Fire bombed

Today was my one full day in Dresden.

When I left the hostel this morning in search of breakfast, I stumbled on a likely looking bakery and walked in. I was instantly (and pleasantly) assailed by the smell of warm, baked raisins. So it was that I discovered a very particular nostalgia around raisin buns.
In college I lived with my best friends in a total dump, but it was home. It got freezing cold in the winter, and the warmest spot was a nook in the kitchen where we kept the toaster oven. One time, we got a loaf of cinnamon raisin bread, and sat on the counters around the toaster while delicious smells wafted out of it, and spread butter on our toast, and were warm and cozy, and talked, as we often did. It wasn't anything that special in the grand scheme of things, I suppose, but it was a really nice memory as I sat in the park and ate my raisin bun.

I wandered around the flea market for a while. Even though I know it's true, even I find it hard to believe that I've never been to a flea market before. I was surrounded by old buttons, keys, ceramic figurines and tea cups, video games, an old wedding dress, books, records, baby clothes, coins, postage stamps, wooden clocks, silk top hats, typewriters, sets of silver spoons, toy cars, handmade jewelry ranging from incredibly tacky to elegantly lovely, old military badges and medals, tiny cut-crystal glasses, antique spools of thread, a framed painting of a pig, mirrors with beer adverts painted on them, beat-up copper tea kettles and samovars. I even saw one of those special Portuguese guitars used in Fado music. It would take me no time at all to decorate a funky, homey café with items exclusively found at that market.

Then it was time for some quality people-watching. Being a Saturday afternoon in the old town, other tourists were the perfect subjects. I found a spot with an accordion player and singer duo, a cake and coffee special, and a good view of the throngs passing by. Despite the wildly bipolar weather, people were out in droves.

I then went back to the hostel to shower, clean out my bag, and do some laundry. This post is rapidly turning into a play-by-play of my day, but there is a reason I'm writing about this. The thought has crossed my mind that it's a waste of precious time in a city I may never visit again if I spend 2 hours in my hostel rummaging around in my bag. However. When one is on the road, living out of said bag for several months, moving from place to place every few days, and losing one's shampoo in one of those places and failing to replace it for almost a week (FYI face wash makes a very poor substitute for shampoo) there is a lot to be said for having a good long scrub in some relaxing hot water, and throwing away the accumulated maps and pamphlets and trash from one's bag, and telling the receptionist to yes, please, do use hot water on EVERYTHING, and put it ALL in the dryer - even the quick-drying lace underwear, because having all your clothes be clean is so worth some damage done to them (which happens anyways when you're cycling through 4 or 5 days worth).
Is it strange that external cleanliness can make you feel clean on the inside as well? Fresh and new and happy to be alive? Maybe this is an oddity of mine, but I think plenty of you can relate to the feeling.

While walking from the train station to my hostel yesterday, I passed by what appeared to be a wine festival. Stand after stand of wineries selling there wares by the glass or bottle, and plenty of people (mostly ranging from middle-aged to old) sitting and enjoying some nice glasses of wine. I myself am quite partial to wine, and my sister gave me an invaluable piece of advice about restaurants which I assume extends to wine - you know it's good if there are lots of old peoples. So, following that recommendation, feeling fresh and clean, wearing a dress and ready to mingle with an older crowd, I made my way to the wine. Being in Germany, I decided to try a Riesling. Several, in fact. Sweet wine is much better enjoyed on its own, in my opinion, than with any kind of food. Unable to understand any of the German descriptions, I resorted to the point and smile, hoping to encounter another dry Riesling like the amazing one I had in Milan. I ended up with one sparkling Riesling, then a super-sweet one, then one that was professed to be dry by an english-speaking vendor but wasn't at all what I was searching for, at which point I gave up and moved on to my preferred red wine. Even though I didn't find what I was hoping for, all the wines I sampled were quite delightful. There was a consistently generous pouring strategy. 0.1L became 0.15, and this empty-stomached wanderluster soon became even more inclined to see the world through rose-colored glasses.

After more than necessary glasses of wine, I made my way to an art cinema where they showed "The Way", which I had been wanting to see. After that amazing movie experience (seriously, watch this movie), I sat at the bar (inside the cinema) drinking a Spanish wine and reading my newest book-exchange find, when a very interesting German guy struck up a conversation with me. We ended up chatting until almost 4 AM. It's amazing, the fascinating people one meets while traveling.