Why not a dinner of hot Tom Yum and crisp slices of fried duck sitting on bamboo shoots under a late night sun at the Asia House in Bad Godesberg?
Or bathing a nude German fraulein in melted chocolate and scrubbing her skin with my tounge in Cologne's fabled Chocolate Museum?
But the jigsaw of that city's 12 Romanesque Churches remains broken and picking the missing pieces while blessing their holy WCs with MVI's golden pee is an itch that remains and need scratching.
Maybe a late lunch of sliced Black Forest ham with rye bread on the side while munching on the antics of a solo jazz dancer stealing tunes from a quartet of Germanized mariachis.
Who am I to resist answering questions on climate change for a free souvenir or writing my name in solidarity with pro-Palestinian activists or conversing with a solo Amnesty International campaigner for human rights in China before that huge exclamation mark of communist German Turks shouting their support for the anarchists of Taksim Square?
And all under the shadow of the Great Cathedral of Cologne!
Whatever it might be in Deutschland, Indulgence is that whorehouse along Quezon Avenue where angels drink beer and dance like stoned snakes.
FOOTNOTE: For the record, I am sure to have shot two of Cologne's 12 Romanesque Churches namely St. Andreas and the Great St. Martin. The most recent shown here are what I think is the 13th century St. Maria Lyskirchen which is the smallest of the 12 (third photo from the top), one yet to be identified (fourth photo), and the 11th century St. Mary's im Kapitol (fifth photo) which is the largest of the dozen.
Buwisit na Kolsch at Riesling 'yan.
Hindi yata magkatono kaya para akong nabati kaninang umaga.
O hindi na talaga ako sanay uminom?
Torture din ang almusal na hindi nagbago sa loob ng 15 araw na inilagi ko sa Hotel Haus Berlin.
Pero kailangang kumain dahil mahaba ang lalakarin ko para patayin ang isang araw na nakabalakid sa flight pauwi sa Pilipinas [$500 kasi ang dagdag kung ngayon ako nagpa-book ng flight].
Kaya lumunok ako ng isang manipis na cold cut, isang maliit na piraso ng hilaw na pink salmon, at isang hiwa ng kamatis na may nakapatong na mozarella cheese na kaagad kong hinugasan ng kapeng walang asukal at gatas.
Sa Bonn, hinanap ko muna 'yung mamang
nakatuwad sa may Kennedy Bridge [ipinagawa daw ng meyor ng Bonn dahil hindi tumupad sa ambagan ang kabilang bayan sa pagpapagawa sa tulay] bago ako tumawid sa kabila ng Rhine para hanapin ang Doppelkirche Schwarzheindor.
Halos isang oras din akong naglakad.
Nagtanong ako sa isang dalagang Aleman nang mapakiramdaman kong naliligaw na ako.
Sinagot naman niya ako sa German language na naintindihan ko yata dahil narating ko din ang simbahan.
Pagbalik ay sumakay na ako at bumaba sa bus stop na inakala kong malapit sa natanaw kong simbahan habang tinatawid namin ang Kennedy Bridge.
Pagkatapos ay nagwiwi muna ako sa Karstadt.
May mga naka-sale na bag kaya bumili na din ako ng isa para sa mahal kong laging naiiwan sa bahay namin sa Bacal 2 [discounted prices lang muna ang kaya ko pero libo din 'yun kapag kinonbert ang Euro sa piso].
'Tsaka ako naglakad ng naglakad ng naglakad.
Hanggang sa nakatisod ako ng libreng bratwurst at beer.
'Yun at isang piraso ng walang lasang pizza ang pananghalian ko habang nakaupo sa tabi ng isang maliit na fountain kasama ang dalawang batang Aleman na nilalaro ang tubig at mag-asawang turistang mga hapon yata.
D'un ako nakaramdam ng lungkot.
Siguro dahil nag-iisa ako o dahil masyado ko naman yatang inaapi ang sarili sa pagtitipid sa pagkain para may maipambili ng maipapasalubong [oo, madalas na instant noodles lang ang hapunan ko 'tsaka orange juice; kung minsan may panghimagas naman na tsokolate].
Naglakad ulit ako hanggang sa kailangan ko ulit magwiwi kaya pumasok ako sa Galeria.
D'un na ako bumili ng mga German sausage na maiuuwi.
Nagmerienda muna ako ng gelato sa Marketplatz habang pinapanood ang ritwal ng isang nagaganap na kasalan.
Saka ako nagpasiyang umuwi na.
Pero dumaan muna ako sa Rewe pagdating ng Bad Godesberg para bumili ng keso at mga tsokolate.
Alas-5 na ng hapon nang makarating ako sa malungkot kong kuwarto sa hotel.
Nag-ayos ako ng mga pinamili habang nanonood ng CNN na tanging English channel sa TV.
'Tsaka ko isinulat ito.
Bukas, uuwi na ako sa Bacal 2.
At parang ayaw ko nang bumalik sa Bonn...
"The trip to Trier will follow the Rhine where cute German towns sprouted along the riverbank."
That's my boss, a former Marxist idealogue and current closet anarchist, giving me a preview of what to expect should I go to a pilgrimage to Trier.
And Trier is the house where Karl Marx was born in 1818.
The train indeed followed much of the course of the Rhine until Koblenz.
But the cute German towns from there are actually along the banks of the Moselle whose vineyards are famous for a variety of white wine named after the river.
From Trier's main train station, the Karl-Marx-Haus is just a short walk away, its upper middle class character way off the Proletariat that its former inhabitant represented.
Being there was surreal as Das Kapital, political economy, Marxist-Lenninist-Maoist thought, independent socialism, and other egalitarian words took concrete form and chased me from one gallery to another.
It hit me too that one of the most familiar portraits of anti-capitalism (that bearded man in a sitting pose) has become a capitalist venture from refrigerator magnets to wines and chocolates.
But Trier is not only about Karl Marx.
It is also a delicious lunch of grilled pheasant breast in mushroom sauce and noodles.
And the awesome Cathedral of St. Peter --- the oldest in Germany and listed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site --- where the Holy Tunic that Jesus allegedly wore when he died is in safekeeping.
And the 15-century St. Gangolf market church too which I got to shoot in a fleeting moment.
It was much ado about [surplus] hot air.
And hell has no fury than the BURs [Belarus, Ukraine, Russian Federation] scorned [in Doha].
That was the case last week when Comrade Oleg threw the gauntlet and turned deaf to the collective plea of the world [parties they are called in Bonn].
And everyday as I walk to the bus stop, my love for Russia grew less.
And less as the empty halls screamed to negotiators in idle mode.
And less as I pondered on the work we could have done.
And less as I thought of the family I left behind.
And less as I have to endure each day of the gastronomic terrorism at the Maritim.
But here's some flowers for the BURs [read: boors] just the same.
Everyday for the next 14 days, I will chase the cold pavement of the Rheinalee...
...into a hole where the train is always on time in its ritual of regurgitating and devouring people...
...emerge in the daylight of Max Loebner Strabe to the rat race of pedestrians, bikers, and cars along Godesberg Alee...
...endure the annoying security checks of the shoe box that is the Maritim and its absurdly priced and depressing German cuisine...
...enter into rooms with with funny names that stir the ghosts of dead masters...
...and converse to nowhere in different interpretations of the English with people of various sizes, colors, names, attires, and smell.
And then back.
Average daily walk: 4-5 kilometers.
Average daily work load: 15 hours
So help me God.
