Polish Ham

I'm up and running!

2007-12-30T22:10:00.000+01:00

Hey Polish Hamsters,

If you are looking to read new material, come visit my new site www.everydayham.blogspot.com.

A new beginning.

2007-12-28T19:33:00.000+01:00

O Christmas Tree...

I have a yearly tradition that on Christmas Day, I sit by the tree and write down in my journal the year in review and my goals for the year ahead. Usually I will look back at the previous year's goals to see if I made them happen. Sometimes I do, sometimes I don't. Some goals make it on the list year after year.

Sitting down to write down everything felt different this year. The past few times doing this, I have looked at the year behind me with a tinge of sadness and regret, mostly because my problems always seemed to remain the same, a year come and gone with no progress. I am always hopeful that the year ahead will make everything better.

But this year, it was a joy to write everything down for a change. I am proud of how far I have come, the achievements that I have made, the things I did. And my resolutions for the new year do not seem so urgent. Sure, I would like to lose a few pounds, but I know this is not the answer to my happiness. For once in a really long time, I feel content with my life, and I only wish that I continue living in a way that satisfies me. My biggest fear is that I will forget all that and next year, sitting next to the tree, I will be thinking, what happened to that girl who was in Europe?

In some ways, Europe already feels like a long time ago. I found a receipt for the chocolates I bought in KaDeWe in Berlin yesterday and was amazed to discover that was less than a month ago. The novelty of being home has worn off, the move is pending, the job search becoming more real and I am starting to feel stress under my skin.

In Europe, I always felt like I was accomplishing a lot because I was always moving forward, always going ahead, trying something new, seeing the next new place. This past week, I feel like I am standing still. In order to be happy and find my heart's fulfillment, I will need to keep moving ahead. I can't be still anymore and wait for my life to happen to me. I saw my dad this week and while he has all kinds of ideas of what I should do with my life that aren't necessarily my own, he did have this main message for me. "You have to be active."

While I would love to spend the next year of my life traveling, I have no choice for now but to spend it one place, earning and saving money just like everyone else. The trick of the next year is to live my life in a way that excites me, where everyday (okay, maybe many days) feels like an adventure, where I don't fall into a mundane routine that bores me silly and makes me feel trapped and depressed.

So that is what I wrote about in my journal for what I want in the upcoming year:

My life should focus on people, not work. Believe it or not, this used to be hard for me. I need to work on this.

Find a job that interests me, pays the bills, but doesn't take over my life. I think that means finding some freelance marketing work to fund my life while exploring some other opportunities--like writing--to fulfill my passions.

Keep on traveling. A three-month long trip is unlikely, but I do want to go places this year. Argentina with Dan's family is on the horizon. If I cannot afford anything else, I do have New York City as my playground to search and explore new things.

Practice my Polish. How am I going to get better if I don't practice?

Nurture my artistic spirit. I realized that my artsy side has been hibernating for the last ten years and I remembered it during this trip. I am loving photography right now. I want to keep writing. I want to take out my sketch pad again. I want to create something.

Don't forget to be FUN.

This is a sketch of my goals. They are vague, they need definition to become real. I need to think some more, maybe do another self-test to get my life in focus. It's a journey, not a destination.

On that note, I am sad to announce that this will be the last entry of Polish Ham. This blog was just an idea at first and it turned into so much more than I expected. Not only was it a way to keep track of my thoughts and feelings during this life-changing trip, I was able to stay in touch with my family and friends, and I think in some ways, it brought us closer together. People started talking about the Ham. It became a topic of conversation. My mother's brother started calling my mom to discuss it. Family members reached out to me saying that they wanted to become closer. People got to know me in a way that they never did before. I would find out about people reading that I never thought would read it. It made me write everyday (something I always say I want to do but never do) and while I may have degrees and promotions and achievements and marathons under my belt, this blog is probably the most special to me for all the reasons noted. It was bigger and better than I ever imagined.

So I want to thank my readers for the awesome experience. Sure, it was me writing it every day but it was you who made it all worthwhile. Reading your comments made me feel like I was never alone. And in celebration of my new goals for the New Year (and because some people told me that they might die without reading my blog), I am starting a new blog about my everyday life called Everyday Ham (www.everydayham.blogspot.com). My goal is to live a life that is worth writing about. It probably won't be as interesting as a whirlwind of travels and I cannot promise that I will write everyday, but it is my goal to translate what I learned on this experience to my everyday life. It won't be easy, there will be mishaps and twists and turns and good, bad and fun times to be had. I will write about it along the way.

I hope you join me for the ride.

Me and my dad.

Home for the holidays.

2007-12-28T03:53:00.000+01:00

As usual, I spent Christmas this year with my family in New Jersey. Usually it is hard for me to differentiate one Christmas from the next.

We always go to my mom's house for Christmas Eve. The same people always show up (Mom and Ted, my siblings--spouses and families in tow, and family friends Kasia and Andrej with their peeps). My mom spends days preparing and my sister always makes the fried shrimp. I always snap a picture of my sister making the fried shrimp. Kasia always has an apron on, helping my mom, as soon as she walks through the door.

Around 7 at night, we start dinner with a prayer and then we walk around the table breaking holy bread and wishing each other a Merry Christmas. For dinner, we start with red borscht with mushroom dumplings. Then a feast of every fish my mom could buy, pierogies, the shrimp, Polish salads and sides. After dinner, we open presents, one at a time to make it last. I always play Santa. We wind down the evening with some dessert (usually torte and a cheese cake and some other goodies that Kasia devised--this year, a poppy seed cake). Then everyone goes home, and I spend the next few days with mom and Ted, sleeping lots, doing nothing and eating leftovers.

My sister Annette fries the shrimp--again!

Kasia, the best helper a Polish mom could ask for.

This Christmas was no different than any other year, only that I was home after months abroad, and it felt all more special for me to see everyone and share this time together.

Some highlights:

We have a new addition to our family. I was excited to meet my niece Tiffany's husband Greg. He impressed us all by eating his portion of the borscht. We usually let the new people slide if they do not want to eat the blood red beet soup (more for us!) but he downed his like a true Pole. We love Greg!

Serious borscht eaters: my brother Pete, grand-nephew Dillon, new hubby Greg and niece Tiffany.

Kids make Christmas so much more fun. After years and years of adults-only holidays, we finally have little ones to entertain us. We were all charmed by Tiffany's son Dillon. He has sprouted dark brown hair since I last saw him but he is just as lovable and full of personality. He spent the first half of the evening taking pictures of himself and laughing and dancing with excitement after he saw the flash. Then he sat patiently at the table, dunking his bread in my brother's borscht and later helped everyone open presents.

Martina, who you may remember as the Queen of Poland, was just as cute, but in her own stubborn way. She pushed Dillon away when he tried to hug her. He kept trying, she kept pushing. She refused to sit at the table or take part in Christmas at all. I am sure that will change next year. She is sure to be more like her older brother Maxim (the King), who could barely sit still all night. "Are we opening the presents now?" he would ask, over and over. And when the presents were opened, he was so tired from all the excitement, he nearly fell asleep on the couch. Remember when Christmas was that fun and tiring?

Dillon: He shoots!

He scores!

Martina plays hard to get.

Maxim opens a present as his dad Andrej looks on.

As usual, my mom outdid herself with all the food she prepared and as usual she said the food wasn't that good. (She's wrong!) But I had an a-ha moment when I watched her force food onto her guests. "What, Greg? No more food? Have some fish. Eat some more!" The ultimate food-pusher, my mom is just like her relatives back in Poland. I forgot how Polish my mom really is.

And kudos goes to Kasia, a big-time fan of Polish Ham, who got my favorite gift of the evening. She knows exactly what a Polish girl wants:

Scenes from Cookie Bonanza.

2007-12-24T17:24:00.000+01:00

Hungover, with little sleep, I set off to conquer the third annual Cookie Bonanza, where I baked six kinds of cookies to give as gifts to my family. I baked two recipes from my new Magnolia Bakery Cookbook I got from Dan's mom. Some highlights:

Queen of the mixer.

"Surprise" cookies.

Filling the buckets. The little blue one is for Dan.

Cookie Bonanza always makes the kitchen a mess.

Reunited at last.

2007-12-23T16:19:00.000+01:00

Deciding what to wear to my high school reunion: This...

...or this. I went with the dress.

It was a complete blessing to have my 10-year high school reunion the week I got back from Europe. I have not stayed in touch with most of my classmates and with any reunion, you want to make a good impression about who you are and where you have been.

I think that if I had stayed in the States, working my same job, I would have been a little nervous about the whole thing. I could see myself maybe trying to get in shape and look my best to cover up how unhappy I really felt. Because I would know everyone would be into my job and not really about me, and that would just make me feel horrible.

Here I walk into this reunion, unemployed with flabby thighs that have not seen the gym in over three months, but I felt the most confident I have ever felt in my life. Okay, I did go out and buy a new dress. But more importantly, I just knew who I was. And that made all the difference.

I saw my good old friend Stacy, whom I vowed to stay in touch with this time around. We have tried a few times--our lives are different--but it was so easy to talk to her that what is stopping us? There was Becky, who cracked the same kinds of jokes, who reminded me of the notes we used to pass in class in a little notebook that she's still got.

Stacy.

Lauren, Becky and me.

There were so many familiar faces, people who I have wondered about, people who haven't even crossed my mind, people who I didn't even recognize until I was told who they are. The guys who I thought were cute in high school did not suit me anymore. Then there were some who I never noticed before that got a second look. Friendships have changed. Everyone was married. This kid Paul's girlfriend, who was not in our class, took a liking to me. "Why weren't you friends with her in high school? I love her." she asked her boyfriend. Paul and I kind of looked at each other and shrugged.

More than one person asked me if I ended up in fashion, or at least something creative. I was such a clotheshorse in high school, and it was nice to be remembered for that. It shows how I have suppressed that side of me over the years because I don't think anyone in my current life would say that about me now. But maybe now that will arise once again. Who knows?

A lot of people who I wished to see did not make the event. And when the bar finally kicked us out after midnight, I bumped into two of them: my childhood friends Tania and Anna. Tania and I have stayed in touch and is a loyal reader of the Ham. Anna, I haven't seen in ten years. She looked so good. I kept telling her how pretty she looks. She has a 7-year-old daughter. She showed me a picture of a Anna look-alike playing tennis. So cute. They had completely missed the reunion and were pumping me for details and then we, alongside with some of their friends, drove crosstown to this little Ukrainian bar, where we met up with Anna's sister Adriana. (The highlight was Tania parallel parking Anna's car in a tiny spot, where she proceeded to turn on all the wipers and lights in the process. We were dying of laughter. She made it work though).

We drank and laughed into the morning. I took a cab home and got back at 4 in the morning. Threw my new frock on the couch and jumped into my empty bed. It was a real good night. It couldn't have gone better.

The after party: Sisters Anna and Adriana.

Me, Adriana, and Tania.

Christmas with Dan.

2007-12-22T16:29:00.000+01:00

Dan with his stocking.

Me with my stocking.

American children have stockings lined up on their fireplace at Christmas. Polish-American children do not. I have always wanted a stocking (because I always want any excuse for more presents) but I never got one. That is, until last year. Dan, an American child, did have a sock o' gifts during his childhood and recommended that we continue the tradition in our own home. We even have our own (non-working) fireplace for them to hang. Last year, we did stockings and presents. This year, because I am broke, we only did stockings with a $100 limit.

Dan leaving for California on Saturday, we planned our Christmas night on Friday--although Dan said he had to work late. I prepared by baking some American-style (not German-style) chocolate chip cookies because he's been asking for cookies all week.

Cookie dough ready to bake.

He came home around 8:30. We ordered sushi. And then we exchanged gifts. I got a double-sided fabric belt, cashmere socks, two flannel underwear/shorts, and pretty Asian-themed earrings. After we opened, Dan had to spend an hour discussing why the gifts he gave me were so great. He was feeling insecure that I did not like them, which is not true. It's just that he was really wowed away by my gifts: a German soccer jersey bought in Berlin, two books, socks and a movie package of Whoopers, which he proceeded to eat. (I made cookies! But he ate those too). I just happen to be a good present-giver.

We meant to spend the rest of the evening watching Project Runway reruns and more time together, but in typical Dan fashion, he was procrastinating packing. I know this all too well. He is the worst packer ever. First he will do anything to avoid packing. Go on the computer, eat a cookie, call his parents. Then he will need to play music to get him in the mood for packing. So I have to endure him playing not one, but maybe two or three songs, where he just stands around and rocks out. Finally, he will go in the bedroom in pack, and the process itself takes hours. I went in there after 45 minutes and he had like three things in the suitcase. I ended up falling asleep on the couch. No Project Runway, no quality time, but at least I have a lot of great presents.

He left this morning, leaving me with a kiss, the garbage to take out and a tuperware full of cookies. I have the place to myself for a week.

The earrings I got.

Desperate housewife.

2007-12-21T01:27:00.000+01:00

Christmas cards.

I have a to-do list. Something I haven't written in over three months but a staple of my old life. Sure I have no job to go to, but suddenly life seems so hectic and full. Write Christmas cards, grocery shopping for Cookie Bonanza, last minute shopping, the move looming ahead. I've decided to focus on my job search after the holidays but I can't help gaze over some of the internet job sites. I am finding my eyes glazing over. What the hell do I want to do? What sounds interesting and pays decent and won't work me to death? I found one job that met that description and quickly wrote a cover letter and sent off my resume. It's on!

On top of that, Dan has projects for me to do. Pick up his laundry. Clean up the house. Research moving trucks. On one hand, he is going to work, coming home late at 7 or 8 at night, so I really have no excuse. These things need to get done. But the times slips by quickly and Dan comes home and looks at my clutter and says, "What have you been doing all day?" I am getting some stuff done, but then also find myself watching episode after episode of Rock of Love with Bret Michaels. (How can I pull myself away from such bad goodness?) And I have to admit: I am procrastinating the moving stuff. I think I am a little nervous about it.

Dan wants to sell some of our furniture (some of which we just bought two years ago) because he says they won't be right for the new place. Having not seen the new place, I am having trouble letting go. I don't want to sell my furniture. Is it weird to be attached to a closet?

Something I did get done: My computer is fixed! That's right. I am writing this entry on my very own computer. The Dell man came to my apartment. Actually I was initially afraid of the Dell man. He left me three messages when I was in the shower and called many more times than that. It was downright stalker material. But he turned out to be a nice little Dell man who quickly fixed my computer and hummed along to The Rat Pack Christmas cd I had playing. He said today was his first day of the job. Well, at least he is a go-getter.

I ventured to Chelsea for some holiday shopping. The express train was jammed packed with people, so I took the local. It almost felt like I was back in Europe. I have all the time in the world, so why rush to get there? (In addition to Rock of Love, maybe that is where all my time is going.) I usually do my holiday shopping in advance, so it felt strange being with the crowds, everything on the shelves picked through, the good stuff gone.

I felt too busy to cook dinner, so we had pizza delivered from one of our favorite places, Big Nick's, which won't be available in our new neighborhood. In my stifling apartment (who knew this place gets so hot during the day?) I finally talked to my friend Katie on the phone and told her about the move to the Upper East Side.

"You're moving there!" she said, "You're going to be stuck with all the 25-year-olds puking on the side of the roads." (For those who don't know, the Upper East Side is a nice neighborhood but also attracts a younger, apres college crowd due to its low rents).

Thanks Katie. I am feeling much better about the whole thing. Want to take my closet, too?

Holiday shopping at The Container Store.

Mmm...the best pizza on the Upper West Side.

My beloved IKEA closets.

Mom's House.

2007-12-19T19:06:00.000+01:00

Driving a car, freshly cut hair. It's a whole new me!

A visit to New Jersey to mom's house lightened my mood. Away from the harshness of the city into the snow covered suburbs, I felt a sense of calm as the train rolled into the Morristown station. Mom picked me up, looking like same Mom. Only difference? She spoke to me in Polish! We were able to talk for about 20 minutes or so, but when it came time to sit by the kitchen table and really tell her about my trip, we switched to English. Otherwise, the only things I would be able to say was that my trip was "fine," "good," "fantastic" and "pretty." She prodded through the box of family treasures I received and we both agreed that the whole thing looked like something my grandma would conceive. (We can imagine her thinking, "This is a nice box. Why don't I put some random documents in here...")

I learned that what I thought was my mom's report card was actually a health examination. My grandfather's old union identification card had a very young picture of him but was actually from the 1960s. We found out that when my grandfather was a prisoner of war in Germany, after the war, he received a free train ride home to Lipno. But if the war ended in May, why did he not come home until Fall? The answer to that, we did not know.

I went about town, getting a much needed haircut (feels amazing!), stamps from the post office (an easy breezy three people ahead of me in line), and new sheets for the bed (no pushing people!). My brother Pete joined us for roast beef dinner and I barely recognized the guy! After three months, he has gotten very thin, grown long hair and a scruffy goatee that made him look downright grizzly. It was so great to talk to them about my trip and after dinner, munch on some delicious brownies Mom made. I was never able to find brownies in Europe that tasted as good as these.

Going back to New York felt much better this time around, despite the homeless man who tried talking to me in the subway ("Hey! You should look at someone when they are talking to you!") I blissfully ignored him, turning my ipod way up, like everyone else around me.

I thought about why I am having such a struggle with New York now. I think because it represents to me the unhappiness that I felt before this trip: this work centric mentality, the idea of going through life in a rush and not stopping to enjoy anything. This trip really gave me everything that I was looking for: time for myself, the chance to meet new people, explore the world, gain perspective and enjoy the little things. I am nervous being in this environment that I will slide right back to my unhappy self, and that's why I think that I am in some ways, fighting with all might against it, in being back. I do not want to let this city infiltrate everything that I have gotten from this experience.

But I will have to come to some kind of reconciliation quite soon. It is official: Dan and I are moving to a one-bedroom apartment on the Upper East Side. We received approval on our credit (with no help from me but much support from Dan's parents-THANK YOU). We move December 31, and apparently our moving crew will consist of all of Dan's workmates. If you are in the New York City area and interested in spending your last day of the year lifting heavy boxes and furniture, please let me know. Free food and champagne for all!

Pete: Grizzly man.

Mom and Ted. Mom: "That picture is not going to be on the blog, right?"

Is this it?

2007-12-18T13:54:00.000+01:00

My local Duane Reade.

Like most New Yorkers I know, I have always had a love-hate relationship with this city. Since my arrival, my feelings have been less than amorous.

I opened my wardrobe, eager for something different to wear. I found only my summer clothes hanging there I left in September. My winter clothes still packed away.

Not winter ready.

I needed to refill a prescription. I have always used mail order through my health insurance, but the problem is that I have no insurance now. My insurance told me to get the prescription transferred to a local pharmacy. I tried my local Duane Reade. I went there THREE times in one day, each time explaining what to do and they did not get it. Finally, they just called my doctor for a refill. The last visit, standing in a crawling line of five people deep, I breathed deeply in and out, annoyed with the banality of real life, and trying to settle myself down. Finally when I got to the front of the line, a elderly woman came out of nowhere asking if her pills were ready. She turned to me, "Sorry, but I have a cab waiting outside." Lady, I have been living in this place all day! The infuriating entitlement complex of New Yorkers! I almost strangled her. Luckily, the cashier rang me up first.

I ran my errands at odds with this city. I got pushed around in the too-small card store, everyone frantically buying their holidays cards at the last minute. Walking down the street, I was accousted by homeless men asking for money and random crazies talking to themselves. The post office had a line of about fifty people snaking around at a snail's pace. Not even worth trying to buy a book of stamps. At the grocery store, however, I made an exciting a discovery: whole-milk yogurt--but only available in a big tub--one I eagerly placed in my cart, alongside some museli and corn flakes. (After tasting it, I think that the low-fat will do. This yogurt is almost too rich). I was dismayed to find the selection of fresh rolls looking not so fresh. Dejected, I dropped in bread in a bag into the cart. This would have to do for now.

Exciting breakfast finds.

Weary and tired from my day out, when I came home, I opened the mail box to find this:

Dan came home late and I cooked dinner for the first time in months. Salmon with vegetables. We talked about our moving plans and while I was excited about the prospect when I was abroad (I have always disliked our little apartment), suddenly it all seemed very scary and intimidating leaving this home. Since I have been back, this is the one place in this crazy town that I feel myself.

Besides my mom, I have avoided calling everyone and announcing my arrival. (Don't worry I will get to you all). It's just that making those calls mean that it is official: I am back in New York. My trip is over. I don't want to let go. Finally, I broke down and called my friend Katie at work. Happy to hear from me, but said she couldn't talk. She had a meeting. I get it. Life has to go on.

Honey, I'm home!

2007-12-17T15:31:00.000+01:00

My going away party, in Warsaw.

My flight back is nothing to write home about. I read, I listened to music, I picked at the lasagna, I ate the two ham sandwiches Basia prepared for me (that's right! two! always two!), I stared out the window. I kept waiting for some big revelation to take place, some clever phrase or deep feeling that would sum up this experience and satisfy me. I had no such revelations.

Usually landing into a New York City airport, in this case JFK, its neighboring terrain a grid of copper and white lights at night, I feel a sense of excitement. This time I just felt nervous as the pilot tried to navigate the plane in the gusty wind.

I navigated my way back home using public transportation: the JFK air train, Long Island railroad, New York City subway. I looked out the window into the black night at Jamaica, Queens and again tried to feel something. I just felt tired. My watch said it was 3 am, Poland time.

Penn Station was filled with more sketchy characters than usual. The cold outside have brought the homeless in. The subway came right away, and the amount of minorities on the train initially startled me. Eastern Europe is white man's land.

Finally when I got to the 72nd Street station and began walking on 71st to my home, my mood lifted and I was eager to see Dan who I knew was waiting for me. Even living here everyday, it always makes me happy to see the light on the second floor lit. It means he is home.

Dan greeted me with kisses and hugs. He is the same old Dan but with a little more hair. Christmas music was playing, and he had smartly decorated the apartment for the holidays. A string of white lights framing the window and greenery and more lights on the mantle. Stockings hung, mine already half full, but I am not allowed to look inside. And then a beautiful winter flower arrangement just for me. He also welcomed me with a completely empty refrigerator--nothing except condiments and a half bottle of water I left in there in September! He mentioned in emails that the bed sheet had a little tear, but I was not expecting it to look like Edward Scissorhands had tried to sleep in my bed.

We talked into the night until I could barely keep my eyes open anymore. This morning, Dan left for work, and I went out to get my favorite New York City breakfast: an everything bagel with cream cheese. Walking back to the apartment, the city busy and blustery, kids going to school, adults to work, I felt somewhat strange being here. It's kind of the feeling when you step inside a pool with cold water and it is uncomfortable but you know if you wait a while, it will feel better. In terms of New York City, I just stuck my toe in the water and I am not sure I want to go in yet.

First view of New York: 72nd Street Station near my home.

Dan, waiting for me midst Christmas decorations galore.

Together at last!

Someone likes me.

2007-12-15T20:20:00.000+01:00

Little Tomek.

As I write my last post on foreign soil, little Tomek is sitting here in the computer room. I know he is here because I am in here. Somehow he is always near me. When I am sitting and watching television, so is he. When we are eating, he makes faces and gestures and is checking to see if I am noticing them. When I went upstairs to pack, he was sitting outside of my door, playing on the top of the stairs. Usually I find him looking at me curiously, but sometimes he will try to say something to me, but he speaks so fast that I can barely understand a word he says.

Oh, Tomek. He badly needs a haircut. He has constant bedhead. These hairs on the top on his head stick up an inch taller than the rest. He is constantly being yelled at by his parents. He cannot sit still, always shifting chairs, touching things he isn't supposed to, crawling around the floor under furniture. Today, his dad Roman, brother Slawek, Tomek and I drove to this lake to go on a walk, and the kid forgot his jacket. He said it was in the trunk, but it wasn't. He had to wait in the car.

Yesterday, his parents took out of his homework assignments, which was to write who Paul and Peter were. He wrote "Paul and Peter is a deli near my house. They sell good bread and gowamki." He got a bad grade, but his parents thought it was hysterical.

I thought he was 9 or 10. He is 12.

He is so endearing and funny, but I look at him and think, "You're hopeless Charlie Brown. Completely hopeless."

I am sure that the next time I will see him, he will be tall and all grown up, all the spunk and childishness gone away. Probably more like his older brother, Slawek, who tells jokes and rolls his eyes at his parents. So I am glad that I got to capture this snapshot of him. Little Tomek.

Enjoying the fire.

Slawek and Roman, on our walk. Tomek waits in the car.

Coming full circle.

2007-12-14T22:48:00.000+01:00

For my last night in Kikol, Tomek arranged for a party just for me at Kayman's pub.

"Who is coming to your party?" my mom asked, when we phoned her. I had no idea.

My party ended up having five guests: Tomek, Ala, Kayman, his girlfriend and me. I barely said a word throughout the evening, and with Tomek chugging down beers and snorting some of Kayman's tobacco he got from Amsterdam (I never knew you could do such a thing, but it's true. Makes your eyes water apparently), I think it was more a party for him. But it was still nice anyway.

When we walked home from the pub, Tomek pointed out the stars which shone almost as bright and brilliant as they did that evening in Lake Tahoe where I had my moment of What am I doing with my life? I looked up and tried to be introspective, considering how much my life has changed since that moment, but then Tomek interrupted me by pointing out the North Star and babbling about other constellations that I could not understand.

This morning when Tomek and Ala dropped me off at the station, I thought Ala would burst into tears. I, too, have grown quite accustomed to them this past week, with their twice-daily ham enriched meals, watching "Jaka to melodia?" (Name that song) and Ala's "serial" (soap opera) on television, speaking to all of their family members on Skype on a daily basis and playing Suduku with Ala on the computer.

One of the Polish serials I watched this week.

"Are you sure one sandwich is enough for you?" Ala asked, as I made myself a ham sandwich for the road. It was a three-hour journey after a big breakfast. I was sure.

I was sad to go but I did breath a sigh of relief when I boarded the train. It was the first time I have been alone in a week.

I met Jurek at the bus station, and from there, we went to his home, the place I started this trip. When I arrived, it was a disaster area. Construction workers were installing cabinets and there was non-stop hammering, the smell of paint, men yelling, Jurek and Basia running around, acting stressed. I felt completely in the way. Of course they fed me, and we spoke a little about my trip, but for most of the day, I was off on my own. I took a long nap, read my book, watched Polish tv, frantically looking for Jaka to melodia? with no luck. Home-sickness washed over me, which was slightly relieved by the visit of Jurek's brother, wife and two sons. Tomek, the youngest son, kept looking at me with interest (Who is this strange American person?) while the eldest son was baffled that I put milk in my tea.

"I never knew you could do that!" he said, stunned.

I wanted to buy a cd of Polish Christmas music and Jurek's brother picked two up for me, and when we played it, I nearly started crying listening the familiar music, almost hearing my grandmother singing along in the background like she used to.

Can you tell I am ready to go home?

Slowek, Roman, Tomek and Ola.

Jurek, me, Tomek, Slawek, Roman and Basia. The leaf in front of Jurek's face was intentional.

New cabinets.

Blast from the past.

2007-12-13T16:33:00.000+01:00

Tomek and Ala took me to Sierpc, an outdoor museum of an old Polish villiage. Think of it as Colonial Polandburg. Tomek suggested that I show these pictures to Dan and tell him that this is how modern-day Poland looks like.

For the first time in what feels like weeks, the sky was blue, the sun was shining. It was a lovely day to spend outside. Afterwards, we went to the house where my grandfather was born. Here are some pictures of the day:

One of the old homes. "Tell Dan this is our house," Tomek said.

Where ever we go, Tomek always walks ahead.

My favorite shot of the day: The wind mill.

What pretty teeth you have!

Grandfather's old house.

In addition to a big shopping bag filled with presents, I am also bringing home some family treasure. Wojtek has found some old family documents in the attic of Tomek and Hania's father's home. They are in enclosed in a box of chocolates, which in itself is interesting because it looks like something you would buy in an antique store, and inside are some documents and photographs of my grandfather and grandmother. I cannot really tell what all of them are, but there is one of my grandmother's identification cards from the 1930's that shows her looking younger than I have ever seen her, and another picture of my grandfather where he looks just like my Uncle Kaz. There is some document about my grandfather being a prisoner of war and some other things. It should be fun exploring it with my mom and my family when I come back home to the States.

Treasure chest of old stuff.

Lastly, given that this is the last week of my trip, it has been a marathon session of Polish Ham. I am talking the real thing, not the blog. I have eaten ham every day in the last week, usually twice a day, for breakfast and for dinner. Any notion that I might have lost weight on this trip have been lost. My pants actually felt snug today. It's good food, but I cannot wait to go home to cereal and fruits and the gym.

The firecracker.

2007-12-12T20:53:00.000+01:00

The cemetary in Lipno.

I have two very vivid memories of Ania, my mom's childhood friend.

One, is being a teenager, answering the phone, and hearing from the receivor someone scream on the top of their lungs: POLSKA! Meaning, Ania from Poland is calling! Get mom, really quick!

Two, is visiting Ania in Poland, at her home in Lipno. Lipno is my mother's hometown, the place where my grandparents lived during World War II, and seven years ago when we visited was my mother's first visit in over 20 years. It was an emotional trip. Ania, the fiery red-head, talked up a storm and served my mom, stepfather, and me more food than ever imaginable. I just remember sitting around the dining room table filled with every Polish food known to man, feeling so full I could die, listening to my parents talk to Ania, her husband Marek, and Ania's parents. I especially took a liking to Jan, Ania's father, who would pretend to be our waiter and make little jokes that even I, with my limited language skills, could understand.

What a difference seven years can make.

Ania's father passed away in March. Her mother is still alive, but striken with Alzhemier's and now cannot walk. Ania's husband has had two strokes and also has cancer. Ania is handling everything herself. When she opened the door, I barely recognized her. She was dressed in all black. She is no longer a red-head and moves with the world's weight on her shoulders.

But she was thrilled to see me. "Iwona, my little Iwona, my sweet, precious little Iwona," she cooed, hugging me tightly.

"I am not so little anymore!" I said.

"You are always little to me!" she said. I said hello to Marek and mother, the living room which we had previously sat seven years ago eating non-stop, has turned into a hospice. The two sat in seats facing the television but in different parts of the room. The dining room table is now pushed to the side of the room and covered with medications and blankets. Nurses, which Ania has hired, milled around, fluffing pillows, fixing food, making conversation.

"Why don't we go to the cemetary first," Ania suggested. Going to the cemetary is very important to Polish people. Ania says that she goes once a week, and it is common that people go on the weekends. (When we were in Gdansk, Ala even stopped to visit her brother). Ania goes not only to visit her relatives, but also to care for my family's graves. Walking into a Polish cemetary is amazing for an American, because it is a sight you would never see in the States. Nearly every grave is covered in (mostly fake) flowers and candles. My mother recently purchased a new tombstone for our family, including my grandfather who is buried here, and so I saw it for the first time. We cleaned it off and lit some candles. Seeing all the flowers on the other graves, I wanted to get something for our family, but there wasn't much of a selection, so I bought these cheesy plastic holiday flowers that I would never purchase in the States. (It's the thought that counts, right? I am sure Grandpa and co. understands.)

Flowers galore.

Ania had arranged for me to get a tour of Lipno in English, however, the tour guide bailed and so we had our tour in Polish instead. However, I am not sure who the tour guide was: the guy who walked around with us or Ania who spoke the whole time. Being outside of the home, her old firecracker self came back, and she rambled on nonstop. I could probably understand about 15% of what she said to me. The guy showed me old pictures of the streets were walking on and sometimes I was surprised to see that the old pictures looked nicer than the rundown town I saw today. We passed by the building where my grandfather used to work, the same one I saw seven years ago, and I was dismayed that they had modernized it by painting it an ugly shade of lime green. It looked horrible.

Where my grandfather worked.

We went back to the house, where Ania and I ate alone in the kitchen. She had prepared a delicious meal of mushroom soup (with Polish forest mushrooms, of course) and then a meal that she is convinced my great grand-mother might have made: baked potato pancakes and chicken with gravy.

We looked through a ton of photo albums together, and it seemed to me that all the pictures were of the foursome: Ania, her husband and her parents, and I realized how hard Ania's life must be right now. And before while I might have laughed over her loud voice and non-stop chatter, now I really admire her for her strength and devotion to her family and mine. My deepest hope is that when she is left alone without her foursome (hopefully not soon), that she will continue to live long and well, still remaining her firecracker self.

Ania and her husband Marek.

Me and Ania's mother (my grandma's good friend).

The castle.

2007-12-11T19:00:00.000+01:00

Malbork Castle, the largest Gothic castle in Europe.

Today, Tomek and Ala took me to Malbork Castle. The weather was not ideal. It was very grey and rainy. This happens a lot in the winter. (But in the summer...)

Since no one (except me, apparently) in their right mind would visit Poland at this time of year, Ala and I received our own private tour of the castle, by a guide who only spoke Polish. I read the English guidebook beforehand so I could maybe follow about 30 percent of what she said. The rest of the time, I thought about how I will continue my language studies in the States, and if it is possible if I will ever be fluent.

We drove back to Kikol after the tour, and with no ham sandwiches (all food was left at Ala's family in Gdansk), and no restaurants around, something happened. Hunger. And boy, did it feel amazing. My hosts were frantic, but I enjoyed the ache in my stomach. We finally came upon a roadside cafe that was just outside another old castle, where we had the Polish fast-food: breaded pork and potatoes. It hit the spot.

For the first time, I did not fall asleep the ride home, and instead I watched the ride home on the small two lane roads, looking out to the vast dreary plains.

When I came home, Ala and I looked through her jewelry box, and she gave me a necklace and ring from her collection. It was so sweet. I have been very dilligent about not accumulating a lot of things on this trip, but in the five days I have been in Poland, I now have a bag full of stuff, including a framed picture of Gdansk, a Metallica road sign, chocolates for me, my mom and Dan, among many other little trinkets. They have so little and yet they feel so compelled to give and give and give. It is very nice and endearing, but where am I going to put all this stuff? No wonder these Polish people always travel with such big bags.

"It's so much nicer here in the summer..."

2007-12-10T20:58:00.000+01:00

Tomek, in cap, in Sopot.

The insanity continues...

Yoki slept me with again. He was escorted out of my bed several times by his owners but always managed to come back. He doesn't love me. He loves my bed.

This morning, Hania created an elaborate Polish breakfast just for me: an entire plateful of Polish Ham, three fresh croissants, a plate of rolls, a plate of deviled eggs, each with a spoonful of mayonaise on top, some kind of mayonaise salad, tomatos with onions, pickles, yogurt...it goes on and on.

I eat and I realize she is just watching me.

"You're not eating?" I asked her. She showed me an empty carton of yogurt.

"I ate already," she said. And I am expected to eat all this? I was already full from last night. I did the best I could and felt my stomach grow some more.

Hania's breakfast.

My breakfast.

I was waiting for Tomek and Ala to pick me up for our trip to Gdansk today.

"Do you want me to make for you a sandwich for the road?" Hania asked.

"Sure," I said. All Polish people make ham sandwiches for the road. (Even my mom does at home). I have noticed that sometimes they make two, in case you are facing death by starvation or something like that. But I was really unprepared for the snack Hania gave me. It was about six sandwiches, a bunch of apples, a big bottle of water and four cartons of yogurt (I made the mistake of mentioning that I like the yogurt here, so they have been force-feeding it to me. Only I don't have the heart to tell them that I like yogurt with museli--not just out of the carton--because that would require another unneccessary trip to the store to get cereal when they definitely do not need more food!). The snack could barely fit in a shopping bag.

"That is all for me?" I squeaked.

"And for Tomek and Ala," she said. But of course they made their own ham sandwiches for the road. The amount of ham sandwiches we had in our car trunk for three people was just plain insanity.

Tomek and Ala drove me three hours to Gdansk. Everytime I sit in their car, I fall asleep like a baby. I slept the whole way. They must think I am a very tired person. I fell asleep when we drove to Torun a few days ago, too. It is very strange since I cannot communicate well with them so I wonder what their perception of me must be. Do they think I am boring? Because I feel boring. I say the same things over and over because those are the words I know how to say. And sometimes if I cannot find the right word, I have to improvise and offer a half-truth, which is not as interesting as the full-truth.

This evening, for example, we are staying with Ala's sister-in-law, and she asked me why I did not go to Italy on this trip. I tried to explain that I did not want to do Western Europe on this trip and want to explore Italy at a different time, but when that proved too difficult to explain, I just told her I have been there before, which is completely true, but not what I wanted to communicate at all.

Other times I tell a joke and it just falls flat on its face. They do not understand or they think I am talking about something else and answer a completely different way. The conversation shifts in a way I did not intend it to. Usually I just go with it.

No matter where I have gone since the last week of October (Austria, Germany, Netherlands, etc), people have been telling me "It's so much nicer here in the summer. You should come in the summer." I cannot tell you how sick I am to hear this phrase. Because I am here now, and I don't care about how it is in the summer. And most of the time, I can say, yeah, this place is probably nice in the summer, but I still like it now. If the city is interesting enough, it withstands the weather.

My Polish family tells me this phrase "It's so much nicer here in the summer" about five times a day, and I try not to show my annoyance (because I can't really explain to them in Polish why this phrase annoys me) and so through clenched teeth, I politely say, "Yes, I know." I noticed that when I go sight-seeing with my family, whether it is Wojtek in Torun or Tomek and Ala in Gdansk, we just walk around and they do not have much to say about the place. Sometimes they point out a sight, and tell me the name, but they don't really try to explain so much in Polish. Instead, once in a while they ask, "Do you like it here?" And I say, "Yes, I like it." And then they shrug their shoulders and say, "It's so much nicer here in the summer," going on to talk about the nice weather and all the people and the cafes on the street and everything that is not there now.

I have to admit that here they are right. Gdansk, Sopot and Gdynia, the places we visited today, probably are much nicer in the summer. But these are towns by the sea, and so you lose something when it becomes cold. Walking along the beach, looking at boats, seeing the water, doesn't feel so special when you are freezing your ass off. However, despite this fact, I did like the towns very much and if I were to come to Poland again (in the summer, of course) I would like to go to these destinations and see for myself.

At breakfast this morning, Hania asked me, "When are you coming back?"

I haven't even left yet. People! I know it's cold! Let me enjoy it while I am here!

Ala and me.

Houses in Gdansk.

There was someone in my bed last night.

2007-12-09T16:22:00.000+01:00

Yoki.

Considering the fact that Yoki the dog barked at me every time I moved an inch yesterday, it was strange to find that he slept in my bed the entire evening. I was sleeping in my hosts' Wojtek and Hania's bed, and that is Yoki's bed, too. I guess the dog cares more about the bed than who is sleeping in it. With my nerves, he was actually a great comfort. Even though he woke me up at 6 am from the slurping sounds of him licking his paws over and over.

I did not really realize that I was sleeping in their bed until they told me. I have finally found an apartment in Europe that is smaller than mine. Hania and Wojtek usually sleep in the fold-out bed in the living room. Their teenage son sleeps in the bedroom. They played musical beds last night to accommodate me. I think Hania slept in the kitchen, the poor woman. Polish hospitality has no end.

Today Wojtek took me on a tour of Torun, which basically consisted of walking around the city rather briskly for a few hours. We spoke little to each other, and I began to feel incredibly home sick. There was Polish Christmas music coming from one of the buildings and it just made me think about Christmas at home. I thought about Dan, my friends and family. I fretted about our apartment and my job.

It's strange. I am missing home, but home won't be the same when I get back.

Wojtek and me.

Torun's Town Hall.

The land of constant eating.

2007-12-08T23:05:00.000+01:00

With the whole Ala situation, I was cool as a cucumber yesterday. But as soon as the lights went out and I was alone in my bed, I found myself confronted with anxiety. This happens to me sometimes, especially if something especially stressful happens to me. I feel very nervous as if I am about to give a presentation or something and I am hyper aware of the rhythm of my heartbeat. Irrational thoughts flood my brain. I know that it is just nervous energy manifesting in my body, and I calmed myself down with deep breaths until I fell asleep.

I woke up this morning to find that I was not the only one who was nervous. Tomek did not sleep all night. Even though I did not feel scared at the moment, the anxiety made me realize how the whole incident shook me up.

But as we were dealing with the aftershock, Ala said she felt like nothing happened and she said she was feeling just fine. Her daughter Luzia and her son Marciek came to visit. Six-year-old Marciek just wanted to watch cartoons, but he took a liking to me, and I enjoyed when he tried speaking to me and called me ciocia in such a serious voice.

Luzia, Marciek and me.

To give you an idea of how small a town Kikol is, where Tomek and Ala live, when Tomek, Luzia and I walked to the bus station (that is right, walked), they said hello to everyone who passed us by not because they were being nice, but because they knew everyone. I thought that was neat.

From there, I took the two hour trip to Bydgoszcz to visit Tomek's sister, Hania, her husband Wojtek and son Michal. Hania and Wojtek are the nicest people, and they are obsessed with their dog. This dog is king of the apartment and he knows it. He will not stop barking at me, but his owners ohh and ahh over every movement he makes.

I was not the least bit hungry when I arrived (Ala had packed me lunch for the bus), but I sat down for the obligatory big Polish lunch. There were only three people there, but there was enough food for ten, including chicken, pork, a multitude of salads and cake. I was requested to try everything at the table, sometimes twice. By the end of the meal, I had in front of me a water, a glass of wine, and a beer.

Every time Wojtek or Hania would address me, they would say my name. Wojtek, especially, started every sentence with, "Ivona, please tell me this one thing..." and he would ask a question like, "In New York City, what is the difference between uptown and downtown?" I would do my best to answer the questions in Polish. While most people praised my Polish, and these two did as well, sometimes Wojtek could not help but burst into laughter by my response. He spoke a little English himself and I told him that I would start laughing at him when he made a mistake. I didn't.

We looked through piles and piles of old family photographs, most of them Hania would flick aside and say, "I don't know who these people are..." I did collect a nice one of me, my grandma, my brother, my Uncle Kaz and Aunt Yvonne in front of my house in New Jersey. Then they gave me a book of Polish scenic pictures (these relatives keep giving me presents and I have no idea how I will carry them all home!)

Wojtek then took me on a tour of Bydgoszcz. There was not much to see, but it was okay. He lamented, as everyone else I have met has lamented in the last two months, "Why did you come now? Come in the summer! There is more to see." But with my nervous energy, the walk in the evening felt very nice, and then we stopped for drinks where he invited me to eat some more, but I just had a drink. I knew his wife was at home cooking up something and I was completely full already.

I asked him to explain Polish hospitality and why there is so much food.

"In Poland," he said, "the guest is everything. It's tradition. And I really like it." And when we went home to have supper, he purposely made me try every single thing at the table once again. Everything is special, he explained, from the special ham to the special egg salad to the special pickles. I think he was being funny. He has a good sense of humor.

They asked me how often I see my mom, and I said I visited her a lot, like once a month. They were shocked. Something I noticed about this family is that they talk to each other constantly. Hania and Tomek are on the phone every minute, and if they are not talking to each other, they are on Skype, speaking with Tomek's daughter in Canada or someone else. We even had our own little Skype session with Uncle Kaz and Chris in California. It made me wonder if I should be in better touch with my family.

With that thought, I go to sleep now, content but a little nervous still, and with a belly full of Polish food--and I am sure, more where that came from tomorrow.

Hania with her true love.

Wojtek and his son Michal.

Me with a statue in a Santa Hat, in Bydgoszcz.

The Big Scare.

2007-12-07T19:02:00.000+01:00

The hospital waiting room.

Sitting cozy in the train station in Berlin at noon, I never would expect that 24 hours later, I would be sitting in a plastic chair in a hospital waiting room in Torun, Poland.

It all happened so quickly. I was walking with my cousin Tomek and his wife Ala, up a flight of steps outside in the city. When Ala reached the top, I saw her heels buckle a little. I thought that something got stuck on her heel. It was raining and she had worn high heels by accident. She called for her husband, then walked down some steps where I saw her stumble and then crumble to the floor. When I ran over, she was lying on the ground, blood and foam coming from her mouth, eyes blankly looking ahead. She was making weird gurgling noises. It looked like she was having a heart attack. Someone on the street called the ambulance from their cell phone, while Tomek tried to help her and I held the umbrella over them. He lifted her head, and blood rolled down her face from her forehead, where she must have hit herself when she fell. It was completely surreal--was she going to make it?--and yet I felt calm and Tomek was acting calm. The girl who called the ambulance was a mess. Finally, Ala seemed to come to, she was able to sit up, even stand, but she could not remember her name or who we were or where we were. Fifteen minutes later, the ambulance came and whisked her away. Tomek and I, in silence, went in the car and followed her there. And that is how I ended up in the hospital waiting room thinking, "How did everything change so fast?"

It was all non-eventful at first. Boarding the train at Berlin on the Warsaw Express, I noticed immediately that the attractiveness level of the passengers downgraded, the language turned shrill, the bags and luggage were enormous. Oh yes, I was back with my people. I was going back to Poland.

I was sitting in a train car filled with Poles who smirked when the German conductor tried to speak Polish over the loudspeaker (even to me her accent sounded funny). Moments later, I get a phone call from Ania, my mother's childhood friend, from Lipno, Poland. "Welcome to Poland!" she screeched on the phone. I had to leave the train car to speak with her. No way was I going to speak broken Polish in front of this crowd. I could not hear her at all and yelled Polish nonsense into the phone but by the time I arrived to my destination, everyone in Poland (and my mother in America) knew that I had spoken to her and all about my great Polish speaking skills.

I met Tomek and Ala at the train station. I have only met Tomek once, seven years ago, when I came to Poland for the first time. This was my first time meeting his wife. Neither of them speak any English and so I dove in and tried to speak, only to find it incredibly hard and frustrating. I couldn't communicate anything. That is what two months of not speaking Polish does to you.

"You speak so well!" they said, but it was very hard for me to really say what I meant and tiring to follow their words, especially when they said "Do you know what we are saying?" and I never knew. With such limited speaking skills, I had to size them up in a different way. Tomek seems a friendly, joking sort. While Ala is very attractive and went out of her way to make me feel comfortable. She made us a delicious Polish supper, including the requisite plate of Polish ham, cooked ham wrapped in bacon, and potatoes in a yummy cheese. They made me eat and eat. No wasn't ever the right answer to "do you want more?" She also made a terrific cheesecake.

"Does your mom make cheesecake?" she said me. My mom is actually known for her cheesecake and I wanted to say that yes, she does, but it is different because the cheese in her cake is very heavy and yours is very light. I did not know how to say that, so I just told Ala that hers was better. It is not the total truth, but she seemed really happy about that answer. Sorry mom! It was good cheesecake though.

I had also mentioned to my mom a few days ago that I had a harmless cough, and so they handed me an entire bag filled with five different kinds of medicine.

"I'm not sick!" I said. They are not sure whether to believe me or not.

The two of them took me to a bar down the street, where we met a man and owner of the bar named Kayman who was built like a football player and had a foot-long beard that he tied in two braids. He sat and had a beer with us, sitting backwards in a chair, and he would pull his braids, his chin coming along with it, to have them hang over the chair back. He spoke so fast that I did not understand him otherwise, so watching this maneover was fascinating. I couldn't figure out if this person was related to us or not. I left thinking no. His bar was very cold, only a stove heater to warm the place, and it was decorated in a sixties theme, but there was also a very cool road sign that said "ul. Metallica." (ul., short for ulica, means road in Polish).

"My brother would love that!" I told him, Metallica being Pete's favorite band. I was going to take a picture, but then he went over to it, took it down and gave it to me, and I was completely surprised.

Happy Birthday, Pete!

I came home exhausted, but Tomek and Ala fought over my attention, showing me pictures and things that they thought would interest me. They had come up with their own "program" for me for the next week, and we planned to spend all day Friday in the city of Torun. This morning, everything seemed to be going to plan, but then ten minutes into my tour, everything changed.

The Polish hospital was like every other hospital that I have ever been in. Sterile looking and depressing as anything. Sitting near the emergency room door, I watched people coming. There was the guy who hurt his back, the old man with hands like limp roses against his chest, sad grandmas and grandpas looking minutes away from their deathbed.

Tomek was nervous and kept pacing and around and calling people on the phone. Then we found out that Ala was fully conscious and fine and we had to wait for the results of her tests. She came out to the waiting room.

"Why don't you take Yvonne to Torun as I wait for the results?" I couldn't believe that she suggested that. And that Tomek seemed to be considering. He said no because his jacket was completely bloody and he did not want to walk around like that. I breathed a sigh of relief. But then he insisted on taking me out to eat. And so we went to a mall, where they played Christmas music that seemed horribly cheerful considering the mood, and he bought me a pizza. He did not eat any, which only made me feel worse. We sat in silence, the only thing he said to me was "I don't know what is going to happen with the program now." They were worried about me, when they had bigger issues at hand. I tried to communicate that I did not care about the program but my words were not articulate.

We went back and found Ala in the waiting room, still waiting.

"I am upset you did not get to see Torun," Ala said.

"Don't worry about it," I said, "I just want you to be healthy." Finally the right words came out. She started to cry. I hugged her. We had to wait a few more hours, but the tests came out okay and the doctors let her leave. This might be wrong in translation, however, from what I understand, she has some heart problems and has a device in her heart and it did not work for a few seconds because of the weather or something and the blood did not get to her brain which is why that all happened. They advised her to see her regular doctor but said it probably would not happen again.

We drove back home and had a small dinner and watched tv. Ala seemed completely fine that made the whole thing feel even more surreal. She has no memory of what happened and so we repeated the story to her over and over, and Tomek finally revealed how scared he really was.

They still want to go on with my travel program. I am only concerned with Ala's health and am content to forget it or go off on my own. I even had my mom over the phone try to talk some sense into them, but they did not listen. We will see what happens.

When it comes to Polish hospitality, the guest is never the boss.

Ala, at the bar.

Kayman and Tomek.

What I saw of Torun.

At least someone cares.

2007-12-06T01:39:00.000+01:00

Garbage can at the train station in Berlin.

Before I leave Germany, I must remark: these people take their garbage very seriously. Never have I seen a people so devoted to separating their garbage and recycling properly. At the garbage cans in the train stations, for instance, you would find a spot for paper, glass, packing and waste. I would often stand before these waste bins confused. What is the difference between packaging and waste, I would often think, holding a candy bar wrapper.

All the Germans I stayed with recycled in some way. (Though I would have to say that Katrin wins the Al Gore award. Everytime I tried to throw away anything at her house, I needed to ask her where. It was always different). Nearly all of them ate organic food as well. And they all had their own shopping bags they brought to the store with them.

I am glad that they are so concerned with our environment and hope they influence others (Americans included) to do the same. Polish Ham, spreading the word.

The last stand.

2007-12-06T00:21:00.000+01:00

Pergamon Altar. The shrine is surrounded by a frieze of the Gods battling giants.

For the sake of my readership, I was a little more active today. Though I felt a veil of malaise over me.

Even Philipp noted this evening, 'I can see that you are here, but you have one foot already in New York.' I cannot deny it. The last few nights, I have been unable to fall asleep, visions of the city, a new apartment, a new job, a new life than that of a wandering traveler keep running through my head.

Taking this trip was the best thing I have ever done in my life. No matter what happens I will never regret it. And something I learned on this trip is that it all works out in the end. Sure, you can get lost, you cannot understand what anyone is saying, there can be train strikes, you can spend all day looking for contact solution, you can lose an adapter, but despite these obstacles, there is no need to worry. You will get there all right. And that is how I am trying to think about my return home. Sometimes I start to panic, but then I remember that and it makes me calm down.

The malaise is of sadness that it is all coming to an end. And while I am excited to come home, there is an apprehension. Through this trip I have learned so much about myself and feel stronger and more confident than ever. I have a new perspective on life that I never had before. Will this feeling continue when I go back to the real world, or will I get sucked back into my old New York lifestyle of all work and no play? This trip made me remember how much I enjoy the company of family and friends, eating good food, seeing art that inspires me, learning new things, writing for writing's sake and also a new passion: taking photographs. Will I remember about them when I come home? Will I have this same sense of self-worth and determination to do what I want? I cannot answer that question. I do not know what will happen. But that is what I think about at night.

But I am trying to live in the moment. I only have a few more days left, and so I went to see the Berlin once more. First starting at the Pergamon Museum, which was filled with one of a kind classical Greek, Roman, Islamic and Middle Eastern art and architecture. While these types of things are not my passion, both my hosts and the Lonely Planet guide said it was a must see, and I can appreciate why. The artifacts were pretty amazing. Then I moved on to something that was more capitivating to me: The KaDeWe department store, which is 8 floors of shopping. It reminded me a little of Bloomingdale's, but it also had a spectacular gourmet food floor, filled with chefs cooking up all sorts of things that smelled heavenly and food products from all over the world. The most spectacular section for me was the seafood aisle, where they had so many fishes, big and small, all different colors and varieties. I am unsure who buys all this fish, but they were certainly a feast for the eyes!

I passed by a display of American products like Swiss Miss Hot Chocolate and Smucker's Jam and wondered why these products were doing in a fancy place like this. Then it occurred to me: they probably do not sell these products here in Germany so it is special over here.

Eat me!

American specialties.

The rest of the day was 'typical Berlin,' first starting in a coffee shop, a place where it seems like everyone in this city spends half the day. (Besides Vienna, I have never seen so many coffeeshops!) Then I met up with Philipp when he came home from work, and he took me a pub where we stood at the bar and had dinner and beer. The beer is served in small, thin glasses and the bartender keeps refilling them without you asking until you put a coaster on top of your glass. We both ate a plate of meatballs, fried potatoes, a pickle and sourkraut.

The place was filled with people young and old, including lots of government types, and it had a nice rowdy atmosphere. The man standing next to us talked to Philipp some, (Philipp says that is quite common to have friendly conversation with your neighbors in a place like this) and then we listened to a friendly but heated argument between two old men. (Philipp explained to me it was about some famous German polar bear who turned one today).

'I think he is the owner of the bar,' Philipp said about the white haired man who started the argument. 'He looks familiar.' He did seem to know everyone. But then when Philipp went to the bathroom, he came back and said, 'He is actually the owner of the toliets. That is where I know him from.' (In Europe, you often have someone working the bathrooms collecting tips). Oops!

We then wandered to a jazz club for some music, which would have been okay but we were forced to stand some more. Standing at the pub was part of the experience, but now I was getting tired of standing. Luckily, Philipp had to go to bed. (Someone has to work tomorrow). It was a great night and a great finish to the city of Berlin and the country of Germany.

And to make the night complete, we took a cab home, German style, in a brand-new Mercedes-Benz. Not bad!

The standing pub. (you can sit there, too. Standing is just more fun).

Philipp and me.

Nothing happened today.

2007-12-04T20:11:00.000+01:00

I woke up. It took me a half an hour to get out of bed. I ate breakfast. I went back to bed. I lied there with my eyes closed, listening to the construction outside, pepping myself to get up: 'ten more minutes.' 'five more minutes.' okay, two more minutes.' I read three pages of my book. I finally got up and showered. I lied down on my bed. I looked out the window to the blue skies and felt guilty. I looked in my Lonely Planet guide. Nothing interested me. But I would go out. I decided. I put on my shoes. I lied down on my bed, shoes on floor. I was about to leave, and the door opened. Christina was home.

Seeing her standing at the doorway, I did not want to go anywhere.

'I don't want to go anywhere!' I said. I slipped off my shoes. I followed her in the kitchen. We had chocolate from the advent calendar, some tea and cookies. She cleaned and I read my book.

(Just a tidbit about German moms: Christina received one year maternity leave from her job. By law her company must offer her a part-time option for the first three years. That is what she is doing when she returns to work after the New Year. I know some mothers in New York who are probably green with envy. My old job offered 3-month maternity leave and part-time work afterwards was not an option).

At 2:30, we picked up Ada from daycare and went to a coffeeshop specializing in chocolate aptly named Kakao. I had a traditional German black forest cake, Christina had a kind of fruity pink cake, and Ada had an banana. (By the way she kept grabbing for dessert, I see a future sweet tooth in our midst.) It was really nice sitting there with Christina. I find her so easy to talk with. We swapped stories about our families and I heard about her and Philipp's wedding in a castle. She also asked me if it was true that American weddings end at midnight.

'A wedding that ends that early would be seen as a bad wedding here,' she said. I am not sure why Americans do not party all night, but I am guessing it has something to do with the cost of the wedding reception place.

We went back home. Had some more tea. Christina appeased a cranky Ada as I finished my book. Philipp came home from work, and we had a delicious pasta and celery pasta dish with truffle oil on top, courtesy of Christina the chef. It is apparently her own invention, and it is a good one. And then some more cake, including a German-style cheesecake which is much lighter than I have ever had.

The night ended as is now our custom. Philipp and Christina debate over my program, and they go to bed as I sit in the kitchen until the wee hours of the night checking my email and writing my blog. Perhaps that is the reason why I cannot wake up in the morning?

Ada, future cake eater. And yes, I have spent the last twenty minutes trying to make this photo rightside up on Christina's MacBook. I do not know how! I give up!

My big mistake.

2007-12-03T22:58:00.000+01:00

I walked into the Jewish Museum in Berlin today and was surprised to see metal detectors akin to an airport. I have been in many museums on this trip and have never seen such security before.

Hmmm, I thought to myself, perhaps something of interest to the readers of Polish Ham. I mean, don't you think that it is interesting that there is so much security in the Jewish museum in modern day Germany? I took my camera out of my pocket and snapped a quick picture.

Suddenly, everything went haywire. Security men were yelling and pointing at me. I was surrounded. People were yelling at me in German. And then finally a man in English said, 'Show me the picture you took.'

I showed it to him, and said 'I am sorry. I did not know.' I flashed him the picture, of someone walking through the metal detector, and erased it.

'Show me again,' he said.

'I erased it already!' I said, and to prove my point, I showed him all the pictures from yesterday including about five versions of 'I love Dan' spelled out in cookies.

'Okay, okay,' he said, letting me go. I was horribly embarassed. What was I thinking? I walked around nervously in circles and wondered if now I was being watched.

Agitated, I waited on line for the audio tour, and it took so long that I walked away. Went inside the musuem, which was creatively designed by Daniel Libeskind. There seemed to be lots of long hallways. I wasn't sure where to go and found myself first at this memorial for Holocaust victims, which was really stunning. It was in this isolated dark grey corner, and on the floor were thousands of thick pieces of metal shaped like faces. The faces looked simple at first, almost like cut out faces, but if you looked closer, the faces each had individual characteristics, the expressions filled with anguish. You were encouraged to walk over the floor of faces and when you did they emitted a loud clanging that sounded very eerie in that big quiet room. It was a powerful experience.

I walked out of there a little perplexed, still a little anxious, and began walking through the permanent exhibit, which was a hodgepodge of Jewish history, mementoes, artwork, biographies and interactive displays. I felt completely confused by the structure of the museum and the flow of the exhibit until half way through I saw a bunch of arrows on the floor facing the opposite direction. I was walking through the exhibit backwards.

I shrugged it off. It was just going to be one of these days. I learned in reverse everything there is to know, including seeing the other two abstract memorials, which did not impact me as much as the first one did.

I left the museum into the cold pouring rain, where I got all wet and realized I was heading the wrong way, so I walked back to the museum and the rain stopped. After a quick bite to eat, I trotted to the Topography of Terror, on recommendation of my hosts, which is an outdoor exhibit that talks about the structure and crimes of the SS during the Nazi era. The exhibit stands in the place where the headquarters once stood, where they planned all the strategies of terror and destruction including the extermination of the Jews. It is strange to think that people sat around and discussed and planned this, it did not just happen spontaneously. I was half way through the exhibit, cold as anything, squinting at the words as the sun went down, and then they kicked me out because they were closing. Oh well.

Walked through more rain and then I decided to get some warmth by going ontop of the Reichstag, the parliament building here. It is a traditional grand-looking place, however, on the top of the building is a glass sphere that was designed by Norman Foster, the same person who designed building where I used to work. You can go to the top and walk through a spiralling ramp that gives you views of the architecture and of the city. I did not take pictures at this security checkpoint (there were signs telling me not too--and I would expect to see security at a government building). But I was dismayed to find that there was no heat in the sphere (you could actually go outside) so I went in and out rather quickly, taking some fun pictures of the different shapes and designs.

I came back to the apartment wet, cold, exhausted, cranky, embarassed to tell my Philipp and Christina how I made a fool of myself in their country. (They laughed). Ada was going to bed, but she was so excited to see me, wiggling around and saying da da da over and over. After hearing about day (oh, the horrors!), Christina came up with the brilliant idea for me to take a bath. She even drew the water and let me choose the bath salts. It was just what I needed. And then they fed me dinner.

Floor of faces at the Jewish museum.

Sphere ontop of the Reichstag.

Inside the sphere.

View of the parliament meeting room. See blue chairs.

German Cookie Bonanza

2007-12-02T23:53:00.000+01:00

Two years ago, I started a new tradition in my life called Cookie Bonanza. On December 23, I spend the entire day in the kitchen, making about 6 to 8 varieties of cookies that I package and give as gifts for Christmas to my family. The third annual Cookie Bonanza will take place this year when I return, however, today I had some practice baking some holiday cookies with Philipp and Christina.

With American holiday music playing in the background (from a candy bar promotional cd called 'Merry Twix-mas'), little Ada playing on her own mini-kitchen, we went to work. Philipp immediately started making these jam sandwich cookies, and Christina suggested that the two of us bake American style chocolate chip cookies.

A note on German baking. They do not use measuring spoons. All ingredients are weighed on a scale. They do not really sell chocolate chips here (you can get them, but they are kind of expensive), so I chopped up chocolate into fine pieces. When I saw that the dough was a dark brown color, I told Christina that in the States, we had light brown sugar and dark brown sugar, and chocolate chip cookies had light brown sugar. She did not know of such variations. As I scooped the dough onto the cookie sheet, it was a hard claylike texture, nothing like the soft, gooey stuff you would normally get with this recipe.

I had to break it to them: These are not American chocolate chip cookies.

'But look here,' Christina protested, showing me the German cookbook, 'This recipe is from someone in America.'

It may be true, but perhaps they alter the recipe using ingredients readily available to Germans. Or this American woman has intentions to fool the German baking population.

Coming out the oven, they looked more like the original, and they tasted very good, so there was nothing to complain about really. I had like three of them. I just made a mental note that if Philipp and Christina ever visit me in the States, I would need to give them a taste of the real thing.

Philipp came up with the idea of sending Dan a care package but we decided that two weeks of holding on to cookies would be too long, so we came up with an alternative plan:

We were ambitious at first, hoping to make six different kinds of cookies. We only ended up with four, one made of dough and parmesian, was more of a savory than a sweet. Philipp suggested we go to a Christmas market--which is this big German traditional market where you can buy ornaments and holiday food and whatnot--but Christina and I were lazy and tired, our bellies filled with sugar, and so we did not go. We watched good ol Tartot instead. I contemplated decorating ideas for my new non-existent apartment instead of following the plot.

In Ada news, since my arrival, she continues to achieve. She has made about 6 small steps in a row. Her hair has grown. A new tooth has popped out overnight. And today she slipped and hit her mouth and blood squirted all over the place. Her first blood bath. And I was there.

This Ada sure likes opening drawers and taking things out of the drawers and throwing things that belong in drawers on the floor. Her means of communication--an arm outreached with an eh! eh! eh! sound--is quite effective in getting what she wants. I think she is still suspicious of me, and my English-speaking ways, but sometimes she will crawl to me, stand up, grasp on my leg and wobble to her heart's delight. I let her. Because she is nice. And her parents are okay, too. But they did not feed me dinner.

(They dared me to write that. I took that dare. Now everyone knows.)

Chocolate chip cookies? I don't think so! (But I will eat them anyway!)

Ada in her wooden crib.

One big happy cookie family.

Get with the program.

2007-12-01T23:34:00.000+01:00

The program.

There has been a surprising development.

I, traveling for three months now, have been looking forward to coming back to New York and having a stable homebase. However, I have just learned that I no longer have one. Dan and I were unable to negotiate with our landlords regarding our rent increase, and so we have decided that they can shove the $200 extra a month up their ass and we're moving out. We are confronted with the following challenges:

Dan has to look (and possibly choose) an apartment without me.

When I get home in two weeks, I will have to pack my stuff and be out by December 31.

I am out of a job and knowing New York City´s crazy rent standards (needing to show paycheck stubs and whatnot), I am nervous we will get screwed somehow (though the broker we contacted says it should not be a problem).

Will we even be able to find an apartment at this time of year? Who moves January 1?!?

While fretting about the idea of finding a new home (which will undoubtedly be too small and cost too much), I come to Berlin to stay at the home of Philipp, who you may remember as core member of the inner circle from Polish class, his wife Christina and their 11-month daughter, Ada. Completely tired of hostels (especially after the Amsterdam experience), I was overjoyed a few day ago when Philipp asked if I would like to stay with them. Would I ever!

Philipp and I met on platform 5 in Berlin's brand new train station in dramatic fashion: He on one side, I on the other. If it weren't for the concrete and train tracks, and the fact that I could barely move with my packs strapped to me, it was almost like running across a field of flowers to greet an old friend.

'This is a typical Berlin apartment,' he told me as we walked through the door of his home, saying hello to Christina and Ada. The place is in an old building, and just like most of the other buildings on their street, newly renovated. About three of my apartments could fit into theirs. They have a living room, a dining room, a master bedroom, a baby room, a kitchen, two bathrooms (equipped with washer and dryer), and two long hallways which makes for a nice design. It is stylish, but not uncomfortable, decorated in charming red, electric blue and white motif. Their walls are lined with interesting artwork and photographs, but they have books and papers and babytoys and trinkets littering their shelves and floors, as if to say, 'I am cool, but people live here.' They live in a neighborhood filled with fun shops, close to the center of town. I have seen at least three record stores in this city already which would make my boyfriend very happy. And they pay less in rent than we do back in New York. Why are we living in New York again?

There is a lot of activity in this home. Philipp and Christina seem like the type of people who always keep busy with so many friends and engagements and parties plus the baby. Also, within 30 minutes of being there, Ada takes her first step (only Philipp saw the first, we saw the second and third) and says 'Danke' for the first time. How's that for excitement?

I like their energy. Immediately, Philipp and Christina wanted to set up a program for me on exploring the city. I have been so laid back in my sight-seeing approach that having a program (as they referred to it) made me a little nervous.

'How do you want to approach the city?' Phillipp asked me. 'What are your interests?'

I gulped. I was a little embarassed to admit that I did not know much about Berlin at all. I know of no landmarks except for the Berlin Wall and that doesn't even really exist anymore. And approach? Does finding the best cake shops in town count as an approach?

So I asked them to recommend me a program, and so Christina created a walking plan for me which she drew on a map in green marker. Philipp went over the map, adding his own lines. They talked about places with names I could not pronounce, and I nodded and said yes that sounds good, even though I wasn't sure what any of these places were.

So with map in hand, I ventured into the city. It was one of these big maps, that folded a hundred times over, the kind where if you unfolded it, you could never get it back to its original condition again. And that meant I kept losing the little green line in these folds (I kept finding another green line that looked like it was drawn for another visitor). At one point, I was struggling with this map so long that a person on the street asked if I needed help.

'Oh, my friends,' I sputtered, 'gave me a program.' The man raised his eyebrow. I finally found the green line and showed him.

'Ah, yes!' he said, And then he started pointing out other streets that would be of interest to me. I was nervous he would take out his own green marker. But he didn't.

The Germans knew what they were doing, and basically they had me walk from their apartment down through the Mitte neighborhood, where first I walked through an impossibly hip street filled with coffee shops, art galleries, and little boutiques, decorated with enough grafiti to make it rough around the edges. This took me to an area filled with retailers and Starbucks, including one jewerly store where you could make your own jewelry from a variety of beads and objects, including little dolls. I was not sure if this was totally kitsch and awesome, or just plain scary. Finally this led me to all the big blockbuster sights, which I have never known of before, but oohed and ahhed anyway.

Out of all the cities I have visited thus far, Berlin feels the most liveable to me, perhaps because it is the most like New York. Sometimes walking around New York, I feel inspired by the energy of the place: the buildings, the people, the bustle. I felt the same way here and could not help snapping pictures left and right, trying to capture some of this feeling. While I do not know all the names of the places I saw today (nor can I really pronounce them) but I felt like I had a good sense of what the city has to offer. And what I saw, I really liked.

I came back to the apartment, and helped put Ada to bed. (Well, watched Christina do it). Christina went to a friend's house and Philipp and I made a pasta dinner. (Well, he made it and I sliced carrots). I like the little home that they have created for themselves here, and I hope that come Jan 1, Dan and I will have one something like it of our own.

Philipp, Tina and Ada's apartment. The living room and my room.

Gritty Berlin.

Magnificent Berlin.

What's fun?

2007-11-29T19:20:00.000+01:00

Me and Vincent.

I was not well-liked in college. I was not actively disliked either. If anything, I was invisible. I had few friends, kept my head down, all my energies went into my schoolwork. The truth is that I had trouble identifying with the people I went to school with. I thought college was going to be about meeting like-minded intellectuals, people who I would sit with in cafes for hours drinking coffee and talking about art and politics. Instead, the people I met had no interest talking about such things. They all had bored-sounding voices and said things like, "Maaaannnnn, I got so wasted last night."

Such a bored voice came from one of my roommates last night. "You're going to bed already?" The tone was filled with disapproval, and it made me shrivel back ten years to my 19-year-old insecure college self. This girl, a college student from Connecticut, was probably no older than 21.

"Yeah," I said. "I am tired and I did a lot today." It was almost eleven.

"What did you do today?" she asked.

"Well, I went on a walking tour and then I went to the Anne Frank museum, and I don't know, just walked around a lot." My words were met with dumbfounded silence.

"My friends are arriving tonight. Probably after midnight," she said, inspecting her nails. "They're going to want to go crazy tonight."

"Oh, that’s cool," I answered, lamely.

"Do you like traveling all by yourself?" she asked, "I would never be able to do that."

"Yeah," I answered and explained the reasons why. She nodded absently making me feel like I was speaking utter nonsense.

I think there is a reason why I have made no friends in Amsterdam. At breakfast, all these kids want to talk about how messed up they got the night before, and I am sucked back into time to my lonely college days where I always felt like I had to act like that was so cool, and then defend why I wasn't playing a part. No one understood me. It was tiring. I think that is why I studied so much, just so I could get away from these people and have something that made me feel good about myself.

When I think about myself in college, so serious with a nose in a book, I sometimes wonder what I would do if I could do it all over again.

But talking to this girl and mingling with these co-eds made me realize: I would do it all over again exactly the same. Because I didn't mix well with 19-year-olds when I was one, and now, 10 years later, I don't mix well with them either. I am the same person.

While this girl triggered the same insecurities I used to have when I was younger, it's different now. Before, I used to beat myself up about it. Now, I can look at her and think, "you're really not that interesting to me."

It's kind of like this conversation I had with my friend Megan, one of the fun-pigs. She likes to get her drink on and would often invite me out for drinks with her on Wednesdays, but I liked to go to yoga on Wednesdays. I always said no thanks and she would give me a hard time about it but then one day she said, "Everyone has their own definition of fun. Mine is going out for a drink, and yours is yoga." I wish someone would have said that to me in college. It would have saved me a lot of grief.

So I was the first into bed last night, the first to rise this morning. And I did things today I think are fun. Going to the Van Gogh museum. Reading magazines in a book store. Window shopping down the narrow alleyways of Amsterdam. Found and ate a cake that I liked. I planned to go bike-riding but the rain discouraged me. When I saw the girl again today, she having her entire day in coffee shops with her crazy friends, it was easy to shrug my shoulders and think, "you have your fun, I have mine," feeling like the 29-year-old woman I am.

My kind of fun: Window shopping. Who doesn't want a snow doll?

Sex, drugs and ham

2007-11-28T19:26:00.000+01:00

Boob touching.

Most people come to Amsterdam to party. The place where pot, magic mushrooms and prostitution are legal, it might be strange that someone like me would end up here. I always thought Amsterdam looked pretty in pictures. And I have always wanted to go to the Anne Frank house and the Van Gogh museum. I thought that the whole pot thing was sort of on the down low, kind of like "We're Euro and are cool so we legalize pot."

I was wrong. Coming here was kind of like walking into a frat party. Arriving at my hostel, I was greeted by the sweet aroma of marijuana as soon as I opened the front door. All the people staying there look and talk like they are 18 years old. There are a few that look older but that is only only because of their scruffy beards that go with their Phish t-shirts. Walking around the city, I was bombarded by "coffee shops" and at first, it was kind exciting seeing people smoking out in the open. But after ten minutes of walking by a multitude of Bob Marley posters, hemp leaves in the window and souvenir shops selling drug-related merchandise, I was already bored with it.

I am in Amsterdam and there is a part of me that says, I am here, I should take advantage of some of the debauchery that the city has to offer. But there is nothing appealing about going to a coffee shop or a sex show (yes, you can watch people have sex here on stage) alone and thinking wow, this is not really that fun alone. I walked by the Red Light District and seeing the skimpily dressed women--ranging from pretty to very ugly--in the windows kind of depressed me. (I learned on my guided tour of the city that the women rent a window for 150 euros for an 8-hour shift and that they usually receive about 50 euros for each 10-15 minute encounter). One of the girls saw me looking at her and knocked on the window for me. I scurried away.

I decided I would keep an open mind about it. If I meet some friends and the opportunity presents itself, then maybe I will participate--in pot smoking, not prostitution! (And yes, my mom is reading this. Hi Mom!) So far the opportunity has not presented itself (the girl sitting next to me at breakfast had her nose in a book, and the people I met on my tour around the city all had bad teeth. I do not want to have any kind of debauchery with people with bad teeth.) To be honest, I am not terribly disappointed. And on my tour, I found out that less than 10% of the people who live here actually participate (it's all for the tourists) so I am having a more authentic local experience. (Besides the fact I spent all day on a guided city tour and at the Anne Frank house).

When you get away from all that, Amsterdam is actually a very nice place. Just like the pictures, the town is quite quaint with its narrow buildings and canals and everyone riding around on their clunky old bikes. There are so many cool places to shop with unique clothes and trinkets and so many art galleries with paintings that make you stop in your tracks (and almost get run over by a bike--dodging them is a major activity around here). And even though I do not engage in pot-smoking or prostitution myself, I appreciate the liberal atmosphere around here and don't mind that others do. If anything, I am wondering why they are not legal anywhere else.

I must say that the sweets situation is not good here. First, the coffee houses here have other priorities than cake. The bakeries I have seen have thick and old looking pastries that make me feel sorry for them. Even I don't want to go there. I did have "the original" New York City pizza. Somehow it did not taste anything like the pizza I have had at home.

Those aren't your average houseplants.

The Red Light District.

The rest of Amsterdam looks like this.

Scenes from Brussels

2007-11-28T19:23:00.000+01:00

Just some pictures I like from my stay:

Ceiling of a shopping promenade.

The peeing boy.

A little graffiti next to a statue.

Awesome art nouveau architecture: Musical Instrument Museum

I love the Danish.

2007-11-27T00:27:00.001+01:00

The Atomium.

I have become such a lazy traveler.

Being with Gerda and family, all I want to do it stay in their pretty home and spend hours talking at the table and enjoying homecooked meals and munching on chocolate which is kind of what I am doing. I have realized that "home" has now become a destination for me. It doesn't feel commonplace anymore and so I am lapping it up like a dog drinking water.

I almost did not want to do anything yesterday--which is silly since I am in Brussels--but Gerda suggested that we go to the Atomium, which is a sight that would be new for both the family and me. The Atomium, which is a huge structure in the shape of the iron molecule, was built during the World Fair in 1958, and is Belgium's version of the Eiffel Tower. People go visit it to check out the views from the top.

Katrine, who had heard about it at school, was so excited that she skipped and jumped and ran around in circles as we walked towards it. However, the excitment waned quickly as the inside was nowhere as cool as the outside. For 9 euros each, we paid to wait in line to go to the top, which was a cramped, hot and smelly room, only to wait in line to go back down. For some reason, they did not let anyone use the stairs and so we spent the whole time waiting for the elevator. It would have made all the difference.

Gerda and Morten, being the gracious hosts, paid for everything, even buying me and Katrine and Anna Belgian waffles just so I can taste them. Gerdan and Morten are not that much older than me, but suddenly I felt like I could be one of their daughters.

"If my family dies and I am all alone, will you take me in?" I asked Gerda.

She said sure. I really meant it. I love these people.

First there is Katrine, the youngest. I cannot understand a word she says, but her facial expressions are filled with love, hate, rage, and silliness and she is fun to watch. Even though it is probably annoying for her parents, it is hilarious seeing her get mad over the littlest thing and yell things like "you don't understand me!" and stomp around, only to be in a perfectly normal disposition two minutes later. We finally bonded playing pirate swordfights and punching games. She then showed me her toys and the metal she won, and even said Good night to me in English. (It took her five minutes of standing there, and when she finally said the words, she scampered up the stairs in embarassment).

Anna is your typical teenager--it appears they are the same whether you are in the States or Europe. She takes hours getting ready and changes her outfit a few times a day. She thinks Americans are cool: She went to a Rhianna concert, watches One Tree Hill, speaks English well. Watching her reminds you all over what being a teenager was like.

And then there is Gerda and Morten. I really liked Gerda when I met her in Poland. She was so friendly and could get on with everyone, whether they were a flamboyant gay Spanish man or a Polish-American girl from New York City. But here, watching her in her real life, I am so impressed by her and the life she has created for herself.

She and Morten really work together as a team to manage their household. He cooks, she cooks. He cleans, she cleans. He takes care of the kids, she takes care of the kids. They have a warm, cozy home. Their kids are well-behaved and fun to be around. They have good jobs. They have a big car (that all their Euro friends turn up their noses at since it is not good for the environment) and yet they ride their bikes to work everyday (while their Euro friends drive). They take their kids to restaurants, they enjoy good food and good wine, they collect art and antiques, they vacation (looks like a trip to New York City is in the works). And while I know their lives are not perfect, it dawned on me that my last post was a bit naive. I wrote that I wanted to be a traveler and have the home and family, but I wasn't sure if I could have it all. But here, right in front of me, are Gerda and Morten, living both of my dreams at the same time and making it work. It finally clicked: It is not an either or situation. I can live the life the way I want.

When I have told people that I was visiting Brussels, I have gotten the following reactions:

"Don't go!"

"Brussels is my least favorite place in Europe!"

"It is dirty and dangerous there!"

"Belgium is like a third world country."

I did not have high expectations. I have checked out the city sights, and while it is not my favorite city, it is not so bad as what people say. However, what has made it phenomenal and has made it one of the highlights of my trip, is spending time and literally being inspired by these wonderful people.

Gerda, Morten, Anna and Katrine: Mange tak! You guys are the best!

Everyone looking miserable at the Atomium. From left to right, Katrine, Anna, Gerda and Morten.

Anna with a Belgian waffle.

Katrine, the pirate.

The girl who eats everything.

2007-11-25T11:24:00.001+01:00

Empty mussel shells, at dinner.

Ask me where I see myself in ten years, and I can give you two answers with absolute certainty, depending on the day.

I will be a traveler, visiting places all over the globe, immersing myself in different cultures, meeting interesting people and writing all about it.

Or, I will be married with kids in a nice home with a big kitchen to bake and a outdoor patio and garden to entertain.

My goal is to somehow do both, but they seem to be complete opposites. It is my common quandry: I want to have it all.

For now I am living the traveler's route, and I have stumbled onto my second dream, right here in Brussels, Belgium. I am staying with Gerda, the Danish woman I met in Polish classes, who works in Brussels as a translator for the European Union. She lives with her husband Morten and daughters Anna, 15, and Katrine, 7, in a four-story home with a garden in the back. This family is my fantasy in real life.

Take this Sunday morning. Gerda made some fresh bread. Morten went out to get some danishes (which I learned are not really Danish). We ate breakfast in our pajamas and told funny stories until Anna and Katrine got into a dramatic argument about a toy which reminded me of the days when my own sister used to make me cry on a daily basis. And now as I write this post, I am listening to the girls practice piano: First Katrine who stumbles along the song she needs to practice this week, and then Anna who fills the entire home with her graceful and beautiful song. If this is not the perfect vision of home, I am unsure what is.

Gerda and Morten have been incredible hosts. They took me to a Danish Christmas fair, laughing that it is not very typical "Belgian." However, I wanted to see how they live and it was fun to see this hokey fair selling traditional food and decorations, kids running around with face paint, all to benefit the church. We got some Danish licorice, which I had to spit out, it was so horrible. (This a typical reaction of the non-Danish). They had purchased some tickets for the lottery, and Katrine was very upset when we did not win the toy she wanted, huffing and puffing with a sour face, walking ahead and kicking her feet in the mud. How unfair life can be for a 7-year-old!

The family is multi-lingual, languages changing like the breeze. Katrine speaks only Danish and French, so she looked at me suspiciously for the most of the day. I started taking some pictures of her and her toys and then did she start smiling at me. Her favorite thing to do is eat, and when her parents said we were going to a restaurant, she squealed with joy.

We went out for Belgium's specialty: mussels and fries (apparently, the french fry was actually invented here). And nothing shocked me more than seeing this 7-year-old pry ugly, slimy fish out of shells and eating them with delight. She even requested the adult portion instead of the kids portion, but her parents said no. My own mussels were pretty tasty and I even dipped my french fries in mayonaise--this the choice condiment around here. It was not as bad as expected though I wouldn't make a habit of eating fat dipped in fat.

And what would Belgium be without chocolate! Gerda showed me her favorite chocolate shop, which had samples for the taking. I had about three pieces in three minutes. As we walked through the city, there was one shop after the other, offering delicious delights but we were so full that it wasn't worth the indulgence. Instead we opted for hot chocolate, which wasn't the "good stuff," I was told, but made my stomach feel nice and warm. At the table was a stack of coasters. On the back of one was written something like "Do you want to fuck?"

Katrine, who couldn't read it, layed out all the coasters on the table and we all played a memory game, searching for the one with the obscenity.

"I don't know why we bother getting her real toys," Gerda laughed. We played a few times until Katrine cheated (acting like she didn't, of course!). And with a full belly, a pleasant buzz with the company, we went home and I slept like a baby.

Katrine, the eater.

Mmmm...chocolate. That's Gerda buying some.

French fries and mayo.

Speaking German

2007-11-25T11:08:00.000+01:00

Jan makes dinner.

After making me a traditional German meal of egg noodles served with a meat that had the consistency of Spam, Steffi and Jan invited me out on the night on the town with their friends Toby and Tom. Steffi wore the new coat we picked out together at Zara. She bought a "serious" coat to make her look older. Now instead of 18, she looks 19. She's 24. The two boys added an element of fun to our group.

Toby is the type of person that walks around with a smile pasted on his face. Throughout the night, Toby was verbally abused by his friends for not liking animals, for only being interested in money and because he had recently cut his hair very short. Toby took the insults like a man and kept smiling.

Tom looked like an Angelic choir boy with little bangs and rosy lips, but his posture and demeanor said Benjamin Franklin. I couldn't figure out why until I realized he was wearing bifocals, which were propped in the middle of his nose, his eyebrows cocked when he was looking at someone, peering over his glasses with a suspicious look in his eyes.

He gave me such a look when he addressed me for the first time: "Did you see The Simpsons movie?"

"No," I said. His face fell.

"How can you not like The Simpsons?"

"I don't hate them, but I just don't watch them." I answered. "I hope it doesn't make you think any less of me."

He paused for a minute, as if considering. "No, it doesn't," he said finally.

"Well, why do you ask me if I have seen it?"

"There is this one part where Homer and Bart are on the roof," he explained, "and I have always wanted to know what Homer says to Bart in English and if it different than what he says in German."

"Have you been asking every American you meet about this?" I inquired.

He paused again. "Well, you are the first American I am asking, so yes, I am asking every American I meet." He smiled. He is planning to come to New York for an internship in the Spring and so I told him that I could ask some of the Simpson fans that I know to answer this question.

"Maybe I will ask them myself," Tom said.

I liked this guy immediately. He told me about terrible condition of the Germans, that they really were funny, but no one else in the world thought so.

Then we went on to talk about what German words I know.

"Do you know what Schadenfreuden means?" Steffi asked."You know, when someone is happy when something bad happens to another person?"

"Yes," I answered, "There is no English translation, so we use the German term. Maybe because Germans come up with words like this is the reason why no one thinks you are funny."

Jan told me that the German language is so precise that instruction manuals in English might be twice as long as if the same text was written in German. Then they told me about "mind-mapping" which is a type of brain-storming where you create a circle graphs to link your ideas together. They acted like Germans do this mind-mapping stuff all the time, but I think it's because they are students and they have to do it.

We walked back to the tram only to find we would have to wait an hour in the cold. So we did what every other person waiting for the tram did: Go to McDonald's. Eating some hamburgers at 1 in the morning; maybe Germans and Americans are not so different after all.

Me and Steffi.

Toby, Tom and Jan.

Falling apart and that's okay.

2007-11-23T17:40:00.000+01:00

The Dom.

Last night I discovered a hole on the butt of one of my pair of jeans. This is the second pair of pants to deconstruct on this trip, but this one makes me mad because I literally bought these jeans three months ago and they were not cheap.

My clothes are turning into shreads, my computer is out of order, I am losing things left and right, my hair is taking a different direction every day. I am falling apart. I like traveling still but I am a little sick of sight seeing (the churches and museums are beginning to blur) and lately, I have been feeling most content talking with people and reading my book in a cafe. Emotionally, I am in a good place. I am happy with my travels. I am happy to go home. I listen to my ipod and all the songs that I used to play when I was mad or frustrated do not evoke much feeling in me anymore. I am happy, content, rested. This whole trip worked.

Given that I am not so ambitious as a traveler at the moment, it is fun that I am now visiting people that I know. That way, I can just spend lots of time with them and not feel obligated about seeing all the sights in town. In Cologne, I am visiting Steffi, the girl who I spent my birthday with, and her boyfriend Jan, who are both university students and live in a nice apartment just outside of downtown. (After seeing yet another great apartment, I have decided that Dan and my apartment must be the smallest apartment in the entire world.)

When I arrived, they were busy doing the things that students are busy with, so I ventured into this surprisingly bustling town on my own to sight-see because even though I do not have the same enthusasium as I used to, I still do it and I still like doing it. Cologne is the fourth biggest city in Germany, but for me, it might as well be New York City. From the moment I stepped off the train, I was accousted by people rushing past me and pushing me aside. Walking around the shopping distict of the city was no different. Where are all of these people coming from? After buying a winter hat (finally!) I bumped into a large mass of females clutching cameras in their hands.

'What is going on?' I asked someone.

'The Backstreet Boys are signing autographs!' was the response.

I checked out the impressive Dom, the biggest cathedral in all of Germany, and today, along with about 600 schoolchildren, I went to the Chocolate Museum, where I learned about the history of chocolate and the growing of the cocoa bean (which had all these pictures of Africans wearing ripped clothing and talked about how conditions are terrible on the farms and there is a problem with child labor). That made me feel guilty. After that, they push you in a room where chocolate is being made and the intoxicating aroma made me forget about the African exploitation. I think they did that on purpose.

Besides that, I have just been leisurely hanging out with Steffi and Jan. We had some pizza and nice conversation at the student bar. Steffi and I looked for a winter coat--for her. I even had some alone time in Starbucks with my book. I did not see everything in Cologne and I don't have to. Because now, this pace feels just fine.

The Berliner: A donut covered in rough sugar with an explosion of jelly inside.

Shopping in Cologne.

Jan and Steffi.

Things to be thankful for.

2007-11-23T01:26:00.001+01:00

It is Thanksgiving. While my family is eating tons of turkey and the five desserts my mother prepared for eight people (see where I get my sweet-tooth from?), it feels like any other typical day in Germany.

Today I had a nice online chat with Madhur_163318 who works at Dell. This person made me do some tests on my computer that caused shrieking beeps that awoke the entire household (I now visiting Steffi and her boyfriend Jan in lovely Cologne). My computer failed the test. According to Madhur_163318, my LCD has gone bad, and it will need to be replaced.

'Nothing to worry about,' he wrote, 'A service technician will come to replace it.'

But will he come to Germany??!!

I had to wait a few minutes and apparently yes, I can get my LCD replaced here but I would need to stay in one place for a minimum of 8 days. After filling in Maddie (we became close) on my travel itinerary for the next few weeks, I won't be any one place for 8 days, so it looks like I will have to spend the next three and a half weeks carrying a broken computer on my back until I reach the States. At least it is covered by my warranty.

Things to be thankful for. As Juan-Carlos, the man from Panama, wrote me: 'Hey, your computer crashed. At least you have a computer.'

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.

Nude dudes.

2007-11-21T18:51:00.000+01:00

My half-working computer.

Mark in a car elevator.

Friedrichsbad spa.

Two days before the computer meltdown, I was in lovely Tubingen, talking to Katrin about my next destination.

"Baden-Baden?" Katrin said, scrunching her nose. "I would never think of going there. I think the only people who go there are rich Russian people."

Despite that non-endorsement, I knew I had to go to Baden-Baden. This spa town was highly recommended by my marathon-running partner Danielle, who gave glowing reviews about her spa experience there when she came back from her trip to Germany and then a second time when I told her I was going to Germany. After hearing her tales of hours of pampering and scrubbing and soaking on the cheap, I had no choice but to try it out. Who cares if it took me three different trains from Tubingen just to get there?

Like Danielle, I opted to go to the older spa called Friedrichsbad. They have a newer spa in town as well, but this one is more old-school, in an old-building--Roman bath style--including community nudity. This is where the naked men come in. I walked in that place and threw my American inhibitions out the door.

For 29 Euros, I had over three hours of indulgence, in 17-or-so timed steps. The first step is to completely get naked and take a public shower. Then I sat on a bed sheet in a hot sauna for 15 minutes and then an even hotter one for 5 minutes, which was so stifling I stayed only for 4. I showered again, and then a woman rubbed me with a very hard brush in the same fashion one would scrub the bathroom tub. It felt good and hurt at the same time. She lathered me in so much soap, I nearly slipped off the table. And then another shower.

From there, I walked into a "damp" sauna where I saw my first penis of the day. It was massive. You try not to look, but I could tell that everyone looks. Every time someone walks in (especially if it is a woman) the people inside the room (especially if it is a man) turn to look. And then you act like you don't care, but still, there is the initial look. And I saw everything: male and female, old and young, bananas and peanuts, watermelons and oranges, rolls and bones, hairy and bare. I knew people were watching me as well, but it didn't really bother me because hey, I was looking at them, too!

There were a series of pools: a hot pool, a whirlpool, a cool pool, where I stayed for 15 minutes each. People kept hopping in between the saunas and the pools, but I couldn't do anymore. By this time, I was one big prune. Another shower, and then a finally a dip in a bath tub filled with water that was Polar Bear Club cold. It felt like jumping into a bunch of knives, but when I came out and had the warm towel wrapped around me, it felt kind of nice.

I had all the lotion in the world to rub on myself and then I was escorted to a circular dark room where a woman wrapped me up in blankets like a cocoon and I napped. It was the best part. I woke up to a growling stomach but walked out of there feeling clean, refreshed, a little sleepy.

The town was the type that would perhaps only interest rich Russians, so I grabbed something to eat and hopped on two more trains to get to Kaiserslautern. Back in the summer, the same Danielle who had recommended the spa had contacted her friend, Mark, who lives there and he invited me to stay at his apartment. I actually had met Mark on marathon-day--he ran it, too--but that morning I was so nervous that I didn't pay attention and I had no mental picture.

Kaiserslautern and the surrounding areas are filled with 34,000 Americans who reside in the area and work on US Air Force base. Mark is hired by the air force to create maps for them. He lives in a giant new apartment in the middle of town and manages to live a pretty American lifestyle over here. In his wallet, he carries both Euros and dollars. (The American base uses US currency). The base has shops with American products and there are the usual fast-food chains--even a Chili's! (By coincidence, he also lives right across the street from McDonald's.) He tried to learn German at first, but everyone he knows--both work and friendswise--is American, so it wasn't worth the effort. He knows enough to get by. I was really surprised. It's like living in the States without being in the States.

Mark told me about getting a ticket for crossing the street without the walk signal (so it is true!) and driving 140 miles an hour on the autobahn. (We actually drove on the autobahn for about 10 minutes to visit his friend, but the part we were on had a speed limit, so it didn't seem very different.) He left this morning for a Thanksgiving ski trip in Austria and let me stay an extra day. I was looking forward to a day of relaxation, but I spent most of it looking at my broken computer and lamenting to Tabitha the cat. "Why me?"

The status is that the computer is still kind of workable, but most of my screen is black. I saved most of my documents and pictures and music on disks, and then tried to restore the computer as Dell costumer service told me to, but for some reason it is not letting me do so, and I can't really see what I am doing or why it is not working because of the black screen. Since I will be visiting some German friends tomorrow, perhaps they can accompany me to the computer repair store and speak on my behalf. Wish me luck. It took a while (and two computers) to get this entry together. No matter what, The Ham will go on!!

Kaiserslautern, we have a problem.

2007-11-21T12:56:00.000+01:00

So I am in Kaiserslautern, Germany, right now, visiting Mark, who is a friend of Danielle, my friend and marathon running partner. I woke up this morning, excited to write about my trip to the spa yesterday (including tales of naked men!) and all about Mark, who is so super nice to let me stay at his place even though he went on vacation today...when I turn on my computer and it does not really start up and there is a blue screen that says FATAL SYSTEM ERROR.

This can't be my computer! I thought, literally inspecting it to make sure. But it was. I restarted the computer and the blue screen did not come up again, however, I can only view the top one-third of my screen, the rest is grey. I restarted the computer a few times and same deal.

I cried. I cursed. I thought about everything on my computer I may have lost. Luckily, I have posted most of my photos from this trip onto Flickr, so they are not all missing, but still--everything else might be kaput!

Having this happen to you at home is devastrating. Having it happen in Germany knowing that I will be here for another month and that this computer is my lifeline to my friends and family is quite another. I am in a computer lab right now and will be contacting Dell to see if I can do something about it.

Tales about the spa (and naked men) and Mark to be continued. If you know anything about computers and want to help, please email me.

Mystery Solved!

2007-11-20T22:46:00.000+01:00

The good stuff.

I might have mentioned it in passing in a previous post or two, but I have fallen in love with plain yogurt. Nearly every hostel or pension offers it as a choice for breakfast, usually served with granola, but sometimes with corn flakes or other crunchy cereal which adds such a nice texture.

Back in New York, I often have vanilla yogurt topped with granola and fruit for breakfast, but it never tastes like this. Here, I want to lick the bowl clean.

"Why is it so much better?" I asked Katrin.

"Because our yogurt has fat, and all American yogurts have no fat, and so they taste like water."

She would know. She worked as an au pair in New Jersey for a year. And then I thought about yogurts in the States, and yes, it is true, almost all of them claim to fat-free or almost fat-free.

"Also, American yogurt has many ingredients in it. Ours just have milk." I inspected the German yogurt carton this morning at breakfast. 3.5% fatty milk. Nothing else in there. It's a lot of fat, but it's totally worth it. I might have to do an inspection back home to see if they actually have full-fat yogurt, and if they do, I may never go back again.

Oh, and you know how I thought it was weird that that woman left her baby outside of Starbucks? This is completely normal behavior, according to Katrin.

"I don't know why Americans are so afraid of having their kids be kidnapped," she said. If a baby is sleeping, why disturb him/her? Here, leaving a sleeping child outside in the stoller outside or in a parked car (where you can see them) is acceptable.

We even watched it happen on TV, where they left a child in a car for a few minutes, and Katrin goes, "See?!"

Tonight we caught a re-run of Germany's most famous television program called Tatort. I learned about Tatort back in Poland when Philipp dramatically demonstrated the opening sequence for me. He would use his hands in vogue-like fashion to block his face and reveal his eyes, humming the music the whole time. It was so funny watching him do this that I made him repeat it a few times. But the other Germans knew what he was mimicking without explanation. I wish I could show you Philipp's version, but here, you can watch the original yourself.

Tatort's opening sequence.

Tatort has been on air for 37 years, new episodes every Sunday night at 8:15--right after the news, which apparently every German watches everyday at 8. My Lonely Planet guide says that you should never call someone at 8 because of the news, and Katri n says this is totally true. The show is commercial free and runs for 90 minutes.

Tatort is a drama that follows investigation police teams in 15 cities of Germany (kind of like CSI) and every week is a different city. Some cities' police teams are more liked by the German viewing audience than others.

We watched an old episode from the 1990's of the investigation team from Bremen. I watched most of it alone, so this is what happened.

There was a woman with really long red nails, and she cried over a picture of a girl. And then she had sex with this guy on a train, and then they had sex again in a hotel room. And then this girl with blonde hair, a sex-phone operator, got shot, and she had a child who was now being taken care of this girl with brown hair. Some guy who owns a flower shop came to visit the girl with the brown hair and he touched her boob, but they played bad music, so I don't think it was a good thing. And then the woman with the red lipstick later kissed the flower shop guy, so she was bad, too.

The main cop of the show was a woman who had blonde bangs who sometimes wore scrunchies in her hair, and she was into this journalist and they took a bath together. (Total female nudity on television, by the way, and when Katrin came to join me and translated some, I found out there was also cursing). The scrunchie cop and her partner walked around and asked a lot of people questions about the sex-phone operator, and scrunchie cop was also was friends with the woman with the really long red nails. And then it got really confusing with a video-tape and some s&m scenes and the cop's boss was involved.

Long story short, it appears that the woman with the really long red nails steals the child being taken care of by the girl with brown hair (and Germans aren't worried about their kids being stolen!!?). Scrunchie cop finds them at the graveyard, where red nail woman is mourning over the death of her real child--remember the picture of the girl in the beginning?--and the cop takes the child away and then the woman with the really long red nails shoots herself with a pistol.

It was pretty intense. Now imagine how intense if would be if I actually knew what they were saying?

Feeble attempts to buy a winter hat.

Auf Wiedersehen, Tubingen! Hope to see you again soon, Katrin!

Reconsidering Sundays.

2007-11-19T12:39:00.000+01:00

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.

Pure Perfection

2007-11-18T11:43:00.000+01:00

The perfect place to be.

For the next few days, I am staying with Katrin, one of the Germans from Polish class, in a town in the southwestern part of Germany called Tubingen.

Katrin is such a good egg. She is a person who is impossible to dislike. Since I have last seen her, she has emailed me ideas for my upcoming visit. She sends me recommendations of places I should go. She was the person who told me about the German transit strike. She gives the impression as if I am always somewhere in her thoughts.

Meeting her on a connecting train to Tubingen (she was coming back home from visiting her boyfriend who lives five hours away), it was like reconnecting with an old friend. It's like time never passed. She possesses a certain ease and comfort that makes me feel like I have known her for years. I could talk with her for hours and never get bored.

Katrin is actually not from Tubingen. There is the place where she was born, the place she lived as a child, the place her parents live now. Tubingen is a big university town, and she is here to research and write her Ph D. If you want to know what it is about, you will have to ask her. It is way above my head. She's really smart. And a better Polish student than me. Not only does she take classes once a week, but in her bathroom is a map of Poland and a sheet of Polish grammar that she can review while on the seat. I tried to review it myself, but it too was way above my head.

I've told you that I love a small town, and Tubingen is close to everything I imagine a small town should look like. With a population of 83,000, it is not really all that tiny. But everything about it just oozes small in just the right ways. There are historical buildings, cobblestone winding streets, quaint shops, people milling about. It's the type of place where on a Saturday shopping, you would bump into all of your friends.

I asked Katrin if she thinks she will live here after her studies, and she says no.

"I need some darkness in life," she explained. Here, everyone has their perfect life in their perfect home, with their perfect university job, where their kids go to school with other kids who live equally perfect lives. It is too much of a bubble. I had to admit it was surreal walking around this place. I had previously questioned if towns like this existed anywhere except in my imagination, and now I know, they do! They do!

A huge fan of Polish Ham, Katrin knew just the place to take me in town: a café for some German cake. We both had the marzipan which was just the right combination of crème, fruits and cake with just a light touch of alcohol.

Her apartment is huge by New York standards, and as she tells me, by the average student's standards living here. She probably has the best view of the city right from her bedroom, where you can see trees and the river and town skyline. She lives with another girl and they are down one roommate, so I even have my own room. I considered putting a sign on the door, saying "Yvonne's Room" but it seemed a little dorky. "Keep Out" a little rude. It was just fun having my own room again.

Speaking of dorky, in Munich, I went to this store that sold all kinds of chocolate to get something for Katrin as a thank you gift and came across this awesome advent calendar made by Lindt in the shape of a Russian doll. But what really sold me was that they claimed that inside the box were chocolates of "mini babushkas."

I almost got the calendar for her but the thing was probably as big as my torso and I was afraid she would wouldn't find mini babushkas as awesome as I did, so I went for the more conservative box of chocolates. But then we were in the supermarket, buying some salmon for dinner, and we not only saw the advent calendar, but mini-babushkas sold separately. We had no choice but to get the minis. They were really good--just hollow milk chocolate--but we considered writing a letter to the company to suggest that they have smaller versions of the mini babushkas inside the mini babushkas. Now that would be something special

Tubingen is nearly perfect, and in terms of a host, so is Katrin. She cooks me dinner. She feeds me wine and cake and chocolate. She lets me do my laundry in her washing machine and dryer (dryers are actually not common in Germany). She gives me warm socks and blankets and asks me every five seconds if I need anything else. She was really tired from staying up late the night before, but despite that, she talked with me until 11 at night to amuse me.

How can you not like Katrin? It's impossible.

Katrin in Marktplatz.

The mini babushkas

Two strange occurrences happened today.

2007-11-16T20:50:00.000+01:00

"German" coffee and cookie.

The first involving the crew of Japanese girls who are staying in my room. I made the mistake by agreeing to stay in the "female only" dorm which means that I have to share one bathroom with five other girls. The "mixed-sex" dorm would have been preferable had I known.

Anyway, these girls don't speak English, but what I know about them from being their roommates for two days is that they are the type who like to get up really early, start talking to each other despite the fact people are trying to sleep, and then hog the bathroom. Today the chaos started at 7 am. I tried to sleep through the chatter and showers and then they left the room and I happily slept until a little after 9. When I finally got out of bed, they all came back in and rushed into the bathroom to brush their teeth, even though I was literally standing right there with my shower bag.

Then there were two girls in there at one time, and finally when they exited, I tried to go in and one of the girls stopped me and did the universal "it smells in there" sign. Wait, but there were two girls in there at the same time. I didn't even want to know.

The second strange occurrence involved me sitting in Starbucks (I gave in to American globalization because I was cold and needed a bathroom and it was there. Plus they had chocolate chip cookies--my favorite--and I haven't had one in months. It was a terrible cookie, but that is besides the point). There was a woman sitting next to me for a long time typing on her computer, when all of a sudden, she ran outside and pulled out her toddler from the stroller that parked outside the window. I think the kid had been sleeping and looked pretty covered, but would you ever leave a sleeping baby outside a restaurant alone in 30 degree weather? Weird!

I did have a moment in Starbucks, however, feeling like one of those people who have nothing to do all day but sit and hang out in Starbucks without a care for the world. It felt pretty good, not gonna lie.

Besides these two instances, it was a quiet day, and it was a quiet day on purpose. While yesterday, I intentionally tried to meet friends at breakfast. Today, I didn't feel like it so I kept my head down. That's what I love about hostel living. You can do whatever you want, depending on how you feel.

While the tour yesterday was great, it meant that I did not learn my way around the city because I had been following someone the whole time. So today, anytime I tried to go somewhere, I would get lost. I could never find the street names on the map, so then I would try to go by instinct. My instinct was always wrong.

I first went to the brand-new Munchner Judisches Museum (otherwise known as the Jewish museum). I am kind of fascinated by the way Germans handle their role in World War II. When I was in Poland, I liked to ask my German friends what they think about it and how they learn about it in their history books. Apparently, there is a huge emphasis on learning and understanding and remembering what happened.

For that reason, I was interested to see what this place was all about. I actually found it less than stimulating. It mostly talked about Jews in Munich, and there was a section that explained the different holidays and items of the Jewish faith (like the Torah, for example) which just seemed really simple and basic to me.

The one part I found really interesting was a timeline of Jewish history in Munich and it was just plain awful: Jews blamed for the plague. Jews not allowed to have jobs except as money lenders. Jews having property taken away. For hundreds of years it went on and on. It was kind of startling to see it laid out like that.

After some more wandering around and getting lost, I walked through the English Garden, which is a park in the city that is bigger than Central Park in New York and Hyde Park in London. Apparently, there are a lot of nude sunbathers here during the summer, however, I didn't see any of those lying on the snow. I did see some runners which made me nostalgic for home. I actually thought a lot about going home and finding a job and pondering what life will be like when I get back.

I am trying to stay in the present, but it's hard when there is so much uncertainty awaiting me around the corner. But if there is anything I learned about myself on this trip is that I can handle uncertainty and sometimes a little uncertainty can actually be quite fun.

The Jewish museum.

The English Garden.

A beautiful day in the neighborhood.

2007-11-16T00:16:00.000+01:00

Today was the perfect day. Really it was. Funny how such a good day can come right after such a bad one. But this, I think, is the life of a traveler.

It started with meeting a great partner in crime. During a very satisfying breakfast of yogurt and granola, I met Ana Elena, a like-minded traveler from Mexico City, who was in Munich for the day in between visiting her sister who lives in Germany and traveling to Barcelona. We both decided to go on the free walking tour of the city offered by the hostel. It was excellent; one of the most informative and entertaining tours I have been on this trip. The guide was awesome, and even though it was really cold with on-and-off snow, the sun was shining and the sky was blue which is a sight I haven't seen in a week.

Some things I learned about Munich (with apologies to my German readers, who will probably find this a little trite):

The entire city of Munich was destroyed in World War II. The Nazis, knowing the city would be destroyed during the war, took detailed photographs of the city to be used to rebuild it after the war. These photographs were used to rebuild the city as it looks today. There are only three remaining original structures: The two towers of the Frauenkirche church, the glockenspiel and the statue of the first king of Bavaria.

Frauenkirche church.

Glockenspiel.

The only remaining statue (and yes, the i-phone is in Germany).

Munich is the birthplace of the Nazi party. Hofbrauhais, the most famous beer hall in town, is also the place where the party had its first meeting.

You have to pay taxes if you own a dog. The more aggressive the dog breed, the more tax you pay. However, you can take your dog everywhere including restaurants and stores. You cannot take dogs into hospitals or pharmacies, so these places have dog-parking lots, where you leash your dog outside.

Dog-parking sign.

The average beer consumption for Bavarians is 1 and a half liters a day. Some people have something written in their work contracts that they are entitled to one beer during the workday. Companies abide as long as it is after one in the afternoon.

You can buy gummy bears at the pharmacy because they contain real fruit juices and vitamin c.

Pretzels in Munich: Much better than those in New York City. Trust me. Can't even compare.

After this informative tour, Ana Elena and I felt like we had a good sense of the sights and history, so we spent the day wandering around the city. First, warming up with some traditional beef soup with pancake dough floating on top. Then some shopping at the Galeria Kaufhof, a large department store that was frankly too conservative for my taste. But we spent lots of time there and were excited to find traditional German garb for sale. Ana wanted to dress up like German maid for Halloween, but these were no measly costumes. The outfits cost about 300 Euro each! (That's about $438 US Dollars!) Still, we both grabbed an outfit and ran to the dressing room and tried them on. We were both surprised to discover that the white ruffled shirt on top was really a half shirt that bared your belly. I loved wearing that little German outfit. One of the best experiences of the day, really. So much fun.

Me in traditional garb.

Afterwards, we decided to eat some real Bavarian food, so we went to the same place where we had soup. I got this crusty roasted pork that was mostly fat, with sour mashed potatoes and a little potato ball. For dessert, apple strudel and vanilla sauce. You can guess which part of the meal I liked best.

We had walked through Hofbrauhais, the famous beer hall, during our tour earlier that day. There, we saw lockers for beer mugs that regulars could use for storage. We also saw (at noon) an extremely intoxicated drunk geezer who took out his teeth and waved them around to the table next to him. Based on what we had already witnessed, we thought it would be a fine establishment for an after dinner drink.

The place was booming. We joined a table filled with a traveling tour group. The group was young and diverse, from places like South Africa, Australia and the States. A traditional band played. We got some giant mugs of beer and clinked glasses and said "Prost!" Soon, we saw our tour guide and some others from the hostel, and it was like musical chairs, people coming in and out and talking and laughing and drinking in one big shuffle. It was touristy, it was loud, it was bad. I loved it. I don’t even like beer.

When it was time to leave, an old man approached me and starting speaking to me in Polish.

"What are you doing in Munich?" he asked as if we knew each other. "Are you Polish? Give me a kiss!"

Ana pulled me away just in time.

"He has been kissing every girl who walks by," she hissed.

"But how did he know I speak Polish?" I asked, amused.

We walked back to the hostel. I had the hiccups. I was cold. But I had the great feeling of that today was just right in every way.

My view of the Hofbrauhais beer hall.

Me and Ana Elena.

Our super-hero waiter who carried a dozen heavy mugs at a time.

Yvonne and the terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day.

2007-11-14T20:07:00.000+01:00

I came to Innsbruck because I wanted to see the Alps, and I read in Lonely Planet that this was a city surrounded by the mountains. Coming out of the train station, there I saw them, and I couldn't help but snap a picture right there.

This is the picture.

The directions to the hostel were sketchy. They told me arrive between 5 and 7 pm, take the bus and walk uphill for a few houses (when actually it was walk uphill, then turn right and then turn left.) A nice local man helped me find my way, and he was utterly perplexed by my visit to Innsbruck.

"What are you here for?" he asked.

"I just want to see the mountains."

"But these aren't good mountains," he sighed. "And I don't know how you will see them in weather like this." He fretted some more. "I just don't know what you are going to do." He contemplated different places I could go to get a better view, places he could take me. I told him his help in finding me the hostel was good enough, he needn't orchestrate my entire trip. And so we left it at that. I said thanks and good-bye and he scratched his head and pondered my trip some more. I just wanted to hug him and tell him it would be all right.

That was before I saw my hostel room. The lady at the front desk told me I would be in a different building, which was in the back of the nice place where I paid my bill. The girls dorm was on the top floor. It had log cabin walls, wooden bunk beds, threadbare sheets, and bare bulbs providing light. It looked like the perfect setting for a horror film.

The bathroom door knob hung limply on the door. When I finally managed to get the door to close, I wasn't sure if I would ever be able to come out again. In the other bathroom was a sink and a bath tub big enough for a baby or perhaps a very miniature person.

Sink and the mini-tub.

This place frightened me. So I went into town. It was already dark. You couldn't see the mountains anymore, except for the snow on top which omitted an eerie glow. The air was fresh and cold on my cheeks. I walked by the river, black fast flowing water, and I imagined this water had trickled its way down the mountains. Runners and bikers passed me by. The town itself was quaint, all the shops displaying ski clothes and equipment in the windows. Perhaps every mountain town is like this, but since I am not a skier, I found it charming. I was smitten.

One of the shop windows.

At the pizza shop where I ate dinner, I met two American women, Lori and Tanya, who worked at Swarovski and were here on business. They invited me out with their co-worker, Dave, to a bar near their hotel. The bar was called 360 and it had a beautiful view of the city. You could see lights from all the houses along the mountainside.

"Does everyone smoke in Austria?" Dave asked. If the bar was any representation of the country, then yes, they do. I especially liked the two Euro men slouched in their seats at the table next to us, wearing slim suits and smoking cigarettes, not talking to each other but just looking cool.

Tanya, Dave and Lori.

Lori and Tanya had us laughing about the mishaps of their trip so far. They were staying in one of the best hotels in town, and they commented on the small beds and even smaller comforters. I didn't have the heart to tell them that my bed back at the hostel was probably infested with bed bugs and looked like it would fall apart if you sat on it.

This morning I woke up (bed remained intact) and contemplated whether I should bathe. I felt dirty, so I went for it, finding myself crouched in that little tub. I couldn't stand because the ceiling, being the roof of the building, was slanted. When I raised the shower hose to my hair, I hit the ceiling. I was waiting for someone to barge in the bathroom and point and laugh and say, "What are you doing? You actually thought we would shower in that Barbie tub?" No such person came by.

I wanted to blow-dry my hair when I realized with great sadness that I lost my beloved converter/adapter. I got the adapter with my cell phone, and it was a really good one. Sometimes when I dried my hair, I would leave it in the bathroom and would have to run back and get it. This time I forgot to run back, and I could imagine the way it looked in the bathroom in the Salzburg hostel.

It was snowing outside, and so with damp hair and no hat, I ventured outside to look for an adapter. The snow created such a fog that there was not a mountain to be seen. I was thankful for taking that one picture by the bus station.

If I thought finding contact solution was hard, finding an adapter is another issue. No one really knew what I was talking about until I showed them my computer plug. The woman at the information office directed me to an electronics store where they had adapters, but not one that fit my computer plug.

"Can I get one somewhere else?" I asked the boy who worked there. "Is there another electronics store in Innsbruck?"

The boy looked at me with disdain. "No," he said to me, as if this was the only electronics store in all of Austria.

I walked out of the store, and I burst into tears. Suddenly it all seemed doomed. My beloved adapter alone in the bathroom in Salzburg, waiting for me to come back, probably not realizing yet that I never will. For the rest of the trip, I would forever have wet hair. I wouldn't be able to charge my cell phone and worst of all, Polish Ham would be history once my computer battery died.

I pulled myself together and walked into a hotel and asked the receptionist if there was somewhere else I could go, and she pointed me to a hardware store. The place was filled with old ladies creeping around and an old man talking loudly to the owner. I found an adapter--not really a converter--but it fit my computer plug and so I bought it, wiping my tears on my sleeve as I paid. I hoped it would work.

Next step was finding a café with a wireless connection. I found this to be an impossible task. There was a place that looked like the Austrian version of Starbucks. It had all these internet company names of the door, so it looked promising. I ordered my food and then I found out that I couldn't use my computer in there. Turns out the place sold phones, so while I had a coffee and cold muffin, there were people buying cell phones behind me. It was like having breakfast in a Cingular Wireless store. My hair was finally dry, flat against my head. This suddenly felt like the worst day ever.

Me and my bad hair in the cell phone coffee shop.

It went downhill from there. I stepped outside and all of a sudden my toes on my left foot starting hurting. How did this happen? How can your toes hurt? But they did, and I limped along and felt sorry for myself for having no health insurance. And then I imagined how I could explain this toe-hurting situation to a German-speaking doctor. I didn't want to.

I wandered into a mall, where I found a computer to use in a bookstore. The browser was probably from the days of the first computer because it could barely support any of the internet pages. I checked my email and found out from Katrin, who I am visiting on Saturday, that all the German train workers were going on strike from Thursday to Saturday. I was supposed to go to Munich on Thursday.

I walked around and contemplated. I even walked by the train station and considered asking about it. I looked for some signs and then these twelve-year-old girls pushed me out of the way and started laughing and making fun of me in German. I couldn't believe that I was being harassed by pre-teens. Could it get any worse?

So I walked some more. My toes feeling a little better, and I went into the tourist information office where I asked them about the strike.

"Oh yes, I have heard of this," the girl said. She called the train information and they told her that only select trains would run tomorrow, and I should go to the train station for more information. So I went back to the train station.

"I am planning to go to Munich tomorrow, and I heard there is going to be a strike," I told the man behind the counter.

"I know nothing about a strike," he answered me. "Come tomorrow and you will find out."

"So," I stuttered, "you suggest I come back tomorrow and then I will know? What if there are no trains?"

He shrugged.

"If there is a strike, will there be any trains or buses to Munich?"

"No," he answered.

I left the desk and burst into tears for the second time today. I felt like maybe if I had spoken German he would have been more helpful, but I didn't want to be the ugly American and be mean to him, so instead of yelling at him, I just cried.

I walked outside the train station and could barely make out the mountain through the fog. I decided I did not want to be stuck in Innsbruck until Saturday.

I went to the hostel. I packed. I checked out.

"Yes, if you are traveling to Germany, you should go today," said the woman at the hostel. She didn't give me a refund for the second night. At that point, I didn't care.

Took the bus back to the train station. Waited in the cold for my delayed train. Sat in cold train car for two hours, my hands taking an hour to warm up. Arrived to a snowy and blistery Munich in one piece, and the hostel even had a bed for me. Things were looking on the up and up.

But then I checked my email, and Dan is having a bad day, too. Not only did he lose his metro card, but our landlords are raising our rent $200 a month starting in December! Don't these people understand I am unemployed?

There are no tears left. I am getting a drink.

Thoughts of home.

2007-11-12T19:47:00.000+01:00

View of Salzburg.

Ever since Dan left, I have been feeling a little homesick.

I miss his company. I miss my friends and family. I long for my bed. Shopping for a new pair of pants, I wished I had more money to buy pretty clothes. I badly need a haircut--and a pedicure. My feet have never been in such a state. Today I saw some runners and wished I could join them. I want to sit in front of the television and not feel guilty about it.

It sort of feels like summer vacation and it is already August and while you don't exactly want to go back to school, it's a feeling of mentally preparing yourself for its coming and the anticipation for seeing your friends, having work to do, having some kind of schedule.

I have to admit, I am actually relieved that I feel this way. In the beginning of this trip, I was so sick and tired of my life that I was afraid that I would never want to go back. At the same time, I long for home, but I don't want it to be exactly the same. It can't be. I won't let it. And I am not ready to go home yet.

I still am here, and I still need to enjoy it. Salzburg is a beautiful city. Feeling a little lazy, I have not been exploring it very intensely, checking out every sight and what not, but rather I have been floating around, taking it in, popping in here and there. I have frequented the same restaurant three times in two days because the scene's good, the food's good, and I don't have to think about it.

Probably the coolest place I went in Salzburg is this crazy store called "Easter in Salzburg" where they have three full rooms of decorated eggs, with strings attached to them so they hang like ornaments. According to The Lonely Planet, they are given as gifts at Easter and on New Year's. Across the alleyway is a similar "Christmas in Salzburg" store which has a collection of Christmas-themed eggs, along with beautiful hand-painted glass ornaments. This place had me thinking how I was planning to decorate my imaginary home for the holidays. (Right now, my apartment in New York cannot even fit a tree, so this is all conceptual at this point). On the bottom floor is a Halloween egg room. Yes, you can even have a Halloween egg tree.

On the other hand, I am not a big fan of my hostel. The girls in my room are not backpackers, rather British girls who took a cheap airline here for the weekend, and they think it okay to turn on the light at night and talk even though someone (that would be me) is sleeping (well, was sleeping). The girls both sat at my breakfast table and came on The Sound of Music Tour with me and completely ignored me, until we were all at a café during the tour and they couldn't stop looking and talking about my apple strudel. Finally, I offered one of them a bite. That prompted some mild conversation, but at that point, I didn't like them so it didn't matter.

The other person I met in Salzburg is a Canadian who asked me for a pencil when I was in the computer lab. (The hostel is supposed to have free wi-fi but it wasn't working. As explained by the girl at the front desk, "The wi-fi is free because we have problems with it all the time." Meaning it never works. Lame.) I told him I had no pencil and five minutes later, he tapped me on the shoulder and asked me what city I was heading next and if he could join me. I said no in so many words. First I have people who don't want to be my friend, then there are people who want to be my friend too much. Come on now. Now, can you see why I miss my friends back home?

Pick an egg, any egg.

Painted faces.

Egg-tra awesome.

Selections from The Sound of Music

2007-11-12T14:22:00.000+01:00

I am not a fan of the bus tour. But I received a very strong recommendation from my friend Megan to see The Sound of Music tour when in Salzburg, because this is the location where the movie was filmed.

I even watched the movie before I left on this trip, noting that Maria, played by a zesty Julie Andrews, is a huge fun-pig (don't you remember that the nuns got mad at her because she couldn't help frolicking and singing in the mountains? And she's all like, "I can't help it!") And so why not see everywhere Maria has been within a large, obnoxious bus that has her picture painted on it? Our tour guide was a British woman with an incredibly dry sense of humor that no one understood and a voice similar to a sex phone operator. They played songs from the movie, and she was the only one who sang along. (The tourist group was not in fun-pig mode at all).

It was interesting to see the sights, but afterwards, I decided that what makes The Sound of Music tour fun must be Megan herself. If I ever do it again, I must have her (singing) by my side.

We learned that most Austrians are not fans of the Sound of Music and have not seen the movie. Our tour guide said that our bus riding around the city of Salzburg has given them some indication that something is going on.

The hills are alive...with lots of snow.

One of the buidlings used to portray the von Trapp house in the movie.

The gazebo where Liesl and Rolfe sang "Sixteen going on seventeen."

Nonneburg Abbey, where Maria studied to be a nun.

One of my favorite things? Apple strudel with vanilla creme sauce.

Do-Ri-Me: Yes, I am singing again.

Back to Reality

2007-11-11T17:59:00.000+01:00

I can't believe it's over. Home so soon. If the sign of a good trip is not wanting to come back, this one was excellent.

New York feels a little different. Cheaper (who'd have thunk it?), messier, a little bustlier than usual. The subways especially struck me as filthy, crowded and poorly lit. We live like animals! Seriously, while we will never have a return to the crime and grime of the '70s, we haven't lost all of our controlled chaos, or sketchy characters, or the feeling that anything can happen (good or bad).

Vienna and Budapest were both pretty rad in their own ways. Chill. Clean. Classy. I'll probably hold a softer spot in my heart for Vienna, though, mostly because through Kristina and Lilian, we got to experience real life there. Sitting at the kitchen table, sharing stories and thoughts about the world over several bottles of wine (and, yes, the hookah) was definitely one of the highlights. And the next night, plunging into a tiny cafe with all these artist types, and students smoking hand-rolled cigarettes (what a great affectation!) -- it was a very transporting experience.

Does it have to end so soon?

See ya!

November Surprise!

2007-11-11T17:22:00.001+01:00

Woke up this morning to discover...

it's snowing!

The polar express?

Photo Requests

2007-11-10T19:36:00.001+01:00

Sorry for my lateness, but I noticed I have gotten a few photo requests in the last few blog posts. Here they are:

Me doing "warrior three" yoga pose in the marshmallow blue jacket in Vienna.

This is the historical district in Split: All those doors you see are stores, the old buildings intact, and store signs are prohibited to keep the appearance.

Ham-eating stray dogs in Trogir. Sorry, Brett, I did not get a picture of them wearing Old West style costumes. Next time...

D-Day (Dan Day)

2007-11-10T17:42:00.000+01:00

Day of yuck.

All day Friday I was in a really bad mood. I could not snap out of it.

I think it was a combination of the horrible weather (grey skies, cold rain and wind that turned your umbrella inside out), feeling tired from the night before, and the fact that I had one more day with Dan until he went back home to New York. Not only am I sad about losing Dan, but his leaving--along with the fact that I will be in

Germany

within a week--signifies something much greater: my trip is on its last leg. I have only five weeks to go.

Despite the weather, Dan kept us busy. Our itinerary seemed to change by the hour, and in my bad mood, the lack of focus got on my nerves. Still we managed to get things done. Dan was great to not let my foul mood ruin his.

For breakfast/lunch, we went to a wurstel stand (supposedly the best in town) where we enjoyed some sausage filled with cheese, alongside some bread and a mustard dip. Any vacation with Dan would not be complete without checking out some record stores. And so in cold, wind, rain, we trekked all over town to visit three of them. All of them were pretty much overpriced (like everything in Vienna so far). Of course, we had to make an obligatory trip to the famous confectionery store called Manner, where we picked up some Mozart chocolate balls and Manner Schnitten wafers filled with hazelnut creme. There is a reason why they are famous. They are good!

For dinner, we dropped into a random pub where I ordered some wiener schnitzel, which I thought was going to be something complicated, but turned out to be just a breaded pork chop. (Dan had actually ordered it the night before and we didn't even realize that he was eating the most famous dinner dish in Austria). The only thing that is unique about it is that the pork is pounded so thin that it takes up the entire plate. It wasn't until we got some cake at bakery-chain Aida that I started to feel better, which made me wonder that maybe the only thing that came between me and a good mood was some sugar.

We met up with Kristina and company again to check out her friend's art exhibit that was debuting in a café. The people there could easily fit in with the Williamsburg crowd, with their artsy vibe, cool clothes, mod haircuts and hand-rolled cigarettes. Again, Dan and I were thrilled at the opportunity to peek into the lives of people residing in Vienna. At the same time, it inspired us to pick up our fashion sense and at least for me--a paint brush.

Saying good-bye to Dan this morning was no fun. I was sad to lose my travel partner in crime and he was sad to stop traveling and go back to work. I was happy to see that he wanted to stay (and not only because of me). Maybe he will get the travel bug after all.

With another cold and rainy day ahead of me (is the weather like this here every day?? will it be like this for the rest of my trip??), I spent most of my morning in Café Central, a grand coffeehouse and cake shop with a beautiful interior and waiters who don't give a damn. I had to ask for my check twice, waiting 20 minutes for it even though people were huddled through the door. My table had a sign that said "Thank you for not smoking" but the table literally right next to me did not have such a sign. Judging from all the second-hand smoke, my conclusion is that the non-smoking section is not really a non-smoking section.

One of my three pairs of pants ripped to unwearable conditions, and so I attempted to do some shopping to find a new pair with no luck. I found myself gravitating toward all the pretty sweaters and trouser pants that were completely unpractical for this trip, and seeing a skirt and boots made me sigh with nostalgia for clothes that were pretty for pretty's sake.

I decided I had to do something worthwhile today and so I headed to the Albertina museum. The main exhibit was this collection owned by this couple who donated it to the museum and while it was impressive, it basically covered art history for the last 200 years and with so many people milling around, it was hard to enjoy it. The smaller exhibits, Art after 1970 and drawings by American artist Philip Guston, left me cold.

Afterwards, I walked to the café that Dan and I have been visiting everyday to have a drink and check our email, and walking down those now-familiar streets in the dreary rain, I missed holding his hand and hearing his voice.

Breakfast.

Dan at his happiest.

Cakes on the go at Aida.

Lilian with Eva, the artist in red glasses, at her art exhibit.

One smokin' town.

2007-11-09T14:34:00.000+01:00

Me, singing an aria in front of the opera house.

We started the day following Lonely Planet's version of Vienna, which can basically be summed up in three words: architecture, museums, and cafes.

I am not an architecture buff, but I can see that this is a well-designed city. Every time we checked out the guide book, the building we'd be looking at represented a masterpiece of some kind of era, be it gothic, renaissance, art nouveau. But it is just not the main sights. We wandered around some of the non-touristy streets and discovered design apparent in neighborhood cafes and restaurants, where someone undoubtedly spent a great deal of time thinking about the look and feel of the place--from the tables and chairs to the light fixtures. All of these places looked uniquely inviting and undeniably hip. The people inside these places, smoking cigarettes, drinking wine, matched the interior, and that was a sight to see in itself.

Vienna has an insane amount of museums. Aside from walking the main pedestrian streets and visiting the famous church Stephansdom, the only sights to see are the museums--the history and decoration of the actual buildings just as impressive as the things inside.

We opted to go to Kunsthistorisches, the museum of fine arts, simply because our book said it was one of the best museums in Europe and "should not be missed." The building itself was quite beautiful and as we were walking through it, I couldn't help but stop and admire the art and detailing on every inch of the walls and high ceilings. Even the museum café was beautiful with a giant dome that loomed overhead.

But when it got to the stuff exhibited in the museum, Dan and I were bored stiff. We walked through rooms and rooms of 16^th and 17^th century paintings, all dark and gloomy, of aristocrats and religious motifs, all looking the same. We breezed through some of the Roman, Greek and Egyptian artifacts having seen similar exhibits in the past. Then there were rooms of ancient coins that we didn't even bother with.

Stephansdom.

Ceiling inside the museum.

If you don't feel like a museum, there is always a cafe. There is one at every corner, most of which sell a wonderful selection of cakes. In the United States and you go to a restaurant, you order food, you eat, you go. Here, people linger over a slice of cake and a coffee for hours and no one will bat an eyelash.

There were so many places to choose from, but we opted to stop in one of the most fancy and well-known cafes called Demel. We tried Vienna's famous cake, the sacher torte, which is essentially a chocolate cake with a chocolate shell crust. Between the cake and the crust is a thin swab of marmalade. The cake was very good, but not my favorite. I will have to test some more to find one I really like (I am happy to handle that challenge).

Me at Demel, enjoying some sacher torte.

After a day of sight-seeing, Dan and I went to visit Kristina, one of the Germans from my Polish language classes, who is going to university in Vienna. I was really excited to see her and also for Dan to have a chance to meet one of the people from my travels that he has heard so much about. And there we had the opportunity to see the city from a person who actually lives there.

Kristina lives in this really awesome apartment, which she rents with a few other students. It is really old, but really large and spacious--her bedroom is probably the size of Dan and apartment in New York City!

She was a little nervous to see us, but we were thrilled at the chance to see her home and enjoy the delicious Middle Eastern spread she made for us. After a few glasses of red wine and her roommate Lilian arriving to join us, she finally relaxed and we had the best time sitting around the kitchen, talking and drinking into the night.

Kristina is socially-minded, and I knew she would have a lot in common with Dan. Lilian turned out to be the same way, so right away, we got into friendly political debates and discussions, plus talks about comparisons between The United States and Europe.

Lilian suggested that we smoke scented tobacco, and I was surprised when they pulled out a giant hookah right there and then. They told us that it is very trendy in Germany right now to own one.

Dan and I looked each other. We have never known anyone to own one.

"We have two of them," Lilian said.

Everyone knows I am not a fan of smoking, but when in Vienna, do as the Germans do. We smoked an apple flavor variety, and while I liked the community aspect of sharing a smoke, the talking and passing the pipe around, I didn't love the actual smoking itself. It was a fun experience at the moment, but don't count on me running out and doing it again anytime soon.

Kristina walked us home, following us on her bike, and I could tell that Dan was just jazzed about meeting her. And I hope that it made him realize that traveling is not just about the places you see, but also the people you meet.

We're hoping that Kristina and Lilian will come visit us in New York. Kristina made a wish of wanting to come to the States to eat marshmallows (this was after more than a few glasses of wine). I think we can certainly arrange that. Our couch (and the marshmallows) are waiting.

Hey mom, don't look!

Lilian, Kristina, me and Dan.

Old and cold.

2007-11-07T22:58:00.000+01:00

Commie junk.

I hate flea markets. I like the idea of going through old things and finding hidden treasures among piles of junk, but I can't get past the junk. Just the piles of the old, smelly, moldy things makes me want to take out the Windex and start cleaning. What gets me is that all these markets sell the same junk: the oil paintings, the black and white photographs of people you don't know, appliances that are older than your grandma, and things that if you owned before, you never want to own again. The flea market in Budapest is no different. Don't go. There were like ten vinyl records there, so I am not entirely sure why we went either.

Dan tested me today by wanting to arrive at the Budapest train station ten minutes before our train departed. I wouldn't allow such craziness and good thing because we waited over ten minutes just to get our tickets. We also learned that traveling with a backpack is better than going with the wheeled luggage. While I moved through the crowd with ease, Dan lagged behind with his suitcases. Then again, I might have been rushing a bit. We got there just in time, and I wasn't used to having no waiting time.

Vienna is one really cold place. I am thankful for the puffy blue Northface jacket Dan brought me, even though it makes me look like a marshmallow. The winds were so strong, I nearly lost my balance with the backpack (one of its disadvantages). Our hotel is this funny little place right near the train station where we each get our own twin bed. To watch the German television shows, we have to uncomfortably crane our heads.

"Can we move around all the furniture?" Dan asked. I said no, but I think he is still thinking about it.

Dan and some bad vinyl.

"I Love Lucy" beds.

Bye Bye, Budapest... Guten Tag, Wien

2007-11-07T22:22:00.000+01:00

Yvonne's lovin' it.

Quick post, since we're at a café, and whoever isn't on the computer has nothing to entertain themselves.

(The café is pretty fresh. Lots of hip furniture, by local designers, all of which is for sale. The place happens to be in the guidebook, but we just stumbled on it after dinner at a fantastic pub where we were the only English speakers. I'm busting out some phrasebook German just because our initial experiences with the Austrians were--like the weather--a tad chilly, and I don't want to start off on the wrong foot.)

Our last half day in Budapest was spent on a trek to the flea market. Nothing terribly interesting, though if I had the space at home, I would have to have some old typewriters and old phonographs.

Also had lunch at McDonald's, near the hotel, the first Mickey D's in the Eastern Bloc. I totally have no qualms with eating at the Arches abroad. How better to understand exported America than to encounter it firsthand? For the record, I had a McRoyal, made to order (sans cheese) -- sorta wish I had the McFarm, a pork sandwich, but it didn't look that great in the picture. The McDonald's there was everything McDonald's tries to be in the commercial: fun, clean as all get out, beautiful inside (upholstered booths, a flat screens playing American music videos), with middle-class diners and groups of teenagers having a grand old time. Impossible to gage how the sentiment runs in Budapest, but certainly nobody at McDonald's seem to have any thoughts of imperialism on their minds, least of all the construction worker lunching on a Big Mac and a McFarm.

First thoughts on Vienna: the maps are virtually indecipherable. We'll see if that improves as the days go on.

A whole world of records that I sadly cannot explore.

This was Burger King, not McDonald's. This, my friends, is a travesty.

Just Desserts

2007-11-06T23:03:00.000+01:00

Yum.

As you'll read below from Yvonne, we spent a fair amount of time today in these veritable palaces of dessert. Edible works of art in immense, airy Gilded Age salons. They take their dessert seriously here, and I can respect that.

We're headed out tomorrow, having not taken a dip in Budapest's famous hot spring baths, which themselves are apparently like cathedrals. It sounded cool, and very do-as-the-locals do, except that the baths are split by sex, which meant we'd each have been alone. Plus, I didn't bring trunks. And with my glasses off, I wouldn't be able to see anything. Let's face it, being unable to see or communicate isn't the best condition to be in when you're wearing a rented swimsuit.

(They do rent them for about five bucks.)

I will leave with some fondness for Budapest. A very unthreatening medium-big city. The subways run on time -- they tell you exactly when the next train is coming -- and bus service is great, too. Really, the value of efficient mass transit can't be underestimated. (You don't think about it at first, but for the trains to run precisely on time, people have to not be blocking the doors in the station. Maybe that's not an issue when the trains aren't overcrowded. Or maybe New Yorkers just suck, thinking that their time is more important than the rest of the train's.)

The other main thing we did today was to tour the Museum of Terror. It's in the former home of the Secret Police, inconspicuously located on Budapest's grandest street, not far from the Opera House, and recounts the 45 years of torture and oppression that took place in the country and in the building's cellar dungeon. Heavy stuff. The museum is extremely well done--lots of thought put into the design, and the re-creations--although we missed out on a lot because very few of the videos were subtitled, and few of the exhibits were explained in English. Why didn't the girl at the admission desk offer us the audio tour? We didn't even know there was an audio tour until we saw one couple--and only one--with the headphones. If we buy the audio tour everybody wins!

We flipped through the guestbook on the way out--lots of Aussies, Brits and even a few Brazilian visitors lamented the lack of English in the displays. Constructive criticism, or snotty entitlement? A couple of Aussies wrote about how the whole tone of the museum was totally fraudulent because it fails to mention everyday Hungarians' role in allowing and perpetuating the oppression--valid point, but I don't think it's entirely fair. These cats weren't responsible for the reign of terror created by outside invaders (Nazis and then the Russians).

Anyway, you see what happened in this Secret Police headquarters, and all the torture that you know our country is doing just makes you ill.

The Hungarians love paprika. There it is on the table, with the pepper and salt.

Budapest takes the cake.

2007-11-06T21:59:00.000+01:00

Cakes at Lukacs.

How can I not like Budapest, a place where the cake is king. Everywhere we go, there are cafes and "cukraszkas" with shelves and shelves filled with delectable wonders in all different varieties all calling my name.

Today, Dan came up with the brilliant idea to eat cake not once, but TWICE. Can you see why we're together?

After a walk by the Parliament Building and taking in the House of Terror Museum (a museum devoted to the terror that reigned in

Hungary

during the Nazi and Communist eras), we decided to get out of the rain by stopping into Lukacs. This café had the most beautiful display of cakes. There were cakes made of vanilla, cakes made out of chocolate. There were pastries and custards. There were others with fruits, some with nuts, one with poppy seeds. Cakes in the shape of triangles, circles, squares, even tear-shaped. Brown cakes. White cakes. Pink cakes. Multi-color cakes. All these cakes, like little pieces of artwork, lined up in perfect rows, all ready to be eaten.

The girl behind the counter was helpful. I asked her about five different cakes and stopped asking because Dan was making faces. We opted to share a round pastry sandwich filled with vanilla crème and topped with sugar. It was a good choice. The pasty was soft, but not greasy, the crème just the right richness. I especially liked that there just a tinge of crunch in the sugar, which just melted in your mouth.

After dinner, later on in the day, we rushed to Gerbeaud, Budapest's most famous café. The girls who worked there seemed worn-out and tired, but we weren't going to let that get us down. Dan had a chocolate covered log filled with chocolate crème. I had a Napoleon torte, with five layers of crème between walnut cake. This time, it was Dan who was in heaven.

"This cake is ridic," he said, which in case you don't know Dan-speak, is short for "This cake is ridiculous." Ridiculously good, that is.

Not only did the cakes taste good, but I really enjoyed the ambiance of the places we went. Both places had huge rooms better fit for a wedding than a cake shop. Especially Gerbeaud, with its high ceilings, glittery chandeliers, rich textured wallpaper and heavy curtains, it seemed like we should be eating with royalty.

Well, if cake is king, I am happy to be queen. I don't know what that makes Dan. The jack? Nahhh...he's the joker.

Dan at Lukacs.

Me at Gerbeaud.

Dan and I, walking off the cake.

Commie Bastards, Pt. 2

2007-11-06T09:43:00.000+01:00

Stalin's boots, as seen through the museum entrance (the rest of him was torn down in 1956).

"I am the Walrus!"

This guy is 25 feet tall, and used to be visible from all parts of Budapest.

The "interactive" part of the museum. I made Yvonne take my picture in this old Trabant, a cheaply made East German car of the people. We still see a lot of these on the streets here. They're not bad looking from the outside. Could use a little more headroom though.

A monumental difference.

2007-11-06T09:10:00.000+01:00

Statue of Lenin.

I don't know if it was The Ham entry that did it or that we just needed a day to get used to each other, but day two of Dan in Europe went much better than the first. It could be the fact that we were in agreement of what we wanted to see. We headed outside of town to visit Statue Park, a graveyard of old communist monuments that used to decorate the city. Dan purchased a guide book of the place so he knew what he was looking at. And I could listen to his narration and frolic around these massive pieces of "art." We were both happy.

Later, we popped into this grocery store, Match, which was pretty much like going your shopping in the middle of a subway car. It was so tight and crowded.

"Guess shopping in Budapest is no better than in New York," Dan remarked.

I have been craving fruit and all I wanted was a banana. We waited out the mile-long line and watched the cashier being irritated with the old lady who had trouble with the credit card machine, yell at the girl in front of us--for reasons that Dan and I couldn't figure out--and then she shoved the bananas in my face because I didn't weigh them beforehand. Rather than wait in that line again, I said that I won't buy them, my fruit-craving stomach going Noooooo! The cashier was pissed. Dan got a two-liter bottle of Fanta which he plans to drink in the next two days. He also had Fanta for breakfast.

We went out for dinner at a really nice place called Firkasz--seriously one of the nicest meals that I have had on this trip--mostly because of the good company. It is fun to travel with someone like Dan who is here for the week, not months, who is happy to splurge and make the most of it, and I can reap the benefits of that. We shared a bottle of Hungarian wine from Villany (quite close to Pecs, where I had visited already), ate well, talked a lot and listened to the lovely, mellow piano playing. The pianist rocked out on everything from Simon & Garfunkel to The Phantom of the Opera.

Every time we walked down the streets or the subway, Dan wanted me close to him, to protect me and make sure nothing happened to me. It is funny because usually I am all alone but now that we're together, when I should be more safe, he is concerned.

We ended the night at Fat Mo's, a bar with live music. All I wanted was dessert (of course!), but it was late so Dan promised we'd go tomorrow. So when we went back to the hotel, I swigged some of the Fanta and that was good enough to hold me over.

Run, Yvonne, run!

I made Dan do that pose.

Dan and the giant bottle of Fanta.

Allow Me to Explain...

2007-11-05T11:24:00.000+01:00

Now that you've heard from Miss Characterization, let me explain what's really going on in two quick points (I swear I won't belabor this and make it any more awkward than it has to be):

1) On the issue of work, it was literally 20 minutes of me typing up the notes that I'd written on the plane and train, and emailing them to NY. It had to be done. What Yvonne sometimes forgets is that she has the luxury of not having a job to return to. I'm not usually a big work-on-vacation guy, but when you're only away for a week as opposed to indefinitely, your level of responsibility is different.

2) Lonely Planet is weak. I don't need to know everything ahead of time, but if I'm going to see the sights, then I want to know what I'm looking at. I don't think that's so much to ask. But once we got back into Pest, we went into a different travel mode and everybody was happy.

In Pest, we visited St. Steven's Basilica. First King. Patron Saint of Hungary. Paid 110 Florints (about 75 cents) to see his venerated, 1,000-year-old, shrunken mummified hand. Totally worth it.

Also saw the great Opera House. Weren't able to tour the inside, which is supposed to be amazing. Bummer. From there, we did the walking that led us to the bad restaurant with the smooth jazz, and we just sort of ambled down main streets, looking around, taking it in. I didn't need to ask any questions about what we were looking at or where we were going -- because we weren't going anywhere in particular. And that was fine!

(By the way, I'm less of a "guest editor" than "guest author" on this blog, because I can't edit Yvonne's posts. But in that "view of the city from Buda" that's the Parliament house next to her.)

It's all about the Itsvans. I could buy you and sell you a hundred times over! (Actually, no. All this bread, even with the 1,000-Florint bills, comes to like 65 bucks.)

Sweet roof on a church in Buda.

Dan-Shock

2007-11-04T21:39:00.000+01:00

Dan on the Fishermen's Bastion.

On this trip, I have experienced culture shock. But is it possible to experience people-shock?

I have been counting the weeks, days, hours, minutes for Dan to arrive. I have had a lot of time to think about him, and most of my thoughts center around soppy, sentimental moments akin to running together in fields of flowers while music wells up in the background. Okay, maybe not that dorky, but I have had a lot of time to think about Dan and how much he means to me. Mostly I have been fantasizing about how great it would be one day in the future, to travel around the world and take him along with me.

So Dan arrives, and he looks so cute and skinny, and I'm over the moon. I just want to kiss him and hug him and stare at him. We head out for something to eat and he's talking about his work and friends from home and our apartment and all those things that we used to talk about, and it all felt so strange. I had gotten so used to thinking about him and my life and the big picture that I completely forgot about the everyday things.

"You're like a travel hermit," Dan commented. "I think you have forgotten how be with people."

Maybe it is true.

I was bewildered that on our first night, he had to email his work about something. Work? On a Saturday? In Budapest? Then I remembered, this is Dan.

With Dan here, in just one day, my travel dynamic had completely changed. First of all, we were staying in an actual hotel--not a hostel, not a villa or pension--but a bona fide, super nice hotel that Dan had chosen for us. It took me an hour how to figure out how to keep the lights turned on (you have to use your room key). In the middle of the night, I woke up in a haze, Where am I? Who is this person with me? It took me a few seconds to figure it out.

Usually, I wake up early. Dan, feeling groggy from his travels, wanted to sleep in. Usually, I am able to find a cheap place for breakfast. Since we were in this hotel/shopping district, the meal we got was priced for tourists. Dan, obsessed with the currency conversion, wanted to compute everything that we bought. Usually, I just wing it and guesstimate how much I am spending.

We decided to spend the day at Buda, which is the historical part of town. On the bus ride there, Dan pointed out every building and asked me what they were.

"I don't know."

"Well, I thought you were going to research."

"Yeah, I skimmed the book but I don't know what that building is."

Dan didn't like the Lonely Planet book. "There are no pictures in it!" He said in disgust, not giving it a chance at all, and then finally giving in because he wanted to know what we were looking at.

I was getting annoyed. My style is just to walk around and figure out the buildings and sights when I get there. Dan wanted to know everything in advance but hadn't done any research.

"If wanting to be educated is wrong," he said, with a smirk on his face, "then I don't want to be right."

At that moment I realized the number one reason for traveling alone. You can do everything YOUR WAY.

I got over it. He got over it. We walked all around Castle Hill, taking in views of the city, and across the bridge back to Pest. There we walked around forever looking for a cool cafe to have a snack and when we finally found a place that looked decent, it had bad food, really bad music, was more expensive than we thought and we hated it.

All I wanted was Dan to have a good time, but while I was able to shrug off the bad restaurants, the cold weather, the lack of language skills, the money, I could tell he was getting a little frustrated. Afterwards we went out for cake and talked about the value of travel. Dan said that he hates not knowing the language, that he feels like he is not getting a good sense of the place, that if we're just seeing the sights, then we might as well be looking at pictures on the internet. At that moment, all my visions of our future trip together came crashing and burning to the ground. I could not disagree more.

We walked back to the hotel, my hand fitting snuggly in his. He had looked on the map and figured how to get back and I enjoyed not having to take the lead.

As I write this, he is sleeping next to me in bed, his glasses still on, mouth open, arms crossed on his stomach. I look at him, and it is all coming back to me, all the little things--not just the big picture stuff--that I truly and dearly love. I am so happy he is here, and all I want is for him to catch the travel bug like me. I hope he has a better time tomorrow.

View of the city from Buda.

Royal Palace.

Dan reluctantly gives into Lonely Planet.

Cake shop.

A New Sheriff in Town

2007-11-04T09:47:00.001+01:00

This blog has been taken over by a guest editor for the week. It's Dan time. But don't worry, Yvonne fans...you'll still get your fix.

I'm keeping this one short because we need to eat some breakfast, and the camera battery is recharging (which means no new photos right now to balance out the text). But let me say this: Love Euros (the people, not the money). Love the disposition of British airline stewards. Not such a huge fan of British food.

We know their food has a notorious reputation. They know it, too. But that didn't stop the good people of British Airways from serving for lunch a cold-bacon-and-ketchup sandwich. Yeah.

I'm guessing the Hungarians have more to offer.

"We're wasting away our sunshine...."

That's what I just heard from my traveling companion. Guess it's time to go.

So long, Croatia.

2007-11-03T18:40:00.001+01:00

View from the bus (Dubrovnik to Split).

Friday, I woke up at 5 am. My bus was scheduled to leave at 8 am. I am mental, I know I am. Even with all this traveling, catching buses and trains nearly every other day, I am still obsessed with getting there on time and not rushing, and so I always leave myself plenty of time, most of which I end up spending sitting in the station, twiddling my thumbs, which just adds to my travel time. But I am calm and happy sitting in the station, twiddling my thumbs, knowing that I am there on time. I can't help it. I always wake up twenty times during the night making sure I don't oversleep. Sometimes I am glad that I am traveling solo because then other people aren't aware how crazy I really am. But now you know.

I woke up extra early because I wanted to shower, and then I had to pack because I had washed a bunch of clothes and half of them still weren't dry after two days. My room was a drafty 60 degrees, to the point where even the clothes I didn't wash were starting to feel cold and damp. And then I wanted to catch the 6:30 am bus to the station that came by my villa hourly. I couldn't handle taking the 7:30 which would allow me virtually no waiting time, and you know how I feel about that.

So there I was, with all my bags, some of my clothes still damp inside (yes, I had to wash them again later), sitting in the bus shelter, watching the sun come up, and my bus goes right ahead and passes me. The driver looked right at me. Maybe it was a mirage, so I waited for another ten minutes and nothing happened. So with my luggage, I decided to climb down the zillions of stairs to get into the main town, where there were other buses running more frequent. I was pretty calm about the whole thing, and feeling pretty proud of myself for not freaking out. Then again, I had given myself three hours.

So I hopped on another bus. "This goes to the bus station?" I asked the driver. He nodded. And so we rode along and we came to a stop where there were many buses, which I took to be the bus station. The driver watched me in his rearview mirror as I scrambled off. He drove off without saying a word. It was not the bus station. Bastard! He knew where I was going! What is with these bus drivers?

Sick of the bus, I started to walk, asking everyone if I was going the right way. Everyone I stopped along the route told me to go straight for 10 minutes, even if I had already walked for 10 minutes. When I finally got there, I was dismayed to find that nothing was open and my breakfast would be potato chips and Twix, which felt like a real low point. Because I am insane, despite all that mishap and folly, I still waited at the station for about 25 minutes.

I boarded the bus to go back to Split when suddenly I had that feeling, that twinge in my throat, that I was getting sick. It could go either way. That did not make me happy. With Dan meeting me in Budapest, this is not the time to be ill. As the bus drove along the edges of mountaintops, overlooking the shiny blue sea, I became sad because I could see that it was a beautiful day--it had been raining the last two--and I was going to spend all of it sitting in a bus or train.

I arrived at Split and I had about two and a half hours to kill before my train. The sun was scorching and I was overdressed in my corduroys and black sweater. I started to sweat. I started to feel nauseous. I was so hot but there were goose bumps on my arms. My bags might as well been filled with bricks. I walked to this restaurant I liked close by to the station and it was closed. None of the cooks had shown up, the guy at the door told me. No, there was nothing around that was any good.

So I trudged my way back to the main part of town, where I was harassed by people asking me if I needed to rent a room. They wouldn't leave me alone and I suddenly felt so ill, I just swatted them away like flies. "No, I don't need accommodations!" I huffed. One guy even came up to me twice, not believing me. "Are you sure?" "YES!"

I managed my way back to old Fife's. The waiter recognized me--I have been there three times in the last week and I tipped him very nicely last time--and he was talkative and happy to serve me. Funny how each time I go there they go from downright rude to sincerely nice. I ordered vegetable soup and some fish. No wine today since my stomach was flip-flopping from the bus ride. Instead I downed a mini-jug of water, and I felt a little better with a full stomach.

Then I sat outside on the bench, facing the water, letting the sun shine on me, knowing that this is the last time I will feel this sun and warmth for a long time. My hair is starting to grow out and my bangs are starting to get in my eyes all the time. Today, they formed one large curl. At that moment, I couldn't stop thinking about it, and so as I sat in the sun, I just smoothed out my hair out in annoyance and wondered what happened to the calm Yvonne of this morning.

Me and my curl in Split. Look at that thing!

I boarded the train to Zagreb which was actually a bus for the first few stops (don't ask, it happens to me all the time), and watched my last Croatian sunset through the window. Soon the outside became so dark I couldn't see a thing, but could feel the train tilting and winding through the curvy mountains. At one point, I peered intently outside and could make out white snow on the ground. It was official: I was going back to the tundra.

I arrived in Zagreb, weary, my legs and butt hurting for sitting so long. I had finished my book, my ipod died, I had spent the last two hours of the trip just sitting. I found my hostel where I am spending the night, which was sort of like deciding to find rest in the middle of a frat party. When I got there, there were a bunch of people sitting out front, drinking and screaming and laughing, which could be heard inside. The guy working there seemed ready to head out and join them. I crawled into bed at 11, listening to the party below, then woke up to drunken snores from all the guys sleeping in my room. I left at 6:30 am, while everything was still asleep, managing to bump into some random guy sleeping in the hallway and avoid the bloody tissue sitting on the counter in the bathroom. It felt like a surreal dream.

I managed to take the longest train from Zagreb to Budapest. I know you can get there in about 5 hours, my train took 7, stopping at every single town in the country of Hungary. I had nothing to do except sleep and write down Polish vocabulary. It was about 100 degrees in my train cabin but that only seemed to bother me. I wasn't feeling that sick anymore, but I didn't feel my best. When I arrived, my body ached, I smelled, I was hungry for real food. I was happy to be in Budapest.

I traveled a total of 932 kilometers, equivalent to 17 ½ hours total on a train or bus (plus waiting in the station), in about a day in a half. But it is all worth it. A glimpse at the city looked promising, and I am waiting patiently for Dan the man to arrive, which makes it all worth it in the end.

Zagreb at 6:30 this morning.

Lots of travel ain't pretty. At least the curl is gone.

Friends again.

2007-11-03T18:21:00.001+01:00

Sarah and Tim from Split met up with me on my last night in Dubrovnik. They had just come from Mostar, which they said was nice but still looked war-torn. They talked about buildings scarred with bullets and many grave sites with the deaths dating in the 1990's. It sounded like the place was a little depressing now, but could be quite terrific in the summer. (I would have joined them but it just didn't fit in my schedule).

We had a lovely seafood dinner. Tim's risotto was in a black sauce, which looked kind of Halloween-y, but he thought it tasted good. Afterwards, we stopped for a drink at this place called Fresh, an obvious traveler's hang-out, and then headed to an Irish pub despite Tim's protests. We should have listened to him. Some guy played UB40 on a synthesizer, while this random girl writhed around to the music and two drunk guys danced with each other. It was really random. But it was great to see Tim and Sarah.

Tim has a few more traveling days and then will go live in France. Sarah is continuing her around-the-world trip and will be in New York the end of December. We plan to meet then.

Seafood dinner.

There's weird people in here. Is it Tim? Naahhh.

Wet stair-y place.

2007-11-01T16:55:00.001+01:00

Who needs a stairmaster when you got these?

It’s a good thing that I practiced climbing all those bell towers. Dubrovnik is a city full of stairs. My villa where I am staying is perched on top of a mountainside among other similar-looking villas and there is a maze of stairs crisscrossing through them. It is all downhill going into the Old Town. Going back to the villa is not an inviting option.

It was pouring rain when I got here and when it tapered off, I walked down the stairs, streams of water coming down with me, and wandered around the old town of Dubrovnik. The city is next to the sea, completely enclosed in a very old fortress. Inside the fortress walls is a little white place, buildings and streets made of marble and limestone the same color as The White House. My first mission was finding something to eat and I wandered into a pizza place and sat alone until a couple from Australia waved me over and we had a nice meal together. They were doing some traveling of their own, hoping to settle in Scotland and work for a while, which they say is pretty common thing for Australians nowadays.

By the time we finished, the city was wet and dark, and so I decided to walk around some more and then see a concert by the Dubrovnik String Quartet in the very old St Saviour Church. The church was very small, the acoustics amazing and the foursome played by flickering candlelight, creating an enchanting vibe.

I headed back to the villa where I promptly got myself lost, where the rain promptly decided to fall even harder. Every staircase looked the same, every villa looked the same. Some streets were marked, some were not. I could not find any of the streets where I was on my now-soggy map. Making wrong turns meant that I had to walk up and down hundreds of stairs. It was a better workout than going to the gym. When I finally found the villa, after 40 minutes of stair-climbing, I was soaked and frustrated. I flipped on the television and stared at amazement at the blatant porn that was on regular tv.

The next day, I was looking forward to a full day, but I ran into a problem: It's called All Saint's Day, which is a big holiday here, which means that lots of things were closed. I wanted to walk on the castle walls. Closed. I wanted to see this exhibit on war photography. Closed. I took the chance and walked to the Museum of Modern Art to find it open where I saw a fascinating exhibit of the great photographers of the 20^th century. My favorite was the pictures of New York from the 1950's by Henri Cartier-Bresson, where I was able to pick out the vintage Times Square and Park Avenue with glee. My sister would like the dog images by Elliot Erwitt. My favorite being a tall, somber dog sitting in a parked car, looking very much like he is driving the vehicle.

I sat in a café and read and listened to an old man talk to himself. I don't know what he was saying, but it sounded loud. And soon enough it was just me and him in the café. I took that as a sign to leave.

I went to the Memorial Room of the Defenders of Dubrovnik, which commemorates the young people who died in the war against the Serbs in the early 1990's. The room was filled with photographers of about 200 men who had lost their lives in the resistance. It is hard to believe that the place where I am now was under siege less than 20 years ago. They showed footage of the war, the posh and beautiful streets where I walked the past two days littered with debris, statues and parts of the fortress broken, buildings completely destroyed by fire. They have done a great job restoring everything, so now you can't tell that anything happened here, but after seeing that, I walked through the town with a new perspective.

This place, filled with long tight alley ways, a million stairs, the impending walls would be a frightening place to be in war. I imagined people running through the streets, hiding in the nooks and crannies. The city was held hostage for over a year, and the residents lived here with limited water, electricity, food, and yet it somehow survived. I thought about Milos, the friendly owner of my villa, who told me when I first arrived that he has lived here all his life and he told me many reasons why it is a great place to live. I am sure that when a city goes through something like a war and makes it, you can't help but feel a sense of pride about the place where you live.

White city at night.

The Old Town.

Fortress by sea.

Lots of these guys here.

Noteworthy people.

2007-11-01T16:47:00.000+01:00

I would be remiss if I didn't mention some of the great people I met at Split, including Teagan(sp?), engineer wanna-be photographer from Canada; Tim from England who is the type of guy who mispronounces a word and then deadpans, "Sorry, I haven't spoken English in a while" even though we have just conducted an entire conversation in English. He also has some anxiety about his beard which he is growing on a bet. He has one week to go. And then there's Sarah from Australia, who is taking a year off to travel around the world and seems to have been everywhere. She has inspired me on the possibilities of my next big trip.

Among some great dinners and conversation, we enjoyed three games of Uno, all three I sadly did not win.

Teagan and Sarah.

Me with bearded Tim.

Ham and cheese, please.

2007-10-30T17:06:00.000+01:00

On the recommendation of nearly everyone I have spoken to about

Croatia

, I was planning to take a day trip to Hvar, one of the islands around here.

But I got discouraged. The girl who worked at the hostel said it would be dead. The guy at the tourist information place negged the idea as a day trip. The trip was long for one day, the ferry schedule random, the weather supposed to be beat, so I decided not to go.

The guy in the tourist information place recommended two day trips for me: a city of natural beauty or a city of culture. I told myself that if it was nice out, I would do the natural beauty, if it rained, culture. I was praying for sun. I woke up to rain.

The two girls in my room got up early to head to Hvar (they weren't plagued by all the concerns I had). I decided to go on a trip to Trogir, city of culture. Prior to heading out, I stopped in Split's farmer's market, which was a farmer's market like I have never seen. Rows and rows of tables were set up, filled with every kind of fruit and vegetable imaginable. The people who worked behind the tables were the ultimate sellers, talking up their product as customers walked by and yelling at other sellers, seemingly at the same time. I walked up and down the aisles, slowly and in awe, watching everyone scramble to pick out their food, and then having the sellers weigh them in these big old-fashioned scales and haggle a price. As I walked deeper into the market, I saw there were stores lined up selling all kinds of meat. Whole pigs and headless cows were hung on silver hooks from the ceiling, blood dripping on the floor. The butchers had large knives and chopped red meat when they weren't helping customers. Old women wearing babushkas sat near barrels filled with cabbage, which they filled into plastic bags. Old men with few teeth sat at tables covered with old bottles of Fanta filled with olive oil. There was honey and nuts and figs and sausages. Ladies walked around with their hands in their pockets, saying "cigarettes" below their breaths. I tried to take pictures of this colorful scene, but the people were giving me looks for lingering and not buying anything and I was afraid they might hurt me. It was a pretty rough crowd. I bought a banana.

Split's food market.

Old-fashioned scale.

Barrels of cabbage.

Meat, anyone?

I took the local bus to Trogir, which stopped every two seconds. It took forever to get there. According to my Lonely Planet guide, "there's a lot to see." I went to the famous cathedral and climbed up yet another clock tower. This one was particularly scary because the last few flights of stairs were like ladders that if you looked through, you saw all the way down to the bottom. Before entering, there was a sign that said "You're climbing on the bell tower on your own responsibility" which I took to mean "If you plummet to your death, it is your own responsibility." My legs were shaking when I got to the top.

Afterwards, I walked around town and after a short while, I felt like I had seen everything. Was this possible? I looked at my book again. "Many sights can be seen on a 15-minute walk around the island." How is this considered a lot to see? I swear, sometimes Lonely Planet is my best friend, sometimes I hate it.

I was hungry and looked for a place to eat. I have been having this problem in Croatia with restaurants. They are always empty and uninviting. At lunch time, the people are sitting in the cafes, places that serve coffee and nothing else. When do these people eat? I finally found a stand that looked to be selling some normal ham and cheese sandwiches. I picked out one and the woman put it on the grill.

"Would you like mayonnaise?" she asked me.

"Yes."

"Onions?"

"No."

"Cabbage?"

"No."

"Pickles?"

"No."

"Lettuce?"

"No."

"Tomatoes?"

"Well, alright."

"Eggs?" she said lifting up a half of a boiled egg.

"No."

"Ketchup?"

"No."

"Hot sauce?"

"No."

She shrugged her shoulders at me, looking at me like I was crazy, and handed me the ham, cheese, tomato and mayo sandwich. I ate it while waiting for the bus back, two stray dogs watched me the entire time. I gave them both some ham. It was grey and drizzly and cold.

I should have went to Hvar.

Me and the bell tower of Cathedral of St Lovro in Trogir.

It's a long way down.

View from the top.

Groundhog Day.

2007-10-29T18:53:00.000+01:00

Ancient walls of Diocletian's Palace.

Yesterday was a beautiful day. Today was even better.

The moment I walked outside, I took off my puffer. Two minutes later, I took off my sweater. Walking around in just jeans and a t-shirt, I felt hot. The sun shined so brightly I squinted, but I could see that the sky was blue, the town was littered with tourists and everything was okay.

I walked around at random first, seeking out breakfast and the beach which wasn't as pretty as I thought it would. Finally, I got my hands on a guidebook, which gave me some direction and so I did a little walking tour of Diocletian Palace, which is like a mini-city within the city of Split. It is so neat because this palace was built by the Roman emperor Diocletian as his place of retirement. The remains of the palace still exist today, however, it is not a museum--rather, the town is built within it. So there are all these stores and apartments and cafes built into this ancient architecture. For example, there is this big formal entry way into the palace with columns and arches and there is a café right there where you can sit on the actual ancient steps around the square and have a cup of coffee while admiring the view. How cool is that?

After I did the tour, I wandered around looking for something to eat and found my way back to Fife's--the place I ate yesterday. I decided to order a very traditional dish, called pasticada, which I wasn't really sure what it was. I ordered it with white wine. The waiter sniffed.

"Pasticada with white wine?" he growled. "If you wish."

"Is red better?" I asked. He nodded vehemently.

"Okay, the red."

This meal was veal with so much brown broth, it might as well been soup. It came with little dumplings that you dipped in the sauce. The waiters came to check on me often to see if I liked it and to show me this snake-like fish in a bottle that they were giving this fisherman. When I didn't finish the meal, they were disappointed. It was good, but too much.

I was sleepy after that big meal, so I lied down on a park bench staring up at the palm tree against the blue sky and thought my life felt pretty great right now. I walked around the city and shopped, but it wasn't so much fun because everything was so nice and I don't have the money to spend. I did buy myself a bracelet. And some ice cream. I noticed the same guys as yesterday sitting on crates fishing by the shoreline. I saw the same group of old men sitting on the bench, drinking beer and heckling people who walked by. And I could understand their repetition. I merely wanted today to be a repeat of yesterday.

And so I decided to go and see the sunset again. I walked up the same path and sat in the same spot, and watched the sun go down. Since the sky was perfectly clear, it was a sunset that was more golden than pink. I stayed until the very end. No rushing anywhere this time.

I clapped when it was over, so happy to have experienced this beauty. Can I do this day again? Encore! Encore! Again! Again!

Statue of Gregorius of Nin.

Watching the sunset again.

Today's sunset.

Split's It.

2007-10-28T22:16:00.001+01:00

Me in Zagreb.

Yesterday, I arrived in Zagreb at 3:30. All the stores closed at 3:00. As soon as I got there, the city was already shutting down. GUYS! It is Saturday, this is ridiculous! This meant that I couldn't go and purchase a guide book, and so I spent the rest of the afternoon wandering around places that appeared to be important--the big church, the main square, the street with the row of restaurants. I found a cake shop I really liked, ate a slice of pizza (while thinking to myself, Am I really in Croatia right now eating pizza?) and then I spent my evening in the hostel family room watching Bourne Identity with a group of English guys and two American lawyers. Today, I moved on to Split.

Zagreb, eh. Split, wow.

As my bus chugged along the mountainside, and I could see glimmer of the ocean, the off-white and orange buildings from the distance, I nearly burst into tears with happiness. I stepped off the bus and Split just smelled warm and salty and wonderful. I took off my puffer; it was about 70 degrees.

Looking for my hostel without a map, I saw palm trees and water and I was just madly in love with it all. Somehow the hostel appeared, it was so easy breezy along with everything else about this place, and so I shoved my things inside and went out to explore.

Having not eaten anything except potato chips, candy, cake and pizza for the last two days, I needed a proper meal and so I went to this placed called Fife's Café that the girl from the hostel recommended.

"They have really good fish, but terrible service," she warned. So I wasn't surprised when no one approached me for 20 minutes after I made numerous nods to the waiter. The bottom of the menu states, "The complaint book is at the front desk."

Finally, when it came time to order, everything I wanted--the mixed grilled fish and grilled vegetables--were no longer available. I ordered the fish the waiter recommended, which turned out to be one of those monster whole fishes--bones and eyes included--on a plate. Not something I would normally order, but you can't complain about fresh fish--or fresh bread, or potatoes, or a small carafe of white wine. I found myself getting a little antsy at times with the slow service and I would tell myself, almost in a yoga chant, "Relax, you have nowhere to go."

Afterwards, I climbed up a bunch of stairs to check out the view of the city, which then turned into this beautiful walking path, lined with fragrant trees, cactus shaped like octopuses and an array of wild flowers. Beyond that, cornflower blue ocean meets mountains meets cornflower blue sky. It was the first time I had seen the sun or blue skies in about two weeks, and I was just beaming, basking my face in the glow. The walk was quiet and I thought about how happy I was that I made the decision to come here. It reminded me that you are never stuck in life, you should never feel trapped, there are always other options awaiting you. I almost burst into tears again.

Today was the first day of daylight savings time. It was past 4 and the sun was already setting, so I found the perfect spot and sat down and watched. It was not a spectacular sunset. There were some clouds in the sky, so after a while, the sun merely hid behind the clouds lighting them from behind. I admired this quiet beauty for a while and then figured that it would not get better than this, so I started walking on the path. But then in a few minutes, I could see that the sun was starting to peek out, bright and pink and stunning, the clouds reflecting the pink tone, and I cursed myself for the second time today for not being patient. So I walked back to the original spot and watched the sunset until completion. "Relax, you have nowhere to go."

I walked back into town, found myself some gelato to top of this extraordinary day. Then I went back to the hostel where I talked to my Australian roommate Sarah and we agreed to go out for a drink. It was a quiet Sunday night, not too many people at the bar, but it was nice to sit and chat about our travels. After all, I have no other place to be.

Look, ma, no jacket!

City of Split.

I am going to eat you, scary fish.

Calm waters.

Clouds during sunset.