My train arrived in Freiburg
around 1:30 pm, though Shelby was in class, so I set out to find her address.
Of course I didn’t have phone (or my entire Eurotrip would have been far less
interesting), but I did have access to modern conveniences like the internet
and the lady at the front office of the University of Freiburg American
exchange building. However when I asked, she wouldn’t give me Shelby’s address,
which is understandable. So I resorted to my other modern convenience and found
an internet café.
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| Bad Bellingen! ('Bad' meaning 'station') |
Corresponding via Facebook, I
arranged to get on tram line #3 and meet her at the stop near her student
apartment complex – the tram, not
the train; so I boarded the train on track #3 an went several stops down the
line to some remote town outside of Freiburg. This time, I didn’t even have a ‘helpful’
French guy to blame for putting me on the wrong track, like I did the night
before. I of course realized my mistake and turned back, but it took thirty
minutes at the other station before I could catch a train back to Freiburg. At
least I got this cool picture out of it.
It was around 5:30 by the time I
got on the tram and met Shelby at the stop. We hugged and I profusely
apologized for all the waiting in vain she had to do at the train station the
previous night and that afternoon. She was just happy to see me though, and she
had the privilege of being the first person to hear my coveted “Lost in
Switzerland” story.
When we got to her apartment, I took
a shower, and it was a beautiful thing. Then we dined on some delicious
eggplant parmesan with salad and went across the student housing complex to her
friend’s apartment, where I learned nine new names and how to play LA RESISTÁNCE! (pronounced emphatically
in a French accent), a card game of deceiving and deciphering the other
players, in which the revolutionaries have five rounds to guess who among them
are the government spies. It’s a great game that I’d recommend looking up and
playing at your next 7- to 11-person gathering.
After the revolution, we went to
a party at yet another apartment. To anyone who’s been to a hot, crowded
college party where the walls are painfully white and it smells like sweat and
the sticky, cheep beer that’s on the floor: I need not describe the scene. Most
of the people here were American exchange students, so it wasn’t even
culturally interesting, except for the beverage brands in people’s hands. Also,
the long line for the bathroom meant that people were peeing in the shower the whole
night, which is kind of interesting. Nonetheless, I had a good time meeting
strangers and hanging out with Shelby and her friends.
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| FC Hannover @ FC Freiburg |
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| Shelby and I among more diehard fans |
Perhaps the most distinctive part
of the experience was my introduction to glühwein, a spiced red wine served hot
whose name accordingly means “hot wine” and which is apparently quite popular throughout Germany
during the colder months. Shelby ordered for the both of us, confidently asking
for “zwie glühwein!” since she knew how to pronounce that and “danke
shöne" better than I. Once I tasted the delectable concoction, it struck
me as curious that there’s no such alternative to cold beer at American
sporting events. I suppose wine is just too far outside of American Football
culture to be served cold or hot, spiced or not, at the stadium. Well you can
always order a coffee or a hot chocolate.
Just as memorable as the glühwein
was the enthusiastically cheering crowd (though I’ve forgotten the cheers) and
the way our group huddled tightly in the stands, willing FC Freiburg all the
way to a 1-1 tie. We then filed quickly out of the stands and back to a very
crowded tram which took us back home. Shelby and I split from the crew and went
back to her apartment where we each enjoyed an afternoon nap.
I was awoken by Shelby talking on
the phone with a couple of our friends from back home, Ruta and Mario, and
spoke to them each for several minutes. It was great to catch up and share with
them brief synopses of my European adventures.
After a bite to eat, we went over
to Shelby’s friend’s apartment and, to my dismay, did not play LA RESISTANCE! (though the game later
caught on back home in Summit and Ithaca). We met with some more friends and
went out to a bar called ‘Shtuzy,’ which I’m likely misspelling. It was a fun,
enormous bar with two floors and several rooms on each featuring different
music. Most people there spoke English, so it wasn’t hard to traverse and
converse with the crowd. My memory isn't perfect when it comes to inebriated
events that took place two years ago, but if I’m not mistaken they were also
selling silly hats, or something of the like, for a couple euro, and I bought
one.
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| Given more time, we could have been great friends. |
After several hours of Shtuzy-ing
it up, I walked home about two miles with Shelby and Dan. At some point during
the trek, this happened. > > > (That's Dan on my back.) We got a little bit lost at one
point, and Dan asked directions of a few Freiburgers, who steered us in the
right direction.
The next day, I had a train to
catch at one o’clock, heading to Munich. So I bid farewell to fair Shelbz and
thanked her for a fantastic couple of days in Freiburg. I left early from the
apartment so that I would have time to check out Freiburg’s Christkindl
Markt – every German town has a Christmas market during the holidays. This
time, I did fine ordering “ein glühwein” on my own. I had a harder time
ordering a bratwurst with mustard and sauerkraut (many, though apparently not every German speaks English), but it was
exceedingly worth it. The Christkindl Markt itself was full of food and artisan
goodies, such as carved wooden nativity scenes, beautiful glass ornaments, and a
hundred other colorful items that would make a delightful Christmas present.
I resisted any urge to buy these
things, but I made sure to pick up a souvenir shot glass before I hopped on my
train and left for Munich.
