Day 9 -- Munich, Germany

We had originally planned to make a pilgrimage out to a place called the "Andrechs Monastery," which was on the outskirts of Munich…and was well-known for being a Monastery, and making beer. It was one of the first breweries in Munich (if not the first), and has some…apparently…pretty darn good beer.

Unfortunately Erika and I were pretty beer'd out. Personally, I like a nice cool Mike's Hard Lemonade, or a Zima – something manly. I've never enjoyed the bitter swill of the hops…but I thought that, if I came to Munich, I'd find the magical elixir that would change my world forever…and every time I was forced to swill a Miller Light, I'd think back fondly to the time, in Munich, that I sipped the perfect beer.

I have yet to find that beer…and I'm not sure if I ever will. It's something that I've never been able to train my mouth to enjoy…like cucumber…or raw potatoes…or monkey. Regrettable, but I don't think I can force it any more.

So instead we decided to do what we do best – walk our little asses off. As great as the public transportation system is in Europe, I feel that Erika have I have decided not to use the busses, trains, and taxis…and instead walk like Egyptians…minus the awesome arm movements…or the awesome song…

We walked up north and saw some big museum-looking-buildings that were (I believe) actually museums. And some more sculptures of naked people.

Now, forgive me, but I'm going to reveal a little bit of a secret here. There's a lot of nudity in Europe…from the primetime network TV…to the statues…to the naked section of the Englisher Garden (I'll get to that in a second). And Erika and I have a tendency to be…occasionally…a little juvenile. I don't want to spoil it or anything…but we've taken some pretty memorable pictures…and…hmm…well, I'll just let you all wait until I start the massive upload. See if you can spot the immaturity somewhere.

After the museums and the naked sculptures, we headed to the Englisher Garden proper. Very pretty. Bigger than central park (we walked half of it, and it took us most of the day), and it's the best of Greenlake (for you Seattlers), the Sehome Arboretum (for you Bellinghamers), and…well…any park in Los Angeles (for you poor sad-sack Angeliners out there). The only thing missing is the ocean…which I'm surprised these inventive suckers didn't find a way to create (though they did manage an artificial surfing wave on the south side…on the river running through the park).

We spent several hours wandering through this place…we stopped at the Chinese Pagoda, and had a very traditional German meal of meat, potatoes, bread, gravy, and big-ass beer steins (I guess we weren't so beer'd out after all). We went up north to see one of the prettiest little urban lakes I've ever seen, then south to see some of the nakedest people in the month of October that I've ever seen (a little jarring, to be honest with you…to have about 100 people arrayed on a big lawn, wearing their birthday suits).

On our way back we got tickets for a production of Tod eines Handlugsreisenden. Though, I'm sure most of us English-speaking folk would call it "Death of a Salesman," but Arthur Miller. This was to satisfy the requirement that this entire trip be "tax deductible," since we're both actors.

I'm kidding…but only partially. If we can deduct any of this trip, that'd be awesome…but that's not the reason we went. We like theater, and the opportunity to see a great production of an excellent play was one we couldn't pass up.

So we got snazzed up, had a quick dinner, and headed to the show.

The show. Now, I'd read Death of a Salesman before, so…even though it was translated into German, I was able to follow the story with my knowledge of the plot, and my rudimentary understanding of the German language. The show was fabulous…though it was interesting seeing the "German Twist" on a (traditionally) very realistic play.

First off, the Germans seem to be in love with spectacle – so the set was a giant revolve filled with the various set pieces to be used throughout the show…and the rest of the theater was bare (from the back wall to the fly rail way above the stage). Now…although Death of a Salesman is typically done completely realistic and straight in America, the German production set it in the modern day, added some surrealistic moments with unusual stage conventions (overlapping scenes with occasional interaction, video projections, a few random moments of singing, and the occasional unexpected, undefined flashbacks).

Having said that, the show worked – it has to be something akin to what the English experience when they see a "re-imagined" version of a Shakespeare play – but it was quite enjoyable none-the-less. The gentleman playing Willy Lohman was superb, and we was surrounded by fantastic actors (who I was able to understand completely, in spite of the language barrier), and an inventive bit of direction. Seriously, there were moments when I was moved to tears, even though I didn't quite know exactly what was being said on stage. I'm very glad I got to see that production…and even more glad, since we paid for the 16 euro seats, but got moved to the 60 euro seats (because, if we hadn't, we'd have been the only suckers in the balcony).

After the show ended, we retired to our fabulous hotel and had some amazing German chocolates (that we'd purchased earlier in the day), watched a dubbed version of Star Wars, drank a Coke Zero, worked on a crossword puzzle for a bit, and eventually fell asleep. Tomorrow, we head to the portion of the trip that we're both dreading and anticipating – Dachau concentration camp. Ought to be interesting. Until then…

Day 10 -- Munich, Germany

Here it comes. Dachau. The birthplace of the modern concentration camp. I wasn't sure what to expect exactly – there was no basis for comparison in the United States. Sure, we treated the Native Americans quite poorly, but (aside from the unpleasant biological warfare) there was no tacit, government sanctioned genocide. The same goes for the slaves – we didn't want to exterminate them…just use them as property. And either way, those original sins are centuries old…as opposed to decades old for the German people.

So it was difficult to picture exactly how they would approach this. A lot of foreign (and some domestic) tourists are interested in these places, yet on the other hand, they're a stark reminder of the sins of your country. And sins so bad that it's sorta' the benchmark for any "country gone awry."

And it's interesting seeing history from a European perspective – especially their perspective on American involvement in European wars. For instance, in the Musee d'Armee, the section that mentioned the American involvement in World War two started, not with Pearl Harbor, but with the "American Oil Embargo on Japan." Never mind the reason behind the oil embargo (the Japanese invasion of Manchuria, and the League of Nations response), the beginning of American involvement in WWII was, from the French perspective, the oil embargo on the poor, oil-hungry Japanese.

There was also absolutely no mention of Patton in Northern Africa (the exhibit only mentioned General Bernard Montgomery), and when the Americans became involved in WWI, the French were sure to point out that it was "With the assistance of French arms" and that the troop assistance was initially "very limited" since the Americans only arrived in 1917.

But what to do about a concentration camp? Well, I was about to find out.

We got up fairly late – there was a general feeling of unease between us…unspoken mostly. It was a strange, dreading feeling going to the camp. Like you know you're about to watch the most tragic movie of your life (which is Beaches, of course); you want to prepare yourself mentally, but you don't know totally what to expect.

By now we'd licked the German transportation system. We got our S-Bahn pass for "5 people and under," then hopped on the west-bound train.

Arriving in the city of Dachau, we did what we've been doing all trip – skipped the shuttle bus, and walked the hour-and-a-half to the site. Admittedly, this walk was not as pretty as the Neuschwanstein hike – it was mostly suburban, and the water we walked beside was more "canal" than "creek."

Another interesting note – we looked at the map by the train station, and it listed "Things to Do in Dachau." The concentration camp was number 7 or 8 on the list (behind the "Town Hall," and several art galleries). Now, I can't imagine that most tourists are coming to Dachau to see their nice, historic town hall…but…then again, who wants to be known as the "Concentration Camp Town!"

We got to the camp eventually – the place was pretty unassuming at first. No big lines. There were several large groups of people (tour groups and school field trips, mostly), but no real "crowds." Lots of individual stragglers as well (like ourselves).

Now I don't like to speak in sweeping generalities – I mean…I try to avoid them, but everyone avoids them…especially the Italians, who are really the best at avoiding generalities. So I'll try to give my feelings about this place as "personal" a vibe as I can...

Basically, right before you walk through the gate there was a little, dilapidated train platform. This was where every person who came to Dachau disembarked…and for many of them they'd never see the platform again.

Now, unlike a lot of places (especially in Munich), the concrete I was seeing here was the same concrete that the Dachau prisoners saw…the camp was mostly untouched after WWII (briefly serving as an American POW camp and military prison…then as a refugee camp), becoming a full-time memorial in the early 1960s. So…while a lot of other places around Europe have been touched up, repainted, repaired, and reconditioned over the years…this historic site was the real deal. The pocked concrete walls, the metal grating, the heavy wood doors, the light fixtures; for the most part this was all "primary source" history.

So I got to run my fingers along this platform…which is fairly corny, but looking from the platform to the entrance…it was just a pretty powerful sight for me. I was looking at the same thing they were looking at…sixty-five years ago.

We stepped inside, through the gate famously stating "Arbeit Macht Frei" (work will set you free). And we went to the first exhibit – the bunker.

Again, all the same emotions as the train platform. One of the first rooms you see "the bunker" was the place where the special prisoners were tortured. Out the back you could see the concrete posts that (as punishment) prisoners would be hung from – by their hands, which were tied behind their backs (a kind of vertical crucifixion). There were several rooms inside the bunker that were called "standing rooms," which were made so that people were unable to sit or lay down. As punishment, people were made to stand in these little rooms for up to 72 hours at a time. Finally there were rooms that were bare and black – as another form of punishment, they'd throw you into this room and keep you in total darkness for up to 6 months at a time (sometimes longer).

And Dachau was not an extermination camp – it was one of the first (if not the first) concentration camp…founded in the 1930s. It initially housed political prisoners…then it housed POWs, and finally, after Kristallnacht, it housed the standard fare of Jews, Gypsies, Homosexuals, and Miscreants.

So as bad as Dachau was, there were even more terrible places, such as Birkenau, or Belzec. But I was finding out, even the camps built solely for "internment" were awful, deadly places to be. In addition to the torture and forced labor, there were awful medical experiments being conducted by some "men of science." Imagine if you were a prisoner, and one of the guards selects you for a special duty. They probably picked you because you fit the description of a Luftwaffe pilot, and you were (relatively) healthy. So they take you aside. You've done everything right up to this point – probably staying as healthy as possible…keeping your head down…going about your business…

When they take you to a chamber. It's a pressure chamber, and they're testing the survivability of Luftwaffe pilots in high-altitude situations. So they sit you on a bench in this chamber, then start de-pressurizing it until the arteries in your brain expand, and eventually pop. Or maybe they put you in a tub of freezing ice water (in full Luftwaffe pilot attire) and see how long you last until you die of hypothermia…because they were concerned about pilot survivability in cold-water situations. I mean…that's just not fair. There's no "Frei" in this situation…you could work your ass off, and if you're the guy who seems "the most healthy," you're tortured to death for the sake of curiosity.

But one of the things that stuck with me was the pictures and videos that were taken by the American forces that liberated the camp. After the invasion of Normandy, and the advance of the Allied forces through France and Germany, the Nazis made an effort to withdraw not only their troops, but also their detainees…and they attempted to destroy all evidence if their misdeeds. So when the Americans reached Dachau (surprising the German guards, and preventing the Nazis from dismantling the camp before Allied forces arrived), it had been used to house prisoners at 20 times its regular capacity. So when the Americans arrived, the saw the camp as it was being run – scattered with various corpses, and piled high with bodies ready for the incinerator.

Now I'm going to get a little macabre here, so bear with me. Arbeit macht frei. Dachau was used, generally, as a source of slave labor, as the Germans were running out of domestic labor (most men of a suitable age and heritage had already been drafted into the Army). So the men at Dachau would get shipped to various armament factories in the area, or they'd work maintaining Dachau itself. Since they were treated poorly, often they'd be worked until they could not work…then those invalids would be sent to an extermination camp and "healthy" workers would replace them.

So the only way to survive Dachau was to work. Arbeit macht frei. The pictures the American forces took were of men…fully dressed for work…sitting against a wall, or passed out on the ground…just not living. These men were worked to death. It's hard to imagine – like anyone, I put myself in their place. How could I have survived this? I'm sure it's common to read about a disaster, and picture how you'd have survived…like, during a plane crash, I'd be the one opening the emergency door at the last second and swan-diving into a lake. Or I'd brace myself against a window, and get thrown clear when my bus plunges over a bridge. In every emergency I see myself as the sole survivor, busting out through a window, rolling through the flames, diving under the table to escape the collapse, et cetera.

I asked myself if I could have done that these men were unable to do…and even given my propensity for the "hero complex," I realized…these men were tougher than I could ever be. They were mostly Russian and Polish prisoners of war, with the occasional western-European prisoner (who were generally treated much better than their eastern counterparts…they were allowed to communicate with the outside world, receive aid packages from the Red Cross, etc.). These men were strong, tough, and stubborn…and when they died, they died probably figuring they just needed to rest against a wall for a minute, or…not having the strength to stand…collapsing to the ground. There was no "give up" in the faces of death that I saw.

Now, I've done some fairly hard labor before. Sometimes for several days in a row. After a week of clearing brush, chopping wood, or transporting heavy things, I'm completely drained, sore, exhausted…my hands are blistered…and I usually need at least another week to recover. Hard to imagine what I'd do if my life depended on my ability to get up every day, not complain, work myself ragged with little to eat for 16 hours at a time with no breaks, then come home to a straw-lined wooden bunk in a little room I shared with 50 other guys in the same position. It's hard to imagine…but at Dachau I had to try. Everyone is born with that instinct to survive, and those men had it more than most. More than me, I'm sure.

Anyway, enough of that. For me, the Concentration Camp at Dachau was the most moving part of our trip thus far. We walked around the camp for, probably, about 3 or 4 hours. It was an eerie, moving little slice of history. And to their credit, the German people did not pull any punches in their re-telling of the camp's history – there was a section that explained how the Americans, upon liberating the camp, forced every resident of Dachau to come to the camp and view the pile of bodies that were sitting out, waiting to be incinerated. Then the surviving members of the Nazi party were forced to dig the mass graves for those same bodies.

I spoke a couple of days ago about the unfortunate destruction of the amazing cathedrals in downtown Munich…how Allied bombing had damaged a large portion of historic Munich. Having visited Dachau, I can now understand why the German people can see that damage as more of a fait accompli than a travesty.

Having taken in as much as we were able we returned to the Dachau train station, had a quick lunch at a local bakery, then headed back into town. Once we were there, we decided to venture out solo for only the second time this trip (the other coming on our disastrous train disembarkation in Passing). It was strangely frightening – it's going to be odd getting back to Los Angeles, and not spending 24 hours together.

Our dinner was more amazingly prepared beer and meat – we got the chance to taste the beer from the monastery that we didn't get a chance to visit the night before…and although it still hasn't fixed my beer palate, it was definitely quite good.

Mentally and physically drained, we retired to the Hotel Uhland, and Erika fell asleep almost immediately. I stayed up for a bit (as I always do), read a Rolling Stone article about John McCain, watched some soccer on TV, and eventually fell asleep too.

Tomorrow we leave Munich…and honestly, I wish we could spend another week here. The hotel, the food, the people, the buildings…amazing. I'm going to miss this place. But we're off to Lucerne, which is going to be our "R&R" stop. Not a whole lot planned, and a smaller city than what we've been to…but a good break after our whirlwind through Paris and Munich, and a "recouping" before we're off to the mean streets of Rome. Should be a nice, relaxing time. Until then…

Week One: Best of...

Best Day of the Week: Got to be that first day in Montmarte. Started off with a bang, eating the best pastry I've ever tasted on a balcony overlooking a quiet, cobbled French street. Then off to to the amazing, winding, cobbled sidewalks of Montmarte, then the awe-inspiring Cathedral of Sacre Coeur, to the Shadow of the Arch d'Triomphe. To an outdoor dinner with my wife…all on our first anniversary. Fantastic day.

Best Moment of the Week: Sitting on the steps of a random cathedral on the Rue St-Antoine, eating the most delicious piece of chocolate I've ever tasted.

Best Meal of the Week: Suckling pig in Munich. Hands down. I'd strangle the baby piglet with my own hands to get a taste of that again.

Best Painting of the Week: That unidentified painting of the Passion of the Christ in the basement of the Frauenkirche. I couldn't take my eyes off of it – it was tragic, beautiful, and (ultimately) uplifting. Beat anything I can think of from the Louvre or the Musee d'Armee.

Best Outdoor Scene of the Week: The Swiss Lake just off to the left of the Palace at Versailles. Don't know why…but it was just breathtaking – maybe it's because the first part of the gardens we saw.

Best Sculpture of the Week: The Gladiator in Rome. I'll try to find a picture…but it was a beautiful work of a body in motion – not just sitting on a pedestal, holding something.

Best Surprise of the Week: A different statue in the Louvre: Hermaphrodite. I don't think I need to explain myself any further with that one. Maybe I do. It was a lady with a wiener. Have I said too much?

Best Piece of Martial Equipment of the Week: The Messerscmitt Me 262 – the world's first operational jet fighter, and they had one in the Deutsches Museum. It was my favorite plane to play in the video game "Aces Over Europe," so it holds a special place in my heart.

Best Fountain/Monument of the Week: The St. Germain fountain in Paris. At least…I think that was the name. Angels totally beating on demons: awesome.

Best Waiter of the Week: Got to go with the friendly Frenchman who served us crepes. We weren't even going to stop at the restaurant, but he happened to be hanging out the door…Erika asked him if they served crepes…and he ushered us inside for some great crepe action – mostly because the jam we were smothering across the little suckers was mouth-watering. Friendly, helpful, and efficient…couldn't ask for more.

Best Restaurant of the Week: The name escapes me…but there was a small, hunting-lodge-looking restaurant in Montmarte that we went to (the night after our mediocre anniversary meal) that had food, ambiance, friendly staff, and unbelievable prices to boot.

Best Museum of the Week: Got to give it to the Deutsches Museum. The fact that I was fascinated by descriptions of windmills and rowing power made this squeak out a victory over the (much more famous) Louvre and Musee d'Armee.

Best Transportation of the Week: The train to Versailles. Quick, easy, and cheap. That's what she said.

Best Place of Worship of the Week: Gotta' go to Sacre Coeur. Amazing from beginning to end. Didn't even mind that the crypts were closed for the day (inexplicably).

Best Tomb of the Week: Viva La Empereur!!! Family, remember this: I'd like to be buried in a massive obelisk (no shorter than 30 feet tall) carved from marble, and decorated with gold leaf, in a massive domed cathedral. Make it happen, or I will come back to haunt you.

Best Nature-Inspired Moment of the Week: Walking out of the Louvre, and the sun was setting over the Eiffel tower…and the temperature was dropping to a comfortable level…and the streets were getting quiet. It was, as Erika put it, "Magical."

Best Theatrical Performance of the Week: Sorry Lapin Agile…I've got to give this one to the Gold Ring Gypsy lady.

Best Reader Comment of the Week: The one where my mom used the word "badonkadonk." That was probably the funniest thing I've ever seen. Ever.

Day 8 -- Munich, Germany

Few things have really stuck with me from my German language class in high school. One of those things was the saying "Oh nein! Mein Schiff ist Kaput!" Which is what one would say were they to lose a ship playing "Battleship" (auf Deutsch). Another one of the things that stuck with me was a blurb about "Lustiger Ludwig," meaning "Crazy Ludwig."

Who was crazy Ludwig? Well, I'm no history professor (or even a high school German teacher). In fact, I'm nobody. But I do know a little bit (now) about the man they called "Lustiger." He was Ludwig II, son of Ludwig I, who was the son of Ludwig 0 (I believe). Like all Germans, Ludwig had a weird fetish – but uniquely, his was a "Castle Fetish," and…after he ascended to the throne of "King of Bavaria" in the mid 19^th century, he built a bunch of them. Three. The most famous one was the Schloss Neuschwanstein, which was (apparently) the model for the "Cinderella Castle" (I believe…I'm powerless without easy access to Wikipedia).

So anyway, that story stuck with me…because the name "Lustiger Ludwig" made me giggle. The same way the word "Einfahrt" (entrance) also makes me giggle. Erika and I decided that we'd make the pilgrimage out to the most famous castle in the world (according to me), and see what the big deal was.

We woke up completely on schedule, and ended up leaving a bit late (breakfast took a while, as did some early morning internetting on the free computer downstairs, and hairs needed drying, et cetera). We got a ticket for 8:52 AM, and scheduled our return trip for 3:00 PM. We figured that we would only really need 4 or 5 hours at the site before returning home.

The train arrived. We rode the train. The train stopped. We got off the train. Nothing really interesting, except for a couple of American girls behind us talking about how they couldn't wait to get back home to eat at a Chili's restaurant…or a Taco Bell. Pretty amazing, these American folk.

The little town of Fussen has the closest station to the castle Neuschwanstein, so that's where we de-trained. At this point Erika was getting the shakes because she'd been without coffee all morning…so instead of jumping on the first super-crowded shuttle bus, we decided to wait for the next'n. They arrived every 20 minutes (give or take).

Fussen was pretty adorable – we were expecting a tourist way-station for people making the trek out to Neuschwanstein…but it was actually fairly cute, and Bavarian.

We eventually found coffee, then found our way back to the shuttle bus, which took us to the foot of the two castles (there's another, smaller castle called Hohenschwangau in the area). Off the bus, we went and stood in a fantastic, 45 minute line.

Don't know if you're doing the math at this point, but by the time we got to the front of the line it was 12:15 PM. Now, something they don't tell you – if you're going to see both castles (like we wanted to do), you had to leave 2 hours between the first and the second castle – and you had to see Hohenschwangau first. And the tours were of the timed entry variety. And you could only see the interior of the castles via the tour. So…we were set up with the 12:45 PM tour in Horschangau, and the 2:45 PM tour in Neuschwanstein…meaning we had approximately negative 15 minutes to make it to our train back in Fussen (the shuttle took about 10 minutes). Oh well, we thought…we'll just buy another ticket at the station – prices weren't that bad.

Our first stop was Hohenschwangau, the small yellow castle in the shadow of the big white castle. Actually, to be completely accurate, our first stop was the courtyard of Hohenschwangau – our tour didn't start until about 30 minutes after we got to the courtyard. So we did what we've been doing when we've got time to kill – puttered around and took pictures.

Finally our number was called. I must say – for those of you visiting the region, do yourself a favor and see both castles. The tour was great – our guide (the first tour guide we've actually had our entire trip) gave the tour in very good English. He was funny, engaging, and very well-educated about the area, and (specifically) the castles. He worked well off the cuff, and he made that littler castle much more interesting to us (in the long run) than its bigger, more popular cousin.

Speaking of which, after a fantastic little picnic overlooking a clean, picturesque alpine lake adjacent to the two castles, we made our way up to the massive, monolithic Neuschwanstein. There were quite a few more people at this castle, naturally. We sat around for another half-hour or so until our tour group number was called, then made our way through the castle.

Which was very cool. Don't get me wrong, there were plenty of breathtaking moments, and the kind of Germanic artistry that I really, really enjoy…detailing the history of the Bavarian royalty, a bunch of depictions of various works of Wagner (a favorite of Lustiger Ludwig), and some great (really expensive) artifacts from the time.

But for some reason, the bigger, sexier castle didn't appeal to us as much. Maybe the second tour guide wasn't as good (though she was fine…just not as good with the English…and a little too quiet to be heard sometimes). Maybe the second castle just seemed like a shrine to excess (when Ludwig died before its completion, all construction halted forever…so his grand plans – and they were excessively grand – will never be realized). Maybe it was just difficult to picture anyone living in Neuschwanstein, making it seem less personal. Either way…it was still very breathtaking…but I'd give the nod to the first castle over the second.

By the time we got back down to the base of the mountain, it was 3:15, and our train was long gone. So instead of fighting the crowd to get back to Fussen, we decided to walk the 5 kilometers into town…and we found a trail marked "Die Romantische Trail" (which is German for "Your Wife Will Love This Trail, Dude. It's Worth The Pain In Your Feet).

And it was worth it. Again, if you're going to visit Neuschwanstein, I recommend either walking there, or walking back from Fussen via this trail. Breathtaking views. A trip right by "Der Schwansee" (Swan Lake…no, not that Swan Lake, but a different one). And some of the prettiest scenery in all of Bavaria. It's true – we have pictures. It's a long walk – at least an hour – but damn if it isn't worth every minute.

Back in Fussen, we found the Bahnhof (train station) and purchased another ticket (turns out we didn't need the second ticket – our pass was an "all day" pass – but…oh well). We experienced another uneventful train trip, and arrived back at our hotel around 8:00 PM.

Now, Erika decided to do something that I've never had the courage to do – ask the people working at the front desk of a hotel "Where's a good place to eat? Something not too touristy?" Well, dude pointed us to a restaurant two blocks away called Lenz.

Turns out Erika asked a very good question, because Lenz was fantastic. Best waiter we'd had so far…close to the best food we've had (I still hold a soft place in my heart for the baby pig that first night in Munich), and a pleasant, easy ambiance that made for a great dining experience. We went back with our bellies full of food, and a mouth full of thanks for the dude at the front desk.

Tomorrow we're going to the Englisher Gardens, which have a Japanese Garden, Chinese Pagota, all in the heart the German city. Should be an enlightening world tour. Until then…

Day 7 -- Munich, Germany

Munich, A.K.A. the city that never sleeps.

Okay, I'm making that up…I have no idea what Munich is called, other than the very Germanic-sounding "München."

First off, I will speak on our hotel. We're staying at a place called the "Hotel Uhland." Now…going from the dark, stinky alcoves of the Hotel Horse d'Or (oh, wait, I get it now – Odor of the Horse! I was such a fool!!!) to the wondrous clean of the Hotel Uhland was enough to make a man wrap a sandwich in foil and put it in the fridge for 2 days, then after that 2 days was up, take the sandwich out and eat it, because he was really going to enjoy that sandwich.

Which is another way of saying that the hotel is awesome. Clean. Bright. Full buffet breakfast included. Friendly staff. Spacious bathroom (relatively). German television with German channels (full of grodey childbirths, apparently). A mini-bar with reasonable prices (I don't think that Europe has caught on to the "mini-bars are only there to bilk your guests" craze that's rampant in the US). And Mirrors!

Okay, I'm getting carried away. The point is, if you ever happen to find yourself in Munich, do yourself a favor and stay at the Hotel Uhland. And tell them Tyler sent you. They probably won't know who Tyler is, but I've always wanted someone to say "Tyler sent me." Seems very classy.

Our room at the Hotel Uhland. Small...sure...but everything is small in Europe, apparently.

After our free breakfast (I know it's not really free, since it's included in the cost of the hotel…but I'm going to call it "free"…since our hotel budget and our food budget are two separate columns on the Excel spreadsheet) we did our typical first-day-in-a-new-city tradition. We went on walkabout – Dundee style.

First stop was the Glockenspiel, in the Marienplatz. The Glockenspiel is on a big ol'…I'm gonna' say "building" (even though it looks like a church from the outside) in the middle of the city. One of the towers contains a bunch of little...statues?, that spin in a circle several times a day. That show, which is a marvel in medieval engineering (actually finished in 1908), was attended by, probably, several hundred people...all craning their necks to see the little things turn in a circle. More fun for us than the actual "show," was the reactions of the crowd. When one of the jousting knights was un-horsed, there was a gasp of approval from the crowd, followed by a smattering of applause. It was adorable.

This is what everyone was looking at.

Next to the Marianplatz were two big ol' churches. The first is the Frauenkirche, which is German for "Kirch of the Frow." It's notable because there are two big towers that (Sharla, plug your eyes here) look like two big ol' boobies. Or, at least the tops of them do. Or maybe I'm just imagining things. Or maybe I should just stop talking.

Anyhow, our first stop was the sanctuary itself. Very pretty – it's always interesting, because you feel a bit sacrilegious popping into an active, catholic church and snapping photos of the cool artwork in the different naves (representing the different saints that are prayed to by Catholics…or some-such…I'm not totally sure how it works, being the Protestant scum that I am). Plus, occasionally there will be a mass going on, as tourists rotate around the outskirts of the cathedral…taking pictures…gawking…et cetera. It's very strange.

In the back of the cathedral was something very interesting – photos of the church from 1944 to 1949. See…apparently the Allies pretty much bombed Munich into oblivion. I read that 71 air raids hit Munich during the war…and much of the city was destroyed by allied bombs. Munich was one of the birthplaces of the Nazi party, and the allies seemed interested in blowing it up. The two main churches in the square were no exception – they were pretty massively devastated…and the photos showed the rebuilding efforts, ending in the restoration of the church to its original state. At least, I think that's what happened – my German isn't all that great.

So, underneath the main pulpit (my church terminology is not so great – would that be the sept?) was a little shrine, and I saw the best painting I'd seen since my trip to Europe. It was another retelling of the passion (we've probably seen several dozen at this point…one thing about European artists – they loved painting the Jesus), but it wasn't the expression-less retelling that the Romantics seemed to favor. It was almost done in the style of "The Scream," where the picture was abstract…showing the massive suffering and ugliness of the event. It gave a tragic humanity to Jesus (because he was "made man," as I recall), and to those around him…and it really moved me. This was the kind of art that really reaches me – something shedding the banality of stoic heroism and showing the true gut-twisting fear of real heroism.

But I didn't get a photo…because I was in a church…and some guy was praying…and it just didn't feel right. Maybe if we swing by there later I'll get something…I just really liked the painting. That's all.

After our tour of the sanctuary, we went up in one of the boobs – sorry, towers – to have a look around. Something the Germans don't seem to have figured out are the intricacies of doorways. The French discovered some time ago that you have to let people off of the elevator before you can push yourself on. The Germans? Not so much. The French also discovered that those narrow stairs leading to the towers of cathedrals were not built for "up and down" traffic at the same time. Again…Germany must have missed that lesson. Also, the French know not to stand in doorways…because people use those to enter and exit buildings. Not so the Germans. I could go on…but portals seem to confound the proud German people. At least, that's been my experience.

The view from the top was all right – Munich doesn't have the famous landmarks of Paris, but it's got a pretty skyline. We didn't linger long, because we had a long day ahead of us that was only beginning.

View from the boob.

Our next stop was lunch…and Munich again scores a knockout against the weak Parisians. I had a bratwurst with mustard on a Kaiser roll…Erika had some kind of liver cheese sandwich, which contained neither liver nor cheese. What it does contain is a mouthful of magic in every bite. I would walk 500 miles to eat either one of those sandwiches again – in fact, sitting here in bed, I'm seriously contemplating sneaking out, breaking into the booth where it was sold, starting up the grill, locating cooking instructions, and firing up another one of those bastards. I'm totally serious. It was that good.

Lunch

Bellies full of sweet, sweet German food, we dashed over to the Deutsches Museum, which, I believe, is German for "Rabbit Squirrel Dinner on a Rose Rabbit Sparkplug." It's a huge museum full of technology, and "what-not." I could try to explain the what-not, but instead I'll leave you with an impression.

Erika and I spent a good 45 minutes learning about the history of metallurgy. Yes, the two lily-livered (is that the second time I've used that phrase? Blast!) Theater Arts majors read up on how medieval craftsmen separated gold and silver from raw ore (hint: they used a furnace). I know…it doesn't sound interesting…but durg-labbit, it really, really was.

All you will ever need to know about medieval met

Now, because we were crawling through the museum, reading up on way too much interesting stuff to ingest in a single day, we got about a little less than a third of the way in and realized that we were falling asleep on our feet. Not out of boredom, but out of good old fashioned exhaustion. So Erika sat on a bench as I got my "war history" on, and cruised through the airplane section of the museum. Too much cool stuff to go into, but the point is – if you're in Munich, leave a day to spend here. You'll learn a lot – there's English translations for nearly every exhibit that we saw (except, oddly, for the oil drilling and refining wing). Very cool.

An actual Me-262 -- my favorite WWII airplane. Can you feel my excitement?

We walked back across town, I got us lost (and I blame the map, because an awesome handyman blames his tools) but we found our way eventually, and I forced a nap into our dwindling itinerary.

Our dinner was at the world-famous Hofbrau Haus. Which, apparently, is German for "I'm Tired Of Translating German For You Tyler, Please Go To Bed." We had two one-liter beers each, and some more meat and bread – I'm sure Munich is giggling with Bavarian pleasure about the severe hit our "healthy eating plan" has absorbed. Full of a liter's worth of beer, we staggered around the Marianplatz a bit more, stopped in some restaurant somewhere and ate some Apple Strudel, then staggered back to our hotel and slept in a staggered fashion.

It was an amazing day, for sure. Tomorrow we go to the "Cinderella Castle," which is German for "Neuschwanstein." Should be fun – we'll see if we can actually follow through on our nightly pledge to "get an early start tomorrow." Until then…

Day 6 – Traveling from Paris to Munich

This is what the professionals call a "traveling day." And for Erika and I, it was completely terrifying, because we got to (unwittingly) recreate an great little movie moment. I'm not sure which movie it's from, but it's the one where: "the guy gets off the train, then looks back to help his wife off the train, but the train door closes before she can exit, trapping her on the train. They frantically search for a way to open the door, but the train starts moving down the track, and the guy runs along next to the train, freaking out, because he has no idea where it's going, or when it's going to stop."

But I'm jumping the gun. Before I get to that excitement, I must remember -- as far as you all know, we're still in Paris. Must...stick...to...the...narrative...

So, rewind to France. There were things we didn't get a chance to do in Paris. Erika wanted to do some more shopping, and we both wanted to see the Roman Baths in the Musee Cluny. But the imposing "11:24 AM in a train station we've never been to" section of our itinerary made us both very nervous. Never having ridden (rode?) a train in Europe before, we didn't quite know what to expect…so we thought we'd give ourselves plenty of time to get to the station, get adjusted, get aboard, and get the hell out of town.

Unfortunately our waiter at breakfast didn't know this, and we had another one of those annoying experiences where we asked for the bill, and the waiter did everything he could think of to do instead of bring us our bill. Jimminy…that's one thing I will not miss about the Paris.

Eventually, we paid our damn Euros, and got out of the place. We bounced over to the Gare l'Est…which…I believe, means "Gare le East." We were a little worried about catching our train – we got to the station with only 20 minutes to spare – but we needn't have worried…there were no security line to go through, no bags to check, no tickets to buy. Just a train with multiple doors, and reserved seats. We just needed to get on the bastard, get rolling…and let the Rail Pass take care of the rest.

The train was very cool. Like a plane, except it took longer, was less cramped, and didn't fly. Erika slept through the first leg, from Paris to Stuttgart, and I slept through most of the second leg, from Stuttgart to Munich.

What do Erikas dream of when they take a little Erika snooze...?

We switched to a new train in Stuttgart. As we were boarding the new train we noticed a big ol' fat suitcase, with the handle fully extended, sitting in the middle of the aisle. Next to the suitcase was a woman…probably in her early 40s, resting her hand on the bag that was blocking the aisle. I gave my German a shot, and said, "Enschultigung bitte" (excuse me, please) and waited. She didn't move. In English I said, "Excuse me." Nothing. I figured that I'd given her plenty of multi-lingual warning, so I shouldered my way past her...as roughly as possible without being violent.

After we'd both pushed our way past the aisle blocker, she got the hint, and put her bag up above our seats…with the "pull handle" fully extended. Fine. Whatever. Now, at least, the aisle was clear for when we had to get off the train.

And holy freaking crap. Sorry, I'm sitting here in our hotel room, writing this, and I'm watching a woman giving birth of German TV right now. They're showing everything. Everything. Holy crap. It's 1:00 AM, and…oh, yep. That's a vagina. Eww…NOOO!!!!! NOOO!!!!!! What the hell? Make it stop!!!!! What is that!!!?!?!?!? That's not a …..uggh….that does not look…is she birthing an alien? Oh my God it's a face. Blood. Everywhere. What the…?!?!?! Is that a hand!? You're going to crush it! Ewww!!! No!!!!! It's all bloody!!!! Oh, thank god, it's out. Umbilical cord. There's so much blood! Gross!!! And now he's pulling a bag out of her – oh Lord, it looks like turkey giblets. Just snipped the baby's umbilical cord. Gross…more blood. That was maybe the grossest thing I've ever seen. God, I hope it's over. WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH GERMAN PEOPLE?!?!!

I'm sorry…I was right in the middle of something. I'm just….I'm a little shook up. Ew. They're…never mind. It's really gross. This is the grossest thing I've ever seen – I'm not kidding. I mean, most of this "birth" stuff is done in a tight close-up, with soft lighting, and comforting music. This gore-fest was shot in a wide angle, in a harshly-lit room. It showed that puddle of blood and afterbirth, the episiotomy, the bruised aftermath...everything. On regular television. Ick.

Where was I? God…how do you recover from that? This story is going to pale in comparison to what I just watched. And am still watching, for some messed up reason.

Okay. Good. Yuck. No. Focus, Tyler. Focus.

Anyhow, with about 30 minutes left on our trip, the woman stood up, reached over me, and pulled her stupid bag down – that stupid handle still fully extended. I didn't think much of it, other than to be annoyed that she'd basically rubbed up against me to get her stuff. But whatever. It's Europe -- people are bumping into each other all the time.

But this woman…wouldn't you know it; the dumb bastard left her suitcase in the middle of the aisle...again. And, inevitably, the conductor called the "Munchen" stop. Since we were not in any real hurry, we decided not to get our bags until we absolutely had to – to avoid the crush of people.

Big mistake. After the train pulled into the station, we waited a bit, and then I got my bag down and started wheeling it down the aisle. But as I was doing so, I noticed that the stupid woman was still blocking the aisle with her suitcase. I gave her a loud "Enschulegung Mir Bitte," waited a beat while she didn't move, and then roughly shouldered my way past her (again) toward the exit.

And I hopped off the train to the platform, only to look back and see that Erika was not able to get past the woman (I thought my violent hint had been enough for her to move the bag, but apparently not). Erika got to the door just as it closed in front of her.

Yes. The door closed. I was standing on the platform, and Erika was still on a train to…God knows where. The stop prior to that was an hour earlier…so who knows where the hell she was going to end up. And I had the train tickets in my bag.

But stuff like this must happen all the time, rigth? Well, there were two buttons on the door – red and black. And a handle. I pushed the red button. Nothing happened. I pushed the black button. Again, nothing. I pulled the handle. Then I pushed the red button and pulled the handle. Then the black. I looked through the window and saw Erika doing the same thing. Frantically, I just started pushing buttons, and pulling the handle…but nothing was happening. Then the train started to move. I was out of time. Erika was leaving the station...without me.

Luckily, I remembered that Erika had her cell phone, and it worked in Europe. So I made the international "I'll call you" sign, and ran along the train as it sailed away.

This was our worse-case scenario: getting separated in Europe. I can't imagine what we would have done if one of us didn't have a phone – hopefully meet up in the hotel. But…in a foreign land, knowing only a little bit of the language, with only a vague notion of your location…it was pretty scary.

I looked around the platform to try to figure out where the hell I was. I saw a sign that read "Munich, Pasing." I wondered what, exactly, Munich was passing?

I soon found out that "Pasing" wasn't the silly English gerund I was familiar with, but the name of a town on the outskirts of Munich (one might call it a "suburb"). We had wanted to get off at the "Munich Hauptbahnhof" stop, not to "Bahnhof Munich-Pasing" stop. As I would later find out, I'd gotten off one stop too soon.

So I found a pay phone and called Erika. It took me some time to figure out the "international calling" rules, but I got a hold of her, and when I did she told me she was in the Munich Hauptbahnhof, and that she was walking to the hotel. I asked her if she knew where to go, and she told me that (luckily) she'd grabbed one of the print-outs that had a map on it, while we were on the train. So she could find the way. I told her I'd meet her there, and that I was going to "have fun" figuring out how to navigate my way through the city...using just my tenacity, smarts, rudimentary language skills, and a pocket full of Euros.

The game was on. I got the chance to have my first real German conversation, since my sophomore year of college (where I got a "D" in German, and got placed on academic probation). I asked a woman (in broken, probably hilarious German) which train to take to get to the city center (aka the Hauptbahnhof). She told me platform "vier oder funf" (four or five). I thanked her, and walked to the corresponding platform.

However, once there, I couldn't figure out how to buy a ticket from the machine – there was some strange terminology (1 zone, 2 zone, all-day pass, etc) that gave me absolutely no context. So I decided to ask the pleasant English-speaking man at the DB (Deutsche Bahn...the guys who run all the trains in Germany) ticket counter.

He set me straight. I needed the "local" train, not the "international" train. Got it. Much cheaper, and far more frequent. It loaded on platform four or five. Good. That first lady was right...and, more importantly, I understood her. The ticket guy also sold me the ticket I needed, so I didn't have to figure out those accursed machines.

So, in no time at all, I was cruising on the S-Bahn into Munich. This time, I paid attention to the damn stops, and I got ready to exit the damn train well before it pulled into the station.

Eventually, I made it to our hotel...and met up with my wife after a terrifying 2 hour separation.

To ease our stress (and our crippling hunger) we decided to get some dinner. There are a bunch of "German Beer Halls" in Munich, which are basically huge restaurants with rows of cafeteria tables, served by dozens of waiters and waitresses, who bring big steins of beer, and plates full of meat.

This is the beer hall we chose. It was a good choice.

So we sat down. The waiter was quite friendly. He spoke a wonderful amount of English, and brought us both enormous beers. I ordered a "suckling pig," which I can only assume was a cute widdle baby piglet. Erika ordered flesh of a cow, boiled in cabbage and what-not. Good, wholesome, Germanic faire. And there was a wonderful "not crappy like American potato salad" potato salad also on Erika's plate.

This was my meal. Holy damn hell, it was tasty.

Now, please forgive the vegetarians among you out there…but it was…probably…the best food I've ever had. I actually briefly considered licking the plate clean it was so good. Nothing personal, Paris…but your food completely sucked in comparison.

The contented aftermath. I did not lick the plate clean, as you can clearly see here.

Nursing a healthy beer buzz, Erika and I stumbled back to our room and lapsed into an overdue, and heavy sleep...thick with excellent German beer, and even excellenter German meat. Tomorrow, we see exactly what the hell this crazy little "birthplace of the Nazi Party" is all about. But tonight, we sleep.

Day 5 - Paris, Bastille

Versailles. Or, as the French say: "Verr Sigh." Today was another of those clichéd type of touristy days where we were going to pack a lunch (baguette, cheese, orange, macaroon), and hop a train out to the western end of Paris to see the itty bitty little wonderful palace. Then we'd head back to Paris proper to climb the Notre Dame, wander around the Palce de Vouges, eat some crepes, then get back to our hotel to pack.

And we did exactly that, damn you. And I have pictures to prove it.

First up, Versailles. Turns out, Paris public transportation is incredibly, terribly, quite, very easy. Listen up Seattle and Los Angeles – it doesn't have to be this way! You know all that shitty traffic you're always sitting in? You don't need it! A good transit system can be done. It's going to cost money, yes…but damn you all, it's worth it! You've got to do something! I'd pay 20 times the taxes I pay now just to have a frigging usable means of getting around town that doesn't involve me dropping 40 dollars for a tank of gas every week. Mon Dieu!!!

Wife on train...looking like a sweet secret agent.

Sorry. Distracted. Anyhow, we took the train straight over to Versailles, and walked up to the palace. Finally we got to experience the "waiting in line" part of Europe that we'd (somehow) avoided all this time. But…really…the line was not so bad. I'd say, about 30 to 40 minutes…no more.

We got inside, buyed our tickets, then ventured around the grounds for a little bit. They were pretty -- but before we got too far out into the garden, we thought we'd go into the actual palace.

Look how pretty these trees are. Those French know how to do trees.

The Versailles palace was a bit of a…hmmm…a bit of a bastard, really. There were a lot of people at the Louvre, yes…but there was also a lot of room to move about. At the palace, it was just packed full of foreigners, jostling each other, taking pictures of everything they could, talking loudly, smelling awful, and making life generally uncomfortable. On top of this, since the palace is fairly roomy, the operators took the brilliant step of roping off the majority of a room you'd go through…so you'd end up with a little narrow corridor packed with irritated people, all pushing each other to either get through the mob, or get forward to the cordon to take a picture of…whatever it was they were looking at (usually furniture and paintings).

Typical Versailles Palace scene. Do you like smelly, tightly packed crowds? Then you'd love this...

On top of this all…the absolute worst thing I've seen so far in Europe. In each of the rooms (and the reason why so much floor space had been roped off) were displays of "modern art." Now, don't get me wrong -- I don't mind modern art. As much as I disliked the "modern" Louvre pyramid, it wasn't completely appalling to me. But…holy crap. The artist (whose name escapes me now) had a bunch of giant metallic balloon animals scattered throughout. He love them metallic balloons. And in one room – blocking a beautiful, huge painting displaying a scene from antiquity – he'd hung a giant [gall darn] inflatable lobster pool toy on a chain. In this beautiful, amazing palace…surrounded by the most gorgeous scenery in all of France, some [dumbo] decided that the only thing missing was a big red inflatable pool toy.

There it is -- an artistic kick in the babymaker.

So on top of all the idiots pushing each other, flashing their cameras, talking loudly, and stinking, I got to see a disgusting modern "art" display. Needless to say, the palace itself was a bit of a dud. No, strike that, a big ol' flop. If you're going...see it, but just be ready to be annoyed.

But we still had the grounds to see – I mean, who actually goes to Versailles just to wander through the palace anyway? I guess…a lot of people…but that wasn't why we were there. We wanted to look at some damn trees, statues, fountains, and grass!!!


A good example of said trees, statues, fountains, and grass...

Which we did. So interesting, because when you're out looking at all the statuary you forget that they're not cheap plaster or concrete knock-offs – they're the actual marble statues that have been standing for at least 100 years. Pretty cool.


This seagull is not impressed, however.

None of the fountains were on…which was a bit of a bummer…but I suppose keeping those running all day would be a bit of a drain (please forgive the pun…or don't…whatever).

We decided to sit and eat. Upon opening our bag, we were treated to a pungent whiff of merde. Perhaps dog merde. Turns out, we'd purchased Muenster Cheese…and for whatever reason, the rind smelled like poop. Merde fromage. Luckily, the creamy stuff between the rind tasted all right…but you had to wipe the baguette chunks between the two slices of poo-smelling rind. Not too pleasant. But we did it, dagnabbit. We had a picnic lunch of cheese and baguette. Check another "thing to do" off the list.


That cheese done stank up the joint.

After our lunch of bread and near-poo, we went to see where Marie Antoinette stored all of the delicious cake she kept from the peasants (hint: it was in the kitchen). Marie's little mini-palace was definitely the highlight of Versailles…and perhaps the entire trip thus far. The crowd was very thinned out (because access to the mini-palace cost more, and it was a good 30 minute walk across the grounds to get there), and the set-up was very personalized. Much of her original furniture was there (including her bed, sofa, toilette, etc), and you could get much closer than you could in the big palace. You really felt a connection with her, which was a blessing really.


Marie Antoinette slept here.

And now I'm going to go on another jag. A museum jag. I hope I can explain myself well…because I feel quite strongly about it. Okay. Here goes. Jag time.

I have a bit of a problem with museums. See, I love museums, because I'm a huge fan of history – not that that sentence means a whole lot…many people love history, or, at least, some aspect of history. But…for me…I love the personal stories. The best, most engaging pieces of history I've been able to experience are the historical novels by the author Bernard Cornwell. Bernard writes about (primarily English) conflicts, from the point of view of a soldier. He doesn't write from the perspective of generals, nations, and the aristocracy…but from an individual soldier, living in a time of monumental upheaval. It's riveting, and he's a master of it.

But when I'm in a museum, I don't see individual stories. There's no specificity. Wars are laid out on topographical maps, with lines, squares, and triangles denoting battalions, divisions, and defensive fortifications. Arrows denote the movement of armies, and still photographs of generals signing treaties denote the outcomes of the conflict. Again, I'm going to get a little preachy here, but is it just too difficult to tell individual stories? I know the French were pretty well wrecked by the Germans in the "Franco-Prussian War" of 1871…but what was the conflict actually like? There's a famous painting of a dying French soldier at Musee l'Armee. In fact, here it is:



He's handing his "last cartridge" to another soldier…but it begs so many other questions for me – what is the guy on the left shooting at? What did it look like over that rise? How was the dying soldier injured? What were they fighting for? What did they think of their enemy, and what did their enemy think of them? And where was their commanding officer?

And this painting is a better example than most of the "war paintings" I've seen; it shows some pretty horrific, yet courageous action in battle. But, even this moving example leaves me wanting.

I mean, I love looking at all of this stuff…but we have the technology now where we should be able to make history come alive, right? Who can forget the breathtaking first 20 minutes of Saving Private Ryan? Or seeing the (admittedly non-historical, but still fascinating) pitched battle of Helm's Deep in Lord of the Rings? Why can't my museum – the holders of the actual artifacts – find some way to bring these things to life? And I'm not talking about a corny recreation…I mean…I want to see the carnage! The struggle! Smell the gunpowder! Feel the fear and the oppression! Bah!

Whoa. Okay. You can tell I've done a little thinking about that. Anyhow, as I say, museums are very cool…but they could be so much cooler. Instead I just get to look at the artifacts, and use my feeble imagination. Maybe some day I'll curate a museum somewhere, and see if I can inject a little passion into my history.

All right, where was I? Hmm…Versailles. Okay…after walking for 1200 miles around the Palace (huge, huge place – I know everyone tells you that, but I've verified it for you all – the place is gigantic. Picture a garden the size of downtown Seattle or Hollywood, and I think you've got the idea), we decided to get back into Paris. On the train I did something I rarely ever do – I fell asleep within the first 5 minutes of sitting down. Amazing. Erika slept too, so it was a good thing I woke up abruptly as we cruised through the shadow the Eiffel Tower, or we might very well have ended up in Romania (the next stop, I believe).

Thanks to the sweet train-board nap, we didn't need to recharge at the hotel room. So, it was of to the Notre Dame. Or, so as not to confuse it with the super-fun university, the "Notre Dame de Paris." It was, as advertised, very cool. It's fascinating to me – things were so ornate back in medieval Europe. It seems on some structures, every inch of space had some kind of sculpture, inscription, painting, or…something. Inside and out. Nowadays you'll never see that precise attention to detail – it's function over style. I guess it's a shame...or maybe it's great. I don't know. I'm a moron who just likes to say stuff.

But, seeing the ridiculously detailed firearms in Musee d'Armee from the 17^th century, versus the sleek, unadorned firearms of the 20^th century strike a very severe contrast. At a certain point, people must have just stopped decorating stuff (I blame you, Mr. Ford), and started pumping it out en masse. Again, I'm not sure what to think of that…it just bears noting.

Either way, the Notre Dame was very cool, and it offered a great view of Paris. The gargoyles adorning the structure were also breathtaking.


Pictured -- two gargoyles, and two angels.

The only problem with that place was – again – the people running it, and pushing their way through it. Our first stop (and it was a forced stop) on the way up to the towers of Notre Dame was a gift shop. They made us stop there for about 10 minutes before we could continue on. Very annoying. The place had been totally tourist-ized – not like the Sacre Couer, which was mostly open, and (comparatively) empty.

After Notre Dame we had a quick stop a the hotel for a nap (guess we needed it after all). Then off to drink and carouse on the Ile St-Louis, before finishing the night with two crepes and the coolest waiter we'd had in our entire stay in Paris (maybe through the rose-colored hue of our beer goggles…but I'm pretty sure he was as cool as I remember from that night).

Can't remember the name of this place...because I was drunk...but it was a good'n.

For the second night in a row, I was asleep before my head hit the pillow (which is why I'm writing this entry the day after it happened). But tomorrow (today), we're saying "Bon Voyage" to France, and "Guten Tag" to Germany. Until then…