Just Some Towers and Churches

Germany was not on my travel list.  Yes, I actually have a list of places I want to visit.  I also have a list of dive sites, and a list of countries for retirement.  Why do I have such lists?  Probably because dreaming up elaborate, well-researched lists is more fun than living my mundane life.  But I digress.  Why did I end up in Germany?  I had three reasons.  Radek invited me.  I had a free place to stay, and I've never been there.  That was good enough for me.

Since I'm pretty sure the three readers of this blog already know the story, I will just give a quick recap of how I met Radek.  Three days after my desperate escape from Bangkok Hospital, I bought a new belly ring and ate some Pad Thai.  Then, I was thirsty, so I stopped at 7-11 to purchase a drink before getting a henna tattoo and shopping for dresses.  (Because that's what people do ten days after they almost die in a Cambodian hospital.)  As I strolled down Khao San Road, I tried repeatedly to open the bottle.  I don't know what the problem was.  Normally, even an imbecile like me can manage to twist off a cap, but this things was fused on with some sort of nuclear powered welding torch.  After straining for five minutes, I finally decided to walk up to the first burly dude I saw and ask for help.  That dude was Radek.  He opened the bottle (with some effort I'd like to point out), we chatted, I left because I had that important appointment with the henna tattoo guy, and we both thought we'd never see each other again.  However, fate had other ideas; we did meet again.

This is my recollection of that evening.  I had just spent four lonely months living in the rice paddies of rural Cambodia.  And here was a man who was not only handsome but could open tight things, two attributes which I find very appealing.  Therefore, I seduced him with my magical powers.  For I was Venus, the Roman goddess of love, beauty, and sexuality.  This mere mortal fell under my spell immediately.  He had no choice.  He was magnetized by my charm and eroticism.  There was no other plausible explanation.  How else could the lives of an American expat and a German collide on the streets of Bangkok?  It was destiny.  And who can fight that?

What actually happened that night probably played out more like this.  A nerdy engineer was sitting alone at a table on Khao San Road, doing mathematical calculations in his head for fun.  A girl walked up.  She actually talked to him.  End of story.  (After later consulting with Radek about the event, he agreed that this is pretty much what occurred.  However, he initially thought my request for assistance was a pick-up line.  He added, "Imagine my disappointment when I realized the bottle really was hard to open.")

That's how I found myself in a tiny European car with a giant German headed toward some town called Lübeck.  I didn't have any idea what to expect, but I was enjoying the picturesque corn fields, just recently harvested, dotted with big bales of hay rolled into perfect ovals.  Suddenly, I saw an UNESCO sign. 
"What's the UNESCO sign for?" I asked.
"Oh, there are some towers and churches.  But they're not very old," Radek said in a bored manner.
"Well, they must be important if they're an UNESCO site.  Have you visited them?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"They're only 800 years old."
Then, he made fun of me for being a silly American and thinking anything over 250 years old is amazing.

Minutes later, we were approaching Burgtorbrücke, one of the four entrances to the beautiful, medieval, walled town of Lübeck.  Holy shit!  He lives here?  This isn't a place where people actually live; it's a place they visit on a weekend get-a-way.  Even though the entire town was bombed to the ground during WWII, it has been carefully restored and preserved to appear almost as it did 800 years ago.  The Trave River forks into two smaller rivers that snake around the town, before coming together again, making it a tiny island.  It's clustered with historic sites: elaborate gothic cathedrals, tall green towers, museums, bridges, statues, and monuments.  You can't walk ten feet without running into a historic landmark.  Plus, it's absolutely stunning.  There are lovely green parks, ponds for swimming, and everyone rides bicycles.  Radek's flat is on a narrow, tree lined, cobble-stone road with tall brick and wood houses in tidy rows.  There are gardens and window boxes with flowers.  Thick, green ivy climbs the walls of the buildings.  Church bells ring each hour from all directions.  I expected to see Pippi Longstocking come skipping around the corner at any moment.

"Oh my God!  It's so pretty!  I can't believe you live here.  It's like a fairy tale.  I love the church bells," I squealed.
Radek complained about the bells for a while.
"Do you realize that you live within the walls of an UNESCO site?"
"Oh.  Uh.  No." 
"Have you been in any of these cathedrals?"
"I think one."
Whoa.  I knew this guy was a nerd, but seriously? 

I couldn't wait to explore every inch of this World Heritage Site.  I got a tourist map and over the course of five days, I went to every single place on the list - except the Puppet museum, for the obvious reason.  Marionettes  are terrifying.

Sometimes Radek would accompany me on walks around his "boring" town and casually point out places of interest. 
"This was the house of Günter Grass.  He was a writer."
"Have you read any his books?"
"I had to read one in school."
"Did you like it?"
He mumbled something about it being not that interesting.  I later found out that Günter Grass won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1999. 

Mr. Grass is not the only noteworthy person from Lübeck.  This town has produced many illustrious visionaries including: explorers, painters, composers, novelists, and philosophers.  Let's review some of the remarkable people Phoenix has cranked out.  John Dillinger, bank robber.  Jenna Jamison, porn star.  Danny Bonaduce, actor who got arrested twice.  Once, for buying cocaine right before hosting a "Don't do Drugs" event for children, another time for beating up a prostitute.  In his defense he said, "I thought he was a girl. I picked him up, he got in my car. As soon as he got in and the dome light hit him, it was obvious. He wasn't a good transvestite. If he was a good transvestite, I might never had known. I was wasted...I attacked him first, not because I wanted to, I just thought I was going to have to...So I attacked him and it turned into a fight."  Yep, it bring tears of pride to my eyes just thinking about these extraordinary individuals.
                     
Although Radek is a nerd, and I may, from time to time, gently mock his idiosyncrasies, I really like him.  He is sweet, intelligent, and funny, but most importantly, he puts up with me.  By the way, I am not being insulting by calling him a nerd.  He gave himself that nickname.  At some point, he began referring to me as "the artist."  I'm not sure about the accuracy of this label.  Despite the fact that I am creative (which we all know is a polite way of saying slightly deranged), I have never published or sold any type of work of art.  I did, however, win a writing contest in the 6th grade, so I will go ahead and allow the epithet.

I should probably be a little concerned that Radek's definition of the word art is, "If I don't understand it, it must be art."  In addition, Radek might have reason to be concerned because when he starts talking about math, my mind starts to wander, and I think about all kinds of things...like Skittles candy.  How come the slogan for Skittles is "Taste the rainbow," yet not one of the various packages of Skittles actually contain all the colors of the rainbow?  Now, this is a cause for concern.

Cat-aclysmic Event

Normally, I avoid the news and let all the other gasbags pounce on world affairs, but something has come to my attention that is of such great import that I feel the need to comment.  According to Sanrio, the creators of Hello Kitty...get ready for it...Hello Kitty is not a cat.

It's true.  I read it on the C.N.N. website, a reputable news source (albeit not as credible as B.B.C.).  I was scrolling the front page headlines which contained mostly trivial affairs such as the Ebola outbreak, Russia invading Ukraine, and terrorism in Syria when I came across this shocking story.  Sanrio claims, "Hello Kitty is not a cat.  She's a cartoon character.  She is a little girl.  She is a friend.  But she is not a cat.  She's never depicted on all fours.  She walks and sits like a two-legged creature.  She does have a pet cat of her own, however, and it's called Charmmy Kitty."

W.T.F. Sanrio?  Let us consider the following exhibits.  Exhibit A shows Hello Kitty, a logo I found on the official Hello Kitty website.  It clearly portrays a kitten with long whiskers, paws, pointy ears on the top of her head, and a tail.  Let's not forget the glaring fact that her name includes the word, Kitty.  Now, please observe Exhibit B.  Here we have a picture of a little girl.  Notice the lack of whiskers, pointy ears, paws and tail?  I don't know her name since I got this off Google Images, but I'm just going to go out on a limb here, and say it does not contain the word, kitty.
                                                 A                                                  B

 

In addition, let's consult the dictionary on the definition of the word, cat.  "Cat, n, a soft, indestructible automaton provided by nature to be kicked when things go wrong in a domestic circle."  Ohhh, wait...perhaps I should not use Ambrose Bierce's definition from The Devil's Dictionary in this particular matter.  Instead, let us refer to Merriam Webster's Dictionary which includes the following definition.  "Cat, n, a small animal that is related to lions and tigers and that is often kept by people as a pet."  (It also includes the definition, "a malicious woman," which I find a little insulting and have a few things to say about, but I don't want to get catty.)

This opens the door to so many questions.  What about those hairless female cats that are dressed up in clothes and trained walk on two legs?  What about the cats whose tails got cut off in an accident, and their faces were burned, so they have no whiskers?  Are they actually little girls?

The public is clearly outraged by this confusing news.  One concerned mother hissed, "My young daughter walks on all fours, and she is quite hairy.  There is a lot of hair on her upper lip that I used to think was just one of those female mustaches but which I now believe to be whiskers!  Is my daughter a cat?"  At this point in my imaginary interview, the mother burst into tears, ran away, and hid under a car.

Although aptly titled, I am boycotting Hello Kitty Con 2014!  Also, I demand a retraction from Sanrio.  Scratch that (not literally).  I demand an apology right meow to the entire world, especially Asia, because the evidence in clear.  Hello Kitty is, in fact, a CAT.

Pinball Wizard

I decided to take the long route home and poke around Germany a bit before returning to the U.S.  Sihanoukville was relaxing, but I wanted a real vacation.  I worked hard for ten months in Cambodia.  I need this.  No, I deserve this!  Unfortunately, booking international plane tickets three weeks in advance ensures the longest, most bizarre flight plan possible.  It also means getting stuck in seats directly in front of a restroom or exit row, so they don't recline.  I ended up getting batted around from one terminal to the next, like the silver ball inside a planet-sized pinball machine.  Ping - Quangzhou = 1 point.  Ping - Amsterdam = 3 points. 

And so it began: 2 weeks, 7 countries, 8 airports, 7 planes, 1 missed connection, 65 hours of travel.  Number of times I lied on the Customs sheet = 2.

I arrived at the Phnom Penh airport an hour and 45 minutes early, as one should for an international flight.  This was clearly a mistake since the place was deserted except for two other dumb barangs.  Although Phnom Penh is technically an international airport, it's not exactly a bustling hub of activity.  There were 24 airline booths, all closed.  It was like flying out of Arizona through the Mesa airport.  This gave me some time to stuff a pastry down my throat and stare at the glowing neon sign on the wall which displayed pictures of prohibited items.  It featured the expected guns, lighters, and shampoo bottles, but what stuck out was the picture of a battery powered mosquito zapper.  Really?  How often do people actually try to bring these on an airplane?  I could picture it now - little Asian men with tiny tennis rackets screaming, "Do what I say.  Or I give you insignificant shock!"

I was informed by the Air Lingus agent in Phnom Penh that a second checked bag was $75, so I opened my suitcase and backpack, dumped the entire contents on the floor, and began rearranging everything while trying to put all liquids and contraband into my suitcase.  Somehow, I was allowed to carry my giant backpack and a large bag which include my purse and laptop onto the plane as "carry-ons," both of which were clearly over the size and weight limit.  Even more surprisingly, my overloaded backpack fit in the overhead compartment of all the planes.

All of the airport staff were extremely friendly and helpful except two in two countries: China and the U.S.  No surprise there.  In Beijing, my bag was flagged by a security guard who looked at me sternly said one word, "Knife!" 
"I don't have a knife!" I retorted. 
"Knife!" he repeated. 
Fine, let's look for the nonexistent knife.  I began tossing everything onto the table until there was a large mountain of books, bras, clothes, souvenirs, electronic cords, etc.  After he leafed through the pages of all my books, I held up my panties and said, "You better examine these too."  Meanwhile, I began thinking.  Hhmmm...do I have a knife?  This wouldn't be the first time.  In fact, I've accidentally brought a knife through airport security on two other occasions so...  Oh shit!  I've got a ninja throwing star.  Ooh, that might look bad.  Nervously, I watched while he put everything in bins and sent it through the scanner again.  By sheer luck (or ignorance on their part), the throwing star went through without notice.  However, my backpack continued to show a knife.  I shoved my hand down into the bottom and grasped the item which was causing such alarm - a 1 1/2 inch Gerber backpacking knife which I had used primarily for sharpening pencils to do crossword puzzles on backpacking outings.  This thing was so small and dull, that the thought of using it as a deadly weapon was laughable.  What's more, I was amazed to even see it.  I totally forgot I even owned it.  Mesmerized, I opened up the tiny blade and ran my finger across it while saying softly, "Hello, my old friend."

This was clearly not the thing to do at a Beijing security check point.  Suddenly, four security guards lunged at me like vultures with bared teeth, ready to rip away my flesh.  The meanest one glared at me and seethed, "Ma'am, we need to take that." 

It's weird what airport security will flip out about, and what goes through unnoticed.  That knife had been in my bag since I left Phoenix.  I also had a tube of hand sanitizer that I always forget to take out and place in a baggie and put in it's own bin (you know the drill) that made it all the way from Phoenix to Germany before anyone mentioned it.  And it wasn't until I was unpacking everything in Germany, that I realized I had a can of pepper spray in my purse the whole time. 

In summary, I made it through 8 airports with pepper spray in my purse, 5 airports with a knife, and 4 airports with a ninja throwing star.  Good job T.S.A.