My First Crust

Isn't it beautiful?

The beauty does not lie in its exterior but in the optimism, pride, energy and research that went into it. Plus, it tastes good and has a moist and delicate texture. From the missing corner, you can see that I tasted it. I am telling the truth.

I began my journey into baking with a drive for pecan pie. Those damn things only show up in the fall. I need them year round. I hit Food Network's website and found a suitable recipe. I do not come from a baking from scratch background, so I automatically went for the frozen pie crust. They come in an aluminum pan that you throw away when the sad time comes, when there is no pie. What could be better? Nothing.

I have lived with McDonad's pies for too long. (They are still fried in Germany. That is the one food that tastes better here than in the U.S.) Germany does not have a tradition of American-style baking. Cakes are thin layers of cake with an inch of light cream between the layers. There is no pie. That meant: there is no frozen pie crusts.

I was scared but I knew I could handle it.

I hit up my old friend, FoodNetwork.com and looked for a suitable crust. I chose the sweet pie crust (If you are going to go, go hard.). Then the research started.

What is the correct flour?

What is the German word for vegetable shortening?

A long time ago, Asmus said everything is complicated in Germany. I have learned that he is correct. There is no all-purposed flour or pastry flour. Flour have no words. It has numbers. Did I need a 405, a 550 or 1050? I hit up my favorite German-English-speakers website and searched the forum. Either I needed a 405 or a 550. I widened my search and settled on a 550.

I begged Asmus to ask his mother what the German word for that is (There is no big old tub of Crisco here.). He hates asking anyone questions but he also hates my nagging, so I nagged hard. Margot kept recommending butter. So I hit the market in the hope that all would become clear. It didn't. Plus, I forgot whether I needed lard or vegetable fat. So Asmus translated some tub of fat in the refrigerator aisle and I both fat from plants and fat from pigs.

I smuggled one American measuring cup to Germany. I needed it to measure the fat and the flour and the water. I decided to measure out 16 tablespoons for the shortening to save the cup for the water. That was a mistake. I forgot twice how to many spoonfuls were in the mix. Before I added the water, the mixture was supposed to look like coarse crumbs. I had a sticky mess. It looked wrong but I continued. I never made a crust, maybe it is supposed be disgusting before it all comes together.

I was right -- I made it wrong.

I measured out the shortening and set aside in another dish and started all over again after a beer.

Success!

Tomorrow, I going to make my first ALL homemade sweet potato pie.

Wish me luck.

Not so fast

That is me cowering before a representative of

Germany's Federal Bureau for Migrants and Refugees

It seems that I was to hasty and announcing myself done with the Integration Course. I made that announcement after completing my last class and last test.
I got my results two days ago.
Gulp.
I must achieve a B1 level on the test in order to have successfully completed it (Tip: the lower the number and lower the letter, the worse you did. C2 is the highest and A1 is the lowest.). I earned an A2 on speaking; B1 on the hearing and reading section; B1 on the writing section; and 20 out of 25 correct on the cultural portion (I needed to get 13 correct to pass.). With those results, I thought I passed. Nope, I earned A2 on the entire test. The government is kind enough to give you your specific results on the test. I got 68 points on the speaking; 75 is needed to get B1.
One can get A2 in either listening/reading or writing and B1 in the other sections and earn B1 for the entire test. If you get A2 in speaking, you do not pass, regardless of the grades in other sections.
I have not complained about much with this damn course. However, this is ridiculous. They should give the speaking portion and its results before give the rest of the test. This way, one does not waste your time and energy studying for a test that you have already failed.
I spent a day dealing with rude government officials. I understand bogged-down workers but these people were mean and deflating. I was speaking in English because it is efficient and I was chastised. I wanted to simply take the examination and skip the option of taking the last 300 hours of the course again (That is three months of sitting through the same material that I just sat through! For seven points!) and then take the test. I was pointedly told this was a dumb idea because I "obviously" needed help.

I am done listening to them. I have been practicing speaking since I got the results of my test. I will pass this damn test.

Fertig!

My weapons for the last year. I forgot to include my Life Saver -- my Oxford English-German Dictionary.

Done!

Today, everything has changed.

I am done.

I am done with Germany's Integration Course.

This six-month course has taken over a year of my life.

I started at the beginning of October 2008 and finished today.

At the end of December 2008, my first language school took a holiday break and I went to London for a bit. I returned to Hamburg in February. I tried to get in to a class at the same class and that was not possible until March 2. The Friday night before Asmus got a contract to work at a bank in Kiel, Germany. I nagged about 10 language schools in Kiel in search for a place in the three module of the course. There was just about no room at the inn. InLingua had a spot in its third module that began in mid-June 2009.

It was tough going for a long time. I bought a Berlitz book to help me with my German while I was living in London. I didn't use it much but then it saved my life this summer. My school in Hamburg, Colon, was full of new immigrants. We all suffered through German pronunciation and grammar together. We complained and whined as one. And when we were done, we had a beer. I complained about them but I missed them this summer.

My class in Kiel was full of German residents. They spoke the language at the speed of sound. In response, the teachers did the same. I came home angry and frustrated. I sat there from 8 am until 12:15 and had no idea what was going on. A few times that I tried to speak, a few people in class laughed at me. The teacher said nothing. Once I was too excited construct a true sentence in German and simply said, "Kein respekt! Kein respekt!" There was silence for a few seconds but no apology. After that, the laughter stopped.

I hoped my learning experience would look like this. It didn't.

Soon, I took a peek at my Berlitz book to see if it could help me. I was happy to notice that it was the same as the book we were using. The big difference was that the directions and instructions were in English. I started to work before hand. I gathered a vocabulary list and created flash cards. My German got much better. By August, I had the respect of the class. Some turned to me when they were not certain about something. Olga, the silent Russian emigrant who sat next to me, would simply copy my work. For a while, I was forced to sit across the room from her and she would come over to steal answers from me. I had several philosophical discussions about this with Asmus. I think Olga should learn on her own and I did not want to contribute to her cheating herself. Asmus didn't think there was no harm to me, so I didn't need to care. I was too cowardly to shoo her away.

I did become racist. I now hate Turkish people. (OK, not really.) About half of the class hailed from Turkey. They were the ones laughing at me. I was impressed by their unity and disgusted by it, too. They would only talk to each other. If the teacher would ask a Turkish classmate a question and he did not know the question, a few of his countrymen would give him the answer in Turkish. There was this crazy clique. And they were annoying. When we got our practice tests back, they asked everyone in the classroom their scores. Didn't tell theirs but asked for others. I almost peed on myself when Selma told the teacher that she got an answer wrong that Ebru got correct. The result: Ebru lost a point.

Now, I have nothing to complain about; no chapters to read; no place to go at the crack of dawn. (Because of Hamburg' s latitude, the sun rises about 7:15 now.)

I wanted to feel sad about the end of my time in class. I feel nothing. I will miss Thomas, the one teacher who slowed his speech down and explained things when I was obviously confused. I will miss the interesting and capable office manager Anja. Because of the nature of our relationships, Anja and I and Thomas and I could not have been friends. I hoped to gather some friends in the integration course. But now I just have happiness that the course is over.

Here is a view of a room at the school, where I learned about German language and culture.

On the Road

Behind the tree, sits the Kalk Mountain.

Another nice thing Germany does for its people -- cheap travel.

German rail offers lots of cheap ticket options. There is a ticket option that allows unlimited travel in one of Germany's 16 states for a group of 5 people for about 30 euros. It is a surreal experience buying a train ticket. It is like a trip to New York in the early '90s. I remember that I used to visit my friend Kara who was living in the West Village. I was walking down the street and some guy started walking to close to me. He was not going to bump into me but glide by. As he did this, I heard a faint voice murmur, "Smoker. Smoker. Smoker" He was letting me know that he would sell me some pot. When you walk up to a kiosk in Kiel, some 20-something inches up to you and asks if you are going to Hamburg. They want to split the cost of the ticket with you. You don't even have to sit with them; just be in the same car. But, I don't like getting hooked up with strangers, so I used to say, "I'm sorry but I only speak English." That never worked. People taking the train from Kiel to Hamburg seem to all speak German and English. I was forced to reject them.

Asmus and I used the Schleswig-Holstein ticket to go from Kiel and Hamburg and vice versa. A few months ago, we decided to use the ticket for one-day getaways.

First stop, Bad Segeberg.

Segeberg required a run from a late train to Luebeck but we made it. The town sits on a see but it is home to a mountain, Kalk Mountain. (Kalk means Chalk but the mountain actually contains gypsum. Wacky Germans!) We came for the cave on a Sunday. We took an almost horizontal trek from the train station to the mountain. We got there just in time for a tour. I love a tour!

We walked down some steps and into a refrigerator. The cave was cold and dark. Unfortunately, the cold was the most interesting thing about it. There were no stalagtictes, no stalagmites, no ancient artifacts, no bats. The tour guide pointed out a few rock formations that look like characters from Snow White and other gruesome German fairy tales.

It was a bit scary. Right next to the cave, there is a amphitheater, which has been doing old-fashioned cowboy and Indian shows. As we are walking down the steps to the cave, the ground shook from the cap guns. Plus, once the door to the cave shut, it was a frightening.

The cool part of the visit was a snack stop after the cave. We got ice cream at a restaurant outside the theater. We ate sundaes as rain poured onto awnings that shielded us. It was a good day.

I Heart Deutschland

What a time it has been!

Germany is really good to its people. Last week, I started the orientation course, which is a two-week section of the Integration Course for German visa holders. I have learned lots about the new nation [For the uninitiated, there was an area in central Europe that was occupied by a variety of dukedoms and many spoke the same Teutonic language. The area officially became a nation in 1871. That fell apart a few times. A democratic nation was formed May 1949; West and East Germany came together as one nation in 1990.].

In exchange for high taxes:

Families with children get money until the child turn 18, if they start work after high school, or 25, if they go to college

Parents of newborns get money from the government for two years

Money to help pay for child care

Money for unemployed people

Money for older people

I am starting to wonder about the wisdom of the American way of life. I would like to have money from the government for being married or having children.

Plus, I was shocked to learn that for most nonviolent offenses, the punishment is monetary, not jail. And you pay. None of these repeated calls from collectors. People (accompanied by police, if necessary) come to your house and take things that equate the cost of the debt. I like that more than the chaos of the criminal justice system in the United States. If American jails and prisons rehabilitated people, I would support them. At least in the German way, criminals aren't simply stored together.

Plus, pregnant women are forced from work six weeks before their due date. They get to sit home and get paid. Then they can stay home for a year and get paid. When they return to work, they can NOT get fired for two years.

I would like some stuff from the government. As a working adult, the only thing I have ever gotten from the government was a student loan forbearance.

I learned a lot in the course but it is mess. We are not assigned homework. We go over the information in class and learn as we read along. I am having trouble translating the words, so I cannot really learn. So then I started reading texts the night before. We have the orientation course test tomorrow. But wait. Get this. We have the test at 11 am, right after we have three hours of lesson. So there is some teaching and there is a test. That is why I read the night before. We did a practice test today and about one eighth of the information in the book was on the test. Oh well, in 24 hours, it will all be over.

Then what do I do?

Happy Anniversary to Me!

Today is my anniversary.

One year ago today, I got on a plane and I left my life.

I met a boy. I met a wonderful boy. In his own words, “an exotic Teutonic boy toy.”

As an American, all expectations are that he would come to me. Who doesn’t want to come to America? People fight sharks; pay thousands of dollars that they don’t have to shady figures and work for years to pay the debt; or stowaway in the well of airplane tires to get here.

Asmus helped run a company and looks in his parents. I was a happy employee of a major publishing house. His folks are about 20 years older than mine. Mine go to work every day and his haven’t worked since the ‘80s. So I decided to make the move.

It was easy but not. I am a logical being. It made sense for me to go. However, I wondered if I was acting like one of those women who sacrifice everything for their husbands and then 10 years later, they hate themselves. I told Asmus this and he thought the same thing. He pushed moving to the U.S. I was the one who pushed for me to immigrate. I had quiet moments and thought about it and thought about it. It just made sense to me and I felt good with the decisions. I asked my best friends and they said it made sense, too. So there.

The point was driven home a week or two after this decision. I was evicted from my apartment. My degenerate roommate allegedly was in California [her subletter and I wonder if she was really in California because she visit New York several times] and left without paying back rent and upcoming rent. She made payment plans with the city of New York that she didn’t tell me about and then renegged on it. So, we were evicted.

I got the notice early August.

I planned to come to Germany in October. Here I am two months before that -- homeless.

The first thing I did after I found out that I was officially homeless was call Asmus. The first thing he said was, “Come to me.”

Problem solved.

All my belongings sitting in Asmus' living room

I skipped trying to find a place to live for two months and asked a friend Jennie if I could crash at her place for two weeks. She said yes and I started giving my belongings.

My year in Germany has been an adventure. I have experienced life as an immigrant. It sucks. I got to live my best friend. It is wonderful. I discovered who my Americans real friends are. Thank you Mori, Marie, Jennie, Thomas, Tim, Ginger. They are the ones who send me news-filled emails and overcome several time zones to call me with chit chat. I made new friends. Thank you Anne, Konrad, Lunghei, Tanje, Toby. At 37, it is just about impossible to find people who will spend time with you. These people [except for South African Lunghei] hang out with me in a foreign language.

More importantly, across the distance I have become closer to my family. My older sister, Lorie, and I are on polar opposite side of the political spectrum [I am on the correct side. (Hah! Just joking, Lorie.)]. But we speak constantly. I “talk” to her more now than I ever did when we were 200 miles apart. Throughout the day, emails bounce between Kiel and Baltimore. She is preparing for her airplane flight to visit me. My mother and I joke via email. That is pretty impossible in person for us. Don’t know why. Plus, in print, she is a bit mushy. She misses me. I know this because she writes this to me. She also thinks I drink too much alcohol. I know this because she writes this to me.

Plus, I have doubled my family. I love Asmus’ family. His mother is so sweet. You feel better when you are in her presence. His father is an interesting person. Asmus’ older brother, Christian, officiated at our wedding. Asmus and I helped his wife and two sons cheer him on when he ran a marathon in Mainz.

Life is intense in Germany but it is always interesting. My new life is different than the one I left behind in New York and that is fine with me.

Home sweet home.

Viva Kiel Week!

Because of its seaside location, Kiel is a popular tourist spot.

Tourists flood this town every summer.

I know why.

Of course, there are the beaches [I guess that is why. I have never been to them. I cannot find the fun in sitting in dirt for hours at a time.] but the city programs events all the time.

There were outdoor concerts every weekend.

A few hours ago, I grabbed lunch at a flea market that had taken over all of downtown. I am not one for picking over other people's garbage but I have a weakness for cool drinking glasses, interesting dishes and fun purses. I looked around and saw all these things that I wanted and decided that I had to leave.

A family of jugglers came to town.

"The Little Prince" was staged.

Yesterday was the open house for the Kiel Opera. There were performances inside and outside the opera house.

The biggest event of them all is Kieler Woche ["Kiel Week"']. For seven days at the end of August, there were major and minor musical acts on stages scattered throughout the city. Some are on their way up. Stefanie Heinzmann won one of Germany's televised talent contests and played. Madcon, a Swedish hiphop group that made a hit with Frankie Valli's "Beggin'", played the night after Stefanie. There are some acts on their way down. Paul Carrack was playing one night as I walked alone. The voice was familiar but the name was not. He had some moderate success alone in the 80s and he was one of the lead singers of Mike + the Mechanics and Squeeze.

There was also a lot of stuff with boats. I saw none of it. Because of its location on the water, regattas are a big deal. We had four friends come visit from Hamburg. They were going to sail on the ship of the father of one of our guests. I get incredibly seasick, so I dropped out at the last second.

The best part for me was the International Food Show. A block away from our house was food from around the world. Germans are not the most adventurous people but for some reason, they open their culinary minds up for one week and taste everything. I had food from Czech Republic, Rwanda, Argentina, Nepal, Poland and India. I never had Rwandan food but it had similar ingredients to cuisines found in the Caribbean. Like, I definitely tasted yucca and I know there were plaintains.

A meal from "Nepal"

I even had some Norwegian wine. I am sorry to say that sucked. But the Guinness at the Irish tent was as good as it was in Dublin. The Malbec from the Argentinean kiosk was wondrous.

The crowd outside the ersatz Ireland. Throughout the day, musicians played, like the tent was a pub along the Liffy and not thrust against a German opera house.

According to Kiel tourism officials, more than 3 million people came for Kiel Week. Perhaps they are counting some of us a few times. I was "there" every day a few times a day. But I ain't hating on them.

Downtown Girl

I have finally become a Downtown Girl. I live in the midst of all that is happening . . . in Kiel, Germany.

Asmus got some IT work for a bank in the town of Kiel, so we moved last March. Sorta. We still have the Hamburg apartment but we also rent an apartment in Kiel.

Before I arrived, I was a bit frightened. Everyone. By "everyone," I mean every person to whom I said the word "Kiel." Everyone said Kiel was ugly and boring. Asmus lived here for months before and he said it was boring and ugly.

I wasn't sure if something was wrong with me but when I came to scope out an apartment in March, I found Kiel to be your average-looking town. It was not Paris but it was not Gary, Indiana. I suspect people are remembering an old incarnation of the town or repeating what their parents' said.

I scooped up an apartment in the heart of Kiel. We walk everywhere. To restaurants, to the sea, to the train station, to the gym, to the grocery store, to bars. I love living in the middle of everything. I grew up on the edge of Philadelphia. My first apartment was in Northern Liberties. That rocked. I was next to the fun but in the middle of the noise. But Germany is not as fun or as loud as Philadelphia, so it is great to be in the middle of everything.

I am a block away from two ponds -- the Kleiner Kiel and the Grosser Kiel. The Kleiner [smaller] is closest to me. In the middle of the summer, landscapers mowed the lawn and let the clippings flow into the water. The two Kiels have not looked good since then.

Since May, a fountain spray water from the Kleiner Kiel back into the Kleiner Kiel. The clumps of algae or whatever float on top. The spire of the old Rathaus [German for "City Hall" pokes up behind the Kiel Opernhaus [Opera house].

That is the ugliest thing about this city of 280,000 that sits on the Baltic Sea [that's the East Sea to Germans].

A lazy summer day in the park next to the Kleiner Kiel

Honeymoon Part VI - Villa Borghese & the Departure

Fortunately, we had a late return flight to Germany. That meant that we had a day to kill.

Of course, there was the breakfast buffet to conquer but then what.

After racking our brain for something interesting but not too strenuous, we decided to see Villa Borghese. Don"t let the name fool you. It is not a building. Villa Borghese is a large area that includes museums, several gardens, a few ponds and some other attractions.

A manicured garden at Villa Borghese

We would see what we could see and then come back to the hotel and sit in the spa one last time.

Because we made the decision to come to Rome at the last moment, we didn't have many requirements for the hotel. One that immediately came to mind and stayed at the top of our list was a spa. I introduced Asmus to massage last November and he has not been the same since. The man loves his rubdowns. Plus, he is great at giving them. After days walking through tombs, sculpture halls and shopping malls, collectively we have had full-body massage, food massage and head massage. Either before or after, we have been in water. I spent too much time in a hot tub, which actually wasn't all that hot, and Asmus swam many, many laps in the pool.

Neither Asmus nor I can start the day early. There is no get a jump on the day for us. The day will be there for a long time, why kill yourself to reach it. We reached the top of the steps at the Spagna stop on the Metro at lunch time. We bumped into a trattoria and stayed.

I am the queen of planning. This trip to Rome was such a departure for me. But without much time, I had to be spontaneous. Because Rome is so rich with treasures, everything worked out. We only had one bad meal. That restaurant was right across from the Pantheon; food near tourist traps are rarely good.

We didn't get to the restaurant at lunch. We got there at the tail end of lunch. Our choices were limited but they were all good. Ready for action. We turned the corner and was greeted by a crowd of people milling outside a great stone arch. We were not the only ones with this idea.

A view of the arch from inside Villa Borghese

Because the grounds were so large, we did not feel crowded. We just walked around and watched people and the surroundings. You could rent a "pedalo," a pedal-powered carriage but we just ambled about for a few hours.

Our time in the park was a bit sad for me. The honeymoon was almost over. The trip to paradise was about to end. In a few hours, we would be living our normal lives, not eating, drinking and being care free.

Rome was special for some pretty selfish reasons, too. It was so cool hearing English (Because Rome is such a tourist city, English is spoken everywhere.) I was also going to miss the Fox Italy channel. I watched American reruns in English in the afternoon. In addition to missing communication, I will miss the beauty and the history of Rome. Italians have passion. Things are fast and loud. Germany does not have that.

I miss Rome.

My and Asmus' shadows on a pond at Villa Borghese. That is me on the left.

Honeymoon Part V - The Vatican!

My life has gotten away from me. But I got out my big lasso and I got it back under control. So on with the show.

The Saturday during our honeymoon week was a busy one. We woke up ridiculously early. If you knew Asmus, you would really appreciate the gravity of the situation. He sleeps in half-day increments. So our 9 o'clock appointment at the Vatican Museums was difficult. Luckily our hotel was relatively close to the Vatican. Because of the early hour, we opted for the 5-minute cab ride, instead of the bus.

As you probably have forgotten, we decided to go to Rome about two weeks before the trip and while we were planning the wedding, so there was not much time for research. We were in a rush to get things going, so we did not ask many questions at the airport tourism office. In the craze of planning the trip, I decided to visit the Vatican. I am not Catholic or a fan of old churches but I love history. The Vatican is chock full of it.

I want to the Vatican’s website and signed us up for an English-language tour. Asmus and I talked about good dates and times. During our conversations, our preferences were eaten up. We were happy to get a tour Saturday morning at 9 a.m. Going to the Vatican to look is free but a tour is 13 euros. I loves me some tours, so I paid. That’s all I know. There were no explanations for how long the tour was, what you look at, where to meet the tour guide. It was a mystery. But I assumed that the Roman Catholic Church would not lead us astray.

OK, I was a bit wrong. The church is not that organized. The cab pulls up to the Vatican Museums at 8:40 a.m. and it looks like there is a protest going on. There was no protest, just a lot of people trying to get in. After standing for about 90 seconds trying to figure things out, I found a guy in a uniform. I asked him where to go and he pointed to a line. It was a long line but it was shorter than the line for people without reservations. As we inched ahead, I struck up a conversation with the people in front of us. They were Americans! Since moving to Germany, I am become this bloodhound in search of Americans. Mom, Dad and college-age daughter hailed from northern New Jersey. I moved from Brooklyn, so we were like neighbors. The daughter was studying abroad in Florence and her parents were visiting her. We talked about Italy and I explained what I was doing in Germany. Asmus was mostly silent. That is normal.

Time is ticking away. It is stressful but the line is moving steadily. We get past security and then we don’t know what to do. We lost the Jersey family. We stand around and I peek a sign that says, “Tick”. I assume that it says “Tickets” and rush toward it. Soon Asmus follows. I was right. We had an online reservations but needed to get tickets. The man rushes and we join the tour 40 seconds before it is set to move.

The Vatican is pretty hip. In addition to the website, the Vatican has the latest in tour technology. We got the kind of earphones that television anchors use. The tour guide had a microphone clipped to her jacket and we could hear what she said. It was kind of cool. It was like a ghost was whispering in my ears. We take off. Yes! We go up a flight of stairs and then sit in a hallway. We are waiting for some more English-speakers to get to the tour. I don’t mind because I just finished wading through the same confusion.

We go up an escalator and through a few hallways and then we go outside. We stand in a courtyard that is surrounded by large sculptures. There is even a cool globe sculpture by Arnaldo Pomodoro in the center of the Cortile del Belvedere, or Courtyard of Belvedere. The area is punctuated with these small billboards representing the Sistine Chapel. There are several boards because a few tour groups use them at the same time.


Because the Sistine Chapel is so popular and small, we get a 15-minute lesson about the art in the chapel and information about the history of the chapel outside. There are about 25 people in our group, so I cannot see the board. I am so clever that I move to an identical poster a few feet away and listen to the explanation from there.

Here is a view of the Belvedere Courtyard. The set of three small billboards depict the art in the Sistine Chapel. The trio is repeated throughout the courtyard. A different tour group stands in front of the scenes.

There is so much art everywhere. There are two or three very long hallways that contain tapestries detailing historic events, the map of the known world and every day life. There are rooms for large sculptures, some of which have complex mosaic tiles on the floor.

Even the ceilings are decorated and gilt.

Where there are no sculptures, there are paintings. Near the end of our tour, we passed through rooms devoted to modern and contemporary art. Most of the works have some kind of religious connotation, but not all of them. I noticed a familiar style in a piece across a room. I sped over to the work and I was rewarded. The Vatican Museums includes work by Jacob Lawrence. Now I am impressed.

Touring the Vatican City was amazing but very stressful. There were thousands of people moving through the halls at the same time. I was pushed and had people jump in front of me. A person in a wheelchair struggled to get out of the door. People on vacation are dangerous.

But the history and the art made up for the hassle. The Sistine Chapel is the most popular room but I preferred the work in the Raphael Rooms. Of course, much of the areas are covered in religious images but in the Room of the Segnatura, walls are devoted to a theme of life’s great truths. My favorite fresco feature the great thinkers of the first millennium and great medieval artists. The tour guide pointed out that in School of Athens, Raphael used the faces of some of his friends to represent some of the great thinkers. Art scholars have no agreed on what all the images, symbolism and actions mean in the paintings but the guide explained the less controversial aspects. The light was not good for me to photograph well.

However, I did get a few nice photographs of the paintings dedicated to Constantine. Constantine's conversion to Christianity made it possible for the religion to flourish. Before he converted, Christianity was an underground religion. Christians were killed for their faith. According to one theory, Emperor Constantine saw a cross in the sky while battling in a civil war with Maxentius and took it as a sign of God. The emperor put his troops in the form of the cross and beat the opposing army, which was twice as big as his. Those pieces were pulsating.

Here is a part of a fresco depicting Constantine's
victory, in which God spoke to him.

The Raphael Rooms are dark and quiet. There are several benches that you can sit on and think about what you see. It was an awe-inspiring room.

The tour ended with the modern art galleries. Suddenly we were on our own. After a visit to the bathroom, we entered this huge room with high ceilings and a crush of people. It was the Sistine Chapel. Like every other time in my life when I am excited about something, the actual event is not as good as the hope. The paintings are beautiful. Unfortunately, they are on high ceilings, so you are pretty far away from them. You are surrounded the buzzing of hundreds of people. It seemed like every 30 seconds a guard was Shhhhing people or telling them not to take any pictures. It was a mildly chaotic scene that I was happy to leave after a few minutes.

But wait there is more -- the Vatican City Gift Shop! I love gift shops. I love perusing shelves of crap to find the highlights and the lowlights. I was still on the hunt for a statue of the Pope (a German man who was once known as Joseph Ratzinger; when he was declared the new pope Germans ran around saying, "Wir sind Papst." We are the Pope. Mr. Michelsen is more of a man of letters, than a man of God. The statue was a joke.) for Asmus’ father. I asked a nun who worked as a cashier there and she disappeared up some steps with Asmus. All the cashiers in the gift shop were wearing habits. I think this is the place where the best nuns in the world come to end their service. All these old nuns selling postcards. It was odd.

I got an 8-inch statute of “Pope Benedetto XVI” [the pope’s official name is Italian. To us, he is Pope Benedict to the church, he is Papa Benedetto”. John Paul II was actually Papa Giovanni Paolo. I don’t want to sound crude but that is a sexy name. “Giovanni Paolo” belongs to a hot guy.] and some postcards of the Sistine Chapel, because you cannot take a photograph of the chapel. The best -- we sent some postcards from the souvenir shop to family. Because the Vatican City is its own country, it has its own postal system, so it has its own stamp. [Vatican City also has its own police force.]. [It seems the Italian tendency to be a bit disorganized extended to entering the Vatican Museum and the postal system. It took two weeks for the postcard to reach Asmus’ family in Germany. I was a bit nervous but my faith that the Roman Catholic Church would honor its duty was rewarded.]

After the gift shop, you must exit via St. Peter’s Square. That is the familiar circle with the column in the middle. For the more adventurous, you can tour St. Peter’s Basilica. It was about noon. Add my fatigue and hunger and my chronic boredom of old church’s, we left.

The trip to Rome helped my openness to spontaneity. We wandered around of food. There was this hole in the wall restaurant on a small street near the square. We stopped in and had delicious lunch and tasty wine.