrong, I still love Florence and won’t ever turn down a trip there.  However, the number of bowls of pasta that I consumed in Italy made me realize that I really like the multiculturalism of London.  You can get a great bowl of pasta here if you know where to look.  You can also get really tasty Indian food, plenty of hummus, good bread, fish and chips, and, if you’re in the mood, mushy peas.  They also know how to make an awesome pot of tea.

Walking around today I heard more languages that one normally hears at Dulles’ international terminal.  I also don’t think that anyone would be surprised to hear that I could listen to British accents until the proverbial cows come home.   And let’s be honest, wry, British humor is really the best kind.  And where else can you see an awesome car like this just parked in a neighborhood:

So sweet.

The light this evening as I walked towards the hotel was incredible.  The clouds had been out for most of the day but cleared as the afternoon wore on.  The neighborhoods between Paddington Station and Notting Hill are beautiful on a normal day, but today was exceptional:

Who wouldn't want to live here?

In all seriousness, I think that my love for London may be one of the best things to come out of this trip.  It isn’t often that I take a liking to a big city, but I think the history seeping through the streets more than makes up for the size.  (It’s also probably because I haven’t seen anywhere close to all of it.)  It’s fun to look down streets and wonder what happened there 50, 100, or 500 years ago.

I’m going for a run in Hyde Park first thing tomorrow morning and then I’m off to Paddington Station to catch the Heathrow Express.  I won’t lie, I’m really excited to go home.  With the purchase of a toy for Sasha this afternoon, I’ve gotten almost everything I set out to buy.  And with the ratio of dirty to clean laundry leaning so heavily towards stinky, I’m ready to do some laundry.

There’s a lot that I haven’t written; stories that are bound to come out as I rehash things with Yakov or share pictures with my parents.  So stick around if you’re so inclined, and I’ll continue to provide entertainment.

It’s my blog, so I don’t always have to write deep thoughts about memorials and traveling.  I’m using it today for a different reason.

To Yakov,

Happy anniversary 🙂  Two years ago we had this awesome day surrounded with incredible friends and family.  I can’t think it without grinning.  I hope that we have many more years together.  Maybe I’ll even bring you on my next trip.

All my love,

Nathalie

Photo by Claire Meneely

It’s not always easy to decide what makes a museum, memorial, or monument a success or a failure.  It took until today for me to finally see a true success in Germany and it came in the most unexpected place.

* * * * * *

My first stop this morning was the Museum Haus at Checkpoint Charlie.  I went in to the museum with the wrong idea and it took me a while to realize how to properly approach the place.  The museum started in the 1960s as just a few exhibits in a two bedroom apartment.  It’s grown since then to over 2000 square meters of photo- and text-heavy panels.  The best part of the museum is the many fantastic objects that have been donated over the years, including a VW Bug that was modified to sneak people out of East Berlin:

There's a full-size dummy in there to show scale.

When I shelled out 12.50 euros to get in the museum, I expected modern, sleek exhibits.  Instead, I got hand lettered panels with poorly translated English.  It wasn’t until the third or fourth room that I realized that the museum itself is an artifact.  The exhibits grew as the wall did and items were added as they became available.  The result is a dated museum that, in my opinion, needs to change its marketing scheme.  Taken as the historical piece that it is, the museum is a fascinating account of how some Berliners viewed the events from the 1960s-1980s.

* * * * * *

Next on the list is the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe.  I read a few articles about this for Museum Studies classes and was excited to see it.  Behind Dachau (which I haven’t forgotten and will write about), this was the second great disappointment.

Here’s what architect Peter Eisenman had to say about his design:

The enormity and scale of the horror of the Holocaust is such that any attempt to represent it by traditional means is inevitably inadequate … Our memorial attempts to present a new idea of memory as distinct from nostalgia … We can only know the past today through a manifestation in the present.

While I respect and agree with this statement, I firmly believe that the field of stelae that he designed are a failure.  To me, a memorial should inspire reflection and reverence.  I have been to the memorial twice and have experienced neither of these.  The visitors I watched played tag through the slabs, lounged in the sun, and posed for artsy family portraits among the uneven stones.

Looking down a pathway.

I tried to find the meaning in the memorial.  I visited on Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the Jewish calendar.  I said kaddish to myself over and over as I walked through the memorial.  I wanted to be moved but found that the stones did not inspire me.

* * * * * *

Last on my list for the day is the Topography of Terror exhibition.  This exhibition is a series of panels outside on a lot just a few blocks from Checkpoint Charlie.  To be honest, I didn’t expect much.

Topography seeks to remind people that the business of the Third Reich was conducted in buildings on this very street.  With pictures that often came from SS and Gestapo files, this searing exhibit reminds us that there were individuals behind the horrible acts.  The labels and captions are fantastic and the font is clean and easy to read.

A panel showing some of the men on trial following the war.

Beyond these superficial aspects, this exhibit was the first one I saw in Germany that actively challenges the viewer.  The words of the curator say it best:

After 1945 this historic site was quickly forgotten.  Remains of buildings from the Nazi past had already been removed before the Berlin Wall was built in 1961.  This is a prime example of the way in which traces of a part of their history that the Germans had long since repressed and refused to accept were made invisible and eliminated.  This “site of the perpetrators” was rediscovered in the 1980s and has since gradually become re-established in the historical memory of Berlin and Germany as a whole.

* * * * * *

Every museum or memorial I visit shapes my understanding of historical and collective memory.  The three I saw today have reinforced my appreciation and love for Maya Lin’s Vietnam War memorial and the Imperial War Museum.  They have forced me to think harder about how a country must come to terms with a recent past that is painful to both inhabitants and foreigners.  I realize that there are countless books on the subject and I have read a few.  But nothing can be quite as powerful as standing under a cloudy Berlin sky and seeing Germany’s future through her past.

I wanted to come to Berlin for the history.  I wanted to see the wall, to see Checkpoint Charlie, and to walk the streets that I had read about in so many textbooks.  In my head it had a nearly mythical quality as such an unknown.  What would a European city feel like with so few old buildings?

When I arrived yesterday, I was astonished at the size of the city.  Yes, I had sort of looked at the guidebook I bought and yes, I sort of had a sense that it was big.  But between the crowds out in the shopping district surrounding my hotel and the fact that even though I felt like I walked a ways I barely made a dent in the map, I was a bit overwhelmed.

However, after this morning, I am a firm believer that the best way to get a sense of perspective in a city is to go on a long run.  My hotel is in a great location and as such made it easy to loop through the city – or at least part of it:

Click on it to see the webpage and make it bigger.

Sunday morning in Berlin is very quiet.  Nearly every store that doesn’t cater exclusively to tourists is closed for the day.  A few cafes were open, but there weren’t many people in them.  Thanks to great fall weather, I left the hotel at 8:30 and was plenty cool for the entire run.  While I didn’t have my camera with me, here are a few of the sights I passed during the run that I photographed later:

Kaiser Wilhelm Memorial Church, my favorite German monument so far.

Pieces of the Berlin Wall at Potsdamer Platz.

The Brandenburg Gate.

I ran from the former West Berlin to East Berlin and back.  I saw an empty, dilapidated block building that most likely dated back to the Russian era.  I ran through Alexanderplatz.  Through a covered fence I heard a very late after-party.  I ran through Berlin’s Tiergarten and found a weekend market.  I went back to the market in the afternoon and discovered wonderful treasures.  Despite the fact that I added an extra mile in the middle by missing one street, I would say it was a successful run.

Before I left I spoke with Stephanie and Cam about Munich and Berlin as they were in both cities recently.  Stephanie told me that Cam much preferred the romantic Munich while she liked modern Berlin.  Even though I still have two days left to explore the city and learn more about its culture, I think I’m going to go with Cam on this one!

Yes, I went to Dachau today.  However, because it’s Friday and because it’s going to take some time to pull my thoughts together, you’re getting something a bit lighter.  Happy weekend!

When I decided to make Munich a part of this trip, I did so without knowing that my visit would correspond with Oktoberfest.  It was my mom who put two and two together and told me about the timing.  As someone who doesn’t like beer and who isn’t so keen on huge crowds, this didn’t really excite me the way it might some people.

I arrived in Munich yesterday afternoon and walked through the train station, gawking at the men and women dressed in traditional Bavarian clothes, like lederhosen.  I’m sure I had a very silly look on my face as I tried to suppress the giggles.  I had no idea that locals usually attend Oktoberfest dressed to the “neins.”  (Sorry, couldn’t help it.)

What I hadn’t counted on was the atmosphere that Oktoberfest would bring to the city.  Even in the center city, away from the grounds of the festival, people were obviously enjoying life.  Yes, there were tons of tourists, but everyone seemed to share in the excitement.  Just check out these nuns:

There was one ring-leader who kept calling for the slow one to hurry up.

I wasn’t sure that I was going to actually go to Oktoberfest.  I didn’t quite know what to expect and in my head, I pictured massive tents and thousands of people drinking beer.  Nothing more, just rowdy drunk folk.  But on the train back from Dachau this afternoon, I decided on a whim to follow the crowd.

The actual site of the festival is just over half a mile from the nearest train station.  As I followed the hoards, I fell in beside a lone German woman in her “costume.”  We ended up walking side by side the entire way.  I realized that either of us could have simply walked away or varied our steps, but neither of us made the move.  As we reached the gates, she turned and spoke to me in German.  Flattered, but stupefied, I asked her to repeat in English.  She told me that “it is safer if we don’t go alone.”  Her comment clearly made me feel much better about my decision to go.

No mistaking this place.

It ended up that she was the only single female I saw in the entire place, and I looked.  Women came in groups or with their significant others.  Men came in packs, including one group from England with matching shirts made up for “Fergus’ stag.”  It was clearly not a place where women by themselves are at ease.

Once I got over the comment, I started looking around.  While it was only 2:30 or so, the grounds were filled.  There were vendors selling every kind of meat or fish sandwich you could eat.  Other stands had potatoes, pretzels, and other assorted carbs to soak up the beer.  Numerous kiosks were filled with roasted, coated nuts like almonds, hazelnuts and chestnuts.  Still others sold these typical German cookie-things:

Women walked around with these hung around their necks.

And then there were the rides.  It was like the state fair combined with Opryland (shout out, Nashville).  There were roller coasters, ferris wheels, and all kinds of spinning, twirling, make-you-barf-your-brats rides.  There were bumper cars, a carousel, a log ride, and haunted houses.  There were rides for small kids, medium kids, and big kids.  There were shooting games, darts, knock down the can games.  If it’s ever been thought of to go in a carnival, it was probably there:

Yes, it was as big as it seems.

I’m not forgetting the beer.  There were, just as I had imagined, huge tents and open seating areas filled to the brim with men and women drinking liters of beer.  I didn’t actually make it in to any of the tents, but the noises coming from them indicated that good times were being had by all.

[As a side note, the only falling down drunks that I saw were Americans.  I’m sure that will change later in the day, but I found it interesting nonetheless.]

I walked over every inch of the grounds before heading back to the train station.  At 4:00, when I left, the stream of people coming from the trains had increased to more of a gushing river.  Nearly every person was dressed for the occasion.  It was fascinating to watch men and women of all ages so excited and so in to the festivities.

Notice the lederhosen.

My time in Munich is brief and I’m leaving tomorrow morning for the nearly six-hour ride to Berlin.  While I mostly came here to see Dachau, I am coming away with knowledge about Bavarian costumes and German celebrations thanks to some very lucky timing.

Oh look, pictures to distract you from the fact that I’m still processing the “newness” of Munich and need to sleep on it before I write anything about my thoughts!

The Alps, as seen from the train from Verona to Munich this morning.

Taken from the top of the tower of "Alter Peter." Shout out to Cam for the idea!

Munich's Holocaust memorial. I didn't get to go inside so I can't explain any further yet.

Words from the project http://www.speaking-germany.de reflecting the memorial.

Tomorrow to Dachau.

As a bit of an aside, thank you to everyone who reads this and to anyone and everyone who comments.  It’s so awesome having you guys here with me on this trip and your support means the world to me.  Grazie und danke.

While this may cause my parents to consider disowning me, I think I fell a little out of love with Venice this trip.

I have read a few articles recently about how much help the city needs.  Experts argue that the city will surely sink in to the lagoon in our lifetime.  Others worry that soon there will be no true Venetians as more inhabitants move away.  Acqua alta was especially bad this season.  I’m not an engineer and don’t have access to local census records, so these aren’t the problems that I saw.

What I saw was a city in dire need of a break.  There is graffiti on nearly every wall.  There are gelato cups strewn around over-flowing trashcans.  Stores that cater to tourists hawk crap, giving the real merchants a bad name.  The city just seems tired.

I woke up early this morning to go for a run in the cooler temperatures.  I left my hotel around 7:45 (far later that I intended, but I slept just a bit past the alarm), and was surrounded by Venetians on their way to school and work.  I overheard a young girl chide her mother about being late to school again.  I ran past small pastry shops filled with locals having their morning caffe.  And as I left San Marco and headed towards the gardens pas the Biennale, I finally found a city worth visiting.

There were other runners on the paths but mostly it was people on their way to work.  Behind the gardens were rows of apartment buildings.  Crossing over a bridge, I discovered the city’s worn arena with gate numbers spray painted on the doors.  When I reached a point when I could go no further without swimming, I turned around and retraced my steps.

My return trip was slower as I struggled around the emerging tourists.  For anyone who has ever run a race, it was similar to the first mile or so when you have to bob and weave around the slower folks.  I returned to my hotel feeling better about the city.

Despite these improved feelings, I didn’t want to stay in Venice until the 4:20 train I had booked.  I wanted to leave on that high note rather than wander around feeling sorry for the place.  And so I left.  I caught an earlier train and we pulled away from Venice just before noon.

I don’t know if Venice will sink in to the lagoon or become an island of foreigners.  There is incredible history, architecture, and art in this city as influences came from inside and outside Italy thanks its location on the Adriatic Sea.  All of this should be appreciated and cared for, and I fear that in their hurry to check “visit Venice” off of life lists, most people miss the true, fragile city between the canals.

Ok, so Venice is beautiful, magical, etc.  However, the next time I come here, it’s definitely going to be closer to November, like the last time I was here with Yakov.  We had an incredible time seeing the city without battling huge crowds of tourists.  This time I’m not quite as lucky.

When I started in London, I was surprised to hear so much Italian.  There were tons of Italians there on holiday.  I joked to my parents that there wouldn’t be anyone left in Italy when I got there.  When I landed in Rome, however, most of what I heard in the tourist areas were British accents.  I hope they at least swapped apartments to save on hotel costs!

Florence seems to attract Asian tour groups.  There was one conspicuous group of Chinese tourists in the Uffizi when I was there.  The guide, with extended pointer raised to lead the group, herded them from one masterpiece to the next.  I don’t think they actually saw much of the gallery; they would skip whole rooms in order to go from Leonardo to Michelangelo.

And now Venice.  Or Venedig.  It seems that I planned my trip so that I could start getting used to hearing German rather than Italian spoken around me.  I’ll admit that the first time it got to be a little trippy was when I was sitting at a cafe in the Venice ghetto and the couples on either side of me were German.

They may not be all German, but there are TONS of tourists here in Venice.  Here’s San Marco around 4:00 yesterday afternoon:

They're like pigeons, they're everywhere!

Yes, I realize that I’m a tourist, too.  Fortunately, I’m one of the smart ones who knows where to go to get away from it all.  I think that’s one reason I went to the Indian restaurant last night.  My wonderful hotel is located in a mostly residential area of the city, meaning there aren’t as many over-priced, un-tasty restaurants as the San Marco or near the Accademia.

Here’s another example of my idea of a good time in Venice:

Looking out at the mostly empty campo from my spot at a cafe in the old ghetto.

And here’s my last rant for the day.  One of my favorite sights in Venice is the Bridge of Sighs.  It’s beautiful and for whatever reason, it was the first thing I really loved in Venice when I was little.  I headed over there yesterday afternoon to see it again and was greeted with this:

Seriously?

Yes, that’s the Bridge of Sighs surrounded with scaffolding covered with ads for Chopard jewelry.  My reaction can only be described in Yiddish.  I plotzed.  (PLOTZ: To burst, to explode. To be aggravated beyond bearing.)  Now that I think about it, this is probably what caused the drinking last night.

My siesta and rant session are over, so I’m heading back out to watch the sunset and hope for cooler temperatures.  I’ll work on being more positive and more generous with the pictures later.

It’s your first night in Venice and you’re thinking that it might be nice to do something different for a change.  What do you do?

A. Walk arm in arm with your sweetie down a moonlit canal as an accordion player croons cheesy Italian music.

B. Follow the tourist groups to find the most over-priced restaurant in Venice.

C. Stuff yourself with Indian food, drink 1/4 liter of Prosecco and then wander back to your hotel and drunk-Skype your husband.  And then blog about it.

Oh, did I give it away?  Yeah, I was in the mood for something different.  I’ll have deeper thoughts tomorrow, I promise.

Check out this awesome bed in my hotel room!

Buona notte a tutti!