My sun warmed hair is cooled on the back of Jonesy, my finally fixed-up touring bike, and starts to un-mat after a night of dancing under a cowboy hat. Today there are no destinations, there can't be. The day just won't allow it. It is the kind of day you could never seize, even if the sun stayed and you weren't even hungover, but you definitely are. So me and Jonesy explore.
Way back when, in order to have a town large enough for the 1936 Olympics, Hitler joined the two towns of Garmisch and Partenkirchen into the very original Garmisch-Partenkirchen. From the mountain's view it's hard to see; while each town seeps off into farms or mountains, on their once border they seem decidedly one. And though maybe that's a new development over the last eighty years, it's different on Jonesy. Garmisch is the town I've known for three months, the one I walked through to work every day. It's where I live. It's where I buy groceries. And Partenkirchen? Well, that was more of a walk.
There are moments (though admittedly fewer than you'd expect in a foreign country) when I feel that I am somewhere new. It is different than the feeling of a tourist, fully expecting and half in the mind. It is different than the foreigner, outside and in the other half the mind. Rather, it is utter presence in perfect freshness. And it is a wonderful reason to travel I think.
And so, Partenkirchen unfolds along narrow walker streets and I am unmistakably more of place. Can you believe it? Three months. And here, down the street, the same streets seen from my morning gondola ride, is that feeling, the one I travel such long distances for, found on a day forbidding yet here, and full, and bright.
Friday, February 28, 2014
Sunday, February 23, 2014
The Sated
This is the light of day!
Two-and-a-half months ago this same sky was vermilion, but now the promising topaz hues creep over the Alps. It fades into the bright unyielding sky-blue sky, the kind only in pictures yet never in the ones you take with a camera. Apparently this is how time works, reeling in twilights and hurling each perfect day forward into another.
And really, just two months? My days here hold lifetimes. And despite a heavy weighing feeling of lacks and lusts, they overwhelm. And each lifetime goes by slow, and full.
In the Bavarian Alps I have eaten bergkäse, wheat-beers, and meats of all shapes, textures, and complexions. But today, I had my strudel. It is a neat circle, drawn from this mountain hut, from my first days here, all the way back to this moment of apples crusted, baked, and soaked in a pool of creme. I can't fathom sweeter spoonfuls. It is Hudson Valley cider donut, the street crepe in Paris, New England's clam chowder, and the New Orlean po-boy.
The sun begins to set in earnest. To imagine leaving through my own will seems fumbling, but then I think of hiking Iceland, surfing Portugal, tilling Croatia, and all the other lands I've only dreamed.
And the strudel is enough, for today at least.
Two-and-a-half months ago this same sky was vermilion, but now the promising topaz hues creep over the Alps. It fades into the bright unyielding sky-blue sky, the kind only in pictures yet never in the ones you take with a camera. Apparently this is how time works, reeling in twilights and hurling each perfect day forward into another.
And really, just two months? My days here hold lifetimes. And despite a heavy weighing feeling of lacks and lusts, they overwhelm. And each lifetime goes by slow, and full.
In the Bavarian Alps I have eaten bergkäse, wheat-beers, and meats of all shapes, textures, and complexions. But today, I had my strudel. It is a neat circle, drawn from this mountain hut, from my first days here, all the way back to this moment of apples crusted, baked, and soaked in a pool of creme. I can't fathom sweeter spoonfuls. It is Hudson Valley cider donut, the street crepe in Paris, New England's clam chowder, and the New Orlean po-boy.
The sun begins to set in earnest. To imagine leaving through my own will seems fumbling, but then I think of hiking Iceland, surfing Portugal, tilling Croatia, and all the other lands I've only dreamed.
And the strudel is enough, for today at least.
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