More Stuttgart

Relaxing in Stuttgart. It's been a couple of lazy days because the weather is cold, gray, and drizzly. We went to the Porsche museum yesterday. The audio guide was unabashedly exalting of every single bit of Porsche history. Innovation! Excellence! Design! Speed! Porsche police cars! It was pretty cool, though, to see all those cars... that I can't afford. There was even a Porsche tractor. The most amazing, magical, perfect tractor ever made, I think is what the audio guide said. 

We went to a pan-Asian restaurant with Elvis. A typical story he tells will begin something like, "We were hanging around in the shipping container, talking, drinking, eating horsemeat."

I had high doubts that the restaurant would be good, but it was really excellent, one of the best pan-Asian places I've ever been to. Much nicer than Rock Sugar in Culver City. They had a seriously playful, long list of cocktails. I had one with strawberry, basil and green pepper. Stuttgart is a monied city because of the industrial wealth from Mercedes and Porsche. I think Stuttgart people have had money to travel, so they know good food, and therefore, the restaurants are better done than the post-war bland architecture.  (You can't judge an Italian bistro by the drab office building above it.)

We also went to a bar called "Fou Fou," ("crazy crazy" in French) that also had excellent cocktails. Elvis introduced me to Ramatzoti, which is a coca-cola-like sweet, medicinal liquor. Fou Fou was in Stuttgart's 2-block red light district (A bunch of chic restaurants and bars are around there). There was a brothel/bar/stripclub place with a flashing neon sign saying:
Girl's
Girl's
Girl's

The Girl's.... what? What does she have or own? I hope it's effective contraception. I wanted to take a picture, (ESL grammar! So funny!) but I was terrified of the prostitutes milling about. They looked mean! (Prostitution is legal in Germany, and all Stuttgart had to show for it was a handful of sleazy bars and kepab-eating, angry-looking Soviet-bloc madames.)

ps. At the end of the night, the small children I had posted about earlier were puking in fountains, falling down escalators, and looking miserably happy drunk. (And leaving all their empty bottles and empty cigarette packets on park benches.)