Confessions of a vapid teenager

First off, I am posting this off of my iPod so if the typing gets a little hairy I apologize. Today I was given the honor of being called vapid. Vapid is defined as offering nothing stimulating or challenging. I found this insult very interesting, as it is obvious (at least to me) that the person who said it really doesn't know me. Don't get me wrong, I recognize I am not even close to being a perfect human being. In fact, I will be one of the first people to recognize I am at fault in a situation, or to recognize my shortcoming. But vapid? That is a term that could be used as an antynom for describing me. I feel as though I have fairly intellectually stimulating conversations on a regular basis, and don't hold any unfounded opinions. Far from being unchallenging, I challenge most of what I am told and seek answers to questions. I do my research. I was honestly shocked someone would describe me that way. And the insults continued, claiming I based my opinions off an institution, and was whiney. This all coming from someone who needed a youtube video to argue his points for him. I have no problem with someone pointing out my flaws, but when the points seem to be infounded, I seem to work myself into quite the knot. I apologize for my first post on this blog since the trip being a long and boring rant, but I needed to get my thoughts typed out.

So Long but not Goodbye

I am sitting in a hotel room in Helsinki as I write this, trying not to tear up. Tomorrow, we head home. This month has gone by remarkably quickly. It feels like just yesterday that I was on the airplane heading to Europe. This trip has been a blessing. I have learned so much about independence, and made some awesome friends.

I wasn’t really sure what to expect when I started this blog, as I do not usually excel in English class, however, I ended up really enjoying this project! This blog has provided me with a record of my trip that I will be able to read later and remember my experience. I also realized how much I enjoy blogging, and don’t plan on stopping when I return home. So really, this is not a goodbye post, it is only the end of the travel dimension of my blog. I plan on updating this page occasionally with life stories and musings. As cheesy as it sounds, the end of this trip is not a destination, but the beginning of a journey into the development and refinement of my skills as a writer.

Well maybe a little cheesy...

Thanks for following me on my epic journey through Eastern Europe, and I hope you enjoyed the ride, I know I did!

The Perils of Addiction

In my previous blog, I detailed my recently acquired Nutella addiction. After writing that, I had an experience at the German airport that hammered home my problem.

Before leaving Germany, I decided to stock up on Nutella to go so that I would have something to snack on in Russia. I thought ten would be a reasonable number of containers, and headed off to the airport with my stash in my carry-on bag.

Totally reasonable.

 I proceeded to place my bag in the x-ray machine, assuring security there were no liquids in my bag. Apparently, German airport security and I have a different idea of what constitutes a liquid, because I was soon being asked to throw out all of my Nutella. “But it doesn’t pour!” I argued, to no avail.

I see their point, it is running off this spoon.

I resigned myself to my fate and began to pitifully eat my Nutella packages, giving a few to other students. About three Nutellas later, the airport security took pity on my sad display and allowed me through security with the rest of my packages. I was overjoyed!

This feeling lasted until about halfway through the flight. It was at this point in time that I realized the improperly closed water bottle security also let slide had leaked all over my knapsack and soaked its contents, including my passport and computer.

Pretty much.

I was then cursing my luck, and spent the rest of the flight in the isle sopping up the water with the tiny napkins they hand out with sandwiches on airplanes. I now know, even though you may think you have cheated security, in the long run, it will come back to bite you!

What's in a Name?

My blog has gone through many evolutions in naming over the past couple of weeks. I have settled on a name that has meaning to me as a writer. I write about things that interest me; about things I find beautiful, sad, or humorous. The word cellar door is said to be one of the most beautiful words in the English language. Many authors, such as C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien, have made remarks about the beauty of the word. It is said to be even more beautiful when it is unattached from its meaning and spelt differently.

The movie Donnie Darko also comments on its beauty

I find the word cellar door inspiring and beautiful. It rolls off the tongue in a musical manner. It is also aesthetically beautiful, with the double o’s and l’s. The beauty of the word represents the beauty of the world around me. This trip has been beautiful and eye opening. It has been a portal to a new world, both literally, travelling to new continents and countries, and figuratively with the way I have grown and learned on this trip. The word is close to my heart and is a way of verbally expressing how I feel about life.

The URL of my blog, like rain into a paper cup, also has meaning. I took it from The Beatles' song Across the Universe. “Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup. They slither while they pass, they slip away, across the universe. Pools of sorrow, waves of joy are drifting through my open mind, possessing and caressing me.” I like this metaphor for being taken over by a story, and feeling like the words just flow out of you. I find that this happens a lot to me when I am writing. I am taken over by the story, and write using stream of consciousness. I feel like this really explains the “process” I go through when writing.

While their meaning may not be completely obvious at first, i intentionally chose both phrases for their ability to explain my worldview and process when writing.

Works Cited

Nunberg, Geoff. "The Romantic Side of Familiar Words." Language Log. N.p., 26 Feb. 2010. Web. 15 July 2011. <http://languagelog.ldc.upenn.edu/nll/?p=2142>.

The Cult of Nutella

Dear reader, I guess this was inevitable. I didn’t really want it to turn out like this, but here it is. I am an addict. My addiction has brought me to deep, dark places, searching for my fix. It has drawn me in with its sweet release, and I am now part of the cult. That’s right. I’m addicted to Nutella.

I'm drooling.

It started out casually. A little bit on toast here and there. But then I arrived in Europe. Here, they celebrate my addiction. There are fan clubs.

 In every hotel, they provided for my fix at breakfast. My addiction took a new turn, however, during breakfast in Dresden. Here, it dawned on me that Russia might not have the delicious hazel-nutty spread. I decided that I would need to liberate a few packages of the stuff so that I could enjoy it when we reached Russia. I picked up a few packages, and tried to casually walk away while stuffing them in my pocket. Unfortunately for me, Nutella packages crinkle when handled, and might has well have been sirens alerting the staff to my lameness. I finally gave up and carried them out of the breakfast room cupped in my hands, prayer style. My shame was palpable.

Behold my sweet stash

When I arrive in Berlin, I was happy to see Nutella everywhere in the supermarket. They had Nutella chocolate milk, candy bars, and my favourite, Nutella & Go!

Yum!

The package contains a well of Nutella, and beside it some cracker sticks for dipping. I have stocked up, and plan on surviving only on Nutella & Go! packs and an IV of the stuff when I’m in Russia.

I need Nutella, stat!

I am not yet ready to seek help for my addiction, but when I return, I plan on detoxing with a healthy load of peanut butter. Hopefully, I will be able to return to only eating Nutella in moderation, but you know what they say: once an addict, always an addict.

On a Serious Note...

Note: I wrote this blog in Vienna, but did not have the chance to publish it until now

When we arrived in Vienna, we went on a tour of the city. I was so in awe of the beautiful sights and in the history of the monarchy in Austria that I forgot about the story of Vienna during the Second World War. I was brought back to reality when our tour passed by an out-dated building. Our tour guide pointed it out, and told us it used to be the  Hotel Metropole, the former Gestapo headquarters in Austria. After the war, it was demolished, but to this day it is known as the place where many people have disappeared or were deported from Austria. Her sadness as she explained the painful choices Austria made during the war to join the Reich, and the deportation and slaughter of Jews made me reflect on what it must have been to live as a Jew in Vienna. 

I began thinking about what it must have been like to be kicked out of your own home and forced into a ghetto. As a society, we value our personal possessions so much. I can’t imagine going from the house I live in now to being forced into a dirty, cramped, and meagre lifestyle.

Cracow ghetto where Schindler's List takes place

 On top of living in a crowded ghetto, Jews were forced to identify themselves in public with a Star of David. I am sure it was very painful to only be seen in one dimension; your religion.

Another painful aspect of ghetto life must have been conforming your life to the timetable and expectations of others. Curfews were imposed on the Jews, and the Nazis controlled how much you were able to eat and the clothing you were allowed. This must have been very degrading and demoralizing. I was trying to put myself in the shoes of those trapped in the ghettos, and felt I could not even begin to imagine what life would be like in the concentration and extermination camps.

From touring the city, and seeing the reality that the Jews faced during Fascism was sobering. It was comforting, however, to see the Jews of Vienna recovering. As we were arriving, the International Jewish Games were kicking off in Vienna, and there was a growing Jewish community of over 20,000. This reconciliation was inspiring to see, and gave me hope for the future. Hopefully, the Jews will continue to thrive and they can forgive the atrocities of the past. Through this reconciliation, hopefully this atrocity will never happen again. 

Hitting Home

Today, I found myself lost in a maze of concrete towers in the middle of Berlin. These towers were not the type that made up buildings, however. They were over two thousand blocks of different sizes that made up a memorial to the victims of the Holocaust, called the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe. As I wondered through the memorial, I couldn’t help but think of all of the atrocities I read about in Schindler’s list, and whether this memorial did the Holocaust some sort of justice.

When you approach the memorial, there is no clear signage that I could see pointing out what the memorial was for. When I first walked up, I thought it was a huge modern art installation. Each concrete block is supposed to represent a different town in Europe, and the taller the tower is, the more lives were lost from that town. I thought the anonymity of the pillars was really in keeping with the way the Jews were treated in Schindler’s List by the Nazis. They were just numbers in a system, a problem to be solved.

Over all, I do not think the monument displayed the gravity of the Holocaust. The lack of identification of the pillars themselves and the memorial as a whole left the people around it puzzled. More than once, I saw people jumping from one pillar to another, which I felt was very disrespectful to the nature of the site.

 This, of course, was not purposeful, but was almost expected due to the fact that you couldn’t tell the purpose of the art unless it was explained to you. I felt that in the city where Hitler held most of his rallies, and was such a stronghold to the Nazi regime, there could have been a more meaningful and identifiable monument. The suffering of the Jews I read about in Schindler’s List deeply disturbed me, and left me moved. During our trip, we have visited a few memorials to the Holocaust, such as the memorial In Budapest for the Jews shot dead along the Danube, called the Shoes on the Danube Promenade. We also visited  the synagogue in Prague that listed the Holocaust victims from the city, called thePinkas Synagogue.

Prague memorial

Budapest memorial

 I found both of these more moving, and a more fitting tribute to such a tragic, and truly horrible crime. Both of the memorials above treat the Jews as more than the mere numbers they were to the SS. They give names or individual characteristics (through the individual pairs of shoes) to the victims. This, to me, was more in keeping with the way Schindler treated the Jews. They had lives, families, and dreams that were all taken away from them by the Shoah. The monuments above helped me identify with this more, and elicited a more emotional response. Unlike the monument in Berlin, both of these pieces screamed what to me is the most important message I could have taken away, which is never again can humanity let this happen.