Friday

Because the hotel dropped the ball on preparing breakfast, I bought a Marzipantasche at a nearby bakery.  I ordered in German and the cashier did not respond in English.  +1.

By the time I walk back to the hotel, however, management is finally bringing food out.  We have rolls, cheese, meat, tomatoes, and cucumbers.  Germans are really into cucumbers, apparently.  While we eat, we watch Good Morning Deutschland, hosted by a spiky-haired Turkish woman and an Indian man with an outrageous pompadour.  The musical act is a band called "Boy."  I had seen posters for them around the city (on the subject of music, apparently Lenny Kravitz and the Red Hot Chili Peppers are coming to Hamburg as well).  Interspersed with the talk show are clips describing our heightened terror warning and Obama's latest infusion of cash.  Our instructor says that Obama hopes for a Wirtschaftswunder (an economic miracle).  We'll need a miracle indeed.

Then it's onto the bus again.  We drive around the St. Pauli neighborhood, home to the Reeperbahn (Hamburg's red light district), where the Beatles got their start.

This World War II-era anti-aircraft tower is now home to a club called "Dirty and Dangerous."  Go figure.

 We first visit a memorial for the victims of Hamburg's firebombing in the bombed-out ruins of St. Nikolai's Church.  In 1943, the Soviet Union was bearing the brunt of the Nazi war machine, and Stalin was pleading with the Allies to open a second front.  The Allied invasion of France was still 11 months away, but the western Allies did have lots and lots of air power...

So during the unusually hot and dry week of July 25-August 3, 1943, Hamburg was attacked by 3,000 British and American bombers.  The Allied aircraft jettisoned shredded tinfoil, confusing German radar and rendering an enemy response impotent.  Targeting the entire city, but primarily Hamburg's oil refineries and munitions factories, the Allied aircraft unloaded hundreds of thousands of tons of incendiary bombs on Hamburg, using St. Nikolai's spire as an aiming point.  The attack created a firestorm of 1,500 degrees Fahrenheit that rose 1,500 feet into the sky.  The pages of burned books traveled as far as Lübeck.  People on the street were sucked into the flames by 150 mile-an-hour winds.  Those in underground air raid shelters were baked alive.  The asphalt turned molten.  By the end of the campaign, the city was practically destroyed, and 40,000 Hamburgers were dead.

Well then, onto a lighter subject.  We then travel to the Kunsthalle, Hamburg's art museum.  The Kunsthalle was built after the war with generous donations.  It is one of the best galleries I have visited, and it is my favorite part of the Hamburg tour.

Caspar David Friedrich

This painting touches on the futility of man's efforts against the forces of nature.

Seafood

Picasso

Edvard Munch

Legos?

That baby is freaking me out.

Hamburg Ink

This one reminds me of "Mack the Knife," from the Threepenny Opera.  Or Jack the Ripper.  Or both.  Either way, George Grosz needs to get some help.

This man needs no introduction.

Keith observed that the "eyeball" is the main feature that allows us to identify this as a human figure.  Otherwise, we are just trying to make sense of a bunch of shapes -- and we interpret it to be a person.

Then it's lunch and onto the bus again.

German food may not be Italian food.  But it's still pretty good.

 We now drive two hours north to Flensburg, a large town just 45 minutes from the Danish border.  On the way, we watch a film called The Art of Crying which Thorsten says will "prepare us" for the region we are visiting.  The film is a horribly depressing story about a family with an abusive, incestuous father living in the Danish boonies.  I am beginning to notice a trend in the films we are watching.  And of course, what drive through Germany would be complete without getting buzzed by the Luftwaffe?

We arrive at the Duborg School around 2 p.m.  This is a Danish school in Germany.  As northern Germany has a large Danish minority and southern Denmark has a large German minority, the two governments have an agreement allowing each other to fund schools in each others' countries.  We are given a tour by some of the students.  The Duborg School contrasts sharply with my high school.  Here, students take 4-hour analytical tests rather than multiple choice or true/false quizzes.  They have no electives but gain an excellent grounding in basic materials such as mathematics, geography, and history.  There is no detention (and no stupid American zero tolerance policies), and thus they play some nice pranks.  There are few extracurricular activities as we know them -- the school day ends at the bell.  If someone wants to be on, say, a soccer team, they will join a club in town rather than a school team.  Students are very independent -- sometimes they will move to an apartment in Flensburg by themselves in order to be closer to school.  What struck me most, however, is that many recent graduates choose to travel or work for a few years before continuing their education.  Many American parents would disown, or at least lose a great deal of respect for their children, if they delayed or ruled out higher education.  

The rival school.  Formerly Adolf Hitler High.  Not kidding.

I wish my high school had this view.

I don't know what this signifies.  Keith, who taught in the U.S. for a while, says that in Philadelphia this means that you can buy drugs here.

This is the Flensburg police station.  During World War II, it served as a Gestapo headquarters.  As the Allies closed in, many high rankings Nazis such as Himmler and Dönitz fled to Flensburg.  It was here that many SS and Gestapo men were issued false papers and civilian clothes to facilitate their disappearance.  Many did flee, but some remained in the Flensburg area.  Thorsten knew someone who went to school in Flensburg after the war, and said that she always complained that her teachers were "such Nazis."

We then depart Flensburg for Sønderborg, in southern Denmark.

The border region is literally covered in windmills.  Here we see a blade being readied for transportation.

Crossing a river into Sønderborg.

 We check into our hostel and walk into town for dinner.  Sønderborg is Thorsten's hometown, and we stop by his school on the way.

Small-town Denmark

 We are treated to a beer-tasting at a local brewery and restaurant owned by a German immigrant (also named Thorsten).  The beers, which all use Thorsten's own recipes, are all flavorful and excellent.

Pilsner

A nutty Dunkel

Wheat beer, with strong banana flavorings

This one, called "Ringrunner," was my favorite.  Some said it tasted like butter; I thought it tasted like pretzels.

 After the beer tasting, our whole class walks (some staggering slightly) upstairs and dine on mackerel and potatoes.  I order a Ringrunner to go with my fish.  Danish Thorsten leaves in the middle of dinner to visit his mom.  German Thorsten puts on his leather jacket and motorcycle helmet and rides off into the sunset.

Thorsten and Thorsten

Me with the brewing equipment

 After dinner we look for a good bar, but most are full of middle age Danes.  And the whole town is actually pretty dead, especially for a Friday night.  But then again, we are in a small town in provincial Denmark.  So, I go back to Thorsten's brewery with a few other people, order a Dunkel, and enjoy my complementary beer blanket.

That warm fuzzy feeling that only a beer, a blanket, and a little table plant can provide.