¡Dios mio!

Fearless niece Katie goes zipping in Mexico.

Puerto Vallarta.

Well, actually Nuevo Vallarta.

That's wrong. Punta Mita this year. All greater PV places -- just accept it.

Oh, en route to PV was layover in Houston. Houston? Maybe Dallas. I don't remember. But it was the only time I had been in the States during regular business hours in about a month. So any critical documents I may or may not have needed to mail to Sunnyvale, Calif., had to be filled out en route and mailed from the airport. Added (yet another) level of surrealism to the entire experience. Que sera sera.

Bro and sis-in-law and their kids, and sis and bro-in-law and their kids, and mom. The annual family shindig.  After cold Baltics and chilly but manageable Berlin weather, was sort of looking forward to Mexico climate. And it wasn't oppressively hot when we were there, but the humidity was brutal. Stupid planet.

But there was zip-lining. It was awesome.

There was eating at a beachside restaurant not in Bucerias. It was very good.

There was eating (again) at a taco place in Sayulita (the FB profile pic of me with a piece of chicken was taken there in '11), which was outstanding. Like crazy good. Shrimp quesadillas were my fave throughout the week.

There was anchovy pasta without anchovies. There were Chokis (a favorite of adults and kids alike). There was a great mariachi band and special video and song presentations (great stuff -- mainly L&M production) for mom's 70th, which was tres groovy. Though the mariachi band didn't know "Que sera sera," though they did know/play "Hotel California."

We didn't request that. They just played it. In fact, we specifically requested they not play any Eagles tunes, but no comprenden, apparently.

Crap -- I should have learned how to say "I'm sorry, I don't understand" in German and used it in Mexico. Missed opportunities. Lo siento.

Ahh, Mexico...

There was a recurrence of my cold, which sucked. There was a lot of napping those first couple of days after Europe-NY-PV trip, which was necessary.

There was fishing with Mike and mom that went from OK to godawful to solid. My nausea wasn't too bad. Mike's, on the other hand ...

There were no big fish to be found -- just a Dead Sea turtle floating around. Ha. It auto-capped Dead Sea. Again. Fine. A deceased sea turtle -- better?

(BTW -- the "ha" was for the auto-capping, not the turtle's state of being. Just clarifying. Or Clarence-ifying, as he is no dummy ...)

There also was some sort of trash floating. Our guide pulls the boat up and grabs it. It's a balloon -- with a note attached! Note is soaked, of course. We let it dry and try to read/translate it later (sis-in-law Jen has a team of experts looking at it now). It was addressed to Santa. or Satan. There were smudges. And there was something about NAFTA, but the rest was hard to make out.

Anyway, as we continue to not find any big fish (our captain was in touch w/counterparts from other boats, who also were having no luck -- prompting me to assume the balloon note said "there are no fish here"), we went closer to the shore, where schools and scores of smaller fish are said to party.

Boat stopped for about 30 second. Mike's line gets tugged. Fish caught. Go Mike Go. It was a bonita -- in the tuna family. We ended up catching 6 or 7 of those, including a few from me -- though one fish also sliced my finger open. Seems fair after I jammed a piece of metal in his mouth.

Mike also collected a yellow fin (ahi) tuna, which marked the big catch of the day. Save for the bird. Mike hooked a bird. A freakin' bird.

Mom, meanwhile, was happy showing off the power of her new hip as she hopped in and out of the boat.

In all we kept four (I think) of the fish for eating, giving the rest to the boat crew. A few nights later Mike seared, seasoned and sauced the tuna. It was really good. This coming from me, general un-liker of most seafood.

He had cooked up the bonitas a night or two before, but I slept through that experiment. Just as I slept through most of the occasions when mom allowed Mike to drive the car when he was 16.

Speaking of Mike driving cars ...

Upon his arrival at the condo complex we stayed at, the gate guard apparently asked him, in mediocre English, "are you making check-in?"

Mike, being tired from day of travel, responded (honestly), "Am I making chicken?"

Viva pollo!

And there was the ATV ride.

The freakin' ATV ride.

Some of you might recall my ATV ride of the previous year. It went something like this ...

This year, I wanted revenge, another opportunity. On camera. For right before that documented ATV fail, I had nailed that jump perfectly, prompting me to want to do it again on video. Even our ATV guide remembered me from a year ago when we brought that up and I showed him the video, which features him cackling.

So we hit the ATVs. We get to that beach. We play around for a bit. Then I go looking for those dunes. They are gone.

Well, some are there, but they either are insanely high/large or little more than bumps in the ground.

In other words, there would be no second chance, no redemption. Mierda.

Oh well. I take my camera out of my zipper pocket and take a few pics, then return camera to pocket and zip it up.

I power down the beach, getting too close to the water and nearly flooding the engine. Got soaked, but it was fun. Then we headed to the woods and rode on dirt trails and virtually empty riverbeds (some water splashing). Eventually we get to some rock that was interesting for some reason. I don't know why. The key to the Mayan calendar was etched into it or something. Anyway...

For no reason in particular I look down to my right. Right behind my foot, sitting in a small space on/in the ATV next to hot engine/exhaust and in a tiny bit of standing water is my iPhone.

Which had been in that zipped pocket. And must have fallen out on the beach and somehow stayed in that spot on ATV for next 20 minutes.

Son of a ...

I grab it, dry it off, try to turn it off as it's blinking oddly and overheating like crazy. Eventually it turns itself off. Or just finishes frying itself. Incidentally, had this been a Blackberry I could have just pulled the damn battery out to prevent further damage. Anyway ...

iPhone soaked and cooked. Not good. Get back to condo, I stick it in a bowl (then bag) of rice for a few days. Then try to power it up. Nothing. Kaput. Well, at least it has a removable flash memory card, so I can ... oh wait, nope. Doesn't have that either.

Niece Nicola and me at super taco awesome place.

I don't even have a cell signal down there (PV -- the one place AT&T roaming beats Verizon roaming). I only brought the thing that day so I could take pictures for this blog. Thanks, loyal readers! Sheesh. Ha.

Meanwhile, back at condo, the iPad surely was beeping like crazy and saying, "I lost it! I lost it!"

Days later, back in LA, I would confirm that it's beyond repair. Insurance claim for replacement, one last-ditch effort to recover data currently under way. TtotheBD. It's only two months of vid/pics, mostly -- all from this trip -- so not end of the world, but there's some fun stuff on there. Here's to hoping ...

What else...

There was a Home Depot with a bunch of white guys standing around in front of it.

There was Owen asking for a green juice. "Oh, the jugo verde," said the American waitress. She did it again later.

When some of us ordered orange juice, there was no, "Oh, the jugo naranja?"

Mom, her friend Hank and I went to a cliff. We witnessed a fake proposal. We saw an amazing urinal. Then we went to PV proper.  Bought some beads, saw a floating angel-type person, grabbed a drink and watched deportes at a local watering hole called Bubba Gump's. Mexican futbol, the Grey Cup (CFL!) and the New York Football Giants.

Speaking of NJ sports teams ... there's a story about me being stuck behind Rider College hoops team at PV airport, how one guy though it was cool I knew they were from Jersey, how they won their division at PV tourney that weekend, how they weren't being allowed to bring the trophy on the plane... well, that's pretty much the extent of that story.

Oh, at airport when I am paying short-term parking (after dropping off sibs, who left before mi madre and I), the attendant looks at me, looks what I'm holding.

"Arroz," she says. "Por que?"

I laugh, try to explain iphone en agua story.

It occurs to me that I should have just said, "I'm making chicken."

Fiorello LaKennedy

Not my photoshop handiwork. Alf would have been on field.

Fly from Berlin to JFK. Meet the Jersey fam for fun dinner in Manhattan. (Dad fetched me at JFK and brought me to hotel later -- because my flight times are designed, apparently, to inconvenience him as much as possible.) Crash at an airport by LGA, where my flight leaves from early the next morning.

Get on airport shuttle. Spend 30 seconds trying to get seat belt to work, but it keeps getting stuck (not unlike the bonus scene in "Where's Owen" with Laurie, Mike and the Jetta. Jetta). So I finally give up, thinking "It's a three-minute ride -- what could happen?"

Dun-Dun-Duuuuuuuuuun.

We're just about at terminal when a woman in back row of shuttle walks up to front and begins to ask driver a question, distracting him for just a second.

Then the others in my row yell, "whoa!" just in time for the driver to swerve left and (very narrowly) avoid plowing into the back of a truck that made an aggressive lane change to an off-ramp.

Good morning!

Then the people in that row yell at the girl. "It's not safe to stand there -- you would have died if we hit the truck!"

(And seat belt-less Jon would have been launched, hopefully, into the seat in front of him. Or possibly into the truck in front of him.)

The driver, who was partly at fault here, says, "um... yeah."

Girl apologizes, returns to her seat.

The Mets play nearby. Ostensibly.

Now off to PV via Tejas.

The Mets don't play in PV. But Rider College does.

That's a Eurowrap

Ready to rave?

A few more days in Berlin.

Went to a house concert. Heard an a cappella version of 1, 2, 3, 4 (original by Feist, who managed a spot in my 96-player hottish Jewish female celeb tourney). Kap never had heard that song. Wacky. One of the performers in the group might be my future wife. She doesn't know it, of course. Yet.

Then up was some Aussie woman with a disturbingly creepy but kinda cool voice.

Then an Aussie dude who was pretty good. The latter two duet-ed at the end, providing by far the best/most energetic performances of the night.

I spent some of the time wondering if Jess is better than these folk. Yes. Yes she is. Kathryn agreed.

Next day or day after I checked out an old German bomb shelter adjacent to an U-Bahn stop. Interesting history around this and other shelters. Most of them provided practically no protection that citizens wouldn't get in their homes, but it was a propaganda play. And by luck, only one of these bunkers was blown up during the war, so the Nazis could claim they worked.

After the war the Allies blew up most of the bunkers. Or at least tried. A few were built crazy well. One so much so that after several unsuccessful destruction attempts of one particular military outpost by the Brits, some German kids climbed up atop the structure and wrote "Made in Germany." Kind of funny.

Anyway, thousands of undetonated bombs still are being found in/around Berlin. There was a big accident in '94 with one of them exploding. If someone finds one on their own land, it'll cost 'em 30,000 euros to remove. Crazy.

Bunkers used glow in the dark paint so the people down there could read. It still sort of works. Guide drew smiley face on wall with flashlight then turned out lights. And there was smiley. My room in my freshman dorm had glow in the dark stars in it. I went to the art store and bought some paint, planning to write something like, "die, freshman!" on the ceiling for next year's class.

Recently, as I was packing up my apartment, I found that bottle of paint. Unopened.

My neighbors in the dorm found some porn in their ceiling with a note addressed to the future residents of that room, telling them to enjoy and please add to the collection. Some girls on the first floor had a couple of lawn chairs up there that the previous occupants had stored and then returned to pick up.

So I looked in our ceiling. There was a tampon. Not new/not still in packaging. Seriously.

Back to Berlin ... the group that manages this bunker and other sites like it discovered a metal card catalog of sorts with records of employees and, well, slaves of the Lawrence Company. Germany had promised reparations to victims of WWII, but only if they could document their situation. These records allowed some to do that. Good for them.

Of course, our tour guide -- a German woman -- couldn't resist making a couple of snarky comments ripping war and the German and Russian governments (mostly past versions of governments). I don't think many or any would disagree with the points she was making, but it seemed gratuitous and out of place.

That said, if I spend a few hours a day in a German bunker with remains of German and Russian soldiers -- many unidentified, some eventually placed in plastic bags and buried -- and limited oxygen, maybe I'd be cranky too.

But they did have an example of a Pneumatic Post tube -- air-pressurized tubes to deliver mail (think the tubes at bank drive-throughs). Actually kind of amazing how big the network was and how well it worked that long ago. It was groovy. I sort of want to build one.

Other Berlin notes...

*Witnessed a blind man swearing when he almost accidentally got on an escalator.
*Went to a film fest and also a documentary on the role of skateboarding in East Germany (the former had a couple of decent shorts; the latter -- "This Ain't California" -- was pretty solid). The ticket desk person was drawing something. Kathryn's BF says to her, "Oh, we have a budding artist here?" The girl at desk quickly covers up the art and says, "it's not a penis!"

Um... OK.

Apparently many think whatever she draws looks like a penis. We didn't see the resemblance, but clearly she has some sort of issue there.

That same night (I think) a group of us went to the same cafe where I dropped the Coke Zero down the stairs. This time, while Kathryn worked, John (BF), Pernilla and I photoshopped Kathryn's cat's face onto Darth Vader. Productive.

Going postal.

We leave, some guy asks me for something, I say, "lo siento, no comprendo." Then the guy switches to English asks for coins, for money. I resist laughing and manage a puzzled look (which wasn't difficult, actually, as I was puzzled as to why he thought I was speaking English). I say, "no comprendo. hablo espanol." He walked away. Had he broken into Spanish I probably would have given him 20 bucks for the effort.

Of course, then a few deaf people surely would follow ...

Last full day, I take Kathryn and her roomies (Maggie and Leah) to brunch to thank 'em for putting up with me. Somehow Israel-Palestinian conflict comes up. Brief talk, then we let it go. Then I find myself all fired up about it for the next couple of hours. Seriously, took me a while to chill.

(Also, place couldn't figure out how to use my credit card b/c of the lack of chip thing, which continues to be annoying. Swipe, enter last four digits! Anyway, Kap had to cover lunch. Oops.)

Get back to flat after going to a market, all is fine. It's a touchy/emotional issue. Varying opinions, none of which are 100 percent "right" on either side.

(The market wasn't even there anymore. So I got a pretzel.)

Next day Kathryn and Maggie are walking me to bus stop on my way out of town. Kathryn says, "Did you see the t-shirt whatshisname was wearing at the meeting last night?" It was a meeting for the documentary Kathryn is producing on Mali. "No," I say, thinking she'll tell me it was a They Might Be Giants t-shirt.

Nope, it's apparently some anti-Israel shirt.

"Why would you tell me that?!," I ask. "It took me hours to calm down yesterday and you bring it up again as I'm leaving?!"

It's funny now. And I was caught off guard by how fired up I got by the whole thing. But four weeks in Europe before my only political-type argument (was soooo close to making it out unscathed) -- not a bad effort.

So off I go to Tegel, and then to JFK, thus concluding this season of Bomb's Away Euroadventuring. Good time. It wasn't a life-changing trip, but I needed/enjoyed it. Chillin' with friends and meeting/hanging with cool new peeps was great. Coughing on and off for four weeks? Not so much ...

Damn Heathrow.

Next up ... a day in NYC, a week in Mexico, the downfall of the iPhone.

And the most probing question asked of any of us during that week: "Are you making chicken?"

Stuck in cement

Pic courtesy of the tubes. 

Prague has a Jewish quarter.

Well, based on size it's more like a Jewish eighth.

Which reminds me -- I had a dream that I was writing a screenplay/was in a movie about Zack Greinke or Josh Johnson or some other pitcher coming back from a layoff and having to face Eddie Gaedel in the first inning. Of course everyone already knew of that famous matchup, but my job was to focus the movie more on the pitcher rather than No. 1/8. I had some ideas ...

Anyway, there's a synagogue which, due to sloppy hearing/translation, is called the Old New Synagogue. Seems like something out of Futurama.

Then there's the story of Golem. No, not LOTR nonsense -- rather, it's rabbi nonsense. Lazy rabbi created this creature -- the Golem of Prague -- to do his bidding. One night he forgot to put creature back to stony sleep. So Golem went nuts and tore the town apart. Apparently Mary Shelley was inspired by this story, and it also was part of a Simpsons episode.

Golem, in his stony state, apparently still is locked away in the synagogue, (hopefully) never to be reawakened.

There are several other synagogues here, plus a well-preserved (but tiny and crazy) cemetery -- and other buildings. Why everything survived WWII? Hitler was planning to create a museum here to an extinct race. How'd that work out for ya, Adolf?

Anyway, next day -- my last in Prague -- I go to check out the cemetery. Because Prague wouldn't give the Jews more room to expand the cemetery, they had to build up and bury bodies/coffins on top of one another, creating a crazy/uneven plot of crooked tombstones. It allegedly provided some inspiration for the memorial in Berlin.

So I arrive. They charge admission. Fine, whatev. But wait -- you can't just buy admission for the cemetery, but rather for four or five sites in the Jewish hood. I have neither the time nor the interest to see all this stuff, but they shoot down everyone who asks for just a cemetery ticket.

And seeing as how I walked halfway around the place looking for a vantage point, only to find nothing, seemed I had little choice.

Fine, I'll pay.

Sorry, no credit cards.

Crap.

Bilbo! Bilbo Baggins - he's only 3 ft tall. Similar to Eddie Gaedel.

I wander around for 10-15 minutes looking for an ATM. There's a high-end shopping area nearby, but no ATMs to be found. As if they look down upon carrying such silly little amounts of cash.

Finally find an ATM. Get back to cemetery, buy my way in, rush through it, nearly knocking kids from tour group into tombstones. Which actually was fun.

Wild place. Glad I saw it.

The path leads you to a street exit, but the adjoining building (one of the 37 places covered by my mega-admission ticket) was said to have paintings/drawings done by children while they were in a concentration camp. Apparently a woman started teaching art as a way to distract the kids. I was curious to see.

So instead of going to exit, I wind my way back through path, dodging tour groups, and reach main entrance (next to building I wanted to see). It's closed. With an iron gate. I ask someone how to get out. They say go all the way through the cemetery.

Crap.

So I do, dodging tourists again. And it lets me out halfway around the block, meaning I have to book back to entrance.

Why? Because my train back to Berlin isn't all that much later, and I also had been wanting to cross a famous bridge and perhaps get a better view of the Prague castle. But this escapade was wasting all of my time.

So on way back to entrance, I'm passing a bunch of street-side merchants. One couple asks one of the trinket sellers why some menorahs have nine candles and others seven. She says she doesn't know and leaves to ask someone else.

Sigh.

I stop and explain the difference between a Chanukah menorah (Chanukiah) and a standard one. They ask what religion it is for.

"Um, Judaism." Der.

Guy explains he knows that -- wants to know significance of the nine-pronged candelabra.

Ahh, the story of Chanukah. I tell it in about 18 seconds. Hit the high points. Regaining my creds, Gennady!

I resume trip back to the cemetery entrance and pass not one but two small vantage points to the cemetery. No, they weren't great views, but had I seen them earlier this whole charade might not have happened. Argh.

Finally I get back to the entrance but decide I don't even want to go in. I try to give away -- for free -- my admission ticket, which still is good for every other Jewsite in the 'hood, save for the cemetery.

No takers. Stuck with this ticket I didn't even want to buy. I'm totally getting Jewe... Eh, never mind.

So I go in. It's a synagogue. With no art from little kids. Apparently that's in the museum part, which is closed.

Son of a ...

Just to be spiteful, I surreptitiously take a pic in a no-photo area. Of course, that pic got washed away (karma?), but more on that later.

Shine on you crazy Diamond.

Finally leave -- though I do pick up cool souvenirs (Golem, clock, another clock) for me and 'rent and step-'rent -- and head to the famous bridge that tourists "have" to cross in order to rub a plaque for good luck. But only one part of plaque. Not the dog part, which is bad luck. According to yesterday's crazy tour guide.

I'm on my way. Guy tries to get me to go to opera. Oprah? Maybe. Opera? Nah.

I say no and keep walking. Then I realize I made wrong turn. Pass him again. I wave him off again, though he was a bit more persistent this time.

Start going to bridge, realize I'm going to miss train if I don't head to station right then. Argh. Fine. No bridge, no castle. I turn around and head to the subway, passing opera man one more time.

He sees me, smiles, holds up 1, 2, 3 fingers as he says, "uno, dos, tres!"

I don't think I even used the "lo siento" thing on him.

Anyway, get to train station. Train back to Berlin. Get off train. Head to escalator. There's a line. Old guy in front of me sees me considering heading left (where the fast walkers go) and blocks me. I laugh out loud. He turns and looks at me. When we get to escalator he goes right, I pass on left and am gone, yo.

In all, Prague worth another look. Maybe full two days. Interesting history, some cool sights. One iteration of this trip had me there for five days. That would have been overkill. Urge Overkill. Sister Havana -- you'll be a woman soon.

Never heard of Neil Young?! What about Neil Diamond?

Turn on your heart light, ET.

Ohhhh... Almost forgot. Kafka was from here. I think Oxnard of Saturn mentions him in a song ...

Czeching out

Clocks. Pic from the interweb tubes.

I shouldn't even pun up that country name. Lame on my part. Czech canceled.

One-day/overnight trip to Prague.

I go to main Berlin train station. Point to ticket and train, ask conductor if this is Prague.

"No, this is Berlin," he said. "The train goes to Prague."

Funny Germans.

Prague. Get there just in time for walking tour. Starts right near the famous astrological clock, which our very amusing tour guide claims is the second-most overrated tourist attraction in the world. First? Mona Lisa. Third? Zzyzx Rd.

Still, give the clock -- which has crazy amounts of dialing and clocking going on -- its due. It was the iPod of its day. According to amusing tour guide.

Then a fake wedding shoot (real photo shoot, fake wedding) comes by. They want to use our group for photo of throwing/catching bouquet. So the ladies line up, the fake bride tosses, some lady catches. I complain about the lack of garter. The guys rally behind me. Then I remember my sister's wedding, when the garter fell to the floor between me, my brother and my cousin -- equidistant to all three. We all backed away -- though cousin Dave and I apparently slightly more quickly than Mike. Mike got stuck with it. And he was the next Baum sib to get married (really, would have been odd if he hadn't been), so maybe it worked.

Anyway, back to Czechs and clocks. There is a list of 365 names (or is it 366?) corresponding to every day of the calendar. So Czechs basically celebrate two birth-related days: actual birthday and name day. The catch? You have to name your kid one of those names -- or go through the trouble of going to court to get permission not to.

At least there are 365 choices. Some guy on the tour was saying that in some part of Africa, the same practice is followed -- but only for days of the week. Seven choices for guys, seven for girls.

It's even worse for whatever planet/dimension the evil dudes in Buckaroo Banzai were from. One name for all of 'em. He fell on his head. Bummer.

So we were taken around Prague and shown some historic and/or architecturally interesting sites. And we were told that the Czechs overthrew one evil regime by defenestrating the entire council.

Defenestrate? What could that mean?

Our tour guide asked. I was the only person who knew -- or at least the only one to admit it.

It's to throw someone out a window.

Considering I had done so when I was 3 or 4, I should know plenty about the subject.

Mom/Dad: "Jonathan, did you draw on the wall?!"
Me: "No, my (imaginary) friend Tickeroo did it. I took his crayons and threw him out the window."

The Czechs also put spikes on the ground outside the window, so the defenestratees were kaput upon contact. Years later the Czechs would try this again, but they forgot the spikes. So some of the council survived and claimed divine intervention in order to win public support.

This country used to be known as Bohemia. I had no idea. Feel like a fake claiming I have some Bohemian look these days -- though I do often look like I've just been thrown out a window.

What else ...

Mozart. He came here, did some conducting and composing. The folks loved him. Was Beatlemania of the 18th century (says tour guide).

My sister-in-law wants a $125 hair dryer. Just sharing.

There's a statue of someone named Anna. Might be related to Mozart somehow. Tour guide points out that the statue is not of Emperor Palpatine. OK, she said "the emperor from Star Wars," but still solid. Had she named him, I might have run back to start of tour, found the garter and proposed on the spot.

Something something something dark side.

Which would have been pointless, as she no longer was at that spot.

Back around WWII, the Russians/Soviets were getting ready to invade. They decided to wait until midnight one night, as that's when the Czechs shut down the radio and basically called it a night. Makes invading easier.

Problem is, the Russians didn't account for the Czechs not being on Daylight Savings Time (or no longer being on it? I don't recall). They invaded at 11.

Plenty of time to a) warn the citizens, b) remove tons of "this way to Prague" signs, c) get the citizens to prank the invaders by lying about what town they are in, and more.

It made the invasion last days, apparently. Messed 'em up nice. But they still were overtaken.

Years later some student set himself on fire to protest the Communist rule. Years after that another one did. Symbols of citizens yearning for end of occupation(s).

Eventually, when the wall came down, Czechoslovakia gained its freedom. It was called the Velvet Revolution, as there was no fighting -- it was smooth as velvet. A few years later the Velvet Divorce occurred. The sides decided to start seeing other countries, splitting up into Slovakia and the Czech Republic.

Czechs drink the most beer per capita in the world. And the "Where is my home" anthem is symbolic of their long fight for freedom and their drunken stumbling toward home each night. At least according to the tour guide, who at this point might just be messing with us.

What else... there's a museum that's closed, but Mission Impossible and Casino Royale were shot there. And some Vin Diesel movie, maybe? And another old building that's a great place to see classical music and Oprah. I swear that's what she said.

Walk by a guy playing "My Way" on accordion. Some Welsh guy starts humming along. Then he says, "That's 'My Way'. Elvis."

I wanted to hit him. Of course, I wanted to hit him as soon as I heard his stupid accent, but that wouldn't have been berry mice. And I suppose the accordion player might have been performing Elvis' version. Maybe. Whatever.

I have no idea if he was even Welsh. But he had an annoying voice. And those Welsh kids on first Baum's Away blog soured me, apparently.

Does "Czech cuisine" sound like "jacuzzi" at all? Some guys on the street thought it did. They were disappointed when they entered the restaurant.

I drank beer. Czech beer. Few different kinds. Was good. One was a honey beer. Pubs not as friendly as those in Baltics, but still all good.

There's a story about the wifi in the hotel. Also one about renegade elevators. I really don't feel like telling them. Instead, I'll conclude with this...

Brother: "Don't buy the hair dryer just yet. We'll figure this out."
Sis-in-law: "What? That was a totally bizarre comment. I'm going to pretend you didn't say that."

Let's get excited

Chocolate mine!

For chocolate. Went to Ritter Sport store/mini-museum/mini-factory in Berlin with Maggie and Ann (?). They have chocolate. And an area where you can customize your own chocolate bar.

Actually wasn't all that easy finding the place, as the Germans number their houses/streets a bit differently -- sometimes. Did I already mention this too? Too bad.

One side of street might be 35, 36, 37 ... while the other is 113, 112, 111. Just for kicks. Lack of German efficiency.

So if you are looking for, say, No. 50, and you are at no. 16, you might keep walking and looking on same side of street, never suspecting that 50 might be right across the street. Really, had it not been for a big "looking for Ritter Sport place? turn around, jackass, and go back the other way" sign, I probably never would have gotten there.

OK, that's not exactly how it was worded, but pretty much. Actually, it had a curved arrow. Line points up, then curves to left, then curves back down. Kind of like a u-turn sign. Wasn't clear what it wanted me to do, but Europe has to have signs like this because they use arrow-up and arrow-down signs almost interchangeably for "straight ahead."

I felt like a stick man in peril.

Anyway, I finally found the place and met up with the peeps. You tell the chocoartists behind the counter what you want. They mix the ingredients and then get chocolate out of a magical, continuously flowing faucet. It's amazing. And I'd share a pic if not for the whole iphone in rice thing. More on that later.

Then they bake it. Or fridge it? I don't even know. And send you off to see their little museum, which is kind of fun/interesting. With the ridiculous song, "Let's get excited" playing over and over and over. I just spent 40 minutes looking for it online. Can't find it -- which might be for the best.

Though it seems it was composed by a dude named Christian Wildermuth, especially for Ritter Sport. So there.

Maybe he has a "compose your own jingle in 40 minutes" stand that Ritter Sport used? I could have written that tune in 40 minutes ...

Anyway, then you get your chocolate. I had two bars. One dark, one milk. They had stuff in them. Rice Krispie-type things, chocolate chips, yogurt chips, almond-type stuff ... and more! But no gummy bears. Somehow resisted.

The bar I thought was more "normal" tasted odder than the "wackier" one -- which clearly says something about my tastes. Of course, Ritter Sport never has been my fave chocolate, but still groovy.

Here's some dude's video of his own chocomaking.

Also stocked up on souvenir chocolate in the gift shop. And was all set. Then Maggie found some crazy deal on mini chocolates. Damn checkout line temptations! So got some of those, ate too many, managed to pawn 'em off on family later.

Suckers. Had to eat free chocolate. [play Nelson "ha-ha" sound clip here]

I once owned a map store

"Because you don't have a bottom."

Once upon a time, Kathryn acquired an upside-down map of the world. Or, a map portraying the world as upside-down. From how we're used to seeing it.

South is up, North is down, rebels are happy -- capiche?

The map was purchased in/delivered to California (this, for various reasons, made more sense than having it sent to Germany -- at least that's what we thought). I then attempted to send it to her. Also included in the packaging were vitamins.

The Germans apparently didn't like this. They held the mailing tube up at customs rather than sending it through to her apartment.

Kathryn didn't make it to customs on time, so the Germans sent it back to me. It took a few months to finally reach Santa Monica again.

Before this trip I finally tried to send it again -- this time w/o vitamins. Just a big piece of paper in a tube.

Again, the Germans don't like it. They hold it up at customs. A little more than a year after its first trip there. Kathryn, sensing some pranking on my part, asks me repeatedly what else I put in there.

"It's a map!," I proclaim.

Wackiness.

Then I make her watch the appropriate Admiral Ackbar clip.

Kathryn asks again. And again. No really, just a map. Many Bothans died for this map.

So she drags me along to try to get the map. Customs asks her what's in the tube. She says a map. They ask what it's doing in customs. She says she has no idea. A portrait of old Al Franken the German customs agent hangs above. I'd include a picture, but it's on my iPhone -- which still is residing in a bag of rice.

We go to the people holding the map. Kathryn explains what has happened -- again they don't understand why they have a map. My theory is that the Germans don't want this upside-down world propaganda getting out. If CJ on West Wing couldn't comprehend it, nobody can.

Anyway, partly just for kicks, Kathryn introduces "Herr Baum" -- the guy who sent the map from the States who now is standing in front of them in Germany. They are amused. Less so when they discover I don't speak German, but being introduced to Mr. Tree probably had some inherent comedic value for them. Still, I was annoyed they didn't recognize me from my map store days.

Wackiness.

Amused or not, they still need to open the tube to check what is inside. Kathryn tries to undo the packing tape, but it is proving difficult. One of the German custom agents suggests cutting the tube in half -- but of course that would result in splitting the map. "It'd be just like the wall was back," he said (in German).

Funny. For a German.

Finally, tube opened. It's a damn map. Germans let Kathryn have it. The map, I mean. So 13-14 months after sending it to Germany the first time, I got to be there to witness Kathryn finally get it.

Then she left it at a friend's house. Who I asked to secretly send the map back to me.

Maybe it keeps getting delayed by the whole upside-down planet thing.

Bold and unafraid

Mexico. The hand-shredder. 

Went to see a show in a little cafe. Some Aussie/Canadian singer-songwriter. Was pretty solid. I think I bought a CD. I don't remember. Can't even recall her name at the moment. Really stuck with me, yeah?

OK, thanks to google: Emaline Delapaix. Was good. She apologized for so many songs being melancholy, said that's what happens when one always ends up with "lazy and afraid men." I began to contemplate how to look like I'm on the verge of napping while being fearful of doing so.

Anyway, songs about some of these guys ripped 'em. Emaline said, "I'm a bitch." Then, out of nowhere (well, OK -- from behind the counter), the cafe owner says, "I'm a bitch, too."

But when I ordered a soda and all they could offer was something called Bios that they hadn't even tried, the owner offered to have a taste test, as she wanted to try it to. So we both had a shot of cola. Was tasty enough. They let me buy the remaining 2/3 of the bottle for 1/2 the price. Doesn't seem so bitchy to me.

Though she did continually drop/break dishes during the show. But then some random dude bought everyone some Italian ice. And there also was a "fist bump w kid in yanks hat." I think. I have that in my notes. I don't recall it happening. Which means, in some meta way, it did not happen.

At some point she asked if any Canadians were in the crowd (she was about to cover a Neil Young song and explained that some people at these shows hadn't heard of him. WTF?!). Looked at me -- "Canada or the U.S.?"

Me: "States."
Her: "Who did you vote for?"
Entire cafe stops, looks at me and laughs as I hesitate/say "ummm..." as I try to gauge the leanings of this Berlin coffeehouse with a singer-songwriter performing.

Me: "O...bama"
Her: "OK, good. I would have worried if you said Romney. He kind of seems like a d---."

Later, go to cafe and meet Kathryn to chill. She tells me to hide my Coke Zero on the way in, as this place is snooty enough to throw a fit. I do. We go upstairs, sit next to staircase. I move my bag. Suddenly the clear sound of an empty plastic bottle bouncing down the stairs echoes throughout the place.

Kathryn: "Was that you?!"
Me: "No. ... Yes."

I hid the full bottle but forgot about the empty. The empties -- they always get ya. So at some point someone from the cafe comes up and looks around. I play it cool, yo. They never suspect me. FTW!

All of this was reminiscent of another European dropping-empty-Coke-Zero-bottle-down-steps incident.

Had a laugenbrezel after the cafe. Deeeeelish. When typing that, iphone autocorrected to "Lauren Renzulli." Don't know if there's a Lauren in the CT Renzulli family, but later on I would have trouble with a revolving door. Not even kidding. Renzullis would be disappointed.

One of Kathryn's cats shredded my hand.

Went to Mauerpark for flea market. Good waffles to be eaten. Wall remnants to be seen. Souvenir purchasing to be resisted. On my way out, some busker was playing some song that sounded vaguely familiar. I kept walking, crossed the street. Heard one more verse from afar, realized it's Pete Townshend! I mean the guy was covering a Pete song ("North Country Girl"). Had it actually been Pete Townshend, I probably would have thrown up.

More stuff happened during the week, probably. Kap's friend Tina got sick and couldn't use a concert ticket, so I checked out Polica at a club that used to be a train station. I was told this was an American band. After listening to several songs and not understanding a word they were saying, I became unsure. Of course, I wasn't able to make out any syllables in any language. But between songs they introduced themselves and claimed to be from Minneapolis. Except for one of the drummers (yep -- singer, bassist, two drummers), who was from St. Paul. Home of one of the Lief Ericsson statues. And some churches, presumably.

It was a good show, though the heavy reliance on prerecorded music (mostly keyboard) was slightly off-putting. But the dual drummers were solid. Played in sync (as opposed to N'Sync, which would have been mortifying) to create powerful rhythm, but never obnoxiously so. Crowd was crazy into it. Bartender gave me a chip. Had no idea why. I took a "smoke" break. Had a good idea why.

Then Kathryn and I rescued a map. And I went to Prague.

More on those later. But I know what defenestration means.

One week in Germany, one night in Prague, one week in Germany -- three weeks after a few days in Connecticut

This pic has nothing to do with this post.

Post title almost is Steven Wright's Air Bizarre joke. Look it up.

This marks my third trip to Berlin. No touristy stuff specifically planned. After a couple weeks of crazy travel to new places, now time to spend a couple of weeks just chilling w/friends, their friends and some cool cats. I mean actual cats. Felines.

Oh, before Berlin. I bought socks. My socks were stinky. Got souvenir socks in airport. Totally worth the absurd price.

Got to Berlin, Kathryn's friend Elgin met me at airport -- after a long search for each other around a tiny airport. She did not bring a pig.

Did laundry (oh thank god ...). Worked at Kathryn's food co-op. Lamented lack of wifi options.

Went to a Starbucks, got a drink, used wifi. Waiter came over, took dishes, then took my clean napkins. I tried to protest but he was gone. Damn German efficiency.

Oh, this reminds me -- crazy guy in Estonia. At one point he reaches for a napkin at the bar to use to wipe his hands. It was crumpled up. Because I had crumpled it up. After using it to blow my nose. My slo-mo protest wasn't in time. He used it. Oops. And... ha.

Back to Starbucks... I'm sitting outside. Suddenly I feel someone flick my hair. I turn, some woman starts babbling at me in German, slowly backing away into Starbucks proper.

No idea.

Then a deaf girl comes up to me with a petition to sign. The petition -- in German and English -- explains the organization's mission to help the deaf community. I sign and give a few euros. She seems very thankful. She leaves.

About 10 minutes later another deaf girl from the same organization comes up to me. I try to explain that I just gave. She gets annoyed and keeps pointing to the petition. I sign but don't give more money. She keeps asking/pointing to donation amount column/looking annoyed. I keep trying to explain that I just gave.

Seems speaking English to a young deaf woman who probably doesn't know English ain't easy. Maybe she can lip-read German? Does me no good. Anyway, dilemma sounds a bit crass, but it was infuriating. Eventually she leaves, annoyed. I prep Google Translate for next visitor, who finally came 20 minutes later. I showed him the message (in German) that I already gave to someone from his group. He didn't seem to understand. I said (again) I gave. He waved and left.

Sigh.

Meanwhile, birds are surrounding me. Are the mad about the puffin?

A very, very funny man.

Oh, so then a woman asks if a seat at my table is open (pretty sure that's what she asked, anyway -- was in German). I motion that it is, she sits immediately to my right. She then lights up a cigarette and blows smoke in my face. Smoke, and politeness, blown (up) in my face.

BTW -- compared to many Europeans, Americans are crazy polite. I think I mentioned this before. But now I mention again. Personal space, Europe. P e r s o n a l     s p a c e.

Smoking woman leaves, another come by and starts talking. I say I don't understand, so she asks in English whether she can sit there AND whether it's OK if she smokes.

I say sure. Because she was nice enough to ask. My eyes burn, everybody smokes. Of course, it then occurs to me that the first woman also might have asked -- in German. Damn Google translate.

Oh, and the first deaf girl (not ever -- just among those I encountered that day) returns to ask for a donation and signature. I try to explain I already gave money -- to her. She seems to remember me, smiles and walks away. Either this is a series of moderately unfortunate events or some sort of bizarre sociological experiment. Either way, ultimately entertaining.

Later I'm on the U-Bahn (part of Berlin's train system). Just as the doors are closing at one station, one kid shoves his friend off the train. The doors shut before the kid can get back on. Ends up the next set of doors still were open, so the kid wasn't stranded, but it still was pretty hysterical. Stupid kids.

Legen -- wait for it ...

There's not necessarily any rhyme or reason to how the Berlin blogs will be broken up. I almost did one mega-blog just to be done with it. But no. That's not happening.

Stupid blogs.

But the next entry will feature a couple of self-proclaimed bitches talking about lazy and afraid men, while professing their distaste for Mitt Romney.

BUT... the photo selection in this blog and maybe the next several might be limited. Because the pics are on my iphone. Which currently is sitting in a bowl of rice as I try to dry it out after an/yet another unfortunate ATV incident. Crap.

The Famous Polka

This is a gate.

Famous Polka. A rockin' TMBG tune.

In high school we had a cult-y organization called the Polka Studs. It was supposed to be ironic.

We didn't really do much. Of anything. Just talked about being in the club -- and we passed down the mini Polish Flag to the next generation of Polka Studs at the end of each school year.

During my reign, however, I introduced the first anthem of the Polka Studs. That would be, of course, TMBG's Famous Polka.

Considering all this, one might think I'd choose to spend more time in Poland on this trip.

Well... back to that in a sec.

This is an alley.

Last day in Lithuania.

Train to Vilnius, the capital. I've got an afternoon flight to Berlin, so I only have an hour or two. And I'm tired. So I barely do anything.

I had taken early bus from Panevezys. Greater Vilnius scenery was meh. Got to bus station. Asked info booth person how to get to Old Town. She said walk through those doors and there you are.

Wasn't quite that simple, but close enough. Went to Old Town. Carrying luggage, was moderately painful walk. Took some pics, stopped at a cafe, got lost on way back, confused locals by asking where bus station was. Then asked for train station (it's adjacent, more or less). "Oh, train!" They point the way.

KMFDM.

As I walk away I hear them saying, "bus station? eh?"

It's the next building over! The iPhone was two feet away! I'm calling from inside the country!

Anyway...

The Old Town looked Old Town-y with some groovy architecture, but my very small sample size didn't measure up to Tallinn or Riga. Might be a great place -- I just didn't see much of it. But there's a Depeche Mode tribute concert on the calendar. And there was a DM bar (for Depeche Mode) in Tallinn. Apparently they are huge in the Baltics.

Let them stay there. (Sorry, MG)

Your own ... personal ... Baltic.

A lot of plane.

Back to station, bus to airport, plane to Berlin -- with layover in Poland. Does that count as me having been in Poland? Originally was going to train through and perhaps spend a day in Warsaw or Gdansk. Then, well, just didn't feel like it. Landed on a fly-by plan instead, with layover.

Sorry, Polka Studs. My Polka Emeritus status clearly is in jeopardy.

I did buy some Coke Zero in the airport and got a receipt that clearly identifies the establishment as being in Poland, so I'm going to say it counts.

And then to charming little Flughafen Tegel in Berlin, where the airport practices opening and closing its front door.

Or... the original ...

Land of the lost

He was a suspect early in the investigation.

After my Jewish community day outing I head back to hotel for a nap. Then back out for some food. I get to pizza place -- went there mainly to sample the Lithuanian beer everyone said I need to try -- and realize I don't have my phone. I double-check pockets, jacket, the area just outside the restaurant -- nothing. I figure I must have left it in the room. No biggie. So I eat, have the beer (it was good -- and if I remember name I'll add it here), head to grocery for some Coke Zero, head back to hotel.

Look for phone. It's not there. What the ...

I look all around room, under bed covers, nothing. I think about my routine leaving the room -- "wallet, phone, keys." I always have all of them. Wait, this time something was different. I interrupted that regularly scheduled program to grab the gloves I had bought on last day in Latvia. So in reaching to pick up gloves, maybe I dropped phone? But it's still not there.

OK, retrace. I leave hotel and follow same exact path to restaurant (it wasn't very far at all). It occurs to me that halfway through this stroll I reached into jacket pockets to remove said gloves and put them on. Maybe phone fell out then? I look around -- no phone. I go to restaurant and back, varying return trip slightly to cover more ground. No phone. Good news is this plaza (platz!) is relatively well lit. Bad news is that would also make it easier for anyone not being me to find/grab the phone.

Back to hotel. Back to room. Look all around again. It's not there. It would be a Jon move to think I lost it, only for it to be in the room. But I can't find it. Go back out, retrace steps again. Ask in restaurant if anyone has found it. Nothing. Craaaaaaap.

Back to hotel. Fire up iPad. Load the "find my iPhone" app, which also was loaded on the iPhone. iPad starts searching. Immediately finds itself -- which is nice. Some of us go through life searching for... oh, never mind. So it's looking for the iPhone -- can't find it. Says it is offline.

Which it is.

I've been keeping it on wifi-only mode for most of the trip so as not to blow up my limited international data allowance and $8.26 per minute calling plan. So it's only on wifi. Meaning for the iPad to find it, whoever has it would have to either activate cell service or bring it into a wifi zone. This if they found the thing before the hourly auto-lock kicked in. If not, they would have no way to unlock the phone and use it (for now -- they could erase the whole thing later), therefore I would have no way to find it.

But in case they do find/use it, I use the find iPhone app to a) lock the phone if it comes online, b) send a message to the phone saying it is lost and to call a number (deciding on number was a pain, as ... well ... they have my phone! finally choose Kathryn's in Berlin), and c) have iPhone and iPad beep like crazy if it is found.

But it's not finding it.

I go to front desk, as reception person if she has any ideas. She doesn't. She says that if a Lithuanian found it, it's probably long gone. Crap. Later I ask her where the police station is (I had passed it earlier, and then Yuri said POLICE in that creepy deep voice) so I could go in morning to see if anyone had turned it in. She offers to call for me. And does. And police say same thing -- Lithuanians dig technology. Dude, it's gone.

(Remember that Jack Handy quote? "If you drop your keys into a river of flowing lava, let 'em go. Because man, they're gone.")

At this point I'm almost ready to give up. I call Verizon and ask whether I should suspend service. They say I should, and do. I ask whether this would prevent the app from finding the phone, or whether it still could find it if connected to wifi. They don't know.

I go to Apple community forums and find all sorts of messages about how you can't install the find your iPhone app AFTER losing your phone. This gets community members pissy. I post a question, very clearly explaining that app already was installed and set up correctly, but the issue now is whether suspending service would allow me to still find phone over wifi.

No. No it won't.

Crap.

I reenable service. If someone starts making calls, at least I'll know someone has the phone. Meantime, I use iPad to change just about every password I can think of -- my 37 mail accounts, bank/credit cards, insurance, anything with an app on the iphone. Painfully long process.

So I go out one more time, retrace route. Still no phone. And I'm pretty sure it's not in the room because a) I've looked twice, and b) the phone would have beeped like crazy when the iPad pinged it.

Unless...

The one scenario in which it could be in the room but offline is if it locked itself after an hour. Sometimes the phone also will disconnect itself from the wifi network when locked/sleeping. If it did that, it could be in the room, but the iPad wouldn't be able to find it.

I look one more time. I completely empty luggage, looking in places that the phone absolutely could not be based on the rules of this space-time continuum as we know them. And it's not there. I have to pack for next day's trip anyway, so I go through everything in/around luggage. And in bathroom. And all of hotel room. I check under the covers for the third time. Surprise, still not there.

I imagine myself reaching for the gloves, figure maybe somehow the phone magically lodged itself between the mattresses. I lift up the mattress. Of course it's not there. I drop mattress back down and turn...

Something. Peripheral vision. Black and shiny.

No, not Sammy Davis Jr.

Lodged in tiny space between mattress and headboard.

Hello, iPhone.

It's locked. And not on wifi.

Ha.

It would be a total Jon thing to think he lost the phone ...

Can also do a remote wipe. Toilet joke?

I unlock it. It reconnects to wifi. And starts beeping like crazy. And displays "phone is lost -- call this number" message. Then the iPad starts beeping, like "I found it, I found it!" Dude, it was like two feet away from you the whole damn time! Nice work on that, iPad.

Mega-relieved. Of course, now I have to update all of my passwords on the iPhone to match the ones on the iPad. Each time I do, the iPad informs me that "the iPhone has now accessed X account." Kind of funny/creepy. After four or five of these, I finally shut the app down.

Then I go to lobby to tell reception that I found the phone. She's not there (it's like 1:30 a.m. at this point), so I turn around and head back to room. Then I hear a voice say, "hello?!" I freakin' jump. Scared the heck out of me. Pretty funny. Then I tell her about fines for doing stupid things, tell her I owe a quarter, hold up phone. She's happy I found it. And sorry for the coronary.

I can blame all this on losing my Cubs glove. I wouldn't have bought new gloves, meaning Cubs gloves already would have been in my jacket pocket rather than bag like new ones were, meaning I wouldn't have interrupted my routine and dropped the phone.

Curse of the Cubbies. Damn Bartman.

Homeland insecurity

The Don GK.

OK, title really doesn't apply. Just felt like doing a little play on words. Like always.

So, final (full) day in Panevezys, Lithuania. I had chatted with Genady Kofman, the head of the local Jewish community center, the night before (we also had exchanged emails earlier). We set up a time for me to come by and chat. A week or so before coming to Panevezys, it occurred to be that there might be some local resources to take advantage of while here re: family history. Found some names online -- one American-based expert told me to contact Genady, so I did. He said sure, come on over. So I did.

Very nice 60-something man. Invites me in to office, which is carved out of a school for troubled kids. Which he tells me multiple times. Clearly is wary of these kids. Funny.

He says, "So what is the problem?" I found this funny. I don't know why. No problem -- just found out I have family from here, wanted to know where to go in town/what to see, etc.

He offers me tea. He loads a spreadsheet of some records, finds people who might have been brothers and sisters of my great-great-great (and also one more great, perhaps) grandparents, but the last name is slightly different and he doesn't really have good record of what happened to them. Also, the records are from a little after my direct lineage folk left -- but still definitely the same era.

He tells me there is another person who has older and better records of people from Panevezys. This person lives in Atlanta.

Of course.

Anyway, he shows me a video on life in the town as it was in the early part of the 1900s (the family members I found would have left in the 1880s), some key figures in the community and what those buildings look like today. It's clear that it was a thriving/bustling community way back when.

He also shows me books which have some pretty amazing photographs from that era, plus commentary on the rebuilding of the community years after it was decimated by Germans and Soviets. Mr. Kofman himself, who was an officer in Soviet Army stationed here, figures prominently in that rebuilding.

Jews made up nearly 40 percent of the population of this town before World War II. Then the Holocaust. Now there are about 100 Jews here, and only 10,000 in all of the Baltics.

Anyway, they offer me more tea. I accept. There are no bags. So ... um ... I just dump tea into the cup and try not to swallow leaves. Next time around he has some lady make me tea using the proper steeping dishware thingy. Oops. I really had no idea.

Also provides snacks. Very welcoming.

I ask if there's anywhere else I should go -- he basically tells me to chill out and wait, that he's going to take me on a tour.

Very, very welcoming.

Gravestone remains.

While I wait, it's interesting to watch him work. Various people come in, some show him bills an other documents, while others take dictation of what they should say to someone or other. I begin to think that Genady is the Godfather of this community. He's pulling strings, dishing out backbone. He even tried to marry me off to some woman while I was there.

At one point he says to one of the others that spreadsheets are the plan. For what? For women to clap! HAHA. All laugh, including the women.

I have no idea.

Anyway, we head out in his clunky car. On the way out of the community center, I almost followed him into a toilet. Just sayin'.

It's raining, so we go somewhere, he tells me -- in limited English -- what it is, I hop out, take picture, get back in, we keep going.

Many of the sites are former synagogues which now are random old buildings. Tire shop, office, beat-up/empty -- kind of sad. Then we go to a park which used to be the Jewish cemetery.

It was desecrated -- first closed, then headstones torn up and used for supplies. Soviets eventually turned it into a park, using the headstones as a wall around the park. Genady led efforts for the stones to be removed and instead used in a lovely memorial he built, which actually includes stones from those headstones. The park also was renamed to Memorial Park (or something like -- translation). Thousands are buried here. Genady ensured they would be honored.

Meanwhile, swastika or two can be seen there.

These Europe trips can be downers, yo!

Back at community center, he asks me how many Jews are in the U.S. I didn't know. Now I think he's making fun of me to his friend. Oops. Later he would ask what size congregation I belong to. I say I used to be in one (Willimantic!) but not at the moment. He asks my rabbi's name. I tell him -- the name of my rabbi from 24 years ago. He asks if he has a website. No idea.

He's totally questioning my creds.

Anyway, he sends me back out with Yuri for a walk around town. Yuri is 72. And he looks it, if not older. Which actually makes me feel good about my parents looking/acting much younger than that ballpark.

I probably have family buried here. Wild.

Yuri speaks no English. Communicating is fun. But it's a nice walk. He manages to point out some key spots, some of which Genady already had shown me. At one point he points out a street, saying the name and then saying ... "st... stras?"

I say, "Strasse? Ya, strasse." (German for street)

He says, "Speak Deutsch?!"

I say no, not really. So close. But from then on, any strasse or platz (plaza) is easy to identify. Ends up he doesn't really speak German, either.

So he points out all of these sites. Then a VW drives by. I point and say, "Volkswagen!" He laughs. "Volkswagen." Laughs again.

Incidentally, Jason Duval -- there are a lot of VWs in Iceland. You totally could open up a satellite shop there.

We wander around town, walk by police station (Yuri says in a creepy/disturbing voice, "POLICE! POLICE!"), then Yuri takes me back to park/cemetery and to more former synagogues. The compare/contrast of early 1900s to today is startling. But I already wrote about that. Still, the community continues to try to reclaim and restore some of these properties.

Wacky Yuri. Good guy.

Eventually we get back to community center, where there is food awaiting (potatoes and such). Very, very welcoming. Then a few of us do a shot of vodka. Hilarious.

I eat, we chat as much as I'm able (I am able to share some English words for things -- like "shot" of vodka), I try to help with dishes but they refuse, I thank him over and over, pledge to venture to Atlanta (good timing -- could have known before the Turner trips ... and, you know, while I still had a job), and I make a donation to the center.

Regardless of my own experience there, Genady has done amazing things with this community -- organizing, restoring, protecting, etc. Really, rebuilding. Good for him. Happy to help -- even as he joked (I think) about it not being good that people gave me his contact info.

As for me, it was interesting to be there -- and cool that we found at least some mention of potential family members. Not a great opportunity for reconnection, as practically all of the Jews are long gone from there anyway. Still worth the trip -- and, depending on what one finds in Atlanta, maybe a return. Maybe.

They have Coke Zero.

Of course, so does Atlanta.

Anvilania

Jenga!

Lithuania. My family tree apparently reaches back here. I used to think it was Latvia and Estonia ... (oh, just read intros to last two posts).

I bus to Panevezys, which is the fourth or fifth-largest city in the country. Last year it hosted part of the Eurobasket tournament. But beyond events like that, I'm told that there isn't a lot of reason for tourists to come to this town. And that not many Americans come through. But this is where some of my family is from, so there I go, yo!

I get off the bus, find a cab, ask for ride to hotel. Driver tells me it's right around the corner, up the hill, easy walk. Get out of cab.

Nice of her -- but if I were her, I absolutely would have driven me the few hundred yards, just to be funny. And collect a fare.

Anyway, I get to hotel. There's some sort of medical building right next door, so Pro & Kerry, stop going on about lack of health care! No worries in Riga or Tallinn, either. So I check in to hotel, and later I find out that at least for the first two nights, I am the only one staying there. Awkward. Like my every move (or really, lack thereof) is watched.

The woman at reception tells me that breakfast is from 8 to 11. Then she asks me when I will eat. Um... Between 8 and 11? Is this a comprehension quiz? Lo siento, no comprendo?

She clarifies that she needs a more exact time to tell the food guy so he's not waiting around all morning -- which made more sense once I learned I was the only person in the hotel.

I go to pub downstairs, order a beer. Any beer. This confuses the bartender (who also turned out to be the food dude needing to know when I was going to eat). But he gives me beer. Then I wander for a minute, looking at their game shelf. Turn around to see that I had been blocking the path of these two kids -- both around 20ish, probably -- playing darts. Lo siento!

They were nice enough not to spear me with darts -- and nice enough to invite me to play. (There was a dart with an American Flag thingy - what do you call the wings? - ... USA!). And drink with them/hang out. And play Jenga (I didn't lose). And play some card game I had never heard of (I won). And talk about cultural differences. And learn how to say ridiculous things in Lithuanian.

Jewish Ghetto memorial.

They ask why I'm there -- I tell them the whole family tree thing. Then I say, "it was easier 20-something years ago, as I could just say I was half Soviet." They didn't exactly love that joke. Funny, the more I travel in these countries -- and later in Prague -- the more ridiculous the USSR seems. It'd be like the U.S. occupying/ruling Mexico and ... um ... maybe some other adjacent countries. OK, this comparison went nowhere. Could have included Canada, but c'mon ...

Anyway, back to bar. These guys were out of cigarettes. They decided to ask some chica at next table for some. The loser in Jenga was supposed to ask. But when Mantas (one of the aforementioned locals) didn't really want to, I got up and did. I asked table, one girl said yes, she could spare some, just as her boyfriend said no. She offered, I went to take some, the boyfriend -- scrambling to regain dominance -- says, "just one." I laugh, take one. In the immortal words of Matt Romig, "I wanted to fight him."

On the way out he turns and looks at me. I raise a glass and say, "cheers - have a good night!" He doesn't really know what to do at that point. He leaves. I win.

People here smoke. A lot. I smoked along a bit. No worries -- Coke Zero is my only addiction. Cigarettes ... meh. Beer there ... good.

The guys -- both college students -- think I'm around 27. Bless 'em. Good guys -- made for a fun evening.

Back upstairs to my private hotel. To sleep.

I wandered around town the next day, my first full day in town. Most places were closed but I found a couple of sights to check out following day. I skipped the sushi restaurant -- despite hotties in window -- for more traditional fare across the street. There might have been potatoes involved.

Fried bread. Yum. Windmill. Rad.

Really, just about everything here -- save for grocery and some restaurants -- is closed on Sunday. Lots of stuff closed in winter in general. But the grocery store has Coke Zero. Lots of it. And bananas. Among other things.

This town. It's fine/perfectly nice, but I'm not feeling any real connection to it. It's a little like Willimantic, but bigger. And much sketchier, but with less history of mass slaughter. Wait, I might have that backward.

But I will see far more of it the following day, with more context. So stay tuned.

Soccer is on tv. It is not the KHL.

Oh, laundry is becoming an issue. Will leave it at that.