Et bliev nix wie et wor...

Blissfully, as hoped, our fair burg, Bonn, has yet to disappoint me. I am happy to report having settled in quite comfortably, and having spend most of my time here wisely, learning lessons, taking chances and partaking liberally of the bountiful fruits of this, the European fertile-crescent, ever-green and lush with beauty, full of mirth and fat with beer. My heart goes out to those who cannot feel the utter joy of taking subways free of charge to meet a group of foreign friends for drinks and vegetate amongst a palate rich with orange, golds and auburns; Hefe, Kölsch and (“was auch immer”) British brews at “Irishpubs” (neuter, pl.), working multicolor magic into evenings, where laughter, shared, transforms the foreign into something homey. Gifted with a balmy autumn, it hardly takes imagination when conceiving of its brilliance: relaxed, refined, recumbent, fun and fancy-free, with scarcely time to check your watch as distractions turn to pressing business when flunkyball is on. “The life” is how I might describe it, speaking as one from surely many who, in daydreams, stories, songs and pictures of perfection, see only time spent smiling widely, walking tall, talking, laughing, sharing new adventures, beginning with a cup of tea, ending with a beer and perpetuated through an appropriate number of sweets along the way. How strange it is, and what a joy, to call this "every day", instead. Sunny days and clear, quiet nights yield -or, have yielded- perfect weather for such endeavors, of which there have been many, homeward-bound from Ippendorf and Endenich by foot with exceedingly charming company or taking shameless advantage of train privileges for adventures to Cologne, Ikea and beyond. On the subject of Ikea, it has nothing but my profuse approval: cheap shit and delicious meatballs are the essence of progress.

Notably (since last I posted anything) our trip to Aachen embodied everything, good or bad, that the Rhineland has had to offer; a storied past of Franks and Teutons, baked goods, plazas, pedestrians, proximity to Belgium (arguably, a downside) and pretty, pretty churches. The Cathedral there was a pleasant, surprise discovery and infinitely more inspiring than the neighboring sulfur-tainted hot-springs: at least twenty euphoric minutes were spent between two Kansan linguists deciphering the Latin written in the Mosaics. It's a beautiful thing. 

On the subject of Belgium, I offer my sincerest apologies to the city of Brussels: such cities should not have to play host to such train stations. I can still smell the slick on the urine-soaked walkways of Brussels-Midi: sickening and sweet with the remnants of white wine, waffles and moules frites (all heinous diuretics, apparently). No pictures will be provided.

An unfortunate side-note -and tragic inevitability- was a return to God's country (by which, obviously, I mean England) this weekend on the Eurostar. Although I gleaned much from my brief visit -my first trans-chunnel train ride, the full English á la Michael Cummings, proper cheese, a peek inside the British library and a particularly valuable jar of peanut butter-, the reason for my trip was far from desirable. After a long and colorful life, my Great Uncle, Gordon, succumbed to cancer and passed away a week prior to my journey, as such made to attend his funeral. There is far too much to say for one so clever, quick and lively, and I am glad that the one to do so was Nick, his son, who spoke fondly and beautifully of him, as was only appropriate. "Tumultuous" would begin to describe the kind of summer we have had, and I do not take this recent tragedy lightly in comparison. It was lovely to be there, and lucky that I was able. Stuart & Michael were kind enough to make the stop at Cherington, and my Grandparents' graves, on the drive from Brailes, as I was strong enough to get past the gate without tearing up. I sense another trip on the horizon, hopefully where I can be as useful a nephew in someone's life as I seem to be upon their death.

Naturally, the weather has turned cruel and drizzly in nature's impish attempt to cut my fun short and keep me boring. Luckily, I am an optimist--Winter is coming, which can only mean one thing: cuddle-weather.

Eirik, dressed for the German winter. Norwegians...