FLASHBACK TO OCTOBER --- SYSTEMIC CONSTELLATIONS FOR PERSONAL HEALING AND GROWTH
Perhaps the Germans will dance again, if this is any indication.
Some years ago I made the acquaintance of an immensely intelligent, talented, and compassionate American woman, whom I will call Kathy because that is her name. I met her during a spiritual workshop focusing on personal transformation and growth. It was the sort of thing that, after attending similar events for years, finally gave me the strength to make the major changes in my own life that I am now in the midst of.
In the past few years my friend Kathy has been trained in a new methodology for creating positive change in both individuals and organizations. It involves using actual people as representatives of important issues in the client's (or clients') life, even other persons, such as parents, children, or ancestors. The placement of these representatives by the client within a specified space, and their movement within it, reveals things about the client's feelings toward the issues (and persons) in their life or in their past. It seems that changing the pattern of the representatives within the space can actually promote change in the currents of the client's life.
Now I must apologize to Kathy and all the other practitioners of this methodology for describing it so imperfectly. I am not qualified to discuss the psychological underpinnings of this technique, and I am trying to be brief. I encourage my readers to learn more by googling "systemic constellations".
The remarkable thing is that this method originated in Germany. It seems to have been developed primarily by a German psychologist named Bert Hellinger, who has a website of his own (www.hellinger.com). I will quote from his bio on the website: "One last influence --- or perhaps, better, companion --- must be mentioned: Hellinger's archetypically German love of music. Yes, opera; and, yes again, especially Wagner." Interesting. Coincidence?
In October my friend Kathy attended the Second International Organizational Constellation Training Intensive, which was held in (or near) Amsterdam. An acquaintance of hers, who is also a student of this technique and who also attended this event, happens to live near Stuttgart. He and Kathy decided to hold a small workshop offering this method on their way to Amsterdam.
When I learned about this, I knew I had to go, only to see Kathy, a familiar American face, if for no other reason. It turned out to be my only real excursion away from Mannheim during all of last semester. (Worms and the Pfaelzerwald are too close to count.) (And I went to Zuerich in December, but the semester for me was over by then.)
So on Friday the 13th I took the train to Stuttgart and then the one to Ludwigsburg, where Kathy's colleague had suggested that we meet. I will call him Christoph, because that is his name. He treated Kathy and me to lunch, but still had work to do before the weekend, so Kathy and I explored the grounds of the Palace in Ludwigsburg on our own.
It was October, so there were lots of pumpkins. Lots and lots of pumpkins. Including one about the size of a Volkswagen: the European champion, I believe. The idea was that it was supposed to be about Halloween, which ironically is known in Germany as an American holiday (although it actually has its roots in Europe). The people who ran the gardens there incorporated into their displays every American stereotype they could think of, not just Halloween but cowboys and Indians, a teepee made of pumpkins. It was all very odd.
We met up with Christoph for dinner. He took us to a little town across the Neckar (yes, the Neckar flows by Stuttgart, too) called Marbach, and there we were in old Europe again, like in the Old City of Heidelberg. On the way to the restaurant we walked by the house where Friedrich Schiller was born. There was a plaque.
Christoph had been kind enough to put Kathy and me up for the night. There weren't enough beds, but fortunately he had an extra mattress and let me sack out in his home office.
The workshop had been originally planned to be in Christoph's place near Stuttgart. But it turned out all the other participants live near Frankfurt. So it was decided to go to them. Early Saturday morning we rose and got in Christoph's car for the 130-mile drive (I did the conversion) to Frankfurt. We made it in less than an hour and a half. It was to this day the only time I've been in a car in Germany so far.
The workshop was held in the home of one of the participants. There was still plenty of space, because there were only seven of us altogether, including Kathy, who facilitated, and Christoph, who assisted, primarily by providing German interpretation. Together with Christoph's place, it was the first time I'd been inside an actual German residence.
Christoph's place was an apartment, but it was palatial by German standards. I live in a house in America. Christoph's apartment was bigger. This is very unusual here, I take it.
The workshop was in a house, I assume a typical one, in a typical German suburb near Frankfurt. It was what we would call ranch style, with a small yard and a privacy fence all the way around, including the front, right by the sidewalk. So no one could see the front yard. It was a typical suburban neighborhood, except that the yards were smaller and the houses closer together than in America. And when we broke for lunch, we walked to the restaurant. It was a good distance, too. But for Germany, too close too drive.
Interesting note: Our host was a gentleman who is a skilled professional and occupies a position of authority in a major, well-established enterprise. In America a person in his position would be earning a very large income. Such a person would probably live in a 20,000 - 30,000 square foot mansion (Mcmansion?) on a 5 or 10 acre lot. At least. Myers Park, or South Charlotte, or the shores of one of the Catawba lakes. But here in Germany this man lives in an ordinary house, not much bigger than the one I live in, in an ordinary neighborhood. Is he paid so much less? Or does he merely choose to spend his money more sensibly? I was too polite to ask.
But enough about the environs.
The systemic constellation method is not specifically spiritual in the narrow sense of the word; there is nothing religious about it. But Kathy's previous background was in more overtly spiritual contexts, and she began the session by establishing that the space we were working in was a space apart from ordinary life, and by explaining that she used the constellation technique as a tool in the context of transformational ritual. In fact, the title of the workshop was "Systemic Constellation as Transformational Ritual".
By the way, just to be clear, the "workshop", as they called it, was not for the purpose of teaching this method, but to actually use it to addresss the issues of the participants. These issues, of course, are personal, so I cannot go into detail about what happened that day.
But I can say that the participants were an older group than the people I had been associating with --- college students --- the youngest were in their thirties, and a couple of them were even older than I am. Or at least I think so. And their concerns were the concerns of mature adults. Or perhaps they were not so different from the concerns of younger people. Or my own concerns at this pivotal time in my life. What should I be doing with my life? Where do I go from here? Some of them were in transition: tired of what they had been doing, seeking a new direction, not just an income (as a younger person might be concerned with), but something more fulfilling.
It was good to see that others, too, in the middle (or past the middle) of their lives are realizing that there is more to life than making money and are looking for ways to fulfill themselves as human beings. And this is happening in Germany, too.
Of course, it could be that the sort of person who is attracted to this kind of experience is not the typical German. It is work that requires self-examination, honesty with oneself, and a certain amount of openness. One must be willing to reveal intensely personal things (or have them revealed) in front of the other participants. But it is happening here in Germany. More than that, as I said before, this particular form of exploration started here.
These Germans on this day had the courage to be open with themselves and the rest of us. They spoke freely about what was going on in and beneath the surface of their lives. This type of experience often elicits strong emotion, as mental blocks are recognized and cleared. The release can be quite cathartic. It was fascinating to see the stereotypical German restraint be laid aside for the sake of personal growth.
Not entirely, however. At the end of the day there were handshakes, not hugs. (Except for a couple of the women.) But it was clear that beneath the surface we really are all much the same. Our joys and longings are much the same. As I have always believed.
It may seem odd that am writing about something that happened over 4 months ago. Yes, I got way behind with the blog, and I am not going to pretend that I can catch up and write about everything that happened. But this day was too significant not to write about. On this day I learned more about the German people than in all the rest of the semester put together.
At the end of the day we all returned to ordinary reality, to ordinary consciousness. We said our goodbyes, with handshakes (a couple of hugs), and went home. But a deep connection, a connection beyond words, had been formed between us all. Temporary, perhaps, like everything else in this life. But still a connection. I really hope I get to see them again some day.
Saturday, February 24, 2007
THE TRUTH About the Last Post ---
--- which you all must read for this one to make sense. Just for the record, that was of course a real place, and it is pretty much as I described it, except for the taste and effects of the water, which, rest assured, I did not actually drink.
The actual legend says that there was once a convent here --- hence, "The Well of the Nuns", or Nonnenbrunnen --- and once every hundred years the convent rises again out of the earth and ghostly organ music can be heard. (Nothing to do with the water.) Anyone who hears this music falls into a deep sleep. Nothing about what happens next.
As near as I could tell from the information plaques, there never actually was a convent here, but there are the ruins of a Roman villa, dating from Imperial times. The info says the villa was built in the year 130 CE, and it lay undiscovered until 1970, after which it was excavated. It is inconceivable to me that this building, even in ruins, even buried beneath the earth, could have been here for nearly 2,000 years without someone knowing it was there. Not in an area that has been constantly inhabited for even longer than that. So I figure that there was some memory among the people that there was once a building here, and as they forgot what the building actually was, they made up a story about a convent. Interesting that what they came up with was a domicile of women devoted to the sacred.
There is nothing left of the Roman villa except the foundation. Most of it seems to have been made of wood, and the info plaque said it was burned down by German tribes, perhaps in the 4th century.
The stonework above the spring as well as the woodwork above the well have been renovated and/or restored several times over their history.
The name of the village that lies nestled between the Neckar and the hills is Neckargemuend. There are actually quite a number of such villages, but this is the one with the Nonnenbrunnen a few kilometers in the hills above it. The one I had to walk through to get there. And, yes, there was a Fasching parade there, unbeknownst to me, that afternoon while I was walking in the hills. The evidence of it was unmistakable. The 'remnants of fireworks' I referred to were actually those little cardboard bottle-shaped things; you pull a string and they explode (but not really). Poppers, I think they are called.
My little excursion actually took place on Saturday --- three days after Valentine's Day and, coincidentally, three days before the actual day of Fasching. Aka Mardi Gras. But people were partying all weekend. I never knew they made such a big deal of it here. In Mannheim on Tuesday they closed the main street to have a big street festival. (The parade in Mannheim had been on Sunday.) But it was all over with by midnight.
I realize the term "dancing people" may seem like a strange image to describe the Germans these days. There are several layers to that metaphor. My little story went in a different direction than I had in mind when I started. The young people here, at any rate, still like to dance. And one must admit, the resilience of these people is remarkable. Charles Bukowski writes about the church bells in Mannheim, "These people have lost two major wars in thirty years, and still the bells ring."
And 2,000 years ago, they would have danced.
What else is true in what I wrote, you all must decide.
--- which you all must read for this one to make sense. Just for the record, that was of course a real place, and it is pretty much as I described it, except for the taste and effects of the water, which, rest assured, I did not actually drink.
The actual legend says that there was once a convent here --- hence, "The Well of the Nuns", or Nonnenbrunnen --- and once every hundred years the convent rises again out of the earth and ghostly organ music can be heard. (Nothing to do with the water.) Anyone who hears this music falls into a deep sleep. Nothing about what happens next.
As near as I could tell from the information plaques, there never actually was a convent here, but there are the ruins of a Roman villa, dating from Imperial times. The info says the villa was built in the year 130 CE, and it lay undiscovered until 1970, after which it was excavated. It is inconceivable to me that this building, even in ruins, even buried beneath the earth, could have been here for nearly 2,000 years without someone knowing it was there. Not in an area that has been constantly inhabited for even longer than that. So I figure that there was some memory among the people that there was once a building here, and as they forgot what the building actually was, they made up a story about a convent. Interesting that what they came up with was a domicile of women devoted to the sacred.
There is nothing left of the Roman villa except the foundation. Most of it seems to have been made of wood, and the info plaque said it was burned down by German tribes, perhaps in the 4th century.
The stonework above the spring as well as the woodwork above the well have been renovated and/or restored several times over their history.
The name of the village that lies nestled between the Neckar and the hills is Neckargemuend. There are actually quite a number of such villages, but this is the one with the Nonnenbrunnen a few kilometers in the hills above it. The one I had to walk through to get there. And, yes, there was a Fasching parade there, unbeknownst to me, that afternoon while I was walking in the hills. The evidence of it was unmistakable. The 'remnants of fireworks' I referred to were actually those little cardboard bottle-shaped things; you pull a string and they explode (but not really). Poppers, I think they are called.
My little excursion actually took place on Saturday --- three days after Valentine's Day and, coincidentally, three days before the actual day of Fasching. Aka Mardi Gras. But people were partying all weekend. I never knew they made such a big deal of it here. In Mannheim on Tuesday they closed the main street to have a big street festival. (The parade in Mannheim had been on Sunday.) But it was all over with by midnight.
I realize the term "dancing people" may seem like a strange image to describe the Germans these days. There are several layers to that metaphor. My little story went in a different direction than I had in mind when I started. The young people here, at any rate, still like to dance. And one must admit, the resilience of these people is remarkable. Charles Bukowski writes about the church bells in Mannheim, "These people have lost two major wars in thirty years, and still the bells ring."
And 2,000 years ago, they would have danced.
What else is true in what I wrote, you all must decide.
Saturday, February 17, 2007
THE ENCHANTED WELL
[IMPORTANT NOTE: This entry is a work of fiction. Any resemblance with actual persons or events is, as is usually the case with fiction, both purely coincidental and entirely intentional.]
On an incredibly bright midwinter day, he ventured out into the Odenwald to see what there was to see. The low sun hung like a necklace jewel above the rounded hills on either side of the Neckartal. Until today, it had rained every day for three weeks, and the paths were muddy, but the deep, limitless blue of the sky and the bracing chill of the air lifted both his steps and his spirit.
It was just two weeks after Candlemas, and most of the trees were barren spindles sticking up out of the earth. Here and there were clusters of evergreens that hid mysterious depths in the dense shadows beneath them. He was the sort who could feel into the fog of the future, and, gazing into these shadowy depths, he could tell that today would one day become a holiday, a very special holiday, a holiday devoted to love.
[Q: WAIT a minute! Two weeks after Candlemas? You're obviously talking about Valentine's Day. What's this nonsense about feeling into the future?
A: I said this was fiction! It's a period piece, OK? Work with me here, will ya!]
Dusk was drawing on when he noticed the nearby gurgle of water. Thirsty after a long climb up out of the valley, he sought it out. He traced the narrow stream to a well a small distance off the path. But that was not the source of the water. Some yards farther there was a low hill, and beneath it there rose a spring, whose water flowed down the slope into the well. Someone had built a stonework into the side of the hill to frame the spring; it was like a fireplace that put forth water instead of heat. That same someone had dug the well to catch the water from the spring so that it would be easier to draw. The empty bucket hanging from the roof of the well-house was full of leaves and grime after years of non-use. On the hill the white trunks of bare trees stood like ghostly columns in the creeping twilight.
He knew some of the story of this place. It was said that once there was a convent here, long since covered by layers of earth, and this spring supplied water for the nuns. "The Well of the Nuns", it was called. But he could tell that this woodwork above the well and the stonework above the spring were far too old to have been built by nuns or their servants or any other Christain soul. These waters flowed from deep within the earth and had nourished all its creatures for thousands of years.
And so he, too, slaked his thirst. He cupped his hands under the flow as it spilled over the lip of the stone frame. The water was crystal clear and cold. He filled his hands, brought it to his mouth, and sipped. He marvelled. What minerals of the earth through which this water flowed, he wondered, gave it such an odd but pleasing taste? It was sweet yet powerful, and the drops seemed to dance in his mouth and throat like the bubbles of sparkling wine. The rich, cold liquid soothed his throat as he swallowed, and he drank his fill.
As he stood again from drinking, he felt a strange glow in his stomach, unsettling yet seductive, and then tendrils of warmth began to rise into his head. He swayed as the whole world seemed to shift around him, and his very body seemed about to melt. His limbs seemed to dissolve beneath him, but before he fell, he managed to turn and sit, and he leaned his back against a barren oak.
The last rays of sunlight faded away, but in the darkness the straight white tree-trunks on the hill in front of him shone with a pale, eery glow. And he saw that they were indeed now columns of marble, striding in rows up the gentle slope. And looming beyond them was a great wall of dark stone. And he thought he heard music, faint and far-away at first, an organ it seemed, playing a long and plaintive plainsong in the night. And were there voices with it, too? High and sweet, coming from the stars? But the sounds grew, closer, louder, and he heard it was not an organ after all, but a choir of pipes and flutes, and a deep and steady drumbeat beneath it all. And still there were those voices, still-soft female voices of ethereal and intoxicating beauty.
The music was all around him now, all but the women's voices coming from beyond the columns, beyond the wall. The drumbeat got faster and louder, the rhythm took flight. The music filled his mind, blotted out all his other senses. A heaviness came upon him. But with his fading vision he saw a door open in the wall, and out came women, all in flowing white robes but with their hair unbound and flowing free behind them. They processed slowly in a line down toward the well, toward him, as he leaned in numbed wonderment against the oak-tree. One of them. a wonderfully beautiful blond maiden, carried a great cup of polished stone, encrusted with bright jewels.
And one of them, an older woman with steely grey eyes and white-streaked golden hair streaming down her back, came to him. She held him for a moment in an all-knowing gaze, then opened her mouth as if to speak. Even his hearing now was overwhelmed, but as if through a fog he seemed to hear her ask, "Stranger, what do you seek?" And at that moment he fell into a deep, deep sleep.
And he dreamed.
He dreamed of spring, and the coming of the leaves and flowers, of great fires on the hilltops overlooking the valley, and people dancing around them. He dreamed of an army of men with swords and golden helmets and red capes, and the dancing people drove them away, drove them out of the land with their pipes and drums. He dreamed of high summer in the valley of the great river, of freely flowing wine and honey, and always the people dancing. And there was a man, young and strong and fearless, and his enemies fled before his bravery and his honesty. And the man bowed to drink at a spring --- a different one, but not far away --- and he was struck down as he drank, stabbed in the back in his only vulnerable spot. His funeral pyre lit up the night sky brighter than any sun. And still the people danced.
And always there was the maiden with the cup. She kept on filling it from the well, over and over. And the people drank from it, and danced.
And he dreamed of the coming of autumn, and the turning and falling of the leaves. He dreamed of the harvest, and the people working and storing their food for the winter. The fires were smaller but brighter. And the people put on masks and danced.
And now he dreamed more and more of the older woman with the steely grey eyes, and every time he dreamed of her she was older still. Her hair turned snowy white, and she walked bowed but firmly through the layers of freshly fallen leaves. And she spoke with him. But it was all a dream, and he did not remember most of what she said. But he knew she spoke to him of love.
And he dreamed of winter snows and icy waters, of roaming wolves and sleeping bears. The land became silent and still. The people retreated into their homes and villages, but there they lit their fires and drank hot wine and danced.
And he dreamed of bright stars and the spirits who dwelt among them. The spirits who embraced all the millions of the people of the world in love. All the dancing people, whether they knew it or not. And when the people danced, they felt the spirits' kiss. And if anyone could not, he would creep weeping out of their midst.
And the winter chill crept into his bones; cold air filled his lungs. He twitched and turned, and then woke up.
The last rays of sunlight were beaming through the rows of barren white trees in front of him. Other than the gurgling of the spring water, there was deep silence. He was alone.
As he looked about and saw that everything was exactly as it had been before he drank from the spring, he realized that not one minute had passed since he had tasted those waters. It was not yet fully dark. He had slept for mere seconds, if at all. But he felt refreshed and renewed, as if a new spirit had been birthed and grew within him.
It had been many long years since wolves had roamed these woods. But he wanted to get back before dark. He started back down the muddy path.
As he walked, he thought he heard music, faint and far away. As he came down out of the hills, it got louder. He seemed to recognize it. Yes, it was dancing music. A polka.
He stopped on a cliff overlooking the river valley, and he looked upon the village below him, the little town tucked in between the river and the hills. The setting sun scraped the hilltops beyond the town, casting long shadows over the narrow valley. But there were lights in the town; fires were burning, and besides the music he heard singing and shouting. Then he remembered. Yes, the people were having another festival. As if the memories of Candlemas had already faded. Fasching, they called this one. One last burst of winter partying to steel themselves for the long wait for spring and resurrection.
He continued down into the village. There had been a parade that afternoon, and the streets were littered with confetti and the remains of fireworks. Now there was no one about except stout hausfraus sweeping up the trash; all the others had retreated indoors in the face of the deepening cold and darkness. But music filled the air. He passed by a large building in the middle of the town; light streamed from its large windows and lit up the square before it; the walls pulsed with the beat of the music. He looked in the windows. It was a great hall, full of people. They were dancing.
His heart went out to them; he embraced them with his spirit. And suddenly he remembered one thing the old woman had said to him in his dream. "Look upon these people," she had said. " They are not your people, and they seem so separate from you, but in a deep way you are connected to them. You have come from far away to be with them. They have much to teach you, and you them. You must love them as you love yourself. Do you love yourself?"
"Yes," he had replied.
"And from this love comes all other loves. Love yourself, and love all these." The woman's image became clear in his mind as this moment of his dream came back to him. "And remember," she went on. "Far, far away there is one who loves you. She waits for you. Be patient. She will come."
And he remembered that in the future this day would become a holiday of love. Love, which contains the meaning of all other holidays, love, which holds within it death, rebirth, forgiveness and redemption. He looked through the window at the dancing people. These people who had danced upon this land for hundreds of years. Whose ancestors had killed and been killed here. Whose blood had soaked into this earth. Whose memory ran deeper than the great river. And still they danced.
Maybe one day he would dance with them. But now he smiled, and turned, and went home. Not his true home, for he knew that his true home was nowhere on this earth. But it was close enough.
[IMPORTANT NOTE: This entry is a work of fiction. Any resemblance with actual persons or events is, as is usually the case with fiction, both purely coincidental and entirely intentional.]
On an incredibly bright midwinter day, he ventured out into the Odenwald to see what there was to see. The low sun hung like a necklace jewel above the rounded hills on either side of the Neckartal. Until today, it had rained every day for three weeks, and the paths were muddy, but the deep, limitless blue of the sky and the bracing chill of the air lifted both his steps and his spirit.
It was just two weeks after Candlemas, and most of the trees were barren spindles sticking up out of the earth. Here and there were clusters of evergreens that hid mysterious depths in the dense shadows beneath them. He was the sort who could feel into the fog of the future, and, gazing into these shadowy depths, he could tell that today would one day become a holiday, a very special holiday, a holiday devoted to love.
[Q: WAIT a minute! Two weeks after Candlemas? You're obviously talking about Valentine's Day. What's this nonsense about feeling into the future?
A: I said this was fiction! It's a period piece, OK? Work with me here, will ya!]
Dusk was drawing on when he noticed the nearby gurgle of water. Thirsty after a long climb up out of the valley, he sought it out. He traced the narrow stream to a well a small distance off the path. But that was not the source of the water. Some yards farther there was a low hill, and beneath it there rose a spring, whose water flowed down the slope into the well. Someone had built a stonework into the side of the hill to frame the spring; it was like a fireplace that put forth water instead of heat. That same someone had dug the well to catch the water from the spring so that it would be easier to draw. The empty bucket hanging from the roof of the well-house was full of leaves and grime after years of non-use. On the hill the white trunks of bare trees stood like ghostly columns in the creeping twilight.
He knew some of the story of this place. It was said that once there was a convent here, long since covered by layers of earth, and this spring supplied water for the nuns. "The Well of the Nuns", it was called. But he could tell that this woodwork above the well and the stonework above the spring were far too old to have been built by nuns or their servants or any other Christain soul. These waters flowed from deep within the earth and had nourished all its creatures for thousands of years.
And so he, too, slaked his thirst. He cupped his hands under the flow as it spilled over the lip of the stone frame. The water was crystal clear and cold. He filled his hands, brought it to his mouth, and sipped. He marvelled. What minerals of the earth through which this water flowed, he wondered, gave it such an odd but pleasing taste? It was sweet yet powerful, and the drops seemed to dance in his mouth and throat like the bubbles of sparkling wine. The rich, cold liquid soothed his throat as he swallowed, and he drank his fill.
As he stood again from drinking, he felt a strange glow in his stomach, unsettling yet seductive, and then tendrils of warmth began to rise into his head. He swayed as the whole world seemed to shift around him, and his very body seemed about to melt. His limbs seemed to dissolve beneath him, but before he fell, he managed to turn and sit, and he leaned his back against a barren oak.
The last rays of sunlight faded away, but in the darkness the straight white tree-trunks on the hill in front of him shone with a pale, eery glow. And he saw that they were indeed now columns of marble, striding in rows up the gentle slope. And looming beyond them was a great wall of dark stone. And he thought he heard music, faint and far-away at first, an organ it seemed, playing a long and plaintive plainsong in the night. And were there voices with it, too? High and sweet, coming from the stars? But the sounds grew, closer, louder, and he heard it was not an organ after all, but a choir of pipes and flutes, and a deep and steady drumbeat beneath it all. And still there were those voices, still-soft female voices of ethereal and intoxicating beauty.
The music was all around him now, all but the women's voices coming from beyond the columns, beyond the wall. The drumbeat got faster and louder, the rhythm took flight. The music filled his mind, blotted out all his other senses. A heaviness came upon him. But with his fading vision he saw a door open in the wall, and out came women, all in flowing white robes but with their hair unbound and flowing free behind them. They processed slowly in a line down toward the well, toward him, as he leaned in numbed wonderment against the oak-tree. One of them. a wonderfully beautiful blond maiden, carried a great cup of polished stone, encrusted with bright jewels.
And one of them, an older woman with steely grey eyes and white-streaked golden hair streaming down her back, came to him. She held him for a moment in an all-knowing gaze, then opened her mouth as if to speak. Even his hearing now was overwhelmed, but as if through a fog he seemed to hear her ask, "Stranger, what do you seek?" And at that moment he fell into a deep, deep sleep.
And he dreamed.
He dreamed of spring, and the coming of the leaves and flowers, of great fires on the hilltops overlooking the valley, and people dancing around them. He dreamed of an army of men with swords and golden helmets and red capes, and the dancing people drove them away, drove them out of the land with their pipes and drums. He dreamed of high summer in the valley of the great river, of freely flowing wine and honey, and always the people dancing. And there was a man, young and strong and fearless, and his enemies fled before his bravery and his honesty. And the man bowed to drink at a spring --- a different one, but not far away --- and he was struck down as he drank, stabbed in the back in his only vulnerable spot. His funeral pyre lit up the night sky brighter than any sun. And still the people danced.
And always there was the maiden with the cup. She kept on filling it from the well, over and over. And the people drank from it, and danced.
And he dreamed of the coming of autumn, and the turning and falling of the leaves. He dreamed of the harvest, and the people working and storing their food for the winter. The fires were smaller but brighter. And the people put on masks and danced.
And now he dreamed more and more of the older woman with the steely grey eyes, and every time he dreamed of her she was older still. Her hair turned snowy white, and she walked bowed but firmly through the layers of freshly fallen leaves. And she spoke with him. But it was all a dream, and he did not remember most of what she said. But he knew she spoke to him of love.
And he dreamed of winter snows and icy waters, of roaming wolves and sleeping bears. The land became silent and still. The people retreated into their homes and villages, but there they lit their fires and drank hot wine and danced.
And he dreamed of bright stars and the spirits who dwelt among them. The spirits who embraced all the millions of the people of the world in love. All the dancing people, whether they knew it or not. And when the people danced, they felt the spirits' kiss. And if anyone could not, he would creep weeping out of their midst.
And the winter chill crept into his bones; cold air filled his lungs. He twitched and turned, and then woke up.
The last rays of sunlight were beaming through the rows of barren white trees in front of him. Other than the gurgling of the spring water, there was deep silence. He was alone.
As he looked about and saw that everything was exactly as it had been before he drank from the spring, he realized that not one minute had passed since he had tasted those waters. It was not yet fully dark. He had slept for mere seconds, if at all. But he felt refreshed and renewed, as if a new spirit had been birthed and grew within him.
It had been many long years since wolves had roamed these woods. But he wanted to get back before dark. He started back down the muddy path.
As he walked, he thought he heard music, faint and far away. As he came down out of the hills, it got louder. He seemed to recognize it. Yes, it was dancing music. A polka.
He stopped on a cliff overlooking the river valley, and he looked upon the village below him, the little town tucked in between the river and the hills. The setting sun scraped the hilltops beyond the town, casting long shadows over the narrow valley. But there were lights in the town; fires were burning, and besides the music he heard singing and shouting. Then he remembered. Yes, the people were having another festival. As if the memories of Candlemas had already faded. Fasching, they called this one. One last burst of winter partying to steel themselves for the long wait for spring and resurrection.
He continued down into the village. There had been a parade that afternoon, and the streets were littered with confetti and the remains of fireworks. Now there was no one about except stout hausfraus sweeping up the trash; all the others had retreated indoors in the face of the deepening cold and darkness. But music filled the air. He passed by a large building in the middle of the town; light streamed from its large windows and lit up the square before it; the walls pulsed with the beat of the music. He looked in the windows. It was a great hall, full of people. They were dancing.
His heart went out to them; he embraced them with his spirit. And suddenly he remembered one thing the old woman had said to him in his dream. "Look upon these people," she had said. " They are not your people, and they seem so separate from you, but in a deep way you are connected to them. You have come from far away to be with them. They have much to teach you, and you them. You must love them as you love yourself. Do you love yourself?"
"Yes," he had replied.
"And from this love comes all other loves. Love yourself, and love all these." The woman's image became clear in his mind as this moment of his dream came back to him. "And remember," she went on. "Far, far away there is one who loves you. She waits for you. Be patient. She will come."
And he remembered that in the future this day would become a holiday of love. Love, which contains the meaning of all other holidays, love, which holds within it death, rebirth, forgiveness and redemption. He looked through the window at the dancing people. These people who had danced upon this land for hundreds of years. Whose ancestors had killed and been killed here. Whose blood had soaked into this earth. Whose memory ran deeper than the great river. And still they danced.
Maybe one day he would dance with them. But now he smiled, and turned, and went home. Not his true home, for he knew that his true home was nowhere on this earth. But it was close enough.
Saturday, February 10, 2007
THE MANNHEIM NATIONAL THEATER
It seems the high points in my life often have to do with theater, either attending or participating. (Have I mentioned I was a theater major the first time around?) That of course includes opera. There will be no shortage of that here.
I knew Mannheim had some kind of opera company. I did not know how far-reaching it was until I got here. Mannheim has not only an opera company, but a professional theater company as well; in fact, they are the same company, housed in one building. Like the Blumenthal in Charlotte, it has an opera house and a somewhat smaller theater for spoken plays, but, unlike Charlotte, one organization produces for both houses (produces, not merely schedules). The Mannheim National Theater is surely the brightest jewel in Mannheim's cultural crown.
And the really nice thing is that this is a true repertory company. Unlike Opera Carolina and all of the theater groups in Charlotte, here you will never find the same show presented two nights in a row (much less three or four). You have one show one night and a different one the next, and you might have the same show repeated a month or more after it was first presented. (Scheduling must be a nightmare.) An opera might be performed only three or four times in the season, but these performances are scattered throughout the year, not done all at once, as they are in Charlotte. So you actually have more opportunities to see a given show. The season runs from September through July. And there are, if I counted correctly, 30 operas in this year's repertory.
And 25 plays.
And that doesn't count the children's theater wing.
I started in on all this one Thursday last September with Richard Strauss's "Salome". Two days later I saw Verdi's "Otello", and in October the first of the "Ring" operas, "Das Rheingold". All of this was on the spur of the moment. Got my tickets at the last minute at the box office right before the show. In Charlotte, operas usually sell out (or nearly) in advance. Here, for "Salome", the house wasn't even half full. There were more for the Verdi (but that was a Saturday). It may have been 80 % full for "Rheingold" (a Sunday). Makes you wonder how they make ends meet. But of course, they probably have a government subsidy. And that's only three performances out of ... what? ... (30 operas at 3 times each would be 90, and if you add in the plays...) ... 150 at least.
But are they any good? Well, they're not bad. I didn't recognize the names of any of the singers (but since Charlotte is so poorly served by the media when it comes to opera --- are you listening, WDAV? --- that doesn't mean anything). But they all sang quite well, some outstandingly so. Unfortunately, the inside of the opera house is a big empty nondescript box, and the singers' voices have a tendency to get lost in it, especially when the orchestra is loud. The place was built in the 1950's, to replace the old theater that was destroyed in the war. I guess they didn't know much about acoustics back then. But that is a problem only at certain moments.
The orchestra plays solidly. There are a few occasional mistakes, mostly in the strings, but that is to be expected in a town this size. This isn't Berlin, after all. At least they do a good job of filling up the cavernous space. If only they'd back off a bit for the singers.
Perhaps the most interesting thing is the productions themselves. Although the "Otello" was a traditional staging, both of the German operas I saw were, as I believe is the prevalent practice here in Europe, done in a fashion best described as "experimental". "Salome", which is the Biblical story of the death of John the Baptist, took place in a nondescript industrial setting, or perhaps it was the deck of a cruise ship --- no way to tell. Most impressive was the fact that John the Baptist's cell was contained within an elevator that rose out of the stage at appropriate moments, so you got to see a lot more of him than you usually do. But the soprano, of course, was the star. There is no such thing as a young opera singer, but this lady was still in good enough shape to be believable in the part, even to pull off the dancing. But in this production it was not about the dancing; the choreography illuminated the psychology of the characters, not only Salome but Herod and his wife as well.
You found the same sort of innovation in "Das Rheingold", with the Rhinemaidens living in a submerged apartment (with couch and floor lamp, both of which remained onstage in all scenes), with a large round window (porthole?) through which fish (including a large shark) could be seen swimming by. And the dwarves, of course, wear miners' helmets with the little flaslights on them and push around big carts on tracks (they are miners, after all). That sort of thing.
Whether there is any unifying element or something that would make sense of it all in this production of the "Ring" remains to be seen: I later found out that the entire "Ring" cycle is being done here in May, over two weeks. So maybe it is OK that I won't make it to Bayreuth (I hear the waiting list for tickets is eight years long).
In fact, I have identified seven not-to-be-missed presentations at the National Theater over the coming months: Strauss's "Die Frau ohne Schatten" (in my opinion, the last great German opera) in March, then the "Ring" in May, immediately followed by "Parsifal", Wagner's treatment of the Holy Grail legend, and only a few days after that, some lightening up with Strauss's brilliant comedy "Der Rosenkavalier". All here in Mannheim.
I must also mention two more things. This season, on the playhouse side, the National Theater is doing Arthur Miller's "Death of a Salesman" --- in German --- which I saw in November. This being perhaps the most well-known of all American plays, and having read it once and seen it at least twice, I thought I would be able to understand a good bit. I was wrong, but I could tell it was a thoroughly professional production, although the Germans, as always, are not afraid of messing with the material. It was half as long as it should have been, so a lot must have been cut, and I think a lot was re-arranged. E.g., the wife's monologue, what was left of it, was at the beginning, not the end. All kinds of images of modern America flashed on a big projection screen at the back of the stage. Trying to make a commentary about America and the evils of capitalism. Fair enough. But is not Germany, and all of Europe, heading down that same road?
Finally, the semester ended (nearly) with a gala concert in December featuring Ben Heppner, a singer I have heard of --- the world's leading Wagnerian tenor. No trouble hearing him. (How often does this kind of talent come to Charlotte? OK, so Renee Fleming came to Charlotte, but she was here in Mannheim in November, too.) All selections from the "Ring". Thrilling. Champagne reception afterwards. Then I went home and celebrated further with a bit of the Nibelungen Trank I'd bought in Worms. Wine flavored with honey and herbs, including parsley. Delicious.
Speaking of Worms, I have learned that this year's Nibelung Festival will begin in July, not August as was the case in 2006. So I will get to see Part II of the mammoth adaptation of the "Nibelungenlied" after all: "Siegfried's Women" last summer, and "The Last Days of the Burgundians" this summer. Enacted once again on the grounds of the imposing Worms cathedral. It will be one of the last things I do here before I have to leave. So my time in Germany will be book-ended by the Nibelungs in Worms.
It seems the high points in my life often have to do with theater, either attending or participating. (Have I mentioned I was a theater major the first time around?) That of course includes opera. There will be no shortage of that here.
I knew Mannheim had some kind of opera company. I did not know how far-reaching it was until I got here. Mannheim has not only an opera company, but a professional theater company as well; in fact, they are the same company, housed in one building. Like the Blumenthal in Charlotte, it has an opera house and a somewhat smaller theater for spoken plays, but, unlike Charlotte, one organization produces for both houses (produces, not merely schedules). The Mannheim National Theater is surely the brightest jewel in Mannheim's cultural crown.
And the really nice thing is that this is a true repertory company. Unlike Opera Carolina and all of the theater groups in Charlotte, here you will never find the same show presented two nights in a row (much less three or four). You have one show one night and a different one the next, and you might have the same show repeated a month or more after it was first presented. (Scheduling must be a nightmare.) An opera might be performed only three or four times in the season, but these performances are scattered throughout the year, not done all at once, as they are in Charlotte. So you actually have more opportunities to see a given show. The season runs from September through July. And there are, if I counted correctly, 30 operas in this year's repertory.
And 25 plays.
And that doesn't count the children's theater wing.
I started in on all this one Thursday last September with Richard Strauss's "Salome". Two days later I saw Verdi's "Otello", and in October the first of the "Ring" operas, "Das Rheingold". All of this was on the spur of the moment. Got my tickets at the last minute at the box office right before the show. In Charlotte, operas usually sell out (or nearly) in advance. Here, for "Salome", the house wasn't even half full. There were more for the Verdi (but that was a Saturday). It may have been 80 % full for "Rheingold" (a Sunday). Makes you wonder how they make ends meet. But of course, they probably have a government subsidy. And that's only three performances out of ... what? ... (30 operas at 3 times each would be 90, and if you add in the plays...) ... 150 at least.
But are they any good? Well, they're not bad. I didn't recognize the names of any of the singers (but since Charlotte is so poorly served by the media when it comes to opera --- are you listening, WDAV? --- that doesn't mean anything). But they all sang quite well, some outstandingly so. Unfortunately, the inside of the opera house is a big empty nondescript box, and the singers' voices have a tendency to get lost in it, especially when the orchestra is loud. The place was built in the 1950's, to replace the old theater that was destroyed in the war. I guess they didn't know much about acoustics back then. But that is a problem only at certain moments.
The orchestra plays solidly. There are a few occasional mistakes, mostly in the strings, but that is to be expected in a town this size. This isn't Berlin, after all. At least they do a good job of filling up the cavernous space. If only they'd back off a bit for the singers.
Perhaps the most interesting thing is the productions themselves. Although the "Otello" was a traditional staging, both of the German operas I saw were, as I believe is the prevalent practice here in Europe, done in a fashion best described as "experimental". "Salome", which is the Biblical story of the death of John the Baptist, took place in a nondescript industrial setting, or perhaps it was the deck of a cruise ship --- no way to tell. Most impressive was the fact that John the Baptist's cell was contained within an elevator that rose out of the stage at appropriate moments, so you got to see a lot more of him than you usually do. But the soprano, of course, was the star. There is no such thing as a young opera singer, but this lady was still in good enough shape to be believable in the part, even to pull off the dancing. But in this production it was not about the dancing; the choreography illuminated the psychology of the characters, not only Salome but Herod and his wife as well.
You found the same sort of innovation in "Das Rheingold", with the Rhinemaidens living in a submerged apartment (with couch and floor lamp, both of which remained onstage in all scenes), with a large round window (porthole?) through which fish (including a large shark) could be seen swimming by. And the dwarves, of course, wear miners' helmets with the little flaslights on them and push around big carts on tracks (they are miners, after all). That sort of thing.
Whether there is any unifying element or something that would make sense of it all in this production of the "Ring" remains to be seen: I later found out that the entire "Ring" cycle is being done here in May, over two weeks. So maybe it is OK that I won't make it to Bayreuth (I hear the waiting list for tickets is eight years long).
In fact, I have identified seven not-to-be-missed presentations at the National Theater over the coming months: Strauss's "Die Frau ohne Schatten" (in my opinion, the last great German opera) in March, then the "Ring" in May, immediately followed by "Parsifal", Wagner's treatment of the Holy Grail legend, and only a few days after that, some lightening up with Strauss's brilliant comedy "Der Rosenkavalier". All here in Mannheim.
I must also mention two more things. This season, on the playhouse side, the National Theater is doing Arthur Miller's "Death of a Salesman" --- in German --- which I saw in November. This being perhaps the most well-known of all American plays, and having read it once and seen it at least twice, I thought I would be able to understand a good bit. I was wrong, but I could tell it was a thoroughly professional production, although the Germans, as always, are not afraid of messing with the material. It was half as long as it should have been, so a lot must have been cut, and I think a lot was re-arranged. E.g., the wife's monologue, what was left of it, was at the beginning, not the end. All kinds of images of modern America flashed on a big projection screen at the back of the stage. Trying to make a commentary about America and the evils of capitalism. Fair enough. But is not Germany, and all of Europe, heading down that same road?
Finally, the semester ended (nearly) with a gala concert in December featuring Ben Heppner, a singer I have heard of --- the world's leading Wagnerian tenor. No trouble hearing him. (How often does this kind of talent come to Charlotte? OK, so Renee Fleming came to Charlotte, but she was here in Mannheim in November, too.) All selections from the "Ring". Thrilling. Champagne reception afterwards. Then I went home and celebrated further with a bit of the Nibelungen Trank I'd bought in Worms. Wine flavored with honey and herbs, including parsley. Delicious.
Speaking of Worms, I have learned that this year's Nibelung Festival will begin in July, not August as was the case in 2006. So I will get to see Part II of the mammoth adaptation of the "Nibelungenlied" after all: "Siegfried's Women" last summer, and "The Last Days of the Burgundians" this summer. Enacted once again on the grounds of the imposing Worms cathedral. It will be one of the last things I do here before I have to leave. So my time in Germany will be book-ended by the Nibelungs in Worms.
Sunday, February 04, 2007
FEBRUARY 1, 2007
Four full moons ago there was a startingly bright full moon in the autumn sky. After an extraordinarily warm summer, during the first week of October there were three days of continuous rain, after which the weather finally, irrevocably turned. Without doubt, it was Fall, crisp and clear and chilly. The full moon shone amid the stars with a power I have seldom seen. It was my birthday, the 7th, Saturday. I celebrated with beer and chili, made from scratch, no mix, no recipe. Just meat (beef and pork together, that's how they sell it here), a can of peeled tomatoes, and spices (yes, they have chili powder here). It was good.
Tonight, the moon is full again, so bright that it is visible from time to time through the heavy clouds. This is winter in Mannheim, I suppose. Not terribly cold, still above freezing, although I hear there was snow in my town of Charlotte, North Carolina, USA. Not here. Just cloudy and damp and chilly. But today is almost exactly half-way through what modern science defines as winter. Seven weeks until the equinox. Groundhogs know this. Do they have groundhogs in Germany? Would they see their shadow?
Yes, it has been about four months since I have posted on this blog. Entschuldigung. It has been rough. But, after a much-deserved vacation in America, I am back in Germany, and today it all starts again. Halfway through Winter, the tide turns. All downhill toward Spring. I cele brated with Strauss ("Tod und Verklaerung" --- "Death and Transformation").
Still two weeks until classes start. In that time, I will, Lord willing, write about some things that happened last semester. Kind of bring you all up to date. Thanks, Scott, for commenting. Wish we had had more time. Bis bald.
Four full moons ago there was a startingly bright full moon in the autumn sky. After an extraordinarily warm summer, during the first week of October there were three days of continuous rain, after which the weather finally, irrevocably turned. Without doubt, it was Fall, crisp and clear and chilly. The full moon shone amid the stars with a power I have seldom seen. It was my birthday, the 7th, Saturday. I celebrated with beer and chili, made from scratch, no mix, no recipe. Just meat (beef and pork together, that's how they sell it here), a can of peeled tomatoes, and spices (yes, they have chili powder here). It was good.
Tonight, the moon is full again, so bright that it is visible from time to time through the heavy clouds. This is winter in Mannheim, I suppose. Not terribly cold, still above freezing, although I hear there was snow in my town of Charlotte, North Carolina, USA. Not here. Just cloudy and damp and chilly. But today is almost exactly half-way through what modern science defines as winter. Seven weeks until the equinox. Groundhogs know this. Do they have groundhogs in Germany? Would they see their shadow?
Yes, it has been about four months since I have posted on this blog. Entschuldigung. It has been rough. But, after a much-deserved vacation in America, I am back in Germany, and today it all starts again. Halfway through Winter, the tide turns. All downhill toward Spring. I cele brated with Strauss ("Tod und Verklaerung" --- "Death and Transformation").
Still two weeks until classes start. In that time, I will, Lord willing, write about some things that happened last semester. Kind of bring you all up to date. Thanks, Scott, for commenting. Wish we had had more time. Bis bald.
Monday, September 25, 2006
TWO WEEKS, TWO WEEKENDS
First, the weeks: September 11 - 24
So classes started this week. It was understandably the most difficult week so far. This week I had to face my fears and admit my limitations. I attended a lecture of a real German course for real German students, immediately followed by the accompanying tutorium (a smaller class led by a graduate student, or whatever the equivalent of that is here), and I quickly realized I would not be able to take this kind of course. I read pretty well, but my understanding of spoken German is just not good enough.
Fortunately, at German universities --- this one, anyway --- you don't have to nail your schedule down in advance, so I was able to make a change. I was able to sign up at the last minute for an alternate course, a course designed to prepare foreign students for the study of German literature. The lecture course was an introduction to the study of German literature, so the content of the courses is very similar, only the one I'm ending up taking is just for foreign students. Like me.
Instead of "the study of German literature" I should perhaps say "the German study of literature", because the Germans have their own way of doing things, including studying literature. Their approach is very precise, very analytical, very scientific. In fact, the subject of study is called "Literaturwissenschaft", literally "literary science". Leave it to the Germans to take a scientific approach to something that is fundamentally not scientific.
Two of my other courses are also designed for exchange students; one is a language course in spoken German, which I really need, the other an overview of German culture. The fourth course is the translation course, which (because it is German to English translation) is taught, mercifully, in English. For that reason it will probably be the easiest course I take, but that after all is why I'm here.
This may all sound too easy to some, but everyone has different reasons for wanting to do something like this. Sorry, professors, but frankly academics are not my top priority here. If I wanted to spend all my time reading books, I could have stayed home. You don't get to really know a country by reading books.
And that brings me to:
The Weekends: September 16 and 23
It was a rough week. Not taking the German lit course was a blow to the ego. Time to relax and refresh.
The VISUM group planned an excursion to the Wine Festival in Bad-Duerkheim for this Saturday. But they were not planning to leave until 6:00 in the evening. What about the rest of the day. I realized that Neidenfels is out past Bad-Duerkheim. Why not check it out?
(Review of last post: Neidenfels is the little town where one finds the hiking trail that goes to Drachenfels...)(My ankle may not have been ready for the hike, but I thought I'd just see how long it takes to get there.)
It was easier than I thought. The train to Kaiserslautern goes right through Neidenfels. I was there in an hour from the house.
This is the real German country, up in the little mountains to the west. These mountains are smaller than the ones in North Carolina, but quite rugged. A hiking club called the Pfaelzerwald Verein runs a small establishment for hikers --- food and lodging --- right by the trailhead. Besides my ankle, it was too late in the day for the trail, but there are the ruins of a small castle, 700 years old, on a hill above the town. I made the climb. The view was worth it.
The air here was better, too, fresher, lighter, cooler. The sky was overcast with thick clouds, but that only added to the mystique. (And it never rained a drop.)
I went back through Bad-Duerkheim for the Wine Festival. It is said to be the biggest wine festival in the world, and big it was. And there was wine, and beer, of course, and food, but mostly it was booths selling stuff and rides, including a giant ferris wheel and even --- my old favorite --- bumper cars. I.e. it was just like the county or state fairs we have back home. With sausage instead of cotton candy.
And amid the sharp-shooter booths and the booths selling jewelry and crafts there were booths, at least two of them selling --- of all things --- socks. Can you imagine someone in America saying, "Hey, let's go to the fair and ride the roller coaster and eat hot dogs and cotton candy, and while we're there we can buy some socks!" (I swear I am not making this up.)
And the wine came in half-liter glasses (about a pint), and the beer in liters. So, although I am too old to get turned upside down on a carnival ride, I enjoyed.
Skipping ahead to the next Saturday, the 23rd:
After several cloudy days, the weather on Thursday turned spectacular, cooler, especially at night, but not a cloud in the sky. Fall weather on the eve of Fall. And I swore if the weather held till Saturday I would go back to the country and do my hike, sore ankle or not.
The weather held.
This time I knew exactly where to go --- at least to start with --- but even allowing for a few wrong turns it was farther than I thought. I still haven't got my mind wrapped around kilometers. It was a long day.
But two hours after I left the house I was in the woods. Not deep, not dark --- they are actually quite similar to what you find in the east in America. The forests in America have been logged extensively, and so have these, and for centuries longer. And they still are. Much of the trail was logging roads and here and there were piles of newly cut logs stacked by the road ready to be trucked away. Lots of evergreens, but no really big ones. This is not old-growth forest. Are there any old-growth forests left in Europe?
But on a sunny day in September --- it happened to be the actual first day of autumn --- who cares? I walked with Wagner playing in my head and saw not a soul on the trail --- until I got to a big intersection of trails near the Drachenfels, where there were picnickers and bicyclers, and the population continued to grow as I approached the great rock. It turns out there is a public road and parking area nearby, so it is easily accessible to those with cars, who don't have to take the train and then walk 3 hours like I did. But, y'know, in America there would be no train, and those without cars would never be able to get there at all. So for me it is a good thing this is not America. But next time I will come on a weekday, because it was really quite crowded. Of course, for me in a place like this, out in the woods, 10 people is crowded, so... But it makes it harder to commune with nature.
Drachenfels is a huge dramatic rock formation sitting atop a large hill --- a mountain perhaps, by our standards. There are two small caves beneath it, one of which goes all the way through to the other side, and the other someone once imagined a dragon might live in. Personally, I thought it was way too small for that. And I found no trace of the Nibelung treasure...
But it was a beautiful day. My ankle survived; both of my feet hurt by the time I got back to town, but now 2 days later I am back to normal. I will stick to cities in my travels the next few weeks. I am glad I got this done before the weather turns.
Business will keep me in Mannheim some of this Fall. I finally heard from the TIG7 theater group, and the poetry reading is on. There is also an English-speaking theater group here at the university that has started meeting: more of that as things pan out.
And so the semester has begun. Hard to believe in three months it will be over. Then I go home for Christmas. Will I be ready for that? We'll see.
First, the weeks: September 11 - 24
So classes started this week. It was understandably the most difficult week so far. This week I had to face my fears and admit my limitations. I attended a lecture of a real German course for real German students, immediately followed by the accompanying tutorium (a smaller class led by a graduate student, or whatever the equivalent of that is here), and I quickly realized I would not be able to take this kind of course. I read pretty well, but my understanding of spoken German is just not good enough.
Fortunately, at German universities --- this one, anyway --- you don't have to nail your schedule down in advance, so I was able to make a change. I was able to sign up at the last minute for an alternate course, a course designed to prepare foreign students for the study of German literature. The lecture course was an introduction to the study of German literature, so the content of the courses is very similar, only the one I'm ending up taking is just for foreign students. Like me.
Instead of "the study of German literature" I should perhaps say "the German study of literature", because the Germans have their own way of doing things, including studying literature. Their approach is very precise, very analytical, very scientific. In fact, the subject of study is called "Literaturwissenschaft", literally "literary science". Leave it to the Germans to take a scientific approach to something that is fundamentally not scientific.
Two of my other courses are also designed for exchange students; one is a language course in spoken German, which I really need, the other an overview of German culture. The fourth course is the translation course, which (because it is German to English translation) is taught, mercifully, in English. For that reason it will probably be the easiest course I take, but that after all is why I'm here.
This may all sound too easy to some, but everyone has different reasons for wanting to do something like this. Sorry, professors, but frankly academics are not my top priority here. If I wanted to spend all my time reading books, I could have stayed home. You don't get to really know a country by reading books.
And that brings me to:
The Weekends: September 16 and 23
It was a rough week. Not taking the German lit course was a blow to the ego. Time to relax and refresh.
The VISUM group planned an excursion to the Wine Festival in Bad-Duerkheim for this Saturday. But they were not planning to leave until 6:00 in the evening. What about the rest of the day. I realized that Neidenfels is out past Bad-Duerkheim. Why not check it out?
(Review of last post: Neidenfels is the little town where one finds the hiking trail that goes to Drachenfels...)(My ankle may not have been ready for the hike, but I thought I'd just see how long it takes to get there.)
It was easier than I thought. The train to Kaiserslautern goes right through Neidenfels. I was there in an hour from the house.
This is the real German country, up in the little mountains to the west. These mountains are smaller than the ones in North Carolina, but quite rugged. A hiking club called the Pfaelzerwald Verein runs a small establishment for hikers --- food and lodging --- right by the trailhead. Besides my ankle, it was too late in the day for the trail, but there are the ruins of a small castle, 700 years old, on a hill above the town. I made the climb. The view was worth it.
The air here was better, too, fresher, lighter, cooler. The sky was overcast with thick clouds, but that only added to the mystique. (And it never rained a drop.)
I went back through Bad-Duerkheim for the Wine Festival. It is said to be the biggest wine festival in the world, and big it was. And there was wine, and beer, of course, and food, but mostly it was booths selling stuff and rides, including a giant ferris wheel and even --- my old favorite --- bumper cars. I.e. it was just like the county or state fairs we have back home. With sausage instead of cotton candy.
And amid the sharp-shooter booths and the booths selling jewelry and crafts there were booths, at least two of them selling --- of all things --- socks. Can you imagine someone in America saying, "Hey, let's go to the fair and ride the roller coaster and eat hot dogs and cotton candy, and while we're there we can buy some socks!" (I swear I am not making this up.)
And the wine came in half-liter glasses (about a pint), and the beer in liters. So, although I am too old to get turned upside down on a carnival ride, I enjoyed.
Skipping ahead to the next Saturday, the 23rd:
After several cloudy days, the weather on Thursday turned spectacular, cooler, especially at night, but not a cloud in the sky. Fall weather on the eve of Fall. And I swore if the weather held till Saturday I would go back to the country and do my hike, sore ankle or not.
The weather held.
This time I knew exactly where to go --- at least to start with --- but even allowing for a few wrong turns it was farther than I thought. I still haven't got my mind wrapped around kilometers. It was a long day.
But two hours after I left the house I was in the woods. Not deep, not dark --- they are actually quite similar to what you find in the east in America. The forests in America have been logged extensively, and so have these, and for centuries longer. And they still are. Much of the trail was logging roads and here and there were piles of newly cut logs stacked by the road ready to be trucked away. Lots of evergreens, but no really big ones. This is not old-growth forest. Are there any old-growth forests left in Europe?
But on a sunny day in September --- it happened to be the actual first day of autumn --- who cares? I walked with Wagner playing in my head and saw not a soul on the trail --- until I got to a big intersection of trails near the Drachenfels, where there were picnickers and bicyclers, and the population continued to grow as I approached the great rock. It turns out there is a public road and parking area nearby, so it is easily accessible to those with cars, who don't have to take the train and then walk 3 hours like I did. But, y'know, in America there would be no train, and those without cars would never be able to get there at all. So for me it is a good thing this is not America. But next time I will come on a weekday, because it was really quite crowded. Of course, for me in a place like this, out in the woods, 10 people is crowded, so... But it makes it harder to commune with nature.
Drachenfels is a huge dramatic rock formation sitting atop a large hill --- a mountain perhaps, by our standards. There are two small caves beneath it, one of which goes all the way through to the other side, and the other someone once imagined a dragon might live in. Personally, I thought it was way too small for that. And I found no trace of the Nibelung treasure...
But it was a beautiful day. My ankle survived; both of my feet hurt by the time I got back to town, but now 2 days later I am back to normal. I will stick to cities in my travels the next few weeks. I am glad I got this done before the weather turns.
Business will keep me in Mannheim some of this Fall. I finally heard from the TIG7 theater group, and the poetry reading is on. There is also an English-speaking theater group here at the university that has started meeting: more of that as things pan out.
And so the semester has begun. Hard to believe in three months it will be over. Then I go home for Christmas. Will I be ready for that? We'll see.
Saturday, September 09, 2006
AUGUST INTO SEPTEMBER
If anyone out there finds this insufferably boring, take heart. I am almost caught up, and I am going to pick up the pace now.
But first, I must mention the river cruise up the Neckar from Heidelberg on Sunday 27 August. This was the last excursion organized by the Summer Academy. My slight illness of preceding weeks has improved, and the weather is grand, clear and not too hot. Even the rain holds off until the last 20 minutes or so. Upstream from Heidelberg the river winds between low mountains that rise on either side. Little towns, some with castles, nestle in the hollows of the hills. This is what I imagined the Rhein would look like (and it probably does, farther upstream from Mannheim). Dense forest covers the mountainsides. Probably not old-growth, but from the river you can't tell. Some of the other students were bored. But I can never get enough of such beauty. This was perhaps the most enjoyable day I've had since I got here.
The next three days were the last days of the Summer Academy. Grade certificates were passed out on Tuesday: I got a 2 for the course. Not bad, all things considered. (I might have gotten a 1 if I hadn't screwed up on the exam, my usual stupid little mistakes.)
Wednesday was the last day; Professor Tom promised to take us all out to breakfast, and I'm sure he did, but I had to miss it. Tuesday night, leaving the Internet Cafe after dark and in a drenching all-day rain, I was tripped up by the uneven pavement near the Bahnhof and fell and sprained my ankle. (It happens every few years.) Quite painful at first. So Wednesday morning I hobbled to a nearby Apotheke (where they sell real drugs, which they don't in the drugstores; an Apotheke is like a little medical center) to see if perhaps they might have a cane or crutch they could sell me. They didn't, but there was a nearby store that did, so with a cheap pair of crutches I was able to get around OK. I still had to go into town to the Uni to register for a class.
But the next few days I tried to take it easy and not walk so much. The ankle improved quickly; already on Thursday I was down to one crutch (two was too much trouble), and by the following Monday I stopped using even one. Better off without it. By that time, it hurt less to walk on it than just sitting around.
I used the extra time to get caught up on this blog.
As September began, the students that were here only for the Summer Academy departed, and the exchange students who did not take part in the Summer Academy began to arrive. Also, the regular full-time German students are beginning to return to town. The apartment house is filling up, and there are more people on the streets. There was an orientation for foreign students on August 31, but having been here a month already, I learned nothing new.
Also, the weather turned really hot again last week, and it stopped raining so much. Both of which I welcomed. But on Thursday of this week (September 7) there was a big rain that cooled things off and now it is very dry and cool: fall weather at last. This is the kind of weather I have always associated with Germany, I don't know why. I hope it doesn't get too cool too soon.
With the sore ankle and the Summer Academy being over with, there is not that much going on. No more excursions and fewer parties, although the VISUM group had a big welcome party this week at a local club. I went with the lovely Angela my VISUM buddy. And my acquaintances from the Summer Academy, the ones that are staying, were there. But with the crowded dance floor and the insufferably loud music, it just wasn't my kind of scene, so I didn't stay late. (This is not because of my age; I didn't get into that kind of thing when I was young either.)
For future reference: A couple of weeks ago I noticed on a map of the area a large empty green space to the west of here --- a state or national park or forest called the Pfaelzerwald. In this area I noticed a spot, designated on the map as a scenic area, called Drachenfels: Dragon Rock. I immediately decided to go there --- how could I not go to a place called Drachenfels? Train lines were marked on the map, as well as hiking trails, so I was able to determine that it is possible to go by train to a little town and then get on the hiking trail that goes to Drachenfels. So I started planning a little hiking trip.
Shortly after that I noticed in a bookstore (and purchased) a hiking guidebook to the Pfaelzerwald, which provided more details. The hike looks to be about three hours, round trip, doable in a day (depending on the train schedules). And, yes, legend has it that this was indeed the spot where Siegfried killed the dragon. (One of many places, I'm sure, that make the same claim.)
The misfortune with the ankle forced me to put the hiking trip on hold, but if the weather stays good and the ankle continues to improve, I am going to do it one of these weekends soon. I wonder if I can get anyone to go with me.
But classes for the Fall Semester start Monday, September 11 (auspicious date, isn't it?), and the next week will be occupied with school business if not actual school work. The Summer Academy was like a vacation --- as it was intended --- but now things will get serious. There will still be fun, I'm sure, and real challenges as well. My postings will have to get shorter, but you will still be able to read about my most interesting and important adventures. So stay tuned, and wish me luck.
If anyone out there finds this insufferably boring, take heart. I am almost caught up, and I am going to pick up the pace now.
But first, I must mention the river cruise up the Neckar from Heidelberg on Sunday 27 August. This was the last excursion organized by the Summer Academy. My slight illness of preceding weeks has improved, and the weather is grand, clear and not too hot. Even the rain holds off until the last 20 minutes or so. Upstream from Heidelberg the river winds between low mountains that rise on either side. Little towns, some with castles, nestle in the hollows of the hills. This is what I imagined the Rhein would look like (and it probably does, farther upstream from Mannheim). Dense forest covers the mountainsides. Probably not old-growth, but from the river you can't tell. Some of the other students were bored. But I can never get enough of such beauty. This was perhaps the most enjoyable day I've had since I got here.
The next three days were the last days of the Summer Academy. Grade certificates were passed out on Tuesday: I got a 2 for the course. Not bad, all things considered. (I might have gotten a 1 if I hadn't screwed up on the exam, my usual stupid little mistakes.)
Wednesday was the last day; Professor Tom promised to take us all out to breakfast, and I'm sure he did, but I had to miss it. Tuesday night, leaving the Internet Cafe after dark and in a drenching all-day rain, I was tripped up by the uneven pavement near the Bahnhof and fell and sprained my ankle. (It happens every few years.) Quite painful at first. So Wednesday morning I hobbled to a nearby Apotheke (where they sell real drugs, which they don't in the drugstores; an Apotheke is like a little medical center) to see if perhaps they might have a cane or crutch they could sell me. They didn't, but there was a nearby store that did, so with a cheap pair of crutches I was able to get around OK. I still had to go into town to the Uni to register for a class.
But the next few days I tried to take it easy and not walk so much. The ankle improved quickly; already on Thursday I was down to one crutch (two was too much trouble), and by the following Monday I stopped using even one. Better off without it. By that time, it hurt less to walk on it than just sitting around.
I used the extra time to get caught up on this blog.
As September began, the students that were here only for the Summer Academy departed, and the exchange students who did not take part in the Summer Academy began to arrive. Also, the regular full-time German students are beginning to return to town. The apartment house is filling up, and there are more people on the streets. There was an orientation for foreign students on August 31, but having been here a month already, I learned nothing new.
Also, the weather turned really hot again last week, and it stopped raining so much. Both of which I welcomed. But on Thursday of this week (September 7) there was a big rain that cooled things off and now it is very dry and cool: fall weather at last. This is the kind of weather I have always associated with Germany, I don't know why. I hope it doesn't get too cool too soon.
With the sore ankle and the Summer Academy being over with, there is not that much going on. No more excursions and fewer parties, although the VISUM group had a big welcome party this week at a local club. I went with the lovely Angela my VISUM buddy. And my acquaintances from the Summer Academy, the ones that are staying, were there. But with the crowded dance floor and the insufferably loud music, it just wasn't my kind of scene, so I didn't stay late. (This is not because of my age; I didn't get into that kind of thing when I was young either.)
For future reference: A couple of weeks ago I noticed on a map of the area a large empty green space to the west of here --- a state or national park or forest called the Pfaelzerwald. In this area I noticed a spot, designated on the map as a scenic area, called Drachenfels: Dragon Rock. I immediately decided to go there --- how could I not go to a place called Drachenfels? Train lines were marked on the map, as well as hiking trails, so I was able to determine that it is possible to go by train to a little town and then get on the hiking trail that goes to Drachenfels. So I started planning a little hiking trip.
Shortly after that I noticed in a bookstore (and purchased) a hiking guidebook to the Pfaelzerwald, which provided more details. The hike looks to be about three hours, round trip, doable in a day (depending on the train schedules). And, yes, legend has it that this was indeed the spot where Siegfried killed the dragon. (One of many places, I'm sure, that make the same claim.)
The misfortune with the ankle forced me to put the hiking trip on hold, but if the weather stays good and the ankle continues to improve, I am going to do it one of these weekends soon. I wonder if I can get anyone to go with me.
But classes for the Fall Semester start Monday, September 11 (auspicious date, isn't it?), and the next week will be occupied with school business if not actual school work. The Summer Academy was like a vacation --- as it was intended --- but now things will get serious. There will still be fun, I'm sure, and real challenges as well. My postings will have to get shorter, but you will still be able to read about my most interesting and important adventures. So stay tuned, and wish me luck.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)