Chad Smith

This photograph was taken of me outside the Wurstkuchl, a 500-year-old tavern overlooking the Danube in Regensburg, Germany, in November 2007. I think about the city and this river all the time, particularly when I need to think about somewhere else to remind myself everywhere isn’t so horrible.

I wonder about the waiter at the tavern who, after learning we were from Florida, said he had been to Tampa once. I wonder about the record store where I bought a Vision LP — mainly to support a German record store that wasn’t into techno or any of that weirdo metal bullshit — and wanted to buy an American Nightmare poster that wasn’t for sale. I wonder about the people we passed by over the footbridge and the people zipping around the cobbled streets in their Volkswagens and Citroëns. I wonder about the cafe once visited by Napoleon where I had the most rich piece of cake (the flavor now escapes; something vanilla) I’ve ever had. I wonder why more restaurants here don’t serve wiener schnitzel.

MUNICH — The Internet access in the hostel we are staying in is very fickle, hence the lack of posts over the past few days. Still, we’ve done a lot, so here’s an update:

We traveled to Nuremberg on Tuesday, and this photo was taken at the main grandstand at Zeppelin Field, which was where Adolf Hitler led many Nazi rallies. After World War II, American troops blew up the large swastika atop the grandstand. These days, skateboarders use the grandstand’s steps as something of a skate park and graffiti, such as this, covers its main doorway. It has essentially been left to rot.

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MUNICH — Today we visited an old Catholic church, which houses the coffins of several Bavarian royalty, some of which dated back to the 16th century. We peaked inside a McDonald’s to see if they served anything out of the ordinary. Quarter pounders are “cheeseburgers royal,” similar to France, according to “Pulp Fiction.” An English-speaking Buddhist or Hare Krishna approached us about buying the Bhagavad Gita. Even after we told him we don’t speak German, he still continued his sales/donation pitch.

The Notorious B.I.G. is playing in our hotel. These people love years-old American music.

Tomorrow we are taking a train to Nuremberg. But for now, it’s another beer hall. For me, though, it’s just a delicious-German-orange-soda hall.

Veal sausage, a Bavarian specialty called Weißwurst, which is only served until noon.

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Mandi and I are waiting in the empty, tiny terminal at Gainesville Regional Airport for our flight to Atlanta before we leave for Munich. Needless to say, we’re already bored. A strange military movie is playing on AMC, and Mandi wants spätzle.

Tschüss.