Mein Leben in BumFeldmochingF*ck

New German Word - Embarrassed (Sich Schämen)

2010-05-20T15:46:00.052+02:00

As in, I was so embarrassed I could have died. Ich habe mich so zutiefst geschämt, dass ich sterben wollte.

But I didn't die and therefore I blog. Here is my shame for your enjoyment. Schadenfreude at its best. About once a year the water-meter-reader man comes around and checks our water usage. (As an aside, do you think if you had to tell people that you were a water-meter-reader a thousand times you'd get tired of it? I think it's mighty fun to say. I'm a Water-Meter-Reader and I'm currently dating a lady named Sally. She sells seashells...)

Anyway, there are no surprises here. They tell you two weeks in advance and give you a time slot. He comes in, checks the meter, writes a few numbers down on his clipboard and is off. Our water meter happens to be located in our bathroom and looks like this.

Now, we've touched on my Hausfrau skills before and there is, to be sure, some improvement to be made. But then there is also the practical side of me which said, "just clean the bathroom because that's all he'll see." And that's what I did, or to be shamefully honest, that's what Thomas did. The man who wakes up every morning at six to bring home the euros cleaned the bathroom before work while I lazed in bed. As if there weren't enough reasons to adore him. I seriously need to get on the scorecard soon. But I had, really had, intended to clean the bathroom myself and indeed I did squirt the meter with a little Windex to make them all shiny and purty and whatnot. I even ran a broom over the front entrance hall off which the bathroom lies.

So the Meter Reader Man shows up and it's not one but two men in official looking work uniforms and they have buckets and toolboxes and a whole host of other stuff that generally doesn't interest me. MRM #1 asks me (I can only presume because I really didn't understand him) where the water meter is and I point to the bathroom. WRM #2 asks me to take him to the kitchen. The kitchen? My kitchen? With the half-eaten frozen pizza on the table, the breakfast dishes (ahh hell, last night's dinner dishes) still in the sink? The kitchen in which the wine and beer bottles destined for recycling are currently fighting each other for counter space? The kitchen with the spaghetti-sauce plastered floor that I really have been meaning to mop. Right after I do the windows. That kitchen is right here, sir.

Turns out, it was sort of a whole water overhaul thing. It involved wrenches and washers and water pressure meters and water run off - hence the buckets. It also involved checking the thermostats on the radiators in every room. Yes, that's right every room. On a scale of 1-10 I'd say my house was on firm five footing which is to say that one need not fear for rats and roaches but if dust bunnies are your thing, well then as the iconic Bob Barker used to say...Come oooon down. Fortunately, I had made the bed in the bedroom because it was Wednesday. And I make the bed. Every. Wednesday.

As he moved from room to room, my panic increased. With every new door opened my stomach lurched deeper and my face turned redder. Because, lucky contestants, behind door number three was this:

What no man (other than my husband) was ever meant to see. As proof positive please find exhibit A: the closed curtains lest a nosy neighbor try to get a peek in. Now in all fairness to me, this is not the normal state of this room. About three weeks ago, in a fit of spring fever brought on by a warm, sunny day, I decided to do a great clothes purge. Change out the winter clothes for summer clothes. Get rid of anything that didn't fit. Wash and iron anything destined for summer wear. Et cetera, et cetera. Just one problem. The sun disappeared after that day and hasn't reappeared since. We've had the coldest, rainiest month of May in 20 years. I think in the last 17 days the sun had appeared once just to taunt and jeer. So, instead of tank tops I am still wearing sweaters on a daily basis. Needless, to say, I couldn't really put away my winter clothes and I lost the momentum for purging and prepping my summer clothes so I just left everything in a state of tried on, didn't fit, threw it on floor, chair, bed, bookcase. Oh, and the wet towel on the ironing board. That was from this morning. I took it out of the bathroom because I wanted the bathroom to look nice and clean. Respectable-like. Bite, I'd like you to meet my ass.

I was horrified. He actually had to climb over two huge plastic bags of too-smalls to get to the thermostat. I wanted to say, "I'm donating those," hoping he'd think I was generous, warm-hearted - any descriptor other than disgusting slob. But I don't know the German word for donate and I thought he might think I was trying to offer my wrinkled crap as some sort of bribe for lowering our reported water usage so I just tried to look all cool and un-phased as he tripped over a giant dust bunny munching on a lone Converse sneaker.

So what have I learned? It is important to have a presentable home at all times. So, if it ever stops raining and the sun comes out for longer than a factory man's lunch-break, I will get my June Cleaver on and do some serious spring cleaning. But until then, I'll just shut the door.

Rainbows and Butterflies

2010-05-17T13:45:00.013+02:00

Auf Deutsch: Regenbogen und Schmetterlinge. Regenbogen, okay. I'll accept that one as Regen is rain and Bogen is arch (or bow). So that sort of makes sense. But Schmetterling??? It sounds like something you scrape off the bottom of your shoe after using the public bathroom in the train station. I know. I know. Rainbows and butterflies are beautiful in any language and in any country. Still, let's just enjoy them silently, shall we?

p.s. Yes, it is STILL raining in Munich.

Back To School - Again

2010-05-12T14:03:00.021+02:00

But not without a fight. No, not like me refusing to get out of my nice, warm bed and Thomas pulling the sheets off me while yelling, "We paid for this and you are going," (although that may or may not have happened on occasion). More like me having to defend my right to pursue further education. Who woulda' thunk?

Having taken five months off from school (yikes, has it really been that long?) I decided to continue German language classes at the Volkshochschule (adult education school). You have to register in person for anything beyond entry level classes so I headed out last week to register. I had printed out the paper with the exact information for the course I was interested in and also brought along the official certifate stating that I had passed my B1 level exam.

First stop lower level where I confirm that there are still openings for the class. Second stop, upper level where I have to complete the registration paperwork so that I once again can return to the first level to pay. All manageable. Or so I thought.

I hand the registration Frau the paper with the B2 course information and tell her I'd like to enroll and then I produce my B1 certificate. The woman starts shaking her head and tells me that "I can't enroll for the class because it is a B2 level and I am only at the B1 level. "I have completed the B1 level," I say as I point to my certificate. She tells me the certificate shows that I have made it TO the B1 level and I say (politely), "No, the certificate states that I have made it THROUGH the B1 level." I tell her that a friend of mine, with the exact same class experience has already signed up for this class. She remains unconvinced and says she has to check with a colleague and so gets up to call the presumed German Oz. After some discussion on the phone she comes back and says NOT "I'm sorry, you were right." BUT "I think you would still be better off in a B1 level course. I think this course will be too hard for you." Huh?

I'm thinking, I've said all of 20 words and I'm fairly certain I said them correctly since I rehearsed them, oh, approximately 800 times on the train ride into the city. What gives? I mean, I know I didn't wear a business suit or anything but it's not like I had on my stupid hat either. What's a stupid hat? This is a stupid hat - favored by Bavarians during festivals such Oktoberfest.

People who wear this hat are prone to doing stupid things like drinking out of it or even worse....

So, back on point. I want to pay to voluntarily learn the language of a people who wear hats like this and I am being rebuffed? By an adult education class? Would I have gotten farther with, "Guten Tag, I'd like to sign up for the Building a Better Bonsai class."? What's that, you say? You think this class may be too EASY for me and I should really consider Cement Chemical Composition: Creating a More Concrete Future? Thank you soooo much for realizing my potential.

At this point, She Who Cannot Admit Wrong launches into this whole spiel (which by the way is a German word from das Spiel (game) used in the colloquial sense as in "to blather") about how everyone always wants to be in the higher level and it's not fair to the teacher and the other students. I tell her I did well in my other classes and I have no doubt I can manage this class. She waves her hands and says, "Oh, everybody always says that but the reality is very different." She tells me there is a lot of difficult grammar and a lot of vocabulary in this level and I would really be so much better off reviewing the B1 level. I tell her I would rather have it be too hard than too easy. She's not budging. She says it is better to review than to be overwhelmed. I say I have all day to study. And on and on and on. Seriously, do you think I want to learn your language so badly that I'm going to don my dirndl and jump into a quark-filled boxing ring to wrestle it out with you? Quite frankly, I'd rather wear one of those stupid hats.

After ten minutes of back and forth during which my German skills plummeted to 3 year-old child tantrum level, I finally said, "Is there no way I can sign up for this class?" And she said, "I strongly advise you against it. I think you will be very unhappy and you will want to quit." Which is basically all I needed to hear cuz just tell me "no" in any language (Swahili, for example, "hapana") and watch me roll.

ME: But when you still have places free, which you do, and I want to sign up for this EXACT class, which I do, you cannot tell me NEIN, oder?
SWCAW: Stare that borders on a glare. Shuffles papers. Shrug shoulders.
ME: Also, gut. Then I would like to sign up for this class. Today. Now.

To conclude: she is not my new bestest friend ever. School starts on Tuesday.

To update: day one down and I can tell you right from the git go, I ain't the dumbest muffin in class. And She Who Cannot Admit Wrong really needn't have worried about my quitting. I guarantee you I'll die of boredom first.

A Time to Sow and a Time to Sew

2010-04-24T05:04:00.001+02:00

It's been so nice to spend some time with my family this last week. By far, the hardest part of living abroad is missing family and friends. Email, hour-long phone calls, Skype - they are simply not a comparable replacement for sleepy kids crawling into bed with you, chatting over a cup of tea, Little Debbies with Dad and just time in the company of my family who always make me laugh and always make me feel home. Just home.

I'm loving all things Maine at the moment. Spring. Here for real unlike the teasing spring I left behind in Munich. The smell of the pine needles, daffodils waving in the late afternoon breeze coming up off the ocean, fresh cut grass and dirt. Yup, dirt. Dad and I spent yesterday at the community garden that operates as part of a 4-H summer camp for kids. It was so simple. Sun. Sky. Seeds. I'm struck again and again by the strong sense of community in Maine. A bunch of people getting together to sow some seeds so that kids can learn that beans grow on vines and snap peas don't come wrapped in cellophane.

Onto sewing... I spent last week in NJ visiting the sibs and was able to spend most of Sunday sewing with my niece who is turning into quite the accomplished seamstress. She's got a great eye for color and style and is a much better sewer than I was at her age. This skirt is her latest creation from a tutorial you can find here. I'm proud of you, Paige.

Autobahn vs. Audubon

2010-04-20T16:41:00.004+02:00

What's the difference between life in Germany and life in Maine?

Swans in the backyard = Germany.

Wild turkeys in the backyard = Maine.

Walk This Way (Or, the BFMF Virtual Tour)

2010-04-07T18:00:00.017+02:00

Now that spring is here in fits and spurts I've been able put aside exercise DVDs and get outside to exercise. So, screw you Tony Horton and all your P90X friends who invaded my cold, cold basement to mock me with your freakishly taut faces and cement-filled pecs and glutes. Perhaps, yes just perhaps, it's possible that I'm slightly bitter because after nearly three months of looking at this man's Grecian Formula dyed noggin I am still unable to do one pull-up. And how pathetic that my push-up prowess seems to max out at five (and if we are being completely honest, my form goes down the crapper after the second one).

Tony's motto is, "Do your best, forget the rest." My motto is, "Hey, it's better than nothing." You know that part where Tony breezily says (between his 29th and 30th pull-up) that most people give up waaaaay before they've reached their max burn? Yeah, that's the part that usually finds me and my tuckus plopped on the sofa couch flipping through decorating magazines from the 90's. Thanks for the tip, Ton hon, but I'll think I'll just sit this round out while you and your fellow aerial gymnasts slash aspiring actors slash brain surgeons slash Miss Utah runner-ups slash GAP models circa 2003 grunt out another set of one-handed, reverse spin pull-ups with a bench squat breather in between. Hey, whatever happened to the stencil craze anyway??

I have a walking loop that takes me around both our lakes and is about 7 miles start to finish. One foot in front of the other - that's an exercise routine that I can manage. I even got a blister so do not get all up in my face Horton and accuse me of cowardice when faced with building core muscle mass cuz I limped my spare change back home like the true Nike geriatric advertisement that I am.

View BFMF Walk in a larger map

The loop starts at the southern tip of Lake Fasanerie and winds around past the swans...

to the northern tip where the retirees hang every day drinking beer and shooting the scheisse.

From there we knock off a few decades and pass the skate park which is basically a living testament to the gospel of Ed Hardy and Converse.

Then we get to the grilling area. The accursed grilling area where my best intentions of living a healthy lifestyle filled with organic-cotton underwear and wheatgerm-garnished entrees is diabolically undermined by the aroma of charred flesh speared on metal skewers. I am concurrently repulsed and yet drawn like a moth to a hickory-smoked flame. Few people understand the woes of a vegan wanna-be with an Achilles heel for cased meats and lighter fluid-laced meat. Sigh.

Fortunately, the scent of shish kebab is quickly replaced by the nostril tingling odor of freshly churned manure. What's that you ask? Why, again, do you call it BumFeldmochingF*ck? Observe...

Past the cabbages and the turnips we hit Feldmochinger Lake. Same procedure as Fasanerie except that there is an all-nude sunbathing area at this lake unlike Fasanerie which seems to top out at topless. Yup, I peek. Every. Time. And I always think of my younger brother who was 14 the first time my family traveled to Europe. While walking through a public park in Switzerland rife with topless sunbathers he suddenly and inexplicably faced a reoccurring wardrobe malfunction. His shoelaces kept coming untied. And untied. And untied. My father finally figured out that every time my brother bent down to retie his laces, he was sneaking a covert underarm gape. Clever boy. Still works like a charm.

After my gawker stalker lap around Feldmochinger Lake I trace my steps backward until I end up here...

This is approximately 200 yards from my house. It is a rescue / observation station that is replacing the old, small rescue shack. It's big and my sinking fear is that there are plans to put a little snack bar on the lower level. Which means cased meat. Grilled. Wafting. Waiting. Oh so patiently waiting for my triumphant return. Unless I go all Winona Ryder and glut myself to the point of puking on Farmer Fritz's five-finger discounted rutabaga, I could end the summer significantly larger than I started. Looks like I'll be seeing you in November, Tony.

Swinging in Berlin

2010-03-31T20:41:00.297+02:00

My friend Marika and I met in Berlin for a little 3-day yoga get-away. We stayed at Aspria, a full service fitness club that also has guest rooms. It's a pretty cool concept that lets you work out as much or as little as you want with all the benefits of an upscale hotel. There are about 25-30 classes a day that you can participate in covering the full range: tae bo, pilates, qi gong, step, spinning, every imaginable yoga discipline and on and on and on. Basically, you can burn off the breakfast buffet by ten a.m.

We weren't quite so aggressive in our efforts choosing one morning to create our own sport called shopwalking which consists of putting on your sneakers and spandex, tucking a credit card into your waistband and then walking out the door of the hotel and hitting every cute boutique within a five mile (eeerr kilometer must think in metric) radius. We did, however, partake in something called Antigravity Yoga. I had my fingers crossed that I would emerge from the class with the legendary "yoga butt" that gravity currently oh-so-cruelly denies me. No such luck. Instead, we found ourselves swinging in orange vertical hammock-type thingies. Seriously. It was like an audition for a Three Stooges themed Cirque du Soleil.

(pictures from Crunch Gym and Om Factory)

It was not pleasant. First, you spend half of the class hanging upside down which means you spend the other half of the class fighting a severe case of head rush. Second, wrapping your wrists and legs in cloth while swinging upside down carrying your entire body weight is not comfortable. It's certainly not uplifting to have to dig a wedge of cloth out from the chubby slice of flesh between your abundant hips and overflowing thighs. Thirdly, and most disgustingly, the hanging hammock thingies stunk. Bad. Like never seen the inside of a German-engineered Miele washing machine bad. At the end of the class you cocoon your whole body in the hammock and gently sway back and forth in a sort of swinging Savasana. Let me tell you, being encased in a bacteria-infested, sweat-stinking silk scarf is not relaxing. I must have looked like an alien baby being born as my elbows and knees frantically punched out my orange womb moments before my claustrophobic head emerged gasping for air.

Then there was the whole naked thing. I just can't get used to it. I can't. I'm American and you can fill in the blank when it comes to sexuality / body image here__________ but I was raised in the generation of women who never took showers after gym because there were no shower curtains on the shower stalls. The idea of other girls seeing you naked was just, well, horrifying.

So men and women, complete strangers, walking around sans clothing and sans self-consciousness is foreign to me. I just can't grasp it. To me naked = sex or something in the vicinity thereof. I'm not saying that's healthy. I'm just saying. I can't seem to grasp how in a spa or sauna or beach a clear line is drawn that says naked is natural not sexual. I don't get how you can play cards at the beach with your neighbor and his wife and not compare his wife's goods to your wife's goods. And vice versa for the fraus. "Is it just me, Silke or do these Bratwurst look smaller than normal?" Wink. Wink. Protocol instructs that you are not supposed to look and you are never supposed to stare. Not that you'd want to. Most of the bodies you would have to love to like but still... they're naked! How can you not look?

Me? I admit it. I'm looking at the whole lot of you. Naked lady lying on the lounger reading gossip mag with one leg draped casually over your knee thus exposing all your girly bits. Yup, I'm looking at you. Hot chick with Brazilian bikini wax and suspiciously perky Lady Janes. Yup, I'm looking at you. Fat guy picking lint out of your belly button - I'm trying really, really hard not to look at you. When I see two cute naked guys step out of the sauna and run their hands through their glossy, damp hair I get all jiggly inside. Like I'm in high school again trying to choose between Ponch and Jon. Jon, he's so all-American. No wait, Ponch he's so dark and sexy. But Jon's so nice. But Ponch's smile. Ponch. Jon. Ponch. Jon. Hey, why not both! It's the eighties! And they're...they're...naked! When I call my husband later that night and say between giggles, "honey, I saw a cute, naked guy today and it wasn't you" I begin to think that perhaps I lack the maturity to properly assimilate into this country. When my husband's response is to ask in horror, "You didn't try to take a picture did you?" I begin to think I might not be the only one questioning my maturity.

Overall, it was a really sweet get-away. Yoga, shopping, talking (in glorious, glorious English), great food, talking, massages, napping, talking, bagging expensive dinner out in favor of hanging in the hotel room with wine and cheese, talking, yoga, talking, more shopping, walking, walkshopping, napping, bagging second Hatha II yoga class in favor of more food, shopping and talking. Yeah, all good.

p.s. I would have taken a picture of the cute, naked guy but I was naked and didn't have anywhere to put my camera ;)

Dinner at ???

2010-03-28T23:02:00.074+02:00

We had friends for dinner last night and I had sort of a Hausfrau breakthrough. Typically, as our guests are pushing the buzzer at exactly 7:00 (yes, the stereotype is true, Germans are exceptionally prompt) I am in full hysteria mode. Half-dressed, flour strewn across counter tops, glob of butter affixed to my nose, second degree burns on right hand from forgetting to use hot pad when pulling casserole dish out of the oven while simultaneously trying to dress a salad with a homemade vinaigrette reduction.

Not this time. I was on it. On. It

The Menu

Appetizer: Antipasto and Aperol Spritzs
Main Course: Lasagna, garlic bread, arugula salad with shaved Parmesan
Dessert: Strawberry shortcake with fresh whipped creme

The Timing

Guests due to arrive at 7:30. At 6:25 the lasagna elements are complete and ready for assembly and insertion into the oven at 7:00. Strawberries hulled, macerated and refrigerated. Salad prepared with dressing laying in wait. Garlic bread seasoned and wrapped in foil. Antipasto assortment prepared and ready for plating at 7:25. Me? Showered and dressed. The only thing left to do? Make the shortbread a quick 15 minute venture that I plan to kick out after sticking the lasagna in the oven. Leaving a whopping 15 minutes to run a comb through my locks and apply lip gloss. Kiss. Kiss. The long and short of it? I had a whole half hour to spare. I am rocking this Hausfrau thing. Rocking. It.

So, I decided to check email with the free time. As I sit down at my computer my husband says to me:

TK: What are you doing?
ME: Checking my email.
TK: Now? They're going to be here any minute.
ME: Nuh uh. It's only six-thirty.
TK: Yeah, they're coming at six-thirty.
ME: (controlled hysteria) But you told me they were coming at seven-thirty.
TK: I did?
ME: Yes, you DID.
TK: I said, "halb sieben."
ME: NOOOO, you said seven-thirty!

Brief Language Instruction Interlude

Telling time in German is a bit different than telling time in English.
In English, we say seven-thirty meaning half AFTER seven. 7:30
In German, they say halb sieben meaning half BEFORE seven. 6:30

Back to our previulsy scheduled programing

ME: NOOOO, YOU SAID SEVEN-THIRTY!!!!! (now in full-blown hysteria)
TK: I said seven-thirty? I meant halb sieben.
ME: Which is 6:30 which is NOOOOWWWW!!!!
TK: Can I do something to help?

I was not pleased. Really. Not. Pleased. Fortunately, we have the coolest friends in the world so when the buzzer sounded at halb sieben/six-thirty we mixed a drink and they joined us in the kitchen. It was a great night with good friends.

But I was still really peeved with TK. Bordering on pissed. Or, as we say in German "stinksauer" pronounced stink sour (a new favorite word). No, not because he screwed up the time. It goes much deeper than that. You see, since moving to Germany I've been somewhat off-kilter. I couldn't seem to find my niche. I don't work. I don't have offspring. I didn't have friends for a long time. I gave the Hausfrau thing a good go but I don't think I'll ever make it to German standards. The idea of someone randomly ringing my bell for an impromptu Kaffee and Kuchen paralyzes me with fear. Proper Hausfraus are always prepared for company. There is always a fresh pastry in a tidy breadbox. A good Hausfrau's home is always spotless. That is their job. They take it seriously. They sweep the stoop and the driveway. Every. Day. They wash the kitchen floor. Every. Day.

My idea of doing the laundry every day goes something like this. Monday - wash laundry. Remove from dryer. Throw dry laundry on living room couch. Tuesday - fold laundry and place on coffee table five minutes before TK gets home from work so that I appear to have had a productive day. Wednesday - move folded laundry to bed. This is preceded by my making the bed. I make the bed. Every. Wednesday. Wednesday night. Move the folded laundry off the bed to the chest beside the bed. Thursday - put laundry away. In. Drawers. And. Shit. Friday - rest. Whew. So it's not like I'd found my niche with the whole Hausfrau thing either.

But there was one area in which I excelled. One challenge which I could master in every situation. One talent which I truly considered my niche. Language Idiot. I am the one who can not form simple sentences. I am the one who who stares blankly into German faces when asked anything beyond "what is your name?" I am the one who has to count on my fingers when told the movie starts at 20:00. Me. Me. ME! I am the language idiot. Not you, my dear bi-lingual husband. You are messing with my niche and that is just so... Not. Cool.

Breaking-In the Biergarten

2010-03-27T22:51:00.003+01:00

It's nice having friends here. Finally. It's really nice having such an international group of friends here. One of the best benefits of German language classes is that you meet other people in the same situation but with very different back stories. Our little group consists of Spain, China, Greece, and Japan. German is our only common language so it's a great way to socialize and practice your German at the same time.

Yesterday was supposed to be a gorgeous spring day so we decided to meet up at the Chinesischer Turm Biergarten in the Englischer Garten. I was sweating as I ordered my beer. Just as I was lamenting that we were going to bypass spring and head straight into summer, the storm clouds blew in and our potato chip bag blew away. From sweating to wishing for a sweater in half a beer. Looks like spring will put in an appearance after all.

Brotzeit Birthday

2010-03-22T23:40:00.002+01:00

The twins turned 37 on Saturday. We enjoyed family time over the weekend including a traditional Bavarian Brotzeit. Brotzeit makes for a perfect Sunday evening meal when nobody feels like cooking but you still want a little German Gemütlichkeit (comfortable meal with friends/family). It's a lighter meal than say, the pot roast that we had on Saturday (coincidentally the first gorgeous spring day we'd had so not exactly pot roast weather). A lighter meal that is, ahem, unless you mainline the Obatzda cheese spread like Bobby Brown on a crack binge and then wash it down with several Edelstoffs. I'd go into more detail but my arteries are so clogged that the circulation to my fingers is compromised which makes typing h...a....rd.

The birthday boys.

Spring Is Finally Here

2010-03-20T15:03:00.002+01:00

A moment of silence please...

Essential Oils

2010-03-10T15:08:00.007+01:00

Big deal, right? Olive oil, an avocado and a cilantro garnish. Well, this represents a small victory for me. Shopping in Germany has provided me with some challenges and some opportunities. Instead of a once a week trip to the A&P or Whole Foods, I've become accustomed to the German way of making a trip to the market every day or every other day. I find I waste a lot less food this way because I buy only what I am actually going to cook that day or the next. So different from the US where the weekly excursion was influenced by cravings, coupons and clever merchandising. And I was never one to plan a week full of meals in advance. I had a mish mash approach that yielded a lot more mash than mish. And, truth be told, a lot of food went off because we got home so late from work and I was just not motivated to cook. Far easier to stop at Greek Delights and get take-out.

One of the biggest challenges about shopping in Germany is that I can't count on one store for all my needs. Living in BFMF, it's not as simple as a stroll down Main Street to stores A, B and C with a stop at a cafe in between. Main street for me includes: a supermarket, an Indian restaurant, a children's shoe store, a bank, a butcher and a salon. Oh, and let's not forget the rocking bar Hokus Pokus which we lovingly refer to as The Poke. That about sums up my shopping potential. So, if I want to cook Asian food, I have to take my bike (or the train) to the Asian Grocer. That's a small inconvenience since I have a certified cilantro addiction and need to have it at least twice a week. The Asian grocer ships it in from who knows where and it's hit or miss what sort of condition it is in. I'm always psyched when I get a healthy bunch that will last more than a few days. This is also where I need to go if I want bok choy, sweet potatoes, brown sugar, bean sprouts, fresh lemongrass, buckwheat noodles, etc. If I'm feeling like cooking Aloo Palak or Tikka Masala, I have to go to another store in the city center for Indian staples.

In general, the vegetable assortment in most German markets is pretty basic and more seasonally influenced. You won't find 10 types of lettuce, a full fresh herb assortment or every type of fruit imaginable. And, for a country that loves their potatoes, they only seem to have two kinds. New potatoes, Yukon Golds, yams, jacket baking potatoes - that's a trip to the Viktualienmarkt to see the potato man. And certain things like pecans, parsnips, chocolate chips, vanilla extract - they're either not available or I have to go to the Viktualienmarkt and pay crazy, crazy prices. Thankfully, we have a steady stream of BMW friends visiting HQ for meetings and they are always happy (I hope) to be my baking supply drug ponies. My last delivery included butterscotch morsels, shredded coconut and cream of tartar.

One of the foods I was missing the most was avocados. They were a standard lunch component for me mixed with hummus and tomato on a bagel. Don't even get me started on bagels. I think there are two places in Munich. Oh, and ready-made hummus? You have to go to a Turkish market for that. Fortunately, I like my homemade stuff just fine. But I digress - back to the avocados. The thing is, you can get avocados in every store but they just weren't the same as the ones I bought at home. The first couple of times I bought avocados here I dutifully put them on my veggie tier waiting for them to ripen. Three days. Five days. Seven days. Still bright green. When I finally cut into one it was all brown and gooey inside. Okay, lesson learned, they will not turn black when ripe. With my next batch I did the squeeze test until I determined they were ripe. And they were. But they had no flavor. I tried and tried but I could never get my avocado mojo going.

Now, remember how I said I have to go to several stores to find everything I need? Well, about 75% of my shopping I do in Edeka for a couple of reasons. They are close - only a five minute walk. They are super friendly which is not the norm. People go on and on about how bad German customer service is but I find that Edeka employees are always pleasant and patient. And, most importantly, I can go there with a list and almost always get everything I need. The prices are higher but it is sooo worth it for me to shop there.

Then I supplement with the "discount" and "ethnic" markets for pantry staples and miscellaneous items. The closest discount market to me is Pennymarkt. I head there about once a week. You kind of just have to go and see what they have because, beyond the staples, the assortment is never guaranteed to be the same. I hardly ever buy vegetables there because the quality isn't very good. Germany grades their produce on a scale of 1-3. Edeka carries a lot of 1st klasse fruits and vegetables and Penny carries a lot of 2nd klasse. So, you can imagine my surprise a few weeks ago as I was skimming past the vegetable section and something round and black caught my eye. An avocado. A dark avocado. Upon closer inspection, a HASS avocado! I bought five. They were like little pebbly-skinned bits of hope. I brought them home and immediately cut two open. I would have made a batch of guacamole right then and there but, you guessed it, I didn't have any cilantro and didn't feel like going all the way to the Asian market. So, I just sprinkled them with some sea salt and pepper, gave them a generous squeeze of lime and inhaled them. Perfect. Heaven. Home. Hass.

Which brings us to the olive oil. You know that über-revealing website dating question, "What are the five things you can't live without?" My top five includes cilantro and a really great olive oil. Extra-Virgin. First cold press. Green. Pure. The kind that is so aromatic you could bathe in it. My last good batch I brought back from Italy. On the self-same (soon to be legendary) Pennymarkt avocado trip I picked up a bottle of olive oil. I reserve the good stuff for dressings or dipping bread but I also always have a cheapo bottle on hand for general cooking. The bottle I got from Penny cost 2.99. Like I said, Penny is cheap. Well, I opened this bottle on Monday to add a little to boiling pasta water. The smell hit me right away. This was no Bertolli. I poured a little on my finger. Like liquid gold it was. Quickly, I translated the packaging: product of Greece, cold-press, winner of 5 international awards. I used canola oil for the pasta water then cut a piece of bakery bread, added some fresh grated black pepper and a generous pinch of sea salt and dipped away.

Why yes, as a matter of fact, I did just get back from Pennymarkt. What did I buy, you ask? Two more bottles of the olive oil (still 2.99) and four avocados. That combined with the cilantro means the world is mine: Thai, Mexican, Indian, Greek, Italian - I shall cook and enjoy you all.

p.s. I also have a package of pork schmalz in the fridge which technically means I can add Germany to the world cuisine mix.

Schönes Wochenende

2010-03-08T14:00:00.130+01:00

Talk about a perfect weekend. It began on Friday night at Hacker-Pschorr Bräu where we met some American friends and a German friend for beer, schnitzel, beer and a schnapps to wash it all down. From there, Joachim gave us inside scoop on one of the best local bars in the city. It's a yodeling bar. Complete with accordion player. No need to ask twice. We set off for Jodlerwirt. Authentic. Crowded. Loud and laughtastic. We drank. We danced. We sang. We had a blast. That night.

The next day - not so much. All I can say is thank goodness for my husband who, at 3:00 in the morning, when I was begging and pleading for just one more round or to hit another place on the way home, had the where-with-all to steer me straight home. It could have been so much worse. As it was, I needed all day and another grease-laden schnitzel to soak up the alcohol before I felt remotely human again.

Did you know that you can't get Advil/aspirin over-the-counter here? You have to go to a pharmacist, brave a consultation auf Deutsch after which they will hopefully dole out a few precious acetaminophen tablets and not some herbal concoction of chamomile and coriander. Note to all business travelers, tourists, expats, etc. - bring Advil. A lot. I find I need at least 7-9 to get me through a good hang-over. Oh, and apparently Jodlerwirt isn't really an insider's secret since I found it in two of my guidebooks this morning. But it was still great, not touristy at all and I thank Joachim from the bottom of my beer-bloated belly for the introduction.

After dropping Caryn at the airport, Thomas and I headed south for a winter weekend get-away in the charming town of Mittenwald. It's the epicenter of handmade violins, cellos and violas but I love it for its alfresco paintings depicting traditional Bavarian life. The town center is quite small but it's nice to wander among all the chalets and look at the paintings. I really think of it as an outdoor art gallery. And, with the backdrop of the alps, well it's hard to beat in the pure, simple beauty category. We meandered, got massages, ate the aforementioned schnitzel, slept late, took a winter walk and just relaxed. Like I said, perfect!

Olympisches Fieber

2010-03-03T11:49:00.007+01:00

Germany is quite proud of their Olympic Gold Medal winners and on Tuesday they celebrated their victories on Marienplatz. I thought it would be a good "real life in Germany" moment so I headed into town for the festivities. According to the website I checked the day before, the party was to start at three. Basically, a car cavalcade wound it's way through town ending on Marienplatz where the Olympians would greet their fans from the Rathaus balcony.

Small problem. It was cold and rainy. I got there at 3:10 to find a huge screen replaying the best Olympic moments accompanied by uplifting (mostly American) pop songs and a smattering of soggy people wielding umbrellas. I waited. And waited. And then the party meister, crowd instigator type guy announced that they were running behind schedule and would be another half hour or so. Did I mention it was cold? And rainy? I ducked inside a cozy Chinese place for a plate of hot noodles and a cold beer. And from my seat by the window, I could see the blue lights of the cavalcade as it drove past a half hour later. I was warm. I was dry. I was full.

I walked back over to Marienplatz a short while later. The music was still blaring but I had missed the Evita balcony moment. Later, I heard on the news that over 5,000 people had been there to help celebrate. I'm not sure about that number. I saw about five hundred people. What I am sure about is that Olympic mindset of overcoming adversity and physical discomfort in the pursuit of a goal - yeah, I don't have that.

Abendessen (Dinner)

2010-02-22T13:07:00.027+01:00

In the entire time Thomas and I have been together, he has cooked for me exactly once. Pasta Aglio E Olio. Combined total of four ingredients (if you count the parsley garnish). Total time of twenty minutes start to finish. Thomas has no interest in cooking. Nada. Zilch. Null. None. Before we started dating, his meal repertoire consisted of the following:

Wasa crisps with cream cheese
Cereal
Spaghetti with ketchup
Hot dogs - and I had to explain that he really should not eat them cold right from the package.

I knew I was in trouble the first time I opened the pantry in Thomas' apartment. He'd converted it into a closet for his PUMA collection. But here's the kicker. He ACTUALLY, REALLY, TRULY thought that the closet was supposed to be for shoes because the shelves were the perfect size. He could not even fathom that anyone would need that much space for food in their home. Wasn't that what the cabinets in the kitchen were for? The cabinets that housed his 12 boxes of cereal (hello Seinfeld) and his three pots?

Fast forward five years. For Valentine's Day this year I wanted only one thing. I wanted us to cook a meal together. Garlic, wine, good music, candles. I was psyched. Thomas was willing. But reluctant. Oh so very reluctant. But willing.

To celebrate passing my German test last week, I bought my first cookbook in German. The Real German Kitchen. Traditional meals from all the various regions in Germany.

The plan was that we would each select three appetizers, main courses and desserts that we wanted to try. Then we'd compare lists, see where we matched and that's what we'd cook. It went without saying that all choices would exclude anything with ingredients such as: pig's lung, calf liver, intestines, stomach, neck. That knocked about 50% of the book right off the list. Okay, maybe a slight exaggeration but, as in many cultures, one man's delicacy is another man's gag reflex.

We settled on Kartoffelsuppe (potato soup) from the Saxen region where Thomas was born and Rahmgulasch with Kloße (potato dumplings) from the Bayern region. We cheated slightly on the dessert since we had left-over lemon meringue pie from the day before. Now I have a dozen eggs left in the fridge from the forsaken Eierschecke. Next week.

I'm pleased to say the whole thing went off without a hitch and we had a really nice afternoon together. The only time Thomas cried was when he was chopping the onions. Everything was sehr, sehr lecker. How could it not be with an ingredient list that included: butter, heavy cream, creme fraiche, bacon, potatoes, more potatoes and salt? I think we consumed a week's worth of calories in one sitting. And then, in keeping with the potato theme, we retired to the couch where we spent the rest of the evening watching the Olympics. Pretty much a perfect day in my book.

Kuchen Wear

2010-02-18T22:28:00.005+01:00

So, back when I was working for BMW I was responsible for, and I quote, sourcing private-label apparel, accessories, timepieces and gift items for distribution in BMW and MINI dealerships as well as providing creative direction to designers and suppliers ensuring that all products are premium and brand relevant, end quote.

As a subsidiary, we had to get everything we produced locally for the US market approved by HQ in Germany. Let's just say there were differences of opinion regarding what was "brand relevant." I spent way too much time creating PowerPoint presentations for local product approvals and way too much time discussing what was and was not "brand appropriate," or "brand damaging." We felt that Germany was too restrictive. They felt that we didn't protect the brand values. For example, we offered adorable baby onesies and bibs that were good sellers. We had to stop selling them because what if a baby actually spit up on the logo? That, my friends, would be "brand damaging." I'm really not making this stuff up. We'd make a pink polo shirt and Germany would tell us that pink was not a "brand appropriate" color. Six months later, they'd come out with a light pink polo and we'd say, "I thought pink was verboten??" and they'd say, "It's not pink. It's blush white." So, as long as you don't actually call it pink it's not pink, right? Well, this isn't a baby bib, it's a miniature floor mat. Now can we sell them again? And so on.

A couple of weeks ago, Thomas brought me one of his BMW shirts that was on it's last legs. The cuffs were starting to fray and it was destined for the Goodwill box. I had it lying around for a few days thinking I'd clean out some stuff from my closet too when I remembered a tutorial I'd seen a while ago on the Internet. It was for ways to re-purpose a man's shirt and one of them was an apron. I got right on it. And this, Damen und Herren, is my "kitchen appropriate" creation. Of course, I had to incorporate pink somehow because I am small, and bitter, and jaded and just evil like that. And what about the sacred logo you ask? What if I do something incredibly "brand damaging" like splatter some sauerbraten sauce on it? No worries CI police, I would NEVER want to damage the brand so I just covered that bad boy with some pink rickrack. Like I said, evil.

My new apron debuted just in time for a special meal. But more on that on Sunday...

Fasching!

2010-02-17T16:57:00.040+01:00

Big doings in Bavaria. Today was Fat Tuesday/Shrove Tuesday/Faschingsdienstag the last day to let off steam before Lent begins. Quite a few people take the day or afternoon off from work to party auf dem Viktualienmarkt. Thomas had more than one meeting where the participant count was well below par. One meeting, at which eight people were expected, two people showed. The rest were presumably donning dayglo wigs and rummaging in their wife's lingerie drawer for costume inspiration.

Now, I've been to Carnival in Brazil and Fasching in Munich is nothing like it. Not even close. Here are some key differences:

The weather. Carnival in Brazil is hot. Do you hear the chorus of Hot, Hot, Hot drumming in your head? Fasching in Munich is NOT. It was 20 degrees yesterday. So no matter how much Germans love throwing a couple of nekkid breasts into every newspaper, magazine or TV show there was no headlight action yesterday. In contrast, Brazil is one giant homage to the Nancys. To summarize: Germany - Jack Wolfskin parkas; Brazil - pasties and thongs.
The floats. Floats are a matter of national pride in Brazil. Starting with the music/band to the fresh flowers to the glitter which accounts for 75% of the gross domestic product. It takes months to build and decorate a float. In Germany, it looked as though they pulled out the hot-glue gun at midnight after consuming a case of Edelstoff. By tomorrow the "floats" will once again be assigned to hauling cows to the high pastures.
The atmosphere. In Brazil, the mood is sexy even slightly dangerous. In Germany, the mood is silly. The closest thing you'll find to sexy are the transvestites working a pair of five inch stilettos. Fasching is more like Halloween except instead of kids with bags of candy it's adults with cases of beer.
The dancing. Brazil - samba, samba, samba. Elaborate headdresses and masks, glistening, nearly naked bodies gyrating nay THROBBING with sexual tension. And in Munich? The middle-aged Market Women, dressed in dirndls and wearing fruit and flower laden straw hats, dance around the Maypole. Who knows? Maybe they're wearing Agent Provocateur corsets under their dirndls.
The music. Brazil - live bands all day and night. Even in the small towns. Munich - your choice of Lady GaGa, Katy Perry and DJ Ötzi piped in from a local radio station or traditional Bavarian music fresh out of the 8-track player- think Perry Como in Lederhosen with a cow bell.
The food. We've been here before right? I should say that caipis were being served which I thought was a generous nod to fellow revelers in Brazil. But beyond that we're right back to the Bratwurst and Bier. Oh, and the Krapfen - basically a jelly donut. They are everywhere during the Fasching season and so very, very hard to resist.

I admit that I was not decked out in a costume so perhaps I didn't experience the full effect. But I have to say, the idea of standing in the freezing cold, drinking beer that in approximately 10 minutes I will have to evacuate but not before standing in an outside line for 30 minutes doing the hoppy dance is not something I put in the "good times" category. But I have the feeling that if I'd just had 4-5 beers, I would have had a GREAT time and might even have intuitively learned all the words to Ich bin ein Döner. And, and, AND if I'd worn a really unflattering costume - say a cow costume - I could wear lots and lots of warm layers underneath while at the same time avoiding the whole bathroom scenario with a double stack of Depends. I am so ready for next year.

Deutsch Zertifikat für Zuwanderer. Fertig!

2010-02-13T11:31:00.009+01:00

German Certificate for Foreigners. Done!

I took my big German test today. Big sigh of relief. I'm sure I passed but I have to wait three weeks for the official results. This basically means I have achieved a B1 level in German. I think that equates to about fifth grade by our standards but considering that I started at a Kindergarten level, I've come pretty far in six months. Not far enough to actually have a full on conversation in German mind you. But getting there. Not good enough to understand 100% of what is being said around me but I think I'm at the 60% range depending on the topic.

I still panic whenever I have to speak to someone. I rehearse even the most simple request endlessly. Having to go to the bank to ask for a roll of Euros so I can do the wash is akin to asking a boss for a raise. It's that bad. And forget it when someone speaks to me out of the blue which, for some reason, happens to me a lot. I'll be standing waiting for the train, or in line at the supermarket and someone will just start talking to me. I immediately panic. Eyes widen in fear. Stomach drops. I smile. Give an awkward chuckle while searching for ONE word that I understand. Then I usually pretend to drop something and have to busy myself with that because I have NO CLUE what is happening.

The other day I was in the supermarket in the baking section and some guy came up to me and asked me something. An awkward pause ensued while I look around praying that he was talking to someone else; no such luck. I take a deep breath. Wie bitte? Wissen Sie, wo das Salz ist? Salt! Salt! I know that word. And not only do I know that word. I know where the salt is! So I said, auf Deutsch, the salt is next to the Butcher counter. However, judging from the way he looked at me, I think what I really said was "the salt is on top of the meat." Whatever, he got that it was in the area of the meat. Welcome to my world where I have to rely on one word and a mixture of trial and error to navigate through so many situations. The man reappeared a few minutes later waving the salt happily so it all worked out in the end. Does that count as an actual conversation? Maybe I exaggerate the fifth grade level thing. Maybe we're really talking first-grader peeking out from behind her Momma's skirt level. But I take comfort that I am not as bad as some. Take, for example, my partner for the spoken portion of the German exam.

The DZZ test consists of four parts: listening, reading, writing and speaking. Each section is about an hour in duration except for the spoken which is shorter. Typically, you can select your own speaking partner from someone in your current class. I was originally scheduled to take the test in November but had to fly to the states at the last minute because of my Mom. So, being that I was not actively enrolled in a class, I was assigned a partner. Now, someone could be partner-less because of a situation like mine or they could be partner-less because no one in their current class wants to partner with them. I got a piece of paper with a name. Female. Russian sounding.

First up - listening. You get to hear each recorded bit once and then have to answer a question on the content. No major problems except the idiot who kept asking the teacher to replay the piece because he couldn't "hear" it aka didn't understand it. On to reading comprehension. When the time was up for the reading portion of the test, the teacher went from desk to desk collecting the papers. A few people hadn't finished but reluctantly gave up their answer sheets. Except for one women. She pulled the paper back when the teacher tried to take it. He tried to take it again. She pulled it back saying "Nein, nein." He explained that it had to be fair for everyone. She shooed him off to the other people in her row. He collected their papers. He came back for hers. She wouldn't give it up. At that point, I knew, just knew, that she was my partner. And she was.

The speaking portion consists of three parts. First, you have to introduce yourself, where you are from, where you live, family, why you are in Germany and so on. Second, you have to describe a picture that they show you. Third, you and your partner have to have a conversation on a given topic.

Introductions aside. Fairly basic. Svetlana, my partner, now has to describe the picture the teacher is holding up in front of her. It is a picture of a little boy with a bowl of apples in front of him. Their condensed conversation goes something like this:

Teacher: What do you see?
Svetlana: A boy at a table. And an apple.
T: What else?
S: Two apples.

T: Can you say anything else about the picture?

Hemming, hawing. The teacher tries another tactic.

T: What kind of fruit do you like to eat?

S: Apples.

T: Anything else?

S: Vegetables.

T: Let's say you are going to the store tonight. What kind of fruit or vegetables will you buy?

Now at this point I am screaming inside my head Bananen, Orangen! Good God please anything but...

S: Apples

So the teacher asks her if she thinks nutrition is important which is obviously the theme and she says...

S: Yes, very important.

And it goes on like that. Now it is my turn and the teacher holds up my picture to describe. It is a picture of a little girl sitting at a table with a bowl of fruit in front of her: grapes and APPLES!

There was no way I could avoid saying it. Although we did manage to move past apples and have a conversation about nutrition in schools. For our last bit we had to come up with a plan to help a co-worker who was sick: doctor recommendation, medicine, how to help at home, how to help at the office. I can't say it was pretty. Svetlana was by now a nervous wreck which was making me a nervous wreck so I was just babbling away trying to fill the dead air space with no regard for grammar, adjective endings, case and other such painful (yet important) things. All I can say it is is done. And the best part is that they refund you the 20 Euro you paid to reserve your spot which means you can get a bottle of Tequila on the way home and forget the whole thing.

Here is my recipe for the best-tasting, pain-eliminating, memory-reducing margarita ever.

1 part fresh squeezed lime juice

1 part silver tequila (or your preference)

1 part Grand Marnier

ice

Shake. Pour. Enjoy. Forget.

Die Fuggerei

2010-01-30T19:00:00.037+01:00

Saturday morning. A quick stop at the bakery for a Milchkaffee and a pastry before heading off to Augsburg just over an hour away. No particular reason. Just want to see what there is to see. We do this a lot and inevitably, when we are about half an hour away from home, I say, "Scheiße, I left all the guidebooks at home." I have at least four of them for Germany. Big, thick ones. Filled with lots of pertinent information that would come in handy when one is exploring unknown territory. Rick Steves. Lonely Planet. DK. Frommer's. I have them all. At home.

Fortunately, Augsburg is a big enough city to warrant an Information Center. With free walking maps. And lots of pamphlets on local points of interest that I am sure would also be noted in my guide books. At home.

One of the most notable attractions in Augsburg is the Fuggerei, the world's oldest social living complex. Founded in 1516 by the wealthy Fugger family, the Fuggerei is a small city within the city. High walls and gates at the four compass points surround a collection of single family row homes, a church, a bier garden, a museum, and a bomb shelter. Even though the Fuggerei was heavily bombed in World War II, it was restored outwardly to it's medieval appearance.

The concept was that the Fuggers, bankers by trade, and Jakob Fugger The Rich specifically, felt it was their obligation to help the less fortunate. They built, at their own expense, the Fuggerei to house some of Augsburg's neediest citizens. The Fuggerei is still in operation today and the rent is the same as it was almost 500 years ago - 1 Gulden (basically 1 Euro) a year plus three daily prayers for the founders and current financiers of the Fuggerei. To qualify you have to be Catholic and poor. With 67 houses and 147 apartments it's not going to solve the poverty problem but certainly it is a role model to aspire to. Truly, it's a pretty amazing concept. Just try to imagine any of our bank presidents, so predominant in the news for their outrageous bonuses, deciding to take some of the money from their own heavy pockets and use it to house and educate those in need. For the next five hundred years. Not. Going. To. Happen.

I thought it was so beautiful that every door bell in the Fuggerei is different. When the residents had to make their way home along the unlit streets, they could literally feel their way home until they got to their doorbell. I think TK outdid himself with this shot.

On our way back home, I started browsing through the pamphlet we picked up at the Information Center and it turns out that we missed two important things while visiting the Fuggerei. There is an apartment whose interior is a reproduction of what the living quarters would have looked like in the 1500's and another apartment that shows an apartment today. That's exactly the kind of thing I love - voyeurism passed off as the quest for knowledge. Yeah, we spent all our time in the bomb shelter. So guidebooks, pamphlets - makes no difference - they're all wasted on us. But now we have a reason to go back again in the spring when everything is in bloom.

MIA

2010-01-22T10:23:00.001+01:00

Yeah, it's been awhile. A good long while. Too long. The last six plus months have certainly been filled with ups and downs.

I finally started to make some friends in Munich. We're a small, very international group who met in school. We get together for lunch, dinner, coffee or to go to movies (kids movies, of course, because that's all our language skills can accommodate). We represent America, Spain, Japan, Greece and China. Pretty cool. And what is really great is that German is our only common language so we are forced to speak it (or mutilate it). It's always funny to watch the faces of people around us when they clue in to our rudimentary language skills. I'm sure that it must be painful to listen to and that is saying a lot considering that German is not known for being particularly melodious. It helps tremendously to have someone to interact with and it helps all of us in becoming more confident speakers. I think we've found that the subjects of men, food and drink are truly international.

In August, Thomas and I got married in Maine surrounded by our immediate families. It was perfect in every way - and that includes all the imperfections. We rented out a bed and breakfast so we were all together. We hiked, went kayaking, went bowling, had a BBQ, went to our favorite lobster place in dirndls and lederhosen and just enjoyed a lifetime of memories with our families.

In November we lost my mother to breast/metastatic bone cancer. It was almost a year to the day of her diagnosis. She didn't suffer and we are so grateful that our whole family was able to be with her for her last days. Still, nothing can prepare you and some days it feels as though nothing can comfort you. You were a GD jewel, Joy.

Oktoberfest 2009

2009-09-22T12:14:00.042+02:00

We've been prepping for months. Thomas has not allowed any wine to be imbibed in the house. Only beer. All beer. All the time. In mugs. Granted relatively small mugs in comparison to the Maß (meaning "measure") liter-sized mugs we will be drinking at Oktoberfest but it's akin to starting with a 1 lb. weight and working your way up. First, a little history courtesy of Wikipedia - because there is an actual premise behind Ofest. It wasn't created just to justify guzzling massive quantities of beer.

Oktoberfest is a 16-day festival held each year in Munich, Germany, running from late September to early October. It is the world's largest fair with over six million people attending every year, and is an important part of Bavarian culture. Oktoberfest, traditionally, takes place during the sixteen days up to and including the first Sunday in October. The festival is held on an area named the Theresienwiese (field, or meadow, of Therese), often called d’ Wesn for short. Visitors eat huge amounts of traditional hearty fare such as Hendl chicken), Schweinsbraten (roast pork), Haxn (knuckle of pork), Steckerlfisch (grilled fish on a stick), Würstl (sausages) along with Brezn (Pretzel), Knödeln (potato or bread dumplings), Kaasspotzn potato pancakes), Sauerkraut or Rotkraut (red cabbage) along with such Bavarian delicacies as Obatzda (a fatty, spiced cheese-butter concoction) and Weisswurst (a white sausage). The original Oktoberfest was held in 1810 to commemorate the marriage of Crown Prince Ludwig I and Princess Therese of Saxe-Hildburfhausen (namesake of Theresienwiese).

Alas, the marriage was not to be a happy one. Turns out Luddy was a bit of a player. I know that's hard to believe what with that styling hairdo pictured to the left. But throw in a few country houses, some jewels and an unlimited clothing allowance and dude was smokin! Ludwig's most scandalous affair was with Lola Montez who was not only significantly younger, a mere dancer but also gasp! of Spanish/Irish decent. Apparently she was a first-class beatch to boot.Did you ever hear the saying, "Whatever Lola wants, Lola gets." Yeah, that's Lola on the right there.

Anyway, back to Ofest. We were psyched that our friends Trudy and Mark made the trip in to celebrate with us. Our friends, Julika, Aldo and their son Vladi were also in Munich visiting family so we had lots of great company. Since we didn't have tent reservations, we went during the day when it is a lot less crowded. Good call because we actually got a seat, instant service and halfway decent air quality.

Welcome Home Honey

2009-07-22T09:39:00.003+02:00

Thomas enters the door after a long, hard day at work and I greet him. No, not with cocktail in hand and freshly applied lipstick. With homework in hand and crazy hair held together in a pencil bun.

Me: This makes absolutely no sense. (Waving papers frantically.) Can you please explain to me why you go "IN the work" but you go "TO the supermarket?" Why do you live "IN Holzstrasse" and not "ON Holzstrasse?" And why for the love of all that is sacred do the genders have to change more often than Cher at a comeback concert?

Thomas: Hi.

Me: Do you know I spent two whole hours trying to figure out what the difference is between "I gave Peter the book" and "He gave it (the book) to me"?

Thomas: Are you going to hit me?

Me: Hit you? How can I possibly hit you? I'd never be able to conjugate the verb "hit" correctly so what would be the point?

Feel my pain - which verb form of HIT (schlagen) would YOU pick????

Indikativ Präsens	Indikativ Präteritum	Indikativ Futur I
ich schlage	ich schlug	ich werde schlagen
du schlägst	du schlugst	du wirst schlagen
er schlägt	er schlug	er wird schlagen
sie schlägt	sie schlug	sie wird schlagen
es schlägt	es schlug	es wird schlagen
wir schlagen	wir schlugen	wir werden schlagen
ihr schlagt	ihr schlugt	ihr werdet schlagen
sie schlagen	sie schlugen	sie werden schlagen

Indikativ Perfekt	Indikativ Plusquamperfekt	Indikativ Futur II
ich habe geschlagen	ich hatte geschlagen	ich werde geschlagen haben
du hast geschlagen	du hattest geschlagen	du wirst geschlagen haben
er hat geschlagen	er hatte geschlagen	er wird geschlagen haben
sie hat geschlagen	sie hatte geschlagen	sie wird geschlagen haben
es hat geschlagen	es hatte geschlagen	es wird geschlagen haben
wir haben geschlagen	wir hatten geschlagen	wir werden geschlagen haben
ihr habt geschlagen	ihr hattet geschlagen	ihr werdet geschlagen haben
sie haben geschlagen	sie hatten geschlagen	sie werden geschlagen haben

Konjunktiv I Präsens	Konjunktiv I Perfekt	Konjunktiv I Futur I
ich schlage	ich habe geschlagen	ich werde schlagen
du schlagest	du habest geschlagen	du werdest schlagen
er schlage	er habe geschlagen	er werde schlagen
sie schlage	sie habe geschlagen	sie werde schlagen
es schlage	es habe geschlagen	es werde schlagen
wir schlagen	wir haben geschlagen	wir werden schlagen
ihr schlaget	ihr habet geschlagen	ihr werdet schlagen
sie schlagen	sie haben geschlagen	sie werden schlagen

Konjunktiv II Präteritum	Konjunktiv II Plusquamperfekt	Konjunktiv II Futur I
ich schlüge	ich hätte geschlagen	ich würde schlagen
du schlügest	du hättest geschlagen	du würdest schlagen
er schlüge	er hätte geschlagen	er würde schlagen
sie schlüge	sie hätte geschlagen	sie würde schlagen
es schlüge	es hätte geschlagen	es würde schlagen
wir schlügen	wir hätten geschlagen	wir würden schlagen
ihr schlüget	ihr hättet geschlagen	ihr würdet schlagen
sie schlügen	sie hätten geschlagen	sie würden schlagen

Konjunktiv I Futur II	Konjunktiv II Futur II	Partizip & Imperativ
ich werde geschlagen haben	ich würde geschlagen haben	schlagend
du werdest geschlagen haben	du würdest geschlagen haben	geschlagen
er werde geschlagen haben	er würde geschlagen haben	schlage, schlag
sie werde geschlagen haben	sie würde geschlagen haben	schlagen wir
es werde geschlagen haben	es würde geschlagen haben	schlagt
wir werden geschlagen haben	wir würden geschlagen haben	schlagen Sie
ihr werdet geschlagen haben	ihr würdet geschlagen haben
sie werden geschlagen haben	sie würden geschlagen haben

Get my point? I did however manage to learn the word for gun cuz' momma' has a feeling she's going to be needing one real soon. Just in case you are curious, it is die Waffe or die Pistole. Both feminine nouns. Interesting that.

The Feldmoching Marder Strikes!

2009-07-14T21:40:00.002+02:00

So, waaaay back when I was trying to get a handle on moving to Germany, I was glued to the Internet trying to find out anything and everything about Feldmoching, the town in which I would be living. I found one thing. One. And this is that link. Feldmoching did not bode well for BMW's which I promptly pointed out to Thomas. And yet, here we are.

What is a marder? A marder is faster than a speeding S-Bahn train. A marder crawls into spaces molecules find to be a tight fit. A marder is stealthier than 007 squared. Marders are everywhere. Always. What do marders do? Eat. Sleep. Nest. Oh yeah, and eat through car wires and hoses. Lots. All at once. They are greedy little fuzzers. Marders are widely purported to have summer homes on Lake Fasanarie and have developed a taste for the finer things in life. Why snack on a Skoda when there's a BMW in the neighborhood?

Thomas' car got hit - or, more accurately, bit last week. Six hoses. We don't know if it was a local marder or if it happened when he parked his car somewhere else for a few hours. They are very territorial buggers. If a local marder had marked our car with his scent and then Thomas parked the car in another marder's territory, the encroached upon marder eats through all the hoses to destroy the "home" of the rival marder. The day Thomas brought his car in for service there were 16 other BMW's getting replacement hoses after marder attacks.

Whether or not another attack can be prevented is debatable but Thomas has built this nifty mesh wire contraption in our car park to thwart further attacks. Supposedly, if the marder runs across the mesh they think it is a trap and will abandon ship. Supposedly. We'll have to get back to you on that one. In the meantime, the device has given our neighbors something to talk about. Always happy to oblige.

Viva Italia

2009-06-15T20:27:00.003+02:00

Long weekend in Germany = another country off our checklist. This time Italy. We were torn between heading north to the German coast or heading south to Italy. When we found out that our friends Nadine and Mathias were headed to Molveno, Italy for a few days, we decided to tag along for some camping and hiking. Mathias and Nadine are paragliding enthusiasts and take advantage of every weekend to feed their passion. They'd already been to Molveno numerous times - a popular place with paragliders because of its location in the Dolomites alps.

Besides paragliding, another really cool thing about Mathias and Nadine is that they own a completely restored 1966 VW Camper Van. My dream. As I lay in our chilly little tent, I zipped the flap down so I could stare enviously at the warm glow emanating from the VW - knowing that they were sleeping on a mattress with custom-made pillows to match the curtains. Sigh.

The next morning we got up early and hiked to the top of the alp that Mathias and Nadine were using as a jumping off point. It was a decent-sized hike and I'm becoming increasingly convinced that Thomas keeps me firmly on a "need to know basis" when it comes to hiking. He's big on the "It's not too steep, it won't take too long" trail descriptions. Because he knows that once he has me halfway up, I won't wuss out. Lucky for me, we made lots of photo stops because the scenery was just so outstandingly beautiful. And, of course, we had lunch at the top. But instead of Kasespaetzel and beer, it being Italy and all, we had polenta. And wine. Nice.

After lunch, we got to watch Mathias and Nadine do their thing. How one trusts a piece of fabric and some strings to hold you up when you are higher than the highest alp is beyond my comprehension. Practically beyond my imagination. They were so, so, so high. Thomas' pictures are misleading but know this - he was using a super, duper long lens. Those kids were make me sick in my stomach just watching high.

On Saturday we packed up our tent and headed to Verona, the city of Romeo and Juliet, to celebrate my birthday - hotel style. We spent the time seeing the sights - the Roman amphitheater which was gearing up for a production of Aida, romantic Piazza after romantic Piazza, narrow alleys, Medieval castles and inspiring churches. That night we serendipitously found a great place for dinner, shared a bottle of wine, shared our three course meal and then stopped (twice) for gelato on the way back to the hotel. Sweet.

Day Zwei

2009-06-09T19:23:00.007+02:00

Okay. I have sorted this out. The reason that I couldn't understand anything yesterday is that in my class of 18 people, there are 16 different countries represented. Each with their unique way of pronouncing German. I had not had time to acclimate myself to the individual accents. Now I am starting to figure it out. The woman from Columbia runs every word together without pause. The girl from Spain can't make the "sch" sound. I can't make the "cht" sound. And so on, and so on, and so on. It's a comedy of vocal errors.

I sit next to a girl from China who is a super-smart, classic over-achiever. She's completed the vocabulary worksheets for the entire class the first night. That's approximately 500 words, folks. I did only the requisite 25. She understands grammar. She studies grammer - oops there I go again - grammar. But god love her, I can't understand a thing she says. She has a hard time with "r's" and adds a vowel at the end of every word. This is not good as we are always together for partner exercises. It goes something like this...

China- DasE istE einE HotES Fahhat.
Me - Wie bitte?
China - DASE istE einE HOTES FahhAT.
Me - Noch einmal, bitte?
China (with frustrated hand-waving) - DASE ISTE EINE HOTES FAHHHHAT. FAHHHHAT!
We move on to pictures and pointing.
Alexia - Ohhhh! Das ist ein rotes Fahrrad (that is a red bike)??
China - Ja! Ja! Das habe ich gesagt (that's what I said).

And it goes on like that for most of the class. The girl from France can barely understand the guy from Iraq. The girl from India plays the same call and repeat game with the woman from Russia and the teacher tries to remain patient as she corrects us all. We are a speech pathologist's nightmare.

Okay, I have to go finish my homework. Yeah, that's what I said. Homework. People over 40 should never have to utter the word homework unless it is to one of their children followed by useless threats. Homework does not get easier with age. Homework STILL sucks.

Lunchbox Packed

2009-06-08T19:02:00.004+02:00

Today was my first day of German school. Four hours a day. Five days a week. My head hurts. I am old. I have not kept my brain oiled with Sudoku and such. Instead, I have petrified my brain with InTouch Weekly and such.

I do not understand English grammar. I do not even know how to spell grammar (thank god for spell check). How I ask, how??? am I to understand the difference between the Accusative case and the Dative case? And why, I ask why??? does every German verb have 50 different variables? Why do nouns have to be masculine, feminine and neuter? Why can't they just BE? Haven't we, as civilized humans, moved beyond that need to slot everything into a neat little category? And how can a Bikini possibly be a masculine noun while a tie "die Krawatte" is a feminine noun? Unless, that is, you refer to a tie as der Schlips and then we're right back on the masculine track. If you love me, you will send me Advil. Lots and lots of Advil.

I did the first level of the class at home via a self-study program. I had Nutella nearby in case I needed to kick-start my brain, I had warm slippers and hot tea, and the best part - nobody EVER called on me. That, my friends, has changed. Most of the people in the class took the first level together so they've already spent two months together. I am the new girl. So while they were busy chatting (in German) about their weekend, I was busy trying to cherry-pick out words that I know like "das Wochenende." Yup, I know, even a moron could figure that one out. I believe I am one step beyond Moron level. I'm not quite sure what that translates to on the Goethe Institute scale but I see an aspirin addiction in my future.

Berlin - Bring It Baby.

2009-06-07T17:18:00.017+02:00

This was my second trip to Berlin. The first time, Thomas' best friend Marc gave us a great whirlwind city tour of the top sights complete with a stop for that Berlin specialty - the Currywurst. This time, we spent the whole weekend with Thomas' Aunt Gabi and his cousin, Carsten. And we had a blast.

How exactly is Berlin different than Munich? It's hard to describe except that, to me, Berlin feels more like a proper city. And Munich feels more like a postcard city. There is seemingly more diversity in Berlin (along with more poverty) but also more of an appetite for life. I felt like the energy was completely different than Munich - of course, this could have been influenced by the numerous caipis I consumed while there. But more on that later...

Berlin has a strong bohemian artist community, a great music/club scene, museums, architecture, cafes, shopping. It's bigger, it's dirtier, it's louder, it's crazier, it's funkier, it's cooler - it's just different than Munich. And I love it.

The annual Karnival der Kulturen was taking place while we were there and we spent the entire day at the massive street fair. Caipi in hand. Or Corona. Or Prosecco bottle. Pick your own poison. The event boasts a parade that lasts over six hours with representation from every continent. There were Brazilian dancers, rasta guys, Thia, Indian, you name it they had it. All along the streets (and rooftops) every kind of person imaginable was celebrating life by dancing, drinking, eating, smiling, laughing. Girls pulling up their skirts to pee behind bushes, dogs underfoot searching for dropped delicacies, kids on shoulders, crazies collecting bottles, teenagers flirting, adults flaunting flabby tattoos. Great. Just great.

We had a very NYish asian fusion dinner while there (oh, how I miss my spicy girl roll), had a coffee under the Deutscher Dom, met Thomas's sorta' kinda' cousin Franziska and her boyfriend Uwe for a yummy Italian dinner. And basically filled in all the spaces with lots and lots of walking. On our last night, we were fortunate enough to be the last group of people allowed into the Reichstag Building and despite the rain, Thomas managed to get some nice shots.

Reichstag at night.

Cygnets!!

2009-05-28T17:28:00.009+02:00

The last week has had it's sweet moments and it's sad moments. I was not the only person anxiously waiting for the swan eggs to hatch. There are several other people that are lurking around the nests waiting for the first crack to show. One, an older gentleman, has become a Bekannter (acquaintance) of mine. We try to piece together my poor German and his rudimentary English to make swan talk. He's retired so he's been spending almost every waking moment there - camera in hand. While I was somewhere shoving another Bratwurst down my gullet, he was there capturing every small detail of the first hatchlings. And hatch they did.

I arrived on Monday to learn that one of the mothers had four new baby cygnets. Her last egg is still left to hatch. It's was hard to get any pictures since the babes spend most of their time under the mother's wings but I managed a few.

And now the sad part. The other Swan Mother had just two eggs. Now she has just one. Apparently, yesterday some teenage boys were showing off, being stupid or whatnot and decided it would be fun to try and steal the eggs. They got one of the eggs and when people nearby tried to persuade them to put the egg back, the teen's response was, "here, you put it back." And then he rolled the egg on the ground like a bowling ball. Of course, it smashed.

When I heard this, I started to cry. I was so upset that I had to call Thomas at work. I've done that only once since I've been here. The news hit me so hard. It was just such a cruel, senseless thing to do. The egg couldn't have been more than a week away from hatching. That mother has sat there day and night, through all kinds of weather, only to have someone destroy her family. For no reason. I feel like they should find the kids and arrest them. But they bolted and my swan friend thinks they'll never find them. They better hope he doesn't recognized them around the lake because he was as mad/sad about it as a parent protecting a child. Here's the mother with her lone egg. It still breaks my heart.

UPDATE: The egg of the second swan never hatched although she sat on it for a good three weeks after it should have hatched. Finally the man I call the Swan Professor (he visits them every day, knows everything about them, names them and basically just loves and cares for them) had to remove the egg so she could get on with her life. Heartbreaking.

Family in Town.

2009-05-25T12:05:00.005+02:00

We've had our first family visitors. Hopefully, not our last. My brother Neal, his wife Angela and the cutest baby in the world, Bennett, spent the week with us. We did it all:

Hofbräuhaus
Marienplatz
Viktualienmarkt
Dachau
Salzbug
Englischer Garten with a stop at Chinesischer Turm
Hanging by the lake
Neuschwanstein
Kloster Andechs
Nymphenburg Palace

Whew! We did a lot. With a baby. Did I mention that he is the cutest baby in the world?

Happy Mother's Day!

2009-05-10T10:23:00.024+02:00

Spring is in full force on our little Lake Fasanerie. Mother ducks have already started to hatch their broods and the swans are busy building nests and laying eggs. I saw the first nest on Monday tucked up right along the shore line. The mother was sitting proudly, the father patrolling the surrounding water. Across the lake, another swan couple was canvassing the shoreline. Sure enough, by Wednesday they’d claimed their stake and were busy decorating their new nest with sticks, twigs and grass.

Besides the joy that comes with seeing nature work its miracle, the swan nests have provided an added health benefit for me. I’m more eager to get out there and exercise because I’ve become so emotionally invested in the swans and their eggs. I play games with myself. Yesterday I decided to do as many loops as it would take for one of the swans to get off her nest so I could get an updated egg count. It took me five laps (just over 6 miles) before one of the lovely ladies hauled tail and went for a little dip in the water.

Apparently, swans lay anywhere from 3-10 eggs usually separated by two days in between. My last count has one nest at 2 eggs and the other at 5. The gestation period averages between 35-40 days. So, come June, we’ll have at least seven small, sweet swans swimming around. How’s that for alliteration?

I’m personally hoping for at least nine cygnets so I can name each one after the Fellowship of the Nine.When I was an early teen and well into Lord of the Rings, reading and rereading it obsessively, a stray cat that we'd christened Gray Lady had a batch of kittens under our back porch. As I recall, it was nine kittens but a lot of what I recall is not 100% historically accurate. Shocking, I know. However, the number of nine does make for a better story so let's just go with nine, shall we? Good. I immediately declared myself Namer of all things Kitten. Fuzzy little Frodo, Gandalf the Gray (he took after his mother), Aragorn... My little sister had another idea entirely. At the time, she was reading the Big Book of Bible Stories and she thought the kittens should all have biblical names. Ruth. Rachel. Abraham. I mean really, if it comes down to Abraham or Aragorn what cat would you want covering your back?

I don't think Gray Lady and her offspring stuck around long enough for the issue to ever get resolved. It's been a gaping hole in my childhood development ever since. So come on swan moms - keep a laying and give a girl a little Legolas!

Update: as of this morning we are up to eight eggs. Thanks Moms! And Happy Mother's Day!

Hike

2009-05-09T10:51:00.012+02:00

We went for a hike today in Spitzingsee. Thomas and Steffen battled out the best way to navigate. Thomas using the positively prehistoric hand-held map. Steffen using a high-tech, hand-held GPS. So, you just know that we spent half the hike off the actual trail. Don't you just love testosterone?

When we reached the top of the mountain, we discovered a Search & Rescue team practicing dropping rescuers on a nearby cliff face. So cool. I, of course, would have liked to have been airlifted to safety when I was huffing and puffing my way up the mountain. But, as usual, I was ill-prepared finding myself without a bullhorn, red flag or emergency flares. Next time.

Prague Anyone? Yes, please.

2009-04-26T18:47:00.009+02:00

What can I say about Prague? How about this? GO!

p.s. I get loads of compliments on the photography on this blog. I have to fess up and admit that 98% of them are courtesy of TK Productions. As in Thomas. As in Kurz. Once in a while I can squeeze a good one in but that's the exception because TK's pictures rule.

p.p.s. Go to Prague in the off-season. Otherwise it's overrun with Americans and Germans. Wink.

Frühlingsfest - a Smaller Oktoberfest

2009-04-20T12:01:00.056+02:00

Much smaller. But we're so psyched that our friends T & M are definitely coming to visit for Oktoberfest that we decided we better start our training now. First order of business - official attire. Now, laugh as you might, I think German lederhosen are akin to the Scottish kilt. It takes a man of a certain je ne sais quoi to don these puppies and get away with it. Here, in Bavaria, lederhosen are associated with virility and brawn – like the kilt minus the easy access. But you know those Germans, they over-engineer everything.

Thomas grew up in Dresden (East Germany) Lederhosen and dirndls (which we’ll get to later) have a Southern alpine heritage. For an East German guy to put on a pair of lederhosen is crossing a definite line. When Thomas broke out his leathers for Easter Sunday at his parents, he was none too sure what the reaction would be. Probably much the same as telling your parents that you’re in love with an American girl. Fortunately, both reveals turned out well.

Now, lest you think lederhosen and dirndls are reserved for Oktoberfest and the Hofbrauhaus, you’re wrong. They are a regular fixture in Munich. Sunday best, wedding, flea market, dinner with friends, beer garden, hiking - it’s definitely not unusual to see a pair of hairy legs poking out from a pair of hand-stitched hosen on the U-bahn. So, Thomas crossed cultural boundaries (while proliferating German stereotypes) and got himself the whole kit and caboodle.

On to the dirndl. Like lederhosen, the good ones are expensive. Some can be wedding dress expensive. And, unlike the utilitarian version pictured below, they can be fashionable. I know, I know. But really - there are boutique companies that specialize in high-fashion dirndls. Seriously. Think runway. Still don’t believe me? Click here.

So, I have not gotten my dirndl yet because:

I need to lose 10 pounds before I make such a big investment and there's a half-full jar of Nutella that needs to be addressed before that happens.
I'm trying to decide if I should match my dirndl to Thomas' outfit or if that is just waaayyy too Hansel and Gretel.
The frugal side of me thinks I should sew my own. Out of curtains. Like Scarlett.

I’ll have to get back to you on the final decision. In the meantime, let's have a beer and celebrate Frühling. Prost!

Anno Domini - Step Back in Time

2009-02-15T16:14:00.009+01:00

We went to Dresden to visit Thomas' parents this weekend and they took us to Anno Domini a restaurant that recreates Medieval life in Saxony. Check it. No lights - only candles. Wooden tables and benches. Cutlery - optional. But if you do tick the yes box you get a wooden spoon and a knife - no fork because presumably the fork lost the rock, paper, scissors fight.

It was an authentic, entertaining experience complete with bawdy character-actor cum servers. I, of course, understood nothing and had to rely on the accompanying inappropriate gestures to get the gist of most of their shtick. Fortunately, sexual gesticulation (that sounds very scientific, doesn't it?) is an international language.

The highlight of the evening was the parade of animals that made their way through the place. Rabbit on your table? No probs. Rooster under your feet? Deal with it. Ass's ass in your face? That's what you paid for, isn't it? Let's just hope they're not offering complimentary cases of that to-die-for Medieval must-have... dysentery.

Passing Time in Passau

2009-01-31T12:09:00.021+01:00

A late lie-in, a cup of coffee with the requisite fresh baked pastry and a road trip to Passau – well now, that has all the makings of a perfect Saturday. Passau is often referred to as the City of Three Rivers because the Danube, the Inn and the Ilz rivers all join there. Side note: doesn’t The Inn & The Ilz sound like a great name for a What’s Hot and What’s Not blog? Tragically, life in Feldmoching has taken me firmly off the trend trail. Any of my NYC girls want to jump on that?

Anyway, back to Passau (not to be confused with Passé which is what you’ll find on The Ilz list). Passau is a colorful city filled with early Gothic and Baroque architecture that has managed to survive despite being the victim of regular floods. During those sandbag-filled days, Passau is referred to by locals as the City of Three *&%$Mother*&%$^Efin Rivers. Supposedly, each of the three rivers has a very distinct color owing to the type and amount of silt, sediment, etc. that they carry from their origin. To me, they just looked – umm, cold. The Danube is said to be more of a yellow and not the waltzy blue for which it is renowned. Clever bit of marketing the Austrian-born Strauss did with that, eh? Seconded only by Red Bull.

Boat trips along the Danube often stop here to grab a bit of German feel and fare. The most visited tourist attraction is the baroque St. Stephen’s Cathedral built in 1688. At one time the church boasted (well, maybe not boasted as that doesn’t sound very Christian) the largest pipe organ in the world. There are 17,774 pipes and 233 registers. But sadly, or inevitably, the good ‘ole US of A super-sized that and now they refer to it as the largest pipe organ in Europe.

Linderhof Palace & Andechs Monastery

2009-01-25T15:10:00.016+01:00

photo courtesy of flikr

Trudy’s in town so we took the opportunity to venture outside Munich for a day trip to Mad King Ludwig’s Linderhof Palace stopping for a beer on our way back at Andechs Monastery.

I’ll spare you my current obsession with King Ludwig II. Suffice it to say, I’m looking for a good biography on the nutter. Christmas? Dad? Anyone? Anyone? Located south of Munich, Linderhof is a tiny palace in comparison to its sibling Neuschwanstein. Ludwig spent a great deal of time there in his later years when he was in full recluse mode. Hence, it is the only palace in the world without any guestrooms. In fact, Ludwig was such a loner by then that he had a drop floor installed in his dining room so that a fully dressed and laid out table could be hoisted up from the kitchen below thereby enabling him to dine without servants in absolute solitude. Oh yeah, except that he insisted the table be set for four because he liked to talk to imaginary people while he ate. Like I said, nutter.

Unfortunately, because it is winter a lot of the sculptures were under protection and some of the outlying buildings were closed. I definitely want to take a trip back when everything is in bloom to see the gardens and the outer buildings, most notably the Moorish Kiosk where Ludwig spent days on end smoking a big hookah. Smoking what? Who knows, but remember kids - This is your brain. This is your brain on drugs.

Any questions?

After a scenic drive back we stopped at local favorite Andechs Monestery in search of the particular brand of spiritual enlightenment that can only be found at the bottom of a monk-made maß of beer.

It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas

2008-12-14T08:31:00.005+01:00

We've had a nice snowfall here in Munich. Fasanerie, our little lake, is a Winter Wonderland. The Christmas Markets are in full swing and we've made the rounds in Dresden, Munich and Regensburg. We're still a bit miffed that BFMF doesn't have their own Weinachts Markt. I know at least two people who would have gone for a Bratwurst and Gluhwein on our way back from the bakery.

PaReeeee

2008-12-01T12:22:00.003+01:00

In Paris they simply stared when I spoke to them in French;

I never did succeed in making those idiots understand their language.

Mark Twain

The last weekend in November we made a quick get-away to Paris. We found a flight for 32 Euro - okay after taxes/fees it was more like 78 but still... and hotels all have low-season rates. It was a no-brainer.

For some reason, I've never heard the call of Paris before. My "must see" list always seems to have less developed countries at the top. I suppose because underdeveloped places feel both more challenging and more like getting away from it all at the same time. But one of my goals before coming was to see as many places in Europe that I had not yet visited. Paris, Prague, Budapest, Tuscany were/are all at the top of my list.

We packed a lot into four days. Cathedral Notre Dame, Chateau de Versailles, the Montparnasse district, the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, the Mouffetard District, Champs Elysees, amazing bakeries and, of course, Parisian cafes for coffee, gourmand meals and great people watching.

Our hotel was located in the St. Germain district which turned out to be an ideal location. The area is a mix of boutiques - Dior/Vuitton, unique shops, and of course cafes. One day we had a pricey cafe-au-lait and baguette at Les Deux Magots one of Hemingway's haunts just up the street from our hotel. The dichotomy between Les Deux Magots and Sloppy Joe's (Hemingway's Key West, FL hangout) made me smile. I can only assume the common denominator must have been alcohol - the great leveler of all things.

Conveniently there was a metro station one block from our hotel. We'd purchased a 5-day rail pass so we could navigate around the city easily. Which is not to say that we didn't do our fair share of walking. We walked - A LOT. One of the best things about Paris are the side streets. You can wind down narrow streets, take a few twists and turns, and stumble upon an amazing church or a dead-end courtyard complete with a fountain. It's like exploring an old house that has some new delight behind every door.

I think the highlights for me (besides just exploring with no agenda) were Versailles and the Eiffel Tower. At the risk of rendering ignorant American stereotypes true - I was completely awed by the size of the Eiffel Tower. Yes, I knew it was big. Yes, I knew it was tall. But it is massive. Even if you have nil interest in architecture you can't help but admire such genius. How?? The idea?? The construction?? How??

I think this was the same feeling that captured me at the Palace Versailles. How?? The size is staggering. The opulence overwhelming. It's all a bit surreal. I find it hard to actually get my head around the fact that this was a Home / a Lifestyle / a Society for a fortunate few. It feels like an exaggerated movie set that went overboard with gold spray paint. Decidedly on the low-brow scale, I could not help but ponder the more banal things that accompanied this life. If there was a grand ball, how did the ladies go to the loo? Did they hold it all night? Were there anonymous maid servants to hold up their skirts (it would require more than one) and assist with the clean-up? Whose loo did they use? Hardly the King or the Queen's but it is not as though there were conveniently located multi-stall toilets in the hallway. With 500 people in attendance I imagine the ladies room line must put the line at The Garden to shame. You'd miss half the night by the time you were pinned, laced and powdered. Perhaps that's the reason why such extravaganzas lasted until dawn. At least a lady could get in a dance or two even if she'd enjoyed a few too many glasses of champagne.

At the time of our visit, Versailles was hosting an exhibition of sculptor/artist Jeff Koons. According to the Chateau de Versailles official website, "Contemporary artistic creation makes possible a different perception of this living monument and its ever changing reality which is no way a fossilized model of a particular period." According to Thomas, "it was distracting." Granted a 300+ year-old palace is not the usual context one would expect to see a sculpture titled "Michael Jackson and Bubbles," but I felt that juxtaposing these somewhat "kitsch" creations against the backdrop of such classic architecture made it more impactful. Thomas - not so much. We spent most of the train ride home discussing it passionately. I argued that this was the longest Thomas had ever considered/discussed art in his entire life which in my opinion made the installation a success. Thomas argued that that the Guggenheim had called and wanted its livelihood back. I think it was the vacuums that really pushed him over the edge...

Food of course was an adventure. We had a great Fondue in Mouffetard, several really good meals in cafes near our hotel, and more street crepes than required. Oh yes, and how could I forget this highlight - they serve Nutella on crepes! Clearly the culinary distinction of France is well-deserved.

Because food is so much a part of the Paris experience, we found ourselves paralyzed a few times. After having a wonderful Parisian breakfast at a cafe we serendipitously found, we were determined to duplicate the experience the next morning. We walked around the artsy district of Montparnasse (of which Jean Cocteau once said "poverty is a luxury in Montparnasse") for over an hour without finding a place that we thought "looked good." A bit on the rough and tumble/touristy side, Montparnasse hosts sex-shops side by side with funky artisan boutiques. But we just didn't get the right food vibe. So instead of breakfast we ended up going without food until after lunch when we finally succumbed in Mouffetard with an "it's either this place or that place" approach. Hunger had obliterated the need for memorable.

And is Paris truly for lovers? Judging by the meal we ate sandwiched between two young lovebirds who followed EVERY bite with kisses and baby talk (understandable and annoying even in lovely French) and an older couple who graciously limited their public display of the kiss for which France is renowned to the lull between courses, I'd have to say yes. What does it say about us that we were more interested in sopping up every last drop of savory sauce with crusty bread than gazing lovingly into each others eyes and stealing kisses? I can't decide who said it better George Bernard Shaw, "there is no love sincerer than the love of food," or Rodney Dangerfield, "I'm at an age where food has taken the place of sex in my life. In fact, I just had a mirror put over my kitchen table." Bring on le dessert, s'il vous plait.

Snow Day in Garmisch-Partenkirchen

2008-11-24T12:32:00.026+01:00

Munich was graced with its first snowfall on Friday. Despite reports of 12+ inches we only got an inch or two. Some southern areas were hit harder so on Sunday morning we set out in search of snow and landed in Garmisch-Partenkirchen. G-P was the sight of the 1936 Winter Olympic games and true to its heritage it did not disappoint the snow hungry. In the winter it is a haven for skiers while in the summer the hikers swarm in. Somewhat of a destination resort, the cobblestone streets are lined with chalet hotels, upscale shops, cafes and restaurants.

On the way home from G-P we stopped at the Benedictine Ettal Abbey. Founded in 1330, the working Monastery still houses about 50 monks who maintain a brewery, hotel, cheese making enterprise and small publishing business. There is also a private high school on the premises. You can learn more about the Abbey here. The compound, set against a backdrop of snow covered alps, was breathtaking. The stillness of fresh snow and our solo presence enhanced the spiritual mood all the more.

Neuschwanstein Day Hike

2008-11-12T17:49:00.002+01:00

On Sunday Thomas and I decided to head south and do a strenuous hike whose reward was amazing views of Neuschwanstein. Most Americans will recognize the castle as the inspiration behind the Disney castles.

View of Neuschwanstein (wikipedia) Disney castle (wikipedia)

Before you get too excited, this is as close as we got... A view from the road as we drove to the hike entry point.

Somehow, we made an error trailblazing and never did get to the side of the alp with amazing views. Typical for us. We have a compass, we have a portable gps, we have the ubercool gps watch/heart moniter thingy. Where were they? Ummm, yeah at home. With the sunblock. And the extra layer of clothing for the freezing temperatures we encountered at the top.

We hiked up - straight up - 2,000m. It was the most challenging hike I've done in years. Stairs were not my friend for the next two days. And what was our reward for reaching the top?? Even better than an amazing view of Neuschwanstein - we saw this!!!!!!

And this...

Electra Visits the Viktualienmarkt

2008-11-10T15:24:00.006+01:00

Viktualienmarkt Stand

Thomas and I have gotten into the habit or taking our bikes into town on Saturday morning for a Milch Kaffee and a fresh pastry or pretzel. Usually we just go into the thriving metropolis of BFMF and combine our caffeine kick with a few other errands - post office, bank, green grocer.

Last Saturday we decided to take our bikes into Munich proper for our weekend ritual. We wanted to see how long it would take to bike into the city center and we needed to pick up a few things in some of the shops. Forty-five minutes later we were locking up our bikes and assessing our cafe options.

I've been into the city center about twice a week since I've been here. It's a short 15 minute ride on the S-bahn so it's easy to meet friends or just go in to pick up some hard to find grocery items. Thomas, because he clings to the questionable belief that at least one of us should be working (thank god), has been exactly twice. So it was nice to be there together for once and have the chance to stroll around before the crowds descended.

One of my favorite "must sees" in Munich is the Viktualienmarkt. This open air market has been around for over 200 years offering fresh fruits and vegetables, spices, oils, soaps, specialty foods and of course sausage and cheese. It's not unusual to see someone enjoying a weisswurst and beer at 9:30 in the morning. Not a taste I've acquired yet. I'll save that food adventure for when my father visits. Which brings me to...

The Tale of the Rollmop
Most girls try to win their father's affection with fairly standard fare - good grades, sweet Polly Purebread impersonations, chastity belts. I try to win my father's affection with food. And yes, I realize this should probably be discussed in therapy but that costs money and blogging is free. When I was young it was liver and onions. "Good iron," my father said. "Good God NO!" my stomach said. But I ate it because nobody else in the family would and I thought all that iron would surely morph into a halo around my head. Come to find out years later that the butter and bacon it was drenched in were more likely to clog my arteries. But I ate it. And I seem to recall actually almost sorta kinda liking it. Today the mere thought of eating liver makes me want to subsist on carrots for the rest of my days. I mean really this is an animal's LIVER! Livers are things which you donate. You don't eat them.

But no foul food experience (and there is a horse meat stew incident in the archives) compared to the rollmop incident. One day, while my brother and I were visiting my parents, my father pulled from the refrigerator something we just "had to try." He'd stopped at a small German deli for some sandwich fixings and made the happy chance epicurean discovery of rollmops.
From Wikipedia: A rollmop is a pickled herring fillet rolled (hence the name) into a cylindrical shape around a piece of pickled gherkin. Rollmops grew popular throughout Germany during the early 19th century. The fish was pickled to preserve it and transported in wooden barrels. In pubs in Old Berlin, it was common to have high-rising glass display cases (Hungerturm, meaning "hunger tower") on the bar to present ready-to-eat dishes like lard bread, salt eggs, meatballs, mettwurst (bacon sausage) and of course rollmops. At the present time, rollmops are commonly served as part of the German Katerfrühstück (hangover breakfast) which is believed to restore some electrolytes and makes breasts larger.

Anybody hungry?

My brother said no dice right away. I hedged - my internal dialogue probably being something along the lines of, "If I eat this Dad will love me more than he loves Neal. I'll never be able to usurp "the baby" from Mom's pedestal but I still have a shot at Dad." Dare I mention I was in my mid-thirties at the time? Right, going to arrange appointment with therapist...

It's quite possible that my father taunted me. "Come on, don't be such a wuss. Try it." So I did. How shall I describe? Vile? Vicious? No, the clear winner was Vomitous. No sooner than it was down it came back up to reintroduce itself in all its smelly, slimy disgustingness. And it continued to make guest appearances for the next two days. When I hear the word "rollmop" now my stomach immediately clenches and I start to gag. Pavlov in one easy step.

I'm not sure how a posting about the Viktualienmarkt ended up being a soul-baring Electra complex expose... oh, right that was it... They sell rollmops at the Viktualienmarkt. I for one will not be eating them even if they give me Pamela Anderson (a vegan by the way who does not eat LIVER) breasts. The weisswurst I'll consider if Daddy dares me.

Road Trip - Destination Salzburg

2008-10-27T16:04:00.015+01:00

Salzburg Rooftops

We decided to take a little road trip on Saturday. To Austria. Doesn't that just sound sooo European? A tiny little day trip - to another country??!! I'm really getting my Julie Andrews on these days. First hiking the alps and then visiting the city of fair Maria and die Familia VonTrapp. Unbelievably, Thomas has never seen the movie so he has no idea why I keep belting out songs in town squares. La - a note to follow... So, we hit the road around nine and were in Salzburg around 11. Hard to beat.

We did the requisite trip to the Fortress HohenSalzburg where I had one of those "duh" moments while reading a museum placard. Salzburg literally means "Salt Castle" so named because of the Salzach river on which the town was settled and along which ships transported - duh - salt. We also did the standard stop and gawk outside the house where Mozart was born.

The rest of the time we spent wandering through the narrow cobblestone streets, peeking in (or more accurately) drooling over the ship windows. The amount of chocolate condensed into the old city is both belly bursting and mind blowing. Thomas unexpectedly, and quite unconvincingly, professed a great love for all things operatic the moment he saw the Mozart chocolate store. I think I could have gotten him to agree to season tickets for The Met in exchange for Eine Kleine Chocolate Box. Unfortunately, he's on a one month chocolate moratorium so he had to settle instead for a Wurst in a cozy Austrian eatery.

On the way home we stopped to poke around in several small towns one of which had a family run restaurant that just happened to be serving home-made warm apple strudel with fresh whipped cream. And that leads us to our...

German Lesson for the Day
Those of you who know my limited German skills know I have a fondness for making up new German words to suit a situation. For instance, a nap is a Knipper. A snack is a Geschnibble. And warm apple strudel is Schmecklich. Geschmack being the German word for "taste." Schmecklich being the Alexia word for tasty. Used in a sentence - Warmes Apfelstrudel is sehr, sehr schmecklich.
Note: schmecklich can also be used to describe German soccer player Michael Ballack.
End of Lesson

On the way home we stopped a Chiemsee to watch the sunset. All in all a perfect road trip.

Seehaus Biergarten

2008-10-22T15:00:00.003+02:00

View to the Seehaus from across the lake

What's one to do on a sunny Sunday with the whole day stretched ahead of you? Waste the day away in a Biergarten. Obviously. And that's just what we did. Nestled in the heart of the English Garden, the Seehaus Biergarten is theeee place to be seen. And you better get there early if you want a seat. Which, fortunately, we did. Giant pretzels, giant beers and great people watching. Really, what more can you ask for?

Water, water everywhere and lots of beer to drink

Jamaica does Munich

Auer-Dult Market

2008-10-19T14:08:00.004+02:00

I spent last Saturday rummaging around one of Munich's oldest markets Auer-Dult. With a history tracing back to the Middle Ages, the market has morphed into part fair/ part flea market. It only happens three times a year so they try to pack in as much as possible. You can find everything from a Biergarten to a ferris wheel to wool socks to antique buttons. There are vendors selling vintage goods that run the gamut from pure kitsch to once in a lifetime finds. This is nicely balanced by vendors selling new kitchenware, pots, pans and my personal favorite the "BursteMann" or Brush Man. You would not believe the assortment of hair brushes, brooms, veggie scrubbers, bottle brushes this man purveyed. If it had a bristle on it - he had it. I just think it would be so cool to sit in a bar and when asked the inevitable question of "what do you do?" reply with a straight face, "I'm a BursteMann."

Treasure or trash?

My favorite stall. Vintage kitchen stuff merchandised perfectly.

Seventh Swan Sob Song

2008-10-16T12:21:00.002+02:00

As I was out partaking in my daily constitutional yesterday, I scrutinized the sights and the sounds of the lake as is my wont. Our lake is inhabited by a huge goose population, a colony of ducks and six beautiful swans. Swans, as all girls who have weathered the love-lorn teen years know, mate for life. Our lake swans carve out separate areas of the lake for themselves careful to maintain a suitable distance from other couples. And even though the male and female can be quite a distance apart at times, it is always easily discernible who is with whom.

Except yesterday. Yesterday there was one swan who seemed to always be alone, drifting in the middle of the lake. It was so unusual that I stopped and did a pairing up of couples. Two. Four. Six. And Seven. The swan did not have a partner.

Maybe it was the overcast day, maybe it was the first hint of homesickness, but I was so touched by that lone swan. I created this whole story in my head about how he had lost his beloved life companion one crisp fall night when she unknowingly swallowed a plastic six pack tab some hooligans had tossed into the water (recycle people!). All this poor swan wanted, nay desperately needed, was a compassionate ear to help hold his pain. The other swans ignored him and the ducks wanted nothing to do with him. Not even the uncool Emo ducks who hang out on the fringe of the lake where they probably smoke reed all day. Futilely the lone swan would swim toward a group of ducks only to have them turn tail and paddle off in another direction. Again and again. It was heartbreaking. Simply heartbreaking. I worried about the cold weather approaching. Who would keep him warm at night? Could I make a nest out of an old wool blanket and nestle it in some bushes? Can you get more teen-motional than that? I nearly cried I tell you.

When Thomas got home I shared the sad plight of the Seventh Swan with him and then I did something really pathetic: I told him that I was that Seventh Swan. We were as one. Floating alone in a lake full of people who ignore us. Surrounded by ducks who don't speak our language. Without family. Without friends. Facing a long, lonely winter ahead. Yeah, so then Thomas pretty much felt like crap too. That kind of made me feel better.

I went to the lake today to check on my Soulmate Swan and imagine my surprise when I counted TEN - yes ten swans. Divide by five and you get TWO. Every swan had a partner! So now I figure the real story probably went something like this. Big Swan Partner Swap this weekend. Maybe Sienna Miller isn't the only one who thinks monogamy is over-rated. Really, shouldn't swans be able to give in to their animal instincts once in a while? And now I think the Swinger Seventh Swan got into town a few days early so he could get a head start on scoping out the other bloke's birds. Pig.

Absentee Ballot

2008-10-08T12:16:00.005+02:00

Just got back from walking my absentee ballot to the post office. It cost me $5 Euro to mail! Maybe I should use my tax relief check to fund the postage. You gotta' give to get. Uneventful except that the woman serving me turned to her co-worker and said "New Jersey is in England right? I should post to England?" Thankfully my German was good enough to understand and correct her that it should be posted to the US not the UK. My German was NOT good enough to understand when she asked me if I wanted a receipt. Twice. Baby steps.

Trabi Trip in Dresden

2008-10-07T20:29:00.016+02:00

Thomas and I spent the weekend in Pirna/Dresden visiting with his parents. Dresden (pictured in the blog header) is simply beautiful. I am awed every time I visit. First that such beautiful architecture was conceived then built by human hearts, minds and hands. Second, that anyone could destroy such beauty. And third, that it is being so painstakingly restored in a world that increasingly seems to only value what is new. I'm already excited to go back in December to visit the oldest Christmas market in Germany.

It was a quiet weekend filled with lots of Mom's home cooking - sauerbraten, schnitzel, and cakes (multiple). We had a nice bike ride and a short wander with an amazing view of the Elbe to help burn off the calories.

Fall Leaves

Lookout Point

View of the River Elbe

For my last birthday, Thomas' parents gave me a gift certificate for a city tour in a Trabant, an German automobile that I have a sweet spot for. It's sort of the quintessential DDR car that enjoyed up to an 8 year waiting list (take that MINI) in its heyday. After waiting that long for a car, people never got rid of them often driving them for 20 years or more. As a result it's still quite common to see them on the roads today. Thomas' first car was a Trabi. I think he bought it for 100DM and a case of beer. While it's hard to imagine Thomas in any vehicle that can barely go 60 miles an hour I guess he had to start somewhere.

I wussed on getting behind the wheel (gear shift on steering column, clutch pedal the size of a bar of soap) but Thomas was only too happy to jump in the driver's seat and take a walk down memory lane. The tour wound through the city with the guide's voice crackling through the radio pointing out historical landmarks. It reminded me thoroughly of driving in my father's Karmann Ghia as a child. Thankfully, we didn't have to get out an push this one. The best part was watching the people's faces as a stream of Trabis passed by. Certainly a much smaller scale than MINI Takes the States but the same smiles, waves and stares.

Trabi Happy

Thomas' First Love

Trabi Roaming The Streets of Dresden

Step Away From the Nutella

2008-10-06T12:21:00.002+02:00

One of my goals before I arrived was to get back in shape. The three months living in temporary housing prior to our departure meant living with the bare necessities, lots of dining out and a few extra pounds that found their way into my saddlebags not my check-in bags.

I was doing okay. Alternating yoga with walking around the lake by our place. Lots of salads and whole grains. And then IT happened. Our home was invaded by a jar of Nutella. Bought with the good intentions of treating a guest to her favorite breakfast spread, the sweet hazelnut concoction quickly became a bad nightmare. Now, I've never been one to harbor a chocolate addiction and I've had Nutella on several past occasions without incurring disastrous results but there was something different about this jar. This jar talked!

Every single time I went into the kitchen it would start in on me. "Alexia, why are you ignoring me? I miss you. I won't hurt you - I promise. If you skip the bread it's really not that many calories. Just one spoonful. A small spoonful. Pleeeeez?" I was defenseless against this thing. I've had a spoon dangling out of my mouth ever since.

Anyway, you know how when you make fun of someone mercilessly it always comes back to bite you in the butt? Well, my friend KMOH is an incredibly talented creative person, a small business entrepreneur and, despite the fact that she favors wearing house slippers to NY photo shoots during blizzard weather, I have a great deal of respect for her. Until the day she pulled out the pedometer.

Looking to get rid of a few extra pounds, she'd committed to walking 10,000 steps everyday. All well and good. But when every trip to the bathroom was followed with a step count "28 there and 30 back. I think the extra two steps were to the sink," it wasn't long before we were mocking her endlessly. "I need to get a refill on my coffee. If I take two giant steps and three baby steps does that count as 7 regular steps?" Or, "If I sprain my ankle and I'm on crutches, do I get to count three steps for every one?" You get the idea.

Well, guess who bought a pedometer? Yup. But in fairness to me, the last time I saw KMOH she looked awesome so I figured maybe there was something to it. Sign me up for the 10,000 step program. And may God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change - especially if it's my waistline. I finally sat down to program the pedometer and all was going well. You have to put in your height, weight, age, etc. All standard, no surprises. Then I got to the body fat analyzer. You have to hold your thumbs at contact points on the pedometer and then it assigns an icon to your profile.

There are five icons ranging from a stick figure up to a big round blob. I'm thinking I'm going to hit icon 3 which is metz a metz. Ummm no. Up pops the little fatso icon. I'm thinking are you kidding me? It's not that bad. Is it?? Curses on Nutella and all gooey sugar substances everywhere. Oh, and while I'm at it, those warm Bavarian pretzels too.

I quickly scan the directions again. It says to get better results I should lick my thumb pads before making contact with the analyzer. I stick both thumbs in my mouth entirely and quickly go to the loo because it never hurts to get rid of a little water weight. Back from the bathroom (12 steps in case you were wondering) and now with fully wet hands, I throw back my shoulders, hold my breath and try again. No luck. I am icon five. I am Beachball Pinhead.

Beachball Pinhead at Lake - note Oktoberfest Beer

I am so depressed. The only thing that can possibly make me feel better is... Wait did you hear that? There it is again. Louder this time. Can you not hear that??

As soon as I get the spoon out of my mouth, I'll go for a lap around the lake. Okay, okay four laps. That's 9,865 steps in case you were wondering.

Buchstein and Kaiserschmarrn

2008-10-01T15:37:00.022+02:00

Last Sunday was beautiful so Thomas, his twin brother Steffen and I drove to Tagernsee to hike a small alp called Buchstein. I asked Thomas before we left the house if I should pack lunches for us and his response was, "No, it's not like it is in the States." Whatever that means...

What that means is at the top of most of the popular hiking trails there will be a Gasthaus that serves warm meals and cold beer. Our mountain did not disappoint with a "hutte" straight out of the Sound of Music. While I was busy spinning in circles doing my best Julie Andrews impression, Thomas was busy ordering the most decadent dessert on the menu - Kaiserschmarrn.

Kaiserschmarrn or "the Emperor's mishmash" is a caramelized pancake that is split into pieces while frying, sprinkled with powdered sugar, and served hot with applesauce on the side. It is beyond delicious. Had I known that it was waiting at the top when we started the hike, I would have considered (albeit briefly) running to the top. Run up. Roll down. The recipe follows. Plan your penance before consuming.

1/4 cup rum
1 cup whole milk
5 eggs
1/4 cup white sugar
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
pinch of salt
1 cup all-purpose flour
2 tablespoons butter
1 tablespoon butter, melted
1/4 cup confectioners' sugar, plus more for dusting
applesauce for serving

In a medium mixing bowl, beat together the milk, eggs, white sugar, vanilla, and salt. Gradually whisk in the flour to make a smooth batter.
In a large skillet melt 2 tablespoons butter over medium heat. Pour the batter into the skillet and cook 5 to 6 minutes, or until the pancake has set and the bottom is golden brown. Turn over the pancake and cook 3 minutes, or until this side is also golden brown. Using a spatula or two forks, tear the pancake into bite-size pieces. Drizzle in the melted butter and sprinkle with confectioners' sugar. Turn up the heat to medium high and use a spatula to gently toss the pieces for 5 minutes, or until the sugar has caramelized. Sprinkle with additional confectioners' sugar and serve with apple sauce.

A Blog, A Blog, My Homeland For a Blog!

2008-09-25T12:21:00.006+02:00

It has taken me well over three hours to create this most simplest of blogs. A task multiple people assured me would take all of five minutes. But how, I ask, do you select a font that conveys your inner essence when you only have six to choose from? How is one to decide whether side bars are bold-worthy or if that distinction should be reserved for links?? It is gray outside today with threatening rain which may have influenced my background color choice. I hope I don't regret this torturous decision when the sun reappears.

As I've take the better part of three weeks to get up and running on this blog, I'll give a brief update of how I've spent my time to date.

Week One: Unpacking and organizing. Multiple trips to IKEA. TK scratching his head when he returned home each evening to find the place looking far worse than when he left in the morning. I kept telling him that I had "a process". I never quite figured out what that process was and I'm pretty sure he didn't buy my bluff.

Week Two: More organizing. Laundry! I had to take pictures of all the settings then download the pictures to my computer and babelfish the translations. Then I had to convert the Celsius water temperatures to Fahrenheit. While TK has showed me the most important settings, I'm not quite sure I trust his laundry prowess. This is a man who two weeks ago decided to dry our still damp sheets by draping them over our mahogany stained dining room chairs. Thankfully German washing machines have a super duper hot setting (90 Celsius 194 Fahrenheit!). All survived the incident including TK. Julika has provided a helpful translation between Trocken (dry) and Schranktrocken (closet dry) but really what does that mean? And how much can I possibly care? Am I evil for missing my American setting of Overdry Energy Waster?

Week Three: Wondering if all I really accomplished in week two was laundry?? I can feel the impending doom of this blog breathing down my neck already.

Our friend Trudy had a business trip layover last Saturday and we decided to make the most of the time with a visit to Oktoberfest or Wiesn as the natives call it. We were rewarded richly within five minutes of entering by witnessing a drunk getting tossed from a beer tent - one security guard for each limb on the ole' heave ho.

Steffen, Trudy and Thomas at the U-bahn

While we did experience the full spectrum of dirndls and drunks, we ourselves did not indulge in das Bier. All the tents were overcrowded so they weren't letting anyone else in. Thomas and I tried to go back again last night thinking mid-week might be less crowded but we were forewarned that it was just as crowded. I may have underestimated how big a deal this is.

Tonight we go to our mutual friend Gordon's house for dinner. He is here in Germany on an expat assignment that will end within the next few months. TK and I spent last night rehearsing how I can distract our hosts while he whips out the tape measure and determines what of their possessions we can place low ball offers on. This couch is so comfortable - are you planning on taking it home with you? You know, I'd really love another cup of coffee. Would you mind terribly brewing a fresh pot? I do so hate stale coffee. Quick, honey, the coffee table, measure the coffee table!!