You Can Take Away My Train, But You Can't Take Away My Freedom

So, there is trouble in Little Tokyo this afternoon, but I'll get to it in a moment.

"Jessica Meets Uneventful Week; Tumbleweeds Go On Strike"

Since coming home from Amsterdam, a collective exhaustion from the unbearable weight of empty wallets has herded most of us into our host homes. Being the productive and endlessly interesting person that I am, I have done an enormous amount of research for my dissertation regarding naps and their infinite wonders.

Monday and Tuesday classes were mostly marked by the return of frost to Bonn, even though our agreement explicitly states that it shall not return until next December. I raised my fists and cursed the skies and it disappeared today.
I don't expect to see you again, frost; you know what you did.

Today was yoga day, and I made the mistake of sitting by the drafty window. My chakras were all thrown off and my chi got a little janky, but it was relaxing nonetheless. Next time I will sit by the radiator and report back to you.

The best part of my day (besides of course my visit to the Einstein) was the earnest attempt of the Germans to make spaghetti and meatballs for me, per my request (I truly miss tomatoes and things that don't end in -tzel). As I devoured the noodles covered in pink sauce and the blackened balls of pure beef (which was wonderfully delicious despite it looking like a nondescript meal in a comic book), I realized how ridiculous it was for me to request spaghetti and meatballs the day before I leave for Rome. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you your idiot.

SPEAKING OF ROME!
"Jessica Meets The Train To Draw Pistols At Dawn"

Of course the train labor unions are striking the day we leave for Rome. You win again, universe. Hopefully our ragtag crew will make it to Koln in time; either way I will have delightful stories in a matter of days!

Until then, I'm going to check to see if my pants are still on the radiator and are, in fact, dry. Crazy crazy Germans...

Tschus!

It Costs How Much?

Hallo!

Before I came to Germany, my father and I had the following conversation:

"If you go to Amsterdam, stay away from the Red Light District."
"Dad, I have to work somehow."

"Jessica Meets Amsterdam; It Owes Her money"

On Thursday, we finally got our passports back and decided to follow through on our haphazard plan to go to Amsterdam, which meant getting on a train from Koln at 8:00am, which also meant getting on a train from Bonn to Koln at 7:00am, meaning getting to the train station at 6:30am, meaning I woke up at 4:45am to be packed and ready to go by 6:00am. I grabbed a banana and cried into it until I found coffee at the station.

After a nice 4 hour drive in which we squished our malleable bodies into the zig-zagged bus seats, we arrived in Holland. I would tell you how many windmills we saw on the way, but I can't count that high. After getting off the bus and realizing that we are in a completely different country with no guide or general direction, we found a tram into downtown and hopped on, hoping for the best. After about 10 minutes of walking, we started to notice the abundance of "Coffee Shops" and realized our wildest dreams had come true; we had found the Red Light District.

I opted for a hostel right next to the gay cinema (aptly named, "Gay Cinema") and after a half hour of contemplating finding a cheap hotel, I put on my Dad pants and reserved the rooms, collected the money, and threatened anyone who disagreed with the belt. They had no choice but to comply. After settling our things, our group split up, with four of us girls deciding to find some lunch and the Anne Frank house.

We found what was quite possibly the worst pizza ever made and began to wander through the city. We walked by a male strip joint (also quite appropriately named, "Sex Show") when a lanky man with a sad mustache in the doorway aggressively implored, "Come on ladies, wanna see a big cock for a change?" I was offended.
"What are you trying to imply," I demanded, "that I can't find one for myself?"

We eventually came to Anne Frank's house and saw that the price of admission was 8.50 Euro. This was in addition to the train, bus, hostel, and food for the day, so my miserly eyes scanned down the sign to "Children 10-17: 4 Euro." My moral consciousness engaged in a bitter battle with my cheapness as I considered lying to get into Anne Frank's house on a discount. It didn't work anyway; the teller asked for ID, and I was 9 Euro poorer. We walked through the house, bare, cold, and silent behind the droves of other guests peering into glass cases and touching the brown wallpaper in each of the rooms. Surprisingly complex, the annex was several different rooms entwined with staircases and doorways, all beginning behind a movable bookcase which I remembered reading about in the book years ago. Toward the end, considerably more teary than when we entered, we left the museum and headed toward an espresso cafe that promised to make us much more cheerful. It did.

At this point, I was still marveling at the houses and buildings of the city as they all pile onto one another like a crooked smile tangled up with different canals; distracted by the quirky unevenness that seems to define Amsterdam, I barely realized that we were heading toward our hostel in the Red Light.

I've heard about the women in the windows before, assuming that they danced in elevated storefronts to entice customers into the brothel; I did not expect to be separated from a woman dancing in lingerie and shooting sultry looks at passersby by a mere sheet of glass and open curtain which would close when the visible room was to be occupied. My reaction being a profoundly sympathetic "Wow, that's a lot of low self esteem," I wasn't truly shocked until the young blond women started disappearing and the much larger 65-year old women began pressing themselves up to the glass. I received an appreciative laugh when reacting to this phenomenon with an exclamatory "CHRIST!" from two Americans who were walking near us and evidently shared my sentiments.

Eventually, we all met back up at the hostel and relaxed for a little while before heading out that night. Gina and I had other plans, however, and promptly purchased a bottle of champagne and a bottle of Pinot Grigio (both fine choices, as proven by their 5 Euro price tags). Splitting the two bottles with Brittany, we headed out to dinner giggling and trying to lead the group toward a Mexican restaurant we found earlier that day. We drunkenly led everyone down the wrong street, and were amused by the reaction of "do you even know where you're going?" from our friends. I mean really, who's the idiot: the drunk bastards leading someone to a wrong destination, or the sober person following them? My point exactly.

We got to the restaurant, and I decided to exercise my rusty Spanish; hilarity ensued. I ordered half a chicken, and didn't understand why the waiter laughed so jauntily until I remembered that the word in Spanish for "half" is media, not mierda, which of course means "shit." He brought us chicken, not shit, and later kissed my hand goodbye as he enjoyed our company thoroughly. After this, we decided to find a bar to celebrate Ryan's birthday and failed miserably. We split up a few times, heading off into different directions and different bars. Eventually, however, we all ended up at one bar, where I vividly remember drinking the best-tasting coke I've ever had at around 1:15am.

As the bars started closing and the crazies really started coming out (one fine gentlemen came within two inches of my face and hissed "heeeyy, sexy") we all headed home to the hostel for a welcome sleep. In the morning, checked out and weighed down with backpacks and the weariness of travel and intoxication, we got breakfast and explored Amsterdam in the daylight before heading back to the bus. Apparently, our bus drivers made a bet as to how many different Shells and convenience stores they could stop at before driving all the passengers crazy, and our 4 hour ride lasted 6.

Coming home, I found the most wonderful and appreciated substance in the whole world: warm leftovers, all for yours truly. I devoured dinner and am now documenting this weekend as one for the books.

Tomorrow we meet with the Mayor of Bonn, and I write my next entry, "Jessica Meets the Mayor, Mistranslation Results In Hurt Feelings and Handcuffs"

Tschus!

Ohhmmm...

Relatively quick post today, as my computer and I are having a bit of a fight (it's like a college roommate who leaves popcorn in the microwave or keeps dishes stacked on your windowsill; you try to be polite because it's stupid, but a Cold War very soon commences).

Yesterday we had a long fieldtrip into Koln to visit an art museum featuring work by Artist Couples (think Frida Khalo and Diego Rivera) and got a really fascinating tour with the backstories of most of their lives. We moved on to the Impressionist exhibit and looked at original Monet paintings and all felt a little worse about ourselves and personal lack of achievement. Mostly I did.

After standing inches away from priceless works of art (we ate pancreas!) we headed back to the AIB after participating in a remarkably well-coordinated Chicago parade that played "Shake It Up, Baby" on a loop.

I then had my favorite class thus far, my 20th century European history class, and came home for dinner. Because I am a complete idiot, I left my phone downstairs and didn't get the phone call about going out to the bars last night and went to bed after reading a considerable chunk of my book, which is very good thank you for asking.

Today I had no class but went to school for a Yoga class and felt all centered and peaceful and Ohm-y. Tonight we head out with at least one authentic German and I post a much more interesting blog tomorrow, after the computer and I have a chat about personal cleanliness and consideration for one another.

Tschus!

**Above is a picture from last Thursday, to give you and image of what may or may not occur tonight.

Please Welcome President Snuggleface

Today I free-based HOPE.

"Jessica Meets the President, Whips Out American Flag-Shirt"

Today, after many hours spent hopping from cafe to cafe with the frequency of a cheap ham radio, I got quite far into my book and began to fall in love with each page. I will not bore you with that though. I shall instead bore you with my musings on our hopey new president!

So, aside from that gelatinous ball of homophobia Rick Warren, I thought the inauguration was worthy of it's hype. But there was one star that could not be denied:

Aretha Franklin's bow-hat. It was a piece of rhinestone-studded cartoonishly over-inflated and confusing fashion BRILLIANCE.

Oh, and President Obama came, too.

**Seriousness Alert**
But to be sure, I don't remember the last time I looked forward to every word that came out of our president's mouth, nor the last time that I cried because I was so proud and overwhelmed by what our country is capable of and willing to do. I don't remember when I first started smiling or when I stopped crying, but I do remember when the moment of stillness passed over states and seas, to where I was sitting in that tiny room in Bonn. I don't remember who was sitting next to me, but I remember exactly when I felt like history took a snapshot of us sitting there, breath held, hearts pounding. Though I don't remember when I lost faith my country, I know the exact moment when I felt like an American again.

So, the summation of this is: godDAMN can that Jon Favreau write a speech. Starbucks is for real, people. Look it up.

I will also be cutting this short, as my war with technology rages on and the PC is now taking hostages.
Ciao!

Today I Learned About Every Material That Was Used In Building the Koln Cathedral. Every. One.

Hallo!

Today I walked on the roof of the largest Cathedral in Germany, so to answer your question: Yes, I am better than you.

We started off the day with German class, where I got to list out every sibling by name, age, and location (not unlike soliciting online sex in the mid-90s) in Deutsch! They are numerous, so I will not do it again; but rest assured, I could.

Next, we got out early to grab lunch before leaving for Koln. I successfully convinced several of the far too skinny and attractive girls (meaning I must destroy them, slowly) to get chocolate croissants with me before leaving (success!). We then got on the train and ended up at the foot of the Cathedral, for which I have no words.

Oh wait, I have two: HOLY SHIT.
This thing is massive. Like Death Star massive. Like it's worthy of really over-played jokes (Your cathedral's so big... How big is it?!) massive. It's huge and dark and gorgeous and I'm pretty sure I saw some hot oil being poured over some Visigoths trying to storm (or maybe sack) it. There are statues of saints and prophets and gargoyles and soccer players (I'm not making that one up) perched all around its inside and outside columns; the inner chamber resembles a massive rib cage with a bright gold heart in the center making you feel as though you've been swallowed by God. The windows are these glowing portraits of saints and patrons and scenes from the New Testament (and also, I believe, from the Broadway musical, Jesus Christ, Superstar)...and then we saw the bones.

The bones of the Magi, no big deal. They're all just chillin' behind the altar. "Oh hey, it's just us, the three WISE men back here, don't mind our gold tomb. Oh what's that? You can't see the rest of the assembly from here? Well you can SUCK IT, choir boys, we're the motherfucking Magi."

So after walking around for a little bit, we met up with the Greek Mary Poppins, also known as Partheena. She was wearing a pink knit hat, magenta galoshes, and an empire waist button-down coat that sorta looked like it belonged to an adorable chimney sweep. We ran after her across the city where she enthusiastically gave us one of the best tours I think I will ever encounter. She bounced jauntily through the rain, and just when I thought she couldn't get any cuter or more magical, she whipped out her cotton-candy pink umbrella that was shaped like a Hershey's kiss. She then pulled a lamp out of her purse. She showed us all of the disembodied asses hanging around the city (that one's not a joke; Koln is a huge sucker for fart jokes, so when you look up at the beautiful buildings you can be sure to find a nice full moon staring right back) and we found a cafe called "Extra Blatt" which told me two things: one, we are famous in Germany, and two, we have another sibling running around who seems to be leaving me clues. More on this later.

Soon Greek Poppins left us (I was heartbroken, but apparently all I need is a strong wind to blow her onto my street if I ever want another tour), and we were headed up to the top of the cathedral. We got into a service elevator and took it up into the original tower and climbed a spiral staircase to reach a circular perch from which we could see several cities. No camera in hand, I just sneaked into everyone else's pictures; they didn't know what hit them. Soon we descended into the rafters of the tower and got to see the construction materials and some of the original statues that have been removed or replaced from the building. She also told us about every measurement and every material that has ever touched the cathedral and in what year it was used for about an hour. It was as interesting as it sounds.**

Then we walked around the balcony that borders the entire inside of the cathedral and were able to see everything from an unparalleled point of view. I could try to describe it, but it would be an insult to how incredible it actually was.

Finally we headed back to Bonn, and I ate dinner with my lovely hosts before coming to sit down at my computer (which blew up again last night, hoorah!) and write to you fine people.

Later I decided I would marry a jar of Nutella if it were legal. I'll look into it.
For now, I am tired, and looking forward to seeing what happens at the inauguration tomorrow! **Spoiler Alert: A really hot black guy becomes president! He makes history! We all joyfully weep for Democracy!**

Ciao!

**This is not a fair assessment. I was freezing and wanted more to see and learn about the statues and various tombs around the altar than a glorified stone attic; instead we heard about 650 years of construction materials. You judge.

For a Moment, We Were All German

Hallo!

Not much to report on today, mainly because it was glorious and filled with napping. Mostly, I wanted to share one of the most beautiful moments I've had so far since coming to Bonn.

This morning, when I went down to breakfast, Lilo was watching a German MTV-type channel. From the kitchen I could hear it perfectly and they were playing, my hand to God, "Rock Me Amadeus."

I stifled my squeal of pure delight until right now when I almost cried while typing.

Tomorrow is Cologne (Koln) and I will hopefully have new findings in my anthropological quest to understand the Deutschland.

Tschus!

I'm Not Saying I'd Like to Build a Summer Home Here, but the Trees Are Actually Quite Lovely

Turns out the nap wasn't enough, but I did progress further on my mission of studying Germans in their native habitat: clubs. Won't you join me?

"Jessica Meets God: They Agree That Techno Is AWFUL."

After a wonderful dinner last night of fishsticks, mashed potatoes, and cucumber salad (oh don't even mess with fishsticks; they are, as the kids say, quite "bomb"), we headed out to downtown Bonn to begin our wacky adventures. Our group, starting out as just two of us...then four...then six...multiplied like amoebas in a time lapsed film strip, and we headed out to find a club with no cover charge.

Much like my last marriage, the attempt failed.

We got to a club with a small cover charge right as it opened and went down to the basement in order to stake a claim on a white leather couch and stare intently at the two other people who were in the club; two eighteen year old boys in knit caps and skinny jeans. As we shouted over the "house music" (which is a monotonous beat that goes on for an hour before an extra beeping gets thrown into the mix. Seriously.) and redeemed our free drink from the bar (after a passionate tryst with beer the night before, I cheated on it with a Fanta), we came to the realization of a major dividing factor between our group: techno.

A hefty percentage of our group adores techno, which means that those of us who so eloquently yell "this BLOWS" at clubs are subject to lengthy explanations about the difference between "house music," "trans" and "drums and bass"; let me save you the suspense, there is no difference. But seeing as how the club already had my money, I decided to dance with the girls and all the German boys with rock mullets and studded belts. Let me paint a picture for you:

It's a foggy room with flashing green, red, and purple lights, which switch on and off rhythmically with the beat. As the fog slowly dissipates, a writhing beast emerges on the scene that seems to move in a frantic but controlled way. As the lights expose the dance floor more fully, you see that it is not one monolithic creature, but rather an entire group of people swaying methodically with flailing arms to the same beat. Think the opening credits of Charlie Brown, where the members of the Peanuts Gang bounce and turn their heads in constant repetition because the illustrators didn't have time to give them more than one dance move. Add a bass so loud you think you have a heart murmur, enough hair gel and eye liner to supply the entire crowd at a KISS concert, and melodic sounds that bear an eerie resemblance to the blasters in Star Wars, and you have a techno club.

That is not to say I didn't have fun. I danced until I couldn't keep a straight face any longer (about 15-20 minutes of holding an agonizing "I'm taking this seriously" face) and my eyes stated to sting from the cigarette smoke and fog machines. I will give this to techno fans; they commit.

Around 2:00am, Andrew (my neighbor and part of our group) offered to leave with me, even though he could probably step and sway like Linus or PigPen all night. We walked to the bus and got home at around 3:30am.

Today Christy and I went to Cologne, a description of which I will save for after Monday when we go as a group. My only words will be that of the Cathedral, which was truly breathtaking (in a serious way, not in a Seinfeld way). We were mostly proud that we successfully navigated the train system and put another point on the scoreboard of humans vs. transportation systems.

Tonight looks like a welcome break for reading, homework, and obsessively checking facebook.
Ciao!

Recovery is a Long Process

Today I slept a lot after class, and here's why.

"Jessica Meets the Bars: Undying Love is Proclaimed"

Yesterday, after a visit to the German Post-WWII exhibit (with a very cute student tour guide from the AIB), I had my first chocolate shake since being here and let me say, my friend, they should look into adding ice cream to that sucker. Once we were all done, Neils (or at least that's how I will be spelling it) asked us if we wanted to stick around or go back to the AIB. I made my voice clearly heard:

"My name is Jessica, and I would like to drink something. Preferably something with what you'd call 'alcohol' in it."

The student worker was AWESOME and agreed to meet us at the Aldstat (an area where there are a lot of bars and where many of the university students live) that night. I put my gameface on. We met up at an Australian bar, but moved to an Irish pub across the way when there were far too many territorial Germans for us wide-eyed Americans to fit in there. At the pub, all the girls crowded around the cute student worker like a circus act and he taught us a drinking game that was eerily similar to Bullshit, except with dice (pretty sneaky, Germans). We all took a shot of Spanish Fly (What's that? Why yes, it was delicious and worthy of its notoriety, I'm glad you asked) and it was on. Then we moved to another bar that had foosball table, and I failed miserably. My opponent blamed the alcohol; I blamed my limited motor skills. Then we were on our way to Blow Up, which was every bit as spectacular as it sounds.

En route, some of the girls stopped for McDonalds, which left me waiting out in the cold; I do not patronize McDonalds in America, and I don't believe that just because something has a European accent that it is any sexier**. We then walked on as they devoured what must have been a welcome taste of home and finally got to a bar that was packed with writhing humans uncomfortably dancing to "Sugarpie Honeybunch." A few more beers and many more Germans enjoying our company simply for being American later, all my trains had left (and we know how testy that bitch can be). As in most situations, my response was "SUCK IT, LOGIC. I know I have class tomorrow and don't need to drink any more, but I'm a grown-ass woman and I'll do what I want." So I danced to "Gimme Some Lovin" and proceeded to get Mr. Rogers-status drunk (Whatdya mean I gadda take off my sweater?)

Now, as a sober person I'm not exaclty adept at navigating the bus system, and as a drunk person, I imagine my attempts wouldn't be much more than me staring angrily at the schedule muttering "yeeaaah, eerryybody's a comedian." So I stayed with one of the girls and had to wake up this morning to get home, change, and grab my homework before getting back on the train to school (that's right, for about an hour, I was like 7 years old as I gathered my packet of German homework where I had to transcribe a conversation between Hans and Helga).

Needless to say, I didn't learn much German today. But at least my hair smelled like cigarette smoke all morning, so that was good. I gratefully accepted my friend's nutella-covered bread and had inappropriate fantasies about coffee until class was over, when we all got pizza.

So, to recap:
Many friendly Germans crowded around our group of rowdy and cheerful Americans until we trickled down to the last few of us (stereotype alert) swinging our steins in the air and singing about sausage. And after a night of no sleep, a lunch of 50cent pizza and coffee, I took a sizable nap and woke up in time for dinner.

Today my life ROCKED.

Tonight we hit the clubs, and the second installment of my epic journey continues.
Tschus!

**This opinion is subject to change quite frequently.

When in Rome

Several exciting new developments since the last time we met, but first:

"Jessica Offends the Train Station; Words are Exchanged"

On my way home from a 10 hour day at the AIB, I got on what I wholeheartedly believed to be the 16 bus, which every other day promises to bring me home to good ol' Tannenbusch Mitte. Not today. Though I firmly defend my vision and maintain that I stepped foot on the 16 and it simply changed en route, it does not change the fact that about 5 minutes into my normally peaceful ride, I noticed two things:
1) I was alone on the train
2)An irritated German was shouting an announcement over the PA that I had no way of interpreting.

Eventually, we started to turn in a squiggly pattern and fly by familiar signs toward wholly untranslateable ones (later, I would find out that these were not street names, but in fact German for "Silly American, get off our train") and eventually to a complete stop. A woman that I recognized from the train a few days ago approached me snapping gum and speaking in German, slightly amused that I was the idiot (idioten) still on the quite ostensibly stationary train. I squeaked that I didn't speak any German (twice), which only caused her rapid Deutsch to quicken and her arm motions become more violent. Eventually, with a curt "get! uff!" I was exiled to the main station, where trains go when they tire of humans, evidently. I wandered out of the gate, where I ran into a group of seemingly friendly Middle Eastern men, one of whom spoke sweet, beautiful English. He directed me back to the train station, where I stumbled, terrified and giddy with embarrassed laughter. Looking frantically at the schedules and not seeng a train coming for another hour, I broke down and called Hans.

He had no idea what I was talking about. Even the Germans don't understand their trains.

The same woman approached me, laughing at my silly yellow hat and fluffy down coat as I tried in vain to describe where I was. Eventually, through her tears and gasps of laughter, she got on the phone and began the indescipherable chatter with Hans that would lead me to follow her to the train and have a most amusing conversation where neither party spoke the other's language but understood her perfectly. It was a lovely moment for humanity.

Finally, we rode the train together a few stops until she finally bid me a good-natured Tschus, and I walked home thinking about how I would tell the story to Hans and Lilo so that we could all enjoy it as thoroughly as that lady had.

In other news, I booked my flight to Rome in two weeks for less than 50 euros, and learned how to say "Fuck you" in Deutsch. Fell in love with my history professor, desperately wished for a camera, and finally started to feel it getting warmer here in Bonn. Tomorrow we go to the German History Museum and next week I trick Ture, our director, into taking us to a chocolate factory in Cologne (Koln). Operation: Sweet Treats has commenced...

Miss you, love you, Auf Wiedersehen.

PS
"Das Boot" does not mean "The Boot," it actually means "The Boat." "Das Stiefel" means "The Boot," which I think is way better. I open the forum for argument.

In My Language, "Ice Skating" Means "Nap"

Hallo!

Last night was completely uneventful, as we seemed to have forgotten that it was a Monday night, and the rest of Bonn is not on a Study Abroad trip. After wandering downtown for a while, we got to "Tacos" (a Mexican bar aimed at tricking American tourists into paying 7 euro for a drink) for Happy Hour, and all had a drink each (Tequila Sunrise was my second choice, Margaritas were full price. Funny how the Europeans won't put ice in any other drink but they ice the shit out of 4 euros worth of alcohol. Hmm.) and then left to find another, cheaper, bar.

We failed.

About a half hour after beginning our search, some tapered off and the rest went home, sober but not defeated.

This morning I woke up a little early for class, and headed into town with an extra 45 minutes to spare, so I went to the Einstein Kaffee for the best mocha ever (trust me, they've done tests, and it's the best.) and a little reading. Then we had class and a scavenger hunt, where I learned that I am often not a team player. When we got back to the AIB, I fell in love with a student worker named Timo, who directed us (and drew a diagram in the style of Apolinario) toward a whole region of cheap bars where apparently all the youths hang out. More on this as it develops.

After all classes were over, Christy and I found (under Timo's guidance) a chocolate cafe which was INDESCRIBABLE. If I can procure some of her pictures I will post them, but for now let us just leave it at Willy Wonka meets "Chocolat." After all this, we were scheduled to meet back at the AIB if we wanted to go ice skating. I weighed the pros and cons:
Pro: I'd see people!
Con: I'd have to interact with said people while exhausted.
Pro: It would be fun!
Con: It would be fun for about 20 minutes, and then I'd probably turn into a child, holding onto the railing and flagging an assistant to drag me out of the rink with a bungee cord.

Then I weighed my "Going Home and Taking a Nap" Option

Pro: EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS PLAN.
Con: NOTHING.

The pros had it, and I took the best nap of my life.

Ciao!

Ich bin Jessica, un dir?

Hallo!
German lessons began today (not a moment too soon, I might as well have "American: Doesn't Speak German" hanging from my chest on a sandwich board) and it was a bit slow going, but hopefully I pick it up soon because things like the post office are starting to ruin my life.

"Jessica meets THE POST OFFICE; hilarity ensues"

Let me preface this story by providing a bit of background. My Christmas present this year from my whole family was a brand new CoolPix camera, given to me for the expressed purpose of documenting my time in Germany. While in America the camera proved Ashton Kutcher to be a man of his word (you may remember him from the commercials), the SECOND we landed in Germany, Mr. Kutcher decided to go Snively Whiplash on me and destroy my dreams. I got ONE picture of Bonn. Apparently the problem ("lens error"= Lens doesn't want to come out, and sort of looks like a sleepy eye refusing to wake up) is very common and calls for a replacement, so I prepared myself to send it home to be replaced and sent back to me. So I finally found the post office after 20 minutes of wandering downtown Bonn and circling it without realizing where I was, and walked in realizing quite late that, hey, I'm an American and I have no idea what any of this stuff on the wall says. Also, I'm at the post office, which is enough of a pain in the ass in America. This is making for great comedy. So I wait around for another half hour trying to find someone I can ask, and finally I get to the front, and have to buy a box, bubble wrap, and postage (a little less than 20 euros). I finally finish writing and wrapping everything, and send it off. It isn't until I've gone to the bank and am on my way for coffee that I realize, as a truly moronic person always does 45 minutes after the fact, that I forgot to send the battery charger with it (naturally needed to RETURN THE CAMERA). So tomorrow I get to go back, but it only proves that with experience comes true learning, and though I have to pay a little more, I know what I'm doing and may even get out of there without screaming. This realization, however, is also taken with a grain of salt, as I've realized by typing this that in taking out the memory card and comically wrapping this package in bubble wrap, the card was lost at the post office (really just an icing on the cake rather than a crisis, becuase I know that my extra card will be enough).

"Jessica meets THE BANK; Americans are for once not that stupid (the whole world is)"

I can't check my account balance from Germany. Fancy that. I'll get to talk to mom that much more often.

Anyway, Hans and his wife (Lilo) and mother (grandma) are really great; not only are they very sweet and understanding, they took me out to dinner last night and Hans lent me his camera until Cheri can send me her spare (or I get mine back, whichever comes first). I'm realizing through the stories of other students how lucky I am, and it's nice to have a family here when I miss mine in the States so much.

Tonight we are heading out to the bars, and hopefully I will forget this entirely ridiculous ordeal. Or not. Either way, I will write again tomorrow with more interesting stories.
Tschus!

Jess

Eiffel

Hallo! Guten Tag!

This weekend we visited the Monastery Maria Laach (St. Mary of the Lake) and got to attend a mass with Gregorian chants (thought of you, Chris; I wanted to record it so you could hear it yourself) and organ music that sounded EXACTLY like the music from Princess Bride (think Wesley running after fighting Inigo Montoya and Fezzik) and the tomb of the noble that supported the monastery as it was being built in 1093. One of the boys on our trip isn't Catholic, and thought that he had to go up to the front when everybody else did and just grabbed the host and walked back to his seat with it in his hand...until a very angry German stopped him and yelled at him with very stern words. Afterward I explained that that was basically the equivalent of punching Jesus in the face, and the moral of the story is to not follow Catholics when you don't know what they're doing.

After that, we went to Schloss Burresheim, which is a castle/palace in the Eiffel region. We got to walk inside (where it was FREEZING...there wasn't a room where you couldn't see your breath) and see all the original furniture and paintings, walk up and down very narrow spiral staircases, and play with the caretaker's cat. Sadly, I walked away thinking only that I couldn't feel my toes and that I wanted that cat. Then we went and ate Schnitzel at a small restaurant and headed for the town of Monreal. After spending every ounce of energy on not letting me freeze to death (I was wearing 3 shirts, a ski jacket, thick scarf, beanie, two pairs of pants, and boots, as recommended), my body said "OH NO YOU DON'T" and instead of walking along an old wall where I could take no pictures (broken camera until further notice), one girl and I went to the cafe where we got free coffee and cheesecake. This was wonderful for three reasons:
1) I got to talk to someone new
2) I was told the wall was "not worth it"
3) I got to try out my very limited German with "I'm learning German" and "Where is the bathroom?"

Then we drove home, and Hans and his wife and mother took me out for steak. I got chicken. We talked about movies and celebrities (they know Colin Hanks) and they told me we have a famous name-relative! Hans said the president of FIFA (?), the soccer federation or whatever it's called, is named Blatter! We should tell everyone we know.

Anyway, after a very terrible night last night (camera broken, computer sort of blew up, terrible nightmares about black widows biting me and Jennifer saying, "Calm down, you have an hour until it's fatal") today totally made up for it. Tomorrow I start classes and I'm really excited to start speaking German and mail my camera back home to be fixed. (Thanks, Cheri for sending me your spare). If you want to send me anything, like a letter or See's, my address is:

Jessica Blatter
AIB
Adenauerallee 7
D-53111 Bonn, Germany

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Love you all very much, Danke shein for reading!
<3
Jess