Ipanema

We started at Praça General Osório, on the eastern edge of Ipanema, and made our way west along Rua Visconde de Pirajá, the central thoroughfare running through the neighborhood.

Street scene

Three blocks later, we arrived at Praça Nossa Senhora da Paz:

Praça NS da Paz

Monument to Pinheiro Machado, an important figure who fought for the
establishment and consolidation of the Republic

Cariocas playing bocce

On the street, água de coco (the second best-selling juice in Brazil after orange juice):

Fresh coconut water: R$2

Continuing west:

Galeria de Arte Ipanema

We then crossed the Jardim de Alah, the dividing line between Ipanema and Leblon, for dinner at Espaço Brasa Leblon, a spacious churrascaria on Av. Afrânio de Melo Franco.

Canal do Jardim de Alah

 
Before heading back to the hotel, we stopped by a nearby supermarket to pick up some snacks. Some of you may know that I have a minor obsession with grocery stores, especially in foreign countries. Honestly, I believe that one can learn a lot of interesting things—how different and, simultaneously, how similar we all are—by observing the food-purchasing priorities of different cultures. (I may or may not have once spent five hours in a Carrefour in Barcelona reading/translating the labels on every type of olive oil in the store.)

The Zona Sul supermarket we visited in Leblon was no exception: particularly outstanding was an entire half-aisle shrine to bacalhau, the dried, salted codfish popular in Portugal and many of her former colonies. And, of course, the enormous fruit section:

Below, an entire aisle dedicated to several varieties of my favorite fruit, the mango:

They continued further in a second aisle. I didn't even know this many varieties existed.

Amerikanischer Kulturimperialismus

Walking around Rio de Janeiro, I am struck by the lack of what Herr Niesz often referred to last semester as amerikanischer Kulturimperialismus; even in the most international or touristy areas of the city, there are very few Starbucks, McDonald's or other icons of American culture-imperialism.

I'm cognizant of the irony of the fact that I've come to expect (though not to frequent) such franchises when traveling abroad, especially in the downtown areas of major cities like Rio. I used to balk at the offensive incongruity of Starbucks franchises in locations such as the Forbidden City or Insadong, but, sadly, I've gradually become desensitized to such scenes and, in fact, in many metropolises, such franchises seem to blend into the urban landscape.

Which factors, do you think, explain the dearth of foreign brands in Rio? How has the city managed to resist the seemingly unstoppable globalization of fast food and fast fashion? After all, Brazil—the "B" in BRIC—has long been an international country influenced by numerous foreign cultures.

I imagine that one contributing reason could be the relative economic isolation of the military dictatorship in the not too distant past. Another explanation could be the foreign corporation-unfriendly import substitution model followed by Brazil (and many other Latin American economies) for several decades during the last century. I've also noticed that there seems to be very little need for foreign franchises, particularly in the fast food industry. Juice stands and lanchonetes, which can be found on every block, provide an abundance of cheap and delicious offerings; even in upscale Leblon, pão de queijo and a glass of freshly squeezed papaya juice will only set you back about eight reais.

Below are the only two signs trumpeting American fast food brands that I've seen all week:

Dear Rio, for the sake of Cariocas and visitors alike, please don't give in to Americanização. I'll take açaí and coconut water over syrupy lattes any day.

Leblon

The twin neighborhoods bairros of Leblon and Ipanema are home to tree-lined streets full of open-air restaurants, colorful boutiques and multistory galerias (shopping centers). Bordered by a lagoon to the north and the famous praia of Ipanema to the south, this upscale area is a favored address for Rio's young and wealthy and commands some of the highest land prices in Latin America.

Meu irmão e eu, searching to satisfy a sushi* craving

*Brazil boasts an impressive number of top-notch sushi restaurants due to the large population of Japanese immigrants and their descendants, particularly in São Paulo. (We ended up choosing Nik Sushi, a quiet spot on Rua Garcia D'Ávila.)

Street signs in Leblon

Av. Ataúlfo de Paiva

After lunch, we had cafézinhos at Armazém do Café, a traditional coffee house on Rua Rita Ludolf. Here's a picture of the irmão:

Ele fala português também!

...followed by an exploration of some of the boutiques on Av. Ataúlfo de Paiva.

Pai e mãe

We then refueled with juices and foccacia sandwiches at Juice Company, a stylish two-story juice lounge serving over 60 different juice concoctions.

O irmão outra vez

And finally, just two blocks to the south, the praia and the Atlantic Ocean:

Botafogo

I spent the afternoon today in Botafogo, a charming beachfront neighborhood between the hills of Mundo Novo and Morro de São João. The beach is sheltered from the Atlantic Ocean by the peninsula of Urca and Pão de Açúcar. (Incidentally, I'm starting to realize that practically every neighborhood in Rio seems to border both the sea and the hills.)

Caught a glimpse of Rio's clean and efficient Metrô while saving on taxi fare

Named after Portuguese settler João Pereira de Souza Botafogo, the district rose to prominence after the construction of a royal villa here during the late 1800s for Carlota Joaquina, the wife of Dom João VI. With royalty established in the area, arriving aristocrats built stately mansions, many of which still stand as theaters and schools, giving Botafogo the nickname "bairro das escolas." The neighborhood is also home to nearly 20 foreign consulates—including those of Portugal, Germany, Spain, Norway, Argentina and China—which overlook Av. das Naçoes Unidas and the praia (beach) of Botafogo.

To the west, a cathedral, a cluster of schools and, in the background, Cristo Redentor

Refueled at a local juice stand with lemonade and a bowl of açaí. Brazilian juice stands—which sell a variety of fresh-squeezed juices as well as snacks such as açaí and salgados—are a national institution and are ubiquitous throughout the city.

I now know the Portuguese names of at least a dozen tropical fruits.

Botafogo is also home to an impressive number of multinational corporate offices:

Centro Empresarial houses offices of Samsung, Ernst & Young, Mitsubishi
and Statoil, among many others

My primary motivation for visiting Botafogo, though, was not the tourist attractions but rather a scheduled meeting with the Fundação Getúlio Vargas (Getúlio Vargas Foundation), a leading Brazilian institute of higher education, academic research center and, according to Foreign Policy, one of the top five "policymaker think tanks" in the world.

I had the opportunity to have lunch with Dr. Álvaro Cyrino, deputy dean of the Escola Brasileira de Administração Pública e de Empresas. During our subsequent interview, Dr. Cyrino, an academic expert and adviser to numerous corporations, talked about the future of innovation in the Brazilian economy. Keep an eye out for his insight in the spring issue of Business Sphere magazine!

Fundação Getúlio Vargas

Cristo Redentor

One of the new seven wonders of the world, Cristo Redentor (Christ the Redeemer) is Brazil's largest monument and most widely recognized landmark. Located at the peak of Corcovado in Tijuca National Park, the 1145 ton, 39 meter-tall Christ statue towers over the city, greeting the sunrise to the east with outstretched arms.

Here's a close-up:

Cristo Redentor

And the stunning vistas from the top:

East - Pão de Açúcar, Botafogo Cove, Atlantic Ocean

North - Guanabara Bay, Ponte Presidente Costa e Silva, Niterói

South - Lagoa, Ipanema, Morro dos Cabritos

Southwest - Leblon, Jockey Club, more mountains, more ocean

É incrível, não?

Walking Tour of Centro

Centro is Rio de Janeiro's financial center, a commercial district of sleek skyscrapers and traffic-filled boulevards. These modern buildings are juxtaposed with baroque churches, historical plazas and former imperial buildings, making Centro a great place to see Cariocas (native inhabitants of Rio) from many different walks of life.

The district is surprisingly walkable, thanks to a number of pedestrian-only areas and broad sidewalks that line Centro's main boulevards. Below is the route my family and I decided to take, starting at Estçacão Cinelândia to the south and ending at Estação Uruguaiana.

We began our exploration at Praça Floriano (visible as you exit Cinelândia Station), a plaza named in honor of Floriano Peixoto, second president of Brazil.

Meu irmão e eu

Overlooking the plaza is the Biblioteca Nacional, the largest library in Latin America, with a remarkable rare book collection that includes two original Mainz Psalter Bibles.

Biblioteca Nacional

To the north lies the opulent Theatro Municipal, built in 1905 in the style of the Palais Garnier in Paris. It is the home of Rio's opera, orchestra and ballet companies.

Theatro Municipal

Continuing north, we walked along Avenida Rio Branco to the necoclassical Museu Nacional de Belas Artes. The fine arts museum houses the sizable portion of the Portuguese Royal Collection that stayed in Brazil after Dom João VI's transfer of the royal court as well as 20,000 other pieces ranging from medieval paintings to contemporary Brazilian art.

Museu Nacional de Belas Artes

We then turned left on Avenida Almirante Barroso and, after passing Carioca Station, arrived at Largo da Carioca, a public square with a bustling outdoor market.

Largo da Carioca

On the hill to our left was the baroque Igreja São Francisco da Penitência, dating from 1726. Next to it stands the Convento de Santo Antônio, built between 1608 and 1615.

Igreja São Francisco da Penitência e Convento de Santo Antônio

After passing through the plaza, we walked around the corner to Rua Gonçalves Dias and stopped for coffee at Confeitaria Colombo, a magnificent Victorian tearoom dating from the late 1800s that transports you back to Rio during the Belle Époque—complete with stained-glass windows, brocaded mirrors and marble countertops. Incidentally, the crowd of immaculately coiffed Cariocas reminded me a bit of the ladies of Houston.

The first-floor salão, complete with huge mirrors imported from Belgium in 1894

One of the dessert displays

After filling up on cafézinhos, we walked east on Rua Sete de Setembro, passing through the central business district. Here's a picture I took facing north while crossing Av. Rio Branco:

Almost got run over by angry Brazilian motorists while taking this shot

(Here we made a brief detour to a charming lunchtime spot that—despite its ambience and our guidebook's claim that the offerings are muito gostoso—was rather unremarkable.)

Continuing east a few blocks on Rua Sete de Setembro, we arrived at Praça Quinze de Novembro, a site that was first inhabited by a convent of Carmelite fathers in 1590. The square was renamed after Brazil declared independence on November 15, 1822. Praça Quinze de Novembro was also the site of the coronation of Brazil's two emperors as well as the abolition of slavery.

Buildings adjacent to the plaza

Overlooking the plaza is the Paço Imperial, originally built as a governor's residence and later used as the home of Dom João and his family.

Overlooking the plaza is the Paço Imperial

Behind the Paço Imperial stands the stately Palácio Tiradentes, former seat of the National Congress until the transfer of the capital to Brasília in 1960. (When the National Congress was shut down in 1937 under the Vargas dictatorship, the building housed his Department of Press and Propaganda.) Tiradentes Palace today serves as the home of the Legislative Assembly of the State of Rio de Janeiro.

Palácio Tiradentes

We then crossed Praça Quinze de Novembro and walked north through the Arco de Teles and along Travessa do Comércio, one of Centro's oldest lanes. The winding alleyway is lined with numerous open-air bars and charming restaurants.

Travessa do Comércio

Continuing north

Art installation at the end of the lane

Next, we turned left onto Av. Presidente Vargas and spotted the Igreja de Nossa Senhora da Candelária, the largest and wealthiest church of imperial Brazil. Originally constructed in the late 16th century, the baroque masterpiece was rebuilt between 1775 and 1894 using limestone shipped from Lisbon.

Igreja NS da Candelária

Altar

After resting in the cool interior of the church, we continued west along Av. Presidente Vargas to Uruguaiana Station, the final stop on our half-day walking tour.

Buildings on Avenida Presidente Vargas

Bom Dia

So when I posted a picture of Ipanema at the end of my last post and claimed that it was taken from my hotel room, I wasn’t being dishonest, but I admittedly neglected to present the complete view. In the interest of full disclosure, below are two pictures I took this morning: the first facing northeast from the balcony, similar to yesterday’s image and complete with a partial view of the resort grounds and private beach; and the second of a favela (shantytown)* on a hill to the northwest.

Praia de Ipanema

*Despite its oceanfront location, this particular favela (Vidigal), while not particularly notorious, represents the urban poverty that plagues certain neighborhoods in Rio and other Brazilian cities.

Favela do Vidigal

Brazil is a land of stark and even jarring contrasts that, at least for me, makes it one of the most interesting places in the world. Consider for a moment what images or stereotypes this country evokes for you. There’s Ronaldo (pronounced "Honaldu", by the way) and futebol maniacs and World Cup victories. The Amazon and powdery beaches. Cidade de Deus. Gisele Bündchen. Samba and Carnaval. Drug trafficking and gang wars. Hollywood in Copacabana and caipirinha-sipping tourists. Bossa nova.

Indeed, by nearly any measure, Brazil is an enormously diverse country. First of all, it is large, spanning three time zones, with an area greater than that of the contiguous United States, and containing half the population of South America (making Portuguese rather than Spanish the most commonly spoken language on the continent). The terrain, which borders every South American country except Chile and Ecuador, varies from the South Atlantic coast to rainforests to the central plateau to pampas in the South. And demographically, Brazil is a true melting pot of Portuguese settlers, native indígenas, Africans and a flood of European immigrants that made Brazil the third largest recipient of immigrants in the western hemisphere (after the U.S. and Argentina). Particularly notable are the concentrations of German descendants in the southern region as well as the largest population of Japanese outside Japan, primarily in São Paulo.

There is socioeconomic diversity, too, and in some regions, glaring inequality. On one side of the dividing line is the well-established wealth of Bovespa and Petrobas; on the other side—not uncommonly on the opposite face of the same hills—are overcrowded favela communities that often lack property rights as well as power and clean water.

I'm not planning to thoroughly investigate life in the favelas during my short stay in Rio this winter/summer, but perhaps against my better judgment, I also do not plan to spend much time lounging in the hotel gardens, either. By exploring different parts of the city and not shying away from less touristy neighborhoods, I hope to gain a somewhat balanced perspective on Rio beyond the tourist hotspots.

That said, I will probably spend several evenings people-watching and trying to soak in some sun on the beach—in fact, the thought of returning to New England in mid-January just convinced me to add Ipanema to this evening's itinerary. 

Lots of beaches

Saudações do Brasil

Greetings from Rio de Janeiro!

Aptly nicknamed the cidade maravilhosa, this former capital* of Brazil is today the second-largest metropolis in the country and the most visited city in the southern hemisphere.

*The evolution of Rio's status as the former capital of Brazil (for nearly 200 years) provides an instructive overview of Brazilian history: Rio de Janeiro was the capital of the Portugal's colony in South America from 1763 to 1808. In 1808, Dom João VI, fleeing from Napoleon's invasion of Lisbon, arrived in Rio with the entire Portuguese royal court of 15,000, making Rio the seat of the government of the entire Portuguese empire and launching a golden age of culture and commerce in the city. Even after Napoleon's defeat at Waterloo in 1815, Dom João VI, who had fallen in love with his adopted hometown, refused demands to return to Portugal to rule and instead elevated Rio to the status of capital of the United Kingdom of Portugal, Brazil and the Algarves. Due to increased turmoil in Lisbon, João VI finally relented to political pressure and returned to Portugal in 1821, leaving his eldest son Pedro in Rio de Janeiro as prince regent of the empire. Subsequent measures by Lisbon to restore Brazil to its previous status as a subservient colony was met with vocal opposition in Rio, and Brazilian leadership convinced Pedro to secede from his father's empire. In a bloodless revolution, Dom Pedro I declared independence and instituted a constitutional monarchy in the newly created Empire of Brazil. Under the rule of his son Dom Pedro II, Brazil underwent significant modernization, welcoming the influence of fashions in European art and technology. By 1860, fueled by an influx of immigrants, Rio de Janeiro boasted a population of more than 250,000, making it the largest and most international city in South America. Brazil's remarkable growth—Rio's population grew to 800,000 by 1900—continued during the República Velha (1889-1930), Brazil's first constitutional democracy. The republic was succeeded in 1930 by the Estado Novo, an authoritarian state headed by Getúlio Vargas, who guided the country through a period of rapid industrialization (and, despite his fascist policies, won the nickname "pai dos pobres (father of the poor)" and remained largely popular until his suicide in 1954). Rio subsequently lost its status as Brazil's long-standing capital in 1960 under the military dictatorship that overturned Vargas' Estado Novo. President Juscelino Kubitschek, fulfilling an article of Brazil's constitution dating back to 1891 stating that the capital should be moved to a site close to the center of the country, ordered the construction of Brasília, an architecturally grandiose master-planned city that replaced Rio as the seat of the national government. (Incidentally, Brazil's democracy was restored in 1985).

I hope the brief history lesson (drawn from the history unit of my Portuguese class and a Brazilian travel guidebook) wasn't too boring for you, dear reader. But I think that Brazil is a widely misunderstood country that, for many Americans (myself included until last year), is often linked to historical generalizations that lump Brazilian history with its Latin American neighbors, a tendency that neglects unique elements of Brazil's nationhood such as its former imperial status. In addition, the crude outline above should help clarify some of the historical references in my blog posts about traveling around Rio this week.

At any rate, here's the view from my hotel room:

Ipanema

Maravilhosa, não é?

Lessons of the Semester

And thus my fifth semester at Yale is come to a much-awaited, somewhat bittersweet, sliding-into-home-plate-esque end. 

I'm still too fried from exams to try to pick out the most significant or interesting lessons of the semester, but here's a bit of wisdom from the First-Order Logic final:

Ax [Happy(x) > Ey (x≠y ^ Loves(x,y))].

Incidentally, as instructive as this logic course was, I'm not sure if I should have taken the course. In retrospect, I think I'm too often rational to a fault; perhaps there should be a course on First-Order Illogical Emotionality...

At any rate, I now have only 1 day until Houston and Mother's kabucha pumpkin castella, 2 days until Rio de Janeiro and my first time in the southern hemisphere.

Listening to:
"Dans mon île" - Henri Salvador

Wenn jetzt Sommer wär

Why the Pilgrims settled in Massachusetts rather than in Virginia remains an utter mystery to me. "Oh look!" said some bloke on the Mayflower. "Freezing weather for a third of the year and lots of rocky soil that will hinder agriculture. Yes, let's start our colony here."

If it weren't for that thick fellow, perhaps the Ivy League would be scattered across the rolling hills of Virginia and the lush plains of Georgia and Florida, in which case tens of thousands of students would migrate south for the school year and north for the summer (which would make a lot more sense than the status quo). If only the sea gods had a kinder sense of humor...


Listening to:
"Wenn jetzt Sommer wär (If it were summer now)" - Pohlmann

2 down, 2 more to go.  

Sergiu Luca/Peter Marzio

Two major losses have brought the Houston arts community together in mourning this past week:

Peter C. Marzio, the director of the Museum of Fine Arts, Houston, for the last 28 years, died this morning of cancer, the museum announced. During his tenure, the museum’s attendance increased from 380,000 people annually to over 2 million, and its endowment grew to over $700 million. The Houston Chronicle obituary highlights his achievements: "The collection's rapid growth was accompanied by many other milestones under Marzio's tenure: the Lillie and Hugh Roy Cullen sculpture garden designed by artist Isamu Noguchi; the European decorative arts center, Rienzi, donated by Carroll Sterling Masterson and Harris Masterson III; and the Audrey Jones Beck Building, designed by architect Rafael Moneo."

Marzio's death follows on the heels of music pioneer Sergiu Luca's passing. The New York Times reports, "Sergiu Luca, a Romanian-born American violinist who founded several important chamber music festivals and ensembles and who was renowned for the breadth of his repertory and the elegance and warmth of his tone, died on Monday at his home in Houston." Luca, 67, was the founder of the Da Camera Society of Houston, the former director of the Texas Chamber Orchestra and a professor of violin at Rice University's Shepherd School of Music, among his many other accomplishments. "It's an immeasurable loss," says Shepherd School of Music dean Robert Yekovich. "Sergiu was a pillar of the faculty, a major force in the violin division, a prestigious artist and a gifted teacher."

Listening to:
Béla Bartók's Contrasts - Yehudi Menuhin, Jeremy Menuhin, Thea King

Shoot for the Moon

"Shoot for the moon. Because even if you miss, you'll land among the stars." Most of us have probably heard some version of this, right?

It occurred to me in a morbidly hilarious epiphany this morning that the above statement is blatantly false. I mean, realistically, if you're shooting for the moon and miss, you'll probably either A) run out of food and starve to death somewhere in space or B) fall back toward Earth and be incinerated as you re-enter the atmosphere.

This is not to say that I don't think it's important to dream big. But star/night sky/space metaphors seem too dreamy and romantic for me; perhaps, in the words of Rilke, "the purpose of life is to be defeated by greater and greater things."

But of course, that's hardly motivational enough for colorful posters on elementary school classroom walls.

The Awful German Language

The quote at the end of my last post comes from "The Awful German Language," a hilarious 1880 essay by Mark Twain published as Appendix D in A Tramp Abroad. Below are a few more excerpted gems:

A person who has not studied German can form no idea of what a perplexing language it is. 

There are ten parts of speech, and they are all troublesome. An average sentence, in a German newspaper, is a sublime and impressive curiosity; it occupies a quarter of a column; it contains all the ten parts of speech—not in regular order, but mixed; it is built mainly of compound words constructed by the writer on the spot, and not to be found in any dictionary—six or seven words compacted into one, without joint or seam—that is, without hyphens; it treats of fourteen or fifteen different subjects, each enclosed in a parenthesis of its own, with here and there extra parentheses, making pens with pens: finally, all the parentheses and reparentheses are massed together between a couple of king-parentheses, one of which is placed in the first line of the majestic sentence and the other in the middle of the last line of it—after which comes the verb, and you find out for the first time what the man has been talking about; and after the verb—merely by way of ornament, as far as I can make out—the writer shovels in "Haben Sind Gewesen Gehabt Haben Geworden Sein," or words to that effect, and the monument is finished. 

Now here is a sentence from a popular and excellent German novel. I will make a perfectly literal translation, and throw in the parenthesis-marks and some hyphens for the assistance of the reader—though in the original there are no parenthesis-marks or hyphens, and the reader is left to flounder through to the remote verb the best way he can:

"But when he, upon the street, the (in-satin-and-silk-covered- now-very-unconstrained-after-the-newest-fashioned-dressed) government counselor's wife met," etc., etc. 

That is from The Old Mamselle's Secret, by Mrs. Marlitt. And that sentence is constructed upon the most approved German model. You observe how far that verb is from the reader's base of operations; well, in a German newspaper they put their verb away over on the next page; and I have heard that sometimes after stringing along the exciting preliminaries and parentheses for a column or two, they get in a hurry and have to go to press without getting to the verb at all. Of course, then, the reader is left in a very exhausted and ignorant state. 

The Germans have another kind of parenthesis, which they make by splitting a verb in two and putting half of it at the beginning of an exciting chapter and the other half at the end of it. Can any one conceive of anything more confusing than that? These things are called "separable verbs." The German grammar is blistered all over with separable verbs; and the wider the two portions of one of them are spread apart, the better the author of the crime is pleased with his performance. A favorite one is reiste ab—which means departed. Here is an example which I culled from a novel and reduced to English: 

"The trunks being now ready, he DE- after kissing his mother and sisters, and once more pressing to his bosom his adored Gretchen, who, dressed in simple white muslin, with a single tuberose in the ample folds of her rich brown hair, had tottered feebly down the stairs, still pale from the terror and excitement of the past evening, but longing to lay her poor aching head yet once again upon the breast of him whom she loved more dearly than life itself, -PARTED." 

Now observe the Adjective. Here was a case where simplicity would have been an advantage; therefore, for no other reason, the inventor of this language complicated it all he could. When we wish to speak of our "good friend or friends," in our enlightened tongue, we stick to the one form and have no trouble or hard feeling about it; but with the German tongue it is different. When a German gets his hands on an adjective, he declines it, and keeps on declining it until the common sense is all declined out of it. It is as bad as Latin. 

I heard a Californian student in Heidelberg say, in one of his calmest moods, that he would rather decline two drinks than one German adjective. 

Some German words are so long that they have a perspective. Observe these examples:

Freundschaftsbezeigungen.
Dilettantenaufdringlichkeiten.
Stadtverordnetenversammlungen. 

These things are not words, they are alphabetical processions. And they are not rare; one can open a German newspaper at any time and see them marching majestically across the page—and if he has any imagination he can see the banners and hear the music, too. They impart a martial thrill to the meekest subject. I take a great interest in these curiosities. Whenever I come across a good one, I stuff it and put it in my museum. In this way I have made quite a valuable collection. When I get duplicates, I exchange with other collectors, and thus increase the variety of my stock. Here are some specimens which I lately bought at an auction sale of the effects of a bankrupt bric-a-brac hunter:

Generalstaatsverordnetenversammlungen.
Altertumswissenschaften.
Kinderbewährungsanstalten.
Unabhängigkeitserklärungen.
Wiederherstellungbestrebungen.
Waffenstillstandsverhandlungen. 

I wish to submit the following local item, from a Mannheim journal, by way of illustration:

"In the daybeforeyesterdayshortlyaftereleveno'clock Night, the inthistownstandingtavern called 'The Wagoner' was downburnt. When the fire to the onthedownburninghouseresting Stork's Nest reached, flew the parent Storks away. But when the bytheraging, firesurrounded Nest itself caught Fire, straightway plunged the quickreturning Mother-Stork into the Flames and died, her Wings over her young ones outspread." 

There are some German words which are singularly and powerfully effective. For instance, those which describe lowly, peaceful, and affectionate home life; those which deal with love, in any and all forms, from mere kindly feeling and honest good will toward the passing stranger, clear up to courtship; those which deal with outdoor Nature, in its softest and loveliest aspects—with meadows and forests, and birds and flowers, the fragrance and sunshine of summer, and the moonlight of peaceful winter nights; in a word, those which deal with any and all forms of rest, respose, and peace; those also which deal with the creatures and marvels of fairyland; and lastly and chiefly, in those words which express pathos, is the language surpassingly rich and affective. There are German songs which can make a stranger to the language cry. That shows that the sound of the words is correct—it interprets the meanings with truth and with exactness; and so the ear is informed, and through the ear, the heart. 

My philological studies have satisfied me that a gifted person ought to learn English (barring spelling and pronouncing) in thirty hours, French in thirty days, and German in thirty years.

With all due respect to Mr. Clemens, I find German to be much more logical and less irregular than English or the Romance languages...but his observations are pretty hilarious nevertheless. 

Mein letzter Deutschkurs

The German course I am taking this semester, GMAN 168: Aktuelles im Spiegel der deutschen Medien (Current Events in Germany), met for the last time this morning, ending a wunderbares semester of lively discussions, a thick stack of articles from Der Spiegel, Die Zeit and other publications, and weekly 2-page essays on topics ranging from the global recession to German immigration policies.

The end of a course is always somewhat bittersweet, and this is particularly true for GMAN 168 because it has likely been the last German class I will ever take. I hope that this suspicion will be proven false, but there are several reasons it will be difficult for me to continue my German language education after this semester.

1. Completing the requisite courses for my double major (Cognitive Science and International Studies) and writing my senior thesis will dominate nearly all of my schedule for my last three semesters at Yale.
2. Even if I had room in my schedule, there are not very many advanced German language courses beyond GMAN 168. 
3. In the majority of the German department's upper-level courses, readings and discussion are in English, giving little opportunity to improve and retain German language skills.
4. Most of these courses—Hölderlin, Kafka, Benjamin; The Poetry of Walther von der Vogelweide; Nietzsche and His Reader—are specifically geared toward advanced literature or philosophy students.

Despite my passion for the language and a series of rigorous courses, five years is not nearly enough to master any language, let alone one of the most intricately structured, expressive and richest in the world. Compounding my sense of loss is the fact that Professor Anthony Niesz, whom I had for both L5 German freshman year and GMAN 168 this year, will be retiring this spring.

I'm trying to convince myself of the possibility that a combination of academic motivation and the handsome collection of German textbooks, novels and other readings I have accumulated over the past few years will be enough not just to prevent my language skills from deteriorating but even to continue improving them in the future.

Another source of consolation are the words of Mark Twain, who famously stated, "My philological studies have satisfied me that a gifted person ought to learn English (barring spelling and pronouncing) in thirty hours, French in thirty days, and German in thirty years. It seems manifest, then, that the latter tongue ought to be trimmed down and repaired. If it is to remain as it is, it ought to be gently and reverently set aside among the dead languages, for only the dead have time to learn it."