"Arbeit Macht Frei"

Alright, I think I've put off this blog post about as long as I can. It's time to sink my teeth in and just write. It's certainly not a pleasant topic, but many of you, my friends and family will never get to see the things I saw last Saturday. That was the day I visited Dachau.

"Arbeit Macht Frei," : Work will set you free. These are the words etched into the gate as you first enter the compound. (Interestingly enough, most of my pictures didn't turn out due to over exposure, but I hope I have enough to give you an idea of what it looks like today).

There are several impressions you get upon first entering the camp. My initial reaction was complete breathlessness, (which I found interesting as I'm not generally an emotional person. I hadn't expected much of a reaction at all). The center square is absolutely massive stretching far into the distance only to be punctuated with a guard tower directly across from your line of sight. On Saturday the square was barren. It is filled today with white gravel that matches the sterile buildings that square it off on all sides. One can hardly imagine such a place filled with people, living skeletons dressed in rags as they stood in this, the Roll Call Square for hours on end.

The second impression, we all noted with a little unease was that the grounds were beautiful. Between the rows and rows of bunkhouses there is a center walkway, a mall if you will, lined on either side with tall cypress trees brilliance with green in the midst of the monotone colors of the camp. At first you would think, "but surely nothing like that would be original to the time," but it is. They were part of the propaganda of what the camps were "designed" to be at the start. As questions began to be raised by institutes such as the Red Cross, the Nazi's simply invited them to come have a look for themselves. The camp was then cleared of the most dangerous looking "offenders" (i.e. Communists at this time) and the cleanliness combined with greenery added a nice, hospitable effect. "My there are being well cared for!"

Dachau was the first of the camps to be opened in March 1933. At its opening, Hitler had been in power as Reich Chancellor for a little less than two months. However, after the notorious Reichstag fire (see post from June 28) Hitler found himself granted with temporary Enabling Rights (the temporary part would soon fall away). With this power he turned with full force against his political opponents. Soon the German Parliament belonged to one party, the Nazi party. Non Nazi newspapers were being harassed into shutting down and everyone not of the Nazi party was seen as an enemy of the state. The enemy must disappear.

The press release for the opening of the camp:
'All Communists and—where necessary— Reichsbanner and Social Democratic functionaries who endanger state security are to be concentrated here, as in the long run it is not possible to keep individual functionaries in the state prisons without overburdening these prisons, and on the other hand these people cannot be released because attempts have shown that they persist in their efforts to agitate and organise as soon as they are released.'

Inmates are said to lose three things upon arrival at Dachau, their possessions, their rights, and their dignity, and they were reminded of these losses time and time again. The first night in the barracks, laying across bunks covered with straw mattresses was the coldest of all. How many lay in their beds staring at the little strip of wood over their heads: a shelf, installed to remind them only that they had nothing to put on it. Did they then remember the treasures stowed away in their bags? Pictures of family, money, clothes. What? Loss of possession shouldn't mean much, you say? Let us move on to rights: the right of self. Identity was stripped, names torn away from their owners, ancestors and families negated in the power of a simple number, a number that became the only distinguishing factor from prisoner to prisoner. Further the inmate spirals into a world where no one knows they exist, no one cares except himself. Loss of dignity came at the edge of a razor blaze, rusted and chinked sheering hair from the prisoner's body upon arrival. The truth is (and I can attest to this one) one can never feel more naked, more vulnerable than when he has no hair.



This is the real Dachau...








But the history becomes much more darker. It becomes increasingly difficult to flip through the pictures or watch the video screen, but this is the most important part of it all.

This is the real Dachau...

I thought a long time about whether or not to include my pictures, and ultimately decided I would do more damage denying them to you. This is the real Dachau, 12 years and 31,000 dead. Don't turn your back.


This is the real Dachau...

This is the real Dachau...

"Den Toten Zur Ehr Den Lebenden Zur Manhung"

"To remember the dead, we must warn the living."

Gone Camping....

In forty years my grandkids are going to ask me to tell the story about how I went to Munich, Germany and slept on the floor of a circus tent. I'll have a tale to tell then.

Welcome to The Tent...
We heard about this place from some guys in our program that were in Munich a few weeks before. "So, there's this park in downtown Munich, it's called The Tent, and like 200 people come and spend the night there. You should try it out," they said. After a quick glance among everyone else who would be traveling with me next week, I consulted my travel guide which said the same thing, "join 250 international 'campers' under a gigantic tent in a series of bunk beds or on the wood floor." Oh yea, we were definitely going to have to try this out.

Fun fact about me #1, I've been camping twice in my life at Lake Forest Ranch when I was in the 5th and 6th grade. Camp was only for a week, I had a bed, lots of pillows, and air conditioning. The only other camping experience I had was when I went rock climbing with my youth group in the 7th grade, I think I cried the entire first night (this should be new information for everyone who was on that trip with me btw) and by night number 2 I'd vowed never to go on another outdoor adventure again (I was down to plotting a sabotage of the trip by night 3). Yet, I thought sleeping on the wood floor of a tent was a good idea. Well, it was.

The showers/drying towels

The cafeteria/ eating area

This wasn't just a rinky dink little campsite. It had 24 hour reception, cafeteria that served breakfast and dinner, kitchen, laundry, guy and girl showers (with hot water!!!) and a separate sight for campers who brought their own tent. The place was packed with people from all sorts of places. On our last night in Munich we all crowded into the cafeteria to watch the US v Ghana match on a big screen (I was disappointed to find out that everyone from England and Australia was cheering for Ghana! What's up with that?) I met a two girls from England and a Chinese girl studying in Hanover. I had a brief conversation with some guys from Mexico, another guy from California, and, of course, the guy wandering around with the American flag tied around his neck as another Texan. I think this experience is the closest I'll ever get to Woodstock... without the drugs... but possibly with more beer (I mentioned this was in Germany, right? Geez) Point is, this seems to be the place to go if you interested in other people and their stories. Sleeping, however, was a different matter.

When we first checked in it was 11:00 at night, we were cold and tired and didn't much care where we would sleep at that point. The man at the desk gave us a foam pad (the rainbow colored thing) and 4 wool blankets, "come back if you get cold" he told us. I thought I was going to be hot. Here's the part of the story when I tell you that I looked like the city girl come stay in the country when I was unpacking. I had preplanned, coverall all my basis. Really, it's what I do. So I'd also thought to bring my Dreamie (a satin sleeping bag type thing) and not one but 2 pillows. (What can I say I'm spoiled) Anyway, fast forward to two in the morning and me shivering in my dreaming with three blankets piled on top of me. Feet are frozen and fingers are numb. I could have gone and gotten some more blankets but I didn't really feel like getting out in the cold. Finally, I got smart. I climbed out of my Dreamie, wrapped the softest blanket I had around me, then got back into my little caccoon and pulled the blankets up. I survived the night.
By the end of our stay, I'd tamed the cold so much so, that I was sleeping really well. (not sure I ever enjoyed sleeping on the floor before, but it was good) I ended up sleeping in my sleeping clothes, socks, jacket (with a hood for my ears), the soft blanket around me, inside my Dreamie and four more blankets on top of that.

Needless to say my little caccoon was nice and warm and I didn't want to have to leave for Maastricht. But alas, books need to be read, classes attended, and papers written.
Until tomorrow!

"Ich bin ein Berliner!"- JFK

After some great deliberation on how to write this weekend's blog post, I think I finally settled on the only way I can think to tell you everything about the weekend (yes, it was that amazing of a weekend). I'm going to break it down into several smaller posts. Then, I'll feel free to talk as much as I like!

I LOVE BERLIN!

You can imagine how surprised I was, especially after I planned to be in the city less than twelve hours on Thursday. I'd heard good things about the city from the other students who'd travelled before me, but the consensual favorite was Munich. With that in mind, I simply planned to take a walking tour around the city and be off to Bavaria. My how we can surprise ourselves.

Berlin is a city saturated with history, an imperial history, a dark history, a young history, a history of pain and perseverance. In the three hours I walked around the city, I learned more about her existence than I thought I'd ever know. I have seen sights dripping with a past, a story. I think everyone needs to know these stories.


Brandenburg Gate was built in the late 1600s as an entrance into the city. She was originally decorated with the goddess of Peace, who drove her chariot into the city with a wreath made of olive leaves held high over her head. After Prussia's fall to Napoleon's army, the statue was confiscated by The Emperor for his personal art collection. The Prussians took the sculpture back and in the process renamed her Victoria, the goddess of victory. They then changed the name of the square over which to presides to "Pariser Platz," or "Paris Plaza" so there would forever be victory over Paris.

But then again, she has another history as well...

It's strange to stand in a place you've seen a photograph of over and over again and have it look completely different and yet very much the same. It's even more strange when that place is so beautiful was it is today.

The Reichstag was (and still is today) the German Parliamentary building. It is an absolutely looming building that was rebuilt as the capital for the German government in 1999, seriously, folks when I'm saying Berlin is a young city, I'm not joking. After everything she has been through in the past 100 years she's like a newborn trying to stretch her legs for the first time. Today the German lawmakers do their work inside the building directly below the glass dome (you can see a little in the picture). Visitors to Berlin are actually permitted to walk around in that dome and to look down into the legislative sessions. It's said the dome was constructed so that if the lawmakers forgot who they were working for all they had to do was look up
(millions of tourists!).

The Reichstag holds another important key to German government (I didn't say this "important" was a good one). In 1933, a few months after Adolf Hitler was selected Chancellor of Germany, the Reichstag, the German symbol of democracy was set on fire. The Nazi's arrested Marinus van der Lubbe, Van der Lubbe was a Dutchman and, more importantly, Communist. In a country already unstable from the transition from imperial to democratic rule, and having already seen the mess of Russian politics, many Germans were terrified by the Communist party. This, Hitler manipulated to his advantage. Claiming Van der Lubbe was part of a conspiracy by the Communists to attack the German government and eventually gain control, Hitler convinced the then President Hindenburg to award him total power. This decree, granted by Hindenburg, was what allowed Hitler arrest Communist members of government a replace them with members of the Nazi party, ban certain publication, and ultimately pass the "Enabling Acts." Thus the "legal" dictatorship began.

Then, of course there are some less hefty stories that can be told of Berlin's buildings. Recognize this hotel?

(Forgive the fact that that man's head is in the way, I was going for angle here.)

No? How about now?

Why yes, yes it is...

One of my favorite stories goes with the TV tower. It
was built in East Berlin under Russian control. The man who was in charge of Berlin at the time (forgive me I don't remember his name) was apparently hardcore atheist. "Why do I need God? I have Marx and Lenin," he said. It was built between 1965-1969. Why did it take so long? I'm glad you asked. So, the construction of this massive tower, was supposed to be the symbol of Berlin and the largest structure in Germany. Aside from this it was suppose to be the big Russian, "look what we can do." Great. Go Communism. Whatever. Even then, though the Russian's had problems with it and had to call in a team of engineers from Sweden to finish the project. But that is not the best part of the story, the best part of the story comes after the tower is built and the sun hits the structure for the first time. Low and behold what appears?

A CROSS! (can you see it on the center of the ball?)

Needless to say the atheist dude was horrified. Not only could he not get the tower built himself but now it has a religious symbol painted across it every time the sun shines. He tried everything to get the glare to go away, he took bits off the tower, adjusted the angle, added things to it (he wound up announcing that it was not a cross but a plus for "Communism is awesome!"). Still the cross appears when the sun hits it. Today this little phenomina is called "The Pope's Revenge." I like to call it, "God's Sense of Humor."


Of all the things I saw in Berlin, one thing stuck with me the most, and, as usual, it had nothing to do with what I thought I would take away.

The Berlin Wall was constructed when my father was one year old. It was torn down six days after my first birthday. When I hear Winston Churchill's Iron Curtain Speech, I think of the Wall. When I think of Communism, I think of the Wall. When I think of the inability to go from place to place, to travel, to see things, to read books, to tell stories, I think of the Wall. The thing is, I didn't realize this is what I thought of until I got there and actually saw the Wall. This wall, is the greatest symbol of weakness to mankind, it's concrete, steel rods, and piping are far inferior to paper, ink, and ideas that strengthens my country. I took no greater pleasure in my entire 8 hours in the city than to take this picture:Be as cynical as you like about politics, but I promise you. We all get to the same place eventually.
That is Berlin!

THE trip...

Ok, so I'm off for the next round of travel, but this isn't just any round, this is THE round. It's the trip I've been looking forward to since I came over here: Berlin, Munich, Dachau. We'll see how it turns out.

See you soon!

Hulu, how could you!

I am appalled. Absolutely, completely, undeniably horrified. Really I am. Last night as I was lying in bed I realized that I hadn't written a post for that day. It's the first day that I have been in Maastricht that I haven't written to you. There's no excuse. But if there were an excuse... perhaps it'd go a little like this:

Here's the place where I write about having midterms this week and how I sat down at my desk at 1:30 yesterday and worked until dinner at 5:30 and then for another 30 minutes after dinner. All of this is true, but really mid terms consist of only one test which is tomorrow. It shouldn't be that difficult. The real excuse for me not writing yesterday- I was watching tv. Lame excuse, huh? I know, but after four hours reading and studying I needed to give my brain a chill, so I decided to stream some old episodes of one of my favorite tv shows from the web. Bad, bad, idea. Oh, it gets worse from there, for I haven't told you yet which show I was watching. Dare I even tell you now (you have no idea how many shade of red I'm turning just thinking of sharing my guilty pleasure.) All right, all right, I'm addicted to The Real Housewives of New York City!
For those of you who have never heard of it, you really don't need to. It's not educational, it's not romantic or funny, it's not a thriller or a crime show, and it certainly doesn't have a McDreamy anywhere in the cast list. In fact in the strata of television shows to watch it's pretty much at the bottom of the pile. But it's so much fun! It's the show that you work all day long so you have nothing to do when it comes on, and you then spend the next hour laughing at women yelling at each other for no good reason and saying to yourself, "at least I don't act like that." So anyway, I hadn't seen the last episode of the season so I watched it, then I wanted to watch the Reunion when they all get together and talk about what we on. Yea, there were three episodes of that, so essentially I watch four episodes of RHNYC. Sigh.

I haven't watched much tv since I've been over here, between studying, writing a blog, reading for fun, and working on GRE material I haven't had the time, but let me share with you what little I know about Dutch tv so far.

1. Be thankful it's in Dutch: Dutch isn't a very common language like German or French and for that reason most shows that aren't from the Netherlands aren't dubbed, they simply have subtitles. I can always find something in English over here, not so with other countries. One night I happened to turn on the tv in Austria (German Speaking) I found the Golden Girls on 3 channels and all three channels had it dubbed into German.

2. Rule #1 does not apply to Nickelodian and other children's shows: I got excited one morning to find some cartoon on television. I think it was The Little World of Richard Scary, a show I used to watch on NickJr. when I was a kid. I've also seen Hannah Montana around (which I have to admit I'm not completely opposed to, if I'm desperate). Ah but fair warning, even though these are American shows they're made for children, and children can't read therefore they're all dubbed into Dutch. Sad day.

3.The Dutch like to replay American shows that haven't been in Syndication within the last 20 years: Since I've been here, I've watched, Who's the Boss, Archie Bunker's Place, and Little House on the Prairie, but alas Grey's Anatomy and Glee are no where to be found.

4. There's always Animal Planet or Discovery Channel: but you can only watch Bear Grylls drink his own urine so many times.

5. Soccer is only slightly more interesting that watching water boil: added in reference to this I wish to state that I now consider professional soccer players to be the biggest babies I have ever seen. So the guy with the ball tripped you, WHAT ARE YOU ROLLING ON THE GRASS FOR?

Ok, so there it is five things you should know about Dutch television. Perhaps I've quenched my television thirst for a while.

¿Habla inglés?

This weekend was summed up rather nicely by Christin on Friday when she mumbled, giggling to herself, "It's fun listening to Lindsay try and pronounce the street names." How is this possible? We were are 5 college students from Texas and non of us speak Spanish! Ah, the fail of the education system... However, while it made communicating things like "hi, I think I lost my checked luggage somewhere in the airport" difficult, I have to admit that it is good to know that there is at least one other country out there that doesn't encourage their citizens to learn a language other than their primary tongue. Everyone should experience trying to explain where your going to a non English speaking cabby in a strange country at 5 o'clock in the morning.

Language barrier aside, however, Spain is a fascinating place. Before leaving Maastricht I was beginning to get excited about this new country. All of the place places I'd been to so far, Germany, Austria, England, seem normal in my mind, but Spain, Spain was exotic. Why this is I do not know. I do know, however, that if your going for exotic, Madrid is not the place to be because it looks like any other capital city: big streets, metro, tall buildings,botanical gardens, and of course, trash, graffiti (only this time you can't read it), and little run down stores.

We actually arrived in Madrid a little too late to see anything. By the time we got the keys to our apartment It was 4:30 and most of the museum's closed at 6:00 or so we thought. When we arrived at one of the Museum's however, we realized that it actually shut down at 2:00. So we strolled along Calle de Prado, taking pictures of the fountains and trees and looking at what the artisans had to sell. We found this one man sitting on the edge of a fountain painting the most beautiful fans! What says Spain more than that? We ultimately ended up wandering through a botanical garden and looking at all the bizarre plants and their names.


Now, I must tell you, if you wish to see that other Spain that I was referring to, the exotic Spain with the clay houses and terracotta roofs you need to go to a place like Segovia.
We were fortunate to happen to fall into knowing about Segovia. On Thursday morning we were discussing out trip over breakfast and telling Dr. Rust about how we weren't super excited to go to Madrid because we didn't know what was there. His suggestion was to use Madrid as a launching pad to take day trips into smaller Spanish towns, and he suggested Segovia. What? You say you've never heard of it? I'm not sure how many people do know about this little gem (except for my dad because he knows most places). It's about a two hour train ride from Madrid, and it is simply beautiful. It has the Spanish architecture, the alleys, cobblestone streets, landscape, and best of all, history.

The first thing that greeted us was the Roman Aquaduct that splits the city in half. It was absolutely breath taking to drive up on the bus and suddenly see it looming ahead of you nestled among all the Spanish style houses!

Then, there is the Cathedral, a church that I think puts even Notre-Dame to shame. A simple photograph cannot even begin to translate how massive and gorgeous this thing was. It was started in 1528 and not finished until 1768, almost two hundred years later. Inside there are beautiful paintings and beautiful tall, arched ceilings.

May favorite however, was the castle Alcazar. It was built by Alfonzo III and had a rather extensive history in the early years of its life, but I was most interested by the monarchs that ruled here in the later 1400s. This was the castle where Isabella was crowned Queen in 1474. She along with her husband Ferdinand happened to fund a little expedition with an Italian explorer named Christopher Columbus in 1492 (!). If I'm not mistaken, she is also the mother of Catherine of Argon, Henry VIII's first wife and mother of "Bloody" Mary, Elizabeth I's older sister. (Yes, they were all inbred into a tangled web of marriage and children!) I'm afraid to admit however, that this is nearly all I know of Isabella.

I very much enjoyed my stay Spain this weekend and would loved to have looked around a little longer. I've never really had a fascination with the Spanish culture the way I have others (namely French and English) and I'm not sure that that has changed any, but I think that I have a bit more of an appreciation for it, and I'm happy to know that the exotic Spain of my imagination does exist, somewhere.

As always, pictures.

" I only regret..."

About fifteen minutes outside of Maastricht lies the Netherlands American Cemetery. This cemetery, with its first internment in 1944, hold the remains of over 8,000 American troops that died during the last half of WWII as the allied forced pushed up from France into the German occupied lands of Belgium, the Netherlands, and Luxembourg. I don't believe I realized how very in the midst of things Holland was. Of course when you think of WWII one things of Germany, Berlin in particular, and then northern France and the Normandy invasion, but the land here has its own story to tell.

During the course of the war, the American soldiers set up a series temporary cemeteries, laying to rest their soldiers only after it was certain that the front line would not waver and the land once again fall into enemy hands. This is apparently different from how England and Canada created their cemeteries as they kept reestablishing a new burial as the front lines progressed. As a result the Netherlands is scattered with national cemeteries of England and Canada, while there is only one dedicated to the American troops who fought, and died, to set this land free.

After the war, movements were made to consolidate the temporary cemeteries into one larger cemetery. The location in Margraten, south of Maastricht was selected because it was southern Holland that was liberated by the Americans, in fact, Maastricht was the first Dutch city to be liberated in all the war. I'm slightly fascinated by this process. The family of the soldier was contacted with the choice of either allowing their loved one remain in Holland at the new American cemetery or of having the body shipped home. With the casualty rate of the war I can't imagine the undertaking it was to ship home the remains of every family member that requested it, and yet I can't imagine saying no to that option either. For whatever reason, however, some soldiers remained and as long as they remain there is a cemetery to take care of them.


At Baylor, we have a tradition. Every light pole on campus is dedicated to a former student that has passed away. If you walk around campus and read any of the poles you'll notice most of them are young men who left their studies at Baylor to join the war effort in the 1940s. Sgt. Brunson was one of these men. He was killed the day before his 20th birthday, and apparently he has a lamp post somewhere on campus. I must look him up when I get home.

So, there you have it, the highlight of my day. It's officially me weekend now, which means I'm headed to Spain for a few days. I'll be sure to bring lost of pictures and stories back with me!

Adios!

"Nothing Important Happened Today"

If your historically minded, you recognize this as the entry Louis XVI logged into his journal on July 14, 1789, the day the Bastille was stormed in Paris just 25 miles away. (Ok, so the actual entry read simply, Rien!, which translated into "nothing" and it was in reference to his hunting trip earlier that day, but it still makes a good story.) For the first time since I've arrived in the Netherlands I can write, Rien!, with a little bit of enthusiasm. Today was a mundane day which means it had shape and routine to it- the mark of assimilation into any culture, I think. Instead of pulling from the store of topics I want to write to you guys about I just wanted to stop for the day and bask in Rien! Here's the highlights of such a boring day.

1. I woke this morning pleased to find the other occupants on our hallway had moved out. There, perhaps it'll be a bit quieter and I'll not have to sleep with earplugs anymore. More importantly though, our oh so generous neighbors were shoving their trove of European items off on us. I am now the proud owner of a hairdryer and straightener, two things that I've been far to frugal to buy considering I only straighten my hair once in a blue moon and dry it even less than that, but it's nice to have the option.

2. I had a rather lengthy discussion with Dr. Rust today on the first book for my Independent Study on the Holocaust , The Meaning of Hitler. We talked for a little over an hour and he really helped me muddle through all my confusion on the political time line.

3. I printed out my boarding pass for Spain this weekend and received an confirmation email from my hostel in Munich in two weeks, and another email from the plane ticked from Pisa to London during my last week of travel. What a little globe trotter I'm turning out to be!

4. I think I finally solidified plans to get to Amsterdam in a few weeks, which I'm particularly excited about!

5. Lastly, but most excitedly, I received and email this morning asking me to be the official blogger for the Baylor in Maastricht Summer 2010 program!

So there you have it, my plain old boring Rien! type of day.

" I love Holland. I who, having no native country, had hoped that it might become my fatherland, and I still hope it will!"- Anne Frank

I do believe that I feel in love with Holland today, but before I tell you that story, let me tell you this one.

When I was about 8 years old, my mom and dad took me to Rocky Springs to teach me how to ride my bike. For those of you who've never been to Rocky Springs before, let me set the scene for you. Rocky Springs is a stop off the Natchez Trace. It is compromised of a main road that leads directly to the edge of the once small town, sitting on top of a hill overlooking the road and smaller roads that turn off to picnic areas and camp grounds. It's densely forested up to the road bed (that sets slightly elevated) and is a favorite for day hikers and many a boy scout troop.

Now, if I were to teach my child to ride a bike, I think I would find a field (particularly if that child were as uncoordinated as I) where it would be impossible to hit anything except for that fence post way off in the distance. This however, was not what my parents thought, no indeed "let's pick the forest so Lindsay has plenty of targets to choose from." Alright, I'm not really being fair, the goal of the trip was to teach me to ride downhill, for I'd already mastered the no training wheels concept, so in that case Rocky Springs was alright I suppose.

My experience of the whole bike riding thing was not a pleasant one, however. It went accordingly, Mom rather enthusiastically set me on my bike (helmetted, knee padded, and elbow padded,) while Dad stationed himself at the bottom of the hill. Then she let go, I started rolling, it got too fast and fwop! over I went either on the pavement to my left or the shrubbery on my right. Mom and Dad met in the middle. Dad picked up the bike Mom picked up me, set me back on the cursed contraption and pushed me down the hill once more, perhaps I made it at least 20 feet that time I'm not sure but sure enough, over I go once more. I can honestly say that this is the only time in my life that I actually hated my parents. I'm sure I went home that evening plotting to runaway before the week was out, but I could ride my bike downhill by golly.

One of the most popular ways to get around Europe is by bike, but biking here is nothing like like in America. Nearly every town has an extensive set of bike paths that line the main road. Sometimes they're completely isolated into a little road by themselves. The rules are much like driving a car. You ride on the right side of the rode and in order to turn around or do anything in the opposite direction you must cross the street. This isn't as challenging as it seems considering that a car will go out of its way to give you the right of way. I had a vehicle back all the way up his driveway because my lane crossed in front, and he didn't have time to turn out before I passed. The bikes even have their own little system of crosswalks and stop lights that tell you when to go or not, like a pedestrian. When we arrived we were each assigned a bike out of the Baylor bike shed.

This is my travel companion, henceforth referred to as MaryBelle.

After all of the hard work Mom and Dad invested in my magnificent bike riding skills, I haven't been on a bike since I was twelve. You can imagine the amusing time we had two weeks ago when one of my friends suggested we bike to Belgium. I thought I was going to have permanent grid patterns across my palm from gripping the handlebars so hard, but the important things was that I didn't crash... completely. And since this morning was one of only two Tuesdays that I didn't have class I decided to take MaryBelle out for a ride instead of sitting in my room doing work all day. Armed with only a map and a vague idea of the path I was searching far, I was feeling particularly adventurous.

What do you think Holland looks like?

I finally found my bike path off the main road that let me to the countryside with fields of wheat, strawberries and another plant that I couldn't identify.




Out here were the small towns where the people just lived, no international students scurrying about chattering in different languages, no tourists. In one house a family was gathered around the dining table, the windows were open and on the top floor a duvet and pillow peaked over the windowsill to air in the summer sun. Cows munched lazily on the grass and men worked in the small fields, though for professional or personal gain I couldn't tell.




I think the best part about it was that I was by myself. I don't think I've been by myself since I arrived in Holland, and as many of you know this factor if vital to my sanity and happiness. After a week various kinds of stress: planning trips, figuring out who's going, what they want to see and making sure it all actually happens, and other things, this bike ride was good for the soul. Sometimes you need to get away from the unnecessary noise: people talking, keyboards clicking, and chairs rattling, and go to a place where the only sound is the rustle of the wind through the trees and the lapping of the water against the AlbertKanaal.

Pictures.

Rock me Amadeus...

Once upon a time, Salzburg Austrian was invaded by nine girls. They arrived early Friday morning after traveling all night in crowded train compartments struggling to find a comfortable sleeping position on- or under- the mound of limbs and other extraneous body parts. Half of them that morning had changed clothes in the bathroom of the intercity train without benefit of running water. Without showers or brushed teeth (mentos, please) they descended on the city, lead by their fearless navigators, Amy and Lindsay, with one purpose: to find the Sound of Music tour.



It was the top destination for many of the girls that I traveled with this past week to see this tour. I on the other hand hadn't thought much about it. Yes, I've seen (and enjoyed) the movie, and adore the music, but I don't have the fanatical love for the Sound of Music the way the others did (though I may now...). Perhaps I'll blame this on the fact that my introduction to the musical came from when the Vicksburg Theater Guild did "SoM" as a main stage several years ago and not the movie itself. But of course, it's one of those things you can only see in Austria--- and it just happened to be in the same city that Mozart was born in--- so I was certainly game to go. My only regret is that I didn't get to see the movie right before I went, so I' was struggling to remember everything.

We saw the back and front (2 different places) of the Von Trapp Villa, the gazebo, the church where they married, the path with all the trees lining it, and much more. The highlight of the tour perhaps was up in the mountains at the town of Mounsee (where the church is located). Appel Strudel, anyone? The vanilla ice cream is legit homemade and the hot vanilla cream is utterly amazing (and unique to Mounsee, so I'm told). The best meal of the weekend, however was at Brauerei Gaststatte in Vienna. There were the boiled parsley potatoes (absolutely drenched in butter) and Viennese Schnitzel (veal) with a cranberry sauce. The sauce is by far what made the Schnitzel to fabulous. It wasn't sweet at all, but very tart and made the breading of the veal fantastic. So I went to Austria and had "crisp apple strudel" and "schnitzel with(out) noodles."

After the Sound of Music tour, and our walk through the gardens where we recreated nearly dance imaginable from the Do Re Mi song, we had lunch (ok side note here, I had a seafood salad that had octopus in it. Fulfilled that need, no need to do it again) I finally got to see my attraction, Mozart's birthplace! How utterly amazing is it to stand in the house where Mozart grew up and to see so much of his things including, get this, his concert Violin, the clavichord that he composed The Magic Flute on, and his fortepiano. I still can't get over this. I saw Mozart's fortepiano.

As sometimes happens, though my favorite part of the trip wasn't something I ever intended on seeing. It just happened to be mentioned by Meredith
the night we arrived in Vienna. Hofburg Palace was home of the Hapsburg family for quite a time, until the deconstruction of the Austrian Empire after WWI, and is still used for governmental things today. I've never really payed attention to the Hapsburgs, though I knew vaguely that Marie Antoinette was one, but at the palace I was introduced to a fascinating individual, Empress Elisabeth. Have you ever heard of her? The first time I heard her mentioned (though I didn't realize it at the time) was at the hotel desk where we asked for directions, "you mean where Sissi lived?" the concierge asked. "um, I guess." Elizabeth was married to Franz Joseph and was Empress from 1856 until her assassination in Geneva in 1898. She's a bit of a tragic figure, a shy girl who married an emperor at 15 and inherited a role which she struggled to fill. She was frequented by bouts of depression and dealt with life by writing poetry (mostly about death and loneliness and lack of freedom) and obsessing over her beauty and physical health. After he son's suicide, she apparently dove into a depression that she never emerged from. She traveled constantly, often neglecting her children from the impression I got and estranging herself from her husband. Yet her daughter spoke lovingly of her many times and her husband did everything he could to make her happy. His only words upon hearing her assassination in Switzerland were, "you have no idea how much I loved this woman." It's breathtaking, or at least I, the romantic and historian, think so. One of these days I must get a biography on her. Museums have a tough job trying to tell you all about a person in an hour or less, sometimes I think they skip characteristics that can soften the harsh edges of a person's personality, and this may be one of those cases.

On another note, I finished another book this weekend, Anne Frank: The Diary of a Young Girl, which now makes Amsterdam available to me as a travel destination. I'm 2 for 2 on reading during the weekends and am kind of curious to know if I can keep reading one book per weekend. Maybe I'll try it and find out. In any case, I'm off to study for now. As always my pictures are here, I'm having difficulties and will continue to work on them for the rest of the day.

Tot Ziens!