September 23rd, 2007

Star Dreamer

A Mirror of Mist

Today could have gone better, I suppose.

I awoke to my Mum phoning me to ensure I was awake in time to get ready for, and to go to, Church. As the service started, I was still in bed. I don’t feel any strong convictions to go, and I don’t classify myself as religious anymore (even though I think I’d like to be, I can’t draw up enough faith). Nevertheless, I shall still have to go soon enough, as Mum will doubtless want to contact some of the people at the Church at some point. There’s even less conviction for me to go here, as there tends to be a bit more formality, and less cake, and whilst I believe the youth group are very active…as I said, I can’t drum up the necessary attitude. I’m not going to cheat them, and nor shall I cheat myself.

Nevertheless, despite my morning being freed, I didn’t leave my room until mid-afternoon. I’d been doing little things, like having a small breakfast, re-reading parts of Sandman, playing some Pokemon, and getting my German phone up and running. The new phone is…well, it’ll do. It’s not even as advanced as my old English phone, and the whole 2 Euro credit vanished just by calling home for 40 seconds to tell my family my new number. The ringtone volume can rise to a ridiculously-loud setting, but the actual calls are very quiet, and there are no options to change that, so I have to really concentrate. I only need the phone to save having to call through England whenever I call anyone, so it’s not as if its lack of brilliance matters too much. I’m still perfectly happy with my British phone, with its Royal Holloway background, and 2MB of classic videogame MIDIs.

When I did go into town, I took my time, stopping to enjoy the heat, with the clear blue sky and chirrup of crickets hiding in the colourful gardens of the houses around the Rosenhof. The lake was quite calm, rippling only where seagulls landed and took off. Things got stupidly picturesque when I reached the lakefront by the town centre. There were a group of elderly men in bright red outfits singing sea shanties to a crowd of about 100 mainly-elderly people, whilst on the lake, a sailing boat cast its triangular outline over the reflection of the forested island, a river boat pulled up to its jetty to offload its set of happy passengers, and a man in a canoe paddled up towards the castle, turned around, and paddled away again, round the corner into the blue unknown. Along the lakefront walked people of all ages, many of them with dogs, of all types, and a few cyclists hurried past, or ambled past, on route to somewhere, or to nowhere in particular. I took a few photos, but I didn’t linger for too long. One gets all too accustomed to even the most beautiful sights, as all those Hollowegians who take Founders Building for granted can attest to.

I checked the newspapers in Sky supermarket. Aaah, here was the one with my photos in it. I opened it up, and realised that said article would be in the regional supplement. I opened that up, and realised it would be somewhere in the middle. I got there. Oh. No sign of my photos. The reporter had used a photo of two boys running instead of my photos of the races. I’d seen her take the photo in question. It was a set-up: I’m not even sure if those boys go to the school. They certainly hadn’t been in any of the races. Furthermore, her mock-up photo only featured them, and none of the cheering crowd or so on. It was clear to me that they never really wanted my photos, then, if they were so quick to use a fake, even when my photos had (eventually) reached their inbox on the day they wanted them. Ah well. No big loss. My photos were better, but people don’t need to know that. Not yet. For now, though, I just urge all of you to boycott the Luebecker Nachrichtung, if you ever happen to chance upon a copy. Yes, I do feel vindictive.

I’d already made my order when I realised that I was sitting out of range of the T-Mobile hotspot. The Brauhaus has its own hotspot, but it never worked for me. Never mind, then. It would probably not have been a good idea to livejournal and facebook whilst eating a hearty meal, and my chosen meal was indeed that. The Brauhaus, being the place to eat, to drink, and to meet, in Eutin, are having a Bavarian Week (which seems to stretch well into October…) to celebrate Oktoberfest, which is taking place on the other side of the country, and as such, they are temporarily selling Bavarian meals (and beer, but I’ve never been a beer person). The best part of it was that I didn’t know what I was ordering, not fully, as there were some words I didn’t recognise. In the end, it was all okay, even if it did involve lots of meat (oh Germany…). Pork, plums, a massive dumpling with a Bavarian flag in it, and copious amounts of Bavarian cabbage, all in a ‘beer sauce’. I never expected to be able to finish it, not with my stomach, but it wasn’t at all bad. I even had a visit from a small dog who was wandering beneath each table, licking up the scraps that the birds hadn’t reached.

When I did get within range of the hotspot, I didn’t get too long to enjoy it. When the café (who I think host the hotspot) closed at 6pm, they took their outside tables and chairs with them, leaving me standing there with my laptop, looking around me for somewhere to sit that would still be within range, and that wasn’t part of the Brauhaus tables (meaning I’d have to order something). In the end, there wasn’t, and after wandering around for ten minutes with my laptop, checking everywhere to see if it were in range, and getting some odd looks, especially from one ice-cream-eating family who just stared at me as if I were a talking monkey, I finally propped myself up against the wall of the closed travel agents. It wasn’t comfortable, and thus I didn’t stay long enough to put anything on LJ other then a few scattered comments, or to upload any of photos onto Facebook, or even to organise the 1000 or so photos on Flickr into a format which I could share with you (as I know that pictures are more interesting than endless text). I did manage to discover that the Scandinavian ferries are expensive, and that Mr. Seles lost in the Endzone tournament on Deviantart (about which I’m still somewhat miffed).

On the way home, the moon hung low over the castle tower, to pose for my incoming photo, with everything reflected in the still mirror of the lake. The sky was a lilac that sought to embrace you, even moreso when matched in the lakelight, along with the fiery hues of the Autumn-locked leaves. Further on, the water tower was a dark silhouette against a darker sky, less relaxing, and more dreamlike. In the fields, an ethereal mist hung low over the reeds, a smudge of wisplike whiteness beneath the dark outlines of roofs, themselves hiding under a sky of sapphire and amber. The sheep carried on munching at their yellow vegetation, only enveloped in the mist, it was as if I were watching them from another place, another time, separated from them by something as incorporeal as the mist, but much deeper.

Somehow, when I reached my room door again, everything seemed a lot better.