The Beer is still quite good...

Bonn Münster

A fortnight brings almost too many stories to plausibly fit into one coherent blog post. Suffice it to say that each day in our fair city has been just as marvelous as the last: a campy, rheinisch rendition of Sesame Street, complete with grouchy hobos, psychedelic marvels of color and sound and the occasional, brief, educational interlude. Classes with der König Kölscher Komödie have been quite enlivened since our blackmail-worthy discovery of his stand-up on an online broadcast, following the realization that we are only his day job. It makes enough sense, considering his uproarious in-class rapport, but I'm afraid his gimmick -an über-drunk, über-Kölsch Karneval-goer- doesn't hold as much water with those whose first brush with said culture -the notorious "Elfte Elfte"- is still a month away. Nevertheless, I appreciate him, as do my classmates, I'm sure (see for yourself). The big sweetheart even took us on a tour of Bonn's political history down Adenauerallee and along the Rhine (quick historical tidbit, however well known: Bonn was the capital of a reunited Germany until 1991). An excellent end to our not-so-strenuous workweek, capped by a 3-day weekend, also courtesy of our fine friend Herr Weininger.

Spanish friend, satisfied and glowing

Curiosities abound here, as do fattening Turkish lunches and personal, tun-sized portions of that mystical, golden, local brew. Striking out on regular journeys to museums, famous cities and mountains of legend at any number of distances from my sweet, comely, student hovel, the thought of gorgeously unhealthy street-food indulgence has been a constant companion. I'll never be able to express the wholeness of my satisfaction with junk food here, but one would be correct in assuming it is great. If there is one area in which Germany definitely trumps the USA, it is in its unmatched appreciation for an inebriated late-night meal of Döner, Kölsch and Nutella Crêpe: a muliticultural holy trinity of artery-clogging cookery. They tell me such a travesty to the waistline isn't nearly as satisfying when sober... I am inclined to believe this.

Organ at the Cathedral in Trier

A problem with leaving such a long interval between posts is that each experience/ outing/ night born witness to tantalizing, unholy debauchery cannot be treated with the respect and lush detail it deserves. Since I last wrote, the adventures have been many. Of those many, the vast majority have been in some way affiliated with going out for drinks which provide me with the least fodder for family-friendly bloggage. Luckily, I have seen my fair share (or more) of notable exceptions which will suit, indubitably. Group excursions have been by far the most monumental of our journeys: we spent last Saturday in Trier, the oldest city in Germany and a former Roman provincial capitol, where the most stimulating point of interest by far was the Cathedral. The building itself is a clever amalgamation of a spacious, plain and symmetrical nave (older, likely Romanesque... or just Roman) with scores of detailed, busy, romantic embellishments added over time to celebrate the building's very special responsibility. The temple is host to the seamless robe of Christ (the very same, whose name almost literally translates from German into "the holy skirt"), which resides in a crystal reliquary behind the altar. It is subject to being periodically revealed to titillate the masses with its holy seamlessness and is set to be shown again this coming Easter. Outside, a robotic arm writes the Bible in broken Gothic calligraphy at a constant speed, a work whose completion is set to coincide with the robe's next viewing. All in all, a wonderful thing to see... and the bus ride wasn't bad either.

View from the top of the Drachenfels.

Another group excursion took us on a hike up the "Drachenfels", one of the "seven hills" (Sieben Gebirge) surrounding Bonn which ought to be reclassified as minor mountains. Exhausting, but beautiful, we moaned, gasped and sweated gaily on the journey up, woefully cracking forced smiles and snapping a few pictures as we were promised that the view from the top would make all our troubles disappear. No one had high hopes for this experience, BUT... I have to hand it to them: as annoying and campy as the staff of the International Office can be, this was particularly worth it... see for yourself.

Cathedral courtyard in Trier: that's more like it.

Surely, among the holiest experiences I have yet seen in my time here. Another, far more foreign, brush with divinity happened just this Sunday as I accepted an invitation from a group of new friends to attend the evening service at a Church which had invited them, in turn. As it turns out, I'd engaged in a hands-on experience of life on the other side of Christianity. A four-piece band, led by a distressingly striking, bespectacled angel on acoustic guitar (essentially, Noah's dream woman), dressed appropriately in hipster-garb, provided a somewhat alarming, but rather jazzy atmosphere to the service, which was given and attended by the most laid-back, groovy, youthful, flannel-clad congregation I have ever observed. I was relieved, if at all embarrassed, that in spite of the fact that I knew none of the songs, none of the prayers and only three of the people, I had no trouble stirring up a conversation with two genuinely lovely Germans afterwards as the Church youth went out for their traditional post-purge drink at Café Blau (not only that, but I arrived with my cleaned & pressed dress shirt tucked in, making me well overdressed). Let the records show that I was also invited to said after-party and found it in no way inappropriate to order a beer, which... I will certainly seek out in the near future. Mühlen Kölsch may have my vote in our quest to find the perfect drink, Rhineland edition. As for the Church, I am doomed to failure if I continue to feign singing Christian pop songs and stare blankly at a powerpoint every week (however convenient it may be), so it is with a heavy heart that I must strike out and find another. A little communion wouldn't hurt, either... yet the congregation is talkative, and the invitation to a dinner with these new Germans is hard to pass up.

Until my next rainy day, sleepless night, or legitimately standalone experience, I'm afraid that's it. An adventure to Aachen and long-awaited enrollment in actual classes are what await us in the coming week, so a shortage of things to say shouldn't be a problem. Cheers, all.