The perfect pair of red shoes are out there. Or at least they by Sun-Pin better be ...
(That's a little former-religion-editor pun for you. I'd explain it, but I think it'd be more fun for you to go to Google or something.)
My sister, Susan, is in Germany for a week, the reason I've neglected updating in favor of having relatives make snarky comments on my behalf. The first few days of the week were spent in Berlin before we returned to Hamburg and its environs, allowing us to see a decent amount of the country.
The overriding concern throughout the trip, though: finding the perfect pair of red shoes.
Our conversation during the U-Bahn ride back to my apartment from the airport should have been my first clue. We were discussing what type of things she hoped to do on her first trip to Europe, and, as well as listing a bunch of historical stuff, Sue mentioned that she had heard about the joys of shopping here and figured to hit a few stores. Sounds fun, said I, never dreaming of what to expect.
Let me say this: I never knew there were so many different shoes in the world.
Apparently the cool European style shoes haven't made it to the United States yet, so the trip is an excuse to seek shodding that can only be found here. Working on a budget, though, is making the search more difficult than my preferred method of shopping: i.e., walk into store, gaze in a somewhat befuddled fashion at the stuff being offered, point and say, "ehhh, I'll take that one?" And the fact that I don't really know where the cool European stores actually are has probably added some time to the process.
On the other hand, the fact that Susan is actually looking for a particular style of footwear somehow makes the experience much more bearable. While I'm not anti-shopping, it mislikes me to wander from store to store in search of some ineffable something, roaming the harshly lit aisle in hope that a piece of merchandise lurches out at you. (OK, actually, that'd be pretty cool. I'd be much more into shopping if, even just occasionally, the products attacked shoppers. Somebody should look into implementing that.) Since we're in pursuit of a red (but not too red), shiny (but not excessively shiny) sneakers (but not actually sneakers -- just more casual than shoe shoes), it's easy enough to look around a store, say "piffle" if they have nothing that fits the description, and move on.
Plus, we did get to go to some pretty funky shops in Berlin, which I actually enjoyed, and Susan was good about wandering around by herself on a day I had to work, so I haven't have to undergo the entire process.
So far, though, despite our best efforts, the shoes have failed to materialize and I'm beginning to get depressed. I'm feeling like some type of Stone Age hunter who led his tribe to the hot new mastadoon hunting grounds only to find that the beasts are all in hiding (hey, you try coming up with some type of mental picture that makes you feel like you're doing something manly and important while holding your sister's purse and idly examining a pair of high heels. It's not easy.)
But the shoes are out there. After days of wandering through stores, I'm beginning to hear them calling to me -- perhaps from the next aisle, perhaps from a store a few blocks away. But they are somewhere. And they will be found.
I hope.
Update: This entry was actually written during the week, while the epic search was still on-going. I'm happy to report that the shoes were eventually found, during an exhaustive wandering of the streets of Hamburg. The shoes in question are indeed rather nifty-looking -- but if I ever have to go searching for them again, I will go stark raving mad. You've been warned.
