Autopilot

My best friend, Amy, has been reminding (read: nagging) me to update this blog since the last post, which in her defense was ages ago. I'm not sure where the time went but it must've taken with it my dedication to documenting our life in Germany. However, I've been guilted into posting by said best friend, who wrote me literally from the SOUTH POLE to tell me that she is waiting on an update. Before I begin, though, let it be said that Amy also sent me the most stunning description of her journey from Chile through Drake Passage and into Palmer Station in Antarctica with her new job as part of the United States Antarctic Program. I will be hard pressed to describe here anything as fantastic and moving as a journey in the Southern Ocean. I'm not even gonna try.

I guess the real reason behind my neglect of the blog is simply that the novelty of life here has worn off a bit. In one way this is sad in that we have somewhat begun to take this experience for granted. However, I consider it a good thing because it's evidence of the fact that we've relaxed into our routine, the surroundings, the culture and the language (well...sort of) and I think that most people who move abroad are anxious to reach this phase.

I can vividly recall how anxious I became over the simplest tasks here in our first few months. The language and cultural barriers made seemingly simple things like banking, doctor's visits, health insurance claims and even grocery shopping so incredibly stressful. Interuptions to the public transport system were a major ordeal because we were unfamiliar with the city and alternate forms of transportation. Literally everything required so much effort, so much thought, and so much planning. Somewhere along the way, though, I managed to turn on my 'autopilot' and I've suddenly woken up in May!

Make no mistake though, I do not feel at home in Munich. Despite sinking into a groove of sorts, I can't see myself staying here longterm. It's a beautiful, quaint, historic city but it's not for me. I find the majority of people, though certainly not all, to be pushy, rude, and sometimes downright nasty. Munchners love a good stare and are apt to spend the better part of a 15 minute train ride staring you up and down. In the beginning, this infuriated and frustrated the hell out of me. Combined with the fact that this is an "every man for himself" world, such that people generally have no problem shoving you out of the way to get where they're going. I can't count how many times I've had grocery carts unapologetically shoved into me in supermarkets so that the driver can get their carton of milk faster. I've been driven to tears by total strangers more times in this city than I care to admit.

All of this, though, is coming from a southern as cornbread girl who was raised to hold doors for strangers and chat with anyone and everyone in line at the supermarket check-out counter in small town Tennessee. I fully recognize that the clash between myself and Munich is a cultural one. Not Munich's fault. Not my fault. We just don't jive.

So with that realization comes a series of coping methods to keep me sane until we return home in June:
1. Leave town whenever possible (see past and future blogs where I document our fantastic weekend trips).
2. Smile. If I've learned one thing, it's that most Germans are creeped out by unsolicited smiles so when I'm getting stared at I flash a big, goofy smile. The staring always stops immediately and sometimes the person is actually so creeped out they move to a different seat and dare not glance in my direction again. Either way, I win!
3. Insert iPod, ignore crowd.
4. Do you see what I see? I like to keeping a running tally of the stranger side of Munich's population and that includes
a. The middle-aged women who for whatever reason find it attractive to shave off their eyebrows and pencil them in with a bright blue eyeliner pencil. Why?!?
b. Mullets. There's a whole lot of 'business in the front, party in the back' going on in this town!
c. 'Guess Who?' My favorite board game as a kid involved a set of 24 cartoon faces with names and the object was to guess which of those 24 characters your opponent had chosen and vice versa. Those Guess Who? faces are burned into my brain from spending an entire childhood playing the game and I can't be stopped now. For the record, I see a lot of Bernard and Frans...

(photo credit: www.axisofstevil.com)

December brought with it lots of snow to Munich and surrounding areas. Scott and I took advantage of a Monday off from work and took the train down to Tegernsee for a little sledding at Wallberg mountain. During the summer months, the top of the mountain is easily accessible by car. In the winter, the snow is packed down on the road, blocked to traffic, and reserved for ultimate sledding! A 28 Euro train pass, a 5 Euro sled rental, and an 8 Euro lift ticket gets you a 4 km run down the mountain. With no barriers between the road and the steep drops, the first trip down can be a bit unnerving but what an awesome thrill on an otherwise status-quo Monday in Munich!

Rockhounding on Ireland's West Coast

Before I tell you about my trip to Ireland with Amy, it’s worth hearing about some our past trips together to put things in perspective. As college roommates and best friends, we’ve had some wild (mis)adventures, most notably the two weeks we spent sharing a mosquito net and dodging spiders the size of dessert plates in the Amazon rainforest. I think we would both agree that you don’t really know a person until you’ve spent two weeks hiking through the jungle with them and if our friendship wasn’t solid before, it certainly was after that experience. There was also the post-semester in Europe rendezvous in Barcelona. Our reservation wasn’t on file with the hotel we’d planned to meet at and despite Amy leaving a message for me at the front desk before moving to a different hotel, the staff sent me away without relaying the message. This resulted in me wandering around the city, going from one pension hotel to the next as midnight approached, searching for a “chica Americana” while Amy waited frantically for me to show up. I still can’t believe I was able to find her; nor can I believe that I didn’t get robbed in the process.

Having said that, we’ve been conditioned to assume nothing and expect surprises when we plan trips together and I think we were both pleasantly surprised that girls’ weekend in Ireland went off without a hitch. The plan was to spend a couple of days in Dublin before heading to the west coast to do what we do best: rockhound. We are both geologists and while most girls might spend their getaways shopping and sipping martinis, most of our time was spent teetering on the edge of a 700-foot cliff in ankle deep mud searching for rocks. And let me tell you, the trip was fantastic.

We caught up over a few pints of Guinness in Dublin’s Temple Bar district and hit the high spots on the city’s tourist route (Trinity College, St. Patrick’s Cathedral, and several other national monuments) prior to heading west. Having come from Munich, where the people are generally more inclined to push you in front of a train than smile at you, I was completely thrown off and pleasantly surprised by the friendly demeanor of the Irish. A couple of times we took out our map and before we could get our bearings, someone always approached us and offered directions. One cold, drizzly night, an elderly lady stopped to help us with directions and even offered to walk us to our destination. I have yet to encounter a group of people who are as friendly as those we met in Ireland.

We boarded a bus on the third day and set off for County Clare and the Cliffs of Moher. During my semester abroad several years ago, I spent a couple of weeks hiking Ireland’s west coast by myself. It is a truly magnificent part of the world and I was so happy to visit the Cliffs again with Amy. Our final destination was the Rainbow Hostel, which is, to quote their website, “a quaint little budget accommodation in the heart of downtown Doolin.” We arrived after dark in the booming metropolis, which consisted of two pubs, two hostels, and a postage stamp-sized grocery store. There is frankly nothing “downtown” about Doolin, but it is overflowing with charm, friendly faces, and a whole lot of Guinness. Rainbow Hostel proprietor and fellow rockhound, Mattie, was delightful and welcomed us into the cleanest, coziest accommodation imaginable for a mere 16 Euros per night. He directed us to McGann’s Pub for a dinner of Irish stew, a pint (or three) of Guinness, and great live music with the locals.

The next morning, Mattie offered advice on the best hiking route to the Cliffs of Moher, as well as a few suggestions for hunting mudstones along the Doolin coast. We set off for the Cliffs pretty early and, despite the chilly air, we enjoyed an unusually sunny November day. After meandering past castles, farms, and friendly locals, we arrived at the Cliffs visitor center.


A lot has changed since my first visit, mainly because the 700-foot cliffs, home to one of the world’s few Puffin colonies, was recently nominated as one of the 7 wonders of the (modern) natural world. The section of the cliffs designated for tourists is magnificent but we wanted to go off the beaten path and did just that by hopping a fence at the southern end of the visitor’s trail.


Beyond this point, there is no barrier between the walking path and the cliff’s edge but the views of the Atlantic Ocean, the jagged cliff edge, and the rolling green landscape are intoxicating.


We hiked for hours, stopping to hunt for rocks and snap a few photos. We reached the very end of the Cliffs just before sunset and soaked in a landscape that is not justified by even the best photographs.


By this point we were also exhausted from a day of walking in the cold and knew we had to get off the unprotected section of the trail before dusk and fatigue set in. We exited the trail and returned to the main road just after sunset and made the executive decision to hitchhike back to Doolin. At this point we had covered nearly 20 miles on foot and walking 9 more miles along a road with no shoulder in the dark of night sounded less than appealing. We are thus forever grateful to the two Polish guys who gave us a lift back to Doolin and I don’t think I’ve ever had a beer that tasted as good as the one Amy and I had afterwards at McGann’s.

We slept that night like…well, like people who just walked 20 miles in the cold…and woke early the next morning to catch the bus back to Dublin. We unfortunately hadn’t had time to look for mudstones along the coast but were content to save that for another trip to County Clare. However, as we walked along the road to the bus stop, a car came zipping up behind us and screeched to a halt right next to us. Of all people, Mattie hopped out of the car, took our bags and tossed them into the trunk, gave us each a handful of mudstones he had personally collected, and dropped us off at the bus stop!

We returned to Dublin for one more night before heading back to the airport the following morning. While Amy had made the long trip to Sanibel Island from England for our wedding back in May, this was the first time in a long time that we’d had the chance to really enjoy each other’s company. It was indeed a fabulous weekend, and in hindsight is a little more meaningful because Amy has since been offered a position with an Antarctic research vessel. I am all for adventure but honestly don’t foresee a girls’ weekend on Ross Island happening anywhere in the near future. We’re hoping for a couple more fun weekends prior to her next adventure but Ireland may always be one of my personal favorites.

A blog written to explain why I'm not writing blogs...

Hello friends. Merry Christmas Eve! This post will be short. I'm living by two rules at the moment.

Rule #1: Live first, blog later. Christmastime in Munich is REALLY FUN and we are busy having fun anytime we're not at work.

Rule #2: I made a personal rule not to write a new blog until I've finished my application for grad school at Vandy. Yes, you read that correctly. Six months ago if you'd told me I was returning to grad school and talking seriously about a PhD, muchless in Nashville, I'd have laughed until I cried. I'm eating those words now. The application is due Jan 15 and all is finished except the dreaded "Purpose Statement", which I've written and rewritten a million times.

BUT, since I'm not blogging until it's finished, that's all for now. Wish me luck and I'll wish you a Merry Christmas.

Love to all from me, Scott, and a very cold Lamb!

Reflections on Turkey, Part 2: A Day at the Hamam (Turkish bath house)

Things you should know prior to reading this blog:
1. I am deathly ticklish
2. I hate feet in general and I hate people touching my feet. They are completely off-limits.
3. I embrace the fact that I am the stereotypical "American Prude" by European standards, as far as my (severely negative) comfort level with public nudity is concerned.
4. I am cheap. I obsess over my savings account and will sacrifice a lot of comfort in the name of stretching my dollar (or Euro) a little further.
5. I will do pretty much anything for my husband, including 'taking one for the team' with regard to Numbers 1-4 above.
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This all started with the innocent question of, "What do you want for your birthday?", which I posed to Scott sometime in early October. We'd already planned to spend our birthday week in Istanbul so I knew we'd both be shooting for the "experience" over "tangible gift" birthday scenario.

Scott wanted to visit a Hamam or Turkish Bath for his birthday. I commend him for his ability to choose such a unique and culturally fitting "experience" for his birthday but I knew as soon as the words left his mouth that this decision was going to severely conflict with Numbers 1-4 from above. I was correct.

After a debate over which of Istanbul's Hamams we would visit, we (I) made the tragic decision that we should save some money and choose the slightly less expensive option, which was located just down the road from our hostel.

We thought we knew in general what to expect out of this. The typical hamam experience includes being wrapped in a towel (and sometimes a bikini top for women) and stretching out on a slab of heated marble in a 14th century bath house. After about a half hour of relaxation, we knew we'd be transferred to a heated floor where water would be poured over us. Next, a staff bather would exfoliate our skin with a fabric cloth and then bathe/massage us. I had done extensive research on this topic, and reviews of the more expensive hamams suggested that the experience was very modest, relaxing, and culturally enriching.

We entered the hamam and after discussing the bath process, the price, and the fact that I am morbidly ticklish, we were rushed into a changing room with the assurance that we would at no point have to be separated. We emerged a few minutes later, wrapped in towels (um, where's the bikini top?) and were ushered into a marble room with domed ceilings.

"You. Lay. Sleep", the bath attendant ordered.

We stretched out on the marble and were just mellowing out when a door swung open and the attendant belted out, "Lady. Come. Now!"

In one fearful, fluid motion I was up off that marble slab and slinking into a separate room. Enter my first "Red Flag" that all was not as expected.

The door slammed shut and I found myself in a smaller domed room with low stone benches and sinks. As I stood reeling from the surprise venue change, the attendant went about setting the water to run in the sinks. Then out of nowhere, she turned to me and "WOOOSH", snatched the towel from around me. Needless to say, that caught me a little offguard and as I debated whether or not to just bolt from the room and run for my life, she spread the towel out and ordered, "Lady! Sit! Water!", before storming out of the room.

There I sat, naked, in a 14th century bath house, pouring water over myself with what looked like a petfood bowl, while the Muslim call to prayer blasted across the city form the mosque next door. I won't ever forget how surreal and strange that moment was. Nor will I forget the awkward moments that followed when the attendant led in two Korean women and produced the same morbid embarrassment in them that she did me with that little towel maneuver. What felt like three eternities later (probably more like 20 mins), the attendant showed up again, this time topless, and pointed to me. "Lady! Come. Now!" At this point, I was up to about five 'Red Flags'.

I ended up on a massage table and the exfoliating process began. Don't let anyone ever try to convince you that this is relaxing. The "fabric cloth" is no more than a brillo pad and was used head-to-toe and nearly made me cry. Next came the soaping and massage, which was not terrible until she got to my feet. When she was finished, she poured several buckets of hot water over my head and shouted, "Lady. Go!" I was wrapped in a dry towel and ushered into the hamam's lobby, where I sipped apple tea and watched a Turkish soap opera with the other bath attendants.

My first clue to the fact that Scott and I had had very different experiences came when I began my second Turkish soap opera and he still hadn't emerged from his side of the bath house. The second was when I saw his attendant emerge. This man was enormous and I knew Scott had probably been given the most severe massage of his life. He finally came out looking content but also looking like he'd just been beaten up. Apparently, his attendant had cracked his neck, back, and shoulder joints, in addition to his signature move of digging his elbows into Scott's sides.

All in all, it was a bizarre and surreal experience. In hindsight, we should perhaps have chosen the slightly more expensive option. However, Scott got what he wanted for his birthday and we now have some funny stories to tell. All in all, I'm glad we had this experience. But, for the record, I chose a very nice Turkish-made bag for my birthday, which did not require me to lose my clothes nor have my feet touched. I'm perfectly content with my birthday gift, too, thankyouverymuch.

"It's Snowing In Camden..."

Guten morgen from snowy Munich. I have lots of blog updating to do but first, I need to say something. Having grown up in Tennessee and having spent seven years on the Gulf Coast, I have an understandably strained relationship with all forms of winter precipitation. Tennessee generally gets very little snowfall but when even the *hint* of potential flurries (muchless accumulation) leaves the Meteorologist's mouth, mass hysteria sets in. In fact, I would wager that the average Tennessean does more to prepare for an inch of snow than I ever did in preparation for a hurricane. Growing up, I can remember grocery stores being literally attacked and stripped of any milk, bread, and egg products. Meanwhile, all of us kids waited anxiously for our white, fluffy ticket to freedom. If ice or snow accumulated, even on the millimeter scale, school was usually called off in the name of "compromised bus safety". Because most weather systems moved in over nearby Camden, TN, just before reaching us, the phrase, "It's snowing in Camden" was enough to start a Junior High-scale riot with all sorts of speculation about when and for how long we'd be out of school. In hindsight, it's just plain hilarious to me, especially since Scott grew up in the northeast and has a much more reasonable attitude toward winter weather. Also because, here in Munich, six inches of snowfall overnight has zero effect on the efficiency of the city or the mood of its people. It is still very much 'business as usual'. Meanwhile, I'm ready to sprint through the streets and hug every person I see. I have seriously reverted back to the six year old version of myself.


All of this came to light this past Friday when Munich got its first true snowfall of the season. While we were both excited to see snow for the first time in a long time, to say that I was like a kid on Christmas morning would be a severe understatement. I was delerious when I opened the door to let the dog out that morning and stepped into a blanket of snow on the patio. I could not be contained and spent an entire workday staring out my office window watching it snow. We got a little break in the flurries on Saturday but the weather forecast indicated it would again start snowing yesterday (Sunday) evening. Thus, as I was cooking dinner last night, the phrase "It's snowing in Camden" suddenly popped into my head. I had a little laugh to myself and went about the evening. Sure enough, though, we woke up to about 6 inches this morning. Despite knowing that a little snowfall is not going to change the fact that I have got to be at work, the inner Tennessean in me can't help but surface. I'll let you all know when the new wears off but for now, I am so excited!!

Reflections on Turkey, Part 1: Getting there and away

Scott and I are just returning from our much anticipated trip to Istanbul. It was more fabulous and exotic than I could've ever imagined and we've returned home with some stories that we'll surely be sharing with grandchildren one day. I'll start with the adventures of getting there and away, which were experiences that knocked at least 10 years off our lives.

Our flight from Munich to Istanbul was scheduled for mid-afternoon and, after a delay in trains (thanks to the transport strike), a delay in getting the dog to the sitter, and a whole bunch of other issues, we made it to the airport via a $70 taxi ride with no time to spare. I was a ball of nerves already but the fun was just beginning.

Our flight took off on time and we enjoyed incredible aerial views of the Alps as we crossed over Austria and headed East.


I had just settled into my iPod and was dozing off when suddenly I smelled smoke. I second guessed my senses for a couple of minutes before mentioning this to Scott and we soon realized that it was the unmistakable odor of cigarette smoke, which on most flights would get you bum-rushed, tackled to the ground, and subpeonaed to federal court in a split-second. The bizarre thing was that no one else on this 200-passenger flight, including the flight attendants, seemed the least bit concerned about this! Scott really played the situation down to curtail a complete panic attack that was building inside me and eventually the smell faded and I relaxed enough to doze off.

A flight attendant woke me up just prior to landing to ensure that my seat was returned to the "upright position"...because clearly an open flame in the bathroom is no problem but that 2 degree recline on the seat back is a serious safety hazard! As the plane descended, we were enjoying the twinkling lights of the Euro-Asian border and certainly weren't expecting to bounce down the runway like a basketball. But, alas, we did. The back wheels touched down and then the plane jolted forward onto the front wheel and we see-sawed down the runway for a horrifying 15-20 seconds or so. Most of the passengers were on the verge of full-blown panic by the time all three wheels settled onto the tarmac and we began to slow down. The whole plane began cheering and I began plotting a way to hitchhike back to Germany instead of stepping foot onto another Condor/Sun Express flight ever again.

We flew into a regional airport on the Asian side of the city and would have to take a bus from the airport to the ferry dock, then a ferry to the Old City, and then walk to the hostel itself, a route I had written in painstaking detail. We boarded the first bus and were soaking up the hustle and bustle of rush hour traffic in this strange city when..."BOOOOOM" (and when I say "boom", I mean the 'steel crashing into steel at 60 mph' kind of "boom"). Apparently, as our bus was cruising along in the center lane of a 3-lane highway, another city bus had decided to try to squeeze past us in the far right lane. The driver wedged himself between our bus and a huge rock outcrop and gunned it. He scraped the entire length of our bus and never slowed up! The other passengers on the bus just shook their heads and Scott and I sat there in stunned silence wondering what could possibly happen next.

The ferry ride itself was thankfully very uneventful, although don't think for a second that I hadn't done a mental check of the location of life preservers at this point in the trip. We sipped hot tea (a favorite Turkish pastime) and enjoyed crossing the Bosphorus Straits from Asia to Europe.


Once we arrived in the Old Town, I broke out my walking directions and we headed out on foot in search of our hostel. Easier said than done in a city that doesn't believe in street signs. My directions were completely useless and here we stood in the dark, with our packs on, looking obviously lost. We might as well have been waving flags above our heads that said, "We're lost tourists hoping to get mugged tonight!" Luckily, Turks are some of the kindest people I have ever encountered (granted most of them are trying to sell you something, but that's a blog for a different day), and we spent 3 hours snaking our way through the city, asking for directions in local shops, and then walking a few more minutes before asking someone else if we were still continuing in the correct direction. It was tedious and nerve-wracking but we finally found our hostel, which turned out to be in the most perfect location for sightseeing in the city.

We slept like babies that first night and woke to the Muslim call to prayer being broadcast across the city as the sun came up over the Sea of Marmara outside our bedroom window. At that point, I had convinced myself that Istanbul was going to have to be really extraordinary to make up for the chaos we encountered in getting there. No doubt, it made up for it and then some. More to come later, as I am currently nursing my least favorite Turkish souvenir: the flu. Guten Nacht!

Notes on a Bavarian Wedding

In the midst of our fun-filled days at Oktoberfest, came an unexpected treat that will always be one of my favorite memories of our time here: an invitation to a traditional Bavarian wedding. After all the obligatory tourist traps we'd been caught up in at the festival, this was a delightful immersion into the real culture of Bavaria.

The bride, Judith, actually worked for Scott's company here in Munich prior to taking a job with an O&P company in Tampa, FL. She and Scott met when she taught a course he attended while in school and she essentially paved the way for Scott's job opportunity here. Judith and Benjamin, the groom, still live in Tampa but they returned to Munich to exchange vows and we were surprised and humbled at the offer to join them in celebrating their big day. The celebration began at 9 am at the home of Judith's parents. Wedding guests, most of whom were dressed in lederhosen & dirndl, shared a traditional Bavarian breakfast of weißwurst (a veal and pork bacon sausage), pretzels, and beer while a band played Bavarian music (sans the Neil Diamond interlude we suffered through at Oktoberfest, thank goodness). For the first time in a long time, we weren't the only minority given that Benjamin's father, aunt, and best friend, BJ, from Tampa also attended the wedding. We immediately hit it off with BJ and in a strange twist, we discovered that Scott and BJ's paths had crossed over 10 years ago when both were working in New York City. It's a small world, folks! After breakfast, the bride and groom arrived and we all proceeded to the city hall for the exchange of vows. Afterwards, we made our way to a nearby community center where the real fun began. In lieu of a professionally made wedding cake, close friends of the bride had each baked their favorite dessert and the result was remarkable. There were a dozen varieties of cakes, pies, and tarts to choose from and it added the first of many personal touches to the celebration.

One of my favorite customs of the afternoon was plate-throwing. Several family members wrote messages to Judith & Benjamin on small dessert plates and the plates were given to Judith to toss backwards over her head to Benjamin. Depending on what the message said, Benjamin was to attempt to catch or not catch the plates. For example, one of the plates guaranteed 100Euro to the couple if Benjamin was able to catch it. Another promised years of happiness together if caught by the groom. It was a neat tradition and Benjamin managed to catch all of the plates.

Part of the way into the afternoon, I noticed Benjamin carrying Judith's bouquet with him. When asked why he didn't set it down, it was explained that wedding tradition required that the bouquet never leave the hands of bride or groom. If someone besides the couple ever gets hold of the flowers, the groom will be required to host a huge party in the coming days as penalty. Another custom is that of family members producing a skit in satire and celebration of the couple. Judith's family had obviously put a lot of time into this, poking fun at how the couple met and what their life in America was like. It was really funny and entertaining and provided another personal touch to their celebration.



Traditional music, dancing, games, and skits, accompanied by flowing champagne and beer, dominated the scene from about noon until 6 pm. Next, a fantastic dinner of soup, salad, duck and deer was served and afterwards a couple of the guests took the stage to entertain once the band had departed. A husband and wife duo from Mozambique and Cuba, respectively, brought down the house with an hour's worth of talented piano playing and singing. Scott and I are big fans of Buena Vista Social Club and the wife did fantastic covers of several of their songs, in addition some other Latin-American and German classics.

Exhausted by a marathon day of eating, drinking, celebrating, and making lots of new friends, we finally bid farewell to the couple and other guests sometime after midnight. Overall, Scott and I were delighted at the simplicity and charm of the wedding celebration. Weddings in the U.S. can easily take on an aire of competition as brides attempt to out-do their peers with over-the-top decorating, entertaining, wining & dining, etc. I was struck during my own wedding by people who were mortified at my lack of concern for hiring a professional DJ or spending thousands of dollars on floral arrangements, over-priced decor, and wedding planners. I truly identified with and appreciated the simplicity of Judith and Benjamin's traditional Bavarian wedding. Much like our wedding, their focus was the joining of friends and family to celebrate their happy occassion with lots of personal touches but none of the frivolous decor and fuss of most weddings I've attended. It was a true, unrehearsed, not-for-show glimpse into Bavarian culture and we met some of the friendliest, most sincere individuals I've ever encountered. As long as I live, this will stand out as one of my most favorite experiences while living in Europe. Congratulations to Judith and Benjamin and a sincere thank you for allowing us to take part in such a wonderful celebration!

Oktoberfest: 200 Years of the 'Liver Olympics'

Well, the 200th Anniversary of Oktoberfest has come and gone, much to the joy of my bank account and my liver. There really aren't words to describe the level of scensory overload that accompanies a first-timer at Oktoberfest and honestly, one trip just won't do the experience justice...which is why we went four times. The problem with (and the beauty of) the festival is that it is just massive and aside from the obvious beer drinking activities, there is a lot more to see and do. Upon entering the gates, the inner 8 year old in me was ready to drop the family fortune on any number of carnival rides and games. Meanwhile, the inner college kid in me was ready to spend equal amounts on 10€ a piece 1-liter beers. Thankfully, the fiscally conservative adult in me managed to come out on top, for the most part, and the savings account is still largely intact.

Oktoberfest began 200 years ago as a public celebration of the marriage of Prince Ludwig to Princess Therese on October 12. The event lasts 16 - 18 days and opens with a parade including Bavarian music and lots of people in the traditional Bavarian clothing, lederhosen & dirndl. The festival now begins in early September so that festival-goers may take advantage of the longer days and nicer weather of late September. Over 6 million people attended this year's celebration so you can only imagine the level of chaos that reigned both within the festival gates and throughout the city as a whole.

Our friends, Marjio, Andre', and Ergun, joined us from Berlin for the opening day of festivities. We arrived at the entrance gates just in time to catch the end of the parade, the 12-gun salute, and the tapping of the first keg by Munich's mayor at 12 noon. We spent the next several hours navigating the festival grounds with 10,000 of our closest friends and neighbors only to discover that all of the beer tents had filled to capacity by about 9:30 that morning! Beer is only served within the tents at the festival and so we retreated to our favorite beer garden in the city to quench our thirst and headed back to the festival later in the evening. We joined a colleague of Scott's that evening at his table in one of the tents for six hours of chugging 1-liter beers, eating pretzels the size of my head, and singing one of the strangest combinations of music I have ever encountered (traditional Bavarian tunes were always followed by a Neil Diamond or Queen song and then the crowd cheered and drank some more). It was by far the most fun I've ever had. Variations of this scene unfolded a couple more times as we joined Scott's work colleagues in various beer tents over the course of the festival.

Aside from this Bavarian spin on a massive frat party going on within the tents' walls, outside the tents an entirely different spectacle unfolded. As I mentioned earlier, there were literally hundreds of carnival rides and games and I'd have probably pulled Scott onto every one of them if it hadn't been for the massive crowds and the steep prices. We did enjoy a Ferris wheel ride just to get a perspective on the crowd from that height and I consider this 15€ well spent (check out the photo). However, there's just something about throngs of drunk people on spinning rides that quickly loses its appeal for me. Thus, we spent the majority of our non-drinking visits to the festival people watching, eating (everything from candied hazelnuts, roasted chickens to smoked fish, brats, and pretzels), and generally absorbing the sights, sounds, and smells.

All in all, this was an experience neither Scott nor I will ever forget. And whether or not you find interest in chugging a liter of beer or riding over-priced carnival rides, this is a spectacle not to be missed if ever you find yourself in Munich this time of year.

Now or never...

About three years ago, sitting in our first apartment together in St. Pete, I ran by Scott the crazy notion of spending three weeks abroad over the upcoming holiday season. I was anticipating a decent break from grad school and we could've scraped the money together for three weeks in perhaps Istanbul, Turkey, or even a hiking trip to Machu Picchu in Peru. That spring, we took jobs running a Farmer's Market booth on Saturdays for a local restaurant owner to fill our travel fund and eventually set our sights on Istanbul. By September, we'd collected hiking packs and travel guides, and we'd begun shopping for plane tickets.

However, in the meantime, Scott had started Orthotics & Prosthetics school and came home one night with the question that would change everything for us, "What if we moved to Germany after graduation?" He had become fascinated with German technology in the O&P industry and had found a company who might sponsor a one-year apprenticeship in Munich. It was pretty much a no-brainer for me. If ever we were going to try our hands at the whole 'sell everything you own and move to a foreign country' thing, here was the perfect opportunity. We put our Istanbul plans on the backburner (a bittersweet decision for me) and spent the next two years talking, planning, and saving for a move overseas that a lot of people (and sometimes even we) weren't sure would happen.

Here we are, though, nearly three months into life in Munich. Earlier this week, we began brainstorming a trip to take in celebration of our early November birthdays and our wedding (honeymooning one weekend trip at a time). We kicked around the idea of a weekend in Barcelona or a flight to Malaga, Spain, and then a ferry across the Straits of Gibralter into Morocco. But there sat the Lonely Planet: Turkey guide on our bookshelf. This time, "What if we went to Istanbul?" was followed immediately by the purchase of two roundtrip plane tickets. We'll spend 6 days/5 nights in Istanbul with perhaps a day trip up to the Black Sea or Troy. It only seems fitting that this is our first big trip and so Scott and I will celebrate our marriage and ring in our 36th and 26th birthdays with one foot in Asia and one foot in Europe. Now or never, right??

The thing about German grocery stores...

...the thing is, I have a love-hate relationship with them. In some ways, I find their simplicity refreshing and in other ways it's just down right maddening! Here are some random musings regarding the German grocery shopping experience:

- After almost 3 months of grocery shopping in Munchen, I have yet to detect a rhyme or reason to the placement of items within the grocery stores. In the market closest to us, there are spices stored in three random locations throughout the store, pasta can be found on three different aisles, and olive oil on two. Also, milk is displayed in two separate coolers on opposite ends of the store.

- Bagging your groceries at the speed of light is essential if you wish to avoid the death-stare of the cashier at check-out. I have no problem with bagging my own groceries, but the cashiers are lightening fast and inevitably I am wrangling something into a bag when the next customer's items begin piling up on mine. You would think I'd just committed a crime against humanity the way people stare at you after such an offense.

- If the items on your shopping list don't fall into one of four categories, there's every chance you won't be able to purchase it. All moderately sized grocery shops will have the usual suspects: a bakery, a butcher, 1/4 of the floor space devoted to cheese, and hell of a beer selection. All other bets are off. Credit to the Germans, though, because they know how to eat!

- The produce selections in the stores we frequent are fantastic, fresh, cheap (government subsidized), and simply displayed. It struck me yesterday, as I added a 5-lb bag of carrots to my grocery basket, that in a typical American grocery store, a person can purchase carrots pre-cut into a half dozen different shapes and sizes. Pre-chopped and plastic-packaged celery, broccoli, and beans are also the norm in the U.S. but these options are non-existent in Germany. I'm a big fan of their no fuss, no frills, minimal waste attitude in general.

- As mentioned before, the government subsidies make healthy food choices the most affordable. This is one of my favorite things about life here. Fresh produce makes up about 80% of our diet and we spent a fortune on groceries in the U.S. Our grocery bill here rarely exceeds the equivalent of $40 (US dollars) per week.

That's all I've got for now but keep an eye out for updates!

The "Professor" and his little brother

Since arriving in Munich, I've been searching for an opportunity to work in a geoscience lab. As of yesterday, there have been some promising developments in that endeavor. However, in the meantime, I've been spending a couple afternoons of each week babysitting and providing English language practice for a German family with two young boys, ages 3 and 6 years. The family moved back to Munich from their previous residence in Zurich, Switzerland, where Viktor attended English-language kindergarten. Viktor, who I've secretly nicknamed "The Professor" is without a doubt a nuclear physicist in the making. At six years, he has the vocabulary of an Oxford graduate student and is famous for asking, "Leslie, shall I explain to you how --insert complicated subject matter-- works?" One day, while his sweet little brother Jona (pronounced Yonah) was running around the playground, Viktor spent 20 minutes describing the life-cycle of a ladybug. This included a detailed description of the pupa and larvae stages, which I assure you were terms I wasn't exposed to until fifth grade. He has also taken to my interest in geology, and we've spent hours sieving through the sand at the playground. He can now identify a half dozen varieties of quartz, granite, and marble. I've also received primers on the importance of recycling, keeping my dog on a leash, and being very careful if ever I decide to try snow skiing. By far, my most favorite thing about Viktor is that each day when I leave, he shakes my hand as if this were a business relationship. It's all I can do to keep a straight face! For those of you who watch the American TV show "The Big Bang Theory", Viktor is a tiny carbon-copy of Sheldon. The bottom line is, I'm not sure who is getting more of an education in this arrangement. Most days, I leave feeling as if I made 40 Euro and bumped my IQ up a couple more notches by just breathing the same air as this kid.

Two months into Munich

It's been quite awhile since my last blog because well, frankly, we've been having too much fun to slow down & reflect on it all. Today I am home, finished with my grocery shopping (which requires a two mile bike ride) and have washed & hung laundry out to dry. I must say that prior to moving to Munich everyone had an opinion about what we'd love and what we'd hate. And believe me, Scott and I had our own opinions, as well. I'm amazed, though, after two months in residence to report that the things which I thought would drive me nuts have in reality delighted me. I have really embraced public transportation and haven't for a second missed the wretched Tampa Bay traffic I used to fight every day. There is nothing better than settling into a good book and my iPod on the bus or train instead of racing down the interstate and spending a fortune on gas. I've also come to enjoy grocery shopping several times a week, which is a requirement when everything I bring home must either be carried by hand or in the baskets of my bicycle.

Don't be fooled into thinking, though, that we don't have our pet peeves with our new city. I've spent the last seven years in St. Petersburg, FL, where you could get anything you wanted from iced coffee to a tube of toothpaste anytime of the day or night. This is definitely NOT the case in Munich. These people roll the sidewalks up at 8pm on weekdays. Many places close at 2pm on Saturdays and you are just plain out of luck if you need to buy something on a Sunday. We learned this lesson the hard way during our first week in the new apartment. On the first Saturday night spent in the new place, the lightbulb went out in our bathroom. We hadn't yet stocked up on such items and, because shops don't open on Sundays, we showered and brushed teeth by flashlight until the following Monday. Scott and I also tend to be night owls and love late night trips to coffeeshops. I spent 3/4 of my college career in a coffeeshop, studying or pretending to study. Cafes here in Munich definitely aren't open past 8pm and aren't too keen on people staying for longer than it takes to drink said cup of coffee. Nonetheless, we're adjusting and loving this new life despite the changes it brings.

***Before I end, I'd like to post a disclaimer regarding my above comments. The weather in Munich is currently quite nice. Our high temperatures are typically in the 60's and dip into the 40's at night. However, three months from now, it's quite possible that I may retract every statement regarding my love of walking to the grocery store and waiting on train platforms. Be reminded that I was raised in Tennessee, where 2 inches of snow is a huge ordeal. We're told to expect several feet of snow to last a better part of the winter. I think it's safe to say that the miserable cold may later be added to that list of "dislikes".

River Surfers?

So, Leslie and I had decided to take a stroll through the Englisher Garten the other day and we came across part of the Isar River. As we came around this large area of trees, we noticed a couple of guys in full wet suits paddling down stream...on surfboards. Wait a minute, I thought surfing only exsisted in the ocean, not small rivers. Well it was pretty amazing. About three or four of these guys were taking turns jumping off the side of the bank into what looked like intense white water. If you were a brave soul and had some amazing balance, you could surf a constent wave all day long. This urban sport is definitely not for the weak.

I start next week....just kidding, "Charlie don't surf!"

When all else fails...hitchhike!

Today was a quite perfect day in the city of Munich. After days of torrential downpours, which ultimately flooded the Zorneding train station and left us stranded in the hotel, we were determined to get into the city. Sundays in Munich are notoriously low-key because all of the shops and most of the restaurants across the city close.

With this in mind, we set out with the dog from Marienplatz and trekked about a mile or so toward the Englischer Garten, one of the largest urban parks in the world. It's picturesque in every sense of the word, as one can enjoy the sights of the Isar River, rolling meadows, secluded hiking trails, horseback riders, grazing sheep, beer gardens, and nude sunbathers of course! There's something for everyone, indeed! We walked several miles into the park and had worked up quite the appetite by the time we reached the Chinese Turum and surrounding beer garden. Now keep in mind that, as we've been living in a hotel with no kitchen since we arrived, we've pretty much met our annual quota of deli-sliced chicken sandwiches, nutella, and grapes. We mixed it up today with a pork knuckle (that was ALL Scott), a bratwurst, some potato salad, a pretzel, and a cool 2 liters of Hoffbrau.

By the time we made it back to the S-Bahn station and headed for home, we'd walked at least 6 miles and were ready to call it a day. However, if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the past 3 weeks in our new home, it’s to never assume anything when it comes to how things work in Germany. About five stations prior to our train stop, an announcement was made that our train and all future trains were now terminating at this stop in Haar. Apparently there was an incident on the railway up ahead and we'd have to make other arrangements. Easier said than done on a Sunday evening at 7pm when bus service has been halted until Monday and we're a good 15 miles from our hotel. We seriously considered walking the 15 miles home and probably would've if we hadn't already walked all day and if we weren't within an hour and a half of sunset. So, up the thumbs went!

(Now, as a side note, this is actually my second international hitchhiking experience. Back in 2005, a friend and I hitchhiked across St. John in the US Virgin Islands on the way back from some geology fieldwork in the salt ponds. I'm still stunned that we caught a ride because we had hacksaws, rubber mallets, conduit pipes, and 2x4's strapped to our backpacks and I'm almost certain we looked like serial killers. At least on this trip, I wasn't garnished with could-be weapons and absolutely covered in mud.)

Nonetheless, within 10 minutes of deciding to hitch it, we'd convinced a fellow stranded passenger to let us tag along with her when her husband arrived. They were apparently headed right by our hotel on their way home and dropped us off at our front door, refusing our money and honking as they drove away. While hitchhiking is not necessarily my preferred mode of transportation, I must admit that we signed up for an adventure and so far, an adventure is definitely what we’ve gotten!