Berlin on the cheap and with Sarah, which aren't necessarily related but I put them together in the title anyway

Like Paris in the 1920s, New York in the 1980s, and Prague in the 1990s, Berlin is undergoing a significant cultural shift. And it’s awesome. Food is cheap, graffiti is everywhere, and the creativity that comes with the raw, bohemian counter culture is palpable. Bullet-scared alleys in the East that were squatters’ homes only 15 years ago are now laboratories for trendy bars, restaurants, and design studios. Communist-era apartment buildings are coming down and modern, flashy complexes are rising from their ashes. Berlin, especially the East side, is a home for artists, students, and young entrepreneurs. And, like I said, it’s awesome.

Kate and I went to the EU’s second largest city and Germany’s capital this weekend (Thursday – Saturday) to visit our friend Sarah Ashton, who was in town for a week for a work convention. Jet lag and incontestably boring presenters made it easy for Sarah to skip Friday’s presentation and hang out with us instead, traveling through the city in the way the locals do – by foot. And with hot chocolate.

But let me start at the beginning. We arrived around 5 p.m. on Thursday in a leafy residential area of the former West Berlin called Wedding (pronounced VEY-dink). Although we didn’t know it at the time, this sleepy area within walking distance of the hustle and bustle of downtown was actually the area my Oma was from. A neat coincidence, to be sure, although I’m sure the Turkish döner kebap stands weren’t around in the early 1920s. We met Sarah there at 6 p.m. and began a hardy jaunt around the city that ended up keeping us out of our place until after midnight. The first thing we wanted to do was head east…so we hopped on the jaundiced-looking metro line and, pop, we were there. Something completely unimaginable only two decades ago.

Sarah served as a commendable guide for Thursday night, dutifully showing us the sights she’d been able to find and appreciate during her week in the city. Most of the sights are actually on the East side – from the Brandenburg Gate to the museums (153 of them in total) to the famous Unter den Linden strasse, a grand boulevard not unlike the Champs Elysees.

Here's a snap of a bunch of sites from the East. It's no wonder this part is becoming the city's center of gravity for tourists and locals.

The East is made even more attractive to investors because, in addition to the derelict and forsaken properties that went unfrequented for the 28 years the Berlin Wall divided the city in half, the socialist regime put in a “death strip” of up to 30 yards in front of the wall, making potentially attractive property into vacant lots. (It was were called the “death strip” by the way because the armed guards who were ostensibly there to “protect” the “free” socialist brothers of East Berlin from the evil capitalists from West Berlin were ironically instructed to shoot any socialist brother attempting to visit the other side. Nice, huh?).

Anyway, although it’s been almost two decades since the wall came down and those vacant yards were ripe for bidding, construction cranes still seem to sully just about every picture tourists like me want to take. Luckily, I'm shallow enough to take pictures of myself.

See?

Or this sorta stuff.

After our walk around the East, we ate a popularly-priced Indian meal where the food was good (but Kate’s milk-flavored beer was bad) and called it a night.

The next morning we met up with Sarah again for another walking tour of the city, this one provided by a reputable company that actually charges for their services. Again, we headed east on the metro and spent five effortless hours ambling around the former Communist sector. Here's Kate not paying attention.

It was on this tour that we learned a lot about the city and its history. We also realized that the Soviets actually got a better deal than the other members of World War II’s Allies in terms of real estate, because they were partitioned with the central and historic parts of the city, which just “happened” to be on the east side of the city. It’s not like the Soviets did anything with the remarkable property they had….just neglect it. But it’s all open and available now.

We heard a couple good stories about the city’s architecture, its transition during and after the war, and about the tough times faced by inhabitants of the East during the Cold War. We even heard about a couple successful escape attempts and saw Checkpoint Charlie, a famous American crossing point between East Berlin and West Berlin during the Cold War.



Or, perhaps more importantly, we saw this building, where Michael Jackson held his son, Blanket, over the railing.


And this large giraffe.
And this apparently incredibly boring recreation of a traffic control tower in the once bustling Potsdamer Platz where the police guard used to sit to control the first-in-Europe traffic lights.

OK, those last two things weren't on our tour. But they were fun anyway. Seriously. And here's another thing that wasn't on our tour - the Kaiser Wilhelm Memorial Church, which was destroyed during a British RAF bombing raid in 1943. This is, actually, one of the most impressive sites...if you ask me.

We followed that up with a couple drinks in a fun but scruffy neighborhood that had cheap booze, good food, and prostitutes. I started the night off with a “turbo radler” – a mélange of beer and red bull – that seemed to intoxicate my brain very nicely.

After checking out on Saturday, we hit up the very thorough and well organized German history museum (leave it to the Germans to be thorough and well organized) to learn about the history of Germanic people starting from the year 1000 B.C.

We then walked to Berlin’s version of Central Park called the Tiergarten (animal garden) because it used to serve as hunting grounds for the Kaiser and his volk. Today, it’s a delightfully green forest filled with a network of well trod paths and a surprising bunch of little tikes like this couple who were running in what seemed like a breast cancer awareness race sponsored by Avon. Can you sponsor cuteness like this?
And then, it was time to leave – embarking on the six-hour trek back to Wiesbaden and, more importantly, back to Pecos, who we missed very, very much.

Doggie paddle

The real reason I signed on to blogger today is to say that we’re proud owners of a champion swimming dog. A doggy version of Mark Spitz. Mutt Spitz, if you will. But our version chases sticks.

Although Kate and I have forced Pecos into lakes, creeks, and ponds before, our frightened fido has never taken to it. Each time we near water, Pecos beams with excitement at the chance to wade in and spatter about. But once he’s up to his chest, absolute panic sets in. Whether it’s the fear of drowning (which only monkeys and humans are supposed to have), the desire to stay dry, or the humiliation at showing off a rusty breast stroke, Pecos goes no further. Well, we’re proud to disclose that on Sunday Pecos went swimming.Here’s a sketch I made of the event. Those dots are tadpoles (of which there were thousands). The thing in the middle is Pecos. Pecos proud. Big boy. Eat stick and swim in yummy tadpole water.

Men in underwear (caution: GRAPHIC IN NATURE)

Although it's not officially recognized, there's a challenge going on here. Or perhaps just a curious and revolting similarity.

Without clarification or purpose, our blog has posted several pictures of me in my underwear. The situations in which these pictures occur have been varied, but most of them have thankfully been humorous in nature (and not for disgusting or intriguing or overtly humiliating purposes). Here’s another one, without basis, of me climbing a door jamb.I must confess, I’m not particularly proud to be seen in my underwear. Especially with my big black work socks on. But it’s such an ordinary occurrence around here that catching me sans pants is probably just as likely as catching me with them. Am I ashamed? A little. But will I continue to do it? Probably.

Be thankful. These pictures have been few and far between. Our old neighbor’s home-owning blog (http://adventuresinhomeowning.blogspot.com/) has many MANY more shots of the hubby in his BVDs. See?
Now, I’m not saying I was intending to compete in the underpants pair-off with Adam. Not by any means. I wouldn’t want to a) embarrass myself anymore than I have to, b) embarrass Adam, c) gross out unsuspecting blog surfers, d) lose any chances at inheritance, e) ruin our political futures, f) all of the above.

In fairness, Pecos is always seen au naturel. Does that indemnify me?

Two bruised thumbs

Funny. I didn't expect to be an engineer today.

This morning was just like many others. Wake up, shower, get dressed, and go to work to be a good public affairs guy. When I got home, I was searching around the net for a new digital camera, as ours has been to hell and back and has the wounds to show for it.

I'm sure some of you have noticed, but many of the pictures on our blog have little splotches all over them. Over the course of a year, little flecks of dust somehow worked their way into the inside of our camera (probably resultant from the two impacts the camera has made with asphalt) and had little fleck babies. Most recently, it got so outta hand that we've been too embarrassed to show the photos to anyone. Hence, the search for the new camera.

So, I had been searching for about two weeks now....from amazon to circuitcity.com to ebay. (I went further down the alphabet, too.) I even made two bids on ebay last week; both for the same model that we curently have....and both unsuccessful, obviously.


So today I started another ebay search. However, while searching I found this site which listed a way to clean our exact camera model
(http://forums.dpreview.com/forums/read.asp?forum=1009&message=18038181). Intrigued by the thoughts of saving $200-$300 bucks, I gave it a shot and: voila. Two bruised thumbs and 1.5 hours later we have a clean camera. See?


Before:

After: And, yes, yes. I know this is not EXACTLY what engineers do....but come on. Let me have my moment, damnit!

Cinque Terre and Exploring the Rhine Valley by Rachele

Arriving in Wiesbaden, I was prepared for certain cultural adjustments. After all, I had been to Germany before—bathrooms you have to pay to use, coca cola light instead of diet coke, water with ‘gas’, and an over abundance of consonants thrown together haphazardly. What I had not anticipated was having to adjust to how ruthless and focused on hasty efficiency Kate and Justin have become since moving to Europe. For instance, despite the fact that I left for the airport at 3am Wednesday/Thursday and didn’t arrive until 7am Friday AND the fact that I had to wake up again at 3am Friday/Saturday to catch our flight to Italy where we would immediately begin a 2.5 hour hike, Kate refused to let me have an afternoon nap or go to bed early. Then, the following morning, in my hazy stupor, I discovered that Justin and Kate have the ability to walk an incredible 10 mph when they are trying to arrive somewhere “on time” so I had to jog to keep up with them walking from the parking lot to the airport and then through the airport to our gate.

The Cinque Terre, our Italian destination, are five coastal villages in the province of La Spezia in the Liguria region of Italy. "Discovered" by foreigners in the late 20th century, they have come to be among the most popular areas of Italy among tourists. The coastline, the five villages—each of which are inhabited by only around 500 people, and the surrounding hillsides are all encapsulated in a national park by the same name.

Centuries old footpaths and mule tracks wind about 500 to 1,000 feet above the sea, leading through olive groves and vineyards, orchards and chestnut woods. There are almost no cars as the villages are not easily accessible by road, but the main railway between Rome and Paris runs along the coast, mainly in tunnels.

In spite of being mildly traumatized that first day, I was thoroughly impressed with the first Cinque Terre town, Monterosso, where the train dropped us off and which sat right on a gorgeous white sand Mediterranean beach. After debating for five minutes or so whether or not to change into our suits and plop ourselves onto the beach, we decided instead to set off on our hike to the second town, Vernazza, where we had a room for the night. The trail took us up into the terraced hill/cliffside and then curved around the coast before winding back down to drop us off in Vernazzo. Albeit beautiful, the first hike was essentially climbing up stairs for 1.5 hours in the hot sun before climbing down stairs for another 45 minutes or so in the hot sun.

As astonishing as the views from the trail, was the immense amount sweat Kate’s body produced after just a short time hiking and the utter lack of sweat that Justin’s produced. By the time we were approaching Vernazzo, Kate had begun to make the trail unsafe for other travelers because her t-shirt was so soaked, it was dripping profusely and making the rocks slippery. I have to admit that I was only slightly less drenched, but through some genetic mutation, Justin merely glowed and gave off a flowery fresh smell.

From there the day became much less painful and we relaxed on the beach and then at one of the café’s until dinner time when pasta began calling our names.
Since the trails between the towns got progressively shorter, we set out to see all three of the remaining towns the following morning. After slightly less stair climbing than the previous day, we got to Corniglia and wandered in and out of the pretty cobblestone streets before finding a small restaurant where Justin could get an anchovy sandwich for lunch. The next town, Monarola was similar to the others, but was built higher up in the cliffs so there were amazing views of the coastline but no beach. The last town, Riomaggiore, was where we spent our second night and although it did have a beach, instead of sand, there was nothing but softball size rocks for you to comfortably sprawl out on.

Actually, despite having to carefully arrange our rock beds before spreading out our towels, the beach was in this beautiful cove and we had a great time daring each other to “go all the way in” to the freezing Mediterranean.

In addition to the beach, Riomaggiore was also home to Scrappy, a dog I at first mistook for a cat and then tried to adopt from his local fisherman owner. Kate and Justin said they thought he was hideous, but I’m sure they were kidding.

As reluctant as we were to leave Italy the following morning, we took the train to Piza and took the requisite pushing the tower over/the tower coming out of our pants pictures before heading to the airport where an enormous bird robot waited to devour us. Back safe and sound in Wiesbaden, the last two days of my trip were spent relaxing and poking around downtown Wiesbaden, traipsing through the Rhine river valley’s vineyards with Kate and Pecos, and exploring a couple small towns along the river. Kate shared her favorite town, Bacharach, with me, the name of which apparently came from the townspeople’s love of famed singer, composer, and pianist Burt Bacharach. Bacharach was picturesque with pretty gardens, little bridges and a castle overlooking the town, but I preferred the town (whose name I can’t remember at the moment) where I was able to make the acquaintance of Ausfahrt, the lawn gnome. All in all, the trip was a wonderful mix of activity and rest all framed by gorgeous landscapes and sparkly blue water. I miss you guys!

Been spending most our time living in a hiker’s paradise

If you think our snowy trek through the highest mountains in Europe has tattered our hiking shoes, think again. Kate and I just came back from a four night stay in Garmisch-Partenkirchen, Germany’s alpine-skiing-cum-hiking-resort. And I’ll tell you, while standing on top of one of the foothills cowering beneath the massive massifs lumbering above I thought to myself: this is hiker pornography.

Joining us on this adventure was Pecos, my mom, her husband Bill, and two Jerseyite friends, Linda and Rick. Bill had rented a holiday house for the seven of us in a great area of town, only five minutes by foot to the quaint town center. We had all met there on Saturday and wasted no time getting to know the small Bavarian town renowned for its panoramic vistas, mooing cows, and edelweiss flowers.

Garmisch is beautiful. It is all things Bavaria – craggy gray mountains, rugged green slopes, cute onion-spired churches, and charming slanted-roof houses, all dutifully painted with the characteristic religious effigies made common throughout this Catholic state. Seeing this town is truly a trip worth making.

The journey, however, started with a deep, somber note, as we spent the first day looking for the best place to scatter my Oma’s ashes. Like most Germans, she loved the mountains, the edelweiss, and cowbells for more than their bucolic beauty (although beautiful they are). She loved what they stood for – a proud heritage of Germany itself.

Sure, there are Germans from the hilly wine region near us and Germans from the lowlands of the North and Baltic seas. My Oma, in fact, was from metropolitan Berlin (no mountains there). But deep down, she, like most Germans, admit – nay, declare – that the mountains and edelweiss of this alpine are, in fact, manifestations of Germania. This is Bavaria. And we spread her ashes in what we thought was one of the most agreeable spots of this state, located on the top of the wooded Eckbauer mountain trail, looking up at the high craggy mountains on the way to the dramatic gorge called the Partnachklamm. I’m sure some edelweiss will grow near her, just to hear the stories she has to tell.


After that task - the purpose of the trip - was complete, we headed down the mountain toward the gorge, making sure to stop off for a cool glass of beer at the various-shades-of-brown Bergasthof restaurant along the way.

This mountain, we knew, had one of the many ski jumps made famous in the 1936 Winter Olympics held here. The beer we expected (and had high expectations for). But the magnificence of the rushing blue-green water swiftly pulsing through the dramatic gorge took us all by surprise. It was a sunny day. It was warm. And the sky was a pale blue. Usually, you can’t get a more perfect afternoon. But the Acquafina-clear glacial water that was steadily carving away at the stoic rocks made it one heck of a memorable hike.

The next day we visited the Eibsee, a small glacier-fed lake in the middle of the rugged green peaks of the 5,000-foot alpine foothills. The water was a beautiful Caribbean green color, with hardly a plant or animal to be seen. The stony beach and gentle slope into the water provided a puppy playground for Pecos, who loved saving drowning stones almost half his size from the frigid abyss.

After a good 20 minutes throwing stones for the dog, we hiked the three hours around this magnificent lake, despite claims that it was only 1.5 hours. Slow? Yes. But relish we did in the beauty of the place!

The following and last full day we sauntered through a petite market town on the border of Austria called Mittenwald. This town has had a long connection with violins and is home to a violin-making museum and a statue of the man who founded the industry – Mathias Klotz.

But, despite its repute, we spent the afternoon ignoring violins and ambling into and out of the small shops selling Bavarian clothes, table linens, and handmade wood carvings of mostly religious figures – very popular here. We finished the afternoon in Mittenwald with some ice cream and, of course, its best counterpart: Bavarian beer.

Later that afternoon, just before the sun was setting, my mom, Kate, Pecos, and I took a slog up one of the slopes of a nearby mountain and found a solitary church overlooking the town of Garmisch. There, on that grassy lookout under the sunny skies above, all four of us stood in a state of bemusement. We had known Garmisch was a picture-perfect little town amid the foothills of the alps. We had seen the onion-topped spire of the church and had gawked at the cute steep-sloped Bavarian roofs. We had even smiled at the crystal-clear steam that runs right through the middle of this picture-perfect town. But, on that hilltop, we saw it all. Encapsulated within the soaring craggy alps. Illuminated by the bright dazzling sun. Contrasted with the surrounding green slopes. And even punctuated by a slow red train sliding along the side of the town at the base of the mountains. It looked like a train-set town….too perfect to be true. But, it was true. This was Garmisch. Where the edelweiss grow. And where Oma shall rest in peace.

A Few Days in the Swiss Alps

Wednesday morning found Kate, Jen, and I leaving Pecos and the comforts of the rolladen-darkened apartment behind at about 8:45am to pick Justin up from his office in Wiesbaden. Once Justin was securely back in the driver's seat of the spacious Ford Ka, we headed southwest-ish towards Stuttgart, Germany. Now, Stuttgart is not exactly "on the way" to Interlaken, but Justin had some work stuff he wanted to do on the base there, so we made the side trip.

While Justin was busy protecting U.S. interests on base for a few hours, Jen, Kate, and I headed to the "Burg Hohenzollern" castle about an hour away on Justin's suggestion. Being as it was a typical, cloudy German morning with virtually no visibility, we followed the signs up a mountain to the castle which was hidden behind the thick clouds. The castle turned out to be great and very castley...I think.

I did learn a few things while at Burg Hohenzollern:

1) German soldiers find Kate and Jen, shivering in rain gear, to be very "appealing."
2) Kate and Jen find German soldiers creepy.
3)My new favorite German word is "HundeBistro."


Once our bodies had had enough of the cold and dampness, we headed back to Stuttgart to reclaim the fourth member of our party and complete our trip to Interlaken, Switzerland.
After a good 5+ hour final leg of the trip, we pulled into Interlaken under the cover of nightfall. We headed to our hostel, Balmer's Herberge, with high hopes that it would be better than our accomodations in Amsterdam a few days earlier.




Balmer's turns out to be the oldest privately owned hostel in Switzerland and was quite a pleasant surprise. It was full of American college kids, lots of common areas, board games, magazines, fireplaces, and an underground (literally) nightclub. We were all worn out from our long journey, so we fell asleep pretty quickly with thoughts of the mountains we would see the following day in our heads, or mine, at least.

Thursday morning, we started our hike up the Alps in Gimmelwald and headed north. At first, we were on a nice little path...

After we stopped for a little lunch of cheese, bread, and fruit, Justin and Kate decided to, in the words of Kate's hero, Emeril, "Kick it up a notch." Needless to say, the hiking got a lot harder, fast. Soon, our friend, the paved path, was gone, and heavy, wet snow was in its place. This worked out okay for Kate and Justin and their hiking shoes. The New Balance and Asics sneakers that Jen and I had on were a different story. At one point, I knew I should turn around and take a picture of what we had just trudged through:

Soon, we found ourselves on a ski run with two other disoriented American hikers and quickly made our way to Allmendhubel, a little snowy town. Once in Allmendhubel, we sat down outside a little ski chalet/cafe and took in the breathtaking views. Pictures really don't do it justice, so I'm not even going to try...well, maybe one...

While we basked in the magnitude of the Alps, we did get to enjoy the musical stylings of these two gentlemen:
They sounded exactly like you would expect them to sound...

After our rest, we headed back down the mountain. We took a bahn (cable car) down the first half of the mountain and then hiked down the last half. Once back in Interlaken, we walked around and had some traditional Swiss food:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rosti

The evening was capped off with a very difficult game of Trivial Pursuit 6 that Kate was able to walk away from victorious. However, must I remind her who the reigning Pictionary champs are?

On Friday, once we checked out of Balmer's, we wanted to bahn/hike to some glaciers, but found the bahn out of service for the season. We regrouped and decided to hike from Grindelwald to Bort. We opted for the "Sport/Easy" trail and got started. This trail took us up through some beautiful, dense German woods.


The hike to Bort gave me a chance to, besides sweat all over my shirt, observe Justin and his fondness for precipitation in the form of crystalline ice water, better known as snow. One might attribute this fondness to growing up in Pennsylvania with its snowy winters, or simply to the lack of oxygen way up in the Alps. Either way, Justin loved eating snow, picking up big chunks of it,

sticking his arm as far into it as he could, and jumping into it whenever the chance arose.

Once we arrived in Bort, we enjoyed one last Swiss meal and a final bahn ride downhill before starting our journey back to Wiesbaden.

Interlaken and its surrounding areas are the stuff dreams are made of, literally. If you are ever planning a trip around Europe, put it near the top of your list.

*Big thanks to Kate, Justin, and Mr. P for all of their hospitality during our trip and for letting me be a guest blogger.