Travel Log #10

July 11, 2009
Heathrow airport is a nightmare. Of course, I already knew that, but after the gate being unavailable upon landing (again--forgot to mention that bit last time), my connecting flight is delayed an hour. And then more. So, after the ridiculous rush on the bus and up the elevator that didn't work, I find I have time to spare. Also, British Airways lies online and tells you that you are allowed two bags of baggage. Apparently not. 35 pounds for the extra bag. I didn't care. I'm still ahead of my budget. The good part is I have time to write this.

I am actually in between flights--I flew from Manchester to London and will be flying from here on to Berlin. The check-in people have assured me that my luggage will meet me in Germany. Ha! I will be surprised if it does. As long as no blow torches are involved this time, I'll keep my mouth shut about it (for the most part), but we aren't dealing with Alitalia, either.

Going through security was interesting. No need to remove shoes. Maybe they're more rational here about some things...I never really understood the whole "No shoes through security" policy anyway. They separated me from Therem, though, because "Desperado" taught the world a lesson. Of course, I'm not trafficking weapons, so they let her through but not before this very bored security agent started chatting me up about music, etcetera. (An aside: the blondest kid I have ever seen in my life is screaming and having a tantrum all around the terminal right now.) Finally, I got let past security and expected to go to the gate.

But apparently, the British system works differently. I've never heard of such a thing. They make us sit in a holding area forever and stare at little screens for hours waiting for them to post what gate our flight departs from. They post the gate only twenty minutes before departure! What the heck. Luckily, I happened to be about five feet from mine, but what about everyone else? They have to haul across huge distances.

Anyway, once I got to the gate, everything went smoothly and I got a nice kid (I can't believe I'm calling a 17-year-old a kid--I'm so old, wait 'til Wednesday) and his mother to sit with in my row. Unfortunately, I was on the aisle, but I think I have a window from here to Berlin.

Elliott and his mother ware going to Tokyo because they like to travel. They're traveling on their own and have never been. I'm excited for them. One day, I'll get out of European and Middle Eastern (oh, I'm sorry, Georgie: Southwest Asian) travel and go to the Eastern world.

I left them at Terminal 5. Now I'm hoping they hurry up and tell me the gate number and that it's at the "A" gates of this terminal and not the "B" or "C" which are between 15 and 20 minutes away "using [airport] transit"! Who designed this place?! It's almost worse than driving in Boston. Meanwhile, the generic announcer voice is lulling me to sleep. The good news is, I'm finally almost done reading the sedative. I got through a whole chapter-and-a-half without falling asleep. A record! It's usually about one whole paragraph. (This is why I was an English major and not a history major: love knowing it, hate learning it, why not read a good novel with supplementary sources instead?) Ok, there are more reasons than that for being an English major, but you get the point. It's simply the best.

I will write more later, once the exciting part starts to happen, which means I"m either on a plane again, or have moved into my apartment.

18:22, Berlin Time
My pen has exploded, probably due to the same pressure in the plane that's been making the usual pressure in my ears about 20% worse. But pressure aside, I got on the plane after about an hour of delay--caused by a mix of delays regarding the plane's previous flight and the outer hull's apparently much needed paint job! How ridiculous!

I am sitting in a row with a nice man who I believe is German but who speaks English with a perfect British accent, the usual for around here. He smiles a lot and catches my attention while I write as I have blocked out the world with music. He has his fix of water and wine, and I, mine of ginger ale and tea. We are over France now and soon, western Germany. The sky up here looks like cottage cheese below and the freeing clear blue of the atmosphere just a few miles from space.

On the way tot he plane, there was a very high class stereotypical American family--the mother bumbled on in a valley girl accent with her bleached blonde hair about shopping while the father and son, who couldn't have been older than nine but acted like he was forty-five, dressed in a suit and tie for an international flight back to the States, talked about their wonderful golf tournaments in Manchester and Liverpool. I felt bad for the kid who is probably not even remotely aware of the childhood he is missing.

The exploded ink is everywhere now and my page looks like a Rorschach card...and perfect: "Rocky Horror Picture Show's" "There's a Light" just came on. I am all bruised from the luggage hauling--and it better be there to meet me, as well as Mareike, who I hope looked up the flight to see that is has been delayed. I don't want her to be waiting so long...

Another issue: I only have two more pages left of this notebook and only two blank ones with me. I'm going to have to ship a load of notebooks and paper back to the States before I leave here, unless MASA hates me enough to officially bar me from all possibility of Israel for this year. So much for their "expedited processing"! I really feel that I should hav known two weeks ago, but alas! Who would be on more Jewish Time than Israel? I should be used to this by now, except for the fact that I hate being even on time, but early.

109 miles to go, but I should reacclimate myself to the metric system: 174km. I am 35,500 feet in the air and listening to "Don't Let Me Down" but I can feel us descending already. The playlist goes on: "Secret Garden," the song that I've listened to on repeat more than any other. Two years ago in Luxembourg, I walked around for two days listening to this song looking for something that doesn't exist and trying to rationalize the loss of something that had, and that I would never find again. That's when I wrote the "Morning Song," that "all I learned in the end was that I needed an independent life," and I've lived it like so ever since.

We are about to land--more later.

July 12, 2009
My first impression of Berlin was from the sky: a land under dark clouds at sunset. Where the city sat on the ground, the sky opened up and the city was lit up gold. Along the horizon to my right was a band of pink and gold veiled by a curtain of rain. I thought, how could a country this beautiful ever have been fraught with so much hatred by those who populate it? And then I remember: we are speaking of the human race, which has nothing to do with the beauties of the sky or the landscape, other than to exploit it or destroy it.

When we landed, Passport control met us at the gate. The agent took an inordinate amount of time checking me into the country...I wonder what goodies the Interpol system has on me. Nothing too interesting, I expect. My luggage, luckily, met me at the turnstile, but of course, they'd thrown it around, so one of my bags was open and spilling books and notebooks all over the conveyor belt. People standing next to me helped me gather it all.

I kept looking for the person who might be Mareike from LBSU. I found her waiting for me right outside the gate. Her accent is completely American, so I asked if she was American or German or both. German, but went to school at Tufts and apparently has a very good ear for languages. And it turns out she's not Mareike, but Anna, the administrative director. I'd been imagining her as middle-aged, but she is very young--can't be more than ten years older than I am or less. We had a really good conversation in the car on the ride to my apartment. Traffic here is insane. She pointed out a Nazi airport as we passed it that only closed last year because people had been protesting it. There was a music festival going on farther down the street. I contemplated going, but decided that resting and getting settled was a better idea.

Lucky me, my apartment is four floors up (American). That's not so bad in general, but with the luggage it wasn't pleasant. I'm completely sore. Oh, well. No one was home, so I moved into the double room because my apartment mate, Naomi, had snagged the single. The apartment is really nice. The only iffy issue is that there are massive tennis courts right outside my window and the playing goes all day and starts at around 7:00. We had sheets and pillows set out for us, along with working internet and ALL of our reading material in really nice course packs for the next six weeks. Also, a map of the city. All very impressive, and the light in the apartment is great, too. We have a kitchen with a full fridge, freezer, stove, oven, electric kettle, and all plates, utensils, pots and pans, etcetera! A sitting room, too, with a coffee table and faux leather chairs and a television, and a table and chairs, plus tons of shelving, a vacuum, and nice bathroom. The closet/shelving space in the room sis good, too, plus they gave us hangers. The curtains are purple, for the record, and the furniture is mainly black. We have one chair each in our rooms.

My room mate, Stefanie, arrived in the middle of my nap. She is amazing and from Muenster, Germany. The question of whether there are only Jews on the program is this: No, it's about half. Stefanie is not. Also, the cheese apparently does not come from her Muenster or it's just some American romanticism. She's never heard of it. We had tea over cake and a great conversation. I'm very excited to have a good room mate.

Later, we got picked up by Anna and Mareike who took our passport photos for our transportation passes, and they handed out rail passes for tonight and tomorrow. We went to a kosher restaurant where the food was good and very Eastern European: hot Borscht, salmon, diced potatoes with pickles and carrots, etc.

I met a bunch of people: Carry (sp?) from Seattle but who just graduated from Smith, Ben from Chicago but who just graduated from (I think) George Washington (it's definitely in DC, whichever school it is), Valentine from Romania, Dorene from Berlin, and Deb who's getting her PhD in literature and who apparently has connections with the Clark English department. Small world. It's very nice to be among so many different people from across the world, at so many different levels, but from different educational systems. I also sat next to the professor of the first module. He teaches at the University of Toronto: Derek Penslar. He's taught at a lot of places but is originally from L.A. I hope his classes are as engaging as his dinner conversation. Also, his daughter almost has my name, but chooses to go only by "Tal" where I only go by that sometimes. Anyhow, I should go to sleep now as I have a very long day in class and field trips, then grocery and essentials shopping afterward and an even longer week--

Oh! I forgot to mention that I didn't eat for about twenty-four hours because of the chaos of traveling. Of course, I was starving this morning, but it's Sunday, so almost everything is closed. I stood at the window and saw people with little bags that appeared to have milk in them, so I went running out right after meeting Naomi. I found a corner market, picked up some cheese, herring, butter, and milk. I couldn't find bread and the shop keepers, a woman and her little boy, spoke absolutely no English. I demonstrated "bread" with the butter and she sent the boy out to the bakery for me! He brought me four hot rolls and I didn't have to pay for them. That was so nice, it gave me a little hope in humanity and also reminded me of why I love living in Europe so much. Nice acts like that are more commonplace here between strangers than they are anywhere I've been in the States. It's nice to see some things come around eventually, even if I have to wait almost forever. Later, I asked Stefanie how to say bread: "brot".

Ok, now, really, I really must sleep. Plus, this notebook is finished. I can't believe it. My next one is pretty, though. Hopefully it will last, but I know I'll have to get more, and send a ton home. To clarify, if you don't know, you may read all this on the computer, but I hand write everything first. Writing by hand preserves an ancient art and as long as I am alive, it will not find itself extinct.