Part II: The Morning After

I don't remember what time Dan and Paul returned to the hotel after their third round of late-night frolicking; I don't think I was fully conscious.  It wasn't long, however, before a sound I've never heard before (and doubt I will ever hear again) caused me to stir:  it was a high-pitched mixture of laughter, groans, and hiccuping.
I looked beside me to find Dan on his side, staring at the wall and emitting the strange noises.  Kristi and Kathy were on the bed across from us, looking over and laughing openly, while Paul lay on the floor, attempting to tell us again of their grand adventures before passing out.  
I gave Dan a hearty shake and he eventually calmed down; at some point during the night I awoke again and, concerned by the lack of movement, reached over and placed one hand upon his chest.  I felt a bit of fluttering beneath my palm.
Satisfied, I rolled over again and fell back asleep.

The next morning, Kristi, Kathy and I awoke relatively early; Dan had not moved, and Paul was still slumbering on the floor.  We offered him my empty spot on the bed, and he accepted it gratefully.  This situation was, apparently, much more comfortable:

Dan and Paul

We had to coax the boys out of bed an hour or so later in order to get dressed and check out of the hotel before noon.  Our plan was to return to the parking garage after breakfast, collect the car, and begin our drive back to Mehlingen.  Over an afternoon meal of Subway sandwiches (much to Kristi's chagrin) it was decided that the day ahead would be devoted to rest and quiet recreation.

As we walked down the street, glancing through the windows of the stores (all closed, since it was a Sunday), someone in the group suggested how hilariously unfortunate it would be if the parking garage, like the stores, was closed for the weekend.
We all laughed at this.

Of course, no one was laughing when we reached the shuttered doors of the garage and came face-to-face with the sign informing us that the building was indeed closed on Sundays.
We stood around for a while, contemplating our options.  It was finally decided that we would take a day trip to Brussels, perhaps spend the night and return the next day, then continue on to the Black Forest, the next destination on our itinerary.
We sighed, reshuffled our belongings, and walked towards the train station.

IN BRUSSELS

An hour or so later we were searching the streets of Brussels for a hotel to spend the night in.  The first one we tried, mere steps from the station, seemed more than a bit too extravagant.  The guys went inside to check it out, while Kristi, Kathy and I investigated what appeared to be an art exhibit nearby.

The hotel was, as suspected, not suitable, and we headed back to the train station in an attempt to access the wireless connection there, but that was a no-go.  Back to the streets we went.
A few hotels later we came upon the knowledge that a transportation strike would take effect the following day (beginning at 10pm that evening), and  that if we wished to return to Leuven we would have to do so that night.

And so we spent the day shopping at street markets and meandering about town before heading back to the train station.  The "art exhibit" was now mobile, and being carried through the streets by people in red shirts:

The red shirt march

We stopped to watch what appeared to be a protest, then went on our way once again.
Inside the station, Kathy pointed out a few teenage boys skateboarding across from the ticket booths.  As we stood in line, there was a commotion not far from us; a woman cried out, and a man began screaming.
Kathy and Kristi told us that something had happened to the woman on the stairwell, but they couldn't understand what it was.
We hurried towards our train, and Dan took a moment to explain the cause of the man's anger:  apparently, one of the skateboarders had hit the woman, then run away.

OH, HELLO AGAIN!

We arrived back in Leuven later that night, and began yet another search for someplace to rest our weary heads.  The hotels closest to the station (also not far from the garage) were either too expensive or full, and so we ended up at the hotel we had just left that morning.
The woman on duty (she looked vaguely familiar) informed us that cheaper rates were available online, though she could not legally offer them to us.  Kristi asked if we could use the hotel's wireless connection to access the hotel's site, which was allowed.
And so we ended up back in the Mercure Hotel, next to the Domus, for the second night in a row.

A Statement of Innocence

Dan has insisted that he be allowed to share his version of events regarding our Domus adventure:


***IN HIS OWN WORDS***

Thanks to their beer, chocolate, and the (fictional) character of Hercule Poirot, Belgium holds a special place in my heart. Of course when I came to Germany, and realized how close to Belgium we were, I was excited. Here I could fulfill a minor dream to drink fine Belgian beers on their native soil, and try other varities which are scarce in the U.S. I imagined myself sipping them slowly, savoring every honeyed drop, enhancing the taste with roast pork or perhaps mussels. All the while I would take in my surroundings, the centuries-old architecture, the play of Dutch and French on my ears, the thick foot traffic of a European city. A romantic dream, one would say, but not difficult to attain. As you may already have heard, things didn't quite go as planned (not that there's anything wrong with that.)

So upon arrival in the medieval city of Leuven, which contains one the oldest universities in Europe (ca. 1425), we pile into the local brewery/restaurant Domus for eats and drinks. Anticipating a night of drinking, I ordered just a currywurst and fries, anxious to get my first sip of an authentic Belgian ale. Paul* orders the first of countless Domus Pilsner beers, Lynette the first of countless Batidas de Coco, and Kristi and Kathy the Domus Pilsner as well. I had only planned two solid ales and a fruity lambic beer for dessert (fruity in more than one sense, apparently). After a couple rounds, though, Paul makes the fateful suggestion: "Come on, you're on vacation, and we're paying. Have another drink!" He had a point. I can't deny that a side of me really wanted to get irrevocably shit-faced, especially on such good beer. But then straw broke the camel's back.

The beers I ended up drinking were as follows:

Westmalle Tripel 9.0 %
Judas 8.5 %
Mort Subite Xtreme Framboise 4.5 %
Domus Tripel 8.5 %
Duvel 8.5 %
Hoegaarden 5.0 %
at least two Stella Artois 5.5 %

A typical American beer is just under 5% alcohol by volume. Under normal circumstances drinking just two beers gives me a buzz, a third makes me tipsy, and by four beers I am certifiably drunk. Well, considering I had the equivalent of ten to twelve beers in half the time, you can imagine I was tighter than a snare drum.

At some point Paul and I lost awareness of our actions as Lynette, Kathy, and Kristi looked on in horror. It's not pretty when alcohol puts the brain in a chokehold. There was endless searching after a cigar, which included relentlessly harassing the staff, and eventually the manager. They told us there were old ones upstairs, but they were evasive, and I think they were making fun of us. There was lots of loud, sometimes obscene catcalling in English, a language the Belgians speak and understand well. An example: To think that I, who strive so hard to avoid being a nuisance in my host country, stood up in a drunken stupor, and loudly and obscenely offered my encouragement to a perfect stranger, busy romancing a girl, to quote, "Hit that shit!" Oh, the shame. Ugly Americans? Undoubtedly.

The night, however, improved. Paul and I went in search of the holy Cigar, leaving the considerably relieved ladies in peace to somehow repair, through polite and quiet conversation, the image of Americans abroad. Meanwhile we both acquired and smoked rather decent cigars, and found another bar more suited to our current chemical state. The bar was as big as a hallway, and packed with local students. The music was loud and electronic. Paul, being a very friendly and easy-going guy, made us some Belgian friends at the bar. We enjoyed who knows how many glasses of Hoegaarden and Stella Artois (which is brewed just meters away in town), and somehow maintained civilized conversations. I talked to a flight attendant, a student, and a girl who had lived in New York and tried to make it as an actress. They were all very nice (bought us beers, too), fluent in English, and very, very proud of Belgium. Or at least the Dutch part of Belgium, since the Dutch and French Belgians don't like each other very much. I have to add, however, that I was so destroyed at this point that I remember it as something like a dream. I couldn't feel my face, and yet the words flowed from my mouth.

In the end, although we got roaring drunk, and made an admittedly hilarious spectacle of ourselves, we had fun, and I mark the experience as a highlight of the trip. The waitstaff of Domus might have shook their heads and muttered about the crassness of Americans, but they laughed. They have funny stories to tell, and so do we. And neither Paul nor myself got into a fight, or arrested, or contracted alcohol poisoning. It was harmless fun.

-Dan

Adventures in Leuven

We woke up at 10am, had breakfast (yogurt, bread and Nutella, jam, laughing cow cheese, coffee cake and coffee- it was Dan's first time making it for anyone other than himself- they said it was fine), got dressed (with Paul wearing an extra jacket of Dan's), and ended up leaving the apartment at around one in the afternoon.

It turns out that my car isn't as roomy as I thought:  on the way back from the train station the day earlier, the backseat of Dan's Volvo was praised for its comfort; Poet's backseat, on the other hand, was much smaller than anticipated.
There was nothing spectacular about the drive to Leuven; we stopped at a rest area, used the bathroom, and recieved four 50 euro cent vouchers- they were spent on a pack of gum which we all shared throughout the trip. 
Once we reached the town, however, the drive to the hotel took a while.  This has become an increasingly common occurence, due to traffic issues and errors with our non-beloved GPS, Jamie.  After a half hour or so of driving past one-way streets, we decided to park at a garage a short distance from the hotel and walk the rest of the way.

THE DOMUS

We all agreed that our Belgian experience should consist of beer drinking and some sight seeing, but we (Kristi, Kathy, and I) did not anticipate the men's overall capacity for beer and general debauchery.

The bar we spent most of our first night in- chosen specifically by Dan for its close proximity to our hotel.

Upon arriving in town, we checked into the hotel, then began walking and searching for a place to eat and have a drink.  We didn't want to begin the night's merriment right away, so we did a bit of sightseeing, took some pictures, and eventually ended up in front of the Domus.  And so our adventures began.


HERBIE AND THE CIGAR

Hermann (aka "Herbie":  'Just like our old fish,' Paul told him.  "What-ever!" was Herbie's reply) was our waiter; he was a bald, unsmiling man at first, until Paul made it his mission to wear him down.
We took our seats, found some menus, and immediately ordered a round of drinks.  The men decided upon the most potent beers, while I had a batida de coco (the first of many, all of which were delicious) and Kristi and Kathy ordered some beer as well, though they would not end up consuming the same quantities as the men.

We ordered plenty of drinks, and some food as well.  Everyone was getting a bit experimental with their beverages; at one point Herbie laid a raspberry lambic beer in front of Dan, and said, "Women drink this."  I finished that beer for him.  It was pretty good.

As the night wore on, the men got more and more excited, and began having the time of their lives.  "We're on vacation," Paul kept repeating as they downed beer after beer and Kristi began hiding her face in shame. 
We had the unfortunate luck of having sat ourselves right in front of the bartenders' station; by the end of the night, our table was unofficially known as "Entertainment Central," and we were surrounded by highly amused bartenders, waiters, and patrons alike.
Dan became obsessed with the idea of obtaining another Cuban cigar, and he and Paul decided to make this their mission for the night.  They began to question Herbie and another waiter, Tim, a young man Paul met outside during a smoke break.  One of the managers of the bar soon became involved (she told Paul that the cigars they had upstairs were old, and could not be sold, though he assured the entire wait staff that this was not an issue), and soon our table was receiving tips on where to find usable cigars- away from the Domus, of course.

Sometime during the evening (I have to admit, after my 8th batida de coco I awoke to find my head somehow wedged in between the booth and Kristi's backside- after that I slept with my arms on the table, forehead resting on top of them) Dan and Paul ventured out on their cigar-seeking adventure and returned to the bar hyper-active and smelling strongly of smoke.  They spoke of their adventures at the 'happening' bar down the street, and of how they were planning on returning there to visit their new friends. 
Also, they told us, the Domus closes at 2am, while the other bar closed "whenever," according to one of the patrons.

Of course, we (Kristi, Kathy, and I) were not keen on the idea of going to another bar with the drunk guys, after being somewhat sobered by their behavior at the Domus.  We told them to go on to the next bar without us, which they did, but only after congratulating Tim, who they had been watching hawkishly from our table while he chatted with a young lady at the bar (he had changed out of his uniform a while before).  They praised his 'player skills' while the young woman watched, wide-eyed and fascinated. 
Paul also took a moment time to pay the tab before he left, by standing in the middle of the restaurant, whipping out his credit card, and presenting it grandly to Herbie.

Kristi, Kathy, and I sat around for a while after they left, then decided to head back to the hotel sometime around one in the morning.  We thanked Herbie and left a nice tip; then, as we scampered quietly towards the door, we heard laughter and the following shouts coming from the bar:  "Cigar!  Cigar!  Hey, I want a cigar!"

Day One: The Jacket

The hosting duties began at approximately 9:30pm last Friday - our guests arrived on the train from Paris into K-town, and we met them at the station.  They didn't have many bags; we stood around for a while chatting before heading back towards the car.  It was at this moment that Paul* realized he had left his jacket on board.  "I thought it was a bit chilly," he  told us as we watched the train speed away.
Fortunately, Paul is known for his exceptional friend-making skills, and he quickly managed to flag down a janitor who kindly escorted us to the Polizei station a block away.  Eventually the jacket was found on the train, and arrangements were made to have it returned to our location within the hour.  Satisfied with these results, Dan and I decided to take our visitors to the apartment where we were planning on laying out a traditional German supper, to include:  various rolls of bread, slices of herb-encrusted salami, ham, salmon, mini-sausages (with cheese in them, yum), Gouda cheese, butterkaese cheese, Maasdammer cheese,  and brie, as well as Laughing Cow cream cheese (my new favorite) and some cow-tongue meat, which nobody ate.
 
Later, as the ladies and I sat and gossiped, Dan and Paul traveled back to the train station to pick up the misplaced jacket; they returned a while later with nothing.  Apparently the item was unable to make its transfer at the designated time.  The men were instructed to pick the jacket up, in Mannheim, within one week - they decided to pick it up on our way to Munich.
So we all continued talking, finished our supper, discussed our plans for the next day (an overnight trip to Leuven, Belgium), and finally went to sleep at 2am.



* Name changed upon offender's request

In the Heide

Dan and I went for a walk through the Heide last week; he took me to see some of the places he most enjoys visiting. He is really very passionate about walking outdoors, and loves the fresh air and natural atmosphere - admittedly, none of it was very interesting to me, since the flowers were all gone; thick sand and fallen branches were the only things to catch my eye.
I was reminded of the approach to St. Pete Beach: walking up the hill from the parking lot, over the sand, and towards the water.
Of course, there was nothing beyond the hill in the Heide.

Highlight:  View of the Autobahn from the Heide

After a while Dan decided to change course, and he drove us to a different section of the Heide, farther along the road. It was much more 'forest-y' and I found it absolutely amazing:

HALLOWEEN PLANS

10/30: We are planning on visiting Castle Frankenstein and partaking in the annual Halloween Festival, which, to the best of my knowledge, includes a tour of the "haunted" castle. Our schedules may be difficult to work around (we both have to get up early the next day), but we still plan on going, despite that.
A co-worker of mine mentioned recently that the trip may not be worth it (she said it wasn't last year, when she went), but that will be something we can figure out for ourselves.


COUNTDOWN TO GUESTS:

2 weeks until their arrival. Can't wait!