Out of the Comfort Zone

The problem with women is they don't go down like the whiskey.....

("sleeping outside" Chauncey Crandall)

The woman above is my mountain guide Lisi. She grew up in the Tyrol part of Austria (which is sort of Italy and sort of Austria), with views of looming, steep mountains from her crib. She is the youngest in her family with four older brothers; and a typical Sunday outing for them was climbing  a 300 foot cliff without ropes. Lisi says it wasn't a difficult climb, but if you fell, you died. 
But they didn't die; they had a little picnic instead. 

Lisi is a mountain guide, which is a level higher than Harumi; she can therefore take a person into the back country of Lech, and up Mount Everest.  She is best known as world class rock climber, and only the 8th or 9th woman ever to pass the arduous tests to become an International Mountain guide in Austria. This makes her an expert in avalanches, snow caves, igloos, ice climbing and skiing. I asked her about the examination. On the first day you have to ski for the instructors, and after just that short exercise, 50% are sent home. On her run she sort of went for it and was the fastest in horrible snow. She crashed in spectacular fashion, but only once she was behind the finish line. On another exam they had to build a cave in the snow and then sleep in it all night. And this is why I love Lisi: nowhere in the rule book did it say that cave had to be far from the bar. So they built the cave next to the hotel and went for many beers, then returned to sleep (sit up more like it) in the snow. In addition to her many fearsome skills, is her ability to drink me under the table, whether that be beer or coffee. 

There is no decaf in this girl. 

I can read the bubbles over your heads now: "why is a person like this taking Ellie skiing?" Good question. First, ski touring is the way mountain guides pay for their trips to Patagonia; but also they just love the mountains, and this is their way of proselytizing. If they like you, they want you to make peace with the fear, so you can be the best Ellie you can be. On this trip, Lisi would listen to my meek little opinions on why we should really re think the plan for the day (didn't Thomas say that last part was a nightmare??) and she would calmly say: "You must get out of your comfort zone....." and "not just for today; you must live there, Ellie, outside the zone." Then she would simultaneously check my pieps so she could find me should I get buried alive, and order us both a coffee. 

To ski with Lisi is to ski with a sort of God, and this is of course a bad thing (who wants to disappoint God?) I was horribly jet lagged for the first week and being in the snow first thing in the morning seemed like such a bad idea. But worship leads to trust, and trust leads to love, and love can finally silence the wimpy little voice in your head. Somewhere between skiing down the frozen waterfall and the taxi ride back to civilization, you come close to euphoria. You believe you will survive, and you are almost overcome with gratitude and joy and awe. You want to whoop and hug the sky, but you hug Lisi instead. And under the benevolent, ancient eyes of the mountain, you both laugh. 

Lisi told us that when she was very small she wept at fireworks because she thought they were blowing up the stars. And that's exactly who she is- a bad ass with a soft spot for stars. 

So in 2018 let's let WWLD? be our motto. Let's look out for stars. Let's be excellent and tell the truth and do what we say we will. Let's turn towards the discomfort- any kind, even if it's scary. 

Then, let's rejoice in the warmth of our beds and the steam from our cup. 

love you guys.

point of no return

this is it's own entry- by this point in the day i wasn't even scared, more rolling my eyes at her.....shows what three double expressi will do. 

one day when Thomas came along for a hike through the snowy woods

she looks happier than I do....

Viva the Absurd

 Had a great night down under in our not so yellow submarine. Two virgin spelunke visitors came: a naval academy friend of Chuck's, and the best girl ever- Kristy M (you remember her??). She has a new film out about a music school in Haiti- Serenade for Haiti, that is getting rave reviews among black turtlenecks across the land. Both of them were blown away by everything- from the concept to the ebay decor to our office window. Our office window has become something of a neighborhood sensation. It has in it: a dishwasher replacement valve, an orange ball from the neighboring school and some art from a down syndrome kid whose parents asked if we would be so kind.

Under each, written in Thomas' distinctive hand, is a description: "dishwasher replacement valve" and "ball that rolled down the hill". Also in the window is the book 'Howl' by Ginsberg because our office used to be a publishing house for the Beats. Chuck knows the history better than Thomas or I. He is kind of our historian and window curator.
Anyway we had the chips and some scotch and warned the newbies that in the spelunke, one gets the best ideas one has ever ever had, so they should bring a pen. Kristy for example envisioned a temporary show in the window; perhaps a brief performance piece. There is a homeless guy who stops traffic in North Beach by dragging a couch around. Perhaps he would be inclined to perform? Also she thinks the spelunke needs a nod to the basement that it is- a 70's classic like a poster of Burt Reynolds or - and this was genius, that cat poster where the cat is hanging on with the caption: "Can't wait for Friday." Tommy was not so convinced....he doesn't really see the kitsch that surrounds us. But he was mollified when she suggested Cheryl Tiegs instead of Burt.

The other thing we warned the newbies about was the post spelunke funk. To ward against this, Chuck suggested we drop in to the next door art gallery. And were we richly rewarded -not by the art, our dishwasher replacement valve was better- but oh what a great scene! Behold, in the faces of the men below, a San Francisco that is disappearing- a bevy of flannel shirted (SF used to be chilly) alcoholic (ish) artistic types with more ex wives than present ones; men who have never been to yoga; men who had beards before beards were a thing; men who can fish. My favo was the guy on the far right. I mean that has got to be the best outfit ever for a wine and cheese vernissage.

Chuck actually overheard them a few days before in Cafe Trieste talking about our window and the replacement valve! They said "that window is old North Beach"-
meaningless, absurd; not for profit.

The big belly can contain,
embracing matters difficult to withstand in this world.
The smile is always there,
laughing at those who are laughable in this world.
– Buddhist Saying

Ellie and the curator

Wild Wild Life

The title has nothing to do with the blog; I'm just listening to that song at present.


Well that was fun....a traveling band of BrighamWehlies unleashed on the esteemed PEA campus and Boston. We managed to see two of Frederick's classes: "Death Chem", (AP chemistry essentially, but taught at the same time as first year chemistry; F says it goes at quite a clip), as well as to Intro to Calculus. Chemistry was cool- the kids got to play with fire and wear weird glasses. In both chemistry and math Thomas was stuffing his hand in his mouth to avoid yelling out the answer. He was particularly agitated about negative infinity, and then during the lab he whispered to me the answer was right in front of them the whole time!!!! Just before the tension undid him completely, his progeny asked the group: "well is that just hydrogen then?" and the teacher said, why yes it is; and Thomas took off his little orange glasses and dabbed his eyes with relief.
Poor guy, he would so love to switch places with them.
MMB saw one of each kid's classes, and Kate went along for the ride to watch her siblings in action.

Charlie had a very funny observation. He said that everyone told him Exeter would be filled with smart people, but it was here that he witnessed some of the dumbest things he had ever seen teenagers do. I will not go into details, but one story involves a PG athlete trying to make his own alcohol by leaving grape juice around for weeks. Apparently biology wasn't his thing.

The first night  MMB and I went to a cocktail reception and met all kinds of people that need to be discussed. One couple had a name tag indicating they had a kid graduating in 2019. And since we are long in 2019 kids, I asked: which dorm? and they said: "Well they used to be in Webster, but they are now day students. They were so impossible to get a hold of, that we moved here." Ok so now I am interested. "Do tell" I said- "they were not answering their phones (they have two boys), so you moved here from North Carolina? "
"Yes" they answered.
"Well" I said, "wait until the word gets out....we will have kids rushing to their phones, borrowing from strangers; playing around with wires to get old pay phones to work again.. It will be so great to know what's going on on a daily basis!"
Then he drops this one..."Yes, sometimes it took more than an hour for them to call us back."

You heard me: one hour, and then Ting (father) and name can't pronounce (mother) pack their bags and move above the ice cream shop in town. Don't f&*k with Ting is all I'm saying.

We also met one very handsome English teacher who would play the part of the sensitive genius that teaches non fiction poetry to inner city kids and then realizes he loves the tough on the outside physics teacher who is beautiful,  but only when her glasses accidentally come off.  I was pretending to understand what non fiction poetry was (?) because he was such an improvement over Ting, and over comes MMB to bust in. She really is a terrible wing man: always giving my punchlines away seconds before the end....and inviting him to San Francisco before I can. Since he is not Frederick's teacher, I asked how a left brainer might successfully manage an Exeter English class. At PEA it is quite possible to get high grades on all your assignments, but not do that well in the class, if they think you are not really bringing it to the ol Harkness table.
He explained that it was a group effort. A bit like a life boat I think, and even if you think (I won't name names) that some of what is said is blather and you would rather be in chemistry, you have to act gung ho and get in there: baring your soul.

Because he is a long time Exeter teacher, he is very good at that thing called observation. After listening to my mother and me yack on, he said: you are very good story tellers, and your family is very forgiving. I never thought of that...but it's true we are forgiving. Either that, or just have very short attention spans.

Oh!  I have to tell you about MIT!!!!
Here are some things we learned on the tour. I have made a list, because there are so many.

At the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, if you complete courses in archery, pistol shooting, sailing and fencing, you receive an actual MIT pirates certificate, with eye patch. Since 2012 only 6 MIT students have received the patch.

One student was incensed at getting parking tickets, so he and some friends worked night after night building an exact replica of a police car, and then assembled it on the MIT dome. The police were so convinced someone had stolen a police car (unclear how they thought it got up to the dome), that they paid for helicopters to check it out. Even then, they didn't catch on that the number of the car was unusual: 3.14159265.

A 'Smoot' is five feet 7 inches, the length of one MIT fraternity brother (Oliver Smoot, class of 62 and cousin of the guy who just won a Nobel prize) who was the smallest in the house. One night the boys decided to measure the Harvard bridge that leads to MIT from Boston, entirely in Smoots, by rolling Oliver over and over down the bridge. There are markings all along the bridge now (every year the fraternity re paints them). Our guide told us that police use them for actual measurements as in : "Accident at Smoot 120"!  Google Calculator also incorporates smoots, which it reckons at exactly 67 inches, and uses the smoot as an optional unit of measurement in Google Earth software and Google Maps.

For any prospective applicants out there, they had some advice: If the application asks what you do for fun, just answer with what you do for fun. Don't say you unwind by teaching biology to children. Also they said you should not be able to spell out any words with the grades on your transcript. Finally, they ask that you just write the answers in English; please don't use binary code (no joke) .

It was quite a professional operation- with a glossy movie to watch while we waited for the presentation. I loved it, because it was clearly meant to make the whole MIT thing look so zany- a wacky summer camp perhaps.  In fact they have a break in the year for "charm school" where they have dinners and teach the kids not to wear t shirts with "Get Nerdy' on them to the interview; and which fork to use for the clams.

But after all the talk about pranks (and there were many), our guide-(an adorable, delicate, Mexican kid, with the semi permanent smile of the ueber dorky), discussed how easy it was for students to conduct research at MIT. It seems all one has to do is write an email to a professor and make one's case; and very often the teachers say: sure- get a lab coat on. Moreover, the school often pays them. At their fingertips is this mighty machine of knowledge and equipment and cold hard cash to use with abandon. I just kept thinking how extraordinary that was- how lucky they were to have a sandbox that cool to play in.

If Frederick goes there and doesn't come out a pirate; I'm not paying.

He was definitely not this happy on his wedding day

girls' soccer practice 

Dinner with family plus Will K and the Herneys

A quote from an MIT writing professor and Pulitzer Prize winner. #feellikealoser

Ahoy mateys; MIT pirate ship (NO FILTER USED!! amazing night)

Postscript

I just wanted everyone to know that the PEA kid surfaced and is fine. He appears to be a teenager, alas, but otherwise fine.

I found out that T has saved my old Tube card from 1996, and he has no other photos in his wallet. He carefully explained to me last night that I was supposed to sign it.  ("You see the blank line?") He and F take the tube very seriously, saving their oyster cards from summer to summer so they can add money to the original card, while I have to negotiate the line for a new one every time.
(I probably threw this one over my shoulder at the end of that summer: tube schmube....)

But it's enormously touching that someone took the time to pick it up and save it; and then 20 years later tells me that I still in fact need to sign. I mean it's the rule.

Mother Earth; Mothers on Earth

" guess that makes me a proud bitch..." Teresa Kaepernick, Colin's mom


Thomas says I need to start a blog called: "Ellie is in fact not away." I mean, it is starting to be an odd travel log. (such is the power of a Trump presidency.)

But a girl has to record what is happening. When the aliens come and look through the rubble, maybe they will find my little virtual fist sticking out in the black power salute. So may I say to any aliens with WTF signs over their heads right now: "Greetings!!" and-no, I cannot explain that guy's hair, or the people who got poor people to vote for them; then wrote a bill that endangered their lives. Nor have I ever understood people who call themselves followers of a pacifist Jew, but who hate pacifists and  Jews.

But if the aliens find peanut butter: they should give it a try. It's really one of our best things.

Oh you beautiful women: well, I wish I could stay; 
cause the night would be fun throwing caution away....

We saw this show on mountain climbing that has this achingly beautiful song as its soundtrack; I can't stop listening. But here is the weird part: one can't buy it. Believe me, my tech team has tried everything, and you can only listen to it on youtube.
Alas, this makes me love it even more....I can observe, but I cannot possess.
(There is a lesson in there somewhere, if I were in the mood.)

Anyway, I am inserting it here to make this entry sound deeper.

...and that bottle's enticing, but I've been there before, 
half way to the bottle and begging for more- 
on my knees quick to pray, then right back up again
cause these are justified sins
they're all justified sins..

On the mountain climbing show we heard the story of how the famed climber Uli Steck died this past April on a simple warm up run on Everest.  Steck was one of the very best climbers ever. He was known for his speed which, according to Messner, was extraordinary. So he got it into his head to do the hardest thing one can do, i.e. climb the the Everest Lhotse traverse. This means climbing Mount Everest, and then, instead of taking a selfie and coming down, it means you keep hiking. You hike a traverse and then climb Lhotse. It's insane, and I don't even know what Lhotse is.

Uli and his Italian partner had tried to do it in 2013, but things went sour. They were acclimatizing (they don't use oxygen or sherpas) and on a training day, they ran into some Sherpas who were laying lines for high paying clients- who not to be too bitchy about it- pay a lot to be hand held to the top...(throwing used oxygen canisters along the way). I don't know what happened; but apparently the sherpas were confused by the Swiss and Italian guys' presence, and the Swiss/Italian team was confused by the sherpas presence, and the Italian called the sherpas a name that was so bad: so very bad, that the sherpas can never ever say it. Of course it is said in every Italian traffic jam, but not in Nepal.
When Uli and his partner came down, a mob of sherpas came to their tent with rocks, and a genuine plan to kill them.

Luckily, a woman friend came to their rescue. Basically she blocked the entrance to the tent with her body, and told the sherpas they would have to kill her, the hot climbing chick, too. Bad ass. But the deal was the climbers had to get the hell out of town, and so no Lhotse face. The next year, there was a huge avalanche that killed many sherpas; and the season was cancelled. Then in 2015 the earthquake hit Nepal and that season was cancelled too. So in the Spring of 2017, Uli goes back, fitter than ever, ready to to do this incredible, super human thing. But on a a simple acclimatizing day, he just doesn't come back. Somehow, the greatest living climber, with endless experience on this mountain, slips on the easiest day. The mountain swallows him up, never to be seen again.

The Sherpas think Everest is a Goddess, and are always worried about pissing her off. Well it seems she just might be. Maybe it's the lunacy of traffic jams of people trying to reach heaven while elbowing each other in the face. Maybe she is mad the sherpas don't have insurance or proper training; just courage and poverty. Maybe she is pissed because we don't take very good care of each other, or her.
But reasonable minds might agree Mother Earth and her favorite Mountain Goddess seem irritated.

An average day on Everest....

I'm reading Hillary's book and it is a salve to my worried heart that she is not going quietly into the night. She is calling it exactly as she sees it: hell yes it was part sexism; hell yes Comey put the final nail in her coffin; hell yes the Russian are here and coming for more. The shit is broken, so tell the truth. Also, I love how she still has the inclination to help the class idiot by giving him the answer. She tweeted what to do asap in Puerto Rico....because as she said: "I don't even think he knows Puerto Ricans are Americans".

Grim news from the Academy today: an Exeter student has gone missing. They wanted us to know in case our kids told us. I asked F, and he filled me in: a kid was found, passed out from dehydration in the woods; and hikers called an ambulance. For some reason he checked into the hospital under a false name, but then high tailed it out of there at midnight. They don't know where he is now.

His poor mother (she is apparently faculty at PEA); I can't stop thinking of her.

Anyway I'm going to tiptoe around mother earth this afternoon, not making too much noise, or using any gas. I want to give her the day off from my problems-because so many of her kids seem to be getting on her nerves.

Though I tried to listen to what was right and what was wrong
Some voice deep inside me told me nothing was wrong
Who I'll become- the places I've been 
These are justified sins
There all justified sins 

Would my mother forgive me if she'd seen things I'd done? 






Chauncy Crandall's song "Vice"  from the soundtrack to the Real Rock- series on Mountain Climbing. 

Gucci Slides and Air Freshener

Add caption

OK ...all three kids are present and accounted for at PEA- all three have (at least when I left them), clean sheets and floors cleared of debris. Got a delicious 45 minutes with F the first night before I made the rounds of the rooms. Charlie came bounding down to greet me in Gucci slides with socks: a look he is hoping will catch on in New England. To say he is ahead of the curve on this one, is not in any way braggy. He was a little vague as to the whereabouts of his laundry bag, and to the purposes of a comforter cover. Sadly for fun lovers everywhere, he had to take down his 43 strands of Christmas lights because someone said they were a fire hazard and his house is made of wood.

They are now hung in the middle of the room in what he and I are calling an artistic expression of the suppression of expression everywhere.

His sister's room looked like a hospital suite, but with throw pillows and a rather horrible air freshener that she won't part with. F and I tried to explain that this was likely a toxic addition, but Hot Chocolate (name on her door when she moved in) was having none of it. She said her advisor gave her flowers the day before with a note that said: " flowers to brighten your rainy day"; something that has never happened at Wentworh Hall in 236 years.

Honestly, I think birds follow her around that place like Snow White. F has taken on the role of warning her about potential evil apples; he loves the place God knows, but there are trap doors in this kingdom and you have to be on alert. She just smiles at him in pity: Poor Frederick; so negative.
His friend Will says he is starting to get gray hairs.

Both Brigham kids are speaking a lot of French over there, which is just so cool. All three seem tired, occasionally stressed, occasionally inspired, and content.

My driver to and from the airport is this 60 something very overweight woman who is an RN. We talked about the relationship between the town and the school. 'The Academy', as people call it, has tried to quietly go about the business of educating youth "from all corners" while politely ignoring the educational needs of most of the kids on its doorstep. To be sure, the school accepts and delights in locals coming...plenty of kids are "day students". But most of the kids in the town of Exeter don't go to PEA; and the difference in their high school vs ours, is so extreme, one can't help but wonder if it ever gets awkward. Most of the kids probably enter Exeter with about the same education-sure there are South Koreans in calculus in 9th grade, and maybe even Town School kids know more Spanish or are better writers, but by in large, 13 year olds that want to attend high school are in the same ballpark. But then this warp thing happens - and the difference becomes exponential. One side gets doused with an intense, personalized, multicultural education, with science labs and sports facilities like that of a small college; and the kids at Exeter High get something less.
So I wanted to know how the locals felt about that. Mary said some were jealous, and a few thought it was inspiring. All of them wanted the Academy kids to keep waving when they crossed the street. (The kids always wave at cars that stop for them at crosswalks...it is handed down from older kids to younger- a tiny gesture, but it does a lot to keep relations warm.)

And of course the town would be much poorer without the business created by the school- all those Texans and Nigerians coming to stay and buy trinkets. I think they know this. But the humming sound  that comes from those mysterious buildings next door must occasionally  grate. It seems like it is the same dividing line that is in our country now- it's not about wealth (only) because so many kids who go to PEA are not rich. But they are talented, and they are inspired, and they have parents who dreamt big things. That's why they are lucky- they had someone who loved them enough to send them.

I have a few more stories, Ill add later. Wanted to get the photos up. xx

last selfie

in the hospital suite of hanna's room

yucking it up on Il Duce's balcony

What joy this shot would have brought my father.....

Update coming soon

For now, a fuzzy photograph as proof of life....

Three Yokels from California walk into a prep school......

(for the purposes of this entry, I define a 'yokel' as anyone who is not from South Korea, and does not play the violin.)


So the circus has come to town and three cousins have somulatepisly (combination somehow and simultaneously: a typo but now trademarked) been tucked into their dorm rooms at PEA. H is by far the most joyful: she loves every single thing- her small room with its white linoleum floor and its view of some pretty tress that will soon lose their leaves; she marvels at the sound of the old train in the distance; she has made beautiful, kind, adorable friends already; and she did homework on and off for many hours her first night, a Friday no less. She is my vote for most likely to be student body president and/or head of the board of trustees. She is into it I tell you.

M told me a great story about one of her very first classes.

The teacher wanted each to tell them about themselves and Hanna talked about her recent stint in Geneva. Apparently she tossed out the sentence "but Geneva is really just like any city" . Now a middle child from a large family might not assume anyone is actually listening, so what the hell- go with modesty. But this is the Harkness and there are some exotic birds around that table- birds with brains. So out it comes: "I totally disagree: Geneva has the GDP of most African nations, it has a potable lake, and its citizens represent 4,309 countries. (I'm paraphrasing) . To which H replied- how do you know all this? "Because I lived in Geneva for 15 years." Then as she was leaving, he approached her and asked if she spoke French? "Oui". And off they went to the next class speaking French after picking up another French speaker along the way.

C is in a house with very few kids: a hockey player roommate and some PG football players to name a few.

F somehow got the only kids room on campus I think with a balcony- with French doors.  We are calling him Il Duce.

Charlie is also speaking a lot of French there- and not only in his French class. There was some kid who approached him asking if he could please only speak French together because "he really wants to live in France someday and he needs to practice". He also said he is the only blond in his Chemistry Ap class and to my knowledge the only one with a batman mask from Target (see below).

They have said the work load seems like a lot, but so far so good.

My favorite moment was when I took them to Target (M had a meeting with the faculty) and everyone ran around getting what they needed: Fans and toiletries and pens. That is except Charlie, who only bought a bat man mask and some old Spice. Can't be too careful....Oh and later he texted his mother who was in Bed Bath and Beyond, asking her if she would please get "four boxes of Christmas lights", for obvious reasons: at least they were obvious to Charlie and his roommate.

I am flying this Thursday so I wanted to get out the "first impressons' so we can compare them with the "two weeks later impressions". Stay tuned.
XXX

first night 

At the football field

Charlie's house

post target....everyone got what he or she needed. Bat man mask, check; 47 throw pillows, check. 

Post Target: F is telling C  that they have Saturday classes...classes in which he likely can't wear the mask;
witness the incredulity. 

Every girl had a different beverage on her door. Don't know why...

Clearly this was before Charlie heard about Saturday classes. 

Hanna's room decked out

Its a lonely road sometimes...

Weird new phenomenon of parents buying places in town....

Cousins

Big man on campus Will K. 

Chico's balcony

"That pile of rubble next to Potsdam...."

"Do not rejoice in his defeat, you men. For though the world has stood up and stopped the bastard, the bitch that bore him is in heat again. " Brecht


The title of today's missive is a quip of Bertolt Brecht's when he came back to Berlin in 1947. As most of you know, Berlin is today's hipster mecca- filled with artists, students, philosophers, gays, and bon vivants of all stripes. It is not pretty; nor is it is charming. The word that came to both Thomas and me was Post apocalyptic. I am not trying to be funny.
Some people look at you strangely when you say that, as if they are confused. Berlin? Ugly? Yes. it is. There is Venice, Zurich, Paris...and then there are places like Milan and Berlin. It is almost menacing in parts- I cannot wait to go back.

It is in your face cool- deep, sad, brilliant, a place that was crushed and is coming back swinging. And I mean swinging in both the mighty German economy sense, and people switching sexes and dancing until dawn then, sleeping in the park sense. It's wild. It is also relatively inexpensive, so the population is filled with a truly interesting cross section, unlike, say, my neighborhood.

Berlin was rich and decadent and modern in the 20's, as it is now. The Royals (Frederick of Prussia and gang) built these enormous streets so they could impress people, and so they could get their crap from one end of town to the other. The trouble is, in modern cities- really wide streets tend to get filled with McDonald's and drug stores and ugly things, and it becomes hideous quickly. They were once rich enough to tear down old things and re build, so there are no medieval building like in Zurich; building that are so charming to our American eyes.
And then, of course, came the troubles....the 12 years around the third Reich. 70% of Berlin was bombed to smithereens; then half of it endured ill fated communism, and the other just plain old poverty. And it looks like it. Actually it looks like something in a futuristic movie: grim buildings amid gleaming modern ones amid a few old elegant sad ones. Imagine a very wide (four lane) street with identical communist era high rises stretching far away; then imagine gritty bridges along a small uninviting river; then imagine gleaming high rises where the German worker bees- god bless them- are driving a rather spry economy. Imagine an island of e-fing-normous buildings that are staggering in their beauty and ability to intimidate. The Humbolt University is the most beautiful thing, Good lord it is lovely; but it's not pretty like things in Rome - it is no Trevi fountain. It doesn't want to be your friend.: it is arrogant and bad ass and not welcoming in any way.

On this same island (museum island) is one museum after the next filled with plunders from around the world. Just amazing.  We barely scratched the surface-they have the bust of Nefertiti and we didn't get there!

We took an open air bus ride around west Berlin to get a feel for it, and it's not as cool, ironically as the East Side. The Reichstag - the Parliament building - is a good example of the Post Apocalyptic vibe: an 1894 building, built with an obviously unlimited budget, and with the German architectural style that is intended to make you feel small and insignificant in its shadow. But added to it is this large glass bubble built by Norman Foster that is fabulous and weird and expensive.

On the old building it is written, simply:  For the German people.
I found that sentence strangely moving. My people-both genetically and through marriage, have endured such misery, mostly of their own doing. How deadly the combination is of a very bad government and an enormous sense of civic duty and nationalism. How many people die when very organized, honest, authority worshipping people get pointed in the wrong direction.

So right behind our hotel is the Holocaust memorial which is just so achingly sad. The guides in their friendly t shirts approach Spanish families with two beautiful young girls and warn them: you might not want to bring the children inside. And the father walks them to get an ice cream; because they are not old enough to know this.
Inside, there are many things that still have the power to stun you even after you think you have heard it all: a letter from a child to her father (where he was, I don't know, presumably she was writing just for her own sake) about being afraid of dying in the pit. She was afraid of being thrown in the pit with her mother. And because this is not a Hollywood movie, but reality, she died exactly that way. Her crime? being born into one of the oldest and greatest faiths this world knows. A faith from which my own borrows central ideas of monotheism and a benevolent God.

That's Berlin for you. This pain is somehow in the air- this shame, this agony, I didn't feel it in Munich.

F couldn't accept another museum after that. He just said no...once a day was enough. So Thomas and I went to the Jewish museum on our own. In comparison it is practically jolly. You get to see Einstein and maps and hear again how the Jews had been in Germany since 400 A.D. They were  Germans.
But because they were always sort of suspect, they couldn't get just any job. The one job they could get was the thing that was a pure meritocracy- science. The research was all that mattered, so that's what they did- no one cared if the solution came from a Jewish head.
Bad news for Hitler of course: he killed or expelled some of the greatest minds on the earth. And those minds got together and built a bomb not for Germany, but for the allies. Yes he was dead by then, but he had wanted that bomb too, and in one of my favorite FUs in history, it was kept from him by the very people he wanted to end.

So! Hows life in California??? I realize this is pretty heavy stuff: but that's Berlin for you. Not a lot of love songs written about it.

Much more of course: a 15k bike ride around town; dinner with the Genschels complete with thunder and lightening (very Berlin) the wall, the Stasi (my new obsession), the art, on and on. But I must come home now. XXXX

Jewish Museum by Liebeskind

plaques in front of homes of murdered Jews

Ishtar Gate- this is only part of it!

abandoned airport the boys wanted to see

Abandoned building in former East Berlin- some artist took a lot of time to write that..

walking home-