Reconsidering Sundays.

Fruitcake, German style.


As a traveler, Europe on Sunday is the absolute worst. All the shops are closed, the restaurants and streets dead, the only places open are church and the bars. Often times I feel like I spend most Sundays waiting for Mondays, so then I can witness the place I am visiting come back to life from the dead.

But today I had the opportunity to spend Sunday not as a tourist, but as a resident of Tubingen. And spending it with Katrin, the hostess with the mostest, it was lovely.

First, having my own room was clutch. I had the best sleep that I have had in days, sleeping in until almost ten. For the past few months, I have been sleeping in my sleeping bag, but here, I have a thick comforter (just like home!) that makes me so warm and cozy. I didn't want to get up.

When I was in the shower, Katrin went to the bakery to pick up some fresh bread for our breakfast. Now, to me, that sums up Euro and small town all in one. I made scrambled eggs. Katrin laid out an assortment of cheeses, butters and marmalade on the table, along with this German fruit cake called Christstollin normally served at Christmastime that she saw at the bakery and thought I should try (do you see how thoughtful she is?). We ate leisurely until we were full, and I wonder: Why have Americans not caught on with this fresh bread thing? Why do we think bread that comes in a bag is acceptable when fresh bread tastes so much better?

After breakfast, we took the bus to an even smaller town called Bibnhausin with only three or four streets, where we visited this beautiful old cloister and former residence of one of the old kings of the area. The sky was blue, and it felt warmer than it has in weeks, and so we took a walk throughout town and then hiked our way back to Tubingen, talking about everything the entire way. I feel like I never run out of conversation with Katrin. You would think that two people who live completely different lives would run out of things to say, but we just keep going and going and going.

In the middle of our hike, we stopped in a café for cake and hot chocolate. The place was low-key, the waiters were apathetic, but the food was delicious and we took our time and suddenly, we realized we spent the whole afternoon there, doing nothing but enjoying each other's company. Both of us felt a little sleepy, but it wasn't from strenuous activity but out of doing nothing. Shouldn't that be what Sundays are all about?

For dinner, we went to an authentic Swabian restaurant (which is the name of the region that Tubingen is in) where I tried maultaschen, otherwise known as German ravioli. The pasta is filled with meat and vegetables and it is said on the olden days, Swabians made this dish so they could hide the meat from God and eat it during Lent and on Fridays. I washed this down with some German wine served in a glass cup (Danielle--you are right. It is pretty good.)

You would think Katrin and I would be sick of each other by now, but we went out for a drink at a student bar and talked for a while then we went home and had some tea and babushkas and talked some more.

I am reconsidering how I feel about Sundays. Maybe having one day of the week where the stores are closed and the streets are quiet is not the end of the world. Because then you can't shop or run your errands, and you are forced to relax. You can stay home, curl up with a book, go on a walk, spend time with a friend. As Katrin commented, you do nothing until you are bored of doing nothing. And that doesn't sound bad at all. Because by the time you have enough, then it's Monday again.


Me at the Cloister.



A very dark Katrin at the Cloister.



Midday dessert. I had a rustic tart made with really small plums.