Apfelwein

Since before I came to Germany, I was told that Frankfurt is known for a certain home-brewed alcoholic concoction called "apfelwein" (pronounced "apple wine"). More specifically, there is an area on the southside of the city called Sachsenhausen that is known for its apfelwein bars. However, since I've arrived in Frankfurt, I have yet to travel to this area of town--seeing that its 1) not close to where I live; 2) not in between where I've been and where I was trying to get; and 3) not easily accessible via subway.

Earlier this week I came to the conclusion that enough was enough and I was going to try this apfelwein out at some point this week. Upon querying my landlord about places to go, he stated that Sachsenhausen is mad touristy--as it is internationally known for its apfelwein bars. He stated that a better alternative would be to head right up Berger Strasse (the street where I live) and check out the several apfelwine bars there. Not only were they just as good as the ones found in Sachsenhausen, but they also had more of the "local German" feel from which apfelwein bars were born (i.e. the bars have that old wooden, German-countryside look and feel).

Well, sitting in my crib after work with nothing to blog about, I made the trek up the street. Sure enough, after about 4 to 5 blocks, I came upon the olden section of Borheim (the area just to the north of where I live) and the first building I saw that looked like that olden German architecture was an apfelwein bar that called, "Apfelwein ____" (I don't remember the second word and I didn't take a picture).

I walked in and asked for some apfelwein (man I'm tired of typing that word) and she asked whether I wanted it "pure" or "with water"--the reason being that some find it rather strong without it. I looked to her for guidance and she said the only way I'll know is to try it pure...and that's what I did. Another lady then reached under the counter and pulled out a large metal pitcher. While she did, the first lady told me that they made the apfelwein on-site. I then asked if I could buy a bottle, to which she replied yes. It was at that point that I actually tasted the drink.

I wouldn't call it a big disappointment in that it tasted bad...I was just expecting more apple. If I had to describe it, it tasted like olive water...with the same amount of olive as if you were to take a large glass of water and squeeze half a lemon into it. Furthermore, I felt no alcoholic buzz from it (which really isn't saying all that much because, thanks to Tallahassee, I like to think I have a tolerance that is well above-average). Who knows, maybe some of the apfelwein bars in Sachsenhausen (which I still plan to visit at some point) have better tasting apfelwein. Maybe I was just unlucky enough to catch the bar at a time when they were serving the "bad batch" of today's apfelwein. Maybe in the company of others, it serves as a good "soical" drink. Or maybe I should have tried it with water. Who knows...all I know is that it definitely left more to be desired.

Still, I figured it'd be nice to have a bottle as a souvenir to take home for myself or one of my alcoholic buddies. So after finishing the drink, I asked to purchase a bottle. The first lady then went over to a crate and pulled out a random empty plastic bottle (that most likely had been finished not too long ago) and handed it to the lady behind the counter. She then water-washed the inside of the bottle (i.e. filled the bottle about a quarter-full with tap water from the sink and then vigorously shook the bottle) and then filled the bottle with apfelwein from the same pitcher she poured from earlier. And Voila! There you have it, your own bottle of Berger Strasse's own home-brewed apfelwein (pictured above).

I ain't mad in the slightest. Cause now I have some "break in case of emergency" alcohol in the 'frige and a new blog written.

Cheers.

Let's Play a Game...

Right click the image below, save it, then open it in another window...

The above is my keyboard at the Frankfurt office. In 60 seconds or less, find the following:

• "Y"
  
• "@"
  
• "="
  
• """ (i.e. double quotation)
  
• "Z"
  
• ")"
  
• "#"
  
• "-"
  
• "*"
  
• "^"
  
• ">"
• "{"
• "~"
• "/"
• "?"

There you are, 15 keys to find for my 15th blog.

Cheers.

CtrlX&CtrlV

I was skeptical…

She and I shared mutual friends and acquaintances. We were, at one point, part of the same post-college community, but her crowd was not mine. Furthermore, given my initial impression of her popular, lemon-lime personality, it was clear to me that we were simply not meant to have had anything more between us. Then, about a month ago, I read her blog.

I was interested.

Well, it wasn’t necessarily her who specifically interested me, but I was intrigued nonetheless. I don’t know if it was the obligation I felt to travel while in Europe or if it was just my personal desire to indulge in my curiosity about graphic design, and more importantly, photography, but I knew for certain that I would attend.

“one ticket for..."

If you want a detailed explanation of the competition, go here: http://www.cutandpaste.com/events/tournament.html. Otherwise, here's the short of it. Eight contestants were selected for each of 11 cities across the globe (NY, SF, Seattle, Chicago, Portland, Boston, London, Berlin, Tokyo, Hong Kong and Sydney). The contestants are given 15 minutes to create a graphic design about a given theme, live in front of a packed venue (holding upwards of 500 or so people). There are 3 rounds and each round has a different theme--8 are winnowed to 4, then to 2 from which 1 is chosen to be the winner. The winners for each round are chosen by a panel of judges (the judges for each city belong to the city's respective graphic design scene...I believe).

The place was about half full when I arrived at the stated time of the start of the competition. The lower level had a stage to the front and a bar to the rear. On the stage were four graphic design stations for the contestants to craft their 15 minute masterpieces upon. Each station was also wired to a large suspended flat screen monitor for the crowd to witness the crafting of the masterpieces before their very eyes. Upstairs, in addition to another bar, they had these Adobe workstations, similar to the ones used by the contestants, where those in attendance could try their hand at graphic design. There was also I believe a "side-bar" competition for such "amateurs" (and the not-so-amateurs) to submit their drawings from the demo workstations upstairs. Close to the actual start of the competition, the place was packed.

Seeing that this was the first ever Cut and Paste in a country where English was not the first language, I wondered if the host(s) would be speaking in English or German (or both). I figured one of the people I met earlier would know, so I headed to the area by the stage to see if I recognized someone. By chance I ran into one of the contestants. He was a Frenchman by the name of Oliver (pronounced “O-liv-E-A”). According to the Cut and Paste booklet:

Born in Austria in 1974. After being a mathematic and graphic designer, I began using video tools to show my works in 2001. My specialty is performing live acts with musicians although I work for theater and sometimes VJ in discotheques. In 2006, I moved to Berlin to meet people and build new projects with new ideas.

The funny thing is, he ultimately won the competition.

Sorry for the spoiler, but the fact that you bear witness to the creative process is the true star of this contest moreso than the end results. See, while the actual drawings were amazing in and of themselves, the coolest part was watching the idea develop in front of your eyes, from inception to conception. Many of the times, they would start with the oddest part of the drawing, and the whole idea wouldn’t come together until the very end. Sometimes, you would get where they were going with the design, and then be amazed how they took it to the next level. In every case, it was utterly mind-opening/blowing to see the techniques behind how the images that you see on little 4x6 cardstock flyers, and take for granted as being generated by either some computer or some marketing department, are actually created...in 15 minutes much less. I’m sure some of the graphic designers in attendance, picked up on some shortcuts as well.

I actually talked with some graphic designers there to get their take on the competition (and yes, I have them on tape). While some did say there was more creativity last year than this year as a lot of people’s drawings this year were too “mainstream” (don't quote me but I think this refers to creating an eye-popping design with clean lines and flashy colors...as opposed to pushing the envelope), most were just as utterly enthralled as I was to watch these experts in action. I then explained my take on how next year will probably be their biggest year (third annual), at which time it would then be super mainstream. Sort of like Shayla's 3-Friday rule for how parties pop off in Tallahassee.

• 1st night – the lure of happy hour or cheap drinks, brings lots of women
• 2nd night – due to the inexpensive yet jovial atmosphere of the 1st night, many of the chicks that went told their other lady-friends and close male friends that weren’t there to come this week. So you have most of the people from the 1st night and their curious friends. This night is just as good, if not better, than the 1st night.
• 3rd night – the dudes that went to the 2nd night have been blabbing all week about the sea of drunk women and cheap drinks from the 2nd night. So it’s a wrap, dudes are now amped to go to the oasis of women they believe will attend the 3rd night. The same women from the 2nd night, and most likely the 1st night as well, are also eager to attend just for the sake of repeating the fun they had the 2nd night
• *4th night – if the drink specials weren’t cut the 3rd night, they are by now. And the women that went to the first 3 nights aren’t in attendance because too many of the wrong type of dudes came to the 3rd night and changed the atmosphere. This party is pretty much a sausage-fest (in other words, wack).

Regardless, even if Cut & Paste ultimately suffers the fate of "mainstream-ism" that ultimately pollutes the competition's original intent, you can't take away from the fact that each and everyone of the contestants (now and in the future) are experts in the field of graphic design. And its always a pleasure to watch an expert in motion...doing what they love.

Oh yeah, the entire competition was in German.

Cheers.

Sunday's Blog has been Postponed Til Monday...

I would spend the, at least, hour it takes to finish Sunday's blog and post it, but I'm not in the best of moods and I have to get some rest for my first official day in the Frankfurt office tomorrow.

My apologies...I'm only human.

Cheers.

The Train

Editor's Note: This was supposed to be Saturday's blog, but due to technical difficulties (my computer had an error joining the hostel's wireless network), I couldn't post it til now. Sunday's blog is on the way, but first I need to iron my suit and shirt for my first day of work tomorrow.

OK, so I got myself about a half-hour’s extra sleep and took the 7:13 train to Berlin. Now while my train experiences have been pretty much limited to the DC – NY and Lorton (VA) – Sanford (FL) routes, I’ve taken them quite a bit and consider them to be a fair representation of the American train riding experience.

On American trains, the first one or two cars (depending upon the length of the route) are typically first class. Then you have the quiet and food cars, and then coach. So when I boarded the train, given the short length of the route, I got on the second car cause I figured it was either the quiet or food car. However, upon entering the car, I saw most of the seats were unfilled and quite spacious. “This is still first class,” I thought to myself, “But let me check.” So after pulling out my handy-dandy English-German pocket translator, which showed the German phrase for “First Class” (“erste Klasse”), one of the ladies nearby gave the semblance of what looked to be a yes answer in German. So I walked about two cars down. It looked the same, so I though to myself, “Did I misinterpret what the lady said? Is the whole train like this? Sweet!” Again, I asked one of the nearby ladies if this was first class. She spoke a little English and she said to just sit and when the conductor comes by to stamp your ticket, if he doesn’t tell you to move, then you’re in the right place. Ha, we do the same thing in America…nice to know, across the world, some things never change. About two minutes later, along comes the conductor and sure enough, I was in the wrong class.

First observation about European trains: It’s not “coach”, its “second class”

The conductor then said I needed to go to car number 8.

Second observation: First class is 6 cars deep.

While walking through first class and its spacious seats, the hallway moves to one side and you see these six seat sections where a small group of people can reserve to have a space of their own or pop champagne if they want (I kid you not).

[I would make this another observation, but I can’t say with certainty that American trains don’t have these sections (or that people don’t pop champagne on American trains). I know we have sleeper cars, but I haven’t seen them on this train. I’m sure they have them on longer distance trains though.]

After arriving in the “second class” section, I see that it’s about 80 percent full and it seemed all the open seats were on the aisle. I was looking for an empty row of those seats that face each other with the table in between, After walking a bit, I found an open row by one of those tables. I asked the lady on the other side if they were taken and she said something in German and pointed up.

Third observation: They have reserved seats.

Between Frankfurt and Berlin, there are a number of small stops. People on these in-between stops can reserve a seat and then on the little electronic ticker-tape next to the seat number, it’ll say the start and end destination for the traveler (I’m guessing they give you a seat number and you don’t just find a seat with a matching start and end destination when you board the train). Now, whether or not the actual rules permit you to sit in one of those seats before the “reserved” traveler arrives…I don’t know. But, all across the train, people were sitting in those seats.

But still, I kept walking and after hitting a number of people on the arm with my bag as I passed, I realized I needed to find a seat. Again, I found another open row by a table, but for this one, only the window was reserved. “This’ll work,” I thought so I put my bag up top and sat down. I closed my eyes for about 5 minutes then I realized…I sat across from a mother and 4- to 5-year old daughter combination. Both were resting and the mother, who was across from me, had her feet all up in my foot space. Now normally (i.e.) when I’m in America, I usually non-verbally mark my territory by rather purposefully (and without making eye contact) moving my feet to the boundary of my area. But I’m in another country and I don’t know custom…so I let I ride out. If only I could have been so lucky that that was my only concern with the two of them during the ride…

About 10 minutes later, I realized this was a somewhat loud mother and 4- to 5-year old daughter combination. I realized this from the outburst-filled German reading lesson being conducted across the table. And mind you, I label them both as being loud—not because the mother was even halfway as loud as the daughter, but because the mother wouldn’t check the daughter properly when she would…

• point at pictures in the book and yell loudly;
• put her feet on the table, repeatedly;
• stand in the chair and yell out nursery rhymes;
• jump from standing position to her knees on the chair
• lay on the floor under the table;
• look at people through the hole of the pretzels she was eating, while on the floor under the table;
• try to fit 16 oz. plastic water bottles in the 6” by 4” trash compartment on the table;
• bang on the trash compartment lid when the top wouldn’t close;
• rip up sheets of newspaper just to fill the trash compartment;
• slam the trash compartment closed every time she had around 10 ripped up newspaper sheets;
• try to snatch books from the mother’s book bag, after the mother would put them in the bag;
• etcetera

Maybe it ain’t so nice to know, across the world, some things never change.

Somehow, during the maelstrom that was the seat across from me, I managed to catch the semblance of a semi-nap. But it was bad I tell you. I kept having musings of what I would do if I was the parent. And mind you, I don’t see myself spanking/whipping my child…especially a daughter of mine. But it would have gone DOWN if she were my kid. Then I started thinking about clever ways in which I could literally terrify this child into silence. This was my favorite:

I’d go to the bathroom and take my tape recorder. And, in the deepest voice I could conjure, I would say gory Hansel & Gretel phrases about what I do to loud children…

[In super deep, vampire-like voice] “I love little girly fingernails. The snapping sound of the nail as I separate it from their little chubby fingers fills me with nothing but utter joy. Yes, YES…go ahead and yell. Music to my ears. And that little leg of yours…muwahahahaha! When I’m done devouring you, there won’t be anything left for your mother to cry over. I’ll eat your skin, your bones, your hair and use your clothes to wipe the blood from my lips…muwahahahahahaha”

I would then return to my seat, and without saying a word, put the tape recorder on the table, close my eyes like I was taking a nap, and press play.

It made me even chuckle a little. But my tape recorder was in the upper compartment and I didn’t speak German, so I decided against it. I again wondered if this was a cultural thing that Germans, or even Europeans, saw as acceptable. But I caught a couple askance glances from the nearby passengers, so I think this was just kids gone wild. With about half an hour left in the trip, I couldn’t take it anymore. And rather than risk the possibility of getting into a double-language shouting match with the mother with no spine on my first European train trip, I moved to another car.

I don’t know, maybe the girl had somehow demonstrated to her mother that she was a genius and needed the freedom to be able to allow her genius to develop in her 4-year old mind…but I seriously doubt it. On second thought, no. Geniuses need discipline as well if they are to achieve their full potential. This girl was just plain bad and unrestrained.

I wish I could write more about the train experience, but this little girl ruined it for me, and now everyone seeing that the viewers at home have been forced to endure this tirade of a blog. My bad.

Cheers.

To Leave or Not to Leave...?

Pop quiz hot shot...

It's now 10 of midnight, Friday evening. The non-stop train to Berlin is roughly 4 hours. There's a 12:42am and a 6:14am train (as well as trains that leave more frequently than on the hour). If you get to the hostel before check in (3pm), you can store your luggage there until check in.

When do you leave?

Duh, I'm going to sleep and catching the first thang smokin'.

Cheers.

Thanks to Viewers Like You...

...I feel the obligation to have adventures to chronicle. Traveling throughout Europe while I'm here kills two birds with one stone. So let's research our options...

The German Rail Pass. This pass basically allows you either 5 or 10 days travel, via rail, throughout all of Germany for 180 or 280 euro, respectively. This pass would effectively allow me to travel to the various German cities people have pulled my coat to for the last several months. Places like Munich, Berlin or Hamburg are a given. But, unless you're talking to a person in the military or at least somewhat versed in the German landscape, you wouldn't know about cities like Heidelberg, Dusseldorf or Koln (pronounced "Cologne"). Well, I want to check them all out, and here's the thing...travel on the rail pass doesn't have to be for consecutive days. So, in essence, for the next month I can use the next 5 weekends (seeing that I start work on Monday) to travel. Seeing that I don't forsee myself traveling each of the 5 upcoming weekends (within Germany, that is ;-), thereby equating to 10 one-way trips, I bought the 5-day travel ticket. First stop...well you'll see in the upcoming blogs.

Renting a Car. I haven't done much research on this, but I hear its not too expensive. What I'm thinking is that I'll use this option for some of the smaller, yet picturesque, nearby German cities (like Koln and Heidelberg). Prolly make a day trip out of it and come back with some desktop masterpieces.

The Eurail Pass. Basically, this pass allows you to do the same thing as the German Rail Pass, only throughout one or more countries. You can check out the site yourself (www.eurail.com), but basically there are four sub-options: National Pass (one country); Regional Pass (2 pre-set countries); Select Pass (3 to 5 bordering countries...they didn't tell me the whole "bordering" thing when I went to Frankfurt Main Station and talked with the ticket counter people, so I don't know how true the "bordering" thing is when you don't go online to purchase tickets); and Global Pass (unlimited train travel in the following 18 European countries: Austria (including Liechtenstein), Belgium, Denmark, Finland, France (including Monaco), Germany, Greece, Hungary, Italy, Luxembourg, the Netherlands, Norway, Portugal, Republic of Ireland, Romania, Spain, Sweden and Switzerland). Only the Global Pass has unlimited travel time periods of 15 days, 21 days, 1 month, 2 months and 3 months. The remaining options only allow for a number of travel days within a 2 month period. Again, go to the site if you want to see pricing for each and every one of these options. Outside of Germany, the cities I have been told to visit (and want to visit myself) are Paris, Amsterdam, Zurich, Rome and Barcelona. Given their distances from Frankfurt, the two latter cities are reserved for option #3 (see below). However, the three former cities (given Frankfurt's central location) fit nicely into the 4-country Eurail Select Pass (which works out to $519--the 6 day travel option). Since, the German Rail Pass only lasts a month from today, I'm thinking Amsterdam for Thanksgiving (yummy), Zurich sometime in early/mid-December (cop myself a Swiss watch for Chirstmas) and...you know it...Paris for Christmas (shout to Kadija).

Copping a flight. I haven't done any research on this as well because I've been spending the last almost 2 hours writing this blog and I'm not sure if I want to drop anymore airplane fare than I have to. Besides, I've been told Barcelona and Rome are better in the spring/summer than in the dead of winter. We'll see though. Besides, we haven't even tackled New Year's yet--I told Ming about Goa in India, but he suggested Thailand. Aside of the fact its crazy out there around that time (in a good way, I believe), you can get better quality custom-made dress shirts there than from China (I've seen Ming's closet, and its quite the collection). That'd be a nice way to end this European soirée of mine (in Asia, right ;-).

We'll see how everything goes...but again, I want to thank all the viewers at home. For if it wasn't for you all, I'd probably just now be waking up to get a burger from Yours Sports Bar (unshowered mind you ;-).

Farewell London...

...until we meet again.


Cheers.

The London Office

While I'm here in London, I figured I'd stop by the work office in London to 1) make myself be known internationally; 2) meet the HR coordinator for the "programme" that I've spoke with over the phone for the last 2 months; and 3) see how elegant our offices are overseas. Prepare for yet another picture reel...

These are our elevators.

These are 4 of the 5 floors we occupy in the building.

As you can see, we have an "open" floor plan that "encourages communication," while effectively discouraging web surfing. Supposedly, there are only 3 offices that have doors. While in some areas of the office people have designated work stations, in some areas, people can basically sit where they want. "But what about their coat, or bag, or personal belongings? Where do they put them?" I'm glad you asked...

They not only have lockers, but you see those mini cabinets under the lockers? Those are rollable storage compartments that each employee who works in one of those, non-assigned seat work stations can use.


This is their coffee machine...and I'm pretty sure it makes more that just coffee...and this isn't even the major one. The one in the main lobby has the two spouts like they use at Starbucks. Oh yeah, they have wireless in the main lobby, which also doubles as this area with nice cafeteria-like benches where employees can eat lunch or, as I was told, meet for informal meetings.

This is their kitchen. I would stop there but it gets even more serious. Up until recently, they had an in-house chef. Now they just use him/her on an as-needed basis.


Isn't that a cool mini-conference/meeting pod? They have all types of architecturally beautiful stuff like this all throughout the office.

Other observations...

• The retail leasing group has it all mapped out...Oxford Street that is. They literally have a map showing lease rates (on a PSF basis, surprisingly) depending upon where you are along the strip.
• We have an "Investments Group", and they basically manage large sums of money for several or our clients.
• London valuation has 25 to 30 people.
• Of the 3 business cards I got from people in valuation, each had an MRICS designation...and they couldn't have been older than early to mid 30's, if not late 20's.
• Each of the conference rooms is named after a country we have an office in, and the photos in the conference room are of buildings we've dealt with in some shape or form.
• We Americans use, on average, twice as much water to flush the toilet than they do in London. Not sure if the building is green, but they are definitely taking steps to become efficient.

In all, the London office is definitely an aesthetically pleasing place to work, but I don't know if I'd trade my door for it ;-).

Cheers.

One Night Only...

Yes. I'm bubblin', buzzin' and all of the above. But that's what u get when you get the real adventures of 'Frank'.

So after realizing that the Zara shirt had unmitigated iron marks on it, I had to go with the pink cashmere sweater that I wore on the plane.

*this is sooooo hard right now, but I ain't finna fold cause Langley finna recognize real and front me another half mil (which is like a drink in a London club)*

*did u get the 007 reference?*

Anyways, I had 3 choices..."Sports Cafe","Tiger Tiger" or "China White"

The only place I knew was Sports Cafe (caude Chirs showed it to me when we ent to Piccadilly Ciorcus toady), but when I git off the bus, and walked, I saw Tihet Tiger. But itv looked expenseive and likethey dodn't play hip-hop so I passed and wen to Sport s Cafe.

*I want all the viewers at home to know that I am allowing the drunkin typos to stay cause they provide for the art that is this blog*

I stayed there for a cuple of hours and bougt several whiskey and "cokes" (shout to Chirs) tghat were only 1 pound! (a deal by american standards!) and left by 1 am...just in time to miss he monday night footbal game that I wnet there to se in the firts place.

*If you were really inclined, you would see that one of my hands was ahead in terms of typing than the other and see which side of my brain was really in control. Anyways...*

*and these *'s were typed during the fiasco that is this blog...not some after editing type stuff*

So I left to embrke on the journey thaqt was finding "TIger Tiger" and "China White". Well "Tigher Tiger was found priotr to me getting to Sports Cafe so that's that. But China White is where the story gets interesting.

After my left contact almost fell out of my eye and I had to ride out with that dry piece of 20th century innovation in my eye, I happened upon a hotel awning...

It was a couple--a white lady from Atlanta and an Indian dude from...America. Be all end all, dude said New Yok trumped London...and he was a world traveler. Why? Casue the true measure of a city wqs what you could do on a weekeday...specifially a Monday or a Tiesday. See, every major city in the world has stuff poppoin on the weekend, but it takes a real wolrd-wide city to have something to do on a Monday or Tuesday. I thought of Fly on Mondays oin DC, but you really need a scene to take that crown. I haven't been to NY on 2 many of a monday nights, but I figure there's enough to do given the alcoves.

NEways, h esaid China white pops pff, but expect a cover. "Coool" and I was American walikng.

2 people gave me dircetions to tht damn club and they both got me disoriented. It took Bruno to steer me un the right direction. He aid China whit ewas that way, but it doens't popooff until tomorrow (ie. Tues). the spoy for tonite was "CaBARET" (my bad for the caps lock). and how right he wqs. It really reminded me of lFy on a monday night...afetr the peak. there was more swords than hearsts, but they could move 20x better tha the breezyes that I saw in Sports cafe. Beside,s there was this one smoke-breathed Euporean chick that kept egging me on some dance stuff tghat made me wonder of the 20x-European chick rule actually wporkss. (shout to deacon frost)

Anyways, bruno was going t the same bus stop afetr the clu that I was (pause) so it heklped my drunken internalization of the situation get home.

I know I;m doing this situation no justice cause the truth of the matter is that I learned a lot, from not ony Bruno but the European/British club scene as a whole...but I wanted this American art prevailed and I hop eu appreciated it for the beauty that it is.

Maybe in the futruet Frankfurt journeys you'll get something more refined but for now you need to go to sleep.

Cheeers.

Yesterday's "Cultural" Day Through London

OK, I ain't finna have as many "different" pictures in this post as I did in the post before. But that don't mean I still didn't do quite a bit...

After spending 2 hours of Saturday morning on Saturday's blog, I got showered and headed to this area of London called "Brixton" for a haircut. According to Kadija, who's from Northampton, England, and a lady I conversed with Friday night (both of whom are black), Brixton is one of the spots in London, if not the only spot, where a black man can find a decent barber. Kadija's claim that Brixton is somewhat like Landover, is somewhat of an accurate description. The only thing is Landover is definitely more spread-out while Brixton is pretty much a street. But the retail shops that line the street are pretty much what you would find in your average Landover strip mall. On second thought, its like what H Street would look like if it had less boarded up shops (i.e. what it will probably look like in 3-5 years). Anyways, I didn't get my haircut in "Brixton" proper, but on...


This is a street that branches off of Brixton and people who live/work along this street will tell you that its not Brixton. Anyways, the shop had 3 barbers in there and of the two I spoke with, neither was English; one was Jamaican and the other, who ended up cutting my hair, was African. Immediately after speaking like 4 words, they knew I was American and immediately "opened up" to me...if you will. The Jamaican guy was the most verbose of the two. While getting my haircut, we ended up chatting about a bunch of "American" stuff (like hip-hop, how the dollar is weak against the pound, Barack, etc.), but what stuck out the most was how this guy kept emphasizing how everything in America was, "so much bigger! You see that road out there out front how its two lanes? In America, that's ONE lane!" The funny thing is, he's never been to America...just has 7 brothers and one sister he sees during the holidays in Jamaica that tell him all about it.

Surprisingly, the African dude didn't push my wig (i.e. hairline) back--LIKE THEY DO IN TALLA-BAMMA-HASSEE--and gave a decent cut. Go figure. During the cut, the dude asked me how much a cut was in America. I felt he was setting me up so I told him $10...which is true at some shops (it's just I always get my 'stache and goatee shaped up, which costs extra, and tip well). There it was 8 lbs. ($16) and I passed the 2 lb. tip onto the dude. So in essence I paid the same for a comparable cut from back home (since I typically spend $20)...it's good deal! :tu

By then it was close to 3pm, so I hopped back on the tube to head back to Chris's apt so we could catch the infamous Portobello Street Market before it closed at 5.


Some artistically/culinarily-inclined/hippie folk would go absolutely NUTS out here. Sorry for the DC analogies, but basically imagine Georgetown (seriously, the length, look and feel of M Street (without the expensive cars)) as an open-air market with a section for antiques, a section for clothes (thrift included), a section for spices/fresh foods (vegetables or otherwise), and a section(s) for...I couldn't even tell you because in the hour that we were there, we didn't get that far. Also, the thing is Portobello Street doesn't close during the market. So all of the regular storefronts along the street, which by the way are awesome in and of themselves, are still open AND cars/vans still attempt to drive along the pedestrian-crowded street (replete with honked horns and agitated drivers/market-goers). Chris and I had the best bratwurst and homemade chicken-burger, respectively, from this truck out there. It has single-handedly caused me to make plans to come back to London for another weekend before I leave Europe.

At market close (5 pm), Chris and I headed back to the flat to prepare for the Armageddon that was about to be bestowed upon London --> "the 2007 Rugby World Cup Finals - England vs. South Africa." We went to this area called Leicester Square (pronounced "Lester Square"...what a waste of vowels). The area is normally known for its clubs (a girl in Footlocker told me so) that have covers that are astronomically expensive (Chris and Ming told me so). Jumping ahead a bit, after the game we strolled through the actual "square" where the clubs were and both assertions were confirmed. What they didn't say was how some English ladies there find our American accents to be the "sexiest thing in the world." I told them, "Likewise." They told me to keep talking...anyways, back to the actual game.


We went to this packed pub called "LongAcre" to watch the game. I didn't (and still don't exactly) know how the game of rugby works (you want a detailed explanation, here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rugby_union), but from my understanding of the game, from the tapes and what people told me, basically, you can't throw the ball forward. While you have the ball, you can run with it. When someone is tackled, the game doesn't stop, it keeps going, and members from both teams either try to strip the ball from the dude that has it or try to stop dudes from taking the ball away from their teammate after he's tackled so he can pass it (backwards) to one of them. At any time you can try to kick the ball into the uprights, after dropping it on the ground or something, for three points. Or, if you can touch the ball in the end zone (hence the term "touchdown"), you get five points. And, supposedly, a chance for an extra three points by kicking the ball into the uprights. When the ball goes out, the ball gets thrown back in (by the ref I think) but anyone can get it. They usually throw it super high (I mean so high that members from both teams propel their respective players into the air like an assisted jump). And then there's the "tension" as I call it-->basically the infamous shot that you always see of "rugby" where members of both teams have their arms and shoulders interlocked in a huge bunch. That basically happens after a penalty or something when the ref puts the ball back in play. The thing is, its not like they're fighting for the ball...no, one team has possession. Its just that the team with possession has the ball safely on the ground to the rear so that the other team can't reach it. All they're trying to do is move forward. When they feel they can't go forward anymore (cause the other team's interlocked shoulders are preventing forward progress), they pick up the ball and throw it backwards to another teammate who then tries to run it forward. Got that? I didn't think so.

Anyways, the game was uneventful as hell...and was told so by Englanders who follow the game. Actually, their verbiage was along the lines of "it was a very tactful/strategic game." In other words, every two minutes one of the teams kicked the ball out of bounds to establish field position. I'd say about the only thing interesting about the game was that every 5 minutes or so, all the England fans in the pub, which was about 85 percent of the pub, would break out into a rousing rendition of...

"Swing Low,
Sweet Chariott
Coming forth to carry me hoooooooooome;
Swiiiiiiiiiiiiiing Low,
Sweet Charrrrrrrrrioooooootttttttt
Coming forth to carry me hooooooooooome."

Well this automatically made Chris and I unofficial England fans seeing that England's anthem was an old Negro spiritual. Chris looked it up and supposedly back in the '80's, there was an important game where England was down towards the closing minutes of the game and there was a black guy that played for England that scored several times to give England the last-minute win. Someone sang it or something and it's been their rally song ever since. The funny thing is, even after England lost, dudes were still yelling it on the streets. lol.

Before going to Leicester Square for all of 15 minutes (we weren't paying a 15-lb. cover (i.e. $30) to get into a club) before heading home, we went to Mr. Wu's buffett in Chinatown to eat...(it was wack, by the way)


Nothing more to really say. Oh yeah...how could I forget. You know I had to make my infamous veggie lasagna from fresh carrots, squash, bell peppers, onions, basil, corriander, broccoli, cauliflower, Italian spices, 2 types of cheeses that I can't even remember nor pronounce, and (of course) portabella mushrooms; all purchased from the Portobello Street Market. Everything else was purchased from Chris's neighborhood supermarket called "Tesco." So I call this version, Frankfurt Freddie's Infamous "Porto-Tesco" Lasagna...


Cheers.

Yesterday's Token Day Through London

Growing up in the Nation's Capitol, I have seen my fair share of tourists. And I can't blame them for wanting to take in the city's many attractions. I can't even lie, before I left for college, I went around DC and did all the "tourist-y" stuff (i.e. Washington Monument, Capitol, Lincoln/Jefferson Memorials, Smithsonian, etc.) I had forgotten I'd done in my formative years. Anyways, yesterday was my first full day in London and I was going to be "that guy".

And what a beautiful day it was...

First and foremost, mind the street...it just may save your life. As an American, you'd be surprised how helpful these are when crossing the street (since they drive backwards out here)...and how fast they drive on London's narrow-a** streets.

Yeah...they ain't even got one in DC yet.

The menu at McDonalds. Multiply everything by 2 and you'll get the price in American dollars. If you look very close, you'll see that the price for a small fry is $1.78 and a "medium" Big Mac (tm) value meal is $7.38. According to Chris, doing the conversion to dollars in your head when purchasing just isn't worth it cause it'll just make you depressed and/or go postal.

This is Park Street. It runs along the east side of Hyde Park, which is London's equivalent to DC's Mall. See the buildings on the left, their ground floors contain every single luxury car dealership (foreign and domestic).

Token Buckingham Palace shot. I also have a shot without the "Sound of Music" taxi, but I personally think it gives the picture character.

Definitely a finalist. You got the Parliament, Big Ben and London Eye all in one shot on a beautiful day...that's what's up. And they say the weather's supposed to be like this all weekend.

The section of the Parliament that was (re)built in the mid-1800's. The only things missing are the gargoyles and dracula in the window telling you to come back later on tonight.

This is the section of the Parliament that was built around 1,000 years ago.

Wonderful shot of the London Eye over the River Thames (IMO, the clouds make the pic).

Wonderful desktop shot of the London Eye.

This pic was for Tres.

Along the walkway by the Jubilee Gardens, they have these street performers that go all out. This was one of 'em. It's kinda hard to see but if you throw some change in the bucket in front of the bike, he/she starts pedaling like an arcade game. Otherwise, it's as still as a statue.

OK, so here's my thing. I've seen this setup plenty of times in NY, the only difference is that instead of the "lb." sign in front of the 2 and 5 its a "$". Look, value is value. These same cheap earrings should not cost twice as much just cause I crossed the pond. Yes I understand that the British economy is doing better than the American economy right now. And I'm no arbitrage theory expert. But shouldn't there be twice as many tourists in London than in New York willing to buy this isht in order to support prices at this inflated level? I doubt that's the case.

The bathroom in Selfridges--sort of like the Bloomdales or Saks 5th Ave ON 5th Avenue in New York ON steroids. As I explained on the tape, the 2nd floor Selfridges contains EVERY men's designer label known to man. Anyways, I'm not sure if this is a London thing or not, but the toilet paper in the stall comes out of a dispenser like tissue. The result is the above if you're trying to drop a deuce.

Finally, in London they have this place called Argos, which is basically like a WalMart without the "Mart". It's basically like the area in Circuit City where you pick up the big electronic device you just bought, with a bunch of kiosks that have catalogues (shown above). Each catalogue, which is about 4 inches thick at least, contains every single item found in your neighborhood WalMart. You thumb through the catalogue and enter what you want to buy on a keypad (shown below...)

(the booklet shown above the catalogue, to my understanding, has coupons you can use). When you're done, I believe it gives you a receipt and you go to the "Circuit City" counter and pay/pick up your merchandise (home-delivery extra).

Well, those were the most informative shots of my first day in London. I got, I'd say, 5 hours sleep last night. Not because I stayed up late last night so much, but because its now 9:30am and I've been uploading photos into and typing this blog for the past 2 hours. But you know what...I'm finna take a shower and head to Brixton to get my hair cut<--I'll put you up on it tomorrow.

Cheers.

To Sleep or Not to Sleep...?

Pop quiz hot shot...

You're vistiting your friends and they have a 3-bedroom flat. One of the flat-mates is gone for the night.

Do you sleep on the designated couch...or in the empty bedroom?

Frankfurt Airport

After getting extremely excited that the taxi took me to the airport via the infamous AUTOBAHN (I was “vroom vroom!”-ing out loud the whole way, lol), I arrived at Frankfurt Airport only to find, for the first time in my life, I didn’t have to stand in the super long line to get my ticket (i.e. I was cised). There was only one person in line for British airways and, seeing that there was someone else in line, the lady who was helping them called her “colleague” over to the other kiosk to help me. And they both “spreckenzied” English (german for “’spoke’ English”). Anyways, I got my ticket and went through security no problem. Then I happened upon the duty free shop.

A funny thing about America. See we across the pond have what you call “states.” So 99 times out of 100, when we travel, the duty free shop (with its vast array of colognes, makeup, and fine liquors at cheap and tax-free prices) comes off as the biggest tease because we are traveling inside the country. In Europe, on the other hand, it seems if you want to go anywhere of interest (i.e. another major city), you have to travel from one country to another. Well guess what? I qualify, so I was up in that piece tryina come up on some deals. Unfortunately, the only thing I saw of interest was the Cliquot bottle with the sleeve I saw last year in the states during 2007 New Years. 33,40 euro→rough conversion to dollars at $1.40 per equals $46.

I feel you but I don’t feel you. It’d be nice to have a bottle to pop with Chris and Ming, but its not that serious. Besides, considering the currency rape that is the British lb., I’ll probably need that anyways to buy a small fry from McDonalds.

On my way to the gate, I thought about how painless this going through the airport process had been. *me thinking to myself* “Yeah, it was after 8pm on a Thursday evening, but most American airports would have had lines out the wazoo at the ticket counter and/or security check in…and they would have made me take off my shoes. I mean, even Heathrow had me go back through security on my layover to Germany. And they told this girl that she couldn’t take her water bottle through security. WHERE DO YOU THINK SHE GOT THE WATER FROM IN THE FIRST PLACE! AND they would have made me walk across the entire airport to my gate, and here gate E2 is…” I spoke too soon. Guess what? Another security check in. Now that doesn’t make ANY sense. Were the people at the first check-in that incompetent?

I asked if there were any restaurants after this check-in and she said no. So I went to the nearest food/drink area to write this blog.

After writing everything except these last sentences, I went through security, again...and this time they made me take off my belt.

Hows that for anti-climacticism. Who knows, I may come back later and jazz it up a bit with some pics. Actually I have one, but since the electric outlets in London are different than those in Germany, the pics may have to wait until my return to Berger Strasse.

The Berger Straße Market

Every Wednesday and Saturday, this...

turns into this...


I live on Bergerstraße (pronounced "bagger strasse"<--the little beta sign is equivalent to a double "s"<--shout to the real "Double S"). This street is quite possibly the BEST street for a foreigner to live on because everything I need (and I mean everything) is like within 2 blocks. There's the American sports bar ("Yours Sports Bar") that's two doors down from where I live, "Saturn" (which is basically like a Best Buy) that's two doors up), "Rewe" (the supermarket) that's not even two blocks up, Woolworths (the department store) that's near Rewe, etc. I could go on, and maybe I'll cover that in another blog, but today's is about the open air market that happens on my street every Wednesday and Saturday.

After seeing various fruits, vegetables, eggs, olives, chocolates, breads, cheeses and meats as I passed through during today's morning jog, I came to the conclusion that it was time to break my reluctance to "break out" my kitchen's pots and pans and it was time to make breakfast (hows that for a run on sentence, Josh). So after catching my breath from a rather exhaustive jog (partly because I didn't really know where I was going, I just jogged til I found home again), I headed up to the marketplace.

So as an American, what's the first thing you think I did...comparison shop. And it was then I realized that the idea of "efficient markets" really hasn't made its way to Frankfurt yet. Take grapes for example, there was one guy selling these smallish grapes (kind of like the ones they use to make wine from) for 2,50 euro per 500 grams (you do the conversion to $/lb.). But you walk a little further down (now mind you he was sort of in the cut though), and he was selling grapes at 1,90 euro per kg. Yeah, but here's the thing...

Now I'm not sure if this is German custom or if they're just trying to get a sale out of the non-german speaking american. But I would ask as best I could (via my handy-dandy english-to-german pocket translator) how much ("wie viel") something was by pointing. They would then say extremely fast some indiscernible number that has eurocents greater than 10 and then proceed to bag it up. Now me being the American I am, I would tell them that I would try to say no and that I would come right back, and they would say the german version of "ok", but I could see it in their eyes like they expected me to come back and purchase what I had only asked (in german mind you) how much it costed.

Take for example the olive guys. I figured since they were selling some fresh olives that they might have some fresh olive oil from the rolling meadows of the German country-side. Nope, that isht was from Greece and it was 4,90 euro. I figured if I'm going to get some pre-bottled oil, then I'm going to go to Rewe and probably cop the same thing, only cheaper. But when I said I'd come back, the guy smiled and said no problem...but didn't take the olive oil back out the bag. I thought that was a bit strange, but people say I think too much so I thought nothing further about it. But when I returned, after purchasing cheaper olive oil from Rewe, the dude recognized me and got the olive oil (still in the bag mind you) from one of the tables in the back. So here's where it gets interesting.

The guy spoke a little english, so I told him that I didn't want the olive oil but was curious about what looked like mozzarella (matter fact, that was the only reason I came back to his stand in the first place). He said it wasn't mozzarella but was feta cheese and if I wanted mozzarella that I should go to the stand directly across the way that sold all types of cheeses. I "danke-d" him up and went over to the other stand only to find out they only had those fresh mozzarella balls that are submerged in all that liquid. I was looking for the mozzarella that was in the same rectangular shape as the feta cheese. But they did have "English cheddar" (which I wanted for my scrambled eggs) so I bought that. But then, as I was leaving the stand, the olive guys then yelled out to me telling me that the mozzarella was over at the stand I just left from (as if they had been watching the entire transaction at the cheese stand). I told them I wanted the mozzarella to have the same shape and consistency as the feta cheese at their stand, and that they didn't have it. Then I left. And people think I overthink too much cause while I was purchasing the cheddar, I though to myself that if those olive guys were peeping, they would think I was bullshitting them on the olive oil...when the truth of the matter was I did want some manageable mozzarella but they were selling feta...and they charge too much for olive oil.

Then there's the lady who sells eggs. Thanks to Rosetta Stone, I know that 3 is "drie" in german. BUT STILL, I put up 3 fingers then pointed to an egg. The lady kept trying to sell me 6 and 10 at a time. then I figured "oh", 6 is the least you can purchase. At the time, I had forgot how to say "how much" in german ("wie viel"), so I figured I'd use the universal signal for how much...rubbing my fingers together then pointing at the eggs. She didn't get it. Then I took money out of my pocket, then pointed to the eggs. She didn't get it. Luckily, a young girl who spoke decent Englih helped us out and told me that I could in fact purchase 3 eggs. I then told the lady I'd be back. But when I returned, the lady had FOUR eggs boxed up for me. I'm telling you, they keep trying to get the foreigner.

Then there's the meat lady. They already had the bacon packaged and it was simple enough to find because one of the words on the label had "spreck" in it ("bacon" in german). But they had all these types of sausage. Luckily, she spoke decent english, so I asked her what types of sausage do they eat for breakfast. She said they don't discriminate...all types of sausage are fair game. She then proceeded to ask me what types of sausage do I like. I said "polska kielbasa". Not sure if she knew to what I was referring, but then she started pulling out some sausages. I told her that I wasn't going to buy sausage today but on saturday. She acted as if she understood, but then proceeded to have me sample some sausages. One of them was rather good and I told her so. She then asked me if I wanted a half link or whole link. I though to myself "damn...", then said "gimme a half link."

Man, I don't know what the moral is. Is it that things are just done differently in other countries? Is it that I need to beware cause if they can, they will try to get the non-german-speaking american (i.e. next time at the market I need a translator)?

Take from it what you will...but they do have a lot of good stuff at the market (ex. they have absinthe-filled chocolates).

The Shower

This being my first blog entry, let me preface it with the following...

I was/am not a journalist major. So if my entries end up being short cause my hands get tired from typing...there you go. If I end sentences with prepositions, then that's the way it'll be. If I switch between 1st, 2nd, and 3rd person, then adapt. If I miss capitalizations or contractual apostrophes...hopefully you get the picture.

Lastly, I'm going to attempt to let this blog be purely about my experiences in Europe and not my non-Euro-centric musings otherwise (I'll save those for the tapes). That said...

Those I've emailed/chatted with all ready know that my shower is the most ergonomically incorrect contraption I've seen in a while. I mean, I know historically Europeans were shorter than the average American...but damn! The height in my shower can't be any more than 1.6764 meters (for all you metrically challenged Americans, that equates to 5'6"). Now, the building I'm in, according to the landlord, somehow survived the WWII decimation bestowed upon Frankfurt and is somewhere close to 100 years old. I said that to make the point that the ceilings throughout the rest of the apartment are, using the time-tested "hand-on-the-wall" measuring system us appraisers have come to rely upon, roughly 3.6576 meters (12 feet)--which is typical for many older buildings (don't ask me to prove it or anything though). But still, you mean to tell me they couldn't give us another measily 0.3048 meters (a foot), or even 0.1524 meters (ahh, you math-heads probably figured it out to be...6 inches), to preclude us flat-dwellers from developing a hunchback during our stay. Maybe that was their point...

Anyways, from the picture you can see that the hook for the removable shower head faces the shower curtain, and not the back of the length of the tub. What I'm not sure if you also saw was that the only way the the shower head can be placed into the hook is by having the side where the water jets out facing the wall. So basically, there's no pre-lather "ahh" that I'm sure all Americans have grown accustomed to having right when you step in the shower in the morning (or after a long jog (or when you're sick, etc.)) and that beautifully temperate water hits your skin. NONE OF THAT HERE! The height alone of this shower has turned what is considered by most to be a "refreshing" part of the day into a cold exercise of "get yourself clean and be on with it!"

Now make no mistake, this shower succeeds beautifully at three things many of the American showers from my past have failed at...water temperature, water pressure, and water drain.

Water Temperature. The water is hot enough for my standards, which according to the Hard Rock Hotel in Hollywood, FL is around 43.3 degrees Celsius (110 degrees Fahrenheit), AND equally important, the faucet has extra room to turn so if I need it to get hotter...I have that option.

Water Pressure. Can't be too hard to fail at this one seeing you have a removable shower head, but some places have failed at this as surpiring as it sounds. All I need is enough to make sure there isn't a soapy film left on my skin afterwards--this shower head passes the test.

Water Drain. This is as "pet" a peeve of mine as "Fido" the dog, "Muffins" the cat and "Goldie" the goldfish. There is absolutely nothing worse that having your feet take a bath with the same dirty water you have just showered off your body. And then when you get out, you either soak up the towel outside the shower or leave a foot trail of yesterday's funk for a good 20 or so steps...not cool. Anyways, this drain does what its supposed to do...drain.

And in these three respects we're cool. But its the actual process of how to shower in this "bath with vaulted ceilings" that has me baffled. Yes, I tried taking a shower as if it were a bath, but then how do you get your back. Besides...oh I forgot...

Remember earlier how I said the shower head faces the same wall on which the shower hook rests? Well, for those of you that have a removable shower head, I'd be willing to bet that you have taken for granted the fact that you still have the option to put the shower head back on its hook and use two hands to lather while still having access to a stream of water (and no I do NOT use a loofa...its against my principles). Well, since I don't have this luxury, I'm left with one of three options:

1) still put the shower head back on its hook (causing this humongous and irritating backsplash of water as it hits the wall 4 cm away);

2) turn off the water altogether, thereby providing for either a very dry or sporadic lather (as I have to turn the water off and on to wet the soap)

3) switch the water to the tub faucet...which leads me to the next thing about the shower. the button for the tub faucet doesn't stay down--you push it and it comes right back up. As if it is delighted in trying to forstall an amicable showering experience.

If I try to use one hand to lather the soap (i.e. still hold the shower head)...I ain't that talented. You can try just letting go of the shower head, but then it spins in a wild circle getting everything wet, including the bedroom floor...oh, did I forget to mention that the shower and sink are directly in the corner of my bedroom. In all truthfulness I really don't mind cause that area has ceramic tile while the rest of the bedroom has wood floors. The only thing that's irritating is that the room is too large to steam up...but I guess that's mainly the fault of the 3.6576 meter ceilings. I've also tried holding the shower head with my knees, but the shower head, due to the water pressure, always finds a way to escape my clutch or ultimately aim for the one spot that isn't blocked by the shower curtain--water which inevitably finds its way to the floor outside the shower (i.e. my bedroom).

Hey...I ain't complaining. Cause truth be told, I'm loling throughout the enitre shower. It's really funny to me how a shower can be set up as such. But really its moreso a challenge to try to figure out how best to position myself and the shower head to make for the correct showering experience given the circumstances. I'm sure I'll figure it out...but until then...