The little things

As I near the end of my time here in Germany, I've come to realize that, although I've enjoyed exploring Wiesbaden and meeting its many wonderful people, some of my nicest times have been spent alone here in Glen and Betina's apartment with Charlotte.

This little pup and I have grown a lot together over the past two weeks or so. She responds to me so well, and I've learned to recognize her wants and needs also.

Some of this has been intentional, as we've come to know each other as dog and master. But much of it has simply come about as we've become friends.

Particularly on these unusually hot and muggy afternoons, we've found we've just enjoyed being with each other. Sitting on the couch together or playing a game of fetch or tug.

In fact, we've become so close that she rarely lets me out of her sight!

If I step out of the room to get a drink or get something in another room, she's right at my heels or waiting in the doorway for me.

In fact, even as I write this blog, she's right at my feet, gnawing on a bone. And, when I got up to refill my coffee cup, she followed me to the kitchen and back.

I'll miss her a bit when I'm gone -- but I hope that I'm handing her back to Glen and Betina an even better dog than they left behind. And it will be my great joy to know that they are going to continue to grow as a family together.

This has been a very long and interesting adventure. The longest I've been separated from my family in over 30 years!

But Wednesday Betina returns and Thursday I will be on my way home. That means I've only one more full day with Charlotte after today.

The Farmers Market

Yesterday morning, Charlotte and I walked down to the Farmers Market in Markskirche Square.

How could I resist? Few things capture the feel for a community like a Farmers Market.

And there's something especially romantic about the idea of a European market.

The market sets up in the shadow of the elegant St. Mark's Church (a church which, as I write this log, is ringing its bells to call its congregation to Sunday worship), in a huge piazza surrounded by sidewalk cafes.

Naturally, there are lots of fresh fruits and vegetables on display, but there are also wonderfully stinky cheeses and sausages for sale.

It was great fun hearing the different voices, most in German but many in English, buying, selling and bartering.

But it was all a bit overwhelming for Charlotte -- who, surprisingly, was more interested in sniffing the tires on the farmers' trucks then she was stalking dropped food.

And, naturally, she was the subject of much attention.

Though, as the day was already beginning to heat up, she much preferred to just spread her belly over the cool cobblestones.

The daily chase

Charlotte has no natural enemies. (Although I'm still not sure what that old German lady yelled at me on Monday.)

Children love her.

Other dogs love her. And, even though I usually hold her back from greeting people on the sidewalk, they usually can't resist stepping in and greeting her.

And she seems to love everyone.

Except pigeons.

Well, it's not that she doesn't like pigeons. I'm sure if she caught one, she wouldn't hurt it.

But she seems to enjoy clearing them out of the park.

Or maybe it's just a game they play.

The pigeons don't really seem to mind that much.

They usually only fly a couple of yards, then settle on the ground again.

By the way, this is a sign you see all of the time on the narrow streets of Wiesbaden.

It means, essentially, that cars can park on the sidewalk.

Which is good for cars -- but not so good for pedestrians.

The sidewalks aren't that wide to begin with!

Summer in the stadt

It's hard to imagine that, when it's 90 degrees and the hot sun is beating on the bricks that anyone would want to sit in a cafe and sip hot coffee. But an awful lot of people do!

I suppose it beats sitting around the apartment.

Though at least Glen and Betina's place has a cross-breeze. So, although it's unbearably hot and stuffy, at least the air moves.

I took a walk this afternoon through the pedestrian zone, where you're surrounded by brick and concrete and it's nearly impossible to find shade. It just seemed like a good idea at the time.

Say what you will, Europeans are definitely a communal people. They love to gather in public places, usually in the outdoors if it's possible.

We Americans are way too addicted to our own backyards. What our cities need are more piazzas!

Next to cafes, bakeries seem to be most ubiquitous businesses. And with good reason.

You can buy sandwich bread at the grocery store -- but why would you? There's an amazing bakery every block and a half.

Most aren't that large. Just little storefronts. But the loaves are practically a meal in themselves -- and they're treated as such.

A loaf of bread and some jam is a good breakfast. A loaf of bread with some sausage or cheese is a nice lunch.

What remains of the loaf at the end of the day will go good with supper.

The heat is on ... again

With temperatures back in the 90s here again, Charlotte and I are opting not to go down to the neighborhood park during the daytime -- a park that boasts one tree, lots of dried grass and countless cigarette butts.

Rather, we head back into the hilly neighborhoods along Kappellenstrasse and Dambachtal, shadier streets line with big, gnarly trees, thick green grass, a very shady spielplatz (playground) where, unfortunately, dogs are not allowed, and lots of luxurious homes and apartments.

There are also many wonderful, fresh, new smells for her to discover.

And an occasional local who comes out to say hello.

Most of the time we can stay in the shade for nearly the entire walk.

That doesn't necessarily mean we're necessarily cool and comfortable though.

With the humidity a muggy 60% and the sun beating down from the cloudless sky, even a shady park can feel uncomfortably stuffy. But at least it's a break from the narrow asphalt streets and sidewalks that radiate heat like a pizza oven.

Meantime, though, I'm very proud of the rapport Charlotte and I have developed.

Even when she's totally distracted by a smell or another dog, I can win her attention with a quick whistle or the snap of my fingers and she comes running to catch up with me!

We've really become very close this past week.

And, even when I'm grabbing a shower, she's usually found napping no than three feet away.

Stolperstein

Jeanne's mom told me about these.

You'll find them along the main streets, embedded in the sidewalks in front of the apartment buildings and homes in all of Germany's major cities. 

They're little brass plaques that list the name of a Jewish person or other "undesirable" that died in a Nazi concentration camp. And they're usually placed in front of the last home they lived in before they were taken away.

These brass plaques called Stolpersteine, which is German for "stumbling blocks", and they're reminders that even a nation with as great a history as Germany can sometimes make horrible mistakes.

The Stolpersteine project was started by a German artist named Gunter Demnig in 1992. And, since then, he's placed over 30,000 of them in Germany, Hungary, Croatia, Italy, the Netherlands and Russia.

They're so subtle you can walk by them every day and not even notice them -- yet, once you do notice them, they seem to be everywhere.

A simple but very powerful tribute.

Summer evenings in the park

Charlotte and I continue to explore the city.

And the nicest thing about exploring with a dog as cute as Charlotte is that we're welcomed everywhere.

Last night, wandering around Warmer Damm park, I spotted some men in one corner, smoking and laughing and playing chess.

The park actually has a designated chess area. (There's even a large checkerboard carved into the concrete.) The city provides the playing pieces and the tables, and every night men a dozen or so men of varying nationalities gather to battle it out.

One guy was from Pittsburgh -- although he said he'd come here with the army 30 years ago and just decided to stay. He claimed he'd nearly forgotten how to speak English.

I couldn't even tell if they were all speaking the same language -- but I like to imagine it didn't matter. That with a few grunts, whistles and gestures, they were all able to communicate as much as was necessary.

But they sure seemed to be having fun.

(I also remember them all having beards -- so it's strange to see that, in the photos, only two do! I guess sometimes we like to remember things as they ought to be rather than as they actually were.)

And Charlotte liked sitting in the cool, thick grass in the setting summer sun.