A mix tape for Grandmom? Marjorie and I have been trying to put together a mix CD for my grandmother. She doesn't have a CD player, I don't think, but we can at least play it when we're all visiting at my parents house next month. It's been an interesting cross-generational experience, downloading these old songs -- as you might expect, a lot of the stuff I remember her liking, we've been finding, well, grating. It's not a product of the times, I don't think -- I've been listening to a fair bit of early jazz lately (Louie Armstrong, Benny Goodman), but I'm trying more to remember what SHE has always liked, growing up second-generation Polish in southern New Jersey.

The three names I can recall are Bobby Vinton, John Denver, and Lawrence Welk. It's hard to imagine finding any of these names on a mix tape I'd make for any of my friends. Vinton at least does some polkas, but his love songs are pure schmaltz. Denver is not offensive at least, while Welk is pure elevator music to my ears.

I also remember distinctly a few 78s that us kids always played at my Grandmom's house -- possibly they were two sides of the same 78? The songs were "The House of Bamboo" by Andy Williams (which actually swings) and "See You Later, Alligator" by Bill Haley and the Comets. I don't know though, these might have been my mother's. We were actually able to find both of these.

I'll have to see if we can track down some stuff from the Mummers Parades as well!

It seems that my late entry into the Metamorphosis Valentine's Day Limerick Contest came away with the coveted Best limerick making fun of the limerick contest award. Props also to lisad (who has been known to occasionally comment here) for taking the slightly less prestigious third prize.

I just got back from the beach, and boy are my arms tired. For the first time since 1994(?), I went surfing. It was good fun. I hired one of those long floaty longboards, and was happy to stand up at least. It was hard not to continually remember that the place that we went, Ocean Grove, is not terribly far from some Great White feeding grounds. The big clumps of kelp in the water were occasionally disconcerting.

The weekend in review, once again:

Thursday: Billy Bragg in concert at the Prince of Wales. Some left midway through due to excessive preaching and politicking, but c'mon, it's Billy Bragg; what did they expect? It was still lots of fun and I'm amazed that one man can entertain a room full of people for two hours with only guitar and his ideas. Closed with a rousing rendition of "Waiting For The Great Leap Forward".

Friday: Moonlight Cinema showing of the Sean Penn movie, "Into The Wild". Giant fruit bats squawking off to our left for much of the time kind of added to the wildness. Movie was good but flawed.

Saturday: Rufus Wainwright at Hamer Hall. Our third time seeing him, and vastly different each time. This time it was with a full band and costume changes (white body suit with sequins, lederhosen, a white bathrobe, and, um, full Judy Garland regalia. I was repeatedly struck by how his shy and stumbling between-song patter contrasted with his confident musicianship and dynamic performance. He's a fantastic entertainer.

Australia Day weekend highlights:

• Took dog to Red Bluff, just to have a look around.


• Hit USA Foods for some salad dressing, key lime juice, and a Dr. Pepper.


• Used the key lime juice to make Australia's best margaritas.


• Took the dog to walk along the Yarra, around the Abbotsford Convent, which included a pass by the Collingswood Children's Farm. Laika was very interested in the sheep, cows, and goats, but didn't freak out, which was a good sign for the sheep herding clinic we want to take her to.


• Ice skating at Waterfront City.


• Ethiopian food at African Town.


• Chicken wings on the barbie.


• Bought a bag of lentils from an ethnic food store. Marjorie warned me they would expand when I cooked them but I didn't believe her. Ended up with three big tupperware containers of them, and tossing out a fourth. I'm not going vegan or anything, I'm just looking for excuses to eat more hot sauce.

Sick of it. I've been ill for eight days -- just a chest cold -- but I haven't improved at all. It's not getting worse, but it's not getting any better. The drugs don't work. At all. I have cold meds from the US that all do nothing, and I went to the doctor yesterday, who prescribed me antibiotics but so far they're doing nothing either. (Come to think of it, I've had these kinds of colds before, and I can't remember antibiotics ever doing anything for them.) I tried going into work back on Tuesday, but only lasted about an hour. So I've had a big long extension to my holiday, but it's all been sitting on the couch, watching movies, and I'm over it!

In case you missed it, Australia elected a new prime minister a few weeks back.

The election was, to us new citizens, fascinating. Australia uses instant runoff voting, which essentially means that we had to rank all the candidates from one to sixty-eight. Each candidate was listed in a column under their party's name, and there are lots and lots of parties, so it was a very long sheet. They have some interesting parties, too:

Senator On-line

Shooters Party

Citizens Electoral Council

One Nation

The Fishing Party

Conservatives for Climate and Environment

There were so many we had to take a cheat sheet in. But I think it's a great system; if your first choice doesn't get a majority of the votes, your vote goes to your second, then your third, etc., so that it's actually possible to vote for alternate parties without "throwing away" your vote. The whole world needs to adopt this.

The other great thing about the election was that it was announced, and then held just a month and a half later. America is killing itself with its year-long (plus) multi-billion dollar debacle that leaves the candidates all covered with mud and everyone feeling acrimonious.

Another quiet Christmas but it was nice. The day consisted of opening presents, champers, snacks, and a nap.

We also caught part of the Bing Crosby/Fred Astaire movie Holiday Inn. A happy little holiday romp, until -- Bing comes out in blackface. He starts singing a song about Abraham Lincoln. Cut to the band, all in blackface. Cut to large black maid singing, "When black folks lived in slavery/Who was it set the darkie free? Abrahaaaaam..." Enter the female lead, dressed as a pickaninny. Cut to Marjorie and Mark, sitting out the couch with our mouths agape. How the times have changed. They apparently edit this part out when they show this movie in the States. They sell golliwogs in a shop up the street here, so I'm not surprised we see it unedited.

The Summer of Mark. By a bit of bad luck I'm going to have two weeks off over the holidays.

I say "bad luck" because I wanted to work so as not to go into the negative on vacation days when we go back to the States in a few months. But there's just no work in my office to justify it.

Marjorie has to work, though. So I've been coming up with a plan for how to spend my time. The plan includes:

Bringing my techie website back on line

Updating my CV

Finishing up some personal programming projects

Tracking down some books for a certain relative

Sorting out our various frequent flier miles

Starting some kind of exercise program

Keep studying my Spanish

There's a distinct danger, though, that it might end up like:

Sleeping until noon, then surfing the internet all day in my underwear

Stumbling towards Christmas we are. Marjorie's parents just left, after a big long crazy visit involving planes, trains, more trains, helicopters, more helicopters, and automobiles. The only excursion I took with them for was the Puffing Billy one, which was a disappointment for all of us Americans who are used to at least some animatronics with their tourist traps. Anyway, my father-in-law Rob spent lots of time writing up a great account of their adventures, and hopefully I can convince him to start a blog instead of emailing it around.

Christmas, though, will be a quiet one again for us this year, but that's okay. We do sometimes pine for the good proper cold-weather, never-ending consumerist nightmare that is Christmas in America but I think in the end it's just the family part that we miss.

What a long strange trip it's been. Right this moment marks almost exactly five years since we got on the plane and left the States behind. At the time we had no idea whether we would be gone for six months, or forever. The plan was originally for five years, I think, but now we've reached that and still only have tentative plans to move back to the States in a year or two. Or sooner, or later. To some as yet unidentified city. Or to Europe. Who knows.

It's funny how fast the romantic notions of living overseas got replaced by the day-to-day reality. But it's still not an experience I would have traded for the world.

Hooray for Thanksgiving, my favorite holiday. Shared it with the in-laws this year, which means nicer company but fewer leftovers. That's okay, they're heading off tomorrow on their big Australian adventure before the turkey carcass got picked fully clean...

By my mother-in-law's request, here's the story of my trip to South Africa from 2001(?). You can read this same text, but with pictures, on the Virtual Tourist website.


My decision to go to South Africa came about while sitting in an East Atlanta restaurant, The Heaping Bowl and Brew. This restaurant features a giant map across one wall; we were seated directly under Africa. Gazing at the map, I thought about what an interesting place South Africa always seemed to me; I remembered wondering about it at a young age, looking through my parents’ atlas. Not only was it on the other side of the world, it was the southernmost place in Africa, and entirely contained two other whole countries (Lesotho and Swaziland). Then, through the 1980’s, I would hear about it on the news all the time, in reports about the breakup of apartheid. When I did some research and discovered how scenic and beautiful it was as well, my mind was made up.

When Americans think of Africa, they tend to think of safaris and big game. And while South Africa has several safari parks, to be honest, this sort of thing didn’t really interest me too much. I have seen enough elephants and tigers in zoos. I know it’s another thing altogether to witness them in the wild, but I’ll save that for a trip to the Serengeti someday.

The fact that English is widely spoken there made my decision to go by myself much easier; I didn’t want to be all alone in a place where I couldn’t communicate well. And thanks to a friend’s recommendation of a travel web site, I was able to find a (relatively) cheap ticket down there.

My trip down involved a layover in London, which I could extend as long as I liked. Since I had never been there, I decided to spend a couple of days. I latched onto the city quite well; I could easily see moving there someday. Did a lot of shopping, sightseeing, and pub hopping.

My South Africa trip was everything I was hoping it would be and more. I can highly recommend it as a travel destination; while it may cost a bit to get there, I estimate I saved $100 per day over what I would have spent for similar experiences in Europe, thanks to the strong dollar. In the future, I’m going to remember to factor in the day-to-day costs when considering a place that may be expensive to fly to.

Coming home, I resolved to make a trip by myself somewhere every year (next year I’m thinking Greenland by way of Iceland). Travel, it’s said, doesn’t cure wanderlust; it only makes it worse. I have it in a bad way now.

I love going places where every tree, every plant, every car, rock, bird, or insect is just a little bit different than you’re used to. I love hearing young kids speak another language, and stupidly thinking for a moment, “Wow, that kid’s a genius; I could only speak English at that age!” I love spending the Monopoly money that foreign currency seems to be. I love seeing people work a mundane job in a distant part of the world and wondering what their everyday life must be like. I love telling people about where I’m from, and seeing how it differs from their perceptions. I love finding out how my perceptions about a place were wrong. I love visiting a famous place, and having your mind go “I’m here! I’m really here!” And I love having a real memory to associate with a place, when you hear about it later in conversation or in the news.

As it turns out, I recently had an opportunity to experience this last thing in a particularly poignant way. Last week, a terrorist bomb exploded in a pizzeria that was practically adjacent to the Bay Hotel I had stayed at in Camps Bay. I don’t let these sorts of things bother me, though; the odds are much, much greater that you’ll die in a car crash on the way to the airport than as a victim of a terrorist incident. Not that it ever hurts to be aware of your surroundings and keep your wits about you.

Lastly, I have to mention this. I had long heard that toilets that flush counterclockwise in the Northern Hemisphere actually flush clockwise in the Southern Hemisphere, due to the centrifugal force of the Earth spinning. Then I heard that this was a bunch of malarkey. So I had resolved to test this out while I was visiting. Unfortunately, I got so wrapped up in things, that during the nine days I was there, I never once remembered to check. So it will have to remain a mystery.

Arrival

I managed to sleep most of the way from London to Cape Town, passing over the equator for my first time some time in the middle of the night. I awoke as we were about to land, dipping out of the clouds to a magnificent view of the jagged coastline.

One of the delights of travel for me is the delicious nervousness of arrival in a new culture. Customs seemed a blur for me in my excited state.

The thing I was most nervous about for this trip was the driving. Public transit isn't very much of an option in South Africa; any guidebook you read will tell you to rent a car. What’s scary is that they drive on the other side of the road there, and all the cars have a stick shift that you must operate with your left hand.

After practicing in the parking lot for ten minutes or so I felt I was ready to hit the road. It didn't really seem all that hard. I drilled it into my brain that I must just continually keep to the left. And after a nervous encounter with a traffic circle in my first few minutes on the road, things went just fine. Only once during my whole trip there did I find myself going the wrong way, and that was in a relatively tame parking lot situation. My biggest problem was that I kept getting into the passenger side of my rental car. The standard procedure was to sit down, momentarily wonder what happened to the steering wheel, realize what an idiot I am, and then sheepishly pretend I was just getting into the passenger side to retrieve some small article or other. I must've done this a dozen times.

The only really peculiar driving habit there I noticed was that you are expected to pull over onto the shoulder to let faster cars pass you. Everywhere the roads had wide, clean berms for just this purpose.

Parking in Cape Town was something I wished the guidebooks had warned me about. The way it works is this. Every block has a single meter box for all its parking spots. However, you don't put money into it yourself; you give your money to one of the seedy looking characters that hangs out there and helps you park. He will put money in the meter box for you, but only if the parking ticketers come around. If not, he pockets the money. It seems like a racket, but it's really not a bad system. You pay as much as you would normally, and sometimes you can park in a spot for a lot longer than you're really allowed to.

Of course, I knew none of this pulling into Cape Town on my first day. I gave the guy not nearly enough money and got some dirty looks. Fortunately the hotel owner explained the drill to me and I went out and moved my car. (My male ego requires that I mention that I'm a good parallel parker even on the opposite side of the street.)

I can't really recommend staying in town, especially if you're planning to go out or return at night. There were some very nervous moments walking down the street; the guys hanging out on most street corners would not leave you alone. Everywhere else I stayed seemed much safer.

First Day

I was worried that, because I was visiting during their rainy season, I would not get a clear day to visit South Africa's main tourist destination, Table Mountain, but the first day I awoke to bright, clear skies (as I did nearly every day, as it turned out). Table Mountain is the rocky plateau that looms over Cape Town like a wave about to break. The way to the top is by an astounding cable car ride. Atop there are pleasant walking trails, magnificent views, and interesting wildlife.

Also on top there is a small business set up to allow adventure seekers to "abseil" (rappel) down the mountain. They claimed to be the highest public abseil operation in the world. I scoffed internally at the idea at first, but then I got to thinking. I was here for the adventure. Could I convince myself to go? I sat a while and thought about it. Well, I probably didn't have enough money on me to do it. I went and checked, and it only cost about $30; I did have enough on me, and probably would never find a cheaper place to do it. But, they didn't seem to have a photographic operation set up. Why do it if I couldn't even prove that I did it to the folks back home? No problem, the man assured me. We can take a picture with your camera and give it back to you when you walk back up. I went and thought some more. Finally I went back and asked the guy, "Um, are these shoes okay for this?"

"Yes, they're perfectly fine."

"Rats. That was my last excuse."

I think I was pretty green as he was explaining the procedure to me; he had to repeat some questions to me. I willed myself over the edge and began working my way down. I soon realized I was in danger of hyperventilating so I had to really concentrate on breathing steadily. I worked my way down about a hundred feet or so, then abruptly ran out of wall. The remaining 200+ feet were a straight drop, as the wall bends in from there on down. The instructor had warned me about this, I think, but it didn't really register at the time. I sat there a minute or two just trying to will myself to continue down without anything for my feet to push against. Finally I began inching down. The part that makes it even more fun is that you aren't allowed to grab hold of the rope above you with your free hand, as it gets too hot. About halfway down, I swung around to where I could see my tiny shadow against the massive cliff face. I considered the fact that I was half a world a way from anyone whose name I even knew, dangling like a fool off a massive chunk of rock. That was the most alone I'd ever felt or probably ever will. But it was an amazing experience.

Wine Country

After Cape Town I headed inland toward the wine country town of Stellenbosch. As this is also a university town, I figured it would also be a good place to try to meet up with some locals out at the bars at night.

I did an excellent wine tasting at a local winery and enjoyed the surrounding scenery, venturing into the charming nearby town of Franschoek. That night I tried out a few local bars, and finally found myself in a cozy little wood-framed tavern known as Der Acker, a hangout for the post-college crowd. I struck up a conversation with a regular, who introduced me to the bartenders, who introduced me to more people... Soon I found myself sitting in a booth with ten people, chatting about next to everything. They taught me my only phrase of Afrikaans that I picked up (and I’m going to mangle the spelling of it here): “Kann ech anochre bier krey asseblief” (“Can I have another beer please?”). One of my new friends kept trying to lubricate the conversation with rounds of shots of grapefruit schnapps. As the night wore on everyone was rolling their eyes as new rounds appeared, but as I was warned, this was a heavy drinking town in a heavy drinking country, and no one refused their shot. I'm pretty sure I had a really good time.

Cape Agulhas

My next destination was the southernmost point of Africa, Cape Agulhas (not the Cape of Good Hope as is often claimed). I had been advised by one of my new Stellenbosch mates to drive along the coast for the magnificent view, and I wasn't disappointed. What they didn't warn me is that this route would, as I got close to the cape, take me over thirty or so miles of dirt road. It was relatively smooth dirt; still, I began to worry what would happen if my car broke down there. This was as far removed from the civilization I'm used to as I came on my trip. Birdwatching camps, native schoolchildren, and farms fringed my route.

I picked up the pavement again close to the cape. It was pretty much deserted when I arrived. I had to wait a while to have someone take my picture among the surf-pounded rocks. Cape Agulhas is really just a geographical curiosity, but as good a destination as any when the whole country is foreign and strange and beautiful.

I stayed the next night in a town up the coast, Hermanus, which is a tourist draw in that whales came up to within scores of feet from the water's rocky edge to spawn. Thanks to the strong dollar, my room that night which looked directly down into the bay cost only about $40. No whales, unfortunately; it was only the very beginning of whale season.

Boulders Beach

The next day I headed back towards the Cape of Good Hope. Along the way I stopped at Boulders Beach to see the jackasses. Jackass penguins, that is; that's what they're really called. They are (I think) year round visitors on this beach. The brush that rises above the beach is lousy with penguin nests and baby penguins. It's all fenced in, so even the babies had only the sluggish half-wariness that comes with having no real predators to worry about.

Cape of Good Hope
The Cape of Good Hope itself is better described with pictures than words.

Final Days

My last few days I decided to splurge, and stay in a five-star hotel; the Bay Hotel in Camps Bay. This decision was made easier by the fact that, with the exchange rates at the time, it was only $82 a night.

I made some other forays into the nightlife, checking out such clubs as the nearby La Med. Home for the beautiful white people who dance badly -- it was like the opening credits to Friends. Much better was the Observatory district, a narrow little street near Cape Town's university. Friendly little bars line the streets. At one of these I had a long, friendly conversation about racism with a "colored" woman.

In South Africa, everyone was considered either "white", "black", or "colored" under apartheid; the latter category is a catch-all that includes mulattos, Indians, Arabs, and even, I believe, Chinese. These distinctions no longer hold the force of law, but they are still in effect on a much subtler level. South Africa now has the most liberal constitution in the world, guaranteeing equal rights regardless of race, gender, nationality, age, economic status or sexual orientation, and though everyone is supposed to be equal in the eyes of the law now, in practice there is still a wide gulf between the "haves" and the "have nots". Most of the u unpleasant jobs are still staffed by blacks or colored people. Nowhere was this de facto separation more apparent than a scene I came across while driving out of Cape Town one day; twenty or so white golfers were lined up at a driving range, while a black man with a helmet as his only real protection retrieved the golf balls into a bucket out on the range.

Anyway, the woman I chatted with, I was surprised to learn, had grown up in an integrated school. Because of the sensational nature of the news reports I had heard throughout the 80's, I had assumed that every school down there was segregated by race but this was not the case. She had encountered some incidents of racism during her life, but all in all her experience didn't seem all that much different than someone living in the United States.

My flight back involved nine hours back to London, a three-hour layover (during which I had to make my way from Gatwick airport to Heathrow airport), and another nine hours back to Atlanta. It wasn’t at all as bad as it sounds, thanks to the portable TV sets that everyone gets onboard British Airways international flights. They are a godsend for making a trip fly by like nothing.

What's been going on:

Instead of going to the races this year, we just went up to the Transport Bar and watched the people come and go. Some were even undead.

Saw Crowded House last week; very good. The show ended with a touching tribute to their former drummer who killed himself here in Melbourne a year or two back. No, Jim, I didn't throw a paper airplane.

Am playing soccer in the corporate games again this year, but am having trouble finding a pair of soccer boots that fit me. I swear, sometimes the businesses in this country make it hard for you to give them your money.

We are culture whores. This weekend we hit the Hispanic festival (which had some really good food) on Saturday and the Polish festival (which had some really long lines for some decent food) today. We passed on the Turkish festival. Multiculturalism is the bomb!

Marjorie's parents are in the country and on their way here. They'll be heading off to even more places we've never been, and we'll be trying not to resent them for it. :-)

While we like all of our nieces' and nephews' names, sometimes you still hear of some people who name their children in ways that make you think, "What were they thinking?" (Frank Zappa and Gwyneth Paltrow spring to mind.)

Anyway, so as not to deny you all the pleasure of laughing at the names we would give the children that we're never going to have, here they are:

Girls:

Imogene Frances

Esme Matilda

Boys:

Hamish

Noah

We're still working on the middle names for the boys. The last names are all fluid too. It's all moot anyway, but I thought you might have a laugh.

I was admonished on Friday in front of my office: "Don't kill anyone today!" The hippies were again protesting BHP Billiton, who share our building with us, over uranium mining or something. I was going to counter with, "I work for Deloitte, moron!" but I decided I kind of like being thought the bad guy, and I don't honestly know if they have legitimate reason to protest or not.

I've hired a costume for our work Halloween party this Friday -- I'm going as the Grim Reaper. I better not put it on before I get to work, though -- they might think I'm a protester.

Dog update. She's recovering. Still limping a bit, but she's gotten used to the new routine, which involves no off-leash time. She's back to making danger-runs past the vacuum cleaner every time we turn it on. Our dog's a freak.

She also still doesn't like it when we dance in her presence. Other dogs mind their own business.

Wednesday was National Ride To Work Day, and as our workplace coordinator, I kind of had to do it. The weather was perfect -- sunny and cool. The cool thing about it was discovering that it's actually quicker than taking the tram. In fact, Marjorie left the house ten minutes before I did, but then when I got into the city, who should get off the tram right in front of me but her. And that's with me briefly stopping by the courtesy breakfast, too. I'm going to try to start riding in once a week, I think.

I just stumbled across an account I wrote up a long time ago, that I thought I lost, of a trip I took to Germany for work in 1994. I post it here so I won't lose it. Man, those food descriptions make me hungry still.

Oddly, I can find no mention of the "Rabenleitte reservoir" I mention, anywhere else on the web except in this report.

Sometimes You Have To Tough It Out
For those of you who didn't hear, I traveled to Germany on business a few weeks back. It came about by a lucky "break" -- my project lead hit a patch of gravel while bicycling and broke his collar bone, leaving me to go in his place (the voodoo doll seemed to do the trick nicely). What follows is the complete trip report, in full boring detail. Because I ate and drank so well during the trip, I even decided to include a complete reporting of my meals.

*** Saturday, Oct 29 *** "More of anything?" "More of everything!"
Because my company travels by plane so much, we routinely get upgrades to first class. The beautiful thing here was, I *was* the first class section. That's right, I had all of first class to myself, including my own private (and rather comely) flight attendant, for eight hours. I was even offered any movie I wanted to watch. It's the only way to fly.

It seemed a crime to be getting paid for all this. Although, it soon dawned on me that figuring out the breakdown of work hours between Saturday and Sunday would be no easy chore -- flying across midnight over six time zones on the day they set back the clocks for daylight savings time. Oh well, sometimes you have to tough it out.

(The meal: Some sort of duck appetizer, greens salad, chicken in apricot glaze, heated raspberry tart, topped off with a whole bottle of German riesling.)

*** Sunday, Oct 30 *** In which Mark falls in love 37 times in the airport
I arrive in Munich, rent a car and drive two hours north to the US Army base at Grafenwohr, arriving at 11AM. The exercise our company's software was supporting was being run out of a large Oktoberfest tent there. I was unable to sleep on the flight, so I just decide to stick it out and stay up as late as I can to get over the jet lag. I put in a nine hour shift.

Hotels and guesthouses in the area are booked solid for the exercise, so the guesthouse (Gastof Weich) I end up in was a half hour drive away, in Hirschau. My room was a converted attic, very cool.

(Lunch: Schweinenschnitzel with potato balls. Dinner: Jaeger Schnitzel mit Spatzle, and a Pils. This was the meal I had been salivating for since two years ago, when I visited Bavaria for a couple of days.)

*** Monday, Oct 31 *** In which Mark visits Amberg
I visit the city of Amberg in the morning, just to walk around. Other than that, just a long day of work.

(I am forced to eat on base. Lunch: ChiChi's, taco and enchilada. Dinner: Hamburger from Burger King [the Burger Fuhrer, as it is known].)

*** Tuesday, Nov 1 *** In which Mark almost visits Czech
Drove out to the Czech border in the morning. The car rental place made me sign an agreement that I wouldn't take the car into any of the former Eastern Bloc countries, so I was hoping to just walk across the border. Nothing doing -- there is a very long line of trucks and cars waiting to get across.

(Lunch: The Burger Fuhrer again [sigh]. Dinner: Josefshaus [Hirschau] -- Jager Schnitzel again, plus several Thurn and Taris Pilsners.)

*** Wednesday, Nov 2 *** In which Mark enjoys the night sky
Long work day again.

At night, while driving back to Hirschau I notice how clear the sky is. I stop for about twenty minutes to lie on my hood and look at the stars. It is so quiet that the only car that drove past the whole time I am stopped is audible two miles away. Not for the last time on this trip, I think "life is good".

(Lunch: Fig newton from the PX. Dinner: Rahmschnitzel with noodles [excellent] and several Patrizier braus at the Gasthof Specht in Grafenwohr.)

*** Thursday, Nov 3 *** "My hovercraft is full of eels."
Long work day yet again, nothing terribly noteworthy, so let me wax philosophic on the subject of the German language and German phrasebooks.

German, at first blush, seems like it would be simple to learn. It is typically spoken loudly and clearly, and shares many words with my native English. I had in fact vowed to learn to speak it passably in time for the Schnitzius family reunion (which will be taking place in June 1995 [in Krov on the Mosel river in southwest Germany]), such was my confidence. Looking into the matter some, though, it seems that the German language is a nightmare of genders, declension, odd cases, and strange word orders (worse than English, from what I can tell). I will still be taking a course in it, but I am no hopeful of achieving anything close to fluency.

I tried to use as much German as I knew in every situation, figuring that was the only way to learn it. Also, it really is true that the locals will treat you better if you at least make an effort to communicate on their level. I had a German phrasebook which came in handy, sometimes. Most phrases in the book, however, such as those for asking directions, generated only a flurry of incomprehensible German in response. At this point I would always have to interrupt with a phrase I grew to know and love: "Ich spreche wenig Deutsche" ("I speak little German"). So the phrasebook was for the most part useless, except as a vocabulary builder.

(Lunch: I satisfy my chronic pizza addiction at the food court on base. Dinner: Jaegerbraten mit bratkartoffelen, "Eis und Heiss" for desert, plus several excellent beers.)

*** Friday, Nov 4 *** In which Mark meets an old German man by accident
Work is slow in the middle of the day, so I take off to find Rabenleitte reservoir, a place recommended in the tourist guidebooks that happens to be relatively close by. I soon discover that driving the back roads during the daytime can be a harrowing experience, due to the combination of slow- moving farm vehicles and impatient drivers more used to the autobahn. The reservoir was pretty interesting, as far as reservoirs go.

On the way back I make a wrong turn and end up having to make a U-turn in a parking lot. An old German man in a big beat-up van backs into my front end. We both get out of our respective vehicles but can do little more than point and shrug, since neither knows the other's language. Fortunately there is no damage. I was afraid I would have to dig into a certain section of my phrasebook that I was hoping I would never have to.

*** Saturday, Nov 5 *** In which Joe and Mark are the Ugly Americans
Long work day again.

This evening, after dinner in Grafenwohr, Joe (a cow orker) and I decide to drive back to Hirschau where we are staying and have a couple more beers.

(First, a quick word about the pubs in Germany. At least in Bavaria, all the pubs I went to were exceedingly similar, always consisting of the following ingredients:

they are part of a guesthouse;
they serve excellent food, consisting mostly of pork dishes;
wooden fixtures everywhere;
the feature beer of only a single brand from a nearby brewery, mentioned on a lit sign visible from the street; each brand, though, has several different varieties (pils, weiss, dunkels, etc.);
a gambling machine;
a long table at which the regulars sit
The German solution to drunk driving seems to be to always have one of these places within walking distance.)

Joe and I make our way to one such pub (Goldenes Lamm) just down the street from our guesthouse. We are the only ones there, except for the long table of regulars (who were eyeing us suspiciously). Eventually, though, they wave us over to their table.

In the ensuing mayhem, we manage some level of communication, despite the language barrier and copious quantities of beer. At one point I think we played darts, but I could be wrong. I do remember Joe teasing the waitress several times during the evening, and her successfully communi- cating her response through the effective use of sign language, if you catch my drift.

(Lunch: Fig newtons from the PX. Dinner: [Gasthof Specht] Rahmgeschnetze- something.)

*** Sunday, Nov 6 *** In which Mark recovers
Had a beer-free day today. The resulting sore throat I develop could just be coincidence.

(Lunch: Mexican food at ChiChi's on base. No dinner.)

*** Monday, Nov 7 *** In which the Tailhook Incident is relived
During dinner at a guesthouse in Grafenwohr, we are sitting at the long locals table because of the size of our group. A young GI approaches Mike (a member of our entourage) and out of the blue says "I think you're a scumbag. I saw what you did to that waitress, and I don't appreciate it." and walks away.

We sit in stunned silence for several seconds. We eventually figured out what happened: at one point earlier, Mike had turned around suddenly in his chair, and accidentally elbowed the waitress; he had to reach around her quickly to keep from falling over. The GI at the next table saw this and interpreted it as a grope.

We explained this to the old man that was sitting next to me at the locals table. With a dismissive wave of his hand, he said "Dvink more bier" (this guy was cool). "She can take care of herself." As several in our party were getting steamed, we leave before there is any incident.

(Dinner: Gasthof Specht, Rahmschnitzel again.)

*** Tuesday, Nov 9 *** In which Mark sees a musical god up close
During the week the military newspaper Stars and Stripes had mentioned a concert scheduled for this day in Munich that I desperately wanted to see -- Paul Weller (for the unlearned heathens, he was front man for the Jam and the Style Council). Since the excercise wrapped up early, I check out of my room and head down towards Munich again. Not knowing where exactly to go, where to buy tickets, or even how to speak the language, I am non- theless successful.

Paul was absolutely brilliant. Hairs were standing up on the back of my neck at several points. The only down side of the concert is that I am now addicted to secondhand menthol cigarette smoke. Muncheners are like chimneys.

Driving back to my guesthouse in Starnberg (outside Munich) I come to several disheartening realizations:

I have only just enough money to pay for my room;
There are supposedly a couple of teller machines in Munich that take American bank cards, but I have no idea where they are
The instructions for how to call back to the states are safely locked in Joe's head, which was now rapidly traveling westward.
I sleep fitfully.

(Lunch: Bavarian pretzel on streets of Munich [tough and stale]. Dinner: schweinenbraten and Hacker-Pschorrs at the guesthouse in Starnberg.)

*** Wednesday, Nov 10 *** In which Mark breathes a sigh of relief
I eat a big breakfast, because I do not know when I'll be able to eat again.

I manage to figure out how to dial the American Express emergency travel number; they inform me that there is an AmEx travel office in Munich that would let me essentially forge a check from my bank for cash. After getting lost several times I manage to find it. When I finally get the cash in my hand, I guess the relief is evident on my face, because the cashier says "You can eat now, yes?"

I head out to Ottobeuren, which features a Benedictine abbey that is really phenomenal. It is supposedly the crowning achievement of the Baroque period; so incredibly detailed that it is almost tiring to look at.

I then decide to head down and spend the night in the Alps. I find a guesthouse in Tiefenberg, outside of Oberstdorf, that has a nice view of the Alps from my balcony of my room. As it is nearly winter but skiing season is not yet in swing, I am the only guest.

[Breakfast: standard German fruhstuck with big spread of meats, breads, and cheeses. Dinner: [Oberstdorf] Chicken heine-something mit brat- kartoffelen. I discover why Germany is not famous for their chicken dishes.]

*** Thursday, Nov 11 *** In which Mark visits the Royal Castles
After getting desperately lost in the Alps, I make my way to two of the Royal Castles of King Ludwig II, Neuschwannstein and Hohenschwangau. Hohenschwangau is impressive but I would have enjoyed it more if I could understand a word the tour guide was saying. Fortunately, Neuschwanstein has a tour in English (Neuschwannstein, by the way, is the one that the Cinderella castle at Disney World is modelled after).

After these castles I dip down into Austria. I blow just about a whole roll of film in the vicinity of Plansee, at a beautiful emerald-green lake nestled in the Alps.

I return to Germany and check into a hotel in Oberammergau, which incidentally is the city where a massive world-famous Passion Play is performed every ten years. They apparently do a massive business of selling crucifixes and other religious knick-knacks here.

(Breakfast: basically the same spread as before, only with addition of a bowl of cold cereal in what appears to be curdled milk. Not wanted to offend my hosts, I try some, and am relieved to find out it is just peach yogurt. Dinner: Rinderschmorrbraten, with several Paulaners, in Oberammergau.)

*** Friday, Nov 12 *** In which Mark castles again
I set out for yet another Ludwig castle -- Linderhof. While smaller than the other two, Linderhof is nontheless very impressive inside.

The rest of the day I had just set aside to wander around through the Alps some more. Some cities I travel through: Garmisch-Partenkchn., Mittenwald, Walchensee, Bad Tolz, Gmund, Bad Weissee, Tegernsee, Schliersee.

I plan on just sleeping at the airport my last night so I head back into Munich. After pizza dinner (I was Jonesing again) I wander the streets in search of a bar to kill some time; I settle on a little French restaurant that has two beautiful women working the bar. Flirting in an odd mixture of German, French and English, I discover my favorite beer yet (Wiehanstephan Export Dunkels); after a few of these, I buy a couple to go and head for the airport.

(Breakfast: usual. Denied lunch because of the idiotic German law where all businesses close from 2PM to 5PM. Dinner: pizza in Munich.)

*** Saturday, Nov 13 *** In which Mark flies home
I sleep well in the airport, and board the plane in the morning. The flight home didn't quite compare with the flight out -- I was stuck back in Business class with the common folk. Oh well, sometimes you have to tough it out.

Some photos from the Perth trip here.

Good fun. Drank wine, spelunked, saw new birds, smelled flowers, saw Australia's southwesternmost point, listened to burned CDs of Fresh Air, Prairie Home Companion, All Things Considered, and What'Ya Know?. We miss NPR!

The cloud hanging over my trip to West Australia (which I'll be posting pictures of soon) was the fact that I have to give a speech tomorrow at work, to a big group of invited clients, on the subject of Web 2.0 as it relates to content management. Surely the biggest such speech in my career, and all the scheduled practice sessions and feedback from partners of the firm really bring home what a big deal it is. It's also really making me face up to my limitations as a speaker. I simply can't speak extemporaneously, and so I'm memorizing as much of it as I can, and relying on my notes much more than the two other speakers. I only have to speak for 15 minutes, but it may seem like an eternity, and I'm still worried that I'm going to get flustered or something, as I still sometimes do. But oddly I'm not really nervous. I just want it to be done with at this point. In fact I'm just posting this because I'm so sick of practicing this speech. I'll let you know how it goes.

Update: It went about as expected. I was a bit nervous, certainly noticeably so, but not debilitatingly so, and got through it okay. The last talk I blogged about I mentioned liking public speaking, but this one seemed more like a chore, and I'm just glad it's over.

You'll notice I have updated the Computronium blog in a while. I did take a couple of weeks off, but when I came back, I couldn't seem to log in, and so put off debugging the problem for another night. Well, it looks like the reason I couldn't log in was because the site was hacked. You'll notice that now all the posts are signed "Mazhar_Fashist", who is not me, and is probably a team of guys.

I'm steaming mad right now. Guys who do this sort of thing are like bombers at 30,000 feet who don't see the damage they do. Or worse, they know and don't care.

I'm having a hard time finding a description of how the hack was done (probably some sort of SQL injection) so I haven't fixed things yet. Fortunately it looks like their only goal is defacement. I'll probably have to reinstall the whole mess, but even if I do, how will I know it won't happen again? Wordpress, which the blog is run on, is a nice slick piece of software, but suffers from its own popularity, and thus is a target for hackers. I could try something less popular but there's always a tradeoff between popularity and slickness.

A festering pox on those assholes!