Gas - Petrol - Benzin

I went to get gas for the first time (here). Like many mundane tasks we preform all the time, fueling my vehicle was an interesting exercise since A) the Germans don't call it gas, they call it Benzin, and B) putting diesel or leaded fuel into an unleaded-only car will make bad things happen. Complicating matters even more, they don't just call it benzin, they call it "verbleites Benzin" (leaded gasoline), "normalbenzin" (regular gasoline), and "bleifreies Benzin" (unleaded gasoline). Using my powers of deduction, I figured "normalbenzin" was not actually normal gas - or why would they call it "normal" and not just "benzin." I also know that "alkoholfreies bier" (alcohol-free beer) is something I want no part of since it is free of alcohol, so I took a chance on the "bleifreies Benzin" and my car continues to run.

After I overcame that hurdle, I watched as the counter kept displaying larger and larger numbers. I knew gas was expensive in Europe, but until you actually have to pay it, you don't really get it. I filled up the tank in my little Honda CRV and the bill came out to an astounding 67 EUROS. That's $86.75 if you're doing the math. And I really haven't driven that much. I don't want to hear anyone complain about gas prices.

Germany, I have found your flaw.

Regensburg - St. Peter's Cathedral

What started out as an expedition to procure a few necessities turned into a morning of disappointment - everything closes on Sundays in Germany. Only some restaurants, a few gas stations, and chruches remain open. No hotpot. No clothes hamper. No pillow (the hotels are not good). Nothing.

Instead of moping, I decided to explore Regensburg - a city which traces its founding settlements back to the Stone Age - to see what sights I could explore. The city itself has blossomed into a beautiful patchwork of modernity elegantly colliding with the Medieval. Home to approximately 135,000 inhabitants, Regensburg (pronounced Reagan's Burg - I love it!) escaped the bombings during the World Wars and has maintained its historic architecture, narrow stone streets, and Medieval heritage.

The centerpiece of Regensburg's history is the majectic St. Peter's Cathedral nestled between shops, homes, and at least 5 other churches in the city's center. The gothic design of the building envisioned in 1280 betrays the site's true history - the first church on the site was founded about 600 years earlier in c. 700 A.D. Nonetheless, the current structure is awe-inspiring, inspirational, a testament to the Gothic Period, and quite chilly. Inside the massive stone structure, the temperature was probably 20-degrees colder than the ambient outside - I could see my breath inside, but not out.

Adorned with reliefs, massive gargoyles, and intricate stonework, the building itself is a work of art. I was lucky enough to arrive just as a Solemn Mass, replete with the cathedral's choir, the "Regensburger Domspatzen," was beginning. Though I can't yet understand German, the mass sung by the priests was artful. Outshined by only the 700-year-old stained glass windows, the choir performed to a caliber one would expect from one of Catholicism's oldest cathedrals.

My little venture to Regensburg turned out to be not so bad after all.

The Autobahn!

With my brand new rental car (courtesy of Veronica), I struck out upon Germany's fabled Autobahn. Like most any freeway systems one would find in the States (but better maintained), an American could, if suffering from tunnel vision and ignoring the blur of quaint villages whizzing by, think he was back home...except for the other cars rocketing by at upwards of 100 mph.

I, on the other hand, prefer to maintain a comfortable speed of 130 kph (80 mph), though I've already caught myself going about 119 mph. I can't help but be amazed at the efficiency and superiority of the Autobahn system here in Germany in comparison to other roadways on which I've driven. Driving on the Autobahn is a blast...and much moreso when fueled by some good road music - Rammstein's "Du Hast" is my favorite so far.

Who's got a Ferrari I can borrow?

Eurotrip 2011 - The Beginning

Lunch in Washington, D.C. Dinner in New York. Breakfast in London. Lunch somewhere over France. Dinner in Munich. That's how the great 2011 Eurotrip began.

Well, not really. After spending countless hours of packing and cleaning and preparing my apartment for an extended absence, I shared dinner with family and then flew to DC for two days of meetings (and way too many olive-less martinis with friends and colleagues). But that's mostly boring and certainly not sexy. This, however, might be.

I stepped onto the shiny (and tiny) American Eagle Embrarer ERJ-135 like I've done dozens of times before, but this time was a bit different. My second-longest trip was about to begin. This 37-passenger aircraft was ferrying me to New York's JFK Airport to link up with one of its bigger brothers - a British Airways Boeing 747 that I would eventually share, without air conditioning, with about 350 fellow travellers. And if you're thinking air conditioning isn't necessary in January, you go sit in an airplane for 2 hours while the flight crew tries to close an overhead bin...trust me it gets hot.

After takeoff, I settled in as best I could. I didn't sleep during the entire seven hour overnight flight. Maybe it was the excitement. Maybe it was the adrenaline from the fight with a British woman for my assigned seat who, subsequently, would not stop giving me dirty looks. Or maybe it was the fact that my body mass was crammed into an area in such a manner that multiple laws of kinesiology - and probably Newtonian physics itself - were violated. But I made it. I caught a fleeting glimpse of the London Eye, Whitehall, Big Ben, and the River Thames before the pilots glided our 875,000 pound hunk of flying aluminum and plastic to a ginger touchdown on British soil.

And then the fun began. I got searched. In all fairness, so did everyone else. Apparently, the Brits (at least at Heathrow) require everyone who flies into the country to be searched again despite obviously enduring security searches prior to boarding the plane that brought them there. That was a fun 2-hour wait, but then I was free to roam the isolated yet bustling Terminal 5, to peruse the duty free shops, and to enjoy a tasty fish and chips lunch with a beer or two (though not until one of my carry-ons was seized and subsequently "sent down to the aircraft's hold" by an overzealous BA staffer - I was shocked when I saw it on the luggage carousel at the end of the trip).

After much wandering and a venti Peppermint Mocha from Starbucks, it was time to board yet another plane for the final leg of my journey to Munich. Terrified that I would discover another overcrowded flight, I was pleasantly surprised to discover that the flight was only booked at about 30% capacity - so almost everyone got three seats instead of the usual .689% of a seat usually alloted per passenger. The flight was uneventful, and I started to think my travel experience just might be starting to turn around, but then I encountered Veronica.

Veronica, the sophisticated, polite, gorgeous, impeccable English-speaking, young brick wall-impervious-to-logic of a woman at the Munich Airport's Hertz rental car desk was, for a few hours, the bane of my existence. To make matters worse, I was tired and hungry, but she was just too polite (and attractive) for me to get angry. Long story short, after several very expensive phone calls back to the States, some hard work by my colleagues in D.C., and apparently a miracle, my rental car needs were met (if you're wondering, a Honda CRV with heated leather seats and a 6-disc CD changer).

Oh yeah, and Veronica also slipped me her number and told me to call her the next time I was in Munich. At least she has good taste.