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!)

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...

Please, pass the tissues.

If you're not familiar with my adventures in restoration, read the post HERE before you continue. 
See the finished product...my fully renovated house HERE.

One week from today, I'll sit at a closing table and sign my dream home over to complete strangers.

On the horizon is adventure beyond my wildest dreams.  For the next 3 months, I'll be living in Italy, traveling through Europe and finishing with 2 weeks in France. I am over-the-moon excited for this trip. When I return, I'm moving back to my home state of Michigan! After 14 years away, it'll be amazing to live near my family and friends again. Lunch with my sister! Antiquing with my mom! Activities with my nieces and nephews! I cannot wait.

I am very excited for the next chapter of my life to begin.
And I am also so sad, I can barely breathe.
                               
The sadness crept in this week as I started packing up my house. This is the end of a really big chapter in my life. I left Michigan at the age of 21, spent 3 years in Los Angeles and the last 11 years here in Atlanta. This will be my 3rd cross-country move and let me tell you...it's always hard.

In a lot of ways, I grew up in Atlanta. It's the place I've spent the majority of my adult life, where my friendships have developed, where my career has grown and where I've had 1,000 amazing experiences.

It's where I learned improv and did my first Zip!Zap!Zop!  It's where I first sang on stage, performed spoken word poetry, ran my first mile and completed my first triathlon.  It's where I have tried new things, failed, succeeded, grown and learned. It's also where I purchased, renovated and sold my first two homes, which has turned into a passion for me.  I love my life in Atlanta. This house, this neighborhood, this city feels more like home to me than any place on Earth.

I've told a few friends how I feel and the replies have been "But Michigan will be so great!" or "Just think about your trip to Italy! It's a grand adventure."  It's almost as if the wonderful events on the horizon mean I can't also be sad that this chapter of my life is coming to a close.

I'm sad. And that doesn't mean I'm making the wrong choice. It just means I'm sad. Change is hard. Leaving people you love is difficult. Moving cross country is stressful.  Selling the home you imagined spending your life in...is heartbreaking.

The last few days have consisted of mostly packing and crying. Last night, I found myself on my kitchen floor sobbing amidst boxes and bubble wrap.  Thank God for my best friend, Erin, or I might still be there on the floor.

So, for now, please don't tell me how great Michigan is (it is!). Please don't remind me that Italy will be amazing (it will!) or that I should be excited for the adventures that lay ahead of me (I am!).

Just hold my hand and try to understand.
This was an exceptional chapter in my life.
And please, pass me the tissues.