tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-194644562024-03-13T21:49:32.597-07:00sara's travel pagesarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01339519229120844046noreply@blogger.comBlogger124125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19464456.post-58146902672768757132014-12-28T08:08:00.001-08:002014-12-28T08:09:49.830-08:00Poland - Pierogi love<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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10/9-10/12 2013 Supposedly I'm part Polish, on my mother's side. I tried to find out some more information about what town my Grandmother's family was from and got nothing. One of my cousins thought they might have moved around between Poland and Russia. It's a mystery! There is a huge Polish presence in Chicago - we have the largest Polish population outside of Poland itself. I saw people that looked very "Chicago", in their faces and they way they dressed. I felt at home in Krakow. </div>
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I took another long train ride from Ljubljana to Budapest:</div>
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I was in this car so long, I felt it was MINE. People would come in and out throughout the day and I made myself at home.</div>
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I spent a quick night in Budapest where I stayed in the same place I stayed in 2011 and ate at the same chicken paprikash restaurant. I'm going back to Budapest this fall for the marathon so I'll just write more about it later. I like Budapest!<br />
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In Krakow I stayed at the Tango house B&B - such a great place!<br />
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I explored Krakow at night. The main square is full of atmosphere. There was some sort of festival going on with stalls of food and music every night I was there. </div>
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I took my friend Desiree's suggestion and ate at Pod Gruszka - an old journalist restaurant/hang out off the main square. Pierogi! It was a perfect first meal in Poland. </div>
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I love dumplings and pierogi are my second favorite next to xiao long bao. But I couldn't eat chinese dumplings every day - here I did eat Pierogi every day, a few times a day. It was everywhere and I couldn't get enough!<br />
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Who does this? Look at this ridiculous schedule. I could have narrowed it down to half of those places. I finally filled in all the gaps of my schedule. I usually plan about half of it up front and reserve the other hotels one or two days out.<br />
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Krakow had many old-style coffee houses and restaurants. I loved the purple walls at cafe camelot. </div>
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Orderly bike lanes - we are trying to do this in Chicago but it's not the same.</div>
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I went to the jewish section of town and went to an interesting museum of jewish history:</div>
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Krakow is a mix of hip, inventive places mixed with traditional places like this place that didn't have english translations:<br />
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I did some laundry because everything I had was covered in food stains:<br />
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Here are some grilled sheep cheese dumplings with cranberry sauce that contributed to some of the stains:<br />
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I passed by this cute place in the main square every day. I was never more than a stone's throw away from some pierogi. </div>
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Communal eating for the food stalls in the main square. This is what I had for dinner two out of three nights here. It's a fun way to eat - with strangers!</div>
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Krakow main square<br />
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Planty park next to the main square:</div>
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There was a very confusing cheese situation in the main square. Do these not look like little biscuits? I was trying to buy things to eat for my day trip to Auschwitz. I figured I'd pack a few of these. They look good, right?<br />
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The lady who sold them to me was telling me something in polish and I didn't understand. She handed me the bag and it weighed about 10 times more than I thought it would. That's because I accidentally bought SOLID BLOCKS of cheese - stinky goat and sheep cheese. She was trying to ask me what kind I wanted because each basket had a different kind. I just assumed they were all biscuits and why are you all worked up, lady? </div>
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I got back to the hotel and asked some people on Facebook with Poland experience what I should do with them. I guess they don't need refrigerating. I left them on the table and sliced away at them for a few days until I had to leave but I didn't take them to Auschwitz. </div>
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I saw this performance on the main square!<br />
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The kids in the show looked just like the people on the zywiec label!<br />
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More main square eating<br />
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I took the day trip to Auschwitz. It was moving - there isn't much I could say that would explain what it is like to actually be there, it's something you'd have to experience for yourself. It was depressing but important to see.</div>
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Showing people's names and faces was very powerful. The older people looked so stoic and brave, but the children all looked terrified. It was horrible. That was the worst part.<br />
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Back in Krakow - here's a bagel necklace<br />
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And poetry projected on a wall. I love this!<br />
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I reluctantly left Krakow to spend a night in Warsaw to make my flight home. The old town of Warsaw was definitely worth seeing. I could have spent another day.</div>
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Warsaw old town square:</div>
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My last Pierogi!</div>
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I stayed at the Castle Inn in the old town. The hotel was great except for the fact that my room faced that bell tower. It went off every 15 minutes ALL NIGHT LONG and I got ZERO minutes of sleep. Zero minutes. I couldn't even drift off between the bell bongs because I kept anticipating them. Any minute now, there will be another one. Bong! bong! bong!</div>
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The next morning I set the toaster on fire at the hotel breakfast and took that as a big sign that it was time to leave Europe. It was actually hilarious. One of those very quiet breakfasts with classical music playing. I could not stop laughing.<br />
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In the airport I saw this and kind of wanted to buy it.<br />
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Next up: Ecuador in March and Budapest in October!</div>
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sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01339519229120844046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19464456.post-57862828418037710512014-12-27T11:31:00.002-08:002014-12-27T16:59:27.550-08:00Zagreb and Ljubljana<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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10/6/2013 - After the 10+ hour bus ride, I arrived in Zagreb with just enough time to check into my hotel and quickly see the Museum of broken relationships. I had been looking forward to this quirky museum!</div>
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People donated love momentos, wedding photo albums you could leaf through of people who were now divorced - old items of clothing that they donated instead of throwing out into the street, etc. The stories came from all over the world. We are all connected by insane stories like this. I loved it. </div>
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Zagreb is terribly under-rated. I wish I had more time to wander and I loved the Hotel Jagerhorn. It was just a stop-over but I hope to spend another night there one day. I went out for some truffle pasta and some more Croatian wine!</div>
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I took a short train to Ljubljana. A few years ago when my friends and I were voting on international marathons for our 2012 trip, Ljubljana was a big contender. We decided on Amsterdam instead. (which is great, because I hurt myself that year and could only run a shorter distance and Ljubljana does not have a half marathon) I had always wanted to check the city out. It was charming, I would definitely come back with friends. There was nightlife that would entertain us. I was by myself so I wasn't roaming the streets at night for very long but I could see potential. </div>
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Slovenian food - sort of like Italian with some other eastern influences. You can see the pasta, goulash and pork knuckle on this menu. </div>
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I was visited by a little friend who ate some of my crumbs. Later I stopped for some fantastic coffee (top photo) </div>
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Flags advertising the upcoming marathon - WAAA I want to run it!<br />
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I stayed at a place called Petra Varl. It was a great rental efficiency apartment with a tiny kitchen! I did sit on this porch for a little bit until it was too cold. I pretended and fantasized that it WAS my apartment. I definitely made morning coffee in the french press just like I do at home. There was a bag of coffee in the cabinet. One European thing I need to adopt at home is the electric water-heating kettle. My Slovenian self, Sarja, heated water with it and was very impressed.<br />
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I took the funicular up to the castle:</div>
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I made a mortadella sandwich and packed a fancy lunch from the grocery store. I had a long, long train ride to Budapest the next day:</div>
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I chose a horrible mediocre place for dinner. Instead of talking about my food (that still makes me sad over a year later), I will post these pictures of my walk home from dinner. </div>
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I was up before the sun to catch the train to Budapest!</div>
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sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01339519229120844046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19464456.post-84687313229657610922014-12-27T09:07:00.000-08:002014-12-27T17:08:55.622-08:00Mostar<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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10/4/13 - I could have spent more time in Croatia - but I was RIGHT THERE by Bosnia & Herzegovina - and history won out over more beach time. I remembered the 1993 war from the Clinton years but honestly I didn't remember it as well as I should have. From 1992 - 1995 Bosnia was at war. I was finishing college and just trying to afford to live on my own. I was waitressing, interning, working in a coffee shop and scraping money together to get out of Lansing, Michigan. World news was buzzing in the background but I wasn't paying more than passing attention. I had been to Europe once and it would be 10 years before I'd be able to afford to go back. Travel has been an obsession since then. Eastern European history amazes me now. </div>
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I hung around Split, waiting for my bus to Mostar. </div>
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I people-watched and sat in view of the pretty Italian architecture:<br />
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My bus turned out to be a 1980s van that fit about 8 people. I really regret not taking a photo of it. But it wasn't until after we started moving that I was even convinced that I was on the right bus. The 3.5 hour trip took 4.5 hours. In the last hour of the trip I met the older man behind me and a teenager I assumed was his grandson. The old man moved to England just before the war. The younger guy was a college student who went to school in Croatia. They didn't know each other but were both going home to visit their families and joking around like old family members, themselves.<br />
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As we were getting closer to Mostar, we went through a small town and they both started laughing. They explained that the town was full of "how you say.. the people are funny. The people they are strange in that town!" haha.<br />
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They both told me about Mostar and the student didn't understand why I wanted to visit because it was SO BORING. I didn't want to come out and tell them that I'm some sort of creepy war tourist. I think the older man understood why I was there and he was happy that I wanted to see it. They told me about the famous bridge that was destroyed in 1993 during the war, and how a few people on each side of the river still carry a tiny bit of resentment for each other. One side is Croat, one side Bosnian.<br />
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I stayed in the historic Muslibegovic house, a hotel-museum. Right outside my room were these fun characters! The woman is so disgusted with the man. She's holding a drink and looking away.<br />
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My room was furnished with traditional decor. I loved the canopy. </div>
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I went out for dinner and I saw the famous bridge that was reconstructed in 2004. I'm glad I arrived at night, it was so beautiful! Mostar was like a cozy little fairytale. It was much colder to be away from the ocean, up in the hills.</div>
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I had Bosnian sausage with some sort of pita bread and plavic wine. It was nice after a long day in a van!</div>
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There really were people out and I wasn't just wandering around in the dark as it looks in this picture.</div>
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The next morning I saw bullet holes in some of the buildings. </div>
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Here is a sign that shows the bridge blown apart:</div>
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I went to the cemetery on the main street and I saw grave after grave after grave of young men who were born the year I was born and all died in 1993. It made me feel stunned and sad. These guys should have been starting their adult lives like I was that year. I was in a strange funk for the rest of the day. My generation supplied all the soldiers for this war.<br />
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This is also why the Berlin wall is so interesting to me - This was my generation's history. </div>
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I went to the Stari Most (Mostar bridge) museum and watched the historical film with real footage of the bridge being blown to bits and all the bombings and bullets that tore up the streets I had just walked on. The bridge was constructed of a red clay, and when it crumbled into the river people said it was like "blood of an old friend". </div>
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After the serious sadness of the cemetery and bridge museum, I stopped at a Burek stand - Burek is this delicious spiral meat pie that I also ate at the hotel breakfast. (I actually ate so much of it at the breakfast that they had to put more out so that the other guests could have some, ha) The seating was communal and I sat with some older, laughing couples who made me try their tea. Their laughing and friendly questions lifted me out of my mood. </div>
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Bosnian money:</div>
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I went to the top of the minaret in the mosque and saw this. </div>
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I love how shiny the cobblestones are in Mostar. </div>
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When I got back to the hotel, I got a surprise from AT&T. They called me to tell me that I'd racked up over $400 in roaming while in Bosnia, because it was not covered in my international plan. It took me over an hour to straighten this out. I DID tell them I was going there, they just didn't happen to cover it or tell me. They eventually waived all the fees after I got home. $400 for one day? WOW! I was lucky and grateful that this was waived. </div>
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After one full day and two nights, I moved on to Zagreb, Croatia to head north eventually to Ljubljana. The bus ride took over 10 hours. I really didn't think this trip through - I saw some great things but I spent so long on buses rushing around. The Muslibegovic house packed me a lunch for the journey which I thought was really sweet. Like I was a kid going off to school! Complete with a little juice box and an apple.</div>
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On the way to Zagreb (after safely out of Bosnia and its horrible roaming fees) I tried to pull up maps to see how we were progressing. We crept along at a snail's pace all day. I got bus sick and couldn't read. I couldn't eavesdrop on any conversations because everybody spoke Croatian or Bosnian. </div>
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sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01339519229120844046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19464456.post-34677278908471550882013-12-17T16:03:00.000-08:002013-12-17T16:08:07.472-08:00Meeting Cujo in Croatia<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This is about my three days in Croatia, on Hvar island 10/1/13 - 10/3/13</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My taxi came at 4AM, I listened to the German radio station playing in the taxi and some 80s music show was playing. The Axel F theme song came on and it was the perfect, kooky, over-synthed send-off. I had planned a scatterbrained trip around the periphery of Eastern Europe to see a few new countries. It was going to be rushed and a little stupid. My flight home was out of Warsaw, but I had a need to see Croatia and go to a beach. Later, I researched Croatia and was on the fence about it. Then, after a cold summer in Chicago the Croatia idea re-surfaced. I had almost three weeks, I can do it. I wouldn't recommend this itinerary to anybody else, though. Who goes to Sweden, runs a German marathon, rushes to Croatia and then busts ass to get back to Poland so that she can spend three days eating pierogi? Me. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222;">I was in Split in two hours. The intense sunshine and heat was wonderful. A few friends warned me that Split was just so-so, and the places to go were Hvar and Dubrovnik. Waiting for the airport bus to the harbor, I met an American girl named Sarafa and her German boyfriend whose name I forget, but it was something like Milko. They were also going straight to Hvar so bought tickets together for the one hour ferry. Sarafa and Milko live in Berlin and crushed some of my romantic notions about living there. They thought that people were a bit unfriendly and simple utility services came with attitudes and silly rules. They were looking to move. I always found the people in Berlin to be great (and I stay in a more residential neighborhood) and I live with comcast and com-ed. Sarafa doesn't get to speak English often with another American so she talked my ear off, which I enjoyed. They were an interesting and well-travelled couple. </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Hvar is beautiful. A sparkling Mediterranean port with villas and architecture that wasn't quite Italian, not Greek or Spanish, more restrained. It reminded me of a less hectic and cleaner version of a Greek island. It smells like salt air, pine and lavender that grows on the island and is for sale everywhere in little pouches for $2. I loved it immediately. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">bird and rabbit money!</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I didn't have a hotel reservation in Hvar but had a few places in mind to check out. Sarafa and Milko went off to their apartment rental and I walked around. The first place didn't have a room but they knew of a guy who had an apartment so I went with him to go look at it. The apartment was an offshoot of somebody's laundry room in a basement with no windows. Nope. I went to the palace hotel which was a blocky white hotel built in the communist days overlooking the harbor. It was fine for one night and cheap. The next day I'd look for something a little more my style. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I was still beat up from the marathon and all the graffiti tour walking so I parked myself at a cafe for some surprisingly good pizza and blogged. I sat and admired the harbor. This place was so perfect, I couldn't find anything wrong with it. I IM'd with my coworker friend Allison and told her that I was already bored. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: left;">I IM'd with some friends and people-watched. There is definitely a Dalmation coast jet-set thing going on in Hvar. Swanky shops, people in designer clothing, men in track-suits. I was definitely back in the Mediterranean! </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For dinner I walked the tiny alleyways and looked for a place with lobster. I found a little place in a charming alley that might have been a little too fancy for me. I accidentally spent as much as my hotel room on one of the best meals I've had - definitely the best in 2013. Oops! I do believe that a good meal is worth splurging on once in awhile, though - and I'd make up for it later. Lobster that I had to dissect myself with a giant vat of perfectly aldente pasta with tomatoes and green beans with crispy bits of pancetta. I used a whole loaf of bread to mop out the pasta skillet. With a glass of Hvar plavic wine. I texted a few people about the meal because I felt the need to talk about it immediately. Unplug, goddammit. What is wrong with me?</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">After my perfect meal on the perfect island and doing nothing all day and being completely bored, I made plans to go hiking the next day on a different, less inhabited island. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The next day I moved to Villa Nora, a little sobe (privately owned hotel) in a 16th century building with stone walls. I had a great view out the window of a tiny stone alley and a soccer store! </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Rick Steves recommended a restaurant that you can hike to on palmaziana in a hour and a half. A rustic little farm place that served home-cooked local meals. The people at villa Nora thought it was closed so I brought along some snacks to keep me alive until I hiked to the other side and back. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">This was a real hike. Rocky and a little treacherous. I climbed over rocks and fallen trees and saw views like this: </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I kept having Greece flashbacks:</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My restaurant was closed. Sadly, it looked like the family farmhouse of the Croatian grandmother I never had with a stone outdoor oven and inviting tables. I know the food I didn't get to have would have been great! There was another tiny hotel next to it that I thought might have a restaurant. I saw a woman preparing food but she shooed me away and said it was only for guests. I ate my sad little luna bar and hiked back to the harbor where I had some polenta and laid in some nice beach chairs. The people next to me were from a suburb of Chicago. There were some guys from Brazil laying out too and everybody chatted. I was happy to talk to the Chicagoans, because apparently I can't unplug and just immerse myself in Croatia. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">For dinner I tried another Rick Steves recommendation, konoba menego. They only serve local things. No coca cola, only wine from Croatia, only seafood from Hvar. I sat up in a little attic candle-lit room with barrel tables and close tables. The benches were uncomfortable but the smells coming out of the kitchen kept me there. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I had sea bass with sheep cheese and honey with more plavic wine. Before I took my second bite, I knew I was coming back the next day and every day I was in Hvar. The people at the next table were eating drunken figs and gave me some. It was the kind of restaurant where all the tables talk to eachother. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: start;">I stopped in a tiny wine cellar restaurant that had glasses for about a euro. The man who makes the wine serves out of big barrels to communal tables, I loved it. I met an older, know-it-all couple from Liverpool who had been coming to Hvar since 1975. They tried to ask me where I was staying and how much I was paying. Of course they were staying in an apartment for half the price. I tried to explain that I'm on vacation and don't want to cook and I like to stay IN town. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The next morning, I prepared for my bike ride by packing a picnic lunch! I had no idea what was in these rolls. I saw green, so I assumed it was spinach. (it was - it was like a spinach pie-roll!)</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I rented my bike. I had grandiose plans to bike ALL over the island. I figured I was in shape for this and it would be easy. I go to spinning class once a week. I just ran a marathon. Wrong, wrong wrong! It was the opposite of this. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The hills didn't look steep but they went on for miles. I had to put the bike in a very low gear and pedal like crazy ON the highway. Luckily there wasn't much traffic. I got just outside of town and strongly considered turning back!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I planned to stop at a quiet beach an hour outside town and eat my lunch. I got lost finding the beach and after going down an abandoned steep off-shooting road, I met some friendly Australian bikers who made the same mistake and saved me from going the rest of the way where there was no beach. They were REAL bikers, biking around the island with all of their belongings and they were struggling too, so I didn't feel so bad. Maybe biking is just hard, all of the time. Maybe I just don't enjoy it the way I enjoy when running is hard. I just accepted that it was going to be hard and it got a lot better!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I finally found the little beach!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">le pique-nique:</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Sometimes there weren't guard rails. I had to stop and hope the cars veered left and I wouldn't have to jump off the cliff. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">While riding up one hill, I had a standoff with a large mean dog who didn't want to let me pass. I froze and waited for the owner to come. And waited. And waited almost 5 minutes while it growled, bared its teeth and barked at me like crazy. Most people know that I am not really a dog person. My friend's dogs, I love. I yelled and yelled for the owner but nobody was around. I had just spent over an hour getting up this hill and in about a mile, I would be going downhill for good, ending up in Brusje and eventually back in town. If I didn't get around the dog, I would have to go back downhill and call a taxi. Passing the dog was going to have to be on the UPHILL. This was awful. No people around. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Finally, I decided to gun it! I rode past the dog while it while it chased me up the hill and snapped at my pedals and leaped at my legs. I had to ride hard and fast UP the hill to get away from it. Jerk dog! I totally regret not taking a picture of it. Finally I got past it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Looks like a leisurely bike ride!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Finally the road leveled off and I didn't have to pedal any more! All downhill!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The village of Brusje - it smelled like lavender. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My reward for the 5 hour bike ride. I wasn't bored anymore. I just needed some adventure! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I went back to last night's restaurant and told the waiter (the same one) that I would eat whatever he suggested. I got some seafood tortellini and a side of the same sheep cheese with honey from the night before. I had really good luck with Croatian food. I had spectacular dinners all three nights!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">before and after:</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirHUT4MDYr_ffbCFVA5CMpIBVbjZHqxihqI-HdMM2wS1x5XoW4jDXOB19J_clL3Ju_T9OLlvKZ-SFJ1RN0iVCN6eCejgPCePC7g5fWilFoMlZdaGKJn8xc8SKNhbgzJGbw43y4AA/s1600/pic26.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirHUT4MDYr_ffbCFVA5CMpIBVbjZHqxihqI-HdMM2wS1x5XoW4jDXOB19J_clL3Ju_T9OLlvKZ-SFJ1RN0iVCN6eCejgPCePC7g5fWilFoMlZdaGKJn8xc8SKNhbgzJGbw43y4AA/s320/pic26.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">They have a half marathon in Hvar that travels much of the route I took today. The first half of this would be really difficult (and would go past the mean dog!)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The next morning I took the boat back to Split to take the bus to my next destination, Bosnia. I saw this sign that made me laugh. If a friend got stung by a sea urchin, I wouldn't laugh at them, maybe I would pee on them?</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrUV4ILv95oqTi6H0x_WQOiYGvVpY4HtyEdlKKUDZYzxli6S8OoooYCCQTAagH-fNDyxDEPxWzek5kU23kav8Kc8lbRyj6Fo4ZrZVvIW0eOYX7xEP9M0bvDM74cK9BenHves-Q3Q/s1600/pic28.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrUV4ILv95oqTi6H0x_WQOiYGvVpY4HtyEdlKKUDZYzxli6S8OoooYCCQTAagH-fNDyxDEPxWzek5kU23kav8Kc8lbRyj6Fo4ZrZVvIW0eOYX7xEP9M0bvDM74cK9BenHves-Q3Q/s320/pic28.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I spent an hour or two wandering around the old ruins of Split:</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6Md8l5omn2J1oOAg9nagAjL0jY-XP4NLvQTyo0LJgyYmzy7NS29ccxBMAMAIsb9fRavimubX0LIagIn_ckg9CybH9bG2LBCv0x86TPbJ2_hSKpLEacD1vft4mt677nwiE0OlT2w/s1600/pic29.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6Md8l5omn2J1oOAg9nagAjL0jY-XP4NLvQTyo0LJgyYmzy7NS29ccxBMAMAIsb9fRavimubX0LIagIn_ckg9CybH9bG2LBCv0x86TPbJ2_hSKpLEacD1vft4mt677nwiE0OlT2w/s320/pic29.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Next: Bosnia!</span></div>
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sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01339519229120844046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19464456.post-84121338525895088732013-10-01T05:52:00.001-07:002013-10-01T06:33:04.963-07:00Graffiti tour and last day in Germany<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeV8xXsgpAO-NAZ8zvYFqk23UFeUxAOpcKnrk35tTH6mPWXg6p9R8bRQx1UXFYibXTOrXdTxQFB0w7FvCnkgDiFfCytafYPMQS5SQ7cq05NF9G_gowxBxZM-fvHao3ttLWsQuZRQ/s640/blogger-image-1329907335.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeV8xXsgpAO-NAZ8zvYFqk23UFeUxAOpcKnrk35tTH6mPWXg6p9R8bRQx1UXFYibXTOrXdTxQFB0w7FvCnkgDiFfCytafYPMQS5SQ7cq05NF9G_gowxBxZM-fvHao3ttLWsQuZRQ/s640/blogger-image-1329907335.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I wanted to take a graffiti and street art tour but I was worried that I'd be too tired because it was 4 hours long. "Why don't you DNF the tour?" asked Pankers. That was a great idea. DNF is a race term that means DId Not Finish. It's my vacation, if I want to go to only two hours of a tour, them I will! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">After my friends left for Oktoberfest and still undecided, I wandered around town and decided that if I made it in time, I'd go. If not, oh well. On the way to Alexanderplatz I stopped in the Ampelman store for some shopping. Ampelman is the little traffic light man in old east Berlin. They saved him as a nostalgic touch to the city. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2gJYoDS5rTpRbkBVGwQi7kSqymY6W6T36JcWxphwb45QIwUqG-lxzCEjcvyEcX_3scQRyE9ZyWLth4OBriA0leBAkqefOLukvXW12tnB7MIJfrG7wgJTd0ShL944WI2IJjhwtQg/s640/blogger-image-339795634.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2gJYoDS5rTpRbkBVGwQi7kSqymY6W6T36JcWxphwb45QIwUqG-lxzCEjcvyEcX_3scQRyE9ZyWLth4OBriA0leBAkqefOLukvXW12tnB7MIJfrG7wgJTd0ShL944WI2IJjhwtQg/s640/blogger-image-339795634.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I went by this sign and later learned that it meant "water where the fire hose water comes from"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM4xlPhtx6mAU6Au2G6iBVNQLFRZXmJBqVIsrxNTTVBs8UBxx6fmqDqDqUx1pdgJv4cMifOO3H8iSdwsxDdLwMBuXGgNLzKTMfQ91uHozoCrirqPvc5KGkcLL-5Ijztu9y3u3CIA/s640/blogger-image-487776784.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM4xlPhtx6mAU6Au2G6iBVNQLFRZXmJBqVIsrxNTTVBs8UBxx6fmqDqDqUx1pdgJv4cMifOO3H8iSdwsxDdLwMBuXGgNLzKTMfQ91uHozoCrirqPvc5KGkcLL-5Ijztu9y3u3CIA/s640/blogger-image-487776784.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Alexanderplatz, the meeting place of our tour. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB3q-2ruSAuZHZTPGvJqVJPnjISq7huegxYDfIkHLoKwgSr6Ebcf-DW8qM-zqC0PHLR2p7axAb-tJAOdKtEhag9o5xh4_1dg89110o12mGjX-WUOOOcOTRJqSOu8p2l2S6oCkU2w/s640/blogger-image--1780065187.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB3q-2ruSAuZHZTPGvJqVJPnjISq7huegxYDfIkHLoKwgSr6Ebcf-DW8qM-zqC0PHLR2p7axAb-tJAOdKtEhag9o5xh4_1dg89110o12mGjX-WUOOOcOTRJqSOu8p2l2S6oCkU2w/s640/blogger-image--1780065187.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I explained to our guide, Adrien, that I had errands to run and only had 2 hours. He was fine with that. In our group was some kids from the hostel, some Australians and a chain-smoking Russian girl with fake, injected lips who talked about clubbing and how amazing the clubs in Berlin are. She was friendly, though. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSggtfqM5xAD8chyphenhyphenw3vS4CGkrchQfn4WxRWZmRGIN-0vARKfsRFRo26x1cRIDiiMOqUP0KBQHvsuRr4aKQhQw-tOv4QZRQTcvikmBQb7Gy8qBQmSyXE0aEnJbgqvDGBgxWXEI2xg/s640/blogger-image-1258499093.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSggtfqM5xAD8chyphenhyphenw3vS4CGkrchQfn4WxRWZmRGIN-0vARKfsRFRo26x1cRIDiiMOqUP0KBQHvsuRr4aKQhQw-tOv4QZRQTcvikmBQb7Gy8qBQmSyXE0aEnJbgqvDGBgxWXEI2xg/s640/blogger-image-1258499093.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">We went to parts of town together on the train - places I'd never venture to on my own. We had to walk up and down tons of stairs. Walking down stairs the day after a marathon is a special kind of hell. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">This artist formed an important graffiti gang called the crazy young kids or something like that. He painted two-handed fists around the city from 1995 to 2004. He invented a special hand cart that enabled him to roll up and down the subway tracks at night to paint. They were the premier graffiti group in the early 2000s. The groups formed little families and everyone had a job to do when a piece went up because they had to be painted so fast. Some people watched for police, some painted, etc. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIvQhcgscj5OVXA0Z8xw5EH8HI7knxqFW_Nk-zXCBbPVzIExibn_NSe1KpXEeviBoae4MFrrKAslyaM8vxqO6bQEdl5cvFKVN2DVh4Q5RnpBvYJD77zi1ge7WdUuKKNZjrVQKm6g/s640/blogger-image-328075701.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIvQhcgscj5OVXA0Z8xw5EH8HI7knxqFW_Nk-zXCBbPVzIExibn_NSe1KpXEeviBoae4MFrrKAslyaM8vxqO6bQEdl5cvFKVN2DVh4Q5RnpBvYJD77zi1ge7WdUuKKNZjrVQKm6g/s640/blogger-image-328075701.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">This is an example of a heaven piece. You climb up to the roof of a building (or break in) and paint down with big rollers. The artist's nickname issue Poet. The piece below was spray painted with a fire extinguisher, which I guess is harder than it looks. Artist's name is Just. Poet and Just are famous Berlin graffiti guys. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK5TIV9FKvVWDzxD_j5opSgQ1xDqvKatSVsGFMxfXXRBf0I0djcXMnhXcovooPOAo1kbLH-sok58Kgh-JpkJEWTWVbOrUooJNE6RSv3ayABtZR25R-1M2FEf8bNfunro8fWLzn6g/s640/blogger-image-1766236493.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK5TIV9FKvVWDzxD_j5opSgQ1xDqvKatSVsGFMxfXXRBf0I0djcXMnhXcovooPOAo1kbLH-sok58Kgh-JpkJEWTWVbOrUooJNE6RSv3ayABtZR25R-1M2FEf8bNfunro8fWLzn6g/s640/blogger-image-1766236493.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">This was hand-painted by repelling down the building. When the spotlight of the car dealership next door shines on it, it looks like he's really landing on the moon. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHw8mB9zJM164IPsfMHqm0EZT1FaGq0M2OUH2G58Cwl-Uk2cNxvqVMX424Smc5_GdaFmMze6FQrMv-N6BZvONtTtwW4168Blo1t1PrPj8walNiHMb7yi5dmDogYnLZLbld1P81YA/s640/blogger-image-1683278967.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHw8mB9zJM164IPsfMHqm0EZT1FaGq0M2OUH2G58Cwl-Uk2cNxvqVMX424Smc5_GdaFmMze6FQrMv-N6BZvONtTtwW4168Blo1t1PrPj8walNiHMb7yi5dmDogYnLZLbld1P81YA/s640/blogger-image-1683278967.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">This guy is an up and coming graffiti artist that can paint incredibly fast and created his own font (hard to see). He also repels up and down buildings. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">People don't spend the money to remove the graffiti so much in Berlin because the artists are so relentless - they just paint it back. It's also not usually tied to gangs and crime as it is in Chicago. It's more "art" here. Not universally loved but more universally tolerated as part of the patchwork of the city. People paint over the graffiti with other graffiti, though. It's accepted that a piece could change over time. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgh60Qgik9UmfVI7mCjs_ZJepChlf7Wd5TeuJer3n3nbrd3Gc769lP3TpZWrvWDACXGcGqBajvw_I7WSCUgSd-Jz4YOFUNIj5ioJunYOHaT12Epac8p9m2I_-7pIbrQWedClydqA/s640/blogger-image-1452206617.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgh60Qgik9UmfVI7mCjs_ZJepChlf7Wd5TeuJer3n3nbrd3Gc769lP3TpZWrvWDACXGcGqBajvw_I7WSCUgSd-Jz4YOFUNIj5ioJunYOHaT12Epac8p9m2I_-7pIbrQWedClydqA/s640/blogger-image-1452206617.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">This guy paints indigenous animals that were forced out by the cities developing. He travels around the world and paints different animals native to that area. I thought this was fascinating. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4euQ4rS7-gaTtbBGnsEzpDwx0KRW3Qz08NS7Ik049ZRSZjcZrB3tZrUVxZag390y3TFRDkBPUVRJOWXU2OJuzwVQSsHUzkCxdZwAp8l-TRbx8GrHzYGnpgVTBbg4C_L6e35NgbA/s640/blogger-image-24975731.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4euQ4rS7-gaTtbBGnsEzpDwx0KRW3Qz08NS7Ik049ZRSZjcZrB3tZrUVxZag390y3TFRDkBPUVRJOWXU2OJuzwVQSsHUzkCxdZwAp8l-TRbx8GrHzYGnpgVTBbg4C_L6e35NgbA/s640/blogger-image-24975731.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">This was part of a big warehouse area that hosts artists. This one is from an Israeli artist and addresses some of Germany's more painful history:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi10OyLMEm60yztmfcKE7iQauZBsdAiP7qNpkmqQVJBJ2C5w2S30jI2EkuWU48gZYjVxJx0i6Tqom_9K0406pDRF7lVMoJ6bZBFffDl2mMxnZyOCCMH8Y-0YScTfSaZQyCcweEEMg/s640/blogger-image-1439175980.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi10OyLMEm60yztmfcKE7iQauZBsdAiP7qNpkmqQVJBJ2C5w2S30jI2EkuWU48gZYjVxJx0i6Tqom_9K0406pDRF7lVMoJ6bZBFffDl2mMxnZyOCCMH8Y-0YScTfSaZQyCcweEEMg/s640/blogger-image-1439175980.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Behind the warehouse was this strange little photo booth that actually had people in it taking pictures! I can not stop looking at this picture. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWw9YQ3nPMGp_0QidwbhIDAL1UobU1U4Qmm0pewz4L-wqVc2Cqx7wfYAc83eTI05cvlLbqdZBBIEEo7Lq7fQL7p4W09bXPRLwdTTCgkWeY8cvgNW-I28ZYnKMWegPros5nv6ySTA/s640/blogger-image--638434452.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWw9YQ3nPMGp_0QidwbhIDAL1UobU1U4Qmm0pewz4L-wqVc2Cqx7wfYAc83eTI05cvlLbqdZBBIEEo7Lq7fQL7p4W09bXPRLwdTTCgkWeY8cvgNW-I28ZYnKMWegPros5nv6ySTA/s640/blogger-image--638434452.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">This artist takes the environment into account. When the pipe drips and freezes, it deliberately looks like snot! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3Env9ODDMApCkb0fB_-A8Pzhj5yJ8Rm2uJByqU9Si1gash_kgC4jsjXLFPBeZ-Qagjh0CiG0eWC_jp9vmocm8sIHHpcRgqEYt6Sklyzky5hHH-Dy1Jb5gft_NTblGkLBm_OBSIQ/s640/blogger-image--760875350.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3Env9ODDMApCkb0fB_-A8Pzhj5yJ8Rm2uJByqU9Si1gash_kgC4jsjXLFPBeZ-Qagjh0CiG0eWC_jp9vmocm8sIHHpcRgqEYt6Sklyzky5hHH-Dy1Jb5gft_NTblGkLBm_OBSIQ/s640/blogger-image--760875350.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I forget what all the ants mean here. I was just so tired and didn't take notes. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtWsxQlUmGsRIXwRA7rrFP-o2uiht9ey-vUnBfgxinhDfnWPr-bCZQsYLnfx_dCg4K3oXzEBAj9DTYvrldsUvbfDGwXupkJGSqN8tKTLn9ji-Sc95b7ugCfqmFqAC5LLJbVvq3wQ/s640/blogger-image-1283670247.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtWsxQlUmGsRIXwRA7rrFP-o2uiht9ey-vUnBfgxinhDfnWPr-bCZQsYLnfx_dCg4K3oXzEBAj9DTYvrldsUvbfDGwXupkJGSqN8tKTLn9ji-Sc95b7ugCfqmFqAC5LLJbVvq3wQ/s640/blogger-image-1283670247.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I went home and read. I walked by my favorite new restaurant</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBy74HHWOeiuGVamJ7IXB_fjK2scA1z2Ae2mdjfc1nbxErEVyj8eqDwyu-qP4MZsxTYZD8a1ZFVKEKOATDJcM1UM98v6yIMnNo41GlxBT8_iDWFL9qrSpthHhCgnNAkn-r5mL-bw/s640/blogger-image-270025988.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBy74HHWOeiuGVamJ7IXB_fjK2scA1z2Ae2mdjfc1nbxErEVyj8eqDwyu-qP4MZsxTYZD8a1ZFVKEKOATDJcM1UM98v6yIMnNo41GlxBT8_iDWFL9qrSpthHhCgnNAkn-r5mL-bw/s640/blogger-image-270025988.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">But decided to go for German instead for my last night in Germany.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhirSMavyJhW34epgj_lF0dqhpHcFMVXUPl52ndiY7qeM0Sc_9voT8wRor2PpZm_pve_MmUct4AiPEeScbBc-TdwuFZrvuVgd3pt1AXSNcuYvhQlXMobqKXLswedxM8ItzidLlE7Q/s640/blogger-image-1606602973.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhirSMavyJhW34epgj_lF0dqhpHcFMVXUPl52ndiY7qeM0Sc_9voT8wRor2PpZm_pve_MmUct4AiPEeScbBc-TdwuFZrvuVgd3pt1AXSNcuYvhQlXMobqKXLswedxM8ItzidLlE7Q/s640/blogger-image-1606602973.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Next: Croatia </div>sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01339519229120844046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19464456.post-951345147527033242013-10-01T05:19:00.001-07:002013-10-01T05:27:48.299-07:00Marathon #5<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzLc0EhFynG3U8Lzn79ol23gatQGDT8mW8whedH1rAB1-Fm8yU_WkQdiKOzKTu8NgMF6csJIOQe2bM17QwEnA5Aam5_8rwvQC8epXW1L4OB3SX8vsrTa2iOMeSkTrxzdkD2lekIw/s640/blogger-image--156163161.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzLc0EhFynG3U8Lzn79ol23gatQGDT8mW8whedH1rAB1-Fm8yU_WkQdiKOzKTu8NgMF6csJIOQe2bM17QwEnA5Aam5_8rwvQC8epXW1L4OB3SX8vsrTa2iOMeSkTrxzdkD2lekIw/s640/blogger-image--156163161.jpg"></a></div><br><div><br></div><div>Warning - this post could be extremely boring unless you want to hear me drone on about running. </div><div><br></div><div>I went to bed Saturday night with hopes of sleeping 5 hours. They say the night before the night before the race is most important for sleep - and I slept great Friday. 5 hours is really all you can hope for. </div><div><br></div><div>I woke up before the alarm and ate breakfast with Laura and Sean. We had only about 20 minutes to eat, and I eat a LOT. I shoveled as much food as I could into my mouth and we met Pankers to walk to the train. I wasn't feeling nervous, but Laura and I kept wondering "what if we lost all of our fitness during the taper?" Usually a runner tapers a few weeks before a marathon to rest and store energy. I typically gain a couple of pounds during the taper but this time I didn't. My insane appetite went away for a week or two. You aren't moving as much, so you feel lazy, like you aren't doing anything to help yourself. Your instinct is to "cram for the exam" and you can't. </div><div><br></div><div>During the taper it's common to get moody or emotional. My two half ironman friends Ann and Anna were laughing about how stupid tv shows or commercials were making them weepy the week before their event. </div><div><br></div><div>We lost Sean at his gear check - men and women have different gear checks at this race. We found our gear check (they put the women in the woods - women comprise only about 25-30% of this race)</div><div>and got in our corrals, laughing at the awesome German announcer. Every race should be officiated in a German accent! </div><div><br></div><div>They were playing pop music to pump us up, and an aerobics instructor got up on a platform to give us funny warm up dances to do. And everybody danced along in the corral. One of those "only in Germany" moments. It was hilarious! The elites took off, then the sub 4 hour people, then we moved up to the starting line while they played a dance version of "zorba's dance", the Greek party song. Everybody clapped along in time. The energy was amazing and I was elated and so excited. They announced all the major visiting countries who were participating. Denmark, Poland, England and the United States when I yelled a loud WOOO! The energy of 40,000 people in the starting corral is just so overwhelming. </div><div><br></div><div>We got to cross the starting line and I turned my iPod on. My goal was to run 9:40 to 9:45 miles the whole way. My new garmin watch helped a lot. I didn't have to worry about kilometers or think about anything. I would take it mile by mile. Once that mile was finished, it was over and I'd start again. No dwelling about the past mile or thinking about future miles. Be a robot and just follow the watch. That was a new strategy for me. </div><div><br></div><div>Miles 1 - 5 i tried to feel loose and slow down. I always run too fast at first and fade later. I needed to learn that lesson </div><div><br></div><div>Miles 5 - 11 I felt fantastic. Nothing hurt. I could go like this all day!</div><div><br></div><div>Miles 11 - 15 ok, past the halfway mark - got that out of the way. Still feeling good but struggling really hard to keep up the pace after stopping for water and powerade. The watch told me exactly how much aid station cost me. I knew I needed to have water, but I had no time to dawdle. It was slam the water down and catch up. I was noticing all these tall, muscular Northern European men and proud that I could run with them. Still thinking positive! </div><div><br></div><div>Mile 16 - a stupid power gel display. They were handing out large tearable pouches of power gel. I wanted one and could not rip it open. I wasted so much energy trying to rip that stupid packet open or tear it with my teeth. I was so annoyed. Other people were able to open theirs, and all the spilled gel made the street sticky for at least a kilometer. You could hear everybody's shoes sticking to the pavement and making sticky, crackling sounds. Running on sticky concrete wasted so much energy. But after that mile was over, per my rules I left it behind. Leave the frustration of that stupid mile behind and start new on 17. </div><div><br></div><div>Mile 17 - 20 the crowds were amazing! I am just not the kind of runner that likes crowds or feeds off the noise. I do better getting into my own head and focusing. The iPod was a great idea. I could tune everything out. Starting to feel a little tired but still good! </div><div><br></div><div>Mile 20 - I reminded myself that this was usually when things fall apart. I was still able to run mile 19 in about 9:30. The next few miles were miraculously OK. </div><div><br></div><div>Mile 23.5 - I just ran out of steam. I slowed down to a 10 or 10:30 pace. My hamstrings felt soooo bad. They had never hurt before a few weeks ago. At least my stupid plantar fasciitis felt OK. Everyone was hurting. I was actually passing people. I saw people walking. Unless I'm injured, I never walk. It's mile 24, it's supposed to hurt like a motherfucker! If it doesn't, you are either running an ultra or you aren't trying hard enough, I say. At least pretend to run. </div><div><br></div><div>Mile 24 - 26 I looked at my watch and finally knew that if I could just run 11 minute miles and under, I would PR. Just 20 more minutes of this wretched feeling. Just 10 more. There's Brandenburg gate, there's the finish line! </div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVDI1gNvlwrkdifRSffgfciTR1hOVBh0PQstRfDrpW6ZYDsSHM_GLMpcg30n4QVN5FESQfSTIxRIngONzyvjEbz88943izJNtxKvj8TT9c5-l4GE9kOtOreoFWMipwQ8upijaglg/s640/blogger-image--886127268.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVDI1gNvlwrkdifRSffgfciTR1hOVBh0PQstRfDrpW6ZYDsSHM_GLMpcg30n4QVN5FESQfSTIxRIngONzyvjEbz88943izJNtxKvj8TT9c5-l4GE9kOtOreoFWMipwQ8upijaglg/s640/blogger-image--886127268.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><br></div><div>Result - 4:15:58. Goal was 4:15. I'm totally OK with that! </div><div><br></div><div>I met Erika, Pankers, Laura, Kimberley and Derek in a beer garden. </div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWX_5LjWZi2nWsBcOXdoAeSHinLEEAu74MN5EM0sYGPWazhHkWpn4_xYGz7WY36tojl61DXD5KRIsWxFjE3_3U-st5RkPzYUS7U1cDByZxxOv_buXH-E63J-GWl7WCkzVdLD9Bdw/s640/blogger-image--1250117271.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWX_5LjWZi2nWsBcOXdoAeSHinLEEAu74MN5EM0sYGPWazhHkWpn4_xYGz7WY36tojl61DXD5KRIsWxFjE3_3U-st5RkPzYUS7U1cDByZxxOv_buXH-E63J-GWl7WCkzVdLD9Bdw/s640/blogger-image--1250117271.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr5Tpilek4xfQPe8CL_wazKI_lld3BzhQYE16I7ziibz6j4IPBYLwY18NS7KX6nrT2Wl5P_GX6M_0rzeRHFgb52XYYPx0JxJjl45YjhITYdCMtc3HPhUphvJPDhncI3czsI7GTbA/s640/blogger-image-83272155.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr5Tpilek4xfQPe8CL_wazKI_lld3BzhQYE16I7ziibz6j4IPBYLwY18NS7KX6nrT2Wl5P_GX6M_0rzeRHFgb52XYYPx0JxJjl45YjhITYdCMtc3HPhUphvJPDhncI3czsI7GTbA/s640/blogger-image-83272155.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>Erika and Pankers both PR'd and Boston-qualified. They are both so fast! </div><div><br></div><div>Laura and I realized that we didn't turn our chips in. We'd be charged 25 euros each if we didn't. We decided to limp back to the race and turn them in. It took forever. We got lost. Finally we convinced some race employees to take them from us. Now we had the daunting task of taking the train home (read: steps, lots of steps!) I said "I wish we had a riskshaw to take us home" a few minutes later, we SAW A RICKSHAW and a nice lady biked us home for 16 euros. It was worth every penny and so much fun. </div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">We couldn't walk far so we drank beer in the hostel bar across the street. Later some of us got curry wurst and I accidentally spilled some on my bed while I was eating and it left a yellow curry stain. It was a great end to a day I'll always remember! I love running around one of my favorite cities in the world. </div><br></div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUvIztFltxcr8OQqfn5Ri7pRXN0tzSl_3xIqGH-CceXqeHt7Dx81aCZoZ1_3CS2B1y_H-czWcSNvGFMd1uk1Vb0zU3VRA0yt2I8cJ7RH5l7ATmJsGXNPefZ7D8Rfs74h7z5KeQ3g/s640/blogger-image-1714438486.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUvIztFltxcr8OQqfn5Ri7pRXN0tzSl_3xIqGH-CceXqeHt7Dx81aCZoZ1_3CS2B1y_H-czWcSNvGFMd1uk1Vb0zU3VRA0yt2I8cJ7RH5l7ATmJsGXNPefZ7D8Rfs74h7z5KeQ3g/s640/blogger-image-1714438486.jpg"></a></div><br></div>sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01339519229120844046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19464456.post-61721720512365577302013-09-30T08:52:00.001-07:002013-09-30T08:54:50.704-07:00Back in Berlin!<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimtBXob1KBbjU_W65LFPmrSJfwl4aVIzgG2o9uJfQn9_vqGKF4vBKn5NuQVfkHCKKrRaoJda2OBkG6k9p8Hv4KyBdYYDUBN3rOVeO0xXpVNe7GRoALHED6P8uGpX9ZmWT29EZWdA/s640/blogger-image--431560526.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimtBXob1KBbjU_W65LFPmrSJfwl4aVIzgG2o9uJfQn9_vqGKF4vBKn5NuQVfkHCKKrRaoJda2OBkG6k9p8Hv4KyBdYYDUBN3rOVeO0xXpVNe7GRoALHED6P8uGpX9ZmWT29EZWdA/s640/blogger-image--431560526.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I have so much love for this city. Berlin isn't the most obviously beautiful city in Europe (there is a lot of competition) but it's definitely one of the most interesting. I feel at home here! It's vibrant, a little rough around the edges (but safe), cosmopolitan, artistic and it was the center of one of the most important revolutions of my lifetime. My grandparent's generation fought in WW2 in Europe but it was my generation of Germans that tore down the wall when I was in college. I came here in 2011 to run the Berlin marathon with some friends from CARA, and this year we decided to come back - (some same people, mostly new people). We were all lucky to get in, the race sold out in 3.5 hours! I had to have Kimberley register for me because I was on a bus in Morocco last fall when registration opened. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I landed on Friday completely recovered from jet lag and excited to see my friends. I was really looking forward to the marathon expo (it was fun last time) but this year it was maddening. My claustrophobia kicked in big time (this picture looks oddly empty of people). I bought a few shirts and picked up my bib. Usually I have a rush of emotion or excitement when I actually get my marathon bib and chip in my hands. This time, I did not. I had been strangely ambivalent about the race for about a week, almost negative about it. I blame lack of sleep or maybe that I was tired. I needed to get that energy back. I believe that marathons are very mental and positive mental energy means everything in doing well in a long race. I can slog through a 5k with any state of mind but a 13.1 or over needs something else. I had an almost perfect summer of training but I was suspicious and felt that my luck had maybe run out, which is completely crazy. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjknNPEwvM4Q-baHu8UKPst8mI0VXStl8ssgG0iykAcUVnSBf7MQkfIYAemDENOHq7mJgV2LtKbpS2FZ5ax9-Ea8ddZPE3GWYYB-tpdoOwFx6rkyGS-NZ4tPqsrLbt9J7V4Lo36oQ/s640/blogger-image-1784441027.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjknNPEwvM4Q-baHu8UKPst8mI0VXStl8ssgG0iykAcUVnSBf7MQkfIYAemDENOHq7mJgV2LtKbpS2FZ5ax9-Ea8ddZPE3GWYYB-tpdoOwFx6rkyGS-NZ4tPqsrLbt9J7V4Lo36oQ/s640/blogger-image-1784441027.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">We ate bratwursts at the expo and I got a carrot-ginger heath juice thing that I hoped would make me somehow heathy and vibrant. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I was able to finally check into my room at the Circus hotel, same place we stayed 2 years ago. I love that hotel. Reasonably priced and friendly with a great breakfast. I love the neighborhood too! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGJtidEwFbiY7ysbuOru41-pAMRq2YxSxVb0L3xqK4d3t3yDu9YbYiJPdDHEyftGsTb_lODvVOJP60Vhj55SujtXjjwqTew3Vw6ldnWP2rIxZAtuLIhU61GBog9uf9lfB4iVWNgA/s640/blogger-image-451746098.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGJtidEwFbiY7ysbuOru41-pAMRq2YxSxVb0L3xqK4d3t3yDu9YbYiJPdDHEyftGsTb_lODvVOJP60Vhj55SujtXjjwqTew3Vw6ldnWP2rIxZAtuLIhU61GBog9uf9lfB4iVWNgA/s640/blogger-image-451746098.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I feel like this is the montrose brown line stop - my home! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivWAoM1MnI2hbqDtR9fFfGDnZFX3FGRNBmhOUMlxK0XF-Bf9hi_1IUUP7hvIReGgTTLEkAc7_HfKMRmy3dURY54z31qmPQMtXbAF9bmVRiRatxQxvETr87_wykk3KaJZuZN8n9iQ/s640/blogger-image--906083383.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivWAoM1MnI2hbqDtR9fFfGDnZFX3FGRNBmhOUMlxK0XF-Bf9hi_1IUUP7hvIReGgTTLEkAc7_HfKMRmy3dURY54z31qmPQMtXbAF9bmVRiRatxQxvETr87_wykk3KaJZuZN8n9iQ/s640/blogger-image--906083383.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">That evening I went to a Russian dumpling place that blew my mind. I met the others at their German restaurant to have a drink with them. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I woke up in a much better state of mind, completely positive about the race again, thank goodness. You can't force the way you feel so I was relieved. Saturday morning we did a group photo shoot at the a East side gallery (top picture). It was nice to revisit all the artwork. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA0lAyW1KOeSbqXnpS3o-AhCBnf5798dMw0oAyw5lLrlQtKbil4Pc3aGEy6PI-sZ980prO6zunuP3-asUz9MoDBvNsTGqADcwngskWO6mLxyfnIHS2jvAMiLzxE0g5Vi6FJGfTig/s640/blogger-image--1858118312.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA0lAyW1KOeSbqXnpS3o-AhCBnf5798dMw0oAyw5lLrlQtKbil4Pc3aGEy6PI-sZ980prO6zunuP3-asUz9MoDBvNsTGqADcwngskWO6mLxyfnIHS2jvAMiLzxE0g5Vi6FJGfTig/s640/blogger-image--1858118312.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKHyBUlAkz3CR5hf9cwsuNdTjhEVk7nJpv0ZycBPmH2rnyuQZ0LEOIDvL7rcM0KT5_wga8JSzhT30s3oJ0N9GRTslmx2eWqOLt4Y-jaGohappRQXdtqk5Yz0YrGloDDcWJuZhJUQ/s640/blogger-image-257522533.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKHyBUlAkz3CR5hf9cwsuNdTjhEVk7nJpv0ZycBPmH2rnyuQZ0LEOIDvL7rcM0KT5_wga8JSzhT30s3oJ0N9GRTslmx2eWqOLt4Y-jaGohappRQXdtqk5Yz0YrGloDDcWJuZhJUQ/s640/blogger-image-257522533.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">A Trabant, an old communist-era car: </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijZTwUuZH3lbNwasHrW1BZzeziZqxHOclBcPCS_X2fH6ptUPKNXeoNMCY3mkAwY4QSSXSZYrtQBzQqt_q8Sju7TSjkqVGCQ93CMOdw2aFyIk0xMMcG8hOcMekigoSWkRyghDDlVw/s640/blogger-image--1812675200.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijZTwUuZH3lbNwasHrW1BZzeziZqxHOclBcPCS_X2fH6ptUPKNXeoNMCY3mkAwY4QSSXSZYrtQBzQqt_q8Sju7TSjkqVGCQ93CMOdw2aFyIk0xMMcG8hOcMekigoSWkRyghDDlVw/s640/blogger-image--1812675200.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">After the photo shoot, Pankers and I took the train home while the others toured the city. We had the same idea - rest! I locked myself away in my room to read with my legs elevated. I had walked so much in Stockholm that I was worried. It was torture to be back in Berlin and not be able to walk around but it paid off in the end. That evening, we had a grandma-early pasta dinner and got all of our outfits ready before early bedtimes. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Next: marathon day </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div>sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01339519229120844046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19464456.post-65793582609751757882013-09-30T06:02:00.001-07:002013-09-30T08:03:06.442-07:00Stockholm - Reindeer and a soccer riot<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; clear: both;"><br></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPAT4mDbHA-jufRh9oQ34BcnSrd77Ul3Eu_10QL6QbWVHwJtJ89qLzfYY01kGymt3zh8ONmoeFv93dKcZf7V2mWWJHrsa4TX8vrnb9Hqyzgrw9fXYvHrTZ3WdqS8YyN4y-t59Rlg/s640/blogger-image-1209510427.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPAT4mDbHA-jufRh9oQ34BcnSrd77Ul3Eu_10QL6QbWVHwJtJ89qLzfYY01kGymt3zh8ONmoeFv93dKcZf7V2mWWJHrsa4TX8vrnb9Hqyzgrw9fXYvHrTZ3WdqS8YyN4y-t59Rlg/s640/blogger-image-1209510427.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPAT4mDbHA-jufRh9oQ34BcnSrd77Ul3Eu_10QL6QbWVHwJtJ89qLzfYY01kGymt3zh8ONmoeFv93dKcZf7V2mWWJHrsa4TX8vrnb9Hqyzgrw9fXYvHrTZ3WdqS8YyN4y-t59Rlg/s640/blogger-image-1209510427.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtgilO89li7Qb0wwdGF11A2ahmZIRRZKhJVRyhkdnhK4H8ybGbNxYMP92W4g59fK2mZdJe7ChYtu4fH8kgwFA4oH9f_H9wGhI5bS_mAS9lJA9-gyhD-aeR62wJChrgzLFsUWAd_Q/s640/blogger-image-1576457684.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtgilO89li7Qb0wwdGF11A2ahmZIRRZKhJVRyhkdnhK4H8ybGbNxYMP92W4g59fK2mZdJe7ChYtu4fH8kgwFA4oH9f_H9wGhI5bS_mAS9lJA9-gyhD-aeR62wJChrgzLFsUWAd_Q/s640/blogger-image-1576457684.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I've never been to Scandanavia and several flights to Berlin had layovers in Sweden or Finland. I decided to create a 48 hour layover to see a new city!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">SAS wasn't my favorite airline to be honest. I've had better coach experiences, but I've had worse I guess. It wasn't packed, though so I was happy about that. Dinner was only one choice - meat stew. No fun local touches. Small seats. KLM last year was better. I alternated between reading and watching the are-we-there-yet channel:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3beaAPFX6-IYxRwnj18d_XitRSgPq2q2uckewCuq3lF4FzgyK8A30kFcIBu4GE5Qy2umHTkweZj4kPMf5guogYSa05rKZJqYq7L7FV1cNa2kjYlZGzRXNefcZH5xkVj8HlZ5WLg/s640/blogger-image-1580015972.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3beaAPFX6-IYxRwnj18d_XitRSgPq2q2uckewCuq3lF4FzgyK8A30kFcIBu4GE5Qy2umHTkweZj4kPMf5guogYSa05rKZJqYq7L7FV1cNa2kjYlZGzRXNefcZH5xkVj8HlZ5WLg/s640/blogger-image-1580015972.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">One of the movie choices was Sideways. I forgot how absolutely hilarious that movie is! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I took the cheap bus into the city and walked a mile to the hotel. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I researched this weekend forever. I booked the Story hotel months ago, which is kind of an edgy hotel with a cool bar and restaurant. Sweden is crazy expensive but I paid for the room months ago so it wasn't as painful. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZUFx27ePybZMdfVPvrtQPTUCkbSe5WmgTgWSgCHrJDhJXQmjj5P3WT3UQX1rqCZiDT3nw7hp3he0coA2fYoqmo4tMyGPz5wVe_iXuOIBwvfFoQkOpVReti21tbdUDJ0q5PdWKNg/s640/blogger-image-288447926.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZUFx27ePybZMdfVPvrtQPTUCkbSe5WmgTgWSgCHrJDhJXQmjj5P3WT3UQX1rqCZiDT3nw7hp3he0coA2fYoqmo4tMyGPz5wVe_iXuOIBwvfFoQkOpVReti21tbdUDJ0q5PdWKNg/s640/blogger-image-288447926.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Art in the hotel. I felt like this little girl was judging me for taking a two-hour nap. </div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7gXTnxZs0FHhjlsWeXJAO8k8oSW8XJdWxMbKJVNLSEfkw1pQd0Yh5OgMq4JZMqCGzm61L4RBMBlm1gWxezisYyKw9vIFGH-OuzPtcr-118dCTl3JnF4oXL6UzbG1uxEQRjfvBgw/s640/blogger-image-1590797902.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7gXTnxZs0FHhjlsWeXJAO8k8oSW8XJdWxMbKJVNLSEfkw1pQd0Yh5OgMq4JZMqCGzm61L4RBMBlm1gWxezisYyKw9vIFGH-OuzPtcr-118dCTl3JnF4oXL6UzbG1uxEQRjfvBgw/s640/blogger-image-1590797902.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I got up and explored my neighborhood. It was so cold - in the 40s and many places had people sitting outside! I liked the concept of these fuzzy chairs for keeping warm in the cold:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvhKS9YK8l0e-GpTMR0btMlzEq0G9k7lc2X6yWdfcDAqMS2HuVFtw6dbQpQtZKkPSnBRH7wDCx0AKCAgGDYkEef8T6XUMHF9RDgMXbmI7QL9S78eM4pWeIq7cp8IcM3zZqDRzHTA/s640/blogger-image--1963460223.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvhKS9YK8l0e-GpTMR0btMlzEq0G9k7lc2X6yWdfcDAqMS2HuVFtw6dbQpQtZKkPSnBRH7wDCx0AKCAgGDYkEef8T6XUMHF9RDgMXbmI7QL9S78eM4pWeIq7cp8IcM3zZqDRzHTA/s640/blogger-image--1963460223.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I explored Sauhall, close to the hotel. </div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-_cODJ0DzVhREgd888HvX133OggaZCtkQ0S6t3ITZkf95Pqv0UOXuaJbmbGomkxw6LA9YNTAJ1hlU24dTqhyphenhyphenMTg15-rMOfH-f_Mau1o6VXahPnwVCsE9_-G2qqxDkZO0FsQawqA/s640/blogger-image--497817367.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-_cODJ0DzVhREgd888HvX133OggaZCtkQ0S6t3ITZkf95Pqv0UOXuaJbmbGomkxw6LA9YNTAJ1hlU24dTqhyphenhyphenMTg15-rMOfH-f_Mau1o6VXahPnwVCsE9_-G2qqxDkZO0FsQawqA/s640/blogger-image--497817367.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">It only got up to 52 that day. Being from Chicago where people wear shorts as soon as it hits 55, I appreciated that the Swedes didn't wimp out on the outdoor seating. They sometimes provided blankets! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6Tw8-sxv4zpIj3dwsjwLawRyAhiyekX6PqryouEfJE4S6xSfsoL6TKchuSp4DDZ8JgXIQN2u5MefvadAmsHYON8wVS9pKNBesQ66rA_Pb_8YxROEkBpU8D2pswpCOibgIVzEMJw/s640/blogger-image-676303235.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6Tw8-sxv4zpIj3dwsjwLawRyAhiyekX6PqryouEfJE4S6xSfsoL6TKchuSp4DDZ8JgXIQN2u5MefvadAmsHYON8wVS9pKNBesQ66rA_Pb_8YxROEkBpU8D2pswpCOibgIVzEMJw/s640/blogger-image-676303235.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I loved this sign:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8eEuaSEVLRvML0btR6C38NUueZHNTfrHHo0wsfV2d5BNHj3_YBe70ZWS-lKLZl9ey6wYZC4_rZbw_nxCLwKrPov-1XSEExmbVKtK4WHoiWQSaCZKwSDe6gemoVl36rMsWopjX7A/s640/blogger-image--389258694.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8eEuaSEVLRvML0btR6C38NUueZHNTfrHHo0wsfV2d5BNHj3_YBe70ZWS-lKLZl9ey6wYZC4_rZbw_nxCLwKrPov-1XSEExmbVKtK4WHoiWQSaCZKwSDe6gemoVl36rMsWopjX7A/s640/blogger-image--389258694.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I explored Gamla Stan, the old historic touristy part of the city:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg651GJfaWTMYxB1eT2mY1-LZAu9TjkvsjDj3A7JvAA_wvFzYyZmBq7nvnnuLrmDzo6RRi1bZ9U4_X3SoNv2Y7OjI4KAq0MwgUen7Kkt1qzzcTWDfDB9McpRCNxfBQDKnzD6srXBg/s640/blogger-image-810674977.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg651GJfaWTMYxB1eT2mY1-LZAu9TjkvsjDj3A7JvAA_wvFzYyZmBq7nvnnuLrmDzo6RRi1bZ9U4_X3SoNv2Y7OjI4KAq0MwgUen7Kkt1qzzcTWDfDB9McpRCNxfBQDKnzD6srXBg/s640/blogger-image-810674977.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I was jet-lagged and loopy! But extremely happy to be traveling sonewhere new:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS2UL_zWQ5J0XMSWeIOOr-WyCfZMlb8-HUW15jeAccPo34ZjxRwl-9lh_klB_gORlqsM36sZaGYU7yJGSetHvO6k_HWFNHWEfSumO8Y3i7cbPYreuk4hSUm-mrzbl0MGo-CjF6HA/s640/blogger-image--2022099737.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS2UL_zWQ5J0XMSWeIOOr-WyCfZMlb8-HUW15jeAccPo34ZjxRwl-9lh_klB_gORlqsM36sZaGYU7yJGSetHvO6k_HWFNHWEfSumO8Y3i7cbPYreuk4hSUm-mrzbl0MGo-CjF6HA/s640/blogger-image--2022099737.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">At 4PM I gave up walking and sat with a glass of wine while icy blasts of wind came out of the harbor. I kept telling myself "I am not cold I am not cold I am not cold this is great not cold"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWdTZWC93NGlPn1N0ctINOlrgOAhdSmsYxKZ8v2oVXBaI7D860zV3-GVZBaaBlzMFWYrO4im7ASJqHcRVkGcWiMerYaax9x3E7OssPIGxYXumK_OEk590PmOY_h9DBXId0rrsRgg/s640/blogger-image-21046371.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWdTZWC93NGlPn1N0ctINOlrgOAhdSmsYxKZ8v2oVXBaI7D860zV3-GVZBaaBlzMFWYrO4im7ASJqHcRVkGcWiMerYaax9x3E7OssPIGxYXumK_OEk590PmOY_h9DBXId0rrsRgg/s640/blogger-image-21046371.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I had been looking forward to this dinner for a month! I went to Kryp In so that I could try reindeer:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc9O8di6_pxMpkOF9tP4Lm2GbKm_TJzZW48gQh7wKa2pW5SXZyzk0KfAc9DUraB6ho1S_-ZpOVTPDuKBQBD9Hksmt-T0aTm-XGaqLQOyQ6ffMDW-xDvWY_2jRxYxjUUWLPxLH64g/s640/blogger-image-917928081.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc9O8di6_pxMpkOF9tP4Lm2GbKm_TJzZW48gQh7wKa2pW5SXZyzk0KfAc9DUraB6ho1S_-ZpOVTPDuKBQBD9Hksmt-T0aTm-XGaqLQOyQ6ffMDW-xDvWY_2jRxYxjUUWLPxLH64g/s640/blogger-image-917928081.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I had an incredible three-course meal! Fantastic way to tell my stomach that we are in Sweden: </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoPNaCbPdgdSzZxiXYiZjKOzTml1qIvcHx2zIAhZKQZ0FxwKjjCyRJkroymqThxft3CukqSXU-a21TgNAGGlis74I8oyldj3XjwU_PKF-jW8_TGPOx4OojxSdRFg5yQITtrNcU9Q/s640/blogger-image-508666428.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoPNaCbPdgdSzZxiXYiZjKOzTml1qIvcHx2zIAhZKQZ0FxwKjjCyRJkroymqThxft3CukqSXU-a21TgNAGGlis74I8oyldj3XjwU_PKF-jW8_TGPOx4OojxSdRFg5yQITtrNcU9Q/s640/blogger-image-508666428.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I walked home through beautiful streets back up to the main commercial part of town where I was staying. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFntqmogag8kw6aZfwMmYCpGCJuas6DbNUC-xMjSTE4WwHg52lxiCZ4NFxOrV3SVygC_MljQ5xhOvmAVCsaeEAn9Ql9PRnC8YQLkJvlEbRF0oNuFIkJF4svuDeoduhN9e4V4nsEw/s640/blogger-image--2113242488.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFntqmogag8kw6aZfwMmYCpGCJuas6DbNUC-xMjSTE4WwHg52lxiCZ4NFxOrV3SVygC_MljQ5xhOvmAVCsaeEAn9Ql9PRnC8YQLkJvlEbRF0oNuFIkJF4svuDeoduhN9e4V4nsEw/s640/blogger-image--2113242488.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I bought the iPad mini a few days before the trip. It was a great decision. I used to travel with no phone, I would just go to Internet cafés once in awhile that always had filthy keyboards and students in them. This trip I took my iPhone,iPad and garmin GPS watch for the marathon. I feel like a total sell-out from my old more spontaneous days. I just don't understand at all how people can be afraid to travel when there's so much technology to help you. Going to Europe can be as easy as going anywhere at home: </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqYQI8wkekV5ZBPomJDOREveBSDkQ-59hyphenhyphenclTzACW5z3wB5S4VNXxQqNdaQbRHNmUhA45ed3CMBGlQFd3mIzS0RC34MyfiPpbw-IxVP3mFjRuG8-NeJeLXQZk_P1m_qppBVVoBuQ/s640/blogger-image--1112080733.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqYQI8wkekV5ZBPomJDOREveBSDkQ-59hyphenhyphenclTzACW5z3wB5S4VNXxQqNdaQbRHNmUhA45ed3CMBGlQFd3mIzS0RC34MyfiPpbw-IxVP3mFjRuG8-NeJeLXQZk_P1m_qppBVVoBuQ/s640/blogger-image--1112080733.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I used the Stockholm metro a lot to save my legs for the marathon. The metro was clean and easy to understand. A monkey could take the metro by himself, it was that easy. Unlike the CTA that might have chicken bones or an empty bottle of wild Irish rose rattling around on the floor, there were spotless seats and vegetable/flower markets in the Stockholm underground stations. I still walked for miles because it was so much fun, I couldn't help it. And still wore myself into the ground. My favorite thing to do is explore a new city. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqsm-HqSGhIKocdst37EvOWNQ7Sk5P_84pVY5M8G8-r8mexDiFMm_09eYFIu1DA5T5vE1F3auG9-W9ZB2eg1hP-W7grN3Vk2GvQHltxaR_ZGxDm-zvlSrbOtPLvdgp3ikiVF-Y_w/s640/blogger-image--77716507.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqsm-HqSGhIKocdst37EvOWNQ7Sk5P_84pVY5M8G8-r8mexDiFMm_09eYFIu1DA5T5vE1F3auG9-W9ZB2eg1hP-W7grN3Vk2GvQHltxaR_ZGxDm-zvlSrbOtPLvdgp3ikiVF-Y_w/s640/blogger-image--77716507.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Stockholm residents were for the most part beautiful people. There are tall, beautiful people everywhere! Nobody was all done up and a lot of the guys wore cute ski hats and sported scruffy faces. Hipster dads everywhere pushing their babies in strollers. Everything was sleek, modern or vintagey mid-century Swedish-modern (like the furniture shops). Everybody spoke near-perfect English. Stockholm was like this magic little cheerful city where everything seems perfect. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">The second day I explored sodermalm, the more Progressive neighborhood. It reminded me of nicer parts of Brooklyn or Chicago. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFNtvnchx99OfoH6aIH4-qyv_KMpugHN7yV9JdtHbWxFwhyUbBm_Ry6xtX09bDjJLmMo1rYMgMuUVO9GVY2os8v8-nWZbYdt1s6Lpt9CBTz8mmWC9SKWq8DdRk7O0smyy6Aw2VsA/s640/blogger-image--1252391858.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFNtvnchx99OfoH6aIH4-qyv_KMpugHN7yV9JdtHbWxFwhyUbBm_Ry6xtX09bDjJLmMo1rYMgMuUVO9GVY2os8v8-nWZbYdt1s6Lpt9CBTz8mmWC9SKWq8DdRk7O0smyy6Aw2VsA/s640/blogger-image--1252391858.jpg"></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I was walking to dinner when there was a crazy ruckus on the street. I noticed that a lot of guys in black and yellow scarves had been drinking all day at a big outdoor bar. The were pre-gaming for a big soccer match. The team on the north side of Stockholm was about to play the south side team and they all walked to the game en masse, breaking bottles, singing, chanting and setting up smoke bombs along the way. They marched up the street, then street sweepers came and cleaned it all up as if nothing had happened! I'm glad somebody in this town caused some trouble, I was starting to think things were a little too perfect around here!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkK9qnl5hJ2WmNJqQzut1fCx6QRfJQyjyqdx54TlChyphenhyphenZteT_1SdZF0BfHLbZTI1fQE2aoikUjEPj7TJYllhyxvL6N9kMd3pUWQiU5rTKBD3w0C-HaLbnHC5JVwlF6FxRrDxVTD-g/s640/blogger-image--50526142.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkK9qnl5hJ2WmNJqQzut1fCx6QRfJQyjyqdx54TlChyphenhyphenZteT_1SdZF0BfHLbZTI1fQE2aoikUjEPj7TJYllhyxvL6N9kMd3pUWQiU5rTKBD3w0C-HaLbnHC5JVwlF6FxRrDxVTD-g/s640/blogger-image--50526142.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I had dinner at Pelikan, where a table of old men were dining together next to me and broke out into song. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMQDPoXNbOTG-u_OggQmOjxwanKbkqAD2GFsROjt6yCw3-VYdAhNRnIq3du484Jhx1qE7TTJkPFQogyQLH2VNaYtNFCf9a10bqIz0HZBudr-K49Vz9WdWWdCBG38RvTOMoDcck8w/s640/blogger-image-1327301750.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMQDPoXNbOTG-u_OggQmOjxwanKbkqAD2GFsROjt6yCw3-VYdAhNRnIq3du484Jhx1qE7TTJkPFQogyQLH2VNaYtNFCf9a10bqIz0HZBudr-K49Vz9WdWWdCBG38RvTOMoDcck8w/s640/blogger-image-1327301750.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSGGj-PTioJmiPmzsL38smC86Epaj51GutPkk5OPHlMfdSwKbNZQDdFgf0SmS3yNuBapX2tsC8SpH-VjVWdvFZC4tOA1cNspPBBhoJcoIubKIAIGo0hTkI7fhmt-mfbhyphenhyphengY6egfQ/s640/blogger-image-1549814384.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSGGj-PTioJmiPmzsL38smC86Epaj51GutPkk5OPHlMfdSwKbNZQDdFgf0SmS3yNuBapX2tsC8SpH-VjVWdvFZC4tOA1cNspPBBhoJcoIubKIAIGo0hTkI7fhmt-mfbhyphenhyphengY6egfQ/s640/blogger-image-1549814384.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I took the metro home and went to 7-11 to buy yogurt and a banana for my 4AM wakeup before my flight to Berlin. I saw this bin of Swedish fish, which just said "pastellfisk"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV7I7PYSc9rU8wZ7UPp5WbpQRZl0cITepbE8_Q8ow9nVPiwimQNoBGyvnrx53r7AAGaSgYt0xhzryGD9LgJ51d-6D106XzV9PyLSRLWowubgjSPBUbhhsvHqeHEVfbwD93UhNJ5w/s640/blogger-image--1643686365.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV7I7PYSc9rU8wZ7UPp5WbpQRZl0cITepbE8_Q8ow9nVPiwimQNoBGyvnrx53r7AAGaSgYt0xhzryGD9LgJ51d-6D106XzV9PyLSRLWowubgjSPBUbhhsvHqeHEVfbwD93UhNJ5w/s640/blogger-image--1643686365.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I used my restaurant coupon to get a beer in the bar area of the hotel (this is the restaurant, below) where models were groping eachother to dance music, it was that kind of place. I downloaded some photos from my day in the corner and went to bed. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjeNoq6n7gfEoySRoiOeiUDjSOTIveQQQCIEC4S2w7P_ZYOrc3P_Hvko-6roKsqMlzc-YxOLp_MqzH1vpjBk59yXqMLr1dbwuirjP5XzmQoHBjBlZ4Lpttw6H7EE7UdRl5He-olA/s640/blogger-image--2100409935.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjeNoq6n7gfEoySRoiOeiUDjSOTIveQQQCIEC4S2w7P_ZYOrc3P_Hvko-6roKsqMlzc-YxOLp_MqzH1vpjBk59yXqMLr1dbwuirjP5XzmQoHBjBlZ4Lpttw6H7EE7UdRl5He-olA/s640/blogger-image--2100409935.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div>sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01339519229120844046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19464456.post-24429613721012538502013-09-21T17:23:00.002-07:002013-09-21T19:18:34.800-07:00Fez - learning to make Bastilla and over-the counter surprise medicine<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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10 months later I am finally getting around to writing my last Morocco post - about Fez. </div>
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My hotel, Dar Seffarine, was down a tiny alley about 4 twists and turns away from a small square. I tried to wander outside in the rain to find some dinner, but gave up quickly because I felt like I had the flu and got lost within 5 minutes. I planned to just sleep it off and had a full day to recover before my cooking class at cafe Clock. Normally, I would be upset to be sick on vacation - but it always seems to happen. I know I push myself too hard, too far and always catch some stomach bug. But with a room like this, I was actually excited to be sick all day. My three-room upgrade was STUNNING. This was the sitting room (my bedroom through the doors: </div>
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Ornate tile in the doorway:</div>
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Once again, I was queen of the castle. For a price that would get you a Holiday Inn in America, or less. I love Morocco for this. If you were into design or boutique hotels, it is the best place I have ever been for both. Here I am laying in my bed, being sick and loving it:</div>
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I met Andres at breakfast, an older Belgian man who was living in New York. Like every other tourist I met in Morocco, he was extremely well-travelled and a little "been there, seen that" in demeanor. I described my symptoms and he wrote down the name of an over the counter antibiotic I could get at the pharmacy. Just because getting a prescription from another guest in the hotel who was not a doctor seemed like a fine thing to do, I went around the corner for some of this!</div>
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While I was walking home from the pharmacy, I was offered a big Moroccan cock from a young 20-something man. After a week in the country, and emailing with my sister who let me know that it was OK to stand up to these guys (she lived in Egypt for a year) - and being sick and not really feeling like my polite self, I told him to fuck off, and that his Moroccan cock was likely small, and would he talk to a moroccan woman like that? No, he wouldn't. I was in a public square during the day and I half-expected another argument like I had in Marrakech. As soon as the words came out of my mouth, I kind of felt like it was a mistake. I really don't think that was what my sister meant when she said that it was OK to stand up to them. But he just put his hands up and said "no problem" and scurried off. Amazing. And - maybe I was lucky. But don't mess with me when I'm sick, Morocco! <br />
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By dinnertime, I felt much better. The cipro had carpet-bombed whatever was ailing me out of my stomach. I had dinner with Andres and another Belgian couple who had that adorable, low-maintenance breezy way about them that northern european couples seem to have when they travel together. The hotel staff gave me special vegetarian options. I had enough sketchy meat on this trip and my stomach told me in a very strong way that it wanted bland, vegetarian food tonight. We all had a nice conversation about being tourists in Morocco and the funny things that happened to us. The Belgian woman had a 12 year old boy try to french kiss her after helping them with directions back to the hotel one night (the boyfriend had slipped through the door first). I told them about the family that took me in for Eid Al Adha. It was wonderful to end the day with some good company.<br />
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Rather than be offered more cock and have more arguments with men on the street, I sucked it up and hired a guide the next day, Idriss. For about 20 dollars, he took me to all the sights in town and let me shop as much as I wanted. Walking around with Idriss was like night and day. Nobody looked at me, nobody made any comments to me, followed me or tried to get me to come into their shop. I could feel my blood pressure going down to a normal level being with Idriss.<br />
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Here was a religious school's square we saw on our walk:<br />
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The tannery, which smelled horrible:<br />
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The rooftop of a museum I wandered up to:</div>
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Some old men just chilling on the street:</div>
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A sign displaying adorable rabbits and pigeons for sale.. for eating.. </div>
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Fez was magical. Usually I like to do things by myself, but I'm learning that I can only do so much. I cannot stand up to Moroccan culture alone in every situation. Morocco and me are just too different and as tough as I think I am, I can't just expect to not be harassed. It's not Morocco's fault. Africa is all about going with the flow. Hiring a guide felt a little bit like a failure to my independent, backpacking self but it was a wonderful decision. Later that afternoon, Idriss dropped me off at Riad Laroussa, where I had scheduled a 45 minute hammam and massage.</div>
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Riad Laroussa was like a little oasis in Fez - beautiful flowers growing in the courtyard and I could sit and sip mint tea as long as I liked. I was taken into a steamy room that smelled like orange flowers with a fire burning in the corner. I had to strip naked and lay down on a marble slab. A woman came in and scrubbed me and threw buckets of hot water on me. She showed me on the mitt how much grime and skin came off. It was a little bit painful but I felt like a new person at the end. After that I had a half hour massage. I wish they had hammams in America. Usually the Hammam is a social affair - women in a family might go together, or with friends to a public community hammam with a bar of soap and gossip to tell. I figured for my first hammam, I would go to a spa version where I could be naked around the least number of people as possible. </div>
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The next morning, I allowed myself a good hour to find Cafe Clock, which was maybe a half mile away from the hotel. Like Marrakech, every street was a maze and no map in the world would help me get where I was going. It was trial and error. </div>
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Cafe Clock was another place that tourists could escape the intensity of the Fez medina. It's a cooking school, restaurant and concert venue all in one, started by a friendly British man. I saw other travel-weary tourists decompressing on ipads and laptops. </div>
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I was in a class with a free-spirited couple from the Florida keys, Paul and Heidi. It was nice to be around other Americans. They get your jokes. After not being around any for awhile, I could feel myself relaxing just being around them. I could not have had better company for my class, they owned a pot-bellied pig that played a little piano. Heidi was a former stewardess who had also been on an "Oprah's favorite things" episode and won a car. We had lots to talk about. Together we picked a menu that we would cook:</div>
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chicken bastilla</div>
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b'sara soup</div>
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eggplant and pepper dip</div>
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coconut-orange water macaroons</div>
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Our teacher, Souad - who was fantastic!</div>
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Paul and Heidi:</div>
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Souad took us to the market where we picked out the ingredients and picked out a live chicken for our bastilla. We got to look the little guy in the eyes before the butcher wrung his neck. I have really mixed feelings about this, but like Anthony Bourdain says - if you are going to eat meat, be able to see the process through beginning to end. We are really sheltered from where our food comes from in the USA. Going to the market and meeting the farmer who grew your vegetables and meeting your chicken before he goes into your bastilla is the more honest way to live - and your food is fresh. And you know where it came from. </div>
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Heidi and I also bought some magical beauty potions from a stall - I have a magic powder that turns into a mask and some orange flower water that reminds me of Morocco. </div>
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The eggplant dip and soup:</div>
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The bastilla with honey drizzled on top:</div>
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Coconut macaroons. After I came home I made both the bastilla and macaroons. They turned out great!</div>
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My hotel lobby:</div>
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The next morning before I left, I had breakfast with a couple I had never seen before at the hotel, an older British couple. We were both going to take the same train to Casablanca so they invited me to ride in their hired car with them that afternoon. So nice! </div>
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We had different cars on the train, I was in a car with a Moroccan business man and an older lady. The ride to Casablanca was uneventful. Here is my coke:</div>
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I only had a few hours to wander Casablanca before nightfall and I was starting to really look forward to being in Paris. This was the one and only photo I took of downtown Casablanca:<br />
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I stayed at a non-descript hotel downtown and ate at the hotel restaurant. Leaving Morocco was sad, I was just starting to get to know it. It was difficult but rewarding. My time in the Atlas mountains was really unforgettable. Being invited into a family's home (see Eid Al Adha entry) for Eid Al Adha was one of the most special days I'd ever had in all of my travels, if not my life. I believe that people are good everywhere you go. Even my overnight Sahara desert "date" with my slightly-creepy guide was something that I will never forget and always cherish. </div>
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I landed in Paris, one of my favorite places on earth. I stayed in my favorite neighborhood, the St German area near Rue St Michel:</div>
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I've been to Paris a few times and coming from Morocco, I just wanted comfort. I created this overnight layover on purpose. I wandered and ate in the same one mile radius that I already knew and loved. I stayed in the same hotel I was in 10 years before with Kathy and ate at a restaurant that Jen, Jeff and Regis had visited one week before - Au Terminus du Chatelet, which was everything I ever wanted in a friendly French bistro:</div>
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I told the waiter to surprise me with a cheese and wine to start. I left it in his hands, and he did a great job. I ate my bourginon with mushrooms and had the best french wine. I sat near a man who was also travelling solo, a wine importer, and we talked about wine and travel. After he left, a couple from Chicago who lived in boystown sat at the table next to me. One of them was a runner. Chicago and running - we had a nice conversation. </div>
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I walked home over the Seine and marvelled at the Eiffel Tower in the distance with that sad, "I'm going home tomorrow" feeling. </div>
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It was a perfect trip.<br />
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Next up - September 2013 Sweden, Germany, Croatia and Poland!<br />
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sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01339519229120844046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19464456.post-22397344980688453772012-12-30T11:16:00.002-08:002012-12-30T18:27:27.609-08:00Hypnotized by Berber music<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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October 29 2012<br />
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I love to sample different kinds of music when I travel. I thoroughly enjoy latin, arabic pop music, any sort of eurotrash dance, thai pop, east African - I love it all. When a taxi driver takes me somewhere new and blasts his favorite radio station, I'm in 100%, humming along in the back seat. I even enjoyed and wrote about the deafening salsa music in Panama.<br />
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2 days ago back in Tamtattouchte, Karim and Abdul #2 were playing Berber music videos in their car. Groups of women in colorful robes sang in warbly, high voices for 30 seconds, then a group of men would answer. Call and respond, repeat, repeat, drums, flute, repeat, repeat. That was when I realized how much Berber culture was its own thing. It was odd to see young guys getting so into the local village music. But that was what they liked!<br />
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My new driver, Mubarak (above), picked me up from Merzouga and we set off for Fez - after he ran a few of his personal errands. We paid his electric bill and I had one of my biggest regrets of the whole vacation - we went past a hilarious billboard of someone milking a camel and I didn't stop to take a photo of it.<br />
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I was pleased to see this sweet interior car door design! Ha!<br />
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Another taxi with just a bar to hold onto and no seatbelt. I put my backpack-airbag on my lap again. </div>
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We headed over the east side of the Atlas mountains, which weren't as steep or scary as the route between Marrakech and Merzouga. Merzouga to Fez was much less sickening. There was rain and we did witness a recent car accident, which scared me but I was starting to feel flu-like and didn't think about it so much.</div>
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Here is the beautiful Ziz valley - another Oasis-type landscape. Mubarak insisted that I go out and take a photo. I felt so sick and sleepy and didn't feel like it but looking back, I'm glad he made me<span style="background-color: white;">:</span></div>
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Mubarak was another enthusiastic fan of Berber music. I thought every song sounded exactly the same. I asked him "what is this song about?" and he would say "love, and village life". Another hour went by and I asked him what THIS song was about. "Oh.. I think it's about love.. and life". </div>
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After 4 hours we stopped in a town so that Mubarak could get something to eat. I thought that meant "5 minutes out and we are back on the road". He asked if I wanted to eat, too but I just felt like staying in the car. I didn't eat, pee or drink anything all day. I was too tired. I just locked myself in the car and watched it rain on a small, muddy town. 45 minutes later, Mubarak came back to the car. And turned on more identical, warbly loud repetitive Berber music. </div>
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I was not enjoying it at all but it was keeping me awake. I recorded a voice clip on my iphone of one of the 5,000 identical songs we listened to that day:</div>
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<a href="https://sites.google.com/site/berbermusic1/song1" style="font-family: Helvetica; text-align: -webkit-auto;">https://sites.google.com/site/berbermusic1/song1</a></div>
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you may have to click on the arrow to play it. I hope it works so that you can feel my pain. </div>
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Later I looked up a little more information about Berber music. Thanks, wikipedia!</div>
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Berber vocal styles in Morocco consist of two main types. The first, called <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ahwash" style="background-image: none; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Ahwash">Ahwash</a>, is exclusively village music, probably unchanged for centuries or longer. Ahwash texts emphasize the submission of the individual to the community. Typically, it consists of two large choruses engaging in call-and-response vocals, accompanied by instrumentalists and dancers. Since this music requires anywhere from 20 to 150 participants, it is not easily portable and so rarely heard in the cities.</div>
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Much of the most interesting Berber music is not pop at all, but rather village and urban folk music. It is important to understand<sup class="noprint Inline-Template" style="line-height: 1em; white-space: nowrap;">[<i> </i></sup>that the whole subject of Berber music and culture is inevitably colored by Berber people’s longstanding struggle to achieve basic language rights and identity recognition in modern North African societies.<sup class="reference" id="cite_ref-2" style="line-height: 1em;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Berber_music#cite_note-2" style="background-image: none; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none; white-space: nowrap;">[2</a></sup></div>
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And I hope that I never have to spend an entire day listening to it, ever again. But it gave me some local flavor!<br />
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We arrived in Fez during rush hour. Mubarak spent an hour and a half circling the city and using trial and error to get to my hotel. I kept asking him if he wanted me to pull out a map and show him where it was. Just like every boyfriend I've ever had, he did not want to use a map and much preferred to get us very lost until I got angry.<br />
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Eventually, we called my hotel and between the hotel, my map and more trial + error, we found the gate to the old part of town where the friendly hotel night manager of Dar Seffarine was waiting for me with an umbrella.<br />
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Something was broken in my original hotel room and they upgraded me to the most beautiful suite I have ever seen. This is one of my three rooms! </div>
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I decided to enjoy being sick in my nice room and tackle confusing Fez the next day. </div>
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sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01339519229120844046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19464456.post-26585795904834260302012-12-16T17:43:00.002-08:002023-01-11T13:48:41.495-08:00Midnight at the Oasis<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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The ENTIRE point of my counter-clockwise trip around Morocco was to spend the night in the Sahara, 450 miles and on the far side of a mountain range from Marrakech. The Sahara in Morocco (Erg Chebbi) is really just a tiny offshoot of the "real" Sahara. Because I am a map nerd, I could see that it doesn't flow directly into the same Sahara of Libya, Sudan and Algeria as I had previously thought. Since going to Libya for vacation is completely out of the question (unless they had a half marathon), this would have to do!<br />
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It was still Eid Al Adha week and buses weren't running to Merzouga, the Sahara border town that I chose. I hired a driver, Aziz, who reminded me of a friendly mobster and looked just like a fat Moroccan Nicolas Cage. We made many stops so that he could say hello to his friends. I didn't mind, we had all day and I found it kind of entertaining. Moroccan men are really touchy-feely with each other. Aziz spoke no english so I was happy that I got use out of my arabic translation book. I pointed to the words "toilet" and "water" so that I could stop in a town on the way.<br />
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When you say "hire a driver", in Morocco, that isn't a Lincoln Town car. To my horror, it means a beat up taxi with NO SEATBELT. There was a bar to hold on to between the backseat and driver. When I asked about the seatbelt and searched for it, Aziz pointed to the bar and gave me a DUH! look. I imagined all the ways I would be flying through the windshield and decided to fashion an airbag out of my giant backpack, putting it on my lap and cutting off my leg circulation. Not flying through windshield > leg amputation from lack of circulation.<br />
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We stopped for some gasoline at a pump that still had spinning numbers:<br />
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Me not flying through the windshield. I like how you can see the cheesy decals on the window and the desert landscape through it. </div>
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After 4 hours, there it was. You could see the beginnings of the Sahara far in the distance. This was a WOW moment for me. I don't have a lot of those anymore. I'm getting jaded. This literally took my breath away. There it is, the actual (close enough) Sahara!!</div>
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I checked into my hotel in the dusty little town. My hotel was really nice. The owner was away and I was the ONLY guest besides a group of 4 italian motorcyclists who liked to hang out on their balcony wearing little towels after their many showers. Every time I saw them, one of them was in a towel and somebody had taken a shower. They were very clean. Much cleaner than I. </div>
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I had a nice room with two beds. I chose the smaller bed to sleep in and spread all my stuff over the bigger bed. </div>
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I went out to explore the town. It was incredibly, incredibly dull. There was nothing to do. There were two or three shops that sold old dirty, bent, sun-faded postcards. I kept thinking I was missing the downtown. Nope! This IS the downtown!</div>
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I had a nice dinner on the patio and ate while the staff stared at me. The owner's assistant, Mustafa, stared at me like a deer in the headlights every time he saw me. I could not figure out what was so fascinating about me. Have you ever seen a dirty American backpacker before, jackass? After dinner I did a little google search "staring men morocco" and learned that I am not fascinating after all, staring is just totally OK for them. They ask a lot of personal questions and stare. I tried to tell myself this was just a cultural thing (besides the obvious "unmarried woman traveling by herself" thing that provoked shock or pity and often both from nearly every Moroccan I talked to.) The French hotel owners in Marrakech got a lot of solo travelers and thought it was wonderful that I was in Morocco by myself and were impressed by all the solo travel I had done. Again, this didn't happen in Egypt at all. I think Egypt just gets more visitors. But the staring and the questions were wearing me down a little bit every day. I was trying to be patient but I am a person who needs her space. It was a challenge, for sure. </div>
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OK, I just adore the moroccan salad that you see everywhere:</div>
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The next day, I used an internet cafe run by a 10 year old boy that had several letters on the keyboard that would get stuck. I hung out on the hotel patio and read my book while being stared at by Mustafa. At one point, he actually came over to my table while I was reading, sat down and watched me read. I was killing time before the evening/overnight camel trek and I was counting the seconds until I could be rid of Mustafa. </div>
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My camel guide was Ahmar, who was Mustafa's friend. I had the feeling I was being discussed and would be discussed at length when we returned from the overnight trip. I am fascinating!</div>
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Outside the hotel, my fly-covered camel Joey was waiting. I am not comfortable with large animals. I was never one to want a horse or pony. I hated every second of the two horse rides I have gone on in my life. I wanted to do the classic "ride a camel in the desert thing" so I sucked it up and got on. Joey was lounging on the ground, I got on the saddle, Ahmar smacked him with a stick and I shot up 6 feet in the air. The camel was actually cute. He had long eyelashes and a mild manner, so I bonded with him. </div>
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We set off over some tiny bushes that quickly became pure orange sand.</div>
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I was really expecting some other tourists on this trip with me. In fact, I had picked what seemed like the busiest hotel and asked them specifically "I won't be alone with just the camel, will I?" The assured me that it was a busy week. But it wasn't, and I was alone with my guide. I made small talk with him. He was fairly interesting - He had grown up in a nomadic family near the Algerian border. I just wished that some other tourists had been there with me. It was a little uncomfortable, like an awkward OVERNIGHT blind date. We talked a little bit about my trip. Then I made a joke - I laughed some story off by saying "that's because I am a crazy girl!"</div>
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That was a mistake. A very large mistake. He took that literally. I mean, I am crazy, we all know that - but not in the way that he probably wanted me to be. Kareem and Abdul would have gotten the joke, but Ahmar was a more serious guy. Somehow that comment opened the door for some very odd flirtation from him.</div>
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While I was busy being super uncomfortable and deflecting the very one-sided sexual tension, I was in absolute awe of how beautiful this desert was. It was completely mind-blowing. </div>
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I got a wet, smelly smack to the back of my shirt. Joey had peed all over his tail and was now swatting flies (and the back of my shirt - the only shirt I had on this overnight trip). Thanks Joey! You are adorable.<br />
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One interesting thing about Joey and his flies - there is nowhere for flies to go when you shoo them off. They literally will not fly away, they just go to a different spot on the camel. We travelled out to the desert camp and returned the next day with the same 200 flies stuck to us. </div>
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We started talking about Americans. I asked him "are Americans ever too fat to ride the camel". Yes, they are. They have a closer camp to take them. He pointed it out to me on the way. And then he said "Not you. You have a good body"</div>
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Joey taking a break and feeling the awkwardness:</div>
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I chose to take that comment to mean "you have a good, non-camel-breaking body", and not what I thought it meant. Ah, crap. This was going to be a long night.</div>
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I watched the most beautiful sunset of my whole life with a man who had brown teeth from many years of drinking sweet mint tea and no dental care and could vouch for my solid, BMI-appropriate, non-camel-injuring body:</div>
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I was promised "romantic light" when we got to the camp. I stressed my preference for light to be very strong and unromantic. I needed very utilitarian light. I wanted the harshest, least romantic light available and made sure that Ahmar knew of my light preferences. Instead, I got romantic light made from a soda bottle candle. </div>
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The candle in the bottle was held in place by sand. I asked him "where did you get that sand?!", which was a really stupid joke, but Ahmar thought it was hilarious. He laughed for minutes. It actually made me laugh, too. Ok this was good. Now I am the "funny" girl, not the crazy, whorish girl. </div>
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He left me alone while he went to cook dinner and I read my book by flashlight. </div>
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Dinner wasn't as awkward as I thought it would be. I just asked him questions about his life. How often do you get to dine with an Algerian-border nomad who grew up in a camel hair tent? It was interesting. And his veggie tagine was really, honestly good. It was a nice dinner. There were other people about 200 yards away, and some people drumming. I enjoyed the faint drum music and the comforting presence of people within screaming distance.</div>
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Until he asked me to take a moonlight stroll with him. F*ck no. I explained very nicely that I am very much like a grandma who likes to read books and go to bed by 9:30PM. Sadly, this is the truth. But it worked out nicely. I took two sleeping pills and retired to my own camel hair tent. He seemed really disappointed in me. I didn't really care. </div>
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The next morning, I climbed a dune and watched the sun rise over the camp:</div>
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We made the two hour trip back to Merzouga, I took the best shower of my life and I left for Fez so that Mustafa and Ahmar could discuss me for the rest of the day, I'm sure.</div>
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sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01339519229120844046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19464456.post-68918463528452383802012-11-15T15:02:00.000-08:002012-11-16T14:26:41.382-08:00Gezellig on Eid Al Adha<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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October 26, 2012<br />
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I ate breakfast with the only other guests at the hotel, a Dutch couple. Because I had just been to Holland, I told them all the things I loved about Amsterdam and Edam. "My favorite Dutch word - well, that would be the only Dutch word I learned - is gezellig!", I told them. "We don't have a word for that in English." Gezellig translates to "cozy, friendly times in a nice place". It refers to people mixed with atmosphere mixed with contentment. Laughs over beers and candlelight in a cozy pub on a crisp fall day - that's gezellig. That's also what I did every night in Holland. Making pie with your grandmother while watching the Facts of Life or Wheel of Fortune together - that's gezellig. <br />
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Morocco was really amazing so far, but not really gezellig. Being yelled at in a hot, dusty souk - so not gezellig. Being ignored in a bus station - no gezellig there either. I was starting to feel it out in the country, though. Now that I had met some other tourists and we were enjoying our coffee in a beautiful gorge on a sunny morning.<br />
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Abdul drove me into town in a little Renault (following another), top. In town we met up with Karim's brother, Abdul #2, who was to take me on a four hour hike through the gorge. We stopped for a picture at the bottom (below). The gorge reminded me a lot of Colorado. There was a lot of scenery in Morocco that reminded me of the American west.<br />
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Abdul was professional but friendly. I was really comfortable talking to him, just like his brother. We started talking about food, and I told him how much I enjoyed eating. And how my friends called me "the bird of the sea" for that reason. In Berber, seagull sounds like "segunay".<br />
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Segunay in the gorge:<br />
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There's that orange shirt again!</div>
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Abdul led me up a rocky path. He was a fast walker. I had just run a half marathon five days before but I could barely keep up with him. Of course he already heard me brag about the half marathon, so I was a little embarrassed to have to stop to rest while out of breath. </div>
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He pointed out some wild thyme. It was very heady and fragrant. The mountain air was so nice after the motorbike fumes of Marrakech. This is what Aveda candles aspire to, people. </div>
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He took me up to a nomad Berber's home. Everything was made of rocks. Even the animal pens were tall circles of stacked up rocks. The Berber clan had two caves to live in during the winter, but lived in open tents the rest of the year. The rest of the family was in town or out with the animals somewhere, and this man who was holding down the fort made us tea from the same type of wild thyme we had just seen. The old Berber guy had light blue eyes. It's just odd to see such light-colored eyes here. Apparently it's a Berber genetic variation. Abdul knew him in passing, and sometimes he would take his hikers here to meet him. </div>
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The Berber man had just killed a goat and had strung it up. I would think it was for the holiday, since all the city people had killed a sheep especially for today - but something tells me that he eats goat like this all the time and this was just his typical Friday night dinner.<br />
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Abdul had me pose for a photo pouring tea:</div>
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Because I am a sick, sick individual, I asked to be translated:</div>
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"where did you put the goat head"? </div>
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The head was stuffed in a burlap bag three feet from where I was sitting. Oh, there it is!</div>
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Nothing on that goat was going to waste. I'm sure he even had a purpose for the goat's teeth and corneas. The fur was definitely going to be made into a blanket or rug. mmmm. cozy! Gezellig? well.. possibly!</div>
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After more than four hours of fast hiking, I was starving and joked to Abdul<br />
"I'm so hungry I could eat that goat head!"<br />
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Something I've noticed about the Moroccans and Egyptians I've met are that they have good senses of humor. I was sometimes able to deflect a little bit of aggression in the souk with a joking comment. I remember in Dahab, there was a very pushy restaurant guy that I would walk past three times a day but eventually we would just laugh at eachother. There is a little bit of playfulness in the culture. I mean, there's a whole lot I don't understand at all but it's something nice that I've noticed in North Africa.<br />
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As we were descending into the little village, Karim called Abdul and told him to invite me to the family's house for lunch. I was excited.<br />
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Abdul led me though some back streets and alleys of the town, through some home-made aquaducts and through an olive grove:</div>
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We went to the family's guesthouse, where nobody was staying today. Children were laughing and running around a large, hanging sheep carcass, its wooly fur laid on the ground inside-out in one piece just as you'd take off a sweater. The fact that they were actually able to skin the sheep in ONE PIECE impressed me so much that I forgot to feel queasy. </div>
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Eid Al Adha is a Muslim holiday that means "feast of the sacrifice". It recognizes the prophet Abraham's willingness to sacrifice his son, and people today (In Morocco, anyhow) sacrifice a sheep. It was crazy how many sheep I saw being carted away in wheelbarrows down alleys in Marrakech. And today in the little village, people had already killed the sheep that morning while I was hiking and having coffee with the Dutch people, and were already washing the sheep skins in the river. </div>
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I had no idea what Eid Al Adha lunch would entail. I assumed that the dinner was the important meal, and I'd be just dropping by for tea and a kebab. The family (those who was there for the meal) was three sisters, an older mother who had henna-covered hands and feet and had kohl-rimmed eyes, four brothers and four small children including a 10 month old adorable baby girl nicknamed "Couscous". The Father had died four years before, so the oldest brother took the patriarchal role. He welcomed me and introduced everybody. He, Karim and Abdul were the only English-speakers. Arabic wasn't spoken in the home, either, but a Berber dialect. </div>
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We had mint tea and watched the Hajj live from Saudi Arabia on TV:</div>
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And later, on another TV:</div>
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With the hajj being on TV, we talked a little bit about religion. I asked them a few questions and we talked about difference between Shiite and Sunni Muslims. The oldest brother made some comments like "people of all religions are welcome in our home. All of our religions stem from the same place anyhow", which I thought was nice. We talked about the Hajj and what it means to Muslims. This fairly progressive family agreed that the Hajj was just a little bit showy sometimes - and the true meaning of being a Muslim is to help your neighbor, and isn't it better to save your money and just do good in your community instead? Apparently, it costs thousands and thousands of dollars to go. They have special travel agencies just for the hajj and every country is only allotted a certain number of permits per year. You can be a good Muslim and go to the hajj but you can also be an equally good Muslim closer to home. <br />
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I wanted so badly to take pictures of the entire family and document the day the way I normally would but I put my phone away and just listened and got in the moment. I felt really awkward pointing my camera in people's faces and it didn't feel right. (Even though I had just taken a bunch of pictures of the Berber man, who I actually thought was a bit of a ham and didn't seem to mind at all. Besides, I gave him some coins as I left, which is what you do in those situations.) I don't have pictures of the older brother who I talked to a lot or of cute little Couscous, who they actually put in my lap. I will have to rely on my memories of the family. <br />
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We went outside and Karim asked me: "you eat everything, right?"<br />
"oh, yes! I eat everything!"<br />
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Eid dinner would be the bigger cuts of the sheep. Eid lunch was the sheep's guts. Here is the offal, just sitting out on a table ready to be strung on kabobs!<br />
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They marinated all the meat in a mixture of thyme, rosemary, coriander, pepper, cardamom, cumin and saffron. The brothers weaved the liver and the caul fat together. They BBQd it all, including the large honeycomb-looking stomach and passed the kebabs around. We ate the Moroccan way and just grabbed with our hands and ate with the one round loaf of bread that is at every Moroccan meal I've ever seen.<br />
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After awhile I was struggling with eating with my hands and they gave me a plate and fork. I was slightly embarrassed, but it was OK. The tea had absinthe in it. I was really surprised and then found that they meant the wild absinthe plant.<br />
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The absinthe:</div>
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I am a pretty brave eater so I tried to forget the visual of the dead sheep carcass in the yard and the thought of all the functions of the internal organs I was eating. I told Karim to translate to everyone for me "Thank you so much for sharing your holiday with me. It is an honor for me to be here with you all". I complimented the brother on the gut-marinade, and wrote down the ingredients that I might use one day with non-sheep gut meat. After dinner, we ate pomegranates fresh from a tree in the yard. How could you possibly top this dessert?</div>
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They also had a pear tree, but didn't know the english word for pear and asked me to tell them what it was. </div>
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After dinner, Karim took me on a walk into the village of Tamtattouchte with his little nephew. He ran into some of his neighborhood friends and they posed for a photo by this sign. The sign probably says something really lame, but it looked like a good photo to me. </div>
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It was getting late so we didn't go far into town. We turned around and I raced the nephew back to the guesthouse about 150 yards. He probably thought the large foreign woman was completely crazy. Actually, that's nothing new. They drove me back to my guesthouse while playing Berber music. Berber music is usually one man singing in a warbly voice for 2 minutes, then a woman always answers, singing back for 2 minutes. There is a lot of percussion. I got to know Berber music VERY well a few days later. Too well. It is nothing like any other music I've heard. Karim, Abdul and I talked about what middle eastern-type music I know about. They were surprised to know that I have an Amr Diab CD. Amr is an Egyptian pop singer I heard a lot in Egypt two years ago. This was probably like admitting I have a Justin Bieber CD, but I'll defend Amr and say that he is much better. </div>
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I wouldn't see Karim, Abdul #1 or #2 again because they were going to spend the rest of the night with their families and I was going to the desert the next day. But I won't ever forget them and how they showed me the nicest possible side of Morocco. They probably invite people into their home all the time and didn't realize how much it meant to me. This was the kind of day with opportunities that happened because I was alone and got out of the big city. The Atlas mountains are a world away from Marrakech - different language, different music and the most hospitable people you could ever hope to meet. It was a total Gezellig day. </div>
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sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01339519229120844046noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19464456.post-89930738061040070642012-11-09T14:55:00.003-08:002012-11-09T15:13:18.646-08:00Three people threw up on this bus and none of them were me<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I wanted to break up my time in Morocco between Imperial Cities and natural sights. I only had time to really see four things in ten days, and they had to be reachable during a holiday (Eid Al Adha) week. I emailed hotels, bus companies and even investigated tour guides. I have never researched a destination more than I did Morocco. I had to cut two things off my list that I badly wanted to see. (Essouria and Chefchaouen). I posted questions on forums and I googled and double-checked ratings. Ultimately I decided to do the trip independently, using a combination of bus, train and hiring drivers. I also relied heavily on my hotels to help me. If I needed them to buy a bus ticket for me and have me pay them later - I just asked and luckily they did it. There really is a tradition of hospitality in Morocco. Hotel operators seem to genuinely care about my happiness. Every single place I stayed checked up on me while I was there to ask "how is everything? Are you doing OK?"<br />
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Two of my hotels arranged drivers for me and we negotiated rates back and forth through email. Morocco is largely a cash-based society so I rarely used my credit card. I hated carrying around so much cash (I entered the country with 1000 euros that I withdrew in Amsterdam) but I watched it and locked it up like a hawk and never had to use my credit card or give it out to someone that I didn't entirely trust. This seemed to be the normal way that people travel here. With the fraud notices put on my card in Holland, I didn't even want to risk having to use the ATM until the end of Morocco. I would have been stuck with no cash and no way to use my credit cards. <br />
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I arrived at the Marrakesh bus station and tried to find out where my bus was parked. I asked a few people who worked there and they just said "no". Not where it was, when it was coming. I just watched the bus area but I didn't know where the end destination of my bus was, only my stop - so I couldn't look at the city name on the windshield. I found a young couple who looked like they spoke English. I was on their bus. Well, I trusted them and just got on their bus and hoped they were right.<br />
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We rode for a few hours towards the Atlas mountains and stopped here for a little break:<br />
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Then we started up the mountain passes. It was exactly like driving through the mountains of Colorado. Only less guardrails. I looked over the right side and felt a little faint, so I just looked to the left. The woman I was sitting next to put her head down. Then she hiccuped. Then she urgently rustled around for a plastic bag. Uh oh. </div>
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I was only mildly motion-sick, but the sounds and smell of puking made me almost puke. I, too, rustled around for a plastic bag and had one ready. The bus lurched around switchbacks like this one:</div>
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My neighbor didn't speak english and clearly I don't speak arabic. I felt really sorry for her. All I could do was give her the international shoulder pat and sympathetic look and "OK? you OK?" </div>
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A young couple was holding a one-year old baby across the aisle. They, too, rustled for plastic bags. The baby puked three times over the next hour. There was another victim in the back. Everybody on the bus was green and miserable. The bus was full of people going home to their families for Eid Al Adha so there was no room for the pukers to stretch out or get some air.</div>
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Eventually, we reached the Todra Gorge area, my destination. We went through a beautiful town called Skoura that was a genuine palm oasis. I saw a few Oasises (sp?) while in Morocco. They were beautiful! Quite the opposite of the DeKalb Oasis on I-88. After hours of desert would be a lush palm forest. </div>
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Sorry that my thumb got in the way here. An example of an oasis town:</div>
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I arrived at the bus stop in Tinerhir and immediately had a stalker as soon as I got off the bus. This was getting really tiring.</div>
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Hello! What's your name? Where you trying to go? I take you there!</div>
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Sorry, thank you. I don't need help right now.</div>
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You Americans all the same!</div>
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I got a taxi to take me to my guesthouse out in the middle of the gorge. It was lovely. I had a room all alone in this castle.</div>
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It was super cozy with stone walls!<br />
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The queen of the castle had wisely packed away some wine from Marrakesh in her sigg water bottle and had a sundowner on her little balcony. This Gorge had a river but it was dry in the other sense of the word. </div>
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I had a lovely view of the gorge:</div>
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My guesthouse made dinner and I just ate whatever they made for me. It was a fantastic tagine with tiny lamb meatballs. I gushed compliments to the chef and they invited me back into the kitchen, where I hung out with Abdul and Karim. Two polite young guys, maybe late 20s - not like the aggressive and crazy casanovas I had been meeting in Marrakesh and the bus stop. We talked about cooking, music and our families. Karim gave me some vegetables to chop. They were done making dinner for the guests (just three - me and a Dutch couple) and they were now making dinner for themselves. We made a tagine together and talked.</div>
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They liked to eat their meals outside. I wanted to leave them alone to eat but we just kept talking and I wanted to take a few pictures. Karim and Abdul ate the moroccan way - no utensils, just using bread to grab everything. We had a nice conversation about their lives in the village and how things are in America. I showed them a few pictures of my friends and life in Chicago.<br />
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The tagine:<br />
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I arranged to have Karim's brother to take me on a 4 hour hike the next day. We would leave in the morning so that he would have time to celebrate the holiday in the afternoon. It was so nice to know that I already had someone that I could trust, even though I had never met him. I was really lucky to get someone to take me on the 26th, because operations in Morocco pretty much shut down that day.<br />
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This was such a refreshing place to be out in the quiet mountains with nice people! Abdul and Karim:<br />
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I came back in the guesthouse where the owner was playing the traditional Berber guitar. (More about Berber music later! I got a very good dose of it a few days later.) </div>
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I slept soundly in my stone castle room and got ready for a day of hiking and what would end up being one of the most memorable days I've had in all of my travels. Coming up - Eid Al Adha!<br />
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sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01339519229120844046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19464456.post-71689458636787981662012-11-08T12:04:00.003-08:002012-11-08T12:50:41.476-08:00Hassan #32 and simple goals<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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October 24, 2012<br />
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I woke up to the call to prayer echoing around Marrakesh. The morning one (at 5AM) always seems louder than the other times of day. I stayed in the old, traditional part of town where buildings are very condensed, and there are a few mosques in the medina. In Amman, I think they used the same recording so the call was uniform across the town. Here, it was sung live with many different voices. <i>"Allahu Abkar..." - </i>I think it is saying something like "God is great, there is no other deity but God" I find it extremely spooky, especially when it is still dark and you are sleeping. Spooky but so beautiful. I wasn't staying up late in Morocco so I wasn't annoyed by it like I was the Dutch church bells across the canal that <i>"gong!!"</i>ed me awake and into a post - half marathon party hangover just two nights before in Amsterdam. It's all right, Allah. I'm an early bird too. I feel you.<br />
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After a jarring first day, I decided to make it easy on myself and have only TWO goals for today. One, to find the museum of photography, and two to find a really note-worthy dinner in the Dja El Fnaa. That was it. The museum of photography was only about a 20-30 minute (SAFE, EASY) walk away, but I knew that it would take me hours to find it because maps are completely useless here and the entire town is like a corn maze. Every street is narrow with high walls and no street signs. Main streets are twisting alleys with no rhyme or reason. And even if you could just use trial and error - well, that would be nice - but the entire souk is filled with people who wanted to talk to me, follow me, get my attention. If I asked for directions, they will not simply point the way. That is an invitation to talk!<br />
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"Umm.. parlez-vous anglais? non? Ou est la musee de photographie?<br />
"hello miss! you cannot go there. Too difficult for you. I take you!"<br />
"no, merci. can you just point the direction?"<br />
(suddenly the person is starting to walk with you)<br />
"I take you. you will not find it. too difficult for you. First you come to my shop. nice shop"<br />
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"bonjour.. ou est la musee de photographie? that way? or this way?"<br />
"it is closed! you come to my shop"<br />
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"uh.. bonjour"<br />
"where you go? where you from? America? I take you, you cannot go alone"<br />
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After brushing off people for over an hour, and walking in the general direction where I thought it was, I tripped over some beautiful bowls sitting in the street. I love the arabic-calligraphic design. I really haven't seen too many examples of it in the souk. I apologized to the man and picked up the bowl I knocked over. He just smiled and didn't try to sell me anything. I found my shop. He let me look in peace and didn't hand me 15 things while I was looking. I loved him. we started our negotiations. I give the equivalent in USD:<br />
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me: how much are these? (three small bowls)<br />
him: $210<br />
me: oh, that's a little more than I wanted to pay.<br />
him: how much you want to pay?<br />
me: $12<br />
him: $18!<br />
him: OK, $15!<br />
me: OK. Shukran!<br />
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easiest negotiation ever. we went from $210 to $15 with no fight. I love my bowls, but $210 makes me laugh. He even threw in an extra one so now I have four.<br />
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After the little bowl detour, it was back to finding the museum. I started to ONLY ask people who were BEHIND a counter, so they wouldn't leave their shop to give me unwanted company. That worked sometimes, but there was nearly always a friend standing nearby who tried to walk with me. sigh. So then, I started to ask only veiled women. But none of them spoke English and many didn't speak French. Finally, with the help of some young girl students, I found the mosque that it was next to and after 10 more minutes of trial and error, I found it. It took me almost two hours. To walk the equivalent of one mile. I was so excited.</div>
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The museum had all kinds of amazing historical photos of Morocco:</div>
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I got into a conversation with the French co-owner of the museum about on-line sales and our (similar) hopes for the US election. I would love to buy some of these prints when I get home. My apartment is already in danger of looking like a crazed Cost Plus World market, but I can't resist buying things from every country I visit. </div>
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Even the floor of the museum was a beautiful old tile. I am crazy about Moroccan tile. From a purely design standpoint, Morocco is one of the most amazing places I have ever seen. The towering mosques, the atmospheric old crumbling streets, the intricate tilework and courtyard plunge pools in the riads..the experience of walking down a 4 foot dirty alley to imposing 8 foot high doors of a building that opens up into the most grand, mosaic tiled courtyard..everywhere. Hidden surprises around every corner. All the Islamic and Asian influences come together with a touch of traditional African style to make what is uniquely Moroccan.</div>
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The rooftop of the museum had a nice, hassle-free restaurant where I had some awesome preserved lemon chicken tagine with olives. Two months ago, I preserved some lemons in my apartment for the specific purpose of making this dish when I came home.</div>
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I found my way home a little easier, because my hotel is near the Dja El Fnaa and that is a major part of town. After using a horrible internet cafe to write the Amsterdam entry, I went back to the Dja El fnaa for dinner. I saw this busy stall that had crowds of people around it waiting to eat there, everyone eating tiny little sausages. This was stall number 32 - Hassan's stall.</div>
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Here is a video I made of dining here!</div>
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Because I was alone, I slipped into a single seat quickly at the hottest spot in town just as I would at Kuma's corner at home. Dining solo rocks! OK, not always.. but you can usually squeeze in much faster than a group of 2 or 3. Everybody crowded together on single benches and even though there were several things on the menu, every single person had ordered this so I did too:</div>
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They were lamb merguez sausages. Heaven. Smoky, so fresh and served with a side of what tasted like salsa. I topped off the sausages with some couscous at another stall where I happily dined with some fellow Americans. <br />
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After dinner, I wandered around to watch the show. Drummers, snake charmers, musicians, all in little circles that had people watching and throwing appreciative change.<br />
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The Dja El Fnaa has not changed in a thousand years. My kind of dinner theater! I had a pre-bed glass of wine at kosybar, the rooftop bar near my riad and went to sleep by 10PM.<br />
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sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01339519229120844046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19464456.post-48264883276722917292012-10-28T04:54:00.002-07:002012-11-08T12:11:24.793-08:00Back to Africa: souk rage<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Africa doesn't soothe you upon arrival with craft beer, artesinal cheese, cobblestone steets, cozy, candle-lit trattorias and orderly bus stations. North Africa blasts tinny music, throws donkeys, over-stimulation, smells and motobikes in your path as you get lost down narrow streets and invite stares and endless questions from inquisitive people. Africa is a little bit sink or swim. If you can't just go with the flow, you sink. I tried to get back into the rhythm of Africa as quickly as I could but I was very, very rattled by Marrakech on that first day. Coming from a cocoon of friends in laid-back Amsterdam was quite a change.<br />
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Goodbye, Europe!<br />
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I booked a really; really nice converted riad hotel for myself. This was only about 90 dollars. Morocco is a bargain compaired to Europe.. Looking down from my huge, tiled room and bed with flower petals on it I could see this:<br />
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The French owners got me settled in and showed me the way to the main square and the souk, an endless narrow winding pathway of little shops. Just like shops you would see in Mexico or Asia - crafts, food, spices, rugs, pottey, linens, shoes, art...(top photo)<br />
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They warned me about aggressive people in the souk. I assured them that I've been there, done that.<br />
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I make sure that I'm dressed modestly here. It's obvious that I'm a foreigner - I can't change that - but I wear long cargo pants every day and my shoulders are always covered. Despite all of this, and an expessionless face showing no interest in anything, I recieved contant attention.<br />
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"HELLO where you from?!"<br />
"hello this is my shop come in my shop"<br />
"What are you looking for?! hello my friend come over here American!"<br />
"Why you walk away?! come back here lady!"<br />
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It got worse. There were other touists in the medina, all trying to remain un-fazed, we threw eachother looks of knowing sympathy. I've dealt with similar situations in Egypt and other places. I just remain expessionless, then smile politely and just say "no, shukran" or "no, Merci". This worked great in Egypt. They would get the message and just bid me a nice day. Not here. My arm was grabbed. My hand was grabbed. This was going from annoying to infuriating.<br />
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One man who I said "no, merci" to at least 5 times decided to FOLLOW ME and yell. YOU Americans! you are all the same. You are so angry! What is wrong with you Ameicans! The French, the Swedish they no act like you! My shop is very nice! You just walk by when I talk to you! Come back here!<br />
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I turned around, gave him a nasty look and said "LEAVE ME ALONE! I was polite to you. I am sure your shop is very nice but you follow me and you yell; you are insulting and I will never come into your shop, ever"<br />
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I made a point to not walk down that alley again and I started to enjoy looking at all the fun things for sale. Not all the shop owners were pushy and aggressive. Only about 35 percent of them are. Those are good odds, right? <br />
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10 minutes later, my friend appeared around a corner in another part of the medina.<br />
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"fuck you, American bitch"<br />
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I had had enough. I didn't care. I went up to him and said "EXCUSE ME what did you just say to me asshole?!". I knew there were plain clothes tourist police around and I was so angry, I really didn't care if I was doing the "right thing". An asshole is an asshole and needs to be called out.<br />
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He disappeared around another corner.<br />
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15 minutes later, who do I see again?!<br />
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"I am sorry, I apologize to you. Why you no come into my shop. Is my brother's shop, is vey nice. I apologize to you. Why do only Americans act this way?"<br />
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I decided to give him some advice. "When you follow me, grab my arm and insult me, that does not make me want to come to your shop. I bet you would get a lot more people in your shop if you stand back, let them look and act nice to them. The more you try to force people in your shop; the less they want to come. When you follow people, it makes them run away. When people say no merci; you must leave them alone."<br />
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"You Americans, you all the same!"<br />
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That's right, buddy. I never saw him again. I hope he took a little advice from me and retired the "get in my shop, bitch" sales method. The whole American thing touched a nerve I didn't know I had. Feel free to insult me for my bitchy personality, but why bring my nationality into it? I've heard people say "I don't always agree with your country, but I like you and this other American I met once".. That kind of thing. People all over the world have so far been very good about just judging me for me. I have my good days and bad days. Bringing up my nationality just feels so ignorant, like they have nothing else to insult me about. I've worn the same orange shirt every day, let's start there!<br />
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I found a lovely rooftop bar, cafe arabe. I listened to the call to prayer echoing around the city with other weary tourists and Americans who needed a break:<br />
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I changed into another outfit and put my hair in a bun just in case my little fiend from the souk saw me again. I headed to the main square for dinner, the dja el fnaa. I love it there. Food stalls, musicians, drummers, performers.. you can buy a cheap tagine, eat at long tables with other people and be endlessly entertained. Moroccans and tourists, young and old all eating together.<br />
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After an awesome chicken-lemon-olive tagine and some b'sara soup (which I got for the name but honestly loved), I had a nightcap at another rooftop bar near my hotel. I listened to arabic-flavored electronica, texted with friends at home and vowed to be tougher tomorrow and get used to this place.<br />
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I came back to my riad and sat in the quiet coutyard with my feet in the pool and talked to the hotel owners.<br />
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Coming up: Morocco redeems itself; and then some! <br />
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this keyboard in Merzouga is infuriating. more to come when I get to Fez in a few days.</div>
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sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01339519229120844046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19464456.post-68659290385444586042012-10-24T05:31:00.001-07:002024-01-25T15:43:47.275-08:00Amsterdam: peep shows and pancakes<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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It had been 10 years since I visited Amsterdam - on a combo trip to Paris with Kathy. We both remember it as dark and a little bit sinister. The city itself is gorgeous, but addicts lurked around every corner and sellers hissed "hash...coke..." at us as we got horribly lost every day. I wanted to do another european marathon with my friends, and when we held a meeting last winter to decide where, I voted for Lubljana, Slovenia. Amsterdam won out. But I was excited to see it 10 years later with new eyes. It doesn't take much to convince me to travel anywhere. Amsterdam, you blew me away this time! </div>
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I arrived a day early and went straight to the tiny town of Edam to recover from jet lag. It rained all day but I was giddy to be back in Europe. My head was foggy but the streets were simple and there was a cheese shop around every corner. I explored, alternating cheese or apple tart in one hand, umbrella in the other. Nothing makes me happier than a free day in a new city with time to explore.</div>
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I discovered that I couldn't take money out of the ATM so I walked 2km to Volendamm. Every bank shut me out. Even though I had called both my banks before the trip and told them I would be travelling, when I tied to use the local Rabobank, they sent a fraud alert to both banks. I had to spend some time on the phone straightening it out. </div>
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I wandered the atmospheric streets and had dinner at cozy De Beurs Eten & Drinken. The chef's sampler platter had a cheese croquette, fish cake, beef carpacchio and a profiterole with goat cheese. I added a glass of wine and cheese soup.</div>
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Friday I went back to Amsterdam and settled into my very spartan but perfectly fine room at Hotel Van Onna. I decided to save in Europe and err on the side of luxury in Morocco, where I might need it more. I stayed a few blocks from where we stayed in 2002 - in the Jordaan district. Here is my street; Bloemgracht:</div>
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I made plans to meet Desiree at the marathon expo and to go out for pannekoeken - the famous Dutch pancake. Desiree is part of our extended group of Chicago runners - she lived in Chicago a few years ago and now lives in Singapore. I had only met her for a second at Oktoberfest last year but we know eachother very well through facebook. A fellow runner and an avid traveller - we had lots to talk about. Desiree posts even more food photos on the internet than I do. We picked up our race numbers at the expo (Lame compared to Chicago and Berlin) and headed to Pannekoeken Upstairs. Our pancakes were phenomenal, and I discovered the Dutch sweet-savory syrup Schenkstroop. Similar to molasses, it goes on sweet as well as meat-cheese pancakes. The restaurant was up some traditional steep, ladder-like dutch stairs. I had to come down backwards.</div>
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My hotel - I'm in the street-level window </div>
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I bought a few shirts in the Dutch ORANJE color! </div>
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And headed out to meet Carl, Jen, Regis (who we just call "Waffle" because he is Belgian), Desiree and her English ultra running, mountain-climbing friend for a huge Indonesian dinner. 18 dishes, arranged by spiciness. I was in heaven! </div>
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We went to Tempo Doloe because Anthony Bourdain had gone there. It did not dissapoint. At 50 euros, it was a splurge, a very worth-it splurge. I joked about paying for the dinner both financially and digestively. I paid. Oh, I paid!<br />
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The next morning, I enjoyed some Sara time exploring the Jordaan. I seagulled cheese samples in this market: </div>
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10 years ago I saw all the required museums here, so this time I visited Electric Ladyland, the museum of florescent art. It was run by this hippie, a former American who had spent time at an ashram in India: </div>
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He made me take my shoes off and took me down to a basement, where he showed me every historical florescent paint, rock and picture. He shined different lights on rocks to make different lights appear. I was alone in a basement with this guy and several times I almost broke out giggling. Then he left me alone down there and shut off the lights for a few minutes so that I could enjoy the color display. Groovy! </div>
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I got to sleep in because my half marathon did not start until 1:30. I went to a nearby fancy boutique hotel for a big breakfast buffet, then waited in my own hotel lobby to use the wifi where I met two spanish guys also running the half marathon: </div>
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me: what time are you going for today? </div>
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me: oh, two hours, five would be nice but i will probably be closer to two ten.</div>
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them: oh...(look of polite sympathy) do you train? how you say...you practice run before? </div>
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hahaha! And these guys have never run a full marathon. They took themselves soooo seriously. I shared a taxi with them to the start; where I met Steph, who was also running the half, and Lori who is pregnant qnd had an injury and wasnt running. Steph and I lined up while complaining about having to go to the bathroom. On the start line, a magic bathroom appeared with no line. </div>
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We ran across the start line to the sounds of "Mr saxo beat". The drizzle let up and the race went quickly, it was a perfect 55 degrees. Dance music DJs played throughout the course and spirits were high. I heard swedish house mafia and Lola's theme. My foot and IT band protested but I thoroughly enjoyed myself and ran a 2:07:26. 7 minutes off my PR. Not bad, not great but I loved the race and that's all I cared about this time. I was just grateful and happy to be able to complete it, happy to run with my friends and see Amsterdam from a different perspective. </div>
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After the race I hobbled back to the hotel and had a delicious waffle:</div>
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And this combo pizza-hot dog with a hidden surprise of saurkraut. Unox worst? How about Unox BEST!</div>
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I sat on my bed and ate food from the grocery store, then met up with everyone for celebratory drinks. We hit different spots aound downtown, and the night ended with four of us jamming in a peep show booth. I laughed all the way home. I am still laughing. </div>
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The next morning we gathered for a group photo (those of us who were not hurting too bad to do so) at the famous Iamsterdam sign. It was an incredibly fun 5 days. Amsterdam seems to have changed in 10 years. It seems brighter, livelier, cleaner. Or maybe it's just me that is less sinister. It was nice to see it again. Onward to Morocco!</div>
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The internet is so bad here that I may not get another chance to write a post until Fez. I will try, though. I can get phone wifi but actual computers are hard to find and the keyboards are wacky. I have lots more to report!</div>
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sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01339519229120844046noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19464456.post-51024563731259106542012-09-12T09:50:00.001-07:002012-09-12T14:19:35.658-07:00Limping to the start line - Amsterdam! (and 2012 racing/travel review)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="text-align: left;">2012 has been a bit of a disaster for my favorite hobby, but I've had a lot of fun along the way. </span></div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">To pick up where I left off after Berlin - In December of 2011, I visited my dad and ran the Las Cruces, NM half marathon during a freak cold snap. It was much colder in New Mexico than in Chicago. The race was amazingly fun (and small). The other runners were so friendly. Many of them came from HOURS away and across the state just to run it. We are so lucky to have so many in our back yard! This was the morning of the race. Straight out of a ricola commercial!</span></div>
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This was also the first time I've had a parent come to one of my races. Dad was very supportive but completely bored by all the running. He sat in his van during the race and read a philosophy book, but did come out to watch me run across the finish line and took me out for some green chile enchiladas afterwards. It was fun to introduce him to my my favorite sport. And I PR'd at this one, despite the high altitude - 2 hours even. After I came home, I signed up for the October Amsterdam Marathon with several other CARA-based friends. I am so lucky to have friends that like to travel as much as I do. </div>
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We started 2012 with the March beer mile. Our very own home-track beer mile was featured in Runners World later in September. I was mentioned in the article as the last place finisher. In a beer mile. You can see me in the front row among much more serious contenders:</div>
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<a href="http://www.runnersworld.com/article/0,7120,s6-243-297-519-14498-0,00.html">http://www.runnersworld.com/article/0,7120,s6-243-297-519-14498-0,00.html</a>
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In May, while training for the Brooklyn half marathon, I took a nasty fall during a run and thought I broke my arm. The hospital was pretty suprised that I did not break it, because I fell in such a precarious way. And look at my arm bone - isn't it cool?!</div>
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I healed up enough to run the Brooklyn half. I have some good friends in New York so I combined it with a visit. After the race, one of my friends met me at the finish line in Coney Island so that we could eat hot dogs and ride the Cyclone. It was a crazy good time! I love destination halves. They are a great way to see a city and not be completely destroyed for the next week. I saw a lot of traditional Brooklyn culture during the race, which I loved. My plantar faciitis in my right foot was really terrible after this race - a sign of what was to come..</div>
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After Brooklyn, I went back to Michigan to meet my new niece!</div>
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In June, I ran the Ragnar relay from Madison, WI to Chicago with 10 friends. A few of them were the crowd from Berlin and a few others. Ragnar is a series of 200 mile relay races across the country. There were hundreds and hundreds of teams doing the same. We leapfrogged in two vans over 37 hours. I ran three legs that totaled 20 miles. We slept in a field, ate pizza in a small town, listened to a lot of bad yet good music, got to know eachother really well. It was amazing and one of my favorite 2012 memories. I was a bit afraid to do it, but I'd do it over again anytime. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk4YFMJfMjU6j9CtKZSOtMuDRuw62dddvq2yPnTB2G56VhV6TeYNZpk_tE6K8er6nxNzw0Ciyp1Q99s1e54Vc0Y_0godcZNIE4jqQV8Io1-Ov4s5SQtD2HDNKK40Q1b41Yf9YMdA/s1600/Ragnar+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk4YFMJfMjU6j9CtKZSOtMuDRuw62dddvq2yPnTB2G56VhV6TeYNZpk_tE6K8er6nxNzw0Ciyp1Q99s1e54Vc0Y_0godcZNIE4jqQV8Io1-Ov4s5SQtD2HDNKK40Q1b41Yf9YMdA/s320/Ragnar+1.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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It was all county roads and state parks. I was lucky enough to have mostly parks. We had to just look at maps and figure it out, nobody followed you in a car. Sometimes it was just me, the heat (it was upper 80s all weekend) and crickets. Hello, Wisconsin!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFRNDiiNdV0w9BQYkIk1_FqCyy-c4L7urLVyDW3J8zIy6lH3pcNPoYMjJPzYrR82yJfhAINm30esD_K39ThmK5qEqp10-Z5YxCRBEpw8BJLQxUsPkhJClVm-wp76TEJ4uPTRz-zg/s1600/ragnar+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFRNDiiNdV0w9BQYkIk1_FqCyy-c4L7urLVyDW3J8zIy6lH3pcNPoYMjJPzYrR82yJfhAINm30esD_K39ThmK5qEqp10-Z5YxCRBEpw8BJLQxUsPkhJClVm-wp76TEJ4uPTRz-zg/s320/ragnar+2.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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My van spent the night before the relay in a hotel overlooking the WI capitol and had a few too many beers. But we sucked it up and ran just fine the next morning, that's just how talented we are. During my downtime of that weekend, my foot started to hurt terribly. Sometimes I had to just stay standing to keep my foot stretched out, or it would curl up like some foot-binding victim. The first half mile of every stretch was really bad. It was during Ragnar that I knew something very wrong was going on with my foot and I would need to go to a doctor soon. But I ran all three legs at exactly the pace I had promised the team. </div>
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In early July, during one of the hottest days I can remember, I met Bart Yasso, who wrote one of my favorite books about running + travel. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0mRsnWPTQfcbjJCuR2ccUM-G1VlsJsvO5zfeAiGxjtsQSgVergFSH9zYW9nWE90C9iPenQ5lv78qYFKaJn6qY72Npxar30ddQWqXgHkJC1W7KdBOsPP5PLf97uIV843K89IJi_w/s1600/bart.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0mRsnWPTQfcbjJCuR2ccUM-G1VlsJsvO5zfeAiGxjtsQSgVergFSH9zYW9nWE90C9iPenQ5lv78qYFKaJn6qY72Npxar30ddQWqXgHkJC1W7KdBOsPP5PLf97uIV843K89IJi_w/s320/bart.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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July got hotter and my foot got worse. I really don't mind running in the heat, though. I needed to start putting in the miles for Amsterdam (top photo). I had some lovely sunrise bikram-style runs along the lake. My friends and I started running in the suburbs for variety (and to review races for CARA). I started going to physical therapy twice a week for the injury. Here I am at the Waterfall Glen 10 mile trail race. It was a beautiful course, and I had a blast. At this point in the summer, I was considering dropping out of the marathon and doing the Amsterdam half, instead. Luckily they have a half marathon the same day. Two other members of our party were also going to run the half. I was still feeling kind of sad and pouty and mopey about my injury, though, and was stubborn about dropping out. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin3fKD7V3cP57wTixzjABJ4XTsIiyNUopxo4pYseHkHnAsC3dIJGR8ax-OqTNF4BVVI9zirP9dQuluuxXcC0qed6-t3v-JMObeVqKGqUZdRtVDtZg9AHyDiLSmYMHW0sEbeezolw/s1600/waterfall+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin3fKD7V3cP57wTixzjABJ4XTsIiyNUopxo4pYseHkHnAsC3dIJGR8ax-OqTNF4BVVI9zirP9dQuluuxXcC0qed6-t3v-JMObeVqKGqUZdRtVDtZg9AHyDiLSmYMHW0sEbeezolw/s320/waterfall+1.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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I spent most of the Waterfall Glen race thinking about that decision. Somewhere around mile 8, I knew in my heart a marathon wasn't going to be in the cards this year. But I smiled anyway and managed to take a great race pic for once!</div>
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I dropped out of the marathon, took three weeks off running entirely, grieved it a little bit, kept going to PT, started wearing a foot brace every night and started to focus my attention and excitement for the Amsterdam Half. 13.1 is my favorite distance anyhow, 10 miles or 13.1 is perfect for me. I do love marathons, though. I will do another one next year. They aren't pretty but something about them gets addicting and they are extremely satisfying to do. I won't philosophize about them here, but the 4 that I have done were very meaningful and I'll be proud of them forever. So anyhow, goodbye marathon 2012. </div>
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This is how I felt taking three weeks off:</div>
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<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MitGV7bomY0&feature=youtu.be">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MitGV7bomY0&feature=youtu.be</a>
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August - Here I am at another suburban race, the DeKalb corn classic! This one had the best t-shirt I've seen in awhile. I can't stop wearing it. Seagull of the corn with Kim and Jen:</div>
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I love our big breakfasts after races like this. I spent the rest of the summer enjoying food as only I do.. Here are some xiao long bao I had with Jen:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_T_V10S7FovHc4I0nVLWz8DFkATmvOdh0U9MDtU56PmrdpYmis0V2ZPPApQXNhhRCnjx681D_fa_vl4H-lrHvDbOznq-7ny_vGN7WUjjPULzk72notmMbTSnGwtubxHJUED81uw/s1600/xiao.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_T_V10S7FovHc4I0nVLWz8DFkATmvOdh0U9MDtU56PmrdpYmis0V2ZPPApQXNhhRCnjx681D_fa_vl4H-lrHvDbOznq-7ny_vGN7WUjjPULzk72notmMbTSnGwtubxHJUED81uw/s320/xiao.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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And the best dish I've had in recent memory at NEXT with Brian:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN1tiOJBPigJp0ZHQMj-6d1yCJ-0ZUf1OKctgPpqRjMYCfcVO23m9hsjztayEvb3bc8lXAmPf_q_tWYwictY6UmbRjh5N4e_ZtByZCBZcDvho0eWwJdVWpaWLo_5Z6bYqmLFngBA/s1600/next.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN1tiOJBPigJp0ZHQMj-6d1yCJ-0ZUf1OKctgPpqRjMYCfcVO23m9hsjztayEvb3bc8lXAmPf_q_tWYwictY6UmbRjh5N4e_ZtByZCBZcDvho0eWwJdVWpaWLo_5Z6bYqmLFngBA/s320/next.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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I leave for Amsterdam October 17. I'll spend a night in Edam, 4 days in Amsterdam with friends, then on to MOROCCO for 11 days, then one final gluttonous day and night in Paris. </div>
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May I just make it to the start line. Most runners get injured at some time or another. Plantar Faciitis is a really stubborn injury with no guaranteed beginning, middle or end. But I'm hopeful! I can still run 5Ks, 10Ks (I've really come to appreciate a good 10K this year) and do 13.1 next month but each run comes with the price of limping and icing the next morning. I just can't put in the miles required for a full marathon at this time. I'll still have fun even if I'm not going to break any personal records this year. I do have the PT's blessing and am not causing further injury to myself. I've discovered this year that also love bodypump, pilates and spinning as alternate ways to stay in shape. But there's nothing like running races. If anything, I appreciate them more after this summer.</div>
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See you in AMSTERDAM!<br />
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sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01339519229120844046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19464456.post-51667660143132230452011-10-06T02:48:00.001-07:002011-10-06T03:43:40.326-07:00Budapest - more dumplings and communism!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM-xckjMH_5YjNIOJn527t-4Vwl5zzO6l8kcj_w-F8RltNiU5f3jnMo5PL3lkN-15ZBlSGeGqI-BpYEvap6bf1RW-Am9LdCC_8dQBTv_u1JZvJzqLp0DQsA0ujYhISUQsa5xPsFg/s1600/top.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM-xckjMH_5YjNIOJn527t-4Vwl5zzO6l8kcj_w-F8RltNiU5f3jnMo5PL3lkN-15ZBlSGeGqI-BpYEvap6bf1RW-Am9LdCC_8dQBTv_u1JZvJzqLp0DQsA0ujYhISUQsa5xPsFg/s320/top.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660316461475596338" border="0" /></a><br />When I was a kid, for a brief time I had a stamp collection. You could order stamps by mail, and there was some kind of book where you organized them. The only thing I remembered about this stamp collection was that I had an abundance of stamps from "Magyar Posta". I had no idea where that was. My parents didn't know either. Half of my stamps were from Magyar Posta, which sounded like a very exotic place, but it would have been nice to have some VARIETY of stamps. Then I gave up the stamp collection and probably went outside to climb a tree. I completely forgot about this until yesterday when I saw a truck that said "Magyar Posta (Hungary postal service)". OMG, I thought. Magyar is another name for Hungary. I finally made it to Magyar Posta!<br /><br />After a train ride with in a car with a man who smelled like onions, I arrived back in Budapest and moved closer to the center of Pest, near a beautiful Basilica (above). Here is the view out my window:<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZfKkdD_Xwr-i2BKUoiXdk__1Ii4mISt9NmXAO90O4edCt-fNfqk3EFHwWpTVYTMtCBHPTl8-92Sd3b2PxFhtg3gQRZA-Dhp4kNYLpph_7aKFD7qWBNSHg9khr3ZhSFaQ284Ba4g/s1600/window+view+1.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZfKkdD_Xwr-i2BKUoiXdk__1Ii4mISt9NmXAO90O4edCt-fNfqk3EFHwWpTVYTMtCBHPTl8-92Sd3b2PxFhtg3gQRZA-Dhp4kNYLpph_7aKFD7qWBNSHg9khr3ZhSFaQ284Ba4g/s320/window+view+1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660316182230465234" border="0" /></a><br />What started as a marathon trip has really turned out to be "Sara's dumpling and communism tour". I don't know when I turned into such a history buff. I just can't get enough communism stories. You heard me ramble on and on about the Berlin wall. As my first order of business, I went on the communism walking tour. It was absolutely fascinating! Led by a woman named Aggy and an older man named Zoltar, they pointed out things around Pest that were left from the communist years, such as this locked, underground bunker:<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZyN_kPjBuhebbdMKkB0rl0EXSfQNEhP6fnIHrlVSRFUBboaBGdtQpeWf2XOnMBEdq2a4QSCcO-1VsDJnphIuZ-9a-vBQKZIAcPJt8BTvbn75j6ATWJi5weIU1SgpMaCElwukTZw/s1600/secret+bunker+2.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZyN_kPjBuhebbdMKkB0rl0EXSfQNEhP6fnIHrlVSRFUBboaBGdtQpeWf2XOnMBEdq2a4QSCcO-1VsDJnphIuZ-9a-vBQKZIAcPJt8BTvbn75j6ATWJi5weIU1SgpMaCElwukTZw/s320/secret+bunker+2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660315917506293218" border="0" /></a><br />Aggy grew up during "happy communism", or "communism lite". Prices were regulated by the state, and salaries were very equal. (but unfair because doctors and ordinary workers made near the same salaries - which led to resentment and laziness). However, when in your own home, you could do as you wished. Religion could be practiced quietly and privately. There was coca cola and MTV. But also state regulated, educational television (which both Aggy and Zoltar raved about). Here is the Magyar TV station:<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHpacWQ_4Lg8aM2ppo13IQFzv7cf0ikNjPOL6i2MmoK8T2ZwWCnDAPFmeAcnoPIOrlKfrWtQ5mp_Fe2kz0Qu9Y9EdtJLSKmzuliY5rQoL1uKpMnrKYkDu6IHX4iiQYy6DAYowIaQ/s1600/mtv+3.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHpacWQ_4Lg8aM2ppo13IQFzv7cf0ikNjPOL6i2MmoK8T2ZwWCnDAPFmeAcnoPIOrlKfrWtQ5mp_Fe2kz0Qu9Y9EdtJLSKmzuliY5rQoL1uKpMnrKYkDu6IHX4iiQYy6DAYowIaQ/s320/mtv+3.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660315617615734434" border="0" /></a><br />Communism was horribly strict in Hungary until the 1956 uprising. It gradually got better and better for people through the 60s, 70s and 80s. People still couldn't travel, though except to OTHER communist countries. They made travel to Vietnam and Cuba very cheap for people. I loved hearing their personal stories about growing up here. Aggy went on vacation with her family to the Black sea. Train tickets were really cheap for everyone. But going to western Europe was only possible for a very small section of the population. It was easier to travel to, say, Vietnam or North Korea than to Rome or Vienna.<br /><br />Western goods were sold, but not in huge abundance. And prices were regulated so that everyone could afford the same things, which led to shortages. They seemed a little wistful for the old TV programs, cars and prices. Like David told me in Cesky Krumlov - when communism ended, it was a very tough adjustment for senior citizens. I asked them about advertising after 1990. I got the answer I expected.<br /><br />Budapest has a lot of homeless people who fell through the cracks after 1990. To get good care in a hospital today still requires a little bribery. Bribery is still a hidden part of the culture left over from the communist years.<br /><br />Here is a soviet statue, which they cannot knock down because Russia still takes care of Hungary's military. But everyone wants it gone. It keeps getting defaced, so they had to build a fence around it. Aggy pointed out plain clothes policemen to us, hanging around the statue.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOQFq8XNFNVrD6pJ3o9AXWg6hmvVMmvjlrzosi7vWNM708O2r3uJizIVBwzKZrpHmImIZzbq5c1WGBemqx7A53XrR6BuDISMZsysWCBttCzb7mJL8g-e2mYeY2rCCinIqFOpCewQ/s1600/soviet+statue+4.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOQFq8XNFNVrD6pJ3o9AXWg6hmvVMmvjlrzosi7vWNM708O2r3uJizIVBwzKZrpHmImIZzbq5c1WGBemqx7A53XrR6BuDISMZsysWCBttCzb7mJL8g-e2mYeY2rCCinIqFOpCewQ/s320/soviet+statue+4.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660315334956318946" border="0" /></a><br />And what a coinidence, Russia built that statue to face the American embassy. Another coincidence, The United States built a statue of Ronald Reagan behind the soviet statue. Hmmm! I was the only American (there were a lot of South Americans and a few Australians) on the tour and was put on the spot a few times. There's your president! Zoltar said.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAWMzRJhYjo21sUp1o3Ab6QULSye5x3pXHx5MlWautNZdDEzl7oEPUZ7FnloI4GAjX_nlpWkzjbuS8Ydgnlp28Qnfvxi9VG1ztTq79FWk5K1dI9LvekJmgESf1N-m4G35c2y4ymQ/s1600/ronnie+5.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAWMzRJhYjo21sUp1o3Ab6QULSye5x3pXHx5MlWautNZdDEzl7oEPUZ7FnloI4GAjX_nlpWkzjbuS8Ydgnlp28Qnfvxi9VG1ztTq79FWk5K1dI9LvekJmgESf1N-m4G35c2y4ymQ/s320/ronnie+5.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660315090215827842" border="0" /></a><br />A statue of Nagy, Hungarian hero, who lead the 1956 uprising.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgezOHtfaMOhKT_rrYyFUNxGy5StjXyn063hboqdTwstT-ZuRxouuB7HkIQ9b4eNJC-xOwu1dv56CjysQY8HqYVQg07MPfZj5_bgXH-gwVYFmMRsaqvRK0zLjLutCEdlAjbpBlTg/s1600/Nagy+6.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgezOHtfaMOhKT_rrYyFUNxGy5StjXyn063hboqdTwstT-ZuRxouuB7HkIQ9b4eNJC-xOwu1dv56CjysQY8HqYVQg07MPfZj5_bgXH-gwVYFmMRsaqvRK0zLjLutCEdlAjbpBlTg/s320/Nagy+6.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660314820577491954" border="0" /></a><br />Here is an example of a modern business on the first floor, and a decayed second floor with bullet holes in it:<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiUi-ubFV3V7PdftbEmiYaGR1nCwsrFj7P9vBQCtfu9PKpHYHOJ_gYiHPxy62Lw3lTHC9rMzhQor3JsDHMJ1yLucnW0Igq8wqo69hEcyswWQikVkTaftvRyo1wJnILGkhENJB6_g/s1600/old+and+new+7.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiUi-ubFV3V7PdftbEmiYaGR1nCwsrFj7P9vBQCtfu9PKpHYHOJ_gYiHPxy62Lw3lTHC9rMzhQor3JsDHMJ1yLucnW0Igq8wqo69hEcyswWQikVkTaftvRyo1wJnILGkhENJB6_g/s320/old+and+new+7.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660314531999968562" border="0" /></a><br />Alcohol was very cheap during the communist years. Going to work drunk was generally OK. They wanted to keep people happy and content. Here is a bar that still caters to the old workers, a dive. With crazy cheap prices.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinjxBZMH1bN2SApCq5eA2eQ37n3ees4dNmbcTZCBUFd7DQvnRRDcAh2Zc6jKp2TpK_Is3BlwDaGQUN-wQs8bmVAh2hSkfVPd5ITyPy2oeBgNV_1c8L7LR2RABWqz_74KRQsj3RwA/s1600/cheap+drinks+8.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinjxBZMH1bN2SApCq5eA2eQ37n3ees4dNmbcTZCBUFd7DQvnRRDcAh2Zc6jKp2TpK_Is3BlwDaGQUN-wQs8bmVAh2hSkfVPd5ITyPy2oeBgNV_1c8L7LR2RABWqz_74KRQsj3RwA/s320/cheap+drinks+8.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660314322734641154" border="0" /></a><br />Aggie told us about the communist architecture. People still live in the block apartment buildings outside of town. Originally, poorer people could have separate apartments but share a kitchen and bathroom. With the new block apartments (that look like CHA housing), they built VERY small kitchens and no common areas. The communists didn't want people to linger in kitchens with their friends and gossip. They also built this horrifically ugly building across from the basilica, that was just slightly longer - to show people that something could be bigger than the church. It was very symbolically placed. It's a real eyesore among the beautiful buildings in the square. And will be torn down in three years. Thank goodness. It is butt-ugly!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzcRb10jjdEuX4EnTCeRpiQMHlApPssxeyC_xQV7Hadb0iVcFkMFQQjGXJ8kVkwBfbgazyKVtV8FPGuu0fsfVbYPcrWLlgv-jRQ_CYNbA4Mfmz0m5nwAFlKbuklkcAMQJNmhhi4w/s1600/ugly+9.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzcRb10jjdEuX4EnTCeRpiQMHlApPssxeyC_xQV7Hadb0iVcFkMFQQjGXJ8kVkwBfbgazyKVtV8FPGuu0fsfVbYPcrWLlgv-jRQ_CYNbA4Mfmz0m5nwAFlKbuklkcAMQJNmhhi4w/s320/ugly+9.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660314070794809250" border="0" /></a><br />They showed us a tourism book for Budapest of photos that was published in the 1960s, for publication in the west. It was all UGLY communist architecture and showed none of the beautiful historic buildings of Budapest. This is the image they wanted to project to the world.<br /><br />After the walking tour, I went to an old jewish restaurant I found in Lonely Planet. It was a bit of a walk, but the paprikash was phenomenal. The owner came over to talk to me. I went out for streudel and a little night-time walk around my hotel and basilica. It remided me a little bit of Italy - people lingering around a fountain drinking wine from the fancy wine bar next door.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoccs8A6kocIukdcx5EDQLyQzokd3-cYu2db5t5qELBCfOajU283hwC08YyqOVHE99Xe1tuN57Pbsgw-82JGZL4jri048pR6Bu8bzsCYB5MmRRKEa8G1dNUJgIIzuVouaBkKyhcA/s1600/paprikash+10.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoccs8A6kocIukdcx5EDQLyQzokd3-cYu2db5t5qELBCfOajU283hwC08YyqOVHE99Xe1tuN57Pbsgw-82JGZL4jri048pR6Bu8bzsCYB5MmRRKEa8G1dNUJgIIzuVouaBkKyhcA/s320/paprikash+10.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660313855759834002" border="0" /></a>sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01339519229120844046noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19464456.post-15191434082247603602011-10-06T01:08:00.001-07:002011-10-06T02:37:26.478-07:00In the dungeon with Russians - Eger, Hungary<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDWvGb9S009t_J6wSDvABxSpGAE4PV1TDyAatNI91u9p5TE0L0nUXTyMbDpdfCBKttHtF6gllo_hC1jOtVm5ttScysYgQOEFXiWtq-wK2-6LSYmoRTZf5MnwtMhSgmaR2JyTtYXg/s1600/top.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDWvGb9S009t_J6wSDvABxSpGAE4PV1TDyAatNI91u9p5TE0L0nUXTyMbDpdfCBKttHtF6gllo_hC1jOtVm5ttScysYgQOEFXiWtq-wK2-6LSYmoRTZf5MnwtMhSgmaR2JyTtYXg/s320/top.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660292895490415730" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I had originally planned on seeing some smaller Czech towns south of Prague and slowly making my way to Vienna. Logistially, this wasn't going to work because ALL roads lead back to Prague and I was completely finished with that city. I bought a ticket to Budapest, thinking I could hop off in Bratislava if I got tired of being on the train. So I boarded the train that morning not knowing where I would end up that night, which is kind of fun. This is why I prefer to plan ahead, but not TOO much. What if I get tired of some town and feel like going somewhere else? Hungary suddenly sounded much more fun, and three weeks ago it wasn't part of the plan.<br /><br />In the Czech replublic, I saw a lot of pets on public transportation. Here is some girl taking her cat on a seven hour train ride:<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5w38tgJIOnNhcRV4UyzNuSV1Zpv3pPZCBypQawIwkUw-j2xY75f28ilhGk3M7D_2TliJQDmNmArUOGAdFJ6xQ8i7I6MV-rI156uPuJW0QYfHoOaJJcP49Dc-vvMrlM86Qm8YAJw/s1600/cat+1.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5w38tgJIOnNhcRV4UyzNuSV1Zpv3pPZCBypQawIwkUw-j2xY75f28ilhGk3M7D_2TliJQDmNmArUOGAdFJ6xQ8i7I6MV-rI156uPuJW0QYfHoOaJJcP49Dc-vvMrlM86Qm8YAJw/s320/cat+1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660292688394611826" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-j_2ew9fp199s3l5KAWr2DZN3VStYrzO_uN5UrNZJMxwj18q2phy7EaXg9PgQrSUQng_I8dbEwfr2bMPJXv7PW_h7_9LuXWHichyphenhyphenJ_DTTJ1Fw1VvMqCFN93LG1-GEBHUOVfQlOg/s1600/train+sta+2.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-j_2ew9fp199s3l5KAWr2DZN3VStYrzO_uN5UrNZJMxwj18q2phy7EaXg9PgQrSUQng_I8dbEwfr2bMPJXv7PW_h7_9LuXWHichyphenhyphenJ_DTTJ1Fw1VvMqCFN93LG1-GEBHUOVfQlOg/s320/train+sta+2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660292521805634882" border="0" /></a><br />Honey cake on the train!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaN1Dpc2UVQKLH_zTfjXUpOtK9eNF1JITlrB7TWSyeJx7cgLOLcNwqhpC_3MomrVKqrGsTDz8T8YeRMcdqLAQRfmoJArCTpancyZh4t7-eiDCxrWqLfBn65StaOyTYN-LprEynxg/s1600/honey+cake+3.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaN1Dpc2UVQKLH_zTfjXUpOtK9eNF1JITlrB7TWSyeJx7cgLOLcNwqhpC_3MomrVKqrGsTDz8T8YeRMcdqLAQRfmoJArCTpancyZh4t7-eiDCxrWqLfBn65StaOyTYN-LprEynxg/s320/honey+cake+3.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660292297340734242" border="0" /></a><br />After I decided to go all the way to Budapest, I called a small guesthouse that got good reviews on tripadvisor. Tripadvisor is so helpful when I travel! I arrived to find two fussy but very friendly older men running a small hotel on the second floor of a grand, crumbling building. The staircase looked just like the one in single white female. It was a beautiful building that was a little ragged yet very atmospheric, but the guesthouse was very hip (and cheap!) Here is my cool chandelier over my bed:<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaLnAV4gxAVmhwc1KpiI7DFv-mpjSj74tUlujk_qAa-pM6JsmsnzxNcD0fuFK5iNX5K45EbBaylIDShcrJUXOCY_kPkByhClLrc0dnWzFFSsVRV2OZcsVj7SPBjdBiLWCTtMYp8w/s1600/chanelier+4.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaLnAV4gxAVmhwc1KpiI7DFv-mpjSj74tUlujk_qAa-pM6JsmsnzxNcD0fuFK5iNX5K45EbBaylIDShcrJUXOCY_kPkByhClLrc0dnWzFFSsVRV2OZcsVj7SPBjdBiLWCTtMYp8w/s320/chanelier+4.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660292038977280658" border="0" /></a><br />Before I checked in, I got a lecture about the toilet. The message came loud and clear - don't break it. Don't put too much toilet paper in. Don't flush anything EXCEPT toilet paper. I got my key, and one more reminder to not flush any dental floss in the toilet. Because I was a female, and they were two men, they danced around the "feminine hygene products" topic which was funny but you could tell one of them wanted to say it. Here is the sign above my toilet, which I did not break:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbe1Sq3MulUx3UZSNw5GGgKAhQTfAb1TiNQufzEGXcvhI0xziHD4KaTzVKus4-htQACbWfewJOLghLxwwt-mMHc18eyBF-IDxx5yZL6ni1fNx3bvCI5annV3WeT81fCHlNUv37Uw/s1600/bathroom+5.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbe1Sq3MulUx3UZSNw5GGgKAhQTfAb1TiNQufzEGXcvhI0xziHD4KaTzVKus4-htQACbWfewJOLghLxwwt-mMHc18eyBF-IDxx5yZL6ni1fNx3bvCI5annV3WeT81fCHlNUv37Uw/s320/bathroom+5.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660291845320288498" border="0" /></a><br />I walked around the neighborhood and liked Budapest immediately. The train station is really rustic and dirty. The underground metro looked like it was from 1800. It was really old and squeaky and the doors don't shut properly. Downtown Budapest was full of cafes, beautiful old buildings and places to linger for hours. I tried to sort out my feelings about Prague. Prague is pretty too, but something about it just wasn't as inviting. There were so many casinos, bachelor parties, bars and tourists. But I can't blame a city for having too many tourists because I'm a tourist myself. Prague is like a girl who had a bad boyfriend for 40 years and is now on a bender. You want to tell her to just chill out and take a yoga class or something. Budapest seemed a little more dignified, a bit more like Paris. But still, nothing like Paris. I can't really make judgements like that about Prague or Budapest because I really don't know much about either city. Those are just my first impressions. I was EXHAUSTED, though. (and my cold and cough will not go away!) Big cities in general were just losing their appeal. I decided to spend one quick night in Budapest, hop on the train two hours to a small town I had read about in Hungarian wine country, then come back and properly tackle Budapest. This would mean I only have one night (at the end) in Vienna. That's OK. All of the sudden, Hungary just seemed right.<br /><br />I had a nice dinner at a place the hotel owners recommended. It was fabulous. Everyone is eating outside because it's about 70 degrees during the day.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs-Jq7BKbM0EVzjsPHhT5ouqUOeurCuSJwHn3BMFHaSNJ38YB0RZT3GxHpr5IW6yOOchWoszOOtsM8JzEsRzb3wcEGCL_vD6KvbHvhpyt3HJiFCNnwBt5e_Xb8bQW59D-Kl3N3CQ/s1600/buda+night+6.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs-Jq7BKbM0EVzjsPHhT5ouqUOeurCuSJwHn3BMFHaSNJ38YB0RZT3GxHpr5IW6yOOchWoszOOtsM8JzEsRzb3wcEGCL_vD6KvbHvhpyt3HJiFCNnwBt5e_Xb8bQW59D-Kl3N3CQ/s320/buda+night+6.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660291752386798882" border="0" /></a><br />Train to Eger<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXZ2bA0qsLEZPvlIirbMCh1Shy2eQx7eUI8unu8h-dJYBCl0eqWvGXe5JvNEDaFWZOLLa2H-VK7uqr6k6hoPXvQmUBNjCpsXHoWviVJBMlaJ-u8Z-Xz4Y2v3X_rG_sWi87PBxr6w/s1600/eger+sign+7.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXZ2bA0qsLEZPvlIirbMCh1Shy2eQx7eUI8unu8h-dJYBCl0eqWvGXe5JvNEDaFWZOLLa2H-VK7uqr6k6hoPXvQmUBNjCpsXHoWviVJBMlaJ-u8Z-Xz4Y2v3X_rG_sWi87PBxr6w/s320/eger+sign+7.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660291538672216354" border="0" /></a><br /><br />After two hours, I arrived in a little village. I followed two students from Hong Kong to a bus and we figured out how to get downtown. One woman walked me to the hotel I had in mind. The fresh air in Eger was nice. The hotel was full of antiques and I had a little attic room that overlooked a little outdoor cafe and cobblestone street.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjai21vBptvQgBEyOYxM4HGQLaC5IjFd0u-yYYFMjQ0o0V7F7DpJ8vDQFy0r7rHjPuJBfdoaYDPv7L0W9RGx0POfkbRmhVW5XndbgcDU2b0nmhZQLLHDjvPuOXnDCcuYWsaL6HR5Q/s1600/square+6.5.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjai21vBptvQgBEyOYxM4HGQLaC5IjFd0u-yYYFMjQ0o0V7F7DpJ8vDQFy0r7rHjPuJBfdoaYDPv7L0W9RGx0POfkbRmhVW5XndbgcDU2b0nmhZQLLHDjvPuOXnDCcuYWsaL6HR5Q/s320/square+6.5.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660291320245435106" border="0" /></a><br />I had 24 hours. Enough time to see a castle and go to the little wine cellars on the outskirts of town.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6lKXSa9N72UrVQcFfG6V3_UD9gNNR1UnwDHi_H_kaZ0ioaBYV8TjfB1LxL1sY6jLtYnjJENhv7lsKByExMlZ_KT3EZ8vbpoudsoflyyfVzhHkwmI499QEOA84Lqq_Qunu8cfiPw/s1600/eger+sign+7.JPG"><br /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCmRkiy23nudkC_MiyEZOSW6Ym5nbrfwHXFW0OSylv5JZUTbJ-dRP5gmHObOHczczJ0qRafVqSp8ec0daMW1SnLfh8k3UJFVyv0Ync2MGIF4nKxDmJGAjSNFmD5fnLbZ0YOeSjog/s1600/castle+8.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCmRkiy23nudkC_MiyEZOSW6Ym5nbrfwHXFW0OSylv5JZUTbJ-dRP5gmHObOHczczJ0qRafVqSp8ec0daMW1SnLfh8k3UJFVyv0Ync2MGIF4nKxDmJGAjSNFmD5fnLbZ0YOeSjog/s320/castle+8.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660290816854512050" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZJ86T6KQ2nBGK_02zN7Lh6-gjC9Z_dCesZv3BWJMkHCr0ecP8yKIPDc2oXDluyW7riksqmlnG3B6IU7ahlmr8lF6uTELoMhaEfgzsEmjZZVh3gOUNge6Pnuv2VvZclubwdkocCg/s1600/view+9.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZJ86T6KQ2nBGK_02zN7Lh6-gjC9Z_dCesZv3BWJMkHCr0ecP8yKIPDc2oXDluyW7riksqmlnG3B6IU7ahlmr8lF6uTELoMhaEfgzsEmjZZVh3gOUNge6Pnuv2VvZclubwdkocCg/s320/view+9.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660290545243707282" border="0" /></a><br />The Eger castle is an important part of Hungarian history. They defeated the Turks here in 1552. The women played a big part in the legend - they helped the fight by splasing hot oil on the invaders. Good idea! This area makes a red wine called "bulls blood". Supposedly the Hungarians were able to fight the Turks because they were drinking the blood of bulls. The little wine cellar road is called "valley of the beautiful women".<br /><br />Here is a lady with her bucket of hot, boiling oil. Take that, Turks!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguMbQxGbhaTqLY07NX6-i_PE2m2b7NWbPjUkjtJpWtPJcRsquEImtC5DoYKzLUPKpyBeSjRhHx4j4h48B_dqsxhyphenhyphenL47uJm1HHtdgRqb7mkQbnBsjAJP1g7xeIgby5AFNVa7tB48w/s1600/wax+10.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguMbQxGbhaTqLY07NX6-i_PE2m2b7NWbPjUkjtJpWtPJcRsquEImtC5DoYKzLUPKpyBeSjRhHx4j4h48B_dqsxhyphenhyphenL47uJm1HHtdgRqb7mkQbnBsjAJP1g7xeIgby5AFNVa7tB48w/s320/wax+10.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660290290018572514" border="0" /></a><br /><br />After wandering around the castle for an hour, I went down some steps and found a locked gate. I peeked inside. It looked like the best dungeon ever! It was a hot day and I enjoyed standing there on the cool dungeon stairs. A sign said "enter only when accompanied by an official tour". Wouldn't it be great if a tour group came along right now? I thought. On cue, a bunch of people speaking some language I couldn't place came down the stairs and opened the door.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpz7x8kBoOLN77-b36v_8A13oT-rOHqC-FzUzPxeUREZT8r3dDEpLBlqEtnLLF-N_1PTE2BhBOineBX2-LYiVNZkWjH4_072WNooYaCZopfUaX7w4NgIpzaY53bNq_qUBTY7QyBA/s1600/dungeon+11.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpz7x8kBoOLN77-b36v_8A13oT-rOHqC-FzUzPxeUREZT8r3dDEpLBlqEtnLLF-N_1PTE2BhBOineBX2-LYiVNZkWjH4_072WNooYaCZopfUaX7w4NgIpzaY53bNq_qUBTY7QyBA/s320/dungeon+11.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660290050591612866" border="0" /></a><br />Of course I followed them in and tried to blend in. But it was hard to blend in with this crowd. I understood nothing they were saying. The tour guide acknowledged me and let me know that I could stay and it was no problem. The dungeon was really fun. There were (I think) torture devices and hidden passageways. But just as interesting was this group. I couldn't figure them out. There were two very effeminite and affectionate older men, one with a shaved forehead, as if his hair grew down too far and he wanted to tame it - and very expensive, hip glasses. There was a young guy in a bright orange disco shirt. There was an older lady in a skirt with big polar bears on it. There was a man who looked like his name was Igor. And two old grandmas with grey buns. Speaking some language I couldn't place. Igor came up to me and spoke english, translating a few things for me which was very nice. They were Russians! I was further confused when one of the older men came over to polar bear and gave her a flirty squeeze. I knew you might want to see the skirt:<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhnRN5mQRLjqX7WJOI6cUlg_qyLII7VcurHSgY2CyMyqTrk6tMirl6200WLiInnriicMwIi0Q6zkruMqWo1mAx0OnAaWurYGXWbMCPtunOM1RJ_Ie7_JQ_6OYxadiUkUYX3g_iHw/s1600/polar+12.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhnRN5mQRLjqX7WJOI6cUlg_qyLII7VcurHSgY2CyMyqTrk6tMirl6200WLiInnriicMwIi0Q6zkruMqWo1mAx0OnAaWurYGXWbMCPtunOM1RJ_Ie7_JQ_6OYxadiUkUYX3g_iHw/s320/polar+12.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660289807885025922" border="0" /></a><br />They couldn't have been nicer. We spent some time in the dungeon together and then the door was unlocked and I set out to find the wine street. Here is my hotel:<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIN8d3OmEi2ZBAdFmmnJX3SfUPIkmoX5DwqiGXqaLP73cVZ9HhSeJXPXTxHcZu3v2OzGICMLZIA_BzvxPZcXFmdwG4jLbcD36RSSxRSP24Je2FaviNoTT-AMaTHNM-rCvx8px5Og/s1600/coffee+13.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIN8d3OmEi2ZBAdFmmnJX3SfUPIkmoX5DwqiGXqaLP73cVZ9HhSeJXPXTxHcZu3v2OzGICMLZIA_BzvxPZcXFmdwG4jLbcD36RSSxRSP24Je2FaviNoTT-AMaTHNM-rCvx8px5Og/s320/coffee+13.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660289562283820002" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-g6XBo21MZp_6o5b6r2IgX9_SPYdR-e5mOLewd6jyZlgpyIycGekDmF_uLGwAmZ6-dpoRHopBZCMhBj1hzgreeSCTWKlZK3HV9U92XLWBFFyAKckphh-OxW6dXwZPC3MHHiUUUA/s1600/more+14.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-g6XBo21MZp_6o5b6r2IgX9_SPYdR-e5mOLewd6jyZlgpyIycGekDmF_uLGwAmZ6-dpoRHopBZCMhBj1hzgreeSCTWKlZK3HV9U92XLWBFFyAKckphh-OxW6dXwZPC3MHHiUUUA/s320/more+14.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660289300853892194" border="0" /></a><br />I took a taxi to the wine cellars, where I found MORE Russians , several plastic tables and and old, shirtless man running around. It was like the village in "Borat". You know for me, it all comes back to Borat!<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkpMpM4YW73UWmbz5lxmFFM9p2HET3p3B5kcdWYQYXIseDqF7eJNXtvXWqtwSFjFZYULs5LkScgyo1bV0g-xkXEhyphenhypheniLZULAsVFGKpEp-UYDZoo3GEN8PU9llbtcEUdJT1RdPflZQ/s1600/grapes+15.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkpMpM4YW73UWmbz5lxmFFM9p2HET3p3B5kcdWYQYXIseDqF7eJNXtvXWqtwSFjFZYULs5LkScgyo1bV0g-xkXEhyphenhypheniLZULAsVFGKpEp-UYDZoo3GEN8PU9llbtcEUdJT1RdPflZQ/s320/grapes+15.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660289088337925346" border="0" /></a><br />A series of little houses and each had a little cavern attached. These were mom and pop wineries, and nobody spoke English. I was only charged money twice and spent a total of 2 dollars. Some of the wine was actually good. I'd say about 50% of it was decent. The bulls blood was good. They had some very floral-tasting whites, too. I barely knew what any of it was because it was mostly in Hungarian.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin21xRDWwAgnN5G6qZ2OJPg9Csc7xgllet6teRJoOHaBMoFyCbG6WXfeuWPWH-dHKUihvkLxqa8wsZBWqmfD1WgGOHmmg8Frn1Z0KGSeifb89pFcShryerKsX5yc3Rz1j34_2gvw/s1600/tubes+16.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin21xRDWwAgnN5G6qZ2OJPg9Csc7xgllet6teRJoOHaBMoFyCbG6WXfeuWPWH-dHKUihvkLxqa8wsZBWqmfD1WgGOHmmg8Frn1Z0KGSeifb89pFcShryerKsX5yc3Rz1j34_2gvw/s320/tubes+16.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660289022590869490" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif2nMWaVe8phmu_5oosPB_Grf954lQuLaWu2_dq1WOovSNKxriy88SmZIYp9VkrIB1iXAr_VGtmoZXSser9jkwxzQKoUzqNwytshoUDXFgPxlTkLKQUCbnV_TjoLLfPxq6JIiOPw/s1600/cellar+17.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif2nMWaVe8phmu_5oosPB_Grf954lQuLaWu2_dq1WOovSNKxriy88SmZIYp9VkrIB1iXAr_VGtmoZXSser9jkwxzQKoUzqNwytshoUDXFgPxlTkLKQUCbnV_TjoLLfPxq6JIiOPw/s320/cellar+17.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660288911111397266" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_4nnS_y_uMq1NNdTyin4oSby1uqAVzwef-ZU-1tQBiUiX8EnePzErzT7NdWfsj8g-G69IAiZ9Rwq6WZ8Tz2VXtzQ0JBgd3xSsVaqjoXSH3_sZsjrUwJvXhOet0G6BYsjQQR1m_Q/s1600/cellar+18.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_4nnS_y_uMq1NNdTyin4oSby1uqAVzwef-ZU-1tQBiUiX8EnePzErzT7NdWfsj8g-G69IAiZ9Rwq6WZ8Tz2VXtzQ0JBgd3xSsVaqjoXSH3_sZsjrUwJvXhOet0G6BYsjQQR1m_Q/s320/cellar+18.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660288692613654450" border="0" /></a><br />My favorite winery was a sweet grandma who had wine in giant test tubes. Some people bought wine and took it home in plastic soda bottles! It was VERY local and home-grown. I got a lot of confused stares, because I was alone and wasn't Polish or Russian. I did meet some nice people, though. We communicated through pictures and hand signals. I didn't drink too much because I didn't really know where I was, and it was only 4PM. With the exception of Oktoberfest, I really hate drinking alcohol during the day. It just makes me tired and crabby.<br /><br />There were no taxis or trolleys so I just made the 20 minute walk back into town. It was a really fun experience!<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtVOVHfg9n1nL9Wb0abnhlfj8LBXmR_XtgbzyEa2o-oP0ngrz5OsoxIx3xkUBAtgyfwiz0zlW0XSJOuQABkx0k-Fyx1gOiRHlcen9NSD3JH5E9NjlhK25OCxZtb2k_8A46m00WTg/s1600/rural+19.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtVOVHfg9n1nL9Wb0abnhlfj8LBXmR_XtgbzyEa2o-oP0ngrz5OsoxIx3xkUBAtgyfwiz0zlW0XSJOuQABkx0k-Fyx1gOiRHlcen9NSD3JH5E9NjlhK25OCxZtb2k_8A46m00WTg/s320/rural+19.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660288489913844466" border="0" /></a><br />I was on a mission to find good chicken paprikash. Mission accomplished!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEVV175iYePTQTNKRlkRrnuS6QAPmRrrYNQUHzJf9peptw0zyVoDcM6xaEP1pJHw4K6vFJ-uoxLD-l1pQpfaOpbbHKiJxc63Fbd9WUbSGD1ISl8QyB9-XBY2o3DBf6m72uz18bvQ/s1600/paprikask+20.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEVV175iYePTQTNKRlkRrnuS6QAPmRrrYNQUHzJf9peptw0zyVoDcM6xaEP1pJHw4K6vFJ-uoxLD-l1pQpfaOpbbHKiJxc63Fbd9WUbSGD1ISl8QyB9-XBY2o3DBf6m72uz18bvQ/s320/paprikask+20.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660288418147896098" border="0" /></a><br />After dinner, I took a little stoll around the square. Eger has a beautiful church. It was nice to be in the country for a day. Tomorrow, back to Budapest!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib7UKGnH2KkdCeus2R2QRAljlyZS9dRdHMA5ye6VwtOXGY0BHSEZ4UVwmttC2X4aSmqM0OBtO52-iiaoPls1ulIhtx6t51xwEihFxoDjyJTIRzjsBG0GZdnj79z1x25CUYEhCTWw/s1600/church+night+21.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib7UKGnH2KkdCeus2R2QRAljlyZS9dRdHMA5ye6VwtOXGY0BHSEZ4UVwmttC2X4aSmqM0OBtO52-iiaoPls1ulIhtx6t51xwEihFxoDjyJTIRzjsBG0GZdnj79z1x25CUYEhCTWw/s320/church+night+21.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660288209939002914" border="0" /></a>sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01339519229120844046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19464456.post-9846679454903509872011-10-02T06:29:00.001-07:002011-10-02T07:19:04.271-07:00Prague: Castle-challenged!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2I7LBOajuznLI1uiY5A4k68qKXHsq5axhJsXCqpkPsx2icGkdKXhs-1wBgxomJpePfAVJ2l8KSmRKSoysYJBJVltm-rCOH6fmPF1MWJxvOqNGVoNrMygUJAQdrf2mB6W1qAqW2A/s1600/top.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2I7LBOajuznLI1uiY5A4k68qKXHsq5axhJsXCqpkPsx2icGkdKXhs-1wBgxomJpePfAVJ2l8KSmRKSoysYJBJVltm-rCOH6fmPF1MWJxvOqNGVoNrMygUJAQdrf2mB6W1qAqW2A/s320/top.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658887380262310178" border="0" /></a><br />To those of you who visited Prague 15 or even 10 years ago, I applaud you. I wish I had been smart enough to do so. I think it may have been better back then. I'm going to come out and say it - I don't LOVE Prague. It's OK. The history is interesting. The buildings are lovely. I think the town has sold itself out for entertainment a little bit. But after only two full days, what do I really know? It's just my snap judgement.<br /><br />After the brewery tour in Cesky Krumlov, I got a taxi driver to take me to the bus stop. I was pleased that he was playing Deep Purple's "smoke on the water" at a very loud volume. With assigned seats, who was across the aisle from me on the bus but Daniel from the shuttle! We laughed at the coincidence and caught up on the last few days. The bus had free headphones and music. Two channels were available. Celine Dion type songs in Czech or really bad rock in English and Czech. There were also free gossip magazines with topless ladies in them. We had a few laughs over the absurdity of the bus ride and fell asleep. In Prague, we figured out the metro and went our separate ways.<br /><br />My hotel was very old school with a hard bed. I was happy with the bed and the location. Kimberley, Steph and their mom were staying across town and we made plans to meet the next morning. Downstairs from my hotel was a very cool wine bar with many choices of Czech wine!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiALQS2-xalRs5qhwJHaFxaRdFsdhOIAhc86CW8vVD_THQ6gWj_uRvtrr5uQj1zN4dbN_51f8WxWurAFczPR0sxrPqG0v1gF_2BZJa7uQp2aVtnoW11x2sVj4nDAkntlFvSPCOAMw/s1600/wine+bar12.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiALQS2-xalRs5qhwJHaFxaRdFsdhOIAhc86CW8vVD_THQ6gWj_uRvtrr5uQj1zN4dbN_51f8WxWurAFczPR0sxrPqG0v1gF_2BZJa7uQp2aVtnoW11x2sVj4nDAkntlFvSPCOAMw/s320/wine+bar12.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658887314896763458" border="0" /></a><br />I shared a table with a couple from Prague. I just wrote in my journal and we would talk every now and then. We toasted and I told them that I liked dumplings. The woman got excited and told me that some favorite dish of hers with dumplings was served at the Imperial hotel, and showed me where it was. I had been exploring and it was about 10PM so I went straight there for a late dinner. It was delicious! Very ornate hotel dining room. I love that a person who lives here gave me the idea. I just showed the waiter what she wrote and said "I want that". Little did I know that I would have the same dish every day in Prague - meat, sauce and dumplings. I really think they eat this meal here more than anything else. But this one was the best!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn7NJ1KVwhUII-2S_U1Y4axMoHBzbNQQumCadlko9E9U2QShMof1ucezP6bZBlpY96uJwsOFEjRbKdK5c3eMN-KuVSmNyGedwvqO8xsHeqMWjB2843EHMpeCfwTe9o2CSXbG8nlg/s1600/hotel+meal11.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn7NJ1KVwhUII-2S_U1Y4axMoHBzbNQQumCadlko9E9U2QShMof1ucezP6bZBlpY96uJwsOFEjRbKdK5c3eMN-KuVSmNyGedwvqO8xsHeqMWjB2843EHMpeCfwTe9o2CSXbG8nlg/s320/hotel+meal11.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658887245984700082" border="0" /></a><br />The next morning I went to the extremely fragrant and nauseating breakfast buffet in a basement. There was a pineapple hog in the house. And no, it wasn't me. As soon as an employee carefully put out about 12 slices of fresh pineapple for the 10 or so of us, a man who got to the table first piled 6 or 7 slices on his plate. I took my ONE slice and several people were left sad and pineapple-less. At this buffet there was also laughing cow cheese with bacon in it, which I have never seen in the US. Feeling a little sick, I walked over to the Charles bridge and over to the castle to meet the Stedmans. Prague has HOARDS of tourists. HOARDS. The bridge was so crowded it was just moving with people. It was hard to get photos without 50 people in them. Prague is pretty, but it has nothing over Paris or Florence. I don't drink absinthe or hard liquor so I had no interest in going out at night to anything other than a cozy wine bar or beer place. Bachelor parties and all kinds of people come here.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimIH5gG5_uPDiYgOUPHNylY7lOGMJvw2dqlhC6Gvbnyut2FXRky5NreAVurPU3klEce-bfLQo1JwN8gGLb1Jz17iPRmPhxBA4ruRMKSElGIpovaRYInTrC2wOgycaBXO_80UFbsQ/s1600/bridge10.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimIH5gG5_uPDiYgOUPHNylY7lOGMJvw2dqlhC6Gvbnyut2FXRky5NreAVurPU3klEce-bfLQo1JwN8gGLb1Jz17iPRmPhxBA4ruRMKSElGIpovaRYInTrC2wOgycaBXO_80UFbsQ/s320/bridge10.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658887198406172290" border="0" /></a><br />Our texts went something like this:<br /><br />I'm at the base of the castle, I think. But I don't see a castle.<br />We are climbing a hill. Are you near? Do you see a castle?<br />I think I see a castle but I don't know. Everything in Europe looks like a castle.<br />are you near a landmark?<br />Do you see the castle? I don't see it yet.<br /><br />Here I am with Kimberley and Steph, at the castle. But we never saw an actual castle. I think it's just a government building that they took a very big stretch in calling a castle. Being from England, the Stedders family knows a castle when they see one, and being from America, I confuse everything with a castle. So we just went out for coffee and cake.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgximVi3L-nDrMo47C7OE6qmyT7pOw3XPICBZuJ6vXsASUeYbl6OpmWO0Qcx870cZwPDTI0JYFl1ZLwd5ADIzEuXY5QIkpB1c9vdm2CK1TV3asV1sNohC_uirE_FBHL_uB9-odpHg/s1600/me+with+stedmans9.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgximVi3L-nDrMo47C7OE6qmyT7pOw3XPICBZuJ6vXsASUeYbl6OpmWO0Qcx870cZwPDTI0JYFl1ZLwd5ADIzEuXY5QIkpB1c9vdm2CK1TV3asV1sNohC_uirE_FBHL_uB9-odpHg/s320/me+with+stedmans9.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658887144093151442" border="0" /></a><br />Old Czech cake - another thing I ordered without knowing what it was first. It wasn't bad!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh24uAuYkOsafaNHZRPBW8TV4u-s9zTQBbpS4p6BlxMS_3Ge2GhRY7It3PVj30hgK9yxvsYsBNmogvkfuQzYcLs06c3CfzPBPYi5i4vqboWstsig2PWadrGjMqJmMeHH0kix7zV8w/s1600/old+czech+cake8.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh24uAuYkOsafaNHZRPBW8TV4u-s9zTQBbpS4p6BlxMS_3Ge2GhRY7It3PVj30hgK9yxvsYsBNmogvkfuQzYcLs06c3CfzPBPYi5i4vqboWstsig2PWadrGjMqJmMeHH0kix7zV8w/s320/old+czech+cake8.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658887085789342994" border="0" /></a><br />My cold is coming back. My cough is still kind of bad. And my foot still hurts from the marathon. K and S made plans to go clubbing near my hotel. I couldn't summon the energy. I slept for a much needed 12 hours. K and S weren't the only ones out in Prague last night. In the morning, I shreiked when I opened the door and found a man curled up outside. I kind of stepped over him and used the computer in the hallway. I heard him rustle around, he muttered something and staggered upstairs. Apparently he came home and went to the wrong floor, just falling asleep in front of MY door. I know, I regret taking a photo. Sorry. I should have!<br /><br />I couldn't stomach my hotel breakfast again so I went to Mc Donald's. It always tastes good when I'm sick. I never eat it otherwise! Plus, I thought it was a very fitting breakfast before the Museum of Communism!<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyezxKaoLylulzHmSa7xnqn2s8t5e_QiwVdB17D5sGh7cbnnOIP2lwuJNkyiuDjd6_Wrax9y6xCF51DB0X7jwZq_4OZ93gjzNwd6Z5hqriVIBPCOwu-WReDd1qlqlzQXZQudu53Q/s1600/mc+donalds7.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyezxKaoLylulzHmSa7xnqn2s8t5e_QiwVdB17D5sGh7cbnnOIP2lwuJNkyiuDjd6_Wrax9y6xCF51DB0X7jwZq_4OZ93gjzNwd6Z5hqriVIBPCOwu-WReDd1qlqlzQXZQudu53Q/s320/mc+donalds7.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658887031887358786" border="0" /></a><br />Have you ever seen a better museum logo? I can't think of one!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvx76AxpnDhjl7oruAFr6v4IGVov8xjNpMr6hBBluk0g2o3-voXMa909LKMAI-JUP9nyidaI9H8oNOOr0obOD-Gsn3pyMn_MM4iLmXM-lumTkbcU2-aslIuJ1YjLsVzrMRjOpMLw/s1600/logo6.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvx76AxpnDhjl7oruAFr6v4IGVov8xjNpMr6hBBluk0g2o3-voXMa909LKMAI-JUP9nyidaI9H8oNOOr0obOD-Gsn3pyMn_MM4iLmXM-lumTkbcU2-aslIuJ1YjLsVzrMRjOpMLw/s320/logo6.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658886964565427314" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnTiykjq3B4mp72qrpT-5GD1Vy08iTBuDX5lGZl3IjrFsD9zAorM-xkmAX5w1MAPRculRqBg1QezSJzY56okbeYEJUUhHkEnYVYTD0jRaaKdUKqO54v6xSNj4EBn1h7ftdU6bNYQ/s1600/museum5.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnTiykjq3B4mp72qrpT-5GD1Vy08iTBuDX5lGZl3IjrFsD9zAorM-xkmAX5w1MAPRculRqBg1QezSJzY56okbeYEJUUhHkEnYVYTD0jRaaKdUKqO54v6xSNj4EBn1h7ftdU6bNYQ/s320/museum5.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658886885111631058" border="0" /></a><br />Lots of great history. It was upstairs in a creaky building and people were smoking. They smoke everywhere here. I hate that. One of the interesting exhibits was about sports - they focused sports toward combat-type activities.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4WbAp3-vgH2vlQyGs7Iw1ourRWX2Kk4k2FG_VZzekaupzuy1snEzLqck96Xew8E2L6pESYiRpu1XrZrpsiZvn5Cap8ZIJ9OncbAXBJ8DPkfOijWGjA9s2uyaCRMEhhCBSUZVlKQ/s1600/museumm4.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4WbAp3-vgH2vlQyGs7Iw1ourRWX2Kk4k2FG_VZzekaupzuy1snEzLqck96Xew8E2L6pESYiRpu1XrZrpsiZvn5Cap8ZIJ9OncbAXBJ8DPkfOijWGjA9s2uyaCRMEhhCBSUZVlKQ/s320/museumm4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658886826681907890" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw7DhG23am5JmjgA9J3Q_6GplgGlGTFS9h6SbX78pRQjbzmqAk0Y9VUgX_steACPhM_1YkNtFqu-UwEqBl996mgHf7PO_3B3KenumHxnkQNJMa9J6C1qHbhWFNgj3bzjoZCTn_iA/s1600/museum+sports3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw7DhG23am5JmjgA9J3Q_6GplgGlGTFS9h6SbX78pRQjbzmqAk0Y9VUgX_steACPhM_1YkNtFqu-UwEqBl996mgHf7PO_3B3KenumHxnkQNJMa9J6C1qHbhWFNgj3bzjoZCTn_iA/s320/museum+sports3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658886761101820866" border="0" /></a><br />Shopping under communism!<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6Uiw4qL6219gFGfPUwclW8nbbqGTfILlanGUVPqEIsrVL_8u8Wfg0N9PVjZU2MyJ6aayNwHYUXT6BR9spXYHEfoXMnvMl7fwvdFU6SG5Kp07mJykuPF7iS4AU9_YMS0_XJe2CSQ/s1600/museum+shop2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6Uiw4qL6219gFGfPUwclW8nbbqGTfILlanGUVPqEIsrVL_8u8Wfg0N9PVjZU2MyJ6aayNwHYUXT6BR9spXYHEfoXMnvMl7fwvdFU6SG5Kp07mJykuPF7iS4AU9_YMS0_XJe2CSQ/s320/museum+shop2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658886709537259330" border="0" /></a><br />They also spent YEARS making a huge statue devoted to Stalin in Prague. Dignitaries from all over came to the unveiling. It was just enormous. But torn down in 1962.<br /><br />I also watched an interesting 20 minute video that outlined the history of Prague throughout the communist years. It made me kind of sad. Lots of footage of the 1989 student protests. It had even more meaning after talking to David the other night in Cesky Krumlov.<br /><br />I moved hotels to a place farther away, but cheaper and very hip. I have mastered the subway system by now so I can really get anywhere quickly. K and S have moved on to Dubrovnik and I have one more night here before I go to Budapest tomorrow. I know nothing about Budapest. That's my plan for tonight - read about my next location!<br /><br />Go home tourists! There are too many of you here!!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvrdKjGfqCN49HBhQhjsgt9qYPTRibbXv6yfIDvXkKoIaoqLlsV9hXGXd9M7O-Qey3vr94CwwxWkUxhFTWuOD6XPP9KubTXmHpFshgpJ7_FNuEdlAJUglaSSb3IcQtmxD5NSx41A/s1600/hoards1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvrdKjGfqCN49HBhQhjsgt9qYPTRibbXv6yfIDvXkKoIaoqLlsV9hXGXd9M7O-Qey3vr94CwwxWkUxhFTWuOD6XPP9KubTXmHpFshgpJ7_FNuEdlAJUglaSSb3IcQtmxD5NSx41A/s320/hoards1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658886637951140562" border="0" /></a>sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01339519229120844046noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19464456.post-88783979370747883632011-10-01T08:51:00.000-07:002011-10-01T13:02:11.888-07:00Medieval times in Cesky Krumlov<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNfR5ARneDh2UXolS_EM00qb6CPzKzduzZWg_LpeKrLnD4k64geH4Qhv5TBOy3qSsztWP4TQ5G7TemfvLL_ywYiJ78tCZMd0VO0y60PIn4T-izq6r0QUl_Irqxf4qAQ-4Rs4iMzA/s1600/top.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNfR5ARneDh2UXolS_EM00qb6CPzKzduzZWg_LpeKrLnD4k64geH4Qhv5TBOy3qSsztWP4TQ5G7TemfvLL_ywYiJ78tCZMd0VO0y60PIn4T-izq6r0QUl_Irqxf4qAQ-4Rs4iMzA/s320/top.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658553568551483042" border="0" /></a><br />I am an obsessive trip planner. I love researching vacations! I knew that I would want to find a nice, quiet place to recover from the marathon and Oktoberfest. I knew that my entire body would hate me. I read about Cesky Krumlov, in the southern Czech republic and knew that would be my spot!<br /><br />I took the train to Salzburg and had a mystery snack at Julius Meinl. I enjoy pointing to things on the menu and just taking a chance. This was a lump of pastry with dust on top:<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmEhHK9zeoFwnmrlTVSniGAFui-0kEN7olI8qhZfXJkirCZmb83DdOxSum7mbtxO7cEVZLsLqRazTNyvrHdwpi6Tn-mhODzZ-J8zladvAsFNwZRKufftqDujZeAz6UfVqdQ8-9BA/s1600/mystery+food.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmEhHK9zeoFwnmrlTVSniGAFui-0kEN7olI8qhZfXJkirCZmb83DdOxSum7mbtxO7cEVZLsLqRazTNyvrHdwpi6Tn-mhODzZ-J8zladvAsFNwZRKufftqDujZeAz6UfVqdQ8-9BA/s320/mystery+food.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658553503287638210" border="0" /></a><br />I met Kimberley and her sister Steph (Stedders 2) in Salzburg for lunch. Our trips overlapped a bit. They drove with Carrie and Brian. I wasn't going to fit in a tiny european car so I took a nice, peaceful train ride. Goulash for lunch:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi98XtcqFbbGY2fEH1-kND8PgcZ2GOrj_RHO6vxRMvnEGjfnHGNpwyVnmG_XLRIwgBpOMhEGR1nKYBhYc0niQYDIgnXP4aJYL0QPoq1lA7amHEa1Cobc8HTexxcbPPKDAK7yd6qeg/s1600/Picture+001.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi98XtcqFbbGY2fEH1-kND8PgcZ2GOrj_RHO6vxRMvnEGjfnHGNpwyVnmG_XLRIwgBpOMhEGR1nKYBhYc0niQYDIgnXP4aJYL0QPoq1lA7amHEa1Cobc8HTexxcbPPKDAK7yd6qeg/s320/Picture+001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658553452240799682" border="0" /></a><br />I waited for my shuttle to Cesky Krumlov in this spot forever. The shuttle never came, so I called them. My shuttle driver got in a car accident! He was OK but they had to send another shuttle for me that would take 4 additional hours.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTd3Lhij5cQW8YbCo9_T7dtYmb2M-UuEANIpamHboMOyJSMG9mVlsmo0bhADBTKScA4eOZgxWCcsXZYBj9VvrHYWhbaE69rWpIW-bZY7a_lQdMHAxkNJaSNVCo4nkL1I7dhwnWsg/s1600/Picture+002.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTd3Lhij5cQW8YbCo9_T7dtYmb2M-UuEANIpamHboMOyJSMG9mVlsmo0bhADBTKScA4eOZgxWCcsXZYBj9VvrHYWhbaE69rWpIW-bZY7a_lQdMHAxkNJaSNVCo4nkL1I7dhwnWsg/s320/Picture+002.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658553406917551330" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I had time to meet Kimberley and Carrie for dinner, then got on the shuttle with an Aussie named Daniel. Daniel is from Darwin and works as a technical person at a radio station. We had a nice conversation about travel, work, the usual. We didnt get to the Czech republic until almost 11PM. It was dark and foggy. The border had an array of sinister stip clubs and casinos. We lurched and bumped along Cesky Krumlovs (sorry, cant figure out punctuation on this computer) cobblestone roads to my amazing 500 year old hotel. Antiques everywhere, worn stairs, a fake cathedral ceiling painted on the wall!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcO5_gi2zqu-2SpY7tCC8mq0Ca5kFHuiHuTPU66jhQF2dBZ8PxR9zs0TGlFOsLV2pvcz-P-mNtKRdyvOIMbecdjczWyt2DTWPAnLK1XbNUNw31-kF3_XHDzTmekZPXAQBRl-AvKA/s1600/Picture+003.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcO5_gi2zqu-2SpY7tCC8mq0Ca5kFHuiHuTPU66jhQF2dBZ8PxR9zs0TGlFOsLV2pvcz-P-mNtKRdyvOIMbecdjczWyt2DTWPAnLK1XbNUNw31-kF3_XHDzTmekZPXAQBRl-AvKA/s320/Picture+003.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658553353639767218" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeBTObfO0ek4sd5HltpNnDZy8RVg_koX4DE87U06Hu8t-GX4tmtAZfNOo1THsAJ6dDUKRv6u1QnvYV5vlkTLEfCWczEkqpTnJ-s4ekROZfrLjrucQ62imDUfOUiAGYHeW_wGF0Ag/s1600/Picture+004.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeBTObfO0ek4sd5HltpNnDZy8RVg_koX4DE87U06Hu8t-GX4tmtAZfNOo1THsAJ6dDUKRv6u1QnvYV5vlkTLEfCWczEkqpTnJ-s4ekROZfrLjrucQ62imDUfOUiAGYHeW_wGF0Ag/s320/Picture+004.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658553294499808306" border="0" /></a><br />Cesky Krumlov was absolutely beautiful and peaceful. I had a Czech combo platter for lunch of all mystery items and took a walk up to the castle.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOuuKfj5oW8BpZHkPWDsZUHWfWvNnxgT6nlzzuWx0Q3EdI6YnR9A935PDNH5hWUvj5mv-f6wwIGeNQTm3AQhPTRKhPU9LbTN-nH7esBrEcBDPrnSGtXAofBHAXUYYMWeqykW9KWg/s1600/Picture+005.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOuuKfj5oW8BpZHkPWDsZUHWfWvNnxgT6nlzzuWx0Q3EdI6YnR9A935PDNH5hWUvj5mv-f6wwIGeNQTm3AQhPTRKhPU9LbTN-nH7esBrEcBDPrnSGtXAofBHAXUYYMWeqykW9KWg/s320/Picture+005.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658553231883117906" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkSeHBH4vaXw9SCYKgyT9uvBX6ndZCgwp9N0bmUDcw7DxNd_h8KjxHUMy-gyXjYP85RsxIGVb-5TtmGWGW3rxK9RC6kTLwOMAMZISzyeJTDKoQT-xw2G9jDTOQKhNnk85dbjLpnA/s1600/Picture+006.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkSeHBH4vaXw9SCYKgyT9uvBX6ndZCgwp9N0bmUDcw7DxNd_h8KjxHUMy-gyXjYP85RsxIGVb-5TtmGWGW3rxK9RC6kTLwOMAMZISzyeJTDKoQT-xw2G9jDTOQKhNnk85dbjLpnA/s320/Picture+006.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658553188813399138" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif3s8V9qN_Lc3ieG6n5qh48UVYtLKqnVwvXV_oFnnqDFiNpSY3OS7NOu2mTX3rcUvWq2q524AkkAIZo2ISgzZXWixGcZsuXX2c9zRQA-JdxEZOdSZW0qyORj_SqDEhq_sykT5wLg/s1600/Picture+007.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif3s8V9qN_Lc3ieG6n5qh48UVYtLKqnVwvXV_oFnnqDFiNpSY3OS7NOu2mTX3rcUvWq2q524AkkAIZo2ISgzZXWixGcZsuXX2c9zRQA-JdxEZOdSZW0qyORj_SqDEhq_sykT5wLg/s320/Picture+007.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658553144227446594" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidlyI2KLRk626e1ariseCE9HAYhrVogpbbk2Pu3O34u48WMsfnN_D1r7e82U02KpCAtQBSO1ywVWv-0Bu-xnG8MH-nwA4amd67YLJ6oiUZQKGlwF8LirgT1fZm6f09nvBAyqjhyw/s1600/Picture+008.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidlyI2KLRk626e1ariseCE9HAYhrVogpbbk2Pu3O34u48WMsfnN_D1r7e82U02KpCAtQBSO1ywVWv-0Bu-xnG8MH-nwA4amd67YLJ6oiUZQKGlwF8LirgT1fZm6f09nvBAyqjhyw/s320/Picture+008.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658553097241551586" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Every stairway looked like it was going into a medieval dungeon. Everything had so much atmosphere!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoqqaRm79kuFUdNCO41WkYW6iuWkQnw5e0IUPK-icHtcgwuc_DipfUGKDuqB44BFMraJe6zaAhY0PPw_BjF0G74jCkhqMvxNqTBS9pHYYI9L9j6Dano8jnKWEbSpSFTBJKqSG__g/s1600/Picture+009.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoqqaRm79kuFUdNCO41WkYW6iuWkQnw5e0IUPK-icHtcgwuc_DipfUGKDuqB44BFMraJe6zaAhY0PPw_BjF0G74jCkhqMvxNqTBS9pHYYI9L9j6Dano8jnKWEbSpSFTBJKqSG__g/s320/Picture+009.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658553045465358658" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJSua0AbjUC9nY3dfouNm0M8I8ivS80mYFDg2K33hz3MrZbjbHbWu45K9nM1dgLomdOYw_S8PqhNlz28SqI-Y5_93e_v_TAuXF-nl3b5Uy4dnV27FkuTRAUE3mZ-AFO2H9Qf1_HQ/s1600/Picture+010.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJSua0AbjUC9nY3dfouNm0M8I8ivS80mYFDg2K33hz3MrZbjbHbWu45K9nM1dgLomdOYw_S8PqhNlz28SqI-Y5_93e_v_TAuXF-nl3b5Uy4dnV27FkuTRAUE3mZ-AFO2H9Qf1_HQ/s320/Picture+010.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658552997320052642" border="0" /></a><br />my hotel:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmGUBhmzeTSl-ZiKTHinpTePX64sUz3W7NWuhAbw9Kl7Iwc7XU48p-68oBVgSvrPp_geD_ci9lhMG-gD2-qamGUJo2kLyWwUw1bTlCPSeyRc4xb-ubI6O5DZhzk-gb08uHo1Hz5Q/s1600/Picture+011.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmGUBhmzeTSl-ZiKTHinpTePX64sUz3W7NWuhAbw9Kl7Iwc7XU48p-68oBVgSvrPp_geD_ci9lhMG-gD2-qamGUJo2kLyWwUw1bTlCPSeyRc4xb-ubI6O5DZhzk-gb08uHo1Hz5Q/s320/Picture+011.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658552932948426498" border="0" /></a><br />I sat outside and met an old Polish man named Stanislaw. He had to heat up his beer with a special heater because it was too cold for him. He barely spoke english so we had a conversation with my German translation book. Stan has relatives in Chicago, and a divorced son in Austria. He mimed "divorce" by angrily pretending to rip off a wedding ring and throw it. That made me laugh. He kept saying SADA YOU A VELY NICE WOMAN. VELY NICE!!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNDMlfg_pcmkhOFqXe7KlNVvbOFGpG6CwJv1XfzUUhlDACnbe2W7gNW5Gb4X41ffQWXduqkyeFVdcy8kEa91XDWXb67pLjK8nZP1bu5fCK-tDSs8h5omfbYbRQ3mJdDUvGVSrLbg/s1600/Picture+012.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNDMlfg_pcmkhOFqXe7KlNVvbOFGpG6CwJv1XfzUUhlDACnbe2W7gNW5Gb4X41ffQWXduqkyeFVdcy8kEa91XDWXb67pLjK8nZP1bu5fCK-tDSs8h5omfbYbRQ3mJdDUvGVSrLbg/s320/Picture+012.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658552875313880994" border="0" /></a><br />He showed me his polish crossword puzzle.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNEUmhHf0z5y-d8a0TSL-mPhnPmY8CmI7iAw9SrfbNToEiqRXhKuRsvloCvRQgFMXeJ-BwWWsCFGX4n6qWJ9Tbkmx5u_D8DVIne_lTMXgF_KYTWlzzp6PbVsAFSwxaOq_4deiyzg/s1600/Picture+013.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNEUmhHf0z5y-d8a0TSL-mPhnPmY8CmI7iAw9SrfbNToEiqRXhKuRsvloCvRQgFMXeJ-BwWWsCFGX4n6qWJ9Tbkmx5u_D8DVIne_lTMXgF_KYTWlzzp6PbVsAFSwxaOq_4deiyzg/s320/Picture+013.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658552820888886770" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6vCMxOXvMSCuxzSnP3ymwyhk253uXvYGN4mcSIuW4X_d4K3k9y5r8zL3nQgv-GR1KuhgVTon2wGC2a9Bf0z5dtFs3F9EMdEHqGFGz5Tl43rzaAuuqH80lgyhyLWQHAik1cpqymw/s1600/Picture+014.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6vCMxOXvMSCuxzSnP3ymwyhk253uXvYGN4mcSIuW4X_d4K3k9y5r8zL3nQgv-GR1KuhgVTon2wGC2a9Bf0z5dtFs3F9EMdEHqGFGz5Tl43rzaAuuqH80lgyhyLWQHAik1cpqymw/s320/Picture+014.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658552763236044594" border="0" /></a><br />I had to do laundry so I went to the only laundromat in town, which had three machines and two of them out of order. My hotel knew of a secret laundromat in a basement down the street where I could do my own laundry. They gave me a key and directions. I did laundry in a hidden stone cellar by just guessing how the machines worked. I love doing laundry on vacation, hate it at home! <br /><br />I came across a group of Asians amusing themselves by dressing up in medieval costumes, laughing and photographing eachother. They were wearing crowns and robes and posing and pretending to joust.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisLI9lpbHXtO9NyPcyXFH7k8Plw_NmAWkGMUNsa1b0zlueRhdBecNZ7AZHzcCAdZORAkEz9cxMgYK17SkoejHv9B6nook4F4Fv6tNp2dKihDnNAO-1S0ZMnc07KuEecdQvzSGaIQ/s1600/Picture+015.jpg"><br /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuqXJ1HmgaNHWRqcpQni3_cnrl0lesZNAp6aqgy-XaPqfySdMX3xYEseb__wLtf-rQxvs0SiAAH51neb9ulA3_SsuXyafhI-XHZTtakVOaQlrBkDudvWVIcP23IXa-QguHnW0mog/s1600/Picture+016.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuqXJ1HmgaNHWRqcpQni3_cnrl0lesZNAp6aqgy-XaPqfySdMX3xYEseb__wLtf-rQxvs0SiAAH51neb9ulA3_SsuXyafhI-XHZTtakVOaQlrBkDudvWVIcP23IXa-QguHnW0mog/s320/Picture+016.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658552654255396674" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0EKHrnsloEmvgPo7daEEaCib8AzijWIGV8IliowxeLnf7tDTFKsBx-PWvDwMC44le0nXeXFoqniu9VxzGAXb-ty6tvqbb8xglbeQbyNI7h7T9XCAfQiPMunFdZ5lWhkAZ0aAYMg/s1600/Picture+017.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0EKHrnsloEmvgPo7daEEaCib8AzijWIGV8IliowxeLnf7tDTFKsBx-PWvDwMC44le0nXeXFoqniu9VxzGAXb-ty6tvqbb8xglbeQbyNI7h7T9XCAfQiPMunFdZ5lWhkAZ0aAYMg/s320/Picture+017.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658552597170530178" border="0" /></a><br />I decided to take a break from meat at a vegetarian restaurant. I ordered something random from the menu. It was like Czech macaroni and cheese. VELY NICE as the polish man would say.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicmb1fmqAVC3c6L9Mn4F7HtTxxqrg8-2dHxgEGhlO475q5UN9Bsilge1LaiyQCNSHeoL0KqaREfadvqMAh7NCbq7p9od4DCcrfR4f4Q2vPAy36hx3-gKfqd_p299NmE7CamCAB1g/s1600/Picture+018.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicmb1fmqAVC3c6L9Mn4F7HtTxxqrg8-2dHxgEGhlO475q5UN9Bsilge1LaiyQCNSHeoL0KqaREfadvqMAh7NCbq7p9od4DCcrfR4f4Q2vPAy36hx3-gKfqd_p299NmE7CamCAB1g/s320/Picture+018.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658552538929452594" border="0" /></a><br />I had the best waiter. It was closing time and David brought me a free mead (hot honey wine) because he heard me coughing. He sat down and we talked about what it was like for him to live in Prague in 1989. He said that November 1989 (he is 2 years younger than me) was the most amazing and happy time. I learned about what it was like for him to grow up there in the 70s and 80s. He is somewhat of a free spirit, travelling to Africa, Latin America, all over Asia. We talked about our respective travels and countries. David spoke perfect english because he was one of three exchange students from Prague in 1991 to Phoenix, Arizona. He also ran the Prague marathon once. It was the most fun evening of conversation and so nice to get to know someone from the Czech republic. Just makes me smile to think about it.<br /><br />The next day I took a tour of the Eggenberg brewery. Yes, the girl that fell off a bench at Oktoberfest took a brewery tour two days later. I met a fun older couple from Ottawa, Rick and Susan.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7iUP8QO_KacxzaJEmT5wEt7XO6RArjD8U-0Tw58ZMXrImKRSWQL0ueqd-C73W8lBfeYXlarN4xqbXGkyYlcKe309qGP_Dmb3CibkH8G7LKW-ECs8Dk1LXshpsaEMGZRIMS_TZZg/s1600/Picture+020.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7iUP8QO_KacxzaJEmT5wEt7XO6RArjD8U-0Tw58ZMXrImKRSWQL0ueqd-C73W8lBfeYXlarN4xqbXGkyYlcKe309qGP_Dmb3CibkH8G7LKW-ECs8Dk1LXshpsaEMGZRIMS_TZZg/s320/Picture+020.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658552438319017186" border="0" /></a>Eggenberg beer sells mainly to Cesky Krumlov, and a little bit to Austria and Scandinavia. Its a very local product. The machines looked very 1950s.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKhEUdqHBprAGShyPcWeM5eFke3Skk2UmQJ8KLA05_dwpqylvUi1VufwyHoj-92QkXlIXb8scZDnFrcB38Ru5BF62AqsDDeS172MVgMMEATKQVmzBEV9qSHZPHdtNTpPKaWBDxuw/s1600/Picture+021.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKhEUdqHBprAGShyPcWeM5eFke3Skk2UmQJ8KLA05_dwpqylvUi1VufwyHoj-92QkXlIXb8scZDnFrcB38Ru5BF62AqsDDeS172MVgMMEATKQVmzBEV9qSHZPHdtNTpPKaWBDxuw/s320/Picture+021.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658552368250069986" border="0" /></a>some important chart about beer making:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTIrPDp-7LfG1yXe9ZzD0NoZ0eUVNP8zSsklqTcK31mR-JQqbdGlljD97KdYCY1qGsImKs8Ol8QhrcWDPgecxH2Iayu7MZ21XHSbaJruBLGqBMZ4G1u5edXqThVtdja23QnTIrVA/s1600/Picture+022.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTIrPDp-7LfG1yXe9ZzD0NoZ0eUVNP8zSsklqTcK31mR-JQqbdGlljD97KdYCY1qGsImKs8Ol8QhrcWDPgecxH2Iayu7MZ21XHSbaJruBLGqBMZ4G1u5edXqThVtdja23QnTIrVA/s320/Picture+022.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658552307263587122" border="0" /></a><br />After the tour, we got a free sample in the restaurant and I ordered some stuffed dumplings with smoked meats and sauerkraut. I let the Canadians taste some. It was so delicious. I told them that I was changing my name to Sara stuffed dumpling. Earlier I mentioned that my last name means umbrella in German. "you can be Sara Dumpling Umbrella!" said Rick.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisGvunpsZIPwyAQmRpsfbt_vGBABP1Qq_gsa38aD-4dldnn2rpnFUeurQ7F_4uUW-aRv4qjbFhHYf_vlu3HU7ZYnjS4UeUvrgwmc7Lngc2JWeCPQRpY1gXo_eMqbNkIleEpdPGIw/s1600/Picture+023.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisGvunpsZIPwyAQmRpsfbt_vGBABP1Qq_gsa38aD-4dldnn2rpnFUeurQ7F_4uUW-aRv4qjbFhHYf_vlu3HU7ZYnjS4UeUvrgwmc7Lngc2JWeCPQRpY1gXo_eMqbNkIleEpdPGIw/s320/Picture+023.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658552240333795666" border="0" /></a><br />That sounds great to me. I think I'll just stay in Cesky Krumlov, change my name to Sara Dumpling Umbrella and live happily ever after.sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01339519229120844046noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19464456.post-90917417941024914182011-10-01T07:21:00.001-07:002011-10-01T12:56:00.594-07:00Oktoberfest...we did it 100 percent<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2kl5Xi-gUXixDkWKrgiav4Ve1G8kATToF0bPEqZiM4wxM2c4n4ciU61sbCdezMYYc695vU_B6QKBrrPiMZ8mFN54nFsAHdohzrYCHpGbryanGdPq_tHAXo_bZebWVoAEBmnCfFw/s1600/top+photo1.JPG"><img style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 240px; display: block; height: 320px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658532023210882482" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2kl5Xi-gUXixDkWKrgiav4Ve1G8kATToF0bPEqZiM4wxM2c4n4ciU61sbCdezMYYc695vU_B6QKBrrPiMZ8mFN54nFsAHdohzrYCHpGbryanGdPq_tHAXo_bZebWVoAEBmnCfFw/s320/top+photo1.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div><br /><br /><div>I wasn't originally going to do Oktoberfest. Too touristy, I said. Too expensive. I'm too old. Just asking for trouble.. I remember telling Kimberley that if I go, I have to go in with 100 percent enthusiasm! My friends started making plans and I allowed myself to be talked into it. When ever again will I have several friends going to Munich at the same time? We warmed up for Oktoberfest in my German neighborhood in Chicago a few times. We got matching shirts made. We eagerly anticipated this for months. It was all of those things listed above. And more. But hilarious and amazing!<br /></div><br /><div>After the marathon, Jen and I did laundry at the most bizarre laundromat I've ever seen. It had a light up panel on the wall telling you which machines were free, and a very fussy man running the laundromat. The three of us had a celebratory beer, then hobbled down the block for a nice outdoor Italian dinner. We were too tired to join the others downtown for the official afterparty.<br /></div><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuSaG-i1Hq6uV6YLJsAvPdyW2IxpDp6zyMZ2zKk6_oehEn97BApWHiXZgEj_BmbGDPiHjhhk2Nnh-zTc7zECaaPsWQDjqUpcRty8nYRN-yrNkJ4OeWQJ3WLHulTP9puWgQH8QnqA/s1600/post+race+meal2.jpg"><img style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; display: block; height: 240px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658531953027145042" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuSaG-i1Hq6uV6YLJsAvPdyW2IxpDp6zyMZ2zKk6_oehEn97BApWHiXZgEj_BmbGDPiHjhhk2Nnh-zTc7zECaaPsWQDjqUpcRty8nYRN-yrNkJ4OeWQJ3WLHulTP9puWgQH8QnqA/s320/post+race+meal2.jpg" border="0" /></a> </div><br /><div>The next morning we were met by a very hungover and tired other half of our party. We had booked first class seats on the Berlin to Munich train, planning on singing and being borderline rowdy all the way. I pictured us with our arms around some Germans, swaying back and forth, singing Oktoberfest songs. It was the opposite of that. We napped!<br /></div><br /><div><br /><div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie11H4S1yvI6OmtjBi2bvu_jw9XAXgJr08msS0TPSOd1sglFhmiCVEQ6qC3QUTAIeGhhyh2kfdxtfcJxR_2sn1aSX74umYlgGCtivvAT87rhX081lOh9w-mG7OzRbc9i-YehFQAQ/s1600/mellow+train3.jpg"><img style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; display: block; height: 240px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658531900769245666" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie11H4S1yvI6OmtjBi2bvu_jw9XAXgJr08msS0TPSOd1sglFhmiCVEQ6qC3QUTAIeGhhyh2kfdxtfcJxR_2sn1aSX74umYlgGCtivvAT87rhX081lOh9w-mG7OzRbc9i-YehFQAQ/s320/mellow+train3.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><br /><div>SOMEBODY needed several bottles of water. I wonder why?<br /><div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0GlxJWqkGxfJrkNxLVhOJNrbvq4KjDt3gowP-2EsqDVw3QUIQBa-IrZk3mmR7-4xh7sspQYQ5oExme99Ec9F2tJ-Do1AG6aiC5rVQtsQxjMB5_XutaUoy1EMJTiLvjDBxAtnMxg/s1600/water+bottles4.jpg"><img style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; display: block; height: 240px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658531323967786610" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0GlxJWqkGxfJrkNxLVhOJNrbvq4KjDt3gowP-2EsqDVw3QUIQBa-IrZk3mmR7-4xh7sspQYQ5oExme99Ec9F2tJ-Do1AG6aiC5rVQtsQxjMB5_XutaUoy1EMJTiLvjDBxAtnMxg/s320/water+bottles4.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />We arrived in Munich, which was in a celebratory mood. But also smelled of cigarettes, beer, vomit, desperation, regret and cheap cologne.<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7ytZuh__JbGH7oGtbmp9WQ70pBqJeeiD0nWYKhEbUIY9xpZNTeKx9kJ3f0jyR2yB2EZRDo575i3WsLC7iEWgPLptZvOwYIUZSG6A1dnUIFC9cU_7gGu7LWeRWLOxCOZmJP4D7eQ/s1600/munich+festive+mood5.jpg"><img style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; display: block; height: 240px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658531233546260146" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7ytZuh__JbGH7oGtbmp9WQ70pBqJeeiD0nWYKhEbUIY9xpZNTeKx9kJ3f0jyR2yB2EZRDo575i3WsLC7iEWgPLptZvOwYIUZSG6A1dnUIFC9cU_7gGu7LWeRWLOxCOZmJP4D7eQ/s320/munich+festive+mood5.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />I took a walk around Munich, then found a quiet square to read and have a coffee. I got hungry and accidentally ate something that looked like a cookie but was really a wall decoration. We met for dinner at the original Hofbrauhaus, which is like a mini Oktoberfest in itself.<br /><br />Jen practicing lifting some steins:<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBWzvoHDJLUVyBSg59qYW9WKKA-Dupoo4B2pYxKT8DqM-2MphX8d_qmoqHlml3NM4vby3-qB5rFmUXGLNcfm4JQa10uUHoP3bOUr92hZCo8MW5r1U7UxvpgqdAyT3FPte2VrAVIw/s1600/hofbrau+jen6.jpg"><img style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; display: block; height: 240px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658530976969620226" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBWzvoHDJLUVyBSg59qYW9WKKA-Dupoo4B2pYxKT8DqM-2MphX8d_qmoqHlml3NM4vby3-qB5rFmUXGLNcfm4JQa10uUHoP3bOUr92hZCo8MW5r1U7UxvpgqdAyT3FPte2VrAVIw/s320/hofbrau+jen6.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />I had some bratwurst and spaetzle (not pictured). I think we all fell in love with spaetzle on this trip. I ate it as a kid, but never with cheese and onions!<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5GFhxBvVgLdePh3WVsKLVyRdYus7YXs4DmMsVIkd5GF_vrRXNfA8fHR1aFgCE9IICKXIdROEMyeAXigHm-0jak7ERCTdx30g6DcuiAJRKXZIBYv-Yd3Cp2uqC_gWHx6PIJb3QZQ/s1600/my+hof+meal7.jpg"><img style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; display: block; height: 240px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658530902369038642" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5GFhxBvVgLdePh3WVsKLVyRdYus7YXs4DmMsVIkd5GF_vrRXNfA8fHR1aFgCE9IICKXIdROEMyeAXigHm-0jak7ERCTdx30g6DcuiAJRKXZIBYv-Yd3Cp2uqC_gWHx6PIJb3QZQ/s320/my+hof+meal7.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The next morning, after a large breakfast, we headed for the morning shift at Oktoberfest. Oktoberfest goes in two shifts. AM and PM. Many seats are reserved, and you really have to scramble to get group seats together. We were lucky and got a great table at the Spatenhaus. We sang and toasted people at every table nearby. Some Italian guys were sitting at the next table and one of them gave Carrie some flowers.<br /><br />Pankers and Steph:<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT8Kp-cgQLzKlHrzKHdJVX9mq1ZdFdRcXkZ1V-XynvZfCtYbDeLV3SY6KTwZ8hr950HBJ6veJRaMRCbW-taQQS3Nbrf3608dy9Kro6aZg-qWqjjAVD2UzAiFsaoOtNsjQZ9Vrosw/s1600/starting8.JPG"><img style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; display: block; height: 240px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658530839175324930" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT8Kp-cgQLzKlHrzKHdJVX9mq1ZdFdRcXkZ1V-XynvZfCtYbDeLV3SY6KTwZ8hr950HBJ6veJRaMRCbW-taQQS3Nbrf3608dy9Kro6aZg-qWqjjAVD2UzAiFsaoOtNsjQZ9Vrosw/s320/starting8.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGapycSbNEWGjp9l7xd_QUlpGIlwZoPH64ACFkTAWEzyokr-ZVAfaTKZOiDxmDWYL6CMDoLoBnbm0Fj6NlvoAIPUo2Jtm0l6TSpZb_tSM3lenVDqb8z7I30PT3339F7Dto_sqr8w/s1600/schirmy9.jpg"><img style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; display: block; height: 240px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658530789623298866" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGapycSbNEWGjp9l7xd_QUlpGIlwZoPH64ACFkTAWEzyokr-ZVAfaTKZOiDxmDWYL6CMDoLoBnbm0Fj6NlvoAIPUo2Jtm0l6TSpZb_tSM3lenVDqb8z7I30PT3339F7Dto_sqr8w/s320/schirmy9.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwx19Y4Ka_jhOykRqQsUXPkxL6u8X64kp6M5EDgXTSn9LhRqiHub093slrJZVSQcnWvYF4Q0flI2oCrR0jhLESA306FwHLMq1ImshNYCOyOf2P7TLr9DakDsWd2VFiqFPXbnAD6g/s1600/hof+shirt10.jpg"><img style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; display: block; height: 240px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658530699214355938" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwx19Y4Ka_jhOykRqQsUXPkxL6u8X64kp6M5EDgXTSn9LhRqiHub093slrJZVSQcnWvYF4Q0flI2oCrR0jhLESA306FwHLMq1ImshNYCOyOf2P7TLr9DakDsWd2VFiqFPXbnAD6g/s320/hof+shirt10.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />The steins were so large, you had to look inside your glass as the tidal wave of beer came at you:<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzjH7W0g6pwwPd7u5dOWLIwe7-INBaJOM6nio1XqLTNrtcfcHCD2GdYYke2_BhQFB6E0GiUnxDIkSGDsRhSjxOUDoehRvfDVKHZiGxtoPXu2YP1eI-kNoaCPtizwc8US-DnGQ9Gw/s1600/tidal+wave11.JPG"><img style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; display: block; height: 240px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658530641124593314" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzjH7W0g6pwwPd7u5dOWLIwe7-INBaJOM6nio1XqLTNrtcfcHCD2GdYYke2_BhQFB6E0GiUnxDIkSGDsRhSjxOUDoehRvfDVKHZiGxtoPXu2YP1eI-kNoaCPtizwc8US-DnGQ9Gw/s320/tidal+wave11.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />We made friends with a Pretzel guy. I called him Jazz pretzel because he kept doing jazz hands with his pretzel. We cheered every time he came by and waved and cat called to him like he was a celebrity. To us, he was!<br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3N2sDvEy0WxfK7JwkhYg8ClkPSvpeX3Z1pEnSzmyzz1uoje0gAOLE0AYQhJq2Mc-TlCMZ2p9W4DlMh6kz2YsNiWrV-RGzuOB_m8qyh4eLWYvjfhuY5tBn1ISclfq27ZtR4mPuDw/s1600/jazz+pretzel12.JPG"><img style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; display: block; height: 240px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658530580165944722" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3N2sDvEy0WxfK7JwkhYg8ClkPSvpeX3Z1pEnSzmyzz1uoje0gAOLE0AYQhJq2Mc-TlCMZ2p9W4DlMh6kz2YsNiWrV-RGzuOB_m8qyh4eLWYvjfhuY5tBn1ISclfq27ZtR4mPuDw/s320/jazz+pretzel12.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />I loved this family, all dressed alike. Kids and all!<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVNorSXwDKf9MG1TScRl4B6sbRw-dSLVEzDwcN-y7F9cWJ7d7ekyvXvP3KJqp01KZP5N7wbNisXbsh04Xn4u5sQHKsdqKwW6BF_pyw158H_OgYcjnBHoQGFYdvlgEHsXfMVekzSQ/s1600/plaid+family13.jpg"><img style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; display: block; height: 240px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658530532289876130" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVNorSXwDKf9MG1TScRl4B6sbRw-dSLVEzDwcN-y7F9cWJ7d7ekyvXvP3KJqp01KZP5N7wbNisXbsh04Xn4u5sQHKsdqKwW6BF_pyw158H_OgYcjnBHoQGFYdvlgEHsXfMVekzSQ/s320/plaid+family13.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />The band played traditional Oktoberfest songs, and the Austin Powers theme. Every 10 minutes or so, they would play the "ein prosit" song, and everyone sings and prosts.<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNO7Pp0qQywzGCdJKlw54Q6EEbhfLLoY-ITexlqb2UFAVzMrdvgz_NVvOC5UsxrGqfVi_X5BuJQ_mDnoFa7Y6VGV2uLY4hyphenhyphenWcVShmg7dchzIZ02242HM_-3YeXRiXMujdqrJYhsg/s1600/band14.jpg"><img style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; display: block; height: 240px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658530467311420834" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNO7Pp0qQywzGCdJKlw54Q6EEbhfLLoY-ITexlqb2UFAVzMrdvgz_NVvOC5UsxrGqfVi_X5BuJQ_mDnoFa7Y6VGV2uLY4hyphenhyphenWcVShmg7dchzIZ02242HM_-3YeXRiXMujdqrJYhsg/s320/band14.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />One of our meals. The food at Oktoberfest was fabulous!<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjztnl-DWoFwzb5DgtR7lSwHGkZixe2GG_rvei5NjhE6sqtjDSgRE5nOJFShGEW06_ejMFUmVaXa4R8nzsdz2TE6SOvmf96g-wdsGKKa_uQFUfZkv7PGhbPW_u9rN8l6k8__mjWNw/s1600/ok+meal15.jpg"><img style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; display: block; height: 240px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658530401601665522" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjztnl-DWoFwzb5DgtR7lSwHGkZixe2GG_rvei5NjhE6sqtjDSgRE5nOJFShGEW06_ejMFUmVaXa4R8nzsdz2TE6SOvmf96g-wdsGKKa_uQFUfZkv7PGhbPW_u9rN8l6k8__mjWNw/s320/ok+meal15.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Dave and his cauldron of sausages. Apparently they have to be peeled first, and sliced a certain way. We were doing it all wrong and were corrected by a German. Then we still did it wrong.<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwCZUd8sX2z-S5MeOqIV5i35MNFKVDVN5GUHCP9s-uS6j2o-lc7yytYyPGse8kGSdWAiizxUQljNYqckHXvKUxO5OJeaP9j-2HdhHUFZWiowgyWbEx0H0QZv1Z7MXxXTc06eMsPQ/s1600/jeff+cauldron16.jpg"><img style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; display: block; height: 240px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658530297532406466" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwCZUd8sX2z-S5MeOqIV5i35MNFKVDVN5GUHCP9s-uS6j2o-lc7yytYyPGse8kGSdWAiizxUQljNYqckHXvKUxO5OJeaP9j-2HdhHUFZWiowgyWbEx0H0QZv1Z7MXxXTc06eMsPQ/s320/jeff+cauldron16.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOX2-Dn4B_OCPlODCvIqrtbFezq84m8Vvq4h4sBjiTmovVE50CBYRz2-K7qEVBUnfopGrw1khBsRrJde85YOsu_4NaMIN2lf918wmYNKBmoNgWc-kQtFow5Z2Aul6b7kHC1sL47g/s1600/beer+and+pret17.jpg"><img style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; display: block; height: 240px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658530247784491890" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOX2-Dn4B_OCPlODCvIqrtbFezq84m8Vvq4h4sBjiTmovVE50CBYRz2-K7qEVBUnfopGrw1khBsRrJde85YOsu_4NaMIN2lf918wmYNKBmoNgWc-kQtFow5Z2Aul6b7kHC1sL47g/s320/beer+and+pret17.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Between the AM shift and PM shift, we went to the GIANT amusement park on the Oktoberfest grounds. Oktoberfest is ENORMOUS. Grounds just built for this purpose.<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIOtSIZMAip0CzmaZkvQSBz0AP5ElB-Am7MzJFCd3dnEIGMvX3uHB6FmHbEhCRHNCmD2DvFf2PZhPYZk5VcAllJN0dAxMfQ-yiznwCAy3qHBnxPmD9H7mArzhFc-errI14rYtong/s1600/swings18.JPG"><img style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; display: block; height: 240px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658530180336765970" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIOtSIZMAip0CzmaZkvQSBz0AP5ElB-Am7MzJFCd3dnEIGMvX3uHB6FmHbEhCRHNCmD2DvFf2PZhPYZk5VcAllJN0dAxMfQ-yiznwCAy3qHBnxPmD9H7mArzhFc-errI14rYtong/s320/swings18.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br />We rode a crazy conveyor belt ride - it went up a steep hill and nobody was able to stand straight up. Carrie did a backwards tumble. It was really funny to watch. Here is me scared to go on another ride!<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZbz2roCIQ3wdIPqzDGGtrebdvQP4oHiLvugwx9CkmI0hY_kL09fdPFLNAYm0wh7xUcKemiRFeJS4iMjrk2OyQmbvOK_qMkpd3GOL_QEhO5TRWWy_INGZxgM6D6m4qJz1SNpVQeA/s1600/me+scared19.jpg"><img style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; display: block; height: 240px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658530125475139890" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZbz2roCIQ3wdIPqzDGGtrebdvQP4oHiLvugwx9CkmI0hY_kL09fdPFLNAYm0wh7xUcKemiRFeJS4iMjrk2OyQmbvOK_qMkpd3GOL_QEhO5TRWWy_INGZxgM6D6m4qJz1SNpVQeA/s320/me+scared19.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />This was one of the funniest parts of the day, the fun house. You had to put on 3-D glasses and go through an indoor obstacle course. There was a giant METAL drum with hard metal ridges that spun around like a clothes dryer. The idea is that you walk through and might tumble a little bit.<br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1OCfu446OJ4-yhb59lbkUuvTZ7_XJOxiRG8BaBbHDuB-9ZWxCJPAcVo5_aOBgSCLQ4c4MtJW9y3r_CzLMx386n9u7HRstCIrVW-OsffJ4cBIsGpqYUllkX66mM7B4-g6gawKzdQ/s1600/dryer20.JPG"><img style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 240px; display: block; height: 320px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658530007019628002" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1OCfu446OJ4-yhb59lbkUuvTZ7_XJOxiRG8BaBbHDuB-9ZWxCJPAcVo5_aOBgSCLQ4c4MtJW9y3r_CzLMx386n9u7HRstCIrVW-OsffJ4cBIsGpqYUllkX66mM7B4-g6gawKzdQ/s320/dryer20.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />But each of us fell over and tumbled around and around, helplessly. We all have big bruises. I was in the dryer with Kimberley and a little kid that looked like Manny from Modern family. (he is pictured above between K and Donna). I wonder how he felt having two adults thrashing around and almost kicking him in the head? I was also laughing so hard I almost peed. Here is Jen in the dryer, below. I love how two people in traditional German dress are waiting their turn, above. Tumble dry medium!<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPvRJN9Yn9PhRQCBIcUUitDMe9EDOg5LzMwoKAcPb8vQhZFile8m56aQYWh2z4on6aVzgc5rgoVoKgrLobU1EbKG8Eg1QyLWkZgi1tXwEbP2_giZ_FXWvJ3DkdM9ttIkmHfUBRng/s1600/jen+and+germans21.JPG"><img style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; display: block; height: 240px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658529933381923906" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPvRJN9Yn9PhRQCBIcUUitDMe9EDOg5LzMwoKAcPb8vQhZFile8m56aQYWh2z4on6aVzgc5rgoVoKgrLobU1EbKG8Eg1QyLWkZgi1tXwEbP2_giZ_FXWvJ3DkdM9ttIkmHfUBRng/s320/jen+and+germans21.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />I love how this kid is just trying to crawl out while Jen is tumbling around and around. They would never have this in the USA. Amusement park rides with metal ridges while people are drinking?! And I was shocked at how many people wear lederhosen to Oktoberfest. I thought it would only be a few people. It was more like 30 percent or more. German outfits everywhere!<br /><br />Time for some more food!<br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYS_vJfq5Pj0tTodABMn3Gx1TkNG8BoS-XPsZBVnl_KA5FU62a9kd3cQErU3YKqxzwYRk7IcP908WQx_wokjZPln3NrNG0qTdhl0wSeA8IK_IHpUxkZaeL5rmQNNkxH9W6UZMqPA/s1600/more+food22.jpg"><img style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; display: block; height: 240px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658529884682687698" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYS_vJfq5Pj0tTodABMn3Gx1TkNG8BoS-XPsZBVnl_KA5FU62a9kd3cQErU3YKqxzwYRk7IcP908WQx_wokjZPln3NrNG0qTdhl0wSeA8IK_IHpUxkZaeL5rmQNNkxH9W6UZMqPA/s320/more+food22.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />For the PM shift, we moved to the Hofbrauhaus (not to be confused with the one downtown). What a coincidence, the same Italians sat at the next table. One of the Italian guys was really gross. Actually they all were getting on my nerves. This kid made a lewd gestures to me with his fat little fingers and tongue.<br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihFtUZ7t6TlzALtKyzd0LZ-C4_DMrv1mAutxfWVvwtyZ-zxuh-YpbdEqJ-A4mIEkWhjQ2q2YpiY-nMty7p8kxQOZRSZ5jZsp3LFzT5l7HLpw0_Mcq1DxSJnP_SFxhn1D_5IIOCqA/s1600/fat+italian23.jpg"><img style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; display: block; height: 240px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658529833293684002" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihFtUZ7t6TlzALtKyzd0LZ-C4_DMrv1mAutxfWVvwtyZ-zxuh-YpbdEqJ-A4mIEkWhjQ2q2YpiY-nMty7p8kxQOZRSZ5jZsp3LFzT5l7HLpw0_Mcq1DxSJnP_SFxhn1D_5IIOCqA/s320/fat+italian23.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />After awhile at the Hofbrauhaus, everyone in the entire hall was standing on the benches and dancing. The energy level in the evening was MUCH more crazy and out of control. They played all kinds of Oktoberfest songs: take me home to the country roat, Hey hey baby (ooh! aa!) I wanna know if you'll be my girl, and of course "Ein Prost" 876,953 times. My arm got sore from Prosting. I swear we had to do it every 15 minutes! I was actually pretty impressed with the Oktoberfest grounds. There were enough bathrooms and they weren't too far away. It was controlled chaos. But chaos for sure. People were bumping and josting eachother while they were dancing on benches.<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUm7xSAUQLVGsDqvLJSRgf0UV3owdvPCPbUcHZEFJ873bHrqXccagabHrBYJ5sXVNjMK7lM8mk8wGiS0QD_HzbBUHuno713nn_yPqU7plH8BKEsI-Qs4hvfG-lxBR-EsYJc99mrQ/s1600/hofbrau224.jpg"><img style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; display: block; height: 240px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658529714326237602" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUm7xSAUQLVGsDqvLJSRgf0UV3owdvPCPbUcHZEFJ873bHrqXccagabHrBYJ5sXVNjMK7lM8mk8wGiS0QD_HzbBUHuno713nn_yPqU7plH8BKEsI-Qs4hvfG-lxBR-EsYJc99mrQ/s320/hofbrau224.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Below, some young Germans we made friends with. The Italian guys did not like them because they wanted to talk to us, and we were talking to the Germans instead. The Italians actually confronted these guys. "hey we are a trying to a talk to these a girls and you are getting in the way!" Security stepped in. The Germans just left. There were people from all over the world having a crazy time.<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwhbglEh0LMYkGwYhrMO6svhoY9dfN1pyY_5nbqaktwqCWulscUTvF8FlAmFwORi3gGUI5f-C33yayhrho-bJNFcXZP4GcYoKCtubYNw-wj-I3rS0gYa8Zaa_hXrq8kUkS9yCArg/s1600/german+lads25.jpg"><img style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; display: block; height: 240px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658529622798867778" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwhbglEh0LMYkGwYhrMO6svhoY9dfN1pyY_5nbqaktwqCWulscUTvF8FlAmFwORi3gGUI5f-C33yayhrho-bJNFcXZP4GcYoKCtubYNw-wj-I3rS0gYa8Zaa_hXrq8kUkS9yCArg/s320/german+lads25.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />While we were dancing, we saw a guy in a Berlin marathon shirt. We all yelled to him and he joined us. He was actually from Chicago. Now we have a new friend, Jeff.<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9kOVXfzp1Y7Tw5FMBd3VwpaYbAfs2TFb6L8-F4g-eEQteVTwSrpgAkSNPfIN3TBcN2o4pebl3pv82ZUHJkuh4NnuU63lYf2W8UGewfXSmRQdcldVz7AeRrrISmDJrG_a50_NvSQ/s1600/standing26.jpg"><img style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; display: block; height: 240px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658529550267000434" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9kOVXfzp1Y7Tw5FMBd3VwpaYbAfs2TFb6L8-F4g-eEQteVTwSrpgAkSNPfIN3TBcN2o4pebl3pv82ZUHJkuh4NnuU63lYf2W8UGewfXSmRQdcldVz7AeRrrISmDJrG_a50_NvSQ/s320/standing26.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />After hours of dancing on benches and getting jostled around, I was bumped and fell. Hard. On my face. We had to go to the official Oktoberfest medical tent. They examined me and took me to the hospital. I was horrified, but my forehead had swelled to an egg sized lump! It was huge. Pankers went with me to the hospital. They took my blood pressure, asked me several questions and just let me rest in a nice comfy bed with a bag of ice. I was very lucky. I didn't break anything or have a concussion. I was so grateful to have Pankers with me. People in the Munich hospital were very nice. Oktoberfest takes care of its patrons. They could have easily just let me go home after the medical tent, but wanted to make absolutely sure I was OK. Total bill, about 22 euros. amazing. And I got a cool hospital band as a souvenier!<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNO87SOUF5oMGs_0fRwDZ2DyKY_m46F0YdflKxSndQ3NIis7fDIYg60Z6J1xr0DhPqmC_iYx5n6JZz0X8WKKWzFXADHEbH2gonyRthWKt0vzS6N7B81_ca1mjySLuMcGzH_rrFqQ/s1600/hosp+bracelet27.JPG"><img style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 240px; display: block; height: 320px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658529484065283714" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNO87SOUF5oMGs_0fRwDZ2DyKY_m46F0YdflKxSndQ3NIis7fDIYg60Z6J1xr0DhPqmC_iYx5n6JZz0X8WKKWzFXADHEbH2gonyRthWKt0vzS6N7B81_ca1mjySLuMcGzH_rrFqQ/s320/hosp+bracelet27.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Total damage for our group> one ER visit, two make outs, one person got lost for three hours, several hangovers the next day. We had an amazing time. And I never need to do it again! Truly a rite of passage. I gave the marathon my all, then Oktoberfest. Both were tests of endurance.<br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01339519229120844046noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19464456.post-80719726771893889962011-09-25T09:10:00.001-07:002012-09-12T12:48:42.584-07:00Where did you come from, Cotton-eyed Joe? The Berlin Marathon race report<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-oHjIQ9IUUtGKIJT5-9pKz5YxCsLwDJno_qjKhsgs5No6G3T079lppvs0is81LnUe1kgpZT1WA9yccydCEvrJQ-bhhT2_rAjUNz9w3IeUGkKO7KoGWZYQXgWvkfUmMEHJ5ivoqQ/s1600/end+2.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5656330810800070770" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-oHjIQ9IUUtGKIJT5-9pKz5YxCsLwDJno_qjKhsgs5No6G3T079lppvs0is81LnUe1kgpZT1WA9yccydCEvrJQ-bhhT2_rAjUNz9w3IeUGkKO7KoGWZYQXgWvkfUmMEHJ5ivoqQ/s320/end+2.JPG" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 240px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
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OK, I promise. PROMISE that after today, no more running talk. This is it!<br />
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Nerves were high at the Circus hotel Saturday night. Lots of marathon runners staying here! I ate dinner around 4 and just wandered around the neighborhood. I can't sleep on a full stomach, and I really wanted to sleep. I met up with C & J in their room downstairs early in the night to discuss details, then we all tried to go to bed at 10. TRIED. I got hungry at 10:30 and went across the street for a panini sandwich. Embarrassing and gluttonous, I sat in bed and just shoved it in my mouth. It was a pretty amazing sandwich, though. The hotel restaurant brags that Germany has the best bread in the world. That might not be an exaggeration. I read and tried to sleep. I slept for about 1.5 hours.<br />
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The next morning I jumped out of bed and ran downstairs to eat the breakfast buffet. I eat a lot before marathons. Everyone says, OMG Sara, how can you eat that much before a race? I feel awful if I don't. My blood sugar gets all wierd and I feel light headed.<br />
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I've never run a marathon in only kms before. I had to have a strategy. Miles are second nature to me and I never have to write down my pace. I decided to tackle this 10 kms at a time. I would only look at my watch once an hour, which is crazy! I would run by effort only. Here is what I ATTEMPTED to do, by writing on my arm for crib notes:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCTa86JThBG-goZce5QxYuQ8tsZ4W_iNsc4sv1CyoTsDbX6tDcygQeGBuuoxKRhJeAcyElXEt0ayPWxYt9oEx_gjLDeLXCFgFqOTKd7R-0YON80UMmv5LUMIfZWE_jZ080w2NS2g/s1600/times.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5656330749642850962" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCTa86JThBG-goZce5QxYuQ8tsZ4W_iNsc4sv1CyoTsDbX6tDcygQeGBuuoxKRhJeAcyElXEt0ayPWxYt9oEx_gjLDeLXCFgFqOTKd7R-0YON80UMmv5LUMIfZWE_jZ080w2NS2g/s320/times.JPG" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 320px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 240px;" /></a>Here I am the last time I felt normal, this morning! </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPJfC3vBptsHMjI6ujvbXV5mmkUZoQLZcde0gdfDUx3rHe3SrXGHtOltpvgyvW4ZGW0b8YeGXbGsPmWD3vmyLtH-JDQs7LgqLgX2JPDPQPjUg3P4sx06hnBcBnM9l81hHg8LwsIQ/s1600/start.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5656330693995784994" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPJfC3vBptsHMjI6ujvbXV5mmkUZoQLZcde0gdfDUx3rHe3SrXGHtOltpvgyvW4ZGW0b8YeGXbGsPmWD3vmyLtH-JDQs7LgqLgX2JPDPQPjUg3P4sx06hnBcBnM9l81hHg8LwsIQ/s320/start.JPG" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 320px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 240px;" /></a><br />
Km 1 - 5. Feeling OK. Not great, but OK.</div>
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Km 8 - My old boss, Ellen is in town with HER friends, one who also ran today. She comes to every chicago marathon and is always in the same spot. I always spot her right away. She told me she'd me at km 8 and I was so happy to see her. Even for a split second, it gave me a little lift. We tried to meet for a drink the other day but we are staying on opposite sides of town and our schedules didn't jive.</div>
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km 9 or was it 11 - ran right past our hotel! </div>
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Km 10 - 20. Right on pace, but feeling awful. During a marathon, I never ever feel awful until mile 17. I started feeling awful much earlier today. My head got cloudy, I was coughing, I got goosebumps when I wasn't cold, I just felt off. Lots of fun signs like "lauf, Klaus, lauf!" </div>
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Km 20-30 Losing steam and slowing down. I had no idea where we were going. I tried to think, OK now I am on the madison bridge heading east to UIC. Now I am heading north to Pilsen. I passed the time by trying to figure out where I would be on my beloved Chicago course that I know so well. I started to think about an email that my friend Laura K sent me yesterday to pump me up. I pictured her there talking to me. I thought about my friend Elaine and how she attempts any race and never gives up. I thought about all of my close friends from various corners of my life. I saw guys that looked like people I knew in Chicago and had imaginary conversations with them. Oh hey! How are you! blah blah blah-f-ing blah! We actually ran over a HILL. There were supposed to be no HILLS here. Ran past some factories and over some bridges. </div>
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Km 30 - out of a speaker at a deafening volume, a familiar song. Back in 2004-ish, my friend Kathy and I went to Belgium and we were entertained by a group of sloppy drunk 50 year olds in Brugges singing along to a dance version of rednex "cotton eyed joe". We had to learn the song because it was so catchy and stupid, and I think one of us bought it. ONLY in northern Europe will you hear that at a marathon, being blared through speakers with ladies in oktoberfest outfits dancing along. I laughed. It perked me up and I sang along. </div>
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KM 30 - 40. this is where you do the classic DIG DEEP. Another really bad song appeared, this time in my head. "I think I can I think I can I think I can come and ride the train.. ride it.. come and ride the train it's the choo choo train.. if you feel like dancin! come on, it's up to you!" Yes, the mid-90s hit by the Quad Cities DJs! I can't control what comes into my brain during a marathon. What a bad song, I thought. OK then sing something else. Something a lot more acceptable. Where did you come from, cotton-eyed joe? da da da da long time ago! (synth-fiddle solo here). Yeah. km 30-40 were bad. My legs felt like lead. I was trying to amuse myself and not succeeding. I enjoyed seeing random people spot their friends and family in the crowd and hearing them all cheer and slap hands or hug. We ran past some old fancy houses. In and out of downtown again. I feel some blisters and chafing. Lots of coughing and sniffling.</div>
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km40-42 - not pretty. I imagined myself running up north Michigan avenue, waiting for the turn at Roosevelt. Until I saw Brandenburg gate. Then I was filled with that happy accomplishment and rush you get after a long race, a long internal battle. I did it! I love Germany! We really are enjoying the food, the people, the attractive men, everything about Berlin. It's a big thumbs up.</div>
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End result: 4:22. My goal was 4:10. PR is 4:19. Not bad for a sick girl!<br />
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sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01339519229120844046noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19464456.post-80472934018247702502011-09-24T09:16:00.001-07:002011-09-24T10:02:43.488-07:00Saturday on schirmystraße<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0UWkI0ZHoz56mubk9FWdhVrwGEwn0syrthebxgXHIvr05U3XYnnEOQ8Xr36x1EIhtpSvY6b0zWj1nMCOd8J0prFtZ7Xosqh86lsVar1tAvOLNQEFGu_JhHmG6zJngQSLZJX4BHg/s1600/Bild+001.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655962084676791826" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0UWkI0ZHoz56mubk9FWdhVrwGEwn0syrthebxgXHIvr05U3XYnnEOQ8Xr36x1EIhtpSvY6b0zWj1nMCOd8J0prFtZ7Xosqh86lsVar1tAvOLNQEFGu_JhHmG6zJngQSLZJX4BHg/s320/Bild+001.jpg" /></a><br />Yesterday after exploring a lot of town, I discovered a little outdoor beergarden and public plaza with restaurants near the hotel. On facebook, I got several suggestions that beer will make me feel better, so I took the advice of all of my friends who have my best interests in mind yet zero medical knowledge and had one! And it was delicious. The weather here is lovely. Nice and cool but everybody is still sitting outside and low humidity. I finally slept through the night and got on the time change. This morning I bounced out of bed and put my race number on and prepared tomorrow's outfit!<br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEielgvRjDAJ3iDZ-g9cGxk7ezljIeJU1wSmJ3rK1hQg7uFQLU93GWb7hl9_ZTLyRkHGd7RGmK8S3KHkPM_yCNdz2RlVDKjYdTtkOaRtZ0uAeWd1brcp42S0fr5bARIGipo6Aa5Zbw/s1600/r2r.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655962031750955650" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEielgvRjDAJ3iDZ-g9cGxk7ezljIeJU1wSmJ3rK1hQg7uFQLU93GWb7hl9_ZTLyRkHGd7RGmK8S3KHkPM_yCNdz2RlVDKjYdTtkOaRtZ0uAeWd1brcp42S0fr5bARIGipo6Aa5Zbw/s320/r2r.jpg" /></a><br />I'm feeling better. I'm still coughing a lot, but it's more of the end-to-a-cold type of cough than an "OMG I'm gonna die" cough. After I hacked up a lung I took the self-guided walking tour of our area, in the former east berlin. It was great! I love exploring a new city by walking. Berlin is huge - it actually seems larger than I had pictured. But I saw all the downtown stuff yesterday so I was ready for some low-key exploration.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha1kp8BuqNPed48361tIPeI-Xcvsi0UZPs9v-sobpF2Hxt11Td4vF7gwHQiTpVPMKKb204QBolLGr49fbyYddbERvLR1VmIkgXQkFcmPiJNkLwcqZ1m4IOJnog4edG_hyphenhyphena-PYceA/s1600/Bild+002.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655961977055051394" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha1kp8BuqNPed48361tIPeI-Xcvsi0UZPs9v-sobpF2Hxt11Td4vF7gwHQiTpVPMKKb204QBolLGr49fbyYddbERvLR1VmIkgXQkFcmPiJNkLwcqZ1m4IOJnog4edG_hyphenhyphena-PYceA/s320/Bild+002.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipdAcybV-VtkIDEvlOnwU3aDCS2OranQfejPlleZbYIdH37EcrS8JhVVQxRlFbblKTcBaiWbmyTBbfEH6MxWTjdipQ6V1X04xc-3fNjcp1DlHCAEEPtGB54O6CoSz-nV63cWEjjA/s1600/Bild+003.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655961926518754034" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipdAcybV-VtkIDEvlOnwU3aDCS2OranQfejPlleZbYIdH37EcrS8JhVVQxRlFbblKTcBaiWbmyTBbfEH6MxWTjdipQ6V1X04xc-3fNjcp1DlHCAEEPtGB54O6CoSz-nV63cWEjjA/s320/Bild+003.jpg" /></a> </div><br /><br /><br /><div>solar - powered bike vendor. I love it!</div><br /><br /><div><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggUF4ZVXRIGcxC8hLyxkdGj_EWY6NZWq5WqhxzIKBdTL_VHMTazMLLCGktAtLTM7j64E0VXmo76_GegDljjTZhJ0hf-G3UzieYdznxBH4d_RySIhHivjJrakBndLkF8XAfnfGv5w/s1600/Bild+004.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655961872326125458" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggUF4ZVXRIGcxC8hLyxkdGj_EWY6NZWq5WqhxzIKBdTL_VHMTazMLLCGktAtLTM7j64E0VXmo76_GegDljjTZhJ0hf-G3UzieYdznxBH4d_RySIhHivjJrakBndLkF8XAfnfGv5w/s320/Bild+004.jpg" /></a><br />A lot of street names end in "straße". The ß is how they say two ss. I believe. I like it, a new character! ßßßßß! I'm 99.9% sure that straße means street. Typical street around the hotel - with a smart car. smart cars are everywhere.<br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilczQqtAhY8nQbWuaa-fOluteJ7fhqnDbZr3hjtNIqVsiXvfv8ZtSHlPEtggexqQCAOUF9YZgmmPFvlWEiU0HhlNRTRJLuPuZ7mxtKEoiDlT622CAf0pnaxiMoKosSvnusEDxl2A/s1600/Bild+005.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655961786648551602" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilczQqtAhY8nQbWuaa-fOluteJ7fhqnDbZr3hjtNIqVsiXvfv8ZtSHlPEtggexqQCAOUF9YZgmmPFvlWEiU0HhlNRTRJLuPuZ7mxtKEoiDlT622CAf0pnaxiMoKosSvnusEDxl2A/s320/Bild+005.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnJf-LzMIbh6FyKh_BHL0THeby6YVuen7_QtTO1XYknNbnUQXU8Q92rHI0UH6HYSSqrgksLSxzycM4dqcuN_VyrqEX50jGZKgkc_HXZnz1lasW4YalHta0X8-idcdRgnKymI5RRQ/s1600/Bild+006.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655961735031332786" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnJf-LzMIbh6FyKh_BHL0THeby6YVuen7_QtTO1XYknNbnUQXU8Q92rHI0UH6HYSSqrgksLSxzycM4dqcuN_VyrqEX50jGZKgkc_HXZnz1lasW4YalHta0X8-idcdRgnKymI5RRQ/s320/Bild+006.jpg" /></a> </div><br /><br /><br /><div>I liked this straße and this apartment building. I'd like to live here and have a little balcony. A lot of BMWs and VWs in front.<br /></div><br /><br /><div><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjvIE2Q3Qfw52KXvB8hEktmOF_Zv30URZsAVbqkfA7Aq2MQsx2vRJnwHWyEqAZeu45qzd8-dyMwP62UfFXQwJo0tgN88wvVHDDLgXUDPbiZ6FjiCHxxKUUVAv5YsCZWxxevkE8Mw/s1600/Bild+007.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655961686111028930" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjvIE2Q3Qfw52KXvB8hEktmOF_Zv30URZsAVbqkfA7Aq2MQsx2vRJnwHWyEqAZeu45qzd8-dyMwP62UfFXQwJo0tgN88wvVHDDLgXUDPbiZ6FjiCHxxKUUVAv5YsCZWxxevkE8Mw/s320/Bild+007.jpg" /></a> </div><br /><br /><br /><div>The Berlin wall was a little bit north of the hotel. It snaked around the city. All over town, the former wall is marked with two rows of rocks and a little plaque.<br /></div><br /><br /><div><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7YUJxZBCIzcW-0OHqQBXY-qJKQgFLwCR1qTVF0hqEQZPXv4lA4tbuNO8t-OR6zkLrvqId-wujtlOy3kxVLJGxuA0VB191v2Lvhh0R_5A7VpjaCqdTrevxqLYh_hHMuX-mOXTATw/s1600/Bild+008.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655961615804231058" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7YUJxZBCIzcW-0OHqQBXY-qJKQgFLwCR1qTVF0hqEQZPXv4lA4tbuNO8t-OR6zkLrvqId-wujtlOy3kxVLJGxuA0VB191v2Lvhh0R_5A7VpjaCqdTrevxqLYh_hHMuX-mOXTATw/s320/Bild+008.jpg" /></a> </div><br /><br /><br /><div>Just in the middle of the neighborhood, up against a zumba billboard. Crazy! It was only knocked down 20 some years ago. You would never know!<br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2V8htxspFvdU1zPqhcG8EjNrjEHivJB-Z5U0_B0IEQ2_KkzNFiA9qTXk8b9GhHJXAKgq4WDwG9a0H6kK_-tderJwzVKDrtn0xgkVM62YfFKaAtZwyx30q435jKQqMZFvkNOGSRg/s1600/Bild+009.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655961527899825394" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2V8htxspFvdU1zPqhcG8EjNrjEHivJB-Z5U0_B0IEQ2_KkzNFiA9qTXk8b9GhHJXAKgq4WDwG9a0H6kK_-tderJwzVKDrtn0xgkVM62YfFKaAtZwyx30q435jKQqMZFvkNOGSRg/s320/Bild+009.jpg" /></a><br />The walking tour suggested a place under the train tracks for sausages. Well twist my arm, walking tour!<br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB4mwRBRwlRUOJ136LgIGcnz-HkWQ_JE3cXfceVBUwHkJNPs9YVk9df6-g4BP_SCd_2hoOkd6o9LuQdIJ7s5nUM_ynvH2-7qzMEsXF943aXn6QWOcdL36BHOyqNtn2H9dNsvgJEw/s1600/Bild+014.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655961480223191714" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB4mwRBRwlRUOJ136LgIGcnz-HkWQ_JE3cXfceVBUwHkJNPs9YVk9df6-g4BP_SCd_2hoOkd6o9LuQdIJ7s5nUM_ynvH2-7qzMEsXF943aXn6QWOcdL36BHOyqNtn2H9dNsvgJEw/s320/Bild+014.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div>My currywurst. Yes, I had it again. It's the Berlin specialty!<br /><br /></div><br /><br /><div><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiijFY8OxrXdC40s3p0TBvvVb9NxjuVZ-CP-4eIIjOnYCv-1bWM-tEjWM_TH9NIn-32jCWC45IXt7oVa4l8_6f72ppgnt02BlGIrUeVyh2uFkmv0QJAHlJg90E9PPOq3tun4EgprA/s1600/Bild+011.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655961325506464818" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiijFY8OxrXdC40s3p0TBvvVb9NxjuVZ-CP-4eIIjOnYCv-1bWM-tEjWM_TH9NIn-32jCWC45IXt7oVa4l8_6f72ppgnt02BlGIrUeVyh2uFkmv0QJAHlJg90E9PPOq3tun4EgprA/s320/Bild+011.jpg" /></a></div><br /><br /><div>View from my sausage table, which I shared with other people<br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAdER5UXqw7zGIcInCYNnaKvqRib9RBfnWBHpDr-9TG1H5hVTITB8a4on1u16k3SMoiqVfDBFaXnU0p5PiuNUYyYuGm6dnP69M0l1IubWusj-6QweTfEm4F6umNdy9xbegK4_5PQ/s1600/Bild+012.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655961222457050834" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAdER5UXqw7zGIcInCYNnaKvqRib9RBfnWBHpDr-9TG1H5hVTITB8a4on1u16k3SMoiqVfDBFaXnU0p5PiuNUYyYuGm6dnP69M0l1IubWusj-6QweTfEm4F6umNdy9xbegK4_5PQ/s320/Bild+012.jpg" /></a><br />I have missed out on some of our group activities. I haven't even seen my friends who are staying across town yet. I've been laying low because I don't want to get anyone sick.</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>Here is my race-eve pizza!<br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxTACSh66WCZWb6SDtwxC5VdZLxRRztHUi1vDL87JGLbFcYxTKp3HWSEdkRYWB07x4VoOl0F-mj99B3MNIDPWRQShPc36HeUMdrm3Lh17eMoOV5oHYem2psHWJ0Apph7lpMKKS0w/s1600/Bild+016.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655961119700766658" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxTACSh66WCZWb6SDtwxC5VdZLxRRztHUi1vDL87JGLbFcYxTKp3HWSEdkRYWB07x4VoOl0F-mj99B3MNIDPWRQShPc36HeUMdrm3Lh17eMoOV5oHYem2psHWJ0Apph7lpMKKS0w/s320/Bild+016.jpg" /></a><br />Last night I had the most delicious apple streudel ever, but today they were out of it. So I just got some at another place. It was pretty good!<br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdah_12F8Nh2kext_H2LE9LNjL4sLEco1Fy9wO1vgTggrh4Z2TFTajkIT2VpuYZ1ngUSJ9Z5JtRZXJOUV6rQMNVjy2ziEWQ2x7K9yLoTHK7liZPxfFTvOBS41rORcrEOBP_E1veg/s1600/Bild+017.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655961000954438066" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdah_12F8Nh2kext_H2LE9LNjL4sLEco1Fy9wO1vgTggrh4Z2TFTajkIT2VpuYZ1ngUSJ9Z5JtRZXJOUV6rQMNVjy2ziEWQ2x7K9yLoTHK7liZPxfFTvOBS41rORcrEOBP_E1veg/s320/Bild+017.jpg" /></a><br />I came back to the hotel and visited J & C upstairs. The pre-marathon freakouts have already begun. Bananas have been purchased, race outfits tried on, overanalyzing when to take gels and shot blocks along the course, when to leave the hotel, how early to get there, what if, what if, what if... no different than if we were in Chicago I suppose. I have a feeling that Jen and Carrie could both PR by a lot tomorrow. They are both feeling good and excited to get going. I might have to manage my own goals a little bit. I need to be a little easier on myself after getting sick. I trained harder this summer than last (a 20 and a 22 miler, the addition of Yasso 800s), but I am definitely not 100% right now. I need to decide if I am going to run balls out, and follow the 4 hour pacers like I originally planned or go with the 4:15s. Who knows, maybe I'm more of a 4:30 tomorrow. I think that because I am already sick, I might as well just approach this like a wild, rabid mangy animal on the loose. The kind of animal that is foaming at the mouth and will tear you to pieces. Maybe I need to channel that kind of persona tomorrow. Well, this is it! Thank you to everyone who is so supportive of me and my running. I know that it takes a lot of time and my running chatter isn't always the most riveting stuff.. but you have to have passions in life, right? Travel and running and food are my passions, definitely. And I'm following them, sick or not! Will write a report tomorrow after the race if I can. Monday we leave bright and early for Munich. Either way, you'll hear from me on facebook.<br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01339519229120844046noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19464456.post-81326564018055784392011-09-23T06:51:00.000-07:002011-09-23T07:58:38.299-07:00Flammkuchen, ricola and unexpected anxiety about this marathon<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4ICrkCXFIXMP_h9dEBzkoXAwDpwmCxICLO34JrsIHEhpe1RWasGlZHM5g-HlwVzwClLUp64xqQggi_vJ8bVEVPBLOxDpVVrtYyqF37JepLZMxdfbAaiQuqrQBl3A-_ZHC8azxdQ/s1600/Bild+017.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655556982190505058" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4ICrkCXFIXMP_h9dEBzkoXAwDpwmCxICLO34JrsIHEhpe1RWasGlZHM5g-HlwVzwClLUp64xqQggi_vJ8bVEVPBLOxDpVVrtYyqF37JepLZMxdfbAaiQuqrQBl3A-_ZHC8azxdQ/s320/Bild+017.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><p>Wednesday I met Carrie and Jen at the airport. After we arrive, we'll meet up with other people from Chicago, London and Singapore. There is a huge, extended group of us running the marathon! They had seats together near a guy with a terrible gas problem, and I sat by a little kid. I read Anthony Bourdain's new book, and watched a British movie about four attractive, whorish people called <em>last night.</em></p><br /><p>I carbed up with some mushy lasagna!</p><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh5Q4Xq5bS2ZuI9sWBTzu6oOpayikCr3CG8mnz4drAMQrouuUC4vL7DwU6iM6vkp3oIGB-b3LWkrOV95lw7LI3FUEoWEue90FE54xf7rilQGRpjBvCO6ZPXpuBYQq9NeFl98Hh9w/s1600/lasagna.bmp"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655556919844265922" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh5Q4Xq5bS2ZuI9sWBTzu6oOpayikCr3CG8mnz4drAMQrouuUC4vL7DwU6iM6vkp3oIGB-b3LWkrOV95lw7LI3FUEoWEue90FE54xf7rilQGRpjBvCO6ZPXpuBYQq9NeFl98Hh9w/s320/lasagna.bmp" /></a> </div><br /><br /><div>Swiss airways has several music mix channels AND an entire channel of just Roxette. And its not just "the look" on repeat, which is how I would compile a Roxette list. They have 34 songs. Who knew!</div><br /><blockquote></blockquote><br /><br /><blockquote><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYtKwsnoGO1TgCjdhM8NEXftiukh6pGkfekPUcH3ExIeBak9BKiORNL6rtTgjEB8RPVKqR0kVk50AbIlRFLQi4PHA3b4vdsicjDmcpaLTsXOh7mdZswBYHbn6A2RYX5A2y6EbSlg/s1600/roxette.bmp"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYtKwsnoGO1TgCjdhM8NEXftiukh6pGkfekPUcH3ExIeBak9BKiORNL6rtTgjEB8RPVKqR0kVk50AbIlRFLQi4PHA3b4vdsicjDmcpaLTsXOh7mdZswBYHbn6A2RYX5A2y6EbSlg/s1600/roxette.bmp"></blockquote></a><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655556801096431874" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYtKwsnoGO1TgCjdhM8NEXftiukh6pGkfekPUcH3ExIeBak9BKiORNL6rtTgjEB8RPVKqR0kVk50AbIlRFLQi4PHA3b4vdsicjDmcpaLTsXOh7mdZswBYHbn6A2RYX5A2y6EbSlg/s320/roxette.bmp" /><br />In Zurich, we met another Chicago runner and a nice couple from France who was also running.<br /><br />I have been sick for almost two weeks. Nothing flu-like, just a cold. It was 95% gone, it came back, it almost went away again but on the plane it came back with a vengence. I was blowing my nose the whole way to Europe.<br /><br /><br /><div>We checked into our awesome hip little hotel, the Circus. I have a single with a huge mural of times square on one wall. It's eco-friendly and in the greatest little neighborhood of cafes and atmospheric little places. I am happy!</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>We went to the marathon expo while I was feeling horrible and my head was in a complete fog. Thank goodness for Jen. She took charge and mastered the subway and directions. She even speaks enough German to get us around. Usually at a race expo, I am feeling excited and confident. At this one I was filled with worry. What if my cold doesn't go away? 26 miles is incredibly daunting when you are feeling good - but sick is another story. I still have 2 more days though. I just tried to think positive and bought a couple of shirts. The expo was in an airplane hanger, and we had some flammkuchen (a cousin of pizza with speck, white sauce and really thin crust - awesome!) and a beer. We enjoyed the people watching at the expo. Germans are very attractive! They dress so much better in Berlin than Chicago for sure.</div><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>I came home and was able to select among a dozen flavors of Ricola: </div><br /><div><br /></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655554803373219874" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR176L8dlhQ8X1ozzjwyJzhu8BqdS9l_cJU7X3WkTQt9Kg3atLxKII1moJE6yiD8lh8V6iYvY0SMeuxha6J83Ghq_SacdaWvkBGeg2xCJ6uoo31-YylOqsAf5qGisE-873QKLufQ/s320/Bild+016.jpg" /><br /><br /><div><br /><div><br /><div>Yes, my name really means umbrella!<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgphYEYD51ZETvjnYKWw-HEZw5_fI22lKkjHyps3BBfoJZbL1DOWldGnawNQieqjNsQd5fjrwyeS3DBL2Q1gDQT4m2x1b0L6_9B8V4utIgZsFrRGAFFOSXM4c2Vg1AK2FGM-Ap2vg/s1600/schirme.bmp"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655553924390271010" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgphYEYD51ZETvjnYKWw-HEZw5_fI22lKkjHyps3BBfoJZbL1DOWldGnawNQieqjNsQd5fjrwyeS3DBL2Q1gDQT4m2x1b0L6_9B8V4utIgZsFrRGAFFOSXM4c2Vg1AK2FGM-Ap2vg/s320/schirme.bmp" /></a><br />my mural</div><br /><div><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG7J4XYTi7BoTSeVVraO9bKfypsgYp4wywNcXrguy6T83JuDTkTHHyhBKnXhSuatoLsW2tngfgFO0GRJs_8TeA7CmVu5YY9zAaaUEf3hfvbcOhXe0lgp90pbmLgsXSjX-75RV32g/s1600/times.bmp"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655553689051863250" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG7J4XYTi7BoTSeVVraO9bKfypsgYp4wywNcXrguy6T83JuDTkTHHyhBKnXhSuatoLsW2tngfgFO0GRJs_8TeA7CmVu5YY9zAaaUEf3hfvbcOhXe0lgp90pbmLgsXSjX-75RV32g/s320/times.bmp" /></a><br />View out Jen and Carrie's window:<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKmN6RNWuGgb3Pss0h9aZn2mTFhpfu8168XmdQgpBL1VNcpSifDn3ZpKPcBKDZGL283AWOaQJam8b2qtRsTJMjq9Xj0QZo9_Yrgj-9d_kNg_kwFJZzj_tLRY741Uak3ka36pebEg/s1600/street1.bmp"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655553601524710722" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKmN6RNWuGgb3Pss0h9aZn2mTFhpfu8168XmdQgpBL1VNcpSifDn3ZpKPcBKDZGL283AWOaQJam8b2qtRsTJMjq9Xj0QZo9_Yrgj-9d_kNg_kwFJZzj_tLRY741Uak3ka36pebEg/s320/street1.bmp" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRT6XHgHRXdls-87ktDMScu4IX6N62GTWyKsQLXHd8bdKBa3fnqfMcj8-WYpGOypVrWAKEp5wGm4mKkqjjnJTG3OkiqNhksaRD4ljySRtIAAjIlL9K2k5WE0FCxnIr80VquOsoIg/s1600/street2.bmp"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655553536117589810" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRT6XHgHRXdls-87ktDMScu4IX6N62GTWyKsQLXHd8bdKBa3fnqfMcj8-WYpGOypVrWAKEp5wGm4mKkqjjnJTG3OkiqNhksaRD4ljySRtIAAjIlL9K2k5WE0FCxnIr80VquOsoIg/s320/street2.bmp" /></a> </div><br /><br /><div>Jen and Carrie with our flammkuchen:<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqWli51fMJiB7ZoK11D4kRaeF6Caknj3HX9711xl1fDRv_jopeFbHcMYrtTbf44gZ8m4BKspt2_RUDOSE4aoST63qAcTu20_0BRotalVW_Vk8VV1txjda90goZqQs5XaMv-rUUOg/s1600/flammkuchen.bmp"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655553458417543170" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqWli51fMJiB7ZoK11D4kRaeF6Caknj3HX9711xl1fDRv_jopeFbHcMYrtTbf44gZ8m4BKspt2_RUDOSE4aoST63qAcTu20_0BRotalVW_Vk8VV1txjda90goZqQs5XaMv-rUUOg/s320/flammkuchen.bmp" /></a> </div><br /><br /><div>Friday I tried to sleep in, then really got my money's worth at the breakfast buffet. I walked to the big train station to take care of an errand. While I was walking, I was suddenly struck with the need to go to a bathroom. Like magic, around the corner a most amazing bathroom appeared! (will post photo later). Berlin has several free-standing pod bathrooms. For 50 cents, you can have it for 20 minutes. It plays ambient mood music and even cleans itself when you are done. I was amazed and very excited about this toilet!</div><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>I went to the holocaust memorial (below) and Brandenburg gate (top).<br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1WFcP0v4NdnatG3vPnhRlw3JJKkeHrEZu0fraADrGTld40PBhv-sauh6WdGoU47ekwwrOBq9WieNwSPtt1FZe3Jv7mq7qLDLP3lacghvzWA1nJo9TirUQaaqUl-UCHF7KZhF86g/s1600/Bild+003.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655553366526550018" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1WFcP0v4NdnatG3vPnhRlw3JJKkeHrEZu0fraADrGTld40PBhv-sauh6WdGoU47ekwwrOBq9WieNwSPtt1FZe3Jv7mq7qLDLP3lacghvzWA1nJo9TirUQaaqUl-UCHF7KZhF86g/s320/Bild+003.jpg" /></a> </div><br /><br /><div>I stopped to try a currywurst, a specialty of Berlin! I also broke my no diet coke rule. Yes, I gave up diet coke in January and don't even miss it.<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd6iJ0TfabB2aht3Yttp87EZUjswyCPnUqTrzfCFit09EJlMYPyq0uS3dVHpRx93MqTuWeQwSZXdNiRZGLgOFd2SZJT6DgINvzlwd0TXCOc9ft50fhkFnhj7r-nN3IIHfMuhqPYQ/s1600/Bild+004.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655553311282627794" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd6iJ0TfabB2aht3Yttp87EZUjswyCPnUqTrzfCFit09EJlMYPyq0uS3dVHpRx93MqTuWeQwSZXdNiRZGLgOFd2SZJT6DgINvzlwd0TXCOc9ft50fhkFnhj7r-nN3IIHfMuhqPYQ/s320/Bild+004.jpg" /></a> </div><br /><br /><div>I walked over to the Checkpoint charlie exhibit. There was a lot of amazing historical information posted. The Berlin wall is just fascinating to me. I was in college when the wall came down and remember it clearly. It was really fascinating to be up close to it and read the personal stories of people involved.<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeeocqmGXASKXJmVzPT0LNwbbS-b4F9E7UGjluljN4dc3pFsBLgykcpt8QGQzPHpgiJ6MB3E6QeMxYhSLqpI0EvrQyTPrPMAZtvVv5AnpnMcb8Wol9VYd8Yy22pJ2mKw1igSutPQ/s1600/Bild+005.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655553253403489714" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeeocqmGXASKXJmVzPT0LNwbbS-b4F9E7UGjluljN4dc3pFsBLgykcpt8QGQzPHpgiJ6MB3E6QeMxYhSLqpI0EvrQyTPrPMAZtvVv5AnpnMcb8Wol9VYd8Yy22pJ2mKw1igSutPQ/s320/Bild+005.jpg" /></a> </div><br /><br /><div>Well, hello Angela!<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWIgIY2dtG3e0lEUOceLLiXUVyj3S3V6rDc6HPuUODOpaaYw2LIRgzSvgOGn7BnnrNsPZbniEnTK7ikjnL2QILTUa_wsYVFA2vQ7euPIPnRpl8r-Qx_GJCtNCNWtLTo-Se522fBQ/s1600/Bild+006.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655553194457182786" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWIgIY2dtG3e0lEUOceLLiXUVyj3S3V6rDc6HPuUODOpaaYw2LIRgzSvgOGn7BnnrNsPZbniEnTK7ikjnL2QILTUa_wsYVFA2vQ7euPIPnRpl8r-Qx_GJCtNCNWtLTo-Se522fBQ/s320/Bild+006.jpg" /></a> </div><br /><br /><div>The checkpoint:</div><br /><div><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKRSRf0TKuznRuobZTOxCmHm-EQcP1BZG0CikFqX16VqKBOAfsmOES1RJGsr0BfPPRZXGyCF8zUua_KWfIfeTQ_KJwoRR8Ztgi_d28kquRcNTfl6gmdQc-BsVn2HG7ZDtg73IwTQ/s1600/Bild+007.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655553134879562322" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKRSRf0TKuznRuobZTOxCmHm-EQcP1BZG0CikFqX16VqKBOAfsmOES1RJGsr0BfPPRZXGyCF8zUua_KWfIfeTQ_KJwoRR8Ztgi_d28kquRcNTfl6gmdQc-BsVn2HG7ZDtg73IwTQ/s320/Bild+007.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxzmOF-jWf5W84N5vZntZ1Z76bVFahtRWLwj1-b3n8wN7P9EZq1H6lGvTl5xZJmEazLd3CoVHjDuUDqYrTsirhiZ0qzD5wvK3BlluSSnVyn3PHmfzfOgDigJ3L49vQdwUaPTD6iQ/s1600/Bild+008.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655553084026710130" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxzmOF-jWf5W84N5vZntZ1Z76bVFahtRWLwj1-b3n8wN7P9EZq1H6lGvTl5xZJmEazLd3CoVHjDuUDqYrTsirhiZ0qzD5wvK3BlluSSnVyn3PHmfzfOgDigJ3L49vQdwUaPTD6iQ/s320/Bild+008.jpg" /></a> </div><br /><br /><div>I took the U Bahn over to the east side gallery, the longest remaining section of the wall.<br /></div><br /><div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmAnul9Bn3kaQp8gWy2HGQfupLnpCQrC8AqwA-f9ZCSx8o20ypYSjEZvWj2cL0mrs8EPP_Ok2rKbVPGf16CSpUK-wV94u4wqZgFJQBmlfqiP5T1zvf_KWCbfxli2fMMnVRAXaeEw/s1600/Bild+009.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655553025786203874" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmAnul9Bn3kaQp8gWy2HGQfupLnpCQrC8AqwA-f9ZCSx8o20ypYSjEZvWj2cL0mrs8EPP_Ok2rKbVPGf16CSpUK-wV94u4wqZgFJQBmlfqiP5T1zvf_KWCbfxli2fMMnVRAXaeEw/s320/Bild+009.jpg" /></a><br />Messages of peace from all over the world:<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDMihOGMKyNWMrVkCiUalAGDJkiEJ_N4bMhGTyuUOspy7lUU6Z-yRhbEzb-QR4J4OD9FcWbjNIaRyxqxMy1GJzOhu5-TumrCkWRnZskH2QJud77IyKzw_HoIbufsyvscxZdXeCzw/s1600/Bild+010.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655552976513541538" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDMihOGMKyNWMrVkCiUalAGDJkiEJ_N4bMhGTyuUOspy7lUU6Z-yRhbEzb-QR4J4OD9FcWbjNIaRyxqxMy1GJzOhu5-TumrCkWRnZskH2QJud77IyKzw_HoIbufsyvscxZdXeCzw/s320/Bild+010.jpg" /></a> </div><br /><br /><div>Hey Nelson!<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlopvEqPq29vYl0uv5psYC-BS-ap0GlW5C9h7PtDQTemZ9wq8G6w_Ewf_USf8uXc63KAhT9rUm14JLSntEKNI_xYjgzF4jJfx-6uSSo2hL9bv6G-lD-V6en82MAKt4mQg5cDZakA/s1600/Bild+011.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655552910925209330" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlopvEqPq29vYl0uv5psYC-BS-ap0GlW5C9h7PtDQTemZ9wq8G6w_Ewf_USf8uXc63KAhT9rUm14JLSntEKNI_xYjgzF4jJfx-6uSSo2hL9bv6G-lD-V6en82MAKt4mQg5cDZakA/s320/Bild+011.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0blMG3-OuAEt_JxZX0N1BdccYEY_zvEX_jE_2irAJWzzKM6FPopf-nLv6fA8ip8N0rrOGQSh4r4qxo-0_wDNJLULwbn_EuqpcLI0F6mIu5nT7gsFFamJ-S_AMDl82EdzDmET9Dw/s1600/Bild+012.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655552838399339778" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0blMG3-OuAEt_JxZX0N1BdccYEY_zvEX_jE_2irAJWzzKM6FPopf-nLv6fA8ip8N0rrOGQSh4r4qxo-0_wDNJLULwbn_EuqpcLI0F6mIu5nT7gsFFamJ-S_AMDl82EdzDmET9Dw/s320/Bild+012.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-Xb0mJmddEROgC31sHKONg1c4Ftl2voL_dtT7ZIMRwj4Yx0a7IdIN8YZNbTBXiKLZ1AOQh4oqhBml5IuPcTtrQfLyFdR98elBT-QnnJH43_LOULwjfiTTpdYyxPgngTpF6cyRfg/s1600/Bild+013.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655552785693949506" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-Xb0mJmddEROgC31sHKONg1c4Ftl2voL_dtT7ZIMRwj4Yx0a7IdIN8YZNbTBXiKLZ1AOQh4oqhBml5IuPcTtrQfLyFdR98elBT-QnnJH43_LOULwjfiTTpdYyxPgngTpF6cyRfg/s320/Bild+013.jpg" /></a> </div><br /><br /><div>And messages that didn't make any sense:</div><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhir_CclHPDIq9q5WDvV2vG4tjEbMRb64loph8D0399s8PGWhiAG-Qo4VVWk-yTuyxHAKva6BMKHLG9smksXmpIV_zVc0qHyf-68h5imRzALqEXyNG0WYXdONmyl4NrEOMafNF4Qw/s1600/Bild+014.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655552718927651378" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhir_CclHPDIq9q5WDvV2vG4tjEbMRb64loph8D0399s8PGWhiAG-Qo4VVWk-yTuyxHAKva6BMKHLG9smksXmpIV_zVc0qHyf-68h5imRzALqEXyNG0WYXdONmyl4NrEOMafNF4Qw/s320/Bild+014.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div><br /><br /><div>And dumb messages that just speak to us all on the knock-off Berlin wall next to the real wall:</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFiBvhcoXXGRNZ0dr8cEkNe71emBo3Tf0RfVLeelvSts_Kdpq5RoeL1LSHKw77gG3DWPPuw9anEv90QuzyPl_M5vNzVweq9MWY0XUCiSMR1MxJ2uZ6x9P5kel1Ty9VEgP6scevVQ/s1600/Bild+015.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655552654497499682" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFiBvhcoXXGRNZ0dr8cEkNe71emBo3Tf0RfVLeelvSts_Kdpq5RoeL1LSHKw77gG3DWPPuw9anEv90QuzyPl_M5vNzVweq9MWY0XUCiSMR1MxJ2uZ6x9P5kel1Ty9VEgP6scevVQ/s320/Bild+015.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div>I like Berlin. It's just really liveable and nothing flashy about it. Nice people, neighborhoods, cafes, fascinating history. Can't wait to run 26 miles around it! </div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01339519229120844046noreply@blogger.com2