Month: August 2005

It’s funny how no matter how excellent a vacation has been, it’s still a bit of a relief to return to the routine of every day. Or maybe that’s just me. A return to routine of course means a return to blog.

I woke up this morning to another in the seemingly endless series of hot, sunny days this summer, and was downright cheerful as I got ready for work. I had picked my outfit with some care the night before, and I realized it felt quite a bit like getting ready for the first day of school. It’s been more than seven years since I had any kind of school routine, somewhere around seventeen since it was my full-time occupation, and yet those ingrained patterns die hard.

I was only away from work for two and a half weeks, but it may as well have been two months. It seems like I was gone forever! Only 199 unread e-mail… better than I expected.

The past two weeks were heavenly, though. I couldn’t have imagined a better vacation. It was sunny and hot for the vast majority of the time, just the kind of weather on which I thrive. In addition to our adventures with the big blue train, we had playdates at parks and in pools, a day at the waterslide park, barbeques with family and friends and birthday celebrations. We found time to be tourists in our own town, and I spent many many hours looping the back highways south of town, hot wind blowing through the car and a hot Tim’s coffee in my hand as one baby or another caught a car nap in the back seat.

Yesterday, after living in this city for nearly two decades and vetching endlessly about the lack of a good beach, we found an excellent beach just around the corner from us at Britannia Bay. Why why why has no-one mentioned this gem to me before? The water is clear and warm, the bottom is sandy, and you can walk out for 50 meters and still only be up to your knees – perfect for toddlers. My mom and I took the boys out there yesterday, and had so much fun we vowed to go back at least one more day before the end of summer, maybe even next week.

Summer is far from over, but there are 199 e-mails waiting for me, and one or two of them might be important.

Reaching the half way point, more or less, of my European tour. Today marks a return to normalacy in the world of 2005 (vacation is done), but for the edification of one person who has told me in person that she is enjoying these entries (isn’t she kind?) and Running2K who has been reading and commenting faithfully, we continue to travel in 1995.

Ah Venice. How can I describe Venice? An ancient city that shows its age as a badge of honour. Dilapidated and run down, yet still beautiful beyond description, Venice seems to me to be the opposite of the tidy, perfect towns of Germany and Austria. Venice is raw and rude and arrogant and makes no apologies; the Venitians are xenophobic and unhelpful; yet the charm here is magical.

It is an intimidating, not welcoming, city, and I think to truly appreciate and enjoy it, you cannot be timid; you must heave yourself, heart and mind, into Venice and hope for the best. I can see that Venice has much to offer: the majestic canals; the quaint, twisting alleyways; the art; the churches; the history. Venice may be indifferent to you, but you cannot be indifferent to Venice.

I’m lying here on a bed in a room with 29 other beds, in a convent of all things. This is my home in Venice… at least it’s safe! God, the curfew is 10:30 pm but I don’t think I’m going to make it that far. I think it’s a combination of travel exhaustion and homesickness that makes me want to go to bed so early… the sooner I go to bed, the sooner the next day comes. By the time I’ve finished dinner, I’ve usually had enough of the present day; what an adventurer I am!

Dinner is a real problem for me here. My “home” schedule usually has me having dinner around 6 pm, but the restaurants don’t even open for dinner until 7 pm here, and no one seems to eat before 9 pm at least. Just finding a meal during the day is rough. I hate anything near formal by myself, so I eat a lot of baguettes and cheese picnic style. Eating just seems so much more complicated here, although I’m proud to say that I resorted to the ubiquitous McDonald’s only once, on my “very bad day” in Salzburg. Come to think of it, Venice is the first city I’ve been in that has neither a McDonald’s nor a Body Shop – every other city has had several of each.

I ment the nicest man on the train from Salzburg to Venice yesterday. He was probably in his early fifties… he spoke to the other couple in the compartment quite a bit about politics before addressing me, and I had him figured for a Cliff Claven windbag type. He ended up being wonderful, though. He lives in Austria, but has obviously traveled all over the world, including Ottawa and southern Ontario. He showed me the most beautiful scenery on the route, complete with a running commentary. Near the Italian border, we had to leave our car because it broke down and he made sure I got properly settled in another car. He was very fatherly, and I would have been in an absolute panic without him explaining what was going on. He translated both the Italian and German for me. All I know about him is that his name is Herman, and he made the trip excellent for me.

Italian border guards carry machine guns while inspecting the train. That’s a new experience!!

Categories: Europe95

As I transcribe and re-read this article, I wonder what ever inspired me to be a writer. It wasn’t a varied selection of adjectives, that’s for sure. I never realized until transcribing this journal how many times I’ve used the word “beautiful”. But for the sake of authenticity, I’m reprinting this verbatim, in all my 26-year-old glory.

Categories: Europe95

Ten years ago today, I was in Salzburg, struggling with competing urges to carry on my trip, or to turn on my tail and run for home. I remember calling home, crying so hard I couldn’t speak properly, and I think back to my poor mother, who initially forbade me from going on the trip. I’m surprised I didn’t find her at my hotel room door the next day. Here’s how it happened.

Salzburg – the worst of the trip so far, and the best.

Yesterday was awful. Awful. On the train from Munich to Salzburg, an odd man professing to be a reformed convict (!) kept trying to befriend me. Thankfully, his ticket was a handwritten note on a napkin, and he was escorted off the train at the first stop. (I was just trying to figure out in my head how to ask the conductor for assistance when he was escorted off. Among other things, he cast a long look at my legs and asked me if all Canadian women had such lovely legs.) Although I had a bit of a headache, I still enjoyed the Alpine scenery, with the beautiful flat plains covered with huge farms leading to the gorgeous purple mountains on the horizon.

I found the Pension Chiemsee without a problem, and then disaster struck – I realized I had lost / been robbed of my swiss army knife (a birthday present from my brother), which was on a keyring with my spare housekey and the key to the lock on my backpack. I called back to the Heidelberg pension, but she didn’t have it.

I was devastated. I knew it was a small problem, hardly worth getting upset about, but I fell apart. I called Mom, unable to talk I was crying so hard. I knew it wasn’t the loss of the knife and keys; it was the stress of the strange encounter on the train plus ten days’ worth of exhaustion, frustration and culture shock. Mom tried to convince me to eliminate Italy from my trip and come home a week early. All night long I considered it. It was nothing and everything, and I wanted nothing more than to be home again. After speaking to Mom a second time (out of homesickness rather than panic this time) I had calmed down a bit – but not much!

The wonderful woman who owns the pension found a friend with a hack saw, rode her bicycle across town to get it for me, and used it to cut open my luggage. By this point it was 6 pm and I just wanted to curl up and cry. I forced myself to go out for a walk, knowing I would do nothing but cry if I stayed in the pension.

So, still weepy and vaguely pathetic, I went to wander half-heartedly around the Altstadt. I was scowling like a madwoman at the beautiful old buildings – the more lovely the sight, the more bitter I became. Finally, I stumbled across the Dom, the beautiful Renaissance cathedral that (Beloved) had told me about.

My day turned around.

It was perhaps 6:40 by this time, and the sign I couldn’t quite translate said something about a concert at 7 pm. Since I had hoped to catch some of the Salzburg International Music Festival, it seemed like this was going to be as close as I would get. I wandered about the cathedral for a bit, in awe of the frescoes that covered the domes and the gorgeous arches. Sentimentally, and again on the verge of tears, I lit a candle for Grandma and Grandpa and Granny and Granda. Then, I settled into a pew to ogle the incredible art and await the concert. It was in this cathedral , I learned from the guidebook, that Mozart was baptised and later became concertmiester.

The orchestra and choir, from England, were very good, and occasionally augmented by some wonderful modern dance by a group of young ballerinas. The true magic, however, came during the last piece, when the entire orchestra and choir stood up, in mid-song while still playing, to move throughout the church. Dispersed throughout the huge cathedral, they finished their song. It is impossible to describe how magical it was, like being surrounded by and a part of the music, soaring with it and on it. My poor frazzled nerves were completely soothed.

Today, too, has been a good day. The first shop I passed (one of the rare few open on a Sunday) sold swiss army knives, and I immediately replaced my lost one. It was symbolic, to me, of recovery and continuance. Then, on the pension owner’s advice, I went to see the water garden at Hellbrun Palace. Originally built as a summer retreat by Prince Arch Bishop Sitticus in 1613 – 1619 by the Italian Santino Solari (the same architech of the Dom) the palace’s water garden proves that either Sitticus or Solari (or both) had a wonderful sense of humour.

There are statues of Greek mythology everywhere, and a wonderful series of water-driven marionettes and a water-driven organ. Guests are led through the park en masse, and hidden spigots and nasty tour guides ensure everyone gets a good soaking. The whole group, maybe 50 people, LOVED it! It was such a silly thing, adults yelping and jumping and laughing like children to avoid surprise streams. I absolutely adored it; it was the most fun I’ve had since I got here. So simple, and yet so much fun. The gardens and decorations were pretty on their own; I must have taken ten pictures here alone. On the same grounds was a little zoo with a friendly little bear cub… entertainment in the grandest Dani-style.

And so, Salzburg was the worst, and the best. Tomorrow, the real challenge begins – Venice!

Categories: Europe95

Today was the last day of my summer vacation. I couldn’t have ended it on a better note.

(Note to Nancy: Please don’t read blog today. We missed you, and don’t want you to feel any worse about not being able to make it. I can’t imagine any other time I would implore you not to read blog, but today, don’t do it.)

We had a playdate with some of my best mommy friends today. I thought we might have moved beyond the age where playdates work well, but I was wrong. I remember early playdates with these same moms, when our babies were two, three, four months old and we would meet in the park, laying the babies in a row on a blanket and chatting for leisurely hours. Playdates got more chaotic as the babies turned into toddlers, and conversations were reduced to what you could elicit in three word sentences between rescuing toddlers from trouble. Now the babies are between three and four, and a second (and third!) wave of babies has crested, is cresting, will be cresting very soon, and conversation has returned to playdates as the babies that have become preschoolers entertain themselves and each other. The miracle of this playdate is that almost all the kids are IVF babies, and the miracle of our friendship is that we met on the Internet.

I can’t tell you how much I love these women, how important they are in my life. With work and family life and so many other things demanding my attention these days, it would be easy to let these friendships drift into oblivion, into sweet memories of shared experiences. But after a day like today, I promise myself anew that keeping in touch with these smart, funny, interesting women is worth the time and effort to stay in touch.

My boys have been stretching the bounds of my patience this past week, but today they made up for it. I kept looking around, wondering who replaced my troublesome tyrants with such sweet, well-mannered and adorable boys. Tristan asked to hold a two week old baby girl, and I thought my heart would melt. When I got to hold her myself, my heart did melt just a little bit. My kingdom for a girl! (Actually, I’ve said before that I’m sure one of the little girls there today was my daughter misdelivered by the stork. She reminds me so much of me as a little girl. It’s almost unsettling.)

Thank you, my friends, for such a wonderful, memorable day. I couldn’t have scripted a more perfect end to a glorious summer vacation. Can we do it again soon? (I’m free tomorrow!)

Categories: infertility

Ten years ago today, I was on a train headed east through Germany to Salzburg, Austria.

On the rails again – “railing” as the lingo here goes. On my way from Heidelberg to Salzburg, with a change of trains at Munich.

I saw the most lovely sight this morning – a field of sunflowers. A whole crop of them! Of course, the way we eat sunflower seeds it makes sense that someone somewhere would be farming them. I just never thought of them as a cash crop before. And what a happy sight, these big, happy, floppy-headed sunflowers bobbing in the morning sun. Too bad I didn’t have my camera ready.

I’m excited about today’s trip – I should be able to see the Alps by the time I get into Munich. Mountains are cool!

I didn’t tell you about the man I met on the train from Manheim to Heidelberg. He was 74, and I’ve got his business card with his name on it somewhere. He saw my Canadian flag and started talking to me in English. He told me about his sister in Toronto and brother in Washington. He told me briefly that he had been a radioman stationed in Russia during the war, and he told me about Heidelberg. We sat together for the 20 minute train ride from Manheim to Heidelberg and chatted. It was an altogether lovely chat! This Canadian flag – it does wonders!

Categories: Europe95

I dedicate this post to ÃœberGeek, who said, “Enough with the Germany stuff already. I’ve heard all these stories already.” Because some stories are worth hearing more than once. This might not be one of them, but we’ll never know if we don’t try!

It’s been another good day in Heidelberg. Started with breakfast at the Hardrock Café with my roommate Deena from Southern California (Ed. note: Kay, maybe you know her?) We had a beer last night, and breakfast this morning before she was off to somewhere, I’ve already forgotten where.

After wandering around aimlessly again (it’s what I do best) I stopped at an outdoor café for dinner. There was this great busker-style street band playing right in front of me. Four guys in an a-capella style, but with a bit of rhythm from a guitar, tambourines, bongos and occasionally kazoos. They completely captured the crowd’s attention, and seemed to be having such a good time. Sucker that I am for souvenirs and a good cause, I bought one of their CDs – a demo, I assume. I hope it’s as good as their street music, but I won’t know until I get home.

Categories: Europe95

Vacations aren’t quite the same now that I’m a mom, and < quote fingers >responsible adult< /quote fingers >. Someone has to pack the bags, make the beds before we leave the cottage, wash the dishes after a meal, and chase Simon out of the cupboard, the fireplace ornaments, the bathroom and all the other unchildproofed surfaces that have been scraped barren in our home.

Even at home on vacation, when I sit out in the backyard with my book, hiding from the boys, there’s the faint call of laundry unsorted, paint still in its can, garage decluttering left cluttered. Gone are the days of blissful boredom, when my biggest responsibility was remembering to tan evenly on both sides. (I don’t even have the tolerance for the sun I used to have. When I was a teen, I would slather myself in baby oil to tan; now, I covet shady spots and wear hats that give me bad hair.)

But today, today was one of those blissful vacation days that recall the endless summer days of youth. We brought the boys and my parents to Mont Cascades water park. It’s not quite the Lake Huron beaches of my childhood, but it’s a good second choice.

The boys loved the big pool with the sloping sides, even though the water was somewhere around frigid. Simon was brave and endured a few runs on the baby slide with me, and survived my attempt to drown him by bringing him on one of the larger kiddie slides. (We hurtled down the tube at what must have been Mach 2, and as gravity, centrifigul force and inertia fought to rend us, my mind bellowed, “DON’T LET GO OF THE BABY. DON’T LET GO OF THE BABY! NO MATTER WHAT ELSE HAPPENS, DO NOT LET GO OF THE BABY!!!” Thankfully, my mother was waiting for us at the bottom and rescued a very wet and surprised Simon from my arms as we crashed like a Tsunami into the reservoir and I dropped like a stone. Kiddie slide my ass. That scared me worse than the Vortex, the one that spins you around like a big toilet bowl and flushes you uncerimoniously out the bottom.)

If you go to a water park with preschoolers, bringing extra adults along is an excellent plan. Our ratio of two adults for each preschooler seemed to work perfectly, allowing Beloved and I to try a few of the big slides while the kids splashed with Granny or begged French Fries from Papa Lou.

Sadly, the sunscreen was no match for the brilliant sun and 37C humidex, and Tristan’s cheeks, ears and shoulders are looking distinctly lobstery tonight. Well, I got through 3.5 years without a sunburn, that’s got to count for something, right? It’s not much of a burn and will probably turn tan by morning. I wish I could say the same for Beloved’s scalp. Hair loss and bright sun are a cruel couple.

You’ve been reading about my summer adventures, both in 2005 and 1995. What’s been your best summer adventure, this year or ever?

Another brilliant blue morning as Intrepid Traveler takes to the rails again. We left Trier at 8:45 am , to arrive in Manheim at 11:30. In Manheim, we change trains for a quick 15 minute ride to Heidelberg. I didn’t expect to be going thru Manheim, I thought I’d have to go back thru Koblenz. This is better – no backtracking.

We’re following the Saar river right now, and although it’s not quite as beautiful as the Mosel Valley, it is still picturesque and lined with the same timeless small towns.

I’m glad I spent two nights in Trier. The town was wondeful, and I was a bit tired of town-hopping. Yesterday morning I did a Roman ruin tour, visiting the 3rd century Imperial bath and ampitheatre ruins, and checked out the Konstantin Basilika. What a strange feeling to think of these ancient structures, to try to imagine them in their first years of use, to wonder how many generations of people, how many different cultures, had stood in exactly the same spot. I found it especially fascinating to read how the Porta Nigra and the Imperial baths changed used over the years (both were used as city gates and churches, among other things) and to read about the wars that they withstood – Napoleon was particularly brutal and blew up most of Trier. I sat for over half an hour on a low wall in the ampitheatre, thinking of Roman imperialism, the Dark Ages, the Crusades, medieval times, Napolean’s armies, world wars… so much history and change, and these structures still standing. It takes your breath away. It makes me feel dwarfed and insignificant, yet so connected; so much a part of the great interlaced web of humanity.

Beginning my second week of travel now. Ask me during the day how I’m enjoying my trip and I’ll rave for hours about what a wonderful trip I’m having. Ask me at night and you’ll probably have caught me considering how many more weeks/days/hours I’ll have to ‘endure’ until I can go home. I know it’s just homesickness and a bit of loneliness (not to mention lingering culture-shock) and I’m always ready for the next adventure in the morning light. I can’t believe how casually I’m gathering knowledge and experiences, how I’m adapting to all of this.

One of the most indimidating things about Germany for me was the language, but I’ve only been in the country for four days, and I know enough to ask for a room (“einen damen, zimmer, dwei nacht” = one woman, room, two nights), and I can count to ten; order a coffee; find a street, toilet or trainstation; ask a price and tell someone I don’t speak German. If someone addresses me in German, I give my most charming smile, point to the Canadian flag on my backpack and shrug my shoulders. When I am polite, most Germans seem to know enough English to help me out.

I really think the Canadian flag makes a difference, though. I was on a city bus in Koblenz on my way to the youth hostel. As I was getting off the bus, a large German frau in a floral print house dress said in a very loud voice, “Canada!” and gave me the hugest smile, bobbing her head up and down enthusiastically. I imagine that’s the only English word she knew, so I returned her greeting with the multi-purpose “Bitte schön”. This most wonderful and utilitarian German expression means, “excuse me”, “please”, “you’re welcome” and “sorry I just ran over your foot with my bicycle.” English should have such a versatile expression.

The waning afternoon light finds Intrepid Traveler in the Marketplace Square of yet another gorgeous medieval town completely overrun by tourists. I can see over the rooftop of the nearest building the ruins of the huge Castle Heidelberg, which I will visit tomorrow morning.

The manner in which I familiarize myself with these strange cities has become routine: step one, find a map. Free is best, but not always an option. Step two: find a/the hotel. Step three: figure out the easiest way to get there. Step four: ditch backpack at hotel, but keep daypack. Step five: wander aimlessly for hours.

To find things of interest in a city, Let’s Go is a good start. The postcard racks will show you what the town is proud of, as will info from the local tourist bureau. An inexpensive guidebook (4-6 DM) is a good buy. Generally, though, the town presents itself.

I’ve never seen to many oriental tourists as are in Heidelberg. How interesting.

Categories: Europe95

I told this story to my mother yesterday, and she thought it was hilarious, so I’ll share it with you now. I’m still not so sure I think it’s funny.

We were at the Day Out With Thomas last Saturday, and they had a couple of tables set up with train sets. Even though we have train sets at home which get at least an hour or two of play a day, we had to stop and play with these tables, too. As did every other preschooler in all of southern Ontario. It was kind of like a beehive, and with Thomas as their queen.

As you can imagine, there were a few ugly moments as one little boy would decide that it was his turn RIGHT NOW to have a train, and there was a lot of grabbing and coveting and hoarding and other inspiring behaviour going on. In fact, Tristan’s only tears of the day came later in the day when he was playing at the table and put his train down for a minute to move around the table and a parent (a parent, mind you) snatched the train away to give to his child while pretending not to notice Tristan’s obvious upset. I wasn’t there to witness that one, lucky for the other parent.

But I digress. At the moment in question, Tristan was playing happily with one of the trains, as were probably half a dozen other kids. Every now and then a new child would walk up, but some other child would leave, and there was a fairly impressive amount of sharing going on. At one point, one little boy reached over and tried to take away the train from Tristan, and Tristan took two steps backward and held the train to his chest with a worried look on his face. The parent of the other child intervened and told him to wait for his turn, and all was well. Suddenly, the entire museum full of people fell silent at the exact same time, just in time for everyone within a three mile range to hear Tristan shout across the table to me, “Mummy, did you see that? That kid tried to kill me!”

I was mortified. I don’t embarrass easily. He could have shouted out anything about penises or farts or boogers or any of the other stuff preschool boys come out with, and I would have just laughed it off. But that one floored me. I had absolutely no idea how to react, so like a good mother, I sputtered.

“Tristan,” I gasped, in my best scandalized voice, “we don’t – he didn’t – you shouldn’t – it’s not – ” and then I stopped talking and switched to praying that the floor would just open up and swallow me whole.

I’m still not sure I think this is a funny story. I honestly have no idea where he would come up with something like that, but the older kids at daycare is probably a good bet.

Share your mortification moment and make me feel better about mine!