Die Hard Three

So the train ride to Berlin is uneventful. Or maybe there were some events and I just slept through the commotion. Either way, I arrive in Berlin at 08:30, hungover from the Oktoberfest and sore from the undersized sleeping compartment. It’s the day of the Berlin Marathon. I’ve left one German city late at night that was packed with drunk people eating whole chickens and vomiting in public and arrived in another early in the morning that is full of sober people running 26 miles before 09:00 and vomiting in public. Germany is a land of contrast.

"Day of Rest" people!

The trams in the city centre are shut down because of the race. I decide to hoof it to Eva’s place – about 5 clicks. Nothing like a good walk to clear ones mind after 17 hours of train and four hours at the Oktoberfest. This walk is possible only because of my one-bag policy. For my 14-week vacation to Europe I decided to pack only what was necessary. I’m continually amazed by how much people overpack when they travel. I’ve done it myself in the past, but those days are now over. I started with 9.1 kilos. Not sure what I’m at now.

There’s no rest for the weary. Eva has planned an outing to Tierpark Berlin and we have to meet her sister and sister’s boyfriend at 13:00. Tierpark is this giant animal park located northwest of the city centre. I’m not a big fan of zoos, preserves, aquariums, animal farms, arbouriums, planetariums, museums, gardens, Ray’s Reptiles, kennels, army testing labs, windowless offices, national parks, or any place where animals are cooped up against their will.

One of the less-intelligent primates

I try to approach the problem logically and not to get too emotional with what I’m about to see. Several of the animals are clearly better off in the park – and by better off, I mean “not dead”. Poaching is a huge problem in many parts of the world and I can’t help but think that this rhinoceros would rather hang out here with her kid than to be dead in Afrika so some Asian dude can get his boner pills.

Note to the superstitious - science has already solved this problem.

The one that disturbed me the most was the monkey exhibit. I found it very difficult to look at, so much so that I could not get the images out of my mind even many hours after leaving the park. You see for some unfathomable reason, the Tierpark people decided to put the monkeys in a mockup of a ruined human civilization – a civilization that appeared to be quite advanced before something terrible happened.

Something terrible: again, it looks like Greece was involved.

It is clear that the monkeys are now running the show and that the humans are toiling away in underground caves at the bidding of our new masters.

And I, for one, would like to welcome our new simian overlords.

Aside from all this I found the excursion to be very educational. This is not the first time I’ve become more learned after visiting a zoo. Did you know that tigers are not female lions? Until recently, neither did I. I asked our guide why they were being kept in separate areas and she explained that the two species were very territorial and that they would probably fight each other if they got too close.

Two species? Really? Man, I was way off on this one. Why did I think that tigers and lions were boyfriend and girlfriend? The only two reasons I can come up with are

1. In Mrs. Belanger’s first grade French class we learned that it was “le lion” and “la tigre”. For those of you that do not speak French , “le” means boy and “la” means girl.
2. Clara never told me otherwise.

I think there’s an equal probability of each being true.

Kim Jong-il's Panthers

Other than what I have written in this post, nothing interesting happened to me at the animal park.

First up I have to ditch my backpack. By some miracle there are some free lockers in the luggage depot at the far end of the Bahnhof.

I wonder if he's going to collect his bag.

I arrive way too late. It’s probably the busiest day of the whole two weeks. There are people everywhere. I ask some Germans and they tell me I’m SOL for getting into a tent. Undeterred I make my way onto the fair grounds and end up in “line” at what appears to be the exact same Biergarten from 4 years ago. Ben, Nick, maybe you remember.

The "line"

I can’t because back then it was all so hazy. Getting inside seems like an impossible task. There are about 30 people crowded around a door. This German guy Christopher is waiting to get in. His brother is inside and he wants to have a bier with him before heading to another tent. I hold his place in line while he goes to talk to his brother over the fence. A girl at the front says she’s been waiting for over an hour and a half.

We wait for 45 minutes. I can’t say the wait wasn’t entertaining. It’s great weather and there are heaps of drunk people getting into fights, falling down sick, and yelling at the bouncer.

I think it's time to stop drinking.

After watching dozens of people leave they finally let us in. It’s a mad rush for the tables but there’s plenty of space. I hang out with Christopher and his crew for the first round. There’s a table of drunk Germans behind us and I join them when I order my chicken and bier #2.

20 Euros - Seriously

Markus is this intense guy from Canary Islands. His buddy, a German guy whose name I can’t remember, is much more relaxed. Julia and Eva are sisters from Germany. I spend a good portion of the evening trying to convince Markus he’s from Austria. I almost succeed.

There were several trips to the loo. This part of the Oktoberfest experience warrants its own paragraph. The guys’ WC was straightforward: lots of troughs and no lineup. The ladies’ room, while I did not make it inside, I can only imagine. Their lineup was massive and it took about 30 minutes to get to the front. They need to fix this for next year.

I'd show you the line for the men's room but there was no line

Before I order beer nummer drei I check the time. Ninety minutes until I have to be at the train station. More than enough time. Things are starting to heat up. 40 police officers arrive and go into the tent to fix some sort of problem. The people in line outside are getting agitated. Some idiots are banging on the door. One girl manages to climb over the fence and doesn’t get caught. It’s a pretty solid wall – about seven feet (two metres) tall. This woman security guard violently tackles this drunk Italian dude. I can’t say I approve but it was pretty funny to watch. I snap a picture and the dude’s girlfriend yells at me.

And she got mad at me!

With my time up I bid farewell to my Oktoberfest friends. I manage to make it back to the main station and find my luggage locker. The night train is right where it was supposed to be, track 16. My cabin is empty and the bed is too short but I don’t care. I review my list of objectives for the evening: mission accomplished

The train from Milan arrives in Verona on time. I need to stay awake for the 5 1/2 hour trip to Munich. The goal is to be exhausted by the time I get on the overnight train at 22:10. This way I can sleep the whole way to Berlin.

I have a seat reserved in a 6-person cabin – which turns out to be empty. The cabin next to mine has two young ladies in it. I introduce myself and say I’m traveling alone. I ask if they want to hang out for a bit and they say sure. The other seats in their cabin are reserved but not till we get to Austria.

Tessa and Chelsea are two sisters from a far-away land called Victoria BC. They were in Italy for a wedding and now they are heading to the Oktoberfest for a few days of fun before going to Barcelona or Greece or some place like that.

Blame Canada. It's what I would do.

We get to some town in Austria and this elderly German-speaking couple have reservations for the two seats by the window. The girls appear visibly annoyed as the man has some rather serious BO. As for me, after you’ve been on a three-day Chinese riverboat tour stuff like this tends not to bother you. The couple seem pleasant enough but they’ve got way too much luggage. I offer to lift their bags up onto the storage rack. I give one a test lift, it must weigh 60 kilos.

I do a quick risk analysis on what would look worse: dropping the bag on my head or asking for assistance. Chelsea takes one end and we hoist it up over our heads. Tessa helps with the other suitcase. If the train crashes, I know how we’ll die.

The ticket guy comes by. As he leaves he closes the door. Our plan was to keep it open. Oh well. The train stops again and another bunch of people get on. A woman explains that the previous train did not arrive. Nice. The guy whose seat I’m sitting in shows up and I have to move to the next cabin. Some of the other passengers have shown up. It smells like bananas.

When traveling by train, the sign of a new country used to be a boarder crossing of some sort. Now, your mobile provider sends you a text welcoming you to Austria. Unless you’re leaving Austria. Then it says something else.

I like visiting Germany Junior, every time I’m here I usually have fun. The scenery is beautiful and the Austrian accent is pretty funny. One thing that makes German a great language is the accents. Swiss German is probably my favourite. On the Simpson’s, the German foreign exchange student is named Üter. In the German-dubbed version of the show he’s speaks with a Swiss accent. I love it!

Don't make me run! I am full of beer!

While writing the previous paragraph I realized I don’t know how to spell “Üter”. I ask my travel companions for help but we are unable to come to a consensus. After a few minutes of discussion we cannot even agree on the pronunciation. When we finish they remain unconvinced that it’s even a real name. I stand firm that it is.

I had no idea that Austria had so many mountains. For some reason I thought it was flat, like the Netherlands. It must be because former Austrian roommate Clara never spoke of this subject instead preferring to talk about topics of a political nature. This is all fine and good, but next time a foundation of trust should be established on top of the physical attributes of the nation and then we can move up to politics.

Die Bergen

The police are on the train now looking for smugglers and bandits. It’s impossible to tell if these cops are Austrian or German. They are wearing coats but it must be 30 degrees in here. The badges on their sleeves have a some sort of mythological bird.

The train does not crash and we arrive in Munich unmarked. As I stand to exit the cabin I notice that the heater is turned on. I switch it to cold and everyone laughs.

My plan for the Oktoberfest is simple

1. go to the Oktoberfest
2. find a table where I can drink beer and eat a whole chicken
3. order a mass of beer and a whole chicken
4. eat the chicken and drink the beer
5. order another beer
6. drink another beer
7. return to the main station not dead

I think a simple plan is important. I’m all about reaching for the stars, aiming high, blah, blah, blah, but in this instance the lack of planning and five-hour time window have made me seek a more modest outcome. If my goal is to have the best time of my life, I’m going to be disappointed no matter what happens. But with achievable, well-defined goals (food, drink), I’m bound to be pleased with the result.

I am also a bit concerned because I don’t have any sun screen and the sun is really shining. Sorry mom. But it’s after 16:00 now so it should be getting dark soon.

So this coffee thing. I feel compelled to report that it has had some unforeseen physical effects on me. I think it has destroyed my desire to eat food – and I’m in Italy!

I curse you!

Two days in a row now I had supper at 18:00 then nothing but a coffee at 09:00 the next morning and then lunch at 15:00. What’s that, like 21 hours on one cup of coffee? What on Earth is this stuff? And it’s not like I’m sitting around in an air conditioned cafe, writing my blog all day, chatting up the waitresses. Today I walked almost 10 km and it was over 25 degrees.

Anyway, Saturday is a big day. I’m going to *attempt* a visit to the Oktoberfest. You religious people out there say a prayer for me and you heathens send me the German version of 911. I’d hate to yet once again call emergency services and have some operator in Ottawa answer. Some of you might remember this little episode.

911, what is your emergency?

I think I drank one of these.

Where are you now sir?

I'm in front of the giant cat.

Sir, you’re not making any sense. Can you pass the phone to someone else?

There is no one else.

The main purpose of this blog is education. “No. No. That’s not true. That’s impossible!” I can see you now, yelling at your computer screen. Yet part of you now wants to go watch Star Wars. See, what you probably don’t realize is I’ve been using this blog to subliminally plant ideas in your mind about various subjects that I think are important. For example, 14% of my blog posts have included stories about children eating bananas (20% if you include this one). I’m a firm believer that bananas are the most effective way of delivering the proper vitamins and nutrients to growing children. * But I can’t just come out and say that. No one would pay any attention. Some of you would go and do the opposite.

We've now reached 20%

“Bananas? Nutrition in children? That’s boring.” $100 says that before making it to end of this sentence at least half of you scroll to the bottom of this post to see if there are any more pictures of models (btw: there are several more pictures of models at the bottom of this post).

Now this is *exactly* why subliminal is so important. The most effective idea-delivery mechanism involves embedding the idea within another, safer idea. This way you can make the recipient think he came up with the concept himself. When this happens he is much more likely to actually accept the idea.

Now there are three levels of idea-delivery

• subliminal (just discussed)
• liminal (will talk about in a second) and
• superliminal (will save for a later post)

Liminal: sometimes a topic is too complex and it needs to be presented liminally. Par example: I want you to imagine receiving the following voice mail that was left on your phone from one minute after midnight. (Did you see that right there? I’m teaching you French!)

Can you pick me up at the station in Marino? I will be on the nine o’clock train.

What does this mean? Is he talking about the train that is arriving at 09:00 in the morning in Marino? Or is it the one that is leaving the main station at 21:00? Or is it arriving at 21:00 in Marino? What if it’s leaving at 09:00 from the main station?

Man, I’m confused! So many questions. It’s important to be accurate when discussing times and dates. As you may have noticed I use the 24-hour clock almost exclusively. This is to avoid any ambiguity when I say something happened at eight o’clock – this could be morning or night.

I once had to promote an event that was happening Friday night at midnight. I made up a whole bunch of posters and hung them all around the city only to find out that I had the wrong time and date on them. FML. It was only Elvis fighting a gorilla so I don’t think it mattered too much, but still. I got confused about when midnight Saturday and midnight Friday actually happen.

If midnight is when “the clock strikes 12” then midnight Friday happens one minute after 23:59 Thursday. But to most people midnight Friday, is Friday night. To put it another way: a 24-hour clock never actually reads 24:00:00. It starts at 00:00:00 and rolls over one second after 23:59:59.

Fuck you Jack Bauer

There are many ways to exploit the confusion that can arise from all this. Some cinemas offer discounts on movies that start before 18:00 while at the same time having midnight showings at full price. See the problem here?

Most times it’s not an issue. The context around the event fills in the blanks and on top of that, the stakes are low. Going to the Scotiabank Place to watch the Senators lose? It’s probably in the evening. And if you miss the game, you can always read a book or converse with a loved one.

However there are certain instances where the penalty for making a mistake is quite high. If you’re best man at a friend’s wedding and he says, “Be there tomorrow at nine.” At first you’re going to be all like, “gotcha, see you then.” But after two beers it’s going to be all, “Was that nine in the morning or nine at night? It has to be nine in the morning – because no one gets married at nine at night. Wait a second, who gets married at nine in the morning?” The seed of doubt has been planted. Now just sit back and watch it grow into a mighty oak.

So I would like to propose a new Law – Jason’s first law of ambiguous pre-arranged meeting times.

The amount of confusion or anxiety resulting from an ambiguous date or time of a given event will be directly proportional to the level of importance of said event.

I’ve always wanted to have a law named after me. One of the ones like Murphy’s Law, not an actual law.

And now for your viewing pleasure. Models:

You really were expecting human females, weren't you?

You can go back to the top.

Move along.

Nothing to see here.

Lego and Dinosaurs. Does it get any better than this?

Almost at the end…

Man, I *have* to see this commercial

I think you were expecting this one.

You know on Thursday I actually went back to the Design Museum and they were having another party to celebrate Fashion Week. I got some really amazing pictures. But I think those will be for another post. This one is all about the driods.

* I’m NOT claiming that I invented the idea of banana-based nutrition in children – I just promote it.

No. Wait. I have.

I have to visit the train station to make a reservation for my journey to Berlin. My FOB (Forward Operating Base) is a cafe / restaurant near Magenta Carducci and I have to make my way to Garibaldi Train Station. Here on GoogleMaps in the path I took. It’s a nice day and I have lots of time so I decide to go on foot. It’s about three clicks, not too far. So as I’m walking it I realize, hey I’ve done this before.

See back in 2006 during the Greatest Time Ever (TM) I was visiting Jan and Rita in Monza. It was the week after their wedding and I had made plans to meet up with some of Rita’s nice Italian friends for drinks. It was Friday night I think. There were some logistical problems and by the time I got to the bar it was almost 01:00. So we clear out of there at around 02:30 and this leaves me with about 4 hours to kill before the trains start running.

Now, as everyone knows, to get to Monza from Milan one has to take a train from Garibaldi. I have with me everything I need: map, compass, sense of adventure. So here I am, I’m slowly making my way across the city to the train station. I’m walking thought this real quiet area, it must be a little after 05:00. There’s almost no traffic around. Suddenly I hear a loud CRUNCH. I look over and see this car has backed into a parked Smart. So I run up just in time to see these two guys speed away. I get their license plate number and they see me get their license plate number.

So what do I do? Half of me want to go home and get some sleep. The other half wants to wait for the owner of the car to show up so we can nail those hit-and-run assholes. I wanted to leave a note but I had this fear that the asshole guys were just waiting to come back and take it from the car before the owner showed up. Full disclosure: during this same trip I had several other experiences with the Italian police the results of which discouraged me from contacting them.

So what I ended up doing was writing two notes – with my contact information and the license number of the other car. One I put on the windshield. The other I stuffed into the damaged bumper. I figured if they came and got the first note, they might not think to look for the second one. Now I know what you’re all thinking: I should have hidden a third note. But if my memory serves me, and it doesn’t, I only had enough paper for two.

After all that, I’m not sure if my solution worked because I never got called, but I would like to think dude got his car fixed and the other guys paid for it.

I heard the Pope is visiting Berlin this week. I wonder where he stays when he’s in Germany. With relatives? If he was your kid would you not feel disappointed if he decided to stay in a hotel?

You wouldn't feel anything because you'd be a hundred and thirty years old.

Maybe he has a house from when he used to live in Germany. What am I saying? He almost certainly does have a house. Think about it: he only recently moved away because he got a promotion. The smart thing would be to keep the house in case the new job didn’t work out and he’d have to move back.

I wonder if he’d rent it out? I ask because I’m currently looking for a place to stay in Berlin. It seems like a great city but overwhelming. I mean, 3.5 million is pretty intense. Anyway, when you get to be Pope, looking after a rental unit from another country is probably a big hassle. In all likelihood he’s hired a property manager to take care of all the day-to-day stuff, you know finding tenants, minor repairs, collecting rent. Stuff like that. But maybe once a year there something major that has to be fixed – like a leaky roof or something with the foundation. And the property guy has to call and to find out what to do. And if the Pope was a smart guy (and he is) he’s probably got a bunch of income properties. Keeping track of all of them would be very difficult as he has been living in Italy for the past few years.

Anyway, the places I’ve seen online are probably not owned by the Pope. But that would be awesome if they were. I have to remember to ask the landlord if the Pope ever lived there. Wait. What am I thinking? There’d be all these crazy rules that I’d have to follow. It wouldn’t be worth the trouble.

Really? Every time I enter the apartment through the front door?

I need the ability to instantly capture photographically what I see. Wednesday’s thing with the supermodels aside, this morning I’m walking to my local cafe to try a new type of coffee. “There’s a new type of coffee? Tell us about it! Tell us now!” Calm down everyone. For some reason my posts on coffee are generating an enormous amount of interest. I’m not sure why. It all tastes like dirt to me. More about the coffee later.

Anyway, I’m walking down the street and there’s this guy in what looks like a $7 200 Italian suit biking to work wearing a dust mask covering his face. Any of those two things on their own are not interesting but man, when you put them together. By the time I got my camera out, unlocked the screen, navigated to the home page, selected the camera app, waited for it to load, and aimed it, the guy was already at his construction site putting up the first layer of drywall compound. I really want to capture this on film: a picture is worth a thousand words and I’m getting paid by the word to write this blog (if you hadn’t noticed). A thousand words for one picture is a sound financial decision. As I see it, here are my options:

1. come back to the same time and place tomorrow and hope he (or someone dressed similar) passes by
2. ask (pay?) someone to bike down the street and dress him up in a suit with a mask
3. take a picture of a dude who’s already wearing a mask and photoshop in the bike and the suit
4. just don’t worry about it man, relax, there will be other opportunities, you’ll be in Berlin in two days and that place is a freakshow

Personally, I think all of these options are terrible. I’m not going to say why. If anyone out there has any suggestions on how to solve this problem, please leave them in the comments.

“Shut up already and get to the coffee!!!!” Fine. So I had two people suggest my next type of coffee:

1. Flat white (my dealer had never heard of it – I’m in Italy, Brent, not Ireland) and
2. Latte (he knew this one)

So my guy suggested this thing called a Maraschino. I thought, “what the hell” and ordered one. I don’t have any money with me so I have no idea how I’m going to pay for it. And it looks expensive. Check this out:

$600?

That’s a piece of chocolate floating there in the middle with the name of the guy who made the coffee (the “W” melted off). The first part is quite good. I use the spoon and simply eat the chocolate. I have no idea if I’m supposed to let it melt and mix it in with the actual coffee. Maybe these these should come with instructions. I’m sure there’s an unemployed tech writer somewhere who would work for minimum wage writing up a pamphlet on how to drink coffee. I’d download it.

So not mixing in the chocolate is the wrong thing to do. The rest of it still tastes like coffee. What I can’t get over is the effect on my brain. Man, it’s like I’m drunk, but legally permitted to operate a motor vehicle. I’m afraid to stand up because my head is still spinning 15 minutes later. And these tables have corners. Is it like this every time? If anyone knows  some other coffees just use the comments. I think I’m going to try the latte tomorrow.

The cafe I’m in is playing Orange Crush on the stereo. Sniff.

This is Fanta Country

To start the day I decided to take in The Last Supper (the painting, not the meal). It’s located about a 15-minute walk from the site of the Lego commercial so logistically it looks like it’s going to be an easy day. Leonardo Da Caprio’s masterpiece was painted over 150 years ago and survived to the present day through many wars and famines. It’s massive too – about 15′ x 29′ (4.6 x 8.8 m). As I marvel at the breadth and beauty of this magnificent painting, I can’t help but wonder why no one has ever made a life-sized jigsaw puzzle with this image on it. I mean, how much fun would that be to put together?

Alright, everyone to this side of the table for the picture.

And speaking of jigsaw puzzles, if I was a jigsaw puzzle company I would put aside one of each puzzle and use it for spare pieces. If a customer lost a piece he could simply give the co-ordinates of the lost piece using an [x,y] notation system where piece [1,1] is the one in the bottom left corner, [1,2] is the one above it – you get the idea. He would supply this information along with an original receipt from an authorized reseller and a $15 processing fee and I would ship it to him. It would also be important to provide a physical description of the missing piece as well as the name and size of the puzzle.

Of course there would be some downsides. I’d have to pay someone to assemble the replacement puzzles so we could easily locate the replacement pieces. That would be expensive. Also, what if two people lost the same piece? It’s unlikely but it could happen. It would be just crushing to have to write the letter to the guy who sent in his application just a couple of hours too late.

Re: Application for Replacement Puzzle Piece

Dear George,

The purpose of this message is to notify you that your information and the non-refundable processing fee have both been received.

Puzzle Name: The Last Supper
Puzzle Size: 62 000
Location of Missing Piece: [173,90]
Description of Missing Piece: Jesus’ face
Processing Fee: $15 USD

We regret to inform you that just this morning another customer ordered the exact same piece that you have requested. As we have only a single puzzle to supply replacement pieces, we are unable to action your request at this time.

Regards

Joseph Puzzelman
Puzzelman Puzzles

Before going to sleep last night I set my alarm for 06:00. I didn’t think it would actually work. I mean who would build such a device? Plus this is the first time ever I’ve needed to be awake before 07:30.

There's a 6:00 in the morning now?

The alarm goes off right when I told it to. Jan is giving me a lift to the train station. It’s an early start today as he’s commuting to his other job (this one is located in another country). The train is half full and for some reason the air conditioning is running. It’s 12 degrees outside and I’m wearing a t-shirt. Everyone else is in sweaters. I can hear the woman next to me listening to Guns N Roses on her iPod. She’s dressed in business attire. It’s an odd combination. I like this train line because it ends in Milan. You could fall sleep and not have to worry about missing your stop. As I exit the train I notice one of the passengers is fast asleep and I nudge him awake. It’s hilarious to see his where-the-hell-am-I expression when he comes to, but then he smiles and says thanks.

So I skipped breakfast again today. Have not been a big fan lately. Vacations are incredibly busy and I don’t have time for frivolities. Some people get energy from their morning meal but not me. Every time you eat it takes energy to process the food. I have this hypothesis that the most efficient way to get energy is to eat only one good meal per day. Saves a ton of money too – especially when traveling. And I’m still trying to get used to this whole coffee thing. It’s not going well – that is to say I’m not enjoying it. I can’t wait to get to Germany where I can have a beer in the morning like a normal person.

Is it the caffeine that wakes you up or the horrible taste?

Although I’ve only been here two days, I have this feeling that Jan’s kids are expecting me to read them a story every night before bed. When you’re only four years-old, twice in a row becomes the norm. As all their books are in German, these bedtime stories have made difficult the simple act of reading out loud. It’s good practice for when I start my language studies but I have to say it’s pretty funny to be corrected by an infant. I mean, when he speaks he probably makes a lot of mistakes too. He’s only four.

…and that's why a diversified portfolio where risk decreases as you approach retirement is the best strategy for long term financial planning.