Viva Colonia!

Although we arrived in Germany a day late, our spirits were high and we were ready to celebrate Christmas German style – and that meant Christmas market fun. The Weihnachtsmarkt is a product of Germany, starting in the late middle ages, and traditionally taking place during the four weeks of Advent. While I studied abroad in Cologne I was struck by the markets and their ability not only to draw in millions of tourists but also how they were incorporated into the typical December days and nights of the local Kölle.

Cologne hosts seven Christmas markets, four of which are the most popular. We visited three of these, at the Kölner Dom, Alter Markt (including Heumarkt), and Neumarkt. The most impressive of the markets is generally considered to be the Kölner Dom Markt as it takes place in the shadow of the famous Cologne Cathedral. Here we celebrated the coming of Christmas with Gluehwein in the annual Kölner Dom mugs.

We only had a day and a half to pack in a full Cologne experience. My host family, the Kutschkes, saved decorating their Christmas tree until we arrived. Traditionally the living room is closed off to the children while the parents decorate the tree as a surprise. The children are told that the Christkind, or Christ Child, decorated the tree. However on this evening the boys (now all grown up and proud that they are each taller than me) helped and we discovered that tangled lights, uneven tree stands, and the attempt to cover up holes in boughs with oversized ornaments are universal Christmas practices.

On our second, and last, day in Cologne we visited the Römisch-Germanisches Museum. In 1941 the famous Dionysus mosaic was discovered while a bunker was being dug and the city eventually built a museum upon this Roman villa foundation. Found in excellent condition, the mosaic floor, which was the dining room of the villa, had its first dinner guests since the third century when Bill Clinton, Tony Blair, and Gerhard Schröder dined upon it in 1999. The museum holds the collections of the many archaeological digs conducted in Cologne concerning its rich Roman history.

A climb to the top of the cathedral is always a must on a visit to Cologne. I couldn’t quite determine if I was in better or worse shape than the last time I scaled the over 500 steps to gain access to the second tallest church spires in the world. Cathedral construction started in 1248 in order to provide an appropriate pilgrimage site for the bones of the three kings, which were brought to Cologne in 1164. Always a beloved aspect of my time spent in Cologne, I was excited to share the cathedral with Kevin, who enjoyed trying out his new camera on the picturesque climb.

A visit to the Käthe Kollwitz Museum rounded out our day. A very influential artist during my social conscious development, Kollwitz worked as a printmaker, painter, and sculptor during the tumultuous turn of the century and both world wars in Germany. A pacifist, Kollwitz worked to spotlight anti-war campaigns. The museum in Neumarkt was a favorite quiet spot during my time in Cologne and we were lucky to find it open late that day.

Although a quick trip to Germany, I made sure Kevin had his full share of German culinary classics. We had traditional breakfast each day of special breads and fresh rolls with butter, cheeses, and cold meats. We were treated to typical Kölsch meatballs by my host mother upon our arrival and that night enjoyed a homemade meal of bratwurst, potatoes, and vegetables. I made sure to visit Früh am Dom for Jagerschnitzel, Sauerbraten, Bratkartoffeln, Klößen, and of course Kölsch, beer brewed in Cologne since the middle ages. Our last evening we were stuffed with Rievkooche, a Kölsch potato pancake dipped in sweet syrup or apple sauce, homemade by my host mother.

In less than two days we were able to visit three Christmas markets twice, the Kölner Dom, two museums, the town hall, one archaeological dig site, walk along with Rhein River, ride a Ferris wheel, gain ten pounds each, and experience 2,000 years of history.

10 Reasons We Hate Manchester Airport

For those of you who find ranting and complaining pointless, especially if it benefits no one, I suggest you ignore this particular post, for I plan to use this space to lay hatred upon Manchester Airport, resulting in an absolute lack of productive or useful solutions.

We arrived at Manchester Airport at 1:30 for our 4:00 flight to Cologne after an hour train ride from Sheffield. Check in and security went smoothly, but alas, once we arrived within the belly of the beast, the flight board did not direct us to a gate.

1. At Manchester Airport passengers are not told their gate number until 5 minutes before their flight begins to board. I can only assume this is to cut down on any person-to-person contact between passengers and airport and airline staff.

We could not yet venture to a gate and instead settled down close to a flight board and anxiously awaited direction. Many flights were canceled and their passengers swept away to hotels or Leeds to board other flights. As the clock ticked dangerously close to the departure time, our flight on the board finally sparked with activity. Betraying our naive trust, it told us we would have more information about our flight in 20 minutes.

2. The flight board at Manchester Airport lies. It says information is coming in 20 minutes. This time is constantly added upon until an indiscernible number of hours has passed and you are still sitting next to a Starbucks waiting for a gate number.

Around 8:00 we become worried. We have no gate from which to procure information. Instead we found the customer service counter.

3. The customer service counter at Manchester Airport is tiny and useless. There were three people behind it and 150 people in front of it. It is the only remaining example of an unsuccessful queue in all of Britain.

The woman at the counter told me they did not have any information concerning German Wings, our carrier, and I should try to use the free phones to call German Wings’ office within the airport.

4. The customer service phones provided by Manchester Airport are just another blockade provided by the airport to separate the passengers from actual human beings. No one actually answers the phones, but angry passengers queue to use them regardless.

We sat in our airport purgatory, bitterly listening to announcements made for other flights. Finally we are told that a German Wings representative is coming to Gate 21. Around this time the flight board announces that our flight is delayed until 8:00…A.M. the next day! As there is no actual person to confirm this, we wait in complete uncertainty.

5. Gate 21 is not an actual gate, but a counter within the gateless passenger holding area. Although it is numbered “21” gates 20 and 22 are nowhere to be found, as the order of this particular gate is illogical at best.

After about two more hours of standing around with our German Wings comrades (which included an aging rocker couple from a past decade and an old man with an exquisite waistcoat), an airport employee showed up with a sign which read, “German Wings, follow me.”

6. Manchester Airport uses their employees to hold hand written signs on the backs of cardboard boxes in order to direct large groups of passengers while continuing to withhold vital information.

As the silent, bright-orange vest-wearing man ushered us through a hallway and into a gate, it remained unclear if we were boarding a plane, getting on a bus, going to another airport, going to a hotel; it was the blind leading the blind (with a cardboard box). We were actually lead out of the airport and back in again as if we were arriving passengers.

7. At Manchester Airport, even if you do not board a plane and are marched in circles, you are forced to enter border patrol and show your passport, even though you NEVER LEFT THE COUNTRY OR THE AIRPORT.

After making sure we were safe to “re-enter” England, we were steered to baggage claim on the other side of the airport.

8. The physical layout of Manchester Airport makes absolutely no logical sense to most sane people. It took the brainpower of three adults to guide us through the matrix of confusion to baggage claim.

We continued to wait seemingly forever for our luggage. Mine has been broken, the handle ripped off. Kevin’s appears to have been run over by a small vehicle.

9. After 7 hours in an airport holding facility, luggage at Manchester Airport can be broken even if said luggage was never transferred onto a plane.

We finally speak to someone who tells us we need to head back to the arrival counter where we had checked in hours earlier.

10. After a flight containing 150 passengers is canceled, German Wings opened only one counter, manned by only one staff member who alone handled the very long line of confused passengers. (This is more a complaint against German Wings, but it colored my experience at the airport as well).

After waiting another couple hours we reach the sole employee who informed us that we should return at 6:00 in the morning, gave us an address to mail our receipts to, and told us to get a hotel, eat dinner, eat breakfast, and we shall be reimbursed by German Wings. Thus redeeming German Wings, (but not Manchester Airport).

We thankfully find an apartment-hotel in the center of Manchester and an authentic Italian restaurant, both of which perk up the start of our holiday.

Broken little red suitcase in hand, a hand being constantly stabbed by the protruding pieces of metal and plastic from said broken suitcase, we arrived bright and early (although not so bright, as it is England) at Manchester Airport, only to discover that our flight has been delayed an undisclosed number of hours. As we finally push off and fly higher into the sky, we are glad that Manchester Airport is behind us and are ready to start our happy holiday.

It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like…Something.

Waking on the 19th of December, one day before our two and a half week holiday journey, we celebrated what we have coined “fake Christmas” in our tiny room in our tiny house in Sheffield.  A week or so before, I had ingeniously created a two-dimensional Christmas tree using only wrapping paper and a MacGyver-like dedication to creating something out of nothing, complete with strung cranberries and the shackling of a poor beanie baby angel-bear for the tree top. As gifts and cards arrived from far and wide, we placed them under our makeshift tree and decided on a day to celebrate our own merry little Christmas.

During fake Christmas, in truly Domm family tradition, we interspersed the opening of gifts to the cooking and consuming of highly unhealthy finger foods and slightly spiked beverages. Thus our day was accompanied by mimosas, fried Indian food (in an attempt to incorporate British elements), cheese platters, pizza bagels (in an attempt to stay classy), and of course the most traditional of all: mozzarella sticks. It’s really not Christmas unless there’s preservative-laced fried cheese.

We hung our stockings all in a row, on our wardrobe handles, and festively opened them first. Thank you to everyone who sent cards, gifts, and messages of a happy holidays. It really helped to make our Christmas away from home filled with home. The day ended in the customary fashion, with a movie viewing of films received as gifts and stomachs filled with assorted sundries we vowed never to eat again, that is until next Christmas. Unlike previous years we also spent quality time packing in preparation for our trip to Germany, Switzerland, and Turkey.

Pavillon de l’Arsenal

Paris is a city of museums, there are literally hundreds, from art galleries to heritage sites. After the Eiffel Tower the Louvre is the most visited spot in Paris, with over 5 million visitors each year. Other highly trafficked museums in Paris include the Centre Pompidou, the Cite des Sciences at de l’Industrie, and the Musee d’Orsay. On Saturday afternoon while in Paris, we decided to visit a lesser known museum of sorts, the Pavillon de l’Arsenal, the urban planning center of Paris.

Run by the city hall, this museum-like space tells the tale of Paris’ past and present urban history. The main exhibition is chronological, with labels in both French and English, and follows the growth of Paris from the Gauls to now, including how legal changes effected the physical environment of the city during events such as the Revolution, Napoleon’s reign, and post-World War II reconstruction. Maps, paintings, scale models, photographs, and films present an interdisciplinary interpretation of urbanization through art, science, history, and architecture. Along with chronicling Paris’ past, the center also explores  the future, providing the building project models of local architects, through which one can envision the changing architecture and physical space of Paris. The design of the exhibition is industrial, with timelines spaced through interpretive text. As a visitor to Paris, spending some time at the center helps one become oriented to the city. Upon leaving and returning to the streets of Paris, I could make connections between the present day city and hundreds of years of development.

The center is free, a big plus, and relatively easy to find, thanks to my new favorite website, spotted by locals. This helpful site uses the advice of residents living at popular tourist destinations, pointing travelers towards a more local experience. Without it, we would have never known about the Pavillon de l’Arsenal and would have never stumbled upon the old fashioned and I believe smallest camera and photo developing shop in the world. We stopped in to purchase a new memory card and while Kevin ran to find an ATM (8 blocks away) I sat in a chair that just might have been 200 years old and exchanged awkward but polite smiles with a man half as old as the chair while we watched Celine Dion on a TV from the 1970s and he mumbled at me in French.

Château de Versailles

Continuation of our primary Paris entry!

Our first full day in Paris last November saw Ashley and I boarding a train from a Metro station towards the village of Versailles. Today a suburb of Paris, the Château de Versailles originally seemed slightly less imposing than one might have imagined.

It certainly seemed that way to me as we approached up the wide streets towards the front. Actually, having had the advantage of personally visiting many such palaces and great places of state, Versailles seemed to me to be much smaller and less grand than I would have imaged. The former royal hunting lodge whose expansion is most closely tied to King Louis XIV did not disappoint, however.

From the Hall of Mirrors and royal apartments, Versailles is truly a gorgeous work of art from a true pinnacle in European achievement. Ashley and I both are always ensured to get goosebumps when we stand in the presence of historic and important locations throughout the world. Here, we briefly shared the same spaces as so many colourful people whose minds raced with decisions and notions we are still reminded of today. It was in the Hall of Mirrors that this feeling began to strike me in earnest, having studied the history of the whole of Versailles so closely years ago.

It was also here that we were treated to our first view of the Estate of Versailles. From the gilded windows in the Hall, one has an unhindered and commanding view of the Gardens and the Grand Canal, the far end of which must be at least a kilometer away from the Palace.

In the above photo, one can see past the Veilhan Versailles modern art installations towards the Gardens and Canal. At the extreme far end of the view in the photo, the apparent edge of the water is the distance end of a monumental watery cross. The arm that appears to be stretching off towards the right abuts the Grand Trianon, much further through endless vistas of landscaped beauty.

When I was younger, my grandparents Walt and Bertie would take me to various beautifully landscaped gardens all across America. At the time, I believed that humans manipulating the natural world seemed rank and insulting to the beauty of the Earth as it is. At a place like Versailles, however, it is hard to remain uninspired by the delicate and intricate avenues and gardens.

This is especially true of the Grand and Petit Trianons, two smaller palaces nestled in the forests and fields that once fed the inhabitants of Versailles. During the Republic, Napoleon declared that the Palace of Versailles belonged to the people, but himself stayed in the pink-marbled halls of the Grand Trianon.

Marie-Antoinette’s Estate and the Queen’s Hamlet were nearby, brought more to life for me by the recent viewing of Sofia Coppolla’s Marie Antoinette. Here the grounds were more organic, landscaped in a more natural manner. They were, of course, not untamed. Just simply cultivated in the style of the period to provide the illusion of an English rose garden.

By far the favourite gem of the Versailles Estate for both Ashley and myself was the Queen’s Hamlet. Believing she was following Enlightenment philosophy, Marie-Antoinette essentially created one of the world’s first theme parks. Here at the Hameau de la Reine, the Queen and her ladies ‘collected’ already-cleaned eggs from chickens and milked docile cows with porcelain bowls painted to resemble wood. While Marie-Antoinette could for a time escape to her ersatz Normandy farm, she eventually couldn’t escape the truth of her frivolity, nor, apparently, could she the blade.

Eventually, after a chilly day walking through only a small portion of Versailles, Ashley and I began the long hike back to the train station to return to Paris for the evening, our heads and hearts full of the essential pull of history, tranquility, and strife at the Château de Versailles.

Sous le ciel de Paris

Just as the semester lull crept upon us this past November we escaped to Paris, the city of lights and love. So naturally upon our return to Sheffield the listless, draining, mid-semester lull returned and together with its evil twin, the large amounts of school work seemingly thrust upon us without warning, Kevin and I ignored our little blog project in favor of procrastination and all-nighters. How happy am I now that classes have ended and I can return to tell the tale of our whirlwind adventure in Paris.

As students strapped for cash we decided to take the ultra cheap (read: £3 per person) MegaBus and boy, was it a Mega experience. Actually it was not as bad as imagined. However arriving in London after four hours, we reminded ourselves that the trip is indeed half the fun. As self-proclaimed tube experts, we arrived at St. Pancras without worry and after a filling lunch at a salad counter (at which the salad-man flirted with Kevin) we proceeded to the EuroStar waiting lounge. Kevin was so enthralled by his first high-speed train ride that he slept most the time (waking only for the chance to drink French Coke), while I was less than enthused with the lengthy stop we made while in the Chunnel.

We arrived in Paris, changed our money, and excitedly made our way to the underground. Our fabulous hotel was in the Bastille area of Paris, more of a residential part of the city but far enough from the tourist goodies to merit the metro. After four days we happily brag of being Paris public transport savants. Dropping our effects we returned to our beloved metro which escorted us to the Île de la Cité. This was at this moment I totally accepted the stereotypical hype that Paris is a romantically beautiful city. The bridges, the Seine, and the Eiffel Tower lit like a jewel offered by the city to visitors from afar; these visions upheld the idyllic depiction of Paris that one may find in a perfume commercial.

Turning the corner we were unexpectedly struck by the sight of the Notre Dame. Stumbling upon a cultural icon is always a disorienting experience. It reminded me of a past trip to Rome, while rambling aimlessly down a street I suddenly came face to face with the Coliseum. It’s awe inspiring and somehow ordinary in the same moment. Like, yep, there it is. My first encounter with the Notre Dame was similar. A lone troubadour, complete with an artistic dirtiness and fantastic hair, filled the night air and softly played over the chattering of tourists. Everyone was facing the same direction and looking up. Gladly we arrived at night and there was no line to go inside the cathedral. Unfortunately every other time we returned the line was quite long and so we never did get a glance of the iconic stained glass in the sunlight.

Leaving the Notre Dame and in search of food, I mentioned I had heard of a side street in the area, the Rue Chanoinesse, which is one of the oldest streets in Paris. Minutes later Kevin, with his far superior eye sight, found said lane, around which we wandered for a spell until returning to modern civilization and discovering an amiable brasserie overlooking the river. I stress at this point that our French was passable but at many moments not understandable to actual French people. Regardless, we managed to communicate somewhat to our waiter and received wine, baguettes, and omelets in return. Hoping to find dessert back in Bastille, we chose what we believed to be a French café which in reality was a Lebanese restaurant. Understanding each other even less, our waiter returned with the owner, the owner returned with a free dessert in addition to the two menu items we had gone out on a limb and chosen. These included pastries similar to baklava and an orange blossom flavored gelatin. Our surprise treat was also a gelatin, but cinnamon flavored, or as we decided the menu should state, “oddly delicious liquefied, gelatinous gingerbread men.”

Feeling rather royal ourselves, Friday we ventured to Versailles. (See Kevin’s blog.) Returning from our adventures later that evening, we did as all must do at least once while in Paris and strolled down the Champs-Elysees. Although this large lane leading to the Arc de Triumph was still ripe with inspiration and filled us with awe, with plaques commemorating important historic events that happened right where we stood, the famous avenue has become the breeding ground for every brand name high street shop known in our modern world. This fact dulls the luster just a bit. After a quick visit to the Arc, we found ourselves a little crêperie. This restaurant became my favorite of our trip as it was decorated like a western salon, and after we tightly squeezed into our table we discovered there was no kitchen, but crepe pans on a stove in the center of the tiny dining room, over which large Parisian women in red and black labored creating delectable dishes. Finding ourselves even more lucky, we stumbled then upon a Christmas market where we toasted the end of a successful day with glasses of Glühwein.

After a quick visit to a local pastry shop Saturday morning, we headed towards Père Lachaise Cemetery, the largest in the city of Paris. Parisians and international ex-pats have gone to their final resting place in this “East Cemetery” for over 200 years. Some of the most visited graves include Oscar Wilde and Jim Morrison, both whom we visited, one of which I kissed. (Click here for a complete list of the dead elite buried there). We wandered the vast cemetery which houses avenues upon avenues of never ending striking stonework. Finding the prospect of searching out the dead using a tourist map slightly unappealing, we refused to be guided by such, and as a result found ourselves to be the only visitors to Père Lachaise without one. Therefore we coupled Kevin’s photographic memory of the entryway map with his natural sense of direction and threw in a little light stalking of some German tourists sporting maps.

Feeling particularly Parisian, we returned to the center of the city and patronized two small shops (selling wine and cheese) and a bakery. Foodstuffs in hand, we picnicked in the shadow of the Notre Dame, in a small park behind the apes. A visit to the Eiffel Tower in all its sparkling glory and dinner in the Latin Quarter rounded off out last evening in Paris.

Sunday morning we said farewell to the City of Lights in style, by gaining free entry to the Louvre, although I won’t detail here the mystical way we managed it. Having only a few hours to roam the vast wings of this massive museum, we made the acquaintance of a few choice objects and paintings. Of course we paid a visit to Da Vinci’s Mona Lisa, although I found her entourage and paparazzi most interesting. Seeing the Venus de Milo made me appreciate ancient standards of beauty much more than that of the present. While some works we sought out, the Winged Victory of Samothrace (because of its artistic integrity, not at all due to its cameo in an Audrey Hepburn film), The Raft of the Medusa, Michelangelo’s Slave and The Code of Hammurabi, others we gratefully stumbled upon, such as The Wedding Feast at Cana, July 28. Liberty Leading the People, and Holbein’s 1539 Portrait of Anne of Cleves which got him, and others, in some serious hot water with Henry VIII. We left Paris full of cultural and artistic wonder, and with high hopes for an early return to what had become a beloved and familiar friend.