Guten tag, mon freres. And a hardy howdy-do, as well. I’m one week into my jaunt, and here is what I have learned so far (some on my own, some with the help of Rick Steve’s Europe through the Back Door, even though I’ve been very much going through the front door on all occasions.) Fact is, I’m so homesick that even though I’m staying in this upscale Munich hotel, I ordered a hamburger from room service (topped off with a nice Weiss-bier and a mousse du chocolat, just to be fair to the chef).
1. Everyone – and I mean everyone – hates George Bush. Especially in the UK, where he is slated to deliver some pandering talk this week. From his position on Iraq, to the tariffs on imported steel, disgust with this guy is as vocal as it is ubiquitous. Not too surprising, but still. Doesn't have much impact on me in my travels except that it is noteworthy. I haven't yet needed to take Eddie Izzard's advice ("Tell them you're Canadian") and so far everyone has been delightfully friendly and willing to help. Maybe it's sympathy.
2. Everyone speaks with an accent. Which means, of course, that everyone speaks at least one more language than I do. This may seem like a trivially obvious statement, but it hit me as more than that during day 2 in Birmingham, England. Not all English speakers speak with English accents; our moderator there, who is Spanish by birth, speaks British English with a decidedly Spanish flair, and it still amazed me that her grammar is better than people I encounter every day back home.
3. If you manage just a few words in the native tongue, you will be given much more than the benefit of the doubt. The attempt is rewarded joyously in almost every circumstance. In fact, asking if someone speaks English and then trying in my broken French or German often resulted in them “admitting” that their English is better than they let on. It’s probably important, and related to point 1. You can get very far abroad being American if you aren’t an ugly American. And that means not expecting everyone you meet to speak English. Because most of them do, but being arrogant about it won’t get them to fess up. Which leads me to my fourth learning, which is:
4. A year of high school French will get you farther than you ever thought possible. Mais bien sur! I’m two hours in Paris and, quite unbidden, little dialogues I memorized during sophomore year are coming back to me (tes Americains sont encore la! – The Americans are still here!) which are useless in most practical situations, although not so much these days (see again point 1) but hey it’s better than scrambling for the phrase book every two seconds (see me in Germany, for example). The headline is an example of the perfectly passing English from the housekeeper who knocked just a few moments ago. I couldn’t put a German sentence together with that level of sophistication if you held a Luger to my head. Luckily it hasn’t come to that yet.
I’m working like a dog, so I have not had much time to view the surrounds. Paris went by in a blink, but I had an extended stay in Lyons so I’ve actually got some pictures of (what else?) a basilica there. However, two days plus in each country has afforded a thumbnail portrait of each one. Here’s how it seems to me.
Britain is like a dreary, friendly, wet Labrador retriever. Familiar and mostly eager to please. You enjoy having the little guy around, because you understand Labs so well and they are refreshing and help ease the homesickness, but wet dogs have that smell…It rained from morning til night, and the sky is perpetually gray and close and hovering. Food is plentiful but uninspired. And everything is different there (including the left-hand driving and the British pound).
France is an exotic performance artist who has invited you into her darkened parlor though you aren’t quite sure why you’re there. Wearing sleek shimmery fabric and tantalizing perfume. Everything was just a bit more. And nobody explains what to do. I ate dinner in the hotel restaurant (four stars on that puppy, holy cow) and even though I ordered from the “cheap” menu, the food just kept coming and coming. I learned in Italy that dinner is a dish best served in phases, but I was not expecting this in France. Each dish was tiny and intricately arranged, and although I ordered from the English menu most of the time I didn’t know what I was eating when it finally arrived. This is partly because each course had several sub-courses. There was a pre-appetizer (little stuffed cherry tomatoes and sushi) then my appetizer (a mouthful of broth and a spoonful of fois gras) then the post-appetizer pre-meal, etc. Dessert was supposed to be chocolate ice-cream (I think), but it was preceded by a cream and jam kind of dish, a scoop of sorbet and a tiny two-tiered tray of chocolate cookies. I actually stopped the waiter when he brought the Main Dessert – “I don’t think I ordered that.” I was dizzy. And let’s not even talk about the wine. Below is Mont Blanc seen from business class:
Germany is your loud bosomy aunt who pulls you into her lap to let you sip her beer when Mom isn’t looking, teaching you dirty limericks that you half-understand, except that you know you shouldn’t repeat them. All of these perceptions are largely predicated on the meals I’ve eaten. I am currently staying in a way-too-upscale hotel that is populated with every high-end store you can imagine down on the ground floor. But tucked away there in the basement is Palais Keller, which is an old salt warehouse from the mid 1400s that has been restored and now houses a great authentic Bavarian restaurant. Homemade pretzels in the bread basket. Fifteen different kinds of sausage, on the menu, along with some other things that perhaps are better left unseen (The grilled calf’s sweetbread spleen sausage served with potato salad comes to mind. I mean, really, potato salad? Cholesterol, anyone?? Seriously, though, vegetarians may want to take a big detour around Germany’s borders.) And lawdy lawdy the beer! Mmmmmmmm…..beer.
So that’s it so far. Not bad for a week. Seven days, three countries. Munich and Berlin this week, followed by Barcelona and Madrid. And then on to Roma and Milan and finally home to my bride whom I am just aching to see again. I can’t wait.
ClothMother_old
