Der Dom at night. I'll upload a better picture later...
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Roadblock
Back in Mulheim at the hotel, resting a bit before heading off to Opening Ceremonies. Forgot to mention in the last post that the reason for the roadblock was the discovery of an active WWII bomb in that neighborhood. Five thousand people were evacuated.
Friday, July 30, 2010
Opening Ceremonies are today, which means I've been here for 2 days without posting or uploading pics. Lots to catch up! With my notoriously abysmal memory, you might not hear some of the most lurid details, but I trust I can remember enough to entertain...
Surprisingly, I was all packed and relatively ready to go when Jeff came home to take me to the airport on Wednesday afternoon. Although my flight wasn't until 7:15 p.m., Jeff had a late afternoon meeting, so I got to Logan about 3 p.m. Kein problem. (The Deutsch will be inserted here and there just for effect.) Elicited a fistbump from the ticket agent when my suitcase weighed in at 50.0 pounds. That was nice, but the comeuppance of that was my carryon briefcase was loaded with extras and was accompanied by a bright green Walgreens eco-bag filled with half our basketball team's uniforms. There are worse things than looking like a dorky first-time flyer, I guess. Richard Russo's 'Bridge of Sighs' kept me awake most of the time, though I did doze for a few minutes here and there. I wasn't aware that that would be the only sleep I would get in the next 30 hours.
I tried, really I did, to sleep on the flight, but just couldn't get comfortable. Imagine that, having a good 18" to work with for finding something akin to stretching. By the time dawn broke over the approaching horizon, I had given up. My neighbor in the seat next to me, now refreshed from her overnight sleep, was ever so lovely in conversation. We talked about the Cotswolds, Boston, books, travel, Oxford, and Harvard, among other topics.
SIDEBAR: Coincidences are by nature amazing. In my conversation with this lovely lady she began talking about Cornwall and how beautiful it was down there. (She doesn't live there, so I can't imagine what bent the conversation in that direction.) She began telling me about the Lost Gardens of Heligan, outside of Mevagissey, and their history of only recently being recovered after decades of neglect. The coincidence? The night before, I had joined Jeff in the TV room as he watched a National Geographic special about Cornwall. They had just finished a segment on some amazing gardens that had been restored, but he couldn't remember the name. He mentioned how much he would really like to go see them. So, out of all the people/things/events we could have been talking about, of all the people I could have been sitting next to, what is the chance that I would talk to someone who would give me that information?
Back at the ranch...
Flight was fine, landed in London, 3 hour layover, customs a breeze ('Passport? Ok.'), caught Lufthansa to Cologne, arriving about 10 minutes early early. Sat next to a woman who revealed that she was part of the Cleveland contingent. Uh-oh. The competition for the 2014 Games. Be wary. Eventually I revealed that I was part of the Boston delegation which had presented in Cologne. 'So, what do you think of all the huibbub Boston has raised?' Double uh-oh. 'Well, I was one of the people who was quoted in that article.' Silence. We made nice for the rest of the journey, talking about things which couldn't be argued. She did mention that she thought there were only 5 actual Cleveland athletes here and about 15 people from Synergy. We'll see whether that holds true later today...
Picked up luggage (why is mine always the LAST one unloaded?) and after a tedious half-hour at the ticket machine, finally guessed at what I needed, shoved in my Euros, grabbed the spat out ticket, and boarded the train.
When I disembarked at Messe Koeln, the sky was already ominous. But, I thought, looking at the map, the hotel in Mulheim shouldn't be that far a walk, and traveling with Jeff has taught me that the most memorable times are walking through the neighborhoods. Ooops. I forgot that usually didn't include 50 lb. suitcases, 20 lb. shoulder bags, bright green eco-bags, or rain. Ja. Es regent. But not until I had walked a mile away from the station, on an access road with no outlets. With no sleep. And no taxis. And no businesses, just industrial. Waited out the rain under a bridge, then started again. Another half-mile and I turned the corner, ahhhh, sweet victo- Jesus! A roadblock. Including the sidewalk. Nein. Nein. I must turn around. Gehen zuruck.
What could I do? Have you even thought about arguing with a German policeman? So, zuruck I traipse, laughing quietly to myself. Es regent again. Now, I'm just giddy with laughter. Bumpity, bumpity, bumpity goes the suitcase over the cobblestone sidewalk. Left hand. Right hand. Left hand. Wipe away regnet from eyes. Pass the hospital and for a brief moment contemplate falling onto the sidewalk as a car passes, just to see if an ambulance will be called to pick me up. Did I mention already that there seemed to be a siren-blaring convention of ambulances - sometimes 4 in a row - passing by constantly?
Arriving at the station again, I notice 2 Gay Games volunteers and realize that the Registration building is a mere 2 blocks away. Cool. I can accomplish that before going to the hotel. They point me down the stairs, then up the stairs (whatever happened to ramps in train stations?) and toward Koeln Messe, the large convention center that looked so close. In reality, I guess it was, but as I approached and saw no other people and no signs, I wondered if I was in the right place. Oh, look! There's a little poster taped to the side of that building. It's a GG poster with an arrow. I'll follow that... into an alley... under a building... another little taped poster... around a corner... across a parking lot... down an alley... under another building... and there was Registration!
Dropped my bags at the coatroom and signed my waiver. Went to get my picture taken for the ID badge. Yikes! No sleep for 30 hours, 5 miles in the rain, and no change of clothes can really make a guy look a bit, shall we say, street savvy? What-ev-uh. Was it my imagination, or did I see a lot of people smiling in a pathetic sort of way? What-ev-uh. Got my Welcome Pack ('vich kolor you like?' What? 'Zee vater bottle.' Surprise me. 'I gif you rod.' Fine. I'm too tired to smile in return, though I think I remember trying.
I return downstairs and take one lap around the registration area to search for any friendly, familiar faces. Rob Smitherman! Yay! He's a friend from Chicago who moved to Cologne to run the Basketball (all Nouns are capitalized in Germany) tourney for the Games. He is also in change of officials, registration, cancer research, oil spills, and the plight of indigenous penguins in Germany, I think. He's in great demand, so I don't have much time to enjoy his company, although he did manage to mention that I wasn't the only one who thought I sounded like a pissy queen in the Boston Spirit article about Boston's losing bid for GGIX. Great. Now I have to look over my shoulder the whole week. I stated my case, and reiterated that I wasn't terribly happy with either the original article or the ensuing viral response across the Internet. I also told him of my pledge of celibacy with the media from now on.
At last, he points me toward the U (metro) and tells me which train and which direction to go. As a final thought, he also mentions that the area I will be staying in can delicately be described as 'working class.' But then, that's where he lives, and he's still alive.
Mercifully, the Kaiser Hotel is located directly across from the Wiener Platz stop. (No vulgar comments about the name of the stop, please.) It's quaint, but adequate. At this point, it could be a futon in a median strip and it would look good. I drop off my bags after searching for some lighting in the room, and head out for food. I may be tired, but ich habe eine grosse hunger. Refusing the easy McDonald's stop (for shame!) I find a markt and pick a small variety of unknown foods, return to the room, eat, and pass out on the bed.
Ring! Ring! Ring! Ring!
There's no clock in the room, I have no watch, and my phone hasn't yet updated to local time. It's light out, but is it today or tomorrow? Maybe it's even yesterday. Ring! Oh, the phone. It's Jeff.
'Are you THERE? Safe? What's up?' Argh. What a shithead I am. I think I sent him an email, but it might have arrived at his work after he left. Gave him a brief synopsis of my day, receiving little sympathy, and rightly so. I tried to get him to accompany me, but his love of sports (sarcasm) combined with his workload just couldn't convince him. I miss him already.
Surprisingly, I was all packed and relatively ready to go when Jeff came home to take me to the airport on Wednesday afternoon. Although my flight wasn't until 7:15 p.m., Jeff had a late afternoon meeting, so I got to Logan about 3 p.m. Kein problem. (The Deutsch will be inserted here and there just for effect.) Elicited a fistbump from the ticket agent when my suitcase weighed in at 50.0 pounds. That was nice, but the comeuppance of that was my carryon briefcase was loaded with extras and was accompanied by a bright green Walgreens eco-bag filled with half our basketball team's uniforms. There are worse things than looking like a dorky first-time flyer, I guess. Richard Russo's 'Bridge of Sighs' kept me awake most of the time, though I did doze for a few minutes here and there. I wasn't aware that that would be the only sleep I would get in the next 30 hours.
I tried, really I did, to sleep on the flight, but just couldn't get comfortable. Imagine that, having a good 18" to work with for finding something akin to stretching. By the time dawn broke over the approaching horizon, I had given up. My neighbor in the seat next to me, now refreshed from her overnight sleep, was ever so lovely in conversation. We talked about the Cotswolds, Boston, books, travel, Oxford, and Harvard, among other topics.
SIDEBAR: Coincidences are by nature amazing. In my conversation with this lovely lady she began talking about Cornwall and how beautiful it was down there. (She doesn't live there, so I can't imagine what bent the conversation in that direction.) She began telling me about the Lost Gardens of Heligan, outside of Mevagissey, and their history of only recently being recovered after decades of neglect. The coincidence? The night before, I had joined Jeff in the TV room as he watched a National Geographic special about Cornwall. They had just finished a segment on some amazing gardens that had been restored, but he couldn't remember the name. He mentioned how much he would really like to go see them. So, out of all the people/things/events we could have been talking about, of all the people I could have been sitting next to, what is the chance that I would talk to someone who would give me that information?
Back at the ranch...
Flight was fine, landed in London, 3 hour layover, customs a breeze ('Passport? Ok.'), caught Lufthansa to Cologne, arriving about 10 minutes early early. Sat next to a woman who revealed that she was part of the Cleveland contingent. Uh-oh. The competition for the 2014 Games. Be wary. Eventually I revealed that I was part of the Boston delegation which had presented in Cologne. 'So, what do you think of all the huibbub Boston has raised?' Double uh-oh. 'Well, I was one of the people who was quoted in that article.' Silence. We made nice for the rest of the journey, talking about things which couldn't be argued. She did mention that she thought there were only 5 actual Cleveland athletes here and about 15 people from Synergy. We'll see whether that holds true later today...
Picked up luggage (why is mine always the LAST one unloaded?) and after a tedious half-hour at the ticket machine, finally guessed at what I needed, shoved in my Euros, grabbed the spat out ticket, and boarded the train.
When I disembarked at Messe Koeln, the sky was already ominous. But, I thought, looking at the map, the hotel in Mulheim shouldn't be that far a walk, and traveling with Jeff has taught me that the most memorable times are walking through the neighborhoods. Ooops. I forgot that usually didn't include 50 lb. suitcases, 20 lb. shoulder bags, bright green eco-bags, or rain. Ja. Es regent. But not until I had walked a mile away from the station, on an access road with no outlets. With no sleep. And no taxis. And no businesses, just industrial. Waited out the rain under a bridge, then started again. Another half-mile and I turned the corner, ahhhh, sweet victo- Jesus! A roadblock. Including the sidewalk. Nein. Nein. I must turn around. Gehen zuruck.
What could I do? Have you even thought about arguing with a German policeman? So, zuruck I traipse, laughing quietly to myself. Es regent again. Now, I'm just giddy with laughter. Bumpity, bumpity, bumpity goes the suitcase over the cobblestone sidewalk. Left hand. Right hand. Left hand. Wipe away regnet from eyes. Pass the hospital and for a brief moment contemplate falling onto the sidewalk as a car passes, just to see if an ambulance will be called to pick me up. Did I mention already that there seemed to be a siren-blaring convention of ambulances - sometimes 4 in a row - passing by constantly?
Arriving at the station again, I notice 2 Gay Games volunteers and realize that the Registration building is a mere 2 blocks away. Cool. I can accomplish that before going to the hotel. They point me down the stairs, then up the stairs (whatever happened to ramps in train stations?) and toward Koeln Messe, the large convention center that looked so close. In reality, I guess it was, but as I approached and saw no other people and no signs, I wondered if I was in the right place. Oh, look! There's a little poster taped to the side of that building. It's a GG poster with an arrow. I'll follow that... into an alley... under a building... another little taped poster... around a corner... across a parking lot... down an alley... under another building... and there was Registration!
Dropped my bags at the coatroom and signed my waiver. Went to get my picture taken for the ID badge. Yikes! No sleep for 30 hours, 5 miles in the rain, and no change of clothes can really make a guy look a bit, shall we say, street savvy? What-ev-uh. Was it my imagination, or did I see a lot of people smiling in a pathetic sort of way? What-ev-uh. Got my Welcome Pack ('vich kolor you like?' What? 'Zee vater bottle.' Surprise me. 'I gif you rod.' Fine. I'm too tired to smile in return, though I think I remember trying.
I return downstairs and take one lap around the registration area to search for any friendly, familiar faces. Rob Smitherman! Yay! He's a friend from Chicago who moved to Cologne to run the Basketball (all Nouns are capitalized in Germany) tourney for the Games. He is also in change of officials, registration, cancer research, oil spills, and the plight of indigenous penguins in Germany, I think. He's in great demand, so I don't have much time to enjoy his company, although he did manage to mention that I wasn't the only one who thought I sounded like a pissy queen in the Boston Spirit article about Boston's losing bid for GGIX. Great. Now I have to look over my shoulder the whole week. I stated my case, and reiterated that I wasn't terribly happy with either the original article or the ensuing viral response across the Internet. I also told him of my pledge of celibacy with the media from now on.
At last, he points me toward the U (metro) and tells me which train and which direction to go. As a final thought, he also mentions that the area I will be staying in can delicately be described as 'working class.' But then, that's where he lives, and he's still alive.
Mercifully, the Kaiser Hotel is located directly across from the Wiener Platz stop. (No vulgar comments about the name of the stop, please.) It's quaint, but adequate. At this point, it could be a futon in a median strip and it would look good. I drop off my bags after searching for some lighting in the room, and head out for food. I may be tired, but ich habe eine grosse hunger. Refusing the easy McDonald's stop (for shame!) I find a markt and pick a small variety of unknown foods, return to the room, eat, and pass out on the bed.
Ring! Ring! Ring! Ring!
There's no clock in the room, I have no watch, and my phone hasn't yet updated to local time. It's light out, but is it today or tomorrow? Maybe it's even yesterday. Ring! Oh, the phone. It's Jeff.
'Are you THERE? Safe? What's up?' Argh. What a shithead I am. I think I sent him an email, but it might have arrived at his work after he left. Gave him a brief synopsis of my day, receiving little sympathy, and rightly so. I tried to get him to accompany me, but his love of sports (sarcasm) combined with his workload just couldn't convince him. I miss him already.
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