It Is What It Is Says The Traveller

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  Leipzig, Saxony, Germany
Saturday, May 22, 2010

I wake early and make sure I'm packed and downstairs in good time. While the offer was made last night about a lift I don’t want to hold things up and want to be ready to go when Ulla does, secretly wondering if it was all made up.

But my secret fears were empty. The ride still stands, Ulla is feeling much better today, aided by the appearance of the most beautiful blue sky. So much better than yesterday is the sun that we both decide to head back into Old town just to get better photos of the buildings. I bring the uke along as well and hope to make a few.

I have no real luck. While the street are full of tourists it appears I need to be wearing a suit of armour and offering pictures or playing classical violin with a sad and hungry dog at my feet to stir the crowd. The change I do get is from a fellow busker – an amazing young opera singer who slowly moved down the street to hear me better. Here you do not need a permit to perform, but must move after fifteen minutes of playing. It’s like an open mic night every ten paces. The girl has an amazing voice and I cannot take her money. She closes my hand around the coin and wishes me all the best before disappearing into the crowd.

We hit the road about 11, all the bits fitting perfectly in the compact car. The navigator is plugged in and starts speaking German before we even start the car.

Once out of the city we begin to pass acres and acres of yellow flowers, covering the field in a blanket. These are apparently quite common in Germany, but I have only ever seen these once in Australia – on the way to Ararat, getting lost, bogged, rained on and pulled out of a large crater with a tractor. Another adventure for another time.

Along the way we Ulla mentions her travels, having found a place with her name and stopping to take photos, much to the disgust of the Navigator. You can set it to Not Taking Highways to get a better route, but this sometimes leads you in the wrong direction on one way streets and around corners that don’t actually exists. When you change you mind and decided not to take the route plotted on the map, the navigator gets quite upset and lets you know. The town was worth it though, I nice peaceful place with her name in big letters out the front – who could complain. In Australia there is Mullumulla, which is close, and Ulla remembers finding it during here travels of my home country, another traveler having mentioned it on a whim.

Eventually we reach the town of Meisse, known for its porcelain and church. Passing on the former, we head for the church and the lookout, which just so happens to be at the top of a huge flight of stairs. I lose count, and Ulla says it’s not as bad as other places she has see so far, one such church having 573 steps to get up before the front door. I hope the view was worth it.

The lookout from this church IS worth it. From the ground on top of the hill you can see across the whole town – a sea of terracotta rooms that is not apparent at first as it’s dotted with others. This is ever so much more apparent later on through our way down again. Through the main gate and we find a couple having a wedding in the courtyard, surrounded by fifty family and friends, tormentingly loud and chasing kids included. The photographer does then doesn’t want them in the photo.

The courtyard is flanked by three different buildings – two of which are churches, the third a part of the factory that once stood. Under our feet sit the remains of one of the kiln for the porcelain, the king wanting to have everything happening in the one vicinity. Only the base of the large brick structures remain, and these are fenced off rather haphazardly, the said loud children rushing in about with not considering the ensuing broken ankles as they climb.

Inside to another courtyard we find the walk up the tower more expensive than it may be worth, so we find ourselves another wicked viewing platform of the city and make our way through the building, taking photos and doing our best to avoid the wedding party. In one room is a small collection of prayers, one of which Ulla translates for me

It is Absurdity says the rationality,
It is what it is says the love
It is Unluck says the prediction.
It is no pain says the fear.
It is hopeless says the insight.
It is what it is says the love.
It is laughable says the pride.
It is careless says the attention.
It is impossible says the experience.
It is what it is says the love.

Absolute magic.

On the way back down the hill Ulla gets a call from Tilli, the friend she plans to find in Leipzig. He’s invited us to a gig that afternoon and evening, but as we stopped a Miesse there may be little time to see any of it. Back on the road!

As we go I keep taking photos of the countryside, amazed at the amount of green. Europe isn’t green in my mind; it’s white and a romantic bleak, aided by the time spent in the Netherlands of winter. The change is so very different; I still do not think Australians appreciate our warmer months as much because our cold is not like that of Europe. As I watch the countryside me eyelids get heaving, and I begin zoning in and out as we get closer to Leipzig. When we arrive I ask Ulla if she noticed, to which she was quite surprised - apparently I can carry a conversation on autopilot quite convincingly.

Tilli’s apartment block is surrounded by empty buildings – windows smashed and boarded up, full of dirt and ghosts. By comparison their building is a lighter brick and stands out on the street like some sort of beacon.

As we climb the stairs we are met by Gemma, Amy and Dale on their way out to be good proper tourists and see some sights. After expecting German the English accents throw me a bit. The upstairs door is already open, left so by the said English. Behind the glass is the well built be-speckled face and body of Tilli, smiling as we enter and greeting Ulla like an old friend. Also coming up behind him is Tim, who is all cheeky grins that remind me of Bo of Arboga, but not as archaic. A quick tour of the house sees it much like European share houses – freaking amazing! – before we’re in the kitchen with Tilli unveiling the plan for tonight. It is Tim’s birthday; we picked a good night to come, as there is to be a small-to-large celebration. So the night begins with shopping for said bbq, before attending said bbq and eating and drinking at said bbq. I am a little amazed how much beer we get through as a group. Most of the night is centered around the kitchen and balcony, talking to each of the housemates along with sharing awkward silences and situations and taking photographs with all the new arrivals whom only Tim seems to know. Dale and Amy stick around for the night as well, both visiting from Switzerland. Amy met Gemma back home, discovering later on they’d both gone to the same schools and places but never actually met when they were younger. Dale is also from the same hometown, but has been living and studying in France for about a year. He was visiting Amy in Switzerland, the country she is currently calling home, and they both thought they head up to Germany. The concept of moving between countries for a few days still makes the mind boggle, and when I mention this they note I have been doing just that for nearly five months now, how can I not be used to it. Amy invites me to her Eurovision party over the special weekend, as I’ll be in Prague I think about it, still having no concept of distance.

In case I could not tell from the blasting music upon entry, or the posters adorning the walls of his room, Tim is a massive Kiss fan. In fact all four of them are seeing Kiss on Tuesday, I’m reminded of the days in Muso Network back in Dandenong – youth music committee with very strong ties to hair metal and bands of the like. The worker there joined as a young seventeen year with dreams of music superstardom – even sleeping in the facility to record an album when the place was closed and dark. He’s now married an artist and lives on the other side f town, working for an event management group as pat of the local council. Dreams of music superstardom have been superceded by simple urges to keep playing music and having fun.

Tim plays a little guitar and we jam a little, but sadly I do not know any Kiss on uke, though Oasis has a lovely sound to it acoustically. Playing music quickly turns to listening music, with Tim singing along to Kiss at the top of his voice, Tilli joining in from the other room.

The last few hours I spend awandering through the conversation half asleep, much to the amusement of Amy and Dale, continuing to ask questions and talking around me. Tea does nothing to help, Gemma asking what I think I’m doing drinking tea when there is beer still to be consumed. Eventually I’m asleep on the floor with a few of the others before actually calling it a night. I’ve been lucky enough to have the room of the fifth housemate, who is currently out of the country. I fold out her couch and fall deep asleep, so lucky to have met such inviting people.

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