The Martyrdom of Thomas Becket, A Play in Five Acts

Yesterday I took a bus ride to Canterbury to check out the cathedral. I had been hoping to perhaps meet up with some other travelers on the way and engage in some bawdy storytelling, but I guess that's not really a thing anymore. Pity.

Anyway, I went to see Canterbury Cathedral without really knowing what made it so special in the first place. I suppose that somewhere in the recesses of my brain, I knew that it was because Saint Thomas Becket was martyred and enshrined there (I did, after all, take an entire class devoted solely to The Canterbury Tales when I was in college), but I would never have remembered it on my own. (Thanks, audio guide!) Becket was assassinated by knights of the king after clashing with him over church powers versus royal powers. King Henry, who had never ordered or intended the assassination, was among the first to make pilgrimage to Canterbury as an act of penance.

To prevent others from losing their grasp on history, I have taken the liberty of composing a little play. Like Shakespeare (yes, I am comparing myself to the Bard. Judge away), I've taken historical facts and quotes and sort of played with them a bit. You'll be able to tell which quotes are legitimate historical quotes because they will be eloquent and archaic-sounding. You'll be able to tell my interpretations by their stilted dialogue and ham-fisted handling of character development. (Try and guess which is which!) Enjoy!

THE MARTYRDOM OF THOMAS BECKET, a play in five acts

ACT ONE

Curtain up on Thomas Becket and King Henry II of England in the midst of a complicated "best friends" handshake that involves shimmying, clapping, patty-cake, and pinky swears.

BOTH: ...best friends, best friends, never disagree,

HENRY: I'm always in accord with him,

TOM: He's of one mind with me!

BOTH: And if we live to be old men,

Dear Mary, praise and thank her,

We'll still be friends forevermore,

May God bless both us wankers!

They both laugh heartily.

HENRY: My dear friend, I do so love how we agree on everything.

TOM: I agree!

They grin cheekily.

HENRY: And I've been thinking about it, and I'd like to make you Archbishop of Canterbury!

TOM: Really? Are you sure?

HENRY: Well, I did forget your birthday this year, so I sort of owe you one.

TOM: But my birthday hasn't come yet.

There is an awkward pause during which both characters reflect on the historical inaccuracy of this faux pas.

HENRY: Well, I guess I would have forgotten it then. Heh, heh, sorry, buddy. But seriously, you wanna wear a funny hat and some robes and junk like that?

TOM: Um, YES! Then we can be like twinsies!

HENRY: Well, not exactly twinsies. Robes are all well and good but crowns are just a little better than funny hats, wouldn't you say?

TOM: Um, funny hats trump crowns, everyone knows that. My funny hat comes direct from GOD.

HENRY, icily: If by "God," you mean me, then okay. Because I'm pretty sure God never just bestowed a funny hat on you until I came along and handed it to you.

TOM, producing a funny hat seemingly from thin air and assuming an air of pious superiority: The Heavenly Father doth give in mysterious ways.

HENRY: The Heavenly Father doth give you a black eye in about two seconds.

TOM, increasingly annoyed: Well, the Heavenly Father doth told me that you're being sort of a buttmunch. And Pope Alexander III agrees with me.

HENRY: Dude, have you and the pope been hanging out without me?

TOM: Chyeah. You were so busy being all, "I caaaaan't come to the jousting match, guys, I'm running a country." Well, guess who's running all the countries in Europe and still has time to watch knights kill each other in the name of entertainment?

HENRY: Don't.

TOM: Pope--

HENRY: Don't say it!

TOM: Alexander.

HENRY: I TOLD YOU NOT TO SAY IT!

TOM: Well, I guess you don't control everything anymore. You're in GOD's house now, sucka! How's that feel?!

HENRY: It feels like you should probably leave the country in exile for at least the next six years.

A thug with a nightstick appears behind Henry, looking menacing. Tom gulps.

TOM: Fine. But I'm taking the hat.

HENRY: Take your stupid hat! I'VE GOT A CROWN!!

Tom storms off stage. As soon as he's gone, Henry's shoulders slump sadly. Lights out.

ACT TWO

Lights up, six years later. Henry and five knights sit around a table, drinking pints and playing cards, accompanied by some  royal medieval card-playing music.

HENRY: He wants to hang with the pope? FINE. I can hang with other people, too. (to Brown-Nosing Knight) Hey, uh, short guy. What's your name again?

BROWN-NOSING KNIGHT: David, my lord.

HENRY: Right, right. Got any fives?

BROWN-NOSING KNIGHT: Alas, no, my lord. But I can find you a five! Nothing would gratify me more than supplying your highness with all the fives in this deck!

HENRY, drawing a card from the pile and sounding bored: Yeah, thanks, Darren or whatever your name is, but that's not really how "Go Fish" works. 

He heaves a heavy sigh, then collects himself and says with bravado:

HENRY (cont'd): I bet Thomas Becket and the pope never have awesome Guys' Nights like this, right?

REGULAR KNIGHT: That was six years ago, maybe you should get over it.

Other knights gasp. Henry rubs his temples.

HENRY: Look, new guy...what's your name?

REGULAR KNIGHT: Henry.

HENRY, taken aback: Really?

REGULAR KNIGHT: Yes, really. We've talked about this.

HENRY: Well, Henry, I know you're new to the group and all, but keep making remarks like that and you might find that "Go Fish" is not the game for you, if you catch my drift.

Other knights attempt to subtly slide their chairs away from the Regular Knight. One of them moves the deck out of Regular Knight's reach.

HENRY: Anyway, whose turn was it?

SUCK-UP KNIGHT: Oh, it was yours, my liege.

The other knights all nod vigorously, except Regular Knight, who rolls his eyes.

HENRY: Well, thank you. (to Toady Knight) You there, have you got any fives?

TOADY KNIGHT: But of course, your highness. 

He smiles superiorly at Brown-Nosing Knight, who sulks.

REGULAR KNIGHT: So, did you guys all hear that Thomas Becket is back in England?

Record scratch, music stops abruptly. Other knights are frozen in fear. Henry appears about to explode.

HENRY, barely holding it together: Go. Stand. In. The corner.

REGULAR KNIGHT: Seriously?!

HENRY: GO STAND IN THE CORNER, I SAY!!!

REGULAR KNIGHT: All right, all right, fine. I was just trying to make conversation. 

He goes.

HENRY, to Sycophantic Knight: You. Play his hand.

Sycophantic Knight looks like Christmas just came early. He eagerly scoops up Regular Knight's hand.

SYCOPHANTIC KNIGHT: He doth had a five all along, my lord!

HENRY, exasperated: Seriously, guys, I don't want to have to explain the rules of this game again.

After a pause, he glances over to the corner and then bursts out:

HENRY: The nerve of some people, am I right?

SYCOPHANTIC KNIGHT: Yes.

SUCK-UP KNIGHT: Always.

HENRY: First Tom and the pope, and now Horace over there--

REGULAR KNIGHT: It's Henry!

HENRY: Whatever.

REGULAR KNIGHT: We have the SAME NAME!

HENRY: Like I can remember everything? I'm the king, I got a lot of stuff going on!

Regular Knight sits down on the floor with a huff.

HENRY: Some days it's just more than I can take! Ugh, Thomas Becket! Who will rid me of this turbulent priest?!

Having thus uttered his line of great historical import, Henry storms out before he can hear his faithful knights' responses.

SYCOPHANTIC KNIGHT: I will!

BROWN-NOSING KNIGHT: I'll do it!

TOADY KNIGHT: Ooh, ooh, pick me!

SUCK-UP KNIGHT: I'll rid the hell out of him!

REGULAR KNIGHT: Oh, this bodes well.

SUCK-UP KNIGHT: Shut up, new guy.

TOADY KNIGHT: Yeah, knights in the corner don't get a say.

BROWN-NOSING KNIGHT: So...killing Thomas Becket. What say you guys to a week from today?

They all whip out planners and datebooks.

TOADY KNIGHT: Well, that's no good for me, I have a dentist appointment.

SUCK-UP KNIGHT: That lasts all day? You couldn't block out half an hour for assassinating the Archbishop of Canterbury?

TOADY KNIGHT: Root canal.

Other knights all groan sympathetically.

SUCK-UP KNIGHT: Okay, so that's out. How about Wednesday?

They all check their books.

TOADY KNIGHT: Works for me.

SYCOPHANTIC KNIGHT: I'm free.

SUCK-UP KNIGHT: Same here.

BROWN-NOSING KNIGHT: Ahhh...I guess I can do Wednesday if it works for everyone else, but I'd really prefer not to...

SUCK-UP KNIGHT: Aw, come on, Dave, don't do this to us.

BROWN-NOSING KNIGHT: it's just that I promised milady I'd help her pick out new tapestries for the manor house.

SYCOPHANTIC KNIGHT: Ooh, what have you narrowed it down to?

BROWN-NOSING KNIGHT, suddenly all enthusiasm: Well, we're thinking either a hunting scene with dogs and horses, or a hunting scene with dogs, horses, and a lion.

All the knights explode into a cacophony of "Lion! LION!" "Get the lion!" etc., except for Toady Knight.

TOADY KNIGHT, meekly: I think lions are a bit overrated in tapestries, myself.

The other knights drown him out in a resounding "boooooooo!"

SUCK-UP KNIGHT: Okay. Wednesday's out. How about... (he rifles through the pages of his datebook) the twenty-ninth of December, in the year of our Lord 1170? That work for everyone?

Nods all around. A voice pipes up from the corner.

REGULAR KNIGHT: Are you guys seriously plotting to kill the king's best friend? Doesn't that seem sort of like a bad idea to you at all?

TOADY KNIGHT: Shut up, Second-Rate Henry, or we might decide to practice on you first!

The conspiring knights all cackle diabolically while Regular Knight rolls his eyes with a vim matched only by 30 Rock's Liz Lemon. Lights out.

ACT THREE

Canterbury Cathedral, December 29, 1170. All is quiet, when suddenly a door bursts open and Thomas Becket comes rushing in, slamming the door behind him. Almost immediately, there is banging from the other side of the door as Sycophantic Knight, Suck-Up Knight, Toady Knight, and Brown-Nosing Knight all try to break in.

TOM: No one's here! 

He realizes his mistake and quickly tries to rectify it.

TOM, in a booming voice: Except for me, GOD, of course, because I'm always here. And I'm watching you! So you'd better leave Thomas Becket--who is, incidentally, NOT here--alone, or I'll be really, really mad.

From the other side of the door, the knights hold a muffled conference.

TOADY KNIGHT: I dunno, guys, God says He'll be really mad. Remember last year when He destroyed the harvest and we had to burn all those Jews and witches to make it up to Him?

SUCK-UP KNIGHT: Don't be stupid, that's just Becket trying to trick us! (shouting) I've got you all figured out, Becket!

TOM: Oh, damn. (He glances apologetically at the crucifix on the wall.) I mean, um, fiddlesticks.

The knights burst in, swords raised.

SYCOPHANTIC KNIGHT: Ha ha, got you! Any last words, Becket?

TOM: For the name of Jesus and the protection of the church, I am ready to embrace death.

All pause, swords poised in midair.

SUCK-UP KNIGHT: Wow. That's pretty good, actually. Did you make that up yourself?

TOM: Yeah.

TOADY KNIGHT: Good one, dude. Totally gonna tweet that later.

TOM: Thanks, man.

SUCK-UP KNIGHT: Still gonna kill you, though.

TOM, sighing: Yeah, I figured.

Lights out as the sound of a great commotion ensues.

ACT FOUR

Stage is dark.

HENRY: You WHAT?!?!

Lights up. The four knights are kneeling before Henry, smiling proudly and carrying their still-bloody swords.

SUCK-UP KNIGHT: We killed your best friend, my lord!

TOADY KNIGHT: Dave even broke his sword doing it, look!

Brown-Nosing Knight proudly brandishes his sword, the tip of which has broken off.

SYCOPHANTIC KNIGHT: You're a madman, Dave.

Brown-Nosing Knight smiles modestly.

HENRY: So let me get this straight. You guys just decided to MURDER my BEST FRIEND?! What were you thinking?!

The knights, sensing that all is not well, go on the defensive.

SUCK-UP KNIGHT: Well, you practically begged us to.

HENRY: When?! When did I ever say, "Hey, fellas, please oh please could you MURDER my BEST FRIEND?!"

TOADY KNIGHT: When you said that whole thing about getting rid of turbulent priests.

HENRY: Guys. I was being dramatic. I'm a king, it's what I do best.

There is an awkward silence.

SYCOPHANTIC KNIGHT, checking his watch: Oh, hey, is that the time? Best be off, then.

SUCK-UP KNIGHT, standing up: Oh, yeah, right, we have...that...thing...now.

They beat a hasty retreat, the other two knights close on their heels, leaving Henry alone.

HENRY, looking skyward: Oh my friend, what have I done?!

ACT FIVE

Lights up on Canterbury Cathedral. Henry kneels alone in the middle of the stage.

HENRY: ...and I'm sorry I talked about you behind your back, and I'm sorry I accidentally told my henchmen to kill you, and I'm sorry I forgot your birthday, and I'm sorry about that time I told you your robes made you look like a porker. 

PRIEST: Have you quite finished, your highness?

HENRY: Almost.

He proceeds to go through the motions of his handshake with Tom.

HENRY (cont'd): Okay. Ready.

PRIEST: You do realize what you have asked us to do?

HENRY: Yes.

PRIEST: It is an admirable penance to be beaten by eighty different clerics, my lord, but you know it won't bring your friend back.

HENRY, sarcastically: No kidding! (recovering himself) Sorry, Father.

PRIEST: He who is about to be beaten by priests should avoid angering them beforehand.

HENRY: Proverbs?

PRIEST: No, that was all me.

HENRY: Oh. Well, it's pretty good. True.

PRIEST: Thanks. I'm no Thomas Becket, but I try.

Henry shakes his head sadly as clerics brandishing sticks line up behind him.

HENRY: Forgive me, Tom!

Lights out.

THE END

Did you do it? Did you figure out which parts were real historical quotes?

Yep, you're right, it was the handshake. Well done.

Dachau

No cheeky titles or wordplay today, guys, because its not really appropriate when you're talking about a place that was simultaneously a prison, a torture chamber, and a mass grave. Fair warning, this is not a particularly light and happy post.

I'm talking, of course, about Dachau, the only concentration camp to be open for the entirety of the Third Reich. Originally an ammunitions factory, Dachau caught Hitler's eye because it was an already-fortified campus, it wasn't being used for anything at the time, and it was a quick train ride from Munich, the center of the Nazi government's power.

I, like many other people, have been fascinated by the history of the Nazis and of Hitler's rise to power. How did a failed Austrian painter who didn't even embody the Aryan "ideal" he championed convince an entire government to participate in widespread murder, torture, and persecution?

I didn't expect a solid answer to that question, but I really felt that touring a concentration camp would be a way to grapple with these really difficult concepts in a way that was not as sanitized as many history books' way of presenting it. I booked a tour with Sandemans again. It was a good choice, because I think an experience like that, where you're forced to confront a lot of truths you'd rather not have to think about, is definitely different when it's shared among others.

When we arrived at the camp, the sky was gray and overcast and it was threatening to rain, which seemed appropriate to the subject matter. Our guide told us about the history of the camp and its origins as an ammunitions factory. The first prisoners at Dachau, he said, were not Jewish people or gypsies, two of the groups most often associated with Hitler's "purification" efforts, but political opponents of Hitler. Basically anyone who had voted against the Nazi party was deemed an enemy of the state and was sent to Dachau to be "re-educated."

As time went on, however, the camp was used to hold men and boys over fourteen who were "unsuitable" for a number of reasons: they were Jewish, gay, Jehovah's Witnesses, Slavic, Roma, or criminals. (The last category was particularly sketchy, as Hitler had achieved his campaign promise of cleaning up the streets of Munich by simply throwing all vagrants in jail. Of course, this overcrowded the prisons, and the prisoners were moved to camps. Often, the "criminals'" worst crimes were simply being homeless or drunk in the wrong place at the wrong time.) And of course, political enemies of the Reich continued to be thrown into concentration camps.

One thing I didn't realize was that the camp wasn't immediately emptied and shut down following the end of the war. Dachau was a refugee camp until the 1960s. This is so hard for me to wrap my head around--how people had to live in the same camp under still-horrible conditions even after the war was over. Obviously the Nazis were no longer there killing and torturing them, but these people were forced to live in the same barracks where they'd been starved and exposed to the most unhygienic, unhealthy, uncomfortable conditions...and they were still encountering a lot of the same food shortages and unsanitary living conditions. Every day they looked out into the square where the Nazis had lined them up and, guns in hand, told them that they were subhuman. They lived a stone's throw away from mass graves containing the ashes and bodies of family members and friends, and every day they passed the places where they had been tortured and their loved ones killed.

It must take incredible strength of character to preserve a place like this, a place that has seen so much tragedy and darkness and injustice, in the name of educating future generations. When American soldiers arrived to liberate Dachau, they wanted to blow up the buildings that had been the site of so much horror--the gas chamber, the crematoriums. The camp survivors insisted that the buildings be kept as they were: "Honor the dead by warning the living," reads one memorial in Dachau, just steps away from the gas chamber where entire groups of people were sent to their deaths.

I can't tell every story I heard on my tour--they were nearly all horrifying, appalling reminders of what human beings are capable of. It's enough to say, in a fairly family-friendly blog, that thousands of people were tortured for no reason other than the amusement of their captors. That the Nazis would keep prisoners locked in tiny cells for months at a time--or even a year--only to take them outside in to the sun, blind them, and shoot them. To put it another way: the Nazis would invest the time and expense in keeping someone alive for a year knowing full well that they were going to kill them. They weren't murdering people to spare the expense of keeping them imprisoned. They weren't killing them in the heat of battle. They weren't even doing it for ideology anymore. They were doing it for fun. The idea that people like that have existed at all on this planet is terrifying, but to remember that they were in positions of power--and that they held these positions a mere sixty-odd years ago--is truly chilling.

Despite all this, I did not have the reaction to the camp that I'd expected. I've heard from many people that visiting sites like the Holocaust Museum or concentration camps are very, very difficult emotionally and even physically--some people have very visceral reactions. I did not. I knew this was horrible, I understood its significance, but there was a disconnect between this knowledge and my emotions. I could not wrap my mind around the fact that these events were real, that they happened not long ago, and that I was standing in the middle of the camp where they had taken place. I knew it, but I couldn't feel it. This, of course, makes me feel like a truly awful human being. How can anyone encounter evil like this and not be completely, utterly floored by it?

It seems odd to spend a chunk of your vacation wishing you could feel sadder and more depressed, but it feels somehow disrespectful to not be haunted by this experience every minute of every day. (Also, it makes me a bit worried that I'm a sociopath and have no capacity for empathy.)

There was however, one thing that triggered a gut reaction of sheer fear and despair, and that was the gas chamber. Dachau did not use gas chambers in the same way as many other camps; it was in fact a testing facility to determine the best, most efficient way to kill the most people. (I hate that I had to type that sentence. I hate that there were--and still are-- people whose horrible actions gave me a reason to type it.) The Nazis tested a number of variables in the gas chambers at Dachau--how much poison? Should it be pumped in as gas or sprinkled on the floor in another form to be converted into gas by raising the temperature once the prisoners were in the room? How could they most effectively poison loads of people from as safe a distance as possible? Those are the questions the Nazis encountered.

This is the reality that their victims met: The gas chamber at Dachau was made to look like a shower. The men were told they would get a hot shower. They were led into a room with towels hanging on the walls and told to undress. They were then sent into the chamber, which was fitted with shower heads to really sell the illusion. If they asked why it was so hot, they were told that it was the hot water coming up through the pipes. The doors were closed, and the men who had entered would never leave. Their bodies were unceremoniously burned in a crematorium located in the next room, and their ashes were dumped into unmarked mass graves.

Even as a perfectly safe and healthy tourist in 2013, standing in the gas chamber was like standing in a nightmare. The room was dark and low ceilinged and gave the impression that it would crush you if you stood there long enough. It felt claustrophobic even though the doors were open and I was practically the only person in there. And I started to tear up.

I tried to imagine the pain, the suffering, the fear these people faced as they realized they were being poisoned to death. I tried to imagine the horror of being the last living person in the room, surrounded by the bodies of friends and strangers alike. But I couldn't even fathom what that might be like. I can't even fathom how a situation like that could be possible in the first place.

It sounds a little overdramatic, I think, but if there's anything you're allowed to be ashamed and horrified and appalled and depressed and overdramatic about, it's the Holocaust. And this is really difficult for most people. Our guide, who's been leading Dachau tours for four years, sent us into the building by ourselves while he waited outside. "I've only been in that room once," he said, "and I have no desire to ever go back." I heard stories of other tour guides who stopped leading Dachau tours after a year or so because they could not deal with the pain and horror of visiting the camp three or four times a week.

But, as our guide pointed out, it's important and even impressive that Germany has made these sites so accessible. The site is 100% open to the public: no admission fees, no tickets, no line to get in. Schoolchildren from Munich visit about once each year. Members of the German military also visit frequently as part of their duties. Germany is committed to making sure atrocities like the ones at Dachau never happen again. As our guide pointed out, how many countries would put the darkest parts of their history on display like this? The United States, for instance, is no stranger to racism and genocide, but we do not acknowledge these darker parts of history in the same way that Germany has acknowledged the tragedies in its past. We try to whitewash American history by ending with a "happily ever after" sort of conclusion about how all men are created equal and therefore we must all be equals--hooray, America! But this is our ideal, not our reality, and somewhere deep down, we all know it.

I'm not trying to pick on America or hold Germany up as a model of the perfect country, because there is no "perfect country," just as there is no perfect society or perfect race. World history, not just American history or western history, is fraught with hatred, murder, prejudice, and injustice. It's just something I feel like I think a bit differently about now, and that's what I'm trying to convey.

But it's discouraging, to say the least, to live in a world where hatred still exists. On a large scale, it's evident in the fact that Hitler's genocide was only the third largest in the twentieth century. Only. The third largest. In the twentieth century. That there were two other instances of mass extermination of human life is horrible enough in and of itself. (In reality, there were a lot more than just two.) That these two managed to knock HITLER and the HOLOCAUST into second and then third place is even more disheartening and tragic.

On a smaller scale, hatred is still evident in this memorial at Dachau. It's modeled after the badges that prisoners were forced to wear to indicate their "crime." For instance, just as Jewish people had to wear yellow Stars of David, gay men wore pink triangles, criminals wore green triangles, and gypsies wore black or brown. The monument pictured below is a memorial to the victims and survivors of Dachau, but you'll notice that some colors are missing.

The colored glass was smashed by other camp survivors, who didn't feel that some of the groups represented deserved to be memorialized alongside the "real" innocent victims of Dachau. The memorial has never officially been fixed. I say "officially" because our guide told us about a former Dachau guide, a friend of his. The night after this guy stopped being a guide, he broke into Dachau and replaced the empty triangles with high-quality plastic pieces that looked just like the original glass. When he came back in the morning to check out his handiwork, the new tiles had already been removed.

To leave things on a slightly less depressing note (although I feel like a post about Dachau is allowed--nay, expected--to be a downer), in the years since the war, a convent has been built adjacent to the camp grounds. The sisters wanted the entrance gate to the convent to be through one of the old guard towers at the far end of the camp, near the various religious monuments, but the Powers That Be (the earthly ones, I mean) kept saying no. "The problem was solved," our guide told us, "by a sixty-two-year-old nun with a sledgehammer"--thus confirming my belief in the inherent badassery of nuns everywhere. The power of Christ compels you, indeed.

No legal action was taken against the nun; a group of Roma people (gypsies) backed her up and lent their support to the convent's unorthodox building plans. And the gate to the convent remains there (after a bit of touching up...sledgehammer holes aren't that pretty) to this day, a symbol that Dachau is no longer an enclosed prison, but an open memorial site.

So I guess the takeaway from this post is that some people are unimaginably horrible, some people have the most inspiring and incredible strength of character, and some people are kick-ass nuns who get shit DONE.

"Honor the dead by warning the living."

Stop! It's Castle Time!

Bavaria has given the world so many wonderful things. Bavarian cream puffs. Lederhosen. And, among other castles, Neuschwanstein.

Technically the credit for Neuschwanstein goes to King Ludwig II of Bavaria, aka "Mad King Ludwig." Depending on who you ask, Ludwig was either eccentric and misunderstood or completely off his rocker. (The tour I took supported the former interpretation.) Whichever one you choose, you can't deny that Ludwig was a little...off. He enjoyed doing things like dressing up as obscure historical figures, taking sleigh rides in the dead of night, dropping in unexpectedly on his subjects in the Bavarian countryside ("Surprise! It's the king!"), and having dinner parties where the entire guest list consisted of his imaginary friends, mostly historical (dead) European kings. He was also obsessed--and I mean all-caps OBSESSED--with Richard Wagner and Wagnerian opera.

Ludwig had kind of a bummer childhood, as neither of his parents were very interested in, you know, parenting him. He and his younger brother Otto were never given quite enough food growing up. This was supposed to discipline them and make them stronger rulers when they came of age. Personally I think there's no real point in being royal if you don't get to eat dessert. Bring on the Bavarian cream puffs, I say!

Despite (or perhaps because of) the fact that he passed his childhood without ever tasting the sweet magic of a Toblerone or whatever nougaty Alpine treat was in vogue in the mid-nineteenth century, Ludwig grew up to be quite fit and good-looking. That's what history says, anyway. If we're going by personal taste I think Ludwig might be rocking just a bit too much facial hair (what is that mustache?!) but who am I to argue with history?

Anyway, nineteenth-century Bavarian dreamboat Ludwig got engaged to his cousin, who was by all accounts also very good-looking, and they live happily ever after...right?

Wrong. Because our mustachioed pal Ludwig was gay and consequently broke off the engagement. Remember when I said he was obsessed with Wagner? I wasn't exaggerating. Ludwig had the Wagnerian equivalent of Bieber fever. It's pretty unsurprising, then, that Ludwig's first official act upon ascending to the throne was to track down Wagner, who was on the run from his various debts, and bring him to the court in Munich. Suck on THAT, deprived royal childhood! Nothing says "I'm in charge now, fools!" like casually inviting your teenage idol to come and live with you. (Presumably Ludwig then celebrated by eating the Toblerones his parents had long denied him.)

Anyway, Wagner came to live in Munich and wrote operas for Ludwig, and everything was fine until the people got annoyed at how much political influence Wagner had on the king and rebelled, forcing Ludwig to send Wagner packing.

I'm going to gloss over a lot of Bavarian political history now, because I can sense that you're like, "Yeah, fine, history, whatever. But you promised castles. WHERE ARE THE PICTURES?!" I'm getting there, impatient person driven to caps lock outbursts by blog posts. I'm getting there.

Anyway, Ludwig had succeeded in royally (ha!) pissing off a lot of powerful people. The normal next step would be to lay low and not rock the boat for a while. But Ludwig, as we've seen, was not a normal guy.

He started building castles. Never mind that he had the Residenz in Munich and his childhood home of Hohenschwangau Castle in the foothills of the Alps, on the banks of the Alpsee, plus some other stuff. Not good enough. You know what would be good enough, though? A whole bunch of castles inspired by Wagnerian operas.

Ludwig's childhood home, Hohenschwangau Castle. Cozy, right?

To be fair, Ludwig drew some inspiration from his own life, too. The reason he was captivated by Wagner's operas in the first place was that they were adaptations of local myths and legends. The walls at Hohenschwangau were covered with murals depicting scenes from the tales, so Ludwig had grown up literally surrounded by stories and folklore.

One particularly bizarre and convoluted story involved the Alpsee, the lake on which Hohenschwangau was built. Trying to relate the whole thing here would take more time than I have (I'm currently on a three-hour layover in Dusseldorf, trying to catch up on blogging because I'm a couple days behind), so I will just borrow from the Walt Disney company and say that this story involves "far-off places, daring sword fights, magic spells, a prince in disguise"...and a swan. That last bit is the most important.

The Alpsee. You'd totally build a vacation castle here, right?
At the time, Hohenschwangau was called Neuschwanstein, which translates as "new swan stone"; an earlier castle on that site had been called Schwanstein as a nod to the nearby Alpsee and its legendary swan tales. (Hohenschwangau, which means "high Schwangau," refers to the fact that the village of Hohenschwangau is further up the hill than the village of plain old Schwangau. True story.)

Anyway, Lugwig decided he wanted to build his own swan-inspired castle by the Alpsee, despite the fact that the real estate market of the Schwangau area was already saturated with that particular sort of building. It was initially called Hohenschwangau, since "Neuschwanstein" was already taken; the names were switched after his death. For clarity's sake, I'm going to call them by their modern names.

So Ludwig picked a spot and started building. It was pretty high up the mountain and getting supplies up there was a pain and a half, but check out the view.

View over the countryside from Neuschwanstein

Hohenschwangau Castle and town from Neuschwanstein

I would put up with a lot of zoning headaches if it meant I could wake up to that every morning. And that's not even the side with the waterfall!

But let's step out of the past and into the present. (Or, since this all happened on Monday, the not-quite-as-distant-past, I guess.) As you can imagine, I was pretty pumped to see Neuschwanstein. I'd booked a tour with Sandemans New Europe Tours (they are AWESOME, as I mentioned in the Prague post...if you're ever traveling in Europe, check them out!) and it was a lot of fun; the guide was great and I spent a good hour of the two-hour train ride out in conversation with a woman about my age, Sophina, who also happened to be vegetarian (we swapped food recommendations, Bavaria not exactly being the vegetarian haven of the world) and share a lot of the same interests as me. The train ride was also incredibly pretty. I'll put up some pictures in a later post.

Rain and thunderstorms were predicted, but I was determined to enjoy myself regardless of the weather. And how did things turn out? I'll let this picture answer that question.

Look! Neuschwanstein Castle! No blue skies but no rain (yet) in sight!
Yes, folks, that is Neuschwanstein Castle. This isn't even its good side.

Inside, only one-third of the rooms are finished; Ludwig died before construction could be completed, and the Bavarian government was not inclined to finish a project that had pretty much burned through generations' worth of Wittelsbach royal fortune and landed the king millions of marks in personal debt. It was, however, opened for visitors six weeks after the king's death and has been a huge source of income for Bavaria ever since--and not just from tourism.

Have you been thinking, "Gee, that castle looks kind of familiar"? You've almost certainly seen it--or something very much like it--before. Just as I borrowed from the Disney Company a few paragraphs ago, the Disney Company borrowed from Neuschwanstein. This is the inspiration for the "Disney castle" that is featured in the logo before Disney films and forms the most recognizable building in Disneyland parks the world over.

Walt Disney made the mistake of telling the Bavarian government this. "Oh, hey, sweet fairy-tale castle," he said. "It was the inspiration for my imaginary fairy-tale castle!"

"Is that so?" said the Bavarian government. "That's nice. Eight gazillion dollars, please." And that is how Bavaria supplements its already hefty tourism income--with royalties from Disney.

The interior of the castle--the rooms that actually exist, anyway--is not at all what I'd expected from the outside; they're much grander and...heavier-seeming, I guess...than the light, graceful exterior would suggest.

But the best views of the castle were yet to come. We hiked uphill some more (side note: the walk was killer. Remember that picture of the countryside with Hohenschwangau off in the distance? We walked from there. Up an Alp. My soul died a little.) and came to an observation bridge. Oh, the photo ops!

Admit it, the Disney intro music is playing in your head right now.

This was already a known beauty spot when Ludwig started Neuschwanstein. The bridge was here, but he replaced the wooden rails with metal.

Locks on bridges: they're everywhere!
As we began our hike down the mountain (by a different route) it began to rain, so we had to rush a bit; according to our guide, the paths get very slippery in the rain. When we got to this steep metal walkway built into a rock face, I could understand his concern--this ramp would be treacherous even in dry weather.

The base of the ramp was serrated to cling to your shoes, and tiny bars running across it allowed you to brace your feet every eighteen inches or so.
I did still manage to get a few pictures before the rain really set in, though.

Odd little spot with loads of cairns.
We took shelter at a cafe at the base of the hill, where Sophina and I split some fries and chatted with our guide, an English guy named Jon. We then all caught the bus to the train station, took two trains back to Munich, and arrived just after 7. The rest is a story (albeit not a super-interesting one, so don't hold your breath or anything) for another day.

Whew, long post! I'd say I successfully killed this layover. I'm about to head on to Nice, but I'm also due for a post about my trip to Dachau, the concentration camp just outside Munich. It really deserves its own post and it's some heavy stuff, so I may put that off for another day.

But on a lighter note, I'll leave you with one more picture of King Ludwig's pet project. (P.S.: There is a TON more to Ludwig's story and his building projects, and I highly suggest you Wikipedia him at least. His life is a veritable smorgasbord of weirdness and quirkiness.)

Sightseeing in Prague? CZECH.

Okay, awful pun, I know. You know what the only appropriate response is? PRAHAHAHA.

So it's my second day in Prague/Praha (first full day, really) and BOY did I do a lot of sightseeing. It was a great day, though, and I felt much better/more confident than yesterday, when I sort of felt like I was the guy in the third verse of "You Can Call Me Al."

The morning started out overcast and drizzly, so my umbrella and I left at around 10:15 to meet up with the free tour that leaves the Old Town Square at 10:45. By the time I'd made it into town it was POURING, so I was quite happy to have my umbrella with me.

I wasn't thrilled about the rain or anything, but Prague is one of the things on my itinerary that I wouldn't mind having wet weather for. I'd much rather tote an umbrella around Prague than on a hike in the Alps or the Cotswolds.

We covered a TON on the tour, which lasted into early afternoon, and then I decided to take the Castle Tour in the afternoon, which covers the part of the city on the opposite side of the river. It ended up being a really good choice, so hooray.

Prague is actually a very interesting city. Architecturally, it came through World War II with almost no "casualties"--the Old Town Hall was destroyed by a Nazi bomb just days before Prague was liberated (or, if we're going to be real about things, we'd say that it was just days before Prague was taken over by the Soviets instead of the Nazis). Otherwise, the city has tons of buildings that have survived for literally a millenium.

We visited a whole bunch of these (I was walking around from 10:45 until after 6, with only a couple of 20-minute breaks in there) so there's no time to talk at length about them--or even mention all of them. I'll try to cram as many as I can in, though.

I unfortunately cannot remember the name of this church on the Old Town Square, but it's noteworthy (among other reasons) for its "Adam and Eve towers," meaning that one (Adam) is bigger than the other (Eve). The explanation is that Adam is meant to protect Eve from the elements, but it's actually more likely that two work crews working with inconsistent measurements were the cuprit (so says my tour guide, anyway).

Church and statue of Jan Huss in the Old Town Square

We stopped by the astronomical clock, a must-see Prague site. On the hour, the clock comes to life as figures of the twelve apostles parade across. Unfortunately we weren't there at the right time, but we did learn about the stationary figures on the clock, meant to represent vices--vanity and greed--along with death and pagans (the guy with the lute). The "greed" statue used to have a very stereotypical and anti-Semitic pointed beard, but it was removed because the Communists (in power from the 1940s to the 1980s) thought it looked like a caricature of Karl Marx.

Continuing around the city, we got to listen to these guys play a song written about the Vltava River, which runs through Prague.

By the time we reached the Jewish Quarter, the sun had come out and it was a beautiful day. (I haven't checked in a mirror yet, but I can tell my face is sunburned. Oh, well, it's a small price to pay for a day in Prague.)

We visited a number of synagogues constructed in several different styles and used for a number of purposes. Only the Old-New Synagogue, where the famous Golum of Prague supposedly lies hidden in the attic, still has services. The others are all museums or concert venues or the like. The Czech Republic, it turns out, has the highest number of atheists of any officially Catholic country in the world--70 percent. For that reason, many of the churches are used for a myriad of purposes as well, housing bars, restaurants, concert halls, and so on.

I'd had the chance to visit the Jewish Quarter yesterday afternoon. It was a quick visit, since it was evening and the sites run by the Jewish Museum were closing, but I did get to see Pinkas Synagogue and the Jewish Cemetery. The Pinkas Synagogue was sad and fascinating: it's inscribed with the names of the 80,000 Czech Jews who lost their lives to the Nazis during World War II. It's a really striking, impressive sight and I would have loved to take some photos, but they were not allowed. (Two other women were unfazed by this and took copious amounts of photos. I was quite annoyed by/jealous of their wanton disregard for rules.)

Upstairs there was an exhibit of art produced by children while they were imprisoned in the Terezin concentration camp. It was really moving, especially since each drawing with a known artist was accompanied by their date of birth and death--and a lot of those dates were far too close together.

Outside, the Jewish Cemetery was an odd combination of peace and chaos, as the headstones all compete for space. Since Judaism forbids cremation and Jews in Prague were not allowed to be buried outside the ghetto, bodies in the cemetery had to be layered on top of one another, making the cemetery rise above street level and leading to a mish-mash of stones jockeying for positions in the tiny graveyard.

The Jewish Cemetery

But back to the sites we covered today. In the afternoon we went across the river to the so-called "Lesser Quarter," where many nobles once had their homes. (Today most of the buildings are owned by the state or are home to foreign embassies.) The gardens of Valdštejnská zahrada, which are free and open to the public, are steps from the entrance to the Malostranská metro station (such a weird juxtaposition...to me, anyway).

Valdštejnská zahrada. There are peacocks living in the gardens!

We took a tram up the hill. (Prague is built on seven hilltops, and some of them--this one, for example--are doozies.) Our first stop was a monastery famous for its beer. The monks no longer make it themselves, but a brewery on-site uses the same recipe. I did not partake in any beer-drinking due to my general dislike for it, but I really debated it for awhile because hey, in the Czech Republic you've gotta try the beer, right? I ultimately decided against it because I was running low on cash (many places here still don't take credit cards) and didn't want to find another ATM.

We headed for Prague Castle, stopping on the way to admire the Loreta, a shrine to the patron saint of women in bad relationships. (As our tour guide noted, there really is a patron saint for everything.) Loreta wanted to be a nun, but her father forced her to marry. The night before her wedding, she asked God to prevent it. The next morning she had a full beard and her husband-to-be was like, "Awwww hell to the no!" The story ends with Loreta dying anyway, so it's still a downer, but hey, at least she scored a pretty pilgrimage site (a lot of comfort to her, I'm sure).

Step right up, see the amazing bearded laaaaaaaady!

Next up: Prague Castle. It's sort of a misnomer, really, because it's actually sort of a village unto itself--more like a quarter or borough of a city than a separate, private complex. We got to watch the changing of the guard, and then we explored some gardens. One of the highlights was a sort of ampitheater-in-reverse (an antitheater? DONE. Coining it now, you heard it here first). Anyway, you stand on the raised platform in the center and speak normally. Everyone around you hears your voice at a normal volume, but you hear it amplified back to you. Even though part of me suspected this was some story meant to lure gullible tourists into proclaiming "Hi, my name is ___!" in the middle of a little ampitheater (ANTITHEATER! Darn it!), I tried it anyway. And not only does it work, it's the WEIRDEST. You can't really understand what it feels/sounds like without experiencing it, but the closest description I can give is that it sounds like one of those toy echo microphones kids love. Super bizarre.

The castle grounds were lovely and lush. One of the emperors--I forget which--used them as a hunting ground. It's not an odd fact except that he would shoot the deer from his bedroom window and then make servants go and get the carcasses. Even weirder: he would dress in full hunting gear to do so. Personally, I would stay in my pajamas, but that's just me. It's not like I spend a lot of time hunting, though, so what do I know?

Inside the castle proper, we visited a few sites. The second courtyard is surrounded by buildings whose facades were all altered to neo-classical style (I think) by Empress Maria Theresa of the Hapsburgs, who thought that Prague Castle didn't look enough like a castle because it was too much of a collage of architectural styles and historical periods. Once you're through the second courtyard, you can begin to see some of the different architectural styles, like the Gothic and neo-Gothic St. Vitus's Cathedral. Construction began hundreds of years ago but was halted when the Protestant workers didn't feel inclined to continue construction on a Catholic church. The cathedral was finished in the 1920s--a fact referenced in the engravings above the door, which feature the twentieth century architects in business suits.

Let's play "Spot the Stylistic Anachronism"!

We also passed a huge building--the largest non-secular hall in Europe at the time of its construction--that was built so one emperor (sorry, they all run together after awhile) could have indoor jousting matches with his pals (oh, the royals).

We then checked out the Golden Lane, named, according to legend, after the alchemists that worked there. The houses were rented out as homes until the end of World War II, and one of them belonged to Franz Kafka. I personally can't imagine how anyone could live in these tiny houses, especially in modern times. I practically had to duck through some of the doorways, and we all know I'm no Paul Bunyan myself. But the street was very cute and picturesque.

Franz Kafka lived at number 22.

After some views of the city we checked out the site of the Defenestration of Prague (the second one, the one that in 1618 started the Thirty Years' War). There have actually been three defenestrations of Prague, but this one is the only one that didn't end in fatalities. Or it didn't end immediately in fatalities, I guess I should say, since it did kick off a war that killed 8.5 million Europeans. (The Catholics who were pushed out the window--which is what a defenestration is, in case you weren't up on your obscure methods of medieval murder--landed in a dung heap and survived. According to the Catholics, this was a miracle and it meant there were angels guarding them. According to the Protestants, the Catholics were both full of and covered in shit.) The history nerd in me LOVED this. It was worth the price of the tour ticket for that alone.

It's not as high up as I'd imagined.

Whew, it's getting late and this is long so I'll wrap things up. I know you guys really only want the pictures anyway.

So we checked out the view from the castle hill (where we were serenaded by a cellist playing the most beautiful and badass rendition of a Red Hot Chili Peppers song):

It was "Otherside," in case you were wondering.

Checked out the John Lennon Wall:

Originally painted (and painted over) in the Communist era, it contained Beatles lyrics and paintings of the band. Today it's open for anyone to decorate.

Observed this European phenomenon:

Couples inscribe their initials on locks and then attach them to bridge railings as a symbol of lasting love.

Crossed the Charles Bridge:

Possibly the top tourist attraction in Prague.

Rubbed this statue for good luck (only the right side, which grants good luck and a return to Prague. The left side gives you bad luck and apparently guarantees that you'll never return. This was one of many things I rubbed for good luck in Prague. Also on the list: golden curlicue designs and a statue's golden penis. I really ought to have the best luck ever now.):

You can't really see it in this picture, but there are two engraved panels on the base of the statue. Those are the parts you rub for good (or bad) luck.

After that I grabbed dinner with Jenny, a woman my age who I'd met on the tour, and then we walked back to the tram as the sky whipped itself up into a fairly impressive thunderstorm. Not a lot of rain, but a lot of thunder and lightning.

Ooh, ominous!

And now it's off to bed with me. I've been typing much longer than I'd anticipated (and I initially got on here to do some freelance work--aka the writing I'm actually paid for). Since I have to catch the train to Munich at 9:15 tomorrow, I should probably head to bed. I expect to sleep quite soundly tonight, but not as soundly as yesterday, when I fell asleep, exhausted and jetlagged, at 9 pm (after an hours-long struggle to stay awake for the sake of a normal, non-jet-laggy sleep pattern). There were some German guys talking loudly (one of them was mere feet from my pillow), and they had the lights blazing and were banging doors shut and whatnot, but it didn't even matter. I was dead to the world for a good ten hours and woke up feeling loads better than when I'd fallen asleep. WIN. If I can recapture even a fraction of that level of rest tonight, I will be so very happy (but it's Saturday night and people are definitely in a partying mood, so we'll see how this goes and what the noise level is like).

See you in Munich!