Travel Haikus

Preface

As our bus crept out of the exotic city of Granada, Spain early on a Sunday morning, spirits were low. Rain pounded on the windows of the lonely blue-gray airport shuttle, running down the windows and leaving tear-like stains in its path. Arms were tired and sore from the strain of carrying our oversized rolling luggage up and down the staircases of the metro system. Sweat rolled down my cheeks from the three jackets, heavy sweater, and two scarves I was wearing to avoid tipping my checked baggage over the unusually low 15-kilo weight limit militarily enforced by Ryan Air (most normal airlines allow up to 23 kilos--Ryan Air charges 20 euros for every kilo over 15). And worst of all, we were forced to leave Rick behind.

Perhaps you are familiar with Rick. His dignified graying hair and friendly smile were a comfort to us during our sometimes disorienting trip through Spain. His cheesy sense of humour raised our spirits in the face of desperation, despair, and looming foreign historical buildings that we knew absolutely nothing about. Yes, indeed--I am speaking of the one and only travel-guide book writer, Rick Steves. If you have ever experienced the joy of a trip with Rick, you will understand our utter devastation at having to leave him behind in order to consolidate our luggage and comply with Ryan Air weight limits. A trip with Rick is truly an unforgettable one, and our last night was commemorated with a small ceremony before leaving him at the Oasis Backpacker's Hostel in Granada. R.I.P., Rick--and with that, we bid our adieus. 

As we left on the bus, the mood was solemn. None of us could quite get the thought of Rick out of our heads. But, as with most unfortunate events, out of this was born something good--inspiration. In honor of our luckless friend, we decided to compose a haiku. Upon which the first of a series of travel haikus was born.

I hope you will enjoy this collection of terribly cheesy and poorly written poetry. Much thought, effort, and love was invested in each and every haiku (average composition time of 2 minutes), and each contains a unique flair. They were created in airports, on buses, and...well, in airports and on buses. The poetry is written in both German and English, but an English translation has been included with each German haiku in order to facilitate the reading process for our non-German-speaking audience. We hope that our poetry will enrich and entertain you....and most importantly, inspire you to never, ever fly Ryan Air.

Sincerely,

Ann Marie Weber (editor-in-chief)

Rick Haiku

So viel zusammen, (Translation: Together so much,

Warum muss ich dich lassen? Why must I leave you?

Oh Rick, du fehlst mir. Oh Rick, I miss you.)

RyanAir Haiku

Ryan, we hate you.

Ann looks like an Eskimo.

Ry'n, never again.

Sainsbury's Haiku (Amazing grocery store in London)

Sainsbury's really rocks.

What a grocery store should be.

Its soup was the best.

Innsbruck Haiku

Innsbruck mein Heimat (Translation: Innsbruck my home

Sehnsucht auf deinen Bergen Longing for your mountains

ie hab di viel Lieb. I love you a lot.)

Barcelona: First Impressions

From the second I stepped off the airport bus into the peaceful Plaza de Catalunya here in Barcelona, Spain, I´ve felt truly on vacation. With its wide streets and steady breeze from the not-so-far-away ocean, Barcelona is a vacationer´s paradise. Excited to find myself once again in a Spanish-speaking country and anxious to try out my rusty language skills, I looked immediately to the street signs to see how much I could decipher. Alas, they were completely foreign--Catalán, rather than Spanish, is the ruling language in this area. In spite of this minor setback, however, I proceeded pig-headedly to try to use my Spanish in whatever basic transactions I could. I was relatively successful (pretty much everyone speaks Spanish as well as Catalán here)--except for my failure to adapt my Spanish for the particular accent here in Spain, making me practically incomprehensible to the local population. Yesterday in a convenience store, I attempted to ask the cashier what kinds of candies were considered traditional ¨Spanish¨ candies. Unfortunately, however, our lovely friend behind the counter was having difficulty understanding my use of the word ¨dulces¨ (¨candies¨). ¨Luces?¨ she asked with a confused face. ¨No, dulces--para comer!¨I responded. Finally, after much sign language and use of the English word "candies", we had a breakthrough. ¨Ohhh...dulthes!¨ she replied. Upon which I was reminded that, yes, indeed....I am in Esthpaña...

Orientierungslos

Sitting on a crystal couch at the Swarovski "Kristallwelt" just outside of Innsbruck

Ok, so I apologize for my lack of diligence on this blog...but rarer posts = more cherished posts, right? Or at least that's how I've tried to justify my lack of updates to myself...but I promise to be better in the future (late New Year's resolution?).

In any case, things are starting to pick up here in Austria. The semester students arrived last weekend, increasing the Notre Dame population here from eight to twenty-two. It was great to see some familiar faces in the new arrivals, but also pretty funny to watch them as they settled in, as I was reminded of my beginnings in Austria. I was trying to think of a good word to describe the feeling of those first few months and a new German term I learned this weekend from a friend of mine came to mind: "Orientierungslos"--which technically translated means "disoriented", but literally translated means "without orientation". Ok, so maybe to any other normal person those two definitions would seem like the same thing...but somehow there seems to be a nuanced difference to me...

But as I thought about this concept of being "Orientierungslos", I started to realize how much I have begun to gain my bearings in Innsbruck. Although I still have a long way to go in terms of the language, speaking German in everyday life is starting to become more natural and less intimidating. I'm developing a real fondness for the region of Tirol and the way of life here. A friend of mine described it quite well: "Coming here is almost like going back in time a little bit," she said, "...it's almost as if...as if they were a country secretly wishing for the Emperor back." And before the Austrians reading this blog protest loudly, I have to defend this impression a little bit by saying that this is not a criticism of Austria--on the contrary, it's a kind of compliment. Part of the charm and beauty of Austria is the strong presence of tradition here--an element which makes it somehow very warm and welcoming. Traditions that connect people to the past and to their heritage, and that teach you how to conduct yourself with honor. Traditions that give you roots--and an orientation. And this is probably what has made me love Tirol the most: in the midst of those first few months of "Orientierungslos"ness, I somehow managed to find a re-orientation in the way of life here. And that, I believe, has made all the difference.