Phnom Penh to Saigon

“It is not light that we need, but fire; it is not the gentle shower, but thunder. We need the storm, the whirlwind, and the earthquake.” - Frederick Douglass

Phnom Penh is the capital of Cambodia, located on the Mekong River, and where the atrocities of the Khmer Rouge took place in the mid 1970's. Visiting the killing fields and the S-21 prison camp outside of town is a heart breaking and soul crushing experience, but one that is important to see. However, I don't recommend loitering, as it is a painful thing to endure for long. I visited for a day and was done with it, and relied on the good nature of the modern people to shock me back into readiness; their synchronized exercising in particular. In fact, seeing Asian synchronized exercising is the only cure for it, I think. Perhaps there are others, but this was the remedy for my case. The spectacle is beyond any humor I know. It is usually summoned in public parks and common areas, but this one set itself up on the boardwalk next to the Mekong. Now, I did not stop and gaze for long, as doing such a thing as this should be considered disrespectful in most cultures; presumably this one, but long enough to nearly spit my Sumatra iced coffee all over the sidewalk. It is the outfit - yes, it is the headband - yes, it is the music - yes, it is the facial expression – yes, but it is the motion that loosens my screws, mostly: slow, coordinated, swaying reaches to the sky followed by counterclockwise rotation and a repeat cycle, of course. If one is lucky, he may hear some grunts in Khmer (Cambodian) too. If it were only one or two people performing, or even a handful, it would not stimulate the laughter as effectively, but it is the large gathering of people that completes the circus.

On to Vietnam, and Saigon; only a six hour, relatively and surprisingly painless trip; especially considering it was a border crossing into a socialist country for an American. So goes it. Now, Saigon (Ho Chi Minh City) is a place of high importance to the recent history of the world, and certainly has a past worth a long read, but not here. The city today is the Asian city one thinks about when he thinks about that sort of thing. It is crowded with more motorbikes than should ever be counted, and the buildings are full of neon lights and strange characters which may never be understood by a westerner. Crossing the street here is taming all your natural senses telling you not to, and throwing yourself into oncoming traffic, hoping the mass of small vehicles avoids you. It does work; it is beyond me how, but it does work. I would liken it to a school of mackerel in the ocean avoiding an oncoming swordfish – every pulse of movement is felt by the group as a whole, and they dodge the trouble well enough. The analogy is not a great one, as in this case the swordfish is the one scared shit-less; but it will give an accurate scene of what goes on here. Very well, I spent three days soaking up both history and humidity. There are so many places to see and things to do, that it can be overwhelming if you don't take a minute to breathe once in a while.

By and by, I found myself outside the city about 30 miles at the famous Cu Chi tunnels which were heavily bombed during the Vietnam War. I explored the areas massive bomb craters and intricate tunnel systems, even some of the booby traps designed to trap or kill American soldiers. Everything was fascinating; from the will and determination of the Vietnamese soldiers who lived in tunnels for 18 months with barely enough room to turn around, or swat a fly; to the elaborate, and somewhat prehistoric weapons they used in fighting a much more advanced enemy. Our guide was good, perhaps a tad over anxious about referring to Americans as Godless Devils, but he was thorough enough and his English was acceptable. Certainly I learned things I never knew, like the damage Agent Orange had on crops for years after their use, and how temporary weapons shelters were set up in the middle of jungles to facilitate faster arms output. No doubt, I enjoyed firing the AK-47 at the shooting range, too. I had but one bullet, and I tried to make it count, so I took my time in missing the target. 

I am finding it increasingly hard to shop in Vietnam, and Southeast Asia in general. Let us start with the milk situation; in short, there is none. The only time I have found it has been in convenient stores where they sell it in containers not much bigger than a juice box. To ask for a gallon of milk in Southeast Asia would be to ask for a gallon of soy sauce in the States, indeed, you would get the same look, and no result. And, in the market, shopping for clothes is like entering the Colosseum. One must be prepared or never come back out. As a general rule, do not make eye contact with a marketer, for if you do, you will surely be hassled. I'm not so sure they realize they are all selling the same exact products right next to each other, and even if I did buy a thing from one stand, I would not walk three paces and buy the thing again at another. If they had it their way, I would enter the market with no “Authentic Vietnam Lighter” and exit with twenty-five. And only about 12 of them would work. No matter, it is all part of it, I suppose.  

Angkor Wat (Cambodia)

“Re-examine all that you have been told... dismiss that which insults your soul ” - Walt Whitman

Pak-Chong, Thailand, to Siem Reep, Cambodia, is a journey which takes all day, from 6 in the morning to 9 at night. I'm not sure of the actual distance, but I am sure that I don't want to know it; I'm afraid it would offend the part of me that wasn't happy to sit on various buses for 15 hours. Though long, the trip was relatively event free, besides one particular incident at the Thai – Cambodia border crossing which involved some of my traveling friends at the time. The details are long, and of no great value to the point of the story, so I will just say that they were stopped at the border and hassled by a man until the man got so visibly frustrated that every one on the bus left and got on another one. The situation worked itself out somehow, and I suppose the only thing I learned from it was that we were now in Cambodia. Anyway, the aggressive man was a far outlier to others I've interacted with since. In fact, I can't say I've seen another Cambodian upset in anyway since arriving in Siem Reep. In fact, I can't say I've seen another Cambodian frown since arriving in Siem Reep. In fact, I can't say I've seen another Cambodian not smile since arriving in Siem Reep. Lovely people. Now, I don't claim to be a historian in anyway, as I shouldn't, yet, but I do feel I know some of the stuff, and I can't think of an event in the past century as awful as the Khmer Rouge reign of terror in the 1970's in Cambodia, besides the holocaust in Europe. That these people, only a generation ago, went through this and still have the ability to smile at all is hard to believe. But, that is history, and this is a travel blog.

Siem Reep is the city which lies adjacent to the Angkor Temples – built a long time ago by some very old folks, with a very intense purpose, presumably. The nightlife does not follow rules and has no apparent objective besides to keep the visitor from his breakfast the next morning. When beers are 50 cents or perhaps a dollar, all has been said. By and by, the first night in town, the atmosphere grabbed me as a Grizzly grabs a Salmon, and soon enough I was watching the sunrise with a group of people whose English was only improved by our collective state of intoxication. Very well, a day looking at temples turned into a day looking at my pillow.

The temples of Angkor are scattered over a huge area, the size of which can be related to the size of a small town in the States. Everywhere, there are temples, and everywhere, there are tourists who should just as well walk into a disease infested pond before taking their eyes away from their cameras. A more clueless breed of people has not been thought up yet, I think. I should say that Tourists are an ugly thing to look at, too, but I would be forced to insult myself, and I will not do that. Anyway, if you keep your eyes at a certain level, you can almost keep the tourist out of frame.

These are the most impressive temples I have yet seen, though I suppose the only other temples I've yet seen are in Las Vegas, and they have a charm of their own, certainly. These ones, though, are nearly a thousand years older, and look the part. They are made of sandstone, some limestone, and some form of volcanic basalt; all chiseled to an unbelievable level of detail and character. The eroding gray surface of the temples are contrasted with the jungle green of lichens, tree roots, moss, palm trees, coconut trees, chemical weathering, mechanical weathering, and other things that can call themselves green, too. It is a scene from Indiana Jones, and I won't be untruthful and say I didn't imagine myself as him once or twice, whistling the theme song as I ducked through the various nooks and crannies, amid vines and spider webs. Of course, I would have done this all day, but of course, I ran into another tourist, and, of course, he looked at me in a peculiar way, and, of course, he was French.

After the normal time allotted for shock and awe, and thinking “wow” over and over again, I thought of how forceful the forced labor must have been, and how many poor villagers and peasants were needed to build this complex of ancient wonders for the king. It's a very sobering subject to think of when looking at something as immense as the Angkor Temples, with as many intricacies as stars in the sky, or fish in the sea, or people in Asia. The sooner the thought leaves, the better the day is. Well, I took a tuk-tuk the first day, a rented pink beach cruiser the second, and another tuk-tuk the third. The tuk-tuk is never far from a wondering westerner, in fact, they are in constant wait for one to walk past, and they are a noise to get used to, surely. But, they are very friendly, and very knowledgeable, and really are worth the 12 dollars it costs to follow you around all day, and wait for you while you sight see. I haven't yet felt scammed or ripped off since in Siem Reep.

Angkor Wat is the grand finale of all temples, and best seen at sun rise. So, mustering up the courage, I got up around 4 am to go and see what the sun could do in the early morning that was impressive enough to gather its reputation, and to pass so easily through the grape vine of travelers all the way to my ears. Well, the temple was impressive enough, but the light had nothing to do with it, as far as I could tell. Perhaps on a clearer morning it could have justified my presence among the fields of tourists, but as it was, sleep would have been more impressive. It is the eighth wonder of the world, they say, and it does live up to the standing, I think. Had it not been for the suffocating heat, I would have liked to explore it all day and into the evening. But, alas, the heat made short work of the day, and heading back to bed seemed the only reasonable thing to do.

Khao Yai National Park (Thailand)

“All that mysterious life of the wilderness that stirs in the forest, in the jungles, in the hearts of wild men ” - Joseph Conrad

Made pleasant by the air conditioning, my minivan ride from Bangkok to Pak Chong took a mere three hours. Certainly, the distance suggested less than three hours, but considering the traffic and the absolutely confusing stops in small villages along the way - for some reason I'm sure, but none that came to mind at the time, or has come to mind since - I should not complain in any way at all. Rather, I consider the leg an ultimate success, as I found my way to the right place – Khao Yai National Park. The country side of Thailand is as one should expect it to be. There are so many tree and plant species growing out of the ground, out of the rocks, out of the houses, out of each other, that to name any of them would be an injustice to the rest of them, so I will just say it looked like a jungle; plain and simple, and end it there. The bedrock is completely limestone, so I will label it.

The Thai People – A Brief Note

They are wonderful. Perhaps it is because they live in a place where sunshine is ever present, and where life is everywhere; or perhaps it is their majority Buddhist religion that stresses good will towards others and rewards good karma. I do not know for sure, but I do know for sure that this “Land of Smiles” is exactly that; for the natives and for the visitors. They help others as if it weren't an option, just the right thing to do – the only thing to do. In general, they will go to the ends of Asia to direct and accommodate. My hospitality scale has a new high standard, and it is the Thai people. The French remain in solid grasp of the low.

My tour began in Khao Yai National Park at 8 in the morning and went until 6 in the evening on the first day. My tour group had other tourists, and they all had names and countries, but unfortunately, none of high importance, so I will just say I went on this thing with other tourists. All day, we drove around in the bed of a ford truck which had been outfitted to look like a safari vehicle from the Serengeti. It did a good enough job copying the function of what it tried to, and it allowed us views throughout the park where we could look for wildlife. Along the road, at one moment in particular, our guide abruptly stopped the vehicle and jumped out into the jungle. He went about ten yards into the thickness of it and grabbed something off of a tree. As he got closer I saw it was a long, white, skinny looking snake; a whip snake. Assuming he would just hold it for us to look at was the wrong assumption! He hopped into the bed of the truck and started reeling off facts as if they were fishing line. Mind you, the business end of the thing was swaying through the air and inching its' way closer to us the whole time. I felt it was an appropriate time to ask about how dangerous the snake was. I asked; he replied: “yes, dangerous but not poison. Bite often, and biting hurts.” This event set the tone for the day, and I prayed our guide was able minded.

We drove some more with outstanding vistas of the mountains and the jungle attached to those mountains. We passed through the set of the Jungle Book and came out through the set of Apocalypse Now. The pattern repeated itself for much of the day. On one of our stops, we joined a troop of Macaques as they were lazying about on the side of the road; seemingly doing nothing productive with their lives, besides checking their friend's backsides for parasites. Indeed, these are some bold creatures. They come right up next to tourist's and would hop aboard their laps if it weren't for the tourist's “shooing” them away. I cannot decide whether they are friendly, courageous, stupid, tame, wild, timid, dangerous, safe, careless, or all of these. They resemble us in so many ways, it is likely that they are all of these. They even have finger nails that look trimmed and groomed, albeit black as the road.

By and by, we found ourselves in the middle of the jungle, bushwhacking through the tangle of it all, on a three hour hike looking for more wildlife. We saw huge Hornbills soaring through air, spiders the size of tennis ball's, millipedes as long as my forearm, White Handed Gibbons swinging effortlessly through the canopy. We saw a hole in the ground next to a termite mound and our questionable-minded guide began poking deep into it with a stick. Out came an enormous scorpion. After some brief description of the thing, our guide began handling it, and then started towards me as he was doing such. I suppose I felt his confidence through the heavy and humid air, so I let him do whatever it was he was about to do, and before I realized what it was, I had a Forest Scorpion hitchhiking on my shoulder. If my heart didn't stop, it took a long nap, surely. Very well, I don't remember how long it was there, but I know it got off eventually and we continued on. The day ended in the search for elephants, not the finding of elephants, and we went back to the guest house for some much needed cold beer.

A half day tour followed where we explored a cave riddled with bats and statues of Buddahs, swam in natural springs, and visited a Monk encampment. I cannot say, behind honest eyes, that a string of things so surreal has happened to me before. Next stop – Cambodia... hopefully!

Bangkok Insomnia

" An intelligent man is sometimes forced to be drunk to spend time with his fools " - Ernest Hemingway

Presently, I have digested enough of Bangkok's lunacy through experience to reflect that digestion, or perhaps throw it up. Though I have been to all breeds of cities over four continents in the past year; I can say, truthfully, that none are like Bangkok in any way besides that they, too, can be classified as cities. In Bangkok, one can walk from a Grand Palace where he prays to an Emerald Buddha atop a castle of gold, to a street market where motorized scooters rush past with barely enough room to fit a pineapple. The markets here are mystifying. The smells are abhorrent. The people are mesmerizing. It took two full days for my culture shock to be downgraded to culture surprise. I feel now that I am adjusted enough to function as a regular human being should function.

Now; the people. They are timid to Westerners but have the capacity to scam them into all sorts of tourist traps. My first day in Bangkok, I was met by a man on the street wearing nice clothes who spoke decent English who asked me: “Where are you going”. I told him that I was just walking around for a bit getting my bearings. He asked me: “Where are you from” and I told him that I was from America. His eyes lit up and he said: “ I have Uncle in Detroit”. After some basic back and forth, broken and scattered conversation, a tuk-tuk pulled up next to us. The man told me to get in and that the driver would take me to a tourist information office where I could plan weeks of my trip in advance; like bus tickets and hotel accommodations. Very well, I got in and took a wild ride through the city to a broken down, beat up office, where I was told to go speak with the people inside. I did just that. It was ten minutes into the most wretched conversation with the most backwards communication I have ever been a part of, until I realized that I was being washed around and around in a tourist trap; close to buying a trip to Northern Thailand to see elephants, instead of buying bus tickets to local hotels. It hit me all at once, and I said something along the lines of: “oh, ok!, I must go now”. The women I had been talking to realized she had failed and would not even look me in the eye. Score one for the tourist. I went back to the hostel. This is one story of many scam stories I could tell, but this one was my first, and the one I got caught in. The rest I have had the luxury of experience to recognize as sewage, and have steered away.

Mayhem is everywhere in Bangkok at night. Try a few cups of coffee followed by a few rounds of drinks before leaving the hotel; and then maybe another cup of coffee. The first step into the street is like being hit by a truck of activity ( and look out for actual trucks too ); locals asking strange questions, neon lights everywhere, food stands as far as one can look, massage parlors every ten yards, shops with more merchandise than all the malls in America combined, dogs wandering around as if they were going to the market for fruit, cats walking across window sills and in restaurants as if they were inspecting their operation and monitoring their employees; people sleeping, eating talking, wandering, playing, singing, dancing, cooking. There is life and movement in all the atmosphere. There is chaos all around that somehow, though no one can say why, manages itself as if an efficient machine.

The food is as wonderful as can be expected, if the right dish is chosen. Always a gamble it is pointing to something on a menu and hoping not to get something with eyeballs or pulsating lungs. When success is reached, the combination of spice and texture is glorious. Healthy too, I should imagine, as most dishes contain all sorts of vegetables and rice. Perhaps the best part is the price, though. A full meal on the street will cost no more than 2 or 3 US dollars – as much as some candy bars at home.

Surely, Bangkok is a rare combination of dirt and cleanliness, poverty ridden streets and palm trees. Beauty and the beast kind of a city, I think. I can't decide whether I hate it or love it. In the morning I am taking a river boat up the most polluted river I have ever seen - nasty dog sized lizards eating it's trash: and in the afternoon I am getting a Thai massage for an hour in the most relaxing setting imaginable, with jungle sounds and cool breezes all around, for ten dollars! I think I love it. I think!  

Far Side of the World (Bangkok)

" Houses are full of things that gather dust " - Jack Kerouac

Before Departure:

In an effort to keep myself entertained, I will travel to Southeast Asia – the release back into unemployment; the seven vaccinations needed; the $600 malaria pills required; the prescription antibiotics necessary; the 28 hour flight to Bangkok in wait – all a good start in that general direction. I will be traveling alone, yet again, and only those I meet along the way will accompany me. I expect to find a miraculously foreign place, filled with unknown languages, strange smells, stranger food, wonderful people, odd landscapes, white sand beaches, aqua-blue and crystal clear water - the whole while under beautiful and treacherous weather alike. As always, I have made plans, and, as always, I expect those plans to be miserably misshapen and mutilated along the way. Countries on the itinerary are Thailand, Cambodia, Vietnam, Laos, Malaysia, and Indonesia. Whether I get to all of these will be up to Buddha, I suppose. Four Months seems to be an appropriate window of time to do all that I plan to do, so this is how long I have planned to do it, naturally. Here's to throwing myself at Asia; let us hope it catches me!

In Flight:

I would not be telling the whole truth if I said that I didn't feel a tad reluctant flying over countries like Syria and Iraq, in order to arrive in Dubai for my connecting flight to Bangkok. Civil war and international conflict tend to do that to a Westerner, I suppose. A rational mind does not stand a chance against an irrational thought, I've found. Anyway, my experience in Dubai was very limited, but as far as I could tell, luxury is the way of things in the city. I shall say no more and let the length of this paragraph reflect the amount of time I spent there, and my total knowledge of it. I must come back – this I know.

Upon Arrival:

Culture shock is as inevitable in a place like Bangkok as it is that it's streets will ever resemble anything other than what could be mistaken as, if only briefly, civilized. The man whose job it was to paint lanes on the streets here must be forever sad, as his efforts have been entirely ignored. The sensation and feeling of apprehension one should get before entering a taxi or tuk-tuk in this city is the same one should get before getting on a particularly rickety roller coaster, or before storming the beaches of Normandy even, I should think. The manner in which they function is not of this world; it isn't human. The driver I was blessed with left only inches between the vehicle in front of us and the poor excuse for a motor bike behind us as he was making blinker-less, blind turns into raging traffic; and he was highly certified, as he insistently pointed out a time or two by showing me the pictures of him receiving his certifications, rather than the certifications themselves, of course; while driving, mind you. If driving conditions should be classified as white water rapids are classified, the streets here would be Class-5 or perhaps even the catalyst to invent higher degrees. And the colors! The taxis are neon green, sky blue, hot pink, bright yellow, and eye-sore red. What a mess. Kind of a wonderful mess though. I'm not sure that I would want Bangkok to be any different than this. It is precisely how I imagined it would be, and not a measure off. This all after only hours in the city. Wonderful.

The Belly of the Beast (Berlin)

“A man cannot be comfortable without his own approval.” - Mark Twain

Unquestionably, the most interesting city of the 20^th century was Berlin. Two world wars were waged in its' front-yard , and the threat of an earth shattering third created tension that manifested itself deep in the cities psyche. Fascism, Communism, and Capitalism have all made visits; some longer than others. The city has welcomed great thinkers like Albert Einstein; and radical ones like Adolf Hitler. Gustav Ludwig Hertz, Max Planck, the brothers Grimm, and Karl Marx all studied at its university - certainly, it is a city of ideas. It has been host to the Olympics, and the Holocaust - the Victory Column, and the Berlin Wall. It has been divided, united, divided, and united again. John F. Kennedy, Ronald Reagan, Bill Clinton, and Barack Obama have all given speeches within it's limits. Perhaps it is easy to imagine then that I arrived feeling a tad inconsequential.

Fortune has favored me on my trip thus far, and it was no different in Berlin. I met up with an old family friend who was kind enough to let me stay with him for the week; as I felt I needed a week to experience this fascinating city. The first thing I thought of, when walking down the streets with no destination in mind, rather hoping to get lost, was how much the city must have went through in repairing it's appearance after the second world war. It was relentlessly crushed with airstrikes, and most of the city was in rubble. How then do you proceed? Where do you start? Where do you end? These are questions I can't imagine trying to answer while looking at what must have seemed like Armageddon. It was repaired though, and then divided into four sections amongst the allied powers - for those of you whose history has gone absent since high school. Then shit got crazy. The Soviet Union pushed Communism while the West pushed Capitalism and this led to something called the Cold War. Joseph Stalin needed privacy, so he closed the borders with the West, and then Nikita Khrushchev was feeling constructive, so he decided to build a wall around it. This wall not only separated a city, but also a world, and became a symbol of the Cold War. It was where the East ended and the West began, or if you were a Soviet, where the West ended and the East began. I don't mean to bore with history, but this was the very wall I was standing next to, where only twenty three years ago, I could not go across. My impression of this monumental structure which separated the civilized world? - “ it is kind of small, I could easily get over this”. In fact, I probably could have gotten over it, but what is sometimes left out of the description, is the “death strip” between the wall I was at and a second wall of similar proportions. This was the challenge for those wishing to get to the other side, for Soviets with guns would be stationed at towers every so often, willing and ready to gun people down - lovely folks.

Checkpoint Charlie was the famous border crossing in this wall that was controlled by the United States during the Cold War. It is the epicenter of the confrontation between the United States and the Soviet Union during that time period. Now a days, it is a major tourist attraction, where people from around the world come to be in the very place where two worlds met in stand off; the planets future depending on the outcome. Right next to this is a museum full to capacity with documents, video footage, treaties, letters, speeches, maps, etc., of Cold War related material. When one walks through the front door, he looks above at a display of all the famous individuals who had been there throughout history. He sees the names of presidents and diplomats from all over the world, famous celebrities who took political stands, poets, writers, musicians, directors, and Olympic athletes. Then, as he is turning away, one sign catches his eye at the last moment, and he looks closer, then he squints: “Does that say David Fucking Hasselhoff!?...........It does!”. In fact, it really does, and the absurdity doesn't end there – he is labeled “American Musician”; bear with me:

Who is David Hasselhoff?:

I know the answer to this question; it is plain, and my intentions are not to defy hopes and shatter dreams; rather to enlighten and shed wisdom. David Hasselhoff is a mediocre American ACTOR who starred in Baywatch and Knight Rider. Entertaining – yes. Funny – yes. Charismatic – why not? Absolutely, in no way, is he anything more. I apologize Germany for this blunt testimony; it is never pleasing to discover that Santa Claus is a broke man, who has been out of work since September, and is trying to keep the lights on in his third story apartment, or that professional wrestling may not be telling you the full truth, but you must know - so goes life. This farce ends now.

Indeed, Berlin has many great places to visit, and one could stay for years and never learn all the details, or experience all the history, but then you would miss out on the nightlife, which has become famous on it's own. The city parties and does not stop. In Spain, I said this figuratively, here, it is a literal sentence. Seemingly, nothing ever closes. The first wave of delinquents come early and end up leaving to “fall asleep”, passing by the second wave, who come a little later. Then, the second wave drinks until mid morning, and leaves to “fall asleep”, passing by the first wave who have taken what must have been a nap and are back at it again. I haven't even mentioned the wave that comes and doesn't leave; primarily because they are not a wave; more of a tide. Crazy - this city; I can only imagine what happens on the weekends!    

The Black Forest

"The proper function of man is to live, not to exist.  I shall not waste my days in trying to prolong them.  I shall use my time." - Jack London

In Southwest Germany lies an area small in comparison with most regions of Europe. It is a cozy place where myths and fairy-tales are plentiful; roaming freely around the mind, and taking residence in the imagination. It is a place where history has routes so deep, they have routes of their own; and where people come to breathe in comfort, and exhale stress. Rich in majesty is this place in Southwest Germany. It understands you as you try to understand it. It goes by a simple name, yet perfect – The Black Forest.

Many towns lie within it's realm, but I chose Freiburg as my locale for experience. It is a medieval town with Gothic cathedrals, cobbled streets, trolley systems, old defense towers, and a spectacular above ground drainage system. The houses have a style all their own; different from anywhere else in Europe I've seen. They manage a dark-age look while utilizing welcoming, bright colors – and they pull it off; mores the wonder. Gargoyles watch down on people from the most peculiar spots, and one gets the impression they are being accounted for at every moment. Sure, it has become a tourist destination, as is the inescapable truth with areas so unique, but if one is careful, the masses can be avoided by staying off the main shopping expressways. Outside the town is a whole different story. The forest raps around the fringe of the city like an encroaching army of crows; ready to devour anything that drops. At first, it is an intimidating monster, but once in it, it becomes a loveable acquaintance; a reliable companion - it is a worst enemy who turns best friend. I experienced this from my camping ground, where I began my 16 km hike through the Black Forest to the town of St. Peter.

The terrain is no different than Virginia, with it's rolling hills trying desperately to obtain mountain status, and it's farms that dot the landscape in between stands of forest. The difference is in the vegetation; trees in particular. The Black forest owns an encouraging diversity of them. Deciduous trees are abundant (Beech, Oak, Elm, Larch), but also are enormous conifer trees (Spruce, Pine, Douglas Fir). The mixture gives the Black Forest a look like no other; bright green and embracing with dark green and rejecting. With a lack of thick underbrush, this makes a scene perfect for the tall tales of fairy's, dwarfs, and gnomes that are so common to the area. Hiking through the forest, I felt like I was being watched by one of these mythic creatures; though I had my doubts of it! What I knew was the woods had an allure that I've rarely felt before, and would be surprised to feel again – outside of the Black Forest.

At the dusk of my hike, I went walking through old farmlands, where the farmers I came across; wearing a mix of modern and traditional clothing, greeted me with “Gutentag!”. I felt so ensconced in the culture; like I was a farmhand on the way back from a trek to the next village for supplies; and neighbors, going about their daily chores, were kind enough to wish me on my way. Only if they had treated me to a cold German beer, would I have been happier. Continuing through to my destination at St. Peter, I kept a steady pace, and when I reached the cathedral in St. Peter; I had been hiking for a mere 5 hours. It felt a lot longer; it felt like days, but when I reached the town, I was ready to get back to Freiburg. I found the road and began thumbing for a ride, until coming across a bus stop. Someone there told me, in a wonderful German accent, that hitch-hiking died in the area a long time ago and that I should get on the bus – so I took his advice and did, though I maintain I would have been picked up shortly; when hitching, one gets a good sense of these things. Upon reaching Freiburg, I had dinner with a couple from a small town outside Frankfurt. We talked a long time about the differences in their country versus mine, and I learned more about Germany than any one American has the right to know. Do yourself a favor and look up the history of the German Region (as it did not become a nation until after three wars waged in the late 19^th century) and you will be anything but disappointed.

By and by, preparing for my exit of Freiburg, I felt like leaving a friends house . The Black Forest has become one of the best places I've visited. There is nothing wrong with it! The people are lovely, the scenery is gorgeous, the stories are incredible, the history is fascinating, and the food is great. I feel that, had I looked for days to find something negative to say about this place, I would have failed absolutely. Even as I was departing the town, trying to catch an early train at 7:00am., I couldn't escape the glorious culture. Across the street I was walking on, and through sleepy eyes, I saw what can only be described as wonderful; people drinking outside bars as if it were still mid-night! They were laughing, talking loudly and chugging beers like true Germans. I looked at the sky, and then my watch, to confirm it was the morning, and low and behold, it was. Magnificent.