6-17
I`m not usually one to do this sort of thing, but having
received several requests to document my journey I would feel guilty if I just
passively absorbed my life experiences as I typically do. The church in Sparta kindly gave me a journal
before I left, so what follows here are excerpts from that (trust me, you don`t
want to read it all) and perhaps some extra thoughts as the transcribing
process inspires.
Before we begin, a few disclaimers: my natural journaling
style is pretty dry, which is probably why I haven`t done much journaling in
the past few years, save for moments of emotional duress. To make it more interesting, it appears I
have subconsciously absorbed a Nathaniel Hawthorne-esque style, whose writing I
appreciate for its wit humor. The House
of Seven Gables had some brilliantly funny passages and if you have a copy on
hand I would suggest reading that instead of this. If you find this blog`s style at all
pretentious, I apologize; but then again I don`t, for this creative tack helped
me avoid the introspective melancholic meanderings that typically fill (or
don`t fill) my journal entries, and thus I had a much better time doing it.
A second disclaimer, which may only apply for the first few
days` worth of entries: the keyboard I am currently typing on has some keys in
the wrong places (you read correctly: not different places, but the wrong
places) so if you see y`s and z`s swapped for each other, or a ö instead of an
apostrophe, I beg your forgiveness.
This trip starts with a rainy bus ride to Boston Logan
airport, and yes, even Peter Pan has to deal with traffic. My neighbor was a deeply tanned Bostonian
returning from the Vineyard a day later than planned, and as things were
turning out his decision to soak some extra rays meant missing the drop of the
puck as the Bruins continue the battle for the Stanley Cup (game 3,
Blackhawks). Currently I am in the airport,
and the intercom has just informed me that my bus neighbor was not the only one
affected by the rain, as my flight has been postponed approximately 1hr,
which could prove disastrous given my 9hr layover in Dublin before heading to
Zurich (I joke). This drastically alters
how I intended to pass the time en route; I may have to move a movie-viewing to
the morning (assuming the movies are available, free, and good) which I slowly
enjoy a vacuum-sealed pastry that hardly contains more nutritional value than
the plastic it comes packaged in. I might as well give the fold-out table a
lick, if not to enjoy some microscopic delicacies, at least to give my immune
system something to do.
There is something about airports that awakens a primal unnerving
instinct, and I imagine that the cause is not limited to one`s placement in a
crowd that will-not-likely-but-possibly-could-be a source of personal harm in
the struggle to survive, one can derive a similar feeling in cities, subways,
amusement parks, etc. With a crowd comes
crowd control, which here exhibits itself in the form of The System (TSA, large
bathrooms, escalators, free wifi), The Man (Starbucks), and anz other number of
things that represent the simultaneous squashing of our individuality and the validation
of our autonomy. My choices are many, but
the spectrum of choices is the same as everyone else`s, and even there I would
need an ipad to keep up with the lot of them.
All this aside, it is probably the idea of being airborne in a tin can
between to large spinning blades that makes our inner caveman squirm. Or maybe it`s just me.
Not that I`m afraid of flying, but the slight apprehension
tends to stimulate my creativity, that little spinning electrified orb of Ideas
that contains complete pieces of music etched on its surface. The problem is that it spins too quickly to
get more than a theme or brief passage transcribed, but with luck I`ll get a
few things jotted down before exiting the airport.
Which leaves me with the decision of staying in the airport
with my books and muse, passing the time people-watching and catching snippets
of international conversations, or venturing out of the city for the day. My backpack is a bit full… a good of an
excuse as any to remain in my comfort zone.
I`ll reserve my adventurous spirit for when I meet up with my sister
Jenna. I imagine my free time could be
spent between learning French (or as far as my phone app will take me),
learning French history (or bits and pieces as referenced in the The Hunchback
of Notre Dame), and jotting compositional ideas. Should be a grand òle time. The composing has felt slow this week, but I
imagine this is typical when you are building (or growing) a new sound-world to
play around in. Eventually the important
things make themselves more prominent than the rest. When will I be able to write quickly?
Deadlines help, which force me to rely on my intuition, but can also lead to
copy-and-pasting from various styles that I have become familiar with in my
studies or playing.
6-18
Being a naturally self-critical person, I have no qualms
with extending said criticism to
encompass the country I am from, and while I am “proud” to be an American I
feel no reason to be more prideful than a person from some other country, and
Europe certainly puts us in our place in many respects. I think it is time to start a list of things
Europe does better than America.
1.
Chocolate, and by extension, basically anything
you put in your mouth.
This one assumes you have already paid for
the item to be consumed and there is still money left in your bank
account. I haven`t purchased anything
other than a large cappuccino thus far, although I have nothing bad to say
about the raviolis on the plane, certainly more tastefully prepared than the
latest Die Hard movie and Oz the Great and Powerful, the latter of which I couldn`t
force myself to finish. My opinion on
European chocolate was formed during my study-abroad trip two summers ago in
Salzburg with Gordon College. Everything
was meticulously prepared and presented, and quality always won over quantity.
Hershey has no place here, and neither does anything with high fructose corn
syrup. The novelty of the chocolate`s
quality has worn off, I won`t be crossing my fingers trying to carry 10lbs of
chocolate bars through customs, but I would love to have this as the norm. I will probably be visiting this first point
often during my trip.
2.
Restrooms. At least, Dublin airport had double
ply.
There are still some things better about America: frappes,
free water, free public restrooms to name a few.
I am currently residing in Switzerland with friends of the
family (the Hunklers, wonderful people), as well as with Jenna who has been
studying in Orvietto and arrived here yesterday.
6-19
Our hosts have a piano, a lovely Baldwin, which enables me to further tinker with a song that I feared would remain untouched until France when I start the music program. Overcoming jet-lag was more involved than I expected: around 2am (or it might have been 3) I was awake and restless, and I felt I would be tossing and turning until morning. Perhaps I had rested more than I thought on the plane? (well, I hardly did much thinking at all...) It seemed I was not needing as much sleep as I had expected to. This was proved erroneous, for the next time I looked at the clock it was 11:45am. It was the strangest phenomenon, and without fully comprehending what had just occurred I was able to conclude with mathematical certainty that I was well-rested. There was no evidence for an interdimensional wormhole or time-travel, so if any of that happened, I must have slept through it. Pity.
Over lunch I was entreated by my sister to add "cheese" to my list of things Europe accomplishes better than America. "They use real milk" as our host Stefan pointed out. The variety laid before us (two varieties to be exact) paired deliciously with the home-made bread. Conversations centered on the topic of sleep, graciously provided by Stefan who was volunteering at a sleep research center for his required civil service. I learned giraffes sleep but 15 minutes a day, which could mean that they are low on the food chain; I was unaware that they were a staple of any animal`s diet. This of course nullifies the joke I made about giraffes being "high" on the food chain, but it could be amended to "their heigh compensates for their position on the food chain" or something like that.
After an afternoon of tinkering and chocolates (!) we ventured to Stefan`s eagle sscouts graduation ceremony held at the ruins of a small castle. Everything was in English to my surprise; apparently the program is connected to an international high school. The sausage was wonderful, as was the view of the town from the castle`s observation tower (no barbaric horde in sight). We returned to the house to enjoy a British variety of Jello, which is termed "jelly" and tastes much more like the fruit it claims to represent than Jello will ever hope to. The evening was concluded with a viewing of Lincoln, which I thoroughly enjoyed, especially after the horrendous movie selection on the plane. How easy it is to forget to aspire for greatness.
Last night also exhibited the repercussions from jet-lag, and this time I was really waiting for morning to come and had enough willpower to remain in bed until 7am. A hearty breakfast and some tinkering time, and then we were off for a day of adventures in Germany. Our host Leeanne works at the Black Forest Christian Academy and had 2 hours of library duty today. Jenna`s reading selections included Rick Steve`s European guide and some Shakespeare. I was feeling ambitious and opened up Team of Rivals, one oft he Lincoln biographies that our movie from the previous night was based on. Apparently one of the first things Lincoln said to his wife-to-be when they met at a party was, "I want to dance with you in the worst sense." Now I know where they get all the lines for James Bond.
Lunch was a very large doner kebap (lamb meat with veggies and a yogurt sauce) that easily counted for two meals, and from there we ran several errands. Going to a supermarket in a foreign country is probably the most efficient way to build vocabulary, perhaps even moreso than being lost and late for an appointment. No, the universality of food and the predictable layout of clearly labeled items expedites one`s cultural immersion. We ran other errands that brought to my attention another European trait; I know not if it is a true advantage but it seems to be so thus far:
3. Faith in the general public to behave ethically.
Whether it was the paying at the register after your meal at the kebab place (you could easily sneak out), or the shoes left unattended outside while the saleswoman went to lunch, or the fruit stand that was also left unattended except by a basket to receive payment, there seems to be a trust that people will do the right thing. This may not be the case everwhere in Europe, but wouldn`t be tolerated in the States.
Continuing our supermarket escapade I encountered my word-of-the-day: Froop.
Now this may not really count as a word-of-the-day, since it may not be a real word and the context suggests a likelihood that it was the name-brand of a food product. It was, alas, a typical cup of yogurt, but I was nonetheless amused, and begged to be spoken with an embittered tone that commmunicates utter disappointment with one`s breakfast choice. "My poor fellow, what are you eating this morning? Gruel? Pig slop?" "Froop." I am no linguist, but if I was pressed to guess on the English etzmologz for "froop" I would have to say that it is a hybridiyation of "fruit" and "goop," which now sounds much more appetizing.
They say genius is 1% inspiration and 99% perspiration. If that is the case, then the decision to get a haircut must be in the same category. The week has been hot and humid, and I was eager to shear off the better part of what could quickly grow into what others have termed my "poof." At the salon, Leanne did a fine job translating for me (well, I have to assume so, don`t I), but my vague expectations for what I had in mind for a final product, exacerbated by the language barrier, seemed to make her apprehensive to follow her hair-designing instincts (I assume she had developed them) out of fear of not being tipped. "I will tip you the same," I wanted to say, "for I will be satisfied, or rather, I will not be displeased, unless zou clearly botch it up." (I wouldn`t have said that). There is no way she could have done a worse number than some of my family`s attempts on our back porch, experiences that contributed to my blissful indifference towards my physical presentation. Being at Westminster has heightened my sensitivity, but I still consider myself to be a lost cause. After a quick "zehr gut" and "dankeschone" I hurried off to the department store to purchase a comb.
Dinner was a delicious cheese fondue and an array of sides. I brought up giraffes again, and learned that it is possible that giraffes sleep only 15 minutes per day not due to predator evasion, but rather the incessant need to maintain a high caloric intake, a nearly impossible feat when one`s diet consists of leafy greens. This seems a more plausible hypothesis than predatorial evasion, for the question remains: what animal eats giraffe? The brontasaurus feared the t-res, but natural processes have eliminated the Large Walking Jaw from the animal kingdom, or at least relegated them to the great white shark. Until birds and lions learn to wrap tow cables around their legs (that`s a star-wars reference) I`d say giraffes are in the clear. But a quick google search should probably clear this up. Baby giraffes predicably are suseptible to hyenas and crocodiles, while adults need only fear a pack of lions, as well as this guy:
6-21
Kandern and Loerrach were the names of the towns that yesterday`s events took place in.
Today was an uneventful day of tinkering. I am going to refer to composing as "tinkering" from now on. "Composing" sounds too grand and exciting, filled with flashes of inspiration in quick succession and the rapid churning out of new ideas. This is hardly the case for me. "Tinkering" brings to mind a pile of smashed lightbulbs that didn`t work prior to Edison`s breakthrough. It brings to mind a bear carved from wood, whose nose you have practiced on other pieces of wood before slowly and carefully preparing each shave on the final product, only to create a decent nose that really belongs on a different bear. I spent the afternoon slowly searching for and piecing together a few measures, and now wonder if they really belong in the piece, given thier departure stylistically. I could justify the departure as called for by the text, but I play that card a little too often for my composition teacher. Oh, to achieve one-ness.
Things to add to my European superiority list:
4. Countrysides.
We drove through Alsace on our way to Ferrette, France where a fold music festival was being held. The time of day was certainly of assistance. Gently rolling hills of land both wild and cultivated, spotted with small clusters of trees and surrounded by dense forests, mountains beyond, all warmed by evening sunlight. You twist along a narrow road as unpredictable as the French landscape. Finally we drove through a small pass and down a steep slope shouldered by rock walls to a town cradled in a vally; the hills like looming giants facing outwards to deter intruders. One feels at home instantly; I was itching to get on my roadbike and soar.
The festival was not French-specific, there was a variety of English traditional dancing, blues/jazz, French "gypsy" music as Stefan called it, and American covers. The town had steeply sloped streets, probably the main distinguishing factor other than the countryside in the distance to remind me that I wasn`t in Epcot. The architecture was traditional in design, but seemed recent in construction, at least superficially. The town, or at least the street we were on, seemed to be constructed solely for the festival, with numerous venues for various bands to perform simultaneously. I wanted to add "coke in glass bottles" to my list, but Jenna assured me that this was not as unique as I might like it to be. The French also lost points in Jenna`s book in the category of hygiene, especially the men. I didn`t notice... draw whatever conclusions you will.
This morning I slept in until 9:30. I used to consider myself a morning person, but the practice is slowly becoming a theory.
When I meet new people who ask what I`m going to do with my degree, my best response as of late is "I`m not sure, but I am very glad to be getting the education." I can then continue to joke about how many loans I am taking out to get better at my hobby before listing the various low-paying-but-fulfilling opportunities a music career can contain, some of which I have experienced and most of which I hope to continue at a level that supports a meager existence, and maybe a Porsche.
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