Change

       For the last few years in a row, there has been a day where I literally notice it - the change that has taken place. While there are many moments scattered through the weeks of spring of sunny days and warmer weather, the smell of thawing ground and the appearance of tulips, there is still one day that surprises me:  the day I notice that the trees have leaves.  And not just one or two trees here and there, but all of them.  I'll drive over a hill or around a bend and it will just hit me that it's no longer just the start of spring, rather a full swing of a scenario.

        Why it is such a surprise I'm not sure.  Am I too close to the situation that I'm not able to step back far enough to see trees the forest?  Am I too busy to notice the fledgling leaves that are bursting their buds, the process so slow it would take time elapsed photography to really notice the snails-pace evolution of the season?  Or is the change of the leaves instantaneous in their impatience for the sun?  Whatever the truth is, it is still a miraculous discovery each time.  I never noticed it as a child, but I'm so glad in all of my busyness that I notice it now.  These things need to be noticed by someone, and it is a burden I will gladly bear.

           The thing is, my life changes the same way spring does.  There are changes I hope for and wait for and pray for, and sometimes they just never seem to come.  Or they seem to be coming and then there is cold setback, chilly enough to make me question whether things will ever turn around.  But more often, it seems, the biggest changes - the ones I wait for most eagerly - are just one day....here.  I've waited so long that I can't believe that what I wanted is now the reality - it just is!  And I am in the middle of it, though I never really noticed how or when it happened.  Too close to the situation that the process of change was imperceptible until the course was complete, leaving me reeling to understand what has happened.  

     I'm not speaking in code or breaking any news here.  But I am waiting.  I hope I am in the middle of changes, but right now I can't see past the bridge of my nose.  I am impatient for the changes to occur but must reconcile that, while not today or tomorrow, this year or next, that something will be different eventually.  That I will wake up one day, and I will find myself in the reality of surprises I didn't see coming but were slowly taking place all along.

Fernweh

I like to look up what words mean.  Conversely,  I hated it as a child and teenager.  My least favorite response of those formative years, usually spoken by my dad, when I asked what a word meant was "Look it up in the dictionary."  If I needed to know badly enough, I would trudge over to the 1940's bookcase, pull open the sticking door, and pull out the red-covered Webster.  Flipping through the onionskin-thin pages, I would eventually find what I was looking for, and would probably find the definitions to a few more words I had stored up on a mental list as well.

What I'm not sure of is where the shift between hating the words and loving the words came.  Was it from the competition in my literature classes in college to sound equally as smart as all of those know-it-alls we all hated...OK, were jealous of...in high school that were now in ALL of my classes?  Was it the desire to find different words so as not to sound redundant in the million and one essays I had to write?  Was it to prove to the professors that I did know enough to be at an institution of higher learning even though my last three essays were disappointing at best?  Writing poetry for a creative writing class and diving in to a thesaurus to find the perfect word to replace the mundane, but needing to make sure the word I chose was the one I really wanted?  I can't say.  Maybe it was developed a little bit by all of them.  But whatever the reason, I'm not ashamed to say that my parents taught me so.  I wish I now had in my own possession that faded canvas covered dictionary that is slightly beat-up from use.  

This brings me to the term Wanderlust.  It's a German word that gets used in America to describe the desire to travel and explore.  It's literal translation means to enjoy hiking.  What Wikipedia (hey, hold your snorts and snickers!) told me about it though was that the word is no longer used in Germany.  A new word has taken its place.  Fernweh: an ache for distance.  What wonderful words, both of them!  I wish the English language had its own equivalents, as I suffer from Wanderlust quite frequently now, and if it goes too long it turns into Fernweh.  Don't get me wrong - I love my home.  But the more I travel, the more I want to see.  Like my mental list of words I was saving to look up, I'm adding places to my travel list that I never really wanted to see before because my confidence and sense of adventure is expanding the more places I go.  Morocco, Thailand, Egypt, Kenya, the Netherlands and Denmark are all creeping up on Italy, Greece, D.C., and India.  I think I'm gonna need another job...

Photo Sunday: Fire

Photo Sunday Challenge:  Fire

Candles burning in the Protestant Memorial Chapel at the 
Dachau Concentration Camp outside of Munich, Germany.

Photo Sunday: Sun

Photo Sunday Challenge:  Sun

Cannon Beach, Oregon

Snowshoeing at Cedar Breaks National Monument, Utah

Round Robin Photo Challenge: Winter Meets Spring

Check out what the other participants have done on the Red Robin Photo Challenge Blog!

Photo Sunday: Children

Photo Sunday Weekly Photo Challenge:  Children

Photo Sunday: Glare

Photo Sunday Weekly Photo Challenge

Round Robin Photo Challenge: Door Number Three

The Challenge:  "Pick three doors to photograph, and show us all three in your entry. They can be three doors from the same locale or sharing some characteristic, or they can just be totally unrelated doors you happen to like. To make things extra interesting, you may want to explain what is special about these particular doors."

**Well, it just so happens that I love to take pictures of doors.  Whittling it down to three pictures was a challenge indeed!  Perhaps a wall calendar or a decorative photo collage for my bedroom is in order...***

A locked door to nowhere, along the town wall in Rothenburg-ob-der-Tauber, Germany from my November trip.  Since it was the off-season, I had the wall entirely to myself, so I could take as much time as I wanted with the details of this enchanting Medieval city.

Marktkirche in  Wiesbaden, Germany.  Unfortunately it was a Monday, the day of rest for this beautiful place of worship.  But if you thing the door is beautiful, you should hear the bells ring at noon!

The door to my classroom pre, during and still today, post Super Bowl :)   I am a Green Bay native, so the Super Bowl was not just about a sports team to me - it was about my home town!  I get teased most of the year about my team affiliation, so this was my way to not only show my support, but do a little passive-aggressive smack talking back to all the fools who doubted the power, heart, and ability of the Green Bay Packers.

Don't forget to check out the Round Robin Photo Challenge blog to see what other people have done!

Lesson #6: Don't kick yourself later for not taking the chance today

The final lesson I will share was learned on my final night in Germany.  I had spent a wonderful day traveling to see Neuschwantstein Castle which is located on the border of Austria.  I had been in a train for about 4 hours that day.  As we pulled into the main train station, our tour guide offered to take anyone interested back into the old city center - she had some extra subway tickets and would be happy to help us navigate the system to enjoy the opening night of the Christmas Market.

Not quite ready in Wiesbaden

Setting up in Rothenburg

Before I continue on with the story, permit me to back up a few days.  Germany is famous for its Christmas markets.  Dozens of cities have them, and some cities have more than one.  They are known to specialize in handmade German Christmas decorations and traditional foods, and are gaining popularity with international crowds.  Typically, they open the weekend before December.  The weekend of Thanksgiving.  I had seen the skeletons of them in Wiesbaden, Rothenburg (one of the most famous and popular) and Munich as set-up had begun days before I had arrived in any of those places, but they were only stalls, often with no people in them, unlit lights, and a lot of greenery in various stages of being put up for display.  I had done my research and knew I wouldn't be able to see any of them in full swing except Munich, and then only if I used my time right.  Munich's main market was in Old Town, and I had seen the preparations, in their final stages, for the past two days as I had wandered the city.

So when the tickets were offered, my first thoughts were that it would be really cold since it had snowed during the day, there would be nothing I hadn't already seen, and I should probably get back to my room at the pension and start packing to leave the next morning.  What made me change my mind I still don't know, but I will be forever grateful that I did.

Old Town had been transformed.  The air was full of the smells of roasted chestnuts and candied hazlenuts and almonds.  The hot mulled Gluhwein stands were overflowing with people smiling, talking and toasting.  The entire pedestrian zone pealed with Christmas music. Currywurst, bratwurst, hot chocolate, lebkuchen and pommes fritz stands were rushing to meet the demands of patrons.  The lights of the different sections of the market were now fully lighted and spectacular - the Kripperlmarkt ("crib market" which specializes in nativity peices) and the Christkindlemarkt (Christ child market, with food, ornaments, and other goodies) .  I thought I knew what it was all about, but I had no idea.  I could have spent the evening, retiring early, in my hotel room, though I know I wouldn't have fallen asleep early.  I would have had a nagging feeling all night long which would have turned to an ill feeling of regret in the morning.  I wouldn't have known for what reason, but it would be there nagging at me as I realized that I never realized what I would be missing out on.  Luckily, I avoided all of that.  I walked slowly, not really looking at anything in particular, just letting it soak in.  I had a bratwurst, and snacked on some of those candied hazlenuts and hot chocolate.  I watched vendors drenching pommes frites (french fries) with mayonaise, and adult ice skaters trying not to fall on the kids zooming past them with confidence.  Then it started to snow.
Big, fat flakes that layered everyone in white.  It was magical.  And then, just when I thought it couldn't get any better, a song from home began to play over the loudspeakers.  A Bach Christmas choral and orchestral arrangement that my mother has on a tape that she used to play a lot while we kids would make fun of it.  To this day, I still don't know what the words of that song mean, but its jubilance was enough to bring me to tears.  This trip and been blessed, from conception to execution, and the song was the stamp of authentication for me.  This night was the most special of all, and I'm so grateful that I don't have to kick myself for not taking the chance for that moment and all of the moments I got to experience on my solo adventure to Germany.

Lesson #5: Food is a way of connecting the dots.

I have to admit, I was excited about the food prospects in Germany.  I've had some German cuisine before, but as I was researching, I realized how much more diverse their culinary flavors were than what my experience was. They are unabashed meat-eaters though, and I'm surprised I didn't have more intestinal problems as I can only think of two times during the week where I had a vegetable or fruit.

Breakfast was always hearty.  I use that word because this meal  different from what we eat to start our day.  While there was some variety depending on which hotel I was eating at, and items like cereal were present on occasion, there were a few constants there that never make it to our breakfast tables in the USA.  Cold cuts of ham, prosciutto, and salami were always served, as well as sliced swiss cheese.  Bread, especially hard rolls, were ever present with a complementing selection of jellies, butter, soft cheeses, and Nutella.  Juice, coffee and tea were available, as well as sliced cucumbers and tomatoes.  If eggs were there, they were in the hard-boiled version.  But I loved it!  I would sometimes make an open-faced sandwich, and other times would eat it as daintily as possible with a fork - I wasn't sure what proper protocol was.


I ate at a sit-down restaurant twice.  As I previously posted, there were many occasions where I felt frightened at the prospect of engaging in any sort of dialogue, and a restaurant would guarantee that that would happen.  After my first meal in Rothenburg, my fears were squelched a little, if only because of the advice of the advice in Rick Steves' travel books.  At this first meal, I wanted to try something that a) I had never had before and b) that I would probably never see on a menu in America.  My selection was roasted venison with spaetzel and cranberry relish.  No vegetable in sight.  The meat was literally swimming in gravy.  As there was no spoon to slurp it up and no bread to sop it up, I figured that that was where the spaetzel noodles came in.  I'm still not sure if I used the cranberry relish properly, but I mixed those three together, pretended I knew
what I was doing, and had so much fun eating!  It wasn't the best meal that I have ever had, but I can only think of a few meals I've ever enjoyed as much in my life.  I ordered Apfelsaftschorle, which was recommended in my travel book, which is apple juice with carbonated mineral water - an authentic German soft drink - and prided myself with not settling for a Coke just because it was easy.  It was a culinary adventure, even if it wasn't that daring.

Round 2

In order to save money and time, most of my meals were from- for lack of a better or more accurate term- fast food stands.  I had a cheese pizza at a pizzeria run by Italians who were still speaking their native language in the kitchen (that makes it more authentic,right?)  and washed it down with a Coke, just like I would at home.  The pizzeria was filled with laborers from the surrounding offices, shops and city workers who were clearly regulars.  I ate slowly, not only in an effort to warm up, but also to just enjoy that I was eating pizza in Germany.  Most of my meals consisted of sandwiches though.  Germans eat them for just about every meal, even breakfast, so there were plenty of places to grab a pre-made meal.  While I did see a McDonald's once or twice, the most recognizable American fast-food transplant to the FRD is Subway (and Starbucks).  I had no trouble fighting any sort of urge to go there because there are so many bakeries and convenience store-style sandwich and drink stands that were full of delcious, if not mysterious, looking sandwiches and sausages.  Yorma's was a favorite of mine in Munich, but there were counterparts in every city I passed through.  I ate my first bratwurst on my
third day in the country, ordering it at one of those shops while I waited for a connecting train on my way to Rothenburg Ob-der-Tauber.  It was the first time I had seen the popular sausage, and I didn't want to miss the chance to eat real German bratwurst at least once in my life.  I would later realize that it is available at all hours of the day in just about every building in Germany.  Oh, and is SOOOOOOO good, enough so that I would enjoy it two more times on my journey.  I also twice enjoyed mozzarella and tomato sandwiches on a baguette with a little olive oil.  Sandwich shops are fast, conveniently located in train stations (which equates to good on the go) and cheap - about 2.5-3 euros.  I can hardly buy a Subway sandwich for that, and I long for those reasonably priced crusty baguette pre-made sandwiches!

Imagine a photo I would have taken,
and add the ice and whipped creams

My second sit-down experience was on Thanksgiving day.  I told myself that I would celebrate this American holiday with a proper meal.  I had been touring the Dachau concentration camp earlier in the day, walked briskly to the old city center to try visiting the Wittelsbach palace, only to get there moments after it closed, and had gotten lost (on foot) searching for an art  museum on the other side of Munich.  I was tired, cold, and my feet were literally throbbing with pain, so to be honest, I almost forgot about the holiday.  But upon remembering, I chose a restaurant I had to pass every day on my way to and from the train station.  I knew their prices weren't too bad and paid it a visit.  It looked very Bavarian inside.  I say this because when I've gone to German restaurants in Wisconsin, they always looked like they were trying very hard to incorporate every component of German-ness into their decor.  I am pleased to say that what I thought was overkill in German-American restaurants is actually how German cuisine restaurants often look in Germany!  I was all set to order whatever bird dish was on the menu, but, true to form, there wasn't a single winged creature on it.  Pork, beef, and veal only.  I hadn't brought my my German dictionary with me to help guide my choice, and with no English translation like the restaurant in Rothenburg had, I settled for the one dish I did recognize:  Wienerschnitzel.  It was tasty in all of it's fried glory.  I washed it down with Apfelsaftschorle again, and treated myself to the closest thing to pumpkin pie I could:  Apfelstrudel and the creamiest vanilla ice cream I've ever tasted.  

Ducking in to a little bakery in Rothenburg
to get warm with a pastry and drinking chocolate

The food I ate during my adventure was special, as I supposed it is for many people who travel.  For me, ordering, smelling, and experiencing the food made me feel connected - I was interacting with people, but also there was a little taste of my heritage and home mixed in.  Wandering through Munich's food markets was a visual wonder full of wonderful smells, colors and people.  The shared need of needing to eat, as well as the shared custom of eating for pleasure and celebration, is not unique to any particular creed or culture, but it does not lessen the specialness of individual experience.  In particular, that Thanksgiving meal really wrapped up the experience of this trip for me.  My trip was almost finished and I had managed to survive.  I had gotten horribly lost in the dark earlier that Thanksgiving evening but had managed to turn the map around and head in the right direction.  I'd found my way, and the food found its way to my stomach.  There was a lot to be thankful for.