Letter from France 9

 

September 10, 1989 - 1897 world's 1st drunk driving conviction in London

 

Dear Folks,

 

Well, I'm back in the land of 30% comprehension. After seven weeks of travel, two continents, six countries (never made it to Berkeley), and most known methods of transportation, I am finally back in front of the Mac and can write again.

 

Châlons is as I remember it. The canal happily gurgles as I meander past, the shopkeepers still pretend to not understand my simplest request, and I spend a lot of time at the school trying to look either busy or important. Dorothée seems to have an extra twinkle in her eye as we both tear into our croissants. The twinkle could be a reflection from her Nice vacation tan, bad studio lighting, or maybe she's glad to see me.

 

From San Francisco, I made a connecting flight at New York's JFK airport. That flight originated in JFK, then flew to Paris, and ended in Jerusalem. The game became to see who were the pushiest people in line to get boarding passes. Too close to call, though, and I am content to allow a three-way tie between New Yorkers, Parisians, and Israelis. Somehow, we all managed to get on the plane before it took off, regardless of who received a boarding pass first.

 

A day in Paris, and then the night train to Berlin. The weather was great, and I spent eleven days interviewing and videotaping Karl-Heinz Ziethen and the just-donated juggling collection to the IJA. Karl-Heinz was a gracious host, especially since he was putting up both Andrew Allen and me in his apartment. I am putting myself up for a medal. I don't know if it's harder to host a Berliner for eleven days, or be a guest in a somewhat-cramped apartment for eleven days. I do know it's a lot longer than the normal three-day visits I am used to when traveling. There’s something mildly unnerving about one’s host hopping over you in the middle of the night in the hallway as he headed to the bathroom for a late-night pee.

 

One day I decided to take a break from western culture and go to East Berlin. In retrospect, it was a great choice. Crossed over with another juggler from Berlin, so had a German tour guide. I thought of the adventure on the other side of the Iron Curtain as a lean version of Disneyland and made the two of us wait in line for bread and all the usual touristy stuff. We never did find any cartoon versions of Lenin or Marx to pose with. That evening, we got tickets to the “Varieté Mobile” show that plays in a circus tent in the parks of East Berlin. I was expecting a circus; instead, we were treated to "Sexpo 90" complete with drag queens and Communist breasts. There was a hilarious clown who was so funny my unofficial West German tour guide gave up trying to translate and just laughed along with everyone else. I gather much of the patter was political commentary about the differences between the two Germanys. The fact that a tent full of East Germans and at least one West German were laughing so hard together brings me hope that the differences between the two countries aren’t that great, after all.

 

Some thoughts on the two Berlins: There are many stories about long lines and short supplies behind the Iron Curtain. We did wait in line outside of a supermarket at Alexanderplatz. What we didn't know is that we were waiting in line for an empty shopping cart, not to get into the store. When we realized we didn't need a shopping cart to enter the market, we went right in. After selecting bread, chocolate, and Communist cola there were actually only about five people ahead of us in line at the checkout counter, a bit fewer than one would find at the Safeway in SF. At the department store, it was pointed out how all the shoes looked the same, and that seemed odd. Then I remembered being in Los Angeles and seeing everyone wearing the same style of LA Gear sneakers. So, I’m a little confused as to how different the two cultures really are.

 

Coming home on the subway—East Berlin is closed to foreigners after midnight. I suspect that is when they all start speaking English and driving lavish cars—we ran into Andrew Allen. Quite a coincidence to run into one’s roommate with no prior planning in a city of four million people. The three of us went out to a late-night dinner. Andrew was quite charming, and we all talked until the subway system closed down. While we were walking to the all-night bus line, he suggested we go sightseeing. A slight detour through an interesting part of town sounded innocent enough. I started to become concerned when our stroll had us crossing the same canal twice. This grew into amused consternation when Andrew proclaimed he knew exactly where we were, and all we had to do was to turn left and walk for a few more blocks. At the next intersection we turned left and within half a block ran into the Berlin Wall. We wisely chose to walk around the rather imposing obstacle, rather than apply for travel visas at 3:30 in the morning. After another forty- five minutes of aimless wandering, I began to have serious misgivings when I noticed several taxi cabs circling around us like vultures. At one point, I remember walking past a discarded mattress and thinking how comfortable it looked. Fifteen minutes later we walked past a pile of rocks, and they also began to look comfortable. We walked all night until the subway system opened up again in the morning. This turned out to be the nicest time I had with Andrew.

 

About two more weeks in San Francisco would have been great. A trip to the redwoods would have been nice, but never made it, maybe next summer. Keep in mind there's always the Black Forest over here. Hope and trust things are going well.

 

 

Todd Strong, Professeur du Jonglage  (I love this title)

 

1, rue du Cirque (I love this address)

51000 Châlons-sur-Marne

FRANCE

 

 

copyright 1989 by Todd Strong

 

 

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