It's good to get out sometimes. Opening the windows on a nice summer day is something; letting the world come to you through a hole in the wall can be reassuring and refreshing, but somtimes you have to get out and meet things halfway. It's healthier that way. You and world can be buddies. Incidentally, I've discovered it helps to treat the world like a healthy friendship, you know, not always making some come visit you all the time; it makes all the crazy people look like clowns, and everyone else like the guy who always forgets to laugh.

It just so happens that I'm the craziest person I deal with on a regular basis, so getting out is pretty important to keeping things going, kind of like changing the oil or rotating the tires, two things I have no real clue about, but know are important if you want your car to roll anywhere other than downhill. So I went to Lübeck.

Since last weekend was Himmelfahrt, or "The Ascension" to the observant English-speaking world, I had Thursday and Friday off, which is just peachy for traveling. The plan was to head down to Lübeck, and then Stacy and I would head up to Flensburg on the Danish border look around. We had both heard it was nice, and I had been suffering under a bit of Traveler's Guilt, because I haven't seen that much of Schleswig-Holstein, even though I've been living here for close to a year, so it seemed like a good place to go. Danish hot dogs, by the way, are supposed to be fantastic. It's the preservatives the Danish government allows that gives them their flavor, or so people have told me. Mmmm, Butylated Hydroxytoluene. Yum.

Well, we didn't make it there. Oh, it wasn't for a lack of trying, I'll say that right now. No, it's just that the Schleswig-Hostein train network sucks. A lot. Getting to Flensburg up on the border would have taken anywhere from 2.45 to 3.30, depending on the mule they decided to hitch up that morning. 2.45 isn't really that bad in itself, but it's a nice slice of "Pain-in-the-Ass Pie" when you get the "pleasure" of riding in two trains and a bus, and then have to turn around and make the same trip for a second time in one day. So we decided on Rostock in Mecklenburg-Vorpommern instead, a nice 1.45 minutes away with just one change in Bad Kleinen, which, despite it's position in the middle of nowhere, proved to be a pretty big town.

In general, though, Mecklenburg is, how you say, on the ass end of nowhere. There's nothing there. Nichts. Well, OK, there are hills. And trees. They've definitely got those. It's a spectacularly beautiful place, really, but it's pretty clear that Reunification hasn't really reached the county, aside from the occasional Wind Turbine maintenance. Grass covered hills, fields of bluming Rapes, and thick forests rule the scenery between towns. The word "town" is, for lack of a better English word, used loosely here, by the way. Come to think of it, German, a language that is far more precise when it comes to assigning size to settlements, doesn't have one either. I would use "Kaff," something smaller than a "Dorf," or "village," but it's a word that foolishly assumes the existence of buildings, which immediately disqualifies it when describing Plüschow.

Wikipedia.com tells me it has 541 inhabitants, but I didn't see them. Come to think of it, I didn't see anything to inhabit in the first place; the only thing around to tell you that we were stopped for any reason other than letting a stray sheep cross the tracks was a sign on two steel posts. The town, if it exists at all, was neither hidden behind a hill nearby, nor far in the background behind a cow. And before you ask: no, I didn't see a road leading to it. There was nothing, which I guess explains the short stop.

Rostock, as it turns out, is a pretty big town with its own Straßenbahn system and paved sidewalks. It's an old Hansa City, just like Lübeck, so the old city is beautifully built, consisting mostly of narrow, colorful merchant-style houses that you can only find here in the north. It's funny to think that Rostock 600 years ago was a part of the most powerful political entity in Europe, and now it's stuck in one of the most economically depressed. Funny how things work out, isn't it?

It was, like most towns worth a zip code, flattened in the war, and the old city was nearly completely reconstructed years later, but you wouldn't know to look at it, as usual. The catherdral has a massive astonomical clock; built in 1472, it is the oldest that still runs on parts of its original mechanism, and it was fantastic. I thought about taking pictures, but I generally avoid taking pictures in churches and other religious sites since people actually worship there. It's funny, I know. I personally don't think it's any more sacred than, say, a nice tree, but other people do, so I tend to spare them from my deadly tourist hawk eye. Besides, it has a bell poured in 1290, which is just awesome. Speaking of old things, the Christian book store just around the corner from the church is in a small white-washed building built in the year 1200, but they didn't get around to renovating it until 1731. Can you believe that? Honestly. Slackers.

Rostock is, in short, an absolutely beautiful town, and I'm really happy I made it there. So far, the Hansa City haven't let me down. Go Hansa! It's funny, but Fehmarn was where all the pirates lived who ambushed Hansa convoys as they tried to leave the Baltic on their way to trade with England. I guess that makes my trips kind of ironic.

But before I go, I would just like to take a couple minutes to say that, if you are still drunk from the night before, just stay at home, because no one wants to talk to you. Really. Go home, get some sleep, and watch some Sponge Bob on TV. Really, I don't really care what you do, just don't bother me, especially when I'm trying to cross the street.

See, this guy came up to Stacy and me when we were on our way to the train station in Lübeck and struck up a "conversation," which in this case is more like saying, "diatribe." Here's basically how it went.

GUY (In English): Hey! Hey! Are you from England?

US: Huh?

GUY: Are you from England?

US: No, we're American.

GUY: Did you vote for Bush?

US: No.

GUY: Oh, well you're good people.

If I haven't done anything else of value in my life, it appears not voting for Bush for president was it. Sad thing is, it wasn't really something I had to put a lot of thought into. Anyway, the guy went on to explain that he was an Arab, and therefore hated George Bush. It was, he said, "in his blood." I didn't go into how that expression only reenforces the whole "evil-doer" song and dance, but whatever. Long and short of it is: "We (Arabs) must fight to defend ourselves," blah, blah, blah. I disagree, but that's not the point here.

He then asked us where he were from. I should say here that being from North Carolina is great, because no one has a freaking clue where that is. Stacy, being from California, doesn't have that luxury.

GUY: Oh! California! I want to make a relationship with you so I can come to California.

Yippy.

GUY: Do you live with your parents?

STACY: Yes.

GUY: Shit. Do you smoke weed?

STACY: No.

It's amazing how stupid some people can be. It must take a lot of work. Anyway, after confirming that Stacy and I are, in fact, actually friends and aren't engaged in an elaborate ruse designed to decieve ourselves, he turns to me and asks: "Are you handycapped?" I don't generally think of myself in those terms, since I was born with my limp, so don't know anything else, but it's true, at least technically, so I answer:

ME: Yes.

GUY (Pointing at own head): But your emotions, they're all there? They're normal.

Well, I do tear up at the end of "Lord of the Rings: Return of the King," but what that means, I'll leave to you.

ME: Yes.

GUY: But you're not psychotic?

ME: Ummm, no.

GUY: I worked with psychotic people, and they were......

Insane?

As it turns out, when the blind lead the blind they end up at crossing light, hung over, and way too self confident.