who hiked a muddy hike and rode a bike along a dyke.

On Saturday, we woke up early to go on a hike through the Wattenmeer. The Wattenmeer is an endless expanse of mud, which clears up when the tide goes out. Some of it is sandy mud, that you only sink into a bit, but other parts are patches of slurpy mud that you can sink all the way into. You have to go wattwandering with a guide, because sometimes people have to be rescued from the Wattenmeer by helicopters. The guides keep a pretty close watch on you. Ours was 18, and his name was Luke. He walked us through the sand and mud, showing us the worms and crabs that were swimming and sloppering all around us. Then we came to the Schliklauch, where a few of us ventured to get really, really muddy. The Schliklauch is actually quite a bit like the fire swamp, minus R.O.U.S.es and fire. But right before you get sucked in almost up to your hips, the mud pops around you. It's not enough of a warning to skeedaddle through glomps of glunky mud, but it prepares you a bit. German movie stars actually get covered in this muddy stuff when they come on vacation to Sylt; the microorganisms do wondrous things for your skin (or so Luke told us).

Sunday, we biked 13 kilometers along this dyke, with water on both sides, to an old Friesian house. The dyke curved in a smooth arch, but somehow we it seemed that we were always pedaling directly against the sea wind. It made for a hard bike ride, but the sea air was crisp and cool, with just a taste of salt in it. Bleating sheep lined our parade route, lazing about munching on grass and sometimes sprawling out across the bike path. 

who went to Westerland auf Sylt.

On Friday morning, we met at the train station in Kiel to head to the Island of Sylt, a wisp of an island in the North Sea. It is thinly connected to the mainland of Schlieswig-Holstein by a dam, which we zipped across in the train. We sped through kilometers and kilometers of green fields of corn, yellow flowers, and of course, cow pastures. Atop a long bridge, I could see into matchbox gardens belonging to red-tiled houses, and with each minute, the sky got bigger.

I snapped at least ten photos that look a lot like this one. If you look really carefully, you can see the sea   up where the ground meets the sky. It was grey, but that seemed fitting; we passed through Husum, where Theodor Strom, the author and poet, lived. He wrote a poem about his hometown, which all Schlieswig-Holsteiners quote by heart, "Die Stadt." The last line of the poem is "die graue Stadt am Meer" ("the grey city on the see"). So we didn't mind the grayness a bit.

And that is a very good thing, because it is rainy in North Germany. The second day I was here, I got caught in a rainstorm on my way home from the bus stop. I was wet through in two seconds and hopped down our street on one foot, chasing my rubber ballet flat down the gutter. The rain is crazy this season, but as long as you don't mind getting a bit wet, it doesn't matter a bit. 

After we dropped our bags off at the hostel, we went to the aquarium in Westerland. Look who I saw there...Flotsam and Jetsam! They really looked like they were chatting creepily. I promise seeing Ursula's evil cronies was not the most momentous experience on this trip. 

Westerland though.... that's another story. It's a resort town. This balcony looked over the beech, where bratwurst (aha! This must be Germany!) stands ice cream stands lined the pier. Inside the white tents in the distance, a really strange band was playing Obladi Oblada (I thought of Josh!), except they somehow managed to make it sound like the Greek Festival. That's got to take some kind of talent. There was also an accordion player playing in the main street, who accompanied our ice cream stop at the local chocolate shop. (Incidentally... the chocolate isn't dangerous... but the ice cream and strawberries are!). We sat on a flower planter and ate vanilla ice cream with rote grütze (fruit compote) on top. The ice cream was wrapped up in freshly baked waffles that were smelled like cinnamon. The people watching was top notch, and the accordion music wrapped up the scene perfectly. It was a lucky, perfect Europe moment. Simon said he ordered it; even if he had, it couldn't have been better. Until, of course, this cute little boy stood over my shoulder, on the planter and said,"Hallo, entschuldigung!" (Hello, excuse me.)

"I walked all the way from there [pointing to the other side of the planter], and want to go all the way around. See how far I walked?" I hopped right up and asked if I could take a picture, and he posed for me most obligingly. That was unbeatably adorable. 

Not unlike this seagull. His name is Gustav.

who sailed and walked along a fjord...

The fjord starts open and wide, out in the Baltic Sea, and gets narrower and narrower, past the center of the city, and into the harbor. Some ships go all the way in to dock, and others turn west at the canal on the way to the North Sea. There are ships everywhere, cruisers, tiny dinghies, shipping ships, and ferries.

After waiting at the dock for a bit, our ferry arrived, and we zigzagged across the fjord. We watched as one coast slipped away and we sailed toward the other edge towards old windmills and new hotels. We came back to the other side, covered in forest and beach, then went back, to new windmills and old thatched-roof houses.

When we docked, we walked along the beach at Shilksee while waiting to go to dinner at the restaurant on the pier for a welcome celebration. It was early evening, but already cool, so we walked along the beach with our bare feet in the warm sand to stay warm.

Despite the chill, we were crazy enough to stop for gelato (and smart enough to not pass up the best ice cream stop yet)! The sign advertised "16 super delicious flavors!" and it told the truth. I chose cherries and cream, which was slightly sweetened cream ice cream with sour cherries. Heaven in a cone. :)

I also (kind of) ate my first whole fish today. Kind of, because well, the eyes weren't there (thank goodness), and it was huge, and fish bones can be stealthy foes at dinner parties. Beware, and remember that flounder is not the wisest choice on formal occasions!

who went to a church...

This is Saint Nikolai Kirke. It's very tall (hence the crooked photo without the bottom half of the church), and very old. It's the oldest standing building in Kiel, as most of the city was bombed by the allies near the end of WWII. As Hermann, one of the German students helping us out said on the tour, happily "not many people died, just the buildings." It was just a statement.

In fact, sometimes it seems that the only shadow left from the war is the missing buildings, which have been replaced by "wonderful 60s architecture," or so they joke. Instead, it's like the people's hearts have been filled with love for each other and for the future. They are endlessly hopeful and accepting. In fact, this once Catholic church is now open to anyone who wants to worship - it's called an "open church," and there are meetings and concerts here.

The stained glass windows, which were bombed out, have been replaced by modern expressionist pieces, to draw the youth in. They are blue and aqua-toned, reflecting the world here, which is all sky and sea.

And if you need proof that these people are forgiving and accepting, just check out what is in this once-very-Catholic church....

It's a GUTENBERG PRESS reproduction. My inner bookworm did a jig when it saw this. I love Martin Luther, and Gutenberg! :) Thank you, your awesomenesses.

who drank a bit of Alice's shrinking tonic and found that she was smaller than a strawberry...

Okay, okay.

 I didn't actually find Alice's shrinking tonic, and thus, I didn't actually shrink. But the strawberries are bigger than I am! They are bigger than the girls that sit in them. In fact, they are even bigger than the cute old men that sometimes run them. They are quite enormous, for strawberries, if not edible. Sad, that. I know a mouse who would have  a lot of fun protecting this big, juicy strawberry from a big scary bear.

And while we're on the cuteness subject, do note the windmill on the sign.

who discovered that Germans mean what they say and they say what they mean. And they're nice about saying it, 100%.

You don't see me... you don't hear me... but believe me: I'm here!
Kind of creepy for a cute puppy sign, but I guess it beats "beware of dog."

In North Germany, people smile on buses. They plant flowers. They come home with armfuls of fresh strawberries. And since everyone speaks their mind, which means that I've got to get mine on its toes, ready or not.

The dog who lives in this house (just across the street, next to the big gardens) is actually much cuter than the doggie pictured. He's also bigger, whiter and fluffier. He doesn't get out much, though he does like to bark along with the sunrise symphony each morning. (Along with the seagulls, passing birds, and perhaps even a rooster?).

Fritzie's not the only one walking around with a disclaimer around here. On the bus today, I saw a sign for a new brand of cigarettes, named "Vive la Liberté." On the sign, a very chic couple was lounging on deck chairs on top of an apartment in Paris overlooking the Eiffel Tower, smoking. All of the suavity, however couldn't compete with the pictured warning, "smoking can kill!" on two oversized boxes at the front of the picture. Go Deutschland! Major points for honesty.

I can't decide which was better, the Liberté ad, or the advertisement I saw for a tattoo parlor called "für immer" (forever).

It's not like they don't warn you! :)

who lived with her family in a red brick house. When she left for a while, she packed up her home and took it with her. She unpacked it in a pink house surrounded by roses, hedges, and a picket-fence gate.

home for now

My guest family is lovely. Here in Germany, you have to be careful to say exactly what you mean, and lovely is just the word for them. Actually, I haven't met Leo yet, but he's married to Sabine, which is a very good sign. There's something very homey about slipping through a swinging picket gate on your way to see the world (in my case, the darling harbor city) and then again on the way back. 

Everyone loves flowers in Kiel. I've seen at least four times as many flower shops and nurseries as I have grocery stores.  Since it's June in Kiel, and just starting to be really warm, roses are everywhere. Our street is quiet, but since today is Saturday, the street is lined with cars; across the street there is a garden, broken up into plots, and today families are stopping by to garden. The gardeners are everywhere; they grow flowers from the tiniest specks of dirt in front of their houses in the city, and lean out of their windows to plant flower boxes. 

Leo and Sabine's name fits so perfectly amongst the flowers and trees in our corner of Kiel. (Schönwälder means "beautiful forests"). I wonder if  having such a nice name makes you nice from the beginning? Sabine has already fulfilled one of my dreams, to eat Rote Grütze, which is stewed red berries, served with vanilla sauce. 

To study abroad, I had to follow some dear friends' advice and bring my home with me. I unpacked it in the attic room. (I haven't unpacked anything else yet; I grabbed what I needed most).