Saturday, October 3

From	To	Distance (km)	Average Speed (km/hr)	Max Speed (km/hr)	Odometer (km)	Riding Time (hr:min:sec)	Push-Ups
Rothenburg ob der Tauber, Germany							200

(6198 words)

Two Lebkuchen

This morning Matt's alarm beeped at 6:00AM. As I had neglected to bring any kind of alarm clock on this trip, I always had to rely on Matt's watch. I had asked him the previous night to set it for 6:00 for me, even though he wasn't going to Munich and didn't need to get up early. After the beeps subsided, I lay in bed a few minutes before getting up. Once up, I shaved, showered, dressed, and assembled my bags in utter and complete silence as Matt slept peacefully on.

At around 7:00, I went downstairs. Breakfast normally starts at 8:00 at the Pension Becker, though if you need an earlier breakfast you can request it. Unfortunately, I had forgotten the previous night to request a breakfast at 7:00AM this morning. As I descended the stairs, I hoped that by chance Herr Di Vivo would be downstairs already anyway, and that I could talk him into giving me whatever food might be lying around. Once I reached ground level, however, all was still dark and quiet. As I always look forward to breakfast, this was a disappointment.

I went back upstairs and packed the only food I had left, which was two lebkuchen, into my blue bag. Into the blue bag I also threw my camera, an extra roll of film, sunglasses, umbrella, and a spoon. In lieu of a watch, I carried my cyclometer in my pocket. I didn't really have a warm enough coat, so I wore my green fleece over my blue windbreaker.

The reason I didn't have a regular watch or warm jacket is because I was on a bicycle trip in which I had to carry everything. For example, because I could always tell the time of day by looking at my cyclometer, I decided not to bring a wristwatch. Although a wristwatch doesn't weigh much, many little things that don't weigh much can add up to a more significant weight when you combine them. In addition, the more things you bring the more things you have to keep track of. Given that I didn't bring my wristwatch on the trip, I couldn't lose my wristwatch on the trip.

Because I hadn't eaten breakfast yet, I had some time before I needed to catch the bus to Munich. As I left the hotel, I turned right instead of left, to see if the grocery store around the corner was open. It wasn't. I then walked to a cafe where I'd had a decent breakfast the year before. The cafe was also closed. So I walked to the bus stop breakfastless.

Sitting in the Back of the Bus

I arrived at the bus stop a bit early, but soon the students began to assemble. As everyone but me knew each other, I once again felt a bit left out of the conversations. But as I was sleepy, I just stood there silently and rested.

When the buses came, I got on the small one. The bus driver asked me my name and looked on a list. He struggled a bit to find my name, then told me I was "ersatz." I didn't know what ersatz meant, so the driver explained to me that I would only get to go to Munich if there was a seat left over after all the regular Goethe students had a seat. This was news to me, but I sat down on a seat near the front to wait while everyone else piled on the bus. Ultimately, I got to go to Munich, because after everyone else had climbed aboard and gotten settled, one seat still remained vacant. This vacant seat was in the very back of the bus, on a four-person bench where Sarah from Ireland, Isabel from Portugal, and Josephine from Sweden were already sitting. Happy to be no longer "ersatz," I walked down the isle to the back of the bus. The girls seemed to want to stick me by the window, but as it was difficult to get back there, I ended up sitting between Sarah and Isabel.

Josephine and Isabel were cold, and I was warm, so I loaned them my green jacket (outer layer) which they shared over their laps. Sarah slept a lot at first, but ended up giving me a very nice overview of Irish history. I'd always felt confused by Irish history, and Sarah expounded for probably 40 minutes on the subject. Isabel chatted with me about Portugal, and even gave me two Portugese coins.

About halfway to Munich, the driver pulled over at a place where I was able to buy a banana and hot tea. That with my two lebkuchen kept my stomach from grumbling.

Periodically on the way to Munich, the bus driver would pick up a microphone and describe something about the area through which we were riding. For example, he told us as we passed near Augsburg that Augsburg has an extra holiday that marks the end of the war between the Protestants and the Catholics. (At this point he was interrupting Sarah's Irish history lesson.) He also told us that in the 1300s a guy named Voeker invented checks and became the richest man in Europe.

The little lectures offered up by the bus driver were nice. My only concern was that he was the kind of person who had to gesture when he talked. During his lectures, one hand would hold the microphone. With the other, he would gesture this way and that as he spoke. This, by our math, left no hands on the steering wheel. The bus would gradually drift to the left or right as he spoke. Occasionally, he would pause his gesturing long enough to jerk the bus back on track.

Group Formation

When we pulled into Munich, the driver parked the bus near the crowds and carnival of Oktoberfest. Stepping out of the bus, I stayed near Josephine, Isabel, and Sarah for a while, around whom a small group seemed to be collecting. We were at the phase of the trip where small groups would form and each go off in different directions. I kind of wanted to hang out with the girls, but didn't want to appear to be glomming on to them. The group decided to go into Munich, but to walk through the Oktoberfest grounds on the way into town, so we could experience a bit of Oktoberfest.

As we walked through the crowd I let some distance open up between me and their group. I believe I subconsciously figured I'd ease their suspicions that I might be a glommer by appearing to drift off in the crowd, then end up going with their group anyway on the other side of the Oktoberfest grounds. As I made my way through the crowd, I periodically looked over to my right to keep track of the group's relative position. Josephine's blond head usually made the group easy to spot, but one time I looked, I could find no trace of anyone in their group. They had vanished in the crowd. Other people from the bus were still nearby, making their own way through the crowd. I decided that if I didn't want to spend the day alone, I'd better join some other group. I soon melted expertly into a group composed of Luis from Portugal, Olbeth from Mexico, Alexandra from Ecuador, and Susan from the U.S.A.

The five members of my new group walked through Oktoberfest towards the downtown area. Along the way, we paused for a group photo. I gave my camera to a fellow who was passing by. Somehow we fumbled the hand over and my camera fell to the ground between us, the back door popping open, exposing my film to the cheery sunlight. I snapped it shut as quickly as I could. The fellow apologized, and I said it was no problem. Although I was tempted to be bummed, I successfully decided not to worry about it and mentally moved on.

We asked a couple standing next to some horses the way to the center of town, and they gave us directions. We followed the directions, which before long brought us to an U-bahn (subway) entry. The couple had said it was a 20 to 30 minute walk to the center of town. At the top of the U-bahn stairs, Luis suggested we take the U-bahn. I preferred to walk, but didn't want to be pushy at this early stage in the formation of our group dynamic. We all followed Luis down into the U-bahn. We weren't sure how to pay for the U-bahn trip or which route to take. The five of us stood peering at a large U-bahn map on the wall trying to figure out not only where we wanted to go, but where we were starting from. Eventually Alexandra was assertive and said, "Let's walk!" So we all climbed the stairs out of the U-bahn station and walked through the streets to the center of town.

Wurst, Mustard, and Bread

When we arrived in the center of Munich, we all agreed to seek out a restaurant and have lunch. We walked for quite a while looking for a restaurant. At one point Luis tried to convince us to go to a cafeteria-style restaurant we came upon, but we resisted. Luis told us he was looking for a place where he could get a wurst, some mustard, and some bread -- a combination he had apparently spotted on the cafeteria's menu. We continued on and eventually went into a restaurant right on the Marienplatz, a main square in the center of Munich. Although the restaurant was huge, with both a large upstairs and a massive downstairs, it was packed with people and not a single table was available. After spreading out in different parts of the place, each of us ready to claim a table when it became available, we got a table right in the front by the window.

The waitress gave us large menus and some time. When she returned, all of us ordered except Luis, who wasn't ready because he hadn't yet located his wurst/bread/mustard combo on the menu. The waitress seemed a bit annoyed that Luis wasn't ready, but left and returned again a couple minutes later to take his order. Luis still hadn't found what he was looking for, but had apparently resigned to his fate. He gave up on his wurst/bread/mustard dream, and ordered something else.

A short while later our waitress, who seemed quite efficient despite the crowd, brought all of our orders at the same time, including Luis's. When she placed his plate in front of him, Luis stared at it for a moment, then looked up and asked the waitress to see a menu. The waitress frowned and said, "You ordered number three, right?"

"Yes," answered Luis. "Is this it?" he asked, pointing to his plate.

"Yes," replied the waitress.

Luis nodded and the waitress left. Luis started eating his number three. After a few bites, he turned to us and said, "It's very good."

Hat Etiquette at the Frauenkirche

After lunch, we walked a few blocks to the Frauenkirche, a large church in the center of Munich. Inside we discovered a choir practicing on a balcony at the back of the church. Even though the music occasionally stopped abruptly so the director could request a few adjustments before starting again, the sound of the voices echoing in the large church was quite beautiful. We all sat down in the pews to listen for a while.

Sitting in the Frauenkirche listening to the intermittent spurts of beautiful music was meditative, but cold. As the church was gothic, its main chamber extended upwards and upwards until the two sides met at a point high above. Although such an architecture may help lift eyes and hearts towards heaven, it leaves behind a massive volume of air that would be very expensive to heat. Apparently, the proprietors of this church had decided to save a little money, because the inside of the church was about as cold as the outside.

I have visited many churches in Europe, and have learned that protocol requires you to remove your hat when you enter a church. I imagine it is polite to remove your hat when you enter any building, but have gotten the impression over the years that inside a church it is especially rude to walk around with your hat on. As I sat in the cold Frauenkirche, I got to wondering if Luis had removed his hat, a stylish beret that he had been wearing all day. I glanced back at him in his pew and was somewhat surprised to find him hatless.

After about five minutes of listening to intermittent choral music, we stood up and wandered around inside the church for a while, then left. Once outside, I noticed Luis was still hatless, so I asked him why he wasn't wearing his hat. He furrowed his brow, looked off into the distance, and formed his mouth in a silent O shape, then turned to me and announced that he had left his hat at the restaurant. We told him we didn't mind walking back to the restaurant with him. It was only a few blocks. Along the way Olbeth started saying, "Oh, Luisito!" in a cute, drawn-out Mexican voice, the way a mother would talk to her little boy after he'd spilled his milk yet again. Luis, who was walking in front of us, didn't respond or look back. He just kept on walking.

Ever since we had exited the restaurant, Alexandra had been talking about getting kuchen (a German style of cake), and shortly before we were to arrive back at the restaurant, she discovered a nice kuchen shop. Alexandra seemed intent on getting her kuchen then and there, so I ran after Luis and told him we'd wait for him by the kuchen shop. I returned to the kuchen shop where Alexandra was selecting her kuchen and Susan a cookie-like object, U-shaped with one end dipped in chocolate. I didn't buy anything, but I did get two bites of Alexandra's kuchen, which was too sweet for my sensitive palatte, and a bite of Susan's cookie, which was also too sweet and not very flavorful. Soon, Luis showed up with his beret on his head and a smile on his face, and we were off.

Navigating to the Art Museums

We headed for the Alte and Neue Pinakothek, two large art museums that sit adjacent to each other. The Alte Pinakothek houses older paintings and the Neue Pinakothek houses newer paintings. Some of our group wanted to go to the Alte Pinakothek, and others to the Neue Pinakothek, so we figured we'd find our way to the museums, set a time and place to meet, then split up so each could visit his or her preferred Pinakothek.

We weren't sure how to get to the Pinakothek museums, so as we meandered through the streets, we asked directions of people we encountered, and stole glances at their maps. I had been to both museums ten years earlier, and I had decided to visit the Neue Pinakothek, because I wanted to see a collection of Bleue Reiter paintings that I remembered from ten years before. Since the Blaue Reiter movement took place early in the 20th century, I figured the collection I had seen must have been in the Neue Pinakothek. At one corner, however, I looked up and noticed a street sign with "Lembachstraße" written on it, and I had a sudden memory of a smaller museum called Lembachhaus, where I now suspected I had seen the Blaue Reiter paintings.

The next time we paused to ask someone for directions, I also asked if the Blaue Reiter paintings were at the Lembachhaus. The person we asked, an older lady on a bicycle, knew all the answers. She gave us directions to the Alte and Neue Pinakothek museums, which at that point were only a few blocks away. She also confirmed that the Blaue Reiter collection was indeed at Lembachhaus, and gave me directions to that museum. At Karolinensplatz, a large round-about with a statue, I split off of the group and headed towards Lembachhaus. The rest of the group continued on to the Alte and Neue Pinakothek museums.

Looking Around Lembachhaus

I strolled around the Lembachhaus alone, refreshing memories and writing down notes about the paintings and artists I liked. One of my main aims was to see Wasily Kandinsky's paintings of Murnau. Ten years earlier, I had spent two months studying German in Murnau, a village about 60 km south of Munich, nestled in the foothills of the Alps. Shortly after I had arrived in Murnau, I discovered that Wasily Kandinsky, who was already one of my favorite artists, had lived there for several years. Kandisky had lived with another artist, Gabrielle Münter, who had also painted many images of Murnau. Those two months in Murnau in 1987 were a wonderful experience for me, and one of my purposes in visiting Lembachhaus was to once again see Wasily Kandinsky's and Gabrielle Münter's paintings of Murnau.

Among Kandisky's paintings from his Murnau phase (1908-1910), I especially like the snowy buildings of Friedhof und Pfarrhaus in Kochel (1909), the triangle-shaped mountains of Naturstudie aus Murnau I (1908), the fallish orange triangle-shaped tree of Naturstudie aus Murnau III (1909), and the yellow and blue triangle-shaped buildings of Studie Winter Nr. 2 (1910). I also really like Gabrielle Münter's Bildnis Marianne von Werefkin (1909), a portrait of a green-faced woman wearing a white and purple robe, painted on an orange background.

I also enjoyed seeing again several paintings by Paul Klee, including Sumpflegende (1919), a primarily green painting with the profile of a woman with a pointed nose, and Rosengarten (1920), a primarily red painting with roses that look like lollipops. His Rausch (1939) just jumped out at me with what felt to me like very mythological symbols.

Alexi Jawlensky started getting cool with Reife (around 1912), a brightly colored female face with diamond-shaped eyes. I also liked his Der Bucklige (1905), a teen boy with orange face, red hair, and blue sweater. As you can probably guess, I tend to like bright, starkly contrasting colors.

Discovering Carl Spitzweg

In addition to revisiting paintings I remembered seeing ten years before, I also made a new discovery at the Lembachhaus. Although I had almost certainly seen paintings by Carl Spitzweg before, his name hadn't really registered in my consciousness. In the Lembachhaus, I approached a wall full of small paintings by Carl Spitzweg, at which a couple were standing and discussing the paintings in soft tones of British English. I joined in their discussion by asking a question about Spitzweg, and in the course of our conversation they mentioned Spitzweg had also painted Armer Poet. The man described Armer Poet as a painting of an old man laying in his bed in a messy attic room, with an umbrella opened above his head to shield him from a leaky roof. I was fairly certain I'd seen that painting before, and quite certain I had a postcard of the painting at home.

What hadn't registered yet on my consciousness until I studied that row of Spitzweg paintings at the Lembachhaus is that Carl Spitzweg tended to paint situations that were richer in subtext than the situations depicted by many other artists. When I looked at one of his paintings, I would notice the shapes, textures, and colors -- as with any other painting -- but I would also notice the subtext, which was usually both serious and humorous at the same time. For example, the Armer Poet (which wasn't at the Lembachhaus, but which I remembered seeing before) made me think of how difficult it must be to choose the life of an artist and be unrecognized. Such a life would be difficult not just because you would have to struggle through life without money, but also because of that nagging inner voice telling you that perhaps your lack of success is not due to the cluelessness of the public, but to your own lack of talent as an artist. But on the other hand, the umbrella stuck to the ceiling was kind of funny. So Armer Poet made me think, but also made me laugh.

Another example is Die Jugendfreunde (around 1855), which was hanging among that row of Carl Spitzweg paintings at the Lembachhaus. This painting showed two old men, one standing in a doorway and the other with a walking cane. The main with the cane seemed to be on his morning stroll, and had stopped by his friend's house to say hello. (The name of the painting, "Die Jugendfreunde" means "Friends from Youth".) The subtext of this painting was that, given that these two men had known each other from youth, they had a long shared history lurking beneath their conversation. It made me think of what I would talk about with my friend Tom, whom I originally met in third grade, when he and I are old.

Another Carl Spitzweg painting that I liked was Ausruhende Spaziergänger (around 1865), two pooped out older walkers sitting on a bench. My favorite, however, was Wo brennt's?, a guy who looks like he'd just awakened in the middle of the night, sticking his head out of his window, trying to see what was burning. The painting doesn't show what's burning, just the man's head sticking out his window in the night with an orange glow over everything.

Heading Back to Oktoberfest

My group and I had arranged to meet at the Karolinenplatz at 5:30, but I finished a bit early at the Lembachhaus, so I walked to the Neue Pinakothek. Right in the entranceway of the Neue Pinakothek I bumped into Olbeth, who was on her way out. Olbeth and I sat down outside and waited for the other members of our group, who soon appeared.

As we started to leave, another student named Mauricio approached. Earlier in the day, we had bumped into Mauricio outside the restaurant where we had just eaten lunch. Mauricio, who appeared to be wandering around the Marienplatz by himself, told us he had lost his group. We invited him then to join our group, but he declined and we went separate ways. Now, he informed us that although he had eventually found his group again after we saw him in the Marienplatz, he had somehow gotten separated from them once again. We again invited Mauricio to join our group, and this time he accepted. (Oddly enough, the group Mauricio kept losing was the very group containing Isabel, Sarah, and Josephine, which I had lost in the Oktoberfest crowds that morning. So I was doing better than Mauricio in that at least I had only lost them once.)

All six of us started making our way back towards the Oktoberfest grounds. Mauricio had a map, so he and I peered at it trying to figure out which way to go. I had trouble getting oriented with a quick glance at Mauricio's map, but the girls seemed to know which way to go, so we just followed them. Along the way, they kept pointing out buildings and things that they remembered passing before. I didn't recognize hardly anything, and was impressed with Olbeth's and the other ladies' ability to navigate by landmarks.

Just before we arrived back at the Oktoberfest grounds, it began to rain. As the raindrops started to fall, we happened to be passing an interesting looking church. Luis suggested we go inside the church for a while, to both look at the church and seek shelter from the rain. We all went inside the church and sat down in the pews. We had done a lot of walking throughout the day, and it felt good to rest our feet. As I sat quietly in the church, I became curious. I looked over at Luis, who smiled back at me, his beret securely positioned on top of his head.

Apfel Kuchen

When we left the church, it was still sprinkling. We dived into the Oktoberfest crowds. We walked to the beer tents, where all the beer drinking goes on at Oktoberfest, because we wanted to be able to say we had a beer at Oktoberfest. But the tents were completely full. They wouldn't let anyone else in.

Since we couldn't get into the beer tents, we decided to try and find a snack before heading back to the bus. We headed to a row of vendors selling various food items. Olbeth ordered an Apfel kuchen, and Alexandra and I ordered cokes. After I received my coke, Susan and I decided to order crepes, and we both got back in line. As I was standing in line with Susan, a girl brushed by me and said, "Excuse me," in an American accent.

"No problem," I answered.

The girl turned and said, "Oh, at least you speak English."

"After a few beers, we start speaking English," I replied.

The girl stopped and told me that she wanted to get an apple pie, but didn't know how to ask for it. "Do you know how to say apple pie in German?" she asked.

"Apfel Kuchen," I answered.

She tried a few times to say "Apfel Kuchen" without much success. I worked with her for a while, trying to help her say "Apfel Kuchen," but soon offered to order it for her. German is difficult to pronounce, especially after you've been to the beer tent at Oktoberfest, where, given this girl's slightly slurred speech, I suspected she'd recently been. The girl told me she wanted her apple pie hot with vanilla ice cream on top. I ordered it for her, and when she got it, she gave me a bite. It was good.

The Black Spider

The girl walked over to a nearby table, out in the rain, to eat her hot Apfel Kuchen and ice cream. I turned to Susan, who had been waiting with me in line, and asked her if she'd order my crepe with apple sauce and cinnamon for me. Susan said yes, and I went over to the table to talk to the American girl with the Apfel Kuchen.

The girl told me her name was Elena. She said she was studying communications at some American University, but that she was spending the current semester in Florence studying Italian. When I learned she was studying Italian, I motioned to Mauricio, who was standing nearby in a huddle that also included Olbeth, Alexandra, and Luis. I knew Mauricio was Italian, and I wanted to hear Elena speak Italian. Mauricio came over and talked to Elena in Italian for a while, then returned to his huddle.

After Mauricio left the table, Elena told me she wanted to go on one more ride before she had to leave for the day, and asked me if I'd go with her. She pointed behind me, and I turned to look. Besides beer tents, food vendors, and people, the Oktoberfest grounds were full of carnival rides, such as ferris wheels, bumper cars, and the like. The rain was falling fairly steadily by that point, and it was starting to getting dark. Behind me I saw lots of rides spinning around in the rain, multicolored neon lights defining their shapes. "Which ride?" I asked.

"That black one," Elena said, and pointed again. I realized she was talking about a ride that somewhat resembled a black spider. I saw people sitting in pods at the ends of the spider legs, spinning around on three different axes, including being upside down at times.

"Nah, I'm too old," I said to her.

Just then I noticed that the huddle consisting of Olbeth, Alexandra, Luis, and Maricio, started to bolt. With a quick "Just a minute" to Elena, I jogged over to the now moving huddle and asked them what was up. Olbeth said she wanted to head back to the bus and claim a good seat. I told them to go ahead, that I'd wait for Susan.

Elena, who had just finished her Apfel Kuchen, ran out to me and asked me again to go with her on the spider ride. But even though I kind of wanted to go with her, to get some wind (and rain) in my hair at Oktoberfest, I declined with the valid excuse that I had to be at the bus soon. As I watched Elena trot off to ride her last ride by herself, Susan showed up with two hot crepes.

Returning to the Bus

The rain had become quite heavy at that point. I whipped out my umbrella, tossed it into my right hand with a triple flip and one and a half twist, and opened it above Susan. Into my left, non-umbrella hand, Susan carefully passed my apple sauce and cinnamon crepe, which was partially enclosed in a napkin. Shielded by my umbrella, brandishing our crepes, Susan and I dived into the crowd. We tromped through rain, mud, puddles, and people, chatting and eating our crepes as we went. Although it was hard to eat with just one hand (my umbrella demanding the full attention of my other hand), my hot apple sauce and cinnamon crepe tasted just great. The few pieces of napkin that I also managed to eat weren't bad either.

We once again had a bit of trouble navigating, but Susan seemed to know which way to go, pointing out this or that landmark. I followed Susan's intuition, and we both soon arrived back at the bus.

Before getting on the bus, I asked the bus driver if there might be someplace nearby where I could go to the bathroom. The bus driver said no, that all of the shops would be closed. Considering I had a four hour bus ride ahead of me, I decided to seek out a secluded spot where I could rid myself of some of the coke I had recently drunk. I headed for a nearby cluster of trees. Although I was concerned I was commiting a cultural faux pas, I was also concerned about ensuring a comfortable ride home for myself. Besides, as it was already quite dark and I was in the trees, I figured no one would notice.

On the way back from the trees, I bumped into Isabel and her group. We all piled onto the bus together, and I ended up in the back seat again. This time the girls managed successfully to put me by the window, with Sarah, then Isabel, then Josephine to my left.

Right in front of me a pretty French girl sat down, and she was soon joined by a French guy. While deep in French conversation with her seat companion, the girl took off her orange coat and placed it on a luggage rack above her head. From my vantage point directly behind her, I noticed that one sleeve of her coat was dangling down from the rack a few inches. Her coat was quite wet from the rain, and her dangling sleeve was producing a steady stream of drops, each of which was landing squarely on top of the girl's head. When I leaned forward and told the girl her coat sleeve was dripping water on her head, she turned and said, "That's OK. I like water," and allowed the sleeve to continue supplying her head with frequent drops, as if from a leaky faucet.

Epiphanies, Formaldehyde, and Darkness

On the bus ride back to Rothenburg, I had some nice conversations in English with Sarah and Isabel. Isabel told me she believed in God. She said that even though she sometimes feels important and big when she is busy with her day to day life, she knows that she's really just a "little thing." To illustrate "little thing," she held up her hand with her thumb and index finger about a millimeter apart. I asked Isabel and Sarah if they had a formal religion, and they both said they were Catholic. Isabel asked me what I was, and I described Lutheran and Babtist to them. (I was raised Lutheran, and my mother, until she married my father, was Southern Babtist.) I mentioned that the Babtists believe in total immersion babtism, in which the entire body of the person being babtised has to go under the water or it doesn't count, and that you must have a specific time and place where you realize you are "saved." Sarah called this moment of intense realization an "epiphany." Isabel said she thought it was good to have an epiphany in your life. Sarah replied that she thought we should have many epiphanies throughout our lives.

At one point Isabel asked me how old I was. I asked her to guess, and she guessed 25. When I told her 36, she found it hard to accept. She asked how old Matt was, and I said 33. She then asked if Matt and I dab our skin with formaldehyde every night before we go to bed. I asked the girls how old they were. Sarah and Isabel were both 21.

Shortly before we arrived in Rothenburg, I passed my notebook to Sarah, Isabel, and Josephine, and had them write down their addresses. Isabel told me she needed to make a phone call, and asked if I knew of a phone booth nearer to the bus stop than the one phone booth she already knew about, which was just outside the Goethe Institut. I told her there was a phone booth in the parking lot near the bus stop. Isabel and I agreed that once we got back, I'd show her where the nearby phone booth was.

When the bus arrived, however, I told Isabel that I wanted to first get Olbeth's and Alexandra's addresses before they disappeared into the night, and then I'd show her where the phone booth was. I ran after Olbeth and Alexandra, and Isabel ran after me. When I asked for their addresses, Olbeth and Alexandra asked me whether I was going on the Wanderung (day hike) the next day, and I said yes. They suggested we meet at the Goethe Institut in the morning at 9:30, a half hour before we were scheduled to leave on the hike, and exchange our addresses then. I said, "Are you sure? We could just write out the addresses real quick right now." But Olbeth and Alexandra insisted on doing it in the morning, so we said goodbye.

I turned and started walking Isabel toward her phone booth. When we got near enough that she could see it, I pointed it out to her. She didn't like the look of the dark parking lot, and asked me if I'd go with her. Once we arrived at the phone booth, everything was quite dark. Isabel said she felt nervous being there alone, and asked me if I minded waiting while she made her calls. I said I'd be happy to wait. She invited me to wait inside the phone booth with her while she made her calls, because it was likely at least somewhat warmer in inside than out. We both climbed into the dark phone booth, which wasn't much warmer than outside, but was at least a shelter from the wind.

The light in the phone booth wasn't working. It was so dark, Isabel could hardly see the numbers to press. She had to bend over towards me and put her face right next to the buttons to figure out which ones were which. I crouched down in an attempt to let more ambient light illuminate the numbers. But as very little light was coming in to the phone booth from the outside anyway, my crouching didn't help much, so I stood back up. As I waited and watched, Isabel attempted several times to make two calls to Portugal, occasionally jumping up and down in the dark to keep herself warm. She did eventually complete one of her calls, and talked for a while in Portugese to a member of her family.

Once I'd escorted Isabel out of the dark parking lot, she thanked me for staying with her. "That's no problem," I said. Isabel stuck out her hand. I took it and shook. We said good night and parted company.

I walked over to Anja's, where theoretically, Matt had moved my bags, but all was dark. No one was home. I walked over to the Pizzeria Roma for a spaghetti champinones, which I had to eat alone, then walked back to Anja's. Fortunately, Anja had just gotten back from a movie. I noticed happily that my bags had moved to Anja's as planned. Anja gave me her keys, and I went to the internet cafe to send an e-mail. When I returned to Anja's, Matt had just arrived, and we all went to sleep.