no party in the moat

Am working at my research assistant job this week, because our English Department is organizing the tenth annual Gothic Conference (yeah) and they needed as many people as possible, even though officially I'll only go back to working after the teaching thing in fall.

My errand of the day: go and fetch the keys to the castle where we're going to have the conference dinner.

Now, Tiefburg (translated: Deep Castle) is sweet. Imagine your prototypical romantic medieval castle ruin. Now imagine it prettier, with more decorative ruinage, and flowers, and wild wine. It's not Heidelberg's main castle ruin, but this is the good thing about Germany - there's always a spare castle if you need one.

I gained entrance by banging at the big doors, and then got lost inside the castle looking for their "office". This, in case you're not a Gothic specialist, is very Gothic. Getting lost and wandering through corridors, I mean. Gothic is a lot like Doctor Who, only with fewer spaceships (but about as many mad men, pretty girls and monsters). Finally, I find the office, in, where else, the keep. In the office: an elderly woman and some ancient old man.

Woman: You'll have to wait. Sit over there.

Over there is at the big wooden table opposite the ancient old man, who, very, very slowly, sticks stamps to letters. So I wait and stare at the office. There's a suit of arms.

Finally, the old man says to me, as if this is the pinnacle of wisdom he has reached in his many years of life: "It's good that they have these self-adhesive stamps now. We didn't use to have them."

I wonder how long he's been sticking stamps to letters. Finally, I ask, "Did you work at a post office?"

He nods. Cackles. "Oh yes!"

That ends that conversation. After long minutes, a slightly less old man comes to give me the keys - but only after explaining all the rules of the castle to me. Finally, in the cellar, we come to a door.

Old man: "And no one can go through here."

I try not to look alarmed. "Oh yes, sure. We won't."

He opens the door. It goes out onto a green lawn - the moat. "No partying in the moat," he says gravely. "Or it'll cost you."

This venue is PERFECT for a Gothic conference.

no party in the moat

Am working at my research assistant job this week, because our English Department is organizing the tenth annual Gothic Conference (yeah) and they needed as many people as possible, even though officially I'll only go back to working after the teaching thing in fall.

My errand of the day: go and fetch the keys to the castle where we're going to have the conference dinner.

Now, Tiefburg (translated: Deep Castle) is sweet. Imagine your prototypical romantic medieval castle ruin. Now imagine it prettier, with more decorative ruinage, and flowers, and wild wine. It's not Heidelberg's main castle ruin, but this is the good thing about Germany - there's always a spare castle if you need one.

I gained entrance by banging at the big doors, and then got lost inside the castle looking for their "office". This, in case you're not a Gothic specialist, is very Gothic. Getting lost and wandering through corridors, I mean. Gothic is a lot like Doctor Who, only with fewer spaceships (but about as many mad men, pretty girls and monsters). Finally, I find the office, in, where else, the keep. In the office: an elderly woman and some ancient old man.

Woman: You'll have to wait. Sit over there.

Over there is at the big wooden table opposite the ancient old man, who, very, very slowly, sticks stamps to letters. So I wait and stare at the office. There's a suit of arms.

Finally, the old man says to me, as if this is the pinnacle of wisdom he has reached in his many years of life: "It's good that they have these self-adhesive stamps now. We didn't use to have them."

I wonder how long he's been sticking stamps to letters. Finally, I ask, "Did you work at a post office?"

He nods. Cackles. "Oh yes!"

That ends that conversation. After long minutes, a slightly less old man comes to give me the keys - but only after explaining all the rules of the castle to me. Finally, in the cellar, we come to a door.

Old man: "And no one can go through here."

I try not to look alarmed. "Oh yes, sure. We won't."

He opens the door. It goes out onto a green lawn - the moat. "No partying in the moat," he says gravely. "Or it'll cost you."

This venue is PERFECT for a Gothic conference.