Germany/Ireland — Addenda

Book.  In the Frankfurt airport on my way to Ireland, I wanted to get something to read on the plane and in restaurants in Ireland. I found a book called Have a Little Faith by Mitch Albom, who wrote Tuesdays with Morrie and a couple of other pretty good books. Of course the title grabbed my attention, and I bought it. It's the parallel stories of his writing the eulogy for his childhood rabbi (at the rabbi's invitation) and his dealings with a reformed drug dealer/addict who was pastor of a small Christian church in Detroit. It was interesting and easy to read. I guess Albom believes that there is a God who leads people to do good things (which I also believe), and that exactly how you express your belief doesn't matter as long as you have a little faith (which I don't quite agree with). By the time I got home, I had finished the book. It has a lot of interesting stories about the rabbi and the pastor and things they did and things that happened to them.

British Couple. Thursday morning at breakfast I exchanged pleasantries with a British couple. If memory serves, they were from Brighton, and some of her family had come from Monaghan. They asked if I knew of any good restaurant for dinner. I mentioned that the best I had been to so far was Andy's, where I had had dinner the previous evening (and it really was quite good). It turns out they were the couple seated near me whom I had heard complaining about slow service. So I mentioned the Westenra Arms. I think they had been there also and found it unsatisfactory. The only other place I had gone for dinner was The Squealing Pig, which was mentioned on the Monaghan website. The dining room was upstairs, the pub downstairs. The food was tasty enough, but definitely not gourmet. I was satisfied with it. So when the man asked how it was I said something like "adequate" to which he replied that when Americans say it's adequate that means it's dreadful. They seemed like nice enough people, but it's too bad that they couldn't be satisfied in places I found quite good. I think in general, when people travel "on holiday" they should be willing to accept that things won't always be like home nor "five star." And to expect anything better than the Westenra Arms or Andy's (neither of which had anything wrong with it IMO) in an off-the-beaten-track place like Monaghan is really unreasonable. I was pleasantly surprised to find anything two places that good. And Thursday evening I had a very good dinner at Master Deery's before meeting someone in the pub who was an expert on local genealogy.

Maybe delays in service seem worse when you're with someone. You have to keep a conversation going while you wait for your food, and you notice the time passing. But when you're alone and have a good book to read, you can get absorbed in it, and occasionally get distracted by the nearby family with active children or the young couple who are clearly on a date, so the time passes quickly.

Battle of the Boyne. After returning to Monaghan from Dublin on Thursday, I was walking from the bus station to the hotel. Beside the street was a small park next to a small lake. A half dozen small children were playing, along with a boy who may have been 14 years of age. Next to the park was a tourist information board with the usual maps of town and surroundings. I was looking to see if it showed the location of the Battle of the Boyne, in which William of Orange defeated James II of England, effectively securing the British throne for the Protestants. (The anniversary, July 12, is celebrated annually by the Orangemen of Northern Ireland.) As I studied the map a boy, no older than 10, asked if he could help. I said what I was looking for, and he called to the older boy. I apologized for the bother and told what I was looking for. He didn't recognize the name of the Battle of the Boyne. I explained a bit, thinking that might help. It rang no bell. I might as well have been talking about some obscure skirmish in the U.S Civil War. It meant nothing to him.

Reflecting on this, I saw it as a hopeful sign. This pivotal Protestant-Catholic battle is no longer something that is part of the everyday culture in a part of Ireland about an hour's drive from the scene and just across the border from Northern Ireland. Perhaps past hostility is finally receding into the past.

Broken Mirror. After the left side mirror got broken in Tipperary, backing up became a problem. The narrow field of vision through the rear window meant that I had no way of seeing anything behind the vehicle to the left side. At the hotel in Limerick, I had no choice but to go head-on into a parking space. Fortunately, there were no problems getting out at midmorning. But subsequently, I took care to park only in spots I'd be able to get out of by driving forward. For example, in parking lots with double rows, I'd be sure to drive through so that I was headed out of a spot.

Belonging. (I had to keep the alliteration going.) As I wrote this post I also looked through some of the earlier posts and I noticed in one of the pictures from Rothenburg you can see someone taking a picture of the Junge Schar. And it reminded me of something I realized from the first time I sat at the table with the Junge Schar. That is, thanks to their welcome, my experience went beyond what the vast majority of tourists have. They see things as outsiders, but I increasingly became a part of what the tourists were looking at. My friendship with Stefan and the others enabled me to experience things in a way that was truly special, and truly a privilege, and truly a highlight of my life. And I'm really grateful to everybody who welcomed me into the Rothenburg "scene."

But I also believe that it is possible for people who are willing to go beyond the safety of the tour group, the hotel, and such to have special interactions with people they can meet as they travel. All it takes is a willingness to talk to "the locals," a willingness to meet them and perhaps even be drawn into what they are doing. Perhaps it is unlikely to go as far as I was able to with the Junge Schar, but  good times can be shared and acquaintances and lasting friendships can be formed. Perhaps this is even a lesson that can be applied nearer to home.

Germany/Ireland — Sept. 06, 2010

I said good bye to my hosts Monday morning, left Rothenburg at about 10:40 a.m., and arrived at the airport in Frankfurt at about 1:00 p.m. I'm still amazed at how quickly I was able to go between Frankfurt and Rothenburg. Maybe it's because the autobahn has been improved to avoid the traffic jam I always used to hit at Aschaffenburg. Maybe it's because I didn't stop along the way or take any secondary roads.

When I checked in, I was surprised to learn that I was flying business class to Dublin. It had originally been booked that way, but I hadn't noticed. The rest of the trip was economy class. The business class lounge was pleasant: free coffee, snacks, beer, wine, newspapers (and I had just bought one before going there!). But the best thing was on the plane: more room. There were two seats on each side instead of three. That extra space makes things very much more comfortable. I'm not sure if I'll go to Europe or Japan again, but if I do, and if I can afford it, I'm definitely going to go business class. Of course, the longer the flight, the more difference it makes (and probably the more it costs); but my travel tip for the day is: for long flights, go business if you can afford it.

I arrived at Dublin about 5:15 p.m., got my rental car, and was on my way by 6:00. On the approach to the motorway, there were lanes for Belfast, Dublin, and All Other. Of course, I took the All Other, but quickly left because it seemed to be headed to the southwest, and my destination, Monaghan, was north. After a short while I realized that I was getting nowhere fast and had no idea how to get to Monaghan from the spot where I was. A check of the map confirmed that I wanted highway N2 and I needed to get back on the motorway. So that's what I did. But during my useless side trip at one point I hit the curb with the left front tire so hard that I thought I'd better stop and check for damage. Thankfully, there was none.

Before I got to Ireland, I had thought that the danger in having to drive on the left would be a tendency  to move over to the right. But that only happened in parking lots and driveways. On the road the problem was not knowing how much space to leave on the left. Let's say x represents the driver's position and – the passenger's, | the side of the road, and . the center. When you drive on the right, the situation is:  |  .x–|  but when you're on the left it's:  |–x.  | . It's easy enough to keep to your side of the road, but judging the space you need to leave on the left is the hard part, because you've got to allow for the passenger side, which you're not used to.

Well, it was raining fairly heavily (the remnants of Hurricane Earl), which cut down on the view, but the highway was good and well marked. The roundabouts, which some people seem to think are a problem, actually were helpful. They prevented any tendency to drift into the wrong lane when making a turn. So I arrived in Monagahn Town without any trouble. But I didn't know exactly how to find Ashleigh House, the B+B where I was staying. Fortunately, I had just enough memory of the map of the town to guess that when I came to the roundabout, I should go right. I did so and then just kept going as the road curved slowly around to the right. Presently, there was Ashleigh House on the left side of the road. Even though I wasn't completely sure I was still on the right road, it wasn't pure luck. I had studied the map enough to be able to guess correctly that I should keep going through town until I got to the roundabout (although a  right turn  a block sooner would also have worked) and to make an educated guess about how to proceed from the roundabout.

So at 8:00 p.m., about 11 hours after leaving Rothenburg (2 flying, 4 in airports, and 5 on the road), I was in Monaghan, having successfully driven on the left for the first time in my 50 years of driving, and ready to explore one of my ancestral homelands.

Reflecting on Rothenburg

The main thing I think my experience with Stefan and the Junge Schar tells me is that it is possible for a closeted gay man to have satisfying friendships with straight guys. It's obvious that most of the people I've mentioned genuinely like me. If I lived there, I have no doubt I could be in a close friendship with some of them. Just knowing that they like me is very affirming.

On my most recent visit, most of my conversations didn't get beyond the stage of "It's great to see you. It's wonderful being back," and the like. It was only after I left that it occurred to me that I should have asked people something like, "What's been going on with you since the last time I saw you?" Then we'd have had better and longer conversations. But I never was a skilled conversationalist. Next time I'll know better.

Why haven't I made many close friendships at home, if I could make such a good start in Germany? Maybe I felt freer, less guarded, there somehow. It does seem to me that if I had handled things differently here, I could have developed some close and enduring friendships. But I spent so much time for so many years in local government that I didn't have much time for socializing. In addition, it took me a long to accept my orientation. For a long time, my natural shyness was exacerbated by my lack of self-acceptance. I felt safer in non-social settings.

I've never felt that I needed to be in a sexual relationship to be happy. I think my life so far has in fact been reasonably happy. I've had a generally satisfying career with plenty of friendly acquaintances; I've been involved in activities I've enjoyed. But I have been a loner, and if I had managed to develop a friendship with someone here like the one with Stefan, it would be even better. Of course, my life isn't over yet (as of the time I'm typing this) so maybe I can still make improvements.

Getting back to Rothenburg for a moment: their calendar of celebrations is really impressive. They have a festival of several days at Pentecost, then there's the Imperial Free City Days in September, another celebration in October, and a Christmas festival. It's a great place to be. Of course, I've only been there during these festival times, and if I lived there, the routine life would be something quite different from these peak moments. But I get the impression that the culture is still different from here. I think I could really enjoy being one of the regulars who meet at the pub.

Germany/Ireland — Sept. 05, 2010

On Sunday, after breakfast Stefan's Dad and I walked into the city to go to Mass, a distance of maybe a mile and a half. On previous visits, I've been able to follow the homily pretty well, but there is a new pastor, and he is a bit more intellectual. The vocabulary was often unfamiliar, and at times when I could catch the words, I couldn't get his point.

Back at the house, we had dinner. The vegetables, potatoes and salad, were home grown. The bouquet I bought from Uli Müller is on the table.

Stefan's dad.

Stefan's mom. A couple of Stefan's dad's paintings can be seen on the wall behind her.

After dinner, we went back into the city for the 2:30 performance of the play, "Der Meistertrunk," which tells the tale of how ex-mayor Nusch saved the city — conquered by imperial field marshal Count Tilly — by drinking 3 1/4 liters of wine non-stop on a challenge from Tilly. On our way there, we visited the Feldschmiede and saw Hannes, who had visited the U.S. a couple of years ago. Unfortunately, I don't seem to have any pictures of him, which is surprising. I thought I took some. The play is staged in the Kaisersaal — the Imperial Hall — of City Hall.

The stage in the Kaisersaal.

Stefan's wife, Petra.

Sloggi, as City Herald. He was a Hans Staudt jun. in the Junge Schar during some of my early visits.

By the way, the nicknames that many of the people have — Sloggi, Horaz, Stupfi, Geige, Erni, Texas, Kiefer — are often names that they were given when they joined the Junge Schar. Sometimes they just have a regular nickname, like Manni for Manfred, but frequently it has nothing to do with their real name. For example, Erni got his nickname because they thought he looked like the character Ernie on the children's TV program "Sesame Street."

The Junge Schar are about to take the oath to defend the city. In the green jacket, holding the flag, is Pierre, who was a new member the time I went on stage with them. "In my day" we massed on the right side.

Stefan as Count Tilly, Horaz as his Jesuit chaplain, a member of the city council, possibly Mayor Bezold. The people with large hats are a couple of the member's of Tilly's staff.

Former Mayor Nusch says he'll accept the challenge. The beaker is to his left on the table.

He begins to drink.

After several minutes, he's almost finished — to the astonishment of Tilly and his generals.

The city is saved. In red and white is Mayor Bezold's niece. If I'm not mistaken, Manni is the imperial officer behind the beaker. The standing councillors are Hans Staudt sen. (whose son was killed in the battle) and Mayor Bezold.

Curtain call. The girl with the apron is the cellarer's daughter. She came up with the idea of giving the generals a drink, which mellowed them and led to Tilly's issuing the challenge that Nusch successfully undertook. BTW, this photo shows a mistake that Stefan made. If you enlarge it as much as possible, you can see his wedding ring on his right hand. He forgot to take it off when getting ready for the play, and when he took his gloves off, there it was. But Tilly never married, and was quite ascetic. In fact, he apparently didn't usually drink wine, which is why after having some he mellowed and relented on having the councillors hanged and the city plundered and issued the challenge

After the play Stefan and I went to an area where a group called the Panduren were having their "cast party." A number of them are also former Junge Scharlers, and again it was pleasant to visit with them. After a while the Junge Schar came and joined the party. First they sang a couple of their songs. When they were singing my favorite, "Jenseits des Tales," someone motioned to me to join them, so I got to stand in the front row and sing along. It was definitely one of the high points of the weekend. (BTW, if any of my readers know the song, I should point out that the Junge Schar sing a three stanza version in which it is the damp earth that heals the young king.)

When the party wound down, around 9:00, we went to the tavern Zum Ochsen (the Ox), which is a favorite gathering spot. The place was nearly full when we got there, but Stefan, Petra, a couple of their neighbors, and I got a table. I had an excellent meal of medallions of veal with yellow chanterelle mushrooms. A half dozen or so of the Junge Schar were at sidewalk tables outside.

BTW, as I mentioned both to Stefan and his daughter, Stefan is a real "babe magnet." In his early days in the Junge Schar, he was the favorite photo object for the young girls who'd watch the Schar set up and dismantle their camp. And it seems that there are always women who want to talk to him.

I'll have some general comments on my return to Rothenburg in a subsequent post.

Germany/Ireland — Sept. 04, 2010

It was Stefan's 45th birthday. Coincidentally it was also Horaz's 45th birthday. Horaz was born a few hours before Stefan, and he was going to have a Frühschoppen (literally "morning pint") to which Stefan and I would go. By the time Stefan arrived at his parents' home it was already after noon, so I joked that it would now be a Nachmittagschoppen (afternoon pint), but he said that on one of his recent birthdays (he might have said the 40th) he had a Frühschoppen which began at 10 a.m. and ended at 5 p.m. on the next day.

At the Frühschoppen. Jürgen, in the red shirt, is having a morsel of Weißwurst, a veal sausage, with mustard. They told me I was eating it wrong by leaving the skin on, but I like natural sausage casing. Also in the picture, Manni and his wife Elke.

Stupfi, Christine, Geige's wife whose name I didn't get, Geige, and my glass of Weißbier, a slightly sour and cloudy beer made with wheat. It is the regular beer for the summer. The yard in the background made me forget that this spot is inside the city walls until we left and arrived at a familiar location also inside the walls.

Michael, Stefan, and Horaz. Michael is the only one of the guys who was not a member of the Junge Schar. As on the previous evening, people seemed to be happy to see me again, and I was certainly happy to see them.

About 3:00 Stefan and I left to see some of the happenings for the Festival. Unlike the Pentecost Festival in the spring, which is all about the Meistertrunk which saved the city in 1631, the Imperial Free City Days, celebrate centuries of history. There is a new microbrewery, but we didn't need any more beer at that point so we proceeded to the crusader knights' encampment just outside the walls in the area to the left of the Galgentor.

Eventually I was drawn to the Knights of the Holy Sepulcher, and very deeply moved by the earnestness with which a knight prayed before battle

 After putting on some of his armor, he returned to pray, this time with another knight on each side.

Then there was a battle, which the Christians lost.

 We went back inside through the Rödertor,

and found the Loser Haufen just inside the Markusbogen (St. Mark's arch), another part of the inner fortifications, like yesterday's Weisser Turm. Texas (in America, we'd probably say "Tex") is on the left, Manni in the dark jacket, and Geige far right.

Stupfi is to the left of Texas. One of their songs was "Es wollt' ein Bauer früh aufsteh'n," which tells what happens when a farmer comes home and discovers the pastor in the bedroom.

We got to the Grüner Markt about 5:00. On Friday it was empty, but now there were tables and umbrellas. We had some supper — meat with sauce, bread, and beer. The Spielmannszug had about half the square roped off, and they played some of their music, before having some supper.

The Junge Schar arrived, with Uwe, made up as the bloodied messenger, in the lead. They set up in front of the food stand, visible in the first two shots, and performed a few of their songs. If you click twice on the second photo, you can read the menu. If you know German and German food, you can understand it.  All prices are in euros.

The Feldschmiede (field smithy) was at the north end of the square, opposite the food stand. The blacksmith in the first picture is the man who made the candle holder that Hannes gave me after his visit. In the center of the second picture, the pointed thing is the item he was working on it the first picture.

The city herald has mustered some musicians to accompany him on his rounds.

The best place for viewing the fireworks on Saturday evening is the Tauber River valley below the city on the southwestern side. But we were a bit lat and Stefan was afraid we could not find a good spot. So instead we went to the Criminal Museum, where he knows the janitor, and were permitted to join about twenty rather distinguished looking people in the garden, which is adjacent to the city walls. There was an opening if the trees which afforded a good view of the fireworks.

In addition to the fireworks, they have flares, which give an impression of the city in flames. Here's a view of the Criminal Museum from the garden.

I was back to Stefan's parents home about 10:30, and had a bit of a snack and some halting conversation with them. And so to bed.

Germany/Ireland — Sept. 02-03, 2010

I left home around 11:40 on Thursday, arrived at the airport about 12:15 for a flight to Dulles International airport (my first time there — nice countryside). My flight to Frankfurt left at about 6:30 p.m.

I arrived Frankfurt about 7:30 Friday morning (=1:30 back home), picked up my rental car, and left the airport about 8:40. Stefan had warned me that there was a lot of construction work on the autobahn. It had slowed him a lot when he brought his daughter home after her trip to England. So I figured I'd be lucky to get there by coffee time (4:00 p.m.). There were many stretches where the roadway was narrowed and traffic speeds limited to 60 km/h (under 40 mph), but I managed to stay in the left lane and, going at about the speed limit, passed a number of vehicles with inches to spare on either side. (Remember this when we get to Ireland.)

With a 40 minute stop at the Rasthaus im Spessart, I arrived at Rothenburg at about 11:30, about 4 hours earlier than I had expected with the threatened delays and hardly longer than other drives between Frankfurt and Rothenburg. (At that point I had been in transit about 30 hours.) I left the car in a lot outside the walls and walked around for a while taking pictures. (Click on pictures to enlarge.)

Galgentor (Gallows Gate) from outside the walls. On the tower, you can see a gold colored shield with the imperial eagle, because Rothenburg was an imperial free city. Below and to the left is a shield with the Rothenburg arms, a red base with two red towers on a white background.

The street in from the Galgentor leads to the Weißer Turm (White Tower) which was part of the earlier fortifications, when the city was much smaller.

City Hall, east facade. The city hall has two parts, an older, gothic portion, and this newer, renaissance part. Notice the onion domes. They're not just found in Russia. The tallest, white, tower is on the end of the older part of city hall. The American banner at the left end of city hall was not there in my honor. It is just the first of a number representing various countries going down the street.

The Grüner Markt (Grocery Market) square north of city hall, with a view toward St. James (Lutheran) Church. During the weekend, there were activities here. The Feldschmiede, where Hannes made my nail, was at the far end. The Spielmannszug (marching band) occupied the area to the left, and there was a food counter out of the picture, on the left, with benches and tables for patrons to the right.

I went across the square and took a picture of the church, and as I was coming back, I encountered Stefan's wife, who works in the mayor's office. She said she'd let Stefan's folks know I was already in town, and assured me I didn't have to wait until coffee time to show up at the parents' house. Then it was about 1:00 and I decided to have some lunch.

The restaurant where I had lunch (waiters in black vests). My lunch (liver, potatoes, beans, salad, and beer, if memory serves) is at the corner of the nearer table on the left.

After lunch, I walked around some more and took more pictures.

Here are a couple. The home of the Staudt family. Hans Staudt was a city councillor at the time of the siege in 1631, and his son Hans jun. is the leader of the Junge Schar. The second picture shows the coat of arms of Nicolaus Philippus de Staudt, dated 1701. The plaque below says, "In 1540 King Ferdinand of the Romans and in 1546 Emperor Charles V stayed here."

Here's the exterior of the Brauhaus Rothenburg, where I first met the Junge Schar, in 1984. It's no longer a brewery, but it functions as a hotel.

Then I went to Uli Müller's florist shop. Uli had been a drummer in the Junge Schar and later was one of the imperial officers in the play, but had too bad a case of stage fright and had to drop out. Stefan had told me that Uli's father had died recently, and Stefan gave the eulogy. So I was able to offer condolences in my halting German (Uli speaks no English), and he brought out a box with pictures of his father and grandfather. I bought a nice bouquet, then went back to the car and drove to Stefan's parents' place, which is outside the walls, maybe a mile or a bit less from the Galgentor. I got there about 3:30, and at 4:00 we had coffee. Stefan and his daughters joined us. In Germany "coffee" isn't just coffee. There are always several kinds of pastry as well.

At 7:30 Stefan came back and we walked into the city. We viewed the torchlight procession into the marketplace in front of city hall, and the fireworks from city hall balcony, from the second floor of a building at the south end of the square.

This was the view before it got dark enough for the procession. The white building to the left is the old part of city hall. After the fireworks Stefan got a phone call from his older daughter, who was in tears over her recent breakup with her boyfriend. After he consoled her we had a beer and then went to the Lichthof, a ground level alley that runs between the two parts of city hall

 .

When we got there, the Loser Haufen, a group of former Junge Scharlers and others, were singing Junge Schar songs, while people were enjoying sausages and beer. Presently the Junge Schar arrived with their banner, and joined the singing. I was able to greet and exchange pleasantries with former J.S. members Horaz, Härtl, Manni, Erni, Texas, Stupfi, Michel, and Kiefer. They all seemed pleased to see me again. Stefan also introduced me to several of the current Junge Scharlers, who were quite impressed with the story of my repeated visits and absorption into the group's activities.

On our walk out of the city, Stefan mentioned that now that the girls are old enough to be left alone, he and Petra are hoping to visit the States in 2011. (I'll have to do some major housecleaning before they arrive.) Eventually our paths diverged: he went to his house, and I got back to the parents' at about 1:30 a.m. And so to bed.