Today was an interesting day.
Kitty got a political balloon and she took UTMOST care not to lose it again like it happened the last time.
What’s a political balloon?
In preparation of elections (city mayor this time), political parties give small, crappy gifts to anyone who doesn’t look like a tourist (kinda tough as an international family). We mooched a pen, 2 packs of gummy bears, 2 teabags and said balloon.
No need to tell them you’re gonna vote for their dude anyway, just pretend you don’t know yet. Indecisive they call it.
Yeah, it looks like corruption that goes the opposite way.
Later we passed by the stall of another party. This time I hissed at my family and we did our best to pretend to be tourists. Mainly because they didn’t offer gummy bears, but also because their candidate (who was there too) is mad like a march hare. Trust me, I know because we used to work together.
We got ignored of course, tourists don’t vote. And for the first time in what seems to be a century, an old acquaintance did NOT recognise my face. Novelty!
And since we are good tourists, we went to the cathedral for some sightseeing.
Now, our cathedral is around 1300 years old. Been destroyed and rebuilt a couple times, but old nonetheless.
As a proper cathedral it has a crypt you can visit. Actually quite nice down there.
Suddenly there was a huge racket (in a crypt (!)) and an old frump started hissing and shouting at other tourists.
“HSSSSST!! THIS IS A PLACE OF SILENCE!!”
She repeated that (in German by the way) about five times, each time to a different group of sightseers. Not us though for some reason.
I was seriously contemplating to crack some wiseass comment like “wouldn’t be noisy if it weren’t for you” or “nice try, but none of them understands you anyway”.
But somehow starting an argument with a lunatic in a crypt would mean crossing a line I am not willing to cross.
Ah, next we decided to visit our local museum of modern art. Last time I visited (1996), I was quite unhappy about the total lack of craftsmanship in what they call modern art, but I believe in second chances. Not in third though.
This visit was different – and even more disappointing. Back then I was hiding my disappointment, out of the fear of being called a “Banause” (that would be a Philistine in English I think, a person that is too banal to understand the marvellous greatness of art).
These days I tend to name things as they are, and why not call a hanging turd with feathers stuck in it a hanging turd with feathers stuck in it? Others call it a bird, but turd rhymes with bird, so it’s gonna be okay.