Funky Photos

Some of the odd photos I took on this last trip:

The doorknobs have fingers . . . 

My very own stationery store

A lovely bath is bearstrong

More stories from France and Germany to come . . .

Happy Birthday, Dad

Today would be the 94th birthday of my father, were he still alive. I miss him.

Being a pilot in World War II was a time that affected the rest of his life. It left him with painful memories and feelings of guilt that he never quite conquered.

But when I think about what I know about him, I know that he loved the circus, and the movies. Both of these affections started when he was young. He remembered the circus coming to town and going to the Saturday matinees of the latest western serial.

Although he continued to attend the circus all his life, we bonded more successfully over films. After my parents separated, we spent Sundays together and going to the movies was a frequent choice of activities. We would go to new releases, old films, and sometimes special showings.

I remember soaking the knees of my jeans with my tears at a showing of How Green Was My Valley, and being introduced to the films of Frank Capra, whom my father worked for. Occasionally, I even got the chance to go to work with him, and hang around the prop truck, wardrobe truck, and watch the filming happen. They were fun times.

Dad also loved rollercoasters and rode on them every chance he could. Looking at the smile on his face in that open cockpit makes me think it was a poor substitute for flying.

Our relationship had its ups and downs over the years, although for the last thirty years we were good. I know that all his experiences made him who he was, and I loved him. I wish he were still around so I could call and sing to him on his birthday.

Another successful trip

I've been traveling a lot this year, and I am refusing to feel guilty. Flexible and frequent travel times are one of the reasons I like to have a year off. And I'm proud of all we've seen and done in this short trip. Art exhibits, ancestral villages and lots and lots of walking.

My niece and I have been having a good, and sometimes frustrating time, practicing our German skills. We have gotten very experienced at navigating the transit systems of each new city. Churches, castles, and town halls have been visited and dogs and cats have been petted at every opportunity.

There's been good and not-so-good weather as we visited town, village, city and capital. Last night in a drizzle we managed to wander into two different fests in Frankfurt, one for apple wine and one for eating. It seemed to be our duty as tourists to sample the goods at both.

It was clearly our least healthy dinner yet, but very fun. We enjoyed large glasses of apple wine that was cheaper than wine or soda, fried potato pancakes, a waffle with bananas and Nutella, and freshly peeled and fried potato chips.

Success, indeed.

Mannheim, Viernheim, Feudenheim, heim!

Yes, we went to many 'heims'.

After such a good day on Wednesday, yesterday was the physical equivalent of what a genealogist probably often encounters while researching. Lots of closed doors, but with open windows somewhere else. We heard "not here, but maybe if you go to x" many times.

Ancestral village number 3 seemed very nice, although someone from the nearby big city called it "horrible" and wondered why any tourists would want to go there. We did see one tremendously unique invention: a day-old bread automat next to the closed bakery. We got some fun breads at very cheap prices for today's meals. Ingenious!

But at the end of the day, mostly what we had was sore feet, and only a few email addresses that might bear fruit in the future.

A day in the life . . . 

Jackpot!

From small suggestions come big results. The genealogist is going to have a small calf, heck, maybe a big calf, because I have in my possession a special book.

But back to the beginning of the day, when we were quite downtrodden . . .

When we mentioned our dismay that the churches in town were locked, someone suggested trying the side door. Bless whoever that was! The side door was indeed open because there was a lady vaccuuming. She went for the pastor, and he came bearing a name and address of the man who knew everything about the the history of the town.

We went and knocked on the door, and his wife rode off on her bike to fetch him home. Thereafter followed more than four hours with Gerd conversing about a wide range of topics, including emigration, immigration, the changing channel of the Rhein, and the importance of the customs house (pictured below) in the development of Neuburg am Rhein.

We were also given lunch, a personal tour of the village museum, and finally a ride to the train station with a promise of doing it better the next visit.

Oh and that book, wherein there are over 4000 names from the village with their genealogy from 1900 to the beginning of the town's records. And a map that made my jaw drop! Gerd started working on the records in 1979. He was also instrumental in the creation of the museum.

What luck for us that he was home yesterday!

Dashed Hopes

We arrived yesterday at the second ancestral village, although the woman who I spoke to at the hotel assured me it was almost impossible to get there without a car. Actually, trains and busses run there regularly, although a change or two is necessary.

In any case, we arrived and we were happy to get there on a Monday night, because the Rathaus (town hall) is only open from 9-12 on Mondays and Tuesdays. Imagine our disappointment when we saw this notice on the board:

This tells everyone that due to vacation during the Kalendar Week 22 (this week), the office will only be open on Monday. (By the way, this notice was not posted on the website!)

So, we are now at a bit of a loss as to what to do next. We hope the museum will still be open as scheduled and we were informed by our waitress last night that there are still "lots" of people in town with our surname, but we know of only one. We have to muster our bravery and make a phone call.

Adventures, indeed.

Who knew?

A few nights ago, we ate this amazing skillet full of potatoes, onions and cheese. My companion had a local cheese, Ribeaupierre, with wild garlic (in French, one says garlic of the bears). I asked for a local cheese as well and the waitress recommended the Munster.

But in the back of my mind, I was thinking, Munster's not local...

The king of all knowledge, though, tells me that I am confused. Apparently, I am mixing up Munster, the cheese from Alsace, with Muenster, the American cheese. (It's also sometimes called Munster.)

And amazingly enough, neither of these two cheeses have anything to do with Muenster, the town in Germany!

Learning while eating, that's my kind of travel.