Berlin to Meissen, 6/9/09

Sarah and I overlooking the Elbe River at Dresden

Morning, on the bus, waiting to go. Poor Steve has already been chewed out by the leader of the Biddies because the kids on the bus are too loud; so don't go on a school group, duh! Also, learning that the Colorado girls, hereinafter the Princesses, seem to think that they are somehow privileged, by virtue of their sheer awesomeness. Last night they hogged the one computer in the hotel lobby, so Becci, who was trying to send a message to Rachel, couldn't use it; they were checking their MySpace accounts or something.

Now waiting for latecomers; Steve told us up front that being late would not be tolerated. He said that if you are five minutes late you must sing and dance for the group, and if you are ten minutes late you will sing and dance at the empty spot where the bus used to be. It's a personal tic of mine that there is no excuse, short of a heart attack or car wreck or meteor falling from the sky, for being late. If you are habitually late then start 10 minutes earlier. It's nothing but being rude, figuring that whatever it is you do is more important than the people waiting for you. Just like on the river, you get up, get your gear packed, and get to the *&%$# boat! No such thing as Mormon standard time.

Later, on the autobahn, heading south. Had some comments by Steve and are now watching a documentary on the bus TV on the Wall. I'm already starting to dislike the Princesses intensely and it's only the first day. They always have to have the front seats, they are all so perfect, they all speak German so perfectly, their teacher is, well, perfect. Where we've been to two places, they've been to five. Yesterday they blew off the rest of the group tour because they had a whole list of things to do that were obviously cooler than whatever it was we were doing. I just hate pretentious people like that. It's the same with Herb, for exactly the opposite reason: always late, always confused, always a schlub!

Very green, very forested, very flat. I know this is the great Central European plain but flat country is always a surprise to me, having lived with relief all my life. Lots and lots of wind generators, and the autobahn very well kept up. As we go south, though, the land is gradually changing, with rolling hills starting to appear. We stopped at Moritzburg, a hunting chalet on a lake, built by the Wettin Dynasty, who ruled all of Saxony back in the day. It was beautiful; we only stopped for a few minutes, but it was nice to get off the bus and stretch our legs. This was the first of what Steve has called "lagniappes," which is a Cajun word meaning "just a little extra."

Moritzburg palace

Now in Neumarkdt in Dresden, right outside the Frauenkirche. Pretty amazing how all of this has been rebuilt from rubble; it says something about how much these people value their culture and history. In the US it would have been paved over for a WalMart. Got here and picked up Anka, our local guide, who is a grad student at the University here. We did a brief driving tour in the bus, during which I had a terrible time trying to stay awake. Then we did a quick power walk around the Zwinger, which is the old Wettin dynasty pleasure palace, and back over to here. I was thinking meh!, it's all new, not the real old buildings, but then it also struck me that we were seeing it like the people of the 16th century would have seen it, brand new and just built. Becci is chatting with some old couple about biking along the Elbe here; apparently they bike all over the country and just came back from a motorhome tour of the SW US, including Utah. Small world. The river is low but it's always a pleasure to see a river. One thing I'm continually amazed by is the amount of hand labor it takes to build these squares and plazas. They are made of what must be millions of little rocks, all shaped and placed by hand. I was a bit bummed that Anka charged off, us in tow, before we had a chance to hear the famed porcelain bells in the Zwinger tower. Have to come back and try to wait it out; I guess they go on the half hour.

Later, at a cafe overlooking the Elbe. Just out of the Green Vault, the treasure room of the Wetting dynasty, August the Strong specifically. Wow! Just amazing! Steve got us tickets to this instead of the hall of paintings or whatever it's called; you can always see old paintings but this stuff was astounding. Naturally the Princesses and the Old Biddies pushed their way to the front of the line for the tickets, so I pushed right after and past them. Jerks! But still, this incredible treasure room with gold, ivory, gems, coral, porcelain; on and on, it's just amazing. Words really do fail to describe the things we saw in there. Little statues, jewelry, figurines; it's really hard to describe. We also walked through the Frauenkirche, which was really impressive; again, it looked like it must have looked right after it was built, save that on the inside they had the old golden cross that had been on top of it that terrible night in 1945; it was all twisted and scorched, a reminder. Also walked along the porcelain march of the kings or whatever it's called, a long panel made of porcelain that shows the whole Wettin dynasty. After that we were ready for a break, so we split from the group, just Becci and Sarah and myself; the others wanted to shop and climb the tower (8 euros!) and we didn't want to do that. We found this very nice riverside cafe, with a view of the river, and I had a Raderberger Pilsner, plus for a snack we had some original Saxon (this being Saxony, after all) cartofflensuppe. Yummy!

The porcelain March of the Wettins

Later, back at the Zwinger, waiting for the porcelain bells. We're supposed to meet up with everyone on the other side of the square, at the huge statue of August the Strong, in about half an hour, but I really wanted to hear these danged! bells. Had to go really bad so I dashed to the WC, and thought I was going to get away for free, but just as I came out here came the pisfrau and I had to fork over my .40 euros. What a job, standing around waiting while people pee and take dumps, then cleaning up after them.

Later again, back at the statue; not August the Strong but Johann, whom I think is his son; who knows, he's one of those Wettin guys. The bells were very pretty if very brief; a few dings and dongs and that was it. I was expecting some carillion playing a tune, but oh well, they are probably pretty delicate. Thence out through the other gate on the other side of the square, just for a look-see, and took a quick look at the huge porcelain collection in one of the wings of the Zwinger. Didn't get to see the whole arms and armor collection, too bad. On the way back across the square to the rendezvous at the statue, we could see Garrett, one of our kids, doing a dance on the statue; too much energy! Tried to get into the Stadtsoperahaus, which is supposed to be fabulous inside, but it was closed for rehearsals of "The Marriage of Figaro." Wouldn't that be cool, to hear that inside there.

Berlin 6/8/09

Our girls. L - R: Sarah, Brooke, Annie, Ruby, Jamie, McKenzie

I think it's Tuesday; sort of out of touch with dates and times. My poor phone--the only one we brought, as Becci left hers and made Sarah leave hers at home--is totally confused and can't tell the time, it keeps sending me plaintive messages about re-setting the time; since it can't figure it out from the satelitte I'll get Sarah to set it manually. The clock on the TV thinks it's 3AM. Oh well, I'm on vacation, so I don't really need to know what time it is anyway! If this is Tuesday it must be Berlin.

Out on our lovely balcony; as noted before unitended consequences aren't always bad ones. Dropped off in mid-sentence when I was writing last night, just hit the jet lag wall and died at 8:30, but slept like one of the alte kaisers in the big mausoleums at Charlottenberg Palace, and now feel great. Birds singing, city waking up, just need some coffee and all will be right in my world. Yesterday is still sort of a blur, so much happening! And so tired and disoriented, but got through it all.

Our hotel was right by the Sophie Charlotte U-bahn station, only a couple of blocks from the Charlottenberg Palace.

Berlin has really changed in the ten years since we were here last. Then it was all cranes and construction and you could still see a lot of evidence of the war-ravaged, cold war city. Now it's a big bustling metro city, with busy streets lined with new buildings, hardly a trace of the old tensions. Berlin is much newer and busy busy busy. The government buildings we saw from our boat tour are all finished and very nicely done, and I couldn't see any of the old vacant lots left over from the Cold War and the divided city. Today the tour group is going to Potsdam and the San Souci palace; but Becci and I toured that pretty well when we were here last time and I doubt it will be much different, so we are splitting off from the group and spending the afternoon on our own. I've moved down to the lobby, on one of the pink and orange couches, waiting for the group to gather. This is a very modern hotel, all colorful and trendy and industrial chic. One of the staff outside smoking a cigarette in that back-handed European way, very characteristic. I was just musing that a few days ago I was sitting in the mist at Rock Creek Ranch in Desolation Canyon, talking to Butch Jensen, a real live cowboy; now here I am in a trendy hotel watching a jaded Berliner smoke a cigarette.

Later, after breakfast. Very nice buffet it was too, with good coffee and all kinds of yummy selections; much more than the usual hotel breakfast. Alles ist jetzt in Ordnung! After we finished breakfast we walked a couple of blocks with the girls to find a bank with an ATM, so one of them could get some money out. Brooke's card worked but Ruby's didn't, so we called her mother on my cell phone and got her out of bed, but she was glad to talk to Ruby and it turned out she was using the wrong PIN, so after that it worked and all are set. Now on the bus, going to tour around the central city, to the BrandenbergerTor and Checkpoint Charlie and so on. Waiting for our local tour guide I noticed that the trees outside the window has a number on it. When I asked why Becci said "This is Germany; everything has a number on it." Then the local tour guide showed up, a kind of typical Berliner, even though he's just like Becci: his dad was in the US military, his mother is German, and he was born and grew up here. He's a doctoral candidate at the Univesity of Potsdam; all doctoral candidates are smart asses, full of themselves, and this guy is no different.

Later, at the Gendarmmarkt, right in the Mitte, or middle, of Berlin. We toured around seeing the sights and our tour guide giving us tidbits of info, which were very interesting; one place we saw was the courtyard where Count Von Stauffenberg was executed after the July 20 plot, for instance. Then we stopped at the Brandenberg Gate and the Holocaust Memorial for an hour, which like the rest of the city is really changed. When we were here before it was still really run down and the wall, though breached, was still up in a lot of places. Now there's no trace of it save a line of white paving stones that go through the streets and sidewalks, and a stretch that's been preserved as a museum that we saw later. The Brandenbergertor was very cleaned up and crowded, lots and lots of tourists all over the place. Bought some postcards in a little shop and got my first cloth bag souvenir. Then walked over to where the Fuhrer Bunker used to be; when we were here before it was a big open field that even the dogs wouldn't cross, as was said; now it's all filled in with buildings and you can't tell where it even was. There were some info signs so all of our group walked over there and I gave them a talk about the battle of Berlin, the tens of thousands of killed, the devastated city, the Russian sack of the city. Then we walked back and went to the Holocaust Memorial, which is right by the B-Gate. It's a square of coffin-sized concrete blocks lined up in a regular lines, but the ground below rises and falls so that even though the tops are level, sometimes you can see over them and sometimes you are below ground. I thought it very effective, like the US Vietnam Memorial; it symbolized the impersonal nature of the camps and how people were just lost in them. Across the street was the Gay Holocaust Memorial, for thousands of homosexuals were also sent to the camps and killed, so we walked over to look at it. It's a big concrete block with a little window that you look into, and there is a film loop of two guys kissing passionately. That set the little Utah minds a-flutter! Thence back to the bus, where the old ladies from Michigan (hereinafter The Biddies) were complaining about the kids talking too loud so they couldn't hear the tour guide. So go on an old people tour, not a high school tour!

So thence to a section of the wall that's been preserved as an open air museum, and some of the art works are being restored and cleaned. Everyone took pictures and marveled; I left my Zia sun symbol mark on one panel. Then our final tour stop at Checkpoint Charlie Museum, which was very crowded and seemed a lot bigger than when Rachel and I had gone to it ten years before. Still the same place but it seemed they had expanded upstairs, and sort of changed the mission to a museum against oppression everywhere. Still very interesting, especially with Becci who remembers it all so well. She gathered up the kids and told them that when she was their age, she remembered going through Checkpoint Charlie and getting searched (i.e. felt up!) by the East German guards, and how it was always really scary. So after we got through the museum we were waiting outside; we had an hour or so before the tour bus for Potsdam showed up. It had clouded over and suddenly there was a huge BOOM of thunder and a flash of lightning, and then it rained like crazy for about 15 minutes. I don't know why I was surprised by the lightning and thunder, but I was. So, since we had time for lunch, and right across the street was a doner kebab shop, I led everyone over there through the rain and introduced them all to the delights of doner. Thinly shaved meat, cabbage, tomatos, garlic or yogurt sauce in a flatbread, yummy! My favorite food in Europe. Cheap, delicious, and filling. So then we shopped around a bit and it was time for them all to get on the bus for Potsdam.

Sarah without care ("Sans Souci," the palace at Potsdam)

One aside there: so we are all standing up under an awning, crowded in because of the rain, and Herb is collecting money for the extra that it's going to cost for the bus to Potsdam. He's waving around a whole fistful of Euros, saying loudly "Anyone else have money to give me?" We're in this dense crowd with all these gypsy women hovering around eye-ing the money he's holding out, and I was thinking "could this guy be any more clueless?" It was a perfect place to get your pocket picked, but as they say the gods look out for maroons, so he got away with it.

So, breathe a big sigh of relief, Becci and I are alone in Berlin. No mother-in-law, no tour group, just the two of us to take a stroll and four good hours to do it. So we did. Strolled by the Gendarmmarkt, where some Kaiser or other kept his French guards, went into Lafayette, a very-upscale French department store, thinking to get a cup of coffee but it was way too expensive, and then found an Ampelmann store for souvenirs. Ampelmann is the walking man signal on East Berlin traffic lights; after the wall came down there was a push to get rid of them but the public revolted and demanded that they keep and indeed expand the Ampelmann to the rest of the city. It's kind of a jaunty little guy with a hat, sort of insouciant, if you can imagine anything in East Berlin being insouciant. Apparently it's all the rage among the tourists so of course we had to get some postcards, pins, magnets, and so on. Thence up the Unter Den Linden, one of the classic streets of Europe, and were thinking about going to the Museum Insel to the Pergammon or one of those, but decided at the spur of the moment to go to the German History Museum; we were thinking it would have a nice cafe and we could get a cup of coffee and get out of the rain, which was intermittent. Alas for that plan, there was some big event planned so the cafe was closed to get ready for some big cheeses that night--and they were putting up a big TV set, stage, cameras and lights--but the museum itself was fabulous, just full of great exhibits of German history. Becci said that just a few years ago it had been a museum about the oppression of the bloated capitalists and their running dogs, this being the former East Berlin, but now it has been totally re-done and was really something. We went first to the I.M. Pei wing in the back, just to see it; the whole wing, including the elevators, were shaped like a lozenge (rhomboid?). Inside was an exhibit of photos of the wall coming down, since this is the 20th anniversary of that event, that was very interesting, since we'd just been through the Checkpoint Charlie Museum and the Wall. It was also full of loud and obnoxious German high-school kids, which are the same the world over, I'm sure. The other big exhibits were Polish views of Germany (not really good, I daresay!) and a big one on Calvinissmus, or Calvinism. We skipped the latter as we get plenty of Calvinism in Utah. But the main part of the museum was really nice; it was a shame that we were both so tired, Becci more than I was since she hadn't slept as well. At one point she sat down and fell asleep, which I went off to look at exhibits. When I came back there she was, fast asleep in a chair, holding the exhibit book. I tapped her foot and said "Kein Schlaffen im Museum!" like a guard would and she came awake with a start. But the museum was someplace I'd definitely go back to. In the visitors book I wrote the same sentiment as I mentioned earlier: "A week ago I was on the banks of the Green River talking to a real cowboy, and now here I am in Berlin. What a world!"

So by now the rain had eased and we were right by the Dom, the big cathedral (that our local tour guide had just hated; he went on and on about how much he hated it, for some artistic reason; I didn't care one way or another). So we sat for a while, fending off the gypsies, feeding the Berliner sparrows with the last of Sarah's doner, and wondering if we were in the right place, when finally here comes one of the guys from our tour, who had also skipped the Potsdam bus, and thus we knew we were in the right place. Then shortly thereafter here came the bus. Dinner that night was at a cafeteria/buffet family style chain that was over in the Alexanderplatz, the old central square of East Berlin. So, despite my sore feet, we marched over there past the famous TV tower and found the place and actually had a very good dinner. The place had ice water, of which I drank about half a gallon, or a couple of liters I should say, ice water being such a rarity in Europe. Also at dinner was our local tour guide, who had accidentally left his briefcase on the bus, containing his whole dissertation and all his research! He was glad to see that. So afterwards, some were tired and ready to go back, and they followed Steve the tour guide to the subway, but the rest of us were rejuvenated by dinner and decided to stay out and see some sights. So we walked back past the Dom to another Ampelmann store so others could get souvenirs (and take a great picture of our girls with the statue outside), had what Steve described as the best ice cream in Berlin, and then caught the #100 Bus toward the Zoo. When everyone said oh, we could go to the Zoo, since it was late I made my best ever joke in German, "Die Zoo ist Zu!" The zoo is closed. Ha Ha. We got the bus, it was a double decker one, so we all piled on, Becci being the tour guide as this was her home town. Got off by the "Rotten Tooth," the bombed out church, and walked through the Europa Center, a big indoor shopping area; I loved the big fountain, "wasserklops," but by then we were all starting to feel jet lagged so we found our way back by the U-bahn, Becci once again taking charge and navigating. She was a great tour guide and really seemed to be having a good time; she deserved it after the rigors of the past winter and all, I was really proud of her! But that last spurt of energy did us in, and we got back to the hotel and once again collapsed.

Down the Great Unknown 6/7/09

How I hate Times New Roman! I'll try to keep this blog in a font I like for TNR just sets my teeth on edge. I started this blog to record my experiences traveling in Europe this summer; it seemed like a better way to do it than long emails to family and friends, because I can add images, scans of tickets or little memorabilia or Lufthansa salt and pepper packets, whatsomeever. But since it's my blog I can likewise ramble, for isn't that what blogging is all about? I could never survive the restrictions of Twitter, using only 144 characters or whatever it is; I like to wander too much.

Before I go on, a note, dear gentle reader: remember that blog posts come in reverse order, so that in order to start this tale, you have to go to the bottom of the blog and read up. It's annoying but such is the blog world.

So that out of the way, the title: it comes from something my parents used to say all the time, if asked how they were or how something was going, they would reply "Same old seven and six." I have no idea what that means, it's just something I remember hearing all the time when they were both still alive. I thought about my favorite oilfield phrase, "a**holes and elbows," but I figured that would get me banned from the more sophisticated intertube circles.

So, again, with that too out of the way, let us begin. This trip began last year sometime when it was decided by my daughter's high school German class that it was time to take a tour of Germany. After much discussion, which I didn't have that much part in other than to say that it sounded like a good idea--and by saying this I mean to give all the credit to my wife Becci, who did all the negotiation and all the arrangement and all the wrangling with the tour company; she really did a lot of work to make this happen--it was arranged thusly: we three, myself, our younger daughter Sarah, and Becci, would fly to Germany with the rest of the German class and chaperones, which ended up being eight kids, juniors and seniors in high school, and seven parents. After a 10-day bus tour of Germany, we would split up: all save me would go to a small town in western Germany, from whence the German kids who have come to Utah on an exchange program have come for 15 years, although no one from Utah has ever done the reciprocal and gone there; this was to be a first. I would leave the last night of the tour and be picked up by my nephew Rodger, who lives in the Netherlands, and stay with him the week that Becci and Sarah were in Heinsberg, the small German town, with host families. A couple of days after that split, our other daughter, Rachel, would fly from college in D.C. to Amsterdam, where Rodge and I would pick her up. After the week with the host families ended, the Salt Lake families would fly home, while Becci and Sarah would get on a train and go to The Hague, where Rachel and I were staying in Holland. We would then spend a week together there, then travel to Amsterdam for four days, staying in a canal boat. Then we would once again split, Sarah and I going home, Becci and Rachel taking a train to Berlin to stay with her mother. If you are as worn out just reading all this as I am writing it, just imagine Becci making all these arrangements. Different flights to be arranged with the tour company, the host families, train tickets back and forth across Europe; as I said she really did all the work on this, while the rest of us just sat back and enjoyed. So a hearty h/t to you, Becci!

Ok, now the intro is out of the way, so I can get going on the actual story. I'm just going to transcribe my journal fairly verbatim but I'm sure I'll remember something and meander farther afield, so don't expect either consistency in time or thought (as if you would anyway). I take as my model Norman Nevills, the river runner; he kept small notebooks similar to this when he was on the river in the 1930s and 1940s, but they were pretty bare notes: "Got to Lava Falls. Lined. Camped at Mile 185." and then in the long winters in Mexican Hat, where he lived he would type them up and add to them. I'll do the same. I kept these notes in a small (4x5 inches) spiral notebook that I bought at the University bookstore for $.88 (ever notice how there isn't a cent sign on a computer keyboard?) The first few pages I used a black ball point but I always prefer blue, so after we got to Berlin I used the pen that came in the hotel room, a nice shade of blue; wore one out but I had grabbed another, and there it is, still stuck in the rings, a perfect place for your pen. The "little BIG book" was the perfect size to fit in a coat or even pants pocket, and although it got pretty hammered by the end, being taken in and out of pockets and backpack; I held it together with paper clips and tape. Note to self: next time, take rubber bands to wrap around journal...

Here's a typical page:In my awful handwriting; the only person I know whose handwriting is worse than mine is my beloved wife (sorry, dear, it really is true!) I kept a journal that I wrote in each and every day during the US bicentennial year, 1976--why, I don't know, it just seemed like something to do--but now when I go back I can't read it. Then I used cursive handwriting and that made me switch to all caps block printing. I had to look and make sure I wasn't writing any calumny about anyone or anything, for when I do keep a journal I figure why candy-coat things? Part of the therapy of keeping a journal is using it to defuse any anger or frustration you might encounter, so I don't hold back. That said, I don't want to burn any bridges with anyone I might meet again someday, so certain names will be changed to protect the guilty.

So for the final time, here we go...

June 7, 2009

"We are now ready to start on our way down the Great Unknown." So sayeth the Major [John Wesley Powell]. Actually in the Salt Lake airport on our way to Chicago, then the long hop to Dusseldorf, then on to Berlin. This has been in the works since last spring, and now here we are, on our way.

Trading seats around so I can sit in an exit row, more leg room. Thanks to Chris T., another of the chaperones, who gave up her seat for me. Yesterday I felt like Jack Bauer on the TV show "24," with a clock ticking down all day, as I dashed to unpack my river gear and get my possible kit and other stuff out, "sanitize" it for the airport (i.e., take out all knives and matches and other things that I use on the river but won't pass TSA), pack my carry-on, put wooden dowels in all the windows, get the house ready, and on and on and freakin' on. So we finally got it all by about 9PM and collapsed. Didn't sleep much but that's OK, hopefully I can sleep OK on the long flight to Europe. [Ha!]

Not as anxious as I thought I would be; I guess it's that inevitability that goes with any long-planned event, after a time the preparations just take hold and start to sweep you along with them. It makes me think of that great Bill Beer quote from We Swam The Grand Canyon; as he floated in his life jacket to the edge of Lava Falls, he kept thinking he could swim to shore, but then he felt the current grab him and it was too late. "Suddenly I relaxed," he wrote; "there were no more decisions to make."

As we went through security, they had to do the sniffer wand on my CPAP (which I'm really glad I brought!). It's happened before and I read up on some CPAP website that it's some kind of SOP for them. Can't imagine why, I guess some nefarious terrorist tried to sneak something on a plane or something using one of them? At any rate, who knows why the TSA does anything it does? Going through security at the same time was the whole Colorado Rapids soccer team. Last night RSL, the Salt Lake team, choked once again in the last minutes and blew a 1-0 lead, letting the Rapids tie the game. The girls were greatly impressed by the young athletes, especially Mehdi Balucchi.

On the plane, one of those tiny regional puddle jumpers, all the way to Chicago. Gods I hate these little planes! They squeeze you in like toothpaste into a tube, and I always have to ask for a seat belt extender. --all strapped in with no place to go--. --finally moving--. We did a bunch of trading seats around so I got an exit row but the compromise is less hip room. I'm jammed up against the side, but at least I can move my legs, they are crushed against the seat in front of me. On the runway, powering up, and here we go! ZOOOOMM! Still enough of the child to enjoy the view from up high, even if I hate to fly; I like to go new places but I hate to fly. Rainy and cloudy, so probably won't see much out the window. Sitting over the wing anyway, so oh well.

Flying is so timeless, you sit in a seat for X# of hours, the view outside not changing much--not at all if you aren't in a window seat--even on a clear day, but especially today when it's overcast (although we're over the overcast, so to speak), and then suddenly you feel a change in the engines, there's a descent, a rush, and there you are, someplace completely different. I've never set foot in Chicago, so it's a new one for me.

I have an ambition to be faithful in keeping my notes this trip; I did it for the whole five days on the river [I was on the river the week before leaving, in Desolation Canyon on the Green; got off that on Friday and left on Sunday for this trip], and got about half of one of these notebooks filled. People kept asking "what are you writing about?" What we see and do. "Why do you keep a journal?" Why not? It gives me something to do and keeps my hands occupied, which I would otherwise have to restrain from poking my eyes into your fingers, 3 Stooges style, for being so nosy!

Lots of picture taking. I always prefer to make my pictures with words; it takes more effort but it makes you think about it more. Today's "point and shoot" cameras are really "point and forget." Must be getting close, I can feel the engines changing. Glad to be on a Lufthansa flight on the long part, they always do things right. -just learned that we have 40 minutes to make a connection two terminals away, and we're just stooging around in the sky, making gentle turns, but not descending, taking a tour of the Chicago suburbs.

Later, on the Lufthansa flight to Dusseldorf. Because the United flight leaving Salt Lake was late, and we spent a lot of time dawdling around the sky over Chicago, and landed at some obscure gate in the middle of the north Chicago forty, we had to do a power-walk though two concourses (although we did not have to take a bus as we had originally thought, Deo Gratia!) --Departing right on time, Ordnung Muss Sein! --we made it with a few minutes to spare, whew! My first test; I've been worried that old and fat and out of shape as I am, after last year's cancer treatments, I wouldn't be able to keep up with all these teenagers. But I didn't fall by the wayside even though I was puffing pretty good. At least we were hanging around the airport for hours. Now watching a Sims version of the safety talk, in German; now in British/English. Got a pretty good seat, for economy; on the end of a middle row, it's offset a bit so that I can at least get one foot out into the aisle. But we're just behind First Class. Whenever I'm on a plane with First Class I just hate the people in those seats. I don't care if they feed and clothe thousands of starving children or change water to wine or raise the dead, if they're in First Class I just loathe them. Damned elitists, better than the rest of us. If this plane landed in the river I would happily stomp all over them to get out. Of course if it was me up there that would be different!

Later, an hour or two into the flight. Still over Canada, Over Newfoundland, but about to go over the Atlantic. I do like the little screens that show you your progress, that's a nice innovation. Six hours to Dusseldorf. These Germans really know how to run an airline. On a US carrier, you're treated like a inconvenience at best, and a piece of meat at worst, herded into cramped, dirty seats, charged for every breath you take. On the Lufthansa flight, we've already been given snacks, drinks, a nice dinner, a moist hot towelette to cleanse ourselves, free movies and TV and music, and pleasant smiles all around. All in economy! I can only imagine First Class (I can only imagine because they've pulled the curtains to keep our foul economy class breath from the rarified air they breathe.) --about to go feet wet, over the Gulf of St. Lawrence-- I tried asking for drinks in German and got a nice smile from the attendant: "Tomato saften, bitte!" Cheap thrills. Like the woman on the river trip, it will be hard to go back to US airlines.

Later, about an hour out of Dusseldorf. Dozed, can't say I slept any, but at least I was able to doze off for a few minutes at a time. The lights just came on so it's time for breakfast and coffee! I can smell coffee and am so very ready for a cup or five. Not a bad night, if you discount sitting in a chair for seven hours. The guy in front of me watched show after show; when he'd exhausted all the movie options he watch the shopping channel. I watched Transporter 3, which was entertaining enough. I turned the in-seat TV off for a few hours and sort of dozed. If we can all get through today we should be in good shape as far as jet lag goes. One more connection to make, to Berlin. Nice little breakfast snack, and some coffee made me perk right up. Be really glad to get off this plane, as nice as it's been. --flying right over England, as close as we'll get on this trip, unfortunately--. --about to land, gear down...

OK, on the last flight, from Dusseldorf to Berlin. Since it's an 8AM commuter flight, the whole plane is full of sober, serious German businessmen in white shirts and dark suits and ties. What a comedy of errors on arrival! On the way over we had to fill out a form swearing we did not have the swine flu. So like any normal person all of us, save one, checked all the boxes saying that we never felt better. That one, whom I'll call Herb from now on, wrote that he was "not feeling well." So we get off the plane and there in the jetway are these medical teams, two serious-faced women in white coats, masks, latex gloves, a big medical kit open and ready, with police nearby for backup, just straining at the leash to pounce on someone foolish enough to say he's "not feeling well." What a maroon! So we get about halfway into the terminal and someone says where's Herb? His wife comes up and says that the MedicalPolezei have dragged him off into a room. I should say that we have about 25 minutes to make the flight to Berlin, and we still have to go through passport control and back through security. So just about when Becci and I are ready to write him off, here he comes; they gave him a quick check-up, poked and prodded a bit, and let him go. Having dodged that bullet, on we go to passport control where we have to make sure we stand in the line for Auslanders--the other is for EU passports, even though there is no one in that line--and then back through security. So I have a bottle of water that I'd forgotten about and I can't take it and there's no place to dump it, so I have to chug it down, with one of the kids on the trip chanting "Chug! Chug!" Then they see my little bottles of hotel shampoo--which had gone right through the TSA--and the kleinesicherfrau says "You have zie Liquids! Ziss is a Problem!" At least I got to keep my toothpaste but I had to throw away the shampoo. So we finally all get through and dash to the gate, and we are missing one of the mothers and two girls! They showed up at the last minute and we finally filed on board, viewed askance by the sober Deutsch buergers. One thing I have to say, though, is that there is no problem with seat belts too small on Lufthansa flights!

Scored a good window seat for the 50 minute flight to Berlin, so I'll get a B-17 view! Have to bomb by radar today, though, as it's overcast, but at least there's no flak. Our high school girls in their cut-offs and halter tops are a real contrast to all the dark serious business suits! Can't help but wonder what it was like in this same piece of sky 65 years ago, in an unheated, unpressurized bomber, with the veterans of the Luftwaffe, the Jagdflieger, doing their very best to blast you out of the sky and send you to a hideous death, to see black puffs of flak bursting ahead of you, see fighters pop up through the cloud layer and head straight at you. I'd be scared shitless, to be honest. The clouds clear a bit and there's a peaceful patchwork green countryside; imagine floating down into this same landscape in a parachute, having just jumped from a burning B-24?

Almost there, just like flying to Las Vegas or Denver from Salt Lake City, you barely have time to make the altitude before you start going back down again.

Later, on the bus in Berlin. Got to the airport, got our bags, got through their customs, no problem, just waved through. Met some of the others on the bus tour and our tour guide, Steve. Seems like a very nice guy, younger; he tells us that even though we have about 35 people this is only part of our group, the total will be 52! That's going to be a crowd. Now stuck in a stau, or traffic jam.

Later, on a very nice little corner balcony at the Econtel Hotel Berlin Charlottenberg. Kind of lost track of time; I know this is Monday but Sunday, spent on the plane, seems like it didn't even happen. So, got to the hotel in good order, got a regular room, with two twin beds, but as soon as I sat on the bed it collapsed; something I'll have to watch out for. So after a bit of discussion Becci went downstairs, since she speaks German, and talked to the desk and they switched us to this very nice corner room, with a nice kleinebalcony overlooking the street, with a much nicer shower and of course this balcony. Sometimes being big has its advantages! Freshened up a bit and went downstairs to meet Steve and the rest of our group--the ones who are here, some won't get here until tonight--in the lobby for an orientation stroll. I think it's actually to keep us from crashing out and thus jet-lagging ourselves, but OK. So we walk about four blocks to the Charlottenberg Palace; right along the River Spree across the Schlossbrucke, where I remember walking ten years ago when we were here. Walked around the Palace grounds a bit but by now my feet were feeling the long hours of sitting and walking, so rather than march around the Palace grounds, as beautiful as they were, I did what you are supposed to do in the gardens, I sat and looked at them and relaxed. After a bit Steve came back, and as he had to head back to the airport to pick up another part of our group, it was decided to return to the hotel. On the way over, though, we decided to take a boat tour on the Spree as we had some hours before that night's first group dinner. It was a good idea but there were unintended consequences: as we sat on the boat in the warm sun and listened to the tour guide droning in German, all of us--me, Becci, Sarah, and the two girls that we were sort of in charge of, Ruby and Brooke--were soon fast asleep. [In discussions before the trip it was decided that each chaperone would be in charge of certain kids, so Becci and I were in charge of Sarah, and two of her friends, Ruby and Brooke] Were a little disoriented; the boat stopped and everyone else jumped up and got off, so we figured it was the end of the tour, but it turned out we were a bridge too early. As a result, we had to take a 3-transfer subway route back to the hotel. Becci managed that very smoothly, despite being harassed by some drunk as she tried to buy the tickets; he wanted to sell us his tickets and she kept waving him off and finally said something in German that caused him to go looking for another customer. Got back to the hotel and this time did collapse onto the bed and sleep an hour or two.

Later, back on the balcony again. After we woke up it was about time to gather for dinner, so in the fullness of time we did so and all walked back to Charlottenberg to a Russian restaurant, where we had a very nice buffet style dinner; it was a tiny little place so we were all in different rooms, and didn't get a chance to really meet each other. So far we've met a group of five older ladies--one of them younger, actually--from Indiana and Michigan, and a bunch of boys and their teachers from a Catholic high school in Missouri; and another bunch of kids, younger than ours, from...somewhere. After dinner we went back to the hotel where Becci was waiting downstairs for her mother Anneliese and sister Brigitte, so that they could collect the suitcase of A's stuff that we lugged over the Atlantic for her, so I waited with her. When they came, we all went to the hotel bar and had a drink. We saw all the other adults in the lobby from our group, and saw the last of our tour, a bunch of girls from Colorado, come in. What a big group! Luckily it turns out there's a little grocery store right by the hotel that's open until 10! PM!, which is unusual for the Berlin suburbs. For being known as the nightlife capitol of Germany if not Europe, if you're off the Ku-Dam (the main downtown district) they roll up the streets about 6PM. So this way the kids could go get snacks and stay up later than the rest of us, who were desperate to crash.