I went to the Oktoberfest, the Real Thing, in Munich!!  Well, there I was doing, um, pretty much nothing properly structured, and then there was the marvellous Indian summer across Europe, and I found a Dirndl skirt and blouse in Oxfam.  Well, given those circumstances and a friend in Munich, wouldn't YOU have gone along?  To be honest, Oktoberfest hadn't really crossed my consciousness until I got to Germany, not being particularly into beer, but I reckoned that it was an opportunity not to be missed, hopped on a train (I spent the entire four hours finishing sewing together the apron which I was assured was a must, and replacing the buttons on the knitted tank-top thingy).

I was rewarded with the most perfect day imaginable, and an amazing feeling of... togetherness?... from the sheer percentage of the attendees who were dressed up appropriately.  I can't think of anything I've ever attended that had so MANY people joining in properly.  Costume parties in England tend to encompass a lot of fabulously-dressed women and a gaggle of sulking men, hideously embarrassed at the whole situation and snagged between being annoyed that they didn't dare to dress up and irritated that they were asked to in the first place.  Here, just about EVERYONE joined in - the effect was most visible from the Big Wheel, where the crowd (apparently two million on that day!) looked amazingly colourful.  So much less black and dark brown than normal - many men wearing Lederhosen and pastel checked shirts, and the women in all colours of the rainbow.  In fact, the Dirndls reminded me strongly of the arguments for classical music.  The basic costume is simple, and you'd maybe think that after having seen a few you'd be bored.  However, in an entire day, seeing literally thousands of women in every possible iteration of the theme, I didn't see a single repetition of the same outfit.  Classic theme; infinite interpretations.  Loved it!

An enjoyable, if somewhat eccentric, leavetaking of Germany (just for the summer).  A friend had planned a lawnwarming (like a housewarming, but for her fresh new lawn, of course) for the afternoon before I flew to England; this then grew, slightly out of control, into a sort of high tea / garden party (probably says a lot about us that it was only about two hours in, chatting to some German guests, that I realised we'd forgotten...erm, the tea!).  I was far more occupied by planning for cucumber sandwiches, and scones (we outsourced most of the baking to a sweet American friend whose hobby it is), and correctly-constituted Pimms, than anything quite so mundane as packing a suitcase (lord alone knows what's in there - it will be interesting to find out over the summer!).  We even managed to track down doilies (doilies!!) and bunting, which we scooted up ladders to hang from branches in the grey and overcast morning cool.

Amazingly, the weather brightened just as the first guests started to arrive, and it really felt like one of those perfect English days (helped, naturally, by the Pimms).  Wonderful relaxation, once the pre-party scurry of peeling and chopping and buttering and arranging was swapped for the glass in the hand. 

A singer, however, is seldom properly off duty.  I was press-ganged (there really is no other term for it) into singing by my friend's next-door neighbour and landlord, a delightful and totally crazy sculptor with a passion for playing guitar in the pub.  He dragged me to one side, eyes shining, and showed me the crib sheets for three songs, explaining that they'd fished out a music stand for me so I would be able to read the words, and that he could play in any key I wanted, and he was just DYING to make music with me.  I tried a few pathetic little excuses (like, just because I'm a singer, it doesn't mean I know how the middle bits of popular songs necessarily go), but I was swept away on a tide of his enthusiasm (yes, yes; and Pimms).

Thus I found myself standing in the sunshine at an English garden party in Germany, complete with hat and gloves, belting out Moon River and Somewhere Over the Rainbow and finishing with Memories (from Cats... this one in German!!)... and grinning like a loon!!  The sheer joy of performing, with no pressure at all and mainly for the purpose of making someone else happy, was overwhelming.  A much-needed reminder, as I head for a period of (relative) vocal rest, of just how exhilarating being a performer can be.  Cheers!

Today I walked barefoot in the footsteps of Charlemagne

Well, my feet were absolutely killing me after an accidental five-hour walk in pretty much the most unsuitable shoes I possess (five-inch platform wedges, usefully cracked completely across the ball of the left foot; they really ought to go in the bin, but was hanging on to them in case there were any more beautiful days left this year; and today was definitely one of those); the grass was fresh and inviting, and there was no-one around to shout at me. I was in what's left of the aula regia (council chamber) of Charlemagne's palace in Ingelheim, with not much to go on in the way of bricks and mortar, but plenty of imagination as I ascended the three steps leading to the dais where his throne would have been set; the walls curved comfortingly behind me as I felt the chill of the terracotta through my soles, and watched the non-existent mediaeval court bow in waves and whisper in corners.

I had come to Ingelheim because it was there and because I'd completely misjudged, passing it on a previous train journey, how far the station was from the blasted Rhine. I walked alongside a motorway, explored dead ends leading to the huge industrial complex seated here and padded tentatively through the new bit of town (it's uncanny how quiet German towns are on Sundays; for an hour I met no-one and heard only the faint protest of foot against cracked shoe). Eventually I reached the river, and had a potter alongside it, enjoying the tang of water in the air and saying hello to various dogs. I had a squint at a map they'd put up in the sort of nature reserve there, and decided the historical route was the one for me (I am constitutionally incapable of returning by the same path I came). Unfortunately, while they'd obviously done great things with ditches, and put plenty of information about trees and stuff to edify children, they'd not really done a great job with actually signposting said route.

There was one point, trudging along a road in the middle of absolutely nowhere, the sun beating down, only the juice of a stolen plum to keep body and soul together (but oh, how sweet...), where I thought, lord, if that turn I took three quarters of an hour ago was wrong, I'm buggered if I know whether I'll be able to turn around and try again. Luckily for me, I have a good sense of direction, and whether I strayed from the designated route or not, I eventually, after several inadvertent kilometres, found the town centre(ish) and these ruins. Took me a few seconds to realise who Karl der Große was, mind, when reading the signs on the wall - thankfully the old brain clicked into gear when I saw the dates.

As I tottered exhaustedly towards the station and home, I looked around for signs of what had been the deciding factor when choosing my destination on the internet - there was meant to be a wine fest - in a region of whites, they call themselves the Rotweinstadt (red wine town), so I was salivating hopefully. Well, all I can say is they were jolly well keeping it to themselves! The nearest I got was a nice bunch of grapes from an organic greengrocers which was inexplicably open on a Sunday (nothing else, unless it's in the station of a large town, is). Grapes, I have to say, are darned useful for cleaning dust from the palate when sitting in crowded trains. I dare say I'll regret polishing the whole damn lot off in one fell swoop, though!

The photo was a fountain I'd approached hopefully in the town centre; at first I was disappointed that it said Not Drinking Water; then, predictably, I got fascinated by the bubbles and had to fish out my camera!

The universe is change; our life is what our thoughts make it*

My fledgelings have flown the nest; they've dared to spread their wings and fly (damn, now I'll have Summertime knocking around my head for the foreseeable...) and I wish them all the very best in the world.

The mother, mind, I had to boot off the balcony. I'm very sorry, pigeon, but you've raised one lot successfully, and I need to keep the Hausmeister's wife sweet.

A very definite change of season, here; I spent yesterday cycling and walking around the woods, and whilst the heat has not yet quite gone from the sun, I felt a tang in the air, the occasional whiff of smoke, and in the breathless silence ripe nuts were falling from the trees. Leaves are starting to change colour, the world turns...

There's even talk of starting rehearsals for the Offenbach this week! Hooray! (Although I am - curious? - to see what the staging will be - the make-up artist I talked to while she was painting and powdering and primping me for my photo shoot grinned and whispered - verrückt. This basically means totally insane, and considering how many German stagings are bonkers, you'd have thought they'd got used to it by now, so for her to grin like that... hmm! Let's hope that (a) it's crazy enough to be funny and (b) I get to hang on to enough clothing not to scare the audience to death...)

* Marcus Aurelius. What??? I binge-read the thrillers in English I fished out from the library, so the Meditations it is.

D-Day minus one...

All in all a most pleasant way to spend the last day before I begin my employment proper. I tidied up the last few bits of necessary admin this morning. And goodness, some of the things you think are going to be quite straightforward, such as opening a bog-standard bank account, turn out to be somewhat different here in Germany. I had no idea, coming from England, that such things as local banks still existed. Well, they do. I was 90% of the way to signing up with the Sparkasse on the corner before they proudly announced (took me a few minutes to catch up, mind, but got there in the end) that their bank cards could get money out of more than a hundred holes-in-the-wall!!! I thought for a second. "More than a hundred?". "Yes! We have them all over the region!" (Said in tones of great pride.) However I'm hoping I'm going to be doing a bit of travelling all over Germany, and it would be useful to be able to, say, eat, in some of the towns. So I eventually took my business to a nationwide bank (I checked on the internet), where an extremely helpful lady helped me overcome all the computer's misgivings about dealing with a foreigner. ("Place of issue of passport?" "Erm, there isn't one, we don't do it like that in England." "Hmm, well how about we put London?" - How fabulous! Was not expecting that degree of helpfulness). Anyway, I have collected enough bits of paper, long numbers, and even-longer German names for said bits of paper etc, and thought I deserved a day at the outdoor pool.

These outdoor pools are wonderful. €3 a day for an adult, less if you bowl up after teatime, plenty of room to actually swim (please take note, English lidos) and huge amounts of grass to lounge around on and read books until you turn slightly pink. Jolly interesting to note the number of pallid Germans who roasted all day, seemingly without suncream, without burning. They are made of stern stuff! Despite my Tuscan holiday, a few hours' sun was enough for me, and after several final lengths of the pool, I retired gracefully. (Well, I say I retired gracefully.
It would probably have been slightly more graceful without the interlude where I accidentally bought a locker for the season instead of a season ticket, and had to weasel my way out of that one, but hey, who's to know?).

After scrubbing up a touch I headed for town to meet one of my colleagues-to-be, who had generously agreed to a glass of wine and a few pointers. She was generous, hugely funny and enjoyed the odd glass of wine - the perfect colleague? One of the great advantages of the 21st century, I think, being able to get in touch with friends of friends so easily; I felt very reassured after having met her.

As may be obvious, I did justice to a few glasses, then headed home for dinner (hooray! chanterelle mushrooms on sale!) before retiring to what hopefully, given last night's apocalyptic visions (the very very least of which was the absolute conviction my bike had been stolen; I crept down at dawn to see, only to find it guarded by a red squirrel - what a good omen!), will be a restful night's sleep before the dawn of this fresh adventure.

Seeing red...

OK, I will admit you'll probably have to be English to appreciate this one, but today I saw both a red squirrel and a red deer in the wild!

I woke up this morning convinced I simply had to wander through woods - yesterday was wonderfully hot, and I spent a lot of it in an open-air pool on an island, which was fabulous but left me with slightly pink patches in rather odd places (tankini slipped... what can I say?). So today I resolved to find a gorgeous German wood and walk serenely through it. I headed west on my trusty bike - only to damn near scupper myself because it was SO hard to get there! Having headed back on a roll, virtually without pedalling, I realise that the entire journey was probably on a slight, unnoticeable incline - but in the immense heat of the day (and it was hot - especially compared to recent London temperatures!) my poor thighs were complaining loudly. I overruled them, and ended up (eventually) in some lovely woods; exactly what I needed. Several hours went by with me happily switching between riding the bike and pushing it along; I had a super time.

The best moments were a red deer leaping across my path (literally - I nearly crashed into her! She flew into the air about a foot in front of me, a flash of bright copper from right to left, then was gone. Far too quickly to fish out the point-and-click!) The squirrel, however, squirted up a tree, but couldn't resist looking back down at me and winking. It may not be the sharpest photo ever, but it gave me huge amounts of pleasure. (A RED squirrel! Whilst I actually love the grays - at one point my family were taking care of one - obviously called Nutkin - and I took it into town in the cowl of my jumper - some interesting reactions when his little head peered out in the coffee house! - I don't think I've ever seen a red squirrel in the wild, and this was special to me.)

Now going abroad from abroad - Italy is my destination, so no more posts for at least a week. I am really looking forward to a break. However last week felt like such - it occurred to me today that the last time I had felt this free was the the time between finishing my finals at Cambridge and getting the results. I remember quite a bit of fizzy wine and the pool at Emma - bliss! I am so lucky to revisit that feeling!