The Chronicles
The last time I wrote with a lengthy update, it wasn't the best of times. Or
rather, the best of times was rudely interupted. I'm sure I don't need to get
into that without you knowing exactly what I'm referring to. Yet, determined
to see all that there is to see, experience as much as I can, and do all that
I can do while (to coin a phrase) trying to be all that I can be, I've repeatedly,
and greatfully, stumbled upon life's little experiences which I like to think
of as "It Doesn't Get Any Better Then This" moments. They can happen
as often as you let them. They can happen with whomever you let them. All it
takes is a small amount of effort, and a few things to fall into place. What
follows, in my typical train of thought manner of writing is a brief chronology
of the past few weeks of my trip.
Gimmelwald, Switzerland. A tiny town of 150
people high in the Swiss Alps recommended to me by someone I'd met in Italy
(thanks, J). When one thinks of Switzerland, this is what one undoubtedly imagines.
Cows, woll socks, yodeling, fresh cheese and joghurt." Like many others
before me, I planned to stay for a day or two, and ended up there for a week.
One night, I found myself at a campfire with an Englishman, two Americans, and
Two Canadians. We had brought sausages, buns, beer, onions to grill, and s'mores
along with us on the half hour hike through the cow fields and dirt roads. Think
of it. A cookout in the Swiss Alps, great conversation with an international
group of friends, and more stars then I've ever seen in my life. It doesn't
get any better than this.
Back at the hostel, we heard a rumor that a bomb had
gone off at Oktoberfest. 20 dead, 200 injured. With no TV, we had no way of
confirming the information. The next morning brought a relief as it was revealed
as misinformation. A report of something that had happened years ago, and the
reason for the increased security this year amid global tensions.
The next night,
out came the guitar at the hostel. A spontanious singalong broke out, and suddenly
the draw of those cheesy old folk songs became clear. Country Road, American
Pie, Imagine, Leavin on a Jet Plane, etc. 15-30 people, from all over the world,
singing like they knew the words. Our breath foggy in the moonlight as we sang,
wrapped in blankets and beanies, socks and 'jammies. It doesn't get any better
than this.
Throughout the day, military jets can be heard screaming overhead
in this neutral country of cheese and chocolate. Not very often, but enough
to remind us that our little haven here in the Alps, may not be quite as detached
from the world as we like to think it is.
Next stop, Prague. The Czech Republic.
A place I (admittidly) probably couldn't have found on a map without some searching
before coming to Europe. I stayed for six nights. Another place I was only planning
to stay for a few days. Believe it or not, Prague has a huge Jazz scene. It
was quite an interesting find for me to come across five white guys with soul...in
the Czech Republic! But there they were. In a basement jazz club. Quality blues.
Cheap beer. Beautiful women. Czech me out, I'm in Prague!! It doesn't get any
better than this.
Part of Prague's reason for backpacker interest (besides the
60 cent beer) is it's claim that it is the only capitol city in Europe virtually
undamaged by natural disaster or war. That's it's claim, anyway. Plenty of revolutions
and occupations, but not much structural damage. From war...
The day before,
an Austrailian and I were tired of walking around the city, so we headed to
Charles Bridge. There we sat across from an outdoor jazz band and watched as
the "drummer" kept the beat on a washboard he played with thimbles
on his fingertips. And when he needed a different sound, out came the wire wisks.
And unless you heard it yourself, you would not believe the music that he created.
There we sat, listening to free jazz and watching the women walk by. Our shoes
off, pants rolled up, and my hat out in front of us just in case anyone appreciated
our zest for life, or the content smiles on our faces. And yes, after about
an hour of hard chillin', two ladies passed by, stopped, turned around, and
dropped a few crowns into my hat. Then they smiled the most beautiful smiles
and walked away as the Aussie and I smiled back and thanked them profusely.
It doesn't get any better than this.
On the train from Prague to Munich, Germany,
the passport checks were thorough. First by the Czech Polizei, then by the train
conductors, then by the Czech Polizei again, and finally by the German Passport
Officials. I passed through them all with no trouble. Yet it is a little unnerving,
nontheless.
In Munich, I met up with a friend I'd met earlier in my travels,
and together we met her friends. The four of us headed to the festival grounds
to partake in the debauchery that is Oktoberfest. Beer is served in Liter mugs,
and somehow stays cold down to the end. I've heard that the record is nine liters
in a 9 hour period. With absolutely no desire to break said record, the four
of us each took our time putting away 3 and a half liters of Germany's finest
Pilsners while singing songs, hugging complete strangers, and eating soft pretzels
bigger then my head...when I had hair. Three and a half liters. And that was
plenty. No Bombs went off. No fights broke out. No threats were issued. But
I don't like the fact that I have to mention that. It doesn't get any better
than this.
Today, I opened a paper. A small sub-snippit read "Terrorism
Fear Chills Oktoberfest." 7 percent less people drank 20 percent less beer
this year than last year. I did my part.
Lately, at train stations, I've seen
men dressed in military fatigues. They carry rucksacks, and sport the flag of
Germany, Italy, or Luxembourg on their sleeve. I have no doubt that they are
mobilizing for the support of the US retaliation against...whoever it is we've
decided we're retaliating against. The Taliban? bin Laden? Afghanistan? In the
end, it will become all of the above, and then some.
In any city with a police
force, there are sirens to be heard. And everytime they wail their shrill cry,
I wonder what scale of threat they're responding to, and if it should concern
me. Still I press on, now deliberatley avoiding big cities for the most part,
but still determined to...finish? continue? just go.
Strollin' on,
Chris the
Stray Dwanimal