Russ am Rhein

2007-02-24T21:51:00.000+01:00

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.

2007-02-24T20:52:00.000+01:00

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.

2007-02-17T23:08:00.000+01:00

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.

2007-02-10T21:22:00.000+01:00

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.

2007-02-04T02:52:00.000+01:00

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.

2006-09-25T21:16:00.000+01:00

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.

2006-09-09T19:50:00.000+01:00

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.

2006-09-09T18:40:00.000+01:00

WEEK #4 --- 21-26 AUGUST
The paper is done, but the oral presentation is not until Friday, so I spent a lot of this week working on that. It all has to be completely reworked; I can't just read the paper. It only has to be five minutes (although no one's presentation so far has been that short). In the paper I compared (very briefly; in three pages) Wagner's Nibelung operas to the show in Worms, but to keep the length down, and because I think people in the class will find it more interesting, I have decided not to discuss Wagner and talk only about the Worms play.

There was an excursion to the town of Speyer this week, a town which dates back to Roman times, 2,000 years ago, although from what I saw it doesn't look any older than Heidelberg. One highlight was the cathedral, also from the Middle Ages, but seeming to be much newer --- cleaner somehow, brighter --- than the one in Worms.

Also this week I finally had time to go to the government office that keeps track of people and register my presence here. Every new resident in any locality must register their name and address with the government, even German citizens moving from one town to another. A bit frightening, considering this country's history (and from the point of view of an American with our habitual distrust of government). But nowadays I'm sure it's just a formality. I also registered my presence here with the US State Department, but of course that was voluntary.

I also had to get a foreigner's resident permit, in lieu of a visa, which is not required for exchange students. I had all my papers in order, so it went fairly smoothly, although the lady I dealt with was the model of German efficiency. Everything had to be just so. Every i dotted and every t crossed. My favorite quote from the Worms Nibelung drama: Siegfried is trying to compose a love poem to Kriemhild, and one of the Burgundians is trying to give him advice, which Siegfried does not take. He says, "Es gibt verschiedene Moeglichkeiten. Du bist Deutscher. Die Deutschen haben keine verschiedenen Moeglichkeiten." (For the Germans, there are no alternative possibilities.)

The oral presentation on Friday went reasonably well, although I was extremely nervous, even more than I thought I'd be. It did not help that it was delayed until the very end of class. I cannot say how well my classmates appreciated it (there may not have been much interest in old myths), but the teacher seemed to enjoy it. I think everyone was surprised that my German was as good as it was, since, being an introvert, I never talked very much in class.

I never discovered what grade I got on the presentation, since I did it so close to the end of the session. But I got a good grade on the paper, a 1 for content and a 1,3 for language. (The German grading system has 6, not 5, levels, with a 1 being the best and a 6 being the worst, i.e. fail. So the lower the number the better: a 1,3 is better than a 1,7.)

(And with numbers they use commas where we use periods and vice versa. 6.789,28 means six thousand seven hundred eighty-nine and 28 one-hundredths. Wierd, huh?)

The presentation on Friday was the end of actual work for the class (there was a short exam on Wednesday). I celebrate by going shopping. Since there was no room for such a garment in my suitcase, I have been trying to find a nice, stylish sports coat to buy. But I cannot find anything that fits. As I said before, everything is smaller here, even the people. I have a chart to convert American sizes to German, and I should wear a German size 56, but I can find very few jackets that big, and even the ones I find are tight on me. I will have to wear a 58. I find one --- only one --- at a nice store downtown for 130 euros. Seven stores, one jacket, 130 euros. (I did not buy it).

But on Saturday I go to the mall --- yes, there is an American-style indoor shopping mall out in a suburb north of town, near where the American army base is. The last store I go in there has jackets that fit, size 58, for 49 euros. I buy two.

Also in the mall there is --- praise God! --- a Kentucky Fried Chicken. At last, an alternative to sausage.

2006-09-07T21:04:00.000+01:00

SATURDAY 19 AUGUST: WORMS, CITY OF THE DRAGON
The Nibelung myth will be the subject of my paper and presentation for class. Why? Not only because it has been an interest of mine for many years, but also because the city of Worms, just down the Rhein from here, has its yearly Nibelung festival, the focus of which is a giant theatrical presentation, in the month of August. And since Bayreuth (the Wagner festival) is too far, and sells out too soon, I decided to attend the show in Worms.

Worms is where the ancient Nibelung myth became grafted on to history. There was a tribe here called Burgundians in the 5th century; in 437 C.E. they were nearly wiped out by the Huns under Attila. True historical fact. (The survivors fled farther west and settled in what is now France, i.e. Burgundy.) Somehow this incident became part of the Nibelung myth, known in Scandinavia as the Volsung Saga. The defeat of the Burgundians was turned into an act of vengeance for the murder of the hero Siegfried, the Dragon-Slayer. "Worm" or "Wurm" is an old German word for dragon; the city must have been named because of this association with the hero. It was the Burgundians of Worms that murdered Siegfried, according to the legend, so perhaps poetically this was considered the dragon's revenge. (I wonder what the settlement was called in the 5th century. The name Worms must have come much later.)

The primary source for the German version of the saga is the "Nibelungenlied", written early in the 13th century, but based on older sources. The unknown poet of this work chose to set the action, or most of it, in the city of Worms as it existed in his day, with the huge Romanesque cathedral, built 200 years earlier, being specifically mentioned. This cathedral still stands today; it is a major focus of the city, and the Nibelung Festival play is performed outdoors on its south side, with the cathedral itself looming imposingly in the background.

Because the play is done outdoors, it does not start until 9:00 (special lighting effects require darkness to be seen). And it lasts nearly four hours. The last train back to Mannheim leaves at 10:30, so I will have to stay the night. Fortunately, there is a Youth Hostel right across the street from the cathedral.

The cathedral is ground zero, for the city, for the play, and for my visit. I go there first to look for some kind of box office; I have to pick up my ticket, which they promised to mail to me but never did, presumably because I paid for it less than a week before the show (wish they had let me know). The actual box office is closed in the morning, but after asking around I find the office where tickets are kept prior to the box office opening. That done, I am just in time for the back-stage tour of the theater area. Bleachers with 2,000 - 3,000 seats are set up facing the broad south lawn of the cathedral, where the stage has been erected. Without the constraints of walls, it is perhaps the biggest stage area I have ever seen. All of it temporary: the show runs for three weeks; in another week and a half it will all be taken down.

After the theater tour I explore the cathedral itself. Consecrated in the year 1018, it had been begun some decades prior. It has perhaps not been cleaned often enough, because it has a darkness to it, a sooty quality, inside and out, that gives it a certain grim appearance in spite of the architectural beauty. It is a fitting location for the tragedy of Siegfried and the Burgundians. It hits me as I walk around inside that this is the oldest building I have ever been in. A thousand years. Nothing in North America is that old; nothing in Berlin is that old.

[Some days later I remember that this cathedral is in fact not the oldest building I have been in; the Mayan ruins at Chichen Itza in the Yucatan are older still. But of course they are no longer in use.]

There is a wedding in progress as I walk through the cathedral; the size of the place is such that the entire wedding party, including guests, fits comfortably in the area around the main altar, leaving the rest of the building free for tourists.

Later in the afternoon there is a city tour that focuses on the remnants of the Nibelung legend, so there is more about the cathedral: the famous scene where Kriemhild and Bruennhilde have their big fight actually is supposed to have taken place at the north door of the cathedral, not on the south side where the play is being done. Legend has it also that Siegfried is buried in the vicinity (although other places make the same claim), and in a little plaza outside a remnant of the old city wall there is indeed a burial mound. But it was erected only a few years ago, just to give tourists something to look at. Worms has decided to make the Nibelung saga a focus of its tourist trade, which is why they commisioned the play to be written.

They must have a big budget, because the show is fully professional. The author Moritz Rinke is apparently well known here, and the artistic director, Dieter Wedel, has made movies and TV shows. The actors are some of the best in Germany, and it shows. It is in fact one of the finest theatrical presentations I have ever seen, combining high tech (e.g. the use of film) with solid theatrical techniques.

But it is the script that is most interesting; this is not a musty old legend with medieval robes and rhyming couplets. The heart of the story remains, but the author has asked what it has to say to us today. Many, though not all, the costumes are modern, and the script makes references to the state of the German nation, both today and in its recent past. This is a play about the German people; Siegfried and Bruennhilde are foreigners who come to Germany to meet their doom. Strangers in a strange land. (I wish I had understood more of the dialogue; I would love to have a copy if they ever publish it.)

Note for future reference: This year the play has been expanded and cut in half. This summer only the first half was performed: this part ends with Siegfried's death. Next summer the second half will be performed: The Fall of the Burgundians. Perhaps I will have to extend my stay here into next August.

A violent, soaking thunderstorm came through about 6:30, while I was having a light dinner. They cancel the show in heavy rain, but I wasn't worried because the weather here can turn on a dime. Sure enough, it is clear by 9:00, and the rain has cooled things off. It is a good thing I brought a sweater.

And one of the sweetest things about this evening: the outdoor equivalent of the lobby/concession area is in a small park between the cathedral and a nearby museum, and it stays open, with food and drinks available, for an hour after the end of the show. There is also live music, but it is suitably mellow and actually quite nice. The place is lit by torches, the leaves on the trees are still glistening with the wetness of the earlier rain, but stars are shining beyond them above the ominous bulk of the cathedral. I sip Rhein wine in the cool of the night, a magical summer night in a land where once were dragons.

SUNDAY --- Only today, after a peaceful night in the hostel --- I had no roommate! --- do I have time to visit the Nibelung Museum. It's a good thing they are open today when the rest of the town, it seems, has shut down. Actually, even yesterday, except for the market plazas and the pedestrian zone near the cathedral, much of the city seemed deserted, in spite of the festival. It's August: vacations?

The emphasis in the museum is on the "Nibelungenlied" itself and its various adaptations over the centuries. References to Wagner, Fritz Lang, and how the Nazis twisted the story to their own ends. Mostly audio-visual presentations. The museum is contained within a section of the old city wall, also a thousand years old, I think, and contains towers that overlook the plaza where Siegfried's (fake) burial mound is.

Then I walk over to the Rhein itself, much wider here than in Mannheim. I don't even take the time to walk all the way across. (The bridge itself, in spite of the old gate at one end, is quite modern. And the gate, in spite of its appearance, turns out to be only about 100 years old.) And up the riverbank from the bridge is the statue of Hagen throwing the Nibelung treasure into the Rhein. (The Hagen of the Nibelungenlied is quite different from the one in Wagner, not so much of a villain, although he is still the killer of Siegfried.) This Hagen gets rid of the treasure voluntarily, to ward off the evil it might cause. But to no avail. Getting rid of the treasure doesn't save him or his brothers.

A final walk past the cathedral, looming darkly on its hill above the city, and on to the Bahnhof and back to Mannheim, where I immediately sit down and finish my paper for class, putting in insights from the play. I turn it in the next day.

2006-09-07T20:06:00.000+01:00

JOYS & SORROWS OF THE 3RD WEEK --- 14-18 AUGUST
JOYS --- One big excursion this week was to a park in Kaefertal where there are animals running more or less free. There are fences, but the enclosures are quite large, hundreds of yards across. There were deer, wild pigs, and bison, yes, American bison. Never thought I would have to travel all the way to Germany to see a real live buffalo. But only the pigs were willing to come up close to the fence, hoping for a handout of food from the passersby.

The other was to the palace in Schwetzingen. The palace was moderately impressive, smaller than Charlottenburg, less ornate than Sans Souci. But the big attraction was the gardens, at their height of beauty now in August. (The gardens of Sans Souci were covered with snow when I was there.) But most impressive was not the flora but the ornamentation. The grounds contained no less than three faux-pagan temples (there might have been four), someone's 18th century homeage to classical antiqity. The temples I saw were to Athena, Hermes, and Apollo. The temple to Apollo was the largest, standing atop a fake hill with a fake waterfall (real water, but actually a fountain), and beneath it a network of fake caves built into the hill. One could imagine initiates enduring the Mysteries in the caves during the night before emerging to climb the hill and greet the Sun-God at dawn. Whether or not this was what the 18th-century architect/artist who designed it had in mind, I have no idea.

And there was a pond with ducks and swans and a stream with --- I swear --- catfish in it. Is there such a thing as German catfish? They looked like catfish to me. Too bad they don't eat them here.

SORROWS --- The apartments here are looked after by superintendents called Hausmeister, and the one in my building is available for one entire hour every week. Anything you need, you have to get it during that hour. So I made sure to be home at 7:00 pm this Wednesday so I could get a key to the laundry room. The next day I tried to do laundry.

There are 144 apartments in my building, and in the laundry room there are two washers and two dryers. Both washers were in use when I first went, and were soon finished. But after waiting over an hour for my predecessors to remove their laundry from the respective machines, I unloaded one of them myself and put in mine. So far so good. But it turned out the dryer I used did not work, or I did not know how to work it (there were no written directions, just pictures). Three hours, and the laundry was still cold and wet. The dryer never got hot. So now I have wet laundry hanging up all over the apartment, on the radiator, over the tops of doors, etc. Better to find a public laundromat downtown, where hopefully the facilities will be adequate. But is there such a thing here?

But on the bright side, I finally got my telephone hooked up, and I think I've finally figured out the banking system. No one uses checks here; as I said earlier, they prefer direct withdrawals from your account. One-time payments can be made on-line, which requires not only a PIN number, but a separate code number for each transaction. They send you a list of 100 such numbers, which you must guard with your life. (They send more when you run out.) The Germans love to make things complicated. (Just look at how they write.)

2006-09-02T14:26:00.000+01:00

THE 2nd WEEK --- 7 - 12 AUGUST
The theater group that did the play I saw on Friday is called TIG7 --- i.e. Theater in G7, because G7 is where it's located. Professor Tom tells me they are planning a reading of poems by the American poet Charles Bukowski in November, in English. They may need more readers. Am I interested? Of course! My first degree was in theater. I had been hoping to do some performing here. Preferably in German, but I'll take what I can get.
I won't know anything until September.

The VISUM group takes us all on an excursion to the huge IKEA store outside the city so we can buy pots & pans & dishes & such. So now I can cook, or at least fry, or sautee, or make stew. I wonder if I am going to have to buy a microwave, or can this American get by without one?

The Summer Academy also has scheduled a number of larger excursions, and on Tuesday we went to Heidelberg. The old part of the town is your typical old European village, just like in the movies. It has a large castle, part ruins and part renovated, on a hill overlooking the city. The view from atop the castle is magnificent, with the old town at your feet, the Neckar beyond it, and the hills on the other side of the river. And the newer part of the city stretching out to the west. The VISUM group is doing a pub crawl in Heidelberg tonight, but it's a school night, so I bail out early and catch the train on home.

Being a student here has its advantages. For 89€ you get a stamp on your student card that entitles you to cost-free public transportation within the region for a full six months. Sweet.

Another major contribution of the VISUM group, other than the pub crawls, is the Buddy Program. In this program you get matched up with a German student here with whom you can socialize and who can help with getting adjusted, etc. My buddy is a very sweet young lady named Angela (whom I actually met the first day), and on Thursday she takes me around and helps me with some of the hassles I have been having trouble with, like getting internet service where I live (not included in my building, although it is included in most student housing). Very helpful, and I am most grateful.

Later Thursday is an excursion to a small wine-producing town out in the valley for a wine-tasting. We see the vineyards and the huge kegs in the basement, some with elaborate carvings on them. Then we sample seven wines, and nobody spits. It turns into quite a party.

In class we have had the other teacher several days this week. She is teaching us grammer, not that we need it. Fortunately she is much easier to understand than Tom.

There will be a short paper and referat (oral presentation) required for this course. We get to pick our topic. What do you think I choose? Might it have something to do with Wagner? With the Nibelung myth? And the Rhein? Tune in next week to find out.

I am still feeling a little bit under the weather (which has cooled off considerably now), so I take it easy this weekend and get started on the paper.

Word of advice to prospective exchange students: Do not underestimate the stress of the transition. There is much here that is great fun, but the change of scene and lifestyle takes its toll. Party as hard as you like (you will be in good company there), but take care of yourself too.

2006-09-01T12:58:00.000+01:00

SUNDAY, 6 AUGUST 2006
Sunday --- nothing open --- nothing to do. A welcome day of rest after a hectic week.
I finally have a chance to explore my own neighborhood. I was very excited when I looked on the map and saw that all the streets in my area, at least to the west of the main street I live on, are named after characters from Wagner operas. Senta, Tannhäuser, Elisabeth, Lohengrin, Elsa, Tristan, Isolde, Siegfried, Brünnhilde, Hans Sachs, all are represented. I could only imagine what kind of businesses and pubs and restaurants might be in this area.
Alas, there are none of those things. The entire area is the European equivalent of an American suburban cookie-cutter subdivision. It is nothing but apartment buildings, and they all look alike, all surrounded by pavement. Until you round one corner and there is a charming little stone cottage with a garden of flowers and vegetables, bright and full, like out of a fairy tale, right in the middle of the development. It must have been there before everything else was built. For how long? Centuries? And the TV satellite dish on the roof?
Then you turn into the ominously-named Alberichstrasse, which goes past the development and into what seems to be virgin forest, and at the end of it a restaurant, almost hidden amid the trees. I will eat there tonight.
But now I go on into an area of small cottages, modern ones, all with well-tended gardens in full bloom. People that live in the city must come here just to garden; these houses are too small to live in. The little yards are laid out in a neat grid, with straight alleys between them, row after row, stretching on for... half a mile? A mile? Many of the gardens have privacy fences: wouldn't want to create a beautiful garden and then let people see it, would we?
Beyond the gardening area is the Waldpark, a natural area that goes on to the banks of the Rhein. Here I lose myself in the deep green of the forest along the narrow trails. They are much like the nature trails in Reedy Creek Park in Charlotte, only I think this is bigger. How old is this forest? It can't be old growth, not this close to the city. Is there any old-growth forest left in Europe? But the trees seem healthy. I wonder how many of these species are not found in America?
I end up at a sandy area on the riverbank. There is supposed to be a swimming beach around here, but I'm not sure this is it. But there is sand going right down to the water, and low trees all around. Children are playing in the water, but no one is actually swimming. In America there would be an old tire suspended from a tree branch so you could swing out and drop in the water. But none of these trees is tall enough.
I will have to come back with my bathing suit before the weather changes. And this forest will be where I come to relax and commune with nature. I will have to learn about the trees.
Twilight --- I am sitting on the terrace behind the restaurant. There is a small lake here and a great willow tree on its shore, towering against the sunset. This place could be miles away from any town. And with still abnormally warm temperatures, it could be the tropics. Of course it's actually a 15-minute walk from a busy street, but it's nice to forget for a while.

FACTOID --- With low mountains to the west, as well as to the east, the Rhein River valley around Mannheim (aka the Pfalz) is the warmest region in Germany. The western mountains shelter it from the Atlantic winds that sweep across France. That is why the wines produced here are so good. They say it doesn't even snow much here. I hope I get to see some anyway.

2006-08-31T14:33:00.000+01:00

THE FIRST WEEK --- 1-5 August
Well, dear readers, as you can see, I'm a little behind here, so I will try to catch up over the next week or so with just some highlights.

Tuesday August 1st --- "Arrival Day" at the University. It was then that I was plunged into the world of German red tape. I don't suppose it was any worse than what a foreign student coming to America would encounter, but there was a lot of running back and forth between different locations. If they had had everything in one place everything would have gone much more smoothly. For instance, if they had set up everything, including computer hook-ups, in a basketball arena or some place like that. But there may not be a location large enough around here.
One necessity of the first day was opening a bank account, because the university would not accept cash (for the housing rent), and apparently no one in Germany still uses checks. The people you have to pay (rent, telephone, internet, etc.) expect to take their money directly from your bank account, so you have to have one, and then give everyone your account number. A little scary, from an American point of view, but everyone here is trustworthy and mindful of security, if not privacy. Word of advice: don't try to have money sent over to your German bank account immediately. It can take several days to a week before the account is officially opened.
But I finally got the keys to my apartment and at the end of a long day found myself at what will be home for the next year. I was lucky enough to get what is called a private "apartment" (which is at the high end of the rent scale for student housing), and private it is, with my own bathroom and "kitchen". But it is hardly what we Americans would think of as an apartment. The kitchen consits of a sink, two burners --- no oven, and certainly no microwave --- a small refrigerator, and a small cabinet. This is contained within a closet-sized room, beyond which is the main room, which is about the size of a typical American dormitory room. The operative word in all this is "small". Everything here seems to be on a smaller scale, and more compact, than in America. Quite an adjustment for those of us accustomed to wide open spaces.
But I am on the fourth floor, and the view out the window --- once I figured out thow to open it all the way --- is expansive and quite nice. If I stick my head out I can see two factories with smokestacks belching smoke to the right, and to the left the main street back into downtown Mannheim. But straight ahead (which by the way is due east) there are the rooftops of the Mannheim suburbs (Neckarau in this case) and in the distance a range of small mountains rolling gently and blue against the far horizon. Off to the right I think I can see the cleft where the Neckar comes out of the mountains, where Heidelberg lies.
And directly across the street is a brightly lit Esso gas station, complete with convenience store. I lose track of time while settling in, and before I know it is nearly 9:00, and all the grocery stores are closed. But the gas station convenience store across the street seems to be open all night. I make my dinner with beer and a sandwich of convenience store cold-cuts.

Wednesday & Thursday --- I have come to Mannheim at the beginning of August to attend something called the International Summer Academy, a one-month language training program for foreign students. The actual Fall Semester does not start until September. But I seem to need all the language training I can get. The Summer Academy is self-contained; it has nothing to do with the actual studies here at the University. Some students come just for this month and then go home. I of course am here for a year, but I'm really glad I came early to do this. It has given me chance to get settled in --- which is taking longer than I thought it would --- before the real classes start in September.
There was a placement test to determine what level of classes each student should be assigned to. It was a written test, and I took the hard version (there is an easier option), and hard it was, but I must have done well, because I placed into the highest level. I must have barely made the cut, because everyone in the class speaks better German than I do. Only one of them is another American. The others are from Canada, Scotland, Norway, France, Spain, Slovenia, Tunisia, China, Taiwan, and Korea. They all speak pretty good English, too.
Of course, we speak nothing but German in class, and the first of the two teachers talks really fast. He is really hard to understand. But he is lively and fun. He is an amateur actor, like me --- more of that later.
Speaking of fun, there is a student organization here called VISUM which exists for the sake of promoting relations with the international students here. Their main function seems to be scheduling interesting cultural activities, such as pub crawls. The first pub crawl was Thursday night, and after the first day of class, I needed it. This was my first chance to really get to know some of the other students in the summer program, including several Americans, two from North Carolina. None of us have started speaking German yet.

Friday --- Culture Shock Sets In. Another day of class and not understanding a lot. I talk to the teacher, Tom, about the possibility of dropping back a level. He talks me out of it. Still, there is the feeling of being in over my head... I am a stranger in a strange land ... what have I done? What am I doing here? This is the most extreme, most challenging, thing I have ever done in my life --- and for me that's a long time --- but, I remind myself, also the bravest. It is a huge accomplishment just being here, having made the changes in my life I've made over the past year.
(It occurs to me I have not explained about my age. I am a "non-traditional" student --- i.e., having earned a degree in theater many years ago, I have returned to school to seek another degree in German. With the intention of becoming a translator. I made this decision after many years of frustration in a profession in which I did not belong --- not theater; that didn't work out. I am actually starting my life all over again. So I'm twice the age of the typical college student, but all this change has given me renewed energy, a renewal of mind and heart. I just hope the body can keep up.)
Speaking of theater, Tom tells me about a local amateur (I think) theater group that's doing a show. Not having anything better to do on Friday night (VISUM is going clubbing, but that's not my scene), I go.
It was called "The Baroness and the Pig". It's about a wealthy matron who's had so much trouble finding good help that she takes a young girl from a farm in the country --- who has apparently been raised by pigs --- to raise her and train her herself to be just the way she wants her to be. Things do not go as planned, however. Though the play was in German, much of the action was highly physical (especially on the part of the pig-girl, who barely said anything), so it was not hard at all to understand what was going on. And the acting was absolutely first-rate. Better than Theatre Charlotte, on average, from what I've seen. Of course , it was only two people.
I am feeling a bit under the weather today, for some reason (the pub crawl, maybe, or maybe there's something in the air...) (more likely the stress of the adjustment), so I have a bite to eat at a bistro near the theater, then go straight home to bed.

ABOUT MANNHEIM
Mannheim, I believe, is somewhat smaller than Charlotte in terms of population, and much smaller in area. As I said, things are more compact here. The layout is unusual. The main part of the city, the downtown area, is enclosed within a circle, a more or less continuous street in a ring around the city. (The encircling ring has different names at different points; as in Charlotte, the Mannheimers like to give the same street different names along its path.)
The city circle is bisected on a roughly north-south axis by a wide street called "Breitestrasse" (literally, "Wide Street"), and is bisected again by another wide street, called "Planken", perpendicular to the Breitestrasse, so that the main part of the city has the form of a quartered circle. The area inside the circle, however, is divided into grids, with all the streets at right-angles. The really odd thing is that none of the streets, except the two streets forming the central cross, have names. Addresses are designated with letters and numbers. At first I thought it was the streets that had letters, but it isn't: the streets have no designation at all. It is the blocks that are designated with letters and numbers. The blocks in the more-or-less western half of the circle are designated A through K, running south to north, the blocks in the eastern half are L on, again from south to north. On each block, from west to east, there are numbers. So that you cannot tell from the address what street a place is on: all you know is the block, and the place could face any of the streets that border that block. But once you understand the system, you always know where the blocks are. For instance, N7 is in the eastern half, 3 blocks up from the southern boundary (which block row L) and 7 blocks out from the central axis. Simple.
The area of the city outside the central ring has a more conventional layout, with names on the streets.

2006-08-28T16:39:00.000+01:00

31 JULY, 2006 --- CITY ON THE RHEIN
Who would have thought the temperature in Mannheim in July would be the same as that in Berlin in March? That is, if you use the Fahrenheit scale for Berlin and Celsius for Mannheim. Daytime highs in Berlin were about 32° F, here it's about 32° C. That's close to 100 ° F. With high humidity, it's a lot like home, back in North Carolina. Only here there is no air-conditioning.

This was an easy day, because I got here a day early. Nothing to do until tomorrow, when I check in at the university. I can't even get into my housing yet, so I'm staying at a Youth Hostel for the first time in my life. A youth hostel at my age. Good thing this isn't Bavaria.

The hostel is right on the banks of the fabled River Rhein. In an indirect way, this river is why I'm here. Years ago, when I was young, two things happened at about the same time: I got seriously interested in mythology, and I discovered the music of Richard Wagner. The magical combination of myth and music in his operas was unlike anything I had ever experienced. This is what got me interested in German culture and language, an interest that after many twists and turns led to my decision to become a translator of German, and that is why I have come to Mannheim to study at the university (made possible by the gracious generosity of the Honoraray Consul of Germany in North Carolina).

But about the river --- this mythical river was the home of the Rheingold, source of the magic Ring of Power and its deadly curse, a curse that could only be lifted by returning the ring to the waters of the Rhein. And according to the medieval German version of the saga, the "Nibelungenlied", the hero Siegfried met his doom (in the person of a beautiful woman) in the city of Worms, which still exists a few miles down the river from here. (More of that later.)

So naturally the first thing I did when I got here was walk down to the Rhein. It is not as wide as I imagined and flows easily between well-manicured banks, having been deepened and straightened for the sake of navigation and to prevent flooding. The water is cold and green. If there are any water-nymphs, they swim deep beneath the surface now.

After some exploration of the city, I have a dinner of pizza at a French restaurant --- but the beer is German --- and return to the hostel at about 9:30. It is not yet dark. Although I have been without sleep for three days, it is still too early --- and too hot --- to go to bed. I walk into the narrow park that lies between the hostel and the river, and as the sun sets across the river and twilight begins to gather, I see there people in small, and not so small, groups talking and laughing and playing music. One group has a fire going. I walk toward the largest and noisiest group, where people have guitars and are singing. The song: John Denver's "Country Roads".

I walk up the bank of the river as the little parties continue well past dark. In an American city of this size it would be considered dangerous, and probably illegal, to be in a city park after dark. Not here. Mannheim is a bustling modern city, but still peaceful enough for people to go out and enjoy themselves outdoors on a hot summer evening.

What adventures await in this city on the Rhein, only time will tell.