Travel: Germany :Munich, Leipzig

(Munich) Leipzig 2004-10-01 14:01:24

At the Augustine Bier Garten in Muenchen, on my arrival from Zurich to Berlin, then a Eurorail down south, Dennis and I sat sharing absolutely the best glass of ice cold Augustine tap beer straight from a barrel during Oktoberfest 2004. We made an honest effort to ask the barmaid what beer she would recommend. She in turn, did the best job of flailing arms and widening her eyeballs to convey to us that we should drink Augustine house beer, first item on the menu. Forget everything else. No better advice was ever given this side of the Rhine River. I think it must have been between the fifth and sixth .5 litre sweaty glass in the beer hall when Dennis turned to me and said,

"I don't know how to tell you this....but I've had a new girlfriend since late last year."

Having broken up with him six months ago, after six years, I pricked my ears, flushed my cheeks, lowered my now non-wagging tail, paused, and batted my eyelashes. Then all of a sudden, gave him excited taps on the shoulder.

OHMIGOD! SHUT UP! TELL ME! WHAT'S SHE LIKE?! IS SHE LIKE... HOTT?!

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(Leipzig) Absinthe at Sixtina 10-02 15:28:47

The local townspeople and residents of Leipzig react to the mention of Sixtina, the most ominous absinthe bar in town:

In modern times, we are guided by our sense of sight. The other four categories are subjugated within the lower ranks. Much has been romanticized about the sixth sense, although nothing has been mentioned about the seventh. It is the best-kept secret sense, and it utilizes the other six. I call it The Turntable Sense. Whenever I enter a room occupied by strangers, I have often been able to decipher whether the turntable (in the holistic jukebox of each person, or collectively in a room) has screeched to a stop or continued playing. I have worn out many people's styli thus far.

It wasn't until recently that I found I was able to apply my Turntable Sense to decipher what people thought about others, aside from your humble narrator.

Around Leipzig, our guidebook listed several bars to go drinking in. For Absinthe connoisseurs, the book directed gentle readers to Sixtina, a bar located not far from the Leipzig's central town square.

We checked into our hostel fairly late in the evening. It looked more like a clubhouse, with a pool table, worn-out sofas and hip-hop blasting on the stereo. After straightening out all the details, we asked the front desk fellow how to get to Sixtina.

His turntable screeched to a halt. The hip-hop was silenced. He choked on air where words would normally come out. After a skipped groove, he pointed to Katharinen Strasse on the map, then he kindly offered additional alternatives South of the market square. Of course, going on my Turntable Sense of his reaction to Sixtina, Dennis and I immediately made a bee-line for the bar.

When we got there, we looked in through the windows and found it dimly lit, with ominous dark beats flowing out of sealed windows. From outside, it looked like a tavern where local roughnecks went for a drink, and out-of-towners would get their turntables summarily unplugged upon entering.

We decided to save the best for last, and went barhopping elsewhere in town.

When the stroke of midnight arrived, we entered Sixtina. The place had infinitely more character from the inside looking out. A DJ spun a good mixed of murky trippy music that reached up to the painted ceiling, held down by sentry gargoyles. Men with long dark goatees, pierced eyebrows, nostrils, and bellybuttons perched on stools while an equally metal-adorned woman hovered behind the bar like a legless Van Gogh Night Café attendent.

Amazingly, the music kept on playing.

I siddled onto a barstool and the bartender walked over, and well...the rest, as they say, was history.

We had a grand ol time at Sixtina the whole night! Picking and trying out absinthe from the comprehensive menu as Katharina alternately translated Herrmann's explanations of thujone wormwood distillation and the secrets to increasing the hallucinatory potency (tu-yud - the element that is missing from American imported absinthe - which was outlawed for many years) while adding her insights and gracious hospitality on top. Eveyone was cordial to us, and I must say, aside from Bach's Thomaskirche chapel, Sixtina was the other great and memorable highlight of our Leipzig visit.

The screaming disparity between our hostel-keeper's reaction to the mention of Sixtina and the actual experience of being in Sixtina is a key to understanding the black comedy which the ""goth"" culture thrives on. The comedy is about how many people judge, assess, and summarily makes conclusions on the basis of a few bottles of black liquid eyeliner alone.

On this trip, I have been told by Dennis that it pisses him off that so few people actually get to know me simply because my ""unfriendly face"" was such a violent contrast to my personality. It's easy to refute this statement when you have sampled my journal, but ask yourself this: If you saw someone who looked like me in public, would you risk going up to him or her to start a conversation, out of the blue? That, is the comedy of life which I have shared a secret laugh with the goths about.

I have begun by saying that our society is sheparded by the sense of sight alone. At the end of the night, I took a photograph of everyone at Sixtina huddling up around me at the bar. It was the most fantastic picture, and I promised both Katherina and Herrmann that I would email it to them the day I got back home. The next day, as our train was pulling out of Leipzig, I took one more look at the shot that was saved in my camera. Nothing was recorded.

I almost stopped the train and ran back to take the picture again.

But alas, either Sixtina's many absinthe offerings was that potent and good,

...or they were all just vampires.

Click here to go to Sixtina's website, or just go to Leipzig and have a drink for me. I recommend it!

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(Leipzig) A church whose choirmaster was Johann Sebastian Bach has nothing to prove. 2004-10-03 16:49:00

Two of my favorite churches are in Germany. My lifelong favorite, the Cologne Cathedral, with it's translucent facade, soaring gothic spires and daredevil nave inspired awe, asserting the magnificence and economic prowess of the church's riches in olden times. I looked at the Cologne Cathedral at seven, and even then, it took my breath away. Who in their right minds would not want in on the promises such a church granted its faithful patrons in the afterlife, if it was already so grand on earth?

My new favorite, is Leipzig's Thomaskirche. In complete contrast with Cologne, this quaint unassuming church is a testament to Martin Luther's humanist philosophy. It invokes neither awe nor wonder, but seeks to create a homely warmth to all visitors. Thomaskirche is that unassuming rock at a dig that ends up to be the grandest gem among a pile of stones. One has to reveal the mystery of why it choses not to impress yet remains assured of its substance.

I sit inside, thousands of miles away from religion being appropriated to start wars, justify oppression, and determine individual decisions. I am surrounded by unadorned walls, a plain ceiling, and J.S. Bach's remains a few feet away, and suddenly, religion seems altogether doable and possible.

We attended the motette performance for the evening vespers shortly before we left Leipzig. The congregation stirred and rustled minimally while everyone reseated themselves. The organ and choir was behind us as we faced the front of the church. From where I sat, I felt as if we were on a rollercoaster ride, sitting in rows of wooden chair waiting for the choir and organist to take us on a journey that included works by Palestrina, Knut Nystedt, Jehan Alain, and well, the dude on the stained glass, of course.

We were not disappointed. By the time the one hour service was over, one could hear a pin drop as hundreds of people sat in a motionless afterglow, the opiate of polyphony sleeping soundly in our ears. A woman sitting behind me had been singing in a crystalline tone that surrounded my tired body.

I need not turn around to look, for her voice was all her beauty.

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