What the Wertheim?

It's been raining here in Germany. Daily. But our time in this country is limited, so we're trying to take advantage of it while we can. And what's a little rain compared to going to see a castle? Not much. So we went to Wertheim.

Braunfels (or Why Did we Travel Six Hours to See Neuschwanstein When This Castle Was Less Than an Hour Away And Just as Cool?)

On the Second Day of Christmas (aka Boxing Day or December 26th, for all you peeps outside of Germany) we finally made it to Braunfels. This was our third attempt to see this castle and quaint German town, but we never quite made it. We're glad we (again) made the effort to see it before leaving the country. It was pretty spectacular!

Shake Your Bonn Bonn!

On Christmas Day we went to Bonn, the former capital of West Germany and birthplace of Beethoven. Yet again, we were attempting to go somewhere much closer, but Kiddo fell asleep. . . . two hours later we were in Bonn. It's funny how that happens. Anyway, here are some pics:

Christmas is Kind of a Big Deal

...especially in Germany. America just doesn't have the same Christmas spirit that Germany does. Sure, there's the crazy shopping and sales, drinking and gluttony (my future Christmases will no longer be complete without Christmas Markets--wursts and chocolate covered goodnesses!), but there are also far fewer Santas and many more mangers.

We visited Michelstadt to get into the Christmas-y mood.

Traumatized at the Church Christmas Party

Brandon and I were Mary and Joseph for our local church Christmas Party. Kiddo wasn't Jesus because he was too big for the part. But he was a stand-out at the party because, unlike any of the other children, Kiddo exhibited an irrational fear of St. Nikolaus.

Here we are before Santa Claus...


Here's Kiddo when Santa walked into the room...


Here's Kiddo when we approached Santa to get his present...
(that's as close as I dared to get)


And here's Kiddo at the mere mentioning of Santa...
(turn up the sound to hear me ask Kiddo if he sees Santa)

View From my Bedroom Window...

...and we're staying in today.

Letter From Sarajevo

Brandon recently got back from a trip to Bosnia and Herzegovina (BiH) where he spent some time looking for an apartment, meeting with the folks from the Constitutional Court (where he'll work for 10 months next year), and getting familiar with Sarajevo. He wrote down some of his impressions from his first day, which I thought I'd share:

Sarajevo trip - Day 1: Wednesday Dec 2nd



I love Sarajevo. A bit premature, perhaps, but I think this city is fantastic. Something about it appeals to me in a very good way. It’s Eastern European-ness reminds me of all the things I enjoy about Russia - well, the non-Moscow parts of Russia at least, the parts that have heart and soul and character in a way that is completely different from the monster city that is Moscow.

Sarajevo also seems wildly foreign to me, despite the fact that these people are Slavs. They are different from their former-Soviet cousins that I'm more familiar with. For example - there are mosques everywhere, something I didn't see much of in Ukraine or Russia. The first mosque I saw in BiH was from the runway just moments after the plane had touched down, its minaret rising up from the unruly brown earth. Only adding to the exotic feel the place has for me, a large hawk was flying at that moment near our plane towards the mosque as we taxied by. As I was admiring this Balkan bird and the new landscape surrounding me, I noticed a helicopter in the distance. As it came closer, I realized it was a military helicopter. The two American military guys in the row in front of me started debating whether it was a Black Hawk or an Apache - I didn't pay attention long enough to hear what they decided.



That helicopter brings up another thing about this place that I find fascinating - it has been through a war. Growing up in the States, especially in the West, I don’t think I really got a sense of what it is like to live in a place that has known war, at least not in recent history. Living on the East Coast, there are some vestiges of the Revolutionary and Civil Wars that still pop up in places; you know, monuments and stuff. The remnants of war have (perhaps unsurprisingly) come up a few times in Germany, like a young man at a dinner we had, callously discussing the persecution and murder of Jews during the Holocaust. But here in Sarajevo, the vestiges of war, both physical and psychological, are all around.



For example, on my cab ride into the city, my driver was a very talkative native of Sarajevo. It was clear where his loyalties were when I mentioned that I could speak a little Bosnian because of my Russian background. Immediately he suspected me of being Russian and - by association - a sympathizer of the Serbs. From the change in his tone, it took no great genius to determine that he was a Bosnian Muslim (or Bosniak, as is the current PC "ethnic" label). So I asked. He was. For the rest of the ride he regaled me with the horrors that he perceived had been perpetrated by one side against the other during the war 14 years earlier. I mostly kept my mouth shut, because 1) I didn’t want to take sides, 2) I couldn’t always follow exactly what he was saying - this was in Bosnian, remember, and 3) I wouldn’t have been able to say much in response anyway, given my naiveté and lack of factual knowledge on the subject. So, despite the fact that the shooting stopped a decade and a half ago, animosity between the sides is still alive and well. In the same vein, while talking to some realtors in town, they were always quick to point out to me which words I was using were more prevalently Bosnian, Croatian, or Serbian. I guess that language here is so tied with ethnic identity that it seems bizarre to them for someone to mix words from all three, even though they are all mutually intelligible and - in my uninformed opinion - are really only different languages in a political sense. But the very language I use will eventually (assuming I gain any proficiency) give people all sorts of impressions of where my loyalties may or may not lie, and that’s not something I necessarily want to do. Ever wanting to please everyone, I haven’t quite figured out a way around that yet, short of just speaking English.



The scars of war are also physically evident, almost everywhere. Literally, every time I looked for them in Sarajevo, there they were. Nearly every building that doesn’t look like it was made within the past month is riddled with pock marks and shell holes. At first I thought the buildings were just falling apart. But no - they are definitely just full of bullet holes. I’ve heard there are still mortar holes in the pavement in some areas, but haven’t seen any of that yet.



In short, this place fascinates me. I can already guess at some of the things I will love and some that I will likely loathe. For example, as I mentioned earlier - this place is just one big hill after another. I will love the great physical shape I will probably get in from climbing all the slopes and stairs, but I will hate it once it gets icy and slippery. I love that the small market I stopped in while waiting for the realtors today had everything I could think of for every day food consumption, but I hate that I didn’t see any real Western "specialty items" that I’ve taken for granted in Germany, like Mexican food ingredients, or good frozen pizza. I like that the city is small and seems reasonably walkable, but I hate that there are virtually no sidewalks and that Henry will probably be at risk of being run over any time he steps out of the house. Despite alny initial complaints, however, this place has already enchanted me. I sense an energy here that hints of its vast potential for rapid improvement. I definitely need to spend more time in understanding what the issues, concerns, and possible solutions are; who knows whether I’ll actually be able to make a difference in any way. But I really feel like this is where I’m supposed to be, and that is a very exciting feeling.