Underground Paris

There is simply too much to see and to do in Paris. Hundreds of museums, marvelous parks, great restaurants and shopping, shows, etc. But if you're going there and you have to limit yourself to only a few things, I suggest you make a visit to the catacombs one of them. Though it's off the beaten tourist track, we waited two hours to get in, because they only let in a trickle of visitors at a time.

But beware!

Prior to the Revolution and due to overcrowding and disease, the graveyards of Paris had to be cleared. The remains were carried in formal processions to this former stone quarry some 200 feet beneath the streets of Paris and ceremonially interred. Today, the bones of some six million Parisians are located here. If the ghosts of Natzweiler-Struthof were as yet unpropitiated, the ghosts here seem to have found peace.

God is not the maker of death:

It was the evil of the devil which brought death into the world:

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Don't just take my word for it, it's endorsed by Space Invader (him again):

After a hard day's sightseeing underground, I could sure use a beer to drink it all in. How about Cafe Hell:

Ahhh.

Wir fahr'n fahr'n fahr'n auf der Autobahn: Where the Road Takes You

In Germany, I learned that 160 kilometers per hour is approximately 100 mph, and that even if you're driving 160 kph on the Autobahn in your rented Skoda Octavia Cambia, you have to keep an eye on the rearview or else Porsches, Audis, BMWs, and Benzes will come out of nowhere and climb right up your tailpipe. When they do, stay calm and move right. They'll pass you like you're standing still. You can drive that fast because the lanes are plenty wide and the curves favorably cambered.

Fun fun fun on the Autobahn. I'm doing about 90-95 here, & this blur of a Porsche comes out of nowhere so fast I can't even get out of the way:

I also learned that no matter where you go, you'll probably end up at some place called Ausfahrt,

and what's more, you'll probably wind up taking Einbahnstraße to get there. Take my word for it. [h/t]

The view from the top: my hotel window in Heidelberg:

I was awoken about 2:30 by some drunken student sitting just there shouting into his cellphone. It sounded like he was crying to his girlfriend to take him back. If I'd had my wits about me, I would've recorded it.

Speaking of witty:

The Wild, Wild West [Germany]. Who knew?

A German picnic.

Yum, yum, have my crumbs.

But you can't have my bier.

Rollin' on the river (Lethe? Styx? No, Rhine):

Bert's Place?

Finished or un-?

I know that cathedrals are holy places and museums are precious, but there are no more sanctified grounds in all of Europe than such places as this, Natzweiler-Struthof, in the Alsatian mountains. At the turn of the last century, it had been a gay ski resort. You can see chateaux down the valley:

When I was a kid I often fantasized about being in the French Resistance. Now I wonder if I'd have the courage:

Death's door: from experimentation to extermination, the evil that took place in this building was palpable even to this day, made me weak. Made me ill. Political enemies, Jews, homosexuals, gypsies—ostracized, segregated, demonized, hated. Never forget:

Never forget.

Umlautville

Köln has a cöl Hauptbahnhof:

They advertise their art shows on the floor:

And you think you're Goth:

Take your favorite cathedral. You can probably fit two or three of them inside this one, the original Gothic:

Randal: Got some window pics just for you:

Primitive pixelation? or maybe they just ran out of ideas:

But hey, with pigtailed saints like this, I might even think about converting:

Hey, dude, move your head:

No, you take the Soviets (sorry about the shaky hands):

Wasn't this guy on South Park?

You ever wonder where some of those guys get their umm notions?

Found this just lying around:

Really?

Done with the Jesus. Time for a bier.

Ahhh.

No Chinese for me tonight, thanks. Must be Tone's Chinese brother. Wonder how you say 'Funky Cold Medina' in Chinese. Or German for that matter.

The Museum Ludwig's right next door to the train station and the cathedral. Nicely curated, modern and post. Worth a walk through. Caught us all totally by surprise. Picasso here:

That's a Rauschenberg, with reflected Warhols, etc.

Van Hoch

I'm not sure I like most of Van Gogh. His early stuff is crude; he couldn't draw particularly well; and, apparently, he didn't know how to mix his oils well enough to keep the colors from darkening over the years. Some of his early landscapes and peasantscapes—ho hum—will probably fade to black in the next few decades unless properly restored.

That said, the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam, which collects hundreds of his works, is worthy if only for this:

I'd seen the Starry Night and several of the Sunflowers paintings and all those wonderful self-portraits (both with and without pipes and hats for props—including the ones where his eyes seem to burn holes right through the canvases) before—all of which I enjoyed. But nothing—Nothing—prepared me for his Irises. Nothing can, not pictures online or even reproductions.

I walked into the gallery where it hung, and when it caught my eye, I felt the a shuddering in my breast. I waited a second to let the air and blood pulse back into their respective cavities. I edged closer to it to see what had caused that affect. I examined it up close, then stepped back. Helpless tears of joy and tears of beauty fought to see which could be first out of my eyes as I took it in. It was rapturous. I stood there, transfixed, for nigh on half and hour. I couldn't walk away. It commanded the room, the gallery.

It was like all his early stuff—everything he had, essentially, taught himself—had come together and congealed into the expression of that one perfect painting, the flowering (sic) of a career—however brief. The harmony of the colors, the melody of the lines, the organization of the brushwork, the proportions. The urgency. The passion. The madness. The genius. It's all there.

I know it's only a picture of a pot of flowers, but dammit this is a great work of art. It's on the verge of breaking away from the bounds of representation—albeit impressionistic—into the realm of pure expression. The closer you get, the better you can see this. Beholding it was one of the absolute pinnacles of my trip as it was an absolute pinnacle of the artist's career.

Here you can find an interactive Flash of the picture. Get close. Closer. Scroll around. Then back out. Then go in again.

Now go see it.