The stretch of parking lot leading to the Wohnheim's back entrance is almost entirely unlit, except for two motion-activated lights that I always try, without success, to avoid tripping. Away from the flickering glare, the sky was perfectly clear tonight, just as the day had been stainlessly blue. The Big Dipper was directly overhead, but I sought other familiar constellations in vain; Orion, it seems, is gone until next winter, and I don't have the imagination to connect the scattered points of light into other recognizable shapes. I wondered again if we still use ancient constellations because our imaginations have atrophied, or we're too busy, or simply don't look up enough, or if the ancient people of the world saw something different in the stars than we do.
The night wind carries a wonderful smell: like grape Jolly Ranchers and honey. Every night when I come home, I smell this wonderful perfume and wonder what makes it, but the daylight never reveals any obvious culprit. It's a stupid thing to treasure, maybe, that sweet scent on the cool breeze in a dark parking lot under dimmed and distant stars, but my remaining time here is short and I'm trying to gather all the memories I can.
The last few weeks of my life have been both enjoyable and frustrating. I may have mentioned that I've been consistently ill with various minor afflictions for most of May, a trend that will continue with my surgery in June. Despite that, I've been relishing the warm and fragrant springtime, conversations with new friends, frequent trips to Jena for Stammtisch, class, movie nights, dances, ice cream. My teaching time is minimal and I have more free time than I know what to do with, much less use responsibly. As Relient K says: "It's seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, routine, and here at twenty-three it's the same old me."
Bethany's departure at the end of the month also looms dark on the horizon, and neither of us are looking forward to it. I find it very difficult to believe that we'll soon separate and after this summer, the odds are against us ever seeing each other again. I'm not always nice to Bethany, which I regret, and very rarely anything approaching her definition of polite, which is half habit and half intentional needling, but I'm going to miss her very much. She inspires me to a kinder, less sarcastic and, dare I say it, more polite person, and plus, who's going to make me tea?
We've been trying to cram in everything we wanted to do before she left, so last weekend was our long-awaited trip to Wittenberg. Bethany kind of has a thing for Martin Luther, even outside of the fact that she's writing her dissertation on him, so she's wanted to visit Wittenberg for a long time. She mentioned this to the head of my school, Herr Präger, who grew up in Wittenberg and volunteered to take us around, which is how we--Bethany, me, and Victoria for good measure--ended up in his car driving through the rain at 8 o'clock on a Saturday morning. Herr Präger conducted us around the town, pointed out all the important sights, and bought us all coffee, then left us to head to Leipzig so we could explore on our own.
Of course we had to visit the church where the 95 theses were (putatively) nailed to the door, although the door itself, now engraved with said theses, was (in true tourist-thwarting style) behind hoardings. An overlong visit to the Luther House means that I learned more than I ever will be able to make use of about Martin Luther, almost all of which I've subsequently forgotten. The highlight of Wittenberg for me, besides its cozy, colorful, community atmosphere, was seeing the house where the Danish prince Hamlet supposedly stayed while studying at the university.
After eating an obscene amount of ice cream each, we waddled (by way of the Luther Eiche, where Luther burned his opponents' writings) to the train stations and got us a train to Magdeburg. On the way, we were
It was full night when we checked in at our hostel, but we went off to explore anyway. Magdeburg at night was oddly otherworldly...the unseasonable warmth, the ubiquitous orange glow from the streetlights, the clouds of gnats by the river, the imposing, vine-draped cathedral, and the well-maintained but very random ancient fortress next to it all made it seem like we had taken a step sideways in time. We were all tired and didn't stay out long, but our plans to make an early start before the train home that evening were dented when Bethany was violently ill that night.
Instead of all gallivanting around the city together, therefore, we left Bethany in a cafe to rest the next day, and together Victoria and I visited the world's biggest wooden tower (wow) and found the Sunday flea market quite by accident, where we bought irresponsible amounts of fruit. After reclaiming Bethany, our last stop was the cathedral, a vaulted sanctuary of pale cream stone and cool air. We strolled around the attached cloister and then it was time to sit on the trains for four hours back to good ol' Stadtroda.
Now it's almost two in the morning and I need to convince myself to go to bed. I've finished the last Schluck of the current bottle of Apfelschorle, which will now join the small forest of its fellows behind my door; by the time I depart, there will be a minor fortune in Pfand there. But best not to dwell too much on that now.
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