Theo and Mt. McKinley Revealed

 I'm at a loss to explain why it's so important to see the snow capped top of Mount McKinley when we're in Alaska. I think it all starts when we hear Alaskan after Alaskan say how rare it is to see the mountain top because of perpetual clouds and mist that swarm the area around it. They tell us the sighting of the mountain top is not guaranteed. In fact, they have the statistic at hand--you can only see the mountain top thirty-five percent of the time. The explanation: McKinley (the tallest mountain in North America) is so tall it creates its own weather system and is frequently blanketed by thick clouds. 

We are, of course, determined to see it. As we travel along from Denali National Park to Talkeetna, we constantly look up and over. And all we see are magnificent vistas and a mountain top covered with clouds.

Our driver, at one point, drives us an hour out of our way, convinced that he has the perfect spot to see the mountain. "You don't want to come all the way to Alaska and not see the top of Mt. McKinley?"

Of course not. We're in agreement on that. Inevitably when we arrive home, someone will ask--well, did you see it? 

Theo agrees. We must see the top of the mountain. But all we see are clouds.

We take a train ride to Talkeetna and the train even stops mid-way so we can try again to see the mountain. Everyone around us continues to say--just wait for a few minutes more. I have a feeling that the clouds will drift away and you'll be able to see the mountain. The few minutes turns into an hour or more. No mountain free of clouds. 

I complain to Theo. "This is ridiculous. How spectacular can the sight be?"

Theo shakes his head. 

"All right. All right." 

Finally the train moves again. And everyone seems perplexed. "We don't understand. Normally we can see the mountain top from the train."

We're staying at the Talkeetna Alaska Lodge. We're shown to our room--very spacious, well-appointed with a giant picture window facing toward the mountain. 

Theo is the first one to make the suggestion: "I wonder if we can see the mountain from here." He jumps up on the ledge and pushes the drapes aside with his paw. 

This is the moment I'll remember. We've spent literally the entire day trying to see this darn mountain top without the clouds. It's as if we're under some kind of spell. Now, tired and hot, I figure what are the chances of seeing that mountain?

"Don't get your hopes up."

Theo seems transfixed at the window. 

What can he be staring at?

And there it is--in all its glory. The perpetual clouds have drifted away. The top of Mt. McKinley is finally revealed. I almost choke on the irony. We could have saved ourselves hours of effort if we'd only known that all along we would see that darn mountain from our hotel window. 

There's a lesson is all of this, but I can't for the life of me figure out what it is. Nevertheless, Theo is happy. He's finally seen the top of the mountain! And it is glorious, indeed.

Theo Visits a Medieval Torture Museum

 

Theo is fond of using the word torture. When he wants his snack, and we're not ready to give it, he meows, "It's torture, mom." When Mico steals his favorite spot on the couch, again Theo responds by calling it torture. Somedays he seems to feel his life is, indeed, torturous. If he only knew what real torture is. I get an idea.

Fast forward. We're traveling around Germany and stop in a little town called Rothenburg, known for its medieval charm. After wandering around, we end up in the purrfect place.

Officially the museum is called the Medieval Crime Museum, but it's really all about torture. In the historical legal sense, torture began as part of the criminal system in Europe in the 14th century. When someone was accused of a crime--witchcraft, for example, where there was no proof, a confession brought on by torture was enough.

Public shaming was another kind of torture--chains with scissors attached was hung around the neck of unscrupulous sellers who sold inferior products, masks with chicken feathers were attached to the faces of promiscuous people, etc. Women who gossiped about each other were confined to the public square, one woman's wrists inserted in one side of a cruel wooden device, the other woman's wrists inserted into the other side. Others could see what they've done.

Once through the doors, you're faced with someone who appears to have been tortured--a sad and despairing face. 

Then you're introduced to various forms of torture: the stretching ladder, the rack (both which stretch joins and dislocate bones), the spiked chair, various instruments to put pressure on thumbs, etc to cause pain. There was also the shame mask with iron spikes that gouged the face, worn by men who led a wild life.  The museum houses over 50,000 objects of torture.

The museum offers a slew of torture devices and engravings in books that documents how torture was done. 

Theo is amazingly quiet during our entire tour of the museum. He looks intently through the glass as Dan and I point out various forms of torture instruments and explain how confessions were gotten from people accused of a crime when there was no evidence. 

"Well," I finally say to him, "I brought you here for a reason."

His big little eyes widen even further.

"You want to . . . " Is he thinking we're going to torture him?

"No, Theo, of course not. I want you to understand what real torture is. What you call torture is, well, that's just mom and dad being good parents. You can't get what you want all the time."

He shrugs his shoulders.

"Do you understand?"

"I get it," he meows. "I see."

"So, find another word."

He pauses for a second. "Can I say torture and do this?" He puts his delicately outlined paws into the air and makes air quotes as he meows torture.

Once a gangster cat, always a gangster cat.

Theo and the Angel's Leg in Bamberg

 Why do people travel? What is it that they're really looking for? Dan, Theo and I decide to stop in the historic city of Bamberg, Germany, not because it is a UNESCO world heritage site, not because it has some of the greatest examples of medieval architecture in the old part of the town which can make you imagine you've stepped back in time, and not because they brew a concoction of "smoked beer"--all of those would be good reasons. No. I push Dan and Theo to stop in Bamberg because of an angel's leg. A memory I have that haunts me from when I first saw Bamberg years ago.

Let me start from the beginning. Walk through Bamberg and you are immediately struck by its location near a river and the wide variety of houses. They are different than houses in the states. The architecture is old and at times amazingly quaint. They are the kinds of houses you want to see the inside of--the rooms, the furniture.

We walk along a river and I can't resist taking a video of the houses that butt up against the water.

We enter the old town. Statues sit on buildings above doorways:

Or they are just there as you walk along a bridge:

But the most amazing site is that some of the buildings in the old town are decorated with murals that tell a story. I have never seen anything like it. As we pass building after building, sporting angel murals, I am getting more excited because I know the angel leg is close:

Theo, who is usually pretty easy going (as long as there are snacks in the picture) balks. He lets out a big meow as we are going up one street and down another.

"Believe me, Theo, the angel leg is sticking out of a building. You will love it."

Theo knows about angels (no, not from church) but from our Christmas tree which has an angel sitting on top of it every year. He's 

been an eyewitness to Mico (his younger brother) racing across the living room and toppling the angel off her perch. 

But angels on buildings? I don't think he believes me.

Dan is also skeptical. "Do you really think a mural of an angel is all that exciting?"

"Trust me, boys. You've never seen anything quite like this before."

All I remember from the trip years ago is that you have to cross over a bridge so when I spot a bridge, we walk in that direction. From a distance I think I see it:

I walk faster and Dan shouts out, "I see it. I see it."

Impressive as it is, it is not what I want and need to see. "Does that look like an angel's leg to you? That's an entire baby angel."

And then I do see it. The angel leg I've been looking for. "There it is."

It is unusual. Half mural/half statue. A little freaky. "Well," I say in triumph. "Am I right? Isn't this the craziest thing you ever saw on a wall of a building?"

Dan holds Theo up so he can get a better look. 

No comment. Not even a meow.

I turn to Dan. 

No comment. 

"A bust?" I ask incredulously.

"Let's go eat," Dan says. Who can argue with that?

Nuremberg-A Quaint Little Town Sort Of

 Despite its reputation for being the host for the Nuremberg trials after World War II, Nuremberg--according to many Germans--is an historic and quaint town that offers a host of hidden gems. Dan and I and Theo of course, are blessed to have as our guide Esther who's lived in Nuremberg all her life. Walking down the streets of the town with her is like going on a treasure hunt with someone who knows where all the hidden gems are buried.

I'm talking tiny details. You walk by and don't see them at first until Esther points a finger and suddenly you can see what makes this town unique--the buildings have wood carvings under windows, massive stone carvings on doors, ornate statues.

Esther leads us to the famous carving of the Passion of Christ now protected by a steel gate to prevent people from tossing coins as offerings, a practice which for years was causing the carving to deteriorate.

There is an amazing recreation of the town in miniature size on a table. I remember a scene from "All The Light You Cannot See" where the blind heroine is taught the lay of the town, how the streets are organized so she can fine her way around by her father by feeling a replica of the village that he builds. 

Dan is obsessed with Albrecht Durer, a German artist, who lived in Nuremberg. This obsession is not because he is a fan of Durer's art. As Dan explains to Theo: Years ago his older brother Henry gave him the nickname Durer. It seems that Henry mistook Durer's first name Albrecht and thought it was "all break." He associated this with Dan who was younger and tended to destroy whatever was in his path (according to Henry.)

Strangely enough, as soon as Dan tells the story, we see signs of Albrecht Durer everywhere. A giant statue sits in the town square:

His house still exists.

Stores have taken his name and made it their own. 

That's where the trouble begins. We are touring around with Esther 

and a few other people, going up and down the streets, careful  to keep her within eyeshot so we don't get lost. Casually she references Durer's house, having no idea that Dan's compulsion will kick in. The famous artist lived in the half-timbered house for twenty years beginning in 1509.

"I have to see the house," he tells me. "To come all the way here and not see the house . . ." 

The house is, of course, down a street we're not going down. "Well, run then and I'll lag behind so you can find us afterwards."

The plan is set but you know what John Lennon said about the best laid plans--Life is what happens while you're busy making plans. And so it is. 

Theo, overhearing the plan, decides out of the blue to run after Dan. I don't realize this until I see a cat who looks suspiciously like Theo two blocks up. 

I'm torn. Do I go after Theo? Do I trust that Theo will follow Dan and be safe?

Meanwhile Esther is moving along, sharing what she knows about Nuremberg (which is a lot). 

Thank God for cell phones and Airalo. I call Dan and alert him that Theo is stalking him. Dan scoops him up and then runs back just in time before we turn onto the main drag.

"Did you see the house?"

Out of breath it takes him a second to answer. He nods.

"And?"

"It was okay."

As for Theo, now back on the ground, he stamps his foot for his promised snack. Yes, that's how we always lure Theo to the good side--a snack. 

Theo Visits Notorious Zeppelin Field, Then Eats Fish

 Nuremberg was famous long before Adolf Hitler decided to take over the city, stage his rallies there and ipso facto turn it into a city that is now best known for the Nuremberg trials after World War II. 

It had an illustrious history which Hitler used to his advantage. We are lucky enough to be touring the city with an expert, who is steeped in Germany history. 

He explains that before Hitler, Nuremberg was the unofficial capital of the Roman Empire. It then became the heart of the German resistance in the 15th and 16th centuries. The Third Reich, referring to Hitler's time, actually means the Third Empire, representing the third attempt, Hitler's attempt, to rule the world. 

It was heavily bombed by the Allies in World War II, which destroyed some of the city. Earlier Adolf Hitler chose Nuremberg  as the site of massive conventions between 1927 and 1938. He held parades here and rallies at Zeppelin Field. 

Grandstands were designed by Albert Speer, Hitler's chief architect, to hold over 100,000 spectators. Still today you can see the stadium style seats on both sides and the podium where Hitler stood.

I am a fan of German history. I remember being reluctant to visit Germany as a tourist, ashamed in part because I am half German.  Once I arrived, I began to understand the history--the good and the bad. I can more clearly see the parallels with today when a charismatic leader tries to wrest control of the government. 

The weather is slightly chilly but the sun is out. After we visit the courtroom, I am anxious to see Zeppelin Field and imagine what took place here. 

Theo is lured on, to behave and be patient, by the promise of a snack, of course, when we visit the open market. It can't come soon enough. There is plenty to choose from, and we let him free, to sniff, to run, to investigate the tables of foods and goods. 

We lose sight of him for a few minutes, but then notice one of the fish vendors has put a plate on the ground covered in what looks like fish. 

We rush over. He's busy with a customer, and it seems Theo (cramming the fish down his throat) is a good marketing scheme. Soon there's a line of people, waiting to buy fish and watching Theo at the same time.

"Maybe the guy promised him a cut of sales," Dan whispers.

"Or more fish," I suggest.

We scoop up our overfed boy and traipse on over to a local restaurant, for--you guessed it--lunch.

Quirky Travel with Theo and the Dragon

 Our trip through Germany is part of an established tour. Day 1 go here. Day 2 go there. You get the picture. Some of the days are better than others. Once in a while, we just have to marvel at how quirky things are from our point of view. 

We are still in Regensburg, but totally on our own. Just drifting around. Theo likes these kinds of afternoons. No pressure. See what you see. We pass by a store called Keramik Werkstatt, filled with odd and quirky ceramic pieces:

We can't resist visiting another museum: Museum Der Bayerischen Geschichte. I know what you're thinking. But this museum is Theo's idea. He wants to see a suit of armor up close so that he can smell it.

He wants to see one of the oddities in the museum--a full sized dragon that comes to life. His eyes open. He gives an authentic dragon growl (I think.) It is mesmerizing. I can't pull Theo away. Scary? Just a bit.

There are other unusual quirky exhibits: an old old fashioned bicycle:

And an assortment of stuffed animals--the taxidermy kind, which frankly freaks Theo out. How you do you explain this to a cat? He takes one look, one sniff, and that's it. 

He wants out of the museum.

Luckily before the afternoon is over, we find a loveliest of lovely sunflower fields. Sniff. Sniff. Sniff. 

And then we stumble upon a glorious view:

The gangster cat is happy again. For the moment.