For New Years I was in Hamburg, Germany. I stayed on the Reeperbahn, the red-light district of the city. (Perhaps not coincidentally, it's pronounced "Raper-bon.") Interestingly, the prostitutes don't dress like whores as they do in America. Legalization has brought these working ladies something they don't have in other countries--snow pants. You can recognize the prostitutes by their ubiquitous snow pants, snow shoes or Uggs, and a fanny pack, the accessory for the ages. They line up on the sidewalk, ten feet apart, and the first one in the line gets the next customer that comes by. Then, they all sidestep the ten feet to move closer to the front of the line, where they go back to the studied boredom and examination of their cuticles that seemed to be the prevailing behavior. German whores are alright in my book.
Thanks to South Park, we've all heard about "German shise videos," but despite my obsessive use of the Internet, I didn't realize the severity of the situation. Here are some of the more exciting titles that I saw displayed on the Reeperbahn:
Some things are just too good to make up!
Next, I went on to France--first Reims and then Paris. I stayed with my cousin Laura, who in addition to being one of the only readers here at shutitdown, can speak French fluently and has a charming affection for exotic cocktails. Together, we took a number of blasphemous pictures in the Reims cathedral, and composed a list entitled "Things Nerdier Than an Interest in Dragons," which will be posted on shutitdown shortly.
I then met up with the DFP in Prague, (I've decided to officially rename "Dumb Fucking Polack," or DFP for short, in case he ever comes across this site). Prague was a beautiful city--a gothic Disneyland of sorts. Parts of it were so gorgeous it was hard to believe I wasn't on the set of a movie somewhere in LA.
The highlight of the trip to Prague was forcing the DFP to go to the Jewish Holocaust Museum and synagogue. We walked through the exhibits which showed the names of the tens of thousands of Czech Jews that had been exterminated in the holocaust. "Why did you murder all of these people," I hissed at the Pole.
"Because of the exorbitantly high interest rates," he replied, adjusting the yarmulke I had insisted that he wear. He looked around to make sure that no one else could hear, and then murmured "usurers!"
To make up for his anti-semitism, he bought me some goulash and a shirt that says "Czech me out," a slogan which has not ceased to tickle my fancy since my return. I mean, that's just comedy gold.
