Nethermore

Just returned from some of the greatest trips I’ve ever been on. For anybody thinking about going to Scotland, I can’t recommend it enough. Sell everything you own, if you have to, and go!

New Picture Links Below

Paris
Scotland

For those who are interested in knowing, I’ll be returning home Wednesday and will move into my apartment in Utah on the 22nd. I can’t wait to be back!

It’s been awhile since I’ve given any updates. Life has been pretty exciting. We just got back from a trip to Munich a few weeks ago, during which we traveled to a bazillion different towns, saw a thousand really cool cathedrals, hiked in the Alps, and ate a lot of sausage.

Now, back at the apartment, I realize again that I’m tied to the bus schedule and feel a little secluded. Regardless of the isolation–if I was really outgoing I could go to discoteks or just go downtown and make friends–I’m going to miss Germany when I get home. The cheese, the yogurt, the bread, the gummy bears–all these things are really great. Not to mention the castles, the Roman battlefields, and deep history that this place has going on.

In the end, though, I’m an American and love my country. I can’t imagine living anywhere else permanently. I mean, true, Germany has castles. But we have the 4th of July.

The 4th
Speaking of the 4th, let me tell you what I did for that day. I watched Bruce Willis take out domestic terrorists in Stirb Langsam (Die Slowly) 4.0. Afterward, Matthias and I went to an ice cream parlor where I ordered a scoop each of red, white, and blue ice cream. We asked a Russian guy to take our picture, and he declined as he raced into the parlor as if getting his fix of ice cream RIGHT NOW was a matter of life and death. Man, he thinks he has it bad; the only blue ice cream they had was bubblegum flavor. Everything else was on the purple side.

I had to have red, white, and blue . . . so I took one for patriotism and ordered bubblegum. Afterward I ate a burger and fries at McDonalds and then wondered why I didn’t just settle for Pizza Hut.

Snow White
A few weeks ago I was in Hanover at a local Doner place. (Doners are a Middle-Eastern lamb-filled pita that Germany has adopted as their own.) I looked down from the second floor at the dinner guests eating at tables in the open. A woman dressed as Snow White caught my eye. She was placing dinners in front of seven of her friends, each wearing dwarf hats and t-shirts proclaiming which dwarf each was supposed to be. Something made Snow White very mad, and as she refused dinner to one of her dwarf pals, she let out a string of German expletives. Tally this one up there with Mickey Mouse beating up rowdy kids at Disneyland.

Grunt French
On the subway in Munich, I heard a girl speaking with a family a few seats in front of us. She wasn’t speaking German. Over the sound of the moving subway, all I could tell is that it sounded like French to me, except it wasn’t French. It was like, Grunt French, as if someone had taught a monkey to speak French and he couldn’t smoothly articulate all the syllables and can’t pronounce anything right.

When the subway stopped, the girl’s talking became clear. She was speaking English and was an American.

Skater Boi
A few days ago on my way to a young men’s activity, I was sitting on the bus reading China Mieville’s brilliant Perdido Street Station, when the bus stopped and let on a new passenger. A kid no older than twelve sat down in front of me and set two broken halves of a skateboard in his lap. He looked on the verge of tears, and I caught his eye and nodded a manly hello. He nodded back, looked out the window, determined not to let his emotions show. He couldn’t have looked more discouraged if the skateboard in his lap had been a dead puppy. This scene is one of the most heart-breaking ever.

Gummy Bears
I figured I’m going to run out of memory for my camera on my France and Scotland trips, so I ordered two 2gig SD cards from Amazon. They came in the mail yesterday from their affiliate partner. Included with the memory?: a mini bag of gummy bears. I’m going to order more stuff. I hope my Harry Potter book comes with Bertie Botts beans. So long as they’re not the rotten-fish flavor.

Cola Tigers
My coolest purchase lately has been a bag of Trolli gummy tigers called “Cola Tigers.” There are all sorts of cola candy here in Germany (no caffeine! so they don’t keep me up at night), and these little tigers are just another attempt to candyfy another German drink: the Spezi. Spezi is a mix of cola and orange juice. Cola tigers are a mix of gummy cola and gummy orange, which may or may not taste like their fruit counterparts. They taste good, and not at all like what tigers in the wild taste like. I don’t think.

Pizza Hut
Less greasy than the American counterpart. I ate myself silly last night and still had leftovers. Including cheezy crust!

Well, I finally finished my project for work. Week before last I worked 80 hours, didn’t leave the house for six days, and animated like a madman to finish the scenes for the video game. And that still didn’t cut it, so I spent last week tying up everything and sending it off to work.

And now I can breathe a little easier.

Well, actually I can’t. I’m still suffering from cracked ribs or something from when I coughed myself silly. And there’s the lingering breathing problems that seem to be some kind of asthma. At least I’m not contagious.

Saturday Matthias’ father took us to a castle in the town of Bueckeburg. The Counts of the surrounding area have lived in this place for hundreds of years, and their family still lives there and owns some of the other castles and fortresses in the Schaumburg area. One of the interesting things about this castle/palace at Bueckeburg is the ball room. Evidently the church has occasionally rented this pink marble room for youth dances. Now if that wouldn’t be cool! I’m not much into dancing, but throwing a party in an old castle sounds like a grand idea.

Outside of the castle there was a small antique store. We asked them to pull out their maps, and they did. I have had a fascination with maps ever since before I even read Tolkien, but Lord of the Rings sealed my love for it. I’ve been drawing them since 6th grade when my reading teacher read parts of the Hobbit to us and gave us the assignment to create a map, write a story in that world, and draw pictures of the characters.

Isn’t that coolest assignment ever? I wish I could remember the name of that teacher, because she might very well be one of the most-influential teachers in helping me choose what I want to do with the rest of my life.

But anyway, back to the maps. I picked out five of these (reproductions, unfortunately) and wish that I could’ve bought them all. Most of the ones I did get are medieval drawings of cities I’ve already been to whether on this trip or when I was an exchange student here twelve years ago.

So, now with my employer project done, it’s time to do a little work for myself. I’ve already started back on Nethermore. I haven’t done as much writing as I’d have liked, but I’m back into it, and that’s what matters.

And now this week we’re going to Munich! I’ve been excited about going back to southern Germany for several months now. We may hit some of the more interesting towns on our way down, stopping in Nuremburg for the night and then moving on to Munich by Wednesday. I don’t know what’s planned for the rest of the trip. But maybe we’ll make it into Austria or Switzerland or maybe even Northern Italy.

One of the places I’m really excited about it going to again is Neuschwanstein. Everybody’s seen pictures of this castle. It’s the one on which Disney based the Disneyland castle. It’s so beautiful that it’s surreal.

So today I realized that I only had a backpack that was way too small for all my clothes for a week’s trip. I went into town to see what they had there, and went to the grocery store on the way back to pick up a few food items for the trip tomorrow. I must’ve looked lost as I was looking for Ziploc bags (although I’ve been to this grocery store many times before) because a lady came up to me and asked if she could help me.

How do I explain a Ziploc bag in another language when I don’t know the name for “little plastic bag thing”? So I told her, “I’m looking for a small plastic pocket sacks that one can put things in like gummy bears and stuff.” She was very nice and gestured for me to follow her back to the meat department where she pulled out two sacks with handles and put all my groceries in them. She thought I was tired of carrying what I was going to buy! I thanked her and later found the Ziploc bags in another part of the store. I wonder if I could have just said, “Ich suche Ziploc” and that would’ve been enough.

I found the coolest bag ever! I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I’ve always had a fascination with backpacks and luggage and plastic containers to store things in. Maybe it’s OCD or something in my head that figures everything has to be organized. This works in theory, since my stuff looks like it’s always in random places. But I assure, it’s organized!

So anyway, this bag works as a duffle bag and a backpack. You can zip the arm straps handily away and stuff this thing as full of clothing or chocolate or whatever, throw it over your shoulder, and then travel to places like France, Vienna, and Orem and eat your chocolate there. And you have enough room for the spare clothes in case you get a little messy eating that chocolate! Ooh boy, I’m on one today. Let’s just leave it at: I like my bag.

Anyway, I’m standing in line at the cash register. By now I’m pretty good at being able to get around and ask questions (though I may not understand the answers), so I was asking some questions of the lady at the register. I’ve got an American accent like you can’t believe, and I probably structure my German sentences like Tagalog sentences. If I keep my mouth shut, nobody can tell I’m not from around here. The moment I open it, it’s like spray-painting my face bright green. After I started talking, the girl behind me in line visibly craned her head to get a good look at me. Or maybe she just thought I was attractive. I mean, she was cute, too. Maybe it wasn’t my accent at all. Maybe it was Chemistry. But alas, I will never find out.

Here are the latest things that I’ve been doing besides working and eating. I’ll soon post pictures of all the junk food I eat, including the death of the 10 lb gummy bear that tried to eat my soul while we were watching Johnny English.

This Friday is my deadline for the Cinematics I’ve been animating and compositing for my job. I think I’m on target to finish things by this weekend. It’ll be a push, but I’m up for it. After that, I get to be a little more free and do more traveling and write on my book.

Here the links to the latest pictures:

National Windmill Day/Germanic and Roman Days
BBQ
Hiking
VFL Osnabrück!

I decided not to post to the journal until there was good news. And in any case, I was tired of being sick and tired of writing about being sick. So here’s the good news: I actually slept through the night last night. And because of that, I feel ten times better today than I did a few days ago. I’m not completely better. Just a whiff of bad air sends me into a coughing fit.

But the tide of the battle has turned! The forces of Good, led by General Immune System and Field Commanders Medicine and Sleep, are mustering their armies against Emperor Throat Death. The fields of Larynx are strewn with the bodies of fallen heroes, but this one last ride has the bad guys on their knees.

It’s amazing what feeling just a little better does for the outlook of my stay here. Even though I have a load of work left to do (and only two weeks left in which to do it), I’m feeling less pressure and more bright of outlook than in weeks.

I’ve never been afraid of sleep. It was always a welcome relief to be able to slip into oblivion every night.

But now I’m scared of sleeping. Last night I was up until almost 4am because I knew what would come when I tried to sleep.

The coughs are worse at night, when I’m reclining or in bed. And even though I’ve got antibiotics that have helped ease the coughing, each cough is now like a mini wrestling match between me and asphyxiation. Every time leaves me gasping for breath as if I’m breathing through Jell-O, or not even breathing at all.

The ironic thing is that I’m writing a story about a character who is afraid of sleeping. And now I understand him more than I ever wanted to.

I’ve finally got pictures uploaded. I’ll add more as I get more…but for now I’m finally caught up.

Schaumberger Castle
Technology Convention
Great Apartment Tour
Osnabrück Cathedral
Random Stuff and the Netherlands
Bad Bentheim Castle
Hamburg
Frankfurt Temple
Maiwoche

I have very good news. I’ve been trying to keep it to myself all day, but I just can’t help myself. I’ve got to tell somebody, and since nobody around here understands my German, looks like this is the best place to go with it. Well, here goes:

I’m not dead.

Earlier in the week I would have seen that as bad news, in light of how sick I’ve been. I’ve wanted remove my throat and throw it out the window (which would be a bad idea, since that’s probably how got into this mess in the first place). But I haven’t done that, and I won’t.

I’ve just been so sleep-deprived because of the coughing and choking that I’ve been loathing the nights. I just want to shut down and let my body do its job and start healing, but truth is, if you can’t breathe, you can’t sleep.

So, the Branch President called yesterday and asked me to speak in Church. I was up until 2am writing my talk on two 3×5 cards—I knew I shouldn’t get too ambitious. Matthias luckily corrected all my grammar mistakes, but it didn’t make it any easier that I was sick, had to teach the lesson to the Youth, and had to speak as well.

But I made it through. That counts for something, right?

When I was in the Philippines, early on in my mission, I remember the frustration of not being able to speak or understand. After a while I didn’t want anything to do with the language. My thoughts were along the lines of, “Why can’t Tagalog be more like English?” And just as often, because I’d taken German in High School, “Why can’t Tagalog be more like German?”

One night I had a dream where my mission president called me into his office and explained that there had been a mistake. I had been assigned to the Philippines by mistake and that I was really supposed to go to Germany. He handed me my plane ticket and sent me on my way.

If I could travel back in time, I wouldn’t have the heart to visit my 19-year old self and say, “Look, kid. It’d be just as hard in Germany.”

I know that now because I’m going through it again. It was painful enough the first time. It is ironic, however, that my thoughts now are more along the lines of, “Why can’t German be more like Tagalog?”

It’s good to be reminded of these things, to remember how much the Lord helped me on my mission. The language eventually came, the comprehension came as well, and I was able to talk to the Filipinos just as easily as I could speak English.

Maybe even better than I could speak my native language . . . two years of speaking another language did something to me—it royally messed up my English at the time. But that’s another story.

Another day spent inside working on the cinematics for the video game. Come afternoon, I realized I’d better do some laundry and get groceries, so in between transferring files, I tried to figure out the German washer once again (I think I got it right this time—there’s no instructions for these things anywhere on the internet—I may post some later for the benefit of others living here).

On my way to the bus stop to get groceries, I saw up ahead as two kids were riding bikes on the sidewalk. The little boy sped ahead, toward me, and passed by on his tiny bike. The girl followed, much more slowly, and as she gained speed, she called out to her brother, “Akhmed!”

At the very same moment she went crashing to the pavement, landing in a heap of bicycle and child. It was right next to me. I turned, I offered my hand, and she looked up pleadingly.

I didn’t know what to do. So I spoke. In English. Bad idea. “Are you okay? Can I help you?”

Her pleading look turned into one of horror, and she started crying violently. Luckily two other guys—obviously foreigners as well, but evidently not so foreign as I am—rushed over and began speaking German to her. Her crying quieted. They got her up. I picked up the bike, fixed the seat, and since everyone was ignoring me, I walked to the bus stop.

Man, how many people will I wind up scaring before I learn this language?

In other news, I just learned that I’ll be teaching the lesson this Sunday–in German. Heaven help us.

I’ve been fighting against seeing a doctor since my insurance doesn’t work here. But after about a week of near-sleepless nights and the inability to breathe, Matthias finally prevailed upon me to let him call a doctor and at least ask how much it would cost.

The last ten days, I’ve only been making it through on prayers alone. And God’s been good to me, allowing me to get a little bit of coughless sleep. To me it’s miraculous.

But as this thing wasn’t getting any better, I figured I’d better go to the doctor. And since Matthias found a place that would allow me to come in and pay 25 Euro cash, I figured I’d give it a shot. I wouldn’t have gone otherwise, and I might have died, or had my lungs removed.

I’ve got an infected larynx. How in the world? That explains why I can’t breathe and I can barely talk. It’s not like I’ve been dragging my voicebox behind the bus on the string, so I still can’t figure out how I got sick.

Now, the healthcare system is a little different here. I know that, although I’m not going to go into the differences, other than it’s socialized, or something. The decorations were sparse. It wasn’t one of those dressed-up and happy doctor’s offices you find in Utah. The waiting room was packed with people, and we were lucky to get a seat. When we entered the room, Matthias turned to me and said, “Oh great, this looks like an opportunity for you to pick up more diseases.”

After a wait that was much shorter than I expected, thanks to Matthias’ foresight in calling ahead and getting me an appointment, I was ushered into an examination room with another patient.

Great, I thought. Looks like we get joint examinations, too. I was hoping the other patient had something interesting to show the doctor, when the other patient’s friend came in and got her. Guess she had misheard and thought she was next instead of me.

Phew. That just left Matthias and I to observe what would come next: the Alien Abduction.

Matthias explained my symptoms and the doctor ushered me into the patient chair. I looked to my left. All the tools in the stand looked scarily too much like dentist tools, if your dentist also happened to abduct people in his UFO on the weekends. There were wands and probes and things that I could only imagine were saws meant for ripping open my throat to get a better look at the what might be bothering me.

The first thing he did was to get out his third-longest pair of tweezers. Now these were the kind of tweezers that have the finger holes like those found in scissors, then there was the tweezing end, but where a normal pair of tweezers stopped, this pair just kept going, ending in four-inch spikes. The doctor put cotton in this and before I could cry out that he had the wrong person, he shoved the tweezers up my nose.

Then the doctor swore in German and left the room. I don’t understand many words, but that is one word that I’ve heard often enough to figure out what it means.

Ever see that part in Total Recall where Arnold Schwarzenegger pulls the orb out of his nose. Yeah, it was kind of like that. I was just waiting for the doctor to come back and remove the memory orb so that the Martian police could no longer track me.

The doctor came back, grabbed a little gun with a very long barrel in one hand. “Open wide,” he said, taking a tissue in the other hand. “Now stick out your tongue.” I stuck out my tongue, and he caught it as if it were a bug. Then he shoved the gun down my poor, aching throat.

I guess there was a camera on the other end of the gun. But my throat was a little shy and didn’t want to be in the picture.

“Say ‘hee.’” I guess he didn’t have any furry little stuffed animals to make my throat smile. And maybe doctors just make you say ‘hee’ here instead of ‘ah.’

“Ghkee,” I said, though it mostly came out like a gagging noise. I think it took him five minutes to remove the gun from my throat, even though I only think it was in there a little more than five seconds.

Then he repeated the process, and didn’t even offer me a sucker when I left. Though I did get plenty of antibiotics and a prescription for steroids. Not that I need steroids. Coughing is a great work out for the abs. I’m more in shape than I’ve been in months!

Before he left, he put the happy tweezers up my nose again and retrieved the cotton.

“Does it feel better?”

Of course it feels better now that you’ve pulled that crazy piece of cotton out of my nasal cavity. I didn’t say that, though. I said, “Thanks.” And I meant it. This guy was doing me a big favor by giving me a very good price for his services.

So now I’m doped up and still coughing. I’m hoping my larynx gets better so I can actually speak again someday. I would also like a full night of sleeping, if possible.

After the UFO set me back down, I went to CD City and bought a CD of a goth metal band from the Netherlands. They’re called Within Temptation, and their songs are pretty cool. After what I’d been through, I bought a pastry, too. I’ll have to say that I’m enjoying the CD more. It’s kind of hard to play music on a pastry.