It's finally happened. After nearly 9 weeks, the marionettes have found me! I had nearly forgotten about the pesky buggers, when all hell broke loose.
I was practicing my evening ritual last night; removing make up, brushing teeth, admiring my new beard growth in the mirror, and scrubbing my giglio fiorentino with a toothbrush, when out of the corner of my eye I noticed a blur of something bright and colorful. It was one of the marionettes zipping down the ladder-shaped heating register right next to the pedestal sink at which I was standing. In a flash he was at my elbow reaching out his little plastic pink hand to bat my 18k, white gold, giglio pendant purchased in Florence, right out of my hand and down the drain! I was horrified! My special giglio purchased on that wonderful and memorable trip to Florence with Terri!!
I immediately did what I always do in cases of extreme emergency: I got dressed. Somehow life's little mishaps always seem to occur while I am in a state of semi-nudity (feel no need to picture that in your mind's eye). After dressing, I tiptoed back to the sink and carefully wiggled out the drain cover and peered into the depths. Fortunately the sink area is well-lit with neon overhead lights which make me appear pasty with cadaverously dark under eye circles, and I could just make out the tiny, sparkly giglio turned sideways about 6 inches down, in danger of slipping even further into the depths. I tried inserting a tweezer but it simply wasn't long enough. I remembered something magnetic in my purse the other day, which a battery had affixed itself to, but could not remember what it was or if gold is even magnetic. I gave up on the magnet idea and went to the kitchen area for a long pairs of scissors. Opening the tip a tiny bit, I inserted them carefully into the drain. When I could see I had reached the jewel I closed the scissors a fraction and was able to bring the giglio safely up out of the dank tunnel. In celebration of my good fortune, I proceeded to clean the drain of large, black, smelly, clumps of hair with a butter knife. Major yuck!
Since I am leaving in less than two days, I have begun to STUFF my suitcase, but I am zipping it and hiding it under the bed when not in the room to ensure those horrible dolls don't climb in for a free ride to Strasbourg. With any luck, I will be back in Italy before the little cretins even know I have left Germany. Ha ha!
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Real Life
I have done a great deal of thinking about the reasons I was happier and more content in Italy than I have been here in Germany. Some things are obvious: I am familiar with Germany and it does not have the same sense of "newness" to it that Italy had, and certainly, I did not connect with anyone here in Germany as I did in Italy.
But it's more than that. While Rothenburg is lovely, colorful, pristine, and cheerful, it has the feeling of being a stage set. I have the impression that if all the visitors were removed from within the high stone walls, the rest of the town could be dismantled, folded up, and loaded onto trucks to be transported to the next locale. The sleek, shimmering horses would be unhitched from their brightly-colored wagons and loaded into trailers to save their feet the long walk, and the Night Watchman, rather than giving nightly tours, would remove his costume and be put to work packing up pieces of the stage that is Rothenburg. Yes, there are many people who live here fulltime, but many, many of them are employed around the tourist trade, operating shops and restaurants and the multitude of ferienwwohnungs and zimmers (vacation apartments and rooms for rent) which are crammed into this tiny village. I don't feel as if I have ever seen real life here.
In Cortona, although there are many tourists, there is a feeling that the town is one, big, passionate, and sometimes dysfunctional family. If all tourists packed up and left town, things would pretty much continue on in the same way. The lady at Bar Signorelli would still be fussing over baby Matteo; the mammoni (mama's boys) would still meet for their evening aperativi; the man working on the church roof across the street from Maria's house would still be buying his daily panino (sandwhich) at Molesini's, consuming it as he wandered between Piazza della Repubblica and Piazza Signorelli; and the porchetta man would still be slicing pork for customers at the market. Life would continue unabated. I loved sitting at the bar each morning with my caffe' latte and watching all the regulars come and go and listening to the friendly greetings and conversations which signal the rythm of life in this small village. The greetings I received, and the shoulder rubs were a small way to make me feel just a tiny part of this rich, flavorful life. I miss that.
But it's more than that. While Rothenburg is lovely, colorful, pristine, and cheerful, it has the feeling of being a stage set. I have the impression that if all the visitors were removed from within the high stone walls, the rest of the town could be dismantled, folded up, and loaded onto trucks to be transported to the next locale. The sleek, shimmering horses would be unhitched from their brightly-colored wagons and loaded into trailers to save their feet the long walk, and the Night Watchman, rather than giving nightly tours, would remove his costume and be put to work packing up pieces of the stage that is Rothenburg. Yes, there are many people who live here fulltime, but many, many of them are employed around the tourist trade, operating shops and restaurants and the multitude of ferienwwohnungs and zimmers (vacation apartments and rooms for rent) which are crammed into this tiny village. I don't feel as if I have ever seen real life here.
In Cortona, although there are many tourists, there is a feeling that the town is one, big, passionate, and sometimes dysfunctional family. If all tourists packed up and left town, things would pretty much continue on in the same way. The lady at Bar Signorelli would still be fussing over baby Matteo; the mammoni (mama's boys) would still meet for their evening aperativi; the man working on the church roof across the street from Maria's house would still be buying his daily panino (sandwhich) at Molesini's, consuming it as he wandered between Piazza della Repubblica and Piazza Signorelli; and the porchetta man would still be slicing pork for customers at the market. Life would continue unabated. I loved sitting at the bar each morning with my caffe' latte and watching all the regulars come and go and listening to the friendly greetings and conversations which signal the rythm of life in this small village. The greetings I received, and the shoulder rubs were a small way to make me feel just a tiny part of this rich, flavorful life. I miss that.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Flat Asses, Invisible Dobermans, and Other Matters of Negligible Importance
I have a flat ass. And it's wide. Flat and wide. This unfortunate and shocking revelation occurred while I trying on a shirt at C&A in Nürnburg this afternoon. Mind you, my ass is MUCH smaller than it was when I left home in April, but it's flatter than a pancake and not all that attractive. With all the stair and hill climbing I've done, I was hoping to develop a nice bubble shaped butt, but instead mine is flat and droopy rather like a souffle that's souffled (pronounciation is the key to this word: SOO-fuld). When I was a size 10/12 in college, for about 20 seconds, I had no rear end whatsoever and my pants drooped sadly in the back like a hot air ballon in need of a flame.
Dogs are popular in Germany. Generally speaking they are well behaved and travel everywhere with their human companions, even to restaurants and on the train. I frequently see people exercising their pets while on my walk in the countryside. Often they are unleashed, but hardly spare me a glance, much less chase after me. The other night, as I rounded the bend, I noticed a black and tan Doberman, standing silent and alert by the side of the road, looking in my direction. Not spotting an owner, I slowed down to a cautious crawl, waved my arms and hollered to see if the dog moved toward me. He didn't, but not feeling particularly confident, I stopped walking to jump up and down, whistling and calling like a crazy woman. Still no movement, so I crept hesitently forward on the opposite side of the road. As I neared the beast, I was surprised to see it wasn't a dog after all, but a break in the hedge which had been uncovered when the verge was mowed. The tan-colored "points" I'd seen were actually small brown branches now visible around the dark hole in the greenery. Now how foolish did I look jumping around and yelling at an invisible Doberman?
I am taking a gift to Maria when I return to Italy. I printed off and framed the picture of her daughter, Laura, in her white dress which I'd taken the night we went to dinner together. Since it's a gift, it felt right to wrap it in some pretty paper, so I walked to the card shop and bought a piece of thick, handmade, textured paper painted a dark and metallic shade of gray After purchasing tape, I walked back to the house to wrap my surprise and that's when the real fun began. The paper was difficult to fold neatly because it was so thick, however do not confuse "thick" with "sturdy". The darned stuff wanted to tear every time I folded it tightly over the bottom of the frame box, and the tape refused to stick to the silver paint. I used about 10 feet of tape to close the package and then wrapped it in a plastic bag to keep the paper secure. In spite of these precautions, I have a sinking feeling that when Maria takes it out of the bag it will be to find that the paper has affixed itself to the inside of the plastic bag and the plain box will be visible. A gift that unwraps itself...how novel!!!!
Trains run like clockwork here in Germany. In fact the schedule is so precise that the track that each train will arrive and depart from is printed up, and mounted behind glass at the train station. Now, it was a whole different story in Italy, where it is not at all unusual for trains to be late (and for busses not to show at all), which is probably a direct result of the fact that it can take 3 minutes and a crowbar to jimmy open the nonfunctioning train doors. I saw a lady in stilettos toss her cosmetic case, then herself, through a cracked window to make her connection in Florence once. At the main train station in Florence, Santa Maria Nouvella, throngs of hot and weary travelers mill around under the leader board, jockeying for position, while waiting for the track numbers to be posted, rather like the staring lineup at the Kentucky Derby.
German and Italian have both formal and informal verb forms. Informal verb forms are used between friends, family, and young people. So as not to offend anyone, I stick with the formal verb forms unless I am invited to do otherwise. This rule is not a strict as it used to be, but I'd rather err on the side of politeness. At the coffee shop this morning, I noticed the Italian man greeted me using the informal form of address, which invites me to do the same. There has been a subtle shift. I am not so much a stranger now.
Dogs are popular in Germany. Generally speaking they are well behaved and travel everywhere with their human companions, even to restaurants and on the train. I frequently see people exercising their pets while on my walk in the countryside. Often they are unleashed, but hardly spare me a glance, much less chase after me. The other night, as I rounded the bend, I noticed a black and tan Doberman, standing silent and alert by the side of the road, looking in my direction. Not spotting an owner, I slowed down to a cautious crawl, waved my arms and hollered to see if the dog moved toward me. He didn't, but not feeling particularly confident, I stopped walking to jump up and down, whistling and calling like a crazy woman. Still no movement, so I crept hesitently forward on the opposite side of the road. As I neared the beast, I was surprised to see it wasn't a dog after all, but a break in the hedge which had been uncovered when the verge was mowed. The tan-colored "points" I'd seen were actually small brown branches now visible around the dark hole in the greenery. Now how foolish did I look jumping around and yelling at an invisible Doberman?
I am taking a gift to Maria when I return to Italy. I printed off and framed the picture of her daughter, Laura, in her white dress which I'd taken the night we went to dinner together. Since it's a gift, it felt right to wrap it in some pretty paper, so I walked to the card shop and bought a piece of thick, handmade, textured paper painted a dark and metallic shade of gray After purchasing tape, I walked back to the house to wrap my surprise and that's when the real fun began. The paper was difficult to fold neatly because it was so thick, however do not confuse "thick" with "sturdy". The darned stuff wanted to tear every time I folded it tightly over the bottom of the frame box, and the tape refused to stick to the silver paint. I used about 10 feet of tape to close the package and then wrapped it in a plastic bag to keep the paper secure. In spite of these precautions, I have a sinking feeling that when Maria takes it out of the bag it will be to find that the paper has affixed itself to the inside of the plastic bag and the plain box will be visible. A gift that unwraps itself...how novel!!!!
Trains run like clockwork here in Germany. In fact the schedule is so precise that the track that each train will arrive and depart from is printed up, and mounted behind glass at the train station. Now, it was a whole different story in Italy, where it is not at all unusual for trains to be late (and for busses not to show at all), which is probably a direct result of the fact that it can take 3 minutes and a crowbar to jimmy open the nonfunctioning train doors. I saw a lady in stilettos toss her cosmetic case, then herself, through a cracked window to make her connection in Florence once. At the main train station in Florence, Santa Maria Nouvella, throngs of hot and weary travelers mill around under the leader board, jockeying for position, while waiting for the track numbers to be posted, rather like the staring lineup at the Kentucky Derby.
German and Italian have both formal and informal verb forms. Informal verb forms are used between friends, family, and young people. So as not to offend anyone, I stick with the formal verb forms unless I am invited to do otherwise. This rule is not a strict as it used to be, but I'd rather err on the side of politeness. At the coffee shop this morning, I noticed the Italian man greeted me using the informal form of address, which invites me to do the same. There has been a subtle shift. I am not so much a stranger now.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Friday, August 22, 2008
Witches, Weight, and an Italian Conversation
There is a spooky little house around the corner from where I live. It's tall and narrow, unkempt, locked behind a gate, and has strange things in the windows, like odd dolls and plastic flowers. I fancy it's a witch's house. Not a good witch, mind you, more like the evil Hansel and Gretel kind. I find myself looking over my shoulder when I pass to make sure some haggard crone in black isn't standing behind me measuring me for her oven.
I was disapointed to see that Michael Johnson's world record for the 200m sprint was broken the other evening, but I am happy to report that his 400m record still stands. Way to go, MJ! I found it perculiar that the American medallist in the 200m, Spearman (whom the German announcer kept referring to as SPER-man), kept sticking out his blue-colored tongue to all and sundry who cared to view it. Maybe he ingested a jumbo package of Nerds before the race. I would have been impressed if he'd done something more creative like dyed his tongue red, white, AND blue.
My son, Logan, had a birthday 2 days ago. He is now a big 1-4! I have posted a recent picture of the boys which I was thrilled to receive yesterday. I certainly miss my children!
I made a last trip to Ansbach yesterday looking for a few specific items. I located a cute shirt which ALMOST fits, and did find two inexpensive brassieres (I sound like my Granny now), which, when measured, proved to be 7 1/2 inches smaller than the ones I am currently wearing. Allowing for some stretching out of the old ones, let's say the new ones are 6 inches smaller. I am thrilled! I also found some inexpensive socks and underthings. I hate spending money for that sort of thing, but am very proud to be able to purchase smaller items. I have never lost more than 40 pounds in my life and have not lost a significant amount of weight in 5 years, so this is an exciting moment for me.
I spoke with the Italian man at the coffee shop this morning. He stopped by my table and made a comment about the book I am reading, since I seem to be reading a different one each time I am there. I asked him where he is from and, while the name he gave me was familiar, I did not know exactly where in Italy it was. He told me it is in the south of Italy, not far from Sicily, and I told him about my time in Tuscany. He was aghast at the fact that I am taking an 8 month vacation, and probably thinks I am independently wealthy. Little does he know that I may never be able to retire, nor that it has been worth every last penny!
I was disapointed to see that Michael Johnson's world record for the 200m sprint was broken the other evening, but I am happy to report that his 400m record still stands. Way to go, MJ! I found it perculiar that the American medallist in the 200m, Spearman (whom the German announcer kept referring to as SPER-man), kept sticking out his blue-colored tongue to all and sundry who cared to view it. Maybe he ingested a jumbo package of Nerds before the race. I would have been impressed if he'd done something more creative like dyed his tongue red, white, AND blue.
My son, Logan, had a birthday 2 days ago. He is now a big 1-4! I have posted a recent picture of the boys which I was thrilled to receive yesterday. I certainly miss my children!
I made a last trip to Ansbach yesterday looking for a few specific items. I located a cute shirt which ALMOST fits, and did find two inexpensive brassieres (I sound like my Granny now), which, when measured, proved to be 7 1/2 inches smaller than the ones I am currently wearing. Allowing for some stretching out of the old ones, let's say the new ones are 6 inches smaller. I am thrilled! I also found some inexpensive socks and underthings. I hate spending money for that sort of thing, but am very proud to be able to purchase smaller items. I have never lost more than 40 pounds in my life and have not lost a significant amount of weight in 5 years, so this is an exciting moment for me.
I spoke with the Italian man at the coffee shop this morning. He stopped by my table and made a comment about the book I am reading, since I seem to be reading a different one each time I am there. I asked him where he is from and, while the name he gave me was familiar, I did not know exactly where in Italy it was. He told me it is in the south of Italy, not far from Sicily, and I told him about my time in Tuscany. He was aghast at the fact that I am taking an 8 month vacation, and probably thinks I am independently wealthy. Little does he know that I may never be able to retire, nor that it has been worth every last penny!
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Würzburg
Yesterday dawned bright and sunny, a perfect day to ride the train to Würzburg. The entire journey took about 1 1/4 hours and the last portion was on the rockiest rolliest train I've yet to ride in Germany. As we neared Würzburg the terrain became increasingly hilly, planted with crops like corn, fruit orchards, and grape vines. The vines were all planted with military precision, growing in perfectly straight lines running up to the crest of each hill, dripping with burgeoning clusters of green grapes swaying gently in the soft breeze. I found myself wondering if the vines continued down the other side of the hill as well or gave way to scrub brush and trees.
Tim and I drove to the post exchange at a military installation in Würzburg once, but we did not visit the downtown area. As I recall it was just too much hassle with the World's Fussiest Toddler (Yes, Jordan, that would be you) in tow.
I walked from the train station in the downtown area, crossing over a multitude of trolley tracks and dodging myriad bicyclists as I went. There were lots of stores and bakeries in evidence and the first store I came to was a clothing store in which I'd shopped in Ansbach, C&A. I stopped by the large-sized clothing section, which had a better selection than the Ansbach store, and was thrilled to find a purple shirt and a replacement jacket for that hideous, loud, turqoise number I brought from home and avoid wearing. The new coat was marked down from 49 euro to 19 (about $29), and is lightweight, black with tan trim and has a hood. It is a little nicer looking than the one I had so I will be able to wear it for dressier occasions. I have bought three shirts with long sleeves recently as I suspect that there will be cooler weather in the mountains in 2 weeks, and in Italy in November. I am glad to find more affordable clothing here as money is definitely a concern.
I continued wandering the downtown area and was disappointed to encounter two churches that were closed, as I had wanted to explore them. I found a number of bookstores and enjoyed a bit of browsing. Eventually I stopped for lunch (and dinner, as it turns out), a stracciatellabecher, a huge sundae of stracciatella eis (chocolate chip ice cream) topped with a mountain of whipped cream, a waterfall of chocolate sauce, and not one, but two little cookies; one a chocolate covered wafer, and the other, one of those chocolate and vanilla ones that looks like a rolled up crepe. I was a bit embarrassed to be confronted with this enormous concoction sitting at an outdoor cafe', but tackled it anyway. I managed to wade through the cookies, the mound of whipped cream, which I love, and about half the ice cream before calling it a day. It was a lovely day and I actually became a bit overheated until one of the waitresses came out and unfurled an gigantic umbrella, which sheltered me and granted me a welcome bit of shade.
Directly behind the cafe' was the Dom, cathedral, which I investigated after indulging in my ice cream orgy. It is a rather nondescript church from the outside, fronted with huge, metal doors in a very modern design. The inside was lovely with modern stained glass windows in soft shades of tan, gray, green, lilac, and blue, placed high in the white walls, and the area behind the altar was light, bright, and covered with ornate decoration. After leaving a small donation I walked to a second, smaller church notable for its white and red exterior coloration. The wall surfaces were white, and the carved stone decoration and lacy steeple were made of a bright red stone, unlike anything I think I have ever seen. The inside was simple but, unlike most German churches I have visited, had vividly colored stained glass windows fashioned in a modern design. The left side of the church contained an altar decorated with a Madonna and Child statue fabricated of shining silver and gold-colored metal.
When my feet got tired I wandered back to the train station and caught a train home. When I arrived at the apartment, it was to a big surprise. My friend, Barb, had mailed me a package of books! I was thrilled with the books and immediately began a book written by a veterinarian, which I finished over coffee this morning. I am very appreciative of her thoughtfulness and kindness and I cannot think of a gift which I will enjoyed more!!
Tim and I drove to the post exchange at a military installation in Würzburg once, but we did not visit the downtown area. As I recall it was just too much hassle with the World's Fussiest Toddler (Yes, Jordan, that would be you) in tow.
I walked from the train station in the downtown area, crossing over a multitude of trolley tracks and dodging myriad bicyclists as I went. There were lots of stores and bakeries in evidence and the first store I came to was a clothing store in which I'd shopped in Ansbach, C&A. I stopped by the large-sized clothing section, which had a better selection than the Ansbach store, and was thrilled to find a purple shirt and a replacement jacket for that hideous, loud, turqoise number I brought from home and avoid wearing. The new coat was marked down from 49 euro to 19 (about $29), and is lightweight, black with tan trim and has a hood. It is a little nicer looking than the one I had so I will be able to wear it for dressier occasions. I have bought three shirts with long sleeves recently as I suspect that there will be cooler weather in the mountains in 2 weeks, and in Italy in November. I am glad to find more affordable clothing here as money is definitely a concern.
I continued wandering the downtown area and was disappointed to encounter two churches that were closed, as I had wanted to explore them. I found a number of bookstores and enjoyed a bit of browsing. Eventually I stopped for lunch (and dinner, as it turns out), a stracciatellabecher, a huge sundae of stracciatella eis (chocolate chip ice cream) topped with a mountain of whipped cream, a waterfall of chocolate sauce, and not one, but two little cookies; one a chocolate covered wafer, and the other, one of those chocolate and vanilla ones that looks like a rolled up crepe. I was a bit embarrassed to be confronted with this enormous concoction sitting at an outdoor cafe', but tackled it anyway. I managed to wade through the cookies, the mound of whipped cream, which I love, and about half the ice cream before calling it a day. It was a lovely day and I actually became a bit overheated until one of the waitresses came out and unfurled an gigantic umbrella, which sheltered me and granted me a welcome bit of shade.
Directly behind the cafe' was the Dom, cathedral, which I investigated after indulging in my ice cream orgy. It is a rather nondescript church from the outside, fronted with huge, metal doors in a very modern design. The inside was lovely with modern stained glass windows in soft shades of tan, gray, green, lilac, and blue, placed high in the white walls, and the area behind the altar was light, bright, and covered with ornate decoration. After leaving a small donation I walked to a second, smaller church notable for its white and red exterior coloration. The wall surfaces were white, and the carved stone decoration and lacy steeple were made of a bright red stone, unlike anything I think I have ever seen. The inside was simple but, unlike most German churches I have visited, had vividly colored stained glass windows fashioned in a modern design. The left side of the church contained an altar decorated with a Madonna and Child statue fabricated of shining silver and gold-colored metal.
When my feet got tired I wandered back to the train station and caught a train home. When I arrived at the apartment, it was to a big surprise. My friend, Barb, had mailed me a package of books! I was thrilled with the books and immediately began a book written by a veterinarian, which I finished over coffee this morning. I am very appreciative of her thoughtfulness and kindness and I cannot think of a gift which I will enjoyed more!!
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Olympic Observations
I walked to Kaufland yesterday to do my thrice weekly grocery shopping which involved purchasing potatoes for my fabulous chicken soup. I noticed that one brand of potatoes were called "dicke dinger" (pronounced dick-a dinger; try saying that three times fast!), which translates to "fat things". Bad in any language.
As I mentioned before, I am enjoying the Olympics. I like that the word medals in German is medallion...it sounds so elegant. I also like the man who does the German commentary for the swimming events. He is forever announcing a "welt rekooooooord" (world record). Initially his "welt rekord" pronouncements were excited, then after awhile they were routine, although when Michael Phelps won the 100m Butterfly in a photo finish, I thought the announcer was going to have a heart failure. I don't think I have ever heard so much enthusiasm. It is amazing how many swimming world records have been set during this Olympics games. The water must be extra slippery in China this year.
I always enjoy the Track and Field events as I am a frustrated sprinter from back in my school days (waaaaay back!). The male sprinters are always interesting to observe as they strut and posture looking like so many banty roosters all chasing the same elusive hen. Reminds me of watching Michael Johnson set the 200m sprint world record in the 1996 Olympics in Altlanta, a record which still stands, mind you. Michael had a very unique, upright running style. Frankly, I always thought he looked a lot like the cartoon rooster, Foghorn Leghorn, with his overly developed, puffed out chest, and muscular butt and thighs. He just needed a large, yellow beak and a tail to complete the look. Mind you, he is a phenomenal athlete and I probably screamed the loudest of all his fans when he set that record. I am glad to see it still stands. I am also thrilled to see that 1988 world women's records for the 100m and 200m sprints are still held by the incredible, late Florence Griffith-Joyner (Flo Jo to those of you in the know). For her sprinting records to be standing after 20 years is an amazing testament to her athletic ability.
I am watching the Olympic coverage on a station called Eurosport which essentially has around the clock coverage. I enjoy a segment they do each evening setting bloopers and funny happenings to some musical numbers to maximize the humor. I was, however, mystified to see that they filmed one of the sprinters as he exited the automatic bathroom stall and made his way to the starting blocks. While they felt that was necessary is beyond me! Hey, world class sprinters are people too!
I have just 2 weeks left here in Rothenburg and will be making an excursion to Würzburg next week for a visit.
As I mentioned before, I am enjoying the Olympics. I like that the word medals in German is medallion...it sounds so elegant. I also like the man who does the German commentary for the swimming events. He is forever announcing a "welt rekooooooord" (world record). Initially his "welt rekord" pronouncements were excited, then after awhile they were routine, although when Michael Phelps won the 100m Butterfly in a photo finish, I thought the announcer was going to have a heart failure. I don't think I have ever heard so much enthusiasm. It is amazing how many swimming world records have been set during this Olympics games. The water must be extra slippery in China this year.
I always enjoy the Track and Field events as I am a frustrated sprinter from back in my school days (waaaaay back!). The male sprinters are always interesting to observe as they strut and posture looking like so many banty roosters all chasing the same elusive hen. Reminds me of watching Michael Johnson set the 200m sprint world record in the 1996 Olympics in Altlanta, a record which still stands, mind you. Michael had a very unique, upright running style. Frankly, I always thought he looked a lot like the cartoon rooster, Foghorn Leghorn, with his overly developed, puffed out chest, and muscular butt and thighs. He just needed a large, yellow beak and a tail to complete the look. Mind you, he is a phenomenal athlete and I probably screamed the loudest of all his fans when he set that record. I am glad to see it still stands. I am also thrilled to see that 1988 world women's records for the 100m and 200m sprints are still held by the incredible, late Florence Griffith-Joyner (Flo Jo to those of you in the know). For her sprinting records to be standing after 20 years is an amazing testament to her athletic ability.
I am watching the Olympic coverage on a station called Eurosport which essentially has around the clock coverage. I enjoy a segment they do each evening setting bloopers and funny happenings to some musical numbers to maximize the humor. I was, however, mystified to see that they filmed one of the sprinters as he exited the automatic bathroom stall and made his way to the starting blocks. While they felt that was necessary is beyond me! Hey, world class sprinters are people too!
I have just 2 weeks left here in Rothenburg and will be making an excursion to Würzburg next week for a visit.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Sight and Song
Watching the Olympics has brought another unfortunate German word to the forefront of my mind.....mannschaft. It means "team" but sounds and looks like a word which should feature prominently in some pornographic publication, rather like fuchsmühle. EXAMPLE: The German mannschaft made its formidable presence felt in fuchsmühle. Ahhh, German.
I believe I've discovered the name of the 4-legged neighborhood bully....Felix. I frequently hear a man out calling for Felix and this event often occurs right about the time some hideous growling and hissing is taking place right under my window. I would like to suggest neutering, but it would likely fall on deaf ears. Better to let the little blighter terrify the neighborhood than to make a trip to the vet.
I've been lazy the last couple of days. I would rather watch the Olympics than take my evening walk. Don't worry, I'll get back at it. The thought of exercise still doesn't fill me with anticipation, even though I know it's good for me. That likely plays a big role in my difficulty controlling my weight. I really don't enjoy exercise, nor do I prefer healthy foods to unhealthy ones. Just something I will have to deal with day by day, minute by minute.
There are a number of freelance musicians who play in the streets of this ancient and colorful town. My favorite is an Italian who plays the loveliest sweet music on a violin, usually romantic and ethereal. I could just plop down and listen for hours. My least favorite is the one man band. The gent with curly, longish hair wears a Crocodile Dundee style hat and sings with a voice ranging from a pseudo Australian accent to a faux Texas drawl. He plucks away weakly at a banjo, whilst banging determinedly on a little foot drum with an occasional whisk of a set of weak cymbols. Invariably a kazoo buzzes in like a swarm of killer bees honing in on a target. Seeing these men I am reminded of the pair of accordianists in Cortona who stationed themselves on either end of via Nazionale, so that if one didn't catch me, the other would. I would avoid these two like the plague, but learned before I left that the one's name is Christian and he's from Romania. Now he has a name and I see he's a human trying to wrest out a living from a small instrument and the good graces of visitors. I will tip him the next time I see him and try to remember to be more kind in the future. Thank you, Terri, for helping me see.
I believe I've discovered the name of the 4-legged neighborhood bully....Felix. I frequently hear a man out calling for Felix and this event often occurs right about the time some hideous growling and hissing is taking place right under my window. I would like to suggest neutering, but it would likely fall on deaf ears. Better to let the little blighter terrify the neighborhood than to make a trip to the vet.
I've been lazy the last couple of days. I would rather watch the Olympics than take my evening walk. Don't worry, I'll get back at it. The thought of exercise still doesn't fill me with anticipation, even though I know it's good for me. That likely plays a big role in my difficulty controlling my weight. I really don't enjoy exercise, nor do I prefer healthy foods to unhealthy ones. Just something I will have to deal with day by day, minute by minute.
There are a number of freelance musicians who play in the streets of this ancient and colorful town. My favorite is an Italian who plays the loveliest sweet music on a violin, usually romantic and ethereal. I could just plop down and listen for hours. My least favorite is the one man band. The gent with curly, longish hair wears a Crocodile Dundee style hat and sings with a voice ranging from a pseudo Australian accent to a faux Texas drawl. He plucks away weakly at a banjo, whilst banging determinedly on a little foot drum with an occasional whisk of a set of weak cymbols. Invariably a kazoo buzzes in like a swarm of killer bees honing in on a target. Seeing these men I am reminded of the pair of accordianists in Cortona who stationed themselves on either end of via Nazionale, so that if one didn't catch me, the other would. I would avoid these two like the plague, but learned before I left that the one's name is Christian and he's from Romania. Now he has a name and I see he's a human trying to wrest out a living from a small instrument and the good graces of visitors. I will tip him the next time I see him and try to remember to be more kind in the future. Thank you, Terri, for helping me see.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
This, That...and the Other
It's raining again, after a few nice weeks. I am enjoying the Olympics on TV and walking each evening in the rain.
I have seen a man 4 or 5 times at the coffee shop. He is of a nice height, toned, very tan, very masculine...nice looking, all in all. I remember thinking that if I had to make a guess I would say he works construction, he just has that look of a man who works with his hands. While trotting to the coffee shop one morning last week, I encountered him at work. He's, of all things, a tour guide, who was surrounded by a group of elderly German tourists. I noticed the ladies in particular were hanging on his every word, and I imagine any number of them would like to take him home and feed him sauerbraten and listen to his lovely voice. Funny how people turn out to be what you least expect of them. In a worst case scenario having any expectations can lead to disappointment and disillusionment. In this case, it was more a pleasant surprise which made the man even more interesting.
I am becoming a fixture at the coffee shop with most employees now greeting me pleasantly. 6 weeks seems to be the marker for becoming less a stranger and tourist and more a regular. I found that in Italy as well, as I recall. In less than 3 weeks I will say goodbye to this lovely town and begin yet another chapter in my journey. I have not told anyone in Italy that I am returning other than Maria. I would like to surprise my friend, Terri.
The grocery store here has ready made popcorn, a real treat, although it is so salty that I likely gain 3 pounds of water weight each time I eat it. I buy only 1 smallish bag at a time as I really don't need the extra salt being that I tend to eat a high sodium diet anyway. Also, if I want to snack , I make myself walk down to the grocery store more often to buy whatever it is I have a taste for. I am wearing a smaller pair of pants and I find that the extra effort it takes to move my legs wearing tight pants provides a little extra workout.
I still walk 5-6 times a week and enjoy my country route. The wheat fields now shorn of their rippling golden locks, left bare, shorn, and exposed like a small boy after his summer haircut. I am able to walk faster now on this flat route and trip along leaning forward on my short legs rather like I am going to fall on my face.....probably looks quite funny. Running is not an option. I still have some knee and hip problems on my right hand side and running could cause an injury I can't afford to suffer. The knee cap still likes to pop and snap into position when I first begin walking. I have discovered that my left leg is thinner and more toned than the right. All those months of favoring that right leg going up and down stairs at Maria's I guess. I now purposely try to give the right leg a little extra workout so it can catch up to the left. I do stomach curls daily so I have more of a defined waist. Unfortunately, I still have two large stomach rolls, one under the waist and another above, which are particulary unattractive. I spent all my time trying to suck in my stomach, which is good for toning but rather uncomfortable. I could wear a smaller pair of jeans, but for this hideous muffin top I've got. Gads! The good news is that I am able to bend and move in ways I haven't been able to in years. This has been an expensive journey in terms of money, but losing weight, and improving my fitness and health have made it worth every last penny. Some things truly are priceless.
I have seen a man 4 or 5 times at the coffee shop. He is of a nice height, toned, very tan, very masculine...nice looking, all in all. I remember thinking that if I had to make a guess I would say he works construction, he just has that look of a man who works with his hands. While trotting to the coffee shop one morning last week, I encountered him at work. He's, of all things, a tour guide, who was surrounded by a group of elderly German tourists. I noticed the ladies in particular were hanging on his every word, and I imagine any number of them would like to take him home and feed him sauerbraten and listen to his lovely voice. Funny how people turn out to be what you least expect of them. In a worst case scenario having any expectations can lead to disappointment and disillusionment. In this case, it was more a pleasant surprise which made the man even more interesting.
I am becoming a fixture at the coffee shop with most employees now greeting me pleasantly. 6 weeks seems to be the marker for becoming less a stranger and tourist and more a regular. I found that in Italy as well, as I recall. In less than 3 weeks I will say goodbye to this lovely town and begin yet another chapter in my journey. I have not told anyone in Italy that I am returning other than Maria. I would like to surprise my friend, Terri.
The grocery store here has ready made popcorn, a real treat, although it is so salty that I likely gain 3 pounds of water weight each time I eat it. I buy only 1 smallish bag at a time as I really don't need the extra salt being that I tend to eat a high sodium diet anyway. Also, if I want to snack , I make myself walk down to the grocery store more often to buy whatever it is I have a taste for. I am wearing a smaller pair of pants and I find that the extra effort it takes to move my legs wearing tight pants provides a little extra workout.
I still walk 5-6 times a week and enjoy my country route. The wheat fields now shorn of their rippling golden locks, left bare, shorn, and exposed like a small boy after his summer haircut. I am able to walk faster now on this flat route and trip along leaning forward on my short legs rather like I am going to fall on my face.....probably looks quite funny. Running is not an option. I still have some knee and hip problems on my right hand side and running could cause an injury I can't afford to suffer. The knee cap still likes to pop and snap into position when I first begin walking. I have discovered that my left leg is thinner and more toned than the right. All those months of favoring that right leg going up and down stairs at Maria's I guess. I now purposely try to give the right leg a little extra workout so it can catch up to the left. I do stomach curls daily so I have more of a defined waist. Unfortunately, I still have two large stomach rolls, one under the waist and another above, which are particulary unattractive. I spent all my time trying to suck in my stomach, which is good for toning but rather uncomfortable. I could wear a smaller pair of jeans, but for this hideous muffin top I've got. Gads! The good news is that I am able to bend and move in ways I haven't been able to in years. This has been an expensive journey in terms of money, but losing weight, and improving my fitness and health have made it worth every last penny. Some things truly are priceless.
Friday, August 8, 2008
Cleanliness is next to Godliness
Germans are the gardeners of the world...they are also the cleaners. The cleanest places I have ever been, inside and out, are here in Germany, where you can routinely enter any establishment and eat right off the floor. I am sure my landlady would be horrified to know that I have been scrubbing my white socks with the potato scrubber, but I think I mentioned that before. I have seen 80 year old bedridden ladies dragging IV poles behind them as they scrub the gutters every morning at 7:00 AM, and many windows are washed daily. By the way, mops are not used in Germany. Floor are scrubbed the old fashioned way, on hands and knees with a small brush. I think the saying "Cleanlines is next to Godliness" probably originated in Germany.
This overwhelming focus on cleaniless makes the show I caught on cable TV today all the funnier. It features a pair of German ladies who go in and clean houses for those who can't seem to grasp the concept of soap, water, and elbow grease. Today's show featured shy Martin who, in spite of having a large number of cupboards, shelves, and schranks, couldn't seem to actually pick up any items off the floor and stow them in the aforementioned storage units. Apparently Martin would like to meet a lady for romance and the two cleaning ladies belabored that point as they tutted over the horrendous conditions of his abode. "Mahhtin, Mahhtin!", called the one or the other as the embarrased and beleagured Martin, dressed nattily in his bright yellow Deutsche Post (post office) shirt, ran back and forth to see what newly discovered nightmare had been uncovered. The ladies displayed their horror by frequent tsking, tongue clicking, head shaking, and loud cries of, "Mahhhtin!" When one flipped over a throw rug releasing a bug, Martin had to scramble after it with a paper towel, while the Putz Frau tsked and loudly instructed him in the proper way to catch and dispose of said critter. Poor Martin!
Eventually, the cleaning was complete and the newly organized apartment was unveiled for Martin, who dressed for the occasion by hanging the blue jacket of a 1970's double-knit leisure suit on his rail thin frame. I am pretty sure the former neighbor of my childhood, Bud, had a leisure suit just like it. I know for sure he had a brown one. Oh, but the ladies weren't done with poor Martin. Having confessed his desire for a lady friend, they weren't quitting until Martin was made over. They took him shopping, where he purchased a grey 3 piece suit that hung loosely on him as though it were still on the hanger, and had his thinning hair cut and styled so it looked exactly like it did BEFORE he had it cut and styled. They then enlisted the help of a matchmaker, who appeared quite overwhelmed by the prospect of finding a lady for Martin. Perhaps she'd seen the "before" pictures of the apartment and the blue leisure suit! Let's wish Martin the best of luck, he did seem like a very nice man!
This overwhelming focus on cleaniless makes the show I caught on cable TV today all the funnier. It features a pair of German ladies who go in and clean houses for those who can't seem to grasp the concept of soap, water, and elbow grease. Today's show featured shy Martin who, in spite of having a large number of cupboards, shelves, and schranks, couldn't seem to actually pick up any items off the floor and stow them in the aforementioned storage units. Apparently Martin would like to meet a lady for romance and the two cleaning ladies belabored that point as they tutted over the horrendous conditions of his abode. "Mahhtin, Mahhtin!", called the one or the other as the embarrased and beleagured Martin, dressed nattily in his bright yellow Deutsche Post (post office) shirt, ran back and forth to see what newly discovered nightmare had been uncovered. The ladies displayed their horror by frequent tsking, tongue clicking, head shaking, and loud cries of, "Mahhhtin!" When one flipped over a throw rug releasing a bug, Martin had to scramble after it with a paper towel, while the Putz Frau tsked and loudly instructed him in the proper way to catch and dispose of said critter. Poor Martin!
Eventually, the cleaning was complete and the newly organized apartment was unveiled for Martin, who dressed for the occasion by hanging the blue jacket of a 1970's double-knit leisure suit on his rail thin frame. I am pretty sure the former neighbor of my childhood, Bud, had a leisure suit just like it. I know for sure he had a brown one. Oh, but the ladies weren't done with poor Martin. Having confessed his desire for a lady friend, they weren't quitting until Martin was made over. They took him shopping, where he purchased a grey 3 piece suit that hung loosely on him as though it were still on the hanger, and had his thinning hair cut and styled so it looked exactly like it did BEFORE he had it cut and styled. They then enlisted the help of a matchmaker, who appeared quite overwhelmed by the prospect of finding a lady for Martin. Perhaps she'd seen the "before" pictures of the apartment and the blue leisure suit! Let's wish Martin the best of luck, he did seem like a very nice man!
Thursday, August 7, 2008
A Bat in the Belfry
I was close to sleep late Tuesday night when I heard what sounded like rain pitter-patting on the canvas roof of the porch cover below. I crept out of bed to open my window further to allow in the breeze and be able to enjoy the sound of a gentle, cleansing rain. As I turned on a small light however, I was alarmed to see something small and dark, darting and swooping close to my head. Holy mackerel, it was a bat! A tiny bat, with a wing span of no more than 2 1/2 inches, perhaps a baby, zipping around the room like a tiny rocket. Fortunately, I had a discussion about bats with Laura and Maria prior to departing Italy, so had some idea of what to do. I quickly extinguished all the lights and opened all of the windows which did not have screens, then hid in the bathroom with my eye pasted to a tiny crack in the door to observe the fun. In theory, bats are attracted to the light so the little dickens should be attracted to the lights outside and swoop back out with no further ado. Well, things weren't all that simple, of course. The little guy's radar seemed to be in the fritz and I could hear noises as he bumped into things in the bedroom, then whipped right past the cracked bathroom door into the kitchen at the speed of light to bounce of the cupboards. It seemed to take forever and I was sure I was going to have to spend the night huddled in the cold bathtub. Eventually I was brave enough to sneak out and turn on the bedroom light to look for the little fellow, who apparently had found his way out the open window at some point. Yikes! That was way more excitement than I bargained for!
Several shopkeepers have mentioned that business is off here in Germany this tourist season as it was in Italy. The lady at the jeans shop suggested that even Germans are not traveling so much as money is in short supply. When I see tour groups they seem to be German or Asian...few Americans. I don't mind that the town is more quiet than usual, but I know it's difficult for businesses who depend on tourists for their livelihood.
I enjoy the beautiful displays of flowers around town. There are a number of old horse troughs set up here and there which have been planted with a glorious array of colorful flowers, blooming in wild abandon. I must be sure to take a picture to share with you. My landlords have a garden planted with lovely flowers, fruits, and vegetables. They have kindly encouraged me to use the yard, which I don't do very often as there is another couple staying at the house for 3 weeks who always seem to be out there. So, I will leave them to it and enjoy the garden when they have gone. I have been here more than 5 weeks now, with 3 1/2 to go before I pick up my rental car and head toward the Alps. It's amazing how time flies!
Several shopkeepers have mentioned that business is off here in Germany this tourist season as it was in Italy. The lady at the jeans shop suggested that even Germans are not traveling so much as money is in short supply. When I see tour groups they seem to be German or Asian...few Americans. I don't mind that the town is more quiet than usual, but I know it's difficult for businesses who depend on tourists for their livelihood.
I enjoy the beautiful displays of flowers around town. There are a number of old horse troughs set up here and there which have been planted with a glorious array of colorful flowers, blooming in wild abandon. I must be sure to take a picture to share with you. My landlords have a garden planted with lovely flowers, fruits, and vegetables. They have kindly encouraged me to use the yard, which I don't do very often as there is another couple staying at the house for 3 weeks who always seem to be out there. So, I will leave them to it and enjoy the garden when they have gone. I have been here more than 5 weeks now, with 3 1/2 to go before I pick up my rental car and head toward the Alps. It's amazing how time flies!
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
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Nach Ansbach
I have been anxious to do a bit of clothes shopping and it's been a couple of weeks since I took the train to Ansbach, so that's where I headed today after my ritual morning milchkaffee. I caught the 12:06 train and arrived in Ansbach before 1:00. It was a gorgeous day, sunny and breezy. I walked from the train station and in through the tower which signals the beginning of the pedestrian area of the old city. I found some new streets and stores to explore with a multitude of too small clothing. I did find some things in my size, but was hesitent to spend $80 per shirt. I found my way back to a store where I'd purchased my purple t-shirt last time I was in town and this time I bought a white linen tunic decorated around the neck and cuffs with embroidery and beads. It is a bit tight, but by the time I am back in Italy and the weather has cooled, it will fit just fine. I will need a couple of long sleeved blouses for the cooler weather and this one fit the bill and was "only" $45. I also stopped by the bookstore for a couple of paperbacks to fill the days.
I am now wearing my smallest jeans, purchased here in Rothenburg. With the spandex, they stretch out so I am just able to squeeze into them. These are the low-rise pair I told you about and when I wear them I find myself tugging the back up as I have the horrible sensation that if I bend over to pick up a penny, my plumber's crack would make an unfortunate appearance. I tired picking one up at home as a test, and while I have a great deal of muffin top in evidence, there is no sign of the crack. Now that I have these hip new jeans, which I roll up at the bottom like a teenager because they're too long, I need something to decorate my lower back. Perhaps a thong or, better yet, I could get a tattoo. Hey, I know! I will get a tattoo that looks like a butt crack just to fool everyone! My kids would love that! At any rate, I had to purchase a new, smaller pair of jeans so I have something to grow into.
I have not heard from my friend, Terri, about posting her article on the blog, so I assume that this is not allowed. In summary, she wrote a lovely article about our day in Florence and the experience she had when we visited a little church, Santa Felicita´, the church of Saint Felicity. Felicita´ is Italian for happiness. There is a large oil on wood painting from the 1500's painted by Jacopo Pontormo which never fails to bring Terri to tears. I left her alone to contemplate the painting and release her emotions, before meeting up with her to exchange hugs and let her know that I understand how she feels. It took an encounter with La Santa to bring me to tears, and for Terri it is this masterpiece by Pontormo. For each of us it is something different which touches that deep place within our soul enough to bring us to tears. It matters not what moves you in this life, just that you are moved, at least once. It is a rare and precious gift.
I am now wearing my smallest jeans, purchased here in Rothenburg. With the spandex, they stretch out so I am just able to squeeze into them. These are the low-rise pair I told you about and when I wear them I find myself tugging the back up as I have the horrible sensation that if I bend over to pick up a penny, my plumber's crack would make an unfortunate appearance. I tired picking one up at home as a test, and while I have a great deal of muffin top in evidence, there is no sign of the crack. Now that I have these hip new jeans, which I roll up at the bottom like a teenager because they're too long, I need something to decorate my lower back. Perhaps a thong or, better yet, I could get a tattoo. Hey, I know! I will get a tattoo that looks like a butt crack just to fool everyone! My kids would love that! At any rate, I had to purchase a new, smaller pair of jeans so I have something to grow into.
I have not heard from my friend, Terri, about posting her article on the blog, so I assume that this is not allowed. In summary, she wrote a lovely article about our day in Florence and the experience she had when we visited a little church, Santa Felicita´, the church of Saint Felicity. Felicita´ is Italian for happiness. There is a large oil on wood painting from the 1500's painted by Jacopo Pontormo which never fails to bring Terri to tears. I left her alone to contemplate the painting and release her emotions, before meeting up with her to exchange hugs and let her know that I understand how she feels. It took an encounter with La Santa to bring me to tears, and for Terri it is this masterpiece by Pontormo. For each of us it is something different which touches that deep place within our soul enough to bring us to tears. It matters not what moves you in this life, just that you are moved, at least once. It is a rare and precious gift.
Monday, August 4, 2008
The Bully
We have a neighborhood bully here in Rothenburg. He is short, rather puffy, with ginger-colored hair and whiskers, and .... four legs. Yep, he's a cat! You might remember in an earlier blog I mentioned that I was hearing some hideous growling several times a day from something that sounded like it was the size of a mountain lion. Well, the culprit has been identified!
This cat is a real terror. He hops the stone wall into my landlords' property and starts trouble with our resident cat, Mozart. Usually it's about 15 minutes worth of growls and snarls of increasing undulation and intensity. Last night, however, the whole thing exploded into an outright cat fight. The fur and spit were flying! I've never heard anything like it! If The Bully is not harassing Mozart, he's picking on the brown tabby around the corner, or the white and black cat up the block, or the calico around the other corner. I admit to a perverse desire to have my son's Super Soaker water gun so I can blast the little natter in the duff with a good stream of water. Ha ha!
The weather here is off and on, up and down, and I am not sleeping more than about 3 hours a night. I guess I am just not doing enough during the day, in spite of my 3 mile walk, to really be tired. I tend to get rather hot at night so am up and down, opening and closing windows, and adjusting the covers on the bed. I spent an inordinate amount of time chasing a mosquito last night. I would just close my eyes and begin to relax when an annoying buzzing in my ear would begin. If it's not a mosquito, or the heat, then I need to get a drink or go to the bathroom. I must drive my landlords crazy as they live downstairs and have to listen to the pitter patter of my size 9 feet all night long.
I broke down and had a piece of Black Forest Torte yesterday. All the cream made me sick as a dog though, same thing that happened last time I ate a piece. Maybe I will learn one of these days. I stopped for ice cream a couple of weeks ago. They tend to serve liquor in their ice cream dishes here which I don't appreciate, so I ordered the Black Forest Sundae which did not have kirschwasser or any other alcohol in it. What it did have was three small scoops of ice cream, vanilla, chocolate, and nut, topped with chocolate syrup, whipped cream, and cherries. Sounds good, huh? Well, it wasn't. The cherries were extremely sour and the addition of sour cherries made the dairy products already in my stomach curdle like last year's cottage cheese...yuck!
Ice cream and tortes aside, the breads here are heavenly! I am currently addicted to something called a "seele" which is a long roll topped with salt and caraway seeds (which I normally don't like). I recently went through a period of eating two cheese brötchen per day. I think I gained 5 pounds that week, which I now have to walk off! I still avoid eating out as a way to save money and stave off temptation. I hope I can continue that tradition when I return home!
This cat is a real terror. He hops the stone wall into my landlords' property and starts trouble with our resident cat, Mozart. Usually it's about 15 minutes worth of growls and snarls of increasing undulation and intensity. Last night, however, the whole thing exploded into an outright cat fight. The fur and spit were flying! I've never heard anything like it! If The Bully is not harassing Mozart, he's picking on the brown tabby around the corner, or the white and black cat up the block, or the calico around the other corner. I admit to a perverse desire to have my son's Super Soaker water gun so I can blast the little natter in the duff with a good stream of water. Ha ha!
The weather here is off and on, up and down, and I am not sleeping more than about 3 hours a night. I guess I am just not doing enough during the day, in spite of my 3 mile walk, to really be tired. I tend to get rather hot at night so am up and down, opening and closing windows, and adjusting the covers on the bed. I spent an inordinate amount of time chasing a mosquito last night. I would just close my eyes and begin to relax when an annoying buzzing in my ear would begin. If it's not a mosquito, or the heat, then I need to get a drink or go to the bathroom. I must drive my landlords crazy as they live downstairs and have to listen to the pitter patter of my size 9 feet all night long.
I broke down and had a piece of Black Forest Torte yesterday. All the cream made me sick as a dog though, same thing that happened last time I ate a piece. Maybe I will learn one of these days. I stopped for ice cream a couple of weeks ago. They tend to serve liquor in their ice cream dishes here which I don't appreciate, so I ordered the Black Forest Sundae which did not have kirschwasser or any other alcohol in it. What it did have was three small scoops of ice cream, vanilla, chocolate, and nut, topped with chocolate syrup, whipped cream, and cherries. Sounds good, huh? Well, it wasn't. The cherries were extremely sour and the addition of sour cherries made the dairy products already in my stomach curdle like last year's cottage cheese...yuck!
Ice cream and tortes aside, the breads here are heavenly! I am currently addicted to something called a "seele" which is a long roll topped with salt and caraway seeds (which I normally don't like). I recently went through a period of eating two cheese brötchen per day. I think I gained 5 pounds that week, which I now have to walk off! I still avoid eating out as a way to save money and stave off temptation. I hope I can continue that tradition when I return home!
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