Part 38: ALWAYS READ the small print...
Shopping in Europe (OK girls. You knew I´d get around to this much loved travel activity at some point) is indeed a "pandoric" affair: WHEEEE!!!
Shoes, girls! Shoes!
And dresses...and leather jackets.
Boots! Jesus, yes! Boots!
Exotic stuff. Expensive stuff. Cheap stuff. Bargains! A Continent of "flea" markets!
Or?
You can mortgage your house and hit the major Euro (haute) fashion houses just to look "super-geil" (cool) if only for a (fashion) half-hour!
But...back to Earth, my OWN shopping sprees usually revolve around every day necessities: Cans of Soup. An onion. Basmati rice. Milk, coffee, beer & smokes!
I know. It´s (shoppingly) pitiful.
OK. I ocassionally spring for a new guitar.
...Biggest problem for THIS "sad sap", however, (on the road) is that I´m an impatient shopper; a typical guy.
I never shop for food unless I´m starving, or "jones-ing" for a brew? -only after a 3 day enforced drought (due to penury)...whereby it´s: "Just gimme that frickin´ 6 pack. I´m dying, here!"
-slapping cash on the counter: "Make it snappy, Happy!"
So it will come as NO surprise to "y´all" that when I think I´ve bought a slab of beef, it´s pork...or worse: Soy-tofu! And TWICE on this memorable (sic) Euro-trip I´ve hiked TWO FRICKIN MILES (...AND BACK) to the nearest brew outlet only to find I`ve purchased alcohol-FREE suds, or something called "Radner" (Radler?) which is Pilsner beer mixed with lime juice or god knows what?
Suicidal moments, dear ones, I can tell you.
Cos', like (dude!?) who the frick reads the labels, especially ones IN German, where every label-posted word is TEN syllables long?
"FURSTEN-BRACKEN-BOMISCHES-LÖWEN-
YOUR-BRAU-ROTHAUS-GANTER-BITBURGER-
CITY-BABY-STEIN!"
(alkohol frei)
I mean!?... C´mon!...?
And oddly (lol), these 2 beer purchase mishaps BOTH happened (one in Summer, one in Winter) whilst residing in the South of Germany in Baden-Wurttemberg; actually, the Schwarzwald (Black Forest), a guest of my old Roman Holiday friend, St. Thomas (von Freiburg), who had not so much a "Schloss" (castle or mansion) but almost a Ski Lodge affair with many rooms be-decked with hunting trophies...taxi-dermied to almost "born-again Christian" living excellence!... And thank god my OWN room in this somewhat vast hospice had it´s own bathroom as I would - middle of the night/needing a pee - never have found my way back to my sleeping post.
St. Thomas, these days, incidentally, long since "hied" from a proletarian/bohemian existence...and, to re-iterate, I had known him 7 years previous, in my Roman Holiday (Veni, Vidi, I CRASHED!) days; then, a stalwart of the Freiburg I. Breisgau/Atlantic bar (which still exists), habituee.
Recalled by circumstances/family obligations to his roots (the Schwarzwald), he was still lean, tall (6`- 4"), with scraggy black hair, be-spectackled (test-tackled?) like a dotty professor...and now the "Laird" of his family´s domain; forever attired in flannel shirt, Jodpur pants, riding boots (he stabled a dozen horses). A Hunter! And ever, EVER accompanied by 2 Great Dame hounds; guns, muskets, crossbows decorating his den/study....sharp of wit, quick of humour, though he was a "mensch" who would rarely explode with laughter.
His style was...deadpan.
A huge drinker, of course. Beer, booze. An afficionado of gentle wines; cigars, always!
Anyhow, (French Horns resounding) this epitome of a German hunting lodge was - though in need of a serious dusting/cobwebs in all the right places, not just in the wine cellar - was not without touches of antiquity, evident in St. Thomas´s array of ancestral portraits that punctuated one´s progress on the emphatically solid, grand oak (?) staircase that one ascended-descended twix sleep and waking activity.
About a dozen, if my memory serves me. All ornately framed of course. Some painted by worthy "kunstlers"; others, kind´a amateurish, least ways to MY eyes.
Subject with his horse.
Subject with hunting dogs.
One, seated, holding a bible/tome.
A parade of fashion history, too.
Knee britches. Thigh-high riding boots (with spurs). A three cornered hat, etc., etc. And some of these "snaps" in Oils were reasonably antique; the earliest dated 1725.
One evening, after a select gathering had dined on a spit of recently killed wild boar and some choice clarets, post brandy-cigars, St. Thomas and I viewed this gallery of "dead souls", relaxed (stoned?), and in our cups.
I remark that one of the earliest portrait subject reminded me of Voltaire...?
St.T: "The family knew him, of course."
Me: "Who?"
St.T: ""Voltaire."
ME: "You don´t say?" -my mouth agape, no doubt.
"Indeed:" he continued, dryly, "I believe there´s a picture...in the hallway, by your sleeping quarters." -at which point, the hour being late, he nodded reverently and bade me "good night" and "sleep well", he and his faithful hounds retiring to his den/study.
So, quite indolent from the evening´s sumptuous fare and convivial activity, the other dinner guests having long since departed or posted to their beds, I make for my own, yet resolve to keep my mental "porch light" on so as to note "The Voltaire" in the small corridor leading to my guest room... And am in no way surprised to discover it not ten feet from my very door.
Silly me, for not noticing it before...!
It was a smallish picture. 2 feet by 18 inches, or thereabouts. Gold-gilt edged, ornate frame, illuminated quite softly by an overhead, sunk-ceiling spot light.
Quite respectable and a perfect representation in every way.
Black & White, of course.
The subject, Voltaire (looking uncannily like St. Thomas) in full 18th century regalia, leaning on the hood of a Mercedez-Benz convertible...yakking into a Blackberry Cell phone.
c 2011. davedelacroix/our man in europe/Offenburg-germany
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