I see Frankfurt by day. Yesterday I drank a Coke that was canned in the Czech Republic and crossed the river Main to the whine of an old man´s accordion. In front of him was a little styrofoam cup.
The Kleiners´house is three streamlined hardwood floors beneath a red A-frame roof. It´s decorated by Ikea and numerous original pieces of art. Most impressive are the bookshelves -- after all, Lothar is a publishing house mogul. Maybe you didn´t know that though.
No word exists in English for what they call "after-work celebration." It happens each night when Lothar returns from the office, and involves a splendid dinner followed by hijinks in the garden (badminton, sprinkler games, soccer, a combination of all three, sometimes).
I have what seems to be an uncanny ability to lead my friends out of a translation pickle. The result: I get compliments on my English. The difference between "itch" and "scratch" was a little sticky.
Last night, Frauke and Lothar took me beer-tasting. The trains rattled by the place called "Endstation" -- incorrectly, because it´s far from the end of the line. Lothar and I traded college party stories -- mine were a little tamer, I think. I was talking about packing peanuts while he mentioned rolling kegs down mountains. But I taught Lothar the terms "beer pong" and "keying a car." While not useful language, it´s at least amusing. Later on he showed me breathtaking photos of his business trip to India and a crazy youtube video of Spain´s tomato festival.
Goethe wrote a version of "Faust," following the legend and Marlowe´s play. His house in Frankfurt is filled with his father´s legal volumes and prints of Rome and Venice. Pretty popular place for bookish types, it seems. The historian followed me through the rooms and swapped Palermo stories with me.
Tonight it finally got dark at 10pm. Lothar flipped casually through coffee-table books on Renaissance and Roman art. Frauke waterered the plants and talked over the fence with her neighbor. I just breathed in the air and listened to the sprinkler.
To cite a 90´s movie,
Shazaam.
-a
Showing posts with label badminton. Show all posts
Showing posts with label badminton. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Sunday, July 11, 2010
A Different Flavor
The monastery in Eberbach is where they filmed the adaptation of Umberto Eco´s The Name of the Rose. The 38 degree heat was delicate, quiet. The wine cellar had all the silence of a royal tomb.
In the Rhine valley, carps rippled the surface of a bubbling pond while we socialized to a sip of Riesling. The winery´s square was terraced with beerhall benches and orange umbrellas. Below, a vista of vines leading down to the water´s edge. A view worth raising a glass to it.
"Lovage" is the name of a sweet herb in the Seligenstadt cloister garden. To me, it had a scent of celery, cinnamon and licorice. The interesting tastes and flavors went all the way to the ice cream shop near the basilica; here we found exotica such as "dragonberry" and best of all "dolphin." I tried neither. The latter I actually try to avoid when I buy my tuna. Just kidding. It was blue and had some kind of chips in it.
Early in the morning, Lothar, Linus and I drove to pick up some pastries. We passed a yellow awning and Lothar pointed out the window. "That," he said, "is a very bad bakery." The cookies in the good bakery known as "Americans" have German flags pasted on them with the text, "World Champions 2014." Well.
Backyard badminton is getting more and more intense. The point (at least, the way I play) is to grunt with each shot and celebrate Wimbledon-style at every point. Makes it more fun, I think. And Linus really goes for the competition - Quentin just likes the fun.
One thing occurred to me. I know what German sounds like, simply because I don´t understand it. It´s a weak advantage, but I think meaning precludes the sound, it replaces it. Along those lines - the fourth Harry Potter movie isn´t my favorite. But hearing Hagrid speak German was a little highlight of the day.
Local wildlife includes: frogs, mice, hedgehogs, and the parrots next door. For a touch of whimsy we´ll also mention the neighbor´s automatic lawnmower.
Shakalaka.
-a
In the Rhine valley, carps rippled the surface of a bubbling pond while we socialized to a sip of Riesling. The winery´s square was terraced with beerhall benches and orange umbrellas. Below, a vista of vines leading down to the water´s edge. A view worth raising a glass to it.
"Lovage" is the name of a sweet herb in the Seligenstadt cloister garden. To me, it had a scent of celery, cinnamon and licorice. The interesting tastes and flavors went all the way to the ice cream shop near the basilica; here we found exotica such as "dragonberry" and best of all "dolphin." I tried neither. The latter I actually try to avoid when I buy my tuna. Just kidding. It was blue and had some kind of chips in it.
Early in the morning, Lothar, Linus and I drove to pick up some pastries. We passed a yellow awning and Lothar pointed out the window. "That," he said, "is a very bad bakery." The cookies in the good bakery known as "Americans" have German flags pasted on them with the text, "World Champions 2014." Well.
Backyard badminton is getting more and more intense. The point (at least, the way I play) is to grunt with each shot and celebrate Wimbledon-style at every point. Makes it more fun, I think. And Linus really goes for the competition - Quentin just likes the fun.
One thing occurred to me. I know what German sounds like, simply because I don´t understand it. It´s a weak advantage, but I think meaning precludes the sound, it replaces it. Along those lines - the fourth Harry Potter movie isn´t my favorite. But hearing Hagrid speak German was a little highlight of the day.
Local wildlife includes: frogs, mice, hedgehogs, and the parrots next door. For a touch of whimsy we´ll also mention the neighbor´s automatic lawnmower.
Shakalaka.
-a
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Games and Wardrobes
Frauke invited me to a Kirchner exhibition. His art is a contorted twist of expressionism, contemporary to Nolde and an integral part of the Brücke movement. "Marcella" is a moody and moving portrait in soft green colors, a girl, bored, sitting on a couch.
After the exhibition, we squinted our eyes in the afternoon sun and I heard a few snatches of Italian in the street. We watched Linus and Quentin ride a mechanical bull at a kids´ "playplace," and I thought about stuff, random stuff. Behind the mechanical bull was the towering skyline of the city.
Here´s a joke. How many people does it take to move an old wardrobe from the first floor to the attic? The answer: two (one culture-shocked American and one motivated, leather jacket-wearing Christian guitar teacher). True story.
Another joke: How many people does it take to put together a new Ikea wardrobe? In Merle´s room, we went over the instructions three times, once in German, once in English, and once just to make sure we wouldn´t mess anything up. Still, our craftsmanship suffered a few hiccups. I found myself lying down under a drawer a-la-car mechanic. All that´s left to do are the doors.
Quentin loves playing. In a period of an hour or so, he turned me into a badminton pro, a tennis champ, a star goalie, and (not sure about this one) someone who is very good at passing a tennis ball under a wooden crate of stone tiles for the back porch.
At the pool, I jumped off the five-meter high-dive. Merle went first, and of course, of course, the American has to go now. So I jumped. I mean, fell. Curled into the fetal position and smacked the water with my knees. I´m sure it´s on youtube somewhere by now. More my speed was lying in the sun.
A final update: after-dinner conversations here are relaxing, interesting and fun. As the sun winds over the trees, we sit in the garden and swap stories on local politics, court systems and television programs. I recently recounted the "Homeowner vs. Kitchen Remodeling Company" court case story.
And just like that, another day, another post.
-a
After the exhibition, we squinted our eyes in the afternoon sun and I heard a few snatches of Italian in the street. We watched Linus and Quentin ride a mechanical bull at a kids´ "playplace," and I thought about stuff, random stuff. Behind the mechanical bull was the towering skyline of the city.
Here´s a joke. How many people does it take to move an old wardrobe from the first floor to the attic? The answer: two (one culture-shocked American and one motivated, leather jacket-wearing Christian guitar teacher). True story.
Another joke: How many people does it take to put together a new Ikea wardrobe? In Merle´s room, we went over the instructions three times, once in German, once in English, and once just to make sure we wouldn´t mess anything up. Still, our craftsmanship suffered a few hiccups. I found myself lying down under a drawer a-la-car mechanic. All that´s left to do are the doors.
Quentin loves playing. In a period of an hour or so, he turned me into a badminton pro, a tennis champ, a star goalie, and (not sure about this one) someone who is very good at passing a tennis ball under a wooden crate of stone tiles for the back porch.
At the pool, I jumped off the five-meter high-dive. Merle went first, and of course, of course, the American has to go now. So I jumped. I mean, fell. Curled into the fetal position and smacked the water with my knees. I´m sure it´s on youtube somewhere by now. More my speed was lying in the sun.
A final update: after-dinner conversations here are relaxing, interesting and fun. As the sun winds over the trees, we sit in the garden and swap stories on local politics, court systems and television programs. I recently recounted the "Homeowner vs. Kitchen Remodeling Company" court case story.
And just like that, another day, another post.
-a
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