An American in Copenhagen

And, finally...

2010-10-25T03:58:00.002+02:00

Head on over to my new website/blog, about writing, motherhood, shoes and the blessing of cupcakes (perhaps in that order):

Smushyface, Baby!

Repatriation and Sundry Thoughts about Being Home

2010-10-25T03:55:00.000+02:00

So, we're home.

A year later, it's still strange to be here... and at the same time it feels like we never left. I catch myself bagging my own groceries at the store, and then, instead of walking, driving my car fifty meters across the parking lot to go to the next store. I'm not the same person that left three years ago, but it's somehow easy to fall back into those same old patterns of living, some of which I hoped I would've left behind. I wrote an essay last year abour repatriation, and I think this paragraph sums up how I feel:

I’m not that person who left North Carolina two years ago. I’ve seen fifteen-plus countries and discovered North Face is worth its weight in kroner, camels are mean and octopus tastes good when served in its own ink. At the risk of sounding cliché, I’ve also learned that the world is a much bigger, and smaller, place than I ever imagined. Growing up, I couldn’t imagine not being American. After living abroad, understanding that people can be just as happy living on a rock in the Baltic Sea as shopping at Target and eating Chik-Fil-A is as much epiphany as expatriate epilogue.

Ah, how true and how naive. Just because I now realize that eating at Chik-Fil-A isn't a necessity in my life doesn't mean I don't enjoy it, or driving an SUV, or buying an expensive phone, or any of the other trappings of life in the U.S. Just because I know I can live without things doesn't mean I want to (nor does that make me a bad person, which is a hard idea to come to terms with). And missing the things I loved about Copenhagen doesn't mean I want to move back there, either. What I do know now is that I would be disappointed if we never had the opportunity to live outside of the U.S. again, and even more importantly, if my children never had the opportunity to (at least) travel in other cultures, and hopefully even live in one. So, to sum up, I think I will make a couple of lists: one for the things I miss about Denmark, and one for all the things that make me happy to be back, as superficial or silly as they may seem.

Five Things I Miss About Denmark

(5) Easy access to European and eastern travel. We visited over 17 countries while in Denmark; from the U.S., the same plane tickets would cost four times what we paid, and that's not even considering the jet lag.

(4) Danish ice cream. Danish cheese. Danish bakeries. The Danish fishmonger. Danish dairy products, in general. Overall, while the Danes don't have giant stainless refrigerators and freezers in their garages, the Danish way of life lends itself to better, fresher food (although that also means, unfortunately, more trips to the grocery store), and walking or biking to all of those places boosts fitness levels and overall health. Have I said Danish enough times? You get me, yo.

(3) Eighteen hours of sunlight in the summer, and how the Danes actually use those hours to enjoy life. Ever seen a Copenhagen park in July? Fabulous.

(2) The Danish focus on the family. People actually leave work in Denmark at five. Service may suck, but wouldn't you trade surly waiters for getting to spend an extra two hours a day with your kids? I would.

(1) Understanding that people are not only happy living in their own culture, but couldn't imagine living anywhere else, and that makes me wanting to come home just as okay as me wanting to live somewhere else for a while.

Five Reasons I Couldn't be Happier to Come Home

(5) I no longer am required to eat a sandwich or hamburger with a fork.

(4) Diversity. I fit in in Denmark (good German/northern European genes do that for a person), but it's nice to be in a place where people all look, talk and act different.

(3) The (current) American health care system. I will be delivering my child in a private birthing suite nicer than most hotels we visited in Europe, with a medical staff who speak English as a first language and have immediate access to state-of-the-art neonatal care. Health care in Denmark is good, and even more importantly, accessible to the entire population, but this is one of those areas in which I am very happy to be a selfish American with excellent health care provided by my husband's company. It may not make me pretty, but I'll do whaterver it takes to have a healthy baby, and I'm not the slightest bit ashamed of it.

(2) Living in Denmark, as great as it was, took effort. Every day, walking into a store, making friends, trying to navigate the etiquette, the language, the right thing to say, it was all a great experience in terms of living and learning about myself and another culture, but it didn't necessarily make for an easy life. Here, while it may not be as culturally enriching, it's nice to just be able to live without thinking about each word before it exits my mouth. Or wondering if the shopgirls are talking about the clueless American trying on the wrong size shoes. Or getting the annoyed look when someone approached me in Danish and I have to switch to English. Plus, we have Quizno's... no forks required.

(1) There's no substitute for being close to our families, especially when we're starting our own. So, of course, my people are the best reason to be home. Ever.

So those are my thoughts about repatriating and living happily ever after here in the states. Smooches - S

2009, The Recap: Part II (Complete with many, many pictures)

2010-10-24T16:16:00.000+02:00

Howdy! Here I am again, ONE DAY LATER. Didn't believe me, that I would be back so soon? Oh yes, yes I am. You see, the possibility of delivering a baby in the next, you know, 48 hours has lit a fire under... ahem, me. Also, in the category of "I'm awesome and didn't even realize it," I already wrote up parts of what I wanted to say about the fall of 2009. So picking up where we left off - home from our faboooooo Med vacation last July - here's the first part of my post, written last year around this time:

August/September 2009: Sundry Comings and Goings

In the "why being an expat isn't the fabulous life it's sometimes cracked up to be" category, I submit exhibit (A): my August. I'm not super proud of the fact that I moped around all of August, but in fact, that's pretty much what I did. Homesick, bummed from no longer being on vacation, still waiting to find out when we're coming home in the new year, unable to write a four word sentence and getting ignored and rejected on all sides in the writing world... what's a girl to do? That would be: rid the local 7-11 of all Ben & Jerry's chocolate fudge brownie pints (i dare anyone to find a better ice cream than B&J CFB. really, i dare you. bring it.), the local Super Best of hummus, and my husband of his sanity. And there, in a paragraph, is the summation of my August. Betcha never thought I could be that succinct, huh?

Me either.

September was markedly better. First, Jon's parents showed up - Yay! No, really, yay! I dig my in-laws! - and we spent a week toodling around Copenhagen and the greater Zealand area. We even went down to Dragor, the super fun fishing village south of Copenhagen, in the rain. In the process we met quite a few fun Danes (no, Weeza, I am not high. we actually met fun, talkative, non-reserved Danes), one of which showed us happily around Frederiksborg Palace, and the other who showed us a fishing boat in which Danish Jews were ferried to Sweden during WWII. I love this story: the German commander wasn't so much in line with actually being in the German army, and so he enabled the Danes to sneak the Jews into the fishing boat by sending his patrols on wild goose chases at just the optimal moment. I'm not saying he was blameless; don't get me wrong. But I did just read Corelli's Mandolin and The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, so I'm on this train of thought.

In other news, the crown jewels are still shiny, the tide's up in Copenhagen (we had to duck superlow on the canal tour), there are over 500 steps up the side of the chalk cliffs in Mon (much easier down than up), and I heart enchiladas, corn tortillas, Madklubben's creamy wheat with mussels (go eat that. NOW.) and my in-laws.

Shortly after the IL's left, we took a week's cruise up the Norwegian coast on the Hurtigruten coastal steamer Nordkapp. It was possibly the most relaxing/comatose trip I've ever taken, and I mean that in a very heavenly, largely buffet-driven way. Notable highlights: a bus tour through the UNESCO heritage Geiranger fjord and a trip to the North Cape, the northernmost point of Europe. The boat was nice, if slightly primitive (it's not the boat's fault, poor thing started life as a mail steamer), the service sucked, and the scenery was to die for. Since I've already made a considerably long post about Norway (last year... what, you're not keeping up? shame on you.), I'll just let the pictures do the talking.

BBQ'ed sheep brains at a food festival in Bergen. Say it with me: Eeeewwwww.

Fabulous Geiranger.

Jon at "Magic Ice" in Svolvaer. It's a bar made of ice. Never say we don't try new things.

Beautiful scenery near Tromso.

The North Cape, the northernmost point of Europe.

And then we went to Salzburg and Munich, but frankly, that's a story for another day.

And that's where we'll start today.

So if I remember correctly, we didn't know we were repatriating until either late October or early November (on a semi-related topic, it's true that pregnancy sucks every brain cell from your body), but in true Walker-Overcash fashion, we decided to take a quick weekend at Oktoberfest while we had the chance... just in case it was our last year in Europe (which, in retrospect, turned out to be wise). On the way, we stopped in Salzburg, Austria for a day and then took the train to Berchtesgaden, on the border of Germany and Austria, near where Hitler's Eagle's Nest is located. It was... pretty amazing. While we didn't have time to see much of Salzburg, we spent the day at Eagle's Nest and the associated museum (the Dokumentation Obersalzberg), where the scenery is very Sound of Music and the bunker system itself is extensive and, to say the least, super creepy. The Germans, to their credit, have done their usual excellent job of making it educational and yet somehow sterile, so as not to create a cult of personality around the Nazi's. Impressive. We actually hiked across the mountain to get to the facility, and then tooled around the museum before taking the crazy brass elevator up to the top where the chalet was. The elevator was (a) claustrophobic, (b) chilling to think of all the evil people who also once took that elevator, despite the massive crush of tourists in there with us and (c) very Band of Brothers.

Creepy bunkers in the mountain.

Creepy brass elevator to get to the top.

The view, however, was worth the creepiness.

After all that creepiness, we decided to go to Augustiner Brau in Salzburg for dinner. Nothing better than monk-made beer.

Oh, and we saw a cow parade in Berchtesgaden proper. Not bad.

Better than pink elephants, anyway.

Munich and Oktoberfest were... tasty. I did manage to see the Bavarian Wittelsbach crown jewels at the Munich Residenz before the fest. Fabulously shiny.

There's more but... isn't there always?

October/November 2009: Ireland and Budapest

No, not at the same time.

As we were still undecided about repatriation through at least part of October, J and I decided to take one last "big" trip while we had the chance, so we left on Halloween for a week's worth of touring around Ireland. Beyond a terrible experience I had with a travel agent in the planning stages of the trip, Ireland was pretty awesome: green, with lots of beer and friendly people, and terrible, terrible driving. Pretty much what you would expect, I guess. We visited the Guinness Storehouse in Dublin and two distilleries (Jameson/Old Midleton in Co. Cork and the Old Bushmills Distillery in Northern Ireland), drove the Dingle Peninsula and climbed around 4,000 year old stone huts and a 1,500 year old church, saw what may quite possibly be the prettiest place on earth (Killarney National Park), drank a LOT of Irish beer, saw the "peace lines" in Belfast with a Northern Ireland ex-cop (and visited the site where the Titanic was built), ate a ton of seafood and in general tried not to wreck our rental car by running it into a herd of marauding, random animals. We were busy. There's more to tell, but I'm on a picture kick right now, so instead I'm going with the "show" option:

The Rock of Cashel... part fort, part church, now ruined, still crazy beautiful.

The 4,000-year-old beehive huts of Dingle... not much in the way of insulation.

The Blasket Islands from Dingle Peninsula... next stop, U.S.A.

Killarney National Park. It's way more green than this picture shows.

The water wheel at the Old Midleton Distillery.

What I really did on my Irish vacation...

A litle out of order, but this is the view from the ruined monastery at Glendalough, in the Wicklow Mountains.

Kilkenny Castle...kind of not as impressive as it looks.

The Belfast "Peace Lines." Right.

J and I at the Giant's Causeway, in North Antrim.

And, of course, Guinness... for strength.

Apparently, we took a lot of pictures.

And then, I somehow spent the next two weeks in Houston (and yes, at this point, i knew we were repatriating. i'm not pretending my life makes any sense.) and took no pictures at all. I did see a lot of this fabulous new person...

I mean. There's nothing better than that.

...and stuffed myself with early Thanksgiving treats. That's because on Thanksgiving, Jon and I decided to check out Budapest, Hungary, land of a very tasty Belgian beer cafe, very, very bad opera (albeit in a very beautiful opera house) and the best Christmas market I visited in Europe. And that's saying something. We were only in Budapest for two days, so there's not too much to tell; the most fascinating part of the city (to me) was the sense of history/self there as compared to, for example, St. Petersburg or Tallinn, or even Prague. All of the other previously Communist/Iron Curtain cities we toured still had the distinct taste of Communism after all these year, whereas Budapest felt much more laid back. It also had the first McDonald's behind the Iron Curtain, which may or may not be a positive indicator. Don't get me wrong; I still wouldn't want to insult a Hungarian in a dark alley. But after Berlin (and is it really fair to compare anyone to the Germans?), Budapest seems to have come the farthest from it's days affiliated with the U.S.S.R.

The Buda Castle ramparts overlooking the Danube.

Pork knee at the Budapest Christmas market.

December, 2009: Berlin and Brussels

Speaking of Berlin, we went back. Well, J had to go back for a conference, and I'm never one to miss the opportunity to visit four German Christmas markets in two days, so off we went. J worked; I shopped. Not bad. Technically, I also went to an art museum and the Lego store, but mainly, I shopped.We hopped a flight from Berlin to Brussels immediately post-conference, and while I'm certain we did something other than eat mussels, sample chocolates and drink belgian beer (i know at least once we got lost, and then stuck in the Belgian metro station), for the most part that's (a) all I remember doing and (b) apparently all I took pictures of. We did visit Brussels' answer to the Atlantic City boardwalk, their giant Christmas market, that was at least three parts U.S.-style state fair to one part quaint European village market, but pretty much, we stuck with the mussels, beer and chocolate. Can you blame us?

The wood shop at Berlin's Alexanderplatz Christmas Market.

Sampling Lambic at Cantillon Brewery in (a very bad neighborhood) in Brussels.

One of my many chocolate samples... we actually used a guidebook tour to make sure I got them all. :)

Brussels' Christmas market, complete with... wait for it... Jager shots. Classy.

And then we come to this:

19-Dec-09: And it's snowing, too.

So, here we are. Back in the states, and happy and nostalgic and about to undertake the next big adventure. I have one more post about repatriating and what it's like to be back, but really, we couldn't have had a better time in Copenhagen and travelling around Europe, and we can't wait to go back (at some future point, after our children are born in nice, familiar American hospitals), either. Smooches -S

2009: The Recap, Part I

2010-10-23T23:52:00.000+02:00

Yes, it's been beyond ages. But much has happened. And I haven't completely forgotten that I have a blog. It's just... well, so much has happened. So I'll start with this: a blog post I started way back in 2009 (actually, about a year ago), and then never posted. Check, check it out:

Did you miss me?

Oh, come on. Don't hate. It's not like I haven't been thinking of you. Two weeks ago in Brussels I violently and profusely cursed the Accor/IBIS hotel chain for their overpriced internet package. You see, I was going to post... really, I was. Really. Plus, I have fantastic/depressing news. Are you ready? Really? Really, really?

We're coming home.

YAY! I know, fabulous, right? Chik fil'A. IPhones. Gas-guzzling SUV's. Burgers that don't cost $25. Shoes that don't cost $300. Decided improvement in daily latitudinal sunlight allowances. A decided lack of leggings and herring and... well, you get the picture.

So this brings me to several points (yes, I know. stay with me). (A) Much to say on the issue of repatriation. (B) Much to say on issues of things I will and will not miss about living here. (C) Much to say about the trips that we have been on that I haven't written about - Brussels! Istanbul! Our fabulous Med vacation last summer! So my goal this week - just after cleaning my refrigerator, stove and shower and watching reruns of CSI: Miami on Danish television (oh, c'mon. you can't resist Horatio Caine either. "This tie is... blue. That's what I call... ironic." I mean, really) - is to post as much as possible about points A-C. So stay tuned. It's coming. No, really, I mean it this time.

And, indeed, we did. Repatriate, that is. We moved back to North Carolina last December (that would be 2009), and since then, several important things have happened:

(1) I went shopping. And bought a gas-guzzling SUV. And bought an I-Phone 3GS. And ate a LOT of Chik Fil'A. And went shopping again. (2) We found out I was pregnant. (3) We bought a house. (4) We then terminated that contract and bought a different house. (5) We moved into the house, settled down, watched the series finale of Lost and almost two whole seasons of Project Runway on real t.v. instead of over the slingbox/internet, and went through forty weeks of pregnancy (as of this coming Monday).

That pretty much catches you up.

So now, my plan is to do a little bit of talking about the last few trips (or, really, many trips) we took over the last six months we spent in Denmark, a few thoughts on repatriation, and what it's like to be back in the states after living in the cold, dark north for so long. So, to begin:

May, 2009: Istanbul, A Swedish Ferry Boat and Mom and Dad Show Up

Not bad for a month's work.

In May, we went to Istanbul for Jon's 25th birthday (ha!), and it was one of my favorite experiences of all of our travelling. I heart Istanbul - I'm not even ashamed to say it. In fact, if I were eight, I would write "I heart Istanbul" all over my Trapper-Keeper in magic marker, right next to my declarations of love for Michael Jackson and various Houston radio stations. What happened to Trapper-Keepers, anyway? I miss those. And yet, I digress.

Anyway, Istanbul was everything that we wanted Cairo to be: exotic, cosmopolitan, delicious (the food, I mean). We did a ton of sight-seeing, but mostly we just enjoyed being there together, which is really the best way to travel. The coolest parts of the sightseeing? Other than the super tasty food? The Basilica Cistern, a Roman cistern that was one part spooky, one part crazy stonework (including an upside down Medusa head) and one part unbelievable and fascinating feat of engineering, and the Hagia Sophia, which was also beyond belief in terms of size, engineering and history, despite the scaffolding and the crowds. The ceiling of the Hagia Sophia was once gold and Christian mosaic, but when Istanbul (then Constantinople) was taken by the Muslims, the ceiling was painted over (sigh). And now it's being restored... hence the scaffolding. Anyway, let's do pictures, shall we?

The Basilica Cistern... creepy and somehow shiny all the same.

Dinner in Istanbul.

Me and Sophia from the Sultan's Pub.

And the Hagia Sophia... really. Really, really.

And then... back to Copenhagen and we had two sets of visitors: J's sister, and my parents. Fabulous! Having visitors was such an important part of the expat experience for me. Despite the fact that I spent a lot of time in the U.S., what really made a difference was when my people came to visit us. One of the highlights of Jon's sister's visit was the two-night ferry we took from Stockholm to Helsinki. Apparently, for the Scandinavians, these boats are party boats, but we were mostly just bums. We did eat a super-tasty buffet with such gourmet scandinavian treats as ball-game-quality tacos and nachos and Swedish meatballs. We also spent a pretty awesome day in Helsinki where (a) it's very cold, even in May, (b) it's very Russian and (c) it really is a city built on a rock. The base rock actually sticks out of the ground in places.

During our day in Finland, we visited the Uspenski Cathedral, the largest Russian Orthodox church in western Europe, and were privileged to see a memorial ceremony (memorial services are held 40 days after a death), in which the priest and the three participants all sang a capella. It was beautiful; the church is all gold leaf and green marble and the singing echoed off the ceiling and around the walls. Shiny. And fabulous.

The Temppeliaukio Kirkko, a church built (literally) of rock.

The Sibelius Monument, a sculpture (literally) built on rock

The Uspenski Cathedral. Note the rock.

The 'rents visit was also fabulous, in part because it was so great to see them and in part because it's incredibly satisfying to get to show your not-very-ordinary life to the people that you care about. In retrospect, even with all the travelling J and I were able to do, the times we had visitors - J's parents, his sister, my parents, our friends - were some of my favorite moments from living in Denmark. It doesn't matter how many times I described our apartment, or the weather, or the Danes, or anything else about our lives, to an American. If a picture is worth a thousand words, imagine how many a visit is worth.

Oh, and then at the end of the month, J and I saw hippos. The Copenhagen zoo is pretty awesome. I wouldn't say the hippos made my month... but they were definitely the cherry on top.

Can you pick out the hippo? Be nice, yo.

July/August, 2009: One Long Vacation

Here's one of the major perks of living in Europe: it's not only possible, but sort of required to take the month of July off. So, not wanting to offend anyone, that's what we did. Hey, when in Denmark... We started out with a cruise through the Baltic over the fourth of July weekend (ironically, we were in Russia on the fourth of July. Bruce Springsteen would be insulted.). Anyway, we embarked in Stockholm, and then cruised to Tallinn, Estonia, which the Danes used to own (along with a large portion of northern Europe) and which is where the legend of the Dannebrog was formed. We ended up in St. Petersburg, where we saw possibly the shiniest palace I have ever been in: the Winter Palace, which is attached to the Hermitage. The Hermitage, without question, was the best museum we saw in all of our travels, which is saying something. The Russians were master... ahem, appropriate-ers. Check it out, yo.

J at Gammel Strand (Old Town), in Stockholm. I promise, he does NOT have a beer just below the frame. Really.

The Patkuli Overlook on Toompea (Dome Hill), overlooking ex-Danish, ex-Russian Tallinn.

The Golden Drawing Room: A room LITERALLY MADE OF GOLD at the Winter Palace, St. Petersburg, Russia.

The Crouching Boy, by Michelangelo, "acquired" by Catherine the Great.

From there, we came home for all of 48 hours (-ish), and then left for my favorite country (that I am not a citizen of): Spain. We spent eight - EIGHT! - fabulous days travelling from Malaga (the birthplace of Picasso, FYI), through Andalusia all the way up through Pamplona to Barcelona. Let me sum up what I love about Spain: the sunny, sunny weather. That the Spaniards have made bar food a national (gourmet) pasttime. The beach. That you can take a day trip to Tangier, Morocco from Tarifa, one of my favorite beach towns of all time. That running around with giant, violent, horned animals is cause for a festival... and then they're barbecued in Bevo fashion. Anyway, let's take a pictorial tour, shall we?

Malaga, from J's college friend's apartment.

View of the Cathedral of the Incarnation from the Alhambra in Granada.

J and I on the roof of the Alcazaba at the Alhambra, with the Sierra Nevada moutains behind us. Fabulous.

The Courtyard of the Myrtles at the Moorish castle, the Alcazar of Seville.

Whale watching in Tarifa in the Strait of Gibralter... sort of.

The Caves of Hercules near Tangier, Morocco... also known as Tangier's biggest tourist trap.

J and I in Pamplona, after he ran with the bulls... No bull.

Fabulous Playa de la Concho in San Sebastian. You can't see it, but there's a giant statue of Jesus overlooking all the topless sunbathers. Hmmmm.

La Sagrada Familia in Barcelona.

And not to be left out, the best food in the world:

Yummy.

And then, as if that wasn't enough (do you think I'm bragging? okay, well, maybe I am. a little.), we took a ten day cruise through the Mediterranean to Italy, Greece and Turkey. In Sicily, we visited Savoca, the village in which Michael Corleone married Appollonia, and walked up and down the pathway to Chiesa di Santa Lucia with my husband humming The Godfather theme song. We saw two of the seven wonders of the ancient world (or where they once were, anyway): the Colossus of Rhodes in, yes, Rhodes (where we decided to retire, depending on the economic climate of Spain), and the location of the Temple of Artemis near Kusadasi, Turkey, where we also saw the ancient city of Ephesus, where Paul preached, the gospel of St. John was written and the Virgin Mary (possibly) spent her last days. We hung out on a very beautiful blue beach in Mykonos, ate an incredible seafood lunch on a catamaran in the Santorini caldera and stood at the Parthenon on top of the Acropolis in Athens. It was... yeah. Like this:

Wisdom from the men's bathroom of the Celebrity Solstice. Don't ask.

J and I in Taormina, Sicily, with Mt. Etna behind us.

The Parthenon atop the Acropolis, in Athens.

Psarou Beach, in Mykonos. It's really that blue. Maybe more so.

The Celsus Library at Ephesus. Cleopatra was here once. Crazy.

Me, at the House of the Virgin Mary outside of Ephesus.

The harbor of Rhodes, where the Colossus of Rhodes once (probably) stood.

J and I enjoying a day of tasty food and drink with Captain Ted and Santorini Sailing.

The forum at Pompeii, outside of Naples, Italy.

Well, I was hoping to finish up with this post, but it's going to have to Part I and Part II, because this guy:

is currently requesting that I go to bed... possibly after eating some tasty ice cream. So tomorrow (hopefully), I'll cover the fall, repatriation and a few other subjects, and then move you on over to my new blog, on writing, motherhood and, yes, fabulous deals on shoes. What else would you expect of me?

Smooches -S

Budapest is it's own favorite plural.

2009-11-28T12:34:00.008+01:00

Hey y'all.

We're in Budapest. Which is apparently two cities. Who knew?

Also, how much do I look like the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man in this jacket combo?

And in other news, check out my latest article here. Yay!

Ireland: Beer, Beers, Beeri. Or, really, Guinness.

2009-11-03T21:22:00.002+01:00

Hey y'all.

I'm in Ireland.

Ahem, Pardon.

2009-10-19T09:28:00.002+02:00

Wow, I'm way behind. Thus is the problem with traveling: you do so much, you don't have any time to do anything else. Now if only that were my problem...

Anyway, new blog soon. In the meantime, the Holy Roman Empire was neither Holy nor Roman nor Empire. Discuss.

Spain: Tapas? Tapa? Tapi? Tapas-i? I question.

2009-07-09T09:01:00.005+02:00

Hey y'all!

We're in Spain!

Smooches -s

The Baltic: Ruskis.

2009-07-07T15:27:00.007+02:00

Hey y'all!

We (were) in Russia!

...and Estonia!

And now are headed to Spain. Ole, yo.

Smooches. -s

Life in the CPH: Here, for a very short now.

2009-06-30T17:01:00.043+02:00

I'm a terrible, terrible blogger. Possibly a terrible person, too, but that's not particularly relevant here. No, I'm a terrible blogger because I've heard that taking three months off in between substantial blogs is, like, the cardinal sin of blogging. To which I say: what did you expect? My people have a long history of cardinal sinning, which will no doubt be memorialized in my Pulitzer Prize winning novel about the time my great-great grandfather shot both the sherriff and deputy of Throckmorton County. This is not a joke. However, I digress. My point is: I'm sorry, and I'm here now.

I do have some excuses. I've formulated a list (and I'm super-stoked I just got to use the word "formulated") of reasons I've not been blogging, for your reading amusement: long winter days at cafes, working on novel, working more on novel, throwing computer with novel out window and having to have it replaced (imagined), having purse stolen in shady KFC through no fault of my own and having to have it replaced (not imagined), eating hummus, eating more hummus, eating Laundromat burgers, going to Spain, going to North Carolina, pretending to be a model, shopping, buying shoes, going to Omaha, braving an ice storm, braving my grandmother, going to Texas, buying more shoes, hanging with my peeps, hanging with my pregnant sister, not being pregnant (but that would've been a good excuse, right?), flying back to Denmark in severe turbulence, writing haiku, going to Berlin, surviving Berlin (more on this later), discovering cheap beer on the Denmark-Germany ferry, bringing said beer back to Denmark, going to Amsterdam, eating tasty fries (no mayonnaise), getting awesome anniversary diamonds (alliteration!), going to Turkey, celebrating Jon's birthday in Turkey, loving Turkey, wanting to move to Turkey, being forced to leave Turkey because the weekend was over, eating lots of turkey sandwiches in honor of Turkey (I do not like mayonnaise), working on novel, finally sending novel out for feedback, enjoying visit from sister-in-law, visiting castles, visiting Sweden and Finland, cleaning, enjoying visit from parents, eating pastries, eating more pastries, visting more castles, visiting Sweden again, cleaning again, writing column about Jakarta, writing column about Brussels, refinancing house, laundry, laundry, laundry, laundry (dear god, do we have this many clothes?), planning massive vacation for July, watching So You Think You Can Dance, rejoicing that Wade Robson is back on SYTYCD, extending backyard fence in Clayton, catching up on email, running, running, running, watching a bonfire in which witches once burned, catching 4th of July AmCham picnic (not on the 4th), cheering for all the drunk high schoolers frollicking in open-top buses, sweating, being surprised at said sweating (when does it ever get this hot here?), laundry, more laundry and packing.

That about catches you up.

No witches here.

Before I get to the packing (or anything else, really), here's the low-down (down-low? why don't those mean the same thing? I wonder.) on a few of the trips we've taken.

Feb-09: Spain, Like Mexico but Way, Way Better

For my birthday, I asked Jon to take me somewhere warm. Jon responded (a few weeks later) with the fact that there is nowhere warm in Europe in February (to which I ask: why God? why February? why me?), and so he was surprising me with the closest he could get to warm, which was a trip to Madrid and Toledo (the one in Spain, not the one in Ohio). Amen.

So, to make it short (probably impossible, likely too late), we LOVED Spain. As in loveloveloved it... and I mean, loved it like really good margaritas and queso and the "Come and Take It" flag and Tiffany and diamonds and Tiffany diamonds and incredibly high priced Italian leather shoes. Like Gucci. Like Geoge Clooney. Like... okay, you get the point.

We only had a few days in Spain, but we spent the first day in Toledo, the historic Spanish capital, where we visited one of my favorite cathedrals thus far in Europe (and that includes all of Italy). The Cathedral of Toledo was four parts Italian marble and two parts Spanish-style hacienda, with a small but very nice museum, with a Rafael (that I, of course, didn't write down the name of and can't find on the internet) that Jon had to drag me away from.

Gold really is my color.

Toledo is a walled town, so we tooled around the walls for a while and enjoyed the view over the Tagus river. The landscape reminded me a lot of the gradual desert-ization on the drive from central Texas towards Odessa. It was all reds and dusty greens and fabulosity. A little sangria and some W-W-J and I would have been home...

Texas, our Texas.

...and then we went to Madrid, where, frankly, I want to live. It was sunny. It was warm-ish (I wore flip flops and didn't need a coat, okay?). There was a huge palace filled with shiny stuff. There was a plaza filled with tourists where there were once bullfights and public executions. There was the Titanic exhibit. But most of all... most, most of all... there were tapas and sangria.

The Versailles of Spain. And me.

I am not a foody. I will not pretend to be a foody, no matter how many times I watch Top Chef and think "ooohhh... fancy," and can identify Japanese eggplant or mango chutney thereafter. But oh. my. God. Tapas might be better than queso (could queso be a sort of tapas, in fact?), and I think I tasted a solid sampling of Madrid's sangria. Our first night we did a "tapas crawl," and discovered another reason to love Spain: the crazy Spaniards name the tapas bars after animals (and usually the kind you're eating). We ate, in no particular order, at La Taurina Cerveceria (The Bull Bar), the Museo del Jamon (The Museum of Pork), La Casa del Abuelo (My Grandfather's House, where they served seafood, not grandparents... but still) and Oreja de Oro (The Golden Ear, where Jon ate pig's ears and I did not as I was so stuffed from the croquettes at my grandfather's house, where we were, indeed, served by someone who reminded me of a grandfather.) Anyway, so as far as the pig's ears went, I made a wise decision and abstained. They were, ahem, crunchy. Anyway, so you get my point: lots of tapas, lots of sangria, lots of bar hopping, nobody sleeping (except in the middle of the day, apparently), and they also make paella. God help me, I'm in love.

Everyone needs a museum of ham.

April-09: Berlin, A Different Sort of List

The Germans, alas, do not name things after animals (or the person serving them). Sadly, the Germans name things after the horrible things that were done in the past, and rightly so. Berlin is an amazing, cosmopolitan place, but it ain't Madrid. Allow me to illustrate.

Here's a rundown of what we saw in Berlin: The Hard Rock Cafe (alright, so we started off easy), the Reichstag (possibly burnt down by Hitler as part of his rise to power), the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe (and museum), the Memorial to Politicians who Opposed Hitler, the Brandenburg Gate (divided East and West Berlin), the Berlin Wall, Checkpoint Charlie, the Museum of the Wall at Checkpoint Charlie, the German Cathedral (and exhibit on German Parliament), the Topography of Terror exhibit (on the site of the command center of the Gestapo), the Germany History Museum, the Kaiser Wilhelm Memorial Church (half-destroyed in WWII and left as a memorial) and the Pergamon Altar and Babylonian Ishtar Gate (incredible antiquities from Greece and Babylon that somehow ended up in Germany) at the Pergamon Museum.

Never forget, indeed.

This was definitely not made in Germany.

Don't get me wrong. I really liked Berlin, and the Germans there, while being their normal, efficient and somewhat-no-nonsense selves, were all very friendly. We drank some tasty German beer, ate a lot of super-tasty German schnitzel and saw one of the most incredible antiquities exhibits I've ever seen: the Pergamon Altar and the Ishtar Gate.

One of the six gates of Babylon. Yes, THE Babylon.

Still, though, Berlin wasn't exactly a place where it was easy for me to just, you know, enjoy the tapas and paella and ignore the history of oppression (Franco? the Spanish royals? the Inquisition, anyone?). So while I enjoyed my beer and schnitzel, there was also a great deal of history to digest, which thusly perpetuated the cycle of needing more beer and schnitzel. I guess you can't really go wrong with that...

Uplifting, until you realized that's Athena, goddess of war, up there.

Tune in, Tokyo?

We also took a day trip to Dresden, which, like many German cities, was bombed flat in WWII and has been rebuilt in a really well-organized and enjoyable fashion. The old town revolves around the 18th C Frauenkirche, a Lutheran cathedral (yeah, I said huh? to that, too), which was bombed in 1945 and left as a mound of rubble/peace monument until 2005, when it was rebuilt. It's very spare and open and light and Protestant. Personally, I liked the Catholic cathedral, the Hofkirche, better. But then, one might say I'm biased. It was, after all, shiny.

God approves.

The town itself was one of my favorites in Germany. It's situated along the Elbe river and has a really nice river walk and terrace view, as well as a huge palace complex housing the Zwinger museums and the the super-fabulously-shiny treasury of the Saxon prince-elector (most notably Augustus the Strong, and do you ever wonder what you'd be called if you had a "the" after your name? Like "Susan the Shopper?" or "Susan the Lover of Shiny Things?" or what your theme song would be, like when they introduce baseball players? why don't we all get those? and yet, I digress). Anyway, we didn't get to see the really, really fancy stuff in the historic green vault - you have to make a reservation for that, and we went on a whim - but we did get to see a whole lot of nice porphyry and teensy-weensy ivory figurines. After Berlin, it was remarkably... well, relaxing.

The Zwinger. Does this remind anyone of an aptly named baseball stadium?

April-09: Amsterdam, Land of Fries with Mayonnaise and Diamonds

Appropriately enough, when our anniversary rolled around, we decided to celebrate by heading for romantic... Amsterdam. Um, yeah; not exactly what you would expect, but fun, and, as it turned out, fabulous (would you expect anything less of me?). We rented a houseboat literally across the canal from the Heineken brewery (yay! beer!) and proceeded to cut a swath of pancakes and fries across the city. Did I mention they sell fries there, wrapped in paper cones? With whatever dressing you want? The really good, crispy kind that are sort of salty and greasy all at the same time? Not as good as tapas, but... close.

The view from Houseboat "Nuance..."

Somehow I missed this in O-Chem.

We saw a ton of stuff in Amsterdam - the Anne Frank House (evocative, sad, moving), the Red Light District (the exact opposite of how I described the AFH), the Van Gogh Museum (colorful, small), the Heineken Brewery (shiny, big), the canals, Begijnhof, the Amstelkring Museum in Our Lord in the Attic (seriously) Church - but, shallow as it may seem, my favorite part of the whole trip was getting my surprise anniversary present. Allow me to present:

This O is for "Oh, Fabulous"

That's right. Diamonds. And not just any diamonds. Black, brilliant-cut diamonds from Gassan, one of the oldest diamond cutters in the world, AND I got to pick whatever I wanted from their stock (okay, within reason. but still). I know I should be focused on what I learned culturally and the history of Amsterdam and the political and moral implications of legalized prostitution and even the science of how Heineken is brewed (we tasted half-fermented beer, and let me tell you, the science isn't all that exciting), but I am a big enough (and small enough) person to admit that when I got to pick FROM THE ENTIRE STOCK OF DIAMONDS OF ONE OF THE OLDEST DIAMOND FACTORIES IN THE WORLD, I indeed lost a bit of perspective on the rest of the visit. So... that's what I've got.

Diamonds and fries... a little slice of heaven.

Other Stuff...

In May, we went to Istanbul for Jon's birthday, and my sister-in-law and I took the boat to Helsinki, but I think both of those stories and latest goings-on about Copenhagen (picnics! buses full of drunk high school graduates! sunshine! depeche mode!) may have to wait for another day. Soon, I promise. Soon.

Smooches. -S

Yes, I know.

2009-06-26T14:01:00.001+02:00

I have recently been told we are no longer in Istanbul, although arguably my heart never left (aaahhhh.... I do heart turkey). To which I say: noted. More on where we have been (at least, bodily) over the last few months shortly.

Smooches. -s

Istanbul: Which is Indeed Not Constantinople

2009-05-08T22:04:00.002+02:00

Hey y'all!

We're in Istanbul. Which might be my second favorite place we've ever visited, next to Madrid. Because really, who can beat both the concept and execution of tapas? And also, we just saw our cruise ship for July and it rocks. And furthermore, we sat on a rooftop terrace over the Bosphorus and watched the moon come up. But that's neither here nor there. Well, actually, it's here. But not there. You get me, yo.

Amsterdam: Rain-y, Rain-i, Rain-ing

2009-04-26T11:25:00.004+02:00

Hey y'all!

We're in Amsterdam!

Life in the CPH: And... we're back. Yes, again.

2009-04-17T14:49:00.015+02:00

Ah, sunny Denmark. How best to describe you? Perhaps with a poem.

Ye sunny Denmark

Sun-up seven, down at eight

Why hate on sleep?

Summer in Denmark
Brings wondrous world of fashion

Harem pants confuse.

So you may be wondering where I've been all this time, and rightly so. I often wonder: where exactly am I? Am I here? There? And if I am neither here nor there, does it still matter if I gorge myself on queso and brisket? Or queso on brisket (I do not kid. That stuff is good.). It's kind of like the tree in a forest thing, only with cheese. I question.

Ah, there you are. Sorry... so anyway, here's a quick pictorial of what I've been up to:

Did a little modeling, got a hair cut...

Charlotte Peeps: http://www.elizabethmorrisonphotography.com/. Check it.

Rodeo-ing...

My sister is pretty. Although I take credit for the shirt.

Further rodeo-ing...

That is NOT me down there.

Some adventure sport-ing with my peeps...

Do those inflatable tents freak anyone out but me? No? Really?

And even further rodeo-ing...

More prettiness. Not my shirt, though. I mean, the one she has on. Not the one... okay, forget it.

Had a little spa time...

Bad news, Overcash husbands: it's genetic.

And hung out more with my peeps (other than Brad, Clint, Darius and Jack), in the sunshine...

Ah, sunny, sunny, non-sleep-hating TX.

In other, fabulous news, there is Bon Jovi's Living on a Prayer blaring somewhere outside my open window. Truly, I love you, Denmark. Harem pants, lime green fur and all.

And now, back to our regularly scheduled program.

Berlin: The Best of Times, the Wurst of Times. Ha!

2009-04-11T21:52:00.004+02:00

Hey y'all.

We're in Berlin.

P.S. Well, first I was back in Copenhagen. But now I'm in Berlin. And soon to head back to Copenhagen. Don't worry, I can't keep up either.

P.P.S. Yes, I know the wurst joke is cheesy. Ha! So was the cheesy joke. Ha ha! I need sleep.

Spain: Look Ma, No Coat!

2009-02-15T22:41:00.003+01:00

Hey y'all!

We're in Spain!

Well, technically we're back now. But we were in Spain this morning. And it was AWESOME. More on this soon.

Life in the CPH: The Texpat's Answer to Protectionism (Part Possibly-I)

2009-02-03T12:32:00.000+01:00

In the interest of refuting recent claims of protectionism in the current stimulus bill passing through the U.S. Senate, and also because I'm procrastinating from doing the two things I should be doing (working on Chapter 6 of F.C. and writing weblogs for G.C.), and trying to distract myself from what I really want to do (eat the entire pyrex container full of queso in my fridge with my fingers), here are ten reasons why American expats like myself are contributing to the global economy by living in Denmark and paying $10+ for a beer. Alright, it's not exactly related to protectionism. So sue me.

Ten Reasons Why I Contribute to the Global Economy by Living in Denmark and Paying $10+ For a Beer

10. Glorious, glorious dairy products.

9. One year of maternity leave. That's right. One year, people.

8. Because I just found out Peyton Manning is married. Also, because the Oilers are now the Titans and live in Tennessee, and yes, I'm still holding on to it.

7. Best excuse ever to sleep in: it doesn't even get light until after 9 a.m. for two months of the year.

6. Public transportation. I haven't sat in traffic or searched for a parking place in over eight months. Really.

5. Because Denmark is home to the biggest beer collection in the world, over 18,000 bottles.

Did I mention they're unopened?

5a. On a related topic, because the Danes have their priorities in line when it comes to such things - like, you know, beer, and also balancing family and work time. Not that I'm down with the taxes, but you smell what I'm stepping in.

4. Because if I'm ever bored, I just go to the gym. I don't even have to work out; the people watching is that good. Actually, I don't even have to go to the gym. Looking out the window works, too.

4.1. On another related topic, because fashion here is AWESOME and RIDICULOUS and AWESOMELY RIDICULOUS. Take, for example, Superman:

Neither bird nor plane. You see my point.

3. Specialty beer made just for holidays. The U.S. is the largest consumer-driven marketplace in the world. How did we miss this?

2. Because women here have universal, absolute self-confidence (see: 4.1.).

1. Babies, cuddled up in little starfish snowsuits with only their noses peeking out. Babies, walking through the park holding hands, herded along by their day care teachers. Babies, climbing on the bus like little adults and smiling with their teensy rosy cheeks. How could you not love a place so in love with kids? And so safe for them, too?

So there you have it. Never call me close-minded or protectionist or whatnot again. Not that any of you did, but I'm just saying, yo. Smooches.

Egypt, Part II: Where They Understand the Value of the "-i" Plural

2009-01-16T20:12:00.006+01:00

Think about it: sarcophagi, loculi, colossi, camel-i...

When we last saw our erstwhile travelers, I was camel-napped with a head cold and J lost in a cloud of Cuban cigar smoke...

Night 5, Dec 26 (Cont.): In Which I Go Shopping and Further Hate on Egyptian Bathrooms

Not to belabor day 5 or anything, but after Philae, despite my head cold, I made a bold sacrifice for the sake of my husband and went shopping at the Aswan market. Okay, bold sacrifice might be a stretch - but we had an "Egyptian dress" party on the cruise boat the next night, and neither Jon or I had anything remotely "Egyptian" or "dress," so off I went. Here's what I learned: whatever the Egyptians offer you, cut it by 80%, and either be prepared to walk away OR pay whatever the vendor wants.

Also, hot tea with lemon does actually help a sore throat (as Tarek, our cute little tubby tour leader told me every third minute I was sick), and second-hand smoke from sheesha, or a water pipe filled with flavored tobacco, does not.

No, thank you.

This was our first night on the cruise boat, the M/S Nile Treasure, and also the first night my sinuses exploded (prior to this, my cold had been limited to hacking up 30% of my left lung), and, because when it rains it, it 'canes, our toilet stopped working about halfway through the evening. I was about ready to jump off the boat. What would the morning bring?

Day 6, 27-Dec: In Which I Buck Up and Troop, Troop, Troop

That's right. Day 6, and me? Rock star. Nose melting in a river of mucus? No problem. Fever rash popping up on my face on a trip in which we took an average of 4.7 pictures per minute? Outta my way. Internal thermostat swinging between Sahara and Arctic? Break out the Davy Crockett fur, people. I got stuff to DO. Plus, the boat people fixed my bathroom AND left me a wealth of tissue. Heaven, although not as good as the heaven of business class on Swiss Air.

So we had some free time in the morning in Aswan (the link is a personal blog site, but with GREAT photos) prior to the boat leaving for Kom Ombo, and although most normal people with the flu would use that time to rest, I decided my time would be better put to use at the Nubia Museum and Archangel Michael's Coptic Orthodox Cathedral of Aswan... and hey, I was right. As it turns out, checking out 7,000 year old hieroglyphics and 3,000 year old Ballana iron-and-possibly-ruby crowns distracts one from such issues as you know, pneumonia. Fabulous.

That's a 7,000 year old... ox.

The Nubia Museum is a UNESCO-funded museum in a modern building built in part of an Aswan quarry, where all that beautiful sandstone and rose granite of which the temples are built was ripped out of the ground. It was a very informative museum detailing the history of Nubia, which is the southern part of Egypt, now partially in Sudan, flooded by the High Dam, and also possibly the distinguished owner of the "oldest monarchy in history" title. The Nubians have been kings, sailors, farmers, pagans, Christians, Muslims and rulers of ancient Egypt (25th dynasty), as well as camel handlers/nappers, singing felucca boatmen and builders of interesting, brightly-painted mud-brick villages. I could go on, but you'd get bored (what do you mean, too late?) and really, that pretty much sums it up.

After the museum, we walked down to the Coptic Cathedral, built in 1995, which was all white, very beautiful and refreshing because a docent voluntarily showed us around and then refused a tip. Unfortunately, we were rushing back to the boat by that point, so we hurried through the church... and then the boat sailed two hours late. Thanks, Egyptian time.

Ooooh... Shiny.

As for me, I had lunch and then a date with a nap. To give you an idea of how sick I was, I skipped high tea, at which they served cake. That's right; I skipped CAKE. This was all so I could make it to our afternoon/evening stop at the 2nd C BC Ptolemaic Temple of Kom Ombo (and the pharmacy) at the village of Kom Ombo.

What was my favorite thing about Kom Ombo? Other than the walk to the pharmacy? Well, there was the line-jumping incident: we arrived at Kom Ombo at sunset, late, with about 50 other cruise boats and only 45 minutes to see the temple... so our little pudgy panda bear tour leader lead us right up to the head of the line and said, "Crowd in! It's the Egyptian way!" The Americans behind us in line didn't so much agree. Scott, our friendly and good-natured New Zealander pointed out our tour guide told us to line-jump, and when we turned to point him out, lo and behold, Tarek had disappeared. In the states, this would have led to a brawl. In Egypt... well, do as the Romans.

The Hypostyle Hall at Kom Ombo... No reason except it's pretty.

The Temple at Kom Ombo is unusual because it's a double temple, dedicated to Horus (the falcon god), and Sobek, the crocodile god and one of my favorites (I find someone walking around with a crocodile head oddly amusing). The temple is built in two sides that mirror each other, with some beautiful hieroglyphics, including one series representing the Egyptian calendar. I also loved the Nilometer, a well that was used to measure the flood of the Nile by an increase in groundwater. It was a really simple, and yet fabulous, feat of engineering. We admittedly hurried through the temple to make it to the pharmacy, skipping the 30-minute long line to see three mummified crocodiles, but the temple bathed in the sunset was hard to beat.

No crocodiles in sight.

I've mentioned the magic of Egyptian pharmacies, but the one in Kom Ombo was doubly fabulous... partly because I was so in need, and more because of the large, manly German woman who came in the store halfway through my explanation of "wet cough" to the pharmacists, yelling at the local kids trying to sell us leather bracelets and looking for tampons. Note to Germany: yelling at an Egyptian male in German about feminine hygiene products doesn't (a) make them any more comfortable with the subject or (b) make them understand German any better.

Day 7, Dec-28: In Which I Sleep More and Learn Redheads Sow Death and Despair

We woke up on the boat on the 28th in Edfu, our last stop before Luxor (if you're lost on where we are on the Nile, here's a simple map to help you out), where we visited the 3rd C BC Ptolemaic Temple of Edfu, (another) temple dedicated to Horus and (another) super-early wake-up call. The upside? A fantastic series of hieroglyphics depicting the "Festival of Victory," an epic battle between Horus and Set, the god of darkness, which may also be the oldest play in the world. The downside? We had to get up at 6 a.m. to see it. Don't these people know I'm on vacation?

Of all the hieroglyphics we saw, my favorites were at Edfu Temple. Admittedly we were, by Edfu, a little Horus'ed out (they LOVE him, almost as much as RII), but the 'glyphs at Edfu were amazing and incredibly well preserved (the temple itself may be the most well preserved in Egypt). On the walls between the temple and the outer enclosure walls, in the ambulatory, the "Festival of Victory" series depicted an epic battle between Horus and Set, his brother. You see, Set (or Seth) killed Osiris, Horus' dad, in the "Legend of Osiris," and then depending on which version of the tale you believe/read, Horus either avenged his father's death by killing Set or, ahem, unmanning him by removing important parts of his man-bits (luckily, this was not the version we saw on the Edfu walls). Um, yeah.

Anyway, so in the PG-rated hieroglyphics that we saw, Seth was represented as a teeny little hippo so as not to be scary to the Egyptians reading the walls. I love this because (a) it's like a super early version of a movie - a series of stills that you read across the wall (so if you whip your head around really fast it all blurs together, see?) and (b) because I love that a magically shrunken hippo is less frightening than a man minus a few of his bits. Also, Set supposedly had red hair, which made all the Egyptians associate red hair with danger and mayhem. I can identify. Cultural enrichment, indeed.

Set-the-hippo: Teeny, but unfortunately no longer a redhead.

After Edfu, I slept for most of the day, although I did make it up on the very sunny (if mildly windy) sun deck for a break and high tea. No way I was missing cake two days in a row. Around the same time, we passed through the lock at the Esna dam, which was on the whole a quite fabulous experience; beyond the group of Egyptian men in robes who gathered to stare at the late-teen sunbathers on the boat next to us (their sun deck was at street level, and WHERE ARE THE PARENTS? yeesh.), the lock itself is a very cool piece of engineering. After enormous iron gates closed behind us (think the Great Wall of China, only if it were steel, had a big gate, was only 30 meters across and plunked in the Nile. On second thought, don't think Great Wall of China.)... Anyway! so the gates closed and then we stood on the deck while our boat sank something like 14 meters (~45 feet), in an enclosure probably only ten feet wider than the boat itself. That's a whole new brand of claustrophobia.

We're siii-iiiiinking...

What happened next? Well, pretty much... I slept.

Day 8, Dec-29: In Which I Start to Feel Better and Transportation Takes a Turn for the Smelly

Well, not that the camels weren't smelly, but...

So on the 29th we arrived in Luxor, ancient Thebes (of Homer's Illiad "hundred-gate" fame), and had a super busy day rushing around and seeing the various sites. We started our day at the Valley of the Kings, the tombs of the Middle and New Kingdom pharaohs built into a pyramid-shaped mountain, with a young female guide who was easily (if good-humored-ly) annoyed by such things as the group being too quiet, too loud, talking at inappropriate times and having to walk 100 yards to the tombs on a slight uphill grade.

At VotK, we saw three tombs, as well as the outside of many others (including the famous one of Tutankhamen that we declined to go in, because it's (a) pricey and (b) completely undecorated). While they were all equally empty (grave robbers are some dedicated thieves), the decorations inside the tombs were really incredible. My favorite was the tomb of Ramses IV, which was richly painted with items the pharaoh would need in his afterlife (servants, wine, food, etc.), scenes from the Book of the Dead (which sounded much cooler than it actually was) and a burial chamber with the mythology of Nut painted across the ceiling. We couldn't take pictures (although the person who took that one I linked to clearly did), but check out the tomb of RIV at this very cool panoramic site and the entire VotK at the Theban Mapping Project, one of the best websites I've come across.

On the backside of the same mountain, we visited Deir El-Bahri and the Temple of Hatshepsut, one of the few female pharaohs, and unquestionably the most powerful one (yes, even including Cleopatra). Hatshepsut, or "Fancy Pants," as we called her, ruled from 1479 to 1458 B.C. after her husband, Thutmose II, died. She ruled as regent for her stepson (born of a lesser wife), Thutmose III, for, oh, 22 years or so... long after he was old enough to rule himself. So that didn't go over so well, and after her death (possibly of diabetes or liver cancer), he defaced all of her temples and then went to war (successfully) with pretty much everyone. This is all interesting royal gossip background for our less-interesting visit to the three level temple.

The Temple of Fancy Pants was probably my least favorite temple, not least of which because it looked very modern compared to the others. Queen F.P. did leave some beautiful hieroglyphics behind, of her trip to Somalia to bring back incense (and other goods, including, possibly, pygmy's). Take a look for yourself (at the temple, I mean):

Eh.

So after a visit to an alabaster store (most of our tours also included visits to stores in which we were given a discount if we purchased something), our group boarded donkeys for the short countryside trip to our restaurant for lunch. Although I am, indeed, a huge fan of the donkey (and the Equus Asinus family, in general), I sat out the donkey ride on account of my head cold. While Jon disappeared off into a cloud of Cuban cigar smoke (yes, another one), I hung out watching the "Godfather"-esque alabaster shop owner pick out custom fabric from the local galabiyya tailor and explain to me how by ripping off tourists he was actually helping local artisans feed their families. Nice.

I wonder: Who's producing more noxious fumes here?

In the afternoon, we took some seriously underfed horse-drawn carriages (the horses, not the carriages) to one of the largest temple complexes in the world, the Karnak temple complex, a series built over a period of 2,000 years. An avenue of ram-headed sphinxes leads through the outer court of the temple, to the first pylon, or main entrance/gate.

That's a fancy-schmancy gate.

Through the gate is the Precinct of Amun-Ra, or Amun Temple enclosure, which is the main touristy part of Karnak, and which holds the largest hypostyle hall in the world. In a coup of creativity, Jon compared it to a giant cigar box, and no joke; tip it up on it's side and that's what it looks like.

Better-smelling than cigars OR donkeys.

We also saw a series of smaller temples, including a mini Abu Simbel-style temple dedicated to Ramses III (apparently this is a copy of his mortuary temple at Medinat Habu), and the tallest obelisk in Egypt (at ~97 ft), built by and dedicated to Queen F.P., that was once topped with electrum, a silver-gold alloy. Shiny. There was once a second Q.F.P. obelisk, too, but it's broken; part of it now lies in or near the sacred lake. Obelisks from Egypt ended up all over the world (as Jon and I found out in Rome, where the Romans relocated eight of them), but my favorite "stolen" Egyptian obelisk now stands in the Place de la Concorde in Paris. I say stolen because it was traded by one of Mohammed Ali's (the ruler, not the boxer) descendents in the 19th C for a broken clock, and set on the site of the French Revolution guillotine.

Prettier than Place de la Concorde, I can tell you from experience.

At Karnak, I also loved the sacred lake (that looked a bit more cesspool than sacred) that magically refilled via rising groundwater after the annual Nile flood. Handy.

In the evening, while we were waiting for the overnight train to Cairo (the same cold, scary-be-bathroom-ed one from earlier in the tour), Jon visited the Luxor market while I rested. Hey, it was a busy day. I missed, however, a semi-raid in which police gave vendor's runners a heads-up before they went in and arrested any vendor displaying his wares on the sidewalk... causing a flurry of activity that several members of our group mistook for a riot. Honestly, I'm kind of glad I took a nap. I'd had enough excitement for one trip.

Day 9, 30-Dec: In Which I Feel WAY Better and Love Me Some Alexandria

This post has gotten super long, so I'm going to try to blow super fast through the last two days of our trip (since you've probably traded reading for snoozing already). In three breaths or less:

So on the 30th we hopped off the train, showered, hopped a bus to Alex (stopping at a huge rest stop/oasis on the way, really clean, too, and let me get this straight: rest stops in egypt are perfectly clean but trains are disgusting? nice.), picked up our super-awesome female guide and headed to the 15th C Citadel of Qaitbay, a fort on the Mediterranean sitting on the sight of the Pharos Lighthouse, another of the Seven Ancient Wonders of the World. The lighthouse was destroyed in a 13th C earthquake, but some of the pink granite was used in the citadel construction (which was super cool). The location is also fantastic; the Mediterranean is incredible, and the Alexandria coastline, split into east and west bays by the citadel, is really pretty. To sound unabashedly old-fashioned, the sea air was super therapeutic. See?

One way of curing the common cold.

Okay, breath two (and yes, i can get all that out in one breath. i am from Houston, people.): After the citadel, we headed to the 18th C Mosque of Abu Abbas Al-Mursi that was very pretty but also mildly culturally disturbing for someone who has trouble reconciling women having to cover their heads with, you know, the 21st C. Perhaps the best example of this would be me having to enter through a separate door because men entering behind me might be distracted by following a woman through a door, if you get my picture. Hmmm. I know I'm good looking and all, but c'mon, a little self-control, people? Really?

And in breath three, we left the mosque, drove through Alex (past a Christian cemetary where women were waiting to bury their dead) and hit some very cool Roman catacombs called the Catacombs of Kom Ash-Shuqqafa with an interesting "sitting room" where people hung out while visiting the dead. That had to be a party. We also learned that to load people into the huge, heavy, built-in sarcophagi in the burial chambers, the Egyptian/Romans craftily built a chamber behind the burial chamber and loaded them in from behind. The water table down in the crypt-loading chamber made the whole expierence doubly freaky; we had to walk on narrow planks set up on cement blocks because water was seeping up through the floor. Apparently this happens a lot in Alexandria.

On the way back to Cairo, our nefarious driver promised us a bathroom break and a rest stop and then proceeded to hold us hostage while driving like a maniac for the three hour ride. I guess it's hard to find a rest stop in Egypt... especially when you're driving 195 mph down a packed two lane highway such that anything on the side of the road is rushing by in a neon blur. We caught air on a pothole. Seriously, Egypt: Driver's Ed. LOOK INTO IT.

Day 10, 31-Dec: In Which We See More Churches and I Revel in Five Star Sleepery

So the say-it-all-in-one-breath-sum-up strategy seems to have failed miserably, but since the 31st was the last day of our trip, I don't feel SO bad. Lemme 'splain... No, it is too much. Lemme sum up:

Woke up, checked out, said goodbye to tour group and tubby tour leader (after tipping him, of course), grabbed a 1984 blue Chevrolet Caprice Godfather/ghetto style car and had the driver drop us off at the walled city-within-a-city (Christian) Coptic Cairo. Checked out some churches, including the 9th C Abu Serga (Church of St. Sergius), built over the crypt where the Holy Family hid when they fled to Egypt, and the very pretty 3rd C Hanging Church built over the Wate Gate of Roman Babylon (a fort, not THE Babylon), which is one of the oldest churches in Egypt.

We ate tasty falafel before hopping back into friendly Chevy-driver/history teacher's car for a trip to the 12th C Cairo Citadel, the home of Cairo's rulers for 700 years. Toured the Citadel, which was huge, overlooked the city and was home to the enormous Mosque of Mohammed Ali (which was once, I'm certain, a beautiful alabaster diamond up on the hill over Cairo but now, after years of smog, looks like a wart on the side of a hill), and then the National Military Museum, which used to be Mohammed Ali's (the 19th C ruler of Egypt) harem palace. Jon didn't think it'd be such a bad place to live, seeing as how it was huge and opulent... the, you know, harem part notwithstanding.

That is not a fake backdrop. Really.

After the Citadel, we drove past the enormous Cairo cemetery, the City of the Dead (where impoverished people live in old crypts with the corpses), and Al Azhar park across the street, and then finally made it to our five star, clean-marble-be-bathroomed, white-fluffy-be-pillow-ed, be-stocked-mini-bar-ed, Italian-food-be-eateried hotel, the Concorde El Salam. I could go into more detail, but instead I will just say once I lay down on that super-comfy bed after a warm and cheesey plate of lasagna, I was a-snoozing. Happy, happy day.

Our trip to Egypt took me to some interesting philosophical and cultural places in my brain, but that story is for sure for another day, since it's taken me 7,000+ words just to get to this point. In any case, it was an unbelievable, once-in-a-lifetime trip that everyone should experience. Go... just don't take the train.

Smooches. -s

Egypt, Part I: Where I (Indeed) Walked Like One

2009-01-08T14:39:00.007+01:00

So in our Egyptian Christmas vacation pre-departure-tour literature, the modes of transportation listed were: motorized coach, train, horse-drawn carriage, camel and donkey. Me: hmmm. Camel? Donkey? Surely this is an exaggeration thrown in as a joke on the naive American tourist. I mean, really. Who rides a donkey?

And yet, three weeks later, I watched my husband trundle off on a donkey that may well have weighed the same as J (what do they feed donkeys, anyway?), with a Cuban cigar clenched in his jaw (my husband's, not the donkey's). Um... okay. And so, with no further ado, here's my Christmas vacation, donkeys, camels and viral head colds all, in 500 words or less. Or, you know, thereabouts.

Thees ees my leetle mule.

Day 1-2, 23-24-Dec: In Which We Discover Egypt is Very, Very Not Western

Fabulous and incredible are two words I overuse (liberal arts higher education, people), but really, they apply to Egypt. We arrived in Cairo on the 22nd (side note: I've decided that in an age of cut-rate airfare, Heaven might look a lot like business class on a Swiss A.I. flight), and after the most insane taxi ride of my life - swerving at 120 mph in front of very large buses and other vehicles that could not only end my life but pulverize my remains to powdered sugar - J and I arrived at the Pharaoh's Hotel and promptly went to the bar. Hey, I know how to handle stress, okay?

We chose a backpacker's tour, "Treasures of the Nile," with Gecko's Adventure Tours, mostly because of the dates and also partly because I like their responsible tourism spiel, and thusly knew our hotels would be budget... except that budget in Egypt has a whole new spectrum of meaning. We didn't have to choose a shower with or without water, necessarily, but we didn't stay at the Four Seasons - or even the Best Western - either. Regardless, it didn't matter so much, as we spent almost no time in our hotel rooms over the next ten days, and both J and I are less concerned about hotels as seeing the sites and having a good time. I mention it, however, because there were some members of our tour who where very unhappy with the accommodations, so fyi: before you choose a grassroots tour, make sure you're okay with the, you know, grassroots part of it.

Anyhoo, back on point. So after a tasty "local" beer (made by Heineken) called Stella (adding to my theory that most things in life with "Stella" in their name are happy, happy, happy), and a good night's sleep on a lumpy and hard mattress, we were up bright and early to have breakfast, meet our tour group and head out for the day's sightseeing.

First up was the Great Pyramid on the Giza plateau, which I always imagined as an exotic place in the middle of the desert, but as it turns out is more of a big, sandy, touristy plaza on the edge of Giza, Cairo's west bank sister city. Giza and the pyramids were fascinating. We saw three Old Kingdom pyramids, including the Great One of Cheops fame (2560 BC, the only remaining Seventh Wonder of the Ancient World), and the two smaller pyramids of Chephren (Cheops' son) and Menkaure. They're are all grouped within walking distance from each other... and yes, we went in Chephren's pyramid, which might have been one of the scariest things I have ever done.

So here's the deal: to get into the inner chamber of Chephren's pyramid, you have to duck-walk down a 25-meter slope, through a tunnel that's maybe 4-ft wide by 4-ft tall. You then get maybe five steps of regular walking before duck-walking up another 25-m slope, also 4x4, into the burial chamber. In the meantime, the air temperature shoots up about 15 degrees (F) and 50% humidity. All the people who have been in the burial chamber are duck-walking out past you, and sometimes getting bound up such that you have to stop and hang out, waiting and squatting in this teeny-tiny corridor with an unimaginable weight of stone engineered over 3,000 years ago hanging over your head, trying to keep yourself from imagining the freaky stampede that would happen should anything go wrong. I tell you what: if there was ever a time for Ujjayi yoga breathing, that was it. If you're even a little claustrophobic - for me, normally just in crowds - you're screwed. HOWEVER, as one of the top ten bravest moments in my life, I made it in, checked out the empty and undecorated but incredibly spooky granite burial chamber (the link also has a photo of the passageway), and then safely out, with my husband making bad jokes behind me the whole way. THIS is why I will need someone else in the labor room with me, because if he makes bad jokes while I'm in painful labor with our child, I might become very, very unhinged (more so than normal).

Imagine me, under all that.

Anyway. So that was victorious, and for the rest of the time in the blessed and free open air, we climbed around the remnants of the enormous funerary complex of Chephren, and then bused up a back hill to take photos of the three 'mids together. In some ways, Egypt is a lot like a video game: your goals are to try not to get killed by the insane taxi (and other) drivers, navigate around the touts trying to sell you cheap nickel souvenirs for ten British pounds, and enjoy the historical and cultural gems in a country buried in economic woes without getting either ripped off or abducted by terrorists. I know, I know, I said Egypt was fabulous and incredible, and I promise, it WAS. But it also took a little getting used to...

This ain't your grandma's vacation.

At Giza, we also saw this guy. He's limestone, carved out of the bedrock of the plateau, part of Chephren's funerary complex, bears no relation to "The NeverEnding Story," and has a tail. I liked him, but Jon wouldn't let me take him home.

Less fluffy, but likely easier to ride than a camel.

After the 'mids, we had a tasty lunch of shawarma (shaved meat in a soft pita, sort of like a middle eastern fajita), and then spent the afternoon at the Museum of Egyptian Antiquities, a huge museum with a striking resemblance to a high school gym, only stuffed with semi-organized, dusty antiquities. On second thought, it was a lot like the Vatican Museum: the M.E.A. has so many riches of antiquity, it feels like those riches stopped having as much meaning to the Egyptians as we (Westerners) might ascribe to them ("Oh, another priceless 4,500-year-old statue? Just throw it in the corner with the others that sort of match it."). We saw lots of mummies - Ramses II (the "Great"), Queen Hatshepsut and Tuthmosis III (who I will explain in Part II), and a couple of mummified crocodiles and pet dogs - as well as the golden mask, coffin and tomb loot of King Tutankhamen and statues from the Old (26 to 22 C BC) and Middle (21 to 17 C BC) Kingdoms. It's amazing to visit a place where so much ancient history is so - easily found, gathered and stored. Finding antiquities in Egypt, like in Rome, is sort of a way of life.

Day 3, 24-Dec: In Which I Discover that Egyptian Trains Leave Something to Be Desired

The next day, Christmas Eve, we started the day with a trip to Memphis, the ancient capital of Egypt (from 3100 B.C.), and its associated necropolis, Saqqara. There's not much left of Memphis - it's mostly a big field full of rubble - but I liked it better than Giza, both because there are less tourists and touts, and also because the age and history really caught my imagination. At Memphis, we saw an alabaster sphinx (aged 18 to 15 C BC), the Colossus of Ramses II and another, smaller statue of RII, both from the Temple of Ptah (Memphis' creator God). To refresh, RII, or Mr. "The Great," was a 16th C BC pharaoh who ruled for 60-something years and possibly/allegedly had over 50 wives and consorts and over 117 children (one of our guides suggested he married a queen from every nome (42) and principality (14) of Egypt to help cement his rule). You'll be hearing more on him shortly.

Um, Mr. The Great? That pinkish speck would be me.

Saqqara, the Memphis necropolis, was also much quieter than Giza. The first pyramid in Egypt, the Step Pyramid of Zoser (27th C BC) is there, as well as some earlier pyramid attempts (in the distance) at Dahsur. The Step Pyramid was built by Imhotep (I swear that name got chanted through 75% of "The Mummy"), and in my opinion was one of the greatest ancient works of engineering ever, Cheops or no. We also saw Zoser's enormous and partially restored funerary complex (where they mummified the pharaoh and all the other people who wanted to be buried around him), a fabulously decorated Old Kingdom tomb (maybe the Tomb of Akhethotep?) that we may or may not have been legally allowed in ("No. Cameras," our informative, mildly-oily and tape-recorder-sounding guide told us), a pile of dirt that turned out to be the Pyramid of Unas (clearly he didn't hire Imhotep for his 'mid) and a super crazy deep Late Period Saite tomb shaft (like, five stories, but down instead of up). It was quite a morning.

Where's Brendan Fraser when you need him?

We spent the afternoon with about half our tour group at the Khan El-Khalili market in Islamic Cairo (how is that not the whole city?), after a taxi ride that was way too much like riding Greased Lightning at Astroworld (oh, Astroworld, RIP). The market is huge and packed with pretty much anything you could want: jewelry, copper, tourist-stuff, baskets, Frederick's style lingerie (a shock when 98% of women on the street in Cairo wear either full-on robes or super loose clothes and headscarves), spices, good fake purses from China, and - after MUCH searching - lunch. The Egyptians don't mix shopping with food; it took us a full hour to find the food court. The tasty Egyptian pancakes, or pitas with cheese and other miscellaneous toppings (including eastern style hot dogs, which none of us ever figured out, although we pretty much all ate them), were worth the search.

Like I wasn't going to find the mall. Really.

In the evening, we boarded the train for the 15-hour overnight ride to Aswan, in Upper (southern) Egypt, which I will leave (mostly) out of the story, except to say: the train runs on Egyptian time (which means it may come sometime this month), has a refrigeration system that tests the boundaries of thermodynamics, and I, frankly, have been in port-a-potties AFTER a North Carolina Toby Keith concert that were cleaner than the bathrooms. Opa.

Day 4, 25-Dec: In Which I Rode Camels, Learned Christmas Crackers are not Edible, and Caught a Nasty Cold

So on Christmas Day, we hopped off the train, showered and hopped back on a motorboat across the Nile for a camel ride. Here's one of my major trip (and life) lessons: camels are TALL. If you fall off one of those dudes, it's a long. way. down. J was pretty funny with his camel, smoking a Cuban while cah-lump-ing along. While I also enjoyed my ride, I did get hijacked halfway through by my camel-handler, who decided to ride with me, ookily close, to "show me Josefina's gallop," and then after I got off, asked J for a tip and me for my phone number. Um, really?

Me, camel-jacked. And you thought I was kidding.

After the fun camel-riding and near-camel molestation incident, we settled onto a deluxe felucca, lazing about on a floofy mattress with pillows, gliding across the Nile while our Nubian crew made us tasty fried chicken and rice and fresh veggies for Christmas dinner. The Nile is everything you would imagine: wide as a lake and lazy and rippled like old glass. The river is lined with date palms and desert escarpments in the background, and the sunset sparkles off the water and turns the sand a burnt/flaming orange (I know, I know). The Nubians, who populated southern Egypt (that would be... Nubia) until the High Dam was built and flooded their land and they were forcibly relocated, run all the water taxis and sail the feluccas, and they sing as they're sailing, especially in the evening, so their voices echo on the water. Fabulous AND incredible.

A Christmas both holly and jolly.

Less fabulous was the extra half hour on the boat we spent waiting for a water taxi after dinner, in which I finally succumbed to the viral head cold that had been lurking in my sinuses. On the bright side, Egyptian pharmacies are magic places that don't require prescriptions - or really, proof that you're sick - to give you cold meds, cough syrup and even antibiotics.

Day 5, 26-Dec: In Which I Get up at 3:30 a.m., Sick, and Am Happy Anyway Because Egypt is WAY Better than the Discovery Channel

So on the 26th, after our really nice Christmas-Nile-Nubian dinner, we had a super-early wake-up call to head out to Abu Simbel, two New Kingdom temples dedicated to RII and his chief wife and consort, the possibly-Nubian Queen Nefertari. Abu Simbel is on Lake Nasser, the vast reservoir created by the High Dam, three hours away from Aswan. Buses heading to Abu Simbel require a police convoy, so we had to be up and gone well before sunrise, both to beat the heat (less of an issue in December!) and to catch the convoy.

Abu Simbel, carved out of a mountain in the 13th C BC, was completely worth the trouble. The two temples were originally located about 50-m lower than their current location, but, like the Nubian people and 17 other temples, had to be relocated when the High Dam was built and the upper Nile (upstream is to the south, which is really hard to wrap your head around!) flooded Nubia and created Lake Nassar (which, fyi, is one of the last places on the Nile crocodiles live). Abu Simbel is part of the reason I was so excited to take this trip; I saw a few minutes of a Discovery Channel documentary on how the temples were relocated into a new, man-made mountain, and I was hooked. I know, I'm not cool. But as I get older, I'm getting to be okay with this. Well, sort of.

Anyway. Abu Simbel was incredible. Nefertari's temple, dedicated to the goddess of fertility, Hathor (usually portrayed as at least part cow), was beautiful:

See... a mountain!

...and the Temple of Ramses II was... okay, incredible. The temple is dedicated to the falcon god, Horus, and the facade is lined with falcons and four gigantic statues of RII, called the Colossi of Ramses II. Inside, the first inner hall, or hypostyle hall, is lined with Osiride statues of the pharoah (basically, RII dressed up as the god Osiris) and enormous columns, and the walls are covered in hieroglyphics depicting RII's military victories, including his war with the Hittites, as well as honoring Horus. Walking through the hypostyle hall, it's easy to imagine the temple gleaming with the original bright colors in which the hieroglyphics, statues and ceilings were painted. I also thought it was interesting that only priests and royalty were allowed inside. The common folk had to wait outside, and the temple was engineered such that when the sun hit the inner sanctuary of the temple at the right time (only two days a year!), the faces of the statues of gods in the sanctuary would be illuminated and shine out to the worshippers. Crafty.

It's good that he wasn't shy.

In the afternoon, we visited my favorite site of the entire trip, the Temple of Isis (or Philae Temple) on Agilkia Island near Aswan. While the temple is much newer than Abu Simbel - in its current incarnation, it was built by Nectanebo I, of the last (30th) native Egyptian dynasty, in the 4th C BC, and finished by the Macedonian-Ptolemaic pharoahs in the 3rd C AD - it's both romantic and beautiful. Originally on Philae Island, it was partially submerged (with the island) over time by Nile flooding, and then completely submerged after the High Dam was built. In the 19th C, tourists took sailboats to the ruins and looked down into the water at the temple ruins! ...which for some reason puts me in mind of Louisiana swamps.

The temple, dedicated to Isis, was relocated in the late 70's, and is now situated on the lush island of Agilkia that's been landscaped to look like Philae. With an incredible outer court with two colonnades, a hypostyle hall full of huge columns, semi-colorful hieroglyphs, and several outer temples, including my personal favorite, Trajan's Kiosk, the whole temple looks like a cross between an Egyptian temple and Greek one. We visited at sunset, and the light cast the temple in a romantic/mysterious glow - really, I'm not doing much justice with words, so here:

Me: (Sniffle) Oooohhhh....

And my favorite part, Trajan's Kiosk (which, btw, means "pharoah's bed"):

Me: (Sniffle) Aaaahhhhhh....

Better.

Okay, so I didn't make it in anywhere near 500 words, but there's the skinny (or really, the pudgy) on the first half of our Egypt tour. Coming up: more crocodiles, sunset temples, pharmacy stops, bad bathrooms, cruise boats and one insane bus driver. Now excuse me while I blow my nose...

Smooches -s

Vienna: Super Christmas-y and Better Than Little Debbie Snack Cakes

2009-01-02T20:04:00.009+01:00

Howdy from the holiday hangover capital of the world, my apartment. We just got back from Egypt, but before I get to that, here are my latest observations about life in Copenhagen, and also a recap of our early December trip to Vienna. Perhaps this will help assuage your Christmas hangover? Just think of me as the figurative Alleve to your aching heart. You're welcome.

But first, I have to let this out: Oh. My. God. Stop. The. Fur. THE FUR, PEOPLE. Cold weather in Copenhagen brings out fur coats, and while I have nothing against fur coats - I am, remember, obsessed with Italian leather shoes and handbags, so it'd be a mite hypocritical for me to criticize - even someone as out-of-the-fur-know as me is smart enough to question the wearing of a compilation of Davy Crockett's cap, the cat from National Lampoon's Christmas vacation after it got fried in the Christmas tree and roadkill. I mean, I'm sorry, but that's just common damn sense.

In a similar vein, I find the the idea of wearing suede moccasins, with fringe, in the wet, slushy CPH winter a bit, ahem, silly (and also that puts me in mind of a Flo-Rida song: "Mocs-wid-da-fringe?"). And don't get me started on the leg warmers. LEG WARMERS. What's next? Units? Guess jeans with the little zipper at the ankle? As if it weren't enough that fingerless gloves are of late considered CPH haute couture. Now could someone please get me a leftover Christmas beer? Post-haste?

On a more useful FYI note, to all English-speaking expats in CPH: the folks at Danske Bank on Osterbrogade near Trianglen are awesome. Every time I've been in there they've been super friendly and helpful. In a country where service is spelled c-r-a-p-p-y, they're the glorious chewy mint filling in the mystery chocolate I've picked out of the box. Faboo.

06- to 08-Dec: Vienna, Where Christmas is Really, Really Christmas-y

So a while back (sometime well before Egypt, the holidays and the nasty viral cold I have, again), I found air tickets to Vienna for something like $60 apiece. This is one of the virtues of being unemployed in Europe; it gives me plenty of time to surf the internet looking for travel steals. Anyway, pursuant to my travel find, early in December J and I hopped on a plane to Vienna to check out the Christmas scene, and I mean... it was like entering Christmas-Disneyland. The downtown streets, and especially the large walking area in the center of the old town, were strung with lights and light-balls the size of small Japanese automobiles. To a Christmas-season junky such as myself, it was fabulous.

Made in Taiwan?

We started out at Stephansplatz, the square at the center of town near the cathedral, and walked to the city hall and its park, Rathausplatz, where the biggest Viennese Christmas market is held, and where I tasted my first gluhwein (and which puts me in mind of Liesl and champagne, also Vienna-related). Gluhwein, I've decided (and previously mentioned), is sangria for people who live in cold places. I can get on board with this. After wandering around the Christmas market, J and I spent the evening breathing other people's smoke in an Irish bar, and would like to make a PSA to the city of Vienna (and perhaps the country of Austria): Smoking is bad for your health. Look into it.

Tasty, tasty, gluhwein in fun coffee mugs.

We spent the next morning at the Spanish Riding School, watching a performance of the famous dancing Lipizzaner Stallions, and also watching all the people trying to take illegal pictures and video get accosted by the zealous guards around the hall. The Lipizzaners are beautiful white horses pedigreed from the mid-16th C (and perhaps earlier) that perform incredible moves, often compared to ballet, to Mozart and other orchestra music. They were once trained for battle for the Hapsburg royal family, but now they mostly train and dance around to make money for the city of Vienna. Interestingly, the only horses trained in the SRS are stallions; a mixed-gender training environment would apparently be too "distracting" for the males. Gender equality, indeed.

This picture is only a little illegal.

After the Lipizzaner show, J and I continued on to Vienna's Hofburg Palace and visited the Imperial Apartments and several museums. The Hofburg Palace was the winter residence of the Hapsburg dynasty, who, with one exception, ruled the Holy Roman Empire (which was neither Holy, nor Roman: discuss) for 600 to 700 years, and the Austrian Empire for 100 years after that. Of all the royal families in Europe, I know the least about the Hapsburgs and the HRE (Phillippa Gregory and Danielle Steele haven't written many novels about them), so visiting the Imperial Apartments and the museums was a fun, new experience.

The Imperial Apartments were lavishly furnished (no pictures, boo), and were the site of a number of significant historical events; we stood in the apartments of Tsar Alexander I during the Congress of Vienna (after the Napoleonic Wars). It was a smidge on the side of incredible. I also found Hofburg particularly evocative because it's been in use as recently as 1918, when the Hapsburg dynasty was finally dissolved. It's interesting to think that Karl I, the Emperor of the Austrian Empire and he of WWI fame, lived - and ruled - there less than 100 years ago.

The palace also holds a museum for the 19th C Empress Sisi, Emperor Franz Joseph I's wife, who was assassinated by an Italian in the 19th C and was also, apparently, the subject of a very popular movie that has made her a sort of international figure of tragedy. I didn't really get into it; she was an anorexic who basically created a cult out of people who thought she was beautiful. Perhaps this makes her ahead of her time? The first pop idol, except instead of bad dance music, she wrote sentimental Classical-style poetry and called herself Titania (of Shakespeare fame). She did have interesting workout equipment in her rooms that looked a lot like today's pilates machines. More evocative than her museum, however, was the 19th C marriage bedroom into which she was introduced at 16. Seeing her marriage bed made me more sympathetic to the idea of being "arranged" into marriage at such a young age, no matter how wealthy or emperor-like your husband-to-be was.

The Imperial Silver Collection, 20+ rooms of porcelain and flatware left over from the Imperial Period, was actually far more interesting than the Sisi museum (yes, flatware and dishes are interesting. even J thought so). There's even porcelain on display from Marie Antoinette, the daughter of HR Empress Maria Theresa (one of the greatest HRE Emperors/-esses), who had it sent to her parents from France, before she had her head chopped off. I also loved the 30-meter long gold- and mirrored- Milan Centerpiece. I could really imagine the candlelight flickering off of the mirrors and gold at long royal banquet tables when I looked at the pieces on display. Also, by the way, HR Empress Maria Theresa was the subject of one of my favorite quotes of the trip, which has been attributed to Frederick the Great: "The one time the Habsburg family produces a real man, it is a woman!" Heh heh heh... Take that, Lipizzaner people.

We ended our day at the Imperial Treasury, where we saw the 10th C HRE crown and Charlemagne's sword, and then were basically chased out by the museum keepers. I wasn't unhappy to go; the treasury is in a vault and I was starting to have that "locked in the department store" kind of feeling. We also visited St. Stephan's Cathedral in the evening (and were, yet again, chased out at closing time. the Viennese don't mess around when it comes to the end of the day.). St. Stephen's was beautiful but not so different from many of the other Gothic cathedrals we've visited, although I was impressed by the life-size painting of St. Stephen's martyrdom (by stoning) over the altar. Uplifiting, guys. Really.

The 10th C crown of the Holy Roman Empire. Shiny...

After a dinner of schnitzel, we wandered around Vienna soaking up the atmosphere. At the risk of sounding dated and cheesy (which upon re-reading, sounds like a tasty Christmas dish), it was a lot of fun just to stroll around arm-in-arm and enjoy the gluwein and the Christmas lights and the overall atmosphere of the city. Vienna seems happy at Christmas! So I was happy, too... until Jon had to leave the next day to go back to work. Sniff.

On my last day, I continued my tourist rampage, heading out to the 16th C Schonbrunn Palace (the summer palace of the Hapsburgs, also known as the Versailles of Austria), and then wandering around the city and visiting the sort-of-creepy royal crypt. Schonbrunn is HUGE, and again lavishly decorated, but it also evoked that same sense of history as Hofburg. I stood in Napoleon's bedroom suite, used after he took over the HRE... twice. JFK met with Kruschev in one of the ballrooms there during Cold War. And I'm an unemployed expat in Copenhagen wandering around Europe with a backpack and guidebook. Nice.

The Christmas Market at Schonbrunn... where culture and shopping meet.

Schonbrunn was also closely connected with Franz Joseph I, who was born there, and Sisi and their son, Crown Prince Rudolf, who shot himself and his girlfriend at his hunting lodge. Mmmm, royal scandal. I can dig it. Off point, I know. After visiting the 40+ rooms (it's a thorough tour), I did a bit of shopping at the Schonbrunn Christmas market, and then headed back to town for a little bit of wandering and a nice, long Starbucks break. God bless American ingenuity, such that I can get my favorite chocolate marble pound cake 3,000 miles from my home. Seriously, though, while Vienna is beautiful, like twin packs of Little Debbie Swiss Cake Rolls, it's best shared with someone else, especially during Christmas. I was happy to head home on Tuesday.

Hoping everyone had a happy holiday! Smooches. -S

Walk Like an Egyptian...

2008-12-25T19:52:00.005+01:00

Subtitled: Better Late Than Never.

Hey y'all.

We're in Egypt.

Zurich: Blink and you'll REALLY miss me.

2008-12-21T23:33:00.002+01:00

By the way y'all... we're in Switzerland. For another ten hours, anyway!

LIfe in the CPH: Say it with me... Hoo-Gill-Eeee!

2008-12-21T17:15:00.003+01:00

Howdy.

First, I want to thank God and global warming for the fact that we've had at least three days of blue sky in the last three weeks, and one even with sunshine. Second, I want to thank REI and Old Navy for making, respectively, high-tech wind-proof and super-cheap fleece. And finally, I want to thank whoever invented the radiator, fluffy houseshoes with soft soles that make my feet feel like a twelve year old ballerina's and hummus. You, God/global warming/REI/Old Navy/radiator-fluffy-houseshoe-hummus-inventor, make my life worth living.

...and (b) On an unrelated side note, WHEN did Frankie come back to Days of Our Lives? Not that I'm spending my Denmark-cultural-enrichment-world-travel-time watching soaps, but when you happen to make lunch after writing and running and doing other productive things like making the bed and opening the blinds, and then on the way back to the computer you accidentally stumble over the arm of your couch, landing in a prone position and hitting the power button on your remote all in one 1996-Kerri-Strug-vaulting motion, how could you not notice Frankie's shining face, who you fell in love with in 1985 while hiding under your mom's chair and spying on your sister? I mean, really?

Also, let me just tell you how much better it is to watch DOOL (or almost any other show) with only ONE commercial break. Thank you, Danish cable. Now if only the shows weren't three seasons behind...

So I've been thinking about Christmas, what with it being in four days and all, and there are some fun things about Copenhagen/European Christmas-es that we don't have in the states - like glogg and gluwein and Christmas beer and Christmas markets. So here are some of the things I've found interesting to do/see/drink here in Copenhagen during the Christmas season:

Christmas Markets and Events

So to start with, I recently found this blog, written by - go figure - the official rep of the Texas-Exes in Copenhagen. Seriously. How small is this world? Anyway, she has a TON of good information there about Denmark, Copenhagen and Christmas markets, and she's way more organized than me, although, to be fair, she's been here six years and I've been here six months. What do you do? Anyway, regardless of her unfortunate collegiate affiliation, her blog is a good place to start for Christmas info.

Of the Christmas markets in CPH, I only visited two. The Christiania market was my favorite, held in "den gra hal" (the gray hall, which I think used to be a riding hall and may still function as a gymnasium as well as an event venue). Christiania, for anyone who doesn't know, is officially called "Freetown Christiania," and it's effectively a semi-legal community that used to be a military barracks but was abandoned and then taken over by squatters. There's way more to this story, but maybe another time... Anyway, the Christmas market at Christiania was very good, with lots of original handmade jewelry, clothes, paper star lamps and housewares mixed in with people selling low-quality second-hand jewelry and skull and crossbones leg warmers (don't ask me. i have no explanation for that). There's also a ton of food, both organic, veggie and traditional-sugar-Christmas-y. Be warned: we went on a Sunday afternoon, and it was PACKED (think New Orleans Mardi Gras packed, and add to that the European perspective on personal space, or lack thereof). Here's the basic info (hours, address, etc.).

The Freetown Christiania Exit. I'll 'splain another time...

We also stopped by the Nyhavn Christmas market, which, like everything in Nyhavn, was crowded and overpriced (expect toys, candles, more paper star lamps and other assorted reasonable-quality market fare). It was fun to walk along the water, though, especially with garlands draped across the canal. Nearby Kongens Nytorv, the city center square, has been (manually) iced over and turned into a skating rink. I was happy to see most of the skaters weren't much better than me. Ice? What's that? If you're really into ice skating, though, here's a list of ice skating rinks around Christmas. Have fun with that.

Why, again, would we artifically want to create MORE ice?

The major Christmas market we didn't make was at Tivoli, the amusement park in central CPH. I actually haven't made it to Tivoli yet at all, so this was no big surprise. I've also not been down to Radhuspladsen, the city hall square, but I've heard there's another huge tree and fun decorations down there, which could be combined with a trip to Tivoli. Another interesting market that I wasn't in town for was an Indian market put on by Culture Living Denmark. Not sure if this is a yearly event, but keep an eye out for it in 2009.

In a shameless plug for an organization I'm a member of, I feel compelled to mention the American Women's Club of Copenhagen also hosts an annual holiday bazaar near the end of November, with donated and hand-made items for sale. The proceeds go to further the philanthropic and scholarship goals of the organization, so you can even feel like you're doing a good deed by parting with your dear Danish kroner.

Under the subheading of "Other Stuff To Do At Christmas in Copenhagen" is the Royal Danish Ballet's annual presentation of The Nutcracker at Del Kongelige Teater. I went with a women's group the week after we returned from Vienna (you didn't actually think I got J to go to a ballet, did you?), and it was a really fun experience. I know nothing about dancing, but there were a lot of kids in the show (fun!), a series of sets built with mirrors in odd-but-somehow-fitting-Danish-postmodern-style, and a huge yellow-spotted rabbit on, literally, pogo sticks. This is either an element of the Nutcracker that is uniquely Danish or that I don't remember or blocked out of my earlier experiences with the ballet. Oh, Denmark, you box of mystery chocolates, you.

BTW, seeing the inside of the theater, with fabulous gold ceilings and crystal chandeliers, was worth the price of admission alone. Even if you don't have tickets to a show, go early and see if the ticket-takers/guards will let you in to see the building. It's incredible.

I'm sure I've not covered 2% of Christmas events in Copenhagen, let alone the rest of Denmark, so check out another list of Christmas markets and events at visitDenmark.com, here. Other groups that have Christmas celebrations are the American Expat Meetup Group in Copenhagen (google it), and the American embassy (although I can't find any info for that one on the web - but I know they have a party...). So no excuses for being sad and lonely in Copenhagen at Christmas, people. I will not have your Xanax and/or bon bon dependency on my head.

Random Danish Christmas Traditions

Again, I haven't been here for too long, but there are a few Christmas traditions unique to Denmark that I've noticed around town. The first is "Hygge," a word which I may be grossly misspelling and that's pronounced "Hoo-gill-ee" (c'mon, say it with me: HOO-gilleeeee! see, now THAT'S some Christmas fun). I'd heard about hygge when I first moved to DK, but didn't really understand it until the days shortened down to the amount of time it takes me to watch a college football game. Hygge roughly translates to "cozy" (think candles, fattening food and alcohol, or, alternately, winter hibernation) but what's it really used for is to refer to the way Danes come together with their friends and family, especially in the winter. J and I love hygge, not only because it's a really nice concept of spending time with the people you love, but because it's one of those fun words you can make mean almost anything you want to (for example: "Dude, your hoo-gill-ee is completely out of control. You have got to get that cut/washed/cleaned up/removed from your nose.").

As far as decorations go, the Danes do it all: garlands, trees, ornaments, candles, advent calendars (those are SUPER popular), and I've even seen one Santa (in a grocery store - and to be fair, I haven't gone out to any of the malls in town, so there feasibly could be more). One of the more perplexing decorations, though, are the woven Christmas hearts pasted over EVERYTHING in CPH, making me wonder if hearts are this big a deal at Christmas, what should I expect at Valentine's Day? I have since been informed by my "Christmas Guide Copenhagen 2008 (Free Copy)" (available at the TI, airport, and most tourist stops) that the paper hearts are actually a reference to the Danish idea of the Christmas season as the "Feast of Hearts," or a time of coming together (hoo-gill-ee!). This tradition was allegedly started by Hans Christian Andersen (oh, HCA, how could something not involve you?), who in 1861 wove a paper heart together for a friend. This, my friend, is how traditions are born in Denmark.

And two last notes on decorations: (1) I've noticed that the home stores (check Jysk and even Normann Copenhagen on Osterborgade) already have their decorations half off (or more), so the week before Christmas is apparently a GREAT time to stock up for next year and (2) don't be surprised to see Danes buying Christmas trees on Christmas Eve, as this is apparently a normal thing to do, to buy the tree and decorate it right before Christmas. A lot of work for a short period of time? Yes. Less of a fire hazard, and also kind of a neat family tradition on Christmas Eve? Also, yes. Sigh.

Danish Christmas Eating and Drinking

Now here's something to really love about a country: holiday-based alcohol. I guess much of the European continent has this tradition, but being in Copenhagen I've had the most experience with Danish Christmas beers and glogg, or hot-spiced wine, a little like sangria but for people who live where it's cold (and thus would want their sangria warm). Carlsberg's Tuborg brand comes out with a Christmas beer that tastes a little bit like nutmeg and, as an added bonus, comes in fun blue Christmas-y cans and bottles. There's some fun info on how the beer is launched each year here, but since I unfortunately wasn't here for the launch day (J-Day), I don't have much first hand experience with it.

I'm also a huge fan of the Danish Christmas cookie tradition, the main cookie of which is the pebernodder, or a cookie made with white pepper and tasting somewhere between a ginger snap and a snicker doodle. Um, yum. As for other foods, on heresy I can say that goose, herring and other Danish favorites are served on Christmas and Christmas Eve, respectively, but I'm unfortunately not much help for what to serve for a traditional Christmas dinner. Enchiladas? Check. Burgers at the Laundromat Cafe? Check. But there's no goose in my oven, if you get my drift.

I can make one recommendation from personal experience for Christmas eating: if you do decide to go out this season, check and see if you need to make a reservation. Our favorite burger/bar has pretty much closed down for holiday parties and special dinners. So, unless you want to wander around in the cold, check first.

I'm certain there's a ton more I had planned to say on this subject (isn't there always?), but I'm supposed to be on a plane to Egypt in five hours, so instead I'll just say I hope everyone has a wonderful, loving holiday season with their family and friend. We miss our people like crazy, and while our bodies may be in a 3,000 year old tomb on Christmas, our hearts will be with you. HOO-GILLEE!!!!

Love all - S&J

VIenna: Where Christmas is really, really Christmas-y.

2008-12-08T18:38:00.008+01:00

(Subtitled: Vienn-i?)

Hey y'all!

We're in Vienna!

p.s. Well, I'm in Vienna. J had to go home. But you get the point.

p.p.s. I had no idea my coat/scarf combo would make me look so much like Mrs. Claus. On the bright side, how festive am I?

p.p.p.s. I miss my husband. And gluwein is tasty. Smooches.

Life in the CPH: And... we're back.

2008-12-02T20:28:00.000+01:00

Ah, Denmark. Lovely, bonny Denmark. Oh ye of grey skies and card-eating ATM machines, how can I best describe you? Perhaps with a haiku?

Oh Denny Denmark
Sun extinguished, Visa too
Cold-ish weather sucks.

Or perhaps with a top-ten list?

Top Ten Reasons I Couldn't Live my Entire Life in Denmark

10. Because iced tea is a God-given right. Also, because ice is a God-given right.

9. Because ain't nobody in Denmark would ever call a doctor "Old Sawbones," much less their condition a "family tradition."

8. Because there is a magical age here where many women go from supermodel to, ahem, granola, and I am approaching that age.

7. Because you can't put an 80-pound dog in a 90 square meter apartment.

6. Three words: Pappasitos, Velveeta, Rotel.

5. Three more words: George, Willie, Jack.

4. Because you can take the girl out of the honky tonk, but you can't take the...

4a. On a related topic, because Denmark being the happiest place on earth is entirely a matter of opinion.

3. Because it's a little disconcerting for the sun to go down at 3:40 pm on December 1st. I mean, people. Really.

2. Because watching NCAA football on Sunday from a recorded computer feed somehow just don't cut it.

1. Because my people aren't here, my friends. And what good are all the countries of the world if your people are a world away?

Happy to be back in the CPH, but missing my people, too. Sigh. Smooches. -s

Life in the CPH: Because, Seriously, My People Rock.

2008-10-15T21:57:00.006+02:00

Sure, I have a post to write about Stockholm. But you see, I've recently been reminded how much my people rock. To wit:

Oh, heaven.

Didn't get that the first time? Let's take another look.

Nancy, you are my friend.

That's 30-SECOND MOLTEN CHOCOLATE CAKE, people. On a FANCY NANCY plate. You can't get 30-second molten chocolate cake OR Fancy Nancy in Denmark, oh no you can't. But you see, I've got people. Sure, they're under 3' tall. But they're still my people. And they get me. Oh yes. They get me. See?

Because if Layne says I like pink, who am I to argue?

Because really, is there anything better on a grey Copenhagen day than a FLEECE SCARF WITH POODLES ON IT? This is handmade, y'all. Handmade by TEENSY-TEENSY hands and hopefully child-proof scissors. That fleece was personally chosen by a FUTURE FASHION ICON. And I'm sorry, but if Jennie Humphrey from Gossip Girl can be a designer at 15, so can my Laynie Kaye.

Equally as fashionable and functional by the next great inventor/science investigator/BMX bike daredevil/handsomest five-year old fireman EVER:

This is how I roll, yo.

I mean, bow wow, people. Bow. Wow.

Smooches.

Blink and You'll Miss Me

2008-10-08T21:47:00.007+02:00

Hey y'all.

I'm in Sweden.

CPH, Prague and Oktoberfest, Round II: Something Wicked This Way Comes

2008-10-07T23:58:00.006+02:00

Howdy. This is a long one.

Pre-Getting-to-the-Point-of-my-Post-Post-Remarks:

So, Denmark: Last night it was pitch black at 7 p.m. God bless pizza and CSI reruns - although perhaps not so much, you know, together. For digestive purposes. With the dead people, and the blood, and the incredibly graphic cutting of open and all. Anyway.

Secondarily: I've had more beer in the last two weeks than I've had in the last two years, and I'm beginning to wonder: do Germans do anything but drink? Like have, you know, jobs? Other than selling pork knuckles out of wood-paneled houses? And occasionally trying to take over the world? My stomach is swollen to the size of a watermelon, and I should buy stock in whoever makes Alleve, assuming there'll ever be a good time to buy stock again. Yeesh.

Furthermore, as I've been writing this post, I've developed a nasty viral cold in which mucus is doing various styles of Bohemian dance between my eardrums and my brain stem. I'm certain this is a cosmic karmic response to the bad things I've done, a la an evil version of Julie Andrews and Cpt. Von Trapp in The Sound of Music or, more likely, the result of Mike Leach burying an oversized Native American voodoo Sarge beneath his rusted-out airstream trailer and then dancing on it whilst his hair plugs smoke with the sulfuric fumes of Hell. This as opposed to, you know, my immune system being depressed after spending the last two weeks consuming more beer than I've had in the last two years. Soon I'll be plucking whiskers off kittens and selling them on the black market for Darvocet. You'll say you knew me when.

And finally: football sucks.

On to the point (seriously, thank goodness. how much more of that vitriol could a person take?): So this past week, two friends of mine from the states came in, and after a few days in the CPH we jetted off to Prague and then took the ghetto (and I mean ghet-TOE, as in original Doug E. Fresh LaDiDaDi ghetto) train to Munich for Oktoberfest (Round II). It was fabulous, almost as good as new boots. But then, really, can anything compare with the smell of shoes fresh from the box? While you ponder, here's the recap:

23 to 25-Sep, CPH: Because What You Really Want Out of a Tour Guide are Stories About Gold-Digging Wh*res

Sorry for the language, but it's non-gratuitous. Well, sort of non-gratuitous. Depending on how you define non-gratuitous. Hey, I'm sick. Leave me alone.

So Texas girls L and K came in from Austin late Tuesday night, and I used their arrival as an excuse to go to the airport and have Starbucks' lemon pound cake, which is the closest thing to a Twinkie I allow myself to eat, and what is with my obsession with Twinkies lately anyway? Also, I have yet to figure out why Starbucks has a store in every international airport in Europe (including at least two in the Copenhagen airport), and yet has not opened one on my corner. I mean, there's a McDonald's on my corner. And a 7-11. Could someone please get on this? And where is that person I've sent off to invent prosecco-flavored gelato? Hello?

Anyhoo, so I picked the girls up and we metro-ed right on back to the apartment, and after a lovely night of girl-slumber-party talk and a morning of tasty bakery breakfasting (no using my American friends as an excuse to eat all the junk food under the sun, right), we set off on a tour of Copenhagen. They especially enjoyed the Carlsberg beer sign in Radhuspladsen (the city hall square), the wax statue of the world's tallest man outside the Guinness World Records Museum, and my anecdotes on the Danish crown princess, who (as recounted to me by a Danish friend) only went after the Danish prince because he was royalty and the Spanish crown prince was engaged (hence, the GDW comment. hey, these are the cheap seats people.).

I guess in the absence of Shiner...

Perhaps the highlight of the tour - other than the GDW anecdote, the insecurity of the Danish people as expressed by Carlsberg, and the nylon-hot-pants-running-catsuit we saw on the walking path at Kastellet (oh, if only I had a camera and the courage to use it...) - was stumbling into a really random museum in need of a bathroom and discovering it was full of casts of famous statues, including the Florence and St. Peter's Pieta(s), and the Medici Tomb's Night, Day, Dawn and Dusk. You may remember these from such hits as "The Italian Vacation, Part II (The Part Where You Fell Asleep)." It was fascinating, and also a little creepy. So on my CPH tour you get royal family gossip, beer signs, fashion criticism and a bathroom break among copies of famous Italian sculptures. Who needs the HopOn HopOff Bus when you can have all that for free?

On Thursday, after eating tasty leftover enchiladas, we took the Netto canal tour and had the best tour guide pretty much ever, who made a special joke just for the three American girls in the front of the boat about the famous Little Mermaid statue - something to do with Japanese tourists, porn and sushi. Classy.

Poor Little Mermaid, Having to Support the Weight of All Those Japanese Tourists

Our plan was to make it to the Carlsberg Brewery in the afternoon, but we missed opening hours by about three minutes and thusly decided the most effective way to spend the afternoon would be to go to happy hour and actually drink Carlberg, instead of learning the history of it. See, these ARE my people.

26 to 29-Sep, Prague: Where I Learned that Pilsner Urquell Comes in Tanker Trucks, Too

We left for Prague mid-day Friday and had really great luck with the flights and shuttle to our rented apartment. Actually, I didn't have any delays on this trip at all, which is somewhere up there with an act of God and being brought back from "mostly dead" with a chocolate pill made by Billy Crystal. We did have one little switcheroo issue with the aforementioned ghetto train to Munich, but more on that shortly.

First, Prague. Prague was fantastic. I spent the first day of my visit thinking how weird it was to be there (I did grow up in the time of Rocky IV and East German Olympic swimming dominance, after all), my second day thinking how sad it is I don't know anything about the history of Prague before Communism, and the third thinking about how cheap everything was. Hey, I'll always be a shopper. I'm not ashamed.

We spent most of our first afternoon wandering around the Old Town Square and the central area of town. The square is charming, with the Church of Our Lady in Front of Tyn at one end and the Old Town Hall and Astronomical Clock at another corner, and in the middle a memorial to the 14th-15th C religious reformer Jan Hus, a predecessor of Martin Luther, whom the Czechs burned at the stake for heresy in the 15th C. There's also an evocative memorial comprised of 27 white crosses built into the cobblestone pavement, memorializing 27 Protestant leaders who were hung for an uprising in the 17th C. We learned a lot about the way the Czechs killed people on this trip. Back in the middle ages, they favored strangulation (Saint/King Wenceslas), sometimes with one's own scarf (Saint Ludmilla), and then moved on to throwing people off bridges (John of Nepomuk) or out of windows (no joke, especially politicians, and this Czech procedure actually has a name: defenestration). And this is all BEFORE Communism. Efficient, those Czechs. Perhaps it would be best not to upset them.

Hus, Only Not So, You Know, Crispy

I have to admit, I was especially excited to see Prague because of Pilsner Urquell, and I wasn't disappointed (no history for me, oh no. I'm here for the beer, people). PU is the world's first lager, and Prague is marinating in it. On our first night I had the pleasure of seeing this:

I suspected the Danes didn't come up with this trick on their own.

No, not the scary old dude. He's hooking up a tanker truck of PU to the bar. With a hose. Like it's liquid gold. Like Italian leather shoes in liquid form, one might go so far as to say. After watching this fascinating process, we had a lovely dinner at a place called LaryFary (which I mention because it's SUPER fun to say: LarEEE-FarEEE) and then stayed up until two in the morning drinking red wine and singing eighties songs at the top of our lungs. Josie's on a vacation far away, indeed.

On Saturday (the next day), we visited the Prague Castle, the largest ancient castle complex in Europe, and St. Vitus Cathedral, which is sort of the castle centerpiece. See, I can even say I went to church on this trip, which is good because God knows I need to pray for forgiveness for whatever is causing my cold and the state of Aggie football. Anyway, St. Vitus is incredible; when we walked in, in the later afternoon, the sun was casting beautiful colors from the rose window onto the pillars in the nave. It was enough to make a sinner repent.

Perhaps Princess Mary should spend more time here.

See what I did there? Heheheh. Anyhoo.

The original church at the castle was a Romanesque rotunda; the cathedral is the third church on the site, and was started in the 12th C but not finished until 1929. St. V's was used for coronations of various Bohemian kings and houses the royal tombs of said Bohemian kings and Holy Roman (German/Bohemian) Emperor Charles IV, who ruled the 14th C Holy Roman (German/Bohemian) Empire from Prague. There's also a silver sarcophagus of Saint John of Nepomuk, the priest thrown off the Charles Bridge into the Vltava River, supposedly for taking the Queen's confession and then refusing to repeat it to the 14th C King Wenceslaus (that would be a different King W from the 10th C "Good" King Wenceslas from the Christmas carol). John of N. was actually exhumed in the 18th C and his tongue was supposedly found whole and pumping blood, so he was enshrined in two tons of silver, although the tongue was eventually discovered to be the remnant of his brain. Um, yick. Also interestingly, because of the manner of his death, he's now the patron saint of floods. Who says the Catholic church doesn't have a sense of humor?

The most famous part of St. V's, though, is the huge tomb/chapel housing the remains of the patron saint of the Czech Republic, King Wenceslas (the one from the Christmas carol, who was strangled, and by his brother. are you keeping up? good.). The Wenceslas chapel also houses the crown of Wenceslas and the crown jewels of the C.R., but they aren't on display, and are actually kept behind a door with seven locks, the keys of which are held by seven different people. No smart comment here; that's just interesting.

We spent the evening on a bluff overlooking the city, drinking Gambrinus beer (sort of the same to Pilsner Urquell as Natty Light is to Budweiser) and enjoying the view, and then tried to go to the oldest beer hall in Prague for dinner and instead saw someone get his head bashed in by the police. Not eager to find out the modern ways people kill each other in Prague, or to stare at the blood stains on the floor (seriously), we found somewhere else to eat, where I had a scary blood sugar moment and then discovered goulash and bread dumplings are, frankly, yummy.

On Sunday, I spent the morning toodling around town, enjoying the good weather and poking in churches (i even tried to go to Mass, but they rescheduled it. perhaps they knew i was coming?). I also saw what I think was one of the most interesting sights in Prague, a bluff at the end of Parizska Street, upon which once stood an enormous statue of Stalin. After Stalin's crimes against humanity were exposed and the Cold War ended, the people of Prague bulldozed his statue and replaced it with a giant metronome. They don't joke around, the Czechs.

Time is on my side...

In the afternoon, we shopped, saw the Charles Bridge, shopped some more, saw the Lennon Wall, shopped, shopped more and then ate pizza. After pizza, we took the Prague Walks Ghost Tour, which I would strongly advise against, and which might have been the only waste of money on our whole trip... because even that ill-advised eighth liter of beer at Oktoberfest had some nutritional value, right?

Prague at dusk, from the Charles Bridge, no men overboard in sight.

29-Sep to 1-Oct, Munich: Because I, Apparently, Do Not Learn

Yes, I went back to Oktoberfest. No, I did not learn my lesson the first time. Oh, karma - we were doing so well.

So on Monday we took the ghetto train from Prague to Munich. I wish I'd taken a picture of our first compartment, because while it was spacious enough for the three of us to stretch out and sleep, it also hadn't been cleaned since the dawn of time and had black-marker-graffiti on the red vinyl seats. This really would have been quite enough, except an hour into our trip, just as we had all fallen asleep, the train came to a screeching halt and we were shooed out of our comfortable-if-ghetto compartment and up into first class, which was (a) less ghetto and (b) less comfortable. I've theorized the Germans separated off the ghetto half of the train and sent it back into the C.R. Perhaps that's what they do in their spare time?

So, Oktoberfest. What can I say? It's one part ginormous state fair, one part Mardi Gras without the angry drunks and the uncomfortable nakedness, one part German costume party and one part combo John Denver-Bavarian country concert. Yeah, there's a lot going on there.

Interestingly, our first night (yes, we went two nights. yes, i know.) we spent the evening on the Hofbrau Haus patio next to a group of Italian-Iraqi-Germans. The highlight of the evening might have been one of us Texas girls (who will remain unnamed) trying to explain to the 19-year-old Iraqi next to me that Dubya is a good person who just makes bad decisions (and then I went and used the word execution, as in "his job execution is poor," and you can imagine how well THAT went over). Ah, International Friend Making Week! How I miss your warm caress!

IMFW (Questionably) Continues...

Actually, the I-I-G group was patient and kind, unlike the toothless and mildly aggressive Czechs at the table behind us. Seriously. No teeth. It was fascinating. We did end up with one of their hats, though, so who can ask for more?

This dude had no teeth.

Second-day-recovery was spent at the actual HofbrauHaus, which I like to think was an incredibly clever idea for someone who mainlined three liters of beer in two hours the night before. We were able to get a seat and some excellent cheese spaetzle and meatballs with a minimum of fuss, before heading back to the Wiesn and finding a seat at the Lowenbrau tent with two German girls, an American couple from Missouri, a drunk Austrian in lederhosen and two German men who actually had a reservation. People make those? Who knew?

Here are some highlights from the rest of the evening:

We're back!

The band plays John Denver.

L Dances with Crazy Austrian in Lederhosen.

I make two good decisions: eat half a chicken and switch to Radler, a half-beer, half-lemonade concoction.

Crazy German sisters get their drink on.

Miraculously coherent late in the evening, I make friends with the waitress and expound on how Radler rocks.

...or mostly rocks. I did run off to find this fellow (who thought I was mildly insane, or at least of questionable judgement), to take a picture for Jon.

Finishing the evening off with prosecco and a few bloody marys at an all-night cafe while waiting for our planes... I can now say I closed down Oktoberfest, although why I would want to is still an excellent question.

My head cold and I are off to Stockholm. Smooches!

Say it With Me: Urrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrquell

2008-09-26T23:03:00.005+02:00

Hey y'all.

I'm in Prague.

Germany: Frankly, Beer.

2008-09-23T09:10:00.026+02:00

No fancy titles necessary.

20-Sep: Heidelberg, Town of Many Schnitzel and Also, Beer.

So Germany, in general, was fantastic. We got up super-early (I mean, early, like 3:30 a.m. early, and that should be a word, superearly) on Saturday the 20th, to catch the bus to the airport, where I went back to sleep on benches at the gate and almost missed our plane. I'm good like that. Anyhoo, also interestingly, as we walked to the bus stop at 4 a.m., we passed a nightclub called Park across the street, where the large Danish (people, not pastries) bouncers at the door were still letting people in. At 4 a.m. Seriously, y'all, I'm getting old.

From Copenhagen we flew to Frankfurt and then hopped the train to Heidelberg, sleeping pretty much the whole way (on the plane, standing up waiting for the train, on the train). I was WIPED - so wiped, in fact, that I swindled Jon into taking a cab the kilometer from the Heidelberg train station down to our hotel at the Alte Brucke, or Old Bridge. Note said swindle was made by promising to walk up the 380-something steps to the castle at the top of the hill, so I'm not sure if this was so much a swindle as overall bad decision-making, but, you know, tomato-tahmahto.

Me on the wrong end of a swindle, on the Old Bridge.

Heidelberg, a beautiful town on the Neckar River, was Celtic (5th C BC) and then Roman, and later an important seat of knowledge (the university there was founded in the 14th C), as well as home of the prince-elector of the Palatinate of the Holy Roman Empire (the German one, not the Roman one). I'll be honest; I wasn't much interested in the history (even though it was rich) because (a) I was so tired my brain didn't want to work harder than "Oh, that's so pretty!" and (b) I was distracted by such fascinating places as the Schnitzelhaus Alte Munz, home of over 100 types of Schnitzel. More on this shortly.

We spent the afternoon toodling around the Hauptstrausse, the walking street and supposedly the longest shopping mile in Germany (and also perhaps my natural outdoor habitat), and visiting the beautiful Church of the Holy Spirit in the main square and the Heidelberger Schloss (castle) up the hill. Our visit was fascinating not only because Heidelberg is a beautiful and historic town, but also because Jon metriculated at the DoDDS-run Heidelberg High School for two of his four secondary school years (HHS is a military school, but not the kind you attend if you get kicked out of your own school for, say, setting the gym teacher on fire; this one would be for people whose family are in the military). He had a lot of fun pointing out the restaurants where, for example, he drank beer and took his teenage dates. Hopefully this didn't happen at the same time. While it was a little, um, odd to walk the same sidewalk in the Heidelberg castle that he also walked with his prom date (and why point that out to your wife, anyway?), it was also really fun to put faces to all the stories I've heard. Plus, we saw the world's largest wine cask, which holds over 58,000 U.S. gallons of wine and is guarded by a short dude named Perkeo.

I see your Danish tanker truck of beer, and I raise you one big cask of wine.

By the way, did everyone catch my gratuitous use of the word metriculated up there? There's that graduation education, I tell you what.

We finished off our day at the House O'Schnitzel (technically the SchnitzelHaus, but isn't it more fun the other way?), where over 100 types of schnitzel are offered, in such incarnations as Hawaiian, Texas (of course), and Beer (which Jon had, and which wasn't technically called Beer Schnitzel, but it had a beer sauce on it and thusly should have been). I had a TASTY onion and mushroom schnitzel, and kasespaetzle, sort of the German equivalent of awesome-ness to tortillas and queso:

Denmark 1, Germany 1422

And beer. We had that, too.

21/22-Sep: Oktoberfest: More Beer.

On Sunday we woke up early and, after a bit of confusion, made it onto the train to Munich to Oktoberfest. I'm not going to be able to do Oktoberfest much justice with words - partly because I killed too many brain cells to remember a lot of words - so here's a sort of pictorial timeline:

21-Sep, 2 p.m./Liter 0: Arrive Oktoberfest.

2:30 p.m./Liters 1 to 2: Find seat at Hofbrau House tent patio and proceed to eat largest pretzel known to man.

4:30 p.m./Liter 3: Corrupt small German child sitting next to us at table, also daughter of Hofbrau House Financial Person.

5 p.m. /Liters 4 and 5ish (I think. This is where I start to lose track.): Co-op seats at table inside Hofbrau tent, sandwiched between U.S. military contractors, Germans making fun of military contractors and "Nelly's Shag Do," a British bachelor party for - you guessed it - Nelly. Order Liter 6-ish.

7:30 p.m./Liter 6ish: Realize sunglasses are lost, scarf is marinated in beer and husband has possibly lost feeling in face. Order Liter 7.

9 p.m.-ish, although time has lost all meaning in the beer haze/I'd like to believe this is still Liter 6, but I suspect I was on 8 or so by now: Discover communication abilities are gone and odd felt hat has mysteriously appeared onhead. Also, beer has made hands incredibly creepy and spindly looking. Order plate of ribs and Liter 9.

10:30 p.m./Liter WAY Too Many: Hat obstructing vision. Coat coated in beer and rib sauce. Husband unable to stand. Attempt to find hotel and find self flaming-ly lost in streets of Munich. Flag cab, take Alleve and thank God you decided to spend one day at Oktoberfest, instead of two...

22-Sep, 10 a.m./Liter 1: Breakfast. Oh, the humanity.

Off to Prague this morning. Smooches.

Stein-i, Stein-ey, Stein-es

2008-09-20T20:37:00.006+02:00

Hey y'all.

I'm in Germany.

Weekly-ish Round-Up: Fall, Apparently, Is Here

2008-09-15T21:04:00.005+02:00

Today, I saw someone wearing a lime-green quilted vest with (green) fur trim at the shoulders, waist and neck. Alas, I had no camera (and even if I had, I might've been too afraid of getting smacked to use it). Oh, Copenhagen, you fashion twinkie, you. I could suck the cream out of your middle and then nibble your cake-y exterior for hours, wondering how I could be eating something so incredibly bad for me and yet somehow unable to tear myself away, if you get my metaphorical drift.

That is, if anyone sold Twinkies in Copenhagen. Which, FYI, no-one does.

Here are some other things I've learned lately:

When trains work in Denmark, they're fabulous. When they don't, they are the third circle of Hell. On a related topic, cabs are expensive.

You know it's fall when, Part I: the Indianapolis Colts are on television on Sunday night, even in Denmark, and as a side note, how cute is it that the announcers stop between the plays and explain, in Danish, what "kick-off" and "pass interference" mean? I mean. Also on television tonight: "The Fabulous Life of Kept Men." This is a fall-indicator not so much by the fact that it's on television, but that I AM SITTING HERE WATCHING IT. Hibernation - setting in.

You also know it's fall when: the weather changes. Yes, I know that's obvious. Liberal arts graduate degree holder, remember? So perhaps I should add: you know it's fall when the weather changes by ten degrees and two hours of daylight in four days. Welcome to Denmark, friends. Take a seat on the train.

You thirdly know it's fall when: you're sitting in your Copenhagen apartment watching Hurricane Ike bear down on your hometown of 4 million-plus (love the FoxNews headline: Certain Death) and, equally important, the home of your family and friends, and you're totally helpless. Not to mince words: that sucks. Here's an incredible link a friend sent me, to photos of an area to the southeast of Houston and Galveston. Some of those houses had first floors. Seriously.

*Added 16-Sep: Here's another link to the devastation of Ike. It's really incredible. Those people need our thoughts and prayers.

Some other notable doings, observations, and ramblings from the last two-ish weeks here in the CPH.

1-Sep to 7-Sep: International Friend Making Week Continues...

We had a busy week after my return from Norway on the 31st of August. Jon's been working on a new program he developed at work (important people learning to sponsor other less-but-still-important people's projects, basically), so I've been largely left to my own devices (thus, necessitating the continuation of IFMW after my trip to Norway). I don't know what I did to deserve all this good karma, but seriously. I should figure that out and do it again.

So on Monday, the 1st, I visited Rosenborg Castle, in the center of Copenhagen, with a Danish friend. This was a good plan (the Danish friend, I mean) because few-to-none of the room and exhibit descriptions were in English, so bam! - Danish translator! Handy. Also, she's very cool and I like her a lot. Anyhoo, Rosenborg (say it aloud, it's kind of fun: Rosen-booooorrrrrg... it's good I amuse myself so.) was originally built in the early 17th C as Christian IV's summer house (that would be C-4, for those of you paying attention to the history). Nice. It was expanded in the mid 17th C for C-4's son, C-5's, wedding. Note these C's are not so notably different from, for example, C-3-P-O, and I'm having organic chemistry flashbacks. God, my head hurts.

ANYWAY. So Rosenborg is interesting (a) because it's right in the middle of CPH in a beautiful garden (Kongens Have) with statues and cafes that serve tasty hot chocolate, (b) because, since the 18th C, it's housed the royal collections, sort of like a royal museum (apparently the royals abandoned it because there were other and better places to summer in Denmark, and also, interestingly, when other palaces burned down, the "best" stuff that they saved got put in Rosenborg, so it's kind of a conglomeration of royal "stuff") and (c) because in the basement of Rosenborg, they keep these:

Christian IV's Rennaissance Crown and...

What I will be wearing the next time the queen invites me for tea.

See, I do better with lists. To sum up (I know...), Rosenborg was great - one of my top three castles, I think, that I've seen in Denmark. So that's on the show-to-visitors list.

I also spent some time with my Aggie and Italian friends that week, exploring various cafes (Theodor's on Osterbrogade has tasty veggie sandwiches, and I suddenly love tzatziki, too) and looking at pictures and eating cupcakes. There was a huge relay race at Faelledparken (the DHL Relay, or also the "Race to Cure Diabetes," I think) all week, and on Wednesday the 3rd I went out to the park and met up with some friends and watched literally thousands of people run in circles (and also, scarily, watched someone have a heart attack). Friday and Saturday we entertained and were entertained (FYI: Italians + enchiladas + wine = good times), and then Sunday, we did this:

Radio Free Europe?

Those little specks are Michael Stipe and Co., who played at Parken, Denmark's national stadium. We met up with some more/other Danish friends (when did we make so many friends, I ask?), and hung out at Cafe Bopa 50 meters from our house for a while before walking to the stadium to drink a bunch of Carlsberg and listen to the fabulous vocal stylings of R.E.M. The music was awesome (minus the 10 minutes of politics in the middle; why do recording artists think because they can musically command a stage they also have the right to shove their politics down my throat? grrr....). This was also fabulous:

Crafty Danes.

The Danes got that one right. Train construction, not so much. Beer in a tanker truck - check.

8-Sep to Now-Ish, 15-Sep: International Alphabet Soup and Really, When Did We Make this Many Friends?

So, continuing to be amazed at myself, I had lunch with my Swiss writer friend at Trianglen's Cafe Svanen (tasty spinach crepe, VERY bad coffee) on Monday and made dinner for two of Jon's American colleagues/friends on Wednesday (salmon with goat cheese) after going to IKEA-Gentofte (pretty much the same as it is in the U.S., only more, you know, Danes). On Thursday I made dinner (enchiladas with sour cream sauce) for one of my old colleagues and his wife who are considering ex-patriate-ing to Denmark (c'mon over, y'all!). On Friday, Jon and I got super-hip and met our Finnish/Italian (and new random German) friends at Bopa for burgers and drinks (this is a different Italian than the week before). Following me? Good. Keep up, because...

So then on Saturday, I made pizza and watched football (American, collegiate, and note to any American expats reading this: BUY THE SLINGBOX. Gold, I tell you.) with one of the same Americans from Wednesday and the Italian from the first week of September. On Sunday, I ran in a 5K with 6,000 Danish women (and four Danish friends), and then had dinner (Jaegerschnitzel) with Italian #1, a new German-American and the football-American. Today, I had coffee with an international women's group that was mostly British, and then spent part of the afternoon texting my American friend in Norway. Lost now? Yep, that's what I thought. Also, I rock.

As a side note, you get the food details so I can make the point that I've discovered why so many ex-pats are great cooks; if you want your own style of food in Denmark (Tex-Mex, BBQ), you have to make it. In no particular order, I have made empanadas, pita chips, enchiladas and BBQ chicken pizza in the last ten days. Actually, that was pretty much in chronological order, but still. You smell what I'm stepping in.

To pick a highlight out of the above international-alphabetic-mess, yesterday I ran a women's 5K with a Danish friend and several of her friends (who I am co-opting now as my own), in an area of town called Valby. It was really, really fun, because (a) the women ran at a comfortable pace and enjoyed themselves as opposed to the American-competitive-5K style, where people feel the need to pretend they're the Jamaican dude from Beijing and mow down anyone in front of them, (b) prior to the race, the organizers of the run put on some great seventies/eighties music and led all 6,000 women in a completely un-self-conscious dance/warm-up; imagine 6,000 women of all ages doing crazy arm-windmill motions and knee hikes and other zany moves to Dancing Queen, and (c) after the race, we all hung out (my friends and most of the other 6,000 women, too) and had a picnic with large amounts of sausage, dairy products and sugar. Also, we got good Nike-DryFit shirts and the weather was fantastic, perfect fall soccer weather. What better way can you think of to spend an afternoon?

Dancing Queen... She's only seventeen...

Today, I met up with LINK, an international women's group here in Copenhagen, at Den Franske Cafe for coffee (good coffee, this time), and they were really wonderful. I met some great new women (seriously, when did I learn to do this?), several of whom are Americans, love shopping and live near my house. I may also join the American Women's Club, another women's group here, because apparently I am now Mrs. Butterfly of the Social Genus, and also, because they know where the good grocery stores are and how to get the lime build up off of my glass-shower-door. I'm also plotting to find someone who knows how to make my combination washer/dryer actually DRY MY CLOTHES.

So now you're caught up. I will eventually get a post together about London and Bath, but that would require me to turn off "...Fabulous Kept Men," and you know I need all the tips about the kept lifestyle I can get. Coming up for Jon and I: Oktoberfest on Saturday, American friends in town next week, Prague the weekend after and then perhaps a few days in Stockholm. It's tough to be here, but I do somehow manage...

Smooches.

Grocery Heaven

2008-09-03T14:29:00.013+02:00

Today, God is smiling on Denmark.

Manna.

I found these (and other wonderful American) items in a local SuperBest grocery store. Let's take a closer, look, shall we?

Liquid Smoke + Various Salts + 1 Good Butcher = Brisket, also known as Proof that God Loves Us.

Yep. That's from Austin, y'all.

Via a great tip from the American ExPat Meetup Group in Copenhagen message boards, I've found a SuperBest grocery store about a mile from my house that stocks a whole two-sided shelf-unit with British and American foods. You can also order the same foods here, through an import business (although the prices are a smidge on the high side). They have Campbell's soups, Jiff peanut butter, Hot Tamales, Lipton Onion Soup Mix, Mac and Cheese, Duncan Hines cake mixes, Stubb's BBQ sauce and liquid smoke (seriously. they had liquid smoke. i mean, heaven - almost as good as finding out a chik-fil-a is opening in my kitchen, but not quite), A-1, all sorts of condiments, kool-aid - I can't even think of everything right now, I'm so excited. The AEMGC post has a better list than I do, and also, interestingly, notes that Sweden carries more American products than Denmark. That's just across the bridge.

Prices were NOT American; for example, one box/two packets of Lipton Onion Soup Mix were 35 kr, about $7. Really, though, can you put a price on Austin-brewed bbq sauce and liquid smoke? Now if I can find a good butcher, I can make some brisket. I MEAN.

The SuperBest is at Strandvejen 64A, 2900 Hellerup. It's on the 1-A bus route at the Tuborg Blvd. stop (if you're going north, it's east from the stop, i.e. on the right in the "Rotund" building). It's also one of the best (okay, American-style) supermarkets I've been in, with a large produce department carrying fresh herbs and organic products, and a good looking deli/butcher. Send them all your love so they'll keep bringing in the American foods, and maybe we can finally convince someone to import some corn tortillas into this Tex-Mex forsaken country.

Now if only they imported Shiner...

Norway Round-Up: Oslo, Lom, Trondheim and Alas, No Whales

2008-08-29T22:41:00.020+02:00

Unfortunately, it's true; the whale safari was a no-go. I had to make a decision between getting on my plane and taking a chance the boat would go out later in the day, and the captain said the weather was very unsure and recommended my going on to Bodo. So to Copenhagen via Oslo via Trondheim via Bodo I went. That's over 26 hours of via-ing. Sensible travel planning may not be my strong suit.

My visit to Andenes and Bodo actually turned out to be great, even though I didn't get to go on the whale safari. I won't lie - I'm bummed it didn't work out. But I did meet some really great new friends (this is apparently Susan-International-Friend-Making-Week) in, of all places, the Arctic Circle, which gives me another reason to go back (beyond getting to see the whales). I also saw elk, and cloudberries, and beautiful landscape, and moors, and white sandy beaches, and the world's largest maelstrom, Saltstraumen...

The tidal differences between the ocean and this fjord make crazy whirlpools and currents up to 20 knots. It's also very pretty.

...and I ate both fish soup and hot dog soup, and who can argue with the brilliance of hot dog soup?

Fine Norwegian cuisine, indeed.

So before Andenes, I was in Olso, Lom and Trondheim. Here's the (long-ish) recap:

Day, oh, 4-ish (I think)/Aug-24-ish: Oslo, Which I Can't Decide About, or, alternately titled: Oslo, Where I Possibly Became More Self-Aware (But Let's Not Hope For Too Much)

So when I think of Oslo, I end up doing something like this in my head:

"Oslo! What fun! I made great new American/Norwegian friends on the train who made me tasty meals and drank beer and argued about football!"

"Oslo. I saw someone cooking heroin on a sidewalk."

"Oslo! Frogner Park and the open-air Norwegian Folk Museum and the Viking Ship Museum and the Fram Museum were awesome!"

"Oslo. I saw more homeless people there than in Austin in the good-weather months (i.e., the middle two weeks of May)."

Yeah, so I'm torn about Oslo (and as a side note, can you imagine living in my head? Really?). I loved the touristy sites and the great company and the fantastic food made for me by my very hospitable train friends, but I didn't so much love some parts of the city itself. Admittedly, I stayed in the area around the train station (at the perfectly passable Thon Hotel Spectrum), and even in orderly, homogenous, calm Copenhagen, the area around the train station has its share of - ahem - issues. So for me, the verdict is still out on Oslo. I guess it just means I'll have to go back and check it out again. :) And maybe take my husband this time, too.

I really enjoyed the museums, the city hall and the harbor area. I saw the three museums mentioned above: the Norwegian Folk Museum, an open air museum with reconstructions of the last 1000 years of civilization in Norway (fantastic, especially on a beautiful day), the Viking Ship Museum, three Viking ships excavated from burial grounds (one of which, the Oseberg ship, was the grave of a Viking queen, and it was fascinating-fascinating-fascinating), and the aptly titled Fram museum, centered around the groundbreaking Norwegian arctic and antarctic exploration in the Fram ship (part of the very large Fram is in the photo above right). On the Fram expeditions, the explorer Fridtjof Nansen (a fascinating person in his own right, who won the Nobel peace prize for later work with WWI refugees) actually sailed into the Arctic to lock himself (and everyone else) into the ice pack and "sail" with the drift of the ice. I'm not doing a great job of explaining this, so read about it here, if you're interested. It was unexpectedly very, very cool.

The city center area along Karl Johans Gate was also very pretty, with a famous hotel and cafe where Ibsen used to hang out (even if you don't want to read his biography, check out his last words) and a beautiful park and fountain just down from the Storting (parliament) building. The Radhus, or city hall, sits on the harbor and has beautiful wooden friezes outside telling stories of Viking mythology (those are the Swan Maidens in the photo left), and murals inside (I only peeked in, I didn't take the tour).

I also spent a few minutes in Frogner Park, a huge green space in Oslo including the Vigeland sculptur e park, an evocative sculpture garden covering the human life cycle (emotional and physical) by the Norwegian sculptor Vigeland. There's a rose garden and a monolith that I think is a sculpture of human bodies piled on top of each other, although I couldn't see it as it was covered in scaffolding (see zoomed-in photo here). I loved the park, and especially the central fountain (photo to right).

So overall, the sights I saw were beautiful, and I liked the city, except for a few unexpected bumps. Maybe it's best when visiting somewhere forces me to face what makes me uncomfortable, or, not to put too fine a point on it, my biases, so I can work on overcoming them in the future?

And I do have to say, although I enjoyed all the tourist sites in Oslo, the best part of the city was the company. We ate homemade pesto and watched Girls Just Want to Have Fun. Tell me these aren't my people.

Day 5/Aug-25: Lom, Where I Discovered I'm Not a Lone-Hiker Kind of Girl

I learned something about myself on this trip, and it's not just that I find hot dog soup underwhelming (or the considerably more important self-awareness-about-biases in the last section). I discovered that for all of my complaining about Jon wanting me to hike up every mountain or tower we come across on vacation, I like to hike... just not by myself. I need him (or someone) to cajole me, read the map, not get lost, carry my water and listen to me complain. I had this self-epiphany (that's two on one trip, now, y'all might want to back away from the computer lest lightning strikes) in Lom, Norway.

Lom is a small village billing itself as the "Gateway to Jotunheim National Park," but to me it was one part cheesy Florida beach town selling air-brushed t-shirts to tourists, one part granola-Boulder hiking, and one part overgrown truck stop. In short, I loved it. It was another one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen. Perhaps I should just make a blanket statement that Norway, in general, is one of the most beautiful places I've ever seen, but that would take the fun out of making you question whether I learned anything in my liberal arts graduate education.

Jotunheim National Park, which in the U.S. would be airbrushed onto a t-shirt.

Lom is set either just inside or right on the edge of the Jotunheim National Park (I couldn't determine this by the map, another reason I shouldn't hike alone). It's home to the Jotunheim Mountains (interesting mythology here), the highest mountains in Northern Europe. Lom is also home to one of Norway's 28-or-so remaining original stave churches (this one from the 12th C), the early Norwegian Christian churches built of pine, largely in Norman style, and decorated with funky animals and dragons' heads on the roofs. And yes, leave it to me to go 100 km off the beaten path to see a church.

The Lom stave church, like Norway, was beautiful, with some old carvings dating back to the middle ages and a fascinating Christian-and-Zodiac Reformation pulpit. The word that comes to mind when I think of the church is (again) evocative, because it put me in the frame of mind of tales, like the place itself is maybe telling stories. People used to hide notes and prayers under the floorboards of the church; one on display in the small associated museum was a marriage proposal written in runes. That's cool. And doesn't it also make you wonder: will someone one day hundreds of years from now be in a museum, studying the notes I wrote my friends in junior high? At the risk of sounding graduate-school-y-philosophical, what am I leaving behind?

Entering the stave churches (I visited one in Oslo at the folk museum, as well), I was met with an overwhelming smell of pine, often combined with that great campfire smell (usually not in direct conjuction with the pine, which would have been very bad), and sometimes with the green smell of earth outside. It brought me strongly back to entering my grandfather's woodshed in Possum Kingdom Lake, Texas, where he made fantastic-to-me furniture and jewelry boxes and trinkets. It was one of my most valuable moments on the trip, when I could connect something thousands of miles from my world in the states back to a memory like my grandfather.

A special place, that stave church.

So. Back to it, then; Lom is situated on the River Bovra, and there's a beautiful waterfall through the center of town. The village is the kind of place to go on a rafting trip and then come home and drink hot chocolate spiked liberally with whiskey and tell inappropriate stories about your college years. Or you could take the easy/less embarrassing road, and you know, just kayak or climb, or enjoy some other adventure activity. Either way, the town put me in an outdoorsy frame of mind. It's surrounded by hiking trails (being "The Gateway to the Jotunheim Mountains," which sort of makes me want to name our apartment "The Walker Casa: Gateway to the Only Decent Tex-Mex in Copenhagen"). Point: On my second day in Lom, feeling very good about myself, I put on my boots and started up one of the trails. I never made it out of the campsite area, I got so turned around. If Jon (or anyone who knows how to read a topographical map) had been with me, I would have made it. By myself, however, I went back to my hotel and ate a hamburger and had some ice cream. Lone hiker - not me.

After all that rambling, here's a photo from the bus between Lom and Otta, where I picked up the train to Trondheim. Half the beauty of Norway is in the getting there:

The river Bovra, but less waterfall-y than in Lom.

Day 6/26-Aug: Trondheim, Where I Found God and a Few Circles of Hell, too

Like Bergen, I really enjoyed Trondheim; it’s smaller than Oslo and not as harbor-Bryggen-fun as Bergen but it has a nice walking area and a really beautiful cathedral and some interesting sites, plus you can walk along the river Nid and look at all the Bergen-style wood houses and feel very Norwegian.

I spent about a day and a half in Trondheim, and my favorite touristy-sight was the Nidaros Cathedral (photo below right), built on the site of St. Olav’s shrine. Olav was a Viking king back in the 11th C, but apparently he got the Christianity bug and went around trying to force all the other Vikings (and Norwegians, in general) to accept his religion. One of his tactics, supposedly used on a particularly stubborn Viking chieftain, was to force an adder down the man’s throat and watch it eat its way out his guts. Um, gross. And this told to me on the guided tour of the cathedral by a slight blond female docent.

Anyway, so Olav died after being exiled and coming back and fighting some more (there's more to that part of the story, but I zoned out about halfway through). Really, nobody was very sad about his death, and the Trondheim-ians (although I'm not sure Trondheim existed just then) buried him on the site of the battle in which he died. His grave, however, didn’t want to stay in the ground – for some (I suspect groundwater-related) reason, his coffin kept rising to the surface. Ahh, the 11th C Norwegians said. This must mean something. So they opened his coffin a year after his death and lo and behold, he must have had a really good embalmer because his body hadn’t aged. Thus, Olav became a saint, and Nidaros cathedral was built at the site of his shrine (the cathedral site was my point, if you lost track amidst my rambling).

I really liked Nidaros. It was all gothic-y, like Milan, but much smaller, and it’s actually a hodge-podge of construction and reconstruction and additions. Some of the oldest parts were built in Norman style, and extensions were added later, burned down, rebuilt, redecorated after the Reformation, and then re-re-decorated back in the old style after a fire in the late 18th C. It’s a good size for a cathedral, too; you’re not going to get lost in it, but hopefully it’s big enough to make you think about the scope of God. Whichever one you believe in, that is.

There was also an awesome post-WWII marble sculpture on the floor of the cathedral, just under the high altar in the nave. I couldn’t take pictures of it, but it's comprised of ten white circles on a black marble slab. Six circles have representations of our sins (mermaid for vanity, pig for sloth, etc.), and four circles are empty, sort of like portals to Hell, where we can cast our sins down. The whole thing is on the floor so as we walk we trample our sins as we go. Really, it was incredible.

I also saw the archbishop’s palace, the most interesting part of which was the display of Norwegian Royal Regalia (the crown jewels, basically). After seeing the English crown jewels in July, I have to say the Norwegians, who've really only been a monarchy of their own for about 200 years (and part of that was shared with Sweden), can’t really compare. There were some very beautiful amethysts on the king’s crown, and I did finally figure out the crown prince’s crown is open, while the king’s is closed. Seriously, how long did this take me? But they were - well, you know. I wouldn't turn any of it down. But just - nice.

Me, considerably lacking in crown jewels, with Trondheim's Old Bridge behind me.

Overall, while I enjoyed the cities and villages and tourist sites in Norway, my favorite parts of the country are the landscape and the people. From top to bottom, Norway is one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever been, and I think if Jon and I go back we'll do more “nature/adventure activities” – rafting, kayaking, hiking, etc. I also love the culture. The Norwegians seem (to me) friendler and less reserved than the Danes. Where Denmark is the country club of Scandinavia, Norway is the honky-tonk. And we all know how I feel about honky-tonks. Yee-haw, y'all.

On an unrelated topic, here's the beauty of living in Copenhagen. I'm sitting in my dining room with the window open and the fresh air all billowing in, listening to a jazz/semi-flute-y-new-age-y band play down the street at Bopa Plads. Could life be better?

And one more thing before I go: look what I did!

Mmmmm, tasty enchiladas. Is there ever a bad time for melted cheese?

*Many thanks to Kathryn for her inspiration in the enchilada making. For your own foodie inspiration, check out her always-makes-me-hungry blog here.

Bummed in the Arctic Circle

2008-08-28T18:44:00.014+02:00

Well, for the moment, anyway. I'm in Andenes, Norway, at the far northern tip of the Vesteralen Islands (really, archipelago), and I was supposed to go on a whale safari this afternoon, and ooh and aah over sperm whales and complain about the cold and try not to get seasick. Instead I spent most of my day hiking, shopping and sitting warm and cozy in the highly-recommended-by-me Heggelundhuset guesthouse, no ooh-ing or sperm whales or seasickness to be found. My trip was cancelled because of high winds. I'm going to try to get on a boat tomorrow, but it's going to require complete re-routing of all my travel plans, and there's still a possibility the weather will be too windy to go. So - bummed.

On the bright side, other than the wind, the weather and the scenery here are incredible. I'm here a bit late in the season, so many of the nature safaris have closed, but there's still a lot of hiking and interesting places to see. Yesterday I went for a long walk on several kilometers of white-sandy beach, which was beautiful, although lacking considerably in cabana boys:

I'm not a good enough photographer to capture it, but the water was turquoise like the Caribbean.

Yesterday evening, Bjorg, the very kind host of the Heggelendhuset, also took us on an elk-sighting trip through the Norwegian moors. Like prams, I had no idea moors actually existed outside of 19th C British novels until I came to Europe. We saw this guy...

A mother elk, and down in the grass, two elk-lings.

...or girl, really, as she was a mother with two calves (baby elk, although I could have come up with a better name - elklings, for example, appeals to me). By the way, FYI, elk are not moose - different antlers. These are important things to know when visiting the Arctic Circle.

This afternoon I visited the very interesting Andenes HISNAKUL (scroll down after the link; it's a museum about the intersection of geology, anthropology and industry in the Andoy area, sort of) in the tourist information center. After the small museum, some hiking, shopping, hot-chocolate-drinking and hearing that the whale safari had been cancelled, Bjorg took another houseguest and I on a walk through said moors to a lovely outlook point called Mosje:

I see no Heathcliff.

I ate a cloudberry, too, and a blueberry picked right off the ground. Just call me an eco-tourist.

Andenes, and the Vesteralen/Lofoten Islands are breathtaking both in the landscape and in the geology and anthropology. Most of the bedrock here is 600 million years old (that's pre-dinosaur, people), and humans have been here since the stone age. I'll spare you the science but if you're interested, read more about some of my favorite things: Andoya (general information about the island Andenes is on), Ichthyosaur (a 240 million-year-old fish/lizard dinosaur fossil found in the area) and the cookie-cutter syndrome (an interesting phenomenon where large divets of turf seem to jump out of the ground whole and move about for no particular reason, with a great-great name). Interestingly, the jumping-turf was also burned in stoves for heat in old-time Andoya.

Otherwise, Andoya has hiking, biking, kayaking, seal safaris, puffin safaris to the bird island of Bleiksoya (until mid-August when the birds migrate back to the North Atlantic, and boy was that a tough conversation to get through with someone who barely speaks English), deep-sea cod fishing where they cook your fish on the boat, whale safaris (subject to cancellation), the northern lights (October-November), the midnight sun (Andenes' longest day is over 1600 hours long, from the end of May to the beginning of July), moors, ice cream, a huge military installation with neat hangars built into the earth and sod roofs and some NATO presence, and the Ramså field...

...which is an interesting geological area from the Jurassic period where coal was discovered but is unusable because of the high amount of oil in the coal. It's also, I believe, a national wildlife preserve like much of Andoya. There's apparently a big debate up here whether or not they'll open this area, and others like it, to drilling when Eldfisk and Ekofisk really go into decline. I think - if I remember correctly - Ramså is the only place in Norway where drilling has ever commenced on land; all of Norway's oil and gas is produced offshore. Whether or not you like Newt Gingrich, here's his thought-provoking take on the way Norway has used its natural resources. Dad and Brownlee, if you're reading this (I question if you read this, but giving you the benefit of the doubt...), you'll like this article.

But back to Andenes; I've taken a really long time to make the point that there's much to do here. I think Jon and I will come back on the Hurtigruten ship, a big cruise-line coastal steamer that goes from Bergen to farther north than Andenes, and does fun stuff like serve you drinks with little umbrellas, possibly in cabanas.

I've also been to Oslo, Lom (in the Jotunheim mountains) and Trondheim in the last week, but I think they'll have to wait for another day. Instead, here's hildring, the way the light filters over the mountain and through the clouds above the moors:

Ooohhhh. Aaahhhh.

Norway: Glacier Ice + Glacier Milk = Happy Tourists

2008-08-22T19:45:00.022+02:00

Hola muchachoes.

I'm through the first few days of the great Norwegian adventure and I am not disappointed. Not only have I met some fantastic-ly interesting characters, mostly from Texas - and some older folks from New Zealand who thought I was a college backpacker, which means I either look young and beautiful or hungry and disheveled - but I've also had a great time in some very cool and beautiful (and remote) places. I recommend you all come. Let me 'splain... No, there is too much. Let me sum up...

Day 1/21-Aug: Bergen, Where Cod is King

So I love Bergen. It's a little like Seattle but instead of wearing hemp clothes, everyone wears hideous hand-knitted Norwegian sweaters and felted dresses. I only had one day there, and I spent the morning flying in and then taking a nap (I highly recommend the Bergen P-Hotel - they let me check in at 9 a.m.), so really I only had one afternoon - but that was plenty of time for me to love it. There's a fish market (fisketorget), something like Seattle's but less organized and more outdoors and probably less, you know, regulated, but still fantastic. The vendors sell lunch to the tourists and fresh fish to the locals and tourists with kitchens. One warning: if you don't like mayonnaise, don't get the pre-made shrimp baguette. Just, you know, FYI.

My buddies at the fish market.

Bergen was founded somewhere in the 11th C by, if I remember correctly, a Norwegian king. This may seem logical, but really, would I have mentioned it if it were logical? No, indeed, and that would be because Norway, for the most part, was ruled by Denmark and Sweden for the last 700-ish years. Norway, as a matter of fact, has only been independent for about 75 years. The country was basically lost to Denmark in a dice game somewhere in the mid-last millenium (according to my fabulous new Texas-Norwegian friends, and I believe them although Wikipedia only gives the boring Kalmar Union version), and then ceded to Sweden after the Napoleonic wars.

Clearly, historical accuracy is not my cup of tea tonight. Anyhoo.

So Bergen was founded way back when and gained importance in the 14th C because of its location; it was one of four Hanseatic League (big-time Medieval German trading league) outlying trading posts, and controlled trade pretty much between the Baltic and the North seas (if you're interested, the other three trading posts were Bruges, Brussels; London; and somewhere deep in Russia). Bergen's harbor area/city center is founded around the Hanseatic League offices, an old German wharf area called Bryggen (also a UNESCO World Heritage Site). Yes, I'm coming to a point. Here it is: You get the history lesson because I spent much of my day in Bergen walking around Bryggen (that's tricky, so I'll recap - Bergen is the town, Bryggen is the wharf), touring the Bryggen Museum and 13th C church (Mariakirken), and taking a guided tour of a real, live Hanseatic League office. Some high points:

(1) The Germans walled off Bryggen and wouldn't allow the Norwegians in, or follow their laws or speak their language. The Norwegians were apparently okay with this, a city inside their own city. Nice.

(2) The all male German community was devoutly religious and not allowed to marry while in Bryggen. Visiting the Norwegian prostitutes behind Bryggen, however, was okay.

(3) Mayonnaise on shrimp is not tasty. Who eats this?

(4) Medieval folk slept on their side because they were afraid if they slept on their backs, the devil would think they were dead and take their souls to Hell, and...

(5) King Cod was the most important Bergen export because Catholics had to fast on Fridays, and apparently no Catholic in the Holy Roman Empire knew how to fish for their own dinners.

Have some photos:

Fun Bryggen, now filled with German tourists.

View of Bergen from the top of the funicular, a fun train that runs up one of Bergen's seven mountains.

In the spirit of Inigo Montoya, moving on.

Days 2-3/22-23-Aug: Sognefjord and Balestrand

You may indeed be thrilled at the lack of (inaccurate) historical - um, history - in this section. Instead, I will just say that sailing from Bergen to the small town of Balestrand on the world's longest and seriously, most spectacular fjord, the Sognefjord, was one of the most scenic trips I have ever taken. As a matter of fact, the Norwegian fjords rank in my all-time top five most beautiful places I've ever been to (competing with such garden spots as the Cinque Terre, St. Lucia, Whidbey Island and Kyle Field). Try to wrap your mind around the fact that these immense cliff/mountain/waterways were formed by retreating glaciers. Uh-huh.

I took a boat from Bergen to Balestrand and it looked like this:

That's the Boyabreen Glacier in the distance. Technically, this is the Fjaerland Fjord (an arm of the Sognefjord), but who can pronounce that?

Seriously.

Here's the view from my hotel, the Balestrand Hotel, in Balestrand, a small village 2/3-ish the way up the fjord:

Just try to be stressed out here. I dare you.

I then boated from Balestrand to a small town called Flam at the end of the Sognefjord, and the boat ride looked like this:

Possibly better than the Cinque Terre, but only because I wasn't required to hike uphill.

And from Flam I took a famous train called the Flaamsbana that rises almost 900 meters (that's about 3,000 ft) above sea level. On the way we saw:

The Kjosfossen waterfall, a free fall of 305 ft. Is anything in Norwegian prounounce-able?

And finally, I took the train from Myrdal to Oslo (with my fabulous Texas friends, more on this at a future date when Blogger isn't uploading photos at the speed of paint drying), where I saw the Jostedal Glacier, Europe's largest glacier:

Brrr. This is remote. And as a side note, Empire Strikes Back was filmed up here, one long ago winter.

Oh, and I saw the Boyabreen Glacier up close, or closer, anyway. I could actually do some fun science here as I also went to the interesting glacier museum and read at least half of the exhibit descriptions. I'll just stick in some tidbits in the captions:

Glacial ice is fancy ice, different from what we make in the freezer (because of high pressure, and also because it's never tap water). It's blue because the crystalline structure absorbs slightly more red and yellow light.

Glacier milk is water flowing from a glacier, so-called because of the fine sediment in the water (giving it a milky appearance and SEE, I knew there was a reason I don't like milk).

Yeah, so that rocked. Except that Jon couldn't come and I miss him tons.

On the bright side, though, in a fabulous karmic twist, on the Flaamsbana I met four Texans (actually, technically three Texans and one Georgian, but they all LIVE in Texas and I mean, c'mon people). We are now all fabulous friends (assuming they email me back). More on these fabulous people the next time I have Wi-Fi, as well as my adventures in Oslo, Lom and perhaps Trondheim - all leading up to a whale of a finale (WOW, I crack myself up). Do they have cocktails with little umbrellas in the Arctic Circle, I wonder? Tune in to find out.

What is the plural of "moose," anyway?

2008-08-21T20:46:00.005+02:00

Hey y'all.

I'm in Norway.

The Italian Summer Vacation, Part Never-Ending (Tuscany and Rome)

2008-08-12T11:05:00.057+02:00

Where was I? Oh yes - at the beach.

(17-Jul) Siena, The Town in Which We Chose Not to Do Much of Anything

So on the 17th we spent the morning at the farthest Italian Riviera village from ours, Monterosso al Mare (the one to which I refused to hike any further uphill), and then took the train back to Manarola after lunch. We hopped in the car for a drive through Tuscany, to Siena, over the Apennine Mountains and through some stunning scenery - think West Virginia, but, like, 500 times better (and did I mention the word is pronounced Ap-ih-nee-nee? what a great word; i love italian). And also without all the coal and the Deliverance theme song playing in the back of your mind the whole way.

I love Siena. I mean, I lo-o-o-o-o-ve Siena (which, by the way, was predicted by my Rick Steves' guidebook). I also love hummus, which has little bearing on this post, but I'm eating some as I write this and it's making me very happy. And Sprite Zero, which you can find here in CPH easily. So these are the things that make me happy today. Oh, and not falling off my bike and taking huge chunks of skin out of my hands, which is a story for another day.

Things started off well in Siena and only got better as the day progressed; we started by finding our first free parking spot of the entire trip (that's Handel's Messiah you hear playing in the background), and then I (yes, I) used the map to lead us, steeply uphill, to our hotel without a single wrong turn (more Messiah, louder). Our hotel, Palazzo Masi (photo of interesting door knockers to right) was a beautiful 14th C palazzo at which we had to share the bathroom, but as we were one of only two groups in the hotel, it wasn't bad - and our room was huge! Siena itself is a very interesting and historical town and has remained largely as it was in Medieval times, thanks to a wicked bout of the plague in the mid-14th century that wiped out much of the town population and more or less stymied Siena's growth for the ensuing centuries.

We spent our one evening in Siena wandering around, eating gelato and drinking wine (per our usual course of action, and not all at once, as once again there was no prosecco-flavored gelato. would someone please get on inventing this?). We started with the incredible 13th C "town square," the very best piazza we saw in all of Italy, Piazza del Campo (or Il Campo, for short, and the link is to an interesting article on how Il Campo works as a public space). Il Campo, possibly built on the site of a Roman forum (or, according to Wikipedia, not), is enormous, big enough for Siena's annual horse race, the Palio (second link here, with an interesting - but long - eyewitness account). The Palio is a bi-annual race in which each of the 17 Siena neighborhoods (called Contrade) compete for the glory of victory and the ability to stick their tongue out at their neighboring neighborhood/contrada for the rest of the year. For anyone worried about the horses (me), we also read the Sienese put mattresses in the turns on the piazza in case the horses don't make the turns. Clever.

Il Campo, my favorite Italian piazza.

The brick pavement of the piazza is divided into nine sections for the Council of Nine, the nine medieval rulers of Siena (link is a brief but interesting history from Frommers). The square (really, an oval) is lined with cafes and bars and gelato shops, and anchored by the enormous Palazzo Pubblico, the city hall and tower that's now a civic museum. We vetoed visiting the museum. As a matter of fact, we vetoed visiting a lot of tourist sites in Siena. While we were in Siena, we pretty much decided to just enjoy Siena. It was a good plan.

Palazzo Pubblico, with gelato, in the evening.

On the 18th, before leaving Siena for our next Tuscan/Umbrian destination, we did visit the enormous Duomo di Siena, which was fascinating and one of my favorite cathedrals in Italy. It's unfinished, but not unfinished like San Lorenzo (the big stone barn-looking church in Florence). Siena was a medieval power like Pisa and Florence, and in the early 14th C, the Sienese decided to expand their already lovely Gothic cathedral to be the largest in Christendom (the existing cathedral was going to be one transept). In the mid 14th C, however, something like half of the city's population was decimated by the bubonic plague. No more building of a new cathedral. Really, for Siena, no more much of anything; not long after the epidemic, Siena was conquered by Florence and Spain (sort of at the same time). The only part of the cathedral that was finished were some arches and columns in the proposed nave area (photo above right), which are now built into the nearby Duomo museum (which we also happily did not visit).

The cathedral has beautiful inlaid marble floors telling Bible stories (think the gold mosaic ceiling of the Florence Baptistery, but in marble under your feet, instead); most notable was Massacre of the Innocents (again). I loved the blue and gold starry ceiling of the Siena Duomo, similar to that of the Basilica of the Sacred Heart at Notre Dame (although Siena's is much bigger and a little more faded). There was also a library dedicated to Pope Pius II (the Piccolomini library), decorated with Pinturrichio's frescoes of the pope's life, and Bregno's Piccolomini Altar, with some sculptures by Michelangelo (unfortunately, the altar was under construction and hard to see). My favorite work in the Siena Duomo, though, was the 13th C Pisano pulpit, which is the oldest surviving sculpture in the cathedral (1265), and is held up by two lions (devouring paganism in the form of a wicked-looking lizard) and two lionesses (nursing cubs, photo to left). The lions are an allegory for the work of the Catholic church. Interesting.

Really, though, what I loved about the Siena cathedral was that it felt very peaceful and not as packed with people only there to take pictures (yes, we were mostly there to take pictures, too). We also visited the Siena Duomo Baptistery, which was built sort-of-underneath the cathedral (the cathedral was built on the side of a hill, and the Baptistery is propping up the east bays), and we had a similar experience; at one point, we were the only people in the Baptistery. That may sound unimportant, but after a week and a half of traveling it was a fantastic break from being a tourist with all the other tourists. But back to the actual Baptistery - the baptismal font had six carved panels, by Donatello, Ghibertti, Turino and one other guy I didn't know. Like everything else, it was huge. The Siena Baptistery also had incredible frescoed walls and ceilings, and, even better, had mirrors on the floors and pews so you could see the ceilings without getting a crick in your neck. Fabulous.

We left Siena in the late morning and spent the afternoon at a 13th C ruined abbey outside of Siena called San Galgano, home of Italy's own "Sword in the Stone" myth. The abbey is French gothic (it was built by French Cistercian monks), and was sacked by an English mercenary in the 14th C after a period of corruption and decline. It's pretty remote, and the drive to it is full of hilly, dramatic curves, which might have scared me but for the memory of the drive to the Italian Riviera the week before, which was like driving blindfolded on a sidewalk on the side of a cliff. The abbey church is set back in a field of sunflowers and has no roof, but is apparently still used for concerts and festivals, because it was full of bleachers and temporary seating.

The ruined abbey of San Galgano.

A short walk from the abbey was the Chapel of Montesiepi, built in the 12th C on the site of Saint Galgano's hermitage. In the 12th C, Saint Galgano (who was a knight before he was a saint) renounced war and went to live alone on the hillside. We heard a couple of stories about what happened next: (1) he went to break his sword against a rock to reject war and it sank into the rock instead and (2) he wanted to pray but had no cross, so he thrust his sword into a rock to make a cross. Either way, the sword's still there (under glass). Even better, honestly, is the scenery from the chapel (photo above right). Wow.

(18-Jul) Orvieto: Italian Rock Stars and TUFA!

From San Galgano we drove into Umbria (apparently inspired by ombra, Italian for shadow), to the very old walled town Orvieto (which Rick Steves calls "Umbria's Grand Hill Town"). Orvieto was built on the site of an Etruscan settlement, on a plateau of volcanic rock called tufa (i love saying this word: tufa! tufa! tufa! i see many uses for it in my future.). The town is very steep, and we (of course) parked (for free!) at the bottom of the hill, and climbed up to our hotel (again), Hotel Posta (no website! how is that possible?), which was another beautiful old palazzo with big rooms and a nice view onto the cobbled streets.

Note: I have just learned via Wikipedia that the "tufa" we heard so much about is actually "tufo" in Italian, or "tuff" in English; "tufa" is an entirely different sort of rock. However, because of the fabulosity of the word tufa, and because the Italians pronounced it as "tuf-ah" and not "tuf-oh," I believe I will just keep on calling it "tufa", and the rest of the geological world can just leave me the hell alone.

We spent our afternoon walking the Orvieto walls (photo below), looking out over the Umbrian countryside, Jon pointing out the small windows and slits in the brick where archers could shoot people or pour boiling oil on their enemies heads all the while. Indeed. Have I mentioned the scenery in Italy is incredible? I need to get a thesaurus, because I'm using the same words over and over, but - incredible.

After a nice dinner on a covered patio, we walked up to the Orvieto cathedral, a major tourist attraction and surprisingly large for such a small town (more on this in a moment). As we came around the corner to the cathedral (and, really, to the gelato place right next to it - hey, it was late and the cathedral was closed, anyway), we were more than a little surprised to find a makeshift stage set up next to the cathedral with an Italian "rock" band playing a late night concert. It was very surreal; it felt like the church was singing, but in the wrong language (not literally, stay with me here). We enjoyed our gelato and a few minutes of the concert (and a girl who, I kid you not, had a wolf on a leash in the crowd), debating whether Italy had ever produced an American-style rock star. I could've sworn someone famous in an '80's hair band was Italian, but I was outvoted when I failed to produce a name. Culture, indeed.

The next morning we toured the Duomo di Orvieto, a particularly large and ornate cathedral relative to the size of the town, thanks to the presence of a relic from the Miracle of Bolsena. Actually, the Orvieto Duomo has two interesting chapels: (1) The Cappella del Corporale, which tells the story of the Miracle of Bolsena (short version: during Mass, blood from the host dripped onto an altar cloth at a church in nearby Bolsena, which is now displayed at Orvieto) and (2) the Cappella Nuova. The Cappella Nuova (apparently also known as the Chapel of San Brizio, depending on which guidebook I'm reading) has an incredible fresco cycle of The Last Judgement by Signorelli (link: scroll down for the good artwork), inspired both by Dante's Divine Comedy and the Florentine priest Savanarola. Although we didn't pay to go into the chapel, we did peer through the gates and take in some of the art, which was amazing. It was colorful and graphic, like a Rennaissance comic-book.

Beyond the chapels, there were beautiful alabaster windows, giving the church a very warm feel, but the cathedral has definitely not had the benefit of tourism like Siena and Florence. There was some internal construction, and the ceiling vaults have been replaced with industrial-looking beams (photo right). As a matter of fact, the three cathedrals from Florence-Siena-Orvieto made a sort of interesting cathedral tour, going from Florence's, the largest and most ornate, to Siena's, smaller but still highly ornate, to Orvieto's, which was still beautiful but sort of falling into a bit of disrepair. They all have similar facades, with green and white and pink striped marble (inside and out) and ornate statuary. Orvieto's is supposedly the "liveliest" facade, with statues of the evangelists and carvings of the Old and New Testament, but after a while, they all just looked busy to me.

Before leaving Orvieto for Rome, our last stop on the vacation in Italy, we took one last tour, Orvieto Undergr ound. Orvieto (tufa!), as I mentioned (tufa!) is built on a plateau of volcanic rock (alright, technically tufo.). The pre-Roman Etruscan society (which may be as old as 800 B.C.) tunneled into the plateau to build caves for wine- and oil-making, storage and wells. Our tour guide took us through an archaelogical dig of many of these caves, down some seriously claustrophobic stairs and into a lot of dark and sort of interesting spaces (photo left). While the tour guide was interesting (she would often ask us to "testify with our eyes" - meaning "we can see that..." - tufa!), I wasn't unhappy to be done with the tour. It called for a lot of yoga breathing to calmly walk around that far underground.

(7/19 to 7/22): ROMA! (A Word I Like Almost as Much as TUFA!)

Really, Rome deserves its own post. But I'm neglecting lots of other things I want to write about to finish up our vacation blog and I haven't even touched England yet, and c'mon, aren't you guys wondering if this never-ending blogging about Italy will, indeed, ever end? Just a teen-eensy little? That's what I thought.

So here's the short-long version of Rome:

Day 1 (7/19): Yay! We get to drop off the car! Boo! We got to the rental place too late to drop it off (when DO these italians work, I ask you?)! Yay! Customer service directed us to another place and we dropped it off! Boo! Our hotel is uphill yet again (nobody told me Rome was built on seven hills)! Yay! We got to our hotel with me in the lead, leading, again! Boo! Fine, I was using the GPS! Yay! We're in Rome! Tufa!

Yeah, so it went something like that, and after dropping our bags off we made one of the best tourist-ic decisions of our trip and went straight to St. Peter's Basilica (decent Wikipedia entry here). Because it was late afternoon, the lines were short and the cathedral was relatively empty (and we stayed until they closed, when it was really-relatively empty). I could also write an entire post on St. Peter's; it is the most amazing church in the world, and I am unafraid to say that without having seen 98% of the rest of the churches in the world. It was INCREDIBLE (see, all caps. that means i'm SERIOUS.). Of course, it was also designed largely by Michelangelo, with whom I am obsessed, so perhaps that has something to do with it.

The nave of St. Peter's. Is that God up there?

SPB is huge. The dome is 488 ft. tall; that's 40 stories, roughly, and over 100 ft. taller than the Statue of Liberty from ground to flame-tip. Somehow, though the basilica feels graceful and weightless despite its enormous scope. It's golden (but not obnoxiously golden like St. Mark's in Venice), and filled with incredible art and sculpture. The nave is almost two full football fields long. Bernini's bronz e baldacchino towers over the altar and Saint Peter's tomb in the center of the transepts, basically the center of the church (photo right, and after doing just a minimum of reading on the web, there seems to be much controversy over whether Peter is in Rome or Jerusalem). The statues and niches around the tomb and baldacchino look a bit like gleaming marble versions of the Statue of Liberty - but they're, you know, saints. There are popes' tombs and emperors' tombs. There's the most famous Michelangelo Pieta behind glass (some crazy tried to destroy her in 1972), sculpted in 1499 when he was around 25. I mean, really: I stood on the spot where Leo III crowned Charlemagne (who was possibly not thrilled with the plan). Really, really. So instead of talking about it so much, here are some pictures:

The baldacchino under the enormous dome.

Even the cherubs are bigger than me.

So, wow. We spent three hours at SPB, right up until it closed, and then we headed back to the hotel, starving, for dinner. Of our entire trip, we had our best three meals in Rome, and they were all very different; our first was at a Roman beer hall called L'Antica Birreria, where the waiters make interesting and - um - graphic sculptures with polish-style sausages, mayonnaise and fried olives. The fried olives were, however, excellent when eaten, as was the beer, the baked cheese-and-ham and the pasta with bacon. I took one sip of grappa, though, and called it a night.

Day 2 (7/20): We spent the 20th in a sightseeing frenzy (hey, I sound like a guidebook). In order of sights, we saw: the Colosseum (official site here), the Arch of Constantine (as it turns out, the French stole the Arch de Triomphe idea. is anyone really surprised?), Palatine Hill (also good photos here; this is where the famous Romans - senators, emperors, etc. - had their palaces), the Roman Forum (handy clickable map here), Capitoline Hill (although we didn't stop at any sights, just waved at Marcus Aurelius as we walked down the steps), the Pantheon, the Trevi Fountain ($3500 a DAY is thrown into that fountain!), the Borghese gardens, the foyer of the Borghese Gallery (our hotelier was incorrect in telling us we didn't need reservations bc there were 147 tickets left online the day before), more of the Borghesi Gardens, the Spanish Steps Metro station, Castel Sant'Angelo, Ponte San Angelo (my favorite bridge in Italy, with ten angels holding the "instruments of the Passion," two of which are Bernini reproductions; the originals are now in Sant'Andrea delle Fratte) and finally, a tasty gelato shop. Sheesh! Here I am, halfway through the day, gathering strength on the steps of the Pantheon:

Waiter! Where is my gelato?

My favorite sight of the day was definitely the Colosseum, although everywhere we went was fantastic (except, perhaps, for the foyer of the Borghesi Gallery, where I was about ready to scream). Rome is one big archeological dig; just walking around, we stumbled onto sights where new Roman ruins are being unearthed. The Colosseum is an incredible feat of engineering and architecture (think Neyland or Memorial Stadium or even Kyle Field, but built by Emperor Vespasian, or, more probably, Vespasian-led slaves, from 70 to 80 A.D.), and beyond that, one with which I could identify (the shape, at least, and maybe the passion of the spectators - not the killing of thousands of men and exotic animals). The Colosseum is effectively a giant football stadium, but instead of playing football, the Romans killed people and animals in grotesque and inhumane ways. On one festival day, for example, over 2,000 gladiators and slaves died in the contests. 2,000. One day. Yeesh. The floor is missing, so the chutes and elevators for holding and raising animals and engineering the various contests and scenes are visible.

Neat, but why couldn't they just play football?

Another of our favorites of the day was Castel Sant'Angelo, originally the tomb of the 2nd C emperor Hadrian and sundry other emperors, until it was sacked in the 5th and 7th centuries. It was later a prison and a fortress of popes-in-trouble (for example, Pope Clement VII, the Medici/Henry VIII guy, fled there during the sack of Rome by Charles V). While it's not a museum like the Uffizi or the Louvre, the castle seeps really intense history. The castle was given its name after the 6th C pope Gregory the Great (who I believe is also one of the four fathers of the Catholic church) saw a vision of Michael sheathing his sword in 1590, signalling the end of the plague. Interestingly, in the 16th C a marble Montelupo statue of Michael bearing his sword was placed atop the castle (the fifth in a line of unlucky angel statues), but was replaced in the 18th C by a bronze Verschaffelt statue of Michael sheathing his sword (photo above right). I was fairly sure the latest 18th C angel replacement signified the end of some war, but no soap - I can't find any reference to it. The best part of CSA, other than the history, and the interesting Dan Brown Angels and Demons references, were the views from the roof, from which we could see all the way to the Collosseum.

Bella Roma, with no skyline as buildings are not allowed to be taller than SPB.

We stopped for gelato on the way back to the hotel, and then had a very "Lady and the Tramp" dinner, complete with red-checked-tablecloth, at a place called Taverna Le Coppelle, not far from the Trevi Fountain (Trevi in photo left). We walked by the Trevi fountain all three nights, both because of the fun people-watching scene and also because the fountain is just cool. The Baroque Trevi as it is today was designed and constructed by Nicola Salvi (with help from Bernini, sort of) in the 18th C, but it's actually been the sight of a fountain since the 1st C. The fountain is served by the ancient aqueduct Vergine (originally Virgo, and it was supposedly discovered by a Roman virgin named Trivia in 19 B.C. - hence "Trevi"), and I'd love to know what the water pressure is at the termination of the aqueduct, because the fountain pours water like Niagara.

Day 3 (7/21): We spent our last day in Rome at the Vatican Museum, of which we saw maybe 10%. Like SPB (and, actually, the Louvre), it's enormous. There's one entire building for Roman and Greek ruins alone. We started out with the early Christian art gallery, the Pinacoteca, where my favorite was the famous Raphael Transfiguration (dude, the Vatican Museum website is fantastic) and the room of Raphael-designed tapestries. We also saw several beautiful Greek and Roman statues, including an interesting allegorical 1st C BC sculpture of the Nile, aptly titled The Nile, and the 2nd C BC Belvedere Torso, which inspired many of the Rennaissance artists. Despite all the priceless art, the highlight of the show were the Raphael Rooms - really, The School of Athens - and the Sistine Chapel. It was the perfect way to spend our last full day in Italy.

The Raphael Rooms were originally the Pope's private apartments, and Pope Julius II commissioned Rapheal to re-decorate in the early 16th C (although they were at least partly finished by his assistants, like much Rennaissance art). The School of Athens is fascinating because it portrays some of the greatest artists of the day as classical philosophers, the most famous of these comparisons being Leonardo da Vinci as Plato (the link above is a fun, clickable map of the fresco that shows who's who and takes you to online copies of the philosopher's works). It was most fascinating to me, because, like the Chapel de San Brizio in Siena, the work is beautiful but almost like a Rennaissance comic book. That's not an insult to the art (although I'm sure art historians would disagree), but the colors are so vivid and the expressions and emotions are so clear (for example, was Michelangelo, the guy in purple in the foreground, always in such a bad mood?), they look like modern graphic art.

Perk up, Mikey.

The Sistine Chapel, like The School of Athens, underwent a twenty-year restoration, and wow, did it work. We were lucky enough to find a place to sit down, but I could have laid down on the floor and just stared up at the ceiling (if I wouldn't have been trampled by tourists or arrested). The power of the center panel, The Creation of Adam, is beyond words. I also loved the prophet Jeremiah, with his head in his hands after he's just watched the fall of Jerusalem. I don't pretend to understand art, but I do understand when art makes me feel something, and pretty much all of the sculpture, architecture and art of Michelangelo made me feel the passion of his work (the New Sacristy, the two Pietas, the Piccolomini Altar, Moses, SPB, the Sistine Chapel, etc.). The Sistine Chapel was the perfect culmination of the combination of art we'd seen.

The Sistine Chapel, built in its present form in the late 15th C, is the private chapel of the pope, and also the site of conclave, and beyond the art the sense of power and centrality to the Catholic church and Christian world is really overwhelming (although I suspect it's somewhat diluted by the crush of tourists and the security guards yelling scary, unintelligible Italian over the whisper-noise of the crowd). We have no pictures because of same scary Italian security people, but see the Vatican Museum descriptions and photos of the frescoed ceiling here.

The Last Judgement, over the altar, has a very different tone from the ceiling. The fresco, which covers an entire wall, is much more somber. Michelangelo painted The Last Judgment in the mid-16th C, some thirty years after the ceiling, and he seems to have had a serious downturn in mood. We noticed some things over and over on our trip, besides the obvious Christian imagery - images like Saint Bartholomew and The Massacre of the Innocents, and the Medici seal - and here was perhaps the most interesting Saint Bartholomew of the trip. Michelangelo painted St. Bart holding his skin at Jesus' left foot on Judgement Day; the face in the loose skin hanging from his hand is supposedly Michelangelo's self-portrait. Really, fascinating. But that may give you an idea of his state of mind later in life, too.

After the Vatican Museum, we walked what seemed like a mile (uphill, of course) to have our best gelato of the trip (freshly made stawberry, pineapple and chocolate profiterole), and on the way back to the hotel we visited St. Peter-in-Chains church, where the chains that bound St. Peter in Jerusalem are kept in a reliquary near the altar (eh - maybe). SPIC, though, also had a wonderful 16th C Michelangelo Moses (photo right) originally meant for Pope Julius II's tomb (which he lost interest in, or perhaps funding for, after it was started).

We had our best dinner of the trip that night (but isn't it always the best dinner when it's the last night?), a terrific (tufa!) a la carte style meal of meats, cheeses and pastas, and then we took a guidebook walk through Rome (drinking wine from plastic cups, no less). In no particular order, we passed the 2nd C Trajan's Fo rum and Column, the 20th C Vittorio Emanuele II monument (near our hotel), the Trevi (again), the Spanish Steps (which, thanks to Tyra Banks and ANTM, I know has an annual fashion show), and Piazza Navona, emperor Domitian's old 1st C racetrack. Beyond the fire eating woman, bars, gelato shops and street vendors, Piazza Navona is also home to Bernini's fabulous 17th C Fountain of the Four Rivers, with the representations of the Nile, Ganges, Danube and Rio de Plata, and an armadillo (yay, Texas!). He was a hustler, that Bernini. It was under construction while we were there, but I could still see enough to love it.

We left Rome early - WAY early - on the 22nd for England, and discovered there's a reason Ryan Air is so cheap - the boarding process is miserable. Think Southwest, but if they herded everybody into a closet and then made them wait two hours to board. Plus, we were leaving Italy. No tufa there.

In describing Italy, I've used the word incredible way too many times for someone with a writing degree, but honestly, the word fits (and I'm a little out of practice with the GMAT vocabulary, so sue me). We heard quite a bit about parts of Italy being a third-world country before we left for the trip, and from Italians, not Danes, so don't come after me, Italians, in your fancy outfits and your stilletto heels. We were at tourist areas, true, so we didn't see much of a depressed economy. For us, Italy was beautiful scenery, friendly people, great food and wine, history, art, architecture (and weapons), lots of Bible stories and obelisks. And beer. And sausages in funny shapes. And uphill climbs and tufa and... Well, you get the idea. Incredible.

The Pantheon at night...

...the Vittorio Emanuele II Monument at Night, and...

...Us, at the Trevi at Night. All together now: Incredible.

The Italian Summer Vacation, Part II (Reggio Emilia, Florence and the Cinque Terre)

2008-08-05T12:43:00.039+02:00

We last saw our erstwhile travelers sinking into the elegant decay of Venice...

(12-Jul) Reggio Emilia and One Good Priest

So the reason we decided to vacation in Italy in the first place - other than its fabulosity (which really should be a word) - is because Jon's Italian work friend invited us to his wedding on the 12th of July. On Saturday the 12th we drove from Venice to north-central Italy, the town of Reggio-Emilia, for the wedding and to spend the night. It took us 30% longer than the GPS predicted, which was pretty much the case for all of our drives, seeing as how freeway U-turns in Italy are considerably more difficult than in the states and how we sometimes (really, often) would lose track of which exit we were at in roundabouts. I'm not ashamed to say I would make a very poor navigator, and probably a very poor field leader in the military. But hey - I went to grad school.

Somehow, that last makes sense to me.

Anyway, so we're driving to Reggio Emilia and passing all these cute towns and corn, corn and more corn (the GPS likes corn fields) and getting lost on freeways, and then further lost on roundabouts, until we finally blunder into town an hour before we're supposed to be at the pre-wedding family reception. Our hotel for the night, Villa Anita (photo to left), was a beautiful country semi-palazzo with frescoes on the entry hall and ceiling and an incredible front walk with a fountain, and the countryside itself was also very beautiful, all rolling hills and plains northeast of the Apennine (another great word) mountains.

We had a wonderful time at the pre-wedding reception, the wedding and the after-wedding reception, all at which champagne was served in large quantities. Jon's Italian friends were great hosts, and the wedding mass was very beautiful, with an interesting, energetic and very, very old priest who was very engaged in the ceremony. The only noticeable difference between an American wedding and the Italian one was the pace (like everything in Italy, slower than Christmas) and the fact that the bride had no bridesmaids, only a house party (how great is that? B-team only, no dresses to buy.). And, of course, the mass was in Italian. I left an elbow imprint in Jon's ribs keeping him awake. And look! I dried my hair!

The next day, Sunday, Jon's friend's father took us on a tour of the winery he manages, called Venturini Baldini, and it was incredible. The winery is actually part of a larger estate that used to be a monastery (I think 13th C and perhaps before), and is owned by a wealthy local family who owns several homes across Italy. Most interesting on the tour was the "attic" area where a special, very strong balsamic vinegar is fermented over twenty years in five different casks (material and size). It was one of those days where we were constantly asking ourselves how lucky we were to be in Italy and with such generous friends (and yes, I know that's cheesy but it doesn't make it any less true). After the excitement of Venice, we probably could have used another night at the comfortable Villa Anita, but it was off to Florence for a very whirlwind tour of art and history.

The view from Venturini Baldini.

(7/13-15) Florence: Art, Art, Why There are Baseballs on the Medici Seal and more Art

We arrived in Florence in the evening of the 13th and hiked - really, hiked - into town from our parking lot. Every city we visited in Italy had a "No Congestion" or "Low Pollution" zone in the city center, making parking difficult, costly and generally a hike from wherever our hotel was. In Florence, after three or four circles through the roundabout, we made it into a garage near the Piazza della Liberta (Florence's version of the Arch of Constantine/Arc de Triomphe), and then hiked fifteen minutes (mostly uphill - after Florence, it seemed like everything was uphill, which was the only way I ever knew we were going int he right direction) to our hotel.

We spent our first night eating gelato (is this a surprise to anyone? if only they made prosecco-flavored gelato...) and wandering around town, along the Arno river and across Ponte Vecchio, the famous Florence bridge that used to be lined with goldsmiths and is now lined with illegal knock-off handbag salesman. It's a fascinating process; the salesmen keep their bags on a sheet, and via a lookout system, roll up the sheet when a policeman walks by and just stand there with it - with the big, balled-up, white, lumpy, semi-transparent sheet full of illegal knock-off handbags. The cops never even look twice. Then, once the policeman is out of sight, they unroll their sheet and get on with their business. I mean, fascinating. It also explains how every woman in Italy can afford a Prada bag.

Ponte Vecchio, Home to Goldsmiths and Fake Prada

We had a really nice evening wandering around, past the enormous 13th C Baroque Duomo (proper name: Santa Maria d el Fiore) and the associated 5th-6th C Baptistery of San Giovanni, with its famous (now reproduction) bronze relief doors, and over the Ponte Vecchio bridge, and then back around the Piazza della Signoria, the old town square and Palazzo Vecchio, the government palace (now a museum, that's the tower in the photo to the left). At Piazza della Signoria a man was playing a lute (or piccolo, maybe), entertaining the crowd. It was really beautiful, with the sun setting over the tower and the music and even the Uffizi Museum sculpure garden in the background. On our way back to the hotel, we also passed Casa di Dante, although he didn't actually live there; it's similar to the Jane Austen house in Bath, basically just a convenient place to charge five-plus euro for entrance. Clearly, we didn't go in.

Really, the best way to describe our time in Florence is crazy. We spent the longest continuous amount of our vacation time in Florence outside of Rome and London (yes, London is not in Italy, I know), and we still only saw about 50% of what I wanted to see. On our first full day in Florence, the 14th, we started at the Palazzo Medici Riccardi, the original home of the ruling family of Florence, the Medici, and inside visited the Chapel of the Magi, a very small and beautifully frescoed chapel that was the private chapel of Cosimo I (the first of the ruling Medici). The frescoes were incredibly rich (see photos right and below), and the museum set-up itself was also very cool. The museum had a very high-tech point at interactive system that explained the historical and artistic significance of the frescoes. I could waste a lot of words talking about how fantastic it was, but really, just look at the pictures (because, of course, we couldn't take pictures, although Jon did have the great suggestion of buying and scanning postcards). Damn preservationists. Here's another link with photos.

13th C frescoes from the Chapel of the Magi.

The Medici palace was also interesting because it was the first place we noticed the Medici coat of arms (the link is a short, sort of funny article, and those baseballs in the photo below right are supposed to be pills, for "Medic"-i), which we subsequently noticed (and photographed) all over Italy. Two early Medici's became popes, Leo X and Clement VII, the Henry the VIII pope (yeah, that guy), and the seal pops up over and over again, even in England.

We also saw several churches that day, including Santa Maria Novella, a 13th century Gothic church run by the Preaching Friars (Dominican friars), and the Florence Duomo, Santa Maria del Fiore, and while both were very big and very beautiful, neither lit a fire under either of us (green and white and pink marble and priceless art and lots of Gothic and Rennaissance sculpture, woe was us.). I think the two cathedrals might have paled in comparison to the other Medici sight we visited late in the day, the Museum of the Medici Chapels at the (unfiinished) church of San Lorenzo. The Medici chapel/tomb and the New Sacristy were amazing, a high point of our entire trip.

The Medici Chapels were built in a separate (but linked) domed building from San Lorenzo (which has an unfinished facade - it looks from the front, frankly, like a big stone barn). We entered through the tombs of the Medici (lots of marble and engraving and relics, one of which was supposedly from the cross), and then entered the Chapel of Princes. Later Medici's, the grand dukes of the 17th-18th C, are entombed there.

The Chapel of Princes should be called the Chapel of Kings. It's a beautiful, octagonal domed chapel built primarily in the 17th C as the Medici line was dying out, and it's green and burgundy marble and bronze and inlaid with jewels, the whole thing, walls and ceilings. It's divided into six niches for six enormous sarcophagi, urns and statues of the Medici grand dukes. To give you an idea of scale: in the picture to the left, I don't think my head even reached the base of the sarcophagus. To quote my Official Guide, perhaps the best eight euro I spent on a souvenir: "The ideas of Death and Power in the time of Catholic Absolutism find their most splendid manifestation in the Chapel of Princes." I'm not even doing justice to it with words (some writer!), and neither does the internet, but at least you can read a bit more about it and see more photos here and here.

As if that wasn't fantastic enough, we then went into the New Sacristy, the memorial tomb for Giuliani and Lorenzo the Magnificent (16th C Medici), and it was perhaps my favorite work of art in Italy "in-state," after St. Peter's and the Sistine Chapel. The sacristy was designed and executed, both architecture and art-wise, by Michelangelo. Picture me: I'm standing in the middle of the room with my mouth hanging open, saying to Jon, "So this is why he's such a big deal." The tomb is all white marble and domed with light pouring in. I could have sat down and stared at the fascinating sculptures for the rest of the day (but the security lady might have frowned at that and Jon might have starved).

The highlight of the sacristy were the magnificent Night, Day, Dawn and Dusk scultpures laying (respectively, in pairs) across the two memorial tombs. Night and Day (photo to the left; Dawn and Dusk are above right), especially, were fascinating, evocative sculptures that use texture to display both "color" in the marble and passion in the figures. The details are unreal. The museum has a sparse webpage with a good photo of Dawn and Dusk in the header, but my favorite was Night and Day on Lorenzo's tomb. I mean. Words fail me.

After all the Medici splendor (and the cathedrals, and the super-busy Mercato Centrale where we picnic'ed with the pigeons), we spent the very end of the afternoon at the Museo dell'Opera of the Florence Duomo, a building in which many of the famous Florentine artists worked (Michelangelo carved David in the building's now-restructured courtyard). Actually, it was a Michelangelo sort of day; on top of seeing Donatello's sculpted choir lofts, his marble statue of the prophet Habbakuk the locals call Pumpkin Head and an amazing wooden Mary Magdalene, and Ghiberti's original bronze panels to the east doors of the Florence baptistery, the "Gates of Paradise," (interesting article about the GOP here and here), we saw an unfinished Michelangelo Pieta (photo above right), intended to be one of his funerary monuments. In this one, Christ is with Mary, Mary Magdalene and Nicodemus... again, incredible.

We had a bit of a disappointing dinner that evening, one of the only meals we had that wasn't 100% satisfying. While the food was good, the restaraunt itself was an overpriced tourist trap. We spent most of dinner listening to American high school and junior high kids quoting The Princess Bride, and while I love me some Inigo Montoya (as has been established in earlier posts), there's only so many times a 13-year old shouting, "Prepare to die!" is amusing. Plus, we were both exhausted, and had reservations for the two major museums of Florence, the Uffizi and the Accademia, the next day. What's a girl to do?

As it turns out, what to do ended up like this: visit the Uffizi in the morning (noting Botticelli's Renaissance Birth of Venus and Titian's later Venetian Venus of Urbino), eat a tasty deli-made, excruciatingly fat-laced pork sandwich for lunch, pop into the incredible Baptistery of San Giovanni to read some Old Testament in gold mosaic on the ceiling (including the Slaughter of the Innocents, which was a Rennaissance favorite like Saint Bartholomew), and then head back to the car to spend the next two days at the beach. We skipped David at the Accademia and the church of San Marco with Fra Angelico frescoes, but we were so tired and so ready to sit by the water and drink an alcoholic beverage that we hiked back to the car midday and headed for the Italian Riviera, the Cinque Terre.

The gold, mosaic, Old Testament ceiling of the Baptistery.

(7/15 to 7/17) The Cinque Terre: God's Answer to Michelangelo

Cinque Terre literally means five villages, and the Cinque Terre is comprised of five villages (aha!) set into the side of cliffs on the Mediterranean (technically Ligurian) Sea. Although only one of the towns has a true sand beach, almost all of them have swimming areas (often rocky), and you can hike between the villages through the Cinque Terre National Park. To the left is the view from our window. :) We hiked four of the villages over two nights and a day, and here's what I learned: (1) Don't drink an entire bottle of prosecco the night before hiking through a humid mountainous national park in Italy in July, (2) Don't believe your husband when he tells you the next part of the hike - or, really, any hike - is only a "gradual uphill," especially when all you want to do is sit by the water and drink more prosecco until your head stops hurting and (3) The Mediterannean is COLD.

The Cinque Terre is God's answer to Michelangelo, so here:

View north from Manarola, the town we stayed in.

The midpoint of the "gradual uphill" hike; that's Corniglia, the town we came from.

Close to the end of the same hike - yup, that's still Corniglia, WAY down there.

I mean, really. Who gets to do this?

Coming Soon: Part III, Tuscany and Rome...

The Italian Summer Vacation, Part I (Milan, Lake Como and Venice)

2008-08-01T22:59:00.035+02:00

Howdy all. Jon and I have made it safely home from three weeks in Italy and England less one camera and one flash drive, and with two medium sunburns and one minor collective hangover. Success!

(9-Jul) An Inauspicious Start and Milan, Whose Indian Name Should Be "Bank-On-Every-Corner"

So I lost my camera. That's pretty much the first thing that happened on our three week vacation to Italy and England. We left CPH early-early on July 9th with three hours to make our flight and still somehow managed to almost miss it (Jon and I definitely have different ideas on "cushion" time when traveling). Not only did we almost miss our flight, and I'm talking, we walked up and boarded the plane and they closed the doors behind us, but I also left or lost or had stolen my camera and an important flash drive - on the plane. When I figured out I lost the camera on our 2nd day - I'm skipping forward, stay with me - I was hysterical. And not like, boo-hoo hysterical. Like, tearing at my hair hysterical. But more on that shortly.

Once we got on the plane, however, and before I knew the camera was lost, I was blissfully happy (read: asleep), and we arrived in Milan close to on time, picked up our baggage and rental car (why do Italians drive insanely fast but are in no hurry to actually do anything once they get where they're going, like unloading baggage?) and drove into Milan, the most "city" place we visited, but a city I really liked. Milan feels like it's moving forward, where Rome and Florence seem to be mired in the past and dependent on tourism. In Milan, there's (seriously) a bank on every corner (although our Dankorte Visa cards didn't work at them all, DanskeBank!). We only had one afternoon to spend in Milan, which we spent finding parking (boo!) and then eating gelato (very, very tasty italian ice cream often made fresh daily and with fresh fruit) and visiting the Milan Duomo and Galleria Vittorio Emmanuele.

The Milan Duomo: Frothy

The Duomo in Milan is, according to Rick Steves, the fourth largest cathedral in the Europe, and, according to Wikipedia, the second largest Gothic cathedral in the world. It's enormous, gothic and spire-y, and sort of out of place among all the banks and incredibly well-dressed Milanese women in fantastic stiletto heels. The interior is both overwhelming and amazing, and is an interesting contrast to the exterior; where the exterior is all frothy gothic and pink marble, the interior is cavernous grey stone and very peaceful and sort of awe-inspiring (which makes sense to me in a church). The cathedral has 52 pillars holding up the vaults and they're the largest I've ever seen (photo, above); at ground level they look like monstrous elephant feet (think the last battle scene in the third Lord of the Rings). The Milan Duomo took over five centuries to build, with the Visconti/Sforza/ Spanish/every-other-nation-that-took-over-Italy changes in leadership. It was finished in 1810 under Napoleon, and despite being built largely in and after the Renaissance, remained a Gothic design.

Saints Augustine and Ambrose were baptized on the site, and the original baptistery and octagonal church are visible beneath the altar (apparently, we're rising; everywhere we went in Italy and London, Roman ruins were 15' below street level). The reliquary was interesting in an ooh, that's gross sort of way. The more interesting relic was over the altar, out of sight, and located for visitors by a beam of red light (like a laser pointer): one of the nails from Christ's cross.

The church interior also held some beautiful 16 C stained glass, but really the most interesting work of art in the cathedral was the fascinating Rennaissance sculpture of Saint Bartholomew carrying his skin (that's him, above left) by Marco d'Agrate; he was marytryed in Armenia and flayed alive, then crucified upside down (and, according to Wikipedia, because of this he's the patron saint of tanners, which seems really opportunistic and eeewww to me). Anyway, St. B must have been fascinating to Rennaissance artists because we saw him over and over throughout Italy, most notably in the Sistine Chapel.

After touring the inside, we climbed (a lot of) stairs to the roof of the Duomo. You can walk around up there, among all the spires, and there are more stairs (mysteriously leading farther upward) and terraces and a giant golden statue of Mary (the Madonnina). It's like a forest of stone (and also oddly discomfiting, like walking on the ceiling of a cave of stalagtites). There were some really amazing carvings/statues up there, as well. One of my favorites was a gargoyle/drain spout in the shape a giant fishy-monster being ridden by a cherub, a combination of Big Fish-style fantasy and a fairy tale.

Me, in a forest of spires

After the Duomo, we walked around the Galleria Vittorio Emmanuele, a huge glass shopping arcade filled with designer stores. Jon even went into the Prada store with me; it smelled heavenly. Really, art and architecture aside, is there anything better than the smell of new leather purses and shoes?

The floor of the arcade is decorated with mosiacs of the zodiac, and it's tradition to turn a circle on the Taurus bull's testicles for good luck; there's a hole worn into the floor at that spot. Poor bull, I say. We also saw the outside of the Teatro alla Scala, Milan's famous opera house, which looked like - well, sort of like all the other buildings.

After a leisurely and late-ish dinner (pizza! profiteroles!), we walked back to our hotel and discovered the whole city was also up and walking around and shopping and hanging out. Milan wakes up about 10 p.m. The streets were packed, stores were open and also packed, and people were incredibly dressed and thronging the sidewalk. It was fantastic! Overall, we didn't really have enough time in Milan; it's definitely less of a tourist place as other towns we visited, but I'd love to go back. It was just as interesting to see the future of Italy (Milan) as the past (Rome).

As a side note, like in Copenhagen, Milan's public transportation is very convenient, and unlike CPH, it was packed, hot and smelly. Also, parking in Italy is not fun. On the bright side, my husband drives like an Italian pretty much all the time, so we fit in well. And one final point: if you are driving in Italy, unless you like to be lost, buy a GPS or rent one with your car. It was gold.

(10-Jul) Lake Como, Hysterics and A Giant Sinking Lagoon

So on our second day in Italy, we drove from Milan to Lake Como as a day trip on our way to Venice, and unfortunately, on the way to Como I discovered I'd lost the camera. Not good. So while Lake Como was one of my favorite places on our trip, we also spent several frustrating hours there looking for and buying a new camera.

Camera drama aside, we spent the morning driving from Milan to Varenna on the east coast of Lake Como, and then took a scenic boat ride across the lake to the small town of Bellagio (which made me think of Vegas and I have to say, the Bellagio in Italy is (surprise!) way better). Bellagio is at a point on Lake Como called Punta Spartivento, where the lake splits into two southern legs, and you can look north and see all the way up into the Alps. It was incredible.

Fantastic Lake Como

I loved the atmosphere at Lake Como. It felt like an Italian version of Seaside, Florida. It's not a lake with sandy shores; it's nestled down in the base of the Alps. The cliffs come straight down into the water, and the towns are built into the side of the mountains. Bellagio itself is a pretty town with winding cobbled lanes and colored stucco buildings overhung with flowering vines and even honeysuckle (heaven!). It's called "the pearl of the lake," and I guess it's very touristy; it has a huge, beautiful hotel along the waterfront, with a porch/veranda and curtains draping down across the porch to shield the patrons from the sun and other tourists. It sounds snotty, but in reality, it was very pretty and genteel - very southern. My only disappointment, outside of the camera issues, was that we didn't see George Clooney, who has a villa on the lake. Poor me.

We left Como in the afternoon (after some tasty gelato and with a new camera that I love) and drove on to Venice, the "elegant puddle of decay." We parked in Mestre and took the train across the water to the lagoon, and then a vaporetto to our fantastic hotel, my favorite of the whole trip (and we even had to share a bathroom). We stayed at the Pensione Guerrato above the Rialto fish and produce market (more heaven!); the people were super-friendly, the building was a 13th century palazzo, very beautiful and really, it was Venice. It probably could've been a tent in the middle of St Mark's Square and I would have thought it was fantastic.

(11-Jul) Venice: Gold, Gold Everywhere

Venice is indescribable (although I'm about to write several hundred words about it - did you get your hopes up I was going to be succinct? :). It feels like Las Vegas and Mardi Gras all the time. Everything is draped in purple and gold and green and the town is packed with tourists and humid with the smell of open-air markets and canal water and humanity. It just feels rich, and a bit like a floating shopping mall, and also like the sort of place I handle best in small quantities (like Vegas). It also has strange effects on tourists - like Americans forgetting that pigeons are flying rodents and instead feeding them and letting them land on their children and taking pictures. But otherwise - Venice, wow.

We arrived in Venice late and had more pizza, wine and gelato for dinner, and then spent the next day (11-Jul) touring St. Mark's Basilica, the Doges' Palace and the Grand Canal. We started off at St. Mark's Basilica, and the next big lesson learned from this trip is to follow the Rick Steves' guidebook recommendations for meals, 95% of hotels and skipping lines. We skipped the entire line to St. Mark's by checking our bags around the corner from the church. We also used his free podcast for several tours (St. Mark's was one), and they were passable and gave some interesting information we wouldn't have gotten elsewhere.

St. Mark's Basilica, No Waiting in Line Required

St. Mark's is definitely a special place. The cathedral is tiled in gold. The current church was built in the 10th C (the third church on the site) and is designed as a Greek cross (which fits into a perfect circle; this is how Michelangelo actually planned St. Peter's, and his design was only altered after he died). It's clear that Venice was once a gateway to the east, both because the decorations are very Byzantine and also because they have a ton of stolen art and treasure from eastern churches, including, literally, the remains of St. Mark. The story goes that two traders from Venice were in Alexandria in the 9th C and decided Mark deserved to be in Venice instead of his Egyptian tomb, so they stole his bones and put them in a basket covered in pork, which the Muslims considered dirty, and snuck him back to Venice. This was done "in accordance" with a vision Mark had while sailing past Venice to Egypt; an angel came to him when he saw the lagoon of Venice and told him either a cathedral should be erected there or he would be "at peace after death" there, depending on who you believe. In any case, the second church actually burned down in the 10th C, but after it was rebuilt in the early 11th C, the reigning doge mysteriously remembered Mark's bones were hidden in a pillar, and he's now reburied in the cathedral.

The ceiling of the cathedral is all gold mosaic, and once you've been inside for a while, it starts to glow (this effect took about ten minutes, and amplifies the longer you stay). St. Mark's was once the private chapel of the Doge (Duke) of Venice, which is a good example of how powerful the Doges were, if such a place was built only for their use (it's now the seat of the Catholic church in the area). The most striking aspect of the cathedral to me were the incredible gold mosaics. Otherwise, it was so packed with tourists (us, included) it lost some of the power I think I might otherwise have felt.

The Pala D'Oro, or Golden Altarpiece, was also incredible. It's an altarpiece made of 250 teensy gold enamel paintings, and decorated with over 1800 jewels. It was also stolen, or at least the enamels were, in 1204, and then brought back to Venice and built into the altarpiece (again, per R. Steves). Notice that the St. Mark's website leaves this juicy fact out of their description. It was very, very intricate and an amazing work of art on such a small scale. Also of interest: the "crusade heist" was actually a crusade gone wrong, as the Christian crusaders actually sacked another Christian city (Constantinople) and, thus, stole from other Christians.

The treasury was very interesting, with one reliquary holding a rock from the whipping post of Christ. The St. Mark's relics have more historical context than most (read: chance of actually being authentic), again because of Venetian sticky fingers. Many relics of Christ were supposedly gathered up by Helen of Constantinople in the 4th C and taken east to Constantinople (now Istanbul, which always reminds me of the You Might be Giants song), and in the "crusade heist" of 1204 (per R. Steves), the Venetians brought many of the treasures, including the rock, back to Venice.

After St. Mark's, we took the elevator up the Campanile, or bell tower, which had amazing views of Venice. Jon was incredibly disappointed we couldn't climb to the top by stair (did you hear my sigh of relief when the ticket-taker said we had to take the elevator?). Afterwards, we toured the Doges' Palace next to St. Mark's, the historical home of the Doge of Venice. It's a beautiful and very grand palace that was both home of the Doge, the seat of the government, and the prison and site of public pronouncements and executions. There was some very beautiful artwork inthe Doges' Palace; Rape of Europa by Veronese was my favorite, and Tintoretto's Paradise, on the wall of the Great Council Hall, was also impressive (the link to the Paradise also has some other very good photos of the palace and St. Mark's). The building itself, however, with its huge stone courtyard, grand gold coffered ceilings and enormous Sala del Maggior Consiglio (Grand Council Hall), was really the most interesting part of the site. There's a handy, narrated (and long) slideshow of the palace here, from Museum Planet, where they identify the artwork and sculptures.

Jon and I, in the Ducal Palace Sala del Maggior Consiglio, with the Courtyard and Domes of St. Mark's Behind

I loved the way the light came in through some of the windows of the palace, especially near where the old ducal apartments were. I took a break and sat down there, and it was really fascinating to be sitting in the same shafting light as someone sat in 1000 years ago. You could close your eyes and imagine history was stapling back on itself. I also loved the stone "post" box in the shape of a lion's head (photo, right), where in the 13th-15th centuries the public could leave "secret" accusations (it's always the little things I like). The Doges' Palace also holds a museum of armor and weapons, which we toured, so it was actually perfect for Jon and me: art, architecture and weapons, something for each of us.

We crossed the Bridge of Sighs, which connects the Ducal Palace's "Justice Department" to the prison, and took a tour of the prison - lots of double barred windows and tiny stone cells. The view from the Bridge of Sighs was evocative, if only for the historical value. By that point, though, we were both pretty wiped and ready for a picnic and our boat tour of the Grand Canal, so we walked to the Giardinetti Reali (park) along the mouth of the Grand Canal and had a picnic amidst hydrangea blooms as big as my head. After more gelato, we boarded a small motorboat and took an hour cruise of the Grand Canal (this was our alternative to the gondola ride, for which neither Jon or I was wild about shelling out 90 euros).

As it turns out, Venice is sinking. The first floor of almost every palazzo we passed was at water level, and unusable as an entrance. To give you an idea of how expensive it is there, a sinking, tilted and rumored-cursed palazzo on the Grand Canal is for sale for what our tour guide called a "convenience" price (sale price) of 30 million USD. Palazzos in good repair go for 60 and up. Average rent for a one-bedroom apartment in Venice is 1000 euro (almost 1600 USD), the same as the average salary. Our tour guide told us most people who work in Venice live in Mestre, across the harbor, and commute.

The tour was a fun and interesting perspective on the city; on top of learning that Casanova used to try (and succeed) in corrupting the nuns from Santa Maria degli Angeli on the island of Murano and that Vivaldi was a priest (the "red priest" of Venice), we also passed where Byron and Hemingway lived when in Venice (more interesting to me than Jon) and a very modern sculpture of a skull made of cans pulled from the canal at Palazzo Grassi (more interesting to Jon than me). Our tour guide also served us prosecco, a sparkling white wine similar to champagne, during the tour, which was a perfect way to end the day.

We had a great dinner of fresh seafood at a small, local restaraunt - they gave us the only waitress that spoke English, I think. Jon had octopus with ink, which at first made my stomach turn but was actually really tasty in practice. We spent the rest of the evening wandering around Venice, drinking more prosecco (we found a great store that served it out of taps in their own barrels into portable plastic bottles, like water - why is this plan not implemented in other places, like Copenhagen?) and enjoying Venice in the evening, with less crowds and more ambience. We probably could have done at least one more day there, but to get to go even once was fantastic! And, like Bellagio, definitely better than Vegas.

An Interesting View of Venice at Night (courtesy of Jon)