My retail therapy consists of going to the craft store and picking out fist fulls of beads.
The last step is realizing the ridiculousness of this procedure and blogging about it.
I stood on the curb looking around the bustling Marienplatz and could not recall one single detail. When I got back to the hotel with free wi-fi, I texted my sister to ask her if we had gone there during our visit to see my sister’s friend, Julian, in Munich in 1996.
Yes, we had been to Marienplatz but I didn’t remember it. I felt a little sad. I hadn’t forgotten all of the trip but how much had I forgotten? The trip to Munich with my sister was right after I graduated from Western Michigan University. My sister and I were full fledged adults doing things our way and traveling through Europe. It had felt like we were sophistcated and worldly. At least, if I can’t remember all the details, I remember taking that coming of age step with my sister.
You would think that I would have learned my lesson since it stared me in the face during another momentous trip. Yet, here it is 6 months later, I’m just now writing down the details of our trip, and I cannot remember what Mikel ordered to drink at the beer garden on our last day in Munich.
Despite how the picture looks, and I love how it looks, neither kid is drinking beer. Karlis has yet another glass of apple juice, the beverage we consumed the most while in Europe. All I can remember about Mikel’s drink is that it was a mixture. So, it could be lemonade and Coke in that mug or apple juice and Coke or some other mixture we thought would be strange but was actually quite delicious. I am, on the other hand, drinking beer. I’m also holding the glass the way Julian taught my sister and me so that the heavy mug could be held with just one hand. Hey! I remember something else about 1996 Munich.
Our time in Munich, in 2015, was short and overcast with exhaustion. On the first day, we hadn’t slept more than about an hour. On the last day, we were worn down from 8 days of authentic Latvian experiences. I refused to let our exhaustion get in my way. Between the first day and the last day, we visited two museums, toured two platzs, ate two expensive lunches, shopped and drank at the beer garden. While shopping is far from my first choice of activities, Birkenstocks are so much cheaper in Munich that I couldn’t resist. Whether they are fashionable or not, they are honestly the best shoes for a variety of foot issues when you just can’t stay off your feet. (Hello! Touring Europe, folks, there will be no sitting down! Just ask my exhausted family!!)
Getting around Munich – the train system is so stinking easy there should be no excuse for not seeing the city.
BMW museum– Since 50% of our family are gear heads, it seemed like the BMW was a must-see site. I was right since Karlis took a picture of every engine, car, boat and motorcycle in the BMW museum. The museum has a very modern style which turns visiting a museum into a whole new experience. Us non-gear heads even enjoyed walking past shiny vehicles and unique displays of motorcycles. The amount of time it took to walk through the museum was just right for an exhausted quartet.
Marienplatz/ Karlsplatz – visiting the platzs had little affect on us other than it provided ridiculously expensive lunches from English language menus. I think next time I would head directly for the beer garden for pretzels as big as your head. The beer gardens serve other foods but they no longer serve stag parties according to the signs. I’m sure Karlstor (Karls gate) in Karlsplatz is usually an architectural delight but we wouldn’t know because it was under restoration so the picture of Karlis in front of his gate was anti-climatic.
Residenz Munchen – I read a lot of reviews complaining that this museum of the royal palace of former Munich monarchs isn’t worth your money because it is mostly replicas of what existed prior to World War II. Yes, I suppose it would be nicer for it to be authentic but since I had just one day left to expose my boys to an example of life as a German Royal, I’m not going to complain. I have no regrets about spending my money here. Note- it was a hot July day, so we opted for the shorter route through the non-air conditioned palace.
Augustiner-Keller- A trip to drink at a Beer Garden in Munich is a must- do. The only question is what type of experience do you want? I once bought my husband a T-shirt that said, “Do I look like a People Person?” So clearly, Hofbräuhaus and the college beer gardens were out of the question. Not to mention, there is a Hofbräuhaus by O’Hare airport in Chicago now. By the time we got to the beer garden, we were hot and tired. We found ourselves a nice table with four seats in a shaded location. Unfortunately, we were still stuffed from our lunch so we did not get any food. Our entertainment included watching the ATV truck shuttle tons (metric tons) of gigantic beer mugs from kitchen to beer stand. The relaxing atmosphere was a fitting place to wind down our extrordinary trip.
Good night, Munich. Good bye, Europe.
I’m Sagittarius. Honestly, I couldn’t tell you what affects being born under the Sagittarius sign has on me.
On the other hand, I can tell you what these signs mean…
Sign 1. I buy Jack’s special salsa for the fridge at work. – it’s an super easy way to put some type of vegetable in my diet regularly.
Sign 2. I buy a pull-up bar. – I always need a new way to motivate me to exercise
Sign 4. I bought a new water bottle. An easy way to stay hydrated is to have a water bottle on hand all the time.
Sign 5. I bought trail mix for my desk at work. I want a fulfilling snack in the office for those days when I just need a snack.
Yes, theses are five clear signs that the Sagittarius is still full on a New Years Crackdown. It’s the small steps that are going to keep my on track for 2016.
But, the number one sign that I started the 2016 New Years Crackdown….
I BOUGHT A LARGE SPECIAL DARK CHOCOLATE BAR!!!!
I’m three weeks into 2016. Some (most?) people have already given up on their resolutions. I’m just now thinking about writing mine.
Truthfully, I’ve been on the resolution train since Day 1. (My ANNUAL New Years Crack Down ya’ll) Only now, I feel compelled to spell it out.
1. N-E-W Y-E-A-R-S C-R-A-C-K D-O-W-N
All jokes aside, I am looking into improving my health once again. I certainly couldn’t claim that I was successful with last year’s resolutions but I do feel I made progress toward a certain level of mature attitude and philosophy in regards to health and well being.
Today, I read the article How to relearn the art of eating by Bee Wilson. (Confession, I didn’t actually read it word for word because it was too long) The parts I read struck a cord in me. This is the path I want for 2016 and I want to talk about it.
I’m tired of being a yo-yo like craving unhealthy foods while feeling guilty everytime I eat something special. I need to relearn how to eat and have a better relationship with my food. I don’t want to give up ice cream. But, I also don’t want to ruin my prime ice cream moments by eating junk food in excess all the other time.
I’m not sure if the article actually tells you how to relearn the art of eating or if it just keeps explaining why we suck at eating to begin with. So, my list below may be redundant but it’s the first time I’ve read it.
1. Eat slow, slower and even slower – I must savor the flavor. If something doesn’t taste good when I savor, I have to give up on it. If something tastes good, I have to determine when enough is enough before it becomes way too much.
2. Nothing is off limits but there is a limit – ultimately, I want to lose weight and fit into those ski bunny pants. I will recognize my goal and put healthier choices as my priority. The limit is defined as special treats need to be considered on timing, frequency, and quantity.
Those two things may not see like much but I’m making a lifestyle change here. With the New Years Crackdown, I am already experiencing positive changes. 2016 is going to be a good year.
I want to start my story at the point when when we landed in Munich, but it really started before that with another lesson learned. Monday is not the day you start a vacation.
Oh, don’t worry,there is nothing ominous about my statement. It’s just a fact.
(1) The Friday before we left for Europe I tried to work. It was like pulling teeth. It was a full blown case of high school senioritious. I totally wasted a beautiful summer day filling a seat in the office. (But, don’t tell my boss that, I’m sure I did something constructive that day)
(2) The Saturday before was almost worse than the Friday before. If it weren’t for those blasted Guinea Pigs requiring daily care that wasn’t scheduled to start yet, I would have blown that pop stand. Being stuck at home for the first “vacation” day seemed rather pointless. This type of attitude explains why I suddenly decided we would eat out at every meal from then on. (English menus, yo!)
(3)Sunday! Finally, Sunday! Months previously, when the hubs found out that our first flight left at 7 am, he said, “I am NOT getting up at 3 am to drive to the airport.” That kind of an attitude booked us a hotel room near O’Hare airport for the night before our 7 am flight. At least, then the vacation could officially start and the lifetime experiences could begin! However, I have to admit that it felt more like driving into a traffic jam 10 minutes from your house. We had so far to go and already at a stand still. Fortunately, we have friends that live near the hotel so we were able to join up for dinner and a swim in the pool together to get us through the night.
(4) Monday!! Remeber how we said we weren’t going to get up at the crack of dawn? Standing in a hotel lobby at 5:45 am waiting for the shuttle bus to take us to the airport still felt unreasonably early.
Funny thing about airports, once inside it’s like you’ve entered into another dimension and you are completely closed off to what’s going on outside. For example, you might even miss an approaching massive 40,000 feet high thunderstorm that is going to encircle the airport. We caught a brief glimpse of the storm as we made our way to our gate for boarding. If I had not known it was July, I would have thought it was a winter storm because of how strong the winds were, the heaviness of the raindrops and the darkness of the clouds. A 40,000 feet tall thundercloud does not let much light in. After it quit raining and we had been on the Tarmac for some time, I checked the radar on my phone. It looked like Chicago was the eye of the storm and the clouds stretched across Michigan, down through Indianapolis and back up to Wisconsin. Basically, unless you were flying to the Yukon, you weren’t getting out of Chicago or in, for that matter. In all we waited on the tarmack in Chicago for four hours.
Our luck wasn’t bad just disappointing. Our flight plans had given us a significant layover in Phildelphia. The delay cut it in half making it impossible to get any Philly sight-seeing in but, at least, we weren’t going to miss our flight to Munich. Instead, we sat in limbo for another four hours.
Four days in limbo made me realize I don’t want to wait until Monday to start a vacation.
I love to travel. I especially love to travel to Europe. I have not had the opportunity to travel extensively but I have been lucky enough to go to Germany, France, Scotland, Italy, England, Belgium, The Netherlands, and, finally, after 17 years of marriage into a Latvian family, Latvia. I really thought it was never going to happen. We turned down many other wedding invitations, but, when this wedding invitation arrived, setting my own personal desires aside (yeah, right), I said, it’s time to take the kids to the motherland.
Since I love to travel, I travel pretty well and I have learned many things like pack light, don’t be afraid of public transportation, and expect to walk a lot. Like, really, a lot.
Since this was the first time I traveled across the ocean with my family, I taught a few lessons and I learned a few lessons. Here’s my helpful guide, with the backstory, to traveling overseas with a family.
The Trip: Chicago to Philly to Munich to Riga to Wedding to small town Latvia to Riga to Munich to Philly to ChicagoThe Lessons:
1. Men are just as (more) high maintenance as women. When my husband says he needs some item whether it’s extra socks, a certain style of shorts, or a favorite hole filled t-shirt, I should never, ever try to talk him out of it or less of it or a different it, because, when I’m ready to explore exery tower and examine every decayed brick at an ancient castle in the middle of the Latvian countryside, I will be unreasonably intolerant of every suggestion to head back to the car. He told me before we left that he needed (NEEDED) x, y, and z to be comfortable. Let me tell you, when you aren’t comfortable, you don’t want to hike out to look over the Gauja River. If I had listened to him, it wouldn’t have been a struggle to get to do what I wanted to do.
Wait? Did I say what I wanted to do? I meant what the boys wanted to do, naturally.
2. When 2 out of 4 in your group are sleepers, plan accordingly. I think I may have mentioned that sleeping is my super power. Any where. Any time. Any place. When we took our seats on the plane going to Germany, we sat according to how we always sit when we go out to eat. The hubs was with the younger kid. I sat with the older kid. The older kid inherited my sleeping super power. Couple my years of experience of sleeping while traveling in planes, trains and automobiles with my natural engineering skills (pillow stacking), the older kid and I slept for hours. Things on the other side of the aisle didn’t go so well. I wasted my pillow skills on the kid that would have slept leaning against the airplane engine. As a result, the younger kid didn’t concede to exhaustion until we were on the train to Munich. By the time we got off the train, he was so far into a deep sleep that I had to hold his hand to keep him from walking in the opposite direction from us. Next time, when getting sleep is important (getting it at the right time), I need to save my skills for those that need it the most.
3. When it comes to food, go with your gut. While in Riga, we rented an apartment with a kitchen. It was my intention to buy food from the store for breakfast and lunch. Breakfast worked out beautifully. All that were hungry ate while I took my sweet time getting beautified for a day of pictures we’ll never delete. I highly recommend getting provisions for breakfast. Plus, think of the experience of shopping in a foreign grocery store! Lunch would have gone smoothly too, if only… The hubs is the one who always cooks the meals at home. So, when we go on vacation, he wants no part of food preparation. Who can blame him? I relented and it was agreed that we would eat our lunches out at the restaurants. I should have stayed my ground on that one. Even when someone can read the menu, it doesn’t translate easily, or it’s in a pricy part of town (tourist traps), or it just isn’t the same as back home (carbonated apple juice?!?), or there isn’t enough options on the menu for two adults and two teenagers, or the one restaurant you know is good is a long walk away. Eating out twice a day was actually pretty stressful. I still think that a loaf of rye bread (maize) with salami and swiss cheese (siers) would have been a much wiser decision and, possibly, it would have been nicer to just sit in the park looking at the Freedom Monument.
4. While I may have been wrong in what I let the hubs pack, I was correct in saying, “no, we do not want that gigantic suitcase”. The hubs argued it would be no problem since we would check at the airport. In the end, we had to take the big suitcase for all fancy clothes we needed for the wedding and his cousin’s lawn mower blades. Yup, we packed lawn mower blades. Even better that two were the wrong blades so we had to take them back home with us! So, unless you need to take lawnmower blades, pack backpacks because the last thing you want to do is lug a big suitcase around the train station and drag it to the hotel on a 10 minute walk after being up all night on a trans-Atlantic flight, or try to stuff it into a tiny car trunk in Italy. It’s not even that fun to carry a big suitcase up multiple flights of stairs in a latvian apartment building after a good night’s sleep. We were so relieved to get rid of the lawnmower blades, for one day.
5. Rent an apartment or stay with family. Hotels in Europe aren’t designed for large American families. The rooms are small and barely fit two twin beds. I was not surprised by this. So, we rented an apartment in Riga. It was the best and much cheaper than two hotel rooms. I could have gotten a very nice apartment for the cost of 2 hotel rooms. But, I wanted to save money for all that eating out so I went more economical. Still, the apartment was way beyond its value. We even did laundry (allowing us to pack less) once we figured out the Polish instructions on the washer. I wouldn’t hesitate to rent an apartment again.
To recap: He gets his way on what to pack. I get my way on eating. Get as much sleep as possible for the group as a whole on the plane. Pack in easy to carry small luggage. Apartments rule.
While I’m sure we learned more travel lessons than what I have listed, I’m ready to try to relay my Latvian high lights. I should have written it months ago when it was fresh. I only hope I can recall it all.
Click. Click. Click. Click.
I’m feeling the cocktail of excitement, fear and relief as the car that I am securely strapped into is pulled higher and higher. I’m excited because I am about to speed down a near vertical angle that looks impossible when viewed from the ground. As the car lurches upward, there is a split second of fear that the chain dog will snap releasing the coaster backwards ending in a horrific crash. The click of the the chain comforts me into thinking it must mean everything is fine. Until we lurch forward again. And again. And again. It is, after all, by record, the tallest wooden roller coaster.
Despite my alternating states of emotion, I am drinking in the view. It’s a shame that the American Eagle name was already claimed because the top of this lift hill is an eagle eye’s view. My son, brave enough to ride the coaster with me, actually isn’t brave enough to have his eyes open at the top. Looking to the sky from the top of an impressive height has never quivered my stomach. It’s a glorious view of the people below coming together to scream their heads off. It almost takes my mind off the click of the roller coaster I am on.
Click. Click. Fear. Relief. Fear. Relief. Fear.
Then a pause as we hang at the top of a 180 feet drop while the anticipation builds. I thought looking down 85 degree decline would trigger some unknown anxiety once we got there but the reality is that I am ready to fly.
The locks release and we accelerate to 72 miles an hour. The roller coaster twists us, change directions and never shows us what is coming next. I can’t control what is coming out of my mouth.
A month later, I’m driving a tiny economy rental car through the mountains near Golden, Colorado. I’m fairly certain that the decription on the Avis website would read “Clown Car”. Most people rent an SUV for the mountains. Apparently, I rent clown cars.
The GPS says turn right at the next intersection. I hesitate because this road seems more like a dirt driveway than the shortest route to Golden Gate Canyon State park. A dirt road in the mountains could end up anywhere. Like throwing a Jackson down on black number six, I decisively drive ahead into the mountains. On a dirt road. In a clown car.
At first, I’m just driving along hoping that the GPS signal stays strong enough to guide me back to civilization sometime before my flight leaves that evening. However, after a while, I note the washed out narrow ditch is a good 3 to 4 feet below the “edge” of the road, and I begin hoping that a tow truck will be able to get to me in time for me to make my evening flight. I throw a Grant on red number 33 as I press on thinking that I will turn this car around at anytime I feel like the road isn’t safe enough to proceed, provided I’m smart enough to recognize it in time and tire of the gamble.
After another five miles driving the clown car down the narrowing washed out dirt road, I pulled onto the paved main road. I glanced over my shoulder at the mountain side and once again I cannot control what comes out of my mouth. I laugh semi-hysterically for a good 30 seconds.
Holy Shit! How the hell am I not sideways in a washed out ditch?
The laughing reminds me of my uncontrollable laughter on the roller coaster rides a month earlier. In both instances, I am euphoric because I have just broken Murphy’s Law.