Salzburg

On our first day in Salzburg we relaxed in our tiny apartment and stocked up on food. It was a good thing we got plenty of groceries because most grocery shops closed Christmas Eve (Thursday) and remained shuttered through the weekend. We enjoyed some home cooking as well as local sausages and cheese.

Matt and I explored the city center that evening, stopping for a beer at a bar with two rooms, one a pub with an older crowd, and the other a cocktail bar, with mostly teenagers. We could see from the pub into the other room and thought we saw Matt's long-lost twin. It was both eery and hilarious how much the Austrian Doppelganger looked like Matt, but we were a little disappointed when we got up close to see the facial differences. The next day the family went into the old section of Salzburg, stopping for coffee next to Mozart's old house, inspecting the Christmas Fair and eyeing the shops, most of them closed, aside from a gallery of old prints and drawings. We stopped in some churches as well to take photos. They were well appointed with greenery for the holidays.


What is this instrument called?That evening we went to midnight mass at the Salzburg Cathedral. While we didn't understand a word, the dual choirs were incredible. The mass ended with an outstanding Still Nacht performance with the entire church dimmed to candlelight only. It was definitely festive. Afterward, we walked with the locals as they fanned out slowly and quietly to their homes. In the morning on Christmas day, we set out to do some hiking around Bad Gastein, a popular ski area. It was raining lightly in Salzburg, but 30 minutes outside the city, we reached a light snowline. Higher up in the mountains we were met by much heavier snow. We checked out the resort area by car and winded around some truly treacherous roads overlooking massive canyons. The village was a true resort, and not a traditional Austrian town, but pretty nonetheless. We stopped to check out ski information in case we wanted to return the next day, but as the snowfall seemed to increase we thought better and descended from resort back toward. We backtracked to Dorfgastein, where the snow was still falling pretty heavily. We stopped for a meal at a beautiful restaurant in the village opposite a small ski area. The waiter spoke perfect English, but grovelled for his tip throughout the meal. I did enjoy when he made fun of Matt for ordering a child meal, which "Comes with a candy" he said. Matt ended up with a foot long hot dog sliced on a plate, which made me laugh even more, and a lollipop was delivered as promised. It was another delicious meal, although I can't remember exactly what I ate. I'm pretty sure my mom had Spaetzli for the fifth time on the trip, because I do remember finishing her plate as well as my own. We returned to the apartment and relaxed. The next day we got up early and headed for the mountains. Obertauern, reputed to have among the best ski conditions in Austria no matter the year, was our destination. The directions were confusing though, and I guided my dad through a series of wrong turns, one of which took us 20 minutes down a road too narrow and snow-lined for any sort of u-turn. We turned around in the parking lot of a decent-looking ski resort called Zauchansee. "Why don't we just go here?" Matt asked. I wasn't having any of it, as disgraced navigator, and I was determined to get us to Obertauern. So we turned around and 40 minutes later we were nearing the big resort. As we got closer we saw lots of cars leaving the resort, and others stopped on the side of the road where chains were added to the tires. We continued on and soon enough stopped on a slick hill behind a line of cars. At the head of the line was a convertible, fishtailing as it tried to make it up the hill. The car eventually turned around, but now every non-4wd car that had stopped needed a gang to push it through the same icy patch. A police officer arrived and sent every car withoug chains back down the hill, even as we tried to put them on while stopped. We gave up on Obertauern and another 40 minutes later we were back at Zauchansee. Matt and I rented equipment and skied while my parents went walking nearby. The snow was outstanding - half a foot had fallen the night before and we weaved between the marked trails in search of powder. The area seemed small, but we shared a gondola with a couple who explained how it was linked with several others by lift and by bus. We ended up finding plenty of snow and terrain at Zauchansee. We were rewarded with a few cliff drops and super-steep areas to make big powder turns. I scoped out one of the cliffs and didn't like what I saw. As I tiptoed around it, I lost my balance and on one ski, I slowly tipped over as I slid down the face, with my head aimed at a rock outcropping. It was a close call - close enough to make Matt seriously angry with me. I took some video with a digital camera of Matt dropping a cliff and making some steep turns. I fell a number of times in the morning, so after lunch, I rearranged my pockets to load both my ipod and camera in the same pocket to keep from landing on them in my next fal. I didn't break them on my next fall. Instead I lost them both; the pocket had seemingly unzipped itself and bequeathed my electronics to the mountain. I tried to retrace my steps, but searching for the exact same path through the woods was fruitless. It was an expensive day of skiing and I was sorry about losing the photos too - Matt was pretty upset about them. We still have the memories to go by though, and we returned to Salzburg for our last meal before leaving for Paris in the morning.

The day was overcast, but the city was still beautiful

What is this instrument called?

Views near Altemarkt Im Pongau, Austria

Innsbruck 12/19-12/22

The ride to Innsbruck began in a brief snowstorm, which tapered off. The ride was uneventful, until we reached the Alps. The roads winded through valleys next to shear cliff faces. There were long tunnels with spectacular views of snow-capped peaks waiting at the end, before the next tunnel began. There was avalanche protection in the form of huge concrete overhead awnings.

In Innsbruck, we were somewhat lost, but my dad spotted the Pension, our Innsbruck residence, from across the river, nearly a mile away. "Does that say Pension Paula on the building he asked?" He took some flak before we realized he was 100% correct. The pension was a bed and breakfast, but our first look at our room left us a little nervous. Quarters were tight to say the least, with one room, 3 beds and a chair and table at the center, with little space in between. Things have been known to get testy between the Bachmans, and confining spaces can stoke the flames. When we left Innsbruck, we agreed that it was remarkable we got along so well, and that the room was not so bad after all. Neither was the breakfast served by proprietor Herr Gunsch. I continued my hostel-bred habit of maximum caloric intake during a free meal, working from cereal to sandwiches and back again.

Herr Gunsch watches us leave. My dad read the sign from across the river, while driving.

After settling in and unpacking we ate our first and one of our best meals at a Gasthaus, a traditional Austrian restaurant. While I had been spoiled with delicious food all week in Lyon and Zurich, the rest of the family vociferously praised the meal. Afterward, we crossed the river ____ and visited the Christkindlsmarkt. Matt and I sampled the Hauspunsch, one of the many available heated beverages. We went to sleep early.

In the morning we headed into the city to check out the sights. While the city itself was pleasant but ultimately forgettable, the mountain backdrop was otherworldly.

Innsbruck







Inn River through Innsbruck, the city's name translates to bridge over the Inn (river)




The Golden Roof, Innsbruck's trademark tourist sight, was built as a viewing area for sovereigns to watch sporting events below.

We stopped for a coffee at a local brewery, where world cup skiing was on TV. Matt was instantly cured of his grumpiness - Austria is reputed to have good coffee. In the afternoon we drove to one of Innsbruck's many ski areas, Mutters, a pint-sized area, with a single gondola. We parked and followed signs to a hiking trail. The trail was a summer-time road, and snow covered, but not too challenging. Excitement was provided by tobaggoners - the road was also a toboggan path - who flew past at dangerous speeds, and almost side-swiped my parents on a particularly hairy hairpin. The trail crossed ski trails from time to time, providing openings for spectacular views, which became sunset views later on. We made it to a mountain restaurant, but the owner said she was closed. We lingered taking in the view as shadows engulfed the furthest peaks on the horizon.

Hiking in Mutters

After the hike we drove back to Innsbruck. We picked an Italian restaurant, where we were the lone diners. The Italian owner was very friendly, and not so busy, so he chatted with us during and after the meal. Italy is just south of Austria, but the owner complained about how cold it was, and indicated he preferred his native land. He called out my mom, "You no like the soup?", and she had no ready response - she really didn't like the soup. We hoped she hadn't gotten the cook in trouble.

Matt and I went out for drinks at a nearby bar and came back to the pension stinking of cigarettes. In the morning we filled up at breakfast and headed to Axamer-Lizum, one of the better-regarded Innsbruck mountains and site of the 1976 Women's Olympic Downhill. The views were incredible. Matt and I tried out some of the off-piste, while our parents watched from below. Aside from digging up some brush and rocks from time-to-time, we were skiing a few inches of powder on some really steep terrain. When I went back to Vermont a few weeks later, the mountain seemed completely flat. In Austria, the lifts actually went up.

The Bachmans at Axamer-Lizum

Top of Axamer-Lizum, the crucifix reminds us that this is not the Himalayas

The next day, we headed to the Stubai Glacier to explore a little and do some hiking. We checked out the ski area, but there wasn't much to see - only two side-by-side gondolas that disappeared up and over a ridge. We backtracked down the highway to look for a hiking trail when we spotted some people walking uphill. We parked and followed a road that lead to a hiking path. We switchbacked through steep pastures and ended up at a family-owned hotel/restaurant/farm. Past the cows on the right was the cozy dining room with only two tables.

This could be anywhere in Austria, but I think it's from hiking outside Fulpmes, near the Stubai Glacier

Matt and me outside the restaurant. The meal definitely came with a view.

On our last night in Innsbruck, Matt and I decided to really experience the nightlife. I made an ipod map of a few locations recommended on the internet, and we set out. We stopped at an Irish pub, for a drink, but the scene was a little too laid back. We checked out the next three locations on my map - all closed or unimpressive. As we stopped to look at the map, a late-twenties local asked us if we needed directions. We don't really know where we're going, we said, explaining our situation. He told us to follow him - he would show us a party. We ended up at the Hofgarten, an outdoor cafe in the park that had been covered and heated for winter-time use. There was a bar and dancefloor, both packed with the local crowd. We had a great time - Matt is a dancing machine, and had me laughing the entire time. German was the only language I heard, except when I was greeted by an Icelandic fellow redhead. "My brother from another mother," he shouted to me.

That night we went to the Buzzihutte, an excellent traditional restaurant where I had yet another rich, delicious meal. Located up a hill well above the city, the restaurant appeared to be a converted home. The clientele was local, and even featured a couple with their respective dogs at their feet.

In the morning we departed Innsbruck for our next destination, the land of Mozart, Salzburg.

Zurich 12/16-18

I set aside a day and a half in Metz to apply for a few internships and, really, to clean my single apartment. The floor hadn't seen light for a few months, and the clutter and dirt on the hardwood was a daunting mess. I started to clean halfheartedly Wednesday evening. Thursday morning, I began again in earnest. If I didn't complete the task in one go, it might never get done and certainly wouldn't be done right. By 6PM, the room was clean, my stuff was packed, and I hurried out the door before I could saying goodbye to my neighbor, Sarah, who was kind enough to store some of my stuff for the next week and a half.

I just made it aboard the last train toward Zurich, stopping first in Strasbourg. There I realized I had no idea where I was going once I got to Zurich, having forgot to write down hotel information that my parents had emailed. My connecting train was an hour late though, so I sought the comfort er, wifi of the McDonald's across the street. My ipod was truly paying off, as I downloaded Zurich hotel directions, maps, bus routes, the New York Times, and even NBC Nightly News.

Back in the train station an outgoing elderly woman began chatting with me out of the blue. Throughout our conversation she spoke very quietly, but standing over my bags, I could only lean closer rather than move closer as she seemed to beckon me away from the center of the station. She instructed me several times to speak quieter, which I thought was odd because it was a bustling train station, and we weren't disturbing anyone. My train-station paranoia seeped in, and some sort of trap involving a charming old lady crossed my mind, but either she was unsuccessful at stealing my bags, or more likely just a nice, soft-spoken old lady. Austria is a great place to be at Christmas time, she explained, but complained about how expensive Switzerland is.

The next train was a comfortable and direct TGV ride, although I would have been happy to avoid the 8 euro TGV "international" booking fee. In Zurich, I rode the tram for free, with no Swiss coinage to pay the fare, but karma sent me in the wrong direction. At around midnight, I found the correct stop for the hotel, and heard a familiar voice calling out from behind me. My dad, in no hurry to get to sleep because of his previous-day time-zone hop, was waiting for me.

Andy Bachman in Zurich

It was great to see my parents again, and after some early tension in Zurich, we and my brother got along better than expected the rest of the trip.

In the morning I slept off my cleaning exhaustion and met my parents at Zurich's renowned museum the Kunsthaus, a few blocks from the hotel. The art was incredible - likely the best assembly I saw in Europe - warranting its hefty entry price. My heart soared when I saw a Seurat exhibition sign. He was my favorite artist when I was younger, his seemingly ingenious magical dots were a fantastic optical illusion. The exhibition was a bit disappointing, containing mostly small studies, and featuring Le Cirque, which is not my favorite Seurat piece. The permanent collection was a best-of of the art world from 1850 on. Artists like Hodler, Bocklin, Segantini, Munch distinguished themselves, along with modern artists Magritte, Mondrian, and Lichtenstein. Torben Gielher's intersecting colored plane geometrization of the Matterhorn Alp was particularly memorable.

River Limmat

Part of Rodin's Gates of Hell

The full view. This is one of the later casts of the original plaster mold. I recognized the sculpture from the Musée Rodin.

The big impressionists were well represented at Kunsthaus including Van Gogh

On Saturday, Matt arrived. We picked up our rental car and set out for Innsbruck, Austria.

Lyon 12/14-16

I recognized a girl from my Friday train ride on the way from Bourg Saint-Maurice to Lyon. We chatted - she was from London originally, and had more recently spent time in Metz and Verbier, Switzerland. The ride was scenic, wrapping around beautiful lakes.

In Lyon I connected metro to funicular and arrived at my hill-side hostel in the old city, overlooking modern Lyon. I unloaded my bags, warmed up my hands and headed out to explore the city, but not before admiring the amazing view.

View from the hostel can't be beat

My first stop was Place des Terreaux, site of the Musee des Beaux-Arts de Lyon, and the Bartholdi fountain, decked out with steam-breathing horses.

Hotel de Ville at Place des Terreaux with fountain at left

I had a snack on the square as the sun set, then entered the museum. I moved slowly through the museum, completely spacing out in the Egyptian wing, and made little progress. The admission was free for students, so I could return, I reasoned. The museum attendants were eager to leave early, so I decided not to linger and headed out onto the streets. Literature describing Lyon never fails to mention the city's culinary reputation, and I was eager to indulge, but Monday was not the night to do it. Virtually every restaurant was closed save a single street - Rue des Marronniers. Littered with a mix of seriously touristy, and some more authentic eateries, the bustling pedestrian street reminded me of Paris' Latin Quarter where foreigners are accosted by pushy maître d’s. Here though, I was left to myself to choose a restaurant selected one for its unassuming, yet well-occupied interior and decent prices. The waitress, who sat me in a row of fellow single diners, took my beer order briskly and plopped a huge menu board down in front of me,. I thought she was giving me the tourist treatment until I watched the rest of the diners ordering in the same manner. Feeling adventurous, I blindly chose the andouillette. The dish served was a rich and mysterious sausage with sides of cooked vegetables and potatoes. Delicious, but heavy, the meal lived up to Lyon's reputation for indulgent cuisine.

I wandered a bit after dinner, in hopes of digesting a bit more. The next day would be productive, I decided, and retired to the hostel early. While the days were cloudy during my time in Lyon, the nights provided better opportunities for photos.

Three of Lyon's monuments - Back Row: Basilica Notre-Dame de Fourvière, Tour Metallique de Fourvière, Front Row: Cathédrale Saint-Jean-Baptiste de Lyon

Cool pedestrian bridge

In the morning I got up later than I had hoped, and moved uphill into the Fourvière section of Lyon, site of Roman ruins. There was a plot of land with two former Roman theaters side-by-side, now partially restored.

The larger theater, built in 15 BC with a capacity of 10,000, originally had columns behind the stage, and the theater was covered with cloth stretching from the back of the stands to the columns. Past the ruins lies the Basilica Notre-Dame de Fourvière. The church was a pleasant surprise - its gilded interior was decorated with incredible biblical mosaics, a refreshing change from typical stone-facade interiors.


I relaxed in the basilica for a few minutes, although the church was no reprieve from the cold and I struggled but failed to warm my hands.

Alleyway between Fourvière and Vieux Lyon

The walk back downhill was memorable for its tight alley staircases winding between apartment buildings. Sounds couldn't escape the stairwells; flute music gave way to shrieks of toddlers at a daycare center. I descended into the heart of Vieux Lyon, a pedestrian area populated by students congregating at kebab shops rather than tourists. The streets smelled not of urine or pollution, but of delicious incubating food. I had a kebab for lunch, following the lead of the students and saving money and room for dinner. After cris-crossing old Lyon a few times and soaking in the quaint, quiet walkways, I walked north, crossing over the Rhone, then the Saone rivers toward slightly more modern parts of Lyon. At the north end of the city lies the Parc de la Tête d'Or, where I did a lap along the manmade lake with barely a handful of people in sight.

It's around this point - the 36-hour mark - of a solo trip that I start to talk to myself. I narrated my own thoughts as I moved back into the eastern section of the city. It was cold and overcast and only getting colder, so I stopped in the Centre Commercial Part Dieu, an enormous shopping mall, to warm up and replace a hat I had left on the train the day before while helping the British girl with her bags. Less than two weeks before Christmas the American-style mall was packed with shoppers.

Night drifted on and I headed west back toward the old city, eager to try one of the many restaurants that had been shuttered the previous night. Waiting to cross an intersection, I noticed a van with some sort-of lit camera-like contraption on top. As the van turned slowly, and its music blared, the camera rotated and revealed itself to be a complete menorah. I quick-drew my camera and snapped some pictures to send to my Jewish friends, but they saw me and pulled over. "Est-que vous etes juifs?" No, I responded, but I have many friends who are.

The Hannukah-mobile

The restaurant I selected was busy, but didn't warrant my seating in the worst possible spot - behind the computerized cash register screen in fact. I could see exactly what diners were ordering though, and followed suit. The first course, salade lyonnaise, would pass for a full meal most places. The next course, a steak doused in a decadent sauce I can only describe as donut batter, sharing the plate grudgingly with a huge portion of creamy potatoes, was plain overwhelming. I gave up halfway through, opting for a bit of light dessert. The plate that came out next made me laugh out loud. It was a full on sundae boat of ice cream with half a bottle of whipped cream on top. I offered some to the man next to me, but he declined, laughing as well. Another diner paused as she left the restaurant to comment, and I caught the words "impossible de finir." She was right. I went for a walk in the old city to digest before returning to the hostel. IN the morning I was on the first train toward Metz, arriving by mid-day to begin the arduous apartment-cleaning process.

Not sure what building this is, but it looks pretty cool lit up

I believe those are floating night clubs in the foreground

The Hannukah-mobile

Enormous plate of ice cream - the photo doesn't capture the full size. Also they serve water for free in Lyon! Probably because they know you'll need it to digest their heavy fare.

Val d'Isère Dec. 11-13

Phil, my friend at GTL, had bugged me to do a ski trip all semester. We settled on the weekend after finals. I noticed that a world cup skiing event would be held in Val d'Isère that very weekend. I've done an awful lot of skiing over the years, and the prices in Europe were hard to justify, so I told Phil Val d'Isere is where we're headed, and I'm going to watch the world cup, at least part of the time. I found a hostel in Tignes, a nearby resort and part of the Espace Killy - the combination of both Tignes and Val d'Isère ski areas with interconnecting lifts. Through the hostel we got discounted lift passes and ski rentals as well as delicious meals. Here is a map of the two resorts.

The trip to Val d'Isère was no cakewalk. A train company strike nullified one of our potential routes, and nearly prevented me from travelling at all. In one of my most clutch instances of ipod touch use yet, I connected to wifi at the Metz train station used an app called Irail to find a variety of routes that not even the glorious Bahn.de german rail website would have provided, and picked one that left early Friday morning. Half of the GTL undergrads caught the 6AM bus into Metz to the train station, the majority heading to Paris to fly home. It was a nice way to see everybody off. Our itinerary sent Phil and me through Germany, then Switzerland, and back into France where we ended up at Bourg St.-Maurice, an hour bus ride from Tignes, at 6 PM. The whole train trip, we never knew if the 615 Tignes bus, the last one departing for the day, would have space for us, but we were more concerned with making our connections as a single missed train would doom us to spend a night in a train station. Everything was seamless though, and by 7 we were unpacking in our very own comfortable hostel room, before sitting down to a delicious three-course meal prepared by a hostel cook.

I can't say enough about the ski hostel experience. It was comfortable, affordable, and the meals were outstanding - worth about half the price of the hostel room. There were a number of British adults and families there. The hostel price, they explained, is such that they can take multiple ski holidays. Tignes Les Boisses, the village where the hostel was located was sleepy though, and the hostel lacked any sort of party atmosphere. I suspect hostels at other, less posh, more youth-oriented ski resorts are a bit rowdier.

A hostel worker told us that Saturday would be great weather for skiing and Sunday would be the opposite. I specifically remember her using the word sun, but it was nowhere to be found as we boarded our first lift, nor did it make more than a fleeting appearance over the course of the day. Phil and I struggled with the limited visibility, although the snow was decent and the trails were long, steep and interesting. We spent most of the day near Tignes. I rode my first ski-funicular, a train in a tunnel that moved up about as fast as I would come down. We enjoyed skiing at the top of the glacier, but stayed on-piste, heeding warning signs that showed stick-figure skiers falling into crevasses.

Later on I went over to Val d'Isère to see if the slalom was still going on. I talked to a ski patroller and got the details for the next day's race - GS starting at 10 AM. I skiied back to Tignes where I found out I couldn't make it down to Les Boisses on ski and would have to take a bus. I had some time to kill and took a few more runs, but by now the sun had set and visibility was absurdly poor. I nearly crashed after bucking over a fresh, unmarked, invisible mound of manmade snow, and decided to call it quits. At the bus stop I chatted with a Brit on vacation and a Danish man and his French girlfriend. The latter two were "Seasonaires" living in Les Boisses, meaning they work for the season at a ski resort, so they can ski or snowboard in their free time. They got cold waiting for the bus and hitchhiked down to Les Boisses.

Tignes' original village was destroyed intentionally in the mid 20th-century, as a hydro electric dam was built, flooding the town. The original church was moved up a hundred meters to Les Boisses, where it stands across from the hostel. This was my view Saturday morning.

Tignes' original church

I left Phil to nervously ski on his own, while I caught a bus to Val D'Isère. Racing was about to begin as I arrived. The crowd was mostly French, with a small Italian contingent. There were banners with competitors' names and people wearing jackets for specific skier fan clubs. A few younger fans had chest paint, cowbells, and even a truck horn mounted on a pole that accounted for a large portion of the crowd's noisemaking capability. The partisan fans cheered raucously for the French skiers despite their poor showing at the event. I was handed a starting list as I entered and spotted the names of Ted Ligety and Bode Miller on it, but Bode never raced. I read a few days later that he had sprained his ankle playing volleyball the night before. I guess I would believe that story - who knows. Needless to say I was disappointed. Ted did alright. He led the race with about 10 skiers to go, but was soon knocked off the podium. The winner was the Austrian Marcel Hirscher.

French fans waved flags, screamed "Allez Allez", rang cowbells and sounded truck horns as their countrymen skied

Some pretty awful footage from yours truly.

Ted Ligety in his brief stint on the podium, before being unseated

Another view of the race course

View of the mountains from Val d'Isere's base

Between races, I walked through the Val D village, then wandered down the main road where I spotted a go-kart racing course. I watched a few youths getting the hang of the hard-packed snow lanes. I eventually returned to the World Cup area. Nearby there was a kicker with an airbag in the landing for people of all ages to try new tricks. I thought it was a great idea. The airbag could have been a little wider and longer, though. There were definitely some close calls. Skiers landing in the airbag tended to lose their skis, but the landings looked reasonably comfortable and cushioned.

Kicker with airbag.

People tried all sorts of snow toys on the kicker...

and some weren't snow toys at all

Phil and I wandered up above the Tignes dam and found this helipad, where the pilots were putting away the chopper for the day.

The view from our hostel window

Monday morning I parted ways for good with Phil and headed to Lyon.

Indoor Tournament 12/6

I didn't plan any trips for the first weekend of December to allow a little time for studying before my first and hardest final - Thermodynamics - set to take place first thing Monday morning. I was, however, talked into a soccer tournament. "10 am until 230 PM," friend and GTL graduate student Malek explained. I

left with a few GTL grad students at 9 AM and rode to a gym nearer the center of Metz. Inside were around 70 people, mostly in their 20's, warming up. This is going to be fun, I thought. I started the first game up front, but missed a few open looks and was moved to a more defensive position. We were methodical and disciplined, while many of the other teams had very skilled players, but couldn't quite muster the teamwork necessary to beat us. In the first round, we tied two and won two.

During our second tie, we had a defensive breakdown when two of our players went to chase the ball, and I slid away from my man, to cover another at the near post. A pass was made to the man I had been assigned, who was now wide open and buried a goal. First on the field, then afterward, Mohammed, my teammate threw a hissy fit, blaming me. I explained that I had moved because the near-post man was more of a threat and that two of our teammates had chased the ball, leaving the near-post man unmarked. My team continued to feud, even though the result seemed, and would eventually prove, insignificant. I had to leave the area, so disgusting was the display of frustration and bickering by my teammates. This made me think long and hard about cultural differences and how they might be to blame. In the U.S., everyone plays team sports at some point, learning lessons of teamwork, personal responsibility, and winning and losing as a team. I'm not sure France has the youth team sport infrastructure. Doesn't that affect teamwork in non-sports environments? Imagine a company project setback where everyone instantly points the finger at the first sign of adversity. Maybe blame was their way of trying to improve the team. Maybe it's a cultural difference, and merely that. Or maybe it was just this group or even individual players that were just a bit too competitive.

We played flawlessly the next few games. I was instructed not to make such reckless runs at the goal - to be more defensive-minded. "I'm Dani Alves" I explained partly joking, but I don't think they understood the reference to the equally reckless, but infinitely more effective Barcelona right back.

After group play ended, there was a vote held on how many teams would be allowed into the playoffs. It was a sham - obviously any team that didn't make the playoffs would vote for more teams in the playoffs, and they outnumbered the teams opposing the rule change. So we had an extra game on our slate. In the run through the playoffs, we played some incredibly skilled individuals, but they spent more time moving side to side than at the goal, and they lacked any sort of coherent passing that could penetrate our defense. We won one playoff game on penalty kicks and the next two we wrapped up with early goals. There was no bickering as we celebrated our championship and posed for a zillion pictures with the 2nd and 3rd place teams.

The tournament involved 11 teams and took place on a single field or court. We left at 6:00 PM. So much for studying for thermodynamics.

We had a lot of time to kill. The stands were full of players at the beginning of the day, but the teams were slowly eliminated, and went home.

Champions: R-L Me, Fred, Mohammed, Mallek, and another player we picked up, I can't remember his name, but he was a really good goalie, and won PK's for us

Munich 11/29

After a wonderfully exhausting day in Fussen, I decided to extend my weekend in Bavaria into Monday. Rather than take a night train departing around 7 PM, I opted instead to take my time in Munich, get a good night's sleep, and catch the first train to Metz in the morning.

New City Hall at Marienplatz

I was up comfortably early Sunday morning, and, armed with a tourist map, I strode into the old city in search of, not surprisingly, churches. As I came through the heavily commercialized pedestrian streets, I first found the Marienplatz. Here, in the literal and figurative shadow of the new city hall buildings, christmas market booths bustled. I moved on to the Max-Joseph, snapped some photos, and inspected a church that, according to Let's Go, had a tower with an excellent view of the city. Mass was in progress inside the Theatinerkirche and the sweet singing of the choir persuaded me to take a seat for a minute. I ended up staying for the entire mass, which had apparently just begun as I arrived. The sermon was completely lost on me, but I enjoyed the choir, and it felt good to be back in church. I didn't take any pictures, but the interior, was tall and well-lit, but austere and white-washed.

Theatinerkirche (Theatine church)

Small square off of Max-Joseph Platz. Buildings are part of Munich's Residenz.

Next I checked out the Residenz, a palace whose first phase was begun in 1385. The seat of the Bavarian monarchs whose power fluctuated heavily over the years, the massive Residenz was in many ways reminiscent of the palace at Versailles, with lavish appointments at every turn. The Residenz was heavily damaged in WWII, but restoration, completed in 1980, made it difficult to distinguish the original rooms from the restored ones.

One of the palace's simpler rooms

The Residenz's oldest room, the Antiquarium, was originally designed to display antiques, but surely held a few fish as well once it was converted to a dining hall in the 16th century

On display in the antiquarium, this display case of beautiful china holds mint condition plates bearing Munich's blue and white colors and images of the city's mascot, the lion


The ceiling of this room is painted to create an optical illusion of a lofty vaulted roof, but the illusion is effective only when viewed from the very center of the room. Look closely at this picture.


This treasury room contains many relics. The skulls and hands contained in various golden bejeweled monstrances are allegedly those of saints. Relics were considered more valuable than gold during the height of Papal power, so monarchs sought to collect and display them.

Steeds of Neptune - Walter Crane - Neue Pinakothek

Next I visited Munich's solid museums - Althe Pinakothek and Neue Pinakothek. The Althe held classical paintings, that were, to me at least, forgettable. There was a Rubens exhibition taking place that reinforced my impression from my Amsterdam trip that Rubens' art is bland and overappreciated. My time would probably have better spent at Pinakothek der Moderne, a modern art museum. The Neue Pinakothek was more my style, featuring artists like Van Gogh, virtually the entire impressionist clan as well as sculptures by Rodin.

It was getting late, but there was still one interesting place open. I made my way by metro to the olympicpark area. The BMW museum was open, but nearly empty. The cashier explained that everyone gets the student discount at this late hour.

Ice-climbing wall outside the BMW plant

Here's a brief history of the BMW company as I remember it: BMW first made airplane engines in the early 20th century, then moved into motorcycles, was a war-manufacturer employing concentration camp labor in WWII, and was eventually allowed to restart operations years after the war.

Early BMW airplane engine



One of their first motorcycles

Feast for the engineering eye

Side view

BMW's foray into jet engines

A quirky, popular 1950's BMW Isetta

My favorite room of the museum, where each engine's corresponding set of headphones played the sound of the engine going 0-60.

Race car and concept car

Single-person flier ....

Its wing looks like a windsurfing sail to me

BMW plant with TV tower in background

The BMW museum, despite its attempts at high-tech interactive exhibits, catered to the car and company enthusiasts, more than the casual observer like myself. A friend explained later, that the plant tour, unavailable on weekends, was the highlight of his visit to BMW world.

I took a metro back to the city center, where I ate dinner at the Augustiner beer hall. I ordered Roast Pork knuckle from an english menu, and, for my first time in Europe, had my age questioned after ordering a beer. The pork knuckle was the heaviest meal I had had yet. I could feel each bite slide slowly into my stomach. The side of potato dumpling was visually appealing, but as physically painful as the pork, and certainly less tasty. This was one of the few meals I did not finish during my semester.