Fall is here. The air is sharp and crisp, sometimes damp and heavy with a perfume of ripeness. It's harvest time...and grapes soon to be plucked, heavy with precious juice, from the life-giving vines which nurtured them. Olives are usually picked from small trees covered with slender, silvery-green leaves in November. I will be back in Italy when the olive harvest commences and can enjoy fresh pressed, greenish-gold olive oil freshly bottled.
The leaves are falling from the trees rapidly and swirl playfully around my feet as I walk through the city. I keep expecting to see roundly orange pumpkins decorating doorsteps, and champagne-colored cornstalks tied crisply in bundles and leaned decoratively in corners. Autumn in Texas is a joy as the unbearable heat of summer gives way to cooler air and the crepe myrtle outside my kitchen window turns a lovely shade of orange.
I found a scale at a local pharmacy and decided to weigh myself to mark the progress I have made. I tested the scale by my placing my purse on it, to find, alarmingly, that it weighed 41 kilos, in excess of 90 pounds. Even more suspiciously, my left foot weighed the same amount. Drats! The scale was broken. I guess the Universe interceded, preventing me from weighing myself, undoubtedly knowing this might have the power to cause me to focus obsessively on my weight and progress, or lack thereof. I suspect I have not lost as much weight as I would like to think I have lost. No real surprise as I eat a great deal and struggle daily with self-control. I have firmed up quite a bit due to the exercise which possibly makes me appear as though I have lost more than I actually have.
I am wearing a new pair of jeans. They are quite tight acting rather like a waist to knee girdle reducing circumference and controlling jiggle. They do give me nice legs though. Not thin certainly, but shapely. They don't do a thing to augment my flat ass however.
On advice from the Japanese gentlemen, Toru, I walked back to the cathedral at high noon to view the astronomical clock. Precisely at 12, a small bell sounded and a colorful wooden figure moved rapidly from the right side to the left and disappeared from view. I waited for more motion from the enormous time-keeper, but there was nothing. I confess to being a bit disappointed as I wished to see more. I had not even time to get out my camera before the show was over. I was interested to note that while the clock sounded precisely at noon according to my watch, the clock showed the time as 12:10. Maybe it needs a bit of winding.....
I got lost today. I went for a walk on the ring outside the island, in a direction I had never before explored. I walked in and out of sight of the river, my marker, and crossed the tram tracks, which I know intimately since I came about 24 inches from being run down by a tram the other day. I was so busy listening to music and watching for cars, pedestrians and bicycles, that I failed to noticed a 3 car tram approaching from the left. At any rate, I followed the tram lines away from the island, made two left turns, and was lost. I walked a bit in the direction in which I still believe the river lay and when I didn't see anything familiar, like a bridge or church spires, I turned around and retraced my steps, nearly taking a wrong turn. When I was in sight of the river again I crossed over and believed I was back on the island; however I didn't recognize the street or any of the shops. I walked along, planning to turn back if I didn't spot something familiar in a short time, and eventually intersected the street on which I live, Grand 'Rue. What startled me is that I came upon my street from the direction opposite of where I believed I was. I am not sure how my internal compass got so turned around, but it shook me just a tad and I had to fight the urge to sprint down the street and take refuge in my little home.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Monday, September 29, 2008
Announcement
I am excited to announce that my son, Jordan, who attends Copperas Cove High School, placed 8th at his Cross Country meet today and won his first individual medal!
Friday, September 26, 2008
The Market
There is a market in the old city on Fridays. I followed the cobbled streets to the market area today and was amazed by the variety of items on offer. In my experience in Germany and Italy the items for sale are mainly clothing, shoes, purses, and a variety of linens and housewares. This market had all that plus what I think of as the more traditional offerings of fruits, vegetables, cured meats, cheeses, prepared foods, bakery and breads, fresh meat and seafood. In fact, the smell of seafood permeating the air reached my nose before I ever reached the market. I was very excited...it was a real market! I didn't buy anything, but enjoyed browsing around even though the food stalls were beginning to pack up for the day. I loved the variety of cheeses; sharp, creamy, or pungent, in slices, wedges and wheels; all mine for the choosing. After all, I am a cheesehead from Wisconsin by birth.
In the large market square near L'Aubette, I was happy to discover a bookstore with a large selection of books in English. I chose two crime thrillers by Kathy Reichs and may go back for one by Jonathan Kellerman. In Germany I found some British authors I really like; Cody McFadyen, Stuart McBride, Tana French, but had read the few books they carried by those particular authors. If I could stand blood and violence I would say my calling is in law enforcement, but I really don't think I can deal with the reality a career like that would entail, so I live vicariously.
Having never lived near the epicenter of a bustling city, I am constantly amazed by the numbers of people I see at all hours of the day. It's almost as though no one here works. They are all on a perenial holiday: dressed elegantly, sipping cappucinos and eating croissants at sidewalk cafe's with their boutique bags of treasure propped beside them; riding bicycles, a long, golden, French bread poking out of a basket loaded with tonight's dinner; or tall, stylish men with dark hair conversing on cell phones in elegant prose, cigarette smoke hovering above their heads like a silvery halo, gesticulating with their free hand to puncutate the conversation. Once again, I play the observer. Not a part of this life, but a bystander, a watcher.
I have not heard from my friend, Terri, in Cortona for a long time. She did warn me that she is not good about answering emails. I have not told her I am returning to Cortona as I want to surprise her. I hope she did not run into Maria and learn about my return and think I was avoiding telling her because I don't want to see her.
In the large market square near L'Aubette, I was happy to discover a bookstore with a large selection of books in English. I chose two crime thrillers by Kathy Reichs and may go back for one by Jonathan Kellerman. In Germany I found some British authors I really like; Cody McFadyen, Stuart McBride, Tana French, but had read the few books they carried by those particular authors. If I could stand blood and violence I would say my calling is in law enforcement, but I really don't think I can deal with the reality a career like that would entail, so I live vicariously.
Having never lived near the epicenter of a bustling city, I am constantly amazed by the numbers of people I see at all hours of the day. It's almost as though no one here works. They are all on a perenial holiday: dressed elegantly, sipping cappucinos and eating croissants at sidewalk cafe's with their boutique bags of treasure propped beside them; riding bicycles, a long, golden, French bread poking out of a basket loaded with tonight's dinner; or tall, stylish men with dark hair conversing on cell phones in elegant prose, cigarette smoke hovering above their heads like a silvery halo, gesticulating with their free hand to puncutate the conversation. Once again, I play the observer. Not a part of this life, but a bystander, a watcher.
I have not heard from my friend, Terri, in Cortona for a long time. She did warn me that she is not good about answering emails. I have not told her I am returning to Cortona as I want to surprise her. I hope she did not run into Maria and learn about my return and think I was avoiding telling her because I don't want to see her.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
A Little of This and That
I went for a long, long walk today, so long that my thighs hurt. I am slowly venturing off my island and into the surrounding city. I saw a really interesting looking church with a huge green dome, however I was disappointed to find it wasn't open as I would like to have gone it for a visit. Instead I walked along the river under a leafy canopy of trees, then back across a pedestrian bridge lined with planters of lush flowers to my island.
This week I met a Japanese man at the coffee shop named Toru. He is my age with long, salt and pepper hair tied back in a bandanna. He is traveling in Europe for the first time and his wife has been hospitalized with pneumonia for the past week. What a way to spend a vacation! He went on to tell me he has been sightseeing alone and was really amazed by the astronomical clock in the cathedral, which prompted him to write a short story about a man in circumstances very similar to his own culminating in him have a sexual dream about a French lady at his hotel. Fortunately, he didn't give me any details about the dream!
To combat the cooler temperatures, and so that I could return Francoise's wooly neck-wrap, I walked to the mall and bought a very lightweight scarf of my own. The first I ahve had in about 20 years! It's off white so will go with the gloves I brought with me and has tiny, silvery threads which give it a subtle shimmer in certain lights. Also, I bought myself a pair of long, brushed silver earrings, rather old-fashionedand lacy in style, which end with a glittery, light gray teardrop crystal. I am wearing bigger earrings with my shorter hair and I wanted something special to remember Strasbourg by. The shop where I bought them, Olivine Bijoux, has wonderful, very feminine jewelry displayed in tall, glass cases backed with mirrors. A very girly shop! I found a ring I like, with a pink tourmaline and two pearls, but it was out of my price rage, so I settled on the earrings.
I borrowed my landlord's phone last night to call Maria to make sure she is going to be able to pick me up from the Camucia train station in two weeks. I dialed and dialed and dialed and had the hardest time reaching Italy. Eventually I looked up dialing information online and found I had been dialing incorrectly, so I tried again, and at last was successful. The connection, however, was terrible and we were cut off twice. Not being entirely sure she understood my arrival time, I emailed her daughter, Laura, and asked her to relay the information. Laura is a singer and composer and the other day I looked at her MySpace page and listened to some of her original music. I will place a link on the blog so anyone interested can listen to Laura. There are some lovely pictures of her as well.
This week I met a Japanese man at the coffee shop named Toru. He is my age with long, salt and pepper hair tied back in a bandanna. He is traveling in Europe for the first time and his wife has been hospitalized with pneumonia for the past week. What a way to spend a vacation! He went on to tell me he has been sightseeing alone and was really amazed by the astronomical clock in the cathedral, which prompted him to write a short story about a man in circumstances very similar to his own culminating in him have a sexual dream about a French lady at his hotel. Fortunately, he didn't give me any details about the dream!
To combat the cooler temperatures, and so that I could return Francoise's wooly neck-wrap, I walked to the mall and bought a very lightweight scarf of my own. The first I ahve had in about 20 years! It's off white so will go with the gloves I brought with me and has tiny, silvery threads which give it a subtle shimmer in certain lights. Also, I bought myself a pair of long, brushed silver earrings, rather old-fashionedand lacy in style, which end with a glittery, light gray teardrop crystal. I am wearing bigger earrings with my shorter hair and I wanted something special to remember Strasbourg by. The shop where I bought them, Olivine Bijoux, has wonderful, very feminine jewelry displayed in tall, glass cases backed with mirrors. A very girly shop! I found a ring I like, with a pink tourmaline and two pearls, but it was out of my price rage, so I settled on the earrings.
I borrowed my landlord's phone last night to call Maria to make sure she is going to be able to pick me up from the Camucia train station in two weeks. I dialed and dialed and dialed and had the hardest time reaching Italy. Eventually I looked up dialing information online and found I had been dialing incorrectly, so I tried again, and at last was successful. The connection, however, was terrible and we were cut off twice. Not being entirely sure she understood my arrival time, I emailed her daughter, Laura, and asked her to relay the information. Laura is a singer and composer and the other day I looked at her MySpace page and listened to some of her original music. I will place a link on the blog so anyone interested can listen to Laura. There are some lovely pictures of her as well.
Monday, September 22, 2008
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Feed a Cold
My cold arrived Friday and I spent a long night with a sore and scratchy throat. Fortunately, it doesn't seem to be a severe cold. When my landlady, Francoise, heard I was under the weather she ran upstairs and came back down wielding a long, thick, fuzzy scarf. Those of you who know about my "guillotine complex" know that I hate having anything around my neck, especially something thick and scratchy. It makes me feel like I am being strangled. Francoise insists that I wear the scarf, even indoors. I spend my time now trying to sneak out the front door without being spotted. I am afraid that if she finds out I am going without the scarf I might be the unwilling recipient of an onion poultice and a jar of Vick's Vaporub. A truly horrible thought. Francoise is such a dear though!
I walked back to the bakery across the river and bought a Nutella croissant drizzled with chocolate feeling sure it would contain recuperative qualities. It was good, but not great. I think to be truly great it would need to contain 3 times more Nutella. Still feeling distinctly unwell, I walked around the area and did my weekend grocery shopping since stores are closed on Sunday. 'I found my way back to the mall to look for a lighter weight scarf which might be tolerable and, instead, discovered a grocery store in the mall itself. It was a bit like a Central Market with all sorts of interesting foods and a huge wine department. I bought a container of Neptune Salad containing pieces of salmon, sliced potatoes, cucumbers, and some other vegetables and seasonings in a sour cream based sauce. I also found an olive bar with bins of marinated artichoke hearts, black olives, and baby squid. I bought some small, greenish-black olives glistening in a coat of olive oil. I also bought dessert, a package of Black Forest tartlets. Guess what dinner consisted of? The Black Forest cakes, Foret Noire in French, were wonderful. The "crust" looked solid but was actually very soft, and was filled with chocolate mousse and a thick layer of whipped cream dusted with cocoa powder, with a chocolate fan inserted on top as decoration. There were some cherries concealed between the layer of mousse and the whipped cream as a surprise. I ate one for dessert, and then ate the second one as a research project for this blog and so I could take pictures of the layers. I spent the rest of Saturday floating on a sugar cloud. Heavenly!
Before going to the mall, I had an assignment to complete. When I purchased my ticket back to Florence from Orbitz it included a bus transfer from Strasbourg to Frankfurt, a trip of more than 2 1/2 hours. I emailed Orbitz asking if I was to catch this shuttle at the airport or what. This instituted a string of emails where Orbitz repeatedly asked me to call their customer service number and I asked them to provide the information by email as it would cost me $1.60 per minute to call them. They eventually referred me to an 800 number provided by Lufthansa, which left me with the same problem, an expensive overseas phone call. I finally logged on to Lufthansa's website which provided some information about the shuttle including a street on which I could catch the bus. The street is near the train station so I walked down to see if I could locate the stop, which I did without too many problems, the stop being marked by some laminated yellow Lufthansa signs. It does mean I have to drag my steamer trunk through the crowded streets of Strasbourg to the stop; however it does save me the very expensive taxi fare to the airport. All in all, I'd say I come out ahead.
I walked back to the bakery across the river and bought a Nutella croissant drizzled with chocolate feeling sure it would contain recuperative qualities. It was good, but not great. I think to be truly great it would need to contain 3 times more Nutella. Still feeling distinctly unwell, I walked around the area and did my weekend grocery shopping since stores are closed on Sunday. 'I found my way back to the mall to look for a lighter weight scarf which might be tolerable and, instead, discovered a grocery store in the mall itself. It was a bit like a Central Market with all sorts of interesting foods and a huge wine department. I bought a container of Neptune Salad containing pieces of salmon, sliced potatoes, cucumbers, and some other vegetables and seasonings in a sour cream based sauce. I also found an olive bar with bins of marinated artichoke hearts, black olives, and baby squid. I bought some small, greenish-black olives glistening in a coat of olive oil. I also bought dessert, a package of Black Forest tartlets. Guess what dinner consisted of? The Black Forest cakes, Foret Noire in French, were wonderful. The "crust" looked solid but was actually very soft, and was filled with chocolate mousse and a thick layer of whipped cream dusted with cocoa powder, with a chocolate fan inserted on top as decoration. There were some cherries concealed between the layer of mousse and the whipped cream as a surprise. I ate one for dessert, and then ate the second one as a research project for this blog and so I could take pictures of the layers. I spent the rest of Saturday floating on a sugar cloud. Heavenly!
Before going to the mall, I had an assignment to complete. When I purchased my ticket back to Florence from Orbitz it included a bus transfer from Strasbourg to Frankfurt, a trip of more than 2 1/2 hours. I emailed Orbitz asking if I was to catch this shuttle at the airport or what. This instituted a string of emails where Orbitz repeatedly asked me to call their customer service number and I asked them to provide the information by email as it would cost me $1.60 per minute to call them. They eventually referred me to an 800 number provided by Lufthansa, which left me with the same problem, an expensive overseas phone call. I finally logged on to Lufthansa's website which provided some information about the shuttle including a street on which I could catch the bus. The street is near the train station so I walked down to see if I could locate the stop, which I did without too many problems, the stop being marked by some laminated yellow Lufthansa signs. It does mean I have to drag my steamer trunk through the crowded streets of Strasbourg to the stop; however it does save me the very expensive taxi fare to the airport. All in all, I'd say I come out ahead.
Friday, September 19, 2008
Friday
I am still fighting a cold. The temperature is between 50-60 degrees during the day, about the same as it is in Cortona, however I am freezing all the time. It doesn't help that my tiny courtyard only sees direct sun for about 10 minutes a day due to the high buildings surrounding it. It's also damp. I often have to brush the moss off my clothes drying on the rack outside before they're actually dry enough to wear. I am taking all my homeopathic remedies to fight my cold, but I am still sneezing, blowing my nose, shivering, and generally carrying on. I am going to FREEZE in Italy in November!
I decided to treat myself today by walking to a nearby bakery across the bridge and buying a Nutella croissant, but when I arrived they didn't have any. I got all excited for nothing! Perhaps tomorrow.
I walked down a different street today and found a lovely, wooden bridge from which to take some nice pictures of the river, edged by old and half-timbered buildings. As I focused my camera to take a shot, a tall, grey-haired man raced up, brushed past me and, when I moved to the side, fastened a metal chain across the street just to this side of the bridge. As I watched, the entire north-south facing bridge rotated slowly until it faced an east-west direction, so a glass-covered river boat could pass by. Very cool.
I found a small park upriver from the rotating bridge where I chose a sunlit bench on which to read my book. I was hoping to warm up a bit in the sun like a lounging cat, but there was a breeze from my back and I had to zip my sweatshirt and pull the hood up around my neck. I think I will need to buy a scarf or I will never survive the temperature change. I will also buy an undershirt that also doubles as a cellulite-reducing, constriction device. When I tried one on yesterday, I noticed that it was nice and warm, if a bit squeezy. I am still feeling very upset about my hair. It is so unflattering. I really have noticed that my self-esteem has deteriorated lately, even before the terrible haircut.
As I slowly reduce my protective layer of fat, I again feel exposed and vulnerable, and not nearly as attractive as I would like to feel. Where is my confidence? Why do I feel worse rather than better? Why do I know in my heart that I will always be alone, that I am still missing the mysterious something that makes most women feminine and attractive in some indefinable way? I seem to be failing in my goal to learn to love myself and I am discouraged at my apparent inability to change my thoughts of myself. All I can do is to keep struggling along trying to think positive thoughts. Please send me your positive thoughts and energy to help me get through this rough spot.
I decided to treat myself today by walking to a nearby bakery across the bridge and buying a Nutella croissant, but when I arrived they didn't have any. I got all excited for nothing! Perhaps tomorrow.
I walked down a different street today and found a lovely, wooden bridge from which to take some nice pictures of the river, edged by old and half-timbered buildings. As I focused my camera to take a shot, a tall, grey-haired man raced up, brushed past me and, when I moved to the side, fastened a metal chain across the street just to this side of the bridge. As I watched, the entire north-south facing bridge rotated slowly until it faced an east-west direction, so a glass-covered river boat could pass by. Very cool.
I found a small park upriver from the rotating bridge where I chose a sunlit bench on which to read my book. I was hoping to warm up a bit in the sun like a lounging cat, but there was a breeze from my back and I had to zip my sweatshirt and pull the hood up around my neck. I think I will need to buy a scarf or I will never survive the temperature change. I will also buy an undershirt that also doubles as a cellulite-reducing, constriction device. When I tried one on yesterday, I noticed that it was nice and warm, if a bit squeezy. I am still feeling very upset about my hair. It is so unflattering. I really have noticed that my self-esteem has deteriorated lately, even before the terrible haircut.
As I slowly reduce my protective layer of fat, I again feel exposed and vulnerable, and not nearly as attractive as I would like to feel. Where is my confidence? Why do I feel worse rather than better? Why do I know in my heart that I will always be alone, that I am still missing the mysterious something that makes most women feminine and attractive in some indefinable way? I seem to be failing in my goal to learn to love myself and I am discouraged at my apparent inability to change my thoughts of myself. All I can do is to keep struggling along trying to think positive thoughts. Please send me your positive thoughts and energy to help me get through this rough spot.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Speaking French and Big Penises
There is a particular technique to speaking French, which does not include actually knowing the French language. It's all in the pronunciation, folks. For beginners, it is essential to assume the proper mouth position. First, insert a grape into your mouth, but don't chew or swallow it, just hold it on top of your tongue. The grape is to assist you with the proper tongue positioning. Secondly, purse your lips up like a lemon-sucking old crone minus her dentures. Then wrap a rubber band around your lips to keep them in this puckered pose. If you don't have a rubber band, and I don't, you can cut off the open end of an expired condom (I do have one of those rolling around the bottom of my purse as you recall) and use that. It is essential that you force your words through the tiny opening left in your lips to achieve that atmospheric French sound. It doesn't really matter what language you speak, just so it sounds French. Once your lips are properly trained it is possible to remove the condom only reapplying it should you get a bit out of practice.
In wandering the streets, I found a Virgin Megastore which thankfully has a few English books of which I've bought just one, so far. There is also a large "international" bookstore of which a long and fruitless search proved to have no books in English. I wonder what the "international" part of the stores name means? In searching every little nook and cranny of this large store for a book I could actually read, I stumbled upon a book I could look at titled, improbably, "The Big Penis Book". After viewing the cover, I felt an almost overwhelming compulsion to make a closer inspection of this tome of obvious literary value, however the thing was 2 inches thick and must have weighed 7 pounds, so there was no slipping it into a copy of "Pride and Prejudice" to have a wee gander. My luck I'd drop the darned thing on the floor creating a huge ruckus and attracting all sorts of unwanted attention. Now for you disbelievers, please look this book up on Amazon.com and you will find that it is a true book featuring pictures of Big Ones mainly from the 60's and 70's. I wonder if the Copperas Cove Public Library carries a copy. I believe will visit the library the very minute I arrive home to find out.
My appetite these days is insatiable. I walk a lot and I am not sure if it is the exercise or perhaps the cold weather (a high of 50 degrees during the day) which has triggered my hunger, but I purchased and ate an entire loaf of cheese and walnut bread today. It made wonderful ham and tomato sandwiches. For the first time in a week, I am FULL. Fortunately my clothes continue to loosen almost imperceptibly, so I am obviously still losing weight, albeit slowly.
In walking to the Coop today, I crossed the street where the styling salon is located and, lo and behold, there was the Evil Stylist, standing outside the salon chatting with some ladies. It was all I could do not to nip down the street for a crusty, brown, 18 inch long baguette with which to beat her about the perfectly coiffed head and bony shoulders! Lucky for her, I didn't.
In wandering the streets, I found a Virgin Megastore which thankfully has a few English books of which I've bought just one, so far. There is also a large "international" bookstore of which a long and fruitless search proved to have no books in English. I wonder what the "international" part of the stores name means? In searching every little nook and cranny of this large store for a book I could actually read, I stumbled upon a book I could look at titled, improbably, "The Big Penis Book". After viewing the cover, I felt an almost overwhelming compulsion to make a closer inspection of this tome of obvious literary value, however the thing was 2 inches thick and must have weighed 7 pounds, so there was no slipping it into a copy of "Pride and Prejudice" to have a wee gander. My luck I'd drop the darned thing on the floor creating a huge ruckus and attracting all sorts of unwanted attention. Now for you disbelievers, please look this book up on Amazon.com and you will find that it is a true book featuring pictures of Big Ones mainly from the 60's and 70's. I wonder if the Copperas Cove Public Library carries a copy. I believe will visit the library the very minute I arrive home to find out.
My appetite these days is insatiable. I walk a lot and I am not sure if it is the exercise or perhaps the cold weather (a high of 50 degrees during the day) which has triggered my hunger, but I purchased and ate an entire loaf of cheese and walnut bread today. It made wonderful ham and tomato sandwiches. For the first time in a week, I am FULL. Fortunately my clothes continue to loosen almost imperceptibly, so I am obviously still losing weight, albeit slowly.
In walking to the Coop today, I crossed the street where the styling salon is located and, lo and behold, there was the Evil Stylist, standing outside the salon chatting with some ladies. It was all I could do not to nip down the street for a crusty, brown, 18 inch long baguette with which to beat her about the perfectly coiffed head and bony shoulders! Lucky for her, I didn't.
Making a Life
I found a coffee shop up the street about half a block, where I walk most mornings to have a cafe' au lait. Saturday was an exception as I was in bed, curled in the fetal position, crying over my hair. The coffee is served in a squat cup like those cappucinos are served in and the milk comes separately in a tiny, silver pitcher. A nice, dark-haired, young lady works during the week, and a middle-aged man, who could be the owner or manager, often works with her and alone on the weekends.
After coffee I walk up the street toward to cathedral and stop at the boulanger for two small rolls, sometimes with poppy seeds and sometimes without, "natur". If I need to access cash from an ATM machine, I walk further up the street to an HSBC bank. Unfortunately, here I am charged both an ATM fee of $2 and also a 1% foreign transaction fee, which I wasn't charged in Germany or Italy as long as the bank was on the same network as my home bank. Here it doesn't seem to matter. The money I save becuase the dollar has strengthened against the euro, I spend on transaction fees. I have changed a fair amount of money recently as I have to pay Maria when I arrive in Italy and I suspect the dollar will weaken significantly today due to Hurricane Ike and what I suspect will be the higher cost of crude oil.
If I have cash on hand I return home to drop if off before I do my grocery shopping. There are four stores nearby and I visit all four of them for different things: Norma for toilet paper; Spar for a certain kind of yogurt; Simply for fresh salmon and ham; and Coop for most other things. I tend to run back home with purchased items before heading to the next store which gives me an extra bit of exercise.
I am lucky to receive the BBC Prime channel featuring British shows in English. I enjoy watching "Holby City", a medical soap opera I used to watch in Ireland, each evening and I really enjoyed a show called "Speed" last night.
I try to walk a great deal each day around the "island" on which I live. I tend not to wear my mp3 while walking as I have to listen for bikes, strollers, pedestrians, dogs, delivery vehicles, and the many trams, one of which came too close for comfort the other day. I am losing the sense of "Where-the-hell-am-I?" which filled my early days here and it's being rapidly replaced with "What-the-hell-did-he/she-just-say-and-how-the-hell-am-I-supposed-to-respond?". I remember my dad telling me that he got along just fine speaking German while traveling in this region. To quote a man I used to work with, "What was he smoking?" As I mentioned previously, people here speak French and usually nothing else. Maybe Dad just thought he was being understood. I don't know. I try to get by the best I can without hiding in my apartment all the time.
After coffee I walk up the street toward to cathedral and stop at the boulanger for two small rolls, sometimes with poppy seeds and sometimes without, "natur". If I need to access cash from an ATM machine, I walk further up the street to an HSBC bank. Unfortunately, here I am charged both an ATM fee of $2 and also a 1% foreign transaction fee, which I wasn't charged in Germany or Italy as long as the bank was on the same network as my home bank. Here it doesn't seem to matter. The money I save becuase the dollar has strengthened against the euro, I spend on transaction fees. I have changed a fair amount of money recently as I have to pay Maria when I arrive in Italy and I suspect the dollar will weaken significantly today due to Hurricane Ike and what I suspect will be the higher cost of crude oil.
If I have cash on hand I return home to drop if off before I do my grocery shopping. There are four stores nearby and I visit all four of them for different things: Norma for toilet paper; Spar for a certain kind of yogurt; Simply for fresh salmon and ham; and Coop for most other things. I tend to run back home with purchased items before heading to the next store which gives me an extra bit of exercise.
I am lucky to receive the BBC Prime channel featuring British shows in English. I enjoy watching "Holby City", a medical soap opera I used to watch in Ireland, each evening and I really enjoyed a show called "Speed" last night.
I try to walk a great deal each day around the "island" on which I live. I tend not to wear my mp3 while walking as I have to listen for bikes, strollers, pedestrians, dogs, delivery vehicles, and the many trams, one of which came too close for comfort the other day. I am losing the sense of "Where-the-hell-am-I?" which filled my early days here and it's being rapidly replaced with "What-the-hell-did-he/she-just-say-and-how-the-hell-am-I-supposed-to-respond?". I remember my dad telling me that he got along just fine speaking German while traveling in this region. To quote a man I used to work with, "What was he smoking?" As I mentioned previously, people here speak French and usually nothing else. Maybe Dad just thought he was being understood. I don't know. I try to get by the best I can without hiding in my apartment all the time.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
A Home Dye Job and a Shearing
Lord, things have not gone well with the hair this week. It grew very quickly in Germany and has become increasingly difficult to manage, sticking out and curling whereever and whenever it wants. The color has also grown out and I felt I could not afford to have my hair professionally colored both here and again in Italy, so I brought some hair color with me from Germany. I bought a dark blonde shade and applied it carefully, washing it off after the required 30 minute wait. Unfortunately, the color wasn't dark enough to give good coverage over the red and yellow stripes I'd had applied in Rothenburg, so those colors still show through. In artificail light I noticed the golden highlights have a greenish cast to them. I don't look good in green.
Yesterday I walked around the corner to a salon, with my datebook in hand, to schedule an appointment for a haircut. I greeted the attractive, blonde stylist and told her I needed a haircut by making cutting motions with my fingers near my hair. I then held out my datebook so she could give me a date, which she did, today at 10:00.
I walked down to the salon this morning and waited my turn. A lady, originally from England, was there and translated for the stylist and I. I told her she could do what she liked, but I didn't want my hair too short like it was in Italy. She relayed that she wanted to cut off about 1 centimeter. I replied that that would be fine. Well, an inch and a half later, I have a Halle Berry haircut, only shaggier. I don't look like Halle Berry, folks. I am short, fat, blotchy skinned, and unattractive. My hair is shorter than it was in Italy and she razored the sides to nearly the skull, but as usual, one side is visibly longer than the other, which I have been whacking at with a cuticle scissors, trying to even it up. I started to cry in the chair and sat there for the last 5 minutes with tears pouring down my face. The stylist and I were not on speaking terms as I paid and departed. When I reached home I crawled in bed and cried for another 45 minutes.
I don't know if she really thought this hairstyle would be attractive on me or if she thought it was humorous to make a homely woman even uglier. Some women have this tendency to try to make other women look and feel as unattractive as possible so as to maintain their status as the better looking one. You know what I mean; the "friend" who sabotages your diet; the family member who comments that you've gained 5 pounds and are looking a bit "bloated; the co-worker who tells you that you look great in orange stripes and then sits back smugly, knowing you look like a deranged pumpkin. We women should be sticking together instead of tearing each other down. It's pretty sad.
At any rate, I seriously considered not leaving the house for the next two weeks, but I will have to go out and get food. How the heck am I going to go back to Italy and face the waiter? Well, I guess it doesn't really matter. If he didn't notice me then, he won't notice me now. I think I might just have to give up on the dream of actually be an reasonably attractice woman one day. Things are just not going in my favor thus far.
Yesterday I walked around the corner to a salon, with my datebook in hand, to schedule an appointment for a haircut. I greeted the attractive, blonde stylist and told her I needed a haircut by making cutting motions with my fingers near my hair. I then held out my datebook so she could give me a date, which she did, today at 10:00.
I walked down to the salon this morning and waited my turn. A lady, originally from England, was there and translated for the stylist and I. I told her she could do what she liked, but I didn't want my hair too short like it was in Italy. She relayed that she wanted to cut off about 1 centimeter. I replied that that would be fine. Well, an inch and a half later, I have a Halle Berry haircut, only shaggier. I don't look like Halle Berry, folks. I am short, fat, blotchy skinned, and unattractive. My hair is shorter than it was in Italy and she razored the sides to nearly the skull, but as usual, one side is visibly longer than the other, which I have been whacking at with a cuticle scissors, trying to even it up. I started to cry in the chair and sat there for the last 5 minutes with tears pouring down my face. The stylist and I were not on speaking terms as I paid and departed. When I reached home I crawled in bed and cried for another 45 minutes.
I don't know if she really thought this hairstyle would be attractive on me or if she thought it was humorous to make a homely woman even uglier. Some women have this tendency to try to make other women look and feel as unattractive as possible so as to maintain their status as the better looking one. You know what I mean; the "friend" who sabotages your diet; the family member who comments that you've gained 5 pounds and are looking a bit "bloated; the co-worker who tells you that you look great in orange stripes and then sits back smugly, knowing you look like a deranged pumpkin. We women should be sticking together instead of tearing each other down. It's pretty sad.
At any rate, I seriously considered not leaving the house for the next two weeks, but I will have to go out and get food. How the heck am I going to go back to Italy and face the waiter? Well, I guess it doesn't really matter. If he didn't notice me then, he won't notice me now. I think I might just have to give up on the dream of actually be an reasonably attractice woman one day. Things are just not going in my favor thus far.
Friday, September 12, 2008
Strasbourg
My apartment is located in old city Strasbourg, located on an island edged by the L'ill River, just around the corner from "Petit France". My street, Grand 'Rue is a pedestrian street, open only to taxis and delivery vehicles, bicycles, and people. Some buildings are ancient and half-timbered with leaded glass windows made up of tiny circular panes, and other buildings are more modern.
After breakfast on Tuesday I walked to the end of my street, onto a connecting street, and into the square, Place de la Cathedrale, containing the cathedral called Cathedrale Notre dame de Strasbourg. It is a large cathedral in dark reddish-brown brick, covered with carving, and accessed through gothic arched doors, and is the 4th tallest church in the world. It was also the tallest building in the world for several hundred years. There is no charge for entry, although there are many signs warning about pickpockets. One good thing about wearing really tight pants is that being the victim of a pickpocket could provide a secret little thrill. I entered through a towering wooden door and walked slowly through the cathedral taking pictures of the altar, carved stone pulpit, altar, and an interesting astronomical clock. The red and gold pipe organ was mounted on the side of a wall overhanging the pews.
I did a bit of shopping at the overpriced souvenir stands near the cathedral and bought a small plaque with a gold fleur-de-lis on a cream colored background to hang over my front door. It's only about 4 inches square, but seems to weigh about 4 pounds! A fleur-de-lis is a stylized lily or iris, similar to the Giglio Fiorentino of Italy, and remains an enduring symbol of France.
The streets of this tiny section of Strasbourg are filled with shops, stores, boutiques, cafes, banks, travel agencies, and gelato shops. One could literally shop for hours and hours....if one had the money, that is.
Strasbourg is just over the German border, yet the people on this side of the Rhine have a completely different set of physical features and characteristics. The men generally have much darker skin, hair, and eyes, and narrower features, often with a hawk like nose. Younger men tend to be lean and fit. Very attractive, all in all. I do see larger women however, and I have located six large-sized clothing stores, four on my street alone. The shops have some very attractive clothes, with most shirts being embellished with some sort of decorative element, however the items are quite expensive and I haven't found anything I loved enough to justify such a large expenditure. I will stick to inexpensive clothes at H&M and C&A, both of which have a retail store in the mall located on the far side of the river.
After breakfast on Tuesday I walked to the end of my street, onto a connecting street, and into the square, Place de la Cathedrale, containing the cathedral called Cathedrale Notre dame de Strasbourg. It is a large cathedral in dark reddish-brown brick, covered with carving, and accessed through gothic arched doors, and is the 4th tallest church in the world. It was also the tallest building in the world for several hundred years. There is no charge for entry, although there are many signs warning about pickpockets. One good thing about wearing really tight pants is that being the victim of a pickpocket could provide a secret little thrill. I entered through a towering wooden door and walked slowly through the cathedral taking pictures of the altar, carved stone pulpit, altar, and an interesting astronomical clock. The red and gold pipe organ was mounted on the side of a wall overhanging the pews.
I did a bit of shopping at the overpriced souvenir stands near the cathedral and bought a small plaque with a gold fleur-de-lis on a cream colored background to hang over my front door. It's only about 4 inches square, but seems to weigh about 4 pounds! A fleur-de-lis is a stylized lily or iris, similar to the Giglio Fiorentino of Italy, and remains an enduring symbol of France.
The streets of this tiny section of Strasbourg are filled with shops, stores, boutiques, cafes, banks, travel agencies, and gelato shops. One could literally shop for hours and hours....if one had the money, that is.
Strasbourg is just over the German border, yet the people on this side of the Rhine have a completely different set of physical features and characteristics. The men generally have much darker skin, hair, and eyes, and narrower features, often with a hawk like nose. Younger men tend to be lean and fit. Very attractive, all in all. I do see larger women however, and I have located six large-sized clothing stores, four on my street alone. The shops have some very attractive clothes, with most shirts being embellished with some sort of decorative element, however the items are quite expensive and I haven't found anything I loved enough to justify such a large expenditure. I will stick to inexpensive clothes at H&M and C&A, both of which have a retail store in the mall located on the far side of the river.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Starting Over, Again
After breakfast Monday, I retrieved the car from the underground garage and drove west toward Strasbourg. After crossing the wide Rhine River, I was in France. I was surprised that there was no border check when entering France on this particular road as I had my passport ready for review.
I filled the gas tank in Germany where I could understand which gas was unleaded and where I understood the payment procedure (pump first, then pay, like times of old in the U.S.), I then drove about 20 minutes to Strasbourg hoping to see a sign for the TGV, the high speed train station, which is located just a few blocks from my apartment. No luck on seeing "TGV" on a sign, nor the street name on which the station is located, so I proceeded to circle around and around and around, off and on the A4, the E25, and the A352 at a reduced speed so as not to drain the gas tank to below the "full" mark. I had no clue where I was. Eventually I exited at a sortie, exit, marked "Gare" and pulled to the side of the road to show a kind lady my map. She pointed straight ahead and, lo and behold, there was a modern, glass enclosed train station, of course not designated with the helpful letters "TGV". I proceeded to the front of the station, trying to avoid pedestrians and zooming bicyclists as I went, and spotted the Europcar office on the left side of the street. It took 8 minutes to circle back around and park, illegally, on the street in front of the office, where I waited 15 minutes in line behind a man who has apparently never rented a car in his life and needed a detailed explanation of everything on the contract, repeated 3 times, before I could ask an agent where I was to park the car. As luck would have it I had to circle the block and park in a narrow drive behind a gate, where I blocked all traffic coming and going from the rental car lot. I quick trotted back in and handed the agent the keys so she could move my car and unplug the log jam I'd created.
The agent processed my car return slowly and informed me I had to pay a 110 Euro one-way return fee, which I informed her I had already paid, in dollars, when I rented the car through Auto Europe online. Unfortunately, I did not have a copy of this paperwork with me as it was retained by the German agent. She said it would be straightened out and I would receive an invoice with a zero balance from Europcar by mail. I am watching my credit card closely in the event they charge me the fee in error.
The agent pointed me in the direction of Grand’ Rue and I hefted my 40 pound carry-on onto my back and firmly grasped the handle of my steamer trunk, and forced the accumulated bulk through the door and onto the busy street where I headed off in the right general direction. I could not manage all the luggage and the map and still navigate so I had to stop and ask directions a couple of times. The steamer trunk was not made for maneuverability so it was a challenge to dodge people, strollers, dogs on 20 foot leashes, and cyclists zipping this way and that. There are also numerous cafe's and eateries with tables on the sidewalk, so I was forever having to drag the trunk out into the street then back onto the sidewalk when I'd cleared the cafe'. I did find the correct address after 15 minutes or so and my landlady, Francoise, was happy to see me. Her English was outstanding and she happily showed me to my studio apartment complete with a small courtyard table, lighted stained glass window, 27" flat screen TV, and kitchen area with marble countertop. She was kind enough to loan me a cable for my computer so I could take advantage of the included internet service.
I settled in, unpacking and nesting, and then went out for a short walk. Being surrounded by the taller buildings of a city, I found myself disoriented and in a constant state of Where-the-hell-am-I? Francoise directed me to a couple of small grocery stores across the river and I set out to purchase the necessities. I elected to rest up for the remainder of the day and explore further the next day.
I filled the gas tank in Germany where I could understand which gas was unleaded and where I understood the payment procedure (pump first, then pay, like times of old in the U.S.), I then drove about 20 minutes to Strasbourg hoping to see a sign for the TGV, the high speed train station, which is located just a few blocks from my apartment. No luck on seeing "TGV" on a sign, nor the street name on which the station is located, so I proceeded to circle around and around and around, off and on the A4, the E25, and the A352 at a reduced speed so as not to drain the gas tank to below the "full" mark. I had no clue where I was. Eventually I exited at a sortie, exit, marked "Gare" and pulled to the side of the road to show a kind lady my map. She pointed straight ahead and, lo and behold, there was a modern, glass enclosed train station, of course not designated with the helpful letters "TGV". I proceeded to the front of the station, trying to avoid pedestrians and zooming bicyclists as I went, and spotted the Europcar office on the left side of the street. It took 8 minutes to circle back around and park, illegally, on the street in front of the office, where I waited 15 minutes in line behind a man who has apparently never rented a car in his life and needed a detailed explanation of everything on the contract, repeated 3 times, before I could ask an agent where I was to park the car. As luck would have it I had to circle the block and park in a narrow drive behind a gate, where I blocked all traffic coming and going from the rental car lot. I quick trotted back in and handed the agent the keys so she could move my car and unplug the log jam I'd created.
The agent processed my car return slowly and informed me I had to pay a 110 Euro one-way return fee, which I informed her I had already paid, in dollars, when I rented the car through Auto Europe online. Unfortunately, I did not have a copy of this paperwork with me as it was retained by the German agent. She said it would be straightened out and I would receive an invoice with a zero balance from Europcar by mail. I am watching my credit card closely in the event they charge me the fee in error.
The agent pointed me in the direction of Grand’ Rue and I hefted my 40 pound carry-on onto my back and firmly grasped the handle of my steamer trunk, and forced the accumulated bulk through the door and onto the busy street where I headed off in the right general direction. I could not manage all the luggage and the map and still navigate so I had to stop and ask directions a couple of times. The steamer trunk was not made for maneuverability so it was a challenge to dodge people, strollers, dogs on 20 foot leashes, and cyclists zipping this way and that. There are also numerous cafe's and eateries with tables on the sidewalk, so I was forever having to drag the trunk out into the street then back onto the sidewalk when I'd cleared the cafe'. I did find the correct address after 15 minutes or so and my landlady, Francoise, was happy to see me. Her English was outstanding and she happily showed me to my studio apartment complete with a small courtyard table, lighted stained glass window, 27" flat screen TV, and kitchen area with marble countertop. She was kind enough to loan me a cable for my computer so I could take advantage of the included internet service.
I settled in, unpacking and nesting, and then went out for a short walk. Being surrounded by the taller buildings of a city, I found myself disoriented and in a constant state of Where-the-hell-am-I? Francoise directed me to a couple of small grocery stores across the river and I set out to purchase the necessities. I elected to rest up for the remainder of the day and explore further the next day.
The Cutest Town in Germany
My plan for Sunday was to drive from Heidelberg to somewhere near the French border, perhaps Offenburg. It took perhaps a couple of hours, including a long stop for milchkaffee, to reach my intended destination. On a whim, I exited in a town called Gengenbach, after seeing a sign advertising the historic old city. I found myself in a small town with the main part of the old city blocked off for pedestrian traffic only. I parked the car in a nearby carpark, free because it was Sunday, and walked a few blocks into the town and was surprised to discover I was in, arguably, the cutest little town I have ever seen.
The large Rathaus (city hall) faced a large triagular "square" at the convergence of 3 major roads, each lined with little restaurants, sidewalk cafe's, and shops. I saw about 8 decorative fountains as I walked through the town. Window boxes and planters burst with a profusion of blossoms in every color of the rainbow and a small stream ran in shallow gutters through the middle of town. I had to watch my step in case I got a wet foot! One fun thing was that local businesses had sponsored the decoration of a large fiberglass cow, much like something that was done in my hometown of Madison, Wisconsin once, and these colorful bovines were displayed artfully around town sometimes in the most unexpected of spots. My favorite was named Princess and she was painted gold with white swirls of paint, long eyelashes, earrings, a crown, and sparkly rhinestones artfully placed all over her. She was beautiful! Every girl needs a little sparkle in her life and Princess had more than most.
I found a hotel, the Sonne (sun), which had a large, modern, nicely decorated room available for 38 euro per night, 1 euro less than I paid for "the closet" the two previous nights. There was even a tiny garden planted right outside my window, also bordered by the stairwell and hallway.
Upon receiving a promise my room would be ready in 30 minutes, I wandered to a small Italian cafe' for one of the few meals I have eaten out in Germany. I chose a small table for two on the patio and ordered an entree of pasta with mushrooms, ham, tomato sauce, and cream. Yummy! The larger tables next to me were placed under an arbor dripping with green grape clusters. It's a good thing I didn't have a dining companion, as they would have had to sit under a hanging planter whose fuschia pink flowers hung so low as to be resting on the head of the person sitting across from me. Lunch was leisurely, followed by a trip to the bakery for some sweets for dinner, as I did not plan to dine out again that day. I followed narrow medieval streets taking pictures and enjoying the atmosphere, then wrapped up in my poofy feather comforter and took a luxurious nap. What a wonderful way to spend my last day in Germany!
The large Rathaus (city hall) faced a large triagular "square" at the convergence of 3 major roads, each lined with little restaurants, sidewalk cafe's, and shops. I saw about 8 decorative fountains as I walked through the town. Window boxes and planters burst with a profusion of blossoms in every color of the rainbow and a small stream ran in shallow gutters through the middle of town. I had to watch my step in case I got a wet foot! One fun thing was that local businesses had sponsored the decoration of a large fiberglass cow, much like something that was done in my hometown of Madison, Wisconsin once, and these colorful bovines were displayed artfully around town sometimes in the most unexpected of spots. My favorite was named Princess and she was painted gold with white swirls of paint, long eyelashes, earrings, a crown, and sparkly rhinestones artfully placed all over her. She was beautiful! Every girl needs a little sparkle in her life and Princess had more than most.
I found a hotel, the Sonne (sun), which had a large, modern, nicely decorated room available for 38 euro per night, 1 euro less than I paid for "the closet" the two previous nights. There was even a tiny garden planted right outside my window, also bordered by the stairwell and hallway.
Upon receiving a promise my room would be ready in 30 minutes, I wandered to a small Italian cafe' for one of the few meals I have eaten out in Germany. I chose a small table for two on the patio and ordered an entree of pasta with mushrooms, ham, tomato sauce, and cream. Yummy! The larger tables next to me were placed under an arbor dripping with green grape clusters. It's a good thing I didn't have a dining companion, as they would have had to sit under a hanging planter whose fuschia pink flowers hung so low as to be resting on the head of the person sitting across from me. Lunch was leisurely, followed by a trip to the bakery for some sweets for dinner, as I did not plan to dine out again that day. I followed narrow medieval streets taking pictures and enjoying the atmosphere, then wrapped up in my poofy feather comforter and took a luxurious nap. What a wonderful way to spend my last day in Germany!
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Heidelberg
After spending the night in Ulm, I decided to head northwest to Heidelberg. Wanting to take no chances I booked a hotel near Heidelberg for Friday and Saturday nights for about $60 per night, more than I really wanted to spend, but with a last minute booking in that area I felt I wasn’t going to do much better pricewise. I took the autobahn cross country through vineyard covered hills until the terrain flattened out near Stuttgart. I made a wrong turn in Stuttgart and had to backtrack 10 minutes or so. Roads in Europe are not labeled north-south, east-west as they are in the United States. They have a number/letter designation and directional signs list major and nearby cities, however it’s rather easy to get turned around, particularly if you are not familiar with towns and cities in the area.
I successfully located my hotel in the town of Bammental, a very cute little German city located just a few miles from the Neckar river. I rang the doorbell and was admitted to the hotel where I was given a key to a closet; a tiny, minimally furnished room with a single bed which was to be my home for the next two nights. The bathroom did have a bathtub for which I was grateful as I needed to do some laundry. I also cleaned out the suitcase a bit and got rid of a pair of jeans. My policy is never to have more than two pair of jeans that fit at a time as they are very heavy to lug around in the suitcase. Also, as I buy a new shirt, I try to weed out one which is worn, not flattering, or stained. Same with underclothing and socks.
I drove to Heidelberg, a distance of 10-15 miles, and discovered that the road from Bammental leads right into the pedestrian area of the “old city”, shelted by the massive castle ruins perched on a tree-covered hill. I parked in a narrow space in an underground garage and walked off to explore Heidelberg which I have not visited in probably 19 years. I stopped by the large, red, brick church with souvenir stands crowded around the base like ducklings huddled underneath their mama. When I visited Saturday, a market selling fruits, vegatables, cheeses, and meats had been set up in the nearby square and a little arts and crafts fair had been set up in the square near the parking garage. The church was lovely and I briefly considered climbing the spiral staircase to the tower for a panoramic view of the city and the river, however as my foot was still tender, I decided to forgo the climb. Right outside of the church is the Hotel zum Ritter, a beautiful old hotel where Tim and I once spent the night. I walked down the long pedestrian mall, shopping and browsing as I went. I found a gift for my other son. I am not buying either of them one more thing!
The Heidelberg castle ruins hover right over the old city in view of a famous ancient bridge which crosses the Neckar. Both the bridge and the castle were partially convered by scaffolding, which, as I mentioned before, is typical.
On my drive back to Bammental I found a grocery store and purchased a salad and some sandwich fixings and ate dinner in my room. I was happy to find that for a charge of 2 euro per 24 hour period, I could use the hotel’s wireless internet, so I did some catching up on writing and shopped for some new music on Amazon.com. I sat on the terrace, Instant Messaging with my friend, Churck, and listening to music, when I overheard two men speaking Italian at a table next to me. When the younger one went inside, I spoke with the older one, asking him where he was from and telling him about my adventures in Italy. He was polite and said he was from Rome, however later I noticed him checking me out rather intently, as I have heard Italian men do. Perhaps I had been a bit too friendly, although it was all innocent on my part. I guess I am accustomed to the men in Cortona who really were gentleman, but that’s to be expected in a tiny town where any step out of line would travel the grapevine in record time. Incidently, mention of the grapevine reminded me that I heard a DJ on the radio in Garmish introducing that famous 1968 Marvin Gaye Mowtown hit, “I Heard it from the Grape Wine.” I laughed and laughed……..
I successfully located my hotel in the town of Bammental, a very cute little German city located just a few miles from the Neckar river. I rang the doorbell and was admitted to the hotel where I was given a key to a closet; a tiny, minimally furnished room with a single bed which was to be my home for the next two nights. The bathroom did have a bathtub for which I was grateful as I needed to do some laundry. I also cleaned out the suitcase a bit and got rid of a pair of jeans. My policy is never to have more than two pair of jeans that fit at a time as they are very heavy to lug around in the suitcase. Also, as I buy a new shirt, I try to weed out one which is worn, not flattering, or stained. Same with underclothing and socks.
I drove to Heidelberg, a distance of 10-15 miles, and discovered that the road from Bammental leads right into the pedestrian area of the “old city”, shelted by the massive castle ruins perched on a tree-covered hill. I parked in a narrow space in an underground garage and walked off to explore Heidelberg which I have not visited in probably 19 years. I stopped by the large, red, brick church with souvenir stands crowded around the base like ducklings huddled underneath their mama. When I visited Saturday, a market selling fruits, vegatables, cheeses, and meats had been set up in the nearby square and a little arts and crafts fair had been set up in the square near the parking garage. The church was lovely and I briefly considered climbing the spiral staircase to the tower for a panoramic view of the city and the river, however as my foot was still tender, I decided to forgo the climb. Right outside of the church is the Hotel zum Ritter, a beautiful old hotel where Tim and I once spent the night. I walked down the long pedestrian mall, shopping and browsing as I went. I found a gift for my other son. I am not buying either of them one more thing!
The Heidelberg castle ruins hover right over the old city in view of a famous ancient bridge which crosses the Neckar. Both the bridge and the castle were partially convered by scaffolding, which, as I mentioned before, is typical.
On my drive back to Bammental I found a grocery store and purchased a salad and some sandwich fixings and ate dinner in my room. I was happy to find that for a charge of 2 euro per 24 hour period, I could use the hotel’s wireless internet, so I did some catching up on writing and shopped for some new music on Amazon.com. I sat on the terrace, Instant Messaging with my friend, Churck, and listening to music, when I overheard two men speaking Italian at a table next to me. When the younger one went inside, I spoke with the older one, asking him where he was from and telling him about my adventures in Italy. He was polite and said he was from Rome, however later I noticed him checking me out rather intently, as I have heard Italian men do. Perhaps I had been a bit too friendly, although it was all innocent on my part. I guess I am accustomed to the men in Cortona who really were gentleman, but that’s to be expected in a tiny town where any step out of line would travel the grapevine in record time. Incidently, mention of the grapevine reminded me that I heard a DJ on the radio in Garmish introducing that famous 1968 Marvin Gaye Mowtown hit, “I Heard it from the Grape Wine.” I laughed and laughed……..
Monday, September 8, 2008
Wieskirche and Frustration
On my way to see Neuschwanstein yesterday, I stopped at the Wieskirche, something I have never done before. This large, white church sits in a rolling green pasture, surrounded by a couple of buildings and a nearby farmhouse. The setting is peaceful and idyllic and horses graze quietly in a paddock behind the church.
I stopped by a small chapel on my way up a small rise to the larger church, decorated ornately with paintings, carvings, and gold leaf. The organ high above the entrance door was especially lovely. A fitting accompaniment for a choir of angels. I took lots of pictures even though signs asked visitors not to. All the other visitors were snapping away as well so I didn't feel too bad about it. I would like to have stayed longer and prayed, but with all the foot traffic I just have a hard time focusing. I noticed a nun on a seat near me basking in the Divine in her quiet and unassuming way.
Early the next day I set off down the autobahn intending to stay near Lindau, a city on an island in the Bodensee for a night. I stopped in Kempton on my way to shop around and use the internet which was possibly a mistake, as I was unable to find a room to stay in near Lindau, in spite of driving around for 2 hours. If I saw a sign for a room, I would turn off and travel off up a road only to find a group of 10 houses, none of which was identified as the one offering rooms. Walking from house to house is simply too time consuming. Other times no one answered the door, the rooms were already taken, or the proprietor was not inclined to rent to a single traveler. It was just a wild goose chase. Eventually I stopped at a small hotel in Ravensburg and was told that there was a big cycle event in the area and all the rooms around were full. The nice man suggested I travel 95 kilometers back to Ulm for a room, so I got back on the autobahn and headed that direction, thinking that if I was going to have to sleep in a rest area, the safest place to do so would be at a busy autobahn rest area. After a 45 minute traffic delay due to road construction, I finally reached Ulm and found a hotel right next to the autobahn with an available room at about 8:45, where I gratefully paid $95 for a room.
This was a lot like the nightmare trip I made to Cinque Terre in Italy in May and was one of the few times in recent months I have felt close to having a meltdown. When I am tired, my tolerance is very low. I must find some good ways to deal with that situation when it happens in future.
I stopped by a small chapel on my way up a small rise to the larger church, decorated ornately with paintings, carvings, and gold leaf. The organ high above the entrance door was especially lovely. A fitting accompaniment for a choir of angels. I took lots of pictures even though signs asked visitors not to. All the other visitors were snapping away as well so I didn't feel too bad about it. I would like to have stayed longer and prayed, but with all the foot traffic I just have a hard time focusing. I noticed a nun on a seat near me basking in the Divine in her quiet and unassuming way.
Early the next day I set off down the autobahn intending to stay near Lindau, a city on an island in the Bodensee for a night. I stopped in Kempton on my way to shop around and use the internet which was possibly a mistake, as I was unable to find a room to stay in near Lindau, in spite of driving around for 2 hours. If I saw a sign for a room, I would turn off and travel off up a road only to find a group of 10 houses, none of which was identified as the one offering rooms. Walking from house to house is simply too time consuming. Other times no one answered the door, the rooms were already taken, or the proprietor was not inclined to rent to a single traveler. It was just a wild goose chase. Eventually I stopped at a small hotel in Ravensburg and was told that there was a big cycle event in the area and all the rooms around were full. The nice man suggested I travel 95 kilometers back to Ulm for a room, so I got back on the autobahn and headed that direction, thinking that if I was going to have to sleep in a rest area, the safest place to do so would be at a busy autobahn rest area. After a 45 minute traffic delay due to road construction, I finally reached Ulm and found a hotel right next to the autobahn with an available room at about 8:45, where I gratefully paid $95 for a room.
This was a lot like the nightmare trip I made to Cinque Terre in Italy in May and was one of the few times in recent months I have felt close to having a meltdown. When I am tired, my tolerance is very low. I must find some good ways to deal with that situation when it happens in future.
Saturday, September 6, 2008
Neuschwanstein
After a last walk down memory lane in Oberammergau this morning, I left for Fussen, location of the magical castle of Neuschwanstein, arguably the most famous castle in the world. Neuschwanstein is the model for Disney's fairytale castle and, in my opinion, if you see just one castle in your lifetime, this is the one to see. I have been here 5 or 6 times, but my trip would not be complete without one last visit.
Neuschwanstein, on it's rocky ledge below a steep mountain, can be viewed for miles. I stopped frequently to take pictures on my approach, but as it was a bright, sunny day, the castle did not show up well in the pictures. Eventually I located a parking lot at the foot of the approach to the castle and parked the car to climb partway up the hill to the ticket booth. It now costs about $7 to park the car, and $13.50 to tour the castle, plus the cost of transportation up to the castle. There are a number of ways one can access the castle from the valley; a 40 minute walk up a heart attack inducing steep hill, a ride in a horse drawn wagon, or a bus ride and subsequent 15 minute walk to the castle itself. I really wanted to take the horse and wagon, but as each wagon can accommodate only 12 passengers, and there were 40 people in line in front of me with no wagons in sight, I decided I had better catch the bus so not as to miss my scheduled tour. There was a 20 minute wait for the jam-packed bus as well, which dropped us off directly below the Marienbrucke, to which I climbed, quickly, to get a gorgeous picture of the castle. Unfortunately, the side of the castle was concealed by scaffolding, as always seems to be the case. Historic treasures take constant maintenence and restoration so workmen and scaffolding is the norm on structures of historical significance.
After tiptoeing across the Marienbrucke, a narrow and impossibly high bridge, whose wooden floorboards bent and gave unnervingly under the combined weight of the assembled visitors, I reversed direction and rounded a bend in the path to discover a magnificent and panoramic view of the glowingly golden Schloss Hohenschwangau, childhood home of King Ludwig II, located across from Neuschwanstein in the same valley. After a photo op, I continued down the hill to my destination. The tour began exactly on time, and we had a pleasant young man as a tour guide. He led us up a winding, spiral staircase topped by brightly painted plaster replica of a palm tree to the 5th floor private apartments of the King. The castle is dedicated to the Germanic legends, and rooms are painted with scenes from Lohengrin, the Ring of the Nibelung, and in his bedroom my favorite, the tragic love story of Tristan and Isolde. The apartments are luxuriously decorated with carved wood (his bed alone took wood carvers 4 years to complete and is replete with cathedral -like spires), magnificent paintings, tapestries, and ornate furniture. The castle is also a picture of modernity with double paned windows, running water, plumbing, and electricity.
After the tour, I decided to walk back down the hill, rather than take the bus or horse. It was a good 30 minute steep walk downhill and my left foot has been bothering me a bit, but I made it fine. It took me some time to find a place to stay this particular night, a problem which would plague me again later in the week. I find that many places have a room available, but if it has two beds, they are disinclined to rent to a single person, instead electing to wait and see if a couple shows up. This may make sense from their standpoint as they charge on a per person basis, however it's very discouraging for me. When I am exhausted I hate being turned away simply because I am single. Not everyone is lucky enough to have a significant other or traveling companion.
Neuschwanstein, on it's rocky ledge below a steep mountain, can be viewed for miles. I stopped frequently to take pictures on my approach, but as it was a bright, sunny day, the castle did not show up well in the pictures. Eventually I located a parking lot at the foot of the approach to the castle and parked the car to climb partway up the hill to the ticket booth. It now costs about $7 to park the car, and $13.50 to tour the castle, plus the cost of transportation up to the castle. There are a number of ways one can access the castle from the valley; a 40 minute walk up a heart attack inducing steep hill, a ride in a horse drawn wagon, or a bus ride and subsequent 15 minute walk to the castle itself. I really wanted to take the horse and wagon, but as each wagon can accommodate only 12 passengers, and there were 40 people in line in front of me with no wagons in sight, I decided I had better catch the bus so not as to miss my scheduled tour. There was a 20 minute wait for the jam-packed bus as well, which dropped us off directly below the Marienbrucke, to which I climbed, quickly, to get a gorgeous picture of the castle. Unfortunately, the side of the castle was concealed by scaffolding, as always seems to be the case. Historic treasures take constant maintenence and restoration so workmen and scaffolding is the norm on structures of historical significance.
After tiptoeing across the Marienbrucke, a narrow and impossibly high bridge, whose wooden floorboards bent and gave unnervingly under the combined weight of the assembled visitors, I reversed direction and rounded a bend in the path to discover a magnificent and panoramic view of the glowingly golden Schloss Hohenschwangau, childhood home of King Ludwig II, located across from Neuschwanstein in the same valley. After a photo op, I continued down the hill to my destination. The tour began exactly on time, and we had a pleasant young man as a tour guide. He led us up a winding, spiral staircase topped by brightly painted plaster replica of a palm tree to the 5th floor private apartments of the King. The castle is dedicated to the Germanic legends, and rooms are painted with scenes from Lohengrin, the Ring of the Nibelung, and in his bedroom my favorite, the tragic love story of Tristan and Isolde. The apartments are luxuriously decorated with carved wood (his bed alone took wood carvers 4 years to complete and is replete with cathedral -like spires), magnificent paintings, tapestries, and ornate furniture. The castle is also a picture of modernity with double paned windows, running water, plumbing, and electricity.
After the tour, I decided to walk back down the hill, rather than take the bus or horse. It was a good 30 minute steep walk downhill and my left foot has been bothering me a bit, but I made it fine. It took me some time to find a place to stay this particular night, a problem which would plague me again later in the week. I find that many places have a room available, but if it has two beds, they are disinclined to rent to a single person, instead electing to wait and see if a couple shows up. This may make sense from their standpoint as they charge on a per person basis, however it's very discouraging for me. When I am exhausted I hate being turned away simply because I am single. Not everyone is lucky enough to have a significant other or traveling companion.
Friday, September 5, 2008
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Cloisters and Kings
After a restless night, I awoke Tuesday morning, ate a large breakfast of chewy brötchen, ham, cheese, butter, homemade jam and coffee. I have taken to eating a breakfast worthy of a lumberjack and then not eating again until dinner. It serves three purposes; to take advantage of the breakfast provided in my room rate, to minimize expenses, and to try to control my food intake.
I drove downtown after breakfast and shopped in some of the stores, including several wood carvings shops. I have two carved horses, purchased in Oberammergau over the years which are very special to me. Oberammergau is famous for it's wood carving, and religious themes are popular. Some carvings are natural wood, some are stained, and some are painted in soft hues. I found a gift for one of my children, but not the other. Now I will need to keep an eye out for something special for my other "baby".
After my shopping foray, I drove to the nearby town of Ettal, a tiny town which features a beautiful cloister, where the resident monks brew beer. The church has an enormous dome, the inside of which is painted in lovely, soft pastels. The church is very ornate with lots of gilt trim and a gorgeous pipe organ. The town is quite small, so after I visited the lovely church, I drove to Garmisch for some shopping. A kind lady gave me her parking ticket which still had 45 minutes left on it. How kind! I wandered the downtown area, poking into shops, but did not find anything I wanted to purchase. The highest mountain peak in Germany, the Zugspitze, is in Garmisch, but I was disappointed to see there was not one flake of snow on the towering, rocky peak. Maybe it's always bare of snow in the summer, I just don't remember. You can take a gondola to the top of the Zupspitze and have a eagle's eye view of the alps into Austria. An incredible experience which I did with Tim and my parents one year.
On the drive back to Oberammergau, I turned left and traveled a narrow, green valley edged with tall pines to one of the castles of King Ludwig II of Bavaria, Linderhof. Ludwig was quite the character. He built three castles, Linderhof, Neuschwanstein, and Herrenchiemsee, nearly bankrupting Bavaria to do so. Of the three, only Linderhof was completed. A fourth castle, Falkenstien, was planned, but never begun. Ludwig was a bit reclusive and had an obsession with the work of composer, Richard Wagner, and sponsored his music. I have heard he also had an obsession with Richard himself, but we won't visit that topic now. Ludwig was essentially imprisoned and died under mysterious circumstances. A web search will give you more details of this eccentric and interesting king, if you're interested.
Linderhof is more a small palace, than a castle, and Ludwig lived here alone, never entertaining visitors. 5 kilos of gold were used to decorate the royal apartments, and the bedroom contains towering, elaborate Meissen china mirrors. They were really beautiful! There was also a china statue of a Polish King on horseback wearing a Roman style soldier's uniform, painfully white legs bare and wrapped around a rearing stallion. The king had the pudgy, doughy, porcine facial features one often sees on portraits from the 1600 and 1700's. Not an attractive man. When I commented on this fact, the tour guide shared that he was rumored to have 150 mistresses and in excess of 300 children, so he must have something going for him! I was on a small tour of only 5 people, so the tour guide was able to answer questions and give us a more personal tour, which was very interesting. I walked the grounds a bit after the tour and looked at some of the gardens and fountains before walking back to the car and driving home.
I drove downtown after breakfast and shopped in some of the stores, including several wood carvings shops. I have two carved horses, purchased in Oberammergau over the years which are very special to me. Oberammergau is famous for it's wood carving, and religious themes are popular. Some carvings are natural wood, some are stained, and some are painted in soft hues. I found a gift for one of my children, but not the other. Now I will need to keep an eye out for something special for my other "baby".
After my shopping foray, I drove to the nearby town of Ettal, a tiny town which features a beautiful cloister, where the resident monks brew beer. The church has an enormous dome, the inside of which is painted in lovely, soft pastels. The church is very ornate with lots of gilt trim and a gorgeous pipe organ. The town is quite small, so after I visited the lovely church, I drove to Garmisch for some shopping. A kind lady gave me her parking ticket which still had 45 minutes left on it. How kind! I wandered the downtown area, poking into shops, but did not find anything I wanted to purchase. The highest mountain peak in Germany, the Zugspitze, is in Garmisch, but I was disappointed to see there was not one flake of snow on the towering, rocky peak. Maybe it's always bare of snow in the summer, I just don't remember. You can take a gondola to the top of the Zupspitze and have a eagle's eye view of the alps into Austria. An incredible experience which I did with Tim and my parents one year.
On the drive back to Oberammergau, I turned left and traveled a narrow, green valley edged with tall pines to one of the castles of King Ludwig II of Bavaria, Linderhof. Ludwig was quite the character. He built three castles, Linderhof, Neuschwanstein, and Herrenchiemsee, nearly bankrupting Bavaria to do so. Of the three, only Linderhof was completed. A fourth castle, Falkenstien, was planned, but never begun. Ludwig was a bit reclusive and had an obsession with the work of composer, Richard Wagner, and sponsored his music. I have heard he also had an obsession with Richard himself, but we won't visit that topic now. Ludwig was essentially imprisoned and died under mysterious circumstances. A web search will give you more details of this eccentric and interesting king, if you're interested.
Linderhof is more a small palace, than a castle, and Ludwig lived here alone, never entertaining visitors. 5 kilos of gold were used to decorate the royal apartments, and the bedroom contains towering, elaborate Meissen china mirrors. They were really beautiful! There was also a china statue of a Polish King on horseback wearing a Roman style soldier's uniform, painfully white legs bare and wrapped around a rearing stallion. The king had the pudgy, doughy, porcine facial features one often sees on portraits from the 1600 and 1700's. Not an attractive man. When I commented on this fact, the tour guide shared that he was rumored to have 150 mistresses and in excess of 300 children, so he must have something going for him! I was on a small tour of only 5 people, so the tour guide was able to answer questions and give us a more personal tour, which was very interesting. I walked the grounds a bit after the tour and looked at some of the gardens and fountains before walking back to the car and driving home.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Jail Break!
After settling into my bed and breakfast, I ate a light dinner, then went for a long walk. Oberammergau is the site of the Passion Play illustrating the life of Christ put on every 10 years in celebration of the town being spared some horrible disease in 1633. Only local townspeople take part in the play, and until the 1980's only men were allowed as actors. I am glad they've changed the rule as a hirsute Madonna with bulging calf muscles is a scary thought!
Many of the town's buildings are brightly and beautifully painted with various scenes of farming, Grimm's fairy tales, and the life of Christ. The town sits beneath the shadow of a steep mountain peak topped by a crucifix. A sparkling clear mountain stream ambles through the village with a walking path on either side. It's a crisp, clean town abundant with blossoms and wood carving shops, for which the town is famous.
I walked along the stream, burbling happily on it's way west, passing a barn as I went. I noticed that the barn had a very large, sliding door for driving large machinery in and out, with a smaller, people-sized door placed within the larger door. The large yard was roughly fenced and I saw that the barn door appear to be angled outward, with some smallish, bent metal rods leaning against it to hold it in place. Two goats were at the fence being fed day-old bread by two young girls. I stopped to watch them for a moment and as I did, a rumbling occurred, accompanied by the sound of bleating goats. The door heaved a bit, then lifted, and a goat appeared from beneath the door, making straight for the little girls with their bread crusts. Quick as could be, there was a stampede and about 50 wild, bleating goats poured underneath the rickety door, charging the fence. A couple of tiny babies squeezed out of the gate and made for the bread bag, while their elders ran down the yard a bit and began to hop the fence. Within a minute the stream bank and walking path were covered by goats all heading for the little girls and their bag of bread. The girls held the line for a bit, looking absolutely horrified, then they broke ranks, dropped the bag, and made for a nearby bridge. After demolishing the bag and devouring the bread, the goats proceeded to the other side of the stream in search of greener pastures.
I could just see the town overrun with goats, whilst the Polizei chased them in vain. Excitement in a small town!
Many of the town's buildings are brightly and beautifully painted with various scenes of farming, Grimm's fairy tales, and the life of Christ. The town sits beneath the shadow of a steep mountain peak topped by a crucifix. A sparkling clear mountain stream ambles through the village with a walking path on either side. It's a crisp, clean town abundant with blossoms and wood carving shops, for which the town is famous.
I walked along the stream, burbling happily on it's way west, passing a barn as I went. I noticed that the barn had a very large, sliding door for driving large machinery in and out, with a smaller, people-sized door placed within the larger door. The large yard was roughly fenced and I saw that the barn door appear to be angled outward, with some smallish, bent metal rods leaning against it to hold it in place. Two goats were at the fence being fed day-old bread by two young girls. I stopped to watch them for a moment and as I did, a rumbling occurred, accompanied by the sound of bleating goats. The door heaved a bit, then lifted, and a goat appeared from beneath the door, making straight for the little girls with their bread crusts. Quick as could be, there was a stampede and about 50 wild, bleating goats poured underneath the rickety door, charging the fence. A couple of tiny babies squeezed out of the gate and made for the bread bag, while their elders ran down the yard a bit and began to hop the fence. Within a minute the stream bank and walking path were covered by goats all heading for the little girls and their bag of bread. The girls held the line for a bit, looking absolutely horrified, then they broke ranks, dropped the bag, and made for a nearby bridge. After demolishing the bag and devouring the bread, the goats proceeded to the other side of the stream in search of greener pastures.
I could just see the town overrun with goats, whilst the Polizei chased them in vain. Excitement in a small town!
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Travels with Aunt Flo
As I mentioned in a previous blog I am beginning The Change. What this means to me is that my normal, just-like-clockwork, cycle has gone haywire. My doctor told me that is it possible that my hormones will be irregular and she prescribed a synthetic hormone in the event I miss several cycles in a row, so 11 days ago I began a daily pill which send me into immediate PMS of the world class variety. I blew right up like a water-filled zeppelin and the day I was due to leave Rothenburg, Aunt Flo arrived with a vengeance, rather like what would happen if the Little Dutch Boy in his cheap, blue, Lord Fauntleroy knock off suit and wiggy hair were to pull his plump digit out of the hole in the dike. I don't know why I bothered buying sanitary supplies. I should have just bought a package of Pampers.
The night previous to my departure found me tossing and turning, unable to sleep. About the time I finally drifted off, a huge storm broke which successfully kept me awake until dawn. I treated myself to one last coffee at my cafe and purchased a cheese and ham pretzel bread to enjoy during my drive toward the Alps. Frau Fröhlich drove me to the train station and I lugged my extremely heavy suitcase onto the train. All went well until I disembarked in Steinach. The train stations have a luggage conveyor belt to help you get luggage up and down the stairs as you move from platform to platform. The belts work in either direction and are triggered by a bag being placed on one end or the other. The first whiff of trouble began when I placed my huge suitcase sideways on the belt and it began to move away so fast I couldn't grab my carry on sitting on the top step. As I twisted to reach for the carry on, the steamer trunk fell sideways off the belt nearly taking out a Mamie Eisenhower look-a-like making her way slowly down the stairs in front of me. I righted the suitcase, but then tipped over the carry on as I made a grab for it. Fortunately a nice lady picked up and handed me the carry on, as she could plainly see I was in need of assistance.
I raced to the bathroom to attend to Aunt Flo, only to discover that the train was out of water and washing my hands was out of the question as was flushing the toilet. I chose a seat with an extra absorbent cover as I could feel Flo creeping down my left leg and pooling in my sock. When I arrived in Ansbach I trotted around to the far staircase to find that the conveyor was already running in a northerly direction when I needed to head due south. I dragged my trunk down one set of stairs and up the other hoping no one noticed the set of bloody footprints I left on my way to the bathroom. As I left the loo, I noticed an EMT running around with an IV pole and a pint bag of blood looking for the injured party hemorhagging blood all over the train station. I made a quiet escape out the opposite door. Don't worry, Aunt Flo's got me covered...literally.
I took a taxi to the rental car agency and when I reported to pick up my two door economy car, I was offered a $60,000 Peugeot sports car. The three men behind the desk looked as me in shock when I turned it down in favor of a little Japanese model, telling them the Peugeot was "too big". Truth was, the Peugeot was way too beautiful and expensive and with Flo riding shotgun, I did not want leather seats. Besides, I did not elect the optional insurance coverage and I am sure my credit card limits the coverage they provide on high ticket cars. The gentleman at the counter asked me if I was traveling alone, and I said I was, choosing not to mention Auntie Flo, as she would not be driving. Don't worry, it'll be OK. Flo's got my back....literally.
I headed south, making frequent bathroom stops, and purchasing mounds chocolate to nibble at Flo's insistence. That Flo's a real pain...literally. I arrived at my destination of Oberammergau at about 4:00, then began the tedious process of locating a place to stay. The city has changed some and roads have been re-routed which was confusing and I did not see as many signs advertising rooms for rent as I remember from past visits. I did eventually find a place for 2 nights, at $25 per night. The house was rather old, and the carpet did not appear to have been replaced, or cleaned, since the Hoover administration. My room smelled damp and musty and the mattress had a six-inch dip right under my bottom, making it feel like I was sleeping in a bowl. The night passed slowly with Flo and I creeping past our landlord's bedroom door to the bathroom innumerable times. Aunt Flo really knows how to show herself ....literally.
The night previous to my departure found me tossing and turning, unable to sleep. About the time I finally drifted off, a huge storm broke which successfully kept me awake until dawn. I treated myself to one last coffee at my cafe and purchased a cheese and ham pretzel bread to enjoy during my drive toward the Alps. Frau Fröhlich drove me to the train station and I lugged my extremely heavy suitcase onto the train. All went well until I disembarked in Steinach. The train stations have a luggage conveyor belt to help you get luggage up and down the stairs as you move from platform to platform. The belts work in either direction and are triggered by a bag being placed on one end or the other. The first whiff of trouble began when I placed my huge suitcase sideways on the belt and it began to move away so fast I couldn't grab my carry on sitting on the top step. As I twisted to reach for the carry on, the steamer trunk fell sideways off the belt nearly taking out a Mamie Eisenhower look-a-like making her way slowly down the stairs in front of me. I righted the suitcase, but then tipped over the carry on as I made a grab for it. Fortunately a nice lady picked up and handed me the carry on, as she could plainly see I was in need of assistance.
I raced to the bathroom to attend to Aunt Flo, only to discover that the train was out of water and washing my hands was out of the question as was flushing the toilet. I chose a seat with an extra absorbent cover as I could feel Flo creeping down my left leg and pooling in my sock. When I arrived in Ansbach I trotted around to the far staircase to find that the conveyor was already running in a northerly direction when I needed to head due south. I dragged my trunk down one set of stairs and up the other hoping no one noticed the set of bloody footprints I left on my way to the bathroom. As I left the loo, I noticed an EMT running around with an IV pole and a pint bag of blood looking for the injured party hemorhagging blood all over the train station. I made a quiet escape out the opposite door. Don't worry, Aunt Flo's got me covered...literally.
I took a taxi to the rental car agency and when I reported to pick up my two door economy car, I was offered a $60,000 Peugeot sports car. The three men behind the desk looked as me in shock when I turned it down in favor of a little Japanese model, telling them the Peugeot was "too big". Truth was, the Peugeot was way too beautiful and expensive and with Flo riding shotgun, I did not want leather seats. Besides, I did not elect the optional insurance coverage and I am sure my credit card limits the coverage they provide on high ticket cars. The gentleman at the counter asked me if I was traveling alone, and I said I was, choosing not to mention Auntie Flo, as she would not be driving. Don't worry, it'll be OK. Flo's got my back....literally.
I headed south, making frequent bathroom stops, and purchasing mounds chocolate to nibble at Flo's insistence. That Flo's a real pain...literally. I arrived at my destination of Oberammergau at about 4:00, then began the tedious process of locating a place to stay. The city has changed some and roads have been re-routed which was confusing and I did not see as many signs advertising rooms for rent as I remember from past visits. I did eventually find a place for 2 nights, at $25 per night. The house was rather old, and the carpet did not appear to have been replaced, or cleaned, since the Hoover administration. My room smelled damp and musty and the mattress had a six-inch dip right under my bottom, making it feel like I was sleeping in a bowl. The night passed slowly with Flo and I creeping past our landlord's bedroom door to the bathroom innumerable times. Aunt Flo really knows how to show herself ....literally.
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