Cows

Looking back to the south island of New Zealand when these guys tried to block our exit through the fence, I was with three other hostelers in a rented 1987ish manual jalopy mobile. Supposedly it was a big tourist site, but really just a few rocks in the countryside. However, we enjoyed the cow standoff. I've been enjoying the cows for years and years, since I first planted Father's Day flowers for my mom's rancher boyfriend in North Dakota, and little Henry the Calf came and ate them all. He was so cute and his mom had died... how could we get mad at him for that? These are also a few of my reasons to be vegetarian.

Wolf's Lair, Poland

My long-haul bus riding days are over (I hope). Yesterday I caught a bus to town and a second bus to Gdansk. It was supposed to be 4.5 hours, and it was about five. Near the end, I felt like crawling out of my skin. I'm traditionally a good bus rider, but after over two months of public transport, I'm not enjoying it as much as the first week. No surprise there.

On Monday, I made a pilgrimage to Wolf's Lair. Hitler lived here mostly from 1941-45, and chose the area as a good location to plan and execute the invasion of the Soviet Union. In 1944, many of Hitler's high ranking German officers tried to assassinate him here. Obviously failed. When the war was over in 1945 as the Red Army was approaching, the Germans blew up most of the bunkers.

The woods are like Northern Minnesota. I found it surreal to feel so at home in a place where so many evil things were planned, but the idea that there were still people trying to stop him made me feel good about humanity. If this were in Germany, it would be crawling with tourists, but often I found myself walking among the ruins and the woods alone. I heard no English and the staff at Wolf's Lair barely spoke any either, which sort of added to the experience making it less like a tourist attraction and more like walk through the woods of history past.

Here is the cute bus driver on the way to Gierloz (where Wolf's Lair is located). Even though it was only 40km from the town I was last in, it took from 10.50 until about 14.15 to get there. This is why I will be happy to not be so reliant on public transport pretty damn soon.

So in Wolf's Lair, Hitler's top generals tried to assassinate him, (unsuccessfully, damn it) and when they were unsuccessful, Hitler and Co. executed about 5000 people who might have been related to the plot. Others were taken into "kinship custody" and some survived the war. There was a building with an exhibit and photos in the complex. Sadly the movie was in Polish but the signboards were all also in English and Deutsch.

The ruins are in a beautiful location, like northern Minnesota. Even with mosquitoes. At one point there were 2,000 people living here, but only 20 women. They even had a cinema, sauna, etc.

Hitler's personal bunker. The signs say no entry to the ruins, but no one is monitoring and everyone was going in. I walked through Hilter's bunker. It was dark.

It is not Minnesota.

I'd wondered if it would be worth it to go out of my way to get to Wolf's Lair, but it was certainly worth it.

You could pay 5Zl and practice shooting but I don't really like to even look at guns let alone shoot them. In my world they would not exist. But it is not my world.

It is pretty though. And the bottles look tempting.

The person who was given credit for the main part of the assassination attempt (he carried the briefcase in) was Claus von Stauffenberg. They blew up the building that Hilter was in, but unfortunately Hitler was only mildly hurt and one person was killed. This plaque says approx: Here stand the barracks where Claus von Stauffenberg, an assoc of Hitler's, and many others went against the nationalism/socialism/dictator and they paid with their lives.

My hotel 70zl ($25). It is simple and comes with breakfast and was a former barracks. I would recommend staying here. It's really peaceful after the tourists leave. And it also includes entry to the ruins. (Which is normally 12zl). So, quite handy.

They have decked out Hitler's headquarters into an inexpensive beautiful restaurant with good food.

I was obsessed with the similarity to Minnesota. Even the ground looks like Bemidji to me. The wet sandy dirt. The road that gradually slopes into the edge. The sparse grass.

I think there are blueberries and black bears in there.

The sign gives away that it is not Minnesota but without that, I'm sure you would not know the difference. To me this was lovely.

Waiting at the bus station to head to Gdansk.

Ok so then Poland morphed into North Dakota...

Here is North Dakota, taken as I came in on the Amtrak from Portland, OR in 2009.

Poland, from the bus 2011... slightly better camera.

So maybe Poland was the perfect place to end. With its similarities to North Dakota and Minnesota, I can almost taste the Midwestern air. It's only seven days away from being real. It's not that I want to get out of here, but the transition is as important as the change itself. These two plus months have been the transition from Germany to the States. To end here is to go home, in more ways than one.

After Gdansk I'll be staying with friends in Poznan and Berlin, so it's also my last bit in hostels, which is a nice thought too. There comes a time when you want to wake up and walk around in your underwear, throw laundry in when you feel like it, open the fridge to things that are yours, go to bed when you like without others coming and going all night. Not that they are big issues, but when they are gone, I won't miss them. Until the urge comes for the next trip, that is.

This fall I'll be making a USA tour: Chicago, the Midwest (Iowa, MN, ND), Portland & Seattle, New Orleans, New York City. So the adventure is not over- just changing. Besides, there is the adventure of a new hometown and new way of life... with fresh roasted coffee beans around the corner, black bicycle rides, arts and culture, and family a day's drive away. Let the stories continue...

North Dakota Cultural Experience

A few days ago, my mom, Carrie, Oatie and I were making our way back to Minot in the car from Grand Forks. We were all talking loudly (everyone yells in ND, even in the car- it's just the way it is) when my mom said, "Listen!" Carrie and kept talking anyway. Finally after a minute or so, she said, "This was Ellen's favorite song when I was in high school." So we started to listen. "My ding-a-ling, my ding-a-ling. Won't you to play with my ding-a-ling." Chuck Berry. On the Devil's Lake radio station, 102.5. Those dirty North Dakotans!

This of course, resulted in a sharing of our own personal favorite dirty songs, which I won't divulge here unless you send me an email with your personal favorite dirty song, and then I'll happily sell all my family's secrets!

So now I return to the matter at hand: North Dakota Cultural Experiences.

My favorite: North Dakota Museum of Art on the University of North Dakota Campus.

We'd stopped in Grand Forks on the way back to Minot and at my stuck-record insistence, we finally made it through the doors of the museum to experience rock sculptures which you could actually touch and photos of North Dakota and Northern Minnesota, which were beyond outstanding. The photography by Chuck Kimmerle, who moved to Grand Forks in 1996 to work in photojournalism, was entitled Unapologetic Landscape. Several of the pictures featured hoar frost on the trees or bales. I mention this because my mom seems to love to find a way to work "hoar frost" into her conversations, so of course she was delighted with the photos as much as I. Dirty North Dakotans!

North Dakota

Most of my trips home are a quick turnaround, rush in and out and back to my life of frenzy, wherever that may be. But this time I'm not on a schedule, which is exactly how you should visit North Dakota. It's a state which beckons contemplation, peacefulness and slowing down. Perfect for me while I'm in a transition phase of life, trying not to make a hasty decision about my future.

Perhaps all Americans should be visiting North Dakota. It's where neighbours who are staunch republicans can be friends with those who are bleeding heart liberals (my mom), where people greet you and thank you and mean it, where people hold the door for another entering or exiting. It's the small things.

I could say there is nothing to do here. It's too quiet. There's too much sky. Not enough trees or mountains. But those are all the things I love. I stood on my mom's front porch this evening, watching the sunset for the second night in a row, the city of Minot lying beneath it in a valley bowl. And I thought, this is something special. I know why my mom came back.

It's a mishmash- missing Oatie, trains, my new niece, and the old farmhouse.

I have to start with pictures of Oatie. Since I have this urge to call Molly's beautiful baby girl, Lily, by his name on occasion. Yes, I am getting that senile. I do think that Oatie is the cutest chihuahua on the face of this Earth. But I will stop now before I risk sounding like one of those annoying mothers.

Lil' sweetie...

Leaving the on the Portland train... see that guy in the green on the left? He had ridden his BMW motorcycle from Alaska down to the states but had some sort of mechanical breakdown and was taking the train home.

Me and the ceiling. If only they still made train stations like this, I think more people would travel.

Cute old man who was taking the train from Los Angeles to Fargo!

My happy new birthday present. I-pod which is larger than 4GB (replacing my five year old model.) And of course the pink sock camera case and hedonism notebook.

Stopping in Havre, Montana. My fellow passengers. Slightly different than Asia.

Neato sign.

Arrival into North Dakota. See, I wasn't lying when I said it was beautiful.

Lily. My little niece. We were hanging out in the backseat together. I tried to teach her to raise her eyebrows like I taught Molly but she hasn't quite caught on yet.

Here's the house where my mom lived until she was fifteen (no running water)- about 45 minutes northwest of Minot. The last time anyone lived here was in the 1960s, but my mom has been visiting the house with my sisters and me since the 1980s. It's still quite structurally sound, but time has taken its toll on the interior. Still a fun place to visit and envision the early life on the farm and not as spooky as when I was little.

I just like the silos. These, of course, are new.

Moving inside and upstairs to one of the bedrooms.

Just a little creepy doll on the floor upstairs.

Hmm. What sort of things did they REALLY do on the prairie?

Oh, then you go and confess it. And everything's just fine.

Perhaps the dress to wear to church?

No more pathetic stories. The only thing no one's carted away is that massive old stove.

It was a Fridgidare.

The view out the living room window, which you could see on the left hand side from the front.