Categories
Running Travel & Food

Hitting the Wall: A Run Through Berlin

In 1961, someone in the German government unfolded a map of Berlin, grabbed a pen, and drew a line that would forever change the course of world history.

Sixty-three years later, a guy named Mike did the same — with two slight differences.

  • He used a neon highlighter.
  • He didn’t change the course of world history.

The line drawn in 1961 became the Berlin Wall. Mike’s bright yellow line became the route for a running tour, crisscrossing areas once strictly divided into East and West Berlin.

Although the Wall was dismantled 35 years ago, its palimpsest is still there, and I was about to run all over it. 

A map of Berlin with a running route drawn on it.
Meet route.

Introducing Mike

Mike, the guy with the highlighter, is the founder and namesake of Mike’s SightRunning. I found him while researching running tours in Berlin. He’s highly rated on TripAdvisor and Google.

Here’s what I liked about Mike:

  • He customized a route just for me.
  • He is a great conversationalist — he shared his experiences and insights, not just facts and dates.
  • He let me set the pace, which is important because I move slower than a slug after Thanksgiving dinner.
  • He took great photos.
  • He’s just an all-around great guy.

I Never Promised You a Tiergarten

With our route planned, Mike and I headed to the Tiergarten. It was a great day for a run — a sunny yet cool Sunday morning in September.1

Berlin’s central park was green, welcoming, and buzzing with happy people — but it hadn’t always been that way. Most of the park was destroyed in World War II, and Berliners ransacked it for firewood during fuel shortages that followed the war. According to Mike’s grandmother, the Tiergarten looked like a wasteland by the end of the ’40s.2

We ended up at the Victory Column, which, if you’ve read any history books published after 1918, you know has nothing to do with either World War. It was built after Prussia and Austria defeated Denmark in 1864.3

Mike said there’s a viewing platform atop the Victory Column, and the views would be spectacular that day. He asked if I wanted to climb the 300 or so steps to see it. I did not.

Dave pointing at the Victory Column in Berlin.
Look! A woman dipped in gold!

Mike told me that Hitler had the column moved in the 1930s to make room for bigger monuments and grander buildings as he redesigned Berlin.

Instead of a 300-foot-tall arch, Berlin got a 100-mile-long wall. We began running west, along the Spree River, to a spot where Berlin was once physically divided but now symbolically united.

A Capital Idea

You’ll find most of Germany’s government buildings in a district called — wait for it — the Government District.

What, you expected something whimsical?

Honestly, it’s a much too literal and colorless name for an area that meaningfully and — dare I say it — joyfully ties together Berlin’s past, present, and future.4

This is where Hitler began clearing the ground for his grand designs for Berlin. What he didn’t raze, the Allies did. The Wall went up. And then it came down. The land that once symbolized German aggression, defeat, and separation could now become the home for German healing, democracy, and progress.

Yeah, even I’m sickened by how over-the-top that last sentence was.

Here’s a better way to think of it: Germany needed a slew of new government buildings quickly, and plenty of newly available land was in the middle of Berlin. It was a no-brainer decision, symbolic or not.

Several gleaming new glass-and-concrete buildings straddle the Spree, connected stylistically with architecture and realistically with bridges. Mike pointed out details I certainly would have missed, like the complementary roofs of the Paul-Löbe-Haus and Marie-Elisabeth-Lüders-Haus, which face each other across the river.

What about the area’s older buildings? Well, you’ll be glad to hear that they finally fixed the roof on the Reichstag. In 1933, the building went up in flames in what was first described as arson but may, in fact, have been set by German patriots on a “normal tourist visit” on a “day of love” in support of their dear leader. Wait, that sounds familiar.

The Reichstag’s glass dome, completed in 1999, is an engineering and architectural masterpiece that serves two purposes:

  • Symbolically, it represents transparency in government.
  • Structurally, it keeps rain out of the main hall where parliament meets, which is considered a good thing.5

To truly capture the Government District’s historical, cultural, and architectural significance, I made Mike take a bunch of photos.

Dave running along the Spree with the Reichstag in the background.
A running spree on the Spree.
A picture of Dave with the Reichstag in the background.
Essentially the same photo, but in this one I’m not pretending to run.
Dave on a Bridge over the Spree River.
Thumbs up, Berlin!

After running past the Reichstag, Mike took me to one of Berlin’s most famous landmarks, the hotel where Michael Jackson dangled his newborn over a balcony. To get there, we had to pass through the Brandenburg Gate, which, now that I think about it, is probably more noteworthy. 

Dave leans nonchalantly against a lamppost near the Brandenburg Gate.
Why am I smiling? Because I’m smart enough to know not to dangle newborns over balconies.

The Brandenburg Gate is where John F. Kennedy, Jr., proclaimed “Ich bin ein Berliner,” and Ronald Reagan ordered Mikhail Gorbachev to “Tear down this wall.” Were these speeches important? Yes. But did they make the front page of the National Enquirer? No. So, if you’re keeping score, it’s Presidents 0, Pop Star 1.

I have no idea where I’m going with this nonsense, but do you know who has a route planned out? Mike. Let’s get back to that.6

On our way to the Russian Embassy, we passed several other landmarks, including the American Embassy (a symbol of American freedom and democracy) and Dunkin Donuts (ditto). I asked Mike to take me because I wanted to see the Ukrainian protest and vigil out front. It began when Russia invaded Ukraine in February 2022 and hasn’t stopped since.7

A vigil outside the Russian embassy in Berlin.
Slava Ukraini!

Mike said one of the Russian tanks captured by the Ukrainian military was parked for a short time in front of the embassy. I wish I could have seen that. Nothing says “Fuck You” than taunting your enemy with a 50-ton war prize.

The Way Back

After our detour to the Russian Embassy, we began heading back to my hotel. This meant running around past the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe, which is a solemn and sobering place. Writing about it in a rambling, goofy blog post would be disrespectful, so I won’t.8

We continued south to Potsdamer Platz, where a few sections of the Wall are on display. But don’t expect to see graffiti, bullet holes, or anything reminiscent of the Cold War. They’re covered with wads of gum, much to Mike’s dismay. Tourists began doing that several years ago.

I told Mike that one of Seattle’s top tourist attractions is the Gum Wall near the original Starbucks. I think it’s kinda cool. I guess I’m OK with using wads of gum for quirky things, but not for defacing historical artifacts.

Sections of the Berlin Wall covered with tourists' gum.
Gumming up the works.

Mike suggested we duck into the Ritz-Carlton to check out the lobby. I agreed, mainly because I needed to use the bathroom, and people tend to frown on public urination these days.

We talked to the hotel manager for a bit and poked our heads into the restaurant. That’s where I discovered one of Berlin’s lesser-known but most important treasures: a giant jar of Nutella with a pump.

The manager refused to let me pump Nutella directly into my mouth, even though I asked politely. He was OK with me taking a picture.

Dave discovers a giant jar of Nutella.
I want one of these in every room of my house.

Our last stop was Center Potsdamer Platz, formerly the Sony Center. This was one of the first major commercial developments after Germany’s reunification. The first time I visited, on a Friday night in 2007, it was a hubbub of activity. Not so much before noon on a Sunday morning 17 years later. A lot of construction work was underway; Mike said the center was adding new stores and attractions to compete with the nearby Mall of Berlin.9

We ended the tour where it began: in the hotel lobby.

Mike and Dave pose with a bear statue in the hotel lobby.
That’s Mike on the left. I just realized his jacket and hat match his highlighter.

On every trip to Berlin, I’m reminded of how large a role the Wall still plays in, well, everything. Its existence once defined the city. Now, its absence does. As a visitor, running along and through where the Wall once stood makes this easier to see.

The route Mike drew with his yellow highlighter didn’t change world history, but it helped me understand and appreciate it.

A close-up of Dave's shoe and a marker showing where the Berlin Wall used to be.

The run wasn’t just about the Wall, of course. I’ve found there’s no better way to experience a city — not just see it — than with running shoes on your feet and an engaging guide leading the way.

Thanks, Mike, for being that guide in Berlin. I hope it’s not long till we can lace up and run again. 

By the Numbers

As a reminder, here’s the route Mike prepared:

A map of Berlin with a running route drawn on it.

Here’s the map of our run. You’ll see it follows Mike’s route precisely, except we went further west on Under den Linden to see the vigil in front of the Russian Embassy. 

Map of our actual running route.

Stats

  • Total distance: 5.7 miles (9.2 km)
  • Workout time: 1 hour, 40 minutes
  • Total time (including stops): 2 hours, 20 minutes
  • Average pace: 17’28” per mile (10’28” per km)
  • Temperature: 58°F, 14°C
  • Nutella pumps: 0
The Obligatory Footnotes
  1. September 15, to be exact. I put off writing this for nearly two months. Hey, a lot of thought and effort goes into writing the world’s best okay-est blog post about a guided running tour in Berlin! You can’t rush excellence okay-ence. ↩︎
  2. Mike’s grandmother wasn’t running with us. Mike was conveying to me what he had heard from her. ↩︎
  3. This happened long before the invention of Legos, which meant the Danish army couldn’t slow down its foes by strewing plastic blocks everywhere. Ever try walking over those things in bare feet? I’d retreat in a second. ↩︎
  4. In German, it’s sometimes called the Band des Bundes, which translates to Federal Ribbon. That’s more charismatic, but it sounds like Band des Bundts, which makes me think of cake. ↩︎
  5. I’m disappointed no one proposed a retractable roof, like the ones you see at stadiums. ↩︎
  6. Who the hell writes this asinine blog? Oh wait, it’s me. At least this proves that ChatGPT didn’t generate this blog post. No computer would write something so absurd and inane. ↩︎
  7. I can trace part of my family tree back to Ukraine, but that was many generations ago, and it would be a stretch to call myself a Ukrainian-American. My outrage is based on my desire for justice, not my lineage. ↩︎
  8. Here’s a video I made a day before: Walking Through the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe. ↩︎
  9. At least they didn’t call it the Berlin Mall. That would cause some confusion. ↩︎
Categories
Whatnot

Simpsons Did It: Hurricane Edition

Appropros of nothing, here are some perfectly cromulent highlights from “Hurricane Neddy,” episode 8 of season 8 of The Simpsons.

Worst. Hall of Records. Ever.
Lisa Simpson says "I think a hurricane's coming."
Homer says there's no record of a hurricane hitting Springfield.
Lisa says the hall of records was mysteriously blown away in 1978.
Release the Hounds
Homer asks the dog what's wrong.
Santa's Little Helper is blown away.
Thank You. Come Again.
Apu says everyone will have a chance to be gouged.
Hrrrmmmm.
Kent Brockman comments on using women's names for storms.
Kent Brockman goes too far.
Marge responds: "That's true, but he shouldn't say it.
Categories
Entertainment

Behind the Music

Orchestra conductors are always facing the music — literally, not metaphorically — which means they never face me. Name any other profession where keeping your back turned to your customers is not considered rude.1

After who-knows-how-many classical concerts, I have finally seen what the front side of conducting looks like. It gave me a new perspective on music — literally and metaphorically.

Here’s what happened and what I saw:

On a trip to Berlin a few weeks ago, I saw the Berlin Philharmonic play. The concert hall is oddly shaped,2 and while most of the audience faces the stage, some seating sections wrap around the sides and back. I bought seat 14 in row 5 in block H — not only an affordable seat at €50 but one that would afford me a direct view of Chief Conductor Kirill Petrenko!

Dave outside the Berlin Philharmonic.
This was my first visit to the Berlin Philharmonic. When I got inside, I discovered the building is about 25% performance space and 75% stairs.3
View from my seat at the Berlin Philharmonic.
Here’s the view from my seat at the Berlin Philharmonic. I took this picture before the concert started because you’re not supposed to take photos during the performance and Germans, I’ve heard, are sticklers for rules.
Berlin Philharmonic - panoramic view from my seat
This panorama gives you a good idea of how the seats wrap around the stage.

The program featured two works written 100 years apart: Wolfgang Rihm’s modern and experimental IN-SCHRIFT4 from 1995 and Anton Bruckner’s Fifth Symphony from 1895. From my seat behind the stage, I saw how Petrenko adjusted his conducting style for each composition.

Up several flights of stairs. Find my seat. The lights dim. An announcement in German that I assume means, “Ladies and Gentlemen, please silence your mobile devices. Photography and recording are prohibited during this performance,” but may have been, “Any rebroadcast, reproduction, or other use of the pictures and accounts of this performance without the express written consent of Major League Baseball is prohibited.”

IN-SCHRIFT

Rihm was a bittersweet addition to the program. He was supposed to be the Berlin Philharmonic’s Composer in Residence for 2024-2025 but died in July, one month before the season began. The performance was dedicated to him.

If I had to describe IN-SCHRIFT with just one word, it would be “heavy.” It emphasizes percussion and downplays strings. There were five percussionists, each with a full set of drums, cymbals, gongs, chimes, bells, pachinko machines,5 and more. In a break with convention, most of the string instruments were placed in the middle rows of the orchestra, while woodwinds (and one harp) got first-class seats at the front.

So, how did Petrenko handle a work like this? He led the orchestra with intense focus and discipline. I recognized the look on his face — it’s the same look I have when trying my hardest to concentrate on something complicated instead of slipping into a state of flow and falling back on instinct.6 

Each movement was deliberate and seemed practiced. And it had to be. IN-SCHRIFT is unorthodox in structure, pacing, and orchestration. Petrenko’s precision left no room for error.

Intense applause. Intermission. Down some stairs. Restroom! Whew. Get a drink? Nope, the line’s too long. More stairs. Oh, hey, a gift shop!7 Oh, that’s the signal to head back to my seat. Oy, so many stairs.

Bruckner’s Fifth

After the intermission, Petrenko was just as precise as before — but also lively, energetic, and joyful. Anton Bruckner’s Symphony No. 5 in B-flat major is more conventional and better known than IN-SCHRIFT. Even if Petrenko and the musicians had never performed it before, they’d be familiar with similar works from the same era. That made everyone on the stage more comfortable and confident than with Rihm’s piece.

Petrenko looked like he was having fun. His motions were fluid and animated. He smiled more. He was more engaged with the musicians, acknowledging their hard work with thumbs-up gestures.

Now, this was an artist in a state of flow. He was having the time of his life, and I was, too.8

Thunderous applause. Everyone jumps to their feet. Lights come up. Other people start taking photos, so I do too. No longer need to fear discipline from the Berlin Philharmonic and/or Major League Baseball.

Take a Bow

The well-deserved standing ovation lasted more than five minutes. Petrenko returned to the stage several times to bow to the audience and recognize the musicians.

Petrenko thanks his musicians.
Petrenko thanks his musicians. Note that he’s not wearing a traditional suit. Would that be considered a Nehru jacket?
The musicians bow to those of us behind the stage.
The musicians bow to those of us behind the stage.

Sometimes, when I drag the Complimentary Spouse to the symphony, I’ll nudge him and joke about how the conductors take all the credit while the musicians do all the work. Of course, I know conducting is hard work, but I couldn’t fully understand or appreciate it until I saw it for myself.

A new perspective on music, indeed. Literally and metaphorically. Bravo, maestro.

The Berlin Philharmonic concert hall at night.
The Berlin Philharmonic concert hall at night.
Eine Kleine Footnotes
  1. OK, yeah, drivers and chauffeurs. Stop interrupting me with facts. You know what I’m getting at. ↩︎
  2. It’s an irregular hexadecagon. ↩︎
  3. This also describes the Straz Center in here Tampa. ↩︎
  4. “IN-SCHRIFT” is German for “My caps lock button is stuck.” ↩︎
  5. Of course, there weren’t any pachinko machines. Just seeing if you were paying attention. ↩︎
  6. I’m certain Petrenko is much better in these situations than I am. ↩︎
  7. Alas, no “Karajan My Wayward Son” or “Yabba-Abbado-Doo” T-shirts. ↩︎
  8. Nein, so habe ich mich noch nie gefühlt. Ja, ich schwöre, es ist die Wahrheit. Und das alles habe ich dir zu verdanken. ↩︎

Categories
Whatnot

My Dinner With Jimmy

Jimmy Carter turns 100 years old today. I once had dinner with him. It’s a cool story. Here goes:

I was a senior at Emory, and the university invited about 50 student leaders to have dinner with the President before he spoke at a campus-wide event. Somehow, I made the invite list.1

The dinner was held at Harris Hall, a women’s dorm with a big meeting room facing busy Clifton Road. I arrived, signed in, clipped a name tag to my lapel, and participated in the usual small talk. President Carter arrived a while later. The chatter stopped and everyone turned to look at him. I think it was probably because a world leader and leading humanitarian had just entered the room but, in hindsight, we may have just been stunnded to see that he had forgotten to pick up his name tag.

Jimmy Carter shakes hands with Dave
In case you are confused, the President is the one not wearing a name tag.

After President Carter arrived, we trickled from the reception area to a massive rectangular dining table. It took me a while to find my place card, and that’s because I wasn’t looking in the right place. I didn’t expect to be seated at the head of the table, with just one chair between me and the President.

Whoa.

I don’t remember much about the person who sat between us, except that she wasn’t a student — I think she was associated with the Carter Center. What I do remember is that she didn’t speak much. That meant that I got to talk to the President quite a bit, as long as he was facing to his left.

The first thing I ever said to the President?

“Can you pass the salt?”

I’m not making that up. It is a real thing that happened.

With seasoning out of the way, I asked the President about his most recent book (“Turning Point,” about his first political campaign). I can’t remember his response, but I followed up by asking how he took the time to write.

His response (which I don’t remember well enough to quote) was that he made time to write because it was important enough. Over the years, I’ve distilled what he said down to this: Be passionate about writing and disciplined about scheduling.

We talked about other topics, but the conversation would always circle back to writing. At one point, I asked him how he approached poetry versus prose (“Always a Reckoning, and Other Poems” would be published the following year).

His exact words elude me again, but my takeaway was that Carter thought of himself as a writer. Not a former President who writes. It didn’t matter if what he wrote, or if it was for himself or posterity — all writing has value.

Again, whoa.

Carter seemed to enjoy the conversation. I suspect he gets asked about the same things repeatedly, and it felt like he appreciated talking about something important yet unrelated to politics.

All of this happened long ago, and there’s a good chance I’m misremembering or misrepresenting what happened.2 Stories, like storytellers, tend to evolve with age. I don’t know what, if anything, President Carter remembers from our discussion — not because of his age, but because he’s had 100 years of extraordinary encounters and experiences, so why would this one stick out?

But, who knows?

Happy birthday, President.

Footnotes
  1. I was editor of the school newspaper at the time, but I still suspect it was an Archibald Buttle-type mixup. ↩︎
  2. I’m 1,000% sure I’m right about asking for the salt. ↩︎

Categories
Whatnot

Oh. My. Pod.

A few days ago, just before sunrise, I saw more dolphins along Bayshore Boulevard than I’ve ever seen there. Here’s a short clip:

Categories
Travel & Food

Llamas and Nausea and Ruins, Oh My! My Trip to Machu Picchu.

Machu Picchu featured image

My last post was a bunch of logorrhea and omphaloskepsis about my experience at Machu Picchu. Now that that’s out of the way, let’s cut out the five-dollar words and see some pictures!

I’m going to start in Cusco. If you’d rather skip this part and go directly to the sections about Machu Picchu, you can click here. Just go ahead. Jump over my carefully crafted, witty prose and wonderful photos. I don’t care. Whatever.

Getting There Wasn’t Half the Fun. It Was No Fun.

One does not simply walk into Machu Picchu. Getting there requires trains, planes, and automobiles, but not in that order.

Also a bus.

First, you fly to Cusco, which is 11,150 feet (3,400 meters) above sea level. Everyone warned the Complimentary Spouse and me about the lack of oxygen at that altitude, but I didn’t feel it one bit!

For about five minutes, anyway.

By the time we reached the baggage carousel, I was breathing heavily and felt a twinge of nausea. (Spoiler alert: Nausea will be a recurring theme in this travelogue.)

From Cusco, you need to get to Ollantaytambo, which is about two hours by car East-northeast. We had arranged for a driver to take us there. My half-assed Spanish was better than his nonexistent English, so Britt didn’t understand a word we said, and I’m not sure the driver and I understood each other either.

About an hour into the drive, I was severely nauseated. I asked the driver to pull over at the next shoulder, hopped out, and heaved for a few minutes.

Are we close to Machu Picchu yet, Dave? Not even close. Calm down.

Ollantaytambo is notable for only one thing: the Ollantaytambo train station.1 I got some water, and we boarded the train to Aguas Calientes. I instantly felt sick, as if someone had turned my nausea dial up to 11. I tried to focus on the landscape rolling past the window. Then I closed my eyes and listened to relaxing music on my headphones. This was interrupted by a rather loud and lousy Incan dance performance in the middle of the trip.2

From Ollantaytambo to Aguas Calientes

Two queasy hours later, I stepped off the train and into a maze of souvenir shops. Aguas Calientes is the town closest to Machu Picchu, and its sole industry seems to be tourism — hotels, restaurants, tour guides, and souvenirs. It’s the Kissimmee of the Sacred Valley: A place that’s only visited because it’s close to the place people really want to visit.3

A view of Aguas Calientes.
Not a Starbucks or Marriott in sight. That’s OK.
View of Aguas Calientes
The Urubamba River bisects Agua Calientes.
A view of the Urubamba River.
For dinner, we went to Full House Peruvian Cuisine. Our table overlooked the Urubamba River.
A dish of lomo salteado and a glass of pisco sour.
I ordered the lomo salteado with alpaca. Looks good, but how will it taste?
Dave bites into some lomo salteado.
Alpaca doesn’t taste like chicken. It’s very lean and somewhat sweet. Texture-wise, it’s somewhere between tough and chewy. I was a bit disappointed, but I was in a touristy restaurant in a touristy town, which often doesn’t equate to quality meals.

We spent the night in a hotel whose staircase was inspired by M.C. Escher. In the morning, we met our guide, boarded a bus, and headed at last to Machu Picchu.

And, since I know you’re curious, the road was indeed narrow, twisty, and nausea-inducing.

Morning at Machu Picchu

At last, we had arrived at one of the Seven Wonders of the Modern World, the snack bar outside Machu Picchu.

Our guide, Mauro, suggested we wait about half an hour for the best views. Right now, he explained, the site would be shrouded in fog. Later, there would be no fog at all. In 30 minutes, things would be spectacular.

Boy oh boy, he was right.

After walking up about eight flights of uneven, rocky stairs, we turned the corner and saw this:

A view of Machu Picchu, framed by branches and leaves.
With all due respect to Carl Sandburg, the fog creeps in on little alpaca feet.

A few minutes later, Mauro offered to snap a photo. Who were we to refuse?

A panorame of Machu Picchu taken from the upper terrace with Britt and Dave on the left.
Our heads are in the clouds. As usual.

If you move those two handsome gentlemen out of the way, here’s what you’d see:

Machu Picchu in the fog, as seen from the upper terrace area.
A spectacular view from the upper platform as the fog begins to burn off.

The weather was pleasant — 65°F (18°C) with 68% humidity — but the trek was quite a workout and Britt and I warmed up quickly.

Machu Picchu is 8,000 feet (2,400 meters) above sea level — well below Cusco, but high enough to make breathing difficult. There was a lot of uphill and downhill walking, and the stairs were treacherous, so we had to walk carefully.

By George, There Are Some Animals Here

First, here’s a llama …

A single llama.
Llama.

And a llama, llama, llama, llama …

Four llamas
… llama, llama, llama, llama …

And now a chameleon.

A lizard (or other reptile) peeking out from the rocks.
… chameleon.

Now, let’s all sing it together!

Llama, llama, llama, llama, chameleon.
You come and go, you come and go.
Loving would be easy if your colors were like my dreams.
Red, gold, and green, red, gold, and green.4

A Closer View

What can I say about the view from the upper terrace? This view is as iconic as the Mona Lisa — everyone on the planet has seen it — but it’s another thing to be there and experience it for yourself.5

The fog burned off quickly, revealing this view from the upper terrace.
Britt and Dave look at Machu Picchu. Their backs are to the camera.
This photo is in no way staged.
Dave and Britt sitting on a rock with Machu Picchu in the background.
Three of the Wonders of the Modern World.

Urban Legend

From the upper terrace, we slowly worked our way down to what’s called the urban zone. “Urban” simply means it is where people lived, worked, and congregated. It is not, as you probably thought, named after Australian country musician Keith Urban.

Main Temple
The stones in the Main Temple fit together so precisely that the Incas didn’t need to use mortar or fill in any gaps. Some spots look a little worse for wear, but that doesn’t make the building any less impressive. Let’s see how good your house looks after 500 years.
The Temple of the Three Windows
The Temple of the Three Windows also features precision Inca stonework.
The Temple of the Condor in Machu Picchu
The Temple of the Condor combines natural rock formations with Incan stonework.

Mauro said that it’s very likely that human sacrifices were performed at the Temple of the Condor, which makes it very unlike any of the temples I’ve ever belonged to. Our services usually end with a little nosh. As advanced as the Incas were, I don’t think they had mini black-and-white cookies.

Heading Out

You know how you can check out of the Hotel California any time you want, but you can never leave?

Machu Picchu isn’t like that. Visitors have a four-hour maximum limit, and you can leave. In fact, I think they’d be quite upset if you tried to stay.

Machu Picchu vista
From this angle, you can see where we began our Machu Picchu adventure. So many ups and downs.
Sacred Rock at Machu Picchu.
Sacred Rock was one of the last things we saw on our tour. Its shape matches that of nearby Yanantin Mountain, and it could be used to track astronomical and solar movements. It was also used for offerings and sacrifices. If you ignore the death stuff, it was basically the Apple Watch of its day.

Presented for Your Consideration

My short video about Machu Picchu won the Palm d’Or at Cannes.

By the Numbers

Here’s how long and far we travelled:

  • Time spent at Machu Picchu: 2 hours, 49 minutes
  • Total distance: 1.25 miles (2 km)
  • Total flights climbed: 109
  • Cumulative elevation gain: 252 feet (77 meters)

More Long and Winding Roads

Before heading back to Cusco, we had to return to Aguas Calientes. That meant, once again, a nausea-inducing ride on a bus along comically narrow roads with no guardrails. Would I throw up? Plummet to my death? Or both?

Fortunately, neither. So we were able to treat Mauro to lunch at a restaurant whose name I have forgotten.

Lunch with our tour guide, Mauro, after our Machu Picchu visit.
Lunch with our tour guide, Mauro, after our Machu Picchu visit.

I was still somewhat nauseated, so Mauro ordered me a glass of muna tea. Muna is similar to, but not quite the same as, mint. It settled my stomach for a while.

Muna tea
This is the teabag equivalent of going commando.

At last, the time had come to reverse our steps and return to Cusco. After receiving our bags from the hotel, we boarded the train to Ollantaytambo. My nausea returned as soon as the train started moving, and because I was facing backward, it was twice as bad as the previous day.

It took about 15 minutes to locate our driver in the chaos outside the Ollantaytambo train station. Less than two queasy hours later, we arrived at our hotel.

Our Machu Picchu adventure had come to an end, but there’s an old Incan proverb I learned that comes to mind when I think of this once-in-a-lifetime experience.

As they say in Quechua, the language of the Incans: “Ama kaypi wiksaykipi kaqta qarquychu.”

Rough English translation: “Do not throw up here.”

The Footnotes
  1. If anyone from the Ollantaytambo tourism authority is reading this, your town was full of culture, history, and entertainment. Don’t @ me. ↩︎
  2. If anyone from Inca Rail is reading this, your dance demonstration was full of culture, history, and entertainment. Don’t @ me. ↩︎
  3. If anyone from the Aguas Calientes tourism authority is reading this, your town was full of culture, history, and entertainment. Don’t @ me. ↩︎
  4. If Boy George is reading this, holy fucking shit! How awesome! You can definitely @ me. ↩︎
  5. Seeing Machu Picchu for real is incredible. Seeing the Mona Lisa for real is a huge letdown. Just buy a postcard from the Louvre gift shop. Also, if anyone from the Paris tourism authority is reading this, your big museum was full of culture, history, and entertainment. Don’t @ me. ↩︎
Categories
Oversharing Travel & Food

Trying to Wrap My Head Around Machu Picchu

Dave at Machu Picchu

I visited Machu Picchu 81 days ago. I understand it as well as I did 82 days ago. In fact, I understand it less.

That’s why I’ve taken so long to write this post. I still struggle to describe the nonphysical part of the experience. So many of the words other people use to describe Machu Picchu simply don’t capture my feelings.

  • Spiritual means supernatural.1
  • Metaphysical means supernatural with crystals.
  • Mystical means supernatural with unicorns.

Finding the Right Words  

There are only two terms that accurately describe my experience at Machu Picchu. The first is groin-grabblingly transcendent.

Homer says "groin-grabbingly transcendent."
It’s a perfectly cromulent word.

My editor rejected that.

Lisa says "uh, I don't think so."
Good call.

That leaves me with sublime. I’m thinking specifically about how Enlightenment philosopher Immanuel Kant2 defined the word, not how it’s used broadly today.

Whereas the beautiful is limited, the sublime is limitless, so that the mind in the presence of the sublime, attempting to imagine what it cannot, has pain in the failure but pleasure in contemplating the immensity of the attempt.

Immanuel Kant, “Critique of Pure Reason”

I know what you’re thinking: What the fuck do you know about philosophy or sublimity, Dave? Well, for one thing, I think you should watch your fucking language. For another, travel writer Mark Adams came to this realization first.3

For the first time since dropping out of graduate school, I remembered an unpleasant weekend spent struggling to comprehend the philosopher Immanuel Kant’s explanation of the difference between calling something beautiful and calling it sublime. Nowadays, we throw around the word “sublime” to describe gooey desserts or overpriced handbags.

In Kant’s epistemology, it meant something limitless, an aesthetically pleasing entity so huge that it made the perceiver’s head hurt. Machu Picchu isn’t just beautiful, it’s sublime.

Mark Adams, “Turn Right at Machu Picchu”

Adams, referring to Kant, found the most appropriate word — perhaps the only word — to describe what I felt at Machu Picchu.

There’s No Place Like Place

Why was Machu Picchu so agonizing to understand but so wonderful to contemplate? Because it blew up my understanding of what a “place” is.

I think of places as distinct things.

  • My home is a place.
  • Our synagogue is a place.
  • San Francisco is a place.
  • The moon is a place.
  • Pike’s Peak is a place.
  • Australia is a place.
  • Barcelona is a place.4

At Machu Picchu, I saw that the Incas didn’t make these differentiations. The built environment (like temples, living spaces, terraces, irrigation systems, and roads) was aligned with the natural environment (like the mountains and the movements of the sun, moon, and stars).

These connections weren’t limited to the area around Machu Picchu. The Incas didn’t have modern surveying equipment or a written language, but almost everything they built was aligned with manufactured or natural features long distances away.

What happens to the concept of “place” when every place is integrated into all other places? Is my kitchen no longer a discrete space but part of something larger, connected not just to my house but to grocery stores, distribution routes, farms, factories, sunlight, soil, and whatever layer of hell Brussells spouts come from?

Contemplating all that is like drinking a Slurpee. Your brain hurts, yet you want to keep sipping.

Everywhere Is Everywhere

I had read about these alignments before visiting Machu Picchu, but I didn’t truly appreciate them till I was there with a guide pointing them out. Seeing was believing, and believing was overwhelming. Every engineering decision was deliberate and precise, and every pebble and blade of grass seemed to have been positioned for a purpose.

That doesn’t happen by accident. It comes from a cultural understanding of “place” fundamentally different from ours, based on the interconnectedness of everything at a subatomic level.5

To put that in the form of a Zen kōan: Machu Picchu is one place and every place.

Now you see why I keep coming back to the word sublime. Machu Picchu challenged me to look at the world differently. I haven’t gained a different perspective on things; rather, I’ve become aware that there is a different perspective I may never see or comprehend. You can interpret that last sentence literally or figuratively. Both ways are correct.

Mark Adams,6 the author I quoted above, has the perfect analogy:

Anyone who has ever studied string theory in physics may have some idea of how I felt. You walk into class one day confident that you live in a three-dimensional world. An hour later you walk out with only the faintest grasp of the concept that there are actually nine or ten dimensions and, quite possibly, parallel universes on top of our own.

Mark Adams, “Turn Right at Machu Picchu”

Will I ever truly understand what Machu Picchu means? No. But I’m fine with that. There’s more to be learned by appreciating this mystery than by solving it.

The Inevitable Footnotes
  1. As you may recall, I’m a skeptic about such things. ↩︎
  2. Here’s a short educational video about Kant and other philosophers: link. ↩︎
  3. I can’t recommend his book, “Turn Right at Machu Picchu,” enough. Buy it now. Do not pass Go. Do not pay $200. ↩︎
  4. A massively overrated place that is inferior to Madrid in every way. ↩︎
  5. Let’s pretend I’m smart enough to understand subatomic entanglement. ↩︎
  6. Why haven’t you bought his book yet? Did you not see the earlier footnote? ↩︎
Categories
LGBTQ

🏳️‍🌈 Confronting Hate With Speech and Silence

David photobombs two bigots.

In everyday situations, I have no qualms whatsoever about calling out bigotry and LGBTQ bias. But I always ignore the guys holding signs and preaching hate through megaphones in public.

At least I did, until St. Pete Pride last weekend.

One of these sanctimonious hatemongers had set up shop along the long, slowly moving line to go through security at one of the Pride festival areas. The Complimentary Spouse and I, like thousands of other people, could not simply walk away. The guy knew he had a captive audience. It was like converting fish in a barrel.

This particular homophobe wore an all-black outfit and a brown hat to protect him from the sun. He brandished a Bible in one hand, clasped a portable speaker in the other, and spewed garbage at us through a headset microphone.

It was disgusting and annoying, but not enough to break my equanimity. But then I saw his bodycam. He was recording everyone at Pride, including everyone in line. His actions weren’t just irritating. They were invasive and intimidating.

So, I pulled out my phone and began recording him.

Dave records a bigot at Pride.
Smile for the camera, asshole.

Speaking the Truth

I suppose it was only a matter of time before I spoke up. Was it good judgment on my part? Probably not. Did anything he said surprise me? Of course not. Was it fun to use my delightfully sarcastic voice in front of an audience? Hell yeah!1

When I asked about the bodycam, he said he wore it for protection.2

“So what are you going to use this video for?” I said. “Is it for protecting you?”

“Yeah, it serves that purpose, too.”

Too?

“So the video is not going to be used for anything unless you feel attacked?”

“God loves you,” he replied.” He wants you to be saved.”

That didn’t answer the question. But, let’s face it, I was never going to get an honest reply, was I?

Here are a few more highlights from our scintillating discussion:

Does God make mistakes when he makes gay people?

God didn’t make gay people.

So God doesn’t want me to be happy, is that what you’re trying to say?

God wants you to be holy, sir.

God wants me to be horny?

Well, listen. I’m Jewish. Explain it without the Bible.

I know, you can still be Jewish.

You’re still all Bible, Bible, Bible.

Because the Bible’s the standard. I don’t want to give you my opinion. You don’t need to hear my opinion. What you need to hear is the word of God, the truth of the word of God. It’s not about what I think. It’s about what the Bible says, you know.

God made me gay, period, end of discussion. So why do you not accept it?

You see, you were born with a sinful nature.

So you’re saying I can change from gay to straight?

You need to hear the gospel and believe it. Then you can be able to change after you get saved.

When the line started moving, I thanked this kind man for his time. The exact words I used were, “I don’t have any more time for your bullshit.”

Silence Speaks Louder Than Words

What happened next was an epiphany — but certainly not one the guy with the Bible wanted. I discovered a more powerful way to respond to these types of people, and it didn’t require me to utter a word.

A few minutes after I stopped speaking, I saw a woman holding her clack fan in front of the man — not in front of his face, but his chest. She was blocking his bodycam. It was brilliant.

When she had to leave, I took her place, but I didn’t have a fan. So, with the help of someone else in line, I held up my massive Pride flag to block the bodycam.

Using a Pride flag to block a bigot's bodycam.
It’s hard to record the line now, isn’t it?

After a few days of reflection, I’m not proud of engaging this person at Pride. Someone like him doesn’t just want to be heard; he wants to know he’s being heard. Speaking up empowered and validated him.

Only after I shut my mouth did I discover a way to make an impact without saying a word, and it relates to the bodycam that triggered me in the first place. I see now that I should have just blocked it instead of questioning it. The Pride flag couldn’t stop him from talking, but it limited his ability to intimidate us or make us feel unsafe.

Will I still speak back to bigotry? Fuck yes. Heaven help the next person who starts talking shit about LGBTQ people within earshot.

But …

I’ve learned that there’s a better way to engage people who combine the worst aspects of proselytization and street performance. In those situations, unfurling a Pride flag will do more good than opening my mouth.

As Leonardo da Vinci said, “Nothing strengthens authority so much as silence.”

  1. I know what you’re thinking: What the hell, Dave? Don’t you realize that little good comes from doing things like this? Well, keep reading. I knew it wasn’t a good idea at the time, and upon reflection, I’m kinda embarrassed that I spoke up. However — spoiler alert — I also learned a new way to deal with these folks. ↩︎
  2. Protection from whom? We were the ones who needed bag checks and metal detectors to safeguard our safety. ↩︎
Categories
LGBTQ Married Life

🏳️‍🌈 Obergefell Turns Nine. Yawn.

Today’s the ninth anniversary of Obergefell vs. Hodges, the Supreme Court decision that solidified marriage equality in the United States.1

Last year, I wrote that the thing that I was most grateful for is that Obergefell made life much more boring for the Complimentary Spouse and me.

That sounds terrible, but it’s anything but.2

Before Obergefell, Britt and I were treated differently than other married couples. We could never take it for granted we’d be shown the same dignity and afforded the same rights as opposite-sex spouses. It depended on where we were, what we wanted to do, whom we were talking to, how much money we were spending, and whether Mercury was retrograde.3

It’s emotionally draining. And financially draining, too, when health care and other employer benefits are involved. One of the worst parts was not knowing if we’d be considered spouses or strangers if one of us was taken to the hospital. No one should ever have to live with that fear in the back of their head.

All of those injustices, big and small, made our lives unpredictable. That ended with Obergefell.

The Impact

I can’t begin to describe how groundbreaking and validating the Obergefell decision was. To quote a wise and eloquent man:

No union is more profound than marriage, for it embodies the highest ideals of love, fidelity, devotion, sacrifice, and family. In forming a marital union, two people become something greater than once they were. As some of the petitioners in these cases demonstrate, marriage embodies a love that may endure even past death. It would misunderstand these men and women to say they disrespect the idea of marriage. Their plea is that they do respect it, respect it so deeply that they seek to find its fulfillment for themselves. Their hope is not to be condemned to live in loneliness, excluded from one of civilization’s oldest institutions. They ask for equal dignity in the eyes of the law. The Constitution grants them that right.

Supreme Court Justice Anthony Kennedy

At the same time, it’s important to recognize all of the small, unremarkable, mundane ways in which the ruling changed the lives of same-sex married couples. To quote an equally wise and eloquent man:4

We feel the impact of Obergefell when we file taxes, sign paperwork, and apply for loans. We feel it when we go through customs and immigration at the airport and present our passports together, like any other married couple. We feel it when we’re shopping for auto insurance.

Me

Married life is still exciting and unpredictable.5 It has always been that way for Britt and me. But before Obergefell, we faced many shocks, setbacks, and surprises trying to deal with things that should have been mundane. They were constant reminders that our marriage was unequal and undervalued.

Now, those mundane things are just … well … mundane. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Of Course, There Are Footnotes
  1. It is also the ninth anniversary of me learning to spell Obergefell correctly. ↩︎
  2. I’m editing this post now and have just realized I have written essentially the same thing I did a year ago. I’m still going to publish this new one. Hollywood keeps rehashing the same stories, so why can’t I? ↩︎
  3. I wouldn’t be surprised, given all the other random variables we had to deal with. ↩︎
  4. His wisdom and eloquence are matched only by his modesty. ↩︎
  5. Except the times when we can’t agree on a restaurant. It’s not exciting and we end up, predictably, at the same place. ↩︎
Categories
LGBTQ

🏳️‍🌈 Nobody, No Nobody Gonna Rain on Our Parade

Britt and Dave along the parade route

Meteorologists predicted rain for the St. Pete Pride Parade Parade last Saturday. But the Gay Gods had other plans.

When the parade stepped off at 6 p.m., the drizzle was barely noticeable. It lasted only a few minutes — long enough to cool the air and usher in a light breeze.

The Complimentary Spouse and I found a nice spot along Bayshore Drive just in time to see the parade kick off. Then, joined by hundreds of thousands of our dearest LGBTQ friends and cherished allies, we cheered and celebrated the myriad things that make us proud to be gay.

Here’s the video. Keep reading to learn more about St. Pete Pride and see more photos.

Submitted for your consideration. Hey, the Oscars aren’t too far away!

Pride in the Sunshine City

St. Petersburg, once nicknamed “God’s waiting room” because of its outsized senior population, is now one of Florida’s most exciting, young, and livable cities.1 It’s also home to one of the largest Pride parades in the Southeast: It draws about 300,000 people a year, about the same as Atlanta’s parade and nearly twice as many as Miami’s.2

Over the years, St. Pete Pride has grown from a modest parade into an entire month of entertainment, education, and empowerment. There’s a festival on the day of the parade, and it’s now so big it encompasses two parks.3

Here are some more photos from our day at Pride.

Britt and I get a refreshment.
It is early in the day, but Britt and I know we must stay hydrated.
Eating lunch at Teak.
We had a great view at Teak, one of the restaurants at the end of the new pier.
Britt, David, and Prince the unicorn
I suspect this is not a real unicorn, but it could be.
Man holding up Slay fan.
I suspect this is not really Kid Rock, but it could be.
Lutherans at Pride
There are always a few people at Pride events preaching hate. But there are many, many more preaching love. Amen!
Free hugs sign.
The Free Mom Hugs and Free Dad Hugs mean so much to so many people. I’m fortunate to have a family that loves me. Too many people don’t.
Free Mom Hug hug.
A free hug from a Free Mom Hugs mom. I know that sounds confusing, but it’s a grammatically correct sentence.4
Allendale float at Pride: Black Jesus wearing a rainbow sash, holding a lamb wrapped in a trans sash.
The Allendale Church float featured a giant Black Jesus wearing a rainbow sash. He is holding a lamb wrapped in a trans flag. That sound you hear is bigots’ heads exploding across the country.
Britt and Dave along the parade route.
Two handsome devils along the parade route.
Building lit up for Pride
When the sun went down, the Pride lights came on.
The Footnotes
  1. If you’re unfamiliar with Florida geography, St. Pete is just across the bay from Tampa. You’ll note that Britt and I never complain about the 30-minute drive for Pride events, but we’re always carping about the same 30-minute drive to Tropicana Field. That’s because when you drive over the bridge to Pride events, you end up somewhere fabulous. When you drive over the bridge to Tropicana Field, you end up at Tropicana Field — undeniably the worst stadium in Major League Baseball. ↩︎
  2. As far as I know, the largest Pride event of all time was WorldPride in New York in 2019. It commemorated the 50th anniversary of the Stonewall Riots. Of course, Britt and I were there! ↩︎
  3. You have to pass through a security checkpoint to get into the festival areas. It’s a sobering reminder that anti-LGBTQ bigots have hearts full of hate and, sometimes, trunks full of guns. ↩︎
  4. Trust me. I’m an English major and never make misteaks. ↩︎