Munich

March 12^th and 13th

I’m in Munich, Germany!

For some reason I cannot explain, Germany was never high on my travel list.  I have always been drawn to destinations like Ireland, Paris or Italy and not as interested in places like Germany or Poland.  Then, my parents lived in Germany last year for 3 months and raved about it.  I visited Austria in February and loved it. I learned there are obviously a lot of similarities between Austria and Germany and my interest started to grow.  I began suspecting that my German-disinterest was all-wrong. So, when I started to plan my route coming back from Prague to Italy, I realized I could come back through Munich. I decided to check it out.

I’m so glad that I did.  I found that Germany was much different than my expectations. It’s a wonderful country with a fascinating history, distinct regions, amazing architecture, delicious food and warm, friendly people.  I’m about half German and it was comforting to walk around a country where everyone looked like me…blonde hair, blue eyes and fairly tall. I felt right at home…which certainly is not the case in Italy, where my pale skin and blonde tresses stands out!

I only had 1.5 days in Munich, so I tried to move fast and experience as much as possible! The first morning, I took the subway to Marienplatz, the heart of Munich.  The first thing you see as you come out of the subway at Marienplatz is the impressive Neuen Rathaus, or New City Hall.  It's awesome!

The building houses the famous glockenspiel and I timed my visit to catch the 12 o’clock chiming. Now, I’m not a clock buff or anything, but the glockenspiel was so charming!  At the top of the clock tower, you can see a little alcove where the automated little men are dancing, then they joust with one another, and one is victorious! There is a a SHORT video showing you the glockenspiel here. 


Next, I toured the Munich Residenz, a massive complex of buildings that was the former house of the Bavarian monarchs.  I swear, I love touring castles, residences, palaces and mansions. It is so much fun to see how the other half lives...and it makes me feel so poor. How can you not feel poor as you stroll through rooms like this...

I particularly liked strolling through the rooms that contained the treasures of the monarchy. My absolute favorite piece was the traveling set of Empress Marie Louise of Austria, the second wife of Napoleon. It was made in 1812 by the most famous goldsmith of that time, Martin Guillaume Biennais.

I love secret things... secret rooms, passageways, hidden things, secret boxes, etc.  And this set has tons of hidden areas and items that fold into it. It actually contains 120 items, including dinner service for 2, a toiletry set, writing implements, sewing tools, a measuring rod, screwdriver, even dental instruments. It's made of silver-gilt, mother-of-pearl, tortoise shell, ivory and ebony.  The photo does NOT do it justice. 

My favorite room in the massive Residenz was the Antiquarium, which was the biggest room I've ever seen.  I took photo and video, but I still feel that nothing quite captures how big the space was.

After I left the Residenz, I strolled the streets of Munich, talking with people, window shopping and finally, finding my way to Der Pschorr Bier Garten to try to drink a beer. These videos say it all! 

It's true, I'm not a beer drinker. I've never had more than a few sips before pouring myself a whiskey or wine instead.  But, I really wanted the bragging rights of saying I drank my first full beer in Germany.  

I think it helped that I paired my Hacker Pschorr Heifevisen with some delicious weinerschnitzel and roasted potatoes.  

And before long... 

The bartender had told each of the servers that I was drinking my first beer (in German, so I didn't realize). I had wondered why they were all so friendly.  Well, when I finished, they clapped for me.  I love Germany!

The next day I had only a few more hours in Munich. I decided to head to Hofbrauhaus for my second beer. That was a huge mistake.  Hofbrauhaus only has 2 beers.  Dark and regular.  I tried the regular, which was bitter and awful. I choked down 2 sips and left the rest - I know, beer crime! I did love the charm of the Hofbrauhaus, though, and strolled around looking at the stein cages and girls in traditional dress selling pretzels.  

I spent a few hours strolling and shopping, admiring cuckoo clocks, buying gifts and a few beer steins.  And then, far too soon, it was time to leave Munich and head to the Neuschwanstein Castle.  

Germany was an awesome surprise. I can't wait to return to Munich and explore the rest of the country.  But next on my itinerary is the Neuschwanstein Castle, about 80 kilometers south of Munich.

Auf Weidersehen (goodnight!)

Solo Pet Peeves

Human beings are terrified of being alone.

I find it very interesting.  People are constantly trying to escape being alone.  We surround ourselves with people- family, friends, husband, wives, children, crowds, bigger crowds, strangers.  Anything to keep from being (gasp!) alone. I mean, I get it. If given the choice, you'd rather go to dinner with your husband/wife/kids/ boyfriend/ girlfriend/BFF than to be alone.  I feel the same way sometimes.  But, what if you want to see an art exhibit and no one is available to go with you? Will you skip it? Would you go hungry instead of having a sandwich solo? If so....why?

I'm single and don't have children, so spend a decent amount of time alone. Generally speaking, I'm perfectly okay with that. It seems to freak the shit out of everyone else, though. I'm an extrovert, to be sure. I love being around others, talking, sharing, socializing. But, I also like to be alone to recharge my batteries. I'll go to the movies or a museum alone. And of course, those of you who read my blog regularly know that I'm currently traveling throughout Europe for 3.5 months alone.

A part of me relishes doing things alone. When I'm alone, I can circle the parking lot 5 times waiting for the perfect parking spot to open up without judgement or park at the furthest spot to get some extra steps in my pedometer. I don't have to compromise and go to the restaurant I don't really like, but my friend/mom/boyfriend/cousin/coworker likes.  I linger or dash when I want. I can see the movie I want to see and sit in the exact seat I want, no hushed negotiations in the darkened theater aisle about seating. Ahhh, it's the blissful freedom of no compromises!

I'm also comfortable eating in a restaurant alone, which I know makes some people super uncomfortable. I have a busy brain always thinking of a dozen things, so it's almost impossible to get bored.  But I can also shut it off and relax, read, or people watch happily.

But despite my comfort at being alone, I on this trip, I've realized I have a few pet peeves and I've got to vent!

Pet Peeve #1 - "Only one?"
If I walk into a restaurant alone and say confidently with a smile "I'd like a table for dinner, please" the correct response is "Yes, ma'am, right this way." (or some derivation thereof).

The INCORRECT responses include:
"Just you?"
"A table for one?"
"Dining alone tonight, ma'am?"
"Will someone else be joining you?"

But above all of them, my LEAST favorite response is: "Only one?"

Only.
One.

Only one? Nothing like adding the word "only" to instantly assign value and importance to the quantity of people sitting at a table. Embedded in that sentence is judgement and value: more is better.  Two is appropriate. Two is expected. Three or four is great and more than that is a party!  But one? Can it be true? Can one person want to sit at a table and eat food?  Make no mistake.  "Only one?" is a value statement. Only signifies lacking, too few, not enough. Only one, frankly, is an asshole thing to say.

Pet Peeve #2 - Sad glances

There are few things more annoying than Little Miss Sad Glances.  I am enjoying a nice meal and a glass of wine and looking around when I spot her.  There's always (at least) one woman nearby nervously checking me out every 30 seconds.  My very existence makes her so uncomfortable it actually disturbs her meal.   Sometimes she even points me out to her companion, who will also look over. Interestingly, if it's a man, he usually smiles and has a look in his face that says "cool." But, if it's a woman, she also gives me sad glances.   I'm not going to burst into flames, lady. I'm just gonna eat this sandwich and then resume my fabulous life....mmmkay? Thanks.

Pet Peeve #3 "You're my hero/so brave / I could never!"

Ahhhh, this one is the worst!  I'm sitting in an awesome restaurant in Budapest, enjoying a glass of wine and a nice meal and two 20-something girls stop by and say "we just think you're SO brave to sit here and eat alone!"  Her friend nods emphatically and says with a big smile,  "SO, SO brave!"  Derivations of this include the overly sympathetic smile and the random stop at my table to pay me a compliment.  It's usually something like "I think it's awesome you'll go out to eat alone!" or "You're so brave!" with a big, reassuring smile. Sometimes they go a little further and remind me of why they don't do the same thing.  "I could never!" or "I just don't think I could do that, I'd be too self-conscious!" or something along those lines.

The intent is to praise me, to make me feel better and to show me that they're so impressed. (SO, SO brave!) You're impressed I'm eating spaghetti?  Well then you should see what I can do to a steak and baked potato! I'm eating food, like I've done successfully for about 31 years now.  I don't need praise...now please get away from my table.

*******

I've got some dark news for you, folks. We all come in this world alone and we all leave it the same way. If you can't eat a sandwich alone without getting twitchy, you might want to reexamine some things.

I challenge you all to do 2 things: 
1. Don't ever do anything I outlined above.  It's rude.  It's insensitive. You are projecting your uncomfortable shit onto the solo diner / movie watcher / museum goer.  They're alone. They are comfortable. They rock. Move on with your day.

2.  Try doing something alone! Actually, try 3 things. Because it takes some getting used to. But you'll find your solo groove, I promise!

• First, try a solo movie. That's super easy. It's dark, you have popcorn to munch on and you're not supposed to talk during the movie anyway.  Go, enjoy the movie, then resume your life emboldened by your solo outing!

• Next, try going to a museum or art gallery by yourself. Linger when you want, race through a room full of art you hate, do whatever you want! Reassure yourself (as needed) by reminding yourself that no one knows if your husband/friend is just in the next room or at the last painting.

• And then one day, take a deep breath and go out to eat alone. Order a cocktail and your favorite meal. 
• Try not to have your phone or iPad in your hand, getting on Facebook...because that's really avoiding being alone. Just sit back, enjoy your drink, enjoy your meal, look around and smile!
• If that's too much... go ahead and take a book, crossword puzzle or your Kindle and get lost in a good story. Before you know it, you might just look forward to solo meals where you can recharge in peace.

Life is too short to miss out on things because you’re scared of being alone. Take a deep breath, put a smile on your face and get out there!

And remember... I think you are SO, SO BRAVE!

Vicenza and The Ugly Americans

Tonight, we spent the evening walking around downtown Vicenza. Vicenza was founded in the 2nd century B.C. and prospered under Venetian rule from the early 15th to the end of the 18th century. The famous architect Andrea Palladio (1508-1580) designed many urban and government buildings as well as villas, which are scattered throughout the Veneto region. Palladio's work inspired a distinct architectural style that spread to England, throughout Europe and to North America - called the Palladian style.

I love to stroll around cities and take photos, but I don't love to write down what I'm taking photos OF... so forgive me, but I'm missing lots of photo credits. :)

The beautiful Chiericati Palace:

                 
                                                 

My favorite thing about European cities is when you look down little side streets and find something unexpected. As we walked, I found a nondescript little opening and much to my surprise... it opens into a beautiful courtyard with a sculpture.

                                                   

I love the colors in Italy...it's exactly as you see in pictures and postcards, but being here is entirely different somehow.  The buildings are antique cream, pale yellow, warm gold, fiery red and burning orange. It should all clash terribly, but instead, it's the most beautiful color combination you can imagine.

I love big, old, unique doors of every kind, shape and size. Whenever I'm in Europe, I find that doors are among my favorite things to photograph.  These beautiful doors lead to an apartment building in the interior courtyard.  Just imagine coming home to that door everyday.  Swoon!

My parents in front of another gorgeous door!

                                                                        Street signs...

I think Vicenza is a perfect Italian city.  With plenty of restaurants, museums, cultural opportunities and amazing architecture, it's a city not to be missed.  

We have dinner at the Ristorante Paradiso. The food, service and wine were excellent. Unfortunately, I won't remember the restaurant for it's delicious food.  I'll remember it for the neighboring table full of "ugly" Americans, and older woman, younger couple and their 3 year old daughter. The parents let the 3 year old run around the restaurant without regard for her safety (or the safety of the wait staff!). The restaurant is at the top of a large marble staircase and the little girl was running around near the staircase without so much as a glance from her parents. The parents didn't bat an eyelash when their child began wandering up to tables of people and touching things on the table or touching people.  A few times, they quietly and ineffectively said her name "Claire,"but it comes out like a question and the little girl ignores it completely.  I think that people like this give Americans a bad name when they travel.

When my steak with porcini mushrooms arrives, the child appears at my side and starts generously salting the food on my plate before I can react. The parents aren't paying attention and say nothing.  I am shocked and cry out "what are you doing?" while gently pushing the child away from my plate and table. The ugly Americans don't utter an apology, instead they console the (now crying) child, who has apparently never been told "no" before.

The parents are loudly consoling her saying "...it's okay...you were just trying to be nice!" and "don't worry... you didn't do anything wrong..." as if trying to teach ME a lesson in manners.  To make it up to her, the parents then encourage her to empty an entire bowl of grated parmesan cheese (one spoonful at a time) onto one of their plates, wasting it.  As the child does this, the lid to the bowl smashes loudly down each time.

Perhaps it was the stark comparison to the beautiful Italian day, the gorgeous city or the grace of the Italian people. But as I sit eating my overly salted steak and hear the Americans continue to soothe their "poor child",  I don't miss home one bit.

First week in Italy...

My first week in Italy was a bit lazy but it was also perfect!

I've explored my new neighborhood in Vicenza, learned the bus routes, the process for buying train tickets and have a favorite local pizzeria.

Each day our beautiful apartment feels more like home. We spent the first week in our apartment doing standard stuff, like waiting for the Wi-Fi installer and buying housewares.  My Mom bought a beautiful rug and a cute Corning wear baking dish from the thrift store on the Army base.  I love that she spent just 6€, but the rug really made the apartment feel more like a home to all of us. And now we can cook meals at home!

We were all thrilled to finally have Wi-Fi in the apartment, thanks to the installer who came on Wednesday. He had a loud, booming voice and sang opera in Italian as he worked. Even the servicemen in Italy are charming.

This week gave me time to recover from jet lag and get settled in Italy. But now, it's time to get traveling! I'll spend this weekend with my parents before I head off on my travels on Monday...!

Mariangela

My Italian landlord is a terrific character.  Mariangela (Angie) has an easy going demeanor and is friendly, helpful and very talkative. If you ask her a question, her meandering Italian answer becomes a 10 minute conversation.

I like her immediately.

Her name, Mariangela, is the combination of her grandfathers name on her mothers side (Mario) and the grandfathers name on her fathers side (Angelo). They combined the names and feminized them into one beautiful name...Mariangela, though most people call her Angie.

Angie runs the Hotel Mary in Vicenza, Italy so some people call her Mary as well.  The hotel is a block from a U.S. military base, Caserma Ederle  and Angie has been taking care of people passing through Vicenza for 32 years. American soldiers and contractors might stay at the Hotel Mary for weeks or months at a time while finding permanent housing.  Angie also owns a 9-unit apartment building a block away, where my parents and I have rented a 2 bedroom apartment.

She is a force of nature. She's always in the middle of 3 or 4 tasks, but somehow never seems harried or stressed.  In fact, in spite of how busy she is, she always stops and talks to people and does so without any hint of impatience.  Each guest has her full and undivided attention.  It's Italian time... they'll get to it all eventually...no stress.

When I arrived in Vicenza late Monday night, I was completely exhausted, starving and desperate to lay down. Angie helped us load all of our bags onto carts and (Frogger-style) sprint across the main street dodging speeding Italian cars. Down a dark road, through a locked gate, another locked door, up stairs, and presto, we are in our very own Italian apartment. That night, desperate for a bed, Angie seemed like an angel to me.

The next day, I walked over to the hotel to thank her.  We chatted and I started asking questions and before long, 30 minutes had passed.  She offers to teach me a new Italian word each day. We make a deal - I'll stop by the hotel each day (or email her) and she'll give me a word.  In exchange, I agree to teach her some more obscure English words, phrases and American slang, as her English is already excellent.

The first word she teaches me is persiane (wooden window shutters that block out the light).  I pronounce it slowly.
"No, no," she says. "Not per-see-ah-NAH...that's a Persian person. Nay!  Per-see-ah-NAY."

She asks me to recite the words I know in Italian so far and I slowly and painstakingly pronounce the words Rosetta Stone has taught me - numbers, colors, family members and a few other miscellaneous words. She listens patiently, corrects me a few times and when I finish, she says she's impressed. I don't have any trace of an American accent, she says, which is rare. Lots of Americans have accents, she says.  Someone calls to her and she says "si" and is off to handle something requiring her attention.

"Persiane," she calls over her shoulder, emphasizing the "NAY" sound at the end. "And you come tomorrow for a new word."

...Part 2 and Jose's love story

Getting there....part 2

...so off I went with a hangover and a spotty memory from the night before.  My Air France flight Atlanta to Paris was one of the worst flights of my life. I had a bulkhead seat, but sitting next to two very large men, so I had zero space. I literally ate standing up in the galley because eating next to Andre the Giant's long lost cousin was impossible.

There was also a heating unit under my seat running constantly and blowing hot air on my legs.  It also warmed the seat itself and made my ass feel like it was being slowly burned by lava.  And being located on the aisle and in the bulkhead meant that I was always being (a) hit by someone walking down the aisle, (b) stepped on by someone waiting for the bathroom or (c) about knocked unconscious from the smells coming from the bathroom. All of my hopes of plane sleep to get through my hangover were dashed. I was dead tired.

I spent most of the flight standing in the back of the plane where the refrigerators were to escape my seat and the broad shouldered Czech man leaning on me. I chatted up the crew and remembered how much I love the French people and language.  It made me ever more excited to be spending 2 weeks in France in April. I fell asleep standing up at one point.

Best Love Story Ever...

If you'd have told me I'd hear the most romantic story ever in the back of a Boeing 777, I wouldn't have believed it. But it was at the back of the plane by the refrigerators I met a very attractive man named Jose from Valencia, Spain. Truth be told, I'd seen him in the gate area in Atlanta while waiting to board.  Jose is 32 and very attractive. He has that effortless European style...jeans that hang off his hips perfectly, a button down shirt, brown suede boots and the perfect 5 o'clock shadow. Even his hair was perfectly tousled and he was wearing glasses which read "Porsche" on the side. (My gawd, you guys...Porsche makes glasses??)  He reeked of coolness. I, on the other hands, was wearing pajamas and reeked of whisky and guilt, both coming out of my pores from the night before.

So as I sat chilling my ass on the refrigerators, Jose suddenly appeared and we started talking. We ended up talking for nearly 2 hours in the back of that plane and the time starts passing quickly. His smile is so dazzling it seems fake and he smiles often.

We had that easy, effortless conversation that happens so much traveling. You start by comparing current travel plans (he's returning home to Valencia, Spain via Paris) and places you've been (he's been everywhere and gives me recommendations as we chat).  We talk about our jobs, our families, our dating lives.  We talk about places we want to visit and I have a list as long as my arm. I want to see the world, I tell him, and this trip is just the tip of the iceberg! This will be my most romantic trip, I assure him, as I describe some of the romantic cities I'll be visiting - Paris, Prague, Budapest, Florence, the Amalfi coastline.  We disagree on what romance is and Jose tells me he dreams of riding a Harley through the Grand Canyon and Route 66. That's romance to him, he says. A pair of jeans in a backpack and nothing more. I believe him.

We talk about finding love and romance on the road. Suddenly, he is telling me the sweetest love story.  8 years prior, Jose met a Mexican woman during his travels. His eyes met hers type of story.  They have a wonderful romance and fall in love. They agree to keep in touch and for a long time, they do. One day, she simply stops returning his emails. He checks everyday, waiting for her reply. It never comes.

As we stand there on the plane, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his passport. He opens it and perfume tester strip falls out into his hand. He holds it to his nose and his eyes close as he breathes it in.  He holds it out for me and I inhale. It's an amazing scent...vanilla and something I can't quite put my finger on. I love it immediately.  He tells me it's her perfume, Dior Hypnotic Poison.   For the last 8 years, whenever he travels in the West, he looks for his lost love.  He searches the crowd for her face in Canada, the USA and Mexico.  And he passes through each duty-free shop, Jose always sprays her perfume on a test strip and into his passport so he can be reminded of her.

He has a new girlfriend whom he loves and they're very happy together.   He would never tell his current girlfriend about the Mexican woman and it occurs to me that his search for her will never stop because the old wound hasn't healed.  If she'd only written to say she was moving on, things would be different for Jose.  He would have closure and could move on knowing instead of wondering.  But as it is, one of the great loves of his life is out there in the world and he is constantly searching a sea of faces for her.

The story is so romantic it makes my chest feel tight. It's sad, yes, but mostly, I'm struck by how beautiful the story is.  We are beginning our decent into Paris and they ask us to take our seats. We exchange contact information and I head back to my seat.  As I do, I realize that no one has ever loved me the way Jose loves the Mexican woman. I feel a different sort of tightness in my chest and shake my head  to erase that sad thought from my brain.

In the Paris airport, Jose waves to me as we go into the restrooms and I tell him I'll meet him after customs, but I lost him in the shuffle.  I try to find him at his gate in Charles de Galle to say a proper goodbye, but I can't find him and have to abandon the hunt to make my connecting flight.

But Jose knows my blog address and perhaps one day he'll read these words.  I board my flight to Venice and it's blissfully quiet on this plane. I have space and a non-heated seat. I am drop-dead tired. I fall asleep before we even takeoff but before I do, I imagine Jose going home, tucking his vanilla scented passport into a drawer and trying to forget about the Mexican woman. As the wheels liftoff the ground, I imagine him kissing his girlfriend and I wonder if he's happy to embrace what's real or if he will dream of his long lost love tonight...

Getting there, part 1

My life has been a blur since Thursday.

On Thursday, I closed on my house, dropped my dog at my friends house, where she'll stay for a little over 3 months. Insert lots of tears here.

On Friday morning, movers packed all of my worldly possessions into 3 PODS and shipped them off to storage in Detroit. I load my Italy and St. Petersburg bags into the trunk of my car and left the car in a parking lot for my friend to retrieve.

I hopped a train to the airport and arrived in St. Petersburg, FL for Dan and Alexia's wedding Friday night. I headed to a pre-wedding celebration at a local brewhouse with the bridal party and friends.

Saturday was wedding day.  It was a beautiful Greek Orthodox wedding ceremony and the reception was fabulous. Instead of a DJ, the bride and groom had a standards style band... my absolute favorite. I love Sinatra and Ella Fitzgerald and Nina Simone and all the divas and crooners from days gone by.  So the music was exceptional and they managed to rock out standard wedding classics like Brick House and Shout.

I danced my booty off the entire night until my legs ached and I was sweating.  I love dancing and hadn't danced like that in far too long.  After the reception ended, a group of us headed to the after party. I drank too much and made a few bad decisions. Isn't that what you're supposed to do at weddings?  Well, I sure did anyway.  I think I fell into bed sometime around 5.

Wake up a few hours later. It's Sunday. I'm hungover. Exhausted. Piecing events together in my head from the night before. Oy vey. I really did make those bad decisions, didn't I?  I'm too damn old for this.  I toss back 3 Advil, start drinking water like it's my job and hop a cab to the airport. I have a long and painful day ahead of me.  I'll head to Atlanta, then Paris then Venice. I just want to get there.

To be continued....