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The Hilton Garden Inn is still an awesome way to end the trip. No rushing, no worrying. Just get up, get breakfast, zip up and wander into the terminal.

I was rereading old holiday posts this morning. I think I’ve written a lot more this year: trying to be clever I guess. Maybe I will collect them all and add them to our picture book.

Breakfast at the hotel was expensive… it was a good buffet but really too much compared to what we’ve been spending. Back to the room and packed up we checked out before 11. A long wander through a huge airport and we found Hall C (different from Gate C) and tried to check in at the Kiosk: bzzzzzzzt! I wandered away to find customer assistance while the girls failed as well. The customer assistance people zoomed us through and we were without bags.

Frankfurt Airport is huge. A couple of malls, people milling every where, a nice looking lady trying to sell us an electric Opel… Eventually we wandered. Up to Lufthansa’s departure lounge and lounges for a bit. Carmen greased her toe smugly while I looked looked on despairingly. Dry toe… I suffer so.

Soon enough we decides to meander through security. In our way we what them call out flight to the gate even though we’re an hour and a half before our flight. Hmmmmm. We stop to get our passports stamped. The fellow in front of us is being told his passport doesn’t have an entry stamp. We quickly switch lines and he is still discussing it. I feel so sorry for him.

Security goes pretty damn fast, although they make us send our passports and boarding passes through the scanner; not sure I am jiggy with that. Leslie, bag got scanned twice but otherwise we were golden.

At the gate it turns out you need to get your documents pre-cleared before boarding can commence. Never had that happen before.

A couple of minutes before boarding they announce the flight is overbooked and they are offering up to 900 euros if you will catch the next available flight. I consider it as a pretend the ‘next available flight’ is 2 weeks from now. But alas it is not.

For an orderly society, this has to be one of the most confusing boardings I’ve ever had but eventually we were on board, only about 30 minutes or so late. We got bulkhead seats again which are great although a young women with her child split us up. She’s originally from Strasbourg and living in the University area in Edmonton. Her kid is pretty cute and well behaved considering so it’s not too much of a trial. I will say if I hadn’t had my own squirmy little shit disturber, I might have been more discomforted. But this one was a doll compared to Zak’s worst moments.

Mom is pretty French. Her English is better than my French, but she says it’s hard for her to learn as her husband’s friends are all French. Or at least that’s what I thought she said.

Movie 1: The Avengers. Not bad but it’s one of those dark action films, and by dark I mean they cheaped out on the special effects and most of the film is really dark. On a small screen in an airplane a lot of the film consisted of a black screen with sparks and crashy noises.

Movie 2: Pirates — Band of Misfits
Movie 3: Moneyball
Movie 4: Tropic Thunder

Off the plane and through customs. The nice custom people let us through without paying any extra duty on the booze. Everything went smoothly and we have about half an hour before our boarding.

Dash 8, dash to car, dash home…

Happy cats!

Early start. Carmen tried the scrambled eggs. I went for jam not ham and Leslie was brave and had chocolate covered chocolate. Carmen got to pet the dog. You cannot believe how shy this large furry beast is. The first night we ended up chasing him/her behind the desk just trying to make friends.

A final zip of the bags and it was time for the dreaded cab ride. It’s not until you add 6 bottles of wine to your heavy luggage that you begin to understand momentum. Suffice it to say when I began a turn with the bag on my back, I finished the turn. Loaded into the cab, we endured the amusement-ride-like trip through the old town until he hit a main street. It continues to confound us that there aren’t Death Race 2000 style statistics mounted in every street corner.

At the bahnhof early, we waited for our slightly late train. Boarding was its usually kafuffle. When are we going to learn to reserve seats in German? Eventually we were seated and on our way through the German countryside — backwards. This train gets to Koblenz in about an hour and a half and then we transfer to the one for Mainz. Mainz for the day and we will hop a short train to Frankfurt Airport.

The Mainz train is running 20 minutes behind so someone bought a box of Toffeefay and proceeded to stuff his or her mouth with as many rows of Toffeefay as possible. Because everyone knows that you can’t eat Toffeefay one by one: it has to be row by row. Luckily the train arrived before the box was nothing but a shredded wasteland of drool soaked cardboard and once proud plastic tray, now reduced to a crumpled shadow of its former self.

So, train riding tips. Regionals are fine if you hop on, hop off; ICEs (Inter City Express) are better if you have reserved seats… note to self. Another fine note is that if you buy a BahnCard you can get cheaper seats. In our second-to-last ticket purchase the guy sold us 120 euro tickets for 95 euro including the 29 euro fee for the BahnCard. This should give us 25% off all future train rides. Great thing to discover as you finish up your trip. 🙂

We are traveling along the Rhine now. Much wider than the Mosel, lots of tour boats, but really still curvy, slow and lazy. Not even as much current as the North Saskatchewan. The Rhine features mountains and vineyard, churches and castles, villages and campgrounds, pleasure boats and floating hotels. This ICE trucks along pretty fast and is a modern train with digital displays and comfy seats. We are batting 1000 for the riding backwards this trip. I have a few notes to check in an atlas about the Rhine valley when I get home.

Mainz is a bustling city but quite beautiful, especially when you get close to the old section. We dropped our luggage off and headed into town. The bus info station produced a map and we figured our destination was within walking distance. Eventually we spied the Cathedral and soon enough the Gutenburg Museum was upon us. The first section is 15th century printed books and the impact of printing in education, literature and religious studies. I snapped a few pictured of a couple of early books (incunabula according to Leslie) but as I moved on to the printing presses in the next section, I was informed that pictures are a no-no. That was a real bummer for me.

I scooted ahead to the vault and while the monitor was away chatting snapped a few pictures of a Gutenburg 42 line Latin bible (1452-1455), an undated medieval MS on vellum and a Latin bible c.1300. I also grabbed a pic of a Speculum humanae salvationis that predates movable type. The interesting thing about that was how it showed a shift in thought. With the rise of reading in the bourgeoise and nobility, and increased interest in secular texts, there was a need to produce more, in a quicker manner, and it showed some significant changes to the traditional MS. Things like Bastarda script which was faster to write and much simpler pen illustrations started the streamlining process and presumably was a forerunner to the thought processes that led to Gutenburg’s developments in movable type.

There are a lot of old printing presses here, showing a lot of different techniques for pressing ink on paper. Equally interesting is the section on etchings and engravings, from woodblock to copper. I’ve always thought it was an under-appreciated art, but now I am even more sure. But no pics… Sigh.

Leslie came by and told the sad story of the older gentleman standing next to her in the vault. His wife popped her head in and asked “What’s in here?” He replied “some old manuscripts” so she left. She left the room with Gutenburg’s bibles at the Gutenburg Museum without looking. Sigh.

Pretty sure Leslie’s head won’t explode but all the marginalia her brain has collected over the years about print culture and bookmaking are leaking out in the form of smiles, giggles and sighs. As always, academic knowledge of process and production takes on a whole new life when confronted with the practical, real-life applications it was actually used for.

Upstairs there is a paper making and bookbinding section. I think I’d like to learn a bit more about paper making, but from the looks of the video I glanced at it is a pretty intensive process.

The gift shop didn’t hold any interest so we wandered into the square and hit the cathedral. It’s big, red and made out of rocks: it’s the Big Red Rock Cathedral. Seriously though, I know nothing about it and haven’t seen a sign anywhere.

Out into the square we run across Mr. Gutenburg up on a pedestal. We took a picture.

Since it was booze o’clock, we stopped for wine, beer and panache. And an antipasto Salad. Cold roast aubergine, mesclun, grilled zucchini and no bread. They promised bread. It was… interesting.

Arriving back at the station we grabbed our luggage and got some tickets from the machine for the next train runnin’. Up the stairs, down the hallway, onto the platform and the train is already there. It’s an ICE and should get us to the airport in 16 minutes.

All aboard. We scammed some seats on a nearly empty train and settled in. Wrong train. Seems the girls had bought tickets for a region train and we were in the express. It was going to the right place, we’d just paid the wrong fare. The conductor told us it was fine as long as we returned next year to redeem ourselves. So there ya go.

It’s the perfect hotel. Mostly because its like 300 yards from the platform and my bag is heavy and Leslie has abandoned her bag due to injuries. It’s the baby Hilton but is a great stop. Its a bit switch-heavy though: secret light switch sequences, camouflage shower switches… it was… interesting. A little timeout, some ablutions and we were ready to go.

We opted for dinner in the Square at the German place. Carmen and I worked our way through several beers, dunkel and otherwise, while Leslie siphoned white wine. We decided on meat for dinner. L had some sausage and sauerkraut while I talked Carmen into the dinner meat plate for two. Pork knuckle, sausage, schnitzel, meatloaf, beer gravy, potatoes with bacon… There was enough for an army. I ate my half, but Carmen came up woefully short and barely retained her meatatarian license. But she was drunk on heavy beer so got bonus points that carries her over.

Still, she was heard to exclaim over her white sausage: “If you like the pinky, you’re gonna love the stinky.” We’re still trying to figure that one out.

The glass ceiling of the Square shows us planes landing barely hundreds of feet overhead, almost one every minute. But you can’t hear them. Eerie.

Back in our rooms it’s time for bed. Zzzzzzz

Breakfast. Carmen skipped her egg in favour of a rye bun. Morning is slow and it’s our last day. We decide to clean up Trier rather than rushing around out of town.

Outside the hotel was a cool, sporty little (emphasis on little) twoseater. A couple if turns around it before I realized it was a Smart Car. They don’t offer this model in Canada!

A stroll across town gets us train tickets to Mainz tomorrow at 9:09. There’s a cathedral and Gutenburg museum there and we will then hop onto Frankfurt Airport to the Garden Hilton where we have rooms awaiting us.

After leaving the bahnhof we headed north out of the city centre. The St Paulins church is nestled in what is actually a lovely cemetery. It’s a baroque church and if you’ve ever wondered what baroque was, thus church was an awesome example. Built 1734-1751 it was designed by Balthasar Neumann; soaring white walls, frescoed ceiling, heavily ornate and gilt altar and choir; it was visually stunning. I’m not a fan of the baroque as I think it goes too far but you can’t deny it’s place in the scales of magnificence.

On blogging: it’s quiet here although a few tourists and churchgoers have come and gone. I’m not sure if I should be staring at the ceiling being inspired or staring at my phone jotting down the inspirations. It’s like the photographers dilemma: do you look a the subject and see the moment or do you capture the moment for the future. One is more powerful yet ephemeral, the other is a reduction of the moment but will live on in many other moments.

Anyway, I sometimes spend a lot of time writing to remember and less time appreciating.

After we didn’t fix what was obviously baroque, we sauntered back to old town. I stopped at the tourist booth looking for an old map or poster. I’ve seen some lovely ones framed here and there. No luck. Next we checked the museum gift shop and I found a small one for 2 euro. Not exactly what I wanted buy it was only 2 euro: deal.

Lunch was two .5L of Reisling and curryworst for the girls. I stuck with a good old fashioned hamburger and fries. They don’t have ketchup in Germany; I thinks it’s a Protestant thing. I did however have thousand island dressing in my burger, so that close… right? After winning and crushing Carmen in an argument about why it’s good to judge people who smoke in a graceless manner we adjourned to better territory.

We figured a quick tour around the Dom Museum and then home for a nap. The Museum was a bit of a negative experience. It wasn’t included in the pass I had so we shelled out the 3.50 euro each (more than the train ticket to Saarburg) but it had no English whatsoever, a bit heavily oriented on the Rock (Jesus’ shirt) and the history of celebrating the shirt and had the most creepy and suspicious museum ‘monitors’ ever. Carmen swears the guy with the limp and squeaky shoes did it on purpose. When we were on his floor he wouldn’t let you out if his sight for more than 3 seconds before you would hear “klomp-squeee, klomp-squeee…” as he glanced around whatever you had moved behind. You would glance up and he would be peering through the railing or up between the statue’s legs. it really was unnerving and made you feel like invaders. Maybe they sensed we had let our catholic cards lapse (or, in the case of Leslie, were catholic deniers) and felt that was just the tip of the iceberg and were likely to let loose with the spray paint at any moment.

Still it had some lovely old MS, a few scale models and some beautiful Madonna & child figures. I got a great pic of a chubby old bishop praying. Of the statue that is…

By his time Carmen and I were tired, hot and whiney so we made Leslie take us home. Outside the hotel I picked up a luke warm Cherry Coke that didn’t taste cherry and really didn’t taste like Coke. Sometimes I don’t know what these Germans are thinking.

In case you are wondering about tan updates, Carmen has indeed attained the exhalted Cinnamon Toast level of achievement. My left foot is the winner with chocolate pudding and Leslie is an even golden waffle; might even be Belgian waffle but there are politics involved so…

We strolled into town; we are schnitzled out so we went for pizza and a Malzbier (Leslie had bitter lime. I had a taste and it reminds me of that bizarre concoction my father used to drink so as to discourage us kids from drinking his booze). Now Malzbier is apparently a very malty dark beer. If you hold your nose it tastes like a liquidy molasses. If you inhale before you drink it’s like sniffing yeasty dough … at its very best its like drinking cold flat coke. We only had one.

It should be noted that pizza here is cheap. A thincrust Grosse is only 7.50 euro; that’s only .50€ more than the Klein (small) which is too much for the girls… Maybe 12 inches. And the variations are pretty endless. Anyway
I had a Diavola which burned and burned and burned. I think the peppers must have been grown somewhere down in Dante’s inferno.

After dinner we stopped off at Das
Weingut for a nightcap and our last taste of Mosel. We are off to
Mainz first thing in the a.m.

Trier has been wonderful and I’d love to come back some day.

Breakfast started as usual but Carmen and blinked and sighed and we had our selves a carafe of coffee when we arrived at the table. A few minutes later the proprietress brought along the copy if the bill for the first half and a half-bottle of brut as a thank you. Credit cards and bank cards aren’t as common here (I think it’s because they reject the ridiculous service charges) and she had promised us she would hold the Internet rate if we paid cash for the second half of our stay. So we’ve been squirreling away euros for the last couple of days.

After breakie I lead the girls in circles for a bit, touring the shops and checking out the remaining streets we had yet to explore. It really is easy to go around in circles being so uses to a gridded street system. But to their credit I think I only had them turned around once.

We walked through the hospital area which revealed some of the more literal German. Apparently krankenwagen means sick people vehicle. As we rounded the corner we noted the large outdoor playground in a secluded courtyard for sick kids. Situated right in the middle was a huge apple tree overflowing with apples. Which prompted the clever among us to remark: “An apple a day keeps the krankenwagen away”.

During the early part of our walking tour we were strolling down a narrow street with cars parked all over the sidewalk when Leslie dived out and snatched Carmen up against the wall. Seems as a giant Mercedes tour bus was sneaking up on Carmen and she was just about to be crushed. The driver jauntily saluted Leslie as he passed by with inches to spare as if acknowledging she had win this round while still warning her there would be a next time.

Eventually we passed by the Kaiserthermem and headed uphill by going underground. Off to the Roman arena which defined the western border of the ancient Roman city. To get under the major thoroughfare we went through a tunnel. Then up the hill.

Throughout our visit here I have been hearing military-grade aircraft flying overhead, in clouding jets and helicopters but I hadn’t actually seen anything until a couple of days ago when a helicopter roared overhead. Carmen suggested it might be a hospital and lo and behold she was right. Moments later I saw a chopper landing on the roof of the building next door. Today, in the open space of the amphitheater, I saw 4 A-10 Warthogs fly over and a bit later a pair of F-16 like fighters. There must be a base near by.

The arena (it was more arena than amphitheater was more and less than I imagined. Another amazing 2000 year old engineering feat but it lacked the finish I would find in some of the ones in Italy of southern France. Still it was a highlight with old wood, cells and incredible acoustics. I do need to find an extant amphitheater though and perhaps even a Greek one to truly satisfy my urges.

We headed back into town and hit the Market Church (the Gangalf Church) nit was beautiful and Carmen found her favorite crucifix. It was a functional church that actually had a number of worshippers using it for its intended purpose. I noted we have yet to see a church, large or small without a pipe organ. I think there may be 4 in the greater Edmonton region.

We meandered slowly back to our rooms for a rest until dinner. During our rest period Carmen escaped and visited the local bookstore to acquire some kiddy porn (Did I mention that German was a literal language? No good can come of translating things…) and an English book about an inappropriate duck. She really has her duck on for the trip.

It has to be mentioned that neither Carmen nor I have heard from our respective mothers since their abortive attempt at a date. this has raised all sorts of speculation among the more suspicious of us. Was there a Mom vs Mom Battle Royale? Did they meet, compare noted and are mow too ashamed to communicate with us? Was the chemistry so good they ran off and started a perogy and crepe restaurant in north western Saskatchewan?

Speaking of eastern European food, we set off for dinner and I bullied the two Slavs of the group into trying the Russian restaurant. They were remarkable reluctant. In fact I remarked in their reluctance several times. That why I thought it was remarkable.

We started with a couple of glasses of dunkel and a halbtrocken. Leslie went for Pork loin, I stayed with schnitzel and Carmen had Wereniki. I think she pleaded the fifth about how it compared to the family recipe. We had anther couple of beers and were just starting coffee when the rain started. I was dry under the umbrella but apparently that wasn’t good enough for Leslie. Seemed she wanted to be dry too… Who can tell with girls..,

We moved inside and into the cellar. Vaulted ceilings and beautiful ambience. Leslie had some more wine, I out-beered Carmen and we all voted for dessert. Carmen had plum crumble
(sans whip cream), Leslie went for sour cherry Wereniki (sans whip cream) and I got brave and opted for the sour cherry Wereniki (with extra whip cream).

Well all I can say was I didn’t get my whip cream and a Perogy is a Perogy even without the potato. Blech. The other two enjoyed theirs though.

A lovely walk home in the moist air and it was off to bed. I will add pics tomorrow.

Morning.

Carmen sucked it back, I gobbled it down and Leslie ate chocolate covered chocolate. She is going to miss Germany something fierce.

Moments later we gathered at the lobby and walked across town looking for the bahnhof. My perfect sense of direction, stealthily reacquired from Carmen’s evil attempt at compassability thievery, led us to a shroud covered building which sold train tickets. I think they call it a ‘train station’ here.

The ticket machine wouldn’t sell us tickets so we got them from the nice lady. 5 minutes staring at the board hopefully untangled the confusing path to Saarburg and at 10:01 exactly we pulled out of Trier, hopefully on the right train.

Not so long ago the wine from this region used to be known as Mosel-Ruwer-Saar, named after the three rivers (or their valleys). We’ve sampled the Mosel but now it’s time for the Saar.

So if you ever come to Saarborg, turn north not south from the railway station. They both work but north will get you there faster. Down the path, up the hill and across the bridge as the giant barge passes underneath. Then you find yourself in Saarburg proper. So them down the hill, up the path and through the tunnel and you come across the mill, waterwheels and waterfall.

At the base of the waterfall we popped into a Museum. It featured a turbine, Linotype machine with a letterpress and other old printing paraphernalia (very cool), a display on bell making, and a history barges.

After we trucked over to the tourist info but there want anything there beyond the brochure we already had. Back to the “little Venice” and we decided on a lunch. Carmen heard the lunch call of the ‘sner so pilsner and ice cream it was. Despite Carmen acting like a two-year old (she couldn’t elevate herself to my exalted 3-year old level) we managed to order without being ejected.

As we wandered off we got into a huge argument about which was more interesting and enjoyable: the quack of Carmen’s ass or Carmen’s bum quack. I was all about the quack of her ass. I thought it showed more originality and class while Carmen tried to defend her bum quack on the basis of its steadiness and familiarity to other members of the family. In the end we decided to leave it to the individual.

First up was the Catholic church which had been destroyed and rebuilt multiple times, the last after a bombing in 1944. Incidentally the ancient bridge had also been destroyed in 1944. I understand the strategic reasons and mourn the necessity.

Across the river and up up up the hill was the Potestant [sic] Church. Much smaller but perched in the cliff side below the fortress. What I found most interesting about it was that it had proof that Jesus was an alien that gave brains to zombies. the stained glass told the story of an green alien Jesus that tried to befriend and convert the Zombies by passing out brains (which he had presumably transmogrified from loaves of bread).

In later panels the zombies rose up and converted Jesus to a Zombie Lord. Then the zombie hordes conquered the alien culture and rose up in flames and enslaved everyone. It was the most interesting series of stained glass windows I have ever seen. And a pretty liberal interpretation of the zombie Jesus myth…

The ruins of the Castle fortress were further up the hill and provided some awesome views of both sides of Saarburg. It has a huge hillside bisecting it with a tunnel running through. It had a tower extant so we slogged our way up the wonkiest stairs ever. They couldn’t make up their minds up if they were spiral, parallel, or just plain asinine. But the views were even better.

On the way down we tried to figure out what a dach was (besides something a dachshund would hunt) but somehow it turned into a long critique by Carmen of the all the various mice throughout history ending with the definitive conclusion that Minnie Mouse was so downright silly, she was fucking goofy. Can you spell g-r-o-a-n?

At which I was reminded of Leslie’s earlier Treatise on the relative relationship in the German dictionary of penis and penicillin. She also tried to point out their lack of prudence and about 7 other p-words that just kept getting dirtier and dirtier.

We decided it was wine-o’clock so we scooted down the hill to look for a Weingut. We ended up a t a lovely little shop that had 5 wines for 3 Euros and ended up leaving with 5 bottles among us. No, we are not pushovers… They are just good wines!

I commented that they dont believe in spitting out your wine here when tasting they were filling the glasses pretty damn full and i had at least 3 full glasses out of my 5 ‘tastes’. But following the theme of the day, my comment about a lack Of spitting turned into a remark that they believe in the swallow here in the Saar and the dirty-giggles echoed off the walls of the narrow streets… Sigh.

We decided to head back to the train, but a wine bar jumped out and called out names. So we stopped. Carmen decides to brave an auslese while Leslie and I went for some 3 glass tasters. I tried a Saar Pinot Noir and while it wasn’t up to Burgundy standards, I think it redeemed the French Pinots from Alsace. A mini panini with mozzarella and tomatoes and lots of black pepper added some spice to our wine and all in all I think there were some good choices made. Thankfully my pack was full so we didn’t buy any more.

Up and around and through the tunnel, we headed back to the train station. Just as I was about to turn north we noticed stairs going down. Turns out if when leaving the platform underground, if you turn towards the river you pop out right by the bridge. Huh.

A bit of fussing and we figured out the next train to Trier was in 17 minutes so Carmen and I chased each other around not touching while Leslie looked on in a drug and wine-addled haze reminiscent of senior patrician observing the plebes with mild amusement. Then the train came. So we boarded.

20 minutes later we were back in Trier. Did I mention hat return tickets to a town 30 or so km away was 17 euro for all three of us? That’s less than 3 euro per person each way… I can’t get anywhere on Edmonton’s transit system on 3 bucks…

Back in Trier we head for the hotel in a straighter line than we used this morning (knowing where you are going is such a good thing) and popped into our rooms to freshen up. A quick shower later and we met Carmen in the street.

4 doors down we decided on San Remo Pizzeria since Carmen could keep an eye on her room. It had been acting up lately and getting cheeky so she wanted to keep it on a short leash. Leslie broadened her horizons with a Pescatori pizza while I went for meat on meat with meat. Carmen had a cannelloni. But there was no can and no loni, so I don’t know what she was thinking.

The Pinot Grigio was Italian and the bruschetta delicious. The menu was an interesting cultural experience as it was in Italian with German translations. But since that’s a common device in Edmonton, we were pretty comfy in the Italian. I guess maybe there should be on our travel agenda…

I haven’t mentioned ankles today. That’s because ankles are passé. Backs are the new ankles; and backs are awesome. Soft, flexible, stiff, springy, mucsley… Backs.

Anyway, a walk ensued and we checked back in to the hotel to sleep. Too tired to post pictures so maybe tomorrow.

The Alien Zombie Jesus Myth

Alien Jesus feeds the zombies brains.

Jesus tries to convert the zombies to his alien ways

The zombies turn on Alien Jesus and convert him to a Zombie Lord

The zombies rise up under Zombie Jesus’ leadership and suppress the alien overlords