Merida Revisited

Almost a year after we first came to Merida as part of our sabbatical (I have settled on calling it sabbatical, everything else, e.g. six-month vacation or tour halfways around the globe, or extended trip just sound way too luxurious, especially in light of the current economic situation. "Sabbatical" at least implies some type of work or study) we are back for another mini-sabbatical or poor-economy sabbatical - just three weeks ;-)

We all worked hard over the last six months, including Max who's English has gotten much better and who has pretty much managed reading in both German and Spanish (still slow, but what do you expect from a 4-year old) and so we decided - against better judgement and the backdrop of a tanking economy that we would go after all. Life is cheap in Merida, we decided, we can have lunch or dinner at the food stalls of Santiago Parque for $10 between the three of us, which seems to be the price of a pound of coffee or a loaf of bread plus a bit of butter at Safeway these days. I guess we have become Americans after all - casting aside our frugal European roots and engaging in a bit of dancing on the volcanoe just before it is about to erupt.


I was curious about how it would feel to get back, familiar, strange, new, old, interesting, exciting, none of the above? It is actually hard to tell for me because I was sick and tired (literally) when getting here but since then it has been fun to rediscover Merida. I think it is fair to say that no revolutionary changes have happend since we left in mid-February for India. Little differences we noticed: there seem to be somewhat more renovated houses around - but maybe we just gotten more used to some of the delapidation around us and so it doesn't register as much anymore. There seem to be fewer "Se Vende" signs on houses, last time around, every other house seem to be on sale, now I'd say no more than 20%. We were obviously speculating why that is: less sellers, or fewer buyers so people just took those, which have not been moving forever off the market. A new law seems to be going into effect on Jan. 1 subjecting foreigners who sell their houses to a 28% capital gains tax - which will probably put a big damper on the desire and ability of foreign house owners to sell them after Jan 1.

The Meridians are a jolly as ever, we went to the Zocalo last night - a normal Monday evening - and found it buzzing with people, vendors, musicians (unforunately of the pan flute type), kids playing, lovers smooching, families milling about - if anything it was even bussier than when we were last here.

We got here on Christmas day and for this first week Pamela was staying with us. We had a few adventures together the biggest being exploring Campeche, the capital of the Mexican state by the same name. It is one of the three states that makes up the Yucatean peninsula, together with Yucatan and Quintana Roo (where Cancun is). According to all accounts Campeche is a beautiful little town and an UNESCO World Heritage site. I had really wanted to go there last time around but somehow four weeks proved to be too short for the trip. So this time it was high on the list and since Pamela wanted to see it as well we took off Saturday for a two night trip.
And, indeed, it was lovely. Little colonial houses in all colors of the rainbow plus all pastels conceivable to mankind plus a few others I don't have names for. In the center of town a big iglesia, busy with people, a wedding going on on Saturday night, people out and about, kids playing with the square closed for cars on Saturday and Sunday and the big old wall around town that successfully kept the pirates out for centuries. We staid at a nice hotel, eat at a very nice seafood restaurant that was very kid-friendly on top of everything. The weather was warm but not overly hot and so the idea of moving to Campeche crossed our minds more than once.
From there we went to explore Edzna, another big historic Mayan temple site and found out very soon what the weak spot of Campeche is: street signs. But the huge detour, the illegal U-y across a grassy middle lane and the dent to the rental where worth it, Edzna was definitely worth the trip although Max kept whining that he really wanted to go to Uxmal instead. (in Max's world nothing is worth trying for the first time, only things that have been done before - by us - are worth doing).
Sunday night Pamela took Max out for "bread and games" while Uli and I walked through town (carefully peeking around corners to avoid bumping into them) and eventually had another nice dinner at the seafood restaurant, this time without constantly checking whether somebody is about to pull the tablecloth off the table, screams on top of his lungs or borrows his fingers to the knuckles in his nose (a new obsession).
A really nice scene was going on on the central square (typically, that was the only time in the week since we got here that I leaft the house without my camera - we were just going to have dinner and it is dark outside anyway ...): tables were set up and around them clustered large groups of little old local ladies (mainly) playing Bingo with old boards with numbers and symbols and glass thingies like the ones sometimes used in flower vases to fill up the bottom to mark the numbers they had. In front was a table with the "lotteria" lady who would use a megaphone type thing to call out the number she had drawn out of an old and odd contraption and everybody would go to work busily and place their glass thingies. The winner eventually called "lotteria" and the games was over. I could have staid and watched for hours but Pamela and Max were just around the corner playing mini-golf (that is Max was on all fours doing - something - and Pamela stood by looking a little puzzled from afar) and since Max hadn't spotted us jet it was wiser to make a quick exit.
Now we are back in Merida, its New Year's Eve and despite everything we heard or assumed the city is dead quiet. We had expected and gone as far as promised Max a big fiesta with fireworks and dancing on the Zocalo, tons of fun and opportunities to play with kids and bewitch little old ladies but nada, nothing. The Zocalo was extermely quiet, most stores are closed and several people we talked to told us that this is family day. Many people seem to be celebrating in Progresso on the beach and here we walked through completely deserted streets. All a little puzzling to me, they never skip an opportunity to celebrate here - and now this.
So it is Margaritas at home and surely Jan 5 and 6 - the birthday of Merida - will be celebrated in a big way with musica und bailar, comida typica de Yucatan y fuego artificial (fire works). It better - we already promised Max to make up for the disappointment.

Back in Sunnyvale

In this last post of the Travel Adventures with the Tool-Kid blog I am going to try and explain how it feels to be back in Sunnyvale, back at the place that Max still wonders about - as in "This is our home?"

We returned in the middle of the night. Uli's friend Andy picked us up at the airport which was very fortunate and helped a lot given that neither of us really knew what time it was - actually and in our bodies. Max had been really great, he actually slept voluntarily on both flights, just sort of curled up on top of us, closed his eyes, and fell asleep. I guess he has become such a traveling veteran that he doesn't find flying exciting enough anymore to stay awake. Needless to say that both flights - from Vienna to Chicago and from Chicago to SFO - were just absolutely awful. On both flights every last seat was taken so when Max slept we were either standing in the aisle or he was lying on top of us which - trust me - can get pretty uncomfortable after three hours. I learned that one can't sit on the floor in a plane, I got up so Max could stretch out and had that silly notion that by the door in the back I could just sit, cross-legged and read a book for a bit but - oh no - that is against regulations: one has to stand. So I crouched down and - you guessed it - that wasn't allowed either. Seems like ones butt has to have a certain clearance from the ground - everything else is forbidden. In Chicago we had one of these "delayed incoming flight" thingies going and 94 people on the stand-by list. We started with about 2 hours delay after sitting for at least one hour on the tarmac - an all time favorite of mine.

But we eventually made it back in one piece. Only the bag we got in India which accompanied us on Indian planes and trains as well as on European planes, trains, cars and busses and survived all of that in very good shape got destroyed on the very last leg of the trip between O'Hare - where we cleared customs and it was still okay - and SFO. No surprise really, that's when the United Airlines people took over, carelessly dragging it around by one handle thereby ripping the top apart.

As an aside, United Airlines accomplished something rather rare, 10 years ago I was a loyal customer. I'd fly United even if it cost a little more, they were my airline and I liked them. Now I hate them, I hate them with a vengenance and if there is anything I could do to make live miserable for them I would. The managed in a few short years to turn me from a loyal customer into an enemy. That is not a small accomplishment! Those kids at O'Hare dragging bags around with the most bored expression possible - taking obvious pride in being as destructive as humanly possible without using outright violence or putting knives or explosives to the baggage they are entrusted with - convinced me again that the golden rule of flying is to avoid any and all American airlines (and United in particular) if you can at all help it and if this means stopping over in Karachi it is probably worth doing.

Anyway, here we were back in our house that really didn't look much like ours mainly because all out personal stuff was still stored away and also because it feels strange to return after such a long time and find that things are essentially the same but just not quite. I opened the cupboard without looking wanting to take a glass out but wait, where the glasses used to be are now the bowls and where the bowls used to be are now the plates and what is the cheese grinder doing next to the wok? I am sure there are very good reasons for storing the cheese grinder next to the wok and it is a perfectly legit thing to do - I just can't imagine ever doing it.

Then we started the search for Max's bed which I found pretty quickly but his blanket remains unaccounted for to this day. I know I will find it in some unlikely place and then I will remember how I put it there thinking that I will never forget that I put the blanket in - say - the freezer and promised myself that I would never forget that I stored it in such an ingenious place.

The first week was all about putting stuff away and doing necessary repairs and modifications (the grass-green wall in the walk-in closet would fall in that category and - in case you wondered - it looks awesome). We slowed down quite a bit by now and so there is still chaos abound but at least the clothing is organized, the kitchen sort of and the bathroom mainly. Don't ask about my office and don't even think about asking about the garage.

The first week was full of surprises of the not so good kind. I knew about the gas prices, about $4.50 per gallon and therefore almost 4 times as much as in 1999 when I came here, but I wasn't prepared for the 50 - 100% price increases in other products. My trip to the farmer's market prooved eye-opening: the bretzels I used to buy at the German bakery used to cost $1. A bit much but okay as a once a week acknowledgement of my German heritage. Now the same darn things are $1.75 and with that 75% price increase in just 6 month they are off the shopping list. I will miss then dearly but I am not crazy - bretzels I'll eat next when I am back in Germany. Then there was the visit at Max's favorite Chinese Dim Sum place ("oh, yummy, spinach!" form my child who would rather die than eat an ounce of spinach at home). This is how it used to work: we drive there and by the time we entered the parking lot I would jump out of the car and with no regard to good manners or bodily injury to others or myself bolt into the place pushing people aside as I run. I would run up to the counter and from afar start screaming something like "table for three" or just "three!". At this point they would hand me a small piece of paper with a number scribbled on it, generally something like 57 or 83. Then I would wait, eventually Uli and Max would join and we would hear them call "number 24, party of 4" or something like it. Eventually 57 or 83 would be called and we'd get a table. So, this time I did just that, jump out of the car, run to the counter, yell "party of three" and the hostess looked at me a bit strange and said "follow me". I was like "did I hear this correctly? Follow her where?" but she was already marching into through dining room and pointed at a table in the back. I said: "I don't like that table, I want another one up front" and she said "just give me a second" and indeed by the time Uli and Max arrive three seconds later I was already seated at a different table, tea being served and the Dim Sum ladies with her carts where upon me. The explanation came later when it turned out that the lunch which would have cost us maybe $25 six month ago now was $37. Ticker-shocked we vouched to eat at home more frequently!
Max is back at Nelly's and still really likes going there. There are a couple of boys his age now which I am very happy about. I felt for a while that he needed more peers and now he has got them. His Spanish has unfortunately disappeared but seems to be coming back all right although Nelly told me on Friday that my little Latino who used to speak perfect accent-free Spanish ("Max no tiene accento") now speaks with a noticable German accent. The rolling Spanish "r" has become the German in-the-back-of-the-throat "r". We'll be working on that!
By now we are sort of moved back in - boxes still everywhere. The initial enthusiasm for cleaning has dwindled to a trickle especially since I have started working on a consulting assignment and I have to admit developing a strategy for a company beats cleaning the floors or putting underwear away any day. We are back but I still wonder whether we are home. I love our Eichler house but the sterility of the Californian suburbs is getting to me: no real city centers, one has got to drive everywhere and everything is so darn far. But no matter where you go it sort of all looks the same: gas stations, Home Depots, car dealerships, a million little Indian, Thai, Chinese, and Japanese restaurants (all of which I love) in faceless buildings, shopping malls - by now emptier than I have ever seen them because even the last person seems to have understood that they need to save money and stop spending more than they make on a regular basis. I miss walking to the center like we did in Merida, Florence, Kochi, Sevilla, Malaga, Konstanz, Vienna, and Graz where there are people walking, shopping, eating in outside restaurants, hanging out and playing in the parks. I miss old buildings, good bike paths, houses that aren't a mumbo-jumbo of French Country mixed with Hacienda and a bit of Old English castle thrown in for good measure (the Eichler buildings like ours being the exception to that).
I find myself checking flights, mainly to Merida because I really liked it there and because its the closest from here. Predictably the prices are crazy right now and so this is just day dreaming. In my head I have started to plan the next "sabbatical" - I have never been to Istanbul and really would like to see more of Eastern Europe, especially Albania, then there is Laos and South Africa and Namibia, Chile, more of Central America .....
If it ever comes to that I will let you know. Until that time: Good-bye, Tschuess, Ciao, Hasta Luego, Pinne Kanam (Malayalam), Servus and So Long.

The Internet Black Hole Called Austria

Okay, so I owe you about three weeks worth of blogs - it turned out that Austria is so not happening when it comes to Internet access. All during our time in the countryside we didn't have access with the exception of one 30 minute period where the neighbor must have turned his router. I was exstatic announcing "Ladies and Gentlemen, we have Internet access" to Jasi and Uli but no sooner had I said that and blissfully started surfing it was gone again. Looks like the guy turned it on long enough to do his biweekly email check and then turned the router off again right away to conserve energy (we are talking Europeans here). Graz was hopeless altogether - no internet access at all, nada, nothing, not even an unsecured connection out there in our little hotel. A smokey Internet cafe down the street was all there was to be had. In Vienna we actually did have Internet access at our friends' place but we were there for such a short time that I just didn't have the the leisure of sitting down and write.
No we are back - I can't believe it - but more about that later. First a quick summary of the Austrian experience.
Austria was the most travel-intensive of our locations mainly because Uli wanted to cram a lot into the four week period and secondly because it really isn't such a great idea to stay in Fohnsdorf, his home village, for too long. I really get along with the in-laws fine but a week is enough, after that I can't guarantee for anything. So we did what we always do in Fohnsdorf, took little hikes, went to the local shopping mall, visited a few old churches, ate too much stuff that by no stretch of imagination can be called healthy, hang out with Uli's brothers and parents and ate cake at Tante Gerti's - and this time around we had the added "fun" of watching soccer.
Then, for one week, we stayed in a wooden cabin in a remote valley (well, as remote as things get in tiny Austria) called Johnsbachtal. Imaging "Sound of Music" if you are an American and imagine picturebook Alps if you have never heard of "Sound of Music" and there you have it: high, impressive, ragged mountains, green lush valley with little river, morning mist and evening Alpen glow. Old farm houses, a small church, six to eight restaurants, a small store with the wackiest opening hours and in the middle of all of that idyll our little cabin.
I have to say it is really cool to wake up, walk outside the cabin and look at a bunch of imposing mountains in all sorts of conditions - from sunshiny blue sky to grey, dark, cloudy dangerous skies but after a week I was ready to reenter society. We used the week well, though, I did three hikes none of which I thought I could do as easily as I did. I wasn't even particulalry sore after the couple of 2400 feet plus climbs and the really long hike I took with Jasi where we didn't climb all that much but covered a lot of ground. But Max had the best time of all of us thanks to the farmer and his 24/7 open door policy on the tool shop. You have no idea how many dangerous and therefore exciting things there are in a farmers tool-shop and how many others can be declared dangerous, explosive or otherwise impressive by an imaginative 4 year old. The other bonus was a tiny little cabin, not more than 15 square feet in front of the cabin. It had a chair, little table, cup and plate and a few other things and was declared promptly to be the exclusive property of Max. We grown-ups had to come visit and were served tea (imaginary), salad (grass), cake (stones or so), and the famos but entirely made up "trauberries" - a delicacy of Johnsbachtal. We three grown-ups took turns and each had countless teas every day while Max was talking away like only 4 year olds can - without a break, free flow of consciousness and no regard to the boredom of everybody else around.
As much fun as it was after a week of idyllic remoteness I was ready to face society again.
I was ready for houses, streets, cars and the occasional restaurant that serves something other than Styrian specialties (pork, pork and a bit of beef for a change served with small slivers of tomatos and yummy but serious baked desert, e.g. pancakes with jam and powdered sugar)
The third week in Austria we spent in Graz. Graz is the second largest town in Austria with a whopping 250,000 people but it is interesting beyond its size. It was the Culture Capital of Europe for 2003 and it shows: the architecture is an interesting mixture of old and super-modern. I totally love it: those palaces and historic buildings right next to something glass-metal modern I find creatively stimulating. One of the places I saw and really am intrigued with is an artificial island in he middle of the river (the “Mur”), its made of steel and glass in the shape of a mussel. It houses a cafe plus play area for the kids and is light in neon blue at night - cool! Then there is the modern art museum: I looks like a UFO, others say it looks like a model of a stomach and I guess it is a bit of both - totally organic shaped with little nubs sticking out, green glass with light circles flashing at night. I can understnd if one doesn't like it but one has to admire the guts and the vision with which that building was put next to the Mariahilfer Church, the historic houses and ubiquitos restaurants. I happend to like these things - every age has its style and we are looking at cities now and see buildings from many different centuries, why not add a 21st century flavor to it as well? Anyway, as always we walked around a lot, climbed the steep stairs up to the watch tower (pretty much the only thing left from the formerly proud castle which was destroyed by Napoleon - because he could), went to playgrounds, walked some more, met some friends and relatives of Uli's etc. At the pace we are used to go by now a week was over in a blink of an eye and before I knew it Jasi was gone back to Germany and we packed our suitcases and made our way to the train station and on the train to Vienna.
I have only once been to Vienna for any length of time and that was - more years ago than I care to admit and in the dead middle of a hard winter. So my memories were of theathers. museums, frozen feet, coffee houses and not much else. In fact, I didnn't like it at all then and was never very eager to come back. Coming in the middle of summer, though, was entirely different. Everybody is outside, parks and cafes are full of people, the ubiquitous tourists are everywhere, street artists are out in force by the "Steffl", Vienna's main cathedral. We had very little time but managed to squeeze a lot in: a walk through the city, a bbq with friends, a nice dinner, an afternoon at the Danupe (Max and Uli, me: another walk through the city), a tour of the wine bars - and all of that in like two days.
And then the day which I though wouldn't, just couldn't, come arrived and we were on our way to the airport with six carefully packed and weighed (not to exceed 50 pounds) pieces of luggage. Six months had just flown by and up until the time we landed in SFO in the dead of the night almost 24 hours later (including the usual delay in O'Hare) I didn't believe that our "great trip" - as we had started to call it - was over.

Day of reckoning with the Garlic Mafia

Today Uli and I went hiking while Jasi looked after Max. As I realized on the way up it was my first longish hike since before Max was born that means in a really long time. About 2600 feet of altitude gain is nothing to sneeze about especially when the route actually is fairly short and therefore steep with a capital S. If I do say so myself: I did better than anticipated, even had a little sprint at the end – where the cabin plus restaurant awaited us and on the way down heard the magic words from Uli: “Would you please slow down.” Yippee! Now, I could bore you with a detailed descriptions of the mountains, trees, plants and animals we saw, with geological or geographical details and such like but instead I am going to tell you about the big complot I realized is happening worldwide, but especially in Europe. Let me preface the story by saying that it is a well-known fact that work-outs bring out aggressions and also tend to have unpleasant and long forgotten bad feelings, experiences and prejudices boil up. The good thing is that work-outs are a good way of dealing with all that unpleasantness in a non-self-destructive way and, normally, once one gets off the treadmill or mountain that episode from 15 years back with the a…. of a boss is no longer a mind-consuming incident.
So after hiking up steep inclines for the better part of 2.5 hours and a quick early lunch in the restaurant and a quick descend half ways downs the mountain I realized that the garlic mafia is trying to vilify non-garlic eaters like myself in a major fashion. I do not eat raw garlic, it makes me feel hung-over without being even close to a class of booze, it leaves this disgusting feeling in my mouth and generally makes me feel slightly sick. So, years ago, I forsake the doubtful pleasure of eating raw or half-raw or almost cooked or more-or-less cooked garlic. I have, in addition, a hard time dealing with people who smell of garlic. It just really doesn’t smell that good, right. Sounds like a big deal to you? Not to me, at least not initially, but I have learned that it is a big deal; “big” in the sense of major. If somebody tells you casually over dinner that he/she doesn’t like sage or basil or fried chicken feet is that a big deal? No, nobody would think less of you for not liking sage or chicken feet and nobody would assume that something is fundamentally wrong with you – physically and psychologically, or both – if you told them that cumin just doesn’t sit well with you. Try this with garlic, I dare you, especially in the “alternative/ecologically-minded” circles in Europe and the effect couldn’t be more devastating if you had just announced to everybody that you slept with the hostess’ husband, despise puppies and kittens, and regularly eat endangered animals. You get this “oh my God she is such a wuss”-look, this “spoiled city-brad who despises the way of the real people”, this “does she think she is something better than us” look. Nobody ever believes you that your stomach just wasn’t meant to deal with raw stinky stuff, that your mouth feels rotten after eating it and that – strangely enough – you enjoy neither feeling. However, everybody assumes that you are faking it, that in reality you just feel superior to the common man, that you can’t take the raw and untamed power of garlic and that somehow that it is all in your mind and if you just gave up your evil or stupid ways and embraced the more enlightened path of the common garlic eater everything would be just dandy. You think I am overdoing it? Just another of Tina’s hyperboles! Hell, no. Have you ever heard of people who smuggle peanuts into the food of their peanut-allergic friends? Well, there were cases described on CSI and such like but generally the word used for people displaying such behavior isn’t “friend”, but more like “enemy”. I can’t count the number of times where people – with a smirk in their face like they just accomplished something real clever - said something like “I heard you do not like (nobody ever says “that you have a bad reaction to”) garlic but I smuggled one in the salad dressing/pasta sauce/dip anyway. Do I always realize it on the first whiff? No - ask your peanut-allergic friend whether he/she always notices milligrams of peanuts in every food and I guarantee you the answer is “no”, else CSI wouldn’t have a storyline. But I sure do notice when I wake up at night, feel like I had about a dozen shots of cheap tequila and my mouth tastes like something big and furry died in there – a while ago.
I hope you are not looking at me for an explanation. I am puzzled, I don’t get when, why and how eating garlic ever became the hallmark of a good, decent, grounded person. Why garlic, why not coriander, curry, chilly? Does its stinkiness have something to do with it? Is it the ultimate test of love and commitment? Is it sort of like the wedding vows but instead of “in good and in bad days, in health and in sickness” ”it is “after champagne or five gloves of garlic, wearing Chanel or ‘Eau de Garlic’”? I, for one, am sick of it: sick for justifying that I do not eat that stuff (raw) when it is okay that everybody else doesn’t eat pork or fish or horse radish or butter or anything red or gummi bears, pears, soy sauce, snow peas, …. Henceforth I will just simple say: “I hate the stuff. It tastes like s… and it stinks. Now take that!” The effect will be the same but at least I will feel good about it.
So, that was going through my mind as I descended from the mountains amidst trees and flowers, gurgling creeks and waterfalls, surrounded by butterflies and alpine mammals the rugged grayness of the Austrian Alps rising another 3000 foot around me. I guess I should work out more often to reach such profound, life-changing decisions.
P.S. The farmer has Internet access but unfortunately does the router not work with it and also are they holding a close second position to Greislye when it comes to virus infection. Uli found on a first sweep almost 200 viruses and spyware – no wonder it takes about 10 minutes to open Explorer.

Austria here we are

Last Sunday Jasi and I took the long drive to Fohnsdorf, Uli's hometown in Styria. It's isn't all that far as the crow flies but then there are the Alps - sort of in the middle of everything - and a large detour up to Munich then down to Salzburg and then down south and East along the Mur-Valley. It was a nice drive but - predictably - as we got closer to Fohnsdorf it started raining. That was predictable because I haven't spent a single day in that village over four or five years now when it didn't rain, literally. All everybody ever told me was: "we had such great weather last week, last month, sometime in the past" - didn't help me much as I was sitting there, freezing at like 12 degress Celsius in drizzle or worse pouring rain with a toddler who was taking the in-law's apartment apart out of sheer boredom. And, unfortunately, there are many things in this apartment a toddler can destroy by just looking at it crossly.

We were, though, sort of lucky this time. It hasn't really rained hard since we got here and yesterday it didn't rain at all, it didn't even look like it was going to rain - best day here ever.

So, what did we do? Honestly, there isn't all that much to do here. It's a village of 8,000 people who's claim to fame is that it it Europe's largest village (I guess, I have to read up on the technical definition of the term "village") - and that is it. Being a former coal-mining village, located in a broad valley, it lacks the typical Austrian-steep-valley-and-mountains charm in fact it is more like little Liverpool in Austria. The people are friendly but hard to understand. After many years of practice I can manage more or less okay but once they get started in their local dialect all bets are off. For one they don't want their vowles to be lonesome and so pretty much every vowel gets a companion. To me it often seems random but I am sure there is some method to the madness. Let me give you an example: nice or gentle or cute is "lieb" (pronounced like "leeb") but in Styria it is "liab". Can't have a lonesome "i" now, can you and the "e" doesn't count as it isn't pronounced therefore let's throw and "a" in. "o" seem to get a companion-a as well, the "u's" get "o's" and so forth, and then there are the exceptions. Conversely, diphthongs tend to get divorced - just for the heck of it. Just think of what they make of the name of a nearby town called Leoben! To my horror my little one has started to pick up certain idiosyncracies of the language. It is amazing with what ease he says the most difficult vowel minglings which I, honestly, just can't pronounce. Not sure, though, whether I like him running around screaming: "soa a woahnsiann" ("such craziness" a comon saying meaning everything for "this is starck raving mad" to "this is phantastic").

We got here just in time to see Austria loose to Germany during the European soccer championship. Everybody knew that this was the very likely outcome but hopes run high that there would be a miracle, that God himself would intervene on behalf of the underdog. Well, seems like he/she was busy doing something else and so Austria lost, albeit not spectacularly, to Germany. To be on the safe side I had parked our car with German license plates off the street but the Fohnsdorfer took it all in good humor and Dad's car survived untouched. The locals I talked to before the match were in fact accutely aware of the hopelessness of the situation. The busdriver whom I had a conversation with actually recommended that the Austrian team would do better "knitting than kicking" (makes little sense in English but is kind of a cute rhym in German "besser stricken als kicken"). That didn't deter the fans, in fact pretty much the whole nation from showing up in the publich viewing spaces called "fan miles" (large screen TV's, lots of beer) dressed in red and white, with red and white face paint and red and white wigs. Sort of cute how grown men tend to make complete idiots out of themselves when it comes to black-and-white balls.

We visited the local coal mining museum with Opa, who used to work in the pit before the whole operation was closed down some time in the late 70s or early 80s. As usual Max got to sit in places and operate machines and levers other kids don't ever get to touch. I have to admit that the actual pit was a very uncomfortable place: predicatbly tight and low and narrow but also cold when we all had expected it to be warmer down there. I guess we just weren't close enough to the center of the earth yet to feel the heat. Must have been a real sucker of a job, especially in the early days when they did everything by hand and kids - who from the pictures didn't look more than eight years old - where working alongside the men.
Jasi and I took a couple of trips to the local shopping mall but having such limited suitcase space really takes the fun out of shopping. Everytime I see something nice I have to wonder where the heck I am going to fit it and by and large the answer is "nowhere" and so the sale ain't happening.
Other than that there is a lot of sleeping going on, naps in the afternoon and such like. Last night we where outright debauched when between Jasi, Elisabeth (my sister in law) and myself we drank a bottle of Prosecco and two bottles of something that I am reluctant to admit I ever tasted for fear that everybody will think that I lost my mind but so be it: it was some very strange concoction of some type of bubbly alcohol with fruit juice, sugar and yoghurt (yeah, that ain't a typo), it was opaque and came in the beautiful colors of purple (blueberry), red (strawberry) and orange (peach) - the last one we refused to even taste. For somebody who likes her champaign super-dry with a slight yeasty note this would by no stretch of imagination count as a beverage of choice. But, when in Rome do as the Romans.
While we were drinking and chatting Germany scored a surprise victory over Portugal, the clear favorite in this match. We didn't watch the game but Elisabeth's son provided updates on the goals the German's scored and the Portuguese living across the street made sure we knew about the goals the Portuguese scored. Tonight Croatia, Jasi's home country, is playing Turkey for a spot in the semi-finals and so Opa and Jasi are watching while I am writing. I am getting a huge dose of soccer after all and I might want to add: it just started raining.

Tomorrow we will leave for the boonies, that is that remote valley with cabin that Uli selected for our second week in Austria. Allegedly the farmer who's cabin we are renting has high-speed internet access - how the times have changed! So there will be updates from nowhere, or rather Jonsbachtal, a place pretty unknown to humankind in the remote parts of upper Styria.

Leaving Germany

Tomorrow it is time to leave Konstanz for Austria. The last leg of the sabbatical is finally upon me - I can't believe that next month this time we will be back in Sunnyvale, Max will be speaking Spanish again, we'll be hanging around the pool, shop at Safeway, and work. Strange. When we took of on January 19 I somehow thought that these six month will never come to an end, it seemed too remote a possiblity, too much was lying between us and July. But now its almost there. I am thinking about the next one ....
The last week was busy, lots of last minute stuff to take care of. Family business, last visits with friends, things to buy, places to go, people to meet. Some of the things I had planned on doing ever since I arrived but sort of deluded myself into believeing that I had all that time left and finally the last week was there and it was now or never.
I took a bunch of bike rides around Konstanz, visited places I spent a lot of time when I still lived here. I took my rides in the evenings, when the Europrean Championship soccer games where on and the streets where empty, park benches available where normally butts are piled three deep and an unusual quiet prevailed - unless somebody scored a goal. It was interesting to see how in some sense I was remote controlled: I took roads and paths without thinking about why and where they are taking me, then remembering that, yes, this is where we used to BBQ during highschool and this is where Jasi and I used to ride around on summer afternoons, and - man - this road was closed to bikes even back then I simply forgot and now I am stuck.
I also visited the university where I spent nine years of my life and got my Ph.D. That was the stragest trip down memory lane. The bike path is slightly different from back in the days, all the students have cell phones and wear different cloths and haircuts but once one is in front of the main entrance it is like a time wormhole - all of a sudden I am back 15 years . I entered and walked around gingerly almost dreamlike: the same floor, the same beat up signs, the same bookstore, the same posters (or at least they sort of looked the same), the same color scheme. I could have closed my eyes and walked right towards the biology building, up the stairs and to the elevator. But I didn't - I walked with my eyes wide open in amazement and disbelief down the stairs, right over by the coffee shop (used to be a bank - so big change), around the corner, through the door and up the stairs again towards the biology tower. The only thing that had really changed was that the downstairs woman's bathroom - the one I had be counting on using - was removed in favor of something useless that I do not remember. I visited my old lab, especially my Ph.D.adviser - now retired but still in his old office. It has been 15 years since I last worked in a lab and - honestly - I haven't missed that work a minute since I put that pipette down and run my last DNA sequencing gel in 1993. All the more weird it was to be back and feel like I had just been there recently and could just pick up that slab gel (nobody does slab gels anymore) and run down to the dark room to develop it. It was very nice, though, to catch up and get the story on my colleagues from back then and what they are doing now.
Today, my last day, my parents and I went back to the island of Reichenau to the local fleamarket. It is tiny tiny compared to the Konstanz fleamarket but nevertheless it was fun. And I have to admit that all the restraint I showed at the Konstanz fleamarket was absent today and so I bought a few things, some of which will have to remain here for the time being. we bought a little bike for Max's next visit, a coat for Dad, a coat for me, a pair of orange suede boots, bunches of books (it is raining in Austria and it is cold and so I thought that I better take some stuff to read for those long gray afternoon) and a few more odds and ends (let's not talk about it).
So now my bags are packed but I am not sure I am ready to leave. Sure I want to see Uli and Max again and am looking forward to meeting them tomorrow evening but I could stay a bit longer, do some of the things I somehow didn't manage to do in five weeks.
Apparently we will have Internet access in Austria so stay tuned for news from the Alps!

So idyllic

Sometimes I think I am in a "Heimatfilm" (Leo translation: sentimental film with regional background) - think "Sound of Music" the most famous Austrian movie that no Austrian has ever seen and most haven't even heard of - and yesterday was just such a day.

After spending the morning trying to get some decent prints of flower pictures done so my mom can make a greeting card set for a friend's birthday we took of around midday to visit a friend of theirs in a small Swiss lakeside town. What sounded like a boring outing to me turned out to be a melodramatic, "Heimatfilm" worthy story or even a multipart soap which enfolded right in front of my very eyes. Here is the setting (I changed the names, as all "real writers" seem to do that and found that it isn't at all easy to come up with fitting names for everybody):

Actors:

Patriach of the family: Fritz, 90 years old and still very much with it but somewhat handicapped due to a recent stroke. Former profession: fisherman.

His son Hans, also fisherman, rugged, early fifties, married with 4 (grown-up) kids

Hans' wife: generally considered being "not so nice", rough, tough, greedy, etc.

Older brother: very successful, rich doing "something important" living right next door in a huge house with his Asian wife (scandal!), also considered being "not so nice".

Emilia: Joseph's caretake, 25 year old blondie from Slovakia with very little interest in ever returning there and all the more interest in Hans.

Hildegard: Fritz's "girl-friend", a youthful 80 years old, from northern Germany who speaks immaculate German among all the Swiss and fits into the setting - as we say in Germany - like a "fist in your face".

Location: little village near Arbon, Switzerland, old large house with shed and boat landing right by the lake as in: if you set out the front door too energetically you'll fall into the lake.

The story:

Fritz, being as stuborn as only 90 year-olds can be, wants to remain in his house but can't manage by himself anymore. Emilia enters the scene like a fresh breath of air to take care of Fritz. With the recklesness of the youth and the nonchalance of diction of those who speak a language well enough to be dangerous but aren't fluent, she mixes things up for everybody. Soon she falls for Hans and he, well, quite apparently has a bit of a crush on her, too, despite the fact that she is probably younger than some of his kids. Hans's wife, quite obviously, isn't pleased with the development especially the part where Emilia - quite openly - suggests to Hans to leave his wife and marry her. Hans's wife starts to make life difficult for Emilia at every turn in a quiet, conniving kind of way. Mind you, if I was the wife I would have thrown her out of the house in three seconds flat, but that would evoke too much of a scandal. Eventually Emilia, who really doesn't want to return to her home country and seems to really want to stay close to Hans, suggests that Fritz, who is a bit too old to be her grandfather, marries her so she can stay - and take care of him and be close to Hans. Hildegard isn't please but is lady enough not to take such foolheartedness (is that a word?) serious. Hans's wife now goes about to kill two birds with one stone: Fritz has to go to the old-folks home, ideally a bit further away so he can't come visit all the time, Emilia - superfluous now - will have to leave the country never to return, and the old big house is finally available for Hans and his wife to move in and live according to their rank and status in a house, not an apartment. Fritz isn't fond of the plan, obviously, and I hope he will fight it a bit longer, but his chances are slim. Emilia will have to leave in August, unless she finds someone in a hurry who will marry her. I think she has already started proposing to Fritz's friends from the local old-folks home. Hans is keeping quiet and isn't taking sides overtly, his wife has been bickering for 20 years that she wants to have the big old house and has been making his life difficult over Emilia (with whom, I am pretty sure from the look of it, he didn't have anything serious going on, and I am good at spoting that kind of stuff, if I do say so myself). Being the quiet type he just wants to avoid confrontation, especially with his wife, and keep on fishing and enjoying the modest pleasures of life - whatever that may be in his case.

So this whole little melodrama enfolded and we were watching and sometimes drawn into it on the periphery. Hans's wife was trying to pump my mom for information about what Fritz was saying about being pushed off into the old-folks home. My father and I were chaperones when we went out with Hans - and Emilia-to bring out the fishing nets. Normally Emilia isn't allowed to go on the boat with Hans anymore - something untoward could happen there on the lake but with the two of us joining Hans's wife couldn't object without making a scene. Emilia used the opportunity to flirt with Hans who wasn't too annoyed by it. I took pictures, as I always do, some out on the lake with Emilia and Hans posing, Emilia with her arms thrown around Hans. After looking at them at home in the evening my mom decided that they could not be send "regulalry" but had to be send, in a sealed envelop to Fritz who would then, secretly give them to Emilia - and Hans, in order to avoid more upheaval and scenes.

I am eagerly awaiting the resolution of this story but am afraid their won't be a dramatic last minute turn of events like any good old shmaltzy movie would have. Dramatic turn of events aren't for the rational, reasonable and somewhat unimaginative country people of germanic stock.

All of this played out against the backdrop of blue Lake Konstanz with towering, billowing white clouds in the background, little pituresque inlets, villages with ancient houses and churches and a nearing thunderstorm.

It was immensly entertaining. The only thing I feel bad about is Fritz and the old-folks home. That won't be fun for him and we all know what happens to 90 year olds when they are pulled out of their comfortable environs and are put in a place where they don't want to be. The whole little love triangle I just can't take serious. I remember more than one (many more) super-serious, melodramatic, live-or-die scenarios when I was Emilia's age (and older) which all turned out to be, well, minor, in the big scheme of things and would have long been forgotten if it wasn't for my excellent memeory when it comes to unimportant things.

I am thinking about my professional future when I am back in the US. Maybe soap writer wouldn't be such a bad choice now that I have gotten all that real life inspiration.

The actors shall remain faceless but here is the setting:

June weather, migraine, and soccer

Two days of migraine which still lingers kept me from the computer and for about a day from daylight, loud voices, smells and most food. I still feel dizzy and light-headed and sick to my stomach so this will be short to keep the "seasickness" from starting at the screen at bay. Also, this post will be another of those tidbit ones where I just write a few unrelated things - not too much brain-power involved.
Firstly, I increased font size after a bunch of friends told me the other day that they had a hard time reading my blog. I thought the letters where huge, which they of course are - on the writer's screen which I am using. On the reader interface they are indeed a little smallish - so let's try this.
As of today the European soccer championship is upon us. It's been total craziness leading up to it and now we have three dreaded weeks of non-stop talk about soccer, non-stop soccer games, analysis, pre - and after-game talks, interviews, expert opinions (there seem to be people considering being a "soccer expert" a decent profession), and folksy stories about this player or that. An amazing number of people consider this the highpoint of the year, or rather two - until the world championship happens in two years. God, I hate it but I spare you the numerous reasons why I think it disgraceful that whole nations go into collective stupor about a few overpaid guys kicking balls around or drunken idiots taking this as an excuse to kick the shit out of their neighbors across the border. Just a few details: the host nations are Switzerland and Austria - their only chance to ever participate in the championship as the host nations are automatically included in the rooster. Predictably, Swizerland lost their first game today. Next Thursday Germany plays Kroatia (Jasi's birth country) but fortunately neither one of us cares at all about soccer. A week from Monday Germany plays Austria and I am considering to postpone my arrival in Austria until after the game.
An interesting side effect that I have been observing the the sudden emergence of German flags just about everywhere. To put it in context: I grew up in a country where flags were absent. Nobody would have ever dreamt about having a flagpole in the garden, a decal on the car, hats, T-shirts, shorts or bedlinens in the colors black, red and gold. It just wasn't done. National pride didn't exist - the roots of that were certainly to be found in the not so distant future of Germany and the fact that there was nothing to be proud of - quite the opposite (which is, of course, also true for countries like Italy and Japan and a bunch of others which never seemed to have much of an issue with flying flags). So German and the Germans never sported flags and the whole notion of pride in the flag, which is so prevalent in the US, is not just strange but bizzare and absurd to me. Seems like a new generation of Germans has taken an event of such enormous, monumental importance as a European soccer championship as an excuse or at least cause to decide that not just Americans, Swiss, French, Brits and pretty much all the rest of them can fly flags and paint their faces in their national colors but so can they. Do I need to mention that I don't care very much for that newfound national sentiment. I am sure its 99.something % harmless but, pleazze, I really don't need cars driving around with German flags on them and grown men wearing idiotic hats in black, red, gold.
Okay, so now that I have bitched, I got to say something nice as well. So, here we go: since I left more years ago then I care to admit, things in the service industry have changed - notably although not radically (but we are on the way to radically). Let me give you an idea how life for the busy professional used to look like in the mid-90s. One, or rather, I would work, say 50 hour weeks, not much but New York Investment Banking standards but 10 hours more than the rest of them. The stores would open by the time I was in the office and close before the time I was leaving. If I didn't leave the office during lunch break or run out in between and then stay longer there would be no food, or only leaft-overs that day. Saturdays the stores would open from 9 am to 1, maybe 2 pm. So everybody, literally, everybody would stampede into the grocery stores by 10 am and you would spend agonizing hours to buy the supplies for the next week, always forgetting one thing or the other and leaving the frenzied stores tiered and crouchy and the rest of the weekend would be spent recuperating from shopping craziness. Sundays the stores were closed, by law. The saving grace where the gas stations which were open and developed into mini-supermarkets. They were only allowed to sell "travel supplies" a term that got interpreted rather loosly over time including first and foremost every type of alcohol, liquor, booze and beer known to mankind. Breadrolls, chips and gummibears, ice-cream, microwave meals (surely, we all have microwave ovens in our cars), pasta, diary products etc, followed. I made many a trip to the near-by gas station when I lived in Dusseldorf paying premium prices for bad food. Clothing, shoes, furniture and cars could only be bought during vacations, unless one was willing to get up really early on Saturday and try and sqeeze in a grocery run before heading to the furniture store. During those frenzied Saturday hours in particulalry but more generally pretty much always the service was bad with a capital B. Clerks would stand aournd and chat about their weekend plans clearly annoyed by the timid customers asking if they could have "maybe, just in case it doesn't bother you too much and you have nothing better to do" a little help with finding the right whatever they were trying to find. If it was something like a quarter before closing time the answer likely was something like "too late now", "got to come back on Monday", "colleague no longer there", "in the process of shutting down for the weekend and can't possibly be distracted from that most important task right now".
Times are definitely better now. Stores are open much longer, shopping after work is possible and the quality of service has vastly improved: the service personnel is downright friendly. I sometimes catch myself staring at the friendly woman at the butcher's store with an open mouth and utter disbelief unsure whether she is playing a particularily nasty joke on me which I don't get or whether she is just friendlier as she, or any of her peers, ever was. Fact is, though, they have gotten more friendly and shopping would now be real fun - if it wasn't for the exorbitant prices which kind of throw a big fat old money-wrench into everything and suck the fun right out of shopping - again.
Other than that: the weather sucks, typical June weather in Konstanz, it always sucks, May is nice, June sucks and the rest - who knows. I am freezing and the light drizzly rain turns my hair into a curly unruly mess (not of the cute kind).
Max and Uli are leaving tomorrow for Austria and although I am looking forward to sleeping in for the first time in more months than I can remember it will be strange to be away from both of them for a week or so after pretty much spending 24/7 with them for the past five months. Although I am very tempted I will not get into the next chapter of the "expat self-torture" over the advantages and disadvantage of here over there, US vs. old-Europe and such like. If somebody has the definite answer, I'd appreciate a note, though. Now I'll rest my weary head ...

Fleamarket

I think there are basically two types of people: those who love flea markets and those who don't - and I happen to LOVE flea markets. The best flea market ever is the annual flea market in Konstanz which happened Saturday night and Sunday. I started selling stuff there when I was still a kid, with mom and dad of course, later my sister and I sold our stuff and that of various aunts and other relatives and even later I subsidized my extravagant education with selling at this (and other) fleamarkets, mainly stuff that - I am not ashamed to admit - I collected from the trash. We used to have - several times a year - special trash pick-up days for bulky items and everything else that could not be stuffed into a normal garbage can. It was mainly trash but I found quite a few treasures among it over the years which supplemented the summer job income. Over the years the flea market has grown to one of the biggest and most well-known in southern Germany. It starts Saturday evening, continues all night and through Sunday late afternoon. It feels like a gigantic party, hundreds of people selling whatever they don't need any more on foldable tables and blankets plus a few professional antiques dealers who show up with professional looking outfits and sell old dolls, teddybears and all kind of expensive knickknacks. I like the fact that it is a real flea market, for everybody not just antiques dealers and sunglass sellers. The number of people selling new stuff, like sunglasses, T-shirts or jewelry is very limited and they are confined to a defined area the rest is for real flea market stuff. Of course there are bunches of food stands, mainly selling sausages, french fries and beer or cake and coffee, bands playing and room for the kids to sell their toys and books.
We first went Saturday night, well-equipped with headlamps and and covered maybe 1 km worth of stands, looking at this, touching that, asking for prices and negotiating. A couple of books for Max were just too appealing and cheap to pass up and so (unfortunately) the luggage got heavier yet. Antonia got a whole bunch of Barbie dolls with outfits from wedding gown to bicycle shirt and we were very careful to purchase them according to diversity considerations which was hard because the blonde ones dominated the scene by a big margin. The market was packed and sometimes it was hard to even get through and, unfortunately, all the things I really wanted to buy, like nice curtains in just the right size for Jasi's windows, or cheap golden wedding bands (yeah right) weren't available but tons and tons of other stuff. Uli gets tired really soon in such situtaions but they energize me - I could have walked around for many more hours but by 11 pm we called it quits and had a beer.
Next morning Jasi and I were at it again. After five hours and spending most our energy on not buying stuff we really wanted but shouldn't really buy (useless, too heavy, silly, ...) we finally declared victory having purchased one more barbie doll, a coat for Jasi, a few books for Max, as set of silver and gold pencils, an wooden foot of an old manequin (ok, that one is on me, I just couldn't pass it up, too many interior design options came to mind), an ashtray for Jasi's boss, socks and a nice dressy shirt for Max which he will never wear. I have to say I was extraordinarily proud of myself not to have subcumed to teddy bears, more books, knicknacks of all kinds, cheap shoes and other stuff which would have forced me to purchase yet another suitcase. My real booty were a bunch of picture, mainly of flea market still lifes and doll faces. Kind of corny but fun. After 5 hours, a grilled sausage and a "Radler" which is a mixture of beer and Seven-up (yummie, in case you wondered) not even I was ready to continue and so we called it quits. We didn't see more than half of the flea market and I am determined to come back next year at the right time for another invigorating visit of the biggest est flea market ever.
When we got home Max told us about his trip to the flea market with Papa and showed his new possessions: a plastic circular saw - very noisy - and a rosty real saw which somebody gave him and which I haven't yet had the pleasure to examine.
Monday afternoon and evening as well as this afternoon we finally painted Jasi's living room. I am getting to be quite the painter after all the painting I did at home before we left. Unfortunately, very few of my interior design ideas got accepted or even considered although I think of them as very well thought out and extremely useful - I haven't watched that many design shows for nothing. But at least a few pieces of furniture got moved around, a few tossed, although - apparently - Jasi's cat didn't appreciate our efforts one bit and spent Monday night complaining loudly about all the upheaval.
I am getting repetitive here but so does the theme: our time in Konstanz is almost over. Uli and Max will leave on Sunday and I will stay another week and sort out some paper work etc that mysteriously we didn't have time to deal with during the last four weeks (funny how that always happens) and then the last stop of our sabbatical is upon us. In some sense I am looking forward to getting back home to Sunnyvale, our own place, my big computer, the gym, the reliably sunny weather but in another I could keep going or maybe stay here for a while longer. Riding my bicycle back home today, in the light rain, in the grey light after sunset and before total darkness, racing down the few hills and paddling as hard as possible on the inclines - until the muscles burn - I felt exhilerated. Taking my bike around everywhere, all the time, rain or shine or snow is one of the defining memories of childhood and youth. This is how we got around and I had forgotten how fun it is to take your bike everywhere, not to depend on a car, and how free it makes me feel racing down a hill, bent low over the handlebars to minimize air resistance and yell something stupid. I'll miss that in Sunnyvale were bikes are not used for transportation but are precious, super-expensive racing machines only taken out on weekends, driven somewhere by car and then used for showing off and - maybe - serious exercise. Another of those expat agonies. I'll spare you the details,

Visitors

It has been a long while since my last blog and I am just going to "blame" this on my visitors. Sandy camefrom Oakland to visit our little backwaters here and Jutta came from Basel so we almost had a full "girls' night" - or several - going (Pamela, we missed you!) It was nice to have visitors. You know how it is, there are all those places at home (which this still is in some sense) one never visits because they are considered "too touristy" for the locals or one feels like one has seen them a 1000 times just to realize - upon closer inspection - that one really hasn't been there in 20 years and even in a slow-moving environs like here some things change in 20 years. So I got to see the big old castle in Meersburg dating back to the early middelages, take boat trips and walk around the city trying to look at it with the eyes of a stranger - always and enlightning thing to do.
So Jutta and Sandy arrived by train on Sunday and - first things first - had a dinner including white asparagus. They are a specialty of southern Germany and this is the season to eat them. I love the taste and since they are almost impossible to get in the US it is a real treat to have them. They need to be peeled however, which makes them even more special given all the effort that goes into preparing them. I also made the first ever unsupervised Sauce Hollandaise which really wasn't all that difficult. My father still makes a big production out of preparing one but I think now that that is probably all for show and designed to instill awe in us every time he prepares one (only after multiple times of asking, begging and making all sorts of promises about being a good girl henceforth and never leaving the bike outside over night ever again). So we had Spargel dinner and a few too many bottle of "explosion wine" in the garden of our rental apartment which has been named "Kolo-House" by Max.

Uli decided that there were too many girls around so he camped out at Mom's and dad's for the time and the three of us had the apartment to ourselves.
Our first trip took us to the other side of the lake to Meersburg. It's a small village build on a very steep hill right by the lake. Early on the nobelmen (I don't think noble-women had much to say about thelocation of castles in those days) decided that this would be a good defendable position which it was as the castle was never conquered in the over 1000 years of its history. Today it is a museum complete with arms and armors, a tower, prison, torture chamber - which I skipped during the tour, I can't take such stuff (I seriously questioned the wisdom of a couple taking their two kids, maybe 2 and 5 inside and explaining the details of everything to the older - maybe I am a wuss, but that doesn't seem age-adequate and make me think that the whole book-burning-Savanarola story Uli told Max was nothing but a cute little bedtime story). In our serious attempts to learn a lot about southern German early-medivial history we came away mainly with the following lessons: a) people were really short back them judging by their beds and full-body armors; b) they didn't really understand the concept of comfortable seating, and c) personal hygiene back in the day must have been a tad sporadic.
Meersburg features nice half-timbered houses which are very characteristic of the area (as well as of parts of Switzerland), decent ice-cream and it's own vineyards. Our apprearance there that day decreased the average age of the tourists considerably - Lake Konstanz and surrounding areas are very popular with the retirees. The pace is appropriately leisurely and - unusual for the visitor from the US - a lot of people travel by bike (even the retirees or rather especially the retirees) and have beer or wine before midday (at midday and during the afternoon as well). The many passanger boats crisscrossing the lake are very popular and often carry what looks like three bikes per person.
Another trip took us to Stein am Rhein - another little jewel of a small city on the lake but on the Swiss part (lake Konstanz as a big German part a sizeable Swiss part and a little corner of it belongs to Autria). Another leisurely boat ride with drinking retirees later we found ourself in this wonderfulcharming old town - and in shock. Every time I set foot into Switzerland I am incredulous about the prices for everyday stuff - the prices are absurd to begin with but on the main "stretch" of this little touristy gem I couldn't believe my eyes: a small (in fact tiny,approx. 1/5 of a quarter) sizemineral water costs roughly 3 bucks, a (small, no refills) coffee 3.60, a package of gummibears - identical bag to be had in Germany for around 70 cent Euro (say 1.10 Dollars) 3.90 and so on. Absolutel everything is outrageously expensive but especially everything that can somehow be produced in Switzerland as the local laws force stores to sell Swiss products as well as imports (don't know the quota). That makes the prices of diary products, agricultural products and especially meat reach stratospheric levels. No big surprise then that Koinstanz is full of Swiss intend to smuggle sides of pork and palettes of yoghurt across the border.
When Jutta left by train yesterday we learned another lesson about Switzerland: copious amounts of industrial and national security secrets seem to be hidden in the most unusual places. Case in point" a donut - not just any donut, of course, but a cutesy small, expensive donut covered in red frosting with white little crosses - just like the Swiss flag. We saw it at the train station bakery where Jutta got herself a 2.80 Dollar croissant for the train ride. We all liked the donut in all its Swiss cuteness but nobody felt like spending another $2.80 on it especially since nobody wanted to eat itin the first place. Since I had my camera on me that day the logical idea was to take a picture of it. So here we are inside a akery in a tiny train station in a small, unimportant Swiss town right by the border to Germany where in 80% of the cases poeple going in and out aren't even stopped and asked for their passports, let alone to show the contents of their bags or trunks.As I take my camera out the sales person tells me with a stern and grave voice to "stop!! You cannot take any pictures in here!" (accompanied by a sweeping gesture that enclosed all of the train station plus a bunch of neighboring apartment buildings, the streets up front and probably even a small sliver of German territory). My first thought was "wow, for once a Swiss with a sense of humor" but her face showed clearly that she wasn't joking and her body-language was similarly blatant: "just try to push that release button and I will slash you this that knife I normally use to cut huge chunks of bread with." I glanced up and asked her whether she was serious - an entirely idiotic question as I knew she was as serious as she could be. I have to say this caught me by surprise but Jutta was just livid. In her best Swiss German - and therefore beyond reproach by the Swiss sales clerk - she started a tirade about how she can't belief how stupid this all is and what a @#$%^ country this is and that she now has the bad fortune to have to live here and what a dreadful way of treating a visiting American who wanted nothing but a picture of a cute donut to show to her friends back in California ...
I am glad she said it because otherwise I would have had to do so and that wouldn't have ended so well because of my unconvincing Swiss-German.

Sandy left today after a short trip - just over a week in Switzerland and Germany. It was fun to have her visit here - it's real pretty here this time of the year if I do say so myself but I guess a bit too unspectacular for the average foreign tourist who goes to - Florence, I guess.

Max spent a lot of time with Oma and Opa and by now picked up a little bit of the local dialect. Every other noun is now used in the diminuitive form and more and more word endings just disappear. It's kind of funny to hear my son talk like my mom.He also seems to get along well in the Kindergarten. The other day I witnessed how he took a shovel full of dirt and poured it over somebodies head. He alleged that the other boy had thrown sand in his face and had the red eyes to prove it - that he poured the dirt over the girl's head, instead of the boy's was the only fault I could find with his action and encouraged him to retaliate against the correct person next time. They are doing fun stuff, little trips to playgrounds, busrides and walks. But every day we ask him what he wants to do he says: I want to go to Oma's cabin (where she keeps her tools from back in the days when se still grew veggies) and work with "my tools". He is one happy little camper here.

Normality

Max is going to school and I am looking at tiles and am visiting IKEA. Seems like we have entered the most "normal" phase of our sabbatical. Max is quite happy at school - or rather Kindergarten but for him it is school/escuela and he also keeps calling the teacher there "maestra" - Spanish still seems to be the language of education for him. A bit of unpleasant normality was introduced on his second day of school when he came home and proudly told us that that he had "hit all the children". Oma was shocked and I was worried that they might throw him out for his bad behavior and so we bribed him into compliance by promising him candy if he behaved himself the next day. Thankfully he did, he came home and told us that he had called all the boys "rascals" which - for all I know - they are indeed. So he got his candy and more encouragement to keep calling everybody rascal while avoiding blatant violence.
While Max was at school calling his new friends rascals Debbie and I went to look at tiles for their bathroom remodel. I love looking at tiles (or carpets, or kitchens, furniture, lamps, colors, ...) and since we just finished a bathroom remodel before leaving I fancy myself as somewhat of - well, maybe not an expert - but at least a serious remodeling street warrior. In addition I have watched the occasional episode of any of three or four different shows on HGTV which makes me knowlegable enough to be dangerous. I was, however, absolutely stunned to find that neither Debbie nor Jasi share my vision of clutterfree spaces with most things stacked and stored away in identical looking boxes. Nor did either one of them seem to think that nice designy bowls, Ikebana-like flower arrangements and modern abstract art are required in a well-appointed house. There was talk of baskets (yikes - think of the dust they collect), earthy colors, the desire to have pretty much all possesions visible when I intend to hide the fact that I am reading trashy crime stories by hiding the books before and after reading in those white IKEA boxes I use for everything from sewing supplies to CDs. So longish discussions followed about things like comfy homes, different styles and whether Jasi could ever imaging putting those old Agatha Christie whos-dunnits into boxes, the necessity of having a focal point in the room, proper lighting, and a new couch. In short, conversations which would have put most men I know right to sleep and invigorated me. Then we went tile shopping and today - a holiday in Germany (don't ask) but not in Switzerland (don't ask either) - we drove to the nearest IKEA and spent an invigorating 4.5 hours combing through ever aisle, section, department and - of course - the restaurant (for once I was happy about the global uniformity of things these day as they also offered the delicious Daim cake I always treat myself to when visiting IKEA East Palo Alto). Baskets were purchased and - I am proud to say - a few of those extremely useful boxes, a new lamp and a few other odds and ends. I made a note to self to run right over to East Palo when I get back to buy that wonderful new rail system that will be perfectly suited for hiding the cluttery book shelf in our guest/study room.
That was the excitment of the day. It was fun to do sort of normal stuff with my two girl-friends both of whom I have know for an eternity, or two, in Jasi's case. Just being silly, making politically incorrect remarks about the Swiss, talking about kids, work, and eating unhealthy food (man, those Swedish meatballs ...). It's like I have never been away which is great but somewhat unsettleing as well as I am not sure the reverse is true and I would fit right back in without a problem. I rather think not but it is so easy to believe it when pushing a shopping cart through IKEA and bitching about ugly designs.
The weather still leaves a lot to be desired. It's the photographers worst light: grey,overcast sky which bleaches out on every landscape, cityscape and whatever-scape. Yesterday it was downright cold and they keep predicting better weather for the next day and have been doing so for the last week or so. I so hope we will have nice sunny weather starting Sunday at the latest - that's when Sandy arrives and I would really like to show her the prettiest face of Konstanz.

Another "temple festival"

it wasn't actually a temple but a 1200 year old catholic church but I thought I'll approach the celebration there just as I have approached temple festivals in India or Semana Santa in Spain. Well,it wasn't quite that easy. But first things first, today was Max's first day in "school". He marched in like he's been there a 1000 times and started digging through the tool section before anybody could say as much as "hello". He did, however, shake the "maestra's" had for a fraction of a second which I was watching holding my breath. We really wanted him to make a good impression on his first day so they couldn't find any reason to tell us that, unfortunately,they won't be able to accomodate him after all. He looked cool, I have to say,in his "skinny" jeans with a orange, blue, white plaid shirt and a new bag Oma bought for his wholesome snack slung across his shoulders. By the time we were finished talking to the teacher about a few specifics he was already sitting at a table playing a puzzle or some such thing. As usual he waved us a casual good-bye and seemed, if anything, eager to get rid of the prying eyes of his parents. So we left, rather unconcerned and drove to the Reichenau, that little island on Lake Konstanz that also featured in the last post. One of the 1000+ year old churches was having a celebration called "Holy Blood" - don't ask me why and what exactly they are celebrating. Nobody seems to know for sure but appartently there is a drop of blood of some saint or another stored away in the church as well as a little splinter of a bone of an apostle or another and these things, encased in richly decorated and ornate "containers" (for lack of a better word) are carried around the isalnd once a year in a procession. The weather could have been better and when we got there mass had already started. I suspect that this church (plus the other two) are populated by a few little old ladies on a regular Sunday but today it was standing room only at least for stragglers like us. A bishop had made the trip to celebrate the mass, a choir was singing and lots of frankincense was burned. Men in the old-fashioned uniforms of the vigilante group of days gone by with their old rifles plus bajonets were milling about. We saw a largish group enter a restaurant, no doubt having a beer while they should, theoretcially, attend mass. With nothing better to do until mass was over I thought I take a peek inside and shoot some pictures. My mom, who accompanied us, was horrified. It is - at least in her mind - not considered proper behavior to walk around a church during mass and shoot away at the bishop. I was very discreet, really, kind of sneaking around, camera hidden under the large raincoat I bummed from my mom looking like I was part of the crowd which I clearly wasn't as I wasn't singing and saying prayers. Only occasionally would I take the camera out a snap a quick picture with my fast lense. I would never use flash in such situations, that, even I think, shows lack of respect and good manners. The weird thing was that I - who hasn't attended catholic mass in earnest in 20+ years - still remembered pretty much ever line of the entire liturgy. The bishop just had to say the line and I could have fallen in with the required answer or prayer. Even most of the songs were familiar to a point that I could have chimmed in and only occasionally would have to mask my lack of knowledge by a little cough or sneeze. I couldn't do it now, sitting on the couch, without the priest prompting me but as soon as I hear the lines I know what is expected from the faithful and can answer pretty darn perfectly. It was a weird feeling: one the one hand I feel so distant to whats going on, so unattached and untouched by it that it really wasn't very different from attending a temple festival in India and on the other hand I am in some sense so deeply rooted in that tradition that after 20 years I still remember every line of every prayer without even thinking about it. It is just there, stored away in my brain for no good reason and to nobody's benefit. I still remember how I had great trouble remembering data and facts that I thought superfluous and boring when studying biology (I could, for the life of me not remember the molecular weight of topoisomerase II - which after all was the topic of my Ph.D.thesis which is sort of like writitng a thesis about JFK and not remembering his birth date) and here I am flawlessly reciting catholic mass. Once the bishop began his sermon, which began rather unspectacular and very floksy I decided that maybe outside in the rain it was more comfortable after all. So we spend some time looking around, watching people getting ready and when more and more of the uniformed guys showed up we knew that the end of mass and the beginning of the procession was close.
Going into full photoreporter mode again I positioned myself to take pictures avoiding my mother's horrified look and comments "you can't take pictures here, don't stand in front of the procession, people know us here, what will they think?" ... - have long learned that if it came down to my mom nothing would ever be done for the first time. So here went the procession: the little girls in their Sunday best dresses carrying flower baskets and the older ones a couple smaller statutes of the Virgin Mary. Then came the guys in uniforms, either carrying their rifles or playing their brass band instruments polished to a high sheen, checks inflated from playing tromones and tubas. Then came the women in their traditional dresses which sort of resembled the traditional Andalucian dresses with big head-dresses. Then came all the men who are anybody on the island wearing their best suits. The the bishop, the priest, the two monks who now live on the island (a rarity) , the altar boys and girls, the sexton and an assortment of other church officials followed. Then came pretty much the entire population of the island saying Hail Marys. Unlike the tradition calls for on a on nice sunny day.today in the rain they just did the quick route through the village to stay dry. A small crowd of spectators had gathered some waving little yellow-white flags and I am not sure whether they are the flags Baden, our region or of the catholic church - I assume the latter.
As soon as the streets were open we hopped in the car and drove back to collect the "Man". I was very glad that he wasn't with us on that little outing - all the rifles and gloves (his latest obsession) we would have never heard the end of this one.
Max seemed happy enough when we picked him up, bag slung over his shoulder and my question "how was it" was answered with a succinct "good" but no further details were provided. He ate more for lunch than in an average week in India and so I concluded that the whole thing was exhausting and probably fun.
Tomorrow we'll move to our new apartment - when planning this trip we decided that 4 weeks with my parents wouldn't do anybody any good so for the next 2 weeks we'll have our own place near by. I hope we'l have Internet access ....

you might think I am lazy

that I am writing so infrequently but, really, there isn't all that much to tell. There is a lot of biking to various playgrounds to play with with Antonia and her friends going on, breakfast, lunch and dinner at set hours (meal times are held in high esteem here, five minutes late for 12 noon lunch is almost an unforgivable sin and can only be excused if it is Max's fault or doing), playing in the garden, walks down to the lake, visits by Jasi and that sort of is it. After all this traveling I don't feel the need to rush out in the evening and hang out in some bar or restaurant, the cinema program is pathetic and so I fiddle with my pics or talk to mom and dad in the evening.

The weather has been nothing short of perfect: sunny but not too hot with a little thunderstorm yesterday evening (I was out taking pictures and didn't even mind that I got wet). Today we went to the Reichenau, an island in Lake Konstanz that was formerly the location of a huge monastary and these days produces a lot of the fresh fruit and veggies in the region. Three churches are the highlight. They are all very old, old beyond anything America has to offer, St. George, the oldest one is about 1200 years old and of beautiful and sturdy architecture with old frescos inside. Neither of the other two ones are much younger, all have been beautifully restored and are a major tourist attraction. Entrance is free to all of them - a welcome change from the "everything you want to see is at least 6 Euros" policy we encountered in Italy.

The buildings are so overwhelming and authentic that even these days there are moments when one walks around the grounds by the church, the sun is low in the sky, the church bells chime and for moments you feel transported to the middleages, a small fleeting glimps of how live must have felt back then. The overpowering might of the church, the hardships of everyday life but also the deep satisfaction and certainty derived from an unshakable belief in an almighty God. A strange but very interesting feeling which I did not achieve this time with Max shooting pistols and canons non-stop and nagging us for ice-cream. He also made it his job to check the graves on the graveyard next to the church for the presence of sufficient amounts of holy water (used to sprinkle the graves). He likes his "check-check" procedures and can't possibly stop until the last Holy Water container has been checked.

I am running into my "Frigiliana photo-problem": everything is so pretty it's hard to take pictures that don't fall into the postcard category. I have to think of a different concept and I am thinking frentically - so far to no avail.

Hopefully there will be more exciting stuff to tell over the next few days so I have more blog material other than saying "everything is so beautiful and people are annoying" ...

Tidbits from Home

"Konstanz has a real peaceful vibe" my husband informed me today and I guess he is right. There is something peaceful and relaxing about this place. It's small, full of tourists, retirees and students beautifully situated between the lake and Alps - one a clear day you can now the see the snow-capped peaks of the "Seealpen" (lake alps). Currently the sun is shining, the trees and flowers are blooming, the medieval buildings have mostly been beautifully restored, roman walls have been dug up and the city is buzzing with people shopping, kids playing and people enjoying their copious spare time. On every corner there is a bakery with the real bretzels and little sweets, cafes, bars, restaurants, wine bars abound. Fancy clothing stores, goldsmiths and high-end opticians line the streets and on the surface of it life couldn't be more perfect (mind you its May, when the fog decends in November its a very different story). So when I come back here - usually in May or September (another of those generally perfect sunny months) - for the first 24 to 48 hours I wonder - silently or aloud - why the hell did I ever leave this perfection? What posseses me to live in the 'burbs in California?

After that grace period, though, the stories trickle in and I start making experiences that remind me why I had a hard time living here and why now -after all those years away - I would have an even harder time. I am not talking about major issues and problems, but the little stuff that make life miserable for no good reason. To give you a couple of examples: next door there live two families with small kids, in a three family home. Sounds perfect to you? Kids playing together, parents sharing experiences, sitting together in the garden, baby-sitting for each other? Well, something insignificant that I have no knowledge of happend and they are not talking to each other anymore and haven't been for a while. How awkward and stupid is that? They are all in the garden both parties chatting amicably with me and both sets of kids playing with Max and they don't even look at each other? Can't you just get a grip, sort it out and enjoy life? Another: the kindergarten Max will attend for 3 weeks has a ban on sweets. No kid is allowed to bring any sweet stuff for a snack and that includes not just chocolate, sugar-covered cookies and other obnoxious stuff but also sweetend yoghurt. Even bread that isn't whole wheat is only grungingly tolerated, ideally every kid would bring real dark bread, no butter, some organic wholesome spread and a few carrot sticks. I mean give me a break already, I am the mother and if I think that my super-skinny kid should have a little sweetness for a snack than who are they to tell me I am a bad mother and he can't have it. Surprisingly, when I voice these sentiments they get met with incomprehension. I get that the kindergarten-people aren't bad people, they just want the best for the kids but that their idea of correct food is enforced whether the parents like it or not seems to bother only me. I guess I have lived in the US where for too long - where the sheer mention of such a rule would cause riots and outrage. Do I fancy the idea that my kid gets burgers and fries at school every day and the only "veggie" it sees is ketchup? Hell no, but do we have to go all the way to the extreme opposite?

Okay, one last: there is that beautiful large house in my neighborhood. I know the guy who owns it and have always envied him for that beautiful property right by the lake. It is off the major streets and can be reached by a little private street that a few other people also use. Cars are forbidden, cool, I can totally see that but please, there ought to be an exception once in a while under special circumstances. But no such luck one guys seems to be enforcing the "no cars ever" rule as if his salvation would depend on it. So for a recent renovation project they had to carry the materials in by hand because: no cars allowed, no exceptions - ever. The guy seems to be sneaking around taking pictures of every car violating that rule and if I hear such stories I just feel sick. Do people really have nothing better to do than terrorizing their neighbors? How low can you sink if that's what makes your day? I am not saying that this doesn't exist anywhere else but at least in Sunnyvale I have never encountered such behavior, people are just not, well, inclined that way.

So here it goes I have already started on the expat agony: better here or there, upsides, downsides, where do we go from here?

On a lighter note: you should check out Konstanz on Google Earth - it's crystal-clear. The resolution is much better than that of Mountain View, where - after all - the headquarters of Google is located. You can see the car of my parents friends standing in front of their garage and the small herb "snail" (a spiral shaped planting bead for herbs) of Jasi's father. You can't exactly tell whether he is planting basil or thyme but pretty darn close.

The Max-man seems happy here. Lot's of room to play, adoring grandparents, kids to play with three seconds away, dangerous tools in Oma's cabin and Opa's garage and an even larger audience for all of his stories about pistols, firecrackers, all his houses and the fact that he is a policeman (when he happens not to be a baby-bird or a baby-dragon) who arrestes bad men (in his world there seem to be no bad woman, I view this as a compliment). Let's just cross our fingers and hold our breath that the weather holds! (The picture shows Max with Omi Moni)

The pictures sow a chestnut tree near Oma's cabin and Mad-Max working in the fields