Might Not Come Home?

Just kidding.  I'll be home.  But not for another four weeks.  HOLLA!

Update needed.  Let's see where we have been since Operation: Ibiza:

• Ibiza - Yes, yes, there were two more nights in Ibiza.  I've received some messages from concerned readers (Hint:  Starts with an "M" and ends with a "om") about the amount of "partying" going down thus far.  Don't worry, the partying has taken a backseat.  But that doesn't mean that the parties at Amnesia, Ushuaia, and Space will go without being recognized.  They were beyond amazing.  Foreshadowing:  Jumbo jets, fireworks, pool parties, no air conditioning, an entire hostel of party-goers, and Armin van Buuren.
• Barcelona - Beautiful city.  Speaking Spanish gets me more stoked than a lot of things in this current life - even though I still think they need to forget the whole Catalan seceding from Spain thing and get over themselves.  Beaches were incredible, the Barrio Gotic even more magnificent, four Spanish guitar masters took my breath away, Parc Guell (Antoni Gaudi, you're the man) takes the cake - the architecture, art, landscaping, and city views will never be forgotten.  Thank you Candace and Carolyn for the hospitality - my Fantasy Football team would be plagued with autopicks if it weren't for you.  We witnessed FC Barcelona beat Villareal by a score of 5-0.  Live.  At Camp Nou.  Sitting next to lifelong Barcelona fans.  Thiago, Alexis, Fabregas, and Messi (twice) scored.  Seriously?
• Lyon - Spent only one night, less than this city deserves.  First time since our departure that I truly felt like an outsider.  Aside from the hostel attendant and Camille (a charming young lady we met right outside the train station), no one we encountered spoke English.  Love this dynamic.  Another Nominee for Best Meal greeted us here.  The hostel was refreshing in that it wasn't full of maniacal kids trying to party.  The other 13 males in our dorm were students in the area, looking for permanent housing, but mostly preparing for university the next day.  A full night's sleep without people arriving and departing at strange hours was brilliant.
• Chamonix-Mont Blanc - No question, the most enticing location we have seen thus far.  Probably because it's a legendary ski town, with amazing outdoors activities, and the geology gets me more excited than the bro-in-training from the "Stacy's Mom" music video.  Our hikes and climbs took me back to Colorado mentally, pushed me physically, and reinforced my love for outdoor activities.  We had a hotel room to ourselves - a quaint, three bed dorm with a sink and closet.  Provided the first opportunity to completely unpack and spread out our belongings.  Early nights allowed for early rises and optimal hiking conditions.  The Alps are vicious.  Incredible mountains, faces vary from flat trails to sheer cliffs.  Glaciers, diminished from their historical magnitude, carve the mountain ranges faster and clearer than any erosional force on the planet.  Boulders turn to sand as you ascend these slopes.  I reminisced of my final project in Tectonic Geomorphology as I rotated in place, taking in the environment, observing the terrain, and quietly whispering 'glacial till', 'terminal moraine', 'dropstone', 'striations', and other terms retrieved from Occidental Geology classes.  After that hike, I visited the Musee des Cristaux, the Museum of Crystals and Minerals.  Mad, mad geology love during these two days.  Nothing beats a genuine interaction with nature.
• Paris - Fine.  Parisians are Parisians.  We saw the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame, and the Rodin Musuem.  Beautiful sights, but nothing more than the things we needed to do while in this famous city.  Save an exceptional meal at a traditional French restaurant close to our hostel, these typical tourist visits were sufficient for our Paris experience.  Stay tuned for my personal favorite handwritten chapter of TAORM:  Comedy at the Expense of Others.  Paris provided the hardest laughs up to this point, which is saying a lot considering I laughed/cried for joy in Ibiza, cracked up in Barcelona, and laughed in amazement in Chamonix.  Do not miss that upcoming entry.
• Bruges - It's in Belgium.  Yes, I've seen the film In Bruges, it's one of my favorite films.  Yes, I watched it while I was there.  Yes, I quoted it an inappropriate amount of times while in Bruges.  Bruges may or may not be a shithole, as Ray (Colin Farrell) suggests in the movie.  Regardless, the place was an absolute KICK.  Could not have asked for more out of our two nights there.  Bike rides, sightseeing, brilliant fellow travelers, friendly locals, swans, canals, cobble streets, Belgian beer, out-of-tune pianos, the blood of Christ, intellectual conversation.  I could go on and ON.  Bruges was the shit.
• Amsterdam - Surprisingly disappointing.  It rained the entire time we were there; we were lost most of the time we were there.  Lost, soaking wet, and reeling from the coffeeshop effect, I was not a happy camper.  The Van Gogh Museum was a highlight and Red Light District was something else. Other than that, it's a good thing there is only one Amsterdam in the world, for the sake of humanity.
• Berlin - Way too sick.  The history is inescapable.  Hands down the most important city of the 20th century, one can't go anywhere without seeing traces of globally significant influences here.  From the Reichstag to the Berlin Wall to the Olympiastadion, I was taken aback by the symbolism associated with every sight.  Hitler's fingerprints still remain and it is easy to tell that the city (and Germany itself) are still developing their identities following the travesties incurred during the 1900's, with Berlin as the political center of it all.  The nightlife was exceptional, Mauer Park on a Sunday is something every youth of our generation should experience, and the Berlin Zoo is among the best in the world.
• Prague - Clean, friendly, and welcoming.  Another city wrought with history unlike any other we've seen.  Our first Pub Crawl of the trip happened here, with the final stop being the Karlovy Lazne, a five story club in the heart of town.  We met a group of Irish travelers in our hostel who proved invaluable club-goers and sightseers.  Thank you, Chelsea, Trevor, and Joey for your companionship during this time.  Best of luck on your future travel endeavors and I look forward to meeting you again.

And then we arrive in Nuremberg.  After a travel morning similar to our venture from Dublin to Liverpool (no this is not a pattern), our first day in Nuremberg/Amberg was magnificent.

9:30 am in Prague was unwelcome at first.  Didn't get back to the hostel until around 4:45 that morning and I was not pleased to hear the amateurs in our room loudly discussing how all of them threw up the night before.  Whatever, we had a bus to catch.  As we gather our belongings and get ready for the day, I get caught up in reminiscing about the night before.  I remind one girl that, once her friends so graciously dropped her stumbling-drunk ass off in the room, I witnessed her fall down the stairs on two instances, one of which included a painful looking head-smash on an opposing staircase.  Once my chivalry was exhausted, the Argentinian couple took over and got her in bed.  That was around 10:30pm.  We went out and had a kicker with Trevor and Chelsea - bar hopping, dancing, drinking, sneaking in and getting free shots with sponsored Pub Crawls.  Killer night.

The morning naturally involved killing the remainder of our bottle from the night before.  This negated my sure hangover and exacerbated Tyler's.  The bus ride to Nuremberg was hilarious.  Tyler was passed out most of the time but I spent my time writing down everything that was going on - interactions with other passengers, my personal endeavors, views out the window, music from the iWomp, etc (for that entire record, please email me or contact me personally).  It was glorious.  My favorite interaction occurred as I found my way down to the main floor of our double decker bus to use the bathroom.  Semi-drunk, iPod on blast, I find the coffee station outside of the water closet.  Picture this image: me, emerging from the restroom, seeing coffee readily available, fist pumping and smiling at the realization, slowly dancing and bobbing my head, responding to the erratic motion of the bus, filling up what I would consider the most perfect cup of coffee in the world.  The proportion of milk to coffee to sugar was immaculate.  As I prepare to top it off and return to my seat, the bus steward literally pushes me aside and flips out.

Steward:  What are you doing?!  I AM STEWARD, NOT YOU!

Me:  (removing one headphone)  Whoa, whoa, whoa, don't spill that coffee, bitte (means 'please' in German).

Steward:  I am steward, not you.

Me:  (removing second headphone) What are you talking about?  I can steward this coffee pot just fine.

Steward:  I am steward, not you.

Me:  Yeah, yeah, I heard that.  Care to top that off for me?

Steward:  Euro and fifty.

Me:  I thought this was free, it looks free to me.

Steward:  EURO FIFTY!

Me:  (glare)

Steward:  (holds out hand)

Me:  Fine.  (Pay Euro, fifty).  Care to top that off?

Steward:  (Ignores me completely)

Me:  (Politely) Would you mind filling that up?

Steward:  (Ignores me completely)

Me:  Please?

Steward:  NO!

Me:  (Replace headphones, dance my way upstairs)

Doesn't sound very funny now, but it was hilarious.  She wouldn't look me in the eyes for the remainder of the ride.

So we get to Nuremberg, and we are stoked.  Thus begins our three day vacation from hostels, eating in common kitchens, and sleeping in the same room as one another.  Massive shout out to Bryan Rodman (B-Rod) for the hospitality.  So good to see you, my friend.  Colorado flags and high school memories sum up this reunion except for the fact that we're in the middle of Germany.  B-Rod picks us up from the train station; the first question he asks: "Do you want to go to a 1. FC Nurnberg match?  They are playing Werder Bremen in ten minutes."

Yes.  Yes, we do.

It begins to drizzle rain right before he got to the station.  Once we get in the car, the sky opens up.  Sitting in the backseat of the only Dodge Durango in probably all of Germany is a nice taste of home.  Shipped over from the states, this green truck is hands down the biggest vehicle on the road and difficult to maneuver in most parking lots.  Regardless, B-Rod has it down and we are on a mission to get to this soccer match.  Once we get to the stadium, it's pouring rain.  Ask us if we care.  A brisk walk turns into a light jog.  Not more than two minutes from the parking lot, I have both flip-flops in my hands, my raincoat is soaked through, my shorts have turned two shades darker, and my bare feet are the cleanest part of my body from stomping through puddles on the street.  We can hear the FC Nurnberg fans chanting and singing from the stadium grounds, enhancing our appetite to see the match.  A short break under a bridge precedes a dead sprint through incessant rain and spurts of hail en route to the football grounds.  Dripping wet and ticketless we approach the box office.  The match is completely sold out but does not deter our intention to get in that stadium.  After another sprint to the opposite side of the field, we understand the only possible way to get in is to scalp some tickets from fans leaving the game.  I find one willing patron to sell me theirs for a meager 10 euro, Tyler and B-Rod find another couple and grab their tickets for a similar price.  Golden.  Let's get in there, second half starts in five minutes.

Neither of their tickets work.  Apparently, their previous owners failed to scan themselves out of the game when they left.  This renders their tickets void.  Mine, however, works like a charm.  One security guard escorts them to the ticket office to get their tickets redeemed as I stand inside the gates trying to negotiate with guards to let my friends in (fail, considering I speak NO German).  The guard helping them returns and notifies me that the name on the ticket does not match that of my friends.  I stand torn - I want to go to this match, but my friends can't.  We are separated by a entry gate and a turnstile.  I look at my friends, then back at the stadium, then at my friends, I don't know what to do.  Right before I accept the loss and remove myself from the grounds, the guard gives them the nod - forget the turnstile, walk around it, and enjoy the match.  We were there.  FC Nurnberg vs. Werder Bremen.  The second we got inside, the rain stopped and the sun came out.  YES.  YES.  YES.  YES.  Let's go.

Our seats are in section 9.  The hooligan section.  It looks more like a college football game than a Bundesliga match.  Flags are waving, die-hard fans are chanting along with the shirtless crowd leaders at the front of the section.  FC Nurnberg jerseys outnumber regular garb 3:1.  There aren't seats, it's standing room only, and you better hold your ground or you'll get pushed out of your line of view.  The atmosphere is electric as the second half kicks off.  Werder Bremen is playing a man down due to the goaltender's red card in the first.  FCN is attacking our end of the stadium - they dominate possession, berate the goalie with shots on net, and ignite the spectators (particularly our section) in song and cheer.  Before this match, I could name zero players on FCN; I speak four words of German; and I can hardly relate to the love a European town maintains for their home football team.  Regardless of these facts that fundamentally differentiate me from this crowd, I feel like one of them.  The songs they sing are decades old - I don't know the words.  The chants have been passed down through generations - I clap along, but don't know the proper form.  Nurnberg scores - I celebrate and exchange high fives with the 60-something year old standing behind me as our section ERUPTS in cheer, beers launch into the sky, flags wave wider, and B-Rod captures every second on an iPhone video (coming soon).  Beautiful, beautiful madness.  This one half of Bundesliga football surpassed our experience at Camp Nou in Barcelona.  Yes, we saw world-class players play and score fantastic goals at Camp Nou.  Yes, 100,000 people in a single stadium is a sight to behold.  That 5-0 victory Barcelona spanked on Villareal demonstrated their utter superiority in the spectrum of international football - I will never forget witnessing that.  However, the equalizing goal we saw at the Frankenstadion this day was superior in spectator appreciation and personal sentiment - from this day forth, my favorite Bundesliga football squad will be 1. FC Nurnberg.  Ask me, I dare you.

The match ends a 1-1 draw.  Overly stoked at what just happened, how we got there, and where we were headed, I would have been pleased to call it a day then and there.  Fortunately, Nuremberg has more to offer than that.  Not a five minute walk from the stadium lie the grounds of the Nuremberg Rallies - large Nazi propaganda events that took place between 1923 and 1939.  The primary purpose of the gatherings held in these fields was to strengthen the image of Adolf Hitler as Germany's savior.  The area itself is larger than twelve football fields combined; Nazi troops flanked Hitler as he addressed the masses and they, in turn, swore their allegiance and marched before him.  After World War II, in their own act of patriotic symbolism, the American troops blew up a gigantic swastika at this sight.  I instantly recognize the stands from historic photographs.  We circumnavigate the fields, peering in between the remaining barriers.  A group of women were running the steps, now converted for recreational use, as we scaled the historic stairs towards the stage.  Surveying the expansive fields, I imagined them full to capacity, organized in strict, deliberate rows of soldiers and civilians all with complete focus on one stage and one man.  I wait for a few other tourists to exit the platform as I try to comprehend the historical significance of this location.  Once they leave, I watch my feet and slowly climb the seven stairs up to the platform, stand in the dead center, and raise my eyes to behold the vast arena in front of me.  Hitler once stood exactly where I am standing right now.  He addressed thousands of people at a time, millions over the years, from this landing.  The most maniacal, and yet influential, leader of the 20th century convinced the population of this country to embark on, arguably, the most horrendous, grievous, unforgivable reign of genocide man has ever seen - from where I stand at this moment.  Difficult to comprehend, but easy to see.  I can't explain how I felt standing on that platform.

From there we walked to the Nazi Congress Hall, another wonder of the Nazi party.  Unfinished in its construction, it still inspires awe from those who see it.  A bride, groom, bridesmaids, and groomsmen were getting professional photos taken in the courtyard.  I wondered if they chose the location for aesthetics or symbolism, hoping it was the former.

The night was still young.  We drove for about ten minutes and grabbed dinner at a world-famous sausage restaurant.  This is funny because it is actually famous, and I never once knew what it was called.  All I know is I was hungry.  We ordered 10 sausages each (they were small), one order with sauerkraut, one with horseradish, one with potatoes, and three steins of beer.  Glory.  Seated right next to the grill, I watched the cooks prepare upwards of 200 sausages for the entire restaurant as we cleaned our plates.  The whole meal took approximately 24 minutes from the time we sat down to the time we stood up.  So good.

What do you know, Charlemagne built a castle right next to this restaurant.  Or was it vice versa?  We walked around the ruins and overlooked Nuremberg before getting back to the car and drove to B-Rod's house in Amberg, about 40 minutes away.  I fell asleep on the drive, but was pleased to see we made it safely.

The next day consisted of a train ride to the town of Regensberg and a good amount of sightseeing there.  An incredible cathedral (second only to Prague Castle, in my book) was the highlight.  We visited the Historical Museum and overlooked objects dating back to the Stone Age.  Only downfall: visitor signs were in German.  I can't read German.  I made up my own stories for each artifact.  Pretty sure they weren't far from the truth.  

Today will go down as the first "Do Nothing Day" of the entire trip.  B-Rod has to work at 6:00 in the morning, but has a 50'' plasma television.  Not only were we able to stream the Denver Broncos game LIVE last night, but we have watched two episodes of Game of Thrones, and played multiple games of FIFA 11 (Tyler is 1-12, by the way).  This morning we reserved a hostel in Salzburg, our destination after Oktoberfest, a ferry from Split, Croatia to Ancona, Italy, and a ferry from Bari, Italy to Patras, Greece.  I'd say we're doing alright.

So here I sit, wearing our newly purchased lederhosen (see Facebook) - which has edged out my newest swimsuit (88% polyester, 12% spandex) as the best garment purchase of 2011.  SportsCenter on the tube, shooting the shit with B-Rod and Bowman (both rocking lederhosen).  This is the life.  Tomorrow we leave for Munich, and Oktoberfest.

Dirndl's are revealing.  Can't wait.