Welcome to Germany, but beware of the bathroom.

Did you know that the German countryside looks very much like the America countryside when viewed from the window of the high-speed commuter train between Freiburg and Hamburg? This is where I am now, which affords me the time to write. I don't have a computer, so this will get typed up when I have a chance, several days later, probably. Also note that this is the second post I've written, but the first I've published. The first written is on my computer in my suitcase in the basement of a friend's apartment. Useful, no? But I'll post it when I can. Pardon my tardiness. I'm sure my sparkling wit will make up for any delay. No? Well, I tried.

But back to the point, rows of corn pretty much look the same no matter on which side of the Atlantic they grow.

But be not deceived; there exist many a difference to confound the unsuspecting traveler. Even something as simple as the restroom becomes an experiment in cross-cultural comparison. For starters, you are looking for the WC (pronounced "vee-see" in Germany). Upon arriving at the WC, be prepared to deposit coins in the turn style, or with the attendant. And if you stand there pushing the coins around in your palm, assembling the correct combination of silly little coins, people might look at you as if you were just a bit simple. Subsequently to completing your business in the WC, you then discover that the flushing mechanism may be a button on the facilities themselves, it may be a button across the room, or it may be multiple buttons in whatever locations struck the fancy of the plumber. Oh, and there is next to no water in the toilet bowl. It turns out you don't actually need the lakes we have in American toilets. Another marvel of German engineering.
The German people, in my expert, refined, and professional opinion, have many similarities to my acquaintances State-side. Much like ourselves, they are a reserved people who prefer order, cleanliness, and efficiency. Queuing for services and recycling empty bottles are expected, and cat-calling women will mark you as a foreigner (or worse yet, a Turk). And yes, everyone speaks English. But consider this, we expect visitors to America to speak English, so should I not be expected to speak German? Well, I'm not expected, but you can be sure I'm making an effort. I still can't say "spreche." I practice when everyone's out of earshot, but in the mean time, Ich kann kaum Deutsch.

Not that I'm surprised, but all of the people I've met have been incredibly accommodating of my newfound illiteracy and general incomprehensibility. The majority of our evening excursions among Kelly's friends and our hosts have been conducted in English. It seems a small thing, until you consider that an entire table of people have switched into a language that is, to be gentle on our grammar, tricky. This is made all the more so after the first couple of bottles of wine disappear, I suspect. And they've sacrificed, each one, their comfort with the language to accommodate one tourist they have never before met, who, by all rights, should have learned German. And not once has anyone let on that they begrudge me this convenience. Without exception, I have found the people whom I have encountered to be exceptionally welcoming, accommodating, friendly, and kind. Score one for traveling with the (wonderfully bilingual, patient, and easygoing) tour guide with connections to all the cool Germans with extra beds.

So far we have accumulated several lists:
Things we've done:
-Attended a screening of short films produced by students in 48 hours with no budget
-Proceeded along the walking tour of Mainz
-Boated up and down the Rhine river, admiring the superb castles and coffee as we went
-Hiked up and around the ruins of a castle and the modern town of St. Goar
-Enjoyed a bottle of wine on the steps of Augustinaplatz, a public plaza (a legal activity in Germany, I might add), with what must have been half the student population of Freiburg
-Daytripped to lake Constance on the boarder between Germany and France, and accidentally explored the city of Konstanz there.
-Climbed the tower of Müenster, the cathedral in Freiburg, and then climbed the tower erected to mark an old watch tower on a hilltop overlooking Freiburg (Sooooo many stairs! You may call me the Stair Master Bate)
-Discovered the joys of Beigardtens- it is what it sounds like, a garden where you drink beer. Coincidentally this is also where I discovered that hedgehogs run wild in Europe. You can imagine my surprise.
-Daytripped to Colmar, France (Yeah, how cool is it to say I daytripped to France!?) to stroll through the canal-crossed section of the city called "Little Venice"

Actually, that's just a partial list. It goes on, but I've not got this all caught up yet. Call this a cliff hanger: you'll just have to come back later to hear about my tumble with a large German man named Felix (no, no relation to Mr. Tilmann).

But for now, I must turn over the computer. Ciao!