Scribbling Voyager

No Shirt, No Shoes, No Service

2011-07-19T18:07:00.002-06:00

Though I woke up at the crack of dawn this morning, I piddled around, barely making it to the gym this morning in time to get in a short workout before driving to Tuscaloosa to meet a friend for lunch.

Driving was a dream - the wind whipping through my hair - free air conditioning while getting a tan - tunes blasting as I sang along. I made it to T-town with time to spare, so I stopped into Bama Fever to see what all they sold (for the curious - everything from hats to houndstooth panties!) I’d never shopped there for myself, as I’ve always been an Auburn fan, but now that I’m officially a student at “The University,” I might as well walk the walk!

No sooner had I stepped out of Bama Fever to meet my friend than my shoes broke. They were “un-walkable!” My mishap on the Regions bicycles at Birmingham-Southern years ago had put my sparkly shoes on the fritz and they finally kicked the bucket. Well, as we were hungry, we went ahead - barefoot - to Kobe.

I’d heard on a movie once that if you look people in the eye, no one will notice what you’re wearing. For the most part, this proved true throughout the day. I enjoyed my meal at Kobe in true Alabama style, barefoot. I walked all over campus, skipping over hot bricks and attempting to get my Action Card, Parking Pass, and books, barefoot.

I made it halfway back to Hoover and decided to make a pitstop at TJ Max and Home Goods to purchase my bakeware for my new kitchen. At the cash register, the male cashier laughed saying “You’re missing your shoes, aren’t ya?” I explained the situation as they chuckled and burned my feet running back towards my car.

My last stop was at Ross Dress For Less to pick up one last pan. I meandered down the home goods aisle and as I was inspecting a spring form pan, a man in a vest with the logo “loss prevention specialist” came over and explained that children often break glass in the store and he would kindly ask me to put on my shoes. “My shoes are in car,” I explained. “I broke them this afternoon and I can’t walk in them. I don’t usually walk barefoot everywhere.”

“Well, you don’t look the type,” the smiling guy said. I assured him that I’d be ten minutes and then I’d head home. Not three minutes later did his manager come, in a huff, to escort me out of the store, as there are pins in the clothes that could stick in my feet. I was allowed to purchase my pan, and then promptly left.

No joke! It’s no shoes, no service world here in Alabama. In middle school a new student moved to Alabama from up North. She told me she was so surprised when she arrived in Alabama and there were paved roads and people wore shoes. Well, rest assured, we Alabamians wear shoes, as it is now a liability to enter a store barefoot!

Just for kicks, I’ve included a photo of my feet after walking all over shopping center on Macfarland Ave., University of Alabama campus, and TJ Max/Home Goods/ Ross in Hoover - unwashed. Not bad. Our streets are pretty clean :-p

Just Like Thelma and Louise

2011-07-12T11:09:00.003-06:00

Watch out Sicily! Anna and Antonietta have taken the Vespa out for a spin. Antonietta and I woke up this morning, enjoyed our breakfast of biscotti, peaches, and café lattes in the sunshine, and then grabbed our helmets and giggled as we hopped on Nonno Gino’s white vespa and sped away to visit Nonna Theresa.

I’d begged and pleaded with Francesco to learn how to drive (“It’s not like it’s a “real” motorcycle – it’s automatic! It’s a scooter! I can drive a manual car!”) Like, my Uncle Frank, Francesco is protective of me. He didn’t like the idea at all as he was afraid I’d fall. But I found a co-conspirator and believer in Antonietta and we smiled at the idea of over-protective daddies and falling as the wind ruffled our hair. We honked as we pulled into Nonna Theresa’s, laughing and having a ball. I felt just like a movie star in my little mini skirt and off-the-shoulder blouse…and as I swung my leg off the back of the Vespa the skirt limited my movement. I promptly fell into the plants and landed on the cobblestones in a heap of giggles.

Antonietta and I enjoyed a morning chat with Nonna Theresa, and I tried her freshly made lemon granite – quite the refreshing treat in the heat of the morning! We enjoyed our ride back to the house together, feeling free and empowered, just like Thelma and Louise! I made it off the Vespa in style, managing not to fall on any potted plants this time – what a pro :-p

Antonietta and I grabbed Alberto to take some pictures of our adventure. I hopped on the Vespa alone to pose. The bike was parked and stationary – the purr of the motor could not be heard by a soul. I proceeded, with great intelligence, to put both feet on the platform and attempt to balance so that I could seem like I was driving in my photo. What luck I had on my cute silver helmet. Unlike Lena in Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants who learned so quickly with a cute boy by her side, I promptly fell with the Vespa on top on me in the street, on my shoulder. What made me think I can balance on a scooter when you can’t do the same on a bicycle (and I don’t even really ride those!), I don’t know. But I still can’t wait to learn….perhaps when I can move my shoulder and arm again I’ll find me a tall dark and handsome guy to teach me!

Unfortunately, my protective papa heard my crash – his fears had been realized and I didn’t even start the motor! We hopped in the car, me in the back with the Cocker Spaniel (off to have his first experience fathering babies!), with the worried eyes of Francesco on me in the rearview mirror. Gelato is always the best medicine – we stopped and got my last Sicilian gelato (in a brioche, of course!) of the year and made our way to the airport.

Antonietta and I stood in line, talking of everything from the lady beside us with an impressive set of drooping boobs, the touristic nuns, and our love for one another. Leaving her and Francesco was as hard as leaving my own family, but I look forward to being in the arms of my Mama and Daddy tomorrow – as the heat of Atlanta turns my clothes into a second skin. Thanks for the preparation, Sicily! I just wish I could have stayed a bit longer – but summer will be here again before I know it and I’ll be back in the land of love and pasta again! Love y’all so much!

Sunshine and Summertime

2011-07-12T01:57:00.002-06:00

“I said good mornin’! Good Mornin’! Ain’t it great to stay up late! Good Mornin’, Good Mornin’ to you!”

I woke up bright and early to the sounds of Lorenzo and Martina getting ready to depart for their week-long camping trip (where they’ll sleep oy7uuuuuuuuuuuuuuutside, make their own latrines – ugh! I’d prefer the Holiday Inn..or the Ritz :-p) My poor sweetheart Lorenzo was dead on his feet, dressed in his scout uniform, complete with two bandanna ties around his neck. I squinted in the sunlight, struggling not to let my morning breath (retainers, you know...) make them keel over as we took a few goodbye pictures, hugged, and said our ta-ta for nows. When they had hoisted their big packs on their backs and loaded them into the car, I rolled back into bed.

A few hours later, I joined Antonietta outside for a café latte and pistachio croissant before going to the market in Campo Felice. Like most European markets, there was a mix of vendors selling home goods, clothes, fruits and vegetables, and fresh fish. And yet I’d never seen someone clean fresh (live!) calamari, eyes bulging and all! Or chop a fish as big as my torso as if he were chopping down a tree. Or live escargot, squirming around in a box (ew! Imagine those crawling in your tummy – gives me the heebe-geebies.) We bought a kilo of calamari for dinner, searched for pretty towels for the bed and breakfast, and tried fresh almonds. Hopping back into the car, we made our way back to the countryside and changed into our bathing suits.

“Blue skies shining at me, nothing but blue skies do I see”….”got my toes in the water, butt in the sand, not a worry in the world, a cold beer in my hand, life is good today.”

The mountains rose high above the sand, the sky shone clear and baby blue. I hopped through the burning quicksand towards the refreshing waves lapping the shore. Francesco awaited Antonietta and I in the sea with a paddle boat (our yacht) which we paddled to Gorgo Beach and proceeded to sit around with ice cold frozen coffees, chewing the fat with our neighbors. As I took a few photos of the paradise that is Gorgo beach (imagine white soft beds under a gazebo with billowing fabric and cushy pillows, giving bright spots of color to the sandy carpets), Antonietta snapped some photos of my white (and bright red) butt in my Italian bathing suit (now there’s a story I need to tell!). Laughing the whole way back to our paddle boat, we paddled our way back to the house for a salad fresh from the garden – lettuce, tomatoes, and onions all grown at home with home pressed olive oil from the olive tree! A bit of Pecorino and a slice of watermelon later, we lounged on the porch, sipping more coffee and slipping into a nap.

While everyone took a little siesta, I made my way down the beach to visit with everyone. I sipped a cocktail in the sand, the breeze ruffling my hair and the waves crashing against my toes. I slept until my white bum turned red and then read a bit of my textbook (if people watching while flipping pages is reading..) until Antonietta picked me up and we drove through Lascari to see her newly refinished home in the city. Che bella!

“And a little bit of chicken fried! Cold beer on a Friday night. A pair of jeans that fit just right. And the radio up.”

I strived to bring a little bit of the South (my South) to the table tonight. I picked delicious green tomatoes (heirloom!) from the garden, sliced them, and fried ‘em on up to go with our calamari dinner. We ladies chatted and fried, in an outdoor kitchen my Mama would die for, putting quite a meal on the table. My fried green tomatoes were a hit – thank you Fannie Flagg! Antonietta even brought them to Francesco’s parents to try (I have to admit, I thoroughly enjoyed this trade as I received limoncello and a lemon granita in return!). I enjoyed so much chatting with Nonna Elvira, Nonna Theresa, and Nonno Gino and all the Butera’s aunts and neighbors. It’s great to be part of a big family!

“She grew up on the side of the road where the church bells ring and strong love grows. She grew up good, she grew up slow – like American honey.”

La Mia Vita é Veramente Bellisima

2011-07-11T02:07:00.004-06:00

What is family? Well ask any Southerner and you’ll get quite an inclusive answer. Family is those people that love you the most – your immediate blood relatives (whether you get along or not), your 1-4^th cousins (or farther on..), your in-laws, and of course, all the close friends of the family. Someone once said that “friends are the family that you choose.” I am doubly blessed to have the best blood relatives that a person could ever dream of, and the best adopted relatives that I could find throughout the world.

Someday, should I have the opportunity, I would choose to live near one particular set of relatives – my Sicilian family in Lascari, Sicily. I had the fortune of meeting the Librizzi-Butera family four years ago when I first began my European adventure, studying in Italy. I took a trip alone down to Cefalu and stayed in a perfect little bed and breakfast, La Vecchia Forgia, in a neighboring town, Lascari. (If you’d like, you can read of my adventure here). I spent one of the most memorable and special weekends of my life with the Librizzi-Butera family and have returned to my own personal haven of love, family, beautiful vistas, fun, and the most delicious food (Anna Heaven, here on Earth) for the third time.

I arrived a bit late, but not too tardy to be cradled by the many arms of the Butera family; we chatted, laughed, and shared a midnight meal at their home in the country along the beach. Our heads finally met our pillows around two, only to arise around seven or eight when the neighbors began their house improvement project. We awoke, happy to be in each other’s company once again to share a café latte, a bowl of cereal, and visits with all the grandparents. Afterward, we crossed the sand to the beach, surrounded by mountains, dotted with trees, and reclined on the sand, bejeweled with the brightest stones.

We chatted throughout the morning until it was time for a lunch of epic proportions. La Nonna made a meal that would have been a hit in any five Michelin star restaurant. We gorged on la pasta del forno, steak, fresh spinach salad, a heavenly eggplant dish (with a side of olives and basil), fresh fruit, Cassata Siciliana gelato, wine and coffee. My piccola pancia was in dire need of a passeggiata, so I took a walk down the beach, only to come upon all of my friends from my favorite private beach, Gorgo Lungo Beach. My two hours couldn’t have been better spent as I caught up with Vincenzo (solamente in Italiano :-p)

I made my way back to the house to get cleaned up for our second family meal of the day - La pizza Siciliana. Mamma Mia – this pizza has the most perfect crust you could ever imagine. Think of the best pizza crust you’ve ever had – this is now canned crap. Place yourself in a big Italian family, full of wine, love, and laughter – and you’ve got a sliver of an idea of my perfect evening. After eating this crusty confection, we took a few photos, went on a walk together, and then returned to end the night with a lively game of Spoons.

Life is slower - full of love, good food, and family.

Il Mio Cavaliere Nella Armatora Lucida – Per Dieci Euro e Un Sorrisso

2011-07-11T02:00:00.002-06:00

I flew into Rome and joined the crowd of fifty or more people sleeping in the airport. For the first time, I utilized my trash gathering skills to garner an old Pringles box on which to lounge, blew up my travel pillow, and snuggled with my brick bags…and promptly the air whistled from my pillow and my head descended to the floor. I tried my best to sleep through the noises of the airport, and perhaps had a few hours of interrupted sleep before I made my way to the bathroom to clean up a bit before hailing a cab from the airport to the local train station.

“How much would it cost for a ride to Roma Ciampano train station?” Not only was the cab 15-20 Euro for a five minute drive (night fees, baggage fees, etc), but apparently the internet (which had said that I could easily walk to the station, should a bus not be available) was wrong. The cab driver informed me that the road between the airport and the local station was a highway without sidewalks and would be very dangerous for me to walk. A little frustrated, the driver asked me how much money I had. I found fifteen Euro in my bag and he decided that he would take me for ten Euro. When I got in the car, thanking him profusely, he told me that he had three daughters and that should someday any be in my situation, he hoped someone would help them. Well, we got to talking and the kind father of three decided that it would be better for me for him just to take me all the way to the central station, eliminating a change on the train and allowing me to arrive in Naples faster. He turned the meter off and took me on a ride that surely would have cost 60 Euro for my measly ten and a smile.

This man was the highlight of my morning – my knight in shining armor. When I told him so, he said I was crazy, but that he had fallen for my smile. Had I fussed with him, haggled, and gestured, rather than simply smiling and explaining that I didn’t have money and I would walk, he would have left me to my own devices. However, my smile, he said, would have the world at my feet someday. Who could have a better morning than me? God brings the best people into my life at all the right moments.

And The Greatest of All Things Is Love

2011-07-11T01:51:00.003-06:00

Fanni and I enjoyed our last day in Paris immensely. We spent the day chatting with friends of Fanni’s family, sharing a meal, and seeing the outskirts of Paris together. Lounging in the sun at their Parisian home, we spoke of transferring lives from one country to another, keeping in touch with friends, and of course, the best things in life – food and love.

The family shared their love of one another and their love of their friends with me through a fabulous day of fellowship – not to mention a ride to the bus station and a sandwich to go. Here’s to new friends and great hospitality!

La Ville-Lumière

2011-07-09T12:31:00.004-06:00

Morning came a bit gray and chilly. I caught the subway towards the edge of the city, popping up for photos of the Musèe d’Orsay, and heading on to the opulent abode of the Sun King, Versailles. Walking towards Versailles, the first thing you see is King Louis, riding out from the gates, looking over the town. Gold glints from the city gates that failed to protect Marie Antoinette from her people and their guillotine.

The palace sits atop a hill, overlooking the surrounding town and the castle gardens – a majestic view for the king who wanted the most grandiose palace in the world. Marble floors of black and white checkers lead guests into the front entrance, down the hallway filled with statues of former French royalty, up the grand stairway, and towards the boudoirs of the king and his queen. A hall of mirrors and crystal chandeliers leads to the chambers and provides entrance to the sitting rooms of the king and queen. Each monarch has his and her own private suites, decorated sumptuously with beautiful wall and bed hangings, famous paintings, and priceless antiques (that weren’t so antique at the time!) Most of the palace was plundered after the king and queen were ousted from their home, and the museum continuously searches for the lost royal treasures.

I walked down the hallways shown in my history books, imagining the life of the king and queen, their courtiers and servants. No part of the monarch’s lives were private – from the royal awakening, bath, and dressing to the evening meal – every moment was on display. With all the rooms designed for the comfort of the monarchs, it would be heaven just to find a moment to enjoy the splendor of the surrounds alone; yet the monarchs felt that they were ordained by God to be the people’s ruler, thus they must be present with the people. If only today’s governments felt the same.

After touring Versailles, I toodled through the town a bit, stopping by a boulangerie for a picnic lunch of croissant jambon. I caught the train back towards The City Of Light, stopping by Mr. Eiffel’s tower for a few photos before enjoying the street performers of Montmartre near the La Basilique du Sacré-Cœur. I stopped by the apartment to meet Fanni and we headed towards the Latin Quarter for dinner. The area, which had been written of as a student area with cheap eats, was instead one heck of a tourist trap. Hawkers attempted to draw passersby into the restaurants, boasting cheap daily menus and free drinks. Fanni and I surveyed the area, finally getting caught by a hawker for a Greek restaurant. The food was nothing to write home about – it reminded me of why so many tourists don’t find Parisian restaurants to be all they’re cracked up to be. Unless you ask a Parisian where to dine, or do extensive research, your belly will grumble and you’ll stop at the first place you see – which is never a good idea in ole Pari!

Laughing at our dining misfortune, I stopped by a Crêpière and bought a crêpe toasted with sugar and Grand Marnier to erase the lingering tastes of poor restaurant decisions. We made our way through the twisting streets to take night shots of la Cathédrale Notre Dame, La Tour Eiffel, and Moulin Rouge.

Tasty Tidbits of Paris

2011-07-09T11:39:00.006-06:00

"Amelie has no boyfriend. She tried once or twice, but the results were a letdown. Instead, she cultivates a taste for small pleasures: dipping her hand into sacks of grain, cracking crème brûlée with a teaspoon and skipping stones at St. Martin's Canal." - Amelie (a French film)

I nibbled on almond cream, fig preserves, and toast while writing of the night before. A Frenchman strummed on his guitar singing songs of Paris as a “deaf” lady swindled me out of five Euro. I spent my morning window shopping, sipping coffee, and exploring the streets of Paris with Fanni. We walked along the river to the Louvre, stopping often to enjoy the view and snap pictures of each other. There were French bands performing along the streets, strumming on their guitars and singing of Parisian days gone by. Hours of walking led us back to Montmartre, a bohemian area of France which happens to be home to the Moulin Rouge, where we stopped at Le Café Gourmand to enjoy a glass of red wine, petit légumes de saison marinés aux jus de raciness et huile de noix (for those non-French speakers, here’s the less beautiful version: marinated seasonal vegetables with root juices and walnut oil) and Le Café Gourmand qui perle (pistachio crème brûlée, pistachio pudding, and chocolate mousse on a chocolate cookie, served with a café latte).

Our wine was deep ruby and full bodied, with a slight aftertaste that marred the flavor. The waiter brought crostini topped with a creamy tomato spread as an appetizer that thoroughly whet our appetites! My vegetables were lovely - colorful and bright, crunchy and abounding with texture. The cold dish was garnished with fried vegetable chips and had two different marinades to try. As it was technically an appetizer, I was pleasantly ready for the dessert sampler! A delightful plate of three miniature desserts was placed in front of me, along with a steaming café latte. The pistachio crème brûlée was by far my favorite: the crunch and crackle of the spoon as it breaks through the caramelized sugar – the creamy nutty flavor, so different from its custard sibling as it meets the tongue – the satisfaction as the taste buds fire away with pleasure. The pistachio pudding was just as it sounds, a pudding. The chocolate cookie was rich, smooth, and creamy with a hint of toffee. I preceded to photograph the whole ensemble.

The French group seated next to us was quite amused by my penchant for food photography and made many comments and attempts to be included in our photos. We enjoyed lively camaraderie with a German couple, who spends every vacation in a little town in Southern France, giving their skin a deep tan. A slight drizzle had us racing towards our little haven of an apartment, expecting a downpour which never occurred. I grabbed my netbook and headed towards the square where I sat under a large tree with a big bower and avoided the drizzle. Paris blooms in the evening and doesn’t sleep until the wee hours of the morning. As I uploaded my photos, I enjoyed the cadence of conversations, watching the families and the partiers pass me by.

Goûts de Paris

2011-07-05T15:45:00.003-06:00

How ya gonna keep 'em down on the farm, After they've seen Paree'

2011-07-05T15:27:00.004-06:00

How ya gonna keep 'em down on the farm
After they've seen Paree'
How ya gonna keep 'em away from Broadway
Jazzin around and paintin' the town
How ya gonna keep 'em away from harm, that's a mystery
They'll never want to see a rake or plow
And who the deuce can parleyvous a cow?
How ya gonna keep 'em down on the farm
After they've seen Paree'

Picnics in Paris

2011-07-05T03:11:00.002-06:00

We’ve arrived! After a sweaty trek up winding staircases and steep hills with heavy luggage, we’re in our apartment that is absolutely darling (man, I have skills!), putting together our first French meal. I picked up Saint-Marcellin Au Lait Cru, Rocamadour A lait Crus (Pur Chevre), Le Palet des Causses, and Bouchon Lyonnais to serve with freshly baked bread, sun dried tomatoes, green olives, and fig preserves (Bonne Maman! My favorite!). We also enjoyed a cup of tomato basil soup for our entrée and tartelette citron for dessert, coupled with a Listel rose.

Hungary is dear to my heart…or am I always hungry?

2011-07-05T03:04:00.003-06:00

After very little sleep, I grabbed my bags and hopped on the Orangeways bus to Hungary. It was weird to catch that big ole bus for the last time. I’d spent many a weekend trekking from Vienna to Budapest on this bus, watching American movies in Hungarian with English subtitles, chatting with fellow passengers, and drowsing to my iPod. I arrived in Budapest at 10 am, gave my ticket to the numerous ticket collectors and rode the subway for the last time for a while. Budapest is changing; the escalators that seem to rise into the Heavens now lead you to squares you’ve never heard of – but the view remains the same. I made it to Fanni’s apartment, despite the name changes, and enjoyed a lazy day in the ninth district.

Fanni and I bussed from Budapest to Szekesfehervar, dropped our bags by her parent’s house, and met Erwin, Adam, and Nathan for pizza at Marxim (my favorite pizza shop with a communist twist, where they serve pizza sauce in a pitcher to pour over your pizza). We caught up on old news and new, chatting about travels, tests, and what lies ahead. Afterwards, we walked through the town center to the new coffee shop; I couldn’t believe it – this place was bright, cheerful, and had more comfy couches to lounge upon than I’d ever seen in a coffee shop. I would have spent many an hour here had it been in Fehervar when I lived there! Oh well.

Sunday afternoon brought a special treat -lunch with Zsolt’s family. Zsolt’s mama always makes quite the feast, but it was particularly fun for me to be a part of the family. After many jokes and much laughter, Zsolt’s two sisters, his brother-in-law, his mother and I sat down for chicken and vegetable soup, spinach salad with sautéed onions and bacon, Hungarian pasta and meat sauce, pork chops, and turo cake. Fit to pop, we attempted to take pictures and discuss everything under the sun without falling into a “turkey coma.” Being a part of Zsolt’s family reminds me of my own; they care so much about each other, enjoy each other’s company, and make each member feel loved and cherished. I was blessed to spend my afternoon with them and barely got out the door in time to run to Muhely, a coffee house I frequented often, to meet Daniel, Martin, Adam, and Nathan.

Saying goodbye to my students was terribly hard the first time around – even though I knew I’d only be a few hours away. It didn’t really get much easier the second time around, knowing I’d be half the world away. Being these teenagers’ teacher was one of the best experiences of my life and I will never forget the joy they brought to me and the fulfillment of helping them learn.

My last morning in Hungary (for the time being, of course!) left me on the curb for an hour in the chilly winds in sandals, awaiting my Hungarian hair dresser…who never arrived! So I scoured the streets of Budapest for a beautician who could help me achieve my haircut dreams before I went back to the land of expensive haircuts. We’ll see if you like it! I’m off to Paris! Buon voyage!

Bittersweet Goodbyes

2011-07-05T02:56:00.002-06:00

My last day in Vienna was bittersweet – full of fun and laughter with a side of tears. We celebrated Anna’s eighth birthday with all her friends; we drank virgin cocktails, nibbled on Sacher torte, and played games together. As the party drew to a close, I had to say goodbye to my little girls. Goodbyes are always tough, but the hiccups and tears of my little vixens brought me near tears myself. We decided to have a sleepover in my room, which I would join after my evening of karaoke with my friends Angel, Ulrike, and Roland.

Like karaoke queens, we belted out tunes for our clapping audience of talented Austrian girls. After Angel, Ulrike, and Roland wowed the crowd with a few ballads, I stepped up to the microphone to put a little Southern flair on the evening. And I sang “hey pretty lady won’t you give me a sign, I’ll give anything to make you mine all mine I’ll do your bidding and be at your beck and call!” When I didn’t miss a word or beat, the audience gasped haha. Sold! Cheers to an Alabama girl!
After a round of hugs and promises to visit, I walked towards the subway. There is so much in Vienna that I haven’t seen or experienced yet, only living here a year. The fact that I lived the majority of my time here with one foot in America didn’t help matters at all. I could have experienced so much more! C’est la vie.

"Moon River"

2011-03-20T14:26:00.001-06:00

Moon River, wider than a mile,
I'm crossing you in style some day.
Oh, dream maker, you heart breaker,
wherever you're going I'm going your way.
Two drifters off to see the world.
There's such a lot of world to see.
We're after the same rainbow's end--
waiting 'round the bend,
my huckleberry friend,
Moon River and me.

Christmas in Vienna

2010-12-03T05:45:00.005-06:00

Dean is crooning Christmas carols, red and white lights glitter off the snowy streets, crowds gather around the punch and glühwein huts vying for the warmth of steaming liquor - the snow glints off my camera lens, trying to catch it all. Locals meet at Christkindlmarkts, chatting over a drink, as tourists come in waves of buses trying to find the perfect piece of Vienna to bring home for Christmas.

This year instead of swarming the markets as a tourist, I leisurely visit throughout the week, as a local. Bedecked in underarmour, pants, a blouse, a scarf, a wool coat, a hat, gloves, and manly boots, I am ready to brave the mounds of snow, late buses, and tourists to witness the magic that is a Viennese Christmas.

Christmas starts at home though - where children's laughter can be heard over the Christmas carols as we bake hundreds of small traditional Viennese cookies to give to neighbors and friends. It's advent wreaths and advent calenders, snowy sleigh rides and snowmen. Gloves and boots line the hall as everyone gathers inside - here's a cookie for you too!

Austrian Coconut Macaroons

2 egg whites

125 g crystallized sugar (A little over a half cup)

125 g powdered sugar (A little over a half cup)

20 dg coconut (A little over 2.5 cups)

1 serving spoon of flour

1 serving spoon clear colored rum

1 serving spoon lemon juice

Beat the egg whites until they form peaks. Then, mix in the crystallized sugar. Once the crystallized sugar is mixed in well, you may mix in the powdered sugar. Add coconut and flour and mix well. Lastly, mix in the rum and lemon juice. Cover your baking sheets with parchment paper and place the dough in small rounded mounds on the sheet. There should be roughly sixteen macaroons on each baking sheet. Bake at 165°C (325°F) for 30 minutes.

Blessings For A New Home

2010-09-12T11:07:00.001-06:00

I was truly blessed this morning. My prayers for a church home and family were realized beyond my wildest imagination.

I entered the English Speaking United Methodist Church of Vienna (www.esumc.at) with a deep abiding hope to find there a church home as I’d had at St. James American Episcopal Church in Florence, Italy. Yet, I doubted any church I found could be half as fulfilling.

It is with great joy and awe that I write – God proved me wrong! The sanctuary full of friendly members, smiling from the heart, welcomed me. Its congregation greeted me. A bright vivacious pastor noticed me immediately.

“Hi! I’m Laura. Oh! You’re from Alabama? I was born there! And we have another au pair from Alabama, where is she? We’ve quite a few Southerners here!”

The au pair from Alabama, also Laura, is from Fairhope and has the singing voice of an angel. We exchanged information immediately as we both were looking for new friends.

Throughout the service and afterward, I was warmly welcomed and felt a genuine excitement from the congregation. I received invitations to young adult groups and choirs, coffee and hikes.

The fellowship and thought-provoking sermon lured my heart, giving me the assurance that I’d found a venue to make Vienna home. And if that’s not enough – I’ve found another church with a library of romance novels. God works in mysterious ways!

I look forward to a year of hugs, encouragement, fellowship, friendship, and love. Thanks be to God for my new church home.

PS: I send great thanks to Vestavia Hills United Methodist Church of Birmingham, Alabama for its great support of Vienna’s Methodist Church – without its support, ESUMC wouldn’t be here for me!

Living in two worlds at once

2010-09-12T10:39:00.004-06:00

A whirlwind summer, full of joyful reunions and love, both old and new has come to an end. I’ve said my goodbyes and boarded the plane, blue, yet excited for my next adventure. My music is a bit angsty, foreshadowing my first few days in a new, but in its own way, familiar environment. I’m leaving the land of boats and water-skiing, bowl-sized cappuccinos, refillable drinks, hugs, Southern charm and chivalry, arriving in the land of great history, breathtaking buildings, tiny coffees and no refills, public transit, and cheek kisses.

My experience has taught me that my psyche needs 1-2 weeks to transition between my two worlds: To shift from the fast-paced, consumer-driven, quick-fix, individualized society of the US to the slower-paced, socialized, patient society of Europe.

Everything is different. My schedule, my routine, the food I eat, the sights I see, what I’m accustomed to. I have two homes, two halves of a whole –my wandering soul and my Southern heart. Someday, I hope they’ll coincide. But until then, I’ll continue to live in two worlds at once.

Good Ole Southern Family Fun

2010-09-12T10:31:00.002-06:00

Good Ole Southern Family Fun

2010-09-12T10:15:00.003-06:00

Nashville, home of country music and its stars is also home to Southern history, charm, and my Aunt Lisa, the essence of a Southern Lady. Visiting Aunt Lisa, Uncle Frank, Cavender, and Rob has been the highlight of my past couple summers. Strolling through manicured gardens and Saturday farmers’ markets, admiring antebellum homes and hearing about their owners, touring local exhibits and going to movies, reading good novels followed by discussion, and of course, cooking and eating Southern meals are among a few of my favorite things to do with my beloved family.

This year we had yet another fabulous occasion to spend a week together. I hope you enjoy some of the photos from Aunt Lisa, Cavender, and my trips to Belle Meade, the Chihuly exhibit at Cheekwood Botanical Gardens, and our Southern Vegetable luncheon.

A heartwarming return to Florence, home of my past

2010-09-11T07:08:00.005-06:00

I disembarked with a grin a mile wide. Home. I was home. Santa Maria Novella! It was teeming with life. Lines of tourists curled around ticket counters and a new tram slowed by the back stairs. Much had changed but the heart of Florence remained the same – my valley of friends, acceptance, and encouragement, surrounded by historic beauty.

I visited all my old haunts – St. James, with its colorful shadows and walls brimming with embracing memories, my apartments along the Danube and aside Santa Croce; and the Oil Shoppe, where students still lined the street for meters for a cheap gourmet sandwich. I meandered down my old paths like Hansel and Gretel, my memories as my breadcrumbs.

“Ciao!” The older gentleman I passed looked up, then took a double take. “Ciao!!!!” His eyes lit up with the memory. “Cappuccino!? Café? Vorresti sedere?” Although I used to smile and stop for a chat every day, I was surprised he remembered me, situated as he was in the heart of the tourist district. My heart warmed.

A grande embraccio, kisses, and love – sitting on the church steps with my beloved friend and second mama Gilberta, made me feel cherished and at home. A cappuccino with Cosi in a café nestled between my two campuses brought contentment and enlightenment. “Lucy you’ve got lots a splainin’ to do!” announces my inner Desi Arnez as I remember lunch on the cobblestones with Lisa, catching up on two years of adventures, later making our own adventure as we traversed Florence for a new cell phone. A late night stroll with Luca, chatting about everything from jobs and life to politics, the two of us enjoying the banter and intelligence I’d so missed.

Gelatos, river walks, and constant escapades with Sarah were a blast from the past, a blessing. Our friendship was honed once more along the Arno as we chatted, joked, and laughed about life, love, men, and plans. Italia will call us together once more in the coming years as roommates, friends, and confidants.

Markets, restaurants, cafés, and bars, new friends and old, memories both old and new alive in Firenze, the home of my past.

Glory, Honor, and Souvenirs

2010-07-28T14:49:00.003-06:00

A majestic city of dormant power. Home to ancient Caesars and glossy mafia bosses, the hub of Rome remains the same. Hidden churches hung with Renaissance gems, towering basilicas adorned with roofs of gold, fountains dripping with shimmering water – the glory and honor of Rome, a pilgrimage for many, reduced to Disneyland commercialism.

Day and Night in Barcelona

2010-07-27T20:18:00.002-06:00

Bright glinting sunlight on pedestrian aisles

Deep green picnics in the shade

Thick beige glittery sand.

Flowing fruit drinks laced with sweet alcohol

Cheering crowds erupting for their team

Sports announcers’ commenting drowned out by private conversations

Chilly waves batter the sand.

The night is alight with clinks of glasses and laughter fills the air

High heels and long lines.

Kebab stands and Tobacco shops

Metro stops and taxi lines.

Sunset and sunrise.

Day and night in Barcelona.

Sono Ritornata a Firenze

2010-06-24T16:28:00.003-06:00

Bag in hand and a grin a mile wide, I stepped of the train and was back home in Firenze. While a few things have changed (who knew that the tram could be completed in two years?), the heart of city is still the same.

As I walked down the streets I journeyed everyday on the way to school, the little old man who I always passed did a double take and invited me in for coffee! The beggars too, I recognized. The places that I once took for granted began to sparkle again, like polished silver.

I sat hand in hand with one of my second mamas, Gilberta, who used to share her lunches with me when I dropped by her shop, sharing the moments we’d missed together.

Meandering down a via, Federico, a friend from church, recognized me and we spent the evening chatting over wine and playing Phase 10.

Amidst screams and hugs, I reunited with a best friend, Sarah, and oohhed and ahhhed over fireworks.

“Home, the spot of earth supremely blest, A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest”

A Southern Belle Huntress Cries Through Spain's Traditional Corrida de Toros

2010-06-13T15:36:00.006-06:00

Olé olé olé! Pomp and circumstance, cheers and cat calls began the promenade of matadors. The Plaza de Toros, filled with tourists, locals, and bull fighting enthusiasts, was holding its Sunday bullfight: The lure of seeing Spanish tradition in action and the writings of Ernest Hemingway drew us to Plaza de Toros this Sunday. Excited, yet wary, we made our way through the circular entrance and up to our seats, where we caught the entrance of the matadors and began to click our cameras.

The sounding of horns announced the entrance of the bull, who was quickly lured to the multiple banderilleros who made a show of flapping their pink banner and stabbing the bull with hooks that had decorative streamers, allowing the main matador to have a head start with the injured bull. Two picadores mounted on blindfolded horses covered with padding, entered the arena, drawing the bulls interest. The bull stabbed the horse and its matador, spurring the matador to stab the bull repeatedly with his long stick, topped with a bayonet. Finally, the bull, spotted with bright red blood, was joined by the matador, his assassin. The matador completed a series of tricks for the enjoyment of the crowd, leading the injured bull to his sword and, if he was a good matador, sliding his sword into the bull, to the hilt. If he was not a good matador, he would repeatedly stick the bull, who would then buck the sword. The tricked bull, soaked in his own blood, once stabbed, began to bleed from his nose and mouth profusely, dropping from a normal stance to his haunches. The crowd, previously silent, cried “Olé!”

Hemingway once wrote: "He [the matador] must have a spiritual enjoyment of the moment of killing. Killing cleanly and in a way which gives you esthetic pleasure and pride has always been one of the greatest enjoyments of a part of the human race.”

La corrida de toros is nothing like hunting. The matador does not lay in wait for the bull, quickly killing him mercifully. Instead, the group of bullfighters repeatedly stabs the bull, torturing him to death. The sport is not only dangerous for the bull, whose meat will later be sold to local restaurants, but also to the horses who are often stabbed by the bulls, and the bullfighters themselves.

The unsuspecting bull, bullied into a fight, tortured and speared, suffers as he slowly dies, running, blood gushing, and dropping to his knees. Tears welled up in my eyes and I choked on a sob.

“Where is PETA during all of this?” I asked myself as I swiped the tears off my cheeks. PETA declares: “Each year, approximately 10,000 bulls die in bullfights, an inaccurate term for events in which there is very little competition between a nimble, sword-wielding matador (Spanish for “killer”) and a confused, maimed, psychologically tormented, and physically debilitated animal.”

We left the fight early, leaving behind the cheering, shirt waiving crowd behind.

"You Can't Put Your Arms Around A Memory"

2010-06-11T20:18:00.002-06:00

Today you won’t find me pouring my heart out in a café, at least not yet anyway. The last day of classes has drawn to a close. I sit on a train between Székesfehérvár and Budapest, plodding along to the airport and later, Madrid. It’s 3:48 am and I am curled up on the seat of the train, reading the numerous comments my students have written on my pictures and wall.

It’s funny how a day can be so awaited and yet so dreaded. The lure of travel – Madrid, Barcelona, Bologna, Florence, Rome, Lascari, the coast of Croatia – and summer fever had me longing for those summer days, free of school. Reality brought goodbyes – numerous hugs, a few tears, and lots of love.

The sun warmed our faces and the wind ruffled our hair as Taylor and I sat outside watching “our boys” (our two groups of ninth grade boys whom we teach eight lessons a week) play soccer and American football. We joked around with them for the last time, put on goofy sun glasses, shared inside jokes, and snapped pictures together.

The bell rang, sending me to my last lesson with my tenth graders, a group who is always up for charades, games, and laughter. Polite and eager to learn, they always stood when I entered the room, and quieted down when I asked – no they weren’t angels, but they were pretty darn close :-p The class began with a student’s speech I’ll remember and hold in my heart for many years to come. The group gifted me with traditional Hungarian goodies – in particular, a Hungarian shot glass to hold my Hungarian palinka J Then amongst pictures and laughter, we played cards together for our last lesson.

The ringing of the teachers’ bell, tunes that are a mix of cartoon and movie theme songs, sent me back outside to my ninth grade boys. We went to lunch together, bonding over lunch room dregs. The shortened classes were for once too short as it came time for me to go inside for teachers’ meetings. I lingered with my boys long after the time they could have gone home, cherishing my last moments with them.

Teaching 9G has been quite the adventure. Four lessons of 45 minutes with thirteen fifteen year-old boys per day, has been both a blessing and a trial. “My boys” will say anything to watch my face infuse with redness; they’ll chitchat and complain and beg to go home; they’ll hug my neck and say sweet things and make me long to teach them for years to come. I couldn’t adore my group of guys, and Taylor’s group of guys, any more if they were my own. As I watched them in their Christmas and Piggy plays this year, I felt as proud as a parent. They have me saying things like “I’ll wash your mouth out with soap!”, “Boys, no cussing!”, and threatening like a parent. And like any loved ones, I’ll miss them so much as I move on to Vienna.

My memories of their antics, of all my students’ tricks, will have me laughing and smiling for years to come. I’ll miss all of you (8A, 9A, 9G, 10A, 10C, 10G, 11A, 11G, 12A, 12C, and 13D) so much! Thank you for the memories!

"How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard." - Annie, The Musical

The Loveliest Day of Bittersweet Perfection - Here's to Happy Endings!

2010-06-10T06:14:00.005-06:00

I don’t think that days can be better than this, or more bittersweet. I’m sitting in a café, listening to Southern jazz as I drink an iced tea icee and thinking back on my wonderful morning.

Running late for work, as I always seem to do on Thursday mornings, I literally ran to school in the 95 degree heat, hoping to make it to my 10A class on time – at least for the last day. Alas, I still arrived a few minutes late, dripping with the dew of the sweltering morning.

I walked in the classroom and for the first time in almost twenty-three years, I was thrown a surprise party. Two of my girls, Fanni and Eszter, presented me with a creative scrapbook page with our class photograph which everyone had signed. Fanni, quite the artist, had also painted me a watercolor card with her own best-wishes. Eszter armed me with luck, bringing me her handcrafted good-luck turtle. When the girls shifted, I glimpsed the whole class behind them, gathered around a table filled with homemade muffins, cake, and pogácsa, a typical Hungarian biscuit drizzled with cheese.

We ate the scrumptious treats and commenced a spelling bee, boys versus girls, which the boys promptly won, and so the card games began. When the last bell rang, the room was filled with goodbyes and hugs and a million special memories.

No sooner did I arrive at my second class than did the paparazzi flash go off – 9A was gathered around the teacher’s table where a lovely (and incredibly delicious) two layer chocolate cake sat, sparkling with the phrase “We’ll miss you!” The class was playing a goodbye song on the computer, and almost teary-eyed, I scanned their smiling faces and saw a “We’ll miss you Anna!” mural on the blackboard and a bright orange poster board with three of our class photos, signed by the students and decorated with different phrases and memories from our time together.

After everyone got a slice of cake, we took a long walk throughout the city, snapping photos together and chatting. The sun shone brightly as we strolled, enjoying our last moments together.

My third and last Teleki lesson was with my piquant 10C class. We spent the lesson basking in the sun, playing soccer, and chatting about the year to come. Zita, Rebecca, and Eszter surprised me with an incredible torte – the first bite made me think of sunny days lounging with the Cavenders, nibbling on Aunt Lisa, Aunt Annette, and Aunt Carolyn’s goodies. I can’t wait to share the recipe with them!

The day wrapped itself up and as I came in the teacher’s lounge to grab my goodies and return home, the English teachers gathered together for a final goodbye party. They shared memories with me and gifted me with a Hungarian novel, translated into English, along with some chocolates and an Italian novel to read on my way to Italy.

Now, as I sit here in one of my favorite Fehervar haunts, filled to the brim with sweets, I am saddened with the prospect of leaving my students and colleagues, but excited about the adventures yet to come – Spain, Italy, Croatia, Chicago, Birmingham, Nashville ….and then Vienna awaits me! What a hard life, huh? J My memories of Hungary, her hospitality and people, will travel with me always, for as Fanni Hatvani says:

“Beginnings are usually scary and ending are usually sad, but it’s the middle that counts. You have to remember this when you find yourself at the beginning.”

Breakfast Anyone?

2010-05-25T23:01:00.002-06:00

Anna has found out that her body is no longer used to the abuse of all-nighters, those sleepless nights of university years. When one falls back asleep in the restroom after lurching out of bed, and cannot play hookey because said person is the teacher....the realization is not so pleasant. So, grumbling mightily, I hopped in the shower, in the hopes that turning my newly golden skin to a bright shade of pink would awaken me and had a pleasant surprise - the draino I bought yesterday worked! I'm no longer bathing like a person in a rising flood. Score for the morning: Nasty thoughts about school: Maybe a gagillion. Ability to return to bed: Zip, Nada, None. Oh well...breakfast anyone?

Give A Little Lure to the Altar and Leg-Shackled He'll Be!

2010-05-21T07:15:00.006-06:00

The sun peeked from behind the clouds, its rays highlighting the shining gold cross on Belgrade’s Sveti Sava Orthodox Church. At night, its brightly lit edifice is a landmark in the city known for its affordable and hoppin’ night life. By day, it’s a prime wedding local for women boasting the latest wedding fashion trends – see through wedding gowns! Perhaps the peeping reminder of the prize to come keeps jittery grooms focused and ready to accept their leg-shackles!

After a quick peek at a bride and the unfinished interior of Sveti Sava, Taylor, Vlada, and I obeyed the edicts of our rumbling tummies and headed towards one of Belgrade’s most popular “fast food” restaurants, Loki. Vlada ordered us two Serbian specialties: Pljeskavica from Leskovac with urnebes cheese, and kobasica with urnebes cheese. The pljeskavica leskovačka, a mixed meat patty with onions, lettuce, and mustard on a toasted bun with urnebes cheese (for you Southerners, it tastes just like delicious fresh pimento cheese!), wrapped in brown wax paper made my mouth water as we awaited Taylor’s kobasica, thick sausages, glimmering with grease, paired with the delicious pimento-esque cheese. We propped our feet and sank into the booth, chatting over tasty Serbian snacks.

Taytito: A Visit to Tito's Mausoleum

2010-05-16T11:54:00.006-06:00

Our two brightly colored umbrellas, one polka dotted, one a large Gerber daisy, bobbed through the crowd headed for the Trg Republike in search of a friend. We found Vlada under the statue of Prince Mihailo, eager to take us to the Museum of Yugoslav History.

A quick ride on the tram took us out to the museum, a shrine to Yugoslavia’s former dictator, Comrad Josip Broz Tito. We entered the museum to see the special exhibition linking Yoko Ono, John Lennon, and Josip Tito to giving peace a chance. The exhibit told the story of John and Yoko’s attempt to spur world peace by sending two acorns to leaders all over the world; they sent one to Tito, who ceremoniously planted it in Belgrade sixty years ago. The echoes of “Give Peace a Chance,” trailed us as we entered the pathway to Tito’s mausoleum.

Identical Tito statues lined the path to the House of Flowers which Tito chose as his final resting place. Gifts to Tito from all over the world graced every wall, yet the elaborate yearly torches given to Tito in his honor didn’t impress Taylor. “Tito coulda had one huluva bar with very impressive bar taps!” She said. “He could have an amazing tap with all these torches! What?!”

Vlada shot me a look and murmured, “Taylor’s not impressed with Tito.”

“I mean, look at these statues. Why is he always looking down? It’s creepy! Looks like you should flash him for a photo and he’d ogle you!”

“Taylor’s really not impressed with Tito.”

All Rainy Puddles Don't Lead To Lepinja Sa Kajmakom i Pršuta

2010-05-16T04:56:00.004-06:00

The search for ultimate sandwich of lepinja bread with pršut and kajmak led us around the center of Belgrade for two hours in the drizzle and muck. A hole in the wall sandwich shop, not too far from our hostel, was a particular favorite of our receptionist. Consulting the map, we headed in one direction, then another, and then again, yet another, trying to match the Cyrillic street names on the map with those on the buildings. After numerous stops for directions (thankfully, we are ladies, which made a possible four hour trek into two), we finally arrived at our destination.

A little shop selling meats and cheeses and made sandwiches in the back, was a beloved town secret for many. We mingled among the locals, waiting for our chance to pass the sticky note our receptionist had written for us to the shop keepers. When the sandwiches were in our hot little fingers, we quickly searched for an alcove where we might hide from the rain and munch on our lepinja sandwiches.

The warm toasted bread, similar to homemade pita, melted the kajmak, a creamy Balkan cheese reminiscent of butter, and provided a velvety home for the salty prosciutto. Lepinja sa kajmakom i pršuta filled our tummies and sustained our hike to the nearest coffee shop, where we plopped onto couches and rested our tired, drenched feet and looked forward to meeting my friend Vladimir.

The Bag Lady

2010-05-16T02:44:00.003-06:00

Gourmet sandwiches packed and ready? Check!

Camera, phone, ipod, and ebook readers charged? Check!

Socks and nightshirt….forgotten.

Taylor and I made our way to Budapest in class, taking a taxi from our apartment to the train station and then lounging on the IC train that brought us straight to Budapest-Keleti station where we quickly boarded an all night train from Budapest, Hungary, to Belgrade, Serbia.

Of all the moderately full train compartments to choose from, we settled on a compartment with one passenger, an ancient Hungarian woman who spoke no English and little Hungarian. The toothless woman wore five shirts of differing lengths, a skirt, tights, and a coat. Two bags and a cane against her knees, and food in her multitude of pockets, she was the picture of the quintessential bag lady. Seemingly nice, the woman settled into slumber across from Taylor. Taylor tossed and turned, unable to let sleep carry her away due to the waft of ode du dead cat e a bit of rotting fish.

Sniff Sniff. Sniiif. Taylor tipped her nose into the air with a snarl. “What is that smell?”

“It’s not me!” I exclaimed, as I cuddled deeper towards the left side of the compartment, my eyes glued to the video on my ipod screen.

It took three and a half hours for the woman’s stop to come, yet I was unaffected by her unpleasant aroma until she passed me by on her way out. Thrilled that she’d abdicated her throne, I hopped onto her seat, hoping to get some much needed zzzs. Unfortunately, Taylor’s frequent comments about her smell gave me the heebeegeebees as I stretched out upon our bag lady’s seat. A few hours of much-interrupted sleep later, we arrived in Belgrade, excited to see the city, but a bit worried about the major storm clouds approaching.

Phase 10 +Rook + Hand and Foot = McNichdams’ Cardomania

2010-05-06T09:58:00.002-06:00

No one could have had more fun on a train than the McDaniels, Adams, and Nichols clans!

The four of us munched on German pretzels and whiled the hours away playing Rook as we rode from Auerbach to Munich. Unfortunately for Katie and I, Taylor brought her beginner's luck to Morgan, allowing their team to smartly beat us on the first go round. Their reign was brought to an end as the train chugged into Munich, where we quickly darted off to Hofbräuhaus, the royal brewery of Munich.

One Radler (Helles Bier mit Zitronenlimonade), Hofbräu Original, Dunkles Radler (Dunkles mit Zitronenlimonade), and Hofbräu Maibock later, we found ourselves tapping our feet to the traditional Bavarian music and munching on a basket of brotkorb (two pretzels, a roll, and a slice of rye bread). The asparagus cream soup (spargelcremesuppe) did not tempt our palates unduly; however, the homemade beef roulade with red wine, vegetable sauce and butter potatoes (Hausgemachte Rinderroulade in Rotwein-Gemüsesoße mit Butterkartoffeln) was plate-lickable!

Tummies full, we walked off our meal by taking a Sandeman’s free walking tour of Munich. Our guide was not quite as spellbinding as our previous guide in Berlin, but he was quite the history buff. Throughout the drizzly day, we heard of the Devil and his footprint, the May poles and markets, the numerous historical legends of the Prussian kings, and the rise of Hitler.

The increasing amount of cold rivulets running down our jackets as the glockenspiel tolled led the four of us and our new friend Leo to another famous brewery - Augustiner-Bräu, the monks’ brewery. Our party of five ordered an assortment of brews, along with some pretzel soup, liver soup, goulash soup, and apple strudel. The soups were delicious (with the exception of the liver soup…coming from a liver-abhorrer) - quite superior to the asparagus cream of Hofbräuhaus – yet Hofbräuhaus brews cannot be beat! The sweet cinnamon and honeyed flavors of the apple strudel mixed with vanilla bean ice cream and a fresh orange slice brought a sigh to Katie and my lips as the boys finished their one liter beers.

Our meal at Augustiner-Bräu concluded, we ran to the train station, eager to begin a new game: Phase 10. After the rules were taught, Taylor’s beginner's luck became the topic of myths and legends. She proceeded to drive the three of us into the ground, beating us soundly. After such a sound whooping, we proceeded to chat our way past our stop, forcing us to ride over an hour longer on the train…and leading to a new Rook game which Katie and I deftly won…although Taylor was a bit tipsy, we still count the win! All’s fair in love and war!

When Katie and I found out that both of our families were Hand and Foot players, we thrilled at the opportunity to play! The next night after our trip to the commissary, Katie, Morgan, Taylor and I gathered around the table, bellies full of Mexican Quesadilla Casserole, cheese dip, and margaritas, and began our only hand of hand and foot….which Morgan and Katie won!

We can’t wait for the next episode of McNichdams’ Cardomania!

Beer Gardens and Breweries

2010-05-06T08:54:00.003-06:00

Once known as the city of monks, München has become the center of the beer world. When womanizer King Ludwig I married Therese of Saxony in October of 1810, he gave her a field as a present. “A field! Certainly a king can do better than that!” Therese exclaimed.

And so, King Ludwig named said field after Therese and proceeded to throw her a party that was so successful, it’s been held in the same place ever since! Queen Therese’s party is now known as Oktoberfest, spanning from the last weekend in September to the first Sunday of October. During these weeks, the population of Munich jumps from 1.3 million to seven million people – who will then eat 480,000 spit-roasted chickens and drink 1.5 million gallons of beer!

The breweries are open year-round, selling Bavarian beer that is quite possibly the world’s finest! In times of yore, breweries such as Hofbräukeller were only open to men. Men would lounge and drink all day at the tables; when nature called, a man would tap his companions’ knees with his specially made cane, open the buttons on his lederhosen, free his hosen, and use the notch in his cane to lead the stream away from his companions. At the end of the evening, bar maids would pour buckets of water on the stone floor, flushing away any debris.

Today, women are welcomed at the numerous beer gardens and breweries. However, if a woman has had too much to drink, she must alert the male restroom attendant who will then allow her to enter the men’s room and use the vomitorium, using his body as a shield to protect her from view. Not using the vomitorium to vomit will incur a large fine.

Each brewery has quite a few brews from which to choose, along with delicious local specialties such as suckling pig with Bavarian cabbage and potato dumplings. Meals are enjoyed together; everyone gathers at the long wooden tables to drink one liter beers, munch on pretzels, and dine on specialties, enjoying the tunes of the traditional Bavarian orchestra playing nearby.

Domus Vinorum

2010-05-03T07:30:00.002-06:00

Drizzling rain chased us into a gentleman's library of old. Wine filled the bookcases, thick Aubusson rugs covered the hardwoods, deep paneling covered the walls and cozy chocolate leather encased the visitors.

Twinkly-eyed and smiling, the waiter brought us a refreshing (Nyakas Irsai Oliver 2009 Etyek Buda) white, with light fruity tones. He was a delightful surprise. When we asked for his opinion regarding which entrées to order, he provided us with his honest reaction to each entrée. Thrilled to be led to a delicious selection, we sank furter into our leather paradise and challenged each other to a game of backgammon.

A steaming mug of soup served on an ovular white plate arrived shortly, bringing with it the flavors of dill and parsley, accompanied by tender chicken, potatoes, carrots, peas, and parsnips. Each spiced spoonful was the delicious consistency of 2% milk - not cream based, but thicker than stock. A perfect starter to share, it was filling, yet light, a sample of the joys yet to come.

Creamy goat cheese with the tangy flavor of caramelized balsamic vinegar was the next course to melt upon my tongue. This slab of fresh mouthwatering cheese was served upon a bed of seared, lightly sautéed vegetables in a medley of spices and garnished with long stems of fresh chives. The pairing of the slightly crunchy peppers, eggplant, and mushrooms with the thick creamy goat cheese delighted the palate.

Our second entrée seemed almost-Southern. Juicy mushrooms in a light mushroom gravy surrounded slices of succulent pork stuffed with dressing that even a Southern cook would be proud of. Rice sprinkled with chopped parsley gave the dish a down-home flair, reminiscent of Wednesday night beef tips and rice, but with a gourmet touch.

After numerous bouts of plate swapping and eye-closing gastronomical pleasure, we took our last sip of wine and awaited dessert.

A parfait glass with a flower petal rim made a lovely dessert, filled with cream, rice, sour cherries, and raspberry sauce, adorned with two slices of red apple and two slices of juicy lime kiwi fruit - sweet, but not overly so, a fitting finale for a delicious three act play.

Domus Vinorum Wine House and Café

Bajcsy-Zsilinszky út 18

H-1051 Budapest, Hungary

+36 70 703 9358

borhaz@domusvinorum.hu

*** Photo borrowed from Domus Vinorum website - www.domusvinorum.hu/

Szechenyi Baths Part Two: Brutus, Attila, and Sweeney Todd.

2010-04-21T07:09:00.003-06:00

Did you see two ratty women in workout clothes enter the subway on Sunday? It could have been us.

The only people adorned in athletic gear on a train full of travelers, Mama and I made the trip to Szechenyi Furdö.

We traipsed around the facility for thirty minutes, deciding which treatment we desired. We’d been searching for a pedicurist all over town, but after peaking our head into Sweeney Todd’s office of knives, lined up with precision to hack at feet, we decided to stick with our aromatic massage appointments.

Thirty minutes of elliptical squeaks and groans and a spilled water-bottle later, Mama and I dunked ourselves in the outdoor pools, plopped into the sauna, dipped into the medicinal waters, and toweled off for out massage where we were met by “Brutus” and “Attila.”

A sterile white tile room, white washed and brightly lit, was broken into white cubicles where a group of chattering masseuses gave massages. Two beefy guys in white shorts and wife beaters, quite possibly not wearing underwear, were to be out masseuses – we affectionately nicknamed them Brutus and Attila. Mama and I entered our separate cubicles and embarked upon our interesting experience. At least 15 to 20 minutes of our forty minute massage was spent on our legs – and Mama’s masseuse didn’t even touch her feet! He ordered her to remove her top…only to work on her legs – a bit of a free show for him since tipping isn’t customary at the baths?

Forty minutes later….we exited the cubicles, grinning at each other, dying to tell the other of our experience – smashed noses – no head rest, topless and footless, it was quite an adventure! After massages such as ours, we’re sure glad we skipped the Sweeney Todd pedis!

Non-Stop Palacsintázó, Sappy Chick Flicks, and Lock Picking in Budapest

2010-04-14T06:52:00.003-06:00

When in doubt, go to Betthyány Tér for Hungarian palacsinta and mashed potatoes, that’s my motto!

Mama nad I arrived in Budapest on Saturday after quite a long train ride, made fun by being together….and the cute conductor I loved smiling at. We hopped on the metro to Betthyány Tér, where Mama longed to try the all-nighter pancake house, Nagyi Palacsintazója, which Dad and I had raved over.

An apple-walnut crêpe, banana-Nutella crêpe, turó-raisin crêpe, and chicken & broccoli mashed potato later, we were off to find our apartment, nestled on the street where Robert Pattinson had been filming the day before!

The apartment was great! Thrilled with our find, we set off to go sightsee a bit, only to have to make a surprise stop for leggings. Why is the weather so different in Budapest and Székesfehérvár?

An expensive pair of leggings later, we made it to the theatre to see Dear John, a sweet Nicholas Sparks that really made me think.

On our way home, we stopped to gather breakfast and snacks for Sunday. Our arrival at the apartment was a fiasco! The main entrance had a keypad.

“What was the code?”

“I don’t know! I don’t have it anywhere!”

“They’re not answering the phone!”

Mama and I begged the bar next door to help us enter our apartment and we finally made it in, only to find out that the code had been written on the keychain. Shoot!

Mrs. Zsuzsanna Petrak’s Gourmet Étterem

2010-04-13T08:51:00.005-06:00

We celebrated Mama’s birthday on Thursday, but the real celebration occurred on Friday at the Petrak’s home.

Mama and Miss Zsuzsanna share the same birthday, and we’d all gotten together so that Mama could meet Fanni’s darling family, who have treated me like one of their own.

Fanni arrived at my apartment, rendering door-to-door service, complete with the adventure of evading local police.

When we arrived, a pot of Miss Zsuzsanna’s famous Hungarian goulash simmered on the stove.

We toasted the ladies’ birthdays and Mama’s visit with home-brewed peach palinka and chatted under the beams of the porch as the sun descended behind the vibrant green trees.

The aroma of sizzling bacon drew me to the kitchen to watch Miss Zsuzsanna put together the tastiest pasta I’d enjoyed in quite some time. Fresh wavy pasta mixed with creamy turo and thick sour cream, seasoned with the mouthwatering flavor of fried bacon slivers, and baked in the oven for a crispy crust made me long for Miss Zsuzsanna’s call of “Kész a kaja, gyertek enni!” – I could just imagine running like a linebacker, thrusting people out of my way till I landed in my chair at the dining room table.

When the call came, I repressed my inner longing to behave like an All-American linebacker, and instead behaved like a true Southern lady, gathering the glasses from the porch and transferring them to seats at the table.

Mr. Atilla, Miss Zsuzsanna, Máté, Fanni, Mama, and I talked over the decadent traditional favorites with ease, with Fanni as our translator.

Mama’s last sip of wine sent her yawning to the couch as we meandered to the living room to chat over the experimental oatmeal drop cookies I’d baked to share (… I’d love to share the baking blame with Mama, but goodness knows, she’d kill me!)

Miss Zsuzsanna and Mr. Atilla sent us on our way with the best of gifts – a deep luxurious Hungarian red wine and a jar of paprika, made in Miss Zsuzsanna’s hometown. How special!

We couldn’t have dreamed of a better night. What a wonderful immersion into Hungarian life for Mama!

Here’s to beloved friends, gourmet meals, and a wheelbarrow… I mean car… to go home in!

Provence, Chianti, Nappa Valley and Sonoma – A Taste of Wine Tasting

2010-04-13T08:24:00.007-06:00

Tiny curving roads over vistas of grape vines and knotted olive trees led to dozens of wineries surrounding the village of Lorgues.Touring Château Roubine, Château Le Crostes, and Les Vignerons de Taradeau was an experience unlike that of the Italian vineyards in Chianti or the wine valley of California.

Touring the vineyards themselves or reveling in a phenomenal homemade taste of the countryside paired with its wines, was not part of the French wine tasting experience.

When visiting the French vineyards in the off season, a traveler might often be the only person in the showroom. After browsing through the display, he or she might ask to taste a wine. There is great pressure to buy, even if the wine is not to his or her liking, because often, the proprietor has spent time explaining about the château’s wines.

Visiting three vineyards in France is an interesting activity to say that you’ve experienced, but if you’ve only one chance to tour a wine country, visit Italy’s famed Chianti region, specifically Castello di Verrazzano.

Wake Up World! It's Market Day!

2010-04-12T08:51:00.004-06:00

The sun rose bright and early, heralded by the joyful reverberations of church bells. Mothers and their sons, grandmothers with rolling trolleys, everyone was heading down to the center of Lorgues where the Tuesday market was in full swing.

Flowers, sun hats, shoes and clothes, knickknacks and paintings, everything was for sale at the stalls teeming with shoppers! The tents and tables seemed to stretch around the coffee shops and cafés for a mile.

After passing through all the clothing, accessories, and household goods, the farmers, bakers, and sauce makers stood by colorful arrangements of delicacies.

Browsers walked by with thimbles of wine, snippets of cheese and sausage, and often paused to dunk bread into sauces.

Locals with baskets full of crispy breads, local cheeses, and little bags of spices intermingled with tourists buying loads of spreads and wines for friends back home.

Lourges, its restaurants, its markets, and its charm, is the jewel of a Provincial trip.

Bonny Bonnieux

2010-04-12T08:06:00.006-06:00

Bonnieux, picturesque home to the Celts, Romans, and Knights Templiers, is filled with cobblestone paths leading up steep inclines with quaint homes cut out of the mountain and decorated with a strung clothesline.

Tummies grumbling for food, Mama and I took our little Fiat up and down the vertical paths in an attempt to find Bleu De Toi, a restaurant that I’d read about in many travelers’ reviews. After asking a few locals about the restaurant’s location, we managed to arrive, only to find out that we had fifteen minutes until the restaurant opened.

A local woman carrying her groceries happened to walk by and we asked her which restaurant that she would recommend. She spoke little English, but she mentioned the name Le Fournil‎, a nice looking restaurant that we’d seen around the corner. Le Fournil didn’t open until 7:30, and it was 7:00 p.m.; though we were quite hungry, we decided to go to Le Fournil, the local’s suggestion, rather than to Bleu De Toi or the other surrounding restaurants.

“Do you like Le Fournil?” We asked some nearby shop owners. They replied that it was special, and a bit pricey, and suggested repeatedly that we go to a fabulous pizza joint instead. But no! We wanted a fabulous gourmet meal, and we were willing to go all out tonight! So we sat outside Le Fournil, watching the chefs, waiters, and owners go in and out for thirty minutes, before quickly getting a table.

Bubbly and effusive, the waiter seemed to dance up the stairs, leading us to a table for two, near the cave wall. The waiter made a few suggestions and we ordered the following:

Apéritif:

Rin Quin Quin
Peach liquor

Les Entrées:
Lapin roulé, artichauts, cuits et crus, béatilles aux herbs.
Rabbit, rolled with artichokes, topped with liver and herbs, garnished with a mixed green, artichoke, and carrot salad.

Préssée de raie et poireaux, vinaigrette câpres et cĭtron.
A tower of raw skate, adorned with leeks, along with a caper salad drizzled with lemon dressing.

Les Plats Principaux:
Agneau de lait rôti, Matígnon de fruits secs et pommes de terre fondants.
Roasted lamb sprinkled with fruit sauce and served with potatoes.

Piece de proc de Pigorre, mitonnée de l legumes á la sauge.
Braised bull in a bed of sautéed vegetables flavored with sage.

Les Desserts:
Parfait glace miel de lavande et marmalade de cerises au sirop.
Lavender ice with honey marmalade in a cherry glaze.

Le baba au rhum généreux.
Rum cake in raspberry syrup.

Have you ever eagerly awaited something that did not turn out how you expected? Of course you have – but have you done so in an expensive French restaurant? It’s always fun to garner new experiences and have a story, even if the story wasn’t at all what you’d hoped.

Our meal began with the arrival of chilled cauliflower and caviar soup garnished with fresh chives. Mama could have died. It was exactly the fishy taste that makes her face contort into the funniest of grimaces.

After eating enough to seem appreciative of the on-the-house special, we awaited our appetizers. So excited that we’d decided to splurge and each get a three course meal, we couldn’t wait to try the exquisite fare that we’d imagined was a 95€ French fine-dining experience.

As we waited, we amused ourselves by watching the waiter deliver soup to the surrounding tables; as people took their first bite, we stared with humor, hoping to catch their expressions as the fish egg burst in their mouths. Somehow, the French and Italians seated next to us seemed to like it fine, one table going on to order a whole large bowl full of the concoction!

With flourish, the effervescent waiter delivered our plates, and what a pretty decorative masterpiece they were. The expressions on our faces as we delicately cut and placed the food on our tongues were priceless. Both the rabbit and the skate were raw! The icy temperature of the rabbit, coupled with the dark liver crumbles on top transformed my features.

“Don’t eat it if you’re going to puke!! Here, let’s swap.” Mama said generously. “ You might want to just eat the leeks off the top of the fish,” she continued, as she passed me her plate of the biggest circular sushi I’d ever seen.

The fish was palatable…I only gagged twice. The only redeemable qualities in the two icy appetizers were the mixed greens served on the side. Our waiter seemed a bit deflated when he retrieved our plates, which resembled the dissected dinner of a picky ten-year-old.

Wary and beginning to make a joke of our 95€ dining experience, Mama and I continued to watch our neighbors dine, awaiting the minute grimace or serious working of throat muscles. Our entrées, while not bad, were not as delicious as the restaurant reviews had led us to believe. The lamb was tough and had quite a bit of fat surrounding it. The bull and sage vegetables were quite good, although the bull was not tender either. Neither entrée represented the work of a renowned chef or fine dining restaurant. Hoping that our desserts would keep us from stopping by a gyro shop on the way out of town, we surrendered our entrée plates to the restaurant owner, dressed in jeans and a button-up top with bright red glasses.

“Well, it sure is rummy!” I said, and as my eyes squenched up, the Italian beside me began to chuckle. My rum cake was doused in rum – so pungent and squishy that it must have soaked in ¾ cup of rum. “Ew! I hate squishy desserts,” Mama commented. “Don’t eat that – just share mine!”

Mama’s lavender ice with honey marmalade in a cherry glaze was delicious – light with hints of honey, lavender, and orange, in a sweet raspberry-cherry sauce. With a texture like ice cream, each bite seemed to melt on our tongues. I couldn’t countenance eating all of Mama’s dessert, so since I’m partial to squishy desserts, I finished the rum cake, which didn’t make me breathe fire as much if I made sure to get fruit sauce on the cake.

Mama took my keys as I laughed and weaved out of the restaurant. A waste of 95€, Le Fournil was quite a memorable experience, but doesn’t compare to our delicious traipse through France at restaurants were our bill totaled 45€. Lesson learned: Fancy French food and Provincial French country food are not the same! Maybe we should have taken the store owner's advice and gone out for French pizza?

** Post Script: Once burned, twice shy, so they say. Mama and I did not visit another French restaurant during this trip. Instead, we frequented local markets, buying fresh French cheeses, breads, and pastries, and picnicked in the squares.

Goult

2010-04-10T15:49:00.003-06:00

Curving paths of cobblestone.
Walls of butter with brightly colored shutters.
Creeping vines with blooming blossoms.
Twinkling lights and hand-painted signs.
Carefree puppies and friendly neighbors.
Bonsoir!

The Fairytale Village of Gordes

2010-04-10T06:43:00.004-06:00

Clothing artisans gathered for a wool and silk festival, high atop hilly Gordes. Driving the winding path through the budding spring flowers and bright green grass, the town emerged from behind the arching trees, perched atop a cliff overlooking pastureland dotted with farmhouses. Homes, businesses, churches and castles seemed to be built right on top of one another, their cream colored facades enlivened by bright shutters of baby blue, green, and crimson.

A picturesque stop for many tour buses, Gordes is a lovely place to stop for a cappuccino and enjoy the scenery.

Sunshine and Smorgasbords in Isle sur la Sorgue

2010-04-07T05:46:00.003-06:00

“A fair is a veritable smorgasbord orgasbord orgasbord…” of antiques, that is!

Oh the places you may go when you have a little Fiat! Mama and I hopped in the car Monday morning to tour the little towns that Chef Stitt had recommended to me. With the wind blowing through the windows and blue skies shining, we couldn’t wait to see the quaint villages that endear us so much more than the larger metropolises.

Driving the back roads through smaller towns and vineyards provided lovely scenery on our way to the Easter antique fair in the town of antiques, Isle Sur La Sorgue. Tents lined the streets and the park, bridges spanned the canals where water drifted steadily towards the mills, covered in bright green grass-like moss. Locals enjoyed coffee overlooking the water, as local vendors advertised their wares. “Madelines! Macaroons!”

Fine china, silver flatware, vintage photographs, war memorabilia, and antique furniture were displayed with flair along the streets and grasslands; men milled about trying on antique top hats while women ogled over expensive armoires.

After sampling French cookies and milling through the antiques, we sat by the mill, basking in the sun, and washed our muddy pumps off in the tinkling water.An interesting mix between a flea market and an antique fair, La Isle Sur La Sorgue’s weekend of antiques was a bit overpriced, but quite a fun outing on a bright, cheerful afternoon.

The Trials and Tribulations of a Self-Proclaimed Grand Driver in France and Monaco

2010-04-06T13:39:00.003-06:00

Let me preface my tale with this fact. I am a great driver. I have been driving for eight years and have only been a part of one minor fender bender and have received one speeding ticket. Mama hates to drive, and admits that I am a much better driver than her. All that said, let me begin.

Driving in the southern part of France sounds delightful, especially to a person who loves to drive – all those lovely roads traversing through vineyards, mountain peaks above your shoulders, and a stick shift – my second love (my first love taught me to drive said stick shift, and after he was long gone, my love for shifting gears has never waned.) However, although the car was a sporty new stick shift, and the roads traversed through picturesque venues, the constantly changing one-way streets presented a bit of a problem.

Hugging a curve overlooking a mountain cliff, with no shoulder, while driving at a speed that pleases the cars behind you was a fun challenge. Navigating while driving and passing through uncountable roundabouts – it was like winning a prize when I arrived at my destination. But, following my GPS, only to end up backing out of dead-end streets, with cars squeezing me on both sides, backing out of one-way streets with a line of cars in front of me, and, my personal favorite, careening down pedestrian stairs was not part of my idealized driving dream – instead, it was like the game of Life - “You just got into Harvard! Now you’re $150,000 in debt!”

Unfortunately, I am not James Bond, and I could not continue to drive down the stairway and just brazen it out at the end. Much to the amusement of the local passerby, I backed my Fiat 500 back up the stair platforms, mine and my mother’s heads sticking out the windows like Lucy and Ethel, in an attempt not to hit the boulder walls on either side.

Monaco was just as bad as the little French towns, if not worse. The roads were slick and rivulets continued to cascade from the sky as we took the hair-point turns into the nation. The tunnels, which had a speed limit of 90 km/hr led us into the city center, where we wound our way up the mountain to park….on a dead end street that was supposed to lead us to Monte Carlo. Beep Beep!! Boom! Curbs are part of the roads in Monaco, we found, as we hopped the curb to enter the parking garage.

When it came time to leave, we followed the GPS to the closest exit…a one way street without a place to turn around…empty, thank goodness, until the cars started to come! Luckily the locals also thought this was a pretty funny event – it must be an unusual occurrence!

Vineyards are set in the loveliest of areas, off the beaten path, on curvy little roads…with speed limits of 70 km/hr and roads that can’t handle two lanes of traffic, where the oncoming car may fly towards you and you have a split second to edge to the side of the road sans shoulder.

Vineyards seen: numerous.

Breathtaking Views: At least 4

Exotic Cars: Maybe 100

Heart Attacks: Bordering on 3

Maybe this self-proclaimed grand driver has been knocked down a peg or two!

Easter in Provence

2010-04-06T12:30:00.003-06:00

The church bells rang continuously in celebration Easter morning – Christ the Lord has risen indeed! Mama and I awoke to a misty morning, enlivened by the lovely peal of the numerous elaborate wrought iron encased bells that rang throughout the town.

The stones of Collégiale Saint Martin coolly encased the church, but the congregation filled it with the warmth and joy of Christians on Easter morning. A spirit of celebration filled the air; Easter lilies reached toward the sky and the cloying scent of holy incense filled the air. The exuberant priest joyfully exclaimed the good news, while his good-hearted but bumbling assistant scrambled to keep up.

After singing of Christ’s great victory over Hell and ascension into Heaven, in French, of course, and hoping our neighbors weren’t cringing at our pronunciation, we exited the cathedral with a blessing (that the priest so generously extended to the Protestants too :-)) and went home to experience a little of the hell that Christ had so valiantly vanquished – Jillian Michaels 30 Day Shred.

Afterward, we perched our glistening bodies upon the couch to share a lunch of Provincial chickpeas, assorted cheeses, olives, fresh bread, and spiced olive oil. A meal that led to deep relaxation, until the sun awoke me from my slumber….Easter Mass in French, freshly baked breads and aromatic creamy cheeses, chocolate lemon tarts and naps - a wonderful French Easter with ma maman!

Hungry in Provence

2010-04-06T11:51:00.003-06:00

We had breakfasted early, traveling from Lorgues to Antibes to Monaco, missing local lunch time by an hour or so. After tootling around, getting stuck on one-way roads and backing our way out, we decided our time in Monaco must come to an end, as we were hungry and the only restaurant open during off hours was an all-nighter bar – not our idea of a gourmet dining experience. So, we headed out on the freeway, stopping for Lays Roasted Chicken and Thyme potato chips and French fig bars to tide our hunger.

A sign for a Hyper U lured us off the highway and into a large store that can only be classified as a mix between a very high class Walmart and a Fresh Market. It had cute clothes, gorgeous plants, books, and a grand variety of foods – from imports to local cheeses and freshly caught fish.

We roamed the aisles trying samples and placing into our buggy things that we just had to try – sugary almond wisps, creamy goat cheese with Provincial herbs, etc. It’s always so much fun to shop for groceries in a new town!

When we finally had seen it all, we moved on down the road towards Lorgues again…and stopped at a patisserie that had homemade sugary orange, pear, raspberry, and grape candies. It happened to be right next to La Table Du Moulin, a charming little restaurant with high beamed ceilings and the old walls of a wine cellar.

We made a reservation for eight p.m. and continued meandering up the street to the Collégiale Saint Martin, an early eighteenth century cathedral where we planned to celebrate Easter the next morning.

Better late than never, so they say. We arrived back at La Table Du Moulin about fifteen minutes late for our reservation, but the upbeat waitress was gracious and showed us to our table. Intriguing brick archways, grinding wheels, and antique wine making paraphernalia coupled with blue table cloths with cream brocade runners, flowing curtains, and paintings of Provence presented a relaxing, classy atmosphere.

Menu de Jour (23€):

Soufflé aux champignons, croustillant de parmesan, fondue de mozzarella.

Arugula and mixed green salad drizzled with Balsamic vinaigrette, topped with carrot slivers. Served alongside a mushroom soufflé with melted mozzarella and a handcrafted parmesan chip.

Dos de loup rôli en écailles d’articharts, sa gelée celery et romarin.

Sea bass, boned and adorned with skin and sliced artichoke hearts, sprinkled with thyme and rosemary.

Mini-Brochettes de crêpes suzettes aux poires.

A candied orange slice, poached pear, and strawberry slivers, with skewered chocolate crepes.

Additional Entrée:

Saint Jacques Poêlées sa Julienne endwes et pommes, coulis de betteraves anise.

Baked apples and tender fresh scallops in a pool of savory blackberry sauce.

Tender and steaming, the miniature muffin-shaped soufflé was an aromatic beginning to a appetizing meal. The creamy texture of the drizzled mozzarella added a punch to the softer flavor of the mushroom, further enlivened by the bitter acidity of the arugula and vinaigrette. A simple French baguette was served with the appetizer.

The sea bass was a bit of a challenge to eat with panache due to its bony nature; the fish was pleasant, although not particularly flavorful. The artichoke hearts added depth to the seafood, along with the elusive essence of thyme and rosemary.

Succulent, flavorful, and perfectly seared, the sea scallops rested in a pool of savory blackberry sauce, interspersed by a flowered fan of baked apples. The luscious dish disappeared with much haste.

Cappuccinos were unheard of at La Table Du Moulin, but a small coffee and an artistic masterpiece for dessert were the perfect denouement to a delightful evening. Four tiny skewers of crêpes suzette drizzled with strawberry coulee were framed by a circular slice of candied orange with a hint of marmalade; a poached pear, sliced and sans skin, leaving the stem to give the pear charisma; and bright red ripened strawberry slivers to give another bright hint of color, all creatively plated on a rectangular piece of ebony slate.

Problems with French credit card machines marred the otherwise soothing dining experience, but did not leave a blight upon our evening. La Table Du Moulin, a pleasant retreat in a charming village, is no gastronomical masterpiece, but definitely a satisfying venture.

Restaurant Reviewed:

La Table Du Moulin

5 Rue de Climénes

83510 Lorgues

Tél: 04 94 73 98 87

Ritz, Glamour, & Royalty in Monaco

2010-04-04T18:10:00.002-06:00

The home of deceased American film star Grace Kelly and Prince Reiner, and their three children, Monaco is also the well known jewel of the rich and famous. Home to famous race car races, casinos, and five star hotels, the lovely country of Monaco sits high upon a hill with winding one way streets. Ritzy malls with crystal chandeliers, swanky boutiques, and hundreds of glamorous men and women shopping for a new outfit or sparkling adornment.

Restaurants closed for the afternoon and drizzle drove the crowds from the streets into the shops and casinos. The gloomy weather did not diminish the loveliness of multitudes of blooms, vibrant green grasses, and lush trees. The ornate architecture of marble, carvings, and murals shined though the sun did not.

Narrow one way streets, old rocky tunnels, and oncoming traffic made leaving Monaco a difficult endeavor. Unfortunately, the exit path we found did not lead to the royal residence. Although rainy, we thoroughly enjoyed our trip to the royal nook of Monaco and Monte Carlo.

Antibes...or Miami Beach on the Mediterranean

2010-04-04T18:01:00.003-06:00

Antibes, a city on the sea, was gray and wet with drizzle. Miami Beach atmosphere and a touristy flair, the city was no small old-world coastal town. We traveled there to experience the Corsican Culture weekend, “an event with all the warmth of an island festival that features various aspects of life in Corsica. There are shows, lectures and more than 40 stands with painting, sculpture, olive wood products, coral, jewelry, fabric, salami, wine, cheese, cooked items, honey, biscuits and different organizations.” However, the Corsican Culture Weekend Festival had actually occurred in prior years, and the Antibes website had yet to be updated.

After traveling to the empty culture hall, we took a walk along the beach, grabbed a to-go cappuccino, and decided to travel onward to the land of Princess Grace Kelly Grimaldi, Monaco and Monte Carlo.

Aix en Provence - Shimmering Fountains with Metropolis Sheen

2010-04-04T17:49:00.002-06:00

Rolling hills in shades of moss and lime, chocolate and olive reminded me of California as I drove our little Fiat 500 from Lorgues to Aix en Provence. The toll roads, perfectly maintained, had artisan signs announcing the upcoming town with murals depicting the craft of the town.

Aix en Provence, one of the larger cities of the Provence region, caters to tourists, collegiates, and locals alike. Everyone gathers around the city’s many fountains to sip a petite café and soak in the sunshine. In fact, for many years in the city’s promenade, you could only find a café on the sunny side of the street.

Hat shops, bread shops, clothing boutiques – Mama and I stopped by them all for a peek at what’s inside. We munched on a bacon roll and apricot roll by the Hotel de Ville and listened to the travelling players, an organist, saxophonist, and a bass cello.

The architecture reminded me of New Orleans, French style of course –stucco, balconies, ornate ironwork, and open windows with colorful shutters. Tall, majestic trees, devoid of their ornamentation, peeling and knotted, towered over the winding streets, leaving behind a powerful shadow. The tinkle of water was never far away.

Aix en Provence is a larger city, and with that comes public transportation, parking garages, overpasses, and all aspects of the daily grind. The quaint charm of the Provincial town is more pleasing; however, the streets of shops winding toward squares with chiming bells and shimmering fountains and un petite café make up for the metropolis feel.

As Aix seemed a bit more touristy than we’d envisioned for dinner, Mama and I decided to drive homeward and watch for small towns along the way. As we wound through the countryside on our way to Lourges, we saw a sign for a restaurant off the beaten path.

Horses pranced behind the paddock, water tinkled from the fountain, soft yellow light twinkled in the lamp posts, and the rock building hid a warm interior, decorated with paintings of Provence, and American Indian regalia.

The food was delicious, although not mouthwatering like La Table De Pôl. We ordered another rosé, a little tasteless, but a thirst quencher. Crostinis with thyme, rosemary, and crushed olives, along with prosciutto, a bed of greens, sweet pickles, and fresh rolls served as our appetizer. Mama’s deliciously creamy bacon and potato soufflé, crusted with herbs and melted cheese arrived shortly, along with my green beans, spiced pomme frittes, and sautéed veal. Coffee, assorted French cheeses sprinkled with turmeric, and fried profiteroles filled with ice cream and blanketed with chocolate, sprinkles, whipped cream, topped with a green sparkler, ended the meal on a sweet note.

Restaurant Reviewed:

L'Auberge de Pardigon

Route de Carcés

83570 Entrecasteaux

email: pardigon@free.fr

http://pardigon.skyrock.com

Tél/fax: 04.94.73.83.93

Small Town Provence

2010-04-04T17:41:00.001-06:00

Church bells tolled the hour, awaking Mama and me from dream-filled slumber. Sunlight filtered through the shutters and a cool gentle breeze floated in from the balcony. The steam from my caramel tea widened my eyes as I took in the lavish vista from the balcony. Cream and pastel stucco homes with a terracotta hats and brightly colored accessories, draped in flowers and vines, made a square around ancient climbing trees, peeling and knotted with age, reaching toward the azure heavens.

Twelve peals reverberated through our quaint apartment, sending us on our way to explore the town of Lorgues. A series of winding streets led us to the town’s center, where every corner boasted a couture coiffure, and cafes lined the streets.

We stopped a little family-run brasserie called La Table De Pôl. Blackboards with elegant white script listed the plate de jour and specials. Tables lined the street with bare ancient trees providing an illusion of shade. Lime green banners soared through the air, inviting diners to lounge in the citrus-colored chairs at the black tables, munch on freshly baked bread dipped in the tastiest of olive oils with a smattering of clinging sea salt and freshly ground pepper, and await two succulent courses.

The Chateau de Berne La Boutique Huile d’Olive was the freshest olive oil I’d ever enjoyed. I closed my eyes and let the flavors roll over my tongue, and the resonant flavor of the oil lingered on my tongue as I tried the selection of colorful olives that our waiter had provided. Tall, dark hair, chocolate eyes, a five o’clock shadow, Mr. Wonderfully Married came by and explained the Jeudi menu:

Miffe feuile de proc de montagne au parmesan e 3 déclimasions et son jus aux saveurs de provence.

Pork baked in jux sauce with an interior orange glaze, flavored with the flavors of Provence and topped with creamy goat cheese, resting in a pool of burgundy and parsley sauce. A sharp savory Parmesan chip dashingly sits on the edge of the mixed greens that accompany the dish.

Coer coolant de chocolat et son emulsion de pistaches

Chocolate lava cake with cocoa and pistachio cream.

Un petite café.

And the Jeudi special:

Nidi gigolette d’aqueau au jus de fluyn.

A leg of lamb, baked with rosemary, accompanied by potato wedges, burgundy jux, and a petite salad.

Mama and I ordered both with a glass of rosé.

Pork so tender I could gently cut it with a fork, intermingling with candied orange, drizzled with a sauce of burgundy, surrounded by a mountain of green and wedges of perfectly seasoned potatoes, arrived shortly, along with a leg of lamb, sitting in said burgundy sauce with a jaunty stem of rosemary for a cap feather, and wedges of potato for Mama.

The first bite was pure Heaven. Luscious, an explosion of flavor, the citrus brought out the flavor in the pork, and was accentuated by the burgundy sauce. The potatoes, seasoned with Provincial seasonings, gave both a punch and sense of contentment to the entrée. Mama’s lamb was also incredibly moist, but with the skin of the leg to give a crunch, the rosemary a perfect complement to the lamb.

Each bite brought joy, satisfaction, utter pleasure to the palate, transforming my former misconception of French cuisine, and elevating its replacement in my mind. Dessert solidified it.

Crunchy but light, sweet, but not overly so, the mushroom-shaped chocolate cake was home to a molten lava of cocoa, seeping from its pores. The cake sat on top of the shadow of a spoon and fork, left etched in the cocoa powder, and was surrounded by spiraled mounds of whipped cream, a fanned strawberry, and a pot of pistachio cream and decadent chocolate sauce.

The rich bitter note of the petite café enhanced the essence of the dessert, blending savory and sweet flavors. When the last bite vanished, an iced limoncello prepared our tummies for a grand digestion.

Another tall, dark, and handsome waiter’s blue eyes twinkled as he brought us our check, weighted down with smooth black stones to prevent fly-aways. Au revoir!

** My apologies for the mistakes in French – copying from a blackboard is deathly for someone as woefully inadequate in French as I!

Restaurant Reviewed:
La Table De Pôl
18 Place Georges Clémenceau Centre-ville
83510 Lorgues
Tél/Fax: 04 94 47 08 41
Email: latabledepol@orange.fr

Notice: Will Hike Mountains For Sweets and a View

2010-03-28T09:16:00.005-06:00

Someone should write a survival guide that tells you not to eat five Little Debbie–esque Swiss Cake Rolls (Slovenian style) before embarking upon your first hike up a huge mountain in, say, ten years. Not withstanding that no one should eat five Little Debbies in the first place, it would be sound advice.

The sun shone brightly in the sky when Marta and I awoke from our five-hour nap that we called a night’s sleep. We jumped in the car, afraid to be late to meet Marta’s music friends for our hike up Šmarno goro. We stopped by a convenience store to grab a bottle of water and a pack of Slovenian Debbies for our breakfast fuel up the mountain.

Marta said, “It’s a thirty-minute hike.” Ha, yeah! For a nation full of avid hiking enthusiasts, my new American friend Joe and I found out. Thirty minutes my foot. But was it ever worth it!! Red in the face and a little more than glistening, I made it to the top…both tops that is! The view was lovely – the Alps capped with snow majestically guarding the lush green valleys, dotted with little houses.

There were probably a hundred people at the top during the time that we relaxed there, garnering rays. There were chairs to soak up the sun, restaurants with decadent smelling food (most famous for the Slovenian beignet), and a monastery complete with singing monks celebrating Palm Sunday.

A glorious hearty morning, filled with smiles, laughter, new friends, and exercise! What a way to celebrate God’s gift to humanity! Happy Palm Sunday!

A Little Gypsy Bar...With an Irish Twist!

2010-03-28T08:52:00.003-06:00

A Gypsy-themed bar, filled with Slovenian Irish music and dancing enthusiasts! What a combination! Irish music, sung with a faux Irish accent, filled the bar as an Irish woman led a dancing lesson on the small wooden dance area. The place was filled to the brim! Marta, Vlado, Rada, Marko, Ursa, and I ordered Bernards and stood at the bar, watching the dancing and singing with amusement as we talked amongst ourselves.

The gleaming teeth of the gypsy photo beside me seemed to wink as we got up to join in on the dancing. The music changed to a Turkish-Slavic folk music pop remix, and we started scarf dancing, limboing, and shopping for groceries, not to mention my great fishing dancing technique.

We enjoyed ourselves immensely - The night was a total success!

Cafés, Bazaars, Castles, and Babble

2010-03-27T14:01:00.007-06:00

My French breakfast of grilled zucchini and eggplant, melted cheese, and white coffee sat light in my tummy as I wandered through a Slovenian Easter market with Marta. My teal cowboy boots caught a few stares, as I looked around the market like a child in a toy shop – it was foodie heaven. There were fresh veggies, gourmet olive and pumpkin oils, homemade schnapps, brandies, and sherries, hand-kneaded breads…and the stalls had samples! Better than Costco on a Saturday morning! What luck!

I grinned and went around trying everything. The vendors were so friendly; a Slovenian woman who’d written a cookbook for children on how to cook healthy Slovenian food demonstrated a few of her bread-making tricks for me. I tried tiny bites of cheeses, olive oils, breads, and sausages, which seemed to glide down well with a bit of homemade sherry. After buying a bit of pumpkin oil and dodging the rain, Marta and I made our way down the riverside to the sound of a traditional Slovenian quartet. Marta felt the singer sounded a bit too sweet, haha, but the appeal was there nonetheless.

When the sun emerged from its coat of clouds, we basked in all its glory, taking a hike up to the castle on the hilltop. When we made our way back down, we sat for hours by the river, talking over coffee and soaking up rays. Later on, Marta’s Serbian friend, who’s studying here in Ljubljana, joined us. We discussed the differences between the former Yugoslavian cultures, American culture, and Hungarian culture, learning a lot about each other in the process. I am woefully ignorant about the former Yugoslavic culture, traditions, and history, and couldn’t have enjoyed my afternoon immersion more. We sated our hunger with Ćevapčići (a mixed meat), served with onions, lepinja (a delicious Bosnian flat bread), and kajmak (a creamy cheese). They enjoyed a drink of yogurt with their meal, while I tried Sarajevsko, a Bosnian beer. The restaurant, Sarajevo ‘84, had such atmosphere! It was homage to the Yugoslavia Olympics of 1984, with Bosnian sayings, old pictures, and team memorabilia on the wall. A documentary captured my attention as it gave me a glimpse of the former Yugoslav states’ pride.

As usual, the dessert on the menu caught my eye. Tufahija, a Bosnian dessert of baked apple, cored with nut paste and topped with creamy peaks and a red candied cherry, delighted my sweet tooth! It was both sweet, healthy, nutty, and crunchy. The perfect balance of sweet and savory, even the youngest Bosnian has mastered eating tufahija neatly without a knife; I was no master – but definitely a lover. When the last bite was savored, we leisurely walked along the river to the car, the night alight with twinkling lights and street music, and got ready for a night of Irish dancing in Slovenia!

Train Jabber

2010-03-27T12:47:00.003-06:00

“Excuse me, Miss, may I help you with that?” I looked up from my tangle of feet and arms, dangling with my bag from the train steps, to see my student Denes eager to help me. (He is the most helpful, kind-hearted ninth grader! ) With his help, I managed to lower all my goodies to the ground to await the next train, only to meet two sisters, one a former student at Teleki, with whom I enjoyed a little over an hour of great conversation.

Continuing on my train ride to Slovenia, I curled into my seat on the train and began to write. When my computer slowly died, I found that the couple sitting beside me spoke fabulous English. They were on their way to take a ten-day tour of Slovenia, and were also couch surfing! They were couch surfing veterans and their stories of all the people they’d met and cultures they wouldn’t have been able to truly experience without couch surfing thrilled me – I couldn’t wait to get to Ljubljana to meet Marta and have my first surfing experience.

Our train arrived forty minutes late and Marta was awaiting me at the stairs. With a wave, a grin, and good wishes, I departed from the couple and met Marta, a twenty-one year-old Ljubljana native with Serbian ancestry. Knowing I’d be starving, Marta led me to her car to drop off my bag and then we christened my first Slovenian night in style – with traditional Yugoslav fast food! We ordered cheese burek, a flaky swirling pastry filled with turo-like cottage cheese, and the aroma made my mouth water. As we waited, a floating paper landed at our feet – fifty Euro! When we returned it to the genial man in line before us, he generously paid for our meal! What a wonderful introduction to the friendly people of Slovenia!

As I tore a piece of burek, the steam wafted into the car, a heady perfume. The pastry melted in my mouth – heavy, cheesy, flaky, oily, and filling – delicious! We drove on to Marta’s apartment, a little way out of the center. We shared stories over gourmet lime tea, speaking of our travels, education, and families. About 2:30 a.m., I sank into a heavenly bed with the cleanest freshest smelling sheets I’d enjoyed in months, drifting into blissful sleep.

A Little Gypsy Dancing

2010-03-26T19:16:00.005-06:00

With Brooks home sick in bed, Bailey, Taylor, and I started off the day attempting to catch up with a free Budapest walking tour…but when we arrived where the group was scheduled to meet, we came upon a festival much like the Budapest Christmas fair. Many of the same vendors were there, but the prices were much more reasonable than during the famed Christmas fair. Vendors with handmade goods dominated the area, selling handmade and dyed scarves, hats, and purses. Bailey and Taylor were entranced by the jewelers, and I, of course, found myself delighted by the hats and purses.

Stopping at every stall, and stepping in every store, we spent our afternoon tootling around the fair, making little purchases, and stopping to enjoy the scintillating smells of roasting bratwurst, slow-cooked pork and chicken, sautéed veggies, acidic cabbage, roasting coffees, and flaky desserts. Merry tunes enlivened the market place as Hungarians put their traditional dances on display, hopping, slapping, and spinning to the Gypsy music. Women dancers balanced sloshing liquid bottles on their heads as the men jumped in synchrony.

After we’d had our fill of shopping, we continued to meander down the Danube, stopping for pictures along the way. We luxuriated in the sunny weather, soaking in the sun underneath the shadow of St. Stephen’s Cathedral, and lapping up the dribbles from our intricate flower-shaped ice creams.

We concluded our evening by going back to buy the purse I’d admired at the fair. We found a seat by a saxophonist, away from the children blowing on their handmade animal whistles, and tried a couple of traditional Hungarian pork and chicken dishes. Our shared meal ended a fabulous day of tootling around, and we made our way back to the hotel to prepare to send off our beloved guests.

A Little Gypsy Music

2010-03-26T19:13:00.003-06:00

Traditional Hungarian food was on the menu and we were starved. We stopped by a restaurant boasting Gypsy musicians and mouth-watering entrees, a little shocked at the fancier-than-we-expected interior.

Brooks, Bailey, Taylor and I were seated at a table adjacent to the jaunty musicians. We deliberated over dishes to share, deciding on a chilled cranberry yogurt soup for an appetizer, and two entrees: pork medallions in a blanket of cheese, potatoes, and bacon; and rosemary chicken with onion rice, with a moat of tangy fruit spread. Baked white bread with mild herb butter was served to stave off the appetite, and we quickly guzzled the bottle of water that we bought for the four of us to share.

The atmosphere was burgundy elegance – long velvet curtains, entertainers in costume, and cherubs chaperoning from the ceiling. The evening was fun – delicious food, good company – and ended with a bang – a sick Brooks (not due to the food, of course!).

Taylor and Brooks slipped out a bit early, leaving Bailey and me to make a supermarket run for tummy-friendly foods. After completing our door-to-door delivery, Bailey and I made our way to the Turkish bath, sauna, and hot tub that awaited us in the basement. We enjoyed ourselves immensely, relaxing after a fun-filled week!

Mimosas and Käse Kreiner

2010-03-26T12:02:00.001-06:00

Vienna has enchanted me. My third visit to Vienna left me no less bewitched than my first one, years ago, with my daddy in tow.

Taylor, Bailey, Brooks, and I arrived in Vienna safely after our fiasco of almost being arrested in Budapest the night before. Tired from our train journey, we made our way to our hotel – I for one was not expecting the lap of luxury we entered. The Hilton in Vienna was a jewel – free mimosas and chocolate morsels throughout the day in the lobby, and a fabulous suite, livened up by joyful colors and marble – made our trip! We took a little nap, as Bailey and Brooks were understandably jet-lagged, and I got ready to meet my childhood friend Brittany, currently an au pair in Vienna, and her friends at a St. Patrick’s Day party.

The party was a ball. I met a variety of outgoing, fun, joyful people from across the globe. We enjoyed wild games of spoons, goofing off to music, Jenga, and chatting together. Brittany’s friend Nicole had outdone herself baking a plethora of foods and snacks, including a St. Patrick’s spice cake that had us dreaming of home.

In addition to making a bunch of new friends, in talking with Brittany, I discovered that her au pair family was hiring. Britt called her host family and set me up an interview the next day. The interview went so well and I was thrilled with the idea of living with Bettina, Alex, and their three adorable children. I got the job as their au pair – I’ll be living in their wonderful home, playing with their children, and continuing to travel the world. Vienna awaits me in September with a host of new friends to enjoy and dreams of playing Polly Pocket, dress-up, and fun in the sun!

The Adams family and I concluded our trip the next day with a tour of Vienna, admiring the multitude of gorgeous buildings and architecture. We toured Schönbrunn (a decorator’s masterpiece and national treasure), enjoyed an art museum, explored a magazine convention in the Rathaus (with free gifts!), hailed the graves of famous composers, meandered through a marketplace, and munched on Käse Kreiner (Austrian bratwurst oozing with cheese) dunked in gourmet mustards from a sidewalk vendor to stave off our hunger.

Our train ride home was enlivened by Taylor’s multiple visits to the train restroom, which she later made her home-away-from-home, as she’d caught a virus on our trip, and my Malteser fiasco – a melted mess all over everything – which I subsequently had to lick off, much to the amusement of the other passengers.

Parties, jobs, sightseeing, sickness, melted goo, and yummy food – what an eventful trip!

Johnnycake Mug Shots

2010-03-12T17:10:00.005-06:00

My roommate Taylor’s younger sister Bailey and younger brother Brooks arrived in Budapest today for their spring break holiday. They have been here less than six hours and what a fiasco it’s been so far!

Taylor and I finished work around 1:40 today and made our way home to quickly grab our bags and catch the bus to the train station, the train to Budapest, the metro to the bus station, and finally, the bus station to the airport to get Bailey and Brooks. The bus was not quite on the right schedule with the train..so we had to take a later train. Then, Taylor got hungry and I had to have a bathroom break, so we stopped by Burger King. By the time we made it to Bailey and Brooks, they’d been waiting forty-five minutes! We were frantically talking with them and Taylor’s parents on Skype (with our internet sticks) on the bus to the airport, assuring everyone we’d make it there.

We made it! We made it! We bought eight metro tickets, hopped aboard the bus, and searched around for our hotel. After a break refresher, we set out to have a huge filling meal in the restaurant that Dad and I discovered here years ago. It was delicious! Twenty-four dollars for three Mexican mashed potatoes, one broccoli and cheese mashed potato, two broccoli and cheese salty crepes, one spaghetti crepe, one banana and honey crepe, one banana and chocolate crepe, one turo crepe, one apple walnut crepe, a free coconut crème crepe, one hot cocoa, two banana milk shakes, and a strawberry milk shake. Whew!!! We were stuffed! After snapping a few shots outside the Parliament building, we made our way down to the metro to head home to rest, as we’d be awakening early on the morrow.

There was no one manning the ticket booth in the metro. The machine would only take coins, not bills, and we didn’t have enough. There were no men checking tickets, like there always are. In fact, the escalator down was turned off! So we thought that perhaps we’d be able to run down the escalator and catch the last subway back.

There were ticket checkers at the next stop. We breezed by them. There were ticket checkers at the top of the next escalator. We happened to breeze past them too. And as we almost made it on the next train….a ticket checker stopped us. We gave him out expired tickets (a collection from 6pm, 9pm, 5pm, etc).

“These tickets are expired. Where are you from? Do you have ID?”

“America…Al Alabama.. No sir. We don’t have our ID – it’s at the hotel.”

“You know it’s illegal to travel in any country without ID. I can call the police. And your tickets are expired. It is a 12,000 Forint fine per person for not having a valid ticket. Show me your ID.”

“Sir! We don’t have it – it’s at the hotel. Can we go up and buy new tickets? There wasn’t anyone to buy tickets from at our stop – and the machines didn’t take bills. “

“All the machines take coins. You must have a valid ticket. They expire after one hour. I’ll do you a favor. I’ll only charge you 6,000 Forints per person. Pay me now. “

“But sir, we don’t have the money! I have 1,500 Forints I’ll give you – can you take that?”

“You don’t have the money? I’m calling the cops.”

So, the ticket inspector, an ass of the first order, ignoring female tears like that, called the police. The Hungarian police either said it was too late, or they didn’t care, but either way, they were not coming to cart us away. So the ticket inspector brought us to another ticket inspector, who was much nicer. This guy, after hearing our pleas (“We’ve only been here for a day! We’re only here for a night! Please sir, can we just buy four new tickets?”) – said sure, that it wasn’t a big deal….until Ticket Inspector Number One returned. Then, he insisted upon a 6,000 Forint fine for each of us (the money promptly going into his own pocket to be shared with Ticket Inspector Number One,) They proceeded to follow us to the ATM, accept our money, show us how to validate tickets, and instruct us as to what to do tomorrow.

So we got off “easy.” $120 fine total and no jail. And a stop by the ABC store for a beer to cry in.

Travel Couturier

2010-03-08T12:47:00.004-06:00

Cliffs overhanging pristine azure beaches, ancient homes draped in wisteria, olive groves as far as the eye can see – tell me your thoughts and I’ll plan your dream vacation. For an extra fee, I will accompany you and your group as a tour guide, handling all the details and allowing you to have a stress-free, fun-filled adventure.

This would be my dream job! Dorothea Benton Frank’s main character in Full of Grace has a job similar to this – where she accompanies and leads wealthy business and personal tour groups, planning their entire trip and smoothing it along the way – what a dream for me! I am quite proficient at this. I have planned numerous trips around people with differing desires and interests, and on different budgets.

Lately, I’ve been planning a week-long tour of Southern France, winding through little towns, staying in a lovely apartment in a village off the beaten path. I’ve also put together an Italian tour for the summer, transcending into a nine day stint in Russia. All on a tiny budget!

My afternoon was spent lounging in a Hungarian coffee shop, sipping gourmet teas and coffees while planning trips and researching Parisian apartments for a romantic getaway for a friend. An epicurean delight rounded off the night with style – Sautéed Tilapia on a bed of tangy Middle Eastern spiced tarhonya, surrounded by steamed edamame and drizzled with plump raisins. Bon appetit!

The Szechenyi Baths – A Pleasure Seeker’s Paradiso

2010-02-21T16:09:00.003-06:00

The swirling mist arose from the water, making the myriad of bathers seem a mirage. As bathers emerged from the pool, steam cascaded from their bodies, giving an allusion of warmth, broken when the bather began to sprint to his or her next immersion experience.

The rectangular courtyard seemed to be fashioned of dreams. Three pools spanned its length, overseen by nymphs and goddesses, glistening and sparkling from their perch aside the pools. Multiple grand staircases gave entrance to the grandiose yellow palace, allowing hedonists to enter the pools, descend to the saunas, wander through the French doors for a snack, or deign to receive a massage.

The ornate molding projects luxurious atmosphere, encouraging tourists and locals alike to pause and spend a day luxuriating like the ancient Romans and Turks before them. There are people of all shapes, sizes, and linguas, wading through the varied waters – boiling, warm, sulfur, medicinal, cold, ice cold, rampaging.

The bath experience is not limited to indoor and outdoor pools and tubs. One can also enjoy steam rooms, saunas, showers with multiple types of waters, spa treatments, and fitness opportunities.

When a bather’s body is prunes, exfoliated, softened, and relaxed, he or she can adjourn to the locker room, outfitted with electronic lockers, showers, hair dryers, and constant maid services, to take a refreshing shower, douse one’s self in lotions and oils, and prepare for the rigors of the week.

Post Script: I borrowed a picture of the baths as it was snowing when we left, so the mix of snow and steam didn't bode well for our photos. If you'd like to read more about the Szechenyi Baths, visit the website at http://www.szechenyibath.com/.

What Is Perfection?

2010-02-21T15:40:00.002-06:00

Edith Piaf on a Sunday. Sunlight and warmth. The glistening vestiges of last week’s snow fading into the evergreens. The chilled freshness of a deep breath, eyes closed, face tipped towards the sun.

A bouquet of flowers from the smiling vendor at the local market. Streets teeming with prams, giggling children, and playful puppies. Sunlight and laughter.

Café cappuccinos in a plush chair by the window. A homemade grilled chicken salad with mandarin mustard vinaigrette. Fresh air gusting through the open windows.

A lazy afternoon on the porch with a close friend. A bowl of tea, a shared meal, and the tingle of dessert lingering on my tongue.

Perfection is today.

Valentine's Versute!

2010-02-16T15:54:00.004-06:00

Versute: Ver*sute, an adjective meaning crafty; wily; cunning; artful.

Crafty! Wily! Were we ever! Taylor's boyfriend Jake messaged me a month before Valentine's Day to find out how flowers could be sent all the way to Hungary. We decided that the best bet for arranging a Valentine's Day surprise for Taylor would be for me to go by my favorite florist here in Hungary and order flowers to be delivered to Taylor on Valentine's Day ala Jake.

Easier said than done! My sweet florist does not speak English! All I could manage was "I like these, yes! And these! Mmm hmm! Igen, Igen! Those - NEM!" I meant to give the florist a choice of flowers in multiple colors - not necessarily a list of the flowers that should be in the arrangement... So after a few telephone calls for translations, much pointing and ado, I picked out an arrangement for my sweet roomie. I left the shop a little worried that my mad gesturing skills didn't convey everything...

A buzz awoke me on Valentine's Day.... flowers! And no card! Jake's card didn't make it in time. "Quick!" I thought... make a card! As I crouched in the corner cutting out hearts, hoping Taylor didn't awaken, who comes in the living room? Taylor, of course. "Flowers! Your parents sent you flowers?"

"Mmm. No."

"You have a secret admirer?"

"Uh, no."

(Taylor at this point is thinking..."What a grouch! Guess she doesn't want to talk about the flowers!")

Phew! The card was finished...a little too late. I set it under the flowers and waited for Taylor to return to the room....

"For me! They're for me!! How sweet!!"

Cha Ching! A versute success!

Valentine's Day didn't pass me by either! Mama, Daddy, and Luke sent me a package full of goodies! When the package arrived on Friday, I tore through the halls of Széchenyi, grinning for all to see. When I opened the box, it was Christmas all over again! Hobo gloves, spices, sugar-free York Peppermint Patties, Tuscan herb gardens, and the cutest handmade apron you ever did see! Mommy made it out of our curtains from the old house - what a treasure! I wore it around the school - even taught class in it! What do people give for Valentine's in America? - Aprons, of course!

Fast Food and Terror Houses

2010-02-08T15:50:00.002-06:00

“Let it snow! Let it snow! Let it snow!” sings ole Dean Martin. Yet, Taylor has already tired of the constant snow here in Fehérvár. The constant snow has had us holing up in our apartment, bundled up in covers, the steam of our hot tea caressing our faces as we research trips to the back of beyond. Sunday, however, we broke free of our cocoon of blankets and set out to see the House of Terror in Budapest. We enjoyed a piddling morning and were a bit late getting out to Budapest. When we arrived, Taylor was starving! We made it to the House of Terror, only to go out searching for food without even entering the museum.

Taylor was determined not to eat pizza again, as it is her everyday vice. So we traipsed across the snowy sidewalks, looking for anything that wasn’t KFC, Subway, Pizza Hut, McDonalds, or Burger King, the only open restaurants that we’d seen. We ended up quite out of the way, at a hole in the wall gyro restaurant, where Taylor ordered pizza and pasta – haha! After finishing her meal, we set out in the wrong direction, making a full circle back to the House of Terror, and managing to stop at a lovely bakery along the way, where we tasted delicious marzipan in the shapes of kissable froggies.

We made it back to the House of Terror with an hour and a half to see the museum. It ended up being free, as the ticket saleswoman thought that we were British! The museum was incredibly interesting, yet a bit of a disappointment, as it was not English-speaker friendly. The exhibits themselves were not all translated – it was difficult to understand exactly what we were looking at. The information was distributed to us on sheets of paper that we felt we could have read from a website or history book – but nonetheless, riveting. I began to understand why the Hungarians, unlike the Italians, are not as quick to talk about politics, or as quick to instigate a political debate. Being on the wrong side of a political discussion – even thinking about being on the wrong side of a political discussion – often got people killed.

We left the museum to search out comfy leather chairs and coffee, happy to enjoy a lazy wait for our train. We arrived home in Fehérvár to sparse bus schedules, hiking through the snow back to our apartment, where we rolled dough, making a grand attempt at the delicious Hungarian cheese straw recipe a student had given me. Pleased with our efforts, we goofed off, having a wonderful night with little rest – and spent Monday recouping, being laze-a-beds, napping and reading after work.

Ladies....and Gentlemen!

2010-02-03T14:15:00.002-06:00

The sparklers twinkled as I entered the theatre, slipping my earphones off my head, the echo of “Don’t Tell Mama” ringing in my ears. Excitement put a spring in my step as I searched for my great friend Fanni, who’d procured me a ticket to see Cabaret in the lovely Székesfehérvár theatre. I’d seen Cabaret on Broadway years ago with Mama, and I remember being incredibly impressed. The actor who played Emcee had dazzled me throughout his entire performance, and as the last man bowed, we found out that the poor man had performed so stunningly with a broken ankle!

I was thoroughly expecting something a bit different, seeing as our small town Hungarian theatre was nothing like the sparkling blacktop of Broadway; I was thrilled to find last night’s performance stellar! The theatre was set up a bit different than I’d experienced in New York. Instead of a very small theatre set up as if the audience was the Kit Kat Klub’s audience, the theatre in Fehérvár was set up in the normal fashion. The Cabaret actresses were dressed in today’s Cabaret attire rather than the period seedy attire that I’d expected – but this did not detract from the play itself. In fact, I think that the actress who played Sally gave a more commanding performance than Natasha Richardson from the original cast in Britain!

I enjoyed two fabulous cappuccinos during the intermission and completely enjoyed the second act. When the play came to a close, I was ready to jump to my feet! Fortunately, Fanni caught me before I gave my standing ovation – standing ovations aren’t de rigeur here in Hungary! And you won’t find the Hungarians crowding around the backstage door for autographs either…Fanni said if I did go to the door, I’d be sure to get them J

A sparkling night! For what good is sitting alone in your room? Come hear the music play! Life is a cabaret old chum, come to the cabaret!

Candy Bars at Twilight

2010-02-03T13:49:00.003-06:00

Streamers hung from the rafters in a mass of colored paper that draped the school room. Our colleagues rushed in and out of the room, their traditional Hungarian dresses swishing against their dancing slippers as they gathered together to practice the opening dance. A myriad of desserts began to appear upon the tabletops as people arrived carrying multiple outfits, formal wear and costumes, to change into as the night’s festivities transformed.

Taylor felt a bit conspicuous dressed as all the Hungarians’ favorite candy bar, Turo Rudi, as no one else was in costume yet, but we sat down at our table and began to sample all of the Hungarian favorites surrounding us. Chocolate covered chestnut cream and sour cherry balls, coconut sprinkled chocolate squares, cheese straws, and icing filled cookie clusters were among our favorite treats! My friend Robbie came as my date, slipping in a little late dressed to the nines as Count Dracula. His face was shimmery white and he looked a bit like Heath Ledger’s Joker in the latest Batman movie! Taylor, Robbie and I entered the costume contest along with some teachers who dressed up as DINA (the electronic grade book), a biker, a hobo (this one was the best!), a witch, and a Greek goddess.

A live band brought our contest to a close and began the night of dancing. The room was filled with colleagues and their spouses – the majority of whom were over 35 – who certainly knew how to throw a party! Everyone danced – and could those Hungarian men dance!! As we took the floor, a spritely older gentleman with a waxed mustache stole me away from Robbie to swing me around the dance floor. I’ve never danced so hard in my life! As the room spun around me, my laughter echoed throughout the room.

Smiles, laughter, and dancing reined, keeping us on our toes past three am, when the first guests began to trickle out.

Councilman Tamás’s Charity Ball

2010-01-24T06:59:00.001-06:00

Glasses clinked and tin foil crinkled as the Hungarians prepared for a true party at the charity function for a nearby church. A lovely ballroom, complete with floor to ceiling velvet curtains, exquisite detailed moldings, box seating, and crystal chandeliers set the stage for a stylish evening full of lively entertainment.

A duo singing a mix Hungarian love songs and crooning Sinatra began the evening, as the audience trickled in with arms laden full of homemade goodies for the potluck special. Wine and palinka began to flow as local children performed dances, songs, and dramatic readings, delighting the audience with their vivacity. After a few speeches by the priest and local bishop, the dynamic duo returned, singing songs that invited couples to swirl around the dance floor. Men and women of all ages flocked to the floor, creating a diverse group of dancers and dancing styles – from ballroomers to hand jivers.

The night concluded with a fabulous performance by local actors who sang show tunes in both Hungarian and English. It was a delightfully entertaining evening filled with laughter and good company.

A Fairly Hungarian Christmas

2010-01-24T06:42:00.001-06:00

Twinkling lights shone brightly over the myriad of tinkers' stalls at the Christmas fairs in Budapest and Székesfehérvár. The succulent aroma of langos filled the air, intermingling with the smoky tendrils rising from the roasting chestnuts. Steaming cups of forralt bor warmed our frozen fingers as we watched the children singing, snowflakes lining our eyelashes.

We browsed the stalls, searching for the perfect gifts to bring home to our families. There were potters whose pottery displayed jaunty creativity, artisans whose handcrafted angels and crèches daintily caught the eye, and vineyard keepers, whose wines and liquors spiced up the night. The air shimmered with the excitement of Christmas, leaving behind smiles and laughter, full bellies and love.

Camel Rides and Clandestine Caves

2010-01-24T05:04:00.003-06:00

“Wanna’ come to my cave with me?” haha! The story I remember most from my trip to Petra was riding on a horse with a Bedouin twenty-something. The Bedouin people have lived in the caves of Petra for years; recently, the government provided a camp for them outside of ancient Petra and forbade anyone to live within the ancient caves. Apparently, this rule is not followed, as my Bedouin admirer offered to pick me up at the border of Israel and Jordan, to carry me back to his cave – on either his horse or camel! I politely declined, of course, as flattered as I was by the offer. But it truly did make my trip to Petra an amusing one.

Petra is an ancient city that you see often in the movies – think the Holy Grail in Indiana Jones or the desert palace where the Transformers hid the key in the second Transformers film. It is definitely more awe-inspiring than even Steven Spielberg portrays it.

The elaborate facades seem to come out of nowhere. The ancient aqueducts lead you from one crevice path to another, bringing you to a sandcastle complete with pillars and window seats. The sun peaks through the openings in the crevices, and the bright blue skies seem to glow, illuminating the splendor before you. The wind blows, whipping your hair and assaulting your eyes with sand. As you open them again, fighting the grit, a camel lowers to the ground before your eyes. The sight is like none I’d ever seen. It is a graceful lowering of a mighty creature, first on the forelegs and then on the back. The ride is a bumpy one, from heights I’d never experienced.

Bedouins sell their handcrafted wares as tour guides, who grew up with Petra as a playground, lead groups from one rainbow stone to another, showing them just a sliver of the glory of Petra.

Toes Up!

2009-12-18T15:22:00.002-06:00

After touring the holy sites, we jet out of Jerusalem to bathe in the Dead Sea. Our new friend Daniel, a pilot who we met on our tour, accompanied us. We lugged our bags onto a bus and drove through a bit of the West Bank before reaching our destination. We deposited our bags upon the rocky shore and preceded to carefully wade into the Sea. The salt deposits on the rocky outcroppings were like knifes to our tender feet. As we dove off the edge, an incredible buoyant feeling overcame us and we bobbed to the surface. The water was better than any life preserver I’d ever worn! I could float absolutely on top of the water. Jess, who has no lost love for water, relaxed – she’d have to actively try to drown! The current gently and quickly carried us far from our luggage, and the swim back was a struggle against the strong current. Anchoring ourselves to the rocky shore, we bathed in the salt, exfoliating our skin as no store-bought exfolient had ever accomplished. We drank in the rays for hours.

The Garden of Gethsemane

2009-12-18T13:52:00.004-06:00

The olive trees were old- their trunks knobby and wide. I could imagine Peter, asleep under its limbs as Jesus wept. The rock where Jesus is said to have cried out to God is nestled in a glorious church, across from the sealed Golden Gate, where the Muslims have buried their dead. They’ve memorialized him there, with colors and stone, but Jerusalem is just as he said.

“I come to the garden alone, while the dew is still on the roses. And the voice I hear, falling on my ear, the Son of God discloses. And he walks with me and he talks with me; And he tells me I am his own. And the joy we share as we tarry there, none other has ever known.”

Jerusalem, A Second Look

2009-11-15T07:36:00.002-06:00

Our second day in Jerusalem, we took Sandeman’s free tour of the old city. The tour took us through the four quarters of the city, where we saw the wondrous buildings of King Herod. We walked the true stations of the cross, where Jesus carried the cross of our burdens on his shoulders. We heard the tale of the Muslim King Omar, who overtook the city and yet refused to come into the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, choosing instead to kneel outside.

Women wept at the slab where Jesus was prepared for burial, rubbing items on the slab for a blessing. Wooden crosses leaned on alley walls, where people had rented them to experience the trials of Jesus, yet laid their burden back down, unable to carry the crosses throughout the city.

Jews wept at the Wailing Wall. Men and women were separated by a partition, murmuring prayers, touching the wall, backing up without looking away. They washed their hands with a ceremonial cup, went through the detectors, and back into the city.

Little Alabama Shoes

2009-11-11T05:45:00.002-06:00

Squish squish squish

Brrrr

Tingling toes, numb with cold

Seeping water, slippery leaves

Squish

Little Alabama shoes cannot compete with Hungarian winters

Jerusalem

2009-10-29T10:16:00.001-06:00

Tall city walls, breached and conquered

Torn and rebuilt

Vendors singing of their wares

Crowds of tourists intermingling with locals

Muslims, Jews, Christians, segregated into different quarters

Churches turned to mosques

A minaret standing by almost every church and synagogue

Its green light invading the city

Jerusalem: Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow

2009-10-27T14:53:00.001-06:00

After a myriad of hugs (and a possible overcharging) from the nuns at the convent, we made it down to the bus station, yet again. The bus was over thirty minutes late, and when we got on, we realized that Israeli busses do not sell one ticket per seat; they sell as many tickets as people who’d like to ride. We stood (and then sat on our bags) in the aisle of the bus for the entirety of the three-and-a-half-hour bus ride to Jerusalem. The ride was adventurous, filled with sharp turns and “s” curves that were too small for our large bus to accomplish easily.

The walls of the City of David loomed ahead. Under the archway of the city gate, created for one of the numerous conquerors, were men with falafel and breads in a wheelbarrow, calling out their wares. Awnings with curtains made of pashinas marked the beginning of the market, made up of segregated sections of vendors: Jews, Armenians, Arabs, and Christians. Jerusalem, like Nazareth and many of the towns in Israel, is a segregated town, where all the groups have particular sections of town in which they live and work.

We were caught by several vendors, offering us “special” deals. While bargaining is customary, I ended up getting caught by a purse vendor who went down on his prices, but then guilted me into buying a purse that was worth about 12 dollars max for 18 dollars, promising a five year warranty (HA!); as we were leaving Jerusalem, I realized the purse had a hole in it already! The persuasive vendors didn’t stop Jess and me from passing through the market every day we were in Jerusalem, to look at the tiles, jewelry, purses, and pashinas.

We spent our first day roaming the vendors’ stores and looking for “the dome” that Jess was dying to see. We couldn’t find it anywhere! Wasn’t it one of the main attractions in the city? As the sun set, we were left in the shadows of the old city; street lights popped on and we began asking around, still determined to find this dome. As we walked through the Arab section of town, an Arab man offered to show us the dome; he took us up to the roof of the Austrian Hospice building, where we had a lovely view of the city and the dome, which is known as The Dome of the Rock to the Muslims, and the Temple Mount to the Jews. The Jews believe that this is where the Holy of Holies lies below ground; if a Jewish person comes near the Holy of Holies, they could have spiritual death. Therefore, the Jews as a general rule, do not go too near The Dome of the Rock.

After taking a few photos and hearing about the battle for the Holy Land from the Muslim point of view, we descended the stairs of the Hospice building, kindly paid the man for his time, and went on our way….the wrong way. We were walking towards the western part of the city as we walked past a shop where two nicely dressed Arab gentlemen were talking.

“Where are you going?” They asked us. I answered that we were trying to get to the Jaffa Gate. The store owner pointed out that we were going in the wrong direction, and then insisted on having his friend walk us out of the old city.
Jess’ telephone rang as we began our walk, and she began chatting away with Faith, who’d just gotten engaged at home, as the Arab gentleman told me what we’d been walking towards.

“If you’d have kept going,” he explained, “you would have reached the Western area of the city, near the Dome of the Rock. The radical rabbis have gathered some young Jews and they have stormed the Dome, determined to get in. The Muslims are barring their entrance” (anyone who has any religious paraphernalia on other than Muslim things are barred from entry, but especially Jews). “Didn’t you see all the soldiers coming this way?”

That’s what the popping noises were! Soldiers’ gunshots keeping the peace. Well, Jess didn’t know it, but we were lucky those Muslim men were kind enough to lead us away from the confrontation.

We booked it on out of the city and into a nice mall, enjoyed ourselves window shopping for a while, then hailed a cab home.

Nazareth to Tiberius and Back Again

2009-10-26T17:47:00.004-06:00

Our last day in Nazareth was a bit of a bust. During the night, I’d had a quarter-life crisis about what I plan to do with my life (and for those of you who know me and my tendency to plan out my life, this is not an unusual occurrence.) Jessie and I both awoke on the wrong side of our beds and we snarled our way down to the bus station. After another two hours of awaiting buses that never came, we decided to take a taxi ride to and from Tiberius. Well, as it was a Saturday, all of Tiberius was closed. Apparently there are more Jewish inhabitants there than Arab. Well the town was dirty, touristy, and in a grand state of dishabille. The sky had turned so foggy that we couldn’t see a thing. We stuck our feet in the Sea of Galilee, where Jesus called the disciples to become fishers of men, calmed the seas, and walked on water, and then we caught another taxi back home to the convent, where after a long nap, our moods improved beyond recognition. We trekked it down the hill, back to the shawarma joint and enjoyed shawarma, coffee, and pastries. The call to prayer followed us home.

Jessie's Birthday Bash

2009-10-25T17:44:00.002-06:00

Pop! Pop! Pa-Pop-Pop! Boom! “Was that fireworks?"

The sporadic popping noises freaked us out.

“I hope that those are fireworks, Jess. Do you still feel safe going to meet up with Saleem? What if he’s not as nice as we thought?”

“Anna, don’t you think if he were going to abduct us or something, he’d have done it last night? It would have been perfect timing. We were tired, weary really, looking for a place to go eat – he could have easily abducted us or whatever last night, if he had wanted to. And we have relied on our instincts so far, and they haven’t led us astray. We’ll stay alert, follow our gut reactions, and we’ll be fine.”

It’s true that if you’re never trusting, you’ll never have the wonderful travel experiences where you truly see and experience the culture. So we decided to take our chances with the Christian Arab who had taken us to dinner the night before.

We met Saleem at his store at nine pm and we started out towards the hookah bar, like he’d promised. As we wound our way out of the city, Jess and I began to fret.

“Where are we headed?” Jess asked nonchalantly. Saleem explained that he was taking us to a hookah bar in between Nazareth and Cana (where Jesus turned the water into wine).

The bar was high atop a hill overlooking the interstate. Dogs were yapping as we sat down on the patio and awaited our hookahs and Arab coffees. For those of you who don’t know, a hookah is a water pipe for tobacco. It has a vase filled with water as a base, with a long neck that widens at the top. On the top of the neck is a tiny terracotta pot in which you place the flavored tobacco; then, you cover the pot and tobacco with aluminum foil and poke miniscule holes into the foil. You then place hot coals onto the foil. The coals heat up the tobacco and the smoke goes down into the water. The smoker will take a tube leading from the vase and put the tube’s mouthpiece into his or her mouth and inhale. Smokers will inhale this flavored smoke, often as a group activity, for around an hour.

Neither Jessie nor I had smoked a hookah before and the experience is one that we won’t forget, but don’t want to repeat all the time. It was a cool way to truly experience Middle Eastern customs.

On our way home, Saleem asked us if we’d had shwarma yet and we hadn’t; so he took us to the best shwarma joint in town to gorge on gyro-esqe pita pockets filled with what we believe was either duck or lamb, onions, hummus sauce, lettuce, and pickles. Saleem was a true gentleman, paying for everything and dropping us off at the convent door by 11:15. We had a bunch of fun – a wonderful international celebration of Jessie’s birthday!

Walking the Hills of Nazareth (Day 2)

2009-10-25T02:40:00.000-06:00

Jessie and I awakened on her birthday, ate some yummy pita bread, cheese, and salami that the nuns had set out for us, and then set out for Sfet and Capernaum. We found our way to the bus station, asked many Nazarenes which bus to take and where to get it, and ended up sitting at the station for three hours without ever catching a bus. So, somehow we missed the bus to Sfet and Capernaum, and couldn’t take a taxi or another bus in time to get to the cities before all of the Jewish stores closed for the Sabbath (Friday and Saturday).

So we decided to roam the city. We went from one side of Nazareth to the other, roaming through shops. We passed by a spice shop and stuck our noses in the door, following the smell. A Palestinian man called us into the store and invited us to share Arab coffee with him Arab coffee is made by boiling water on the stove, adding a heap of strong fresh grounds, and bringing the coffee to a boil. Once it has boiled, stir it and boil again. Then, once the grounds have drifted to the bottom, the coffee is ready.

We sat around the table with the store owner and his neighbor, drinking rich delicious Kenyan Columbian blend Arab coffee together. They told us about Palestine and their businesses and invited us to keep in touch with them. We bought a couple pounds of coffee beans and hopped, skipped, and jumped throughout the Muslim Quarter to see the church on the spot of Mary’s (mother of Jesus) home where the angel Gabriel told her about her pregnancy, and later on, to the synagogue where Jesus preached.

We found that we were a little disappointed in the city of Nazareth; it was old of course, but it had been rebuilt over the years and the old city was merged with the new. We didn’t feel like we were close to Jesus because he seemed so far away due to the numerous renovations in the thousands of years since his time there. The way that the holy sites are created is based upon tradition. For example, the house where the angel Gabriel came to Mary to tell her that she would be the mother of Jesus had had monasteries and Christian churches on the grounds since soon after Jesus died. Then, after Muslims had taken over, the Crusaders came and took back the area, building a church upon the spot to commemorate it. And so it goes – often the Muslims have taken back over the buildings and then they’re rebuilt yet again – so it’s not like the churches are what Jesus would have seen – most of the places where Jesus was were not churches at all – they are now to commemorate his being there. So, we hoped that Jerusalem would be more what we had imagined – walking where Jesus walked, seeing what he saw, etc. We did feel, however, that the geography of Nazareth was much the same as when Jesus was there – so we realized the steep hills that he climbed and how dusty his feet would have been – we experienced firsthand how the washing of the feet would have been significant!

We made it back to our room in the convent in time to change, eat another picnic meal, and get ready to go out with Saleem to the hookah bar to celebrate Jessie’s birthday.

(The picture above is our view of the Greek Orthodox Church in Nazareth)

Arriving in Nazareth: Our First Day in the Holy Land

2009-10-22T14:41:00.006-06:00

Rolling hills, dry and spotted with bushes, surrounded me as the heat came up to greet me in Tel Aviv. We stepped off the plane into a lovely airport, filled with a mix of Hassidic, Orthodox, and reformed Jews, along with Arabs and tourists. Signs lined the walls advertising rentable cell phones, atms, and information – first in Hebrew, in Arabic, and then, in English. We made it to a train from the airport to the bus station – the trains were fantastic!! We enjoyed our smooth ride in the new trains with electronic displays and spotless interiors. When we exited the train, I was so engrossed in looking at all the wonderful trinkets for sale, I didn’t notice that Jess had gotten her bag stuck in the revolving exit stall and couldn’t get out of the train station! Ha! Once we got her humongous bag unstuck, we stopped for a delicious ice cream cone for our lunch – I had a scoop of “pecan, date, and rum” and cheesecake crumbles – delicious! And we couldn’t have been more thrilled to see real bagels outside the station! Man, how we’ve missed bagels!

It took asking about five different people to find out how to get to our bus to Nazareth, but we managed to make it on the bus – along with four Israeli soldiers with semi-automatic rifles strapped across their backs. Both women and men in Israel are required to spend at least two years in the army – so we figure that in the next 50 years, every citizen of Israel will know how to shoot a semi-automatic well! Anyway, we napped on our bus, which the traffic delayed, for a little over two hours. The kind bus driver called the convent where we’re staying and then honked until a taxi met us at the bus stop. The driver got off the bus and explained to the taxi driver where we were headed – he was amazing! But the taxi driver – puh! He drove all around town and was “unable to find” our convent for at least 20 minutes – we were way over charged! The nuns yelled at him! They said he was a Arab liar!

The nuns turned from angry to gentle as they led us into our room at the convent. It is nice! We asked around about where we might find some dinner and they suggested bringing back food from a general store – but Jess and I wanted real food! We went on a search – were almost run over by the crazy Israeli drivers (or Arab? We’re on the Arab side of Nazareth..who knew there are two sides?) – but entered this store where the owner was eating this delicious looking tabouli. I asked “where can we get that!” And he shared it with us!! And then, he offered to take us to a nearby restaurant that his friend owned. The friend really set us up! We had all kinds of Middle Eastern food – tabouli, bābā ġanūj, khubz, hummus, and some mixed veggies and thick dips! It was absolutely divine – better than we ever have in the states! We took it to-go and had a picnic in the convent. We’ll meet the store owner, Saleem, again tomorrow night when we celebrate Jessie’s 22nd birthday. We’ll go out to another Israeli restaurant and celebrate in the Holy Land!

Láthatatlan Kiállítás: The Invisible Exhibition

2009-10-03T16:29:00.007-06:00

There was total darkness

I followed his lead

The blind leading the blind

I touched the walls, the trees, the stop lights, the stove

I felt faces, brushed arms, fell over tables

My guide kept my fear at bay

Till there was no difference between eyes open and shut

Voices from the right

Voices from the left

Blink

Nothing

There was nothing

Total Darkness

Grape Harvesting, Picnics, and Joyous Good Fun

2009-09-20T12:46:00.003-06:00

The sun was shining bright and early this morning as we ran down the stairs in our gardening wear, ready to be migrant workers for the day. One of Jess and my favorite colleagues at Széchenyi invited us to go to her family’s vineyard in the country and pick grapes. We readily accepted and God couldn’t have blessed us with a prettier day.

The high was seventy-five (degrees Fahrenheit), the wind was slightly blowing, and the sun’s rays were grazing on our necks. We arrived to find a beautiful arbor with drooping grapes that arched over the walkways and glistened with a mixture of colors. While Csilla’s husband washed the buckets and oiled the barrel, Csilla (pronounced Che-La), their daughter Flora, Jess, and I ate a wonderful breakfast. Csilla had prepared a yeast Bundt cake made with raisins that was very light – similar to Italian panettone. One piece was definitely not enough! But I must tell you about the taste of Heaven that came with the cake – sour cherry juice. And I’m not talking about the juice out of a jar of sour cherries – I’m talking fresh sour cherries, mashed and ground – no sugar added sweetness. It was delicious. It had the consistency of non-fat buttermilk, was cranberry pink, and seemed to lighten up my mouth. Absolutely divine.

Two cups of sour cherry juice later, I was ready for pickin’! We picked grapes from 9 am until 3:30 pm, and took a wonderful picnic break in the garden for lunch. Csilla made some fantastic traditional Hungarian foods for us to try. We had a sweet paprika goulash made of potatoes, carrots, beef, and a mix of herbs. The savory soup and freshly baked bread soothed our hungry tummies and was so good that almost all of us had another bowl full. We enjoyed homemade wine from the garden and four delicious homemade pastries for dessert. Csilla baked three strudels – sour cherry, curd cheese and raisin, and apple. The sour cherries and apples had come from the garden where we were eating! I was surprised – sour cherry and curd cheese (turó) are usually my favorites, but Csilla’s apple strudel tasted like Christmas at home. The mix of nutmeg, cinnamon, cloves, apples, and sugar melted on my tongue and reminded me of cider, of home, and of friends and family during the fall/winter holidays.

When all the white and lavender grapes had been picked, we settled down on the most comfortable swing for a chat. The swing was spacious – bigger on the bottom than the back side – and covered with a memory foam cushion. Sitting on it was sinking into oblivion. We talked about everything from American traditions to Hungarian wine making and enjoyed Csilla’s family so much. The sun was warm on my knees and I could have swing for hours.

After a little archery for recreation, they packed Jess and I up with a huge box of fresh grapes, apples, wines, and left over desserts. We loaded the car and climbed in, ready for a ride home looking out over Lake Velence and singing along with John Travolta and Olivia Newton-John.

Oh Those Széchenyi Days

2009-09-18T15:23:00.004-06:00

The 70th anniversary of Széchenyi secondary school kicked off on Wednesday with an art exhibition that included wood carvings, paintings, and hand-crafted replicas made by teachers and students. The carvings were particularly moving – the heart of the artist shined through each stroke. My particular favorite was a carving of an old Hungarian man and his wife; the lines on their faces – the joy, the hurt, the pain, the solidarity of being together so long – living, life. It was not perfect, but beautiful nonetheless.

Friday brought shortened classes and a true celebration. The freshmen were introduced through an initiation ceremony that they prepared with the senior class. They performed skits, sang, and generally humiliated themselves (in good fun) in front of the student body. Afterwards, a mandolin player serenaded us all with folk music on two unique shaped mandolins. Then events began to occur simultaneously. There was karaoke, Rubik’s cube tournaments, trick bike shows, field games, and bands playing. A few of my students brought homemade apricot preserves from their mother’s garden to sell on waffles with towering peaks of whipped cream.

Széchenyi Days will conclude tomorrow with open classes (one of which I will be teaching) that the community has been invited to attend. The closing ceremony will then be held to give awards to winners of the English reading contest (Jess and I were two of the judges! One of my students from Teleki Blanka won first place!)

Rocking Out At Fezen

2009-09-16T12:34:00.003-06:00

Jess and I joined the crowds of music lovers at Székesferérvar’s Hungarian music festival Fezen. Buses were packed to the brim and running every half hour (luckily we arrived by car!) The festival had begun on Thursday and would run till the wee hours of Sunday morning. We chose to attend on Saturday night with our coworker Judit and her husband.

The atmosphere was a mix between (for you Birminghamians) City Stages and Sloss Furnace at Halloween. There were at least four stages with simultaneous performances – complete with light shows and fog. The bands were Hungarian’s most popular - Kispál és a Borz was my very favorite – their music was kind of a mix between alternative and rock with a folksie twist. Of course, all the lyrics were Hungarian – so we couldn’t understand them – though my students say that Kispál’s lyrics are pretty funny. I didn’t want to be pegged as a foreigner so I laughed along with the crowd!

Everywhere you looked there were popcorn stands (chocolate popcorn, butter popcorn, and colorful kettle corn), grilled corn stands, gyro booths, and Hungarian carnival food and beverage tents. Jess and I couldn’t wait to try something new whenever we changed tents to hear a new band!

The crowd was a mix of teens, twenty-somethings, and older adults – and everyone enjoyed the selection of music – some of which was popular when the older adults were teenagers.
I enjoyed so much getting to share my experiences with my students – who seemed excited that I’d gotten to go and enjoyed it. Fezen was the topic of conversation on Monday and Tuesday at school. I’m already excited about the music festival that will be here in the spring. And since downloading is the thing here in Hungary, I can go ahead and learn some tunes!

Beautiful Views, Tasty Fare, and Interesting Conversation

2009-09-13T20:00:00.000-06:00

After work on Friday, I accompanied my coworker Imre, a history teacher at the technical school, to Lake Velence. I’d visited Lake Velence once before – I hopped on a train after hearing about the lake and all its beauty. I got off a few stops earlier than the stop listed on my ticket (per an acquaintance’s suggestion) and did not end up seeing the most beautiful part of the lake. Instead I enjoyed reading a novel and watching the windsurfers from a blanket on the shore.

This time Imre and I drove to Velence, stopping first at a lookout point far above Budapest and Székesfehérvar. Thatched roofs dotted the landscape, and from my perch atop a bench, I could see farmland to my left and lake homes to my right. The view rivaled that of Italy and Ireland – absolutely breathtaking. I didn’t know that people still had thatched roofs! What a quaint surprise.

We descended the hill, my hair blowing in the breeze, and chatted about Hungarian history as we completed a round about the lake. I was so excited to see wake boarders and skiers riding a cable around the lake. I’d thought that the law barring motorboats would make me unable to ski, so this cable was a thrilling find – I can’t wait to try it, but at the same time, I’m a little worried that coming up out of the water by boat is totally different that jumping off a pier with a cable!

Our grumbling tummies brought us to a local lake café that served the traditional Hungarian dish langós, a fried bread similar to a funnel cake (but savory) and topped with cheese and sour cream. I also ordered my favorite Hungarian pancakes (more like American crepes, known as palacsinta, filled with turos (yummy cheese curd) – this crepe wasn’t as good as the famous Budapest all-nighter crepes, but delicious none-the-less. And I was incredibly proud of my self – I ordered in Hungarian! “Kérek egy langós!”

The night was a good one – beautiful views, tasty fare, and interesting conversation.

PS: The photo was taken in Székesfehérvar – I could have kicked myself for not having my camera at Lake Velence – but it was rainy!

Flowers, caramel chocolate, and homemade harvested grape-apple strudel

2009-09-08T06:26:00.006-06:00

Flowers, caramel chocolate, and homemade hand-picked grape-apple strudel - what more can a girl ask for?

After a hard day at school with very little sleep the night before, I was pooped. I had told my Hungarian friend* Angela that I would go with her to a Szekesfehervarian photo club at five pm after school. I arrived back around four, sat down for a minute or so, and then packed up my camera bag and headed off to Angela’s house.

Angela’s front door opens up into an absolutely amazing garden. I had never seen some of the varieties of flowers. There were roses, asparagus, daffodils, and my new personal favorite shown in the picture above – I have no clue what kind of flower it is, but Angi cut it for me, and it is brightening up my kitchen table!

After enjoying her garden, I got to meet Angela’s mother and Angi surprised me with a fabulous caramel chocolate bar and, even better, her homemade grape-apple strudel. I bit into the strudel and the crunchy exterior flaked, its flavor slightly honeyed. The fruity interior of the strudel was filled with harvest apples and grapes that gave it a crunch – much better than any bakery! Then, we were off to the library, where Angi showed me all the English books, dvds, and cds, and I got a library card!

We then settled down to enjoy seeing and critiquing people’s photographs in the photography club. Each person brings about 20 photos to show on the projector and the photographer gains constructive criticism from his/her peers while the viewers see new places and things from different angles. I was asked to bring my photographs next week! One of the group members had recently been to visit her son in the States – she wants me to marry him! Ha! I did make some wonderful and friendly contacts at the meeting – I have been so thrilled with how helpful, friendly, and kind the Hungarian people are!

I made my way home a content woman – enriched with lovely experiences and new friends.

* I first began talking to Angela through Couchsurfing.com before I left. I wanted to make a Hungarian friend that I could have as soon as I arrived. And is she not just wonderful! I am thrilled that I am getting to become involved with my community and meet new people with her!

Diving into Teaching: Day Two

2009-09-05T02:15:00.002-06:00

“It’s the Ladies Choice! Bum Bum Ba Da Dum!!” I jammed out to show tunes and old NSYNC albums as I walked towards Teleki Blanka for my first day at the liberal arts magnet school. When I entered the building, the cute little old guard grinned at me and spoke ninety-to-nothing in Hungarian (he’s determined that will help me learn!) I jogged up the stairs in my pink tennis shoes, black crepe skirt, and pink sweater to the teachers’ workroom, where I quickly changed shoes, wrote down the room numbers to my classes, and was given a tour of where I’d be teaching.

I was very pleased with my first class of the day. I entered. They all stood. “You may be seated.” Man! I feel like a pastor! Ha. Since the men don’t usually stand when women enter the room anymore (chivalry, gentlemen, come on!) – I have to get my fix here in Hungary as a teacher. The students were quiet and answered when I asked questions – they couldn’t have been a better class!

My next class was observed by the English Department head, Emese, and my mentor Erzi’s daughter (who is getting her masters in teaching right now). It was a class of ninth graders who had been attending this special school (the best in Szekesfehervar if not in Hungary) since the seventh grade. Many of the girls had read all of the Twilight series in English. Cha Ching! We have a connection. And man, am I impressed?! The last book was pretty difficult, I would imagine, for foreigners to understand. We played get to know you games, and I once again asked what the class thought of Americans and I heard answers such as:

“They are a special people and I’d love to visit some day.”

And

“They have Indians!!”

Haha! One boy was obsessed with Native Americans and couldn’t believe his luck when I said I was part Indian. When the class finished, Emese said she didn’t think that she’d need to sit in to ensure discipline – that I had a special gift with highschoolers! Wow! That made my day! Maybe I can do this teaching gig!

My friend Zita sealed in the goodness of the day for good when she helped me secure an internet stick. Now I have internet access wherever I go in Hungary for about $30 a month.

A Hungarian Barbeque

2009-09-04T14:36:00.002-06:00

We came prepared – peanut butter cranberry cookies in hand – to a true Hungarian barbeque. The Szechenyi teachers and staff threw a top notch party at a home in the suburbs. Fresh grapes draped the arbors and fuzzy apples pulled on the tree limbs. The grill (A wok on legs with a gas burner underneath) was laden with thick slices of sizzling bacon, laid out in bursts. A full sized table was covered in three liter soft drink and juice bottles put to new use for moonshine and homemade wine. There were biscuits and fresh tomatoes, grapes, pears, and apples from the garden on picnic tables under the arbor and music playing over the field.

We chatted until our noses could take the torture no longer. The juicy marinated pork, chicken, chicken liver, and bratwurst were finally ready. An enormous loaf of bread – half the size of a car tire! – was sliced into large pieces. The pieces were put on plates and served as edible trenchers for the tender meats and summer cucumbers (which were almost like pickles but only served in the summer). Cookies, bars, and yogurt fruit pie awaited us for dessert, along with an assortment of liquors.

After dinner, an electric piano was hooked up and the fun really began. The male teachers found a partner and danced everything from the waltz to the mashed potato. We heard the great American oldies, folk songs, and Hungarian favorites as we danced the night away! A deluge of wind and rain melted the party, scattering people to their cars and bikes.