Here I am in Heidelberg.
Not for any particular reason. It
was a reasonable stopping point between Brussels and Vienna (where I need to be
on 19 Dec, in order to meet Lindsey). I
think I picked it for the anthropologically romantic notion of seeing Homo heidelbergensis. But of course, only a replica is on
display. However, the Old Town is a
lovely place, and the Christmas markets are in full swing here. I expect to be spending quality time in them
until the Advent. One enormous boost
being that they make it socially acceptable to both eat and drink while
standing and walking (not always acceptable in Europe), making for cheaper
meals and social interaction. Plus, free
gingerbread tastings at every corner!
I did climb the hill to see the Schloss this morning. It was interesting enough and brought to mind
the notion that castle builders must have been rather good with hydro
engineering. What with the rain,
snowmelt, and random springs, building good gutters and drainage is a
must. The Schloss is a good example of
what can go wrong if your powder is stored inappropriately. Illustration of destroyed tower below:
And as you can see, I am getting better at the selfie (aka
longarm per Claire’s lingo). The problem
has arisen that every time I try to practice, some very friendly fellow tourist
offers with gestures to take my camera and snap me. I wouldn’t precisely call it frustrating, but
it is amusing. I keep waiting for someone,
anyone, to be rude, nasty, impatient, or otherwise unpleasant. Hasn’t happened.
Bizarrely, I was getting quite good at French while in
Brussels, and even managed decently in Flemish.
I am quite lost in German.
However, I’ve got at least another 12 days to work up to a semblance of
understanding. I expect to be lost again
once I switch the Czech, and then there is Greek and Turkish…. Really, there was never any point in trying
to pick up a language before beginning this jaunt. I continue to do well with my menu
linguistics – I’m polishing off a nice prawn and arugula pasta with a glass of
wine, followed by tiramisu. One cannot
live on wurst alone.
In the interests of education and amusement, I am reading
Mark Twain’s Innocents Abroad. It seems
most apt. Tho’ I will admit to reading
Nancy Mitford’s Christmas Pudding while staying in Brussels, borrowed from my
hosts. It should have been Christmassy,
but her brand of character assassination isn’t precisely Christian, is it? She’s like a viperous P.G. Wodehouse, in the
best possible way.