Deutsche Eimer Liste (The German Bucket List)

I am firmly of the mindset that everyone needs a Bucket List. It's a great way to solidify goals, plus thanks to Morgan Freeman and Jack Nicholson, it's a super trendy thing to do. So in the spirit of solidifying the goals of this chapter of my life, I've spent the last couple days thinking about all the activities that are nonnegotiable before I depart from Deutschland. The list was compiled thoughtfully, earnestly, and progresses in order of priority and importance, starting with number

Eins - Find the electrician responsible for wiring our apartment's bathroom light switch in the hallway.

Every time I stumble into the bathroom at 2:33 am, this guy is somewhere laughing because I invariably forget to flip the switch in the hallway before I go in. Actually, this happens independent of the time of day as there is something about having the light switch outside the room for which it controls the light that doesn't make sense to me. Germans try and convince me that it's logical by saying that this way "You are never having to go into a bassroom zat is daark." I rebut by saying that every time I go into the bathroom it is dark, that is until I turn my brain back on and realize that some jerk wired the switch out in the hallway. To be fair, this is a phenomenon that can be found all over Europe, but my consistent battles with this one specific switch have caused me to focus my discontent on one electrician, when it is likely the European Electrician Guild that is to blame. Either way, when I finally bump into the grinning electrician (in my head his name is something extremely German like Helmut Müller-Schmidt), I'll be sure to lodge with him all my complaints. In the meantime, I've hung a giant exclamation point over the light switch to catch the attention of my half-asleep counterpart before he finds himself alone and scared in a dark bathroom for the 30th night in a row.

Zwei - Translate the German word Hof

I have a dictionary, the Internet and unlimited access to native German speakers, but for some bewildering reason this very frequently used three letter word eludes my linguistic capabilities. Here are just a few of the things that I have found Hof to mean: backyard, garden, courtyard, driveway, foyer, farm, alcove and open-air shed. Let's be real here for a second, a language that has two words for the crack between two twin mattresses shoved together (Gräbele and Besucherritze) should have individual words for all these semi-enclosed spaces. At this point I've just starting calling every area inside, outside, in front of, behind and next to any sort of man-made structure a Hof to see how far the word stretches. When it works, I shake my head and make a mental note to add some other translation like sunroom patio to my ever-growing list. When it doesn't work, I shake my head then proceed in publicly deriding Hof and all its secret meanings.

Drei - Ride my bike in Berlin

To most people taking the trouble to drag my bike on a train to Berlin just to ride it around seems like a colossal waste of time. But I know that my friend Loaf Lorenz agrees that riding a fixed gear in the German Capital would be not short of spectacular. Wide, flat, perfectly paved boulevards; impressive bike infrastructure; parks and promenades to explore. Touring a city by bike is undoubtedly my favorite way to travel (a la Amsterdam) and Berlin is my favorite European city, so it only seems logical to mix the two. Now I just have to wait until the weather is conducive to being outside on my bike all day. As we dip into days with high temperatures in the high 30's, it looks like I'll have to save this one until the other side of winter.

Vier - Sell Glühwein und Bratwurst at the Dingolshausen Christmas booth

I love Christmas and I will most definitely attribute my zeal for the holidays to my mom's family's fanaticism. As soon as Thanksgiving passes, Christmas begins (assuming you manage to hold off from buying into the Xmas specials that begin showing up in stores in late August) and for me here in Germany it will be no exception. I'm a person who likes tradition, so my only request is that Stefan, Flo and I get to work at the Dingolshausen Christmas booth again, last year having been the First Annual. Dingolshausen is the 1000 inhabitant town where the Walter parents live and the Christmas booth is a place for Dingolshäuser to meet in the week before Christmas to enjoy some warm Glühwein, a Bratwurst or the awkward flaming log that Herr Frankenzaubermeister instructed me to lay on the ground and set ablaze. It is, for me, something that captures the essence of Christmas - family and friends together, enjoying themselves together and for some reason they're standing outside in the -15 degree weather.

Fünf - Attend Fasching in Cologne

My current experience with German Fasching or Carnival is quite limited; it is limited, in fact, to Jennifer Stuart wearing a bright purple sequin dress while giving a presentation about Fasching to our German 101a class. Although her presentation and dress were individually amazing, and even more stunning in concert, I think this year I'd like to experience the real thing. From what I've heard, it's the German equivalent to Mardi Gras or Carnival in Rio de Janiero which is to say it's pure madness, in a costume. Unfortunately I left my infamous ManBug costume in California (a polite way of saying that Jeremia Kimelman, a 22 year old with the short term memory of an 86 year old, lost the costume's hat, thereby ruining the outfit...) so I'll have to fashion something new, but equally as ridiculous. Perhaps a bumblebee, or better yet, an Eskimo since the festival is outside in February in Cologne.

Sechs - Run from Würzburg to Koblenz with Stefan and a tricycle baby stroller

This was originally a joke. Well, it's still kind of a joke, but we're going to do it. The 130 mile trek should take us about a week. As I look at the map I know what I'm going to be thinking the whole time: "Give me a bike and I could do this in a day." We'll see if the trip comes to fruition, but now that I've written that it's nonnegotiable, it would be kind of a let down if we didn't manage to complete it.

[I just spent the last two minutes contemplating whether or not I actually want to go through with this and I am extremely ambivalent. Thankfully my blog allows posts to be edited after they are published.]

Sieben - Drive a German Automobile on the Autobahn

I've driven an American, a French and a Czech car on the Autobahn thus far and while each was fun in it's own respect, I need to do it in a German car to make the experience complete. A BMW, Mercedes or Audi would suffice. Pretty simple request, now I just need the friends with the right cars. I should start hanging out in the Econ department of Universtität Würzburg.

Acht - Spend the entirety of my last day wearing Lederhosen, then fly home in them

Yesterday, I helped the eldest Walter son, Benjamin, begin the renovation effort of his newly purchased apartment and during much of the day, we listened to Bavarian Haus Musik. This is very much the classic, polka-esque music that we stereotypically envision Germans listening to, and I have to say, that hearing it made me very happy to be a quasi Bavarian for the next several months. I got to thinking, 'How can I show my excitement for Bavaria?' and the first answer that came to my head was Lederhosen. So as a tribute to my time in Germany and a symbol of it's importance in my life, I swear that on my last day here I will wear the typical Bavarian leather pants, socks, shirt and hat. It's a German must-do, so it will be done.

Small disclaimer: this list is subject to change. :)

With Seconds to Spare

Every traveler has his horror stories. Missing a flight home by two minutes then spending the next 22 hours in Dulles Aiport; lost luggage for two weeks in Costa Rica; that Applebee’s in Salt Lake City with sketchy ground beef; sleeping under a bridge in your miniature sized car in Amsterdam – the list could go on. But for every travel tale from hell, there are umpteen stories of “almost” disaster, those instances when the Gods intervened to save you from all those roads you as a lost traveler never wanted to go down.

There is the time that you almost got knocked off a 400-foot cliff by a garbage truck whipping around a blind curve in Italy. And who can forget about the time that you almost missed that connecting flight in Atlanta, but fortunately Grandpa Time sitting in the back had a medical emergency and the paramedics had to reopen the air-sealed doors allowing you and your chronically late family to board. Of course there was that time when you and your brothers almost got mugged by that shady Vespa rental guy in Cancún, but fortunately, by a stroke of sheer coincidence, your Spanish speaking friend from home happened to walk by and had the time to diffuse your potential beat down. And what list of “almosts” would be complete without that time five minutes ago when you almost missed your train in Germany because you were at home on the couch engrossed in the backstage drama of Veronika’s broken zipper on Germany’s Next Top Model. While I’ll make no comment on all the other aforementioned travel travesties, I must, however, lay claim as the owner of the last on the list. Allow me to elaborate.

I finished all my tasks for the day at around 4:15 this afternoon, leaving me with nothing much to do until my train to go visit Florian left at 6:27. Perfect. I had time to relax, then leisurely make the ten minute walk to the train station where I would be early enough to make sure I wouldn’t get stuck sitting backwards on the three hour ride. I hate sitting facing the rear of the train – it just seems so unnatural. Plus you are then forced to spend the whole ride fighting to keep your back in the seat. Anyway, I wandered around the apartment for a little while, eventually landing on Stefan’s couch. Stefan was doing something on the computer and given that he is the world’s worst multitasker (he literally cannot complete two tasks at once; it’s a miracle that he can breath and walk at the same time) I decided instead of trying wasting my time trying to interact with that statue that just looks like Stefan, that I would waste my time by turning on the TV and seeing if I couldn’t find something interesting to watch.

Those who know me can attest that I rarely watch TV, and those who know me really well can explain why. When the screen turns on, it’s like I fall into some kind of lapse in the space-time continuum. Everything else in the world goes blank and every last drop of attention that I have goes straight into whatever program is on, whether it’s interesting or not. This explains why I can unfortunately say that I’ve spent almost two full hours of my life (in one sitting) watching the Gem Network – you know that channel with the unbelievable price on that gorgeous shining sapphire that’s either spinning on some felt-covered wheel or twisting here and there on the most elegant hand you’ve ever seen. I’m pretty sure that nobody else has ever watched that channel. Nobody. That was, in fact, the time that I swore that I would try to stop watching TV all together because it was such a colossal waste of time. My pact with myself worked pretty well, that is, until today. The first thing that came on when the TV clicked to life and shone in it’s mystical, captivating color was the five o’clock episode Germany’s Next Top Model. I set a pillow behind my head, plopped my feet on the other end of the couch, blinked once and Stefan was standing in front of me. “Are you trying to miss your train?” I glanced over at the clock and it was 6:12. Wasn’t it just five? And how the hell is Veronika going to walk down the runway with her busted dress?! “No. I have 15 minutes. Not a problem.” Without any sense of urgency, I got up, sauntered into my room, picked up my backpack and slung it over my shoulders. A quick goodbye to Stef and I was out the door, down the 21 stairs to the street and on my way.

Still without feeling any time pressure - due largely to the fact that I carry nothing with me that tells time – I walked around the corner, onto Hauptbahnhofstraße (Main Train Station Street) and realized that I left my wallet in my room. Reid! I chided myself, you’re such a scatterbrained child! A minor panic attack, a discovered wallet in the side pocket of my backpack and two minutes later I was back on my way. About 100 meters in front of the train station, I hit a red light and stopped, not about to get squashed by the rush of Friday evening drivers eager to get home. While waiting what seemed like a lifetime at the crosswalk, I felt the slightest twinge of that “maybe I’m late” feeling, but I wasn’t about break into a sprint across the busy street. The light turned, the roar of cars ceased, and I began trotting toward the station. It was when I saw 6:24 on the large clock on the façade of the Hauptbahnhof that I started sprinting. If there is one stereotype that holds true about Germans, it’s that they are breathtakingly punctual. I could bet my bottom Euro that my train would be pulling out of the station in less than three minutes.

I skidded across the wet stone floor to an abrupt stop in front of the departures board. I made a quick scan for my destination city of Koblenz and saw nothing. Not sure what else to do, I took off toward the platforms. One question about departure platforms, two confused police officers and 30 seconds later, I was no closer to finding my train. Of course while I was absorbed in the not so worthwhile drama of stick-thin German models I hadn’t looked up any information about my train. The only thing that I knew was that it was an Inter City Express (ICE) departing at 18:27. I ran farther, praying that I would see something that would give me a clue. At the staircase leading up to platforms eight and nine I saw that there were two ICE trains leaving at 18:27. I figured that one had to be it, so I bolted up the stairs two at a time. The platform was clogged with people bustling toward the stairwell. I forcefully fought my way against the current and, once free, stood between the two glistening white trains. I saw no Deutsche Bahn employee, so against better judgment, I decided to simply guess and went left.

Of course I was late, of course I hadn’t taken the time to look up my train number, and of course I jumped on the train in the restaurant car. Just as well, the waiter will surely know if the train stops in Koblenz. I burst into the restaurant compartment, approached the waiter and stood uncomfortably close to him so as to catch his attention.

[Time out: Let me just explain a little bit about the Deutsche Bahn: The German rail system is one of the most impressive in the world. It is an extremely extensive network of trains that connects the entire country. There are various types of trains, ranging from smaller, slower,local connections, to big, fast ICE’s. Not only are the trains reliable and extensive (a stark contrast to our pathetic Amtrak), they are quite nice on the inside, with the ICE varieties being the Five Star Edition. The compartments are warmly lit, with rich, dark wood paneling and shiny, seamlessly engineered sliding glass doors. Now picture me, haggard and sweaty, standing in the restaurant of such a train. Time in: ]

It didn’t work. Although I was standing close enough for it to be considered socially unacceptable, he went on taking the order of the older gentleman sitting at the table. “I think I’ll have…a coffee…no! a cappuccino. Aaaaand…” Come on Opa, this isn’t that important. “A chocolate muffin.” Miraculously, after his soliloquy of an order, the train hadn’t started moving and I still had time to correct my potentially false guess, that is, if the waiter ever gave me the time of day. Not until they had exchanged thank you’s, you’re welcome’s, thank you for saying thank you’s and you’re more than welcome’s did the waiter turn to me. Of course, when I needed it most, my German crumbled. Three attempts to ask if the train stopped in Koblenz, one response of “I don’t know, I get off in Frankfurt” and twenty five seconds later I was racing out of the restaurant in search of another train employee. Just as I passed from one car to the next, I was thrown against the accordion-like rubber casing that allows the train to bend. The whistle had blown and the train lurched into motion.

Holy pejorative, I better have guessed right, I thought to myself. I fought against the acceleration of the train and continued forward. I finally found a ticket checker and asked her, this time in more complete German, if I was on the right train. She directed my attention to a large screen just to my left, at eye level that read that we would be arriving in Koblenz at about 9:10pm.

They always say that traveling is stressful, but I would argue that there is a lot the traveler can do to mitigate the pressure. Pack early, research your travel arrangements in advance, keep the TV off as the time for departure approaches (maybe that’s just a rule for me), and take a deep breath because with the exception of that one time you tried to hitchhike at 2:30am in College Park, Maryland, it’s all going to work out. Once I knew that I was in fact hurtling at 170 kph in the correct direction, I was able to relax and begin the search for a seat. After having had so much luck in picking the correct train, it was only logical that just one type of seat remained: those facing backward.