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„All Are Welcome“ – The Bahá’í House of Worship

August 21, 2013 / bruecken_schlag / Kommentare deaktiviert

Before I came to Chicago, I had never heard of the Bahá’í. When my friend Jesse suggested that I go to see their House of Worship in the Chicago suburb of Wilmette, I was open to it because I have a general interest in religion and places of worship, and the pictures Jesse showed me of the temple looked stunning. But I did not foresee how much everything I found would speak to me.

The commute out to Wilmette is easier to take during rush hour, because the purple line of the L, Chicago’s metro, goes from the downtown Loop area directly to the quiet suburb in the morning from around 7 through 10 and in the evening from around 3 to 6. I take it to the last stop, Linden, and when I walk out the station, I can’t fail to see the sign that points to the Bahá’í House of Worship. I walk along Linden Avenue with its beautiful villas and only about five minutes later, while crossing a bridge over the North Shore Channel, I see the white dome glisten through the trees. Then it opens up before my eyes in all its splendour.

Without knowing much about the faith at all, I just feel impressed by the white beauty of the House of Worhsip that was built here in the beginning of the 20th century and is the oldest Bahá’í temple in the world. As I approach the door, it is opened for me by an usher who moves somewhat solemnly. I enter the simple room that seems almost round – it is actually a nonagon with nine alcoves that are topped, like the outside walls, with quotes from the holy scripture of the Baha’í. I especially like

The light of a good character surpasseth the light of the sun.“

I wonder briefly how spelling something with a th instead of an s can make a sentence sound so much more meaningful – a „surpasses“ might not have impressed me as much.

After a bit of quiet contemplation there is a devotion in which the lofty usher has read parts from Bahá’í scripture. It is unpretentious, simple and without any rite or big gesture. Just reading. Lutheran services are bombastic by comparison. I sit and listen and look around me in the big room under the high dome. I sense that the nine sides with their nine glass doors are to symbol that people are invited from all directions and, metaphorically, all backgrounds. If the chairs weren’t pointed to one side of the room, there would be no hierarchy in the structure of the room. Just equality.

I sit out in the gardens of the temple for a while. They seem to me like the proverbial gardens of Alamut Castle that were said to resemble paradise. Not because they are so beautiful (although they are), but because they have that oriental touch with their fountains and flower beds.

After my visit to the gardens, I visit the Help Center underneath the temple not really expectant of a lot – but there is a small exhibition on the history of Bahá’í Faith and the House of Worship where I end up spending two hours learning about the Bahá’í, and after that, I understand much about the temple’s architectural symbolism.

The Bahá’í Faith is a monotheistic religion which roots in Persia around 150 years ago and is based on the teachings of the prophet Bahá’u’lláh. Its three main principles are the unity of God, the unity of religion and the unity of humanity. The faith is therefore quite syncretistic. It says that there is just one God, and that all religions point to that same God and thus are essentially not different. Analogically, the equality of religions is mirrored in the equality of all human beings. I remember the feeling I had in the temple, that people were invited from everywhere and from each background and direction. The architect’s intention to symbolize that worked well on me.

The syncretism in this really speaks to me. It has been a conviction of mine for a long time that at least the big monotheistic religions really promote the same spirituality with the use of different stories and rites. My American hostfather always says: „Same God, different names“. That is exactly what the Bahá’í Faith says.

And it is beautifully symbolized in the columns on the temple that show, from bottom to top, the ancient pagan sun symbol (weirdly reminiscent of a swastika, which unfortunately stems from this rune indeed), the Jewish star of David, the Christian cross, Islam’s moon and star and finally the Bahá’í’s nine-pointed star. Nine is the holy number of Bahá’í Faith – hence the nine alcoves of the temple. It is the holy number because it is the highest single digit and as such is supposed to symbolize unity.

The Bahá’í justify their syncretism (which extends to Bhuddism, Hinduism and Zoroastrianism) by the idea that new religions emerge at different times throughout history to enable people to have a faith that can be actively practiced in the society they live in. Basically, a new prophet will renew the ever-same faith in a contemporary sense. This makes a lot of sense to me, and it explains why Islam, the youngest monotheistic religion, accepts science as a godly way to explain God’s creation – as does Bahá’í Faith.

I enjoy learning about the founding myths of Bahá’í Faith, and the principles the belief functions by. They all come back to the three basic principles. In the exhibition, quotes of the prophet Bahá’u’lláh, another spiritual figure of the Bahá’í called the Báb, and the prophet’s son are posted to the walls, and some of the words speak to me deeply, most of all the last sentence of this:

For a while I think about what would keep me from converting. I then realize that it is the existence of a prophet. I would have difficulty to all at once recognize the existence and sacredness of a prophet that was unknown to me so far. I then ask myself if a prophet is necessary for a faith like the Bahá’í Faith. But it must be – because people need words like the ones above from an authority to keep to a faith, I think. If they didn’t, maybe religion couldn’t do so much harm.

Bahá’í Faith is beautiful to me – inclusive, accepting, and sensible. It promotes equality and unity, and it says that worship is done by being an active member of society, thus bringing faith into the midst of modern life. It holds up principles that I can believe in. That might not be the function of religion – but it makes it easier. I at least found lots of unexpected spiritual inspiration in Wilmette.

Have you ever gotten to know a religion that was previously strange to you through travel? Had you heard of the Bahá’í before? What do you think about them – and about their House of Worship?

Wabash Avenue Bridge in Chicago, Illinois, US

August 18, 2013 / bruecken_schlag / Kommentare deaktiviert

I have asked my friend about five times how to say the name of the street that runs over today’s bridge and I cannot for the life of me remember it. WAY-bawsh? WAW-besh? Wah-BOSH? Who cares, really. Maybe I should just refer to it as Irv Kupcinet Bridge, its other name that it takes from a famous Chicago journalist.

The picture is taken from Michigan Avenue in sight of many of the famous architectural marvels of Chicago downtown. Although I was in a way taken by the skyscrapers from the beginning, I am honestly ambivalent about their „beauty“. Are they really beautiful? Or are they just – stunning? impressive? awe-inducing? I don’t think one could speak for all of them in general. I absolutely adore the Jewelers Building, the pretty one on the left in the picture with its tower rising out of the base and its pretty cupola. It reminds me weirdly of the Palace of Culture in Warsaw – Stalin’s gift to the Polish people. Strang seeing a building reminiscent of socialist architecture in the United States!

The bridge almost disappears inmidst the canyons of skyscrapers, but I hope it has not escaped your attention that it is on there, crossing the Chicago River. Because the river branches out, it looks like the letter Y on the map (with a lot of good will, admittedly) – and the Y is an important symbol of the city that shows up on public buildings, street lanterns, and gully covers. In a city so appreciative of its river, bridges must play a role, too. And I think they make a wonderful counterbalance to the architecture that is reaching for the skies. They ground the city.

I f you have read My Mission statement, you know why I love bridges. To me they are the most universal symbol of connection, of bringing people together and overcoming anything that may seperate us. I want to present to you pictures of bridges that I really love in places that I really love on my blog every Sunday. If you have a picture of a bridge that you would like to share with my readers as a guest post, feel free to contact me!

How I found Europe in Chicago

August 16, 2013 / bruecken_schlag / 6 Kommentare

Even before I came here, I noticed in my travel guide that Europe is ever present on the map of Chicago: The Ukrainian Village. Little Italy. Greektown. Pilsen, as in the Czech town. The Holstein Park, as in the region in Northern Germany. Not only were there geographical allusions, but many places were named for famous Europeans: Humboldt Park. Goethe and Schiller streets. Pulaski Park. Dvorak Park (yes, they have a LOT of parks in Chicago!). I thought it was interesting how a country whose population is traditionally made up of immigrants to some extent tries to reconstruct its heritage this way, and I was curious if I would find Europe elsewhere in Chicago, too. I was not disappointed.

The neighbourhoods that take their names from Europen countries or cities are not only named that, but many are inhabited by immigrant population. This leads to funky combinations, like the neighbourhood with the Czech name of Pilsen being inhabited mainly by Mexican Americans today. Also there is the Old Town which used to be the German neighbourhood – and not only do you find a big European grocery store there, said grocery store also has a rooftop terrace on which you can have beer and, brace yourself, Currywurst!

Germany in America: Currywurst with Sauerkraut…

… and a Maibaum!!!

You also can hardly fail to come across signs of the Polish population. At the blue line stop Division, you will find the so called Polish triangle, and there is the renowned restaurant Podhalanka, a place that supposedly has really good Polish food. Along Milwaukee Avenue I saw several Polish Restaurants with Polish names that Americans who don’t share this descent probably cannot even pronounce – or how would you say Czerwone Jabłuszko (Little Red Apple)?

Polish Triangle

And at the Polish Triangle another piece of Poland: The Chopin Theatre! (Yes he was Polish – NOT French!!)

Not only do you see the Polish influence in the cityscape, you can also hear it. I went on the blue line one morning and waited at my stop for the train to come in. Two middle aged guys next to me were chatting animatedly in Polish. The first thing I noticed was how much they cursed. Every sentence was generously lined with the word „kurwa“, Polish for whore or bitch. While that amused me only slightly, my face split into a wide grin when they started discussing about Germany and what a dirty country it is. Sweden, yes, Sweden was clean, but Germany, kurwa, unbelievable, the amounts of rubbish in the streets. I chuckled.

Obviously, all of this stems from immigration, like I already said. I found this noticeable not least at Graceland Cemetery, a beautiful graveyard well worth a visit which I have written about here. A lot of the tombstones displayed foreign heritage, like this one showing that the deceased had been born in Hungary.

Also, the Germans were here again, not only with their names: Many tombstones did note say „born“ and „died“, but „geb.“ and „gest.“ – short for geboren and gestorben. It means the same, obviously, but I found it quite remarkable that the Germans kept their own culture alive to the point of having their tombstones signed in their own language rather than English.

Austria came into play when we went to a cute coffeehouse called Julius Meinl that saved the famous coffee and had interieur that resembeld classical Vienna coffeehouse furniture. The coffee was fantastic, and the menue carried things such as Einspänner, Melange and Verlängerter – with the umlaut writing!

Finally the immigrants have not only named places after people and brought parts of their culture in food and drink and architecture, but they also saw to the fact that their greatest heroes would be commemorated in the city. There is a memorial for Alexander von Humboldt, one for Kosciuszko, one for Copernicus, one for Havlicek, one for Hans Christian Anderson, one for Goethe and one for Schiller – and I would have been bound to find more if I had been able to stay longer, I’m sure.

Have you ever found Europe on another continent? Where was it and what made it so European for you?

An Afternoon’s Meditation – Chicago’s Graceland Cemetery

August 13, 2013 / bruecken_schlag / Kommentare deaktiviert

I have already written about my love of cemeteries as a place of rest, meditation and a new perspective on life. When Jesse suggests that I go to Graceland Cemetery on the Northside of the city, I am making a note of it immediately. One of the more humid and overcast days of my stay in Chicago, I take the bus to the red line of the L and go up to Sheridan to discover the large cemetery that has been the final resting place for many a Chicagoan since after the Great Fire in 1871.

The L stop at Sheridan already puts me in a slightly pensive mood, because it is of the run-down morbidity that I love about cities in Eastern Europe. The platform is made from hard wood planks, and the stairwells are narrow and have rusty bannisters painted in red. You can see through the grid onto the mezzanines and there’s a lot of old rubbish and flaked off paint. I think it is pretty. I am not sure why.

The entrance to the cemetery is on the far side coming from the L, so that I have walk along the high brick wall for quite a while. On the Southern side there is a piece of cemetery that is seperated from the street by just a mesh wire fence, and I catch a glimpse of the first tombstones. I see many German names, a foreshadowing of what I am about to see later.

After I have found the gate and entered, I immediately feel that this place is very different from all the cemeteries I have been to in Europe. Wide asphalt streets run between large patches of grass on which the tombstones are spread out as if desultorily, aimlessly planted just anywhere. I see no system, no plan.

You can stumble upon one family, and then rush right into the next one without noticing. As I contemplate that, I like it a lot. Because what system is there to death? In the beginning I am even unsure as to whether I would be allowed to leave the asphalt street, but then I notice that most graves cannot be reached unless you walk across the lawn. So I start venturing.

I come across many sites that have massive pillars crowned with sculptures, or sumptuous sarcophagi. Most of the people have been dead for a long time, a hundred years or more. Only occasionally will I come across a grave that is adorned with fresh flowers – I read somewhere about this cemetery that its eerieness stems from the fact that most children of the dead lying here are also dead. I don’t find it that eerie, though. Probably because it is so wide and light and so little overgrown. Some of the mausoleums are almost cold and sterile – very clean.

I start thinking about wealth. What would lead someone to ask for a final resting place that had something so pompous about it? I don’t feel like I could grieve properly in any of those cold stone halls, however impressive they might be. I do like all the stones that are just laid out on the grass, shone upon by a burning sun in the sweltering heat of the day. They feel integrated into the nature of the place.

As I walk from passed life to passed life, I come to the peak of one of the soft hills. There is a bush, and a tombstone hiding away underneath it, a bit aside from all the others. It does not seem to belong to any of the families around, and it is small and simple. Unobtrusive, like the bridge I will discover half an hour later and that I have written about here. I come closer and study the stone. Across the top it says EDWARD, and on the stone it reads „Died Feb 2, 1868, Aged 19 yrs. 6 months“. I sit down.

I wonder if anyone still knows about this grave and who this boy was. I wonder if he died because he was ill, or if he had an accident, or if he was poor. I think about how he has lived to see the Civil War, and wonder if he lost his family in it. I wonder if he ever was in love, and if he ever had a first kiss or if he ever got to lose his virginity. I ask Edward all these questions, but there is no answer from the small stone. As I get up again to explore more of the cemetery, I think that for what it is worth, someone took note today of this life that once was and said a little prayer for a boy who lived a life that was too short 150 years ago.

Bridge at Graceland Cemetery in Chicago, Illinois, US

August 11, 2013 / bruecken_schlag / 2 Kommentare

This week’s bridge is of the unobtrusive, yet inviting kind. It promises calm and peace. And it delivers.

This is a bridge that leads to an island in a lagoon at Graceland Cemetery in Chicago. You know from this post that I love cemeteries, and I am sure to write more about this one with all its impressive mausoleums and the wide stretches of grassy hills with tombstones in all shapes and sizes. I do no recall having been to a cemetery with a lagoon before, and the way the weeping willows were reflected in the albeit a bit too green and dull water added to the medidative character of the experience.

The Bridge leads to the Daniel Burnham burial Island. Burnham was an architect who is largely responsible for the looks of Chicago today. He and his Family are resting on the Island in the shade of trees, their graves marked with simple stones that carry plaquettes with the names, rather than fancy relief art or sculpture. While the cemetery was already quiet, the Bridge took me to its quietest and most peaceful spot. I could come to myself in this place.

Introduction to Chicago – Urban Beauty

August 7, 2013 / bruecken_schlag / 4 Kommentare

My first few days in Chicago have exposed me to a myriad of impressions, even though I have taken it rather easy. I have about ten pieces outlined in my head that I could write, and I’m not sure where to start. Because it seems most natural, I will try and take you by the hand to walk you through my own first impressions of this exciting and beautiful city – because this much is sure: I like Chicago very much.

When I get to Avondale where my friend Jesse lives, I am surprised at the suburban, peaceful character of the streets and the low-rise buildings. It doesn’t feel like the third-biggest city in this huge country. I get my first taste of overstrain when we go grocery shopping. So many products, and so many brands, and so many choices, and everything is so unfamiliar. Later, in Jesse’s kitchen, I remark how both the stove and the fridge are much bigger than I am used to them being, and he says: „Everything is bigger in America.“ I remember that that is what they say. But I had forgotten about it.

It is my first full day, and I take the L, which is the local metro, downtown. I get off the Blue Line at Washington, and as I ascend the narrow stairs from the subway into daylight, high street canyons open up above me and I know immediately that this will be more what I envisioned Chicago to be like. On the plaza I land on, there is a large modern sculpture that I find out is an original Picasso and depicts a sphinx.

The buildings around are of eclectic shapes and forms, just one thing they have in common: They are all very high. Steel and metal are used as much as different stones, and there is modernism as well as neo-versions of architectural styles of centuries long gone. In this square alone I could linger for a long time. But I move on, on toward the elevated rails on which the silver L trains shoot along, past shops and stores, on to Michigan Avenue.

As I step out of the shade of Washington Street and before me the busy avenue opens up to show the greenery of Millenium Park on ist other side, my heart grows wide. I enter the park to find Lourie Garden where I dangle my feet in the water of the small creek and enjoy the relative quiet in the midst of the big city.

I can still hear Michigan Avenue with ist cars and buses, the occasional sirens of a police car or fire brigade, and the general hustle and bustle of urban business. But the noise is faint, the wooden planks I am sitting on are warm with sunlight, and when I turn around to see the impressive skyscrapers, I feel that this is as good as urbanity gets. It is still a little overwhelming to me, but then again this is my first day i Chicago, and already I have experienced true beauty. What a blessing.

BP Bridge in Chicago, Illinois, US

August 4, 2013 / bruecken_schlag / Kommentare deaktiviert

On my first day in Chicago, all I want is to stroll around downtown a little bit to get a grasp of where I am, of what this city feels like. Can it be a coincidence that I stumble upon one of the most interesting bridges the city has to offer?

This is BP Bridge in Chicago’s Millenium Park. I find it somewhat significant that it is named after a big corporation that sponsored its construction. I feel reminded of how football stadiums in Germany started to be named after sponsors. When Hamburg’s Volksparkstadion became the AOL arena, there was a huge discussion about demoralisation and loss of tradition. I wonder if here it is even noticed that the bridge could as well have a non-corporate name.

Unfortunately, due to construction work, I cannot walk the bridge’s elegant curve to the other side and the other parts of Grant Park and on to the waterfront of Lake Michigan, which glistens and sparkles beautifully in the distance. But I do have a fantastic view of the city’s skyline. It might be here that for the first time in my life I understand the aesthetics of skyscrapers. It is truly beautiful.

I must say I do love the combination of different materials used on the BP bridge – the metal outside and the hardwood planks on the walkway. Then there is also its lean curves that give it a calm energy as it leads out of the greenery of the park and over the large street. I read that is serves as a noise barrier from the traffic, and it is true that it is fairly quiet. I am curious how it will compare to the larger full on traffic bridges over the Chicago river which I am sure to encountr over the next few days.

If you have read My Mission statement, you know why I love bridges. To me they are the most universal symbol of connection, of bringing people together and overcoming anything that may seperate us. I want to present to you pictures of bridges that I really love in places that I really love on my blog every Sunday. If you have a picture of a bridge that you would like to share with my readers as a guest post, feel free to contact me!

The American Dream – My US Experience

Juli 31, 2013 / bruecken_schlag / 12 Kommentare

Rewind 13 years. I am now 15 again.

It is Saturday, August 5th. I am due to fly to the US on the 8th to spend a year living there with a strange family, going to a strange school and, hopefully, making memories that will last forever. But I do not know yet where I will go. I don’t know the family yet that will take me. All I know is that I will probably end up in the South somewhere.

Innocent and young, before my departure to the States

As on every other day for the past 5 months, I am anxious as I look in the mailbox. There is a letter from my exchange organization Youth for Understanding. I tear it open. And there I have it. I am going to El Paso, Texas. My hostparents are both 35 years old (not much older than I am now). I will have two little host sisters aged 4 and 7.

It is now Tuesday, August 8th. I am smiling as I pass through security, waving at my crying mother. I am excited and full of naive anticipation. I have so much to look forward to.

Fast forward one year. I am now 16.

Jesse and I

It is July 10th. On my way to the airport, I am holding hands with my friends Angela and Jesse. I am sadder than I have ever been before. I want to go home to Germany. But this, El Paso, is now my home, too. I have memories here. Friends. A family. I am so confused. I don’t know any longer where I belong.

On July 11th I arrive at Hamburg airport. At baggage claim I feel like my legs are shaking so much that they must give in at any second. What will it be like to see my family? I walk through the doors. There is a blur of laughing faces and bright yellow. I am being picked up by my parents, my sisters and ten friends. Everyone of them holds a sun flower for me. I laugh and cry at the same time.

Fast forward three years. I am now 19.

Turning 20 in El Paso

I am going back to the El Paso for a three week vacation. My littel host sisters are now 8 and 11. They have grown so much. Most of my friends are home from college. I fall in love. I turn 20. I sneak away a drink at a restaurant and get all nervous about it. I drive my host dad’s car on the freeway, windows open on a hot desert night. I cry almost my entire transatlantic flight back.

Fast forward to the present day. I am 28.

Bag on my back, ready to go

I have not been to the US in nine years. I have met up with my host family in Europe, four years ago, and I have seen my host sisters grow on their facebook profiles. I won’t get to see my family this time around. I am not even going back home, home to El Paso. I am going to visit one of my favourite people in the world, my friend Jesse, in Chicago, a city he loves to live in.

There are countless What’sApp messages between Jesse and me in preparation. „What’s the weather like so I can pack properly, Jesse?“ „Mariella, what time do you get in so I can take time off work?“ „Dude, I just saw in my travel guide there were BEACHES in Chicago!!“ „Hey, you wanna do an architecture tour when you’re here?“ „I just learned about the Grant Park Music Festival. Jesse, we have GOT to go!“ „And also, we have got to go sing karaoke in the German neighborhood. Check!“

Germans call this Vorfreude, which literally translateds to pre-happiness. It is something like the English anticipation, although to me that is closer to German Erwartung which also means expectation. Vorfreude is purer, cleaner. Expectations can be disappointed. Vorfreude is just a feeling of great great joy in the face of something happening at all, not necessarily a clear cut idea of what that something is going to look like. Granted, I have some ideas. I think there will be discussions on life and friendship and career and love and music. There will be reminiscing of old times. There will be my 29th birthday. There will be lots of laughter. And there will be the long big bear hug I am planning on giving my friend when I see him again after nine years. All the rest is a big surprise. I am so excited to go to the States again. I am so excited to, in a way, come home.

What’s your home away from home?

Bridges in Spreewald, Germany

Juli 29, 2013 / bruecken_schlag / Kommentare deaktiviert

About a hundred kilometres southeast of the German capital, the beautiful Spreewald, or Spree forest region, offers a lovely daytrip destination for Berliners. Here, the Spree river runs in many tiny reaches through deep green forests. There is an uncountable number of bridges around due to all the different waterways. My Bridges on Sundays post may come to you on a Monday this week – but it has more bridges than it usually does!

There are your regular ones like this one in the Schlosspark, palace park, of Lübbenau, with its gently curved bannisters that to the right go on to pass into a wooden fence. Those crisscrossed fences are very typially German to me and they are called Jägerzaun, hunter’s fence.

There are several of these bridges in Lübbenau that elevate above the water as though they were made specifically to make viewing platforms for curious visitors.

And there are also your tiny wooden footbridges that are really just there to help you get dry-shod to the other side of a creek or a swamp.

The intense green colours and the fresh air were a true treat. If only there hadn’t been so many mosquitos! I will write more about the Spreewald daytrip soon, surely – so stay tuned to learn about what Sorbians are and why I must absolutely come back to this place.

Everybody’s Darlings – and Why I Don’t Usually Like Them

Juli 25, 2013 / bruecken_schlag / 12 Kommentare

I will now talk about places I have travelled to and did not actually like that much. This is something that doesn’t often happen on travel blogs, as Andrew recently pointed out to me. His words were something like: „Everybody always writes about places they like. No one ever says: ‚Don’t go there, it was horrible!‘ That can’t possibly be true.“ He’s got a point. Now I won’t tell you not to go anywhere, because everyone has to decide for themselves. But when you hear which places I do not like, you won’t believe me anyway.

There are these places in Europe everyone loves. When you mention them on a twitter chat, or at a hostel, or on your facebook page, or just randomly over dinner with travel-loving friends, the reaction will always be along the lines of: „Aaaah, I LOVED [insert place here]. It is so lovely in [insert season here]. I could totally live there, especially in [insert trendy neighbourhood in said city]. There is a place on [insert famous street here] that serves THE best [insert local food here].“

I have a confession to make: These places are usually the ones I am not so keen on.

Berlin sure is everybody’s darling, eh? I’m not debating this one.

Of course there is exceptions. After all, the city I live in, Berlin, tends to be in the list of said places. So do a couple of places that I have never been to, such as Paris, Barcelona, or Venice. While I do want to see these places at some point in my life, I am not all too fussed about them right now. I am sure they will be nice and all, but I’m just not feeling a great passionate urge to see them very soon. Because in the past, Everybody’s Darlings have not necessarily worked for me.

This especially goes for the three I am about to discuss now. I can already hear everyone screaming „Sacrilege!“ and „Impossible!“ and „How could she!“ Ah well. Please disabuse me of my notions in the comments. Here go the places in Europe that everyone seems to love except for me.

1. Prague, Czech Republic

There, I said it. I am not a huge fan of Prague. As is usually the case with things like these, I suppose the circumstances weren’t entirely in my favour. I went there as a weekend trip from my voluntary service in Poland with five other international volunteers. I was heartbroken at the time for several reasons and while I liked the group, I didn’t truly connect with the others as much as they did with each other, and they set much focus on the consumption of loads of beer while I wanted to see the city. Also the weather was quite chilly and grey that March of 2007.

Prague Astronomical Clock, Prague, Czech Republic

People dream of seeing the Prague Astronomical Clock in the Old Town Square. I was semi-impressed.

While all that made it difficult to enjoy being in the moment, I found the famous Old Town Square to be ridiculously overcrowded and the famous clock to fall short of my expectations. I also noticed I should have done more research – relying on my travel buddies had not been a good plan because they basically just wanted to go from beer to beer. Generally for some reason I couldn’t hear the music in my heart that I had expected to.

I think Prague was overladen with expectations from my side that it could not live up to. Because of that, this one is probably at least partially my fault. I am willing to give Prague another chance. It’s just not very high up my list right now.

Prague Castle is an admired and cherished place for many travellers.

2. Dubrovnik, Croatia

For most travellers who have been to Croatia, Dubrovnik has been one of their highlights. For me it was different. The first couple of times I went to Croatia, I didn’t even make it down there. I had planned on seeing it on my great trip through the Balkans and was always sidetracked by other places that struck me as more interesting – Bosnia, Montenegro, or even just the smaller places along the Dalmatian coast. I finally went to Dubrovnik on my way to the island of Korcula and stayed there for three days in late August 2011.

You think this is gorgeous? So do most people.

Bad circumstances to add to my dislike in this case: It was unbearbly hot. I had been travelling for 10 days and hadn’t found back into the rhythm of it, I probably should have started out with just some chill-time. And then I got ill and spend a considerable portion of my stay there between my hostel bed and the bathroom.

But all these things aside, there were many things about Dubrovnik that just weren’t down my alley. For one thing, I found it ridiculously overpriced by comparison to what else I knew of Croatia, and have been around that country rather much. I also found the street vendors to be particularly aggressive. There was a moment of peace when I stood in the market and smelled the lavender that people were selling. At once I was pressed from three men in English and Italian to buy some – and the moment was over. No one spoke Croatian, and in general I didn’t see why people were so much more taken with the small alleyways and red roof tops here than in any other Dalmatian town, like Makarska for example – I had visited that in the midst of high season and totally crowded, but I still liked it loads better than Dubrovnik. I think Dubrovnik doesn’t live up to the beauty other Croatian towns have to offer. It is overrated.

Cute alleyways in Dubrovnik – but hey, not any better or worse than those in Sibenik, Makarska, or Zadar.

3. Vienna, Austria

The last one on my list of only-okay travel destinations everyone else loves is the Austrian capital. I have been there twice each for a couple of days and while I suspect that if I hung out around more locals, I could have seen a different side of it, it all comes down to this: Vienna is too pristine for me.

Karlskirche is beautiful, sure – but I just feel it could be anywhere.

There are not even really any bad circumstances to this phenomenon – no connected bad memories of an emotional kind, no sickness, no weather issues. Vienna just doesn’t speak to me. It has this specific kind of beautiful that seems to me like the majority of the girls on Germany’s Next Top Model. Pretty on the outside, hollow on the inside. No edge, no character. Just this very neat, preppy, clean appearance. I never quite got behind it.

Now what probably didn’t help was that I had fallen in love with Krakow before I met Vienna. Now that Polish little sister of Vienna has the same Austro-Hungarian architecture and coffee house culture, the same turn-of-the-century morbidity and grand artistic tradition – but it is just ever so slightly more run down and truly old. I find it to be authentic. In Vienna I always feel like I wasn’t pretty enough. In Krakow I can be myself, out of style or out of fashion, and still love the city’s beauty and originality. Vienna is like a living room out of a magazine – pretty to look at, but who wants to live in the constant fear of spilling red wine on the white couch cushions. Against Krakow, it was bound to lose in my book.

Schönbrunn in Vienna – a fairytale kind of palace. I find it too clean.

I think all of this just proves how much about travel and discovery is about the chemistry between the traveller and the place, and how very much it is like falling in love. Some places – as some men – are perfect. But they’re just not for you.

What do you think? Do you disagree with me on my picks? Are there any places everyone loves that you don’t see anything in at all?

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