Crossings

The trains and track infrastructure in Germany make it possible to travel across the country with ease. Almost every small city connects with the rest of the country, the track itself designed for high speed with cement ties; a few wooden ones in the more obscure and less populated communities.
The countryside slips by  fast at 221 kmh from the flat landscape south of Berlin through long tunnels emerging into rolling terrain; farms and forests, villages and always near the cities, klein gardens beside the tracks,
Efficient, timely and orderly we reach our destinations and make our connections with time in between to find the correct platform, then haul our unwieldy baggage aboard, stowing it occasionally in the aisles when the train has no accommodation; regional trains ferrying commuters, the trains filling at one stop then emptying two stops later.
Sometimes there is old rolling stock sitting idle in the yards of stations, inspiring thoughts of restaurants, mini villages and other possibilities for the utilization of these long narrow well roofed ‘structures’. Shipping them negates any advantage…
Done with the train we take a taxi; up, around and over  Stuttgart to a hotel near the airport. In the morning we are ferried to the plane after being corralled with our fellow fliers, then on to Zurich where the observation deck provided  a brief respite from the ferrying and corralling.
On the plane most of folks sleep in between meals on the flight to Nairobi. The monitor on the bulkhead shows our progress in a revolving sequence including elevation, speed and times. Out the window we follow the coast of Greece then over the Mediterranean making landsight over Libya with  Tunisia way off to the right, a line of sand along the coast stretching back to mountains in the deep distance.
Cloud cover soon takes over and Elke spots a ginormous thunderhead building.  We’re at 33,000 feet or meters (hardly matters this high). This is the beginning of the dry season and those clouds are likely sucking moisture, not dropping it. Turbulence soon appears.
Stamped passports, luggage collected. Our driver holds up a sign with Elke Cole and away we go along with a couple of women who are staying out in Karen at a backpackers. They appreciate our assistance in getting there.
Downtown Nairobi, breakfast and wander through the market, a smoothie in a high end coffee bar, more exploring .
Luggage up on the roof of the bus, waiting, and then into the traffic. At one point I spot old (in this case) decrepit looking passenger railcars lined up waiting for trains that will likely never come. The Chinese have taken charge and built new lines and brought in their own rolling stock, making obsolete the existing infrastructure which looks unmaintained. We cross various lines  on our way out of Nairobi, the ties obscured with accumulations of debris growing all manner of weeds, the rusty rails all that’s visible except where the constant traffic shines them up.
 Arriving at the border a fellow on the bus, the only other mzungu skips the leaving Kenya line and goes directly to Enter Tanzania. We follow the pattern standing with the rest of the passengers wanting to get this over with and on to Arusha and beyond. He ends up being the least of our time restraints as the bus that arrived behind us, loads and leaves.The sun setting across the horizon red in the dust. Maasai ladies attempting to interest anyone in their wares, elaborate beaded jewelrysome of which is elaborate and beautiful. Darkness falls and our driver enters the vehicle with much body language and guns the bus down the hill not waiting for the guards at the gate to open it fully, giv’ener through goats and folks lining the road to make up for the lost time… Or maybe the traffic laws are different in Tanzania?

Rural and urban reflections

Cock a doodle doo! or uuur, uuur, uuur, depending on translation. I crawl out to do my morning writing into a rainy grey day and a typical German breakfast. Boiled egg, rolls, lotsa jam and cheese.
Walking to the bus the sidewalk and road are hosting a migration of tiny frogs…unseen by the large tractor and cars whizzing past.
We board the ‘Bürger Bus’ driven by volunteers, it takes a very roundabout route through the hamlets and minuscule farming communities that dot the landscape here. The massive brick barns  roofed in thatch or occasionally tiles, the houses to match; steeply roofed, all brick, some more elaborate than others but all maintaining the same profile.Again a train, a smooth ride full of holiday goers, commuters and shoppers some from as far away as  Cuxhaven on the coast.
I continue to be impressed by the old brick buildings; (missing my camera! relying on a less than photographic memory for details)  many have the original date of completion, 1339 and quite a few from  the 1650’s, funky and all dressed standing side by side, hair salons and high end clothing stores, restored or needing attention. In the bank a gigantic, bright red stylized pig.
This town Stade has a variety of architectural styles, mostly old to ancient with a number of moderns  intruding. And bakeries. Most corners have one, an advantage or asset of pedestrian focused urban environments. Paved with brick and cobble, slick with rain and peopled with locals and tourists in spite of the weather. The sun does come out, smiling faces, old men sitting out front of the  numerous bakery/cafes smoking and watching the parade of mothers and children, shoppers and a continuous but intermittent stream of males entering what turns out to be a mosque.
Returning I doze lightly on the bus and then pass out for 20 back at the house, the clouds allow the sun through and I manage to get online, although the immediate is more compelling than whatever turns up on Facebook.

A few days later we're in Ahrensberg.  So many naps. I catch myself nodding off as the conversations (in Deutsch) go on and on, me understanding the occasional word or phrase… especially the ones with English expressions…

Assuming the heatwave would last we brought mostly summer clothes, now I’m wearing 3 layers.
In this more urban environment, the houses here are like museums and art galleries, Massive structures in brick with large windows, grand entrances and large trees among the landscaped surroundings. Germans drive fast, luckily the sound of the tires on the cobblestones alerts us when crossing the street.
My ability to express meaningfully is greatly diminished today. It is so tempting to nap, Elke’s shoulder/headache still bothering her, she is currently lying on the floor with her feet up and deeply asleep.
Yesterday a  drive through apple orchards, cherries and pears, along a very winding road diked against the flooding river Elbe. Not at the moment. The previous month dropped  water levels across the continent, although the heavy rainfall the day before caused flooding locally here outside Hamburg. Catching up on our correspondence, sleep and revisiting German cuisine. I may have to buy more, larger waisted pants. Or fast more frequently.

Flying again..almost

I missed my flight. Arrived as it was leaving the terminal. After inserting my passport and a machine telling me I was too late, I suddenly realized my mistake. An addled and complacent brain had  associated 18:40 with 8:40 pm and I was quite out of luck. The sense of shock, vulnerability and disappointment was overwhelming, but my need to continue my journey pushed through this cognitive lapse towards a solution. My phone skills are not enhanced by a lack of hearing due to ongoing peripheral neuropathy, but I managed to extract another booking from the agent, while on hold I contemplated their advertising and muzak, the clock ticking on my limited airtime.
On a scale of traumatic incidences this barely deserves mention. I however felt devastated and impotent, out of synch with reality, ungrounded and adrift. Life goes on as usual, the skytrain whisks us all towards our destinations, the masses of people filing in and out on their way to whatever, where ever. I remained in this state of disbelief and disconnection for some time. Cancelling my train passage across Germany and booking a flight instead. Money talks. My previous obligations and agreements needing to be honoured and met.
 There is, for me, some security and well being, a sense of gravity or grounding in place when I am feeling safe and confident. This shook me deeply. I had made a mistake in calculation and by doing so lost my compass, my sense of knowing or taking for granted what I knew was up and relevant. And I was mistaken! Is this what losing one’s way is like? Dementia or Alzheimer’s? Scary to contemplate being unable to design my own path, control my destiny.  However, I was reminded on reflection of the impact living in a war zone might be like. Constantly aware of impending doom, drone strikes coming out of an empty blue sky. My troubles pale in comparison.
 I have a ticket out of here thanks to the good will of the airline and possibly my entreaties on the phone. No extra financial cost incurred as far as I can tell. So I will continue, a day later. Not much disrupted except for my mental state which once I’m in the air I assume will settle down and level off as I attempt to sleep on this redeye across the Atlantic. No point in sitting beside the window. Travel may broaden the mind but this modern age has us herded like sheep, willingly entering a mechanism that takes us anywhere on the planet. As long as we follow the rules. Always at the mercy of circumstance and our ability to pay. I do feel at times out of integrity with much of the population by my carbon footprint when I fly.
The complexity of it all is almost  beyond comprehension. Actually for me it is beyond comprehension. The number of people employed, all their jobs, technology and organization it takes to get me through security, immigration, booking flights and arranging ground transport reflect upon a massive structure supporting an even larger culture. This has been enlightening and scary, how easily I’m trapped into routine and ignore my sense of scale or context of the bigger picture. I get caught up in my stuff and lose track of the essential nature of paying attention. Mindfulness. Be there or lose your way eh?

Castles... on the ground

In the relatively old culture of Europe  the countryside is peppered with castles. Many in various stages of repair, ruin or restoration. Unlike the ones of many fairytales, they are cold and draughty looking edifices, squared off and clunky looking. The walls are thick and windows small. Some have been converted into museums, many in their restoration become the destinations of tourism propping up dying towns. As industry dries up,  folks are migrating to the cities.
 I recall the first one I saw, from the train, on my first foray into the German countryside. High up on a ridge, towers of stone starkly silhouetted against the sky. Decrepit and crumbling, the remains of some kingdom now irrelevant to the day to day down below in the well established village.
 The hillside overgrown and thick with trees almost swallowing the structure.
 Later that day we arrived at the geographic centre of Germany and spent the night in a hotel attached to the castle where Martin Luther had penned his Protestant bible, eventually uniting most of the country in one language and faith. At least temporarily.

 Wartburg castle, restored and filled with artifacts and artwork overlooks a vast expanse of terrain.
Useful when guarding against marauders of all stripes.


  Fascinating to imagine what life was like then, the landscape barely populated among great stands of ancient forests, the remnants of which were still visible.





My flights of fancy around happy ever after did not take into account the endless firewood need to heat those massive high ceilinged structures, the need to have water and the dependance on local food production necessary for feeding everyone employed, plus the royal family.

In Finland we  entered a large inner courtyard of a castle fortess. The walls rose to 3 stories, balconies surrounding. Up many flights of stairs into a large number of rooms on different floors some not connected to others. A real maze of a building. I was impressed to  find a brick toilet high up in one corner. Freshly restored but only for display.









During our extended time in Germany we stayed near a well restored relatively  modern example, Schloss Blankenhain, it’s grounds dedicated to the preservation of early agriculture. A yearly festival celebrates the (almost) lost art of basket weaving along with seasonal agriculture, art and craft based tours. It didn’t look like a castle to me though!

The crenellated towers and spires of the churches in the Catholic world in Spain seemed more like my original fantasy of what a castle should look like.









In the north they are blocky buildings built of whatever stone is at hand, excavated out of the mountain or, if unsuitable, brought up from elsewhere likely on the backs of beasts of burden or sledded by serfs.

When stone wasn't available or too expensive they were built of brick. Layers and layers  4 or 5 deep in order to withstand the force of gravity or occasional cannon balls. Every so often one can see where weather, poor mortar or cannon balls have opened up a wall exposing the inner structure.

Meanwhile the romance of living in one still beckons. In Bavaria we visited a converted castle/hotel, the Schloss Blumental, where folks have established an intentional community.
They have a small restaurant, a theatre and huge gardens outside the castle proper. Inside, walkways, playgrounds and a seasonal beer garden (they make their own). Many buildings still being renovated/restored, but the stables now house offices and workshops.

So much effort was put into creating these massive structures, it seems a shame not to maintain and re-establish the sense or actual community they supported once upon a time. With an egalitarian, survivalist focus, embracing some traditional wisdom along with sustainable principles and practices they could be the life boats and islands of success we may need as the future unfolds.

Sachsen to Niedersachsen

How easy it is to become ensconced somewhere. Some creature comforts, steady access to a seemly endless supply of cheese, meats and bread, not to mention beer and wine and I was ready to settle in. Sort of. Not speaking the language is a major liability and in spite of my dedicated efforts, online learning is not the same as conversation. Our situation began to crack at the seams when the little work there was, dried up.
 Miraculously or so it seemed at the time, we received an invitation to come support, teach and participate in an Eco Village Permaculture Work camp in Cameroon. I had to look in the atlas to find it, google informed  me it was French and English speaking with 200 local indigenous languages. In the Northwest region we will be visiting they speak English.
All that we'll deal with in due course. Wrenching ourselves out of the suite in Sachsen we rented a car and spent most of the afternoon packing it and cleaning up, gracefully exiting south and west towards  the ancestral home of my mothers' people.
Amazingly we managed to get everything ( I thought we were traveling light?) into or onto the car. I had quickly thrown together a roof rack ... the bicycles would not fit inside.
The autobahn's are quite efficient even in the slow lane at 120kph so we allowed serendipity to determine our resting place that night, turning off onto a secondary road driving through potential National Park and deep forest till almost dark. We made a right, drove through an old stone gate and there it was, an ancient Monastery converted to prison and  a hotel beside. Slightly richer than we had planned for, we took a room above the entrance and fell asleep to the sounds of Italian tourists telling stories and laughing into the wee hours.



After a wander through the town of Erbrach and an extended visit with the hotel owner (she reduced our bill!) we were off, lunch included.
 After driving for an hour or so we were finally in the neighbourhood of my ancestors.

 I had a few place names which we investigated as only one can do sitting in a car, but unsurprisingly no traces remained. I did get a feeling for the place, as much as one can 400 years later.

We visited a nearby castle where stopping in the weeds at the side of the road I inadvertently picked up a hitchhiker.

Staying as long as possible on the secondary roads we eventually joined the autobahn, into Frankfurt and the challenge of parking with two tempting bicycles on the roof. Reassembled they spent the night in the backyard locked.
I woke in the morning scratching like crazy from a bite on my leg. Only later did we figure out, I'd picked up a tick....Lyme disease...
Then following the Rhine to our next stop Cologne or as they say it in Deutschland, Köln. An amazing city with some interesting architecture, less worry about the bikes, we locked them to the car and spent two nights in the company of good friends.
 Of course we visited the Cathedral, had beer in typical (small) glasses and took the gondola across the river and autobahn.
 I couldn't help noticing as we drifted over the once Roman spa now modernized a few unclothed sunbathers below.

 I love how bicycles are an important mode of transport here, dedicated bike paths beside the sidewalks, everywhere.
 Münster especially, thousands of bicyclists nearly dominating the traffic scene.

In Bonn we reconnected with a long time friend of Elke's, walked along beside the river and had the universal male ritual of bonding over BBQ in the backyard.
Driving can be hypnotic,  but relentless on the autobahn, the lines of trucks on the outside, the fast drivers on the inside and us weaving back and forth between the three lanes between. So back onto a secondary and past the historic home of my partner, the family name prominently displayed. Her school still stands, although memory made it hard to locate at first.  A short visit with an auntie and a hotel in Bremen for the night.
 Morning found us wandering through her old haunts, reconditioned and spiffed up for the tourist trade. Not far away we stopped at her younger sister's, where we stored the bikes. A late afternoon run into Ahrensburg and then Hamburg, the final stop for the car, returning it in the morning with 10 minutes to spare.
It's amazing to have all that responsibility, and then to let it go.....
Our resting place at the moment a flat landscape excellent for bicycle riding to the trains... to Stade or Hamburg, or Cuxhaven.