how to say Tweezers in German

August 1 - August 4

some local shopping

Last Wednesday I squeezed into a van with six other passengers and traveled 5 or so hours from Paris to Cologne. This was my first time using co-voiturage, a French website in which you can book a seat in someones car who happens to be going the same place as you. I was the last person to show up at the Treffpunkt (translation: meeting place), so I found myself in the middle, knee to knee with a very pretty blonde girl and a boy with impossibly tight pants. I had trouble breathing and my the seat belt strapped across my hips was not very reassuring. In America, we would say that I was "riding bitch". A husband and wife who spent the majority of the ride bickering about money in a mixture of French and German sat in the front seats. In the back seats were a young boy and a teenage girl, presumably their children.

We arrived in Belgium when my phone told me "emergency use only". Although so far the trip had been a bit awkward, I mustered up the courage to ask the pretty blonde if she could or was willing to help me in some way. Luckily, she could not only speak impeccable French but also had a German phone. After I broke the ice, we chatted a bit. I was enthralled to find out that she also practices the art of vegetarianism. She was happy to teach me a few useful phrases in German like, ist das vegetarische and fleisch (translation: is that vegetarian? and meat). She even went as far to help me buy the right train tickets and show me how to take the S-bahn to the suburbs upon our arrival.

So, I took the S-Bahn into the Northeastern suburbs and met my host outside of the train station. First impression... ...very tall and very handsome. Piercings, accent, shy...and also a vegetarian. Could this be true? Had I somehow stumbled upon a land of Grass Eaters? He brought me to his apartment and introduced me to his roommate, whom I thought was named Josh but really was named something completely different. The two were extremely welcoming. They gave me local beer and played music and we exchanged stories about our travels and cultures.

One of the first questions I asked was whether they preferred Dusseldorf or Cologne. The response was a sardonic laugh and also a informing anecdote, recalling a stubborn rivalry between the two. Apparently the people of the neighboring towns do not take kindly to one another. It is a given fact that you do not drink the beer from Dusseldorf while in Cologne and vice versa. In Dusseldorf you drink Altbier, which means old beer, while in Cologne you drink Kölsch, which as legend has it can only be called so if brewed in a building from which you can see the cathedral:

Which is, by the way, breath-taking.

After sleeping in a large pile of pillows, I was awakened by my new vegetarian friend and offered peanut butter for breakfast. This compulsive trip to Germany was getting better by the hour. Vegetarians, guitars, good beer, peanut butter...remind me why I live in Paris? Anways, after a relaxing morning, I left for Cologne and barely made the train, thanks to a really nice local who held the door open as I ran like a imbecile from one platform to another. At this point I was already captivated by the people, the ambiance and the beer, and I hadn't even seen the Royal Jewels yet.

So I spent my afternoon marveling over German lapidary arts and German doors. The latter are notably air-tight and fabricated with an intent to close off completely one room from another. For example, each bathroom has one heavy door to open in order to get into the "washroom" and following the first door, an equally thick doors to get to the toilet. These large doors were ubiquitous; it was even necessary in the museums to open up a door in order to go from one room to the next. The intimidating doors marked in German added a shot of suspense to my afternoon. I was hesitant to open them and felt uncomfortable when they clicked shut behind me.

I figured out how to use the metro system to get back to the suburbs. Doing so was very gratifying as I speak no German and am not exactly what you would call orientated.... Upon leaving the subway, I was helped by two or three locals in finding my hosts apartment. I had a crudely drawn map and a confused look on my face, which may have evoked pity or perhaps the locals are just really friendly. I had two people approach me and ask me if I needed help (one of which did not speak English so was not very successful). I said goodbye to my lovely hosts and, I'm not entirely sure how we managed, but I met a friend on a random train platform (number 10) back in Cologne.

The locals applauded us as we drank a scorpion bowl in celebration of the fact that we found each other in a random city in Europe. We were next to the Rhine river, which was lovely. We made the first train to Dusseldorf. I blame the scorpion bowl or perhaps our inefficiency for missing the last train back to his hotel. Some complaining, beers, and an expensive taxi ride later we finally arrived at the hotel and asked for the key, which was attached to a 5lb weight. After going through some more very firmly closed doors, we made it to the room where he told me that I shouldn't be playing my uke at this hour (I'm pretty sure it was around 3am at this point) and we fell asleep in his teeny tiny twin sized bed. 

Since he had to work the next morning, I profited from the free tea downstairs, took a long nap, and made my way into the adjacent village, Hilden.

Which was adorable.

Although I had planned to go see Dusseldorf, I couldn't bring myself to leave this little village. Instead, I saw a German wedding. I also watched a one-manned band play 90s music in the town square, spoke with a lovely woman about skin care, flirted with a blonde waitress and ate what was incontestably the best slice of cake ever made.

I eventually found a small cafe, which doubled as an ice cream shop. At the cafe I browsed an extensive menu of ice cream sundaes. There was a large section devoted to "spaghetti ice cream" which was ice cream sundaes that looked like spaghetti dishes. There was ice cream pizza, ice cream lasagna, ice cream risotto, etc. etc. Afterwards I learned the word Pinzette (which sounds like "pinch it" and means tweezers!) and I saw a very large pair of jeans.

Which I decided are a direct result of the ice cream consumption.

After meeting up with my friend, we decided to have dinner in Cologne. Afterwards we messed up some more train schedules and in a desperate attempt to buy beer, ran to a grocery store with our host, who was kind enough to once again let me sleep on his couch. In fact my host had already left for Spain and it was his roommate, who I now know is not named Josh, who let us stay. Although my weary traveler friend and I were exhausted, we stayed up discussing politics and education with two very interesting characters. We also played one of my favorite games, set. Around 1 or 2 in the morning another drunken roommate came home. My friend and I ended up sleeping about 45 minutes (I threw in the towel a bit before him) and ran to the train station somewhere in between 5:58 and 6:04 in the morning. To my amazement...

WE DIDN'T MISS THE TRAIN.

Although I was rather looking forward to sleeping in the car ride to Paris, the driver was set on chatting about politics and education and world hunger. In French. My comrade, on the other hand, slept like a baby in the backseat, ignorant to the depth and complexity of the 5 hour long conversation that I was keeping up, like a real champion. 

And so, my friend and I arrived in Paris around noon on Saturday, August 4th. We were beaten, had stomach aches from no sleep and too much Ouzo, and still had about 45 minutes of metro to take in order to get back to my apartment. Although my little adventure does not stop here, this post does.

to be continued....

Biergarten