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Ah, Trier. Porta Nigra, Dom Cathedral, a Basilica where the Nazis kept kids before shipping them to concentration camps, the Kaiserthermae (Imperial baths, Roman as all hell and with amazing tunnels to match--my love for well-crafted underground burrows was well satisfied), and, right after it closed, the Roman Amphitheater. There were shows about the Romans at every location but the cathedral and basilica, right after we arrived at each one. I discovered this by means of my mildly helpful German skills. The shows were German-language only, which made them interesting only to me. And they were doubly interesting because they were performances. About the Roman ruins. I would have loved to see them. I'm doing Trier again someday, properly. And bringing someone more fluent than I am, to demonstate for me and to use when I fail.
Man, do I need practice. It's no fun when the grade-school kids outside the gate demonstrate their adorably literal proficiency in English before I get a chance to struggle. Gail knows "Sprechen Sie Englisch?" and "danke," and unless the ticketseller doesn't speak English, which was true of only one, that's pretty much all you need.
It was beautiful. There's a peculiar European sensibility with deep antiquity; they don't exactly take it for granted, but they certainly lord it over everyone without real history. A gaggle of high schoolers, all with concentration camp physiques, jumped the fence into the Roman baths. The groundskeeper, as fierce a lady as I've ever seen, yelled at them to leave damn quickly in German, and then graciously ushered us out as the baths closed for the show.
Now my knees are tired. We came back and put the kids to bed, and Gail showed us a movie called Roxanne. It was funny, but you know what's funnier? Reading information about nearby castles online after translation through Babel Fish. We can't stop laughing. It is the middle of the night, but ... ahhh. On Mondays is quiescent day.
Man, do I need practice. It's no fun when the grade-school kids outside the gate demonstrate their adorably literal proficiency in English before I get a chance to struggle. Gail knows "Sprechen Sie Englisch?" and "danke," and unless the ticketseller doesn't speak English, which was true of only one, that's pretty much all you need.
It was beautiful. There's a peculiar European sensibility with deep antiquity; they don't exactly take it for granted, but they certainly lord it over everyone without real history. A gaggle of high schoolers, all with concentration camp physiques, jumped the fence into the Roman baths. The groundskeeper, as fierce a lady as I've ever seen, yelled at them to leave damn quickly in German, and then graciously ushered us out as the baths closed for the show.
Now my knees are tired. We came back and put the kids to bed, and Gail showed us a movie called Roxanne. It was funny, but you know what's funnier? Reading information about nearby castles online after translation through Babel Fish. We can't stop laughing. It is the middle of the night, but ... ahhh. On Mondays is quiescent day.