Did you know that Christmas is available as a warm beverage?
To be precise: as booze?
I speak of Glühwein, a traditional German drink of the Christmas season. Similar to mulled wine,1 Glühwein is the traditional drink of the German Weinachtsmärkte, the little markets that spring up in major cities about this time of year. Weinachtsmärkte are an institution unto themselves and deserve their own post. More on that goodness later.
Glühwein is essentially sweetened red wine seasoned with cinnamon and cloves and served hot. I do not engage in hyperbole when I say that this stuff is Christmas Cheer made manifest. I think if you vaporized Santa Claus, then collected his essence as condensation and warmed him in a pot, he would taste just like Glühwein.2
Similar to my often-inappropriate sense of humor, no one Glühwein recipe is for everyone. Some Germans liven theirs with fruit, particularly lemon or orange; anise; and for a really good time, liquor. Casually strolling through Cologne's markets, I have seen a number of patrons give their glass that extra kick, brought from home just for the occasion.
Copious drinking is fairly standard operating procedure as far as German celebrations go, but it's a more complicated affair when turning Glühwein into a cocktail. As someone who enjoys a little Sambuca in his coffee, I can tell you from experience that it is unwise to heat hard alcohol and inhale the fumes. Thus I took pause this afternoon when I witnessed a group of Weinachtsmarkt patrons each add liberal amounts of schnapps to their Glühwein. One young woman paused before drinking. She gazed at the steam rising out of her cup, probably getting a little lost in the joy of the season, and leaning over-- in Hollywood slow motion -- breathed deeply.
On the plus side, the stains all over her sweater will remind her of the Christmas season all throughout the year.
--------
1Though there's really no comparison between the two. Even mulled wine's name is inferior. As opposed to a wine that "glows," what good is a drink that has merely been pondered?
2What?
Friday, November 30, 2007
Saturday, November 24, 2007
The Art of the Deal, or the Deal with the Art
New York is not Mecca. It just smells like it. -- Neil Simon
An anonymous editor at the New York Post -- I have a hunch I know whom1 -- makes a strong argument condemning the strike of tech union Local One, which has kept most of Broadway closed through Thanksgiving weekend. The Post presents a point that would be self-evident anywhere but Broadway. A monopoly is an inefficient method for providing a service, and the New York theater scene is undoubtedly monopolistic.
To be clear, I do not mean that there is insufficient competition within New York; I would argue that's actually quite strong. Rather, I bemoan the pervasive perception that New York is America's performing arts Mecca. While I love New York, I think this common conception is unfortunate. I also understand why it prevails: it's true. No other city in the US can match New York pound-for-pound in quantity or quality of its museums, theaters, and concert halls.
It doesn't have to be that way, however. America's other major cities also offer strong cultural exposure. Those in the know have been long aware of Chicago's status as America's number two theater town, as Terry Teachout discusses in the Wall Street Journal this week.2 Mr. Teachout goes on to lament the double damage Broadway's monopoly causes. With limited supply comes exorbitant prices -- Chicago is far cheaper, incidentally -- as well as limited exposure. Thus the monopoly is, in the long run, self-destructive, as Broadway undermines its own cultural relevance, becoming more and more a mere amusement for the wealthy, much the way American opera did a century ago.
Mr. Teachout sees an escape from this problem in the form of regional theater,3 where prices, if still appalling to the average middle-class tourist, are far more reasonable. As Ceaseless Rosemary4 brought to my attention, off-Broadway remained largely open in light of the strike. Astoundingly, it turns out front-row tickets need not cost $500 for a theater to function.
Cologne has taught me much in this regard. With only a fraction of New York's population, the Kölners keep over 30 independent theaters running. True, the quality varies between inspirational and insipid, and you don't see a lot of productions with 42nd Street budgets, but the shows are well-attended, well received, and well within reasonable prices. And it's worth noting that this is not Berlin, or Munich, or even Hamburg, Germany's true metropolises.5 So why can't Boston or Dallas or Cincinnati achieve their own claims to culture?
With the amount of talented actors, writers, musicians and technicians who remain both non-unionized and unemployed, there exists plenty of opportunity for American cities to contribute, to have their arts scenes thrive and be recognized for that achievement. No city can topple New York. Mecca will remain Mecca, and the hajj to New York will continue to be the apogee of the American art experience. But I hold out hope that the monopoly need not continue, and a freer, more accessible arts scene can still thrive, both in New York and elsewhere.
--------
1Update: all right, I guessed wrong, but I'm leaving the link in place because I enjoy name-dropping.
2Might need to register to read this one. Apologies.
3This one, too.
4Merely her nom de plume, I assure you. Her parents aren't quite that hippie-esque.
5Metropoles? Metropolii?
An anonymous editor at the New York Post -- I have a hunch I know whom1 -- makes a strong argument condemning the strike of tech union Local One, which has kept most of Broadway closed through Thanksgiving weekend. The Post presents a point that would be self-evident anywhere but Broadway. A monopoly is an inefficient method for providing a service, and the New York theater scene is undoubtedly monopolistic.
To be clear, I do not mean that there is insufficient competition within New York; I would argue that's actually quite strong. Rather, I bemoan the pervasive perception that New York is America's performing arts Mecca. While I love New York, I think this common conception is unfortunate. I also understand why it prevails: it's true. No other city in the US can match New York pound-for-pound in quantity or quality of its museums, theaters, and concert halls.
It doesn't have to be that way, however. America's other major cities also offer strong cultural exposure. Those in the know have been long aware of Chicago's status as America's number two theater town, as Terry Teachout discusses in the Wall Street Journal this week.2 Mr. Teachout goes on to lament the double damage Broadway's monopoly causes. With limited supply comes exorbitant prices -- Chicago is far cheaper, incidentally -- as well as limited exposure. Thus the monopoly is, in the long run, self-destructive, as Broadway undermines its own cultural relevance, becoming more and more a mere amusement for the wealthy, much the way American opera did a century ago.
Mr. Teachout sees an escape from this problem in the form of regional theater,3 where prices, if still appalling to the average middle-class tourist, are far more reasonable. As Ceaseless Rosemary4 brought to my attention, off-Broadway remained largely open in light of the strike. Astoundingly, it turns out front-row tickets need not cost $500 for a theater to function.
Cologne has taught me much in this regard. With only a fraction of New York's population, the Kölners keep over 30 independent theaters running. True, the quality varies between inspirational and insipid, and you don't see a lot of productions with 42nd Street budgets, but the shows are well-attended, well received, and well within reasonable prices. And it's worth noting that this is not Berlin, or Munich, or even Hamburg, Germany's true metropolises.5 So why can't Boston or Dallas or Cincinnati achieve their own claims to culture?
With the amount of talented actors, writers, musicians and technicians who remain both non-unionized and unemployed, there exists plenty of opportunity for American cities to contribute, to have their arts scenes thrive and be recognized for that achievement. No city can topple New York. Mecca will remain Mecca, and the hajj to New York will continue to be the apogee of the American art experience. But I hold out hope that the monopoly need not continue, and a freer, more accessible arts scene can still thrive, both in New York and elsewhere.
--------
1Update: all right, I guessed wrong, but I'm leaving the link in place because I enjoy name-dropping.
2Might need to register to read this one. Apologies.
3This one, too.
4Merely her nom de plume, I assure you. Her parents aren't quite that hippie-esque.
5Metropoles? Metropolii?
Friday, November 23, 2007
Deutsche Dankopfern
I've done a fair amount of good-natured griping on this blog. Today, in the spirit of Thanksgiving, I share a few of the things for which I am thankful:
1. Thanksgiving in Germany -- While the holiday is obviously not celebrated here, InWEnt, my sponsor organization, was good enough to put together a feast for us heimweh Americans. Last Monday, many of the PPPler's living in my province gathered at a brewery in Duisburg for a massive meal. It's truly the most I've eaten in one sitting since I arrived here, and it was completely worth the gastronomically induced nightmares.1
2. Did I Mention It Was in a Brewery? -- Self-explanatory.
3. Malleable Accents -- According to one guest at Monday's feast, I have adopted a convincing Kölsch accent. Germans tend to spot American visitors through linguistic giveaways2 such as strong R's and certain word-choice oddities. Since I've managed to jettison most of these habits while unintentionally adopting Kölsch pronunciation, the Duisburgers thought I could almost pass as a local. I thought this curious since Germans used to tell me I spoke with an Austrian accent. Maybe I should try to pick up Plattdeutsch and really start screwing with people's heads.
4. Bored Seminar Groups -- One of my more interesting classes at the Cologne Academy of Music has been a graduate seminar, whose title translates as "Qualitative Research Methods: The Interview." Though the class is intended primarily for grad students working towards a Diplom,3 I decided to sign up since the central research focus is contemporary arts institutions. As it turns out, the class is experiencing a dearth of available experts for interviews, so next week a panel of students will be researching... me. It's about time, too. It's been weeks since my last round of "Embarrass the American." I was beginning to feel neglected.
5. My Family and Friends -- My fondest wishes to you all. Happy Thanksgiving.
--------
1I blame the "cranberry paste."
2After first checking for cowboy boots, white high-tops, or an aggressive foreign policy.
3A German degree acquired before the doctorate but after the Vordiplom. In case you were wondering, Vordiplom is German for "You poor bastard, you have sooo many years of school left."
1. Thanksgiving in Germany -- While the holiday is obviously not celebrated here, InWEnt, my sponsor organization, was good enough to put together a feast for us heimweh Americans. Last Monday, many of the PPPler's living in my province gathered at a brewery in Duisburg for a massive meal. It's truly the most I've eaten in one sitting since I arrived here, and it was completely worth the gastronomically induced nightmares.1
2. Did I Mention It Was in a Brewery? -- Self-explanatory.
3. Malleable Accents -- According to one guest at Monday's feast, I have adopted a convincing Kölsch accent. Germans tend to spot American visitors through linguistic giveaways2 such as strong R's and certain word-choice oddities. Since I've managed to jettison most of these habits while unintentionally adopting Kölsch pronunciation, the Duisburgers thought I could almost pass as a local. I thought this curious since Germans used to tell me I spoke with an Austrian accent. Maybe I should try to pick up Plattdeutsch and really start screwing with people's heads.
4. Bored Seminar Groups -- One of my more interesting classes at the Cologne Academy of Music has been a graduate seminar, whose title translates as "Qualitative Research Methods: The Interview." Though the class is intended primarily for grad students working towards a Diplom,3 I decided to sign up since the central research focus is contemporary arts institutions. As it turns out, the class is experiencing a dearth of available experts for interviews, so next week a panel of students will be researching... me. It's about time, too. It's been weeks since my last round of "Embarrass the American." I was beginning to feel neglected.
5. My Family and Friends -- My fondest wishes to you all. Happy Thanksgiving.
--------
1I blame the "cranberry paste."
2After first checking for cowboy boots, white high-tops, or an aggressive foreign policy.
3A German degree acquired before the doctorate but after the Vordiplom. In case you were wondering, Vordiplom is German for "You poor bastard, you have sooo many years of school left."
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Blessed Are the Buskers1
I love street performance, I really do. I do not think there is any manner of art more equalitarian. These extroverted entertainers create a free market in spectacle, where passersby may choose to sample or enjoy the wares for so long as they like, and they never need pay a cent. It's the Pandora of theatre.
I discuss buskers in economic terms because I believe that is how they should be perceived, with donors as buyers and performers as sellers. Buskers are not beggars. Rather, I would contend they are a sort of professional, offering a service. True, buskers resemble beggars in their method of collection, and donating to either increases the incentive for the activity. But the distinction becomes clear when one thinks about the incentive of the donor rather than the performer. When a donor gives to a beggar, they want the beggar to go eat, find shelter, and in short, to stop being a beggar. When the same donor throws coins to a busker, they are saying they want this activity to continue.
In any market, if there's money to be made, people will seek to make it. And if there's lots of money to be made, then talented and intrepid people will seek to make lots of it. Thus, a humble suggestion: give to the buskers.
Why, you might ask? Why should your hard earned pocket change go to drama students without enough common sense to work at a coffee shop? Answer: incentives again. It's no coincidence that the best street performers appear in crowded tourist spots, usually where shopping -- and thus, spare change -- is abundant. In every major European city I've visited, I have seen buskers everywhere. And just as frequently, they have their admirers. People constantly stop to listen to the music, watch the dance, or witness a painting materialize before them. But most pass on without offering any token of appreciation to the artist who has brightened their journey.
Buskers, like beggars, bankers, and the rest of us, like to eat, and if they can't manage it performing in the street, they'll do something else instead. Thus, the absence of donating is not a neutral response to the performance. Every person who walks by without giving a coin or two encourages the street performer to pack up and become a barista. Even more damaging to the performer's morale, I would argue, is the person who both lingers and pinches his pennies. That tells the busker: I have considered your performance and found it unworthy. Go and seek your apron.
Conversely, generous donations will draw better and better talent. I saw one such talent this past weekend while on another trip to London. While walking through Covent Garden, I noticed a very large throng of people. They had formed a circle about 20 meters in diameter around not a flower girl2, but a busker, and an odd-looking one at that. There, atop an unsupported two-legged ladder, wielding three very nasty looking scimitars, stood a fellow named Pete, his baby-bald head offset by a black kilt3 and combat boots.
Pete is a true showman. He drew a crowd, kept them there, kept them laughing and gasping. And he did it balancing ten feet in the air, in a dress, while juggling cutlery. What stuck with me about Pete, however, was the brief appeal he made before his final stunt. He told the crowd that this performance was his job. It had taken time and effort -- years, in fact -- to get the act right. And he wanted to keep giving it, he wanted to keep performing and pleasing the crowds like he did that day, but he couldn't do it for free. Then he thanked the audience, black-flipped off the ladder, and made a two-point landing just in time to catch both his tumbling appartus and his thunderous applause.
I found myself thinking about Pete when I went to the National Theatre that night. The professional production I attended there was precise, witty and thought-provoking. But the audience in the black box couldn't have been much larger than Pete's crowd. In fact, it looked much smaller. I do not mean to slight traditional theatre with this comparison. Rather, I hope to give some perspective to Pete's achievement. Through nothing but hard work and creativity, he managed to entertain an audience larger than that of a playhouse, and for an almost laughable fraction of the price.
That is why I give my spare change to fellows like Pete. I don't pity them. I appreciate what buskers do, and the laughter and pageantry they bring to the city streets. A little unsolicited jollity is worth at least that.
And if you see Pete, please be extra generous. Maybe then he'll be able to get himself some pants.
--------
1Slang for street performer.a
aMy apologies to those of you who read the footnotes only after the rest of the text. Some people aren't as resourceful as you, what with your clever googling. Also, you're pretty.
2Though wouldn't that be lover-ly?
3An odd fashion choice, I thought, for someone who earns his daily bread perched out in the wind above large crowds.
I discuss buskers in economic terms because I believe that is how they should be perceived, with donors as buyers and performers as sellers. Buskers are not beggars. Rather, I would contend they are a sort of professional, offering a service. True, buskers resemble beggars in their method of collection, and donating to either increases the incentive for the activity. But the distinction becomes clear when one thinks about the incentive of the donor rather than the performer. When a donor gives to a beggar, they want the beggar to go eat, find shelter, and in short, to stop being a beggar. When the same donor throws coins to a busker, they are saying they want this activity to continue.
In any market, if there's money to be made, people will seek to make it. And if there's lots of money to be made, then talented and intrepid people will seek to make lots of it. Thus, a humble suggestion: give to the buskers.
Why, you might ask? Why should your hard earned pocket change go to drama students without enough common sense to work at a coffee shop? Answer: incentives again. It's no coincidence that the best street performers appear in crowded tourist spots, usually where shopping -- and thus, spare change -- is abundant. In every major European city I've visited, I have seen buskers everywhere. And just as frequently, they have their admirers. People constantly stop to listen to the music, watch the dance, or witness a painting materialize before them. But most pass on without offering any token of appreciation to the artist who has brightened their journey.
Buskers, like beggars, bankers, and the rest of us, like to eat, and if they can't manage it performing in the street, they'll do something else instead. Thus, the absence of donating is not a neutral response to the performance. Every person who walks by without giving a coin or two encourages the street performer to pack up and become a barista. Even more damaging to the performer's morale, I would argue, is the person who both lingers and pinches his pennies. That tells the busker: I have considered your performance and found it unworthy. Go and seek your apron.
Conversely, generous donations will draw better and better talent. I saw one such talent this past weekend while on another trip to London. While walking through Covent Garden, I noticed a very large throng of people. They had formed a circle about 20 meters in diameter around not a flower girl2, but a busker, and an odd-looking one at that. There, atop an unsupported two-legged ladder, wielding three very nasty looking scimitars, stood a fellow named Pete, his baby-bald head offset by a black kilt3 and combat boots.
Pete is a true showman. He drew a crowd, kept them there, kept them laughing and gasping. And he did it balancing ten feet in the air, in a dress, while juggling cutlery. What stuck with me about Pete, however, was the brief appeal he made before his final stunt. He told the crowd that this performance was his job. It had taken time and effort -- years, in fact -- to get the act right. And he wanted to keep giving it, he wanted to keep performing and pleasing the crowds like he did that day, but he couldn't do it for free. Then he thanked the audience, black-flipped off the ladder, and made a two-point landing just in time to catch both his tumbling appartus and his thunderous applause.
I found myself thinking about Pete when I went to the National Theatre that night. The professional production I attended there was precise, witty and thought-provoking. But the audience in the black box couldn't have been much larger than Pete's crowd. In fact, it looked much smaller. I do not mean to slight traditional theatre with this comparison. Rather, I hope to give some perspective to Pete's achievement. Through nothing but hard work and creativity, he managed to entertain an audience larger than that of a playhouse, and for an almost laughable fraction of the price.
That is why I give my spare change to fellows like Pete. I don't pity them. I appreciate what buskers do, and the laughter and pageantry they bring to the city streets. A little unsolicited jollity is worth at least that.
And if you see Pete, please be extra generous. Maybe then he'll be able to get himself some pants.
--------
1Slang for street performer.a
aMy apologies to those of you who read the footnotes only after the rest of the text. Some people aren't as resourceful as you, what with your clever googling. Also, you're pretty.
2Though wouldn't that be lover-ly?
3An odd fashion choice, I thought, for someone who earns his daily bread perched out in the wind above large crowds.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Standard Blog Boilerplate1
Apologies for the lack of posting. My life of late has been jolting back and forth between periods of uninteresting languor and frenzied travel. Posting makes for a boring read during the former, and it's unfeasible during the latter. A more substantial post to follow soon.
In the interim, go watch my new favorite inappropriate British farce, Father Ted.
--------
1Have you noticed every blog seems to have an announcement like this now and again? I suppose there is comfort in knowing that life occasionally trumps blogging.
In the interim, go watch my new favorite inappropriate British farce, Father Ted.
--------
1Have you noticed every blog seems to have an announcement like this now and again? I suppose there is comfort in knowing that life occasionally trumps blogging.
Sunday, November 4, 2007
City of All Saints
As several notable bloggers have already mentioned, this past Wednesday was Reformation Day. I celebrated the occasion in proper Protestant fashion: I went clubbing.
The club was Gebäude 9, the same venue where I experienced a rather bizarre passion play during last month's Theater Nacht Köln. A former factory turned bar and dance club, Gebäude 9 houses parties much more successfully than it does theater, particularly bad theater with painfully obvious metaphors. The play, as you may recall, was a passion play with Jesus as an indie rocker, preaching authenticity and warning against selling out. It would have been clever if it weren't so heavy-handed.
Dance clubs are an interesting experience here. Cologne is often touted as the center of gay culture in Europe, and the KölnerInnen pride themselves on being "multi-kulti." Thus I was not surprised to find partygoers of every stripe. What did surprise me was the communal experience the club offered. I am not normally a fan of drum and bass music -- I'd never even heard of it until the night before -- but somehow, the pulsing music and heavy cigarette smoke1 combined to create an atmosphere that was almost warm. I was particularly struck by the absence of sexual tension across the dance floor. To be sure there were couples about, doing what couples ...erm, do, but the general aura was much more simple and free-spirited. It was lively, and it was fun. And that was all.
The crowd had filled Gebäude 9 from wall to wall, a somewhat surprising sight for a Wednesday. No doubt this resulted from the next day being All Saints Day. This being a Catholic region of the country, All Saints Day is an official holiday. So the next morning2 I went to the Dom, the cathedral, for Mass. In the plaza in front of the Dom, I passed a street performer doing balancing tricks on a unicycle. He had gathered a sizable crowd, so I paused briefly to watch. Upon entering the cathedral, I noticed attendance was sparse, which normally would not have surprised me. It occurred to me, however, that the crowd in the cathedral was far smaller than had been on the dance floor the night before. Indeed, it was even smaller than the gathering watching the street performer outside. My surprise waned throughout the Mass. While outside the people laughed and enjoyed the spectacle, inside they murmured through the hymns without enthusiasm and beat their breasts over their "ewige Schuld," their eternal guilt.
While the Dom lacked the festivity of Gebäude 9 or the street performer, the Mass offered contemplation, a reflection on what community is all about. In his homily, the priest spoke of both the consolation and the hardship of Christianity. He spoke of finding comfort in the family of the Church, but also of living up to the demands of what that community stands for. Community, in other words, is more than just a good feeling, more than a party or a good show. He was inspiring; it's unfortunate more people didn't hear him.
I have been thinking about these rather dichotomous twenty-four hours ever since. Many people in Germany, especially the younger generation, are by and large disaffected in regards to faith. And many of the faithful are disaffected in regards to them. I doubt anyone else from Gebäude 9 went to the Dom the next day. Nor could I imagine too many of the attendants of that Mass at a drum and bass club. I have heard it said that Cologne is a city of contradictions. The city shares a history with the Catholic Church since the middle ages, and its influence has continued into the twentieth century. As recently as the Second Vatican Council, the influential Josef Cardinal Frings hailed from Cologne, bringing with him an intelligent young theologian named Joseph Ratzinger. Yet the history of diversity and "Multi-Kulti" also has a strong tradition in Cologne, evident in the city's history of commitment to art and culture, and the amazing assortment of people who live here.
I am not so sure this dichotomy is a contradiction at all. In both Gebäude 9 and the Dom, I saw the people of Cologne seeking, in different ways, the same thing: a sense of community, a sense of belonging. It reminds me of that amateurish passion play I saw at Gebäude 9 last month, with Jesus as indie rocker. Perhaps the image is not such a bad metaphor for this city, with its different groups of identical desires.
--------
1Among other unmistakable aromas.
2Okay, fine, afternoon... late afternoon.
The club was Gebäude 9, the same venue where I experienced a rather bizarre passion play during last month's Theater Nacht Köln. A former factory turned bar and dance club, Gebäude 9 houses parties much more successfully than it does theater, particularly bad theater with painfully obvious metaphors. The play, as you may recall, was a passion play with Jesus as an indie rocker, preaching authenticity and warning against selling out. It would have been clever if it weren't so heavy-handed.
Dance clubs are an interesting experience here. Cologne is often touted as the center of gay culture in Europe, and the KölnerInnen pride themselves on being "multi-kulti." Thus I was not surprised to find partygoers of every stripe. What did surprise me was the communal experience the club offered. I am not normally a fan of drum and bass music -- I'd never even heard of it until the night before -- but somehow, the pulsing music and heavy cigarette smoke1 combined to create an atmosphere that was almost warm. I was particularly struck by the absence of sexual tension across the dance floor. To be sure there were couples about, doing what couples ...erm, do, but the general aura was much more simple and free-spirited. It was lively, and it was fun. And that was all.
The crowd had filled Gebäude 9 from wall to wall, a somewhat surprising sight for a Wednesday. No doubt this resulted from the next day being All Saints Day. This being a Catholic region of the country, All Saints Day is an official holiday. So the next morning2 I went to the Dom, the cathedral, for Mass. In the plaza in front of the Dom, I passed a street performer doing balancing tricks on a unicycle. He had gathered a sizable crowd, so I paused briefly to watch. Upon entering the cathedral, I noticed attendance was sparse, which normally would not have surprised me. It occurred to me, however, that the crowd in the cathedral was far smaller than had been on the dance floor the night before. Indeed, it was even smaller than the gathering watching the street performer outside. My surprise waned throughout the Mass. While outside the people laughed and enjoyed the spectacle, inside they murmured through the hymns without enthusiasm and beat their breasts over their "ewige Schuld," their eternal guilt.
While the Dom lacked the festivity of Gebäude 9 or the street performer, the Mass offered contemplation, a reflection on what community is all about. In his homily, the priest spoke of both the consolation and the hardship of Christianity. He spoke of finding comfort in the family of the Church, but also of living up to the demands of what that community stands for. Community, in other words, is more than just a good feeling, more than a party or a good show. He was inspiring; it's unfortunate more people didn't hear him.
I have been thinking about these rather dichotomous twenty-four hours ever since. Many people in Germany, especially the younger generation, are by and large disaffected in regards to faith. And many of the faithful are disaffected in regards to them. I doubt anyone else from Gebäude 9 went to the Dom the next day. Nor could I imagine too many of the attendants of that Mass at a drum and bass club. I have heard it said that Cologne is a city of contradictions. The city shares a history with the Catholic Church since the middle ages, and its influence has continued into the twentieth century. As recently as the Second Vatican Council, the influential Josef Cardinal Frings hailed from Cologne, bringing with him an intelligent young theologian named Joseph Ratzinger. Yet the history of diversity and "Multi-Kulti" also has a strong tradition in Cologne, evident in the city's history of commitment to art and culture, and the amazing assortment of people who live here.
I am not so sure this dichotomy is a contradiction at all. In both Gebäude 9 and the Dom, I saw the people of Cologne seeking, in different ways, the same thing: a sense of community, a sense of belonging. It reminds me of that amateurish passion play I saw at Gebäude 9 last month, with Jesus as indie rocker. Perhaps the image is not such a bad metaphor for this city, with its different groups of identical desires.
--------
1Among other unmistakable aromas.
2Okay, fine, afternoon... late afternoon.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)