Confession:

I re-woke at 2:45pm. I could blame it on jet lag except I did this in America more times than I’d like to admit over the last 4 months.

Escape from the Gray

Sleeping in and nutella jars rest complacently in my list of bad habits. Blarf. You know when a food is a habit and not a food, it’s compensating for something, right?

The white outside is glaring, but white. Like the color of, well, absence. Absence would be this color.

First I woke up at 10 something, I think, that was good work on my part. I got up, looked around, realized I needed to plug in my phone, did that, tended to the bladder, and went to sleep. And then it was 2:45pm.

That first time I woke up, I looked outside at the sky and my feelings on this type of sky being bearable was sinking like a nun after 2 glasses of Pinot. I realized last night that what I need is a book. I got home and turned on the TV to fight the silence (no internet, so there goes spotify, illegal streaming, really the lot of options except data free Solitaire on my iphone. Note: Do not play solitaire when fighting silence. It’s CALLED SOLITAIRE).

So I ate Leibiz crackers (they were REALLY GOOD) and the rest of the nutella instead. Internet, you could have saved me from unnecessary cookie consumption. It’s your fault!

I dressed myself in the same jacket I’ve been wearing and sleeping in, because all my other clothes are in a suitcase on the other side of town until Monday, and I ventured out into the wet and cold.

BOOTS.

When you wear boots in Europe, you wear them like you drive a new car. You notice everything, every squeak, discomfort, tight fit around the right pinkie toe, roominess with every passing day that you slide them on. They are your vehicle. They will last you about 2 months with the amount of walking you will do, and so you need them to work. You reassess your happiness with the purchase of said boots every morning.

In the meantime, you continue to wear them and hope they will serve you well.

I walked into a shop called “Strips and Story.” I figured there would be good English options. They were are all comic books.

I realized from this experience that I don’t like comic books. There is too much to look at and I would never finish one. I bought a wooden postcard to send for my Dad, the only birthday I missed this year. I gave him his present early, but I hope he likes this wooden postcard. I don’t know if it will get there in time, but the Germans are faster than the Spanish or Italians (those postcards I sent this summer took a month or some nonsense).

The German check-outter said “Und [postcard]*” (insert German for postcard) and I said “Yes how much is it. And he said. “Oh, yes 2.50” and I said “Thank you, have a good day.” No sense in trying to speak German yet. That’s like a 2 year old trying to write their own name instead of saying it out loud. We do what we can. Sorry if that comes out as the Arrogant American, but I think you’d be more insulted if I said it in Infant German.

Still, it’s exciting when a German starts speaking to you in German. I don’t think I look German at all, curly hair, pale skin, I’m sure the way I carry myself is un-German, but it’s fair for a German to assume you speak German if you live in Germany, right? That’s what Americans do about English so I have no grounds on this one.

I passed a tour of Americans, the first walking tour I witnessed in Hamburg. “Ah, I bet they are here for Oktoberfest (which is in September).” I tried to recognize any Americans. The guy clutching his coat with his legs spread wide, I put my bet on him and sauntered on.

Then it got more touristy- a segway tour. I wanted to stick my leg out in front of one of them and say “Oops, guess you went the wrong segway” but that would hurt my leg, and I don’t really care that much, so I instead I silently judged them for looking dumb on their motorized sideways skateboards with handles.

A woman tripped in front of me and I felt schaudenfraude except that this will undeniably be me at any moment. At that time, I will reassess my boots again.

Bottom of the Bucket

So far, this is my third day in Hamburg (hard to believe) and I haven’t taken the same route twice. I’m walking 2 hours a day just about, there is no closer Starbucks to my window perch at the Fischmarkt so I came to the same Starbucks today as yesterday.

I need to go to a bookshop now, and then a TKMaxx to buy gloves  (don’t ask me why it’s not TJMaxx except I just think it’s because K is easier to pronounce in European languages. Maybe I just figured it out! Ha!)

I still can’t resist taking pictures of things. I know that’s touristy but I want to and things are just instagrammable. At least I’m not on a segway tour. Dumps magee.

I snapped a shot of a cloud enveloped in fog on the way to the ‘bucks this morning. I can’t tell you how much I miss half-n-half here.

The same Simpsons ringtone went off as yesterday in this store, that must mean that an employee owns that phone. Oh it’s the landline phone, how funny. The menu displayed is entirely in English.

Last night at dinner I was telling Nobie and Man that I heard Germans say “fast food” yesterday and Manny confirmed that there is no German word for fast food. Americans, we coined a terrible, terrible thing. Then I saw that the word “sour cream” is also not a German word. The Germans borrow a lot of German words, the way we borrow “salsa” and “ennui.” But why would we say boredom when we can say ennui? When I eat salsa, I am very far from ennui. Thank you Mexico and France for allowing me to create such a sentence.

I must go buy a book and gloves and walk a lot more in the cold that I hear is only going to get much colder.

Tonight I will eat the pasta I made last night. And the cheese that smells awful but tastes good that I bought from the store. Took a wrong turn on that one.

Au revoir (credit: France)