Starkblogg

The First Cuts are the Hardest?

2010-04-16T15:03:00.001-07:00

This is my first julienne which was then turned into a brunoise

Chopping Skills

2010-04-16T14:42:00.000-07:00

Wednesday through Friday is Italian in the am and chopping skills after lunch. Although, the Italian classes get shorter and kitchen classes get longer. We are also studying some theory and learning the basics of food safety.

Italian Class

2010-04-16T14:37:00.000-07:00

Strangely, my culinary journey opens with two 8-hour day of Italian and no cooking. We are divided into two classes those that speak some Italian and those who speak none. I am in the none class. Our teacher is very nice. She makes fun of me because my Italian comes out with a German accent. She thinks this is hilarious, I find it annoying. It sounds right in my head and when it comes out of my mouth even I can hear the German accent. The good thing is that Italian is so much easier than German. My mind had been blowing up the language class until it had reached “naked in front of the class” nightmare proportions. But after the first 8 hours, I figured I could handle it. The Italians don’t have any crazy word order, and only male and female articles, which for the most part are determined by the last letter of the verb. I love this language. I should have started with this, if I had something like this in the beginning I would be on my fifth language by now! I am really sure there is a larger question of personality being indicative of the language when I think about these two cultures, but this is a question I am going to have to ponder more fully post-Italian stay. For now, I am just looking forward to the kitchen portion of this experience and hope that I can keep the 8 hours of grammar I am learning in my head for the next few months.

My New Home – for 10 Weeks Anyway

2010-04-16T14:29:00.000-07:00

Exhausted and cold the little family of Scott, Alexis and Atticus arrived at my mother’s house. She led us downstairs to what would be my “apartment” for the next ten weeks. It is adorable, she did a lovely job. We go down the basement steps through a bunch of storage and there is a small bathroom and a few yards away from that a bedroom that mom really made into a little efficiency. It has a kitchen area – two cabinets, a little fridge, a table for two, and a microwave. There is a bed, of course, and a nice big closet, a dresser and best of all heat! It is just wonderful. I love it. Mom has stocked the fridge with V8 for me and Diet Pepsi for Scott, Atticus has been left out of the welcome package but not to worry there is TONS of cheese, and attention and anything his little puppy brain can conjure as heaven upstairs. Mom beams with pride as Scott and I remark how much we love it and what a wonderful job she has done. She has even gone as far as putting flowers out for us. It is truly a little oasis – that is until I realize the dresser is kind of moldy smelling. Ariana had a dresser in her basement that I could trade out so the room became perfect. She had a TV for me to use, but I decided I could use a few months off and I put it away. My future will be all studying, cooking and reading – and puppy kisses! Atticus choose my pillow as his bed!

Time to Orient Myself to My New Life

2010-04-16T14:27:00.000-07:00

Around 8 in the morning Scott and I packed my life into a car and drove from DC to NY – with Atticus . I had mandatory orientation at 2:30 at the French Culinary Institute and while it was drizzling in DC the further north we traveled the harder the rain became. Atticus hates the car. He refused to sit by himself and just when I thought he was being brave and going toward the back of the car to explore, he vomited on the blanket coving the suitcase. Between puking pup, a boyfriend who was conducting conference calls with Honduran workers (and refusing to let me drive) and my nerves the trip was harrowing. We arrived with 20 minutes to spare and looked for a parking space. The rain was coming down and I thought Atticus would be due for a walk. We found a space and I went into the restaurant to wait for the orientation class. While I was sitting at the bar I realized that I didn’t have my wallet so I couldn’t even order a drink – so totally typical for me. Two younger boys walked in, one with an easily discernable NJ accent. I started to get nervous, I knew I was older for the program, but these guys looked like they were just out of high school.

The orientation went fine, and I felt like we were hearing information we had already been over. Many of our chefs came in and introduced themselves. I recognized one of them from Top Chef masters – he didn’t win – but the others were mostly a blur of white hats and coats. I paid close attention to the Italian chefs since that would be running the program. The chef who started the program walks around with a bunch of rosemary in his pocket so he would be easy to remember. The orientation was supposed to end at 4:00 and Scott and I needed to hightail it out of the city so we could get to my mother’s to put the dog in my room and head to Ariana’s for her birthday dinner. At 4:30 the last person spoke and we were then directed to a reception. I knew Scott was waiting so I got my bag - filled with Italian books and my new chef clothes, including three jackets with my name embodied on them! - and I snuck out.

Poor Atticus knows he isn’t supposed to pee on the floor in the house, he takes this to mean all hard surfaces. He wouldn’t go to the bathroom on the sidewalk. The parking place we thought we were so lucky to find was for commercial vehicles - $2 in parking meter fees down the drain. Worse then the money was the fact that Scott had to drive around the block, in the rain, with a dog hanging off of one shoulder

Salzburg Here I Come ... sort of

2009-05-11T08:31:00.000-07:00

My trip to Salzburg held such promise. Scott upgraded my ticket and I was looking forward to a glass of wine and kicking my feet up while watching a movie and eating my cardboard-like food off of real china. Sadly, I had forgotten to make my proper offerings of first bought suitcase sacrifices to the gods of travel. The consequences of this oversight became apparent as my new boss and I ran out of small talk just as we hit traffic – about 15 minutes into the trip. The ensuing 45 minutes consisted of stilted sentences punctuated with lifetime-long pauses. We were late, and awkwardly trundled two suitcases, my laptop, my camera, a giant cardboard tube and an enormous cardboard box chock filled with photocopies needed for our meeting.

We managed to make it onto the airport parking lot shuttle bus and found we had been blessed with a very helpful bus driver who clearly saw herself as an ambassador/tour guide of the Dulles Airport economy parking lot. She regaled the passengers with a list of the most common complaints she hears along her route. Which included important observations that there are not enough blue lot busses, buses aren’t clearly marked, and speeding tickets are too high. The speeding tickets prompt follow-on information about Virginia fines, a disquisition on tired travelers trying to get home and tips. This passenger could contain it no longer and started giggling. This is no ordinary giggle it is a contagion. It reaches and infects the flight attendant on her way to training in Atlanta, moves from her to the teen sitting next to her, on to the youngish man who told us he used to live in Atlanta and soon a full-fledged epidemic hit the bus. Rather than quarantining the passengers, the friendly bus driver pulls over, without unloading her cargo, to help a lost looking woman on the side of the street. The passengers looked at each other what could be done? This is a shuttle ride like none other. I just crossed my fingers that we are going to make it to the United terminal before the 45-minute cutoff.

Cape Photos

2009-02-25T10:12:00.000-08:00

Oma Eating her Lobster

Erin working on dinner.

Election Ballot Brackets

2008-10-30T09:54:00.000-07:00

Note: Players are limited to 2 ballots each. All ballots must be submitted, by 6:00 p.m. on Monday, November 3, 2008.

1st Prize – 50% 2nd Prize – 30% 3rd Prize – 20%

1. Who Will Be the Next President? (25 points)

[ ] Obama [ ] McCain

2. How Will the Battleground States Vote? (5 points each)

_______ Colorado _______
_______ Florida _______
_______ Indiana _______
_______ Nevada _______
_______ New Hampshire _______
_______ North Carolina _______
_______ Ohio _______
_______ Pennsylvania _______
_______ Virginia _______

3. The Hot Senate Races (5 points each)
Colorado _____ Udall (D) _____ Schaffer (R)
Georgia _____ Martin (D) _____ Chambliss (R)
Kentucky _____ Lunsford (D) _____ McConnell (R)
Louisiana _____ Landrieu (D) _____ Kennedy (R)
Minnesota _____ Franken (D) _____ Coleman (R)
Mississippi _____ Musgrove (D) _____ Wicker (R)
New Hampshire _____ Shaheen (D) _____ Sununu (R)
North Carolina _____ Hagan (D) _____ Dole (R)
Oregon _____ Merkley (D) _____ Smith (R)
Texas _____ Noriega (D) _____ Cornyn (R)
Virginia _____ Warner (D) _____ Gilmore (R)

4. Final Electoral Vote (Tie breaker)
________ Democrat ________ Republican

Your score: _________

What your score says about you…
100 – 125: Big Time Pol 25 – 50: Sarah Palin
75 – 100: Academic / Pundit 0 – 25: “W”
50-75 TV Anchor

Relevant Websites
http://electoral-vote.com/
http://www.cnn.com/ELECTION/2008/
http://www.realclearpolitics.com/
http://www.usaelectionpolls.com/
http://www.270towin.com/

Cape Cod Dinner

2008-10-07T12:57:00.001-07:00

Here is the family getting ready for the imported from DC lamb dinner - from left - Opa, Allison, Mom, Erin and Oma.

Have Lamb Will Travel

2008-10-07T12:51:00.000-07:00

The annual Labor Day pilgrimage to visit my Oma and Opa started out as usual - Erin and I late for our flight to Providence, RI. Why were we late? Insert reason: 1) Alexis didn’t remember when the flight was, 2) Alexis didn’t factor sending out her “away from my desk emails” and closing up her work station into the time she would need to get to the metro, 3) Alexis doesn’t wear a watch 4) Alexis lost something 5) Alexis is just incapable of calculating time and travel properly. The list could go on and on. We are almost always late and when we are late, it’s always my fault. This was no exception. Scott ended up calling us car service. Although, I believe the car service was really a way for him to assuage some guilt for not taking us himself. I was so sick I was shaking, coughing, burning up and freezing at the same time, and that has to make a boyfriend feel bad.

As the car rolled into heavy holiday-weekend, rush-hour traffic, I promptly fell asleep on Erin’s lap. Meanwhile, Erin fished a glossy fashion magazine from the soft leather seat pocket and began to read. The magazine had some absurd name designed to make us feel like we were part of the lush crowd, but it really translated to “these people have too much disposable money for you to take them seriously.” The magazine’s suggested retail value? $35! What pray tell does one get for this $35? A bunch of beautifully photographed ads and some articles written by lovely PR people. We get to the airport, Erin dragging both our bags with her, remarked that mine sure was heavy. Yes, yes it was – It was filled with veggies from my CSA, and a large leg of lamb. One might ask who in their right mind boards planes with mass quantities of produce and frozen meat, but if one is asking that they haven’t traveled with me before. I know a sort of secret security line at BWI, we zip right through and go wait by our gate. I knock my purse over three or four times and in my delirium have a hard time locating all the scraps of receipts and flotsam and jetsam.

Our trip is slightly different this year, since we will be joined by our friend Allison. She hasn’t joined us in about 5 years or so and moved up to NY several years ago. She will be driving from NY with my mother, we will meet in Providence, grab dinner and head up to the Cape to visit the grandparents. Allison is texting us taunting emails about her trip to Rockland Bakery, the bread Mecca of our world. Our anticipation level is running high and Erin and I finally get on the flight and head off to paradise.

We wait for our luggage and I am so out of it that I can’t manage to hold my purse and my luggage at the same time. By the time we leave the airport building I feel so horrible I have to lean against a “no parking” sign to hold me up, and the cold, dirty metal feels fabulous against my face. I can’t lift the heavy lamb-filled luggage into the backseat, I have to rely on strong, healthy, traveling companions to look after the precious cargo. I all but collapse in the car. The one thing that can perk me up is Italian food! Next stop: Angelo's. On the way to the restaurant Allison tells us how my mother has talked her into quitting her job and becoming a Waldorf teacher, I know this conversation, I have had it many times with my mother. We eat to our stomachs outrage and I am so ready to fall back into the car and sleep for another hour while being chauffeured to my grandparents house. When the bill arrives and I reach into my purse to pay it, and surprise…NO WALLET! NO WALLET! It’s gone.

We look under the table, dump out the purse, look in the parking lot, pull all of the stuff out of the car… no wallet. I call Scott who agrees to wire money. Mom, Allison and Erin find a flashlight to search the car, they enlist the parking lot guy to use his good – young eyes, nothing. Then we start calling airports, I feel like an idiot leaving messages at random airport answering machines. First you push one and two and whatever to get to the answering machine who tells you your call is important and I just know there is someone at the other end laughing so hard there belly is shaking like Santa Clause’s. Then suddenly, after an hour of driving and an hour of brooding - mom driving, me brooding… I get a call from Southwest – they have my wallet at baggage claim. All around me the angels start singing, little animated birds are flying around and the car, a rainbow magically appears, and I feel like I am being lifted away on a cloud. The guy on the other end of the phone tells me that since there is no money in the wallet it probably doesn’t need to be locked up. He sounds apologetic about the fact that there is no money in the wallet. I assure him that I know there was no money in there, no one took it, I didn’t have any.

The amazing thing about this is that I left my wallet in a taxi two weeks before and had to wait at the police station in the AM for the property manager. The cab driver had turned it in. That time I had two dollars in it and the Cab driver turned those in too. Either my karma is good, or not all of humanity is bad, considering my luck, I am going with the humanity having vestiges of virtue.

I won’t get the wallet back until we make it back to the airport to go home which just doesn’t matter. I have my girls, I am on the way to the most beautiful place on earth to visit people I absolutely adore. I have a stupendous cold and a mom and grandparents to take care of me. And, best of all, the lamb made it through security without a problem.

Almost Foiled Again In Iceland

2007-07-12T14:54:00.000-07:00

Upon landing in Iceland I followed the crowd of people that I thought would be making transfers. At one point I looked up and there was a sign that said “baggage claim” I knew I didn’t have to go that way, so I followed a woman with a few kids going out an exit door. As soon as I stepped out of the exit I knew I was in trouble. I had not passed any immigration, or customs, no passport control at all, yet for some inexplicable reason I was standing in Iceland. I could see the rocky surface of the airport that I remembered so well from my trip there a year before. I looked around and realized that I needed to go back through the door I had just come, which, was of course listed as “no entrance” and locked. “Well” I thought, “I will get back on the security line and go back and find my connecting flight.” All the while I was getting worried about the time due to the fact that I don’t wear a watch. It was only after I had gotten in the line that I realized that I had no ticket. The kindly lady at the German airport had never been able to get me a boarding pass. At this point I was panicking, not thinking about having to call work to explain to them that I was stuck in Iceland but because I thought about what I would be reduced to eating. Iceland is the most expensive country I have been in and I had about enough money for a few bites of dried salted nastyfish (nastyfish being something I had encountered on my earlier trip the Icelandic name being unpronounceable for us Americans I gave it an easier to remember and apropos name). The logical thing to do I thought was to go to the Iceland Air counter and check-in like a normal passenger. Upon arriving at the counter I was confronted with a mile long line. I bravely stepped up to the first class line and began to tell my tale of woe “no boarding card, luggage already gone, must get back to Washington, not a terrorist.” After sometime they worked out how to get me back on the plane. Of course, it took seven people to figure it out, and every time a new one came over to add their expertise to the problem they glared at me suspiciously like I was making up the magic door that one takes straight from the plane into Iceland. If that country is having any trouble tracking their visitors I would suggest they lock the door from both sides.

Boarding card firmly in hand I raced to the security line, flung my jacket and bags on the x-ray belt and hoped to rush right though. That was not to be, little did I remember but I was carrying my two lovely (and totally overpriced) German beer-gifts, that were both far over the 3oz of liquid you can take on a plane. Now I was in trouble, not only had I escaped the airport through the magical door no one believed existed, but now my protestations of not being a terrorist were sure not to be believed due to the two large beer-bombs I was obviously trying to smuggle. After a talking to the really scary (note sarcasm) Icelandic police took my beer and sent me on my way. I made the plane, and while I didn’t have to eat nastyfish I was given something just slightly more tasty in way of nasty-sandwich.

Scott and I Wave Goodbye to Frankfurt

2007-07-12T14:53:00.000-07:00

Scott and I separated at the airport, he onto Nuremberg to meet with Adias folks and I was off to Iceland to catch my flight home. I stood at the Icleand Air desk to check in, only to find out that my pre-assigned seats had been taken away and that the flight from Iceland to Washington had been closed so it would be impossible for me to get a boarding card. The kind lady at the desk tried valiantly, gave me the Germany to Iceland boarding card and told me to ask when I boarded the first plane. I realized that I had just a few pages left in Heat and then I would be without a book, but Scott was certain that there would be book vendors just past security. In all parts of the airport there would be vendors just not in the lonely Iceland Air section. There was a lone duty free shop. I bought a container of chocolate to bring back as gifts and two German beers one each for my two beer aficionado co-workers. Then Scott and I passed the time waiting for our separate flights racking up a huge phone bill talking to each other. He, of course, had huge bookstores around him, bookstores as large as the New York Public Library all trying to sell him fabulous books that I have always wanted to read. But, alas we were in different terminals. Devoid of literature I finally boarded the flight.

Wuzburg at Night

2007-07-12T08:51:00.000-07:00

For our last evening meal we chose a little donor kebab place right across the street from our hotel. We were staying in quite the happening area. Cars drove up and down like it was the strip in some 1950’s movie, only now the music blearing was rap and rather than convertibles spoilers ruled the night. Let me digress here for a moment to discuss the insane fashion choices of German men. Earlier in the trip we had witnessed the leather suit craze and the neon shirt craze, now here in Wurzburg there was something else going on. Something more sinister and scarier than leather suits – the shorts, socks and sneakers craze, we will call this lamentable phenomena S3. While Scott and I happily munched our Kebab platters we noticed that this town had clearly taken the “back to the 80’s” fashion mandate quite literally. Paper thin women were walking the streets in skin tight jeans. The favored accessories being chains, leather studded belts and heeled boots with tassels. All of them had their standard issue S3 man trailing behind. At first Scott and I took the parade of unfortunate fashion in stride thinking that it was just men that couldn’t be bothered with looking good. Then we noticed that the outfits were chosen with careful attention to detail. One gentleman walked by with a red cap, black shirt, red short pants, black socks (rolled halfway up his calves) and red sneakers. All of this matching could not have happened naturally – they were choosing to look like this. The scene was so strange, with the 80’s women, the S3s and the cruising cars that while fascinated, I felt like a visitor to another planet. I was satisfied with the meal and evenings entertainment when we returned to our room, and threw open our windows to the rap music pumping its way in to threaten our sleep.

Bowle

2007-07-12T08:14:00.001-07:00

We located the elusive cash machine and a restaurant that was offering homemade Strawberry Bowle. Bowle is essentially a wine and fruit punch that my German mom taught me to make. You take two bottles of white wine, add a can of peaches and let sit, after several hours (or all night) you pour in a bottle of sekt or prosecco or whatever sparkling wine you have on hand and serve. Bowle was popular in the 30’s through 50’s and then began to loose favor as people turned toward harder cocktails. I was very excited because I had never seen bowle in a restaurant before. I ordered my strawberry bowle and what came was a wine glass with somewhat pink liquid with anemic strawberry slices floating at the top. It was flat, no one told them to add the sparkle I guess, it was horrible. I won’t be ordering bowle again that is for sure!

Doing The Right Thing Sure Leaves You Parched

2007-07-12T08:09:00.000-07:00

After our tour and wondering around the city, we were both parched and out of cash. Finding a place in Germany that will allow you to use credit cards at all is something of a struggle, but no one wants to let you charge two drinks, even at the crazy price of diet Coke. We set out to find a cash machine while keeping our eyes peeled for a modern place that might let us charge when we happened upon the Sonnen Club (Sun club) open only in good weather. There were white couches outside and the whole seen was fairly reminiscent of Miami, with clean lines and bars set up at varying intervals. We approached a giant child’s sandbox that had deck chairs set out facing the river, I guess emulating a day at the beach? Scott already had his misgivings saying sitting in a giant sandbox was ridiculous. Then he took a closer look at the chairs themselves and noticed the event was sponsored by S. Oliver who are horrible sweatshop operators so naturally, we continued on the hunt for drinks.

Ger-Mexicans

2007-07-12T08:06:00.000-07:00

There must be a large Mexican population in Wurzburg because there were five or six Mexican themed restaurants and clubs. I have never in my travels seen a Mexican restaurant in Germany before. I was almost tempted to try one, but, I am just not so confident in the Germexican cuisine.

Wine Casks as Big as A Man

2007-07-12T08:05:00.001-07:00

The largest baroque building in Europe is in Wurzburg, this is the Residentz. It was the head of the government for the area before the first unification of Germany. Before leaving I had read on-line that there are tours of its wine cellar and had made a mental note that there should be one around 15:00. Sure enough there was a sign outside offering the tours, although they were only in German. We decide to brave it. Scott expressed great confidence in my German abilities and the fact that I could translate for him (I was less confident). We cough up our six euros which includes a glass of wine and head into the cellar of the Residentz. It is dark and smells moldy and has scary steps down. What we enter is a candle lit cellar chock-full of giant casks of wine. The largest held something like 9,000 liters about 12,000 bottles of wine or 1,000 cases! We received a glass of Riesling and learned about the cellars, or rather I learned about the cellars – I also learned that I will never have a job as a simultaneous translator, phew that is hard work. Basically the cellar was devised to hold enough wine for the whole town, and there were casks upon casks of wine down the passageways, all lit with candles. The enormous casks are no longer used, but wine is still made and stored in the more modern part where the casks hold up to 6,000 liters. The wooden barrels themselves cost 13,000 Euros each and last anywhere from 80-100 years. Finally we were brought into the room where the wine was sold to the merchants back in the early 1800’s. There was a rhyme on the wall that stated that knocking on kegs was strictly forboden. The reason being that the prices for the wine were not set and were haggled over, a smart merchant would run around quickly through the keg room while waiting for the cellar master and knock on the kegs. This way he would know how much wine there was to sell, if most of the kegs were full he could offer a lower price and if they were empty he would offer more. Despite only getting a quarter of the information to Scott, he really enjoyed just walking through the incredible kegs. And, of course, we did what any good tourist should do and bought a nice Riesling for home, I will have to order some nice German sausages and do the meal up right when we drink it.

Wurzburg During the Day

2007-07-11T06:38:00.000-07:00

The first thing I notice is that the rain has not come with us. There is a newspaper on the desk at the hotel with a headline proclaiming the weekend will reach 30 degrees and possibly go higher, this is hot in a nation that thinks air-conditioning is an evil waste of energy. Global warming folks, best get on the air-conditioning band wagon – everyone else is ruining the climate for you, suffering doesn’t make us think you are stronger. Our new hotel’s climate control is the fact that we have two windows we can open rather than one. Never the less we hope for a cooler evening and set out to walk around get lunch and enjoy the last day we have in Germany. Wurzburg is beautiful. Much of the original city from the early 1600’s still exists and the rest of it was kindely rebuilt after the war to look like that original 1600 stuff. We wander a bit and head to a restaurant that is listed in the Michelin and also I remember it being praised online. It’s called the Backöfele and I think it was an old bakery or something, still has original floors and the giant doors that they would bring the carts through ages ago. I also finally get my Cristal Wietzen beer that I have been planning on ordering our whole trip in Germany. Our lunch is hearty, delicious and filling.

Breakfast the German Way

2007-07-11T06:32:00.000-07:00

I go down to breakfast leaving the non-eating Scott in bed, he stayed up half the night working and is looking very tired out. I love the German breakfast. I don’t really care for sweet things in the morning and in France I was finding that breakfast consisted of a baguette, croissant, jam and yogurt sometimes with cheese. In Karlsruhe there is a massive buffet with several sausage options, eggs, cold-cuts, cheeses, salmon the list goes on. Yum, I was happy and ready for our drive to Wurzburg.

Karlsruhe’s Finest Room At the Train Station

2007-06-25T17:12:00.000-07:00

We make it, they have parking, they are open, they are going to give us breakfast in the morning, and they have an internet connection. They do not have air-conditioning or a non-smoking room. I slap down my credit card and grab the camera. I don’t even care if there is no shower at this point; I just want a bed. The room is giant compared to what we have been staying in and at first whiff the lingering smoke isn’t too bad. Unfortunately, it’s hot – really hot. We have to open the windows, which leads to the second problem: we are at the train station, so naturally, there are trains and strassenbahns and cars and drunk people all competing in a battle of decibels. I decide to ignore this, as best I can. Scott is deep deep in work mode and there is nothing on TV but an episode of Veronica Mars and while the storyline is interesting the person they chose to dub her voice is freaking me out so I have to turn it off. I lie down on the very comfortable bed and discover at that moment why it is important to have a non-smoking room. The blankets and pillows and mattress and everything else are rife with old, moldy cigarette smell. I find if I lay on my back and turn my head in the direction of the brightest streetlight known to man, I might just be able to handle it. I am pondering whether this would be considered second hand smoke or third hand and wondering about the health effects. For example, if thirty people smoked in this room over the last six months, am I breathing the remnants of thirty times second hand smoke? Even if this isn’t causing cancer, it certainly is causing a symptom known as “irritable Alexis with stiff neck,” not to mention a boyfriend who wakes his girlfriend throughout the night mumbling “disgusting, just disgusting.”

Google How I Love Thee, Let Me Count The Ways

2007-06-25T16:59:00.000-07:00

We set out for our big drive to Germany. Our plan is really to drive the 8-10 hours it takes to get to Wurzburg and then have two days there rather than having to check into, and out of, a hotel along the way. This is not meant to be, because the evil French trucks now have help from the evil French highway construction projects to make sure that we cannot meet our goal. At one point when I was driving and waiting at a tollbooth we did not move for so long I popped it into neutral and put on the parking break for ten minutes– no need to overwork my leg muscles! We drive and drive and stop for food in some place that is like a weird French/German mix, because it is so close to the border. Finally, we cross the boarder on to the lovely speed-limitless German roads. In fact, immediately upon crossing, some BMW starts flashing his lights at Scott because he wants to drive 180 or something and we were impeding his progress. Anyway, we think we can push it to Wurzburg and I call our hotel (after calling the states to have someone look up the number – I wrote all of the hotel information down but the number; what was I thinking?) They tell me they are booked up and we cannot come a day early, ugh! What will we do? We decide what is best is to pick a place along the way since it is already 11 and get some rest rather than pushing it on further, but where to stay? The guidebook I have isn’t that helpful. I try calling the number listed for a place in Baden-Baden and no one answers. Not knowing enough about other towns along the way, including how large they are, I am loathe to just get off the highway and search because in those small towns you really don’t find anything open past 11. I finally I hit on an idea – We are near the city of Karlsrhue; I am going to test Google with the words “Karlsrhue” “hotel” and “Germany.” When I announce this plan to Scott, he suggests that the stress of the long road trip has gotten to me and that I am losing touch with reality. But, ha ha! Google – otherwise known as Alexis’ favorite thing in the world next to gazpacho – comes through and texts me back a list of hotels in Karlsruhe. So now we are speeding down the highway doing 160 kilometers an hour and I am frantically dialing on one cell phone (having procured a charger for Scott in Spain) and checking numbers and information on my phone. Several tired voices tell me they are booked up when, finally, I get a kindly old man who tells me we can stay at his hotel. I confirm the address with him and offer a slight involuntary cringe when he tells me they are directly on the Bahnhof (train station). But, hey it’s a room and I am beyond tired.

Americans Uber alles

2007-06-25T16:55:00.000-07:00

During dinner we befriend a very sweet American couple who are actually around our ages – almost a breath of fresh air, since for our whole trip we have been the youngest everywhere we go. They were a married couple from Seattle. She runs some kind of graphic stationary business out of their house and he had a started a video game company that got bought a few years ago by some super duper leader in the industry. Apparently, he did the Lord of the Rings game, the kind that works with Playstation and Xbox (but not the one I put on Scott’s cell phone for me to play when bored). His grandfather worked on the Manhattan project as some kind of metallurgist, which was fascinating to hear about, particularly when they told us the story of his mother living at Las Alomos and knowing only that her father was working on something that would supposedly end the war. His mother, in her adulthood, came to be friends with a Japanese woman who had lived near Hiroshima at the time of the bombing. If that doesn’t have book written all over it I don’t know what does.

Is It Thursday? It Must Be France

2007-06-25T16:51:00.001-07:00

We headed back to Provence and to Les Florets where we had eaten with Erin; this time we would stay at the Inn as well. The room was adorable with two tiny twin beds and a lovely giant bathtub. The dinner wasn’t as great as the first time. The menu was the same, but the amuse bouche was different, a cold cucumber soup with bits of smoked duck in it. Good but not great. I also ordered the salmon stuffed with asparagus mousse that Scott had eaten the first time and found that the mouse wasn’t as fine and there was barely any of it. Probably, the way I got it was the way it was supposed to be, since the first time we were there they weren’t anticipating as many people as they got and (we believe) they ran low on the crab and shrimp with which the mousse was supposed to be studded – so they just substituted more mousse. Or maybe the first time was the way it was supposed to be and the chef was out on our second visit. Either way, it was still a fine meal. We sat outside on the terrace and it began to rain, so they simply put up umbrellas and we were fine. They even carried the cheese cart out to us in the drizzle.

Cyber Café or Your Car: Really, What Is The Difference?

2007-06-15T11:28:00.001-07:00

We move on the next morning around lunch time to a town called St. Jean du Bruel, that Scott has wanted to visit for the last ten years (I know I am prone to exaggeration, but this isn't one). We stop at the little hotel (called Hotel du Midi Papillon) for lunch; the place has reportedly been run by the same family for four generations. I screw my courage again and order duck confit. This is really because there isn't anything else I want on the menu, other than salad – and there is nothing to pare the salad with that is reasonably priced, other then some strange sounding cured ham (a town specialty). I don't really like ham, but thought about it for a bit. Finally, I nixed the whole salad/ham combo concept and went with the duck. Scott ordered the ham. Thank the Lord I didn't. It looked raw and while he thought it tasted great, I thought it tasted as raw as it looked. There were two gigantic purple pieces with giant edges of thick white fat, that looked as if it had just been sliced off the live animal and thrown on his plate, along with a pat of butter – not sure what you are supposed to use that for. On the whole my duck was great and it turned out that our dinners came with brimming bowls of vegetables, including one that I was sure was salsify and a giant bowl of artichoke hearts. Once again, not sure why the vegetables weren't listed, but whatever. The duck wasn't as good as Scott's had been, but it still might be a
meat I would consider in the future. Then after we get in the car I miraculously find an unlocked wifi signal and sit rooted to that fortuitous spot for an hour or more so I can post to the blog.

Time For Sleep and Wine

2007-06-15T11:26:00.000-07:00

We stayed the night at a small town near one of the gorges. The room was nice (though also suffering from the aforementioned missing-shower disease). The food was good, not great, but by that point I had realized that nothing would measure up if the cheese plate didn't have shallot cheese on it! We walked around the town looking for the elusive "cyber" café (pronounced See-Ber, not that it matters because no one knows what you are looking for anyway). We found no cyber café, but the walk in this deserted riverside town was better than sitting on the internet anyway. We also passed an establishment called "Jeff Bar," with about a dozen men in it and no women. We couldn't tell if it was a gay bar or a sports bar; rather than try to figure it out we went to bed.

Gorge Photos

2007-06-15T11:18:00.001-07:00

The Paris Cafe is Right Around the Corner from this Bridge

2007-06-15T11:15:00.000-07:00

Paris Café

2007-06-15T07:11:00.000-07:00

During our drive to the Gorges I of course needed food, so we stopped in a very cute town and decided to roll the dice and not consult our Bible – The Michlelin. We tried one place that was too smoky, and then settled in the end on a place called Paris Café. (I think there were only three restaurants in the town.). Scott had duck confit and I ordered a soup au pistou and onion tart. The restaurant had old pink flower wall paper that you would see in a western movie in a house of ill-repute. There was in fact a long staircase in the dinning room that I was expecting can-can girls to float down at any moment, or at the very least some crazy, obese French madam, but that didn't happen. The bathroom also had this strange sink contraption that had peddles on the floor that you had to step on to make the hot and cold water come out. However, they were so far under the sink it was impossible to step on them at the same time, so you have to play that step on the hot, quick step on the cold game the whole time, telling yourself that this ridiculous process is actually going to make the water come out in some tolerably fashion – instead you burn and freeze your fingers alternately, but c'est la vie. Back at the table the soup has arrived, in its own enormous terrine – I am given a bowl and a ladle. I eat two bowls, wondering if they forgot the tart and if actually I am expected to finish a terrine of soup that would feed a family of eight. Scott's yummy duck has arrived and he asks after my tart. Low and behold the terrine is whisked away – almost with spoon in my fingers – and is replaced with a giant onion tart – it is seriously a whole 9" (or maybe 12") pan that could feed the family of eight's next door neighbors. The whole thing cost 10 Euros and I realize I have a lot to learn about ordering in France. I also screwed up my courage and tried Scott's Duck; smart move, it was delicious.

Drive to Gorges du Tarn

2007-06-10T03:35:00.000-07:00

The next day we set off again, and the weather seems to be holding, until we drive straight into another rain storm (or maybe the same one continuing to follow us). The ride is similar to all of our other rides: cute towns whip by as I read aloud from Heat and trucks try to run us off the road. There was an added bit of precariousness during the first leg of the trip because Scott was having some work crisis and wanted to drive while distracting himself by talking sternly into his cell phone. We also stopped to get gas at this huge market and I ran in to use the bathroom and was immediately taken in by the cheese counter. Those French don’t fool around with their cheese! While there was no shallot chevre, there was pretty much everything else and tons upon tons of Roquefort – because we are near the town of Roquefort where the cheese is made. The scenery took on decidedly new characteristics as we climbed steadily upward, entering an area knows as the Ardeche. We drive through treacherous mountain passes and the trees turn darker green, and leafy branches are replaced by confers. Then we came out on to a sort of misty plateau; visibility is poor for driving, but the mist makes the scene magical. Finally, after four or five hours on the road, we turn a corner after the town of Millau and are suddenly staring down into the several-hundred-foot-deep gorge, cut by the River Tarn. I had been getting a little annoyed about being cooped up in the car with super scary roads but when I saw gorgeous site that was the ride’s payoff, I knew I would have sat in that car for twice as long to see it.

Dinner Again at Cuq

2007-06-10T03:32:00.000-07:00

Finally it is sunny. We spend the rest of the day laying around in the garden with the dogs of the house sunning ourselves and reading. And, best of all we can have dinner on the terrace! We meet a pleasant British couple who regale us with stories of driving from London to the South of France and how they walked in an anti-war protest in New York when they were stuck there in a blizzard years ago.They also spend some time telling us how terrible Blair is and what a disappointment he is. I find this comforting. I have to remember that

America

isn’t the only place that has a hated ruler. Dinner is once again fabulous, and Adonis makes the starter that was in the magazine, round courgettes (zucchini) filled with a meat and wine mixture in a very light lemon sauce, yum! He also makes duck, but since I am still a recovering vegetarian I’m not really down for the duck. Of course, Scott has already emailed them with my finicky meat eating and they have prepared a very nice pasta for me. Also, the night before they had lent me the first four episodes of the second Season of Desperate Housewives (what did I say about gay men?). I was in heaven, until I realized once again that I couldn’t get the internet to work for me.

One Star Lunch

2007-06-10T03:31:00.001-07:00

The next day, also pretty cloudy and raining in the morning Scott decided to treat me to a lunch at a Michelin one star restaurant that is in the area. It was beautiful, awe-inspiring food and the dining room had a beautiful view of the surrounding country-side. I’ve never really been big on French food but there truly is something that they do with sauces as well as the mixture of uncommon ingredients that is different from anywhere else. Now of course I am going to come home and start taking French cooking classes. (Oh, I started with seared tuna that was out of this world and followed with lobster tail wrapped in this kind of shredded wheat like package. Every bite was a new and different sensation. I will have to add Scott’s wine choices later because my notes on wine are on scraps of paper jumbled together and will require time to go though. Scott had Cassoulet, which is the regional specialty. So special is it that half the hotels and restaurants in the area seemed to be name “Hotel du Cassoulet,” or some variation thereof. (I have no idea how you would explain to your cab driver that you want cassoulet south or cassoulet north or that you want to eat some cassoulet or sleep at some cassoulet, but it works for them!).

Reading Thomas Hardy in Toulouse

2007-06-09T16:43:00.000-07:00

There might be nothing more indulgent then reading Thomas Hardy while sitting in a French bathtub looking out a window that depicts the bucolic scenery you are imagining while reading the book. I highly recommend this to everyone.

Bunches of Cuq Photos

2007-06-09T16:29:00.000-07:00

Beauty at Cuq en Terrasse

2007-06-09T16:15:00.000-07:00

We make our way to a small town outside of Toulouse, where will we stay at a Bed and Breakfast that has 8 rooms. Let me go on the record saying now that all B&Bs should be run by gay men! Scott has stayed at this place before and since he is a repeat customer we get upgraded to a room with views from the bedroom and the bathroom. Let me address the bathroom for one moment, aside from some odd cat theme going on (the room is called Le Chat Bleu), the bathroom is wonderful! There are absolutely no signs of European bathroom disease. There is a giant tub with (mosaic of a cat) a wonderful view. This is the portion of the trip where we move from European bathroom disease to something that is far better and clearly less contagious, called the missing shower, all just bathtubs with the handheld shower thing. It stills seems luxurious to me. One of the first things I notice is that there is a copy of the French Saveur magazine in the bedroom. Which of course I try to read, and what do I notice on page 8? The chef of our B&B showing off his recipes! This place is set high on a hill with an amazing view of fields upon fields of astounding colors of green morphing into yellow wheat and back to green again. I could look at it all day long and still not have drunk in enough of the scenery to cure my thirst. Since the whether isn’t great, we decide to just take it easy and enjoy the slow pace of rural French life, which consists, apparently, of eating, drinking, and sleeping. And, eat we do. Adonis, the Saveur-featured cook of the Inn, makes a delicious dinner and best of all I eat the cheese that I know for the rest of my life I will long for. It was a perfect chevre, coated in shallots that appear to have been soaked in wine. A local woman makes it for the boys and if you ever come across such a combination, by up the whole stock. Scott asked if I wanted to eat elsewhere for dinner the next night and all I could think about was that cheese! So, “no I want to eat here every night and I want my cheese plate to be only made of shallot cheese.”

Are We There Yet?

2007-06-09T16:12:00.000-07:00

We start out on our long drive to France and while we would have loved a few more days in Barcelona the holiday has everything closed down and the city seems somehow empty so leaving for France it is. Plus, Scott is really looking forward to getting to Toulouse. Of course, it starts raining. My good news is that the combination of weird French Nose spritzing stuff and gallons of gazpacho seem to have helped my cold. I am now down to a small little cough and no more aches, I can hardly believe it. I think I have mentioned before that the French roads are terrible, but let me say it again. How can a country have so many trucks? I just don’t understand where they disappear to once they hit the French boarder? Do they dump their cargo at the boarder and return home? They don’t appear to advance much beyond the German boarder that is for sure. Despite the crazy trucks and the rain the drive is pleasant enough (for me at least since I am in the passenger seat). We pass a medieval town called Carcason that is amazing, this town was around in the 9^th century!

Cacaoalat!

2007-06-09T16:07:00.000-07:00

On the way to picking up the car I noticed a bottle of cacolate (Ok I was searching hard!) – it tastes kind of like quick.

The Hunt For Food Catches Strange Art

2007-06-09T16:03:00.000-07:00

It was our last morning in Barcelona and once again I was hungry! We set out to go to a market that we read about in the Batali book where you go to a stand and point to things in the market and they cook it for you. But, once again we are hit with our awful travelers luck and it is a holiday and everything is closed, including the market. Off we go on the food search; we are also looking for a charger for Scott’s phone since he needs to work and his charger was in his lost luggage. We walk around for what seems like hours and can’t find a restaurant with gazpacho. I just keep thinking of the soup of the night before and that is what I want to eat. Finally, we stumble into a square that I could have sworn we were in the night of the wedding with the bride and groom (but who knows – to the untrained eye, they all look kind off the same). This square is now filled with a giant piece of public art. There are male figures in what looks like a military formation. They are made out of trash – mostly soda cans, food tins, some computer leftovers. It is strange and disturbing and moving all at the same time.

Tapas, Tapas, and More Tapas

2007-06-09T16:02:00.000-07:00

After our bus tour we headed over to Steve’s hotel, he was staying in one of the most luxury hotels in Barcelona – one night of his probably cost the same as our whole stay. We said goodbye to the New York girls who were heading off to Paris. And, the three of us, Scott, Steve and I headed to dinner. This was not before I had availed myself of Steve’s espresso maker in his room and taken all of the products that were offered, I was out of hair conditioner and sick of the strange French shampoo they give you in the little wet wipe packages. Its hard to find a restaurant on a Sunday but Steve’s concierge sent us to a small tapas place in a little alleyway that was amazing. I had three glasses of gazpacho (served in a wine glass rather than a bowl). I couldn’t get enough and am still thinking about it. We ordered half of the menu and ate and ate for what seemed like hours. We said Good-bye to Steve and headed home. The city is also always hopping, it reminded me a bit of new York. People don’t even go out until midnight and then come home at 5. However, we couldn’t keep up such a pace and we turned in early under the guise of wanting more time to sight see (but really it’s just because we are old). We saw Primus and Stacy at the hotel; by then, all of the other Americans were on their way home or to other points in Europe.

Sight-Seeing for Lazy People 101

2007-06-09T15:55:00.000-07:00

Being so super lazy, and still suffering from the never ending cold, I decided that we should take one of the tourist buses around town, rather than trying to walk around under our own power. While a little expensive, it turned out to be a good idea. We were able to cover quite a bit of ground and learn some history (although, Scott was surprised that they made no mention whatsoever of the Spanish Civil War, even though Barcelona played a central role in that defining struggle). In fact the primary subject of the tour’s narration was the architect, Gaudi, the avatar of the “modernista” movement. Barcelona’s buildings are a hodgepodge of architectural styles, with fantastical modernista structures next to sober stone facades next to steel-and-glass skyscrapers. The city is filled with art and is very green. Most of the apartment buildings have balconies and the majority of these are filled with plants. We got off the bus to find some lunch and what should I notice but a woman drinking a bottle of Cacaoalat!

You Can’t go Wrong with Paella

2007-06-09T15:53:00.002-07:00

That day Scott and I decided that we would have a day of recovery and would make no attempt to do anything other than lie in bed (and, possibly, eat). We spent the day reading and lounging and at one point Scott went our and found us Doner kebabs (which were good, but not as good as the ones in Germany!) Around 11:00 p.m. we were inspired by an invitation from Primus and Stacy to got to a restaurant recommended by Marc as having the best paella in Barcelona. The restaurant was called, I believe, Set Ports (Seven Doors, in Catalan), and has been in operation for over a hundred years. There was a line of people waiting for tables, none of whom seemed to be tourists, so we had high-hopes for the food. Marc was on the money: the paella was delicious (and so was everything else). I had read in our Barcelona guidebook about something called Cacoaolat (a local chocolate drink) and I wanted some at the end of dinner, but I couldn’t remember what it was called so I just asked for chocolate milk. The waiter thought that I was out of my mind, but was kind enough to bring me a small thing of milk and a tiny container of melted chocolate that I mixed in my glass. My companions thought I was nuts too. All in all, a great meal and a great chance to rehash the previous days experience.

Sunrise

2007-06-09T15:53:00.001-07:00

Upon getting home we went to a plaza and bought some beer from some people selling six packs on the street at 5 a.m., then we all headed back to the roof-deck of our hotel to wind the night down. We sat on the roof with a smattering of American guests and a couple of Marc’s Barcelona boys and talked and watched the sunrise with the bride and groom. The whole experience was great and what a wonderful way to end such a special day, with the sun coming up on their new life and illuminating the whole city of Barcelona.

Happy Couple

2007-06-09T15:39:00.001-07:00

The Reception

2007-06-09T15:38:00.000-07:00

We hop back on the bus and drive about half an hour to the reception, which is in a venue right by the Mediterranean. The hors d’oeuvres at the cocktail hour were the best I have ever eaten at a wedding. They had grilled squid, spicy lamb kebabs, lots of delicious friend things, paella made with noodles instead of rice, the ubiquitous tomato bread, shavings of Iberian ham, little open-faced grilled sandwiches topped with a fried quail egg, and other items I can’t even remember. I even tried this weird thing on a spoon that was some kind of tomato thing with an anchovy on top, and I liked it! I ate so much at the cocktail hour I could barely eat my dinner. During the dinner, the Spaniards were doing some kind of wedding chant. Scott, rendered unusually exuberant by innumerable glasses of the delicious vino tinto they were pouring all night, felt that the Americans should not be outdone in the area of goofy wedding-reception rituals. So, we sent Stacy to all of the tables of American’s to recruit everyone into doing the glasses-clinking, bride-and-groom-kiss thing. We were successful and Julie later said she was happy we did that because right after the chant she had told Marc about the clinking thing. Also, it’s always good for Europeans to see that our country actually has traditions that don’t involve blowing things up. Dinner was fabulous. One funny note: there were different desserts for men and women, women getting raspberry coulis with their ice cream and men getting pineapple, which really looked great on the table. Then the cake was cut and Julie and Marc danced around the room to the song American Woman where Julie handed her bouquet to Allison and danced with her a bit. Then she and Marc danced some more with the cake topper and came and deposited it with Scott and I (there is a custom that you give this to the couple you think should next get married). The little ceramic duo were quite pale, with reddish hair, and somewhat stupefied expressions and Scott said they looked like they were the winners of the Danish Special Olympics. I’ve packed the funny looking couple away and maybe we can pass on the tradition somehow. We danced and danced until 4 am. There was an earlier bus that took some of the revelers home around 2; this included Erin who I didn’t see again in Europe.

American Girls Right Before The Wedding

2007-06-09T15:37:00.001-07:00

The Main Event

2007-06-09T15:34:00.000-07:00

The wedding is beautiful. The church is on the top of a mountain with a gorgeous view. Julie looks incredible as she comes down the aisle and even though I can’t understand a word of the proceedings (performed in Catalan), the ceremony is touching. Stacy is bawling, and she wasn’t the only one in the audience with tears in her eyes.

How Not To Get Ready for A Wedding in Barcelona, or Anywhere else

2007-06-09T15:23:00.000-07:00

The first thing we discover when we arrive around three in the afternoon in a warm and sunny Barcelona is that I have the times wrong for the wedding. I thought we were to leave for the wedding at 6:00, but a cell phone call from Allison informs us that we need to be on the bus at 4:30 and the wedding starts at 6. We are way behind, and we still have to fix Scott’s suit. We miss the parking garage we are supposed to use and have to drive around the maze of one way streets to get back to it. This whole endeavor, plus parking and dragging our luggage to the hotel, shave off about thirty minutes of our precious time. We check into the hotel, which looks like it was designed top-to-bottom by Ikea: extremely small, with all of the vertical spaces used; the floors are painted concrete, the walls are white and green. What happens next is a lesson in how you don’t want to go about getting ready for a wedding. I had called Primus and Stacy before they left for

Spain

and asked them to bring some clothes for Scott, but we were thinking we could use the suit bought at Hugo Boss, by pinning the pants legs to the right length (the jacket, we thought, fit okay). Unfortunately, we have no safety pins and no time to find any. Jeff graciously pitches in by going room to room through the hotel, seeking pins. He finds a total of one, so Scott ends up trying to pin the pants using buttons bearing the hotel’s logo (like campaign buttons) that he took from a jar at the registration desk. I shower and pull on my dress, throwing make-up, hair brush and everything I might need into a bag to take on the bus. I then take over the tailoring duties and Scott, already frazzled, heads to the shower. He turns on the sink to brush his teeth, but then decides to hop in the shower first, leaving the sink running. Normally not a problem, except the water pressure is massive and the sink doesn’t drain. Within seconds, water is pouring onto the floor by the gallon, which Scott discovers because the water from the sink starts to flow into the walk-in shower. No time to deal with that problem, so we just throw some towels in the general direction of the newly-formed lake and hope that the people in the room below us have a sense of humor. I have pinned the legs of Scott’s suit, but for some reason they have come out too short and are now highwaters (fitting, given the flood in our bathroom). Meanwhile, the shirt that came with our friends is wrinkled and his shoes are the brown boots that have been worn the entire trip though rain and mud and we have no implement with which to shine them. And the jacket that we thought fit, really doesn’t: the sleeves are a good three inches too long. At some point we pull it together, as best we can, and make it to the bus. Sadly, our beautiful stress-free morning is a memory long gone and we are feeling seriously stressed. However, the bus ride is beautiful and uneventful, I ask around and get some missing make-up, Allison remarks that I look very nice for a 20 minute pull-together, and no one seems to notice Scott’s sartorial challenges. With all that, we are able to relax.

Holy Prices, Batman!

2007-06-09T15:17:00.000-07:00

The next morning we head to our internet café for a bit, and again find it necessary to perform circus-like acrobatics in order to perch in the one square-foot of the café where the wifi actually works. Afterward, Erin and I set out to walk around the town – Erin wants to buy some gifts and I, of course, want to eat. Scott meanwhile has found a bookstore to buy the 2007 Michelin guide as well as a Spanish newspaper so he is taken care of and goes to drink diet cokes and read about the world at a seaside café. The town is incredibly beautiful – with small pebbled beaches, an old stone castle with a long pier stretching out into the azure Mediterranean, all sitting under the stalwart gaze of the looming Pyrenees mountains. Collioure is just 15 -20 miles from the Spanish boarder and the Catalan influence is quite apparent: the café/bar had signs up for the Barcelona football team and many of the signs had Catalan spellings (the road sign welcoming us the town was in French; the one on the way out was in Catalan). Erin and I walk into Les Templiers, a hotel that reportedly had art from Matisse and van Gogh, among other artists who stayed in Collouire at one time or another and would trade artwork for room and board. The walls were covered with art, but nothing that looked like the work of any of the masters. That done we continued our shopping/food expedition, only to realize that everything in the eateries was incredibly overpriced that all we could afford for breakfast were two tiny pots of honey. Lunch was a similar challenge: we finally settled on a creperie that served me a delicious crape for 9 Euros!!! After lunch, it is time to head out to Barcelona. It is here that I also realize that I have left my brand new, super comfortable, super cool $50 shoes in France – well, it was my turn to lose something after all.

The Beach Town In The Rain

2007-06-09T15:08:00.000-07:00

We finally reach our destination: a small beach town called Collioure. We check in to our small room and find the surprise of a giant bathroom with shower and tub! We head off in the direction of a café/bar that we have heard has free wifi. Since we do not want to be wifi freeloaders, Scott orders some (undrinkable) red wine and I order an ice tea that comes in a small Lipton bottle for something like 3 euros. However, after we have ordered our totally overpriced drinks, we discover that we can’t get the wifi to work unless we are all the way in the back of the smoky bar perched precariously on stools at a very tall table. While we dawdle in the café arguing over who gets the computer – me to post blog stuff or Scott for his work (come on we are on vacation!) the rain starts coming down in sheets. Luckily we have located a restaurant across the way that is in the Michelin and supposed to be very good. It is good, and beautiful, although the tile work is a bit over the top. Every single surface in the restaurant is covered in them – it’s reminiscent of a Turkish bath. The food is great and you could really tell from the menu that we are almost in Spain. I ate gambas a la plancha!

From Avignon to Collouire

2007-06-09T15:05:00.000-07:00

The day turns out to be cloudy and horribly wet. Since we all inexplicably neglected to bring CDs for the car, and since the options on the radio consist of talk shows we can’t understand and ludicrously bad French rap, we content ourselves during the long drive with taking turns reading aloud from Heat, a book by Bill Buford about his time as a cook at Mario Batali’s restaurant, Babbo. This succeeds in making me really Hungry.

When In Doubt, You’ve Lost Your Bag

2007-06-09T14:59:00.000-07:00

Upon arriving home we discover that we have left the laptop bag, although not the laptop, at the internet place in Avignon. The bag contains every vital possession Scott had left. It means that we will be heading back to Avignon in the morning to try to retrieve it. But in the case of hoping for the best and planning for the worst, we start to think about what we will do if we can’t find the bag, which contains, among other things, the pills for Scott’s back. Scott says that if his back gets really bad the only choice might be for him to get on a plane home. I of course am rummaging through my mind recalling every acquaintance I have in Europe who is a doctor, most of whom I am sure would be completely unlikely to prescribe a narcotic to someone who phones out of the blue after ten years asking for one. But, you don’t know without asking! The next morning we close out the bill and Erin and I receive a talking to from the woman behind the desk (we forgot to cancel our dinner reservation). She goes as far as to pull out Scott’s email asking for the reservation and pointing to it over and over as she scolds. Whatever, I have a bag to worry about. We get back to Avignon and find the internet café and low and behold the bag! With everything still in it!

Dinner Found In St. Remy de Provence

2007-06-09T14:55:00.000-07:00

We end up having a wonderful dinner at a restaurant in St. Remy de Provence, called the Jardin de Fredrick. It was adorable and had an artist in residence, something that was apparent as soon as we walked into the deep red and yellow dinning room, whose walls were packed with paintings. The menus themselves were hand-painted with different scenes of the area. I had a quick vision of a wizened artist, hunched-over, painting his menus like wizened, hunched-over monks illustrating bibles. Dinner was wonderful; in fact, we couldn’t decide if we preferred that to the night before or not – its true Michelin doesn’t steer you wrong!

Abbaye de Senanque

2007-06-09T14:43:00.000-07:00

From the glorious view of the village we head to the Abbaye de Senanque, an ancient abbey that is fronted by a huge field of lavender. Unfortunately, the lavender was not yet in bloom, so that was a bit disappointing. The site was beautiful nevertheless. The sun was getting low and the monastery itself was already closed. Erin and I walked the grounds and let Scott sit and indulge his favorite pastime – reading the Red Michelin guide and looking for restaurants we can eat at. We had reservations to eat at our hotel but by that point it was getting late and we were too far away to make it back in time.

Gordes

2007-06-09T14:27:00.000-07:00

Next stop? I have no idea, except that it was a village called Gordes, somewhere west of Les Baux. I was feeling the stress of the climb mixed with the illness and after taking more pills and sniffing more nose stuff I was once again happily snoring in the back of the car – until I was woken up to look at a village built stunningly into the side of a huge hill. Approaching the village, you see tightly-packed rows of sand-colored buildings, drenched in sunlight, clinging to a hillside so steep that the roof of each building is even with the ground floor of the building behind it. The sight is even more amazing when you remember that much of it was built hundreds of years ago.Even in villages that lack such a spectacular setting, the sun-soaked, sand-colored limestone buildings of the region are truly a wonder.

Loosing Erin

2007-06-09T14:24:00.000-07:00

Erin chose not to visit the Chateau and we told her we would meet her in a store she had wanted to shop in. Only, I didn’t know where that store was. Scott and I ended up walking up and down the hill, from one end of the village to the other, searching for her. I was getting really worried. I kept thinking that someone had kidnapped her. (We had also spent the cash we had and I was parched.) We decided to wait at the bottom of the hill, at the entrance to the village, near the parking lot, thinking that at some point she would have to come down and look for us by the car. A bit after that we decided to give one more look in all of the stores up the hill and found her waiting at the top, assuming we were still a the Chateau and would have to pass by that spot on our way down. What a huge relief! We had lost 20 euros somewhere on our tour of the Chateau and I didn’t want to lose Erin too!

Many Photos of Les Baux

2007-06-08T03:26:00.001-07:00

Les Baux-De-Provence – France’s Answer to Neuschweinstein

2007-06-08T03:19:00.000-07:00

Our next stop is Les Baux-De-Provence, which is a small village built into an incredible scene of bauxite hills. On top of the town is an area called the Chateau, which is the ruins of an 11 century fortress that was inhabited by the Lords of Baux – called the race of eagles. The fortress is built in this arid rocky area on the top of a hill that gives way to sweeping views of the valleys below. The climbs were extremely steep and the stairs were original and therefore dangerous. At one point, some French man started babbling at me and seeing my blank look of idocy changed to English to inform me I was wearing the wrong shoes for the climb. This I was made extremely aware of because I had already slipped three times, thinking each time I was going to fall and crack my head. The Lords of Baux and their minions would apparently wait for invaders to climb up toward the heights of the fortress and then, as they scrambled desperately for a foothold, push them off into the valley. I thought that their craftsmanship would surely have been more than adequate protection from anyone with my klutziness.

Sur Le Pont D’Avignon

2007-06-08T03:14:00.000-07:00

I wake up because my companions are calling me to look at something. It is the Palace of the Popes. According to the history that I pieced together from my extensive research (which included watching something on the discovery channel on the Knights Templars and wracking my brain for what I can remember from grade school history), it seems that around the 14^th century in 1309 (ok, I looked that date up), Pope Clement V makes the move and Avignon becomes the Christianity capitol. The French Popes began building this beautiful palace, calling in artists from Italy and the best furniture makers and all that. (The Rhone wine known as Chateauneuf-du-Pape takes its name from this palace: literally, New House of the Pope.) Toward the end of the 1300’s there seems to have been some disagreement with the cardinals and there were Popes elected willy-nilly – sometimes three at a time – one in Avignon one in Pisa and one in Rome. The various Popes spent some time excommunicating each other and arguing. Finally, they got it worked out, which of course is neither here nor there since we essentially drove up to the Pope’s palace and looked at the outside. Then we drove past the Pont St-Benezet, which is the first stone bridge across the Rhone. I tried singing the Sur La Pont D’Avignon, but I couldn’t remember all of the words. Finally, we reached our destination – an internet café – where naturally, after struggling with the French keyboard, I was unable to post anything. Century, Popes were finding it more and more difficult to deal with the political climate in Rome and decided to move their headquarters to Avignon, which was part of the Papal territories.

Breakfast The French Way

2007-06-08T03:10:00.000-07:00

I spent half the night up coughing and the other half listening to the church bell and the trash truck. The lack of sleep didn’t help my illness and I woke up feeling like I had been crushed in the back of the trash truck. We went down to breakfast and found it too cold to sit on the terrace, repairing instead to the sweet indoor dinning room. Here we feasted on baguettes and jam with yogurt and super strong coffee. Sadly breakfast did nothing to help my head or my aching body. After breakfast we set out to find an internet café, but Scott thought it was time to find a doctor for me to see. Seeing a French doctor is my worst nightmare. In the end we agreed on stopping in the Pharmacy. Erin and I head in with high hopes, but after a few minutes of this woman gesturing toward her nose and asking something Erin can’t understand, I start to get a little worried. I can’t tell if she is asking me if I have a running nose or a stopped-up nose. Finally, the bewildered pharmacist calls over her co-worker who speaks some English and sets me up with some pills and something I am supposed to poke up my nose every few hours. I crawl into the back of the car, take the pills, poke and squeeze the spray up my nose, pull some sweaters over me, and drift off as Scott and Erin launch into some French lesson.

Dinner Extraordinaire

2007-06-07T12:15:00.000-07:00

We unpack and change quickly and head out to dinner. We are going to a place called Les Florets, which is another Inn that Scott has been wanting to stay at and usually doesn’t have availability (we are actually staying there on the way back). The drive there is truly amazing, the fields of green are filled with round bails of hay and those straight funny pine trees; it truly looks like something out of a Monet painting. Erin and I are aghast at the beauty and I am jittery with anticipation of a full on French meal with cheese cart! Yum. Of course we will now be launching into the food portion of our blog, I can’t stop myself with the food photos even in the super fancy restaurants. The dinner began with Scott and I having classes of Cremant de Loire, a delicious champagne-like sparkling aperitif. This was followed by an amuse bouch of fromage blanc that had been mixed with herbs and toped with a tiny half of a hard boiled quails egg; it was light and refreshing and I could have eaten a large bowl (in fact, it is the thing from that meal that I most wish I could eat again). Erin and I both started with an eggplant dish that had feta, tomatoes, tepenade and amazing pesto. Scott choose a smoked salmon filled with incredibly smooth asparagus mouse that had chunks of crab and was served with a langoustine; it was truly amazing. Scott chose the wine from an extensive list of Gigondas, Vacqueyras and Chateauneuf du Pape. The inn is actually in the town of Gigondas and the owners also own a winery. Scott chooses a 1998 Domaine Les Goubers, Cuvee Florence, a Gigondas from one of the best recent vintages in the Rhone Valley. The dusty bottle arrived at the table at the perfect temperature and when decanted and finally poured into our glasses it was a beautiful burgundy color. The taste was deep and rich had many layers of flavor and, just when you think it has, ended there is another burst of flavor before it dies away. Thanks to the bottle-aging, there was no harsh tannin, just luscious fruit. Scott’s joy was evident on his face every single time he took a sip of the lovely liquid. Erin had a nice white fish for her main course, that was the most “provincial” of all of our dishes: it was on a bed of bulger with olives and tomoatos. I feasted on Scallops with sweet potato puree and covered in this almost sweet caramel sauce. Scott had lamb two ways – grilled loin and grilled lamb rib chop with pureed garlic and some kind of rich sauce from the pan. We were all satisfied. Then came the cheese! The man arrived with a huge cart, with the cheese broken into sections – goat, cow and ewe. They were designated oddly by small ceramic animals. We each chose four different cheeses to taste – in essence we got 12 unique tastes – it was like heaven. Scott expounded on the superiority of unpasturized cheese and the idiocy of American laws not allowing it in. Erin and I thought of ways we could smuggle it in, and I thought maybe I could just learn to make it. Of course, my ability to make cheese that is the equal of the cheese produced by villages that have been perfecting their craft for hundreds of years may be somewhat in doubt. However, since my culinary self-confidence knows no shame, I figured at least I could give it a shot, I mean making any cheese has got to be some kind of accomplishment and I think Erin and Scott would both eat it without too much complaint even if they hated it. I called the waiter over to find out the name of the cheese I particularly liked, but I couldn’t understand him, so he wrote it down for me: Picodom (from the Drome area, a small village called Derier Le Fit). Erin’s best cheese was Saint Felicien from Grenoble. Dessert came afterward and was amazing, with all sorts of lovely tastes mingling and creating new tastes depending on what bits you ate together. The whole meal took about three hours. The restaurant apparently had many more guests than they had anticipated and managed to serve them all. The service was such that all of the waiters belonged to the whole dinning room, at any one time a waiter would show up and look at the ticket on your table, then bring out the next course, or someone would come and clean away your tables. The wonder was how in the world theses places make any money: you essentially book hour table for the whole night, they are not looking to turn it over – and really, with a dinner that lasts for 3 hours, how could they? The price was also not outrageous; this is something that I am really going to have to research. We drove home in a food coma and I almost forgot about the plague that was wracking my body.

L'Orangerie

2007-06-07T11:33:00.000-07:00

We arrive in Piolenc which is close to Orange, in Provence. We are staying at a small inn called the L’Orangerie; to get there we must drive down streets that were made for one guy on a skinny horse, not for ou Rav4 – and to make matters worse they are two way streets. Not that you could or would possibly drive two cars on them at the same time, just that you have to develop some sort of innate sense of when someone might have chosen to drive on your street the other way. If you have not yet honed your tiny-street-driving-sense, you had better hope there are no other tourists around that have no car coming in the other direction radar or you will have to back up. We pull into a beautiful little courtyard off of a tiny street and see our lovely little hotel. The architecture is so different from the German. In Germany it is all old buildings with red tiled roofs and wooden accessories. These building seem to be some kind of light yellowish sandstone and blocks of stone mortared together, with wrought iron filigree making all off the accoutrements from chairs to disease it is quite lovely if slightly spare. The European bathroom disease is a terrible affliction you should make sure your bathroom avoids at all cost, unless you are some kind of martyr that enjoys showering in a plastic box the size of a small coat closet. Showering in these boxes you are constantly challenged to a race with the water seeing who can finish first and thereby prevent the other from reaching their goal. The water will try to fill up the bottom of the plastic box and you will try to get all of the shampoo out of your hair before the bottom of the box is filled with water forcing you to turn off the shower. The malady also can include a balconies. We head in and our porter takes us up two flights of stairs to our room. The staircase, with wrought iron banister, is the kind you would have expected in John Astor’s house or maybe one of the Rockefeller's – for sure it was very grand when this ancient house was first built. Our room is at the top floor and aside from suffering the European bathroom lingering sent of sewage coursing through the air. A very common symptom that accompanies the unreasonable time required to flush the toilet, you will need to perform the flushing action 3-5 times in order for it to work. It requires 7-10 minutes to refill the tank between flushes which is strange since there is never enough water to actually make the toilet flush. At any rate, if this is not your idea of fun you should inoculate your bathroom against this ailment as soon as you can or when you start noticing signs of it behaving badly – toilets getting finicky, shower looking to race you by starting to fill up, that kind of thing, consult a professional immediately! Although we have ordered a triple we are given two separate rooms, which is a nice touch. The set-up implies that it could have been someone’s apartment with a dressing room attached, or perhaps servants quarters, or perhaps I am just being melodramatic. But it is like we have a tiny apartment. The only draw back – a church bell that seems to ring all night long and the tiny street outside that sounds like giant trash trucks are picking up every night after 1 AM or so. But, in general the dark wood and the hominess of the room are really quite pleasant.

The Interminable Drive to France

2007-06-07T05:58:00.000-07:00

The next morning we are in a terrible rush. Scott is concerned about our reservations for dinner in France. Although after we have gotten going I learn that there aren’t reservations the way Americans think of them, i.e. for a specific time. With few exceptions, French restaurants assume that each table will be used once per evening. Whoever reserves the table can arrive when they like, which generally means afer 6:00 and before 8:30. The economics of this are baffling, since in restaurants in the

, turning over tables is generally viewed as a key to profitability. From a diner’s perspective, however, it is great. We have reserved the table for the evening and we can get there when we like, but Scott thought it would be a good idea to get there around 7:30. I sleep most of the drive with fitful dreams. I awoke at the Swiss border, where I was trying, with a huge, thick tongue that didn’t seem to fit in my mouth, to explain that we needed to buy a toll sticker to drive on the Swiss roads. Erin and Scott didn’t know what I meant, and we were too far through the border to get the sticker, so we just drove on, and I went back to sleep (figuring if we got pulled over we would just have to play ignorant Americans). During my sleep I intermittently woke up to hear Erin reading French phrases and Scott attempting to translate. Finally, just after we crossed the border into France, it was my turn to drive as Scott had to edit a document or give an interview or something, and, of course, I immediately hit traffic. The traffic is moving at a fairly good clip but the road is clogged with trucks, and unlike the beautiful autobahn, the trucks are apparently not limited in their lane choice. It’s like some crazy video game where everyone wants to reach the finish line as quickly as possible and is willing to risk their life passing a monster truck on the right, in their blind spot, if it is going to get them there three seconds ahead of their nearest competitor. Some woman recently wrote a book about why French women don’t get fat, I think her premise was that they basically just look at their food or some such nonsense. I think it is because of the constant fear and adrenalin coursing through their bodies while they drive over-crowded French roads; that special chemical mixture of always feeling like you are about to die has to take pounds off at a rapid pace.

To “The Lounge”

2007-06-07T05:47:00.000-07:00

Finally, we decide to head to Konstanz to the bar that Christian and Tom own, called The Lounge. We pick up Marcel and there are four of us, Marcel, Erin, me and Nana all smashed into the back, with Christian driving and Scott up front. Upon arrival in Konstanz, we grab donor kebabs to go for dinner and head to the bar, where Tom is already working. My crazy friend Gunter has come in from Austria to see me and after meeting Scott says he is very nice and that I should give him to Gunter to date. I think it was supposed to be the highest form of flattery but it was just weird. Tom makes Scott some crazy drink called a laser beam that has a sparkler in it. I am glad for the time to practice my German and I am worried that my two traveling companions are getting bored, but of course a few glasses of wine have made me extra sociable.

The Whole Family is in Shock At Andrea's Words

2007-06-07T05:37:00.000-07:00

Kuchen & Kaffee Party

2007-06-07T05:27:00.000-07:00

We head to the Konditori before attempting to eat to make sure we don’t miss the short window during which they are open.The place is just the same. This tiny store that is at the top of hill attached to a small house. The front has a glass case filled with amazing looking cakes and chocolates. In Germany it is customary to buy pieces of cakes rather than a whole cake. This means one is capable of getting 12 pieces of all different kinds of cakes if one wishes – which we did. While we are making our choices, a girl that I went to school with and who has married the son of the owner comes, out from the back. She looks at me and without even saying hello, says “the last time I saw you, you were very thin.” And she sucks her cheeks in like a fish, and follows that up with “You are two of what you were before, that is no compliment. But, of course that was about 10 years ago.” Okay… I had no idea what to say and she finally just walked off. Totally weird, but hey, its true, I am two of what I used to be, but I also used to be 16.

We grab lunch at a place called the Bad Hotel (which actually means bathing as in swimming). It’s pretty good, a bit formal and a bit expensive, but it was raining out and we are lazy and it is across from the parking garage. Erin and I order from the Sparglekarte (aspargus menu) and then both choose second courses that aren’t on the special menu. Scott gets some pasta with a watercress sauce that is out of this world. His meal is accompanied by wine: (name to be added later) We then think we will try some German red because it is much maligned and we want to find out for ourselves if it is as terrible as it is supposed to be.It is not, but also not something that we would get again. We head home to the Rothwilers and get down to the task of eating cake. The two topics of conversation are Andrea’s rudeness and what Ingrid will do when she visits the US. Previously, Scott and I had told her that as a gift we would like to fly her and Christian to America for a visit using our airline miles (well, Scott’s miles, mine are promised to my Mother for a trip to Greece) Ingrid started crying when we told her because this has always been a dream for her and seeing how happy she was made the entire trip that much better for me.

Grilling Party

2007-06-07T05:22:00.000-07:00

That night for dinner we head back to the Rothweilers for what I think is supposed to be a party in the Garden of Nana and Dominik, but turns out to be in the green house at Fritz and Ingrid’s. They had decided it was just too cold outside to grill. The green house is toasty and the food delicious. Dominik grills four or five meats including thick slices of bacon that Scott particularly enjoys, and salmon for Erin (which seems like the fish she gets to eat constantly). The meat and veggies and many German salads are accompanied by Nana’s wonderful garlic sauce that she refuses to give the recipe out for and also her curry sauce. It is a lovely evening. The weather that was perfect during the day suddenly turns to a downpour and we all sit in the green house listening to the rain thundering on the roof. We are all safe from the wet, except for Tom, who insists he has to go to the bathroom, and takes off into the woods with a towel draped over his head. We make plans to get cakes the next day at the Konditori I had worked at when I was 16 – Popp’s – that also just happens to have the best cakes for miles and miles around. We decide on a cake party for the afternoon as it will be our last day to spend some time with the older folks. We also, find wi-fi for the first (and what looks to be our last) time - this allows us, with Nana's help to fill out the internet form for the German Bahn lost and found in hopes of locating Scott's missing bag.

Erin and Tom Hold up the rock and Peek Out of the Old Town Wall

2007-06-07T05:20:00.001-07:00

Hiding During the Holocaust

2007-06-07T05:17:00.001-07:00

During the Holocaust Jews and other targets of Nazi hatred hid in the caves of the rock formations near the old city wall. For years afterwards the caves were used as storage and are now being made into an historic preserved area.

The Cactus Plot

2007-06-07T05:15:00.001-07:00

In the middle of the Uberlingen city garden is this huge plot of catus. I have no idea how they mange to live during the winter.

A Few Photos of the Beautiful Lake

2007-06-07T05:11:00.001-07:00

Eating Ice Cream on the Lake

2007-06-07T05:06:00.000-07:00

After lunch we took a little break and ate some ice cream at the lake. From Left Eri, me, Scott and Christian.

Erin's Aspargus

2007-06-07T05:03:00.001-07:00

I Have Hunger

2007-06-07T05:02:00.001-07:00

We slept most of the morning and missed breakfast. Tom took Erin for a walk so at least she got to enjoy the beautiful day. We then set off for lunch. We drove to Meersburg which is an incredibly beautiful town along the lake, one of the oldest I think. Naturally, we arrive after 2 and can’t find anything to eat. Not only that, but we can’t find anywhere to park. So we drive back to Uberlingen, the town on the lake where I went to school when living there. It too is beautiful. We approach several restaurants and are turned away from all; only the Italians are open. Then Christian remembers the Kroner (the crown) restaurant, which is connected to a bar called the Galgenhurtzler (the guillotine). The bar is a hole in the wall that we used to drink at in high school. The restaurant is rather newly built and quite good. Scott finally got some weissewurst that he enjoyed so much he insisted we find them in the US. Erin and I of course went with the asparagus menu – yum, this time the white asparagus had raclette, a pungent cheese, baked on top. Erin and I had sour cherry juice mixed with sparkling water and Scott had some white wine but I don’t know what it was. After lunch we walked through the town and enjoyed the beautiful sights.

Chili in the Garden

2007-06-07T05:01:00.001-07:00

We head back to the garden and have some chili that Dominik made. It is delicious, some of the best chili I have ever had - apparently he puts a whole bottle of red wine and a cup of oil in it. They were unaware that Erin was a vegetarian and while we were out quickly whipped up a beautiful cheese plate and some hard boiled eggs. I put some of the cheese in my chili and the Germans think I am crazy. I guess the Mexican dish has traveled the ocean but it didn’t come via America or at least hasn’t picked up the American bastardizations yet. It’s cool in the garden and getting colder as we sit there. I’ve had a cold since before we left and was sick for half the night we arrived; not getting much sleep is exacerbating the situation. I can just tell the cold garden is going to make everything worse. We stop in for drinks at Nana and Dominik’s, mostly so Erin and Scott can see their house. Dominik built a nirvana in his family’s barn. Erin and Scott are duly impressed and we finally head home to hit the hay.

The Lake

2007-06-07T04:56:00.000-07:00

Finally we make it to the Rotweilers’ just as it is getting dark. I introduce Erin and Scott and the whole family comes to say hello. The house smells just like I remember it, I feel completely at home and at peace. We are ushered into the garden and we sit around the table there and are plied with beer and sekt (the Champagne knock-off sold in Germany). Finally, we head to the hotel to check-in. It’s just a few minutes from the house, but we need to check in before the lady of the house closes her bar. Gasthaus Hubermuller is like a Hollywood version of what a typical German bar would look like – in other words, a complete caricature, although I am sure the owners have no idea. In order to get to our rooms we walk though a bar that is filled with locals watching a soccer game. The walls are bedecked with beer steins, dried flowers and stuffed and mounted animals; the air is putrid with smoke. As we walk in the door, heads turn laconically toward us; the patrons say nothing, just exhale smoke and stare, then they turn back to the tiny TV that is broadcasting the game, though a few smile and a smoke-enshrouded dog lifts its head as we pass.

Our room is so small that the shower and sink are about a foot away from the bed. The toilet at least has its own room. One wall is inexplicably made of cork and the rest are covered in wallpaper that has tiny seagulls on it. Erin is staying at Tom and Christian’s and although their place is small it seems very large by comparison. The room is clean and the bed is remarkably soft for Germany, so neither of us are complaining.

Shopping the Outlets with Scott – Something Never to Be Repeated

2007-06-07T04:54:00.000-07:00

Off to the outlets we head. They are horrible, giant boxes filled with people rooting through the racks and the stores are all designer so even with outlet prices the costs are ridiculous, especially when taking into account the crappy exchange rate. Scott manages to get a few things at Levi’s (where the mark-up is like 100% of what it is in the US) that with carefully planned laundering should get him through the trip. Of course, he will be in the same sweater for every photo. Then we head to Hugo Boss to try to find a suit. This store is INSANE!!! It is three stories tall with all sorts of passage ways and rooms leading to more rooms. We head to the “seconds” where things should be the cheapest but all of the suits are made out of cotton or some other weird material and all of the shirts are fuchsia and neon. From there we moved onto the confounding “leather suit section” in case we were in danger of forgetting that we were in Germany. Finally we find the normal business suits and Scott begins the trying on process. Good Lord! I finally find a bench and wait. Erin went to the bathroom about 10 hours ago (she actually witnessed an ice storm come and go while waiting for us outside, no joke) and since that moment on I have been pretty much been watching my boyfriend try on suit after suit that look almost the same. But, as he points out, it’s not the same as me buying a dress because he will wear his suit once a week for three years – and I am going to hold him to this! A woman sits down next to me and tells me that her boyfriend has thousands of suits and the one Scott is trying on is too big, he should shoot for a smaller size. He tries on the smaller size, she is totally wrong, I guess her boyfriend owns thousands of suits that don’t fit. In the end he decides on a lovely black number that was the second suit he had tried on. Finally, we are ready to head to the lake.

Next Stop Rasthof Pforzhein

2007-06-04T01:46:00.000-07:00

We got up early and headed to Pforzheim for the passport. Upon being reunited with her wallet Erin checks and the cash contents are now down to 10 euros, so she passed on the idea of the reward. She then debated and ultimately decided against buying a Best of Depeche Mode cd for 8 euros, a decision she would later regret as the radio stations never miraculously improved during the hours long drive. Scott located a computer in the Rasthof and consulted the Michelin guide himself for our next meal. After much searching we discovered a restaurant with a warm kitchen and reasonable prices open until 3. The GPS got us only so close to the restaurant and every person I asked seemed to be a lunatic. We made it with 5 minutes to spare and had a nice lunch. Erin had bean soup, Scott had Schinken Wurst (which I have always thought was kind of like spam) and I had Multaschan (a kind of giant type of ravioli that is made in Southern Germany) with cheese. The wine for lunch was: Badischer Wessburundes Qualitates Troken 2005 (Scott loved it). The best thing that happened was Christian called and suggested that rather than shopping in Stuttgart we head to Metzingen where there is an outlet center with Hugo Boss where he could get a quality suit for cheap.

Scott Calls Dad For Resturant

2007-06-04T01:35:00.001-07:00

This was just too, too funny. Like a game of telephone, Scott relaying the pronunciation of his father's non-existent German and adding his own Spanish accent before telling me. In the end we just spelled everything.

On The Hunt For Dinner

2007-06-04T01:15:00.001-07:00

We check out the menu of a restaurant near the castle that someone on-line recommended but we don’t care for it. And Scott hits on the brilliant idea of calling his father and having him check out the Michelin Guide on-line and find out what is recommended in the area. There is some confusion about spellings and actual addresses, but in the end we get information on two places that sound good. We try for the first restaurant and can’t get the GPS to work properly and I get irritated and set off for the other restaurant called the Gasthof an See. This place is amazing. The food was wonderful and we ended our meals with giant ice-creams. Scott ordered schnitzel and I ordered some Schwabish specialty that wasn’t doing much for me so we went halves. Erin had an asparagus omelet containing lots of long white asparagus. The wine for the evening: Műller Thurgau Baden – KÖnigschaffhauser hasenberg veisser burgunder auslese trocken im barrique 1997. This was a great white I would bring home.

Erin on the Marienbruecke (Mary's Bridge)

2007-06-04T01:07:00.001-07:00

Maximilian II had built paths and lookout points in the area around Hohenschwangau in order to be able to enjoy the scenery. In the 1850s, as a birthday present for his mountain-climbing consort Marie, he had the iron bridge, the "Marienbrücke", built high above the Pöllat Gorge.

From the narrow mountain ridge known as the "Jugend" to the left of the Pöllat, there was a magnificent view of the mountains and lakes. Maximilian II loved this spot and planned to build a viewing pavilion there in 1855. Crown Prince Ludwig was often on the "Jugend".

Scott and I Overlooking one off the Glacial Lakes and A Little History

2007-06-04T00:59:00.001-07:00

When consturction began on the castle it was estimated that that Ludwig would be able to move into the castle within about three years. But the work proceeded at a painfully slow pace and more than a decade later, the castle was still not complete. In 1883 Wagner died, and the composer never actually set foot inside the castle that had been built in his honor. A year later, Ludwig decided to move in, even though the structure was still unfinished and the throne room was not yet ready to hold a throne. But the king resided there for a grand total of only eleven nights. After Ludwig died under suspicious circumstances in 1886 at the age of 41, construction on Neuschwanstein continued for another eight years. When the builders finally stopped, only a third of the rooms had been finished and decorated. Six weeks after he died the castle was opened to tourists.

Erin and Scott at the Castle Walls

2007-06-04T00:52:00.001-07:00

Although the Castle was designed to look medieval, it had quite modern refinements: hot air, running water, automatic flush toilets were all part of the royal residence.

“Hey Aren’t You…”

2007-06-01T01:39:00.000-07:00

Finally, we enter the castle. It is amazing, even better than the first time I saw it. It was built in the 1880’s, and they only show 6 rooms or so because Ludwig died before he could finish it. There is some disagreement about him truly being mad or just so out of touch with his people. The proximity alone of his castle compared to his father’s castle screams daddy issues, not to mention the whole building of the castle in the first place. As Scott pointed out “Who needs to build a castle in 1888? People had guns, think about it, it was the same time as our civil war.” Plus the whole idea of him being mad just adds to the mystique of the castle. We were nearing the end of the tour, just about to enter the Parsifal room (the whole building is dedicated to the operas of Wagner) when Erin gets tapped on the shoulder. Turns out that Erica’s friend Sue, who’s been living in England, just happened to be visiting Munich with her husband and father and just happened to be on our tour. The world does work in mysterious ways.

Onto Every Castle Some Rain Must Fall

2007-06-01T01:29:00.000-07:00

We decide to take a horse-drawn carriage up to the castle rather than walk in the rain. As soon as we sit down the carriage guy starts putting tarps on the sides of the carriage to ensure that we won’t see anything. In the end he moves us to the front sit where I sit next to an elderly French man whose waist is the size of my arm. We carry on a lovely conversation which consists of me pointing to things like the horse’s butt and saying the word in French. My 8^th grade French allows me to say about 4 things and conjugate some verbs. I am just getting through “marcher” when we pull up to our destination.

When It Rains It Is Torrential

2007-05-31T09:42:00.000-07:00

We pick up bag-less Scott at the train station. Erin hid in the bushes like paparazzi, taking pictures of our reunion, as I hadn’t seen him in days. Back at our inn we run into our hostess and tell her that we have located Erin’s passport but that Scott has no luggage and perhaps it was because she didn’t light a candle for him. She doesn’t realize we are joking and goes right in to light a candle and say a prayer, hey it can’t hurt. Just as we gather our stuff to head to the castle the rain starts.

Erin and Her Friend

2007-05-31T09:27:00.001-07:00

Paradise Regained, For 5 Long Minutes

2007-05-31T09:04:00.000-07:00

Tom calls us while Erin is in the shower and for a few seconds I am hopeful that we have regained the wallet, but no, he just wants to chat. Call waiting buzzes and it is Scott, who informs me that he has left his bag of clothes on the Strassenbahn. I am in shock and have no idea what to say; the idea of working through my jet lag to deal with another problem seems overwhelming. He says not to worry, he has spoken with someone, but he won’t make the train. I ring off with Scott and relay the news to Tom who is still on the other line. Then I shower and when I get out Christian calls: someone at the coffee shop has the wallet and there is even some money in it – about 50 Euros are missing. Erin has tears in her eyes when I tell her. We decide to go buy the latest tickets for the castle we can get in hopes that Scott will make it in time. With hours to kill Erin and I set out to a tourist attraction called the Weiskirch (church in the meadow). The story goes that there was a statue of Christ in the meadow that cried. The statue became a place for pilgrimages and the church was built around it to protect it and give the pilgrims a place to worship. As far as I can tell the statue isn’t crying any longer, and the pilgrimages seem to be made mostly by tourists. Then we set out to find lunch. Of course it is after 2:00 and we can’t find a restaurant with a warm kitchen. I realize I have no cash or cash card so we can’t just eat a doner kebab or fried fish sandwich because we need a restaurant that takes credit cards. After a half hour of searching we find an open Italian place – of course. Erin has some salmon with vegetables and I have a giant tomato soup that has tons of dried rosemary in it and tastes like it is the juice from a can of tomatoes. Luckily the salad that is with it is great; I can’t ever get enough of the German salads. And true to form the service is slow and I have to pick up Scott at the train station at 3:50, once again I feel that the world has conspired against me and I am not going to make it to see the first castle.

The View From Our Balcony

2007-05-31T08:56:00.001-07:00

This is pretty late at night, right before we went to dinner.

A God Fearing Breakfast

2007-05-28T11:10:00.000-07:00

I wake up and hit the car again looking for the passport, I find nothing. Erin hits the car and looks, we tear the room apart and still find nothing. It’s ok, I think, this is Germany, people turn in missing stuff all the time. Once I left two pairs of brand new shoes and a jacket in a bag in an H&M in Stuttgart and when I went back to the H&M they were waiting for me. Plus, I have the added advantage of the fact that I have thought about the problem all night, and have figured out entirely what we will do. First I will discuss it with our host – the gentleman who checked us in last night – and ask him if he could help us call the rest area. If we do not locate it there, we will go to the police to make a report, then call the consulate heading to Munich or Stuttgart and get a new passport. The plan doesn’t go totally as planned because when we head down to breakfast the woman of the house is the one serving us and she isn’t quite as genial as her husband. I explain the situation and tell her that we need to call the rest area in Pforzeim – the one of the lovely macchiato – and see if someone turned in the passport. She goes into the back of the house the returns to tell me they don’t have a phone book for towns that far away and we should go to the Post office to look up the number. I am seeing that I am not going to get any help here, so I start to formulate Plan B in my mind. Meanwhile the woman is talking up a hurricane at Erin, and I say “at” because Erin doesn’t speak any German and she is smiling sweetly as the woman goes on and on. The woman is actually being kindly, but her face and tone seem the opposite. She grabs Erin by her ear with what is supposed to be a thoughtful, gentle touch (“oh, you poor dear, I will pray for you!”), but is interpreted by Erin as a scolding (“what were you thinking, leaving your passport at a rasthof!”). We go upstairs to enact Plan B – call Christian to the rescue. The poor boy worked the night before and didn’t get home until 3 AM, but we really needed him because I just felt like I couldn’t handle the language end of it. We wake him up and ask him to call information, track down the rest area, and call to find the passport. He calls back, says information can’t give him a number for something as vague as “Rasthof Porzheim.” “Think about it, Alexis,” he says, tiredly, “you can’t just call and ask information for the number of the Molly Pitcher rest area on the Jersey Turnpike.” Put that way it does seem reasonable that this task is going to be a bit more difficult. For once, I think, my messy nature may help me and perhaps the name of the coffee place is on the cups that are still sitting in the car. No such luck there, but I do find the coffee receipt with not only the name of the stop but phone number and web address (that’s right, the rest stop has a website). I call Christian with the info. Back in the house our hostess tells me she has lit a candle on Erin’s behalf to Mother Mary and that Erin should pray to Saint Anthony. Meanwhile, Christian calls the coffee shop. Then he, Tom, Erin and I trade five phone calls where we impart more information about the incident, and Christian reprimands me about not dealing with this the night before. Thanks German-Brother, if I had known before midnight that this was going to happen I would have been sure to do something about it. Finally, Christian calls saying he has found a manager who will call him back if he locates the wallet. Christian is the voice of doom telling me that because there was cash in there that we are never getting the passport back. My hope is springing eternal, or perhaps I have a romantic view of Germany as a place where honest, helpful people still live.

Paradise Lost, Along with a Passport

2007-05-28T10:26:00.000-07:00

After driving for four hours Erin and I enter what looks like paradise. A small red-roofed village framed by distant Alps. We pull off the road just to bask in the beauty. I try hard to imprint the view in my mind and snap a few photos before we continue. I would like to tarry a bit longer but as a result of the rest area’s closed bathroom I may lose my friend to a burst bladder. The decision to move on is any easy one. Finally, we arrive at Guest House Weiher, our home for the next two days. Our small wood-paneled room has two beds and balcony with a beautiful view of the castle. It is already about 9:00 and we decide to get something to eat and then decide against showering. We head into the town of Schwangau to find a restaurant our host has marked on a map. Only, we can’t find it. The town appears to have one main road with about 4 roads leading off of it, so it shouldn’t be difficult. We decide we are either directionally challenged or suffering from impaired thought process due to hunger. We park and walk the small street where the only thing we can find open is an Italian restaurant. So much for my idea of eating only white asparagus while in Germany, it is the season after all. We sit, we order, and despite the fact that ethnicity of the food was marring my perfect German evening, I find I enjoy it. In fact Erin’s pizza is far better than any pizza I have had in Washington or New York for the past three years.

It is when the bill arrives tragedy arrives with it. Erin can’t find her wallet. We are tired, and dirty, and if we weren’t full of Italian food (and in 2007) we could be Dickens characters. But, I have plastic and an unwavering belief that we are going to find the wallet, filled with cash, passport, credit cards and identification in our lovely auto, or in our room. No such luck. We go to bed. I don’t fall asleep until about 3 am thinking about what we will do if we can’t find the passport.

Autobahn Schmatobahn

2007-05-28T10:24:00.000-07:00

After about an hour we have settled into the autobahn driving and we are ready to go all out on the perfectly smooth, no-speed limit-having road in our fabulously pick-up free car. Sadly, while the Autobahn is lovely, rush hour seems to be the same in every country. After driving for about three hours, it’s time to stop for a snack and toilet. We pull off the exit advertising “Rasthof Pforzheim” and walk into a rest area featuring 2 Euro 50 diet cokes and a coffee stand. Erin treats us to coffee to go – me a particularly wonderful macchiato and Erin a cappuccino. I also get a buttered pretzel because of course I am starving and can’t find anything other than the pretzel and cake. We take the coffees to a side table to put the lids on (this is where Erin believes she was distracted by the complimentary piece of chocolate that came with the coffee). Then while searching out the out-of-order bathroom we notice the extremely delectable looking hot food bar. Oh, well. Since the bathroom is out of order and our little truck is holding at above half a tank of gas the rest area doesn’t hold much else for us.

That is Your Luggage? You Need a Bigger Car

2007-05-28T10:21:00.000-07:00

We are forced to upgrade from the tiniest car to a bigger one on account of our luggage – which we know is all my shoes. Yes, Universe, I am listening; I will pack lighter in the future. We are now the proud drivers of a silly looking Toyota Rav 4 but at least it is a diesel. Best of all, it comes with a GPS (and plenty of shoe room). Armed with GPS and a local map containing 4 streets, we set off – two girls to conquer the Autobahn.

Danté Missed One: The Frankfurt Airport

2007-05-27T13:46:00.000-07:00

I might be exaggerating here, because what should have been Danté’s 10^th Circle of Hell really isn’t a circle. It’s more a never ending series of connected escalators, walkways and a skytram, but every path leads in someway to more of the same.

Erin is waiting when I wander off the plane. That is a wonderful sight. We eat and then start our Long March around the airport to find our rental car company which is listed on the confirmation as being outside of the airport. After a fruitless hour, we are no closer to finding our car company, but at least we have located the car rental section of the airport. We sidle up to one of the car rental counters and I break out my best German.

“Excuse me, can you (polite form) tell me where I can find Dollar Rent-a-car” She has no idea, she lists off all of the rental car companies that have desks in the airport gesturing to each counter as she does so. Off we set again. 1,000 bags filled with shoes in tow. A kindly lady tells us to go to another terminal, another car rental person tells us to go downstairs to E9 – whatever that might be. We follow all directions and get no closer to our prize. We come across an information booth; I go to ask and the woman behind the counter points to the corner and tells me there is a phone. A nice big phone with a sign under it that says “Dollar Rent A Car;” we have probably passed this phone several times. I pick up the phone and it connects directly; we are saved. We pull our cart and its mountainous pile of luggage outside and wait in the Departures section of the airport for our shuttle – because when you think rental car pick-up you think Departure!

Iceland Cometh

2007-05-27T13:00:00.001-07:00

I wake on the plane to some woman leaning over my aisle-seat and craning her neck to look out the window. Ugh, I roll my head the other way, the view is breathtaking, with the sun raising just above the horizon. The two people next to me are soundly asleep. I wonder how that shade got open?

Anyway You Cut It You Are Boarding a Plane to Some Simulated America

2007-05-27T12:53:00.001-07:00

Standing in line waiting to board the plane I overhear a young Iceland air worker extolling his bountiful knowledge of Iceland on passengers boarding the plane “it’s expensive.” The rather large man in front starts asking questions. “Have you been to Iceland?” The worker answers: “No, but I know it’s expensive.”

Man: “I heard about this place called the American Café, it’s supposed to have really good hamburgers.”

Worker: “It’s expensive too.”

Me under my breath: “And ridiculous.”

Why do people go to other counties to look for an authentic version of their own? And, of course, are invariably either disappointed or amused by the fact that the foreign versions of America just don’t get it quite right.

You Must Get Call Waiting if You Want the Universe’s Messages to Reach You

2007-05-27T12:48:00.000-07:00

First, Scott’s back goes out. Here we are set for the vacation of my dreams and my poor man is unable to get out of bed. I think I want to go so badly that I will summon that kind of strength they always used to talk about on “That’s Incredible” when moms lifted cars off of children, and physically carry him on the plane. The only problem is that we – Erin, Scott and I – are all flying out of different airports at different times. Scott comes up with a plan that requires him staying at home at least one day longer for his back to heal and meeting us in Southern Germany. It should all be ok, German trains are fairly reliable and he is seasoned traveler.

Second, Erin calls. Her flight from National to Chicago is being delayed and there is no way she will make her connection to Frankfurt. After a few rapid texts she apparently gets on another flight because I don’t hear from her after she tells me she is trying to get on another flight.

Third, I wait for an hour to get to the security counter and when I finally get through the metal detector I am asked for my boarding pass and passport. I handover passport and notice at that moment that the tickets are not in it where they should be. This calls for a high alert – on my part and an extremely unhelpful reaction from the metal detector worker who just tells me I have to wait on the other side. I point out I don’t have bags to search through for my tickets. He sends someone to pick one up, I search it, nothing. I ask for the second bag, again search and find nothing. I’ve basically given up hope and start to think that maybe I’m just not meant to get to Germany when an alert security person notices me with stockinged feet, two bags, a hat and a bewildered look staring at the security process and points out that there are two tickets laying on the ground near her feet. I inch toward them. Ahh, I can get on the plane, but should I?

I call Scott:

“Hi, its Alexis, I think the universe is trying to tell me not to get on the plane, your back, Erin’s flight and possible person in the ether, I lost my tickets and a stream of babies got through the line first and now nothing is open for me to get food. I’m starving and these are portents like the ancient Greeks’. I am Greek you know?”

“Huh? What? Babies? The world telling you something? What are you talking about?”

“I just think that maybe I shouldn’t get on the plane. The world is sending me all of these messages and I’m not listening.”

"The world doesn’t send you messages. Hold on, I’m at work, I have another call.”

Nervous energy increases. What is the world trying to tell me? Will my bag be searched? Will they discover the 2 kilos of pickled dilly beans I have hidden in my suitcase for the German boys? Or worse yet, will they discover the unreasonable amount of shoes that I packed? Will they take me into a dark room with one blindingly, bare light bulb hanging from a fixture and feed me to the shoe Gastapo who will one-by-one break the heels off of beautiful shoes until I give in and agree to pack more sensibly for the next trip?

Scott comes back on the line. “Honey, the universe is not sending you signs, please think of it this way – anything that is worth it comes with some trouble to make you appreciate it. You are going to be fine. Have a great flight and I will see you in a day or two.”

“Ok” I sigh, thinking to myself that he can say that because he doesn’t know about the whole bag of shoes that is being flagged right now by security.

When is the Choice to Have Children Just Too Selfish?

2007-05-27T12:41:00.000-07:00

I am pondering this very question, stomach growling, as I watch the family previously standing behind me move to the front of the security line at BWI. I am pretty sure that having a child so you can move ahead in a security line isn’t the right reason. But, there was only one security line to walk through, and I can’t help think about it. The very sweet couple behind the couple with the baby point to a sign that says “for parents with small children and people who need extra help.” The parents with the small child behind me avail themselves of the newly presented passage, while the happy people behind them rejoice in either the good citizenship award they are sure to receive, or because by removing said family they are under the false impression that they will move up in the line. False impression because as I stated before there was only one line so the family and all others who need extra help merely went to the front of our line. Did I mention that my stomach was growling – out loud? As I am wondering if this “constitutes extra help” I notice that there is a mad dash now of all the parents to get in the extra help line. Half the babies are sleeping, do parents really need to move to the front of the line when the baby is sleeping? I’m not trying to be hard hearted, but, airport security makes you take the baby out of the stroller and that extra help you have just taken advantage of has disadvantaged you and (and those behind you who are hungry and waiting in line) because your once sleeping baby is now awake and crying. I do decide that having a baby to get through security lines might not be so practical, but I am so hungry that delusion has set in and it suddenly doesn’t feel like such a bad idea, on top of that I am quite sure that my growling stomach is making much more noise than the sleeping baby.