#in fairness!!! i have had some delicious food in germany

[trobairitzposting]

francois cooking for gilbert is an act of love but francois willingly eating gilbert's cooking is an even greater one. ah cheri, plain boiled potatoes and sausage with mustard? again? you shouldn't have! (he's weeping inside)

[lovenona]

I just haad to say thank you for the free serotonin that you have provided me with through the last artist sukuna post

it's just... ✨beautifull✨ we are slowly building up this au

BUT CAN YOU IMAGINE HIM GETTING MORE AND MORE FRUSTRATED WITH THE LACK OF ATTENTION WERE HE'S KIND OF POUTING

and then there need to be a project done in which you have the option to work in groups and NO MATTER WHAT this proud cherry haired idiot WILL work alone but geto won't he came to y/n and they really need to work in a group if they want to get this done so of course y/n is happily gonna agree to the offer of geto to work together they do be viben after all which ultimately leads to the fact that y/n is gonna give sukuna even less attention (it probably doesn't even get on his nerves that much that y/n works with geto its just the lack of attention and ultimately time spending with you that result from it)

ah i am sorry I was rambling again😂

anyways hope you have a nice day and don't stress yourself too much with answering always happy to see you post❤️

babe let me just say ur brain is massive and i thank u from the bottom of my heart – anyway here’s the original post for everyone about to embark on this godforsaken journey with art student sukuna and our new friend pretentious fuck geto suguru 

if you thought you were pitiful at drawing, your sculptural skills are on another level of true and utter shit. you cannot, for the life of you, create things out of clay. you despise carving anything into wood. your pottery faithfully collapses on you whenever you try. you hate working with glass. you would have dropped the class, honest, if you didn’t desperately need it in order to fulfill your major requirements and graduate on time. 

all in all, it’s an awful class created solely to tank your gpa – you don’t understand what you’re doing, you don’t understand what anything is supposed to look like, and you sure as fuck don’t understand how anyone else seems to have their shit together all the time. when you glance around the room, no one, not even the famous ryomen sukuna, has trouble making their materials turn into something recognizable.

(and, in true sukuna fashion, he loves to make sure you know how fucking untalented you are.) 

so when anthropology-and-ceramics king geto suguru asks if you want to be partners for the next big art project, you agree without a second thought. you’ve been talking to him recently, small talk before class, and for all his pretentious faults, you think he’s delightfully hot as fuck with a smooth voice to match. he wears those crisp, expensive button-downs that he bought at overpriced local craft markets. he always smells like cedar and eucalyptus; he brings a different tote bag to every class, his favorite being one he got as a gift for subscribing to the new yorker. he shops organic only and throws around the words “fair trade” and “bourgeoisie” and “means of production” with the ease that sukuna throws around the words “fuck” and “shit.” 

you think geto is fascinating. and maybe he talks down to you when explaining his anthropology knowledge, he absolutely does, but when he gazes at you with those warm eyes and offers to help you learn how to sculpt and raise your grades, you can’t help but agree with a pair of big pathetic doe eyes. 

why wouldn’t you? you’re just here for a good time, after all.

so when you giggle as geto places his sinfully smooth, manicured hands over yours while teaching you how to use the pottery wheel, you don’t think much of it. you think he’s cute and warm. you’d be a fool to notice the dark annoyance radiating from the other corner of the room.

ryomen sukuna always works alone. but what he didn’t count on was that you wouldn’t be working alone with him. 

it’s not that you’re working with geto, he swears. it’s that you’re not working with him. his ears feel strangely empty without your argumentative quips, without the way you tell him he’s infuriating and annoying every time he tells you something lewd just to fluster you. it’s strangely empty without you both arguing about the difference between great artists and sell-outs – were you here, in his corner of the room, maybe sukuna would have tried to tell you michelangelo was a loser just to see what you would say. 

but you’re not with him. you’re listening to geto tell you about the time he went to study abroad in germany and how he took a trip to morocco where he tried some amazing food you’ve never heard of. he’s telling you about the time he helped make tampons in botswana after his senior year of high school and all of the other deliciously precocious things he has done for the sake of human rights and anti-capitalism. 

(you’re killing the environment, you know, geto often admonishes you when you stumble into class with your cup of coffee. that cup is going to end up in a landfill. he always taks a sip from his hydroflask for emphasis. it’s sleek and black with an oxfam sticker on it.

and sure, you know that your cup is going to become trash. geto doesn’t have to be an annoying fuck and tell you when it’s only eleven in the morning and he drove a literal moped to campus. but still, with that silky man-bun, everything he does is okay.) 

but understand that sukuna doesn’t hate geto. sukuna craves attention, and he absolutely cannot stand being ignored. he’ll pout without realizing it, pursing his lips and wondering what kind of circus act he needs to perform to win back your presence. should he get another tattoo? cuss out the professor? offer to fuck you senseless in the third-floor bathroom? he’s not sure – he’s never not been seen before. ryomen sukuna doesn’t know what it’s like to come in second. 

so he intercepts you after class; in a manner that is both sukuna-and-not-sukuna, he’ll casually throw one of his heavy arms over your shoulders, subtly pulling you away from geto’s aura, wrapping you in his scent of earth and leather and sex appeal. “come on, puppy,” he says, sultry and annoying and condescending all wrapped in one, tapping his ring-clad fingers against your arm. “you’re supposed to help me write my paper, aren’t you?” it’s not a question, it’s a demand, one you know deep down that you would rather die than shy away from. 

you might not like sukuna, you tell yourself, but there’s something about him, the way he talks and moves and exists in the world, that makes you unable to shy away. there’s something about him that always makes you want more without you quite knowing why. 

(he kissed you, once. sometimes you wonder if you would like it to happen again.) 

and you’re still nestled under sukuna’s arm, trapped in his orbit and following him to his favorite empty classrooms, when geto calls back to you, wondering if you’re still interested in going to the avant-garde poetry reading with him tomorrow night. 

he’s going to present a poem he wrote on the terrors inflicted on south america by the united states, geto had explained earlier when his hands were on yours. it was going to be some real, hard-hitting poetry, none of that “rupi kaur bullshit.” he thought it might enlighten you to join him, perhaps in more ways than one.

you pretend you don’t notice the way sukuna’s arm tightens around your shoulders when you tell geto with a flirtatious smile that you can’t wait. 

[daisychains4]

Can’t Handle You | Chapter 8: Bologna

Can’t Handle You | Masterlist

Warnings: None

AN: Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

Fair enough, you read from Shawn’s latest note. You had just taken a seat at a tiny bistro table at an adorable coffee shop. Addison was still ordering her usual iced coffee, so you had a moment to peak at this note before she sat down with you.

So… The note continued. Male or female?

You rolled your eyes at the most tragically boring question he could’ve asked you, though you couldn’t help but smile. Shawn was sweet to his core, and it didn’t surprise you in the least that he’d played his first question so safe.

You started to brainstorm a snappy retort, but quickly stuffed the note back into your pocket as Addison squeezed her way between tightly-packed tables to reach you.

“So, what are we doing today?” Addison asked, swirling her iced coffee in its tall cup before taking a sip. She had the look of adventure in her eye, and you hated that you were about to disappoint her. It was a beautiful morning in Bologna, Italy, and a rare free day for Shawn.

You had one obligation that you’d put off in Germany: laundry. Both yours and Shawn’s. Even though you very much wanted to head out for a mani/pedi with Addison after coffee, you were going to run back upstairs, gather all of the laundry, and haul it to the nearest laundromat.

“Laundry first,” you said, wincing when Addison’s audible sigh confirmed your fear that she would be disappointed. “But then I’m all yours!” you said cheerily, hoping she would find it in her heart to forgive you.

“I can’t believe you’re going to waste this beautiful day doing laundry.”

“I know. But I can’t put it off any longer. Shawn’s going to run out of clean shirts and start walking around topless across Europe. We can’t have that.”

“No, that would be such a shame,” Addison laughed with you.

“It might actually start riots in the street,” you giggled. “Can you imagine what the fangirls would do?”

“Can you imagine what I would do?” Addison snorted. “I’d tackle him right in front of Andrew.”

You continued laughing through the rest of your coffee, then parted ways. Addison was off to do some shopping, and you promised you’d catch up to her when you’d finished the task at hand.

You headed back upstairs to your hotel room to grab your duffel bag of dirty clothes, then up quite a few more floors to let yourself into Shawn’s room to grab his laundry.

As you stuffed a bag with everything from the famous black skinny jeans to stinky gym shorts, it struck you that you didn’t know what type of laundry detergent Shawn liked. You doubted he cared about the brand, but did he have a preferred scent?

You reached into his closet and pulled out a clean shirt. You inhaled deeply - fully aware of how creepy this would seem if anyone saw you - and tried to pick a scent out of the fabric. It was no use. The clothes had been in and out of suitcases, and hung up in too many strange places to have maintained that fresh laundry smell. You’d have to work on that.

---------------------------------------------------

Andrew’s phone rang as he followed Shawn down a beautiful Italian street. He was surprised to see your name appear on the screen; he’d given you the day off.

“Hello?” he asked. Shawn turned, as though he’d know who was on the line just by looking back at Andrew. He was quickly distracted by Connor, who was pointing out something he saw across the street. If Shawn had listened for a moment longer, he’d have heard a very confused Andrew ask, “Why do you want Shawn’s mom’s number?”

---------------------------------------------------

As luck would have it, you found a nearly deserted laundromat a quick taxi ride from your hotel. You lugged two large duffel bags of dirty clothes into the facility - getting stuck in the doorway - and set to work along a wall of industrial washing machines.

Since no one else was using the machines, you took full advantage. You sorted all of Shawn’s clothes into four washers before stuffing your own clothes into their own machines. It seemed wasteful to wash your clothes separately when there was more than enough room in the giant washers, but it was far too intimate to wash them together.

When the first washing machine you’d started beeped loudly, you jumped up from the row of hard plastic chairs you’d been sprawled across while you read from a recently downloaded iBook. It was time to prepare your newly-discovered secret weapon: essential oils and cotton washcloths.

Before your trip to the laundromat, you had gotten Shawn’s mom’s number from Andrew (you were still impressed by your own cleverness). Karen was surprised to hear from you - Shawn had never mentioned a crew member by your name - but was as sweet as could be when you told her you wanted to make Shawn feel more at home by using whatever laundry detergent she used.

She’d told you her trick for the freshest-smelling laundry: Dry a couple of clean, wet washcloths dotted with half a dozen drops of essential oil. She said that Shawn’s favorite was lavender. The oil smelled so good that you couldn’t resist using it on your laundry as well.

As you pulled Shawn’s clothes out of one dryer after another, folding them neatly and placing them into your bags, you couldn’t resist hugging them to your chest and inhaling the lavender scent. When you caught yourself doing this on his fourth shirt in a row, you shook your head. “Get it together, (Y/N),” you told yourself. “This is getting weird.”

---------------------------------------------------

Today had been one of Shawn’s best days on tour so far. He’d had the whole day to himself - with the exception, of course, of selfies with any fans he met throughout the day.

He enjoyed walking aimlessly around Bologna, stopping at vendors along the street to taste delicious local foods, sip on craft beer, and lay in the sunshine, watching the locals stroll by.

He returned to his hotel room to change before dinner.

As soon as he opened the door, he smelled it - home.

He couldn’t immediately pinpoint why it smelled like home. He walked into the room, overwhelmed by the scent that greeted him, hoping that maybe, just maybe, his mum would be waiting for him to find her.

��Mum?” Shawn called quietly, feeling foolish (albeit hopeful). No one answered. The room was empty.

Disappointed, Shawn walked into the bathroom to turn on the shower. He came back into the room to pull a clean outfit out of his closet. When he slid open the door, the smell of lavender hit him with even more force. Shawn tentatively pulled a soft sweater from the closet and buried his face in it. With his eyes closed, he could pretend his mum had just handed him a basket of fresh laundry. He pictured her at the bottom of the stairs in his childhood home calling up to him to pick up his sneakers from the floor and take his clean clothes upstairs to put away. She would sound stern, but he would always find her smiling when he came down. He loved being on tour, but he missed home, too.

Shawn returned to the bathroom to shower, now more curious than ever to figure out who was taking such good care of him on the road.

It wasn’t until an hour later, just as he was sitting down to dinner with the boys, that Shawn found a note stuffed into the pocket of his freshly-washed jeans. He pretended to look down at his phone under the edge of the table and read:

I’ll give you this one because it’s the first round (I’m a woman), but you’re going to ruin the fun if you keep asking such obvious questions. Come on, Mendes, give me something I can work with.

Your turn: If everything in your house had to be one color, what color would you choose?

Taglist | @librarianct @5secondsofjade4499

[starling-collective-blog]

COVID 15

Life does not feel great in this moment. I’ve been struggling a lot with the weight I’ve gained in the ongoing pandemic. I wish I could say that I’m not perturbed by my recently bigger body, or that I don’t have a lot of self-loathing thoughts these days, but I can’t. Sadly that’s not the way I currently think about myself and the world. (I could devote a whole entry to this topic, but this won’t be it.) 

All my life I’ve been skinny. I’ve never not been skinny. I’ve had phases of relative chubbiness (there was the period after a summer in Germany when I gained 5-10 lbs) but even then I was still considered skinny. Growing up I got made fun of tons for being ‘flat as a board.’ Now, in a sick twist of events, I’ve become considerably more rounded out without any of the fat distributed to my boobs. All of it’s gone to my face, my thighs, and even for the first time to my tummy-- basically everywhere but my boobs. Tell me, how is that fair? Currently I’m the heaviest I’ve ever been in my life.

I hate that I’ve put on 7 to 10 pounds. 7, if I weigh myself first thing in the AM after peeing but before having breakfast; 10, if I dare weigh myself after a meal. That puts me between 144 and 150 lbs (it’s a good day if I wake up below 145). 

I hate that all of the muscle definition my body gained from climbing has been replaced by a softness in my arms and back. I hate my new stomach flab and the extra cushioning where there used to be none. 

I hate that I have a voracious appetite for food but no longer the lifestyle to match. When I climbed through the week and cycled on the weekends, I could eat bizarre amounts of food without seeing any weight gain. And I mean bizarre. Once, on the morning of a 30-mile cycling ride in NH, I ate four energy bars (two Clif Bars + two Bobo’s rolled oat bars) to fuel up. During the ride, I refueled with another two Clif Bars. We ended up doing just 12 miles that day because the pain from an ill-fitted bike saddle got too bad. On the drive back, I had another Clif Bar, and when we stopped at Dunkin’s I got one of those greasy and horribly unhealthy (but delicious!) egg-cheese-sausage croissants as a post-cycling snack. Two hours after that I had a serving of wedge-cut cheesy fries. On the days I climbed, eating two dinners was the norm. Sometimes after dinner I could get through half a bag of Cheetos or some other junk food, or a bowl or two of Honey Bunches of Oats with milk while watching Netflix. This was late at night, sometimes around 9 or 10 pm. Even on the days I didn’t climb, I would eat dinners too large to the point of uncomfortable fullness. No matter how unhealthy my eating patterns were, though, my body never gained weight the way it does now.

More than anything, I hate the fact that I don’t possess the self-discipline needed in this no-climbing post-pandemic world to stay fit. This is what generates the greatest deal of self-loathing. Portion control just isn’t a concept my brain wants to understand.

Today, my sister called me out for my astounding display of lack of self-control. My mom had made waffles for breakfast this morning, about 8 of them, and I alone had 5. Freshly baked carbs are my weakness. I have no clue why. (Room temp or cold carbs don’t hold the same appeal.) This was after I had already had a bowl of the gouji-oatmeal porridge my mom makes every morning, and after a small bowl of Honey Bunches of Oats granola cereal... ...yeah. Yeah.

What actually inspired this entry was the moment when my sister heard me tell my mom I’d had 5 of the 8 waffles. Incredulously, she asked me: ‘Wait. Are you SERIOUS? You had 5? How did that happen?’ I told her sheepishly that I just... did. My brain tried to think of an explanation and tried to figure out whether this was even an alarming fact to begin with. My mom and I both laughed-- my mom, out of amusement (I suppose she somehow found my gluttonous behavior endearing), and I, out of embarrassment. ‘This isn’t a laughing matter,’ my sister persisted, locking eyes with me. ‘You have a serious problem.’

Ah. And there it was. 

Hot, hot shame washed over me. I lowered my gaze, registering her hurtful words. At last someone had said it.

-- --

It’s complicated. For sure, I was angry and hurt by my sister’s words. They brought to the surface every negative feeling I’ve already had about my current body-- all the shame, all the guilt, all the self-scrutiny and embarrassment. These are things I experience on a daily basis. But to hear the condemnation externally? That’s a different story. A week prior, my sister had already pointedly said to me: ‘Size matters.’ Yeah. That shit is hard to hear-- I’d imagine even for someone less sensitive than me. And yet, part of me is secretly relieved to hear it. As much as I don’t want to think I have a ‘serious problem,’ a deeper part of me knows I do. Do I have an eating disorder? I don’t know if it’s quite that severe. But I do know that I currently have a less-than-healthy relationship with eating. It’s one of the main reasons I had to get the fuck out of the city during the pandemic. All I was doing every day to cope with the boredom and stress of suddenly being under a city-wide lockdown was eat. Eat, eat, eat. all the fucking time. Even before the pandemic hit, I had been practicing unhealthy eating habits. The whole eating two dinners every day before + after climbing and eating to the point of discomfort thing? Yeah. That wasn’t healthy. 

I’m not sure when it started. I suspect I’ve always had a hard time restricting myself when it came to eating. I’ve never been good at drawing the line. I think the pandemic is just exposing the underlying issue. 

So, as controversial as it might seem (or just honest and realistic?), I’m choosing to continue upholding the same standards. I wish that I didn’t want to, because I know this affects the way I potentially perceive and interact with others who don’t appear to be in shape. But the reality is, fat and unfit are not things that I want to be; lax standards for physical fitness are not things I want to have. I don’t want to lead a lifestyle characterized more by gluttony and laziness than mindfulness and discipline.

[movingkeepmoving]

So my first trip of 2020 lead me to the capital of the Czech Republic: Prague. I've been there twice before. For about two days in March 2014 and another 20h in November 2018. Both times my main reason to go there, was seeing Frank Turner playing. This time my friends from Anti Flag were in town on a Sunday, so I decided it was worth giving the city another chance.

Another chance? Well most people seem to love Prague and to be fair the old Town is pretty decent with its old architecture. BUT I grew up around Würzburg, Germany, and if the city had not been bombed during second World War, it would look absolutely the same. Würzburg also has a pretty old Town, nice churches, a bridge with statues, a river and a castle... So I was never really too impressed with Prague, sorry. (Also no matter which time of the year, the city is ALWAYS flooded with tourists.)

With nearly zero plans beside the gig on Sunday and the aim of getting the best vegan food in town (veganuary!) I arrived in Prague on early Saturday afternoon. With an unexpected upgrade from a small capsule I had booked to a brand new five bed apartment all for myself, I wandered around the city. It was a super foggy day and I really enjoyed the mood of the city this time.

I wandered along the riverside, explored the John Lennon Memorial wall and took a photo of the famous dancing houses. Two things I haven't been aware of during previous visits.

I decided to have dinner at a place I found out about during my last visit: The Maitrea! It's a wonderful Buddhist /vegetarian restaurant and they do the best vegan goulash with bread dumplings you can imagine. But make sure you get yourself a reservation, otherwise: good luck!

My evening went as calm as you can imagine: I was listening to music and finishing my fourth book of 2020. Rock'n'Roll!

After a long night sleep I went to My Raw Cafe to get some breakfast; once more finding a place to eat vegan stuff was super easy. The cafe was in a mall right next to the Roxy, where Anti Flag were supposed to play in the evening. Handy! Although the foods been amazing, it was a tiny portion (I had raw bread with avocado spread and a smoothie) and so I grabbed a piece of chocolate for on the go. (which was delicious!)

As excited as it gets, I spend my afternoon with a mild migraine in bed, before heading to a vegan place called Forkys for early dinner. The place was tiny and the menu had everything you could desire: from bowls, to Asian food, to burgers and wraps. I decided to have a kebap wrap with fries and I wish I could have it again RIGHT NOW. Sooo good!

So whenever I go back to Prague, I might go for the vegan options anyway as its just the best! Do I need to mention anything about the concert? It was amazing as usual. Anti Flag just know how to win over a crowd, they're doing it long enough, haha. After the show I had a fun conversation with the local promoter and Justin. Where the promoter stated: "I started working in live business in 1993" and I answered "Yeah, that's the year I was born, do you guys feel old now!?" and Justin said "Well, we started Anti Flag in 1994 so there's that!" - Why do I always hang out with old people? 😂😂😂

[turn-your-gaze-on-this-dumptruck]

His Past, His Present, His Future - Chapter 7: Singing

ALL FUTURE CHAPTERS OF THIS FIC WILL BE POSTED ON MY NEW HETALIA FANFIC BLOG, @juliussneezerfics

Fanfiction.net

Ao3

************

Germany faded into consciousness slowly, the light from the windows shining through his eyelids. Verdammt, he forgot to set his alarm. Guess a morning jog was off the table. The second thing he was aware of was the body curled into his. Of his arm around a soft waist. Italy’s forehead lay a few inches from Germany’s own, his clasped hands resting between their chests as they rose and fell. Germany squinted slightly from the bright light of the sun. For a few unguarded moments, he let them roam across Italy’s relaxed face. 

His long eyelashes cast thin, almost invisible shadows underneath his closed eyes. His hair was pushed away from his forehead, allowing the sunlight to spill across his face. Germany pondered on the fact that he had never noticed the light freckles that were peppered across the bridge of his nose. They were so light and small that they were probably impossible to see from further away.

Germany took a breath, carefully withdrawing his arm from Italy’s waist. It was probably better that he leave now and make them breakfast than try to explain to Italy why he was awake and still in bed. His bare feet hit the carpet of the room as he stood, stretched, and scratched the back of his head before he looked back down at Italy. He noticed that the covers had settled on the dip of his waist. Before he could consider what he was doing, Germany bent over and pulled the covers to rest on Italy’s shoulders. Italy stirred, but continued his slumber.

Germany’s first order of business was to make something for breakfast. He rummaged around the kitchen, finding the few ingredients required to make German breakfast pancakes. Eggs, milk, flour, salt. Simple. This recipe was the taste of his childhood, as this was about the only thing Prussia was capable of making himself. As a result, he didn’t even use a recipe as he mixed the ingredients together. He had memorized the consistency and taste. By the time the oven was preheated, the batter was already poured into a greased pan. He set the batter in the oven before pacing back to the guest room, being quiet as he strode across the carpet to the bathroom.

Before he went to bed the night before, he made sure to unpack all his stuff and set his toiletries in the bathroom. He turned on the water to brush his teeth, looking at himself in the mirror. He lowered the toothbrush. Perhaps Italy could look at himself in the mirror and see who he was before Holy Rome fell. Maybe he could look back and reminisce on how much he had changed since then. But all Germany could remember as he looked in the mirror was when he was young Germany. Never Holy Rome. Sure, he could see that they were one and the same. But when he tried to visualize himself as Holy Rome, all he could see was when he was living at Prussia’s house, trying to figure out paperwork designed for a full grown man.

He finished brushing his teeth, leaning against the bathroom counter. He sighed to himself, wondering just how long it would take to adjust to this revelation. He pulled his hair gel from the cabinet, and combed his hair. Did Holy Rome grease his hair back, or did he let it hang down? He squirted gel into his palms and rubbed them together, running them over his platinum blonde hair. He gave himself a once-over in the mirror before nodding with satisfaction and rinsing his hands off. He left the bathroom, looking over at Italy as he crossed over to the dresser. The wood drawer scraped against the body of the dresser, causing Germany to cringe. He gathered his clothes, his grimace deepening as the drawers continued to scrape. He finally finished gathering his clothes. He padded lightly across the carpeted floor back to the bathroom, stopping and turning as he heard rustling on the bed.

Italy stretched and yawned before opening his eyes. “Hmm... good morning, Germany. You’re already up?”

Germany glanced down at the watch on top of the stack of clothes. “Of course. It’s almost nine.”

“Ooh! I got up early!” Italy cheered, sitting up.

“I don’t know how you get anything done.” Germany chastised, shaking his head. “Get dressed and set the table. Breakfast will be ready soon.”

Italy stood from the bed. “I like it when you come over, Germany, I wake up to breakfast!”

“Ja Ja, It will be ready in about twenty minutes.”

Italy walked out of  the room, humming some song to himself.

Germany locked the door to the bedroom, and changed into his outfit for the day. He surveyed himself in the mirror. He was wearing a barely-blue dry fit T-shirt with a pair of khaki cargo pants. He had pulled some black military boots over them. He turned slightly to the side. Overall, he looked pretty good. He didn’t look nearly as pasty with this shirt on. To finish off, he grabbed his pair of sunglasses off the dresser and left the room. He smelled the pancake in the oven as he walked in the kitchen, surprised to see that Italy had already gotten dressed and was sitting at the set table.

The circular table had been draped in a white tablecloth, with two plates set across from eachother. At the right of each plate there was a tall glass of orange juice and Italy had taken a long, narrow glass from the cupboard and stuck in a couple blue cornflowers from the garden. Italy was sitting there, folding forks and knives into fabric napkins. “Ciao, Germany! I set the table!”

“I see that. Looks nice.” Germany said, setting his sunglasses on the counter and grabbing two potholders. He opened the oven door and pulled out the German breakfast pancake, nodding to himself as he noticed it had baked perfectly.

Italy was at his shoulder, sniffing. “Mm! Is that a breakfast casserole?”

“No. It’s a German breakfast pancake. You eat it with syrup and butter.”

“Mm! I’ll go find them!” Italy volunteered, scampering off.

Germany carried the hot dish over to the table, placing it on the potholders. “We’re ready.”

Italy bounced over, carrying the butter and maple syrup. “Yay! I’m so hungry.”

“You’re always hungry.” Germany said.

Italy nodded. “But this is something new! New food always makes me more hungry!”

Germany sat down, hoping Italy’s expectations weren’t too high. “It’s really nothing. There are only five ingredients.” He cut away a piece, offering a hand out for Italy’s plate.

Italy passed it over. “You’re a great cook, Germany! It’ll be delicious!”

Germany passed the plate back, a piece of the bubbly pancake weighing it down. He was about to continue the conversation as Italy’s phone rang in his back pocket, playing the Crystal Gems theme song. Gemany furrowed his brow. “Who calls during breakfast?”

Italy shrugged, pulling his phone out of his back pocket. As he looked down at it, Germany could read that the screen said il fratellino.

“Seborga.” Germany said, unsurprised. If there was anyone he knew to call during a mealtime...

Italy swiped the screen.

Seborga’s tinny breathing came through the speaker. “Che succede, stronza!”

“Speakerphone, Seborga!” Italy warned, sounding slightly harried.

“Oh, my bad. I’ll translate: What’s up, bitch?! and Germany and Japan, probably? Ciao, guys!” Seborga corrected.

“Just Germany and I!” Italy answered, leaning on his hand as he cut away a piece of the pancake.

“Where’s Japan? I like that guy!”

Italy peered over at Germany across the table, gesturing toward the phone.

Germany cleared his throat awkwardly. “He had to go back home. Apparently his boss needed him.”

“Aww, shame. How long are you staying, Germany?”

“Six days.” He answered.

“Mm... lucky you, Veniciano, huh?” Seborga added coyly.

Italy raised an eyebrow. “What-?”

“-You get to spend all that time with your best friend!” Seborga finished.

Germany felt his cheeks heat up, well aware that according to Prussia, Seborga likely knew how he felt about Italy.

“Oh, yes!” Italy brightened up, looking excitedly at Germany. “We’re touring Rome today!”

“Whoa, really? I love it there!” Seborga replied. “What are you going to see?”

“We’ve already decided on the Colluseum,” Italy frowned, thinking. “We wanted to talk about what we would do today, but...”

“He fell asleep.” Germany finished, shaking his head.

“Sounds like my brother.” Seborga laughed. “You guys should stop by my neck of the woods sometime!”

“Ooh, I would love that! It’s been too long!” Italy agreed. He turned to Germany. “Have you ever been, Germany?”

Germany hummed. “I can’t say I have. Might be nice.”

“Might?” Seborga asked. “It’s the hidden jewel of Italy! Even better than Rome, if you ask me. I’d be glad to have you! Veniciano, could you take me off the speaker for a moment?”

Italy nodded, not looking surprised by the sudden change in subject. Apparently, this was behavior he was accustomed to. “Sure.” He swiped the phone, holding it to his ear. He shoveled a final bite of the pancake into his mouth before he left the table. “Hmm?”

Germany picked at his food as he heard Italy’s voice go down the hallway.  “I'm fine. It was just a shock, you know?" There was a pause. Germany heard a door open. “Yes, but..." His sentence was cut off as the door shut.

After he finished his meal, Germany cleared away his dishes and put them in a dishwasher. The kitchen was clean by the time Italy had finished his phone call and had come back.

“I’m sorry that I left the mess to you, Germany.” Italy apologized, reclaiming his seat at the table.

Germany slung the damp drying towel over his shoulder as he finished drying up the last dish. “You don’t fool me for a second, Italy. You’re glad you didn’t have to clean up.”

Italy giggled, picking up his glass. “You got me.”

“You did bring up a fair point earlier, though. What did you want to see in Rome?” Germany asked, taking his seat at the table.

“The Pantheon, the Sistine Chapel... they’re so pretty.”

“That’s it?”

“The Spanish Steps, probably.”

“That isn’t much.” Said Germany.

“Well if we plan on walking and enjoying the weather, it’s plenty! Plus if we stop for lunch, maybe dinner... plus if we want to come back and take a siesta...”

Germany considered this. “I suppose so... the only concern will be crowds.”

Italy shook his head. “Actually, November is one of the least busy times! The only thing we would have to worry about would be rain, but this week is miraculously dry! And not too hot, either. You came at the perfect time!”

“Hmm... very convenient.”

“Right? I’d guess that’s fate telling you to take vacations more often.” Italy replied.

“Should we go after breakfast?’ Germany asked.

Italy nodded, shoveling the rest of his food in his mouth. “Done!” He said, his voice muffled by a mouthful of food.

“Gross. Take care of your dishes and I’ll pack a backpack.” Germany said.

Italy nodded, carrying his plate and glass back.

Germany shook his head as he went back to his room to grab a backpack. He threw in his wallet, ensuring that his I.D. was there. It was unique, showing both a front, and side photo. On the bottom right was an insignia showing that he was a personification of a nation. His eye color was described, as well as his height and age. 148 years old. In parentheses before the number, was a line of text that said: German Empire. Luckily, the section that detailed his name said Germany. He would have to remind Italy to grab his. He stopped in the kitchen to throw various snacks in the bag. Though his paycheck as a nation was generous, he didn’t plan on wasting it frivolously.

“Italy?” He called through the house.

Thundering footsteps through the hall answered him. “Here!” He was donned in a white T-shirt and a pair of denim shorts. Germany was taken aback as he noticed the Gucci fanny pack buckled around his waist.

“Italy, I don’t think it’s a good idea to wear that out.”

“What, you mean this?” Italy pointed at the fanny pack.

Germany nodded. “It’s going to be a target for pick-pockets. Not to mention it’s ugly.”

Italy gasped. “Ugly?! It’s the height of fashion!”

Germany squinted. “Why did you even buy it?”

“Romano told me they were cool.” Italy shrugged. “He has five at his house.”

Germany sighed. He doubted he would ever understand Italy and his siblings. “If you’re fine with being robbed...”

“I won’t be!” Italy assured him, grabbing his keys out of the key bowl.

“No you don’t, we’re driving my car.” Germany said, leaning over to grab his own keys. He tried not to notice just how close he was to Italy. His back was nearly touching his chest.

“Fine.” Italy said, closing the space between him and leaning back against Germany. “You can drive.”

Germany cleared his throat, stepping backward, catching Italy by the shoulders as he almost fell backwards. “Whoa.” He pushed Italy back into a standing position. “I don’t want to be stranded in Rome when your keys are stolen with your ugly fanny pack.”

“But it won’t be stolen!” Italy protested. He grabbed a sketchbook off the counter and shoved it into Germany’s backpack as he followed Germany through a door in the hallway to the garage.

The air was several degrees hotter in there. Germany noticed junk in cardboard boxes stacked all around them, providing only a narrow path for them to walk toward the car. He needed to get Italy to organize the garage. “And you can guaruntee this?” He asked, opening the door to his black car.

“Well... no.” Italy admitted, sliding in the passenger side. “But if it gets stolen, you can protect me and get it back from the thief!”

Germany started the car, rolling down the windows immediately. He wanted to enjoy the nice weather. “Unlikely.” He backed the car out of the garage. “I would probably be doing you a favor by letting the thief take it.” He teased, starting down the driveway. He looked out the side window. Italy’s estate was perched on the top of a hill, with a spiral road encircling it to the bottom. Through the canopy of the trees, the city was sprawled beneath them in a crowd of matchbox buildings and little ant cars.

Italy harrumphed in his seat. “Well if you’re going to be mean to me, I’m going to control the music.”

Germany smiled to himself, directing his eyes back to the road. “That’s fair.” Germany wasn’t a fan of Italy’s music, but this trip was to comfort him. “Go ahead.”

Italy raised his eyebrows and smiled, apparently not expecting Germany’s consent. “Yay!” He pulled out his phone. “Now... what should I turn on? Ooh!”

Looking over briefly to Italy’s phone, he saw a song called: ‘Per un Milione’.

Italy looked out the window as the tones of the song rang through the car, his light voice joining in as the lyrics started with an accelerated beat. “Ti giuro che l’attesa aumenta il desiderio, È un conto alla rovescia…”

Though Germany couldn’t understand what they were saying, he found his head subtly bouncing along with the beat of the music as they drove off the hill and onto the country roads. The song appeared to be a rap song of sorts, and it had a bit of a relaxed feel to it. As they drove closer to Rome, there was a mix of Italian and English songs, very few of which Germany knew of. And Italy sang to every single one. While this would have ordinarily annoyed him, Germany was initially too taken with the warmth, the sun, and the relaxation of driving that he couldn’t find himself to clear. As they were on the edge of the city, though, he was quickly running out of patience.

“Ooh, I love this song!” Italy cheered as guitar tones came through. He turned up the music yet again. Bradley Cooper started singing, and Germany recognized the song immediately. America had been posting it on his Instagram story for weeks now.

Italy appeared to be content with just listening until Lady Gaga came on, during which Italy sang quietly. As they pulled up to a stoplight, Italy vibrated with excitement.

“Germany, listen to me hit this high note.”

“Oh-”

“I’m off the deep end, watch as I dive in, I’ll never meet the ground...” Italy screeched, his voice cracking.

Germany winced. He noticed the other people parked around them were turning their heads and staring. “Italy, please stop.”

“No- CRASH THROUGH THE SURFACE, WHERE THEY CAN’T HURT US,” Italy scream-sang the song even louder, prompting Germany to roll up the windows with the hope that Italy’s cracking voice wouldn’t be heard by strangers. “It’s not working.”

“Obviously! You can’t sing!” Germany barked over the bass rattling his speakers.

“My heart can!” Italy replied quickly, clearing his throat as Lady Gaga and Bradley Cooper harmonized the next lyrics.

“Your heart sounds terrible...” Germany muttered to himself, resigning himself to his fate.

Italy ignored him, leaning forward as he prepared for the next part. As Lady Gaga began vocalizing, so did he. His absurdly high voice strained against the low notes, but followed as it launched into the high note. Italy spasmed excitedly as he held it, grabbing Germany’s shoulder and shaking it frantically.

The light finally turned green, Germany batting his hand away as he drove. “Yes, good job, you can sing. Now can you please stop!”

Italy excitedly sang the chorus on pitch this time, excitedly punching the air with each beat of the drum. Too excited to care about singing properly with the rest of the song, he shouted out the last bit of the song as it grated on Germany’s ears.

As the ending notes faded out, Germany found that he was somewhat impressed with how well Italy did singing the song. Granted, he would have rather gone without hearing Italy’s pitchy singing during the beginning and ending, but it was still rather impressive.

Italy gasped as the next song came on. “Germany! We should sing that song together sometime!”

“What?” Germany asked, turning the corner. “No.”

“Why not? I bet you could do it if you really tried!”

Germany shook his head. “I don’t sing.”

“Aww, but Germany, I bet you have a pretty voice! You do when you’re not shouting at me.”

Germany was starting to get irritated. “You’re getting close to me shouting at you now.”

Italy shrugged, knowing it was an empty threat. “Okay, but I’m just saying...”

Germany was about to reply when Italy sat forward in his seat, pointing.

“Look! The colosseum!”

Indeed, it was standing down the street. Germany was pleased to see that there were not too many people around it. Not that it would have mattered. A quick flash of the I.D. and him and Italy would be allowed first priority into any cultural or historical attraction for free. One of the perks of being a nation, he supposed. But it wasn’t one he utilized often.

“It doesn’t look busy!” Italy added, sitting back in his seat.

“Did you bring your I.D.?”

Italy unzipped the ugly fanny pack, withdrawing his wallett. “Yup!” He showed it to Germany, the photos having a hint of a smile.

“Good. We’re going to need it.”

Italy smiled, looking back out the window.

[gillyo]

Day 1: Travel day

✈️Planes, Trains “und” Air-Conditioning...

So as I said, I’m trying something different for this trip. I’ll be blogging here on tumblr (using the hashtag #MozWag) I decided to forgo my usual travelogue on FB/IG and just put everything here. As I've said before, on other trips, I do this as a digital catalogue of memories for myself so I can recall what piece of art or music or history I experienced where... plus the food... oh, yeah! (I've actually scoured through old posts to find pictures of delicious plates from fascinating places so I can try to recreate a memorable meal when hopping on a plane isn't an option 😍) it might get a bit wordy and/or indulgent but I’m giving you fair warning for my ramblings 😁

(Having a Cali style brekkie at a 5 hour layover in Heathrow - needed something real after 11 hours of airplane food)

🥰This will be my first SOLO overseas trip (excluding trips to my English homeland to visit family) and I have enjoyed the planning🗺 just as much as I anticipate I'll enjoy the trip itself. Thank you to my sweet ❤️FRED❤️ for the best birthday gift ever. He knows that I yearn to learn and love to travel!

He’s also a really cute driver 🥰

A small collection of my dad’s classical collection of LP’s

I'll be spending 9 days moving through southern Germany, into Austria then back into Germany and ending in London. How did I pick this itinerary? I've had a 35 year love affair with classical music. It began with being exposed to BBC Classical Radio 3 in my youth. I remember poring over The Radio Times - a weekly publication listing all programs and individual pieces of music so I was able to plan and build a collection of pirated cassette tapes of numerous pieces, and then also discovering my late father’s collection of classical LP's of many composers (most of whom I now adore) and to which my sister and I would dance imagining were were the principals of Swan Lake 🤣My first real memory of classical music is very clear. I remember hearing Rossini's Stabat Mater one day on the radio and it moving me in such deep place. I didn’t know what I was listening to at the time but I recorded it and memorized it, loving the harmonies and orchestration... it wasn’t until many years later, living in the US, that I heard it and was able to find out what it was🥰. I know for a fact that music is in my blood and my soul from my father who was a musician, composer/arranger, and conductor. On my last trip to the UK I spent a little time with the aforementioned LP collection and realized our taste was very similar ❤️ but I digress.... back to why I wanted to go to Bavaria...

As you can guess, I admire many composers but I especially adore Mozart and Wagner (#MozWag) . Mozart for his sheer genius of composing 626+/- works in his short life, he died when he was 35... started composing at around 5 years old so that’s about 20 compositions a year. And it was good stuff, too! Wagner, I love for the absolute intensity, commanding, emotional, a master of drama. But, not for the new listener, IMO. I worked my way up to him😉 Both composers either lived, worked, died, and were born or buried in the regions I will visit. And yes, Mozart died and was buried in Vienna but I already did that trip 3 years ago.

Ok... that’s the background on the trip - so you can guess my focus will be around music and performance but I’ll definitely have time for seeing some art, churches, architecture and food. And shoe shopping. My posts from now on will be more fun 😁

My first day was SFO-LHR 10.5 hour flight, followed by a 5 hour layover which allowed time for lunch at Gordon Ramsey’s Plane Food and shopping for English makeup - a new Charlotte Tilbury lipstick and a Max Factor mascara 🤣 then a 2 hour flight to Munich and a 1 hour train to my hotel. A long day of travel - about 27 hours I think? And I was so grateful for a cool, clean room to check in to at 5pm. Oh, did I mention that I had a ticket for the opera? I’ll do a separate post on just that. It deserves it.

[180abroad]

Days 158-160: Salzburg & Berchtesgaden

On the border between Austria and Germany is a small corner of the Alps whose fame far exceeds its size. It is German and Austrian and also not quite either at the same time. It's been settled since the Stone Age and grew fabulously wealthy thanks to the local salt deposits, a commodity as valuable in historical times as oil is now. For hundreds of years it was ruled by an eccentric system of elected prince-bishops. It is the extremely proud birthplace of Mozart--though Mozart himself hated it and moved to Vienna as soon as he could afford to.

More recently, it has earned renewed fame as a place of extraordinary beauty--both natural and architectural. And in the 20th century, it was sadly tarred with infamy as the innermost sanctum of the Nazi regime.

The train ride from Vienna to Salzburg was so easy as to be entirely forgettable aside from the verdant alpine scenery. Salzburg is right between Vienna and Munich, so there's no shortage of high-speed commuter trains to choose from.

We were staying in an Airbnb on the outskirts of town, so we took a bus out from the central station. Got to see a glimpse of the city's spectacular Baroque architecture along the way.

Much like our place in Liverpool, our place in Salzburg was a minimally furnished room in a house we'd be sharing with other guests. One improvement was that this room had a proper bunk bed. I offered to take the top bunk, but after a nervous night with me tossing and turning above her--and the fact that one of the top bunk's four support posts came out of joint during the night--Jessica kindly requested that we swap places for the next two nights.

I had to hunt downstairs for the for the wifi router, which was unplugged. Other than that, though, the home was charming if austere. We spent a fair few hours during our stay here at the windowed dining nook, jotting out plans under the gaze of epic mountains.

We had originally planned to spend the afternoon wandering around Salzburg, but neither of us was much condition to follow through. Jessica hadn’t really slept at all the previous night, and I had only done a little better. In the end, it was all we could do to have me walk down the block for food at a local grocery store.

At least the backdrop was spectacular.

Berchtesgaden is a beautiful alpine resort town just across the border into Germany. It is home to some of the rich salt mines that made Salzburg so wealthy, and in the 19th century it became a popular throughout Europe as a destination for tourists and artists.

If an American knows about Berchtesgaden, however, it is probably in relation to Hitler and the Nazis. Hitler adored Berchtesgaden and the surrounding countryside. He finished writing Mein Kampf at a cabin he rented in the area, and later he bought a home in the nearby mountainside of Obersalzberg, which was later colonized by top-ranking Nazi officials wanting to be as close to Hitler as possible. Hitler spent most of his time in office during the 1930s ruling from his home in Obersalzberg.

And the most famous building in the Nazi complex in Obersalzberg is the one Hitler spent the least time at--the Eagle's Nest.

There are plenty of other sights around Berchtesgaden that don’t have to do with that dark chapter in its history. There are the salt mines, the famously beautiful Königssee lake, and innumerable hiking opportunities. But seeing even one of those as well as the Nazi sites would have require a very long day with a very early start. So instead, we slept in and contented ourselves with exploring the town itself.

We had booked spaces on the Rick Steves-recommended Eagle’s Nest Tours, which runs daily four-hour tours from Berchtesgaden starting at 1:00 pm. After a quick breakfast at the station, we caught the #840 bus from Salzburg to Berchtesgaden. We were supposed to arrive at 11:00, giving us an hour for lunch and an hour for wandering the town.

But due to traffic, we didn’t get into town until nearly 11:30. Rather than rush ourselves and risk stressing ourselves out, we decided to just have a nice slow lunch instead. We tried Bacchus wine for the first time, and it was delicious. It is a hybrid grape varietal that was invented by crossing a Sylvaner-Riesling hybrid with a Muller-Thurgau--itself a cross of Riesling and another varietal called Madeleine Royale. It was delicious, combining the richness of Chardonnay with the refreshing fruitiness of a Pinot Grigio.

(Jessica noted the irony of enjoying a hybrid wine in countryside where much of Hitler’s plans for racial purity were conceived and written down.)

Jessica was feeling a bit under the weather, so she only ordered a sausage and a roll. I was hungrier, so I ordered some roasted chicken with French fries. Somehow, though, it took far longer for her sausage to come out than my chicken. Our waiter seemed far more distraught at the delay than we did; he brought us an extra pot of wine on the house as an apology.

The delay did cost us the time we had wanted to spend exploring the town, but it's hard to complain whilst sipping delicious wine in a sunny garden surrounded by paradisaical Alps.

The tour was everything we had hoped for, but we wished it could have gone on even longer. Four hours is really all you can afford to spend on a tour and still have time to catch the last afternoon bus back to Salzburg. We could have easily spent twice as much time there.

After a quick but interesting tour around Obersalzberg--seeing the ruins of former Nazi mansions, as well as local institutions like the Hotel Zum Turken--we stopped at the Nazi Documentation Center. The center provides a brief but chilling account of Hitler’s reign, from its promising start to its horrific reality.

Even with everything we’ve learned about Hitler and the Nazi policies, we still found more things to learn. For example, we knew that people with birth defects would be sterilized or executed. But what we didn’t know was that their entire families could also be sterilized to prevent the risk of them spreading the same inferior genes.

If such a policy had existed in the States, neither Jessica nor I might have ever been born. One of Jessica's uncles on her dad's side was born with a chromosomal disorder, and his whole family would have certainly been sterilized. And Jessica's mom was born with hip dysplasia. Not nearly as serious, but still a defect--one that could have resulted in my grandparents being sterilized and my dad never being born at all.

Also, when the Nazis invaded Eastern Europe, they fully intended from the beginning to exterminate or drive out the existing Slavic population and replace them with Aryan settlements. The mass starvation that gripped the region almost immediately after occupation began wasn’t the result of logistical failures by the German army. Hitler intentionally sent the army in with insufficient food so that they would have no choice but to take the Slavic population’s food and starve them out.

Also, Hitler presented himself as a Bavarian because he wanted to hide his Austrian heritage and most Germans couldn’t tell the difference between a Bavarian accent and an Austrian accent.

Also, the Nazi government awarded women with medals according to how many pure Aryan children they could give birth to.

There were also plenty of examples of anti-Semitic propaganda and a wall of infamy highlighting the life and crimes of all the top-ranking Nazi officials. High among them was Reinhard Heydrich, whom we'd learned about in Prague.

The exhibits are all in German, but there are English pamphlets in each section that cover the highlights, and a massive construction project is underway to expand the center and provide more multilingual exhibits. For some reason, when the German government opened the center in the early 2000s, they didn’t expect it to be of any interest to foreign tourists.

Unfortunately, because of the construction, we weren’t able to enter the underground bunkers that honeycomb the hillsides around Obersalzberg. Still, our guide gave us an interesting overview of the bunker system, how it was developed, and how it was actually used.

The system was never completed, and new areas of it have been discovered as recently as the 2000s. It appears that Hitler had intended for the bunker system to be integrated into a larger system connecting his Obersalzberg compound to Berchtesgaden and even Salzburg, 12 miles away.

Himmler envisioned the bunkers as a last resort in the event that the Allies captured Berlin. Nazi troops could hide in the bunkers indefinitely, carrying on a guerilla war from their mountain redoubt. Hitler didn't like the thought of that, however, and the bunkers were only made to house Hitler and the other Nazi leaders who actually lived in Obersalzberg.

The system is huge and complex, and it was built in less than two years. The Nazis refused to consider the possibility of the compound being bombed until 1943 when nearby Munich was in flames.

Despite their fast construction, the bunkers were apparently well made. When Obersalzberg eventually did get bombed, not a single person who made it into the bunkers was killed. Hitler was even considering plans to retrofit the bunkers to withstand a nuclear bomb–something that at that point hadn't even been invented yet.

Our guide carried a binder of pictures showing what the area looked like during and after the war. She also pointed out a side entrance to the bunker system that's still visible--though not accessible to tourists.

Even halfway up the mountainside, the view was already spectacular.

Looking up, the Eagle's Nest was a tiny shadow up on the peak still high above us.

The only way up to the Eagle's Nest is a road too narrow, steep, and winding for ordinary buses and drivers to traverse. The only way to visit is by taking a special bus driven by specially trained local drivers. The buses run on an extremely precise schedule so that they always cross paths at specific points where the road is wide enough for them to pass each other. You have to buy timed tickets for both journeys before you go up, and if you miss your bus down, you have to wait until the next bus that happens to have an extra seat. And the Eagle's Nest is extremely popular, so you could be waiting a very long time.

On the only-slightly-scary ride up, we were treated to yet more fantastic views of the area, including the nearby Königssee lake and the craggy white mountainside.

And even once you reach the top of the road, you're not done. The last bit is so steep that there are only two options--a long, steep hike or a quick ride in a bronze elevator buried deep inside the mountain. We chose the elevator ride.

I think it's fairly common knowledge--at least among WWII aficionados--that the Eagle’s Nest was mostly just a display piece that Hitler rarely visited and never used his office at. It is even rumored that the Allies intentionally missed it during the bombing of Obersalzberg because they knew it wasn’t strategically important and wanted to be able to take it as a prize.

A common story is that Hitler didn’t like the Eagle’s Nest because he was scared of heights. But our guide dispelled this as a myth. Hitler apparently loved the Eagle’s Nest and visited it over a dozen times in the year following its completion. But it was time-consuming to get to the Eagle's Nest from Obersalzberg, and once the German forces invaded Poland later that year Hitler spent most of his time up in Berlin directing the war effort.

And for that handful of visits, an exorbitant price was paid in both money and blood. Filled with the most luxurious materials and modern conveniences, the house itself cost well over 100 million dollars in today’s money. And that doesn’t cover what it took to build the road.

The road took the better part of a year to build, with two 12-hour shifts working around the clock and through the winter. Several people died during the construction, and countless more suffered crippling injuries. Despite being very well paid, most workers only lasted a few weeks before resigning. And for the  Czechoslovakian laborers conscripted to do the grunt work, that usually meant reassignment to a concentration camp.

Today, the Eagle’s Nest is a fancy restaurant with hardly a mention of its original purpose. Our guide took us into a side room, where she showed us pictures of what the place looked like with its original furnishings.

It isn’t a large building–just a few sitting rooms, bathrooms, a kitchen, and a basement. It doesn’t have any bedrooms and wasn’t meant for living in. Before getting the nickname “Eagle’s Nest” by a visiting ambassador, it was simply referred to as Hitler’s tea house on the mountain.

Outside, we got to walk up onto the summit of the mountain, with spectacular views for miles and miles in every direction. Clouds were starting to come in from the south, creating a very dramatic atmosphere over Königssee.

Because of the crowds and rushed schedule, however, we only had about fifteen minutes to enjoy the summit before having to head back down to the bus for our ride down. On the way, we enjoyed a chat with a young Canadian woman doing her own two-month European journey.

As we left the elevator access tunnel to catch the bus down, we made sure to look for some carvings on the inner doors that our guide had told us about. They were made by 101st Airborne troopers who were occupying the Eagle’s Nest. They had hiked up to the summit and took the building from the top. When they then took the elevator down, they found the doors snowed shut. So they left their mark and headed back up.

Back in Berchtesgaden, we had just enough time to rush up the hill, walk around the old market square for photo ops, then rush back down to catch the last bus of the day back to Salzburg.

We’re glad we did this day trip, but if we visit here again, we’ll definitely try to stay in the town of Berchtesgaden itself. Unless you have a car and can stay as late as you want, there just isn’t enough time to get to the town, see the sights properly, and head back.

Plus, Berchtesgaden is absolutely stunning in its own right. It is an absolute abomination that the Nazis stained it with their touch, and I’m glad that people still flock here for the nature and not just the history. Hopefully, that part of the story will eventually become just an interesting piece of trivia that visitors learn from a plaque when they come here for a hiking trip.

On our last day in Salzburg, we finally visited Salzburg itself.

To be honest, I didn’t have the highest expectations for Salzburg. For American tourists, at least, it seems like it mainly draws two types of people: Mozart fans and Sound of Music fans. And while I don't have anything against them, I'm not especially passionate about them either. And after the imperial majesty of Vienna and the scenic grandeur of Berchtesgaden, I was preparing myself for Salzburg to be a mediocre hybrid of the two.

Perhaps I was just hoping I wouldn't like it so that I wouldn’t feel bad about only getting a single day to see it.

In any case, Salzburg was absolutely charming. A bit like Prague, Salzburg’s Old Town largely escaped damage during World War II, so it retains an authentic medieval feel. But whereas Prague was charmingly chaotic, Salzburg is elegantly organized.

There are winding, shop-lined streets like we’ve seen in any other medieval old town or Gothic quarter. But much of the old town is occupied by a dense network of courtyards between church and government buildings. Which were closely linked throughout much of Salzburg’s history.

From the Middle Ages up until the fall of the Holy Roman Empire to Napoleon, Salzburg was one of several German city-states run directly by Catholic archbishops. Whereas other monarchs of the time often had to balance their political strength against that of the church, these “prince-archbishops” had sweeping authority over the affairs of church and state alike.

We saw the Salzburg Cathedral, which was stunning. The outside is surprisingly plain apart from the western facade, but the inside is magnificently ornamented with beautiful paintings and intricate plaster decorations. At first, we thought that we were seeing painted decorations that only looked three-dimensional–like what we’ve seen in a lot of places across Europe. But no, this was all actual sculpted plaster.

The cathedral’s windows were intentionally designed to keep the nave dark but the main altar brilliantly lit up from large clear windows in the central dome. The effect is extremely impressive.

We also saw this very old baptismal font, which may be the very one that was used for Mozart’s baptism.

In a square on the west side of the cathedral, there is a statue of Mary that if you look at it from the right angle appears to be getting crowned by angels on the cathedral's façade.

From the south cathedral square, there is a fantastic view of the hulking Hohensalzburg Fortress. The foundations are almost a thousand years old, and it is one of the largest medieval castles in all of Europe.

We continued on through the church complex, seeing St. Peter’s Abbey and its cemetery. All of the graves were impressively well maintained, but we soon learned why. In Austria, graves aren’t sold, only rented in ten-year increments. At the end of each period, if no one can be found to pay for the next ten years, the grave is dug up so that it can be used for someone else whose kin can pay. The gravestones of the unfortunately ousted dead are then mounted on the wall of the abbey.

I'm not entirely sure if it was meant as a way to continue showing respect for the dead or more akin to a display of bad checks in a convenience store window.

Lining the cemetery are private gated mausoleums for the most wealthy and respected families.

The church of St. Peter’s Abbey is suitably impressive, with a grand Rococo design. There are some places on the walls and arches where the whitewashing has been removed to expose the colorful frescoes underneath.

Also in the abbey complex, next door to the church, is a fancy restaurant that claims to have served Charlemagne in 803 AD. That would make it the oldest still-operational restaurant in all of Europe, if not the world.

Leaving the abbey complex, we entered the street markets. We picked up some delicious spicy sausages in toasted kaiser rolls. For desert, Jessica got an apricot pastry from one street vendor, and I got a giant pretzel from another.

We saw one of the main medieval shopping roads, the Getreidegasse, which is still adorned with traditional-looking iron symbols over the doors--though most are clearly not medieval.

Getreidegasse is also home to Mozart's birthplace, around which buskers and tourists alike swarmed like flies. We took a few quick pictures and moved along.

And after a quick coffee break, we decided to finish our day with a hike up to the top of the steep hill that divides the city in half. It was a steep climb up stairs and pathways, but the view was worth it.

Even from here, though, the fortress was quite a ways up and a long walking tour once we'd gotten there. Not wanting to exhaust ourselves before a travel day–and knowing that we definitely wanted to return someday–we decided to save the fortress for our next visit and head home for a relaxing evening and plenty of time to pack up for the next day’s trip to Munich.

Next Post: Munich

Last Post: Vienna (The Habsburg Hustle)

[frankwestpfahl]

The Tweedles are at it again. We're off, this year for the holiday's we're trying out a new cruise line. We will be sailing with Avalon Waterways on the Avalon Visionary doing the Festive Season in the Heart of Germany from Nuremberg to Frankfurt am Main. We are both excited to be trying out a new cruise line and a new river, seeing more of Central Germany at the holiday time. Yes, that means even more Christmas Markets.

Ready, set go. I'm just back from Orange County and with just a little over 24 hours at home, spend some holiday time with friends, before packing up and heading to the airport. We are on our usual flight to Amsterdam with a tight connection to connect to Munich. To our surprise we actually make the 27 minutes from landing, through customs and board with group 3. We got to our seats and settled in for the one hour flight, or so we thought.

Nope we have some engine troubles so we are parked until it is repaired. Two hours later we are off and in the air. As we come down under the clouds you can see Munich. They have a fresh new coat of snow and it is like a winter wonderland. We stop first for our first Christmas Market of the season right there at Munich Airport. It's actually a pretty large market with an ice skating rink and everything. A nice welcome to the holidays.

We then head to the hotel and to our surprise they have our room ready for us immediately and we got lucky, an upgrade to the Executive Suite. Not too bad for our home away from home for two nights. To avoid jet lag we get out, you know what they say Frische Luft is good for you. It is chilly here in the low 20's so we bundle up and head out to explore the city and see some markets.

First Market that was recommended by our friends Ben and Camille at Near From Home is the Medieval Christmas Market. It is pretty small, but pretty cool. It's like the Renaissance Fair meets a Christmas Market. Hungry we stop for some sausage, but decide with the crowds to keep moving. It is Sunday afternoon and everyone is out at the markets today.

Christmas Village at the Residenz and this one is small but has a lot of items for kids, including some very cute animatronics telling holiday stories, singing songs and more. This place is packed, like the State Fair on the last day. However, it helps to keep warm. We are going to move to our next, but really need some indoor time.

Marty finds a great small cafe and we stop for cake and tea. It is good, the atmosphere amazing and it's nice to sit and warm up for a while. We planned on going to the Pink Market but we're getting cold so we stroll through the biggest market Münchner Christkindlmarkt.

We make our way to our final stop of the night, dinner. It is next to our hotel and features some traditional Bavarian items. It's time for bed and with only an hour or two of sleep on an airplane, it is easy to do.

I'm combining days and today after a very long, leisurely, lavish breakfast, we make our way downtown and to the English Garden. It is still dang cold, but the sun is shining and when in direct sunshine it is kind of warm, however in the shade with the wind, uff da. The park is stunning with the fresh snow, the sunshine and people out enjoying the day.

We then made our way to our favorite market Schwabing Christmas Market after a stop at the Chinese Tower Christmas Market. The reason we love Schwabing the most is that it is small, has some delicious food items, but has booth after booth of handmade items from local artisans from around the area. All labeled with where they were made and the artist working the booth to tell you about their craft. There were so many things that if we had room in our bags we would have bought. Just amazing and it's so eclectic that I bet at night it is even better. I also love it as it isn't in the tourist area and feels more local.

We stroll back to the hotel to warm up for a while before deciding to make the later afternoon a spa day. We stop for a hot tub and sauna time and just relax. With being outside most of the day, the heat feels great and so relaxing. After a sauna we then head back toward the hotel going past Rindermarkt Christmas Market. We have really hit the markets and are wrapping up the amazing day.

A stop for dinner before calling it a night. Tomorrow the fun begins, we hop a train to Nurembur to board the ship and meet our traveling companions. I'm almost too excited to sleep but need the rest. A river cruise is amazing, but one thing they are not, is relaxing. We do and see so much and we have a busy schedule to see new cities and of course more markets. Guten Nacht aus Deutschland. Thank you for following us on this next adventure.

Tschüs

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#ttvvf&m #selfie #justfrank #tweedles'travels #vacation #vacation2022 #urlaub #urlaub2022 #reise #spaß #friendship #adventure #2022 #fernweh #video @marty.reynoldsohana #fall #december #germany #deutschland #munchen #rivercruise #main

[rb-abroad]

Hamburg

Hello friends! I just got back from a two-week trip through Germany, Austria, and Czech Republic with my pal Else. We really whooped it up, drank lots of beer, ate lots of schnitzel, and saw a lot of cool stuff. I will kick off the play-by-play with a recap of our first stop: Hamburg!

DAY ONE

We arrived fairly early in Hamburg, and despite getting very little sleep the night before, we were ready to take on the city! We arrived just in time for some beautiful weather and spent all morning (with our luggage) strolling around the docks. Unfortunately the fish market was closed, which is supposed to be cool and y’all should check it out if you’re in town, but we did walk up the Dockland steps (WITH OUR LUGGAGE! We are really buff so don’t mess w/ us) to soak up the sun and take in some incredible views of the harbor. 

Dockland steps

View from the top!

Next, we had delicious lobster soup and vino at BistrOcean, which basically tasted like liquid butter w/ chunks of lobster in it... in other words, it was heavenly. 

After checking into our Airbnb and dropping our bags, we went to the Hamburger Dom, a HUMUNGOUS fair in the middle of the city. We didn’t realize how truly massive it was until we were like “yeah, let’s do a quick loop to check it out,” and then didn’t make our way back around for about an hour. After that we figured that we reeaaallly deserved at least 2 pastries and 2 rides, which is precisely what we got. 

Tasty apple turnover doughnut thingy

Traditional quarkballchen (kind of like a sugary popover, but with more lumps!) 

Of course there was a poffertjes stand! But we did not partake... this is Germany!!!

Next, we ventured to what became one of our favorite spots of the entire trip: Altes Madchen. This brewhouse offers a wide variety of delicious beers, bar food, and the cutest mermaid tale tasting flight you ever did see! We spent many hours at the bar and had the best time trying all the different beers while doing some excellent people-watching. 

For our first dinner out, schnitzel was a MUST! We read some great reviews about a place called Erika’s Eck, but like almost every European establishment, there were quite a few complaints about the staff being rude to non-German speakers. To that we said, IDGAF! I’d rather be judged for being American than have sub-par schnitzel! After standing around nervously for what seemed like an eternity, Else expertly greeted the hostess in German and then was like... we don’t speak German, but can we get a table for two? The lady obliged (YES!!!) and proceeded to be perfectly civil toward us the whole evening. See, people of Google Reviews, you just gotta learn some key phrases to show that you are at least trying, and then locals won’t hate you! And the schnitzel was a truly delicious end to a perfect first day.

Miss u, schnitzel <3

DAY TWO

Our last day in Hamburg was action-packed! We kicked it off with a free walking tour by Robin and the Tourguides, which I would highly recommend. We strolled around the city for a few hours, saw many key landmarks, and learned all about Hamburg’s history. This city has been through the ringer! Between having 1/3 of the city destroyed in the Great Fire of 1842 and being heavily bombed in WWII, Hamburg is a city that has always reinvented itself despite numerous challenges. Some of the buildings were preserved and rebuilt over the years to reflect the original architecture, but much of the city has a more modern architectural style. Below are some of my favorite pics from the walking tour:

Rathaus (Townhall)

St. Nikolai WWII Memorial

St. Michael’s Church

On our walking tour, we learned about a majestic Hamburg pastry called the Franzbrotchen. It was created for Napoleon’s Hamburg-based soldiers because they missed their croissants from back home (same, guys, same). The result is what you would get if a croissant and a cinnamon roll had a baby, and it is absolutely delightful. We were able to get one at Elbgold Rostkaffe, an excellent cafe that just so happened to be right next door to our fave place Altes Madchen.... guess we had to go back for some more beer!

To wrap up our flawless stay in Hamburg, we had wine and pizzas that were bigger than our heads at the famous Luigi’s. I think we waited about 2.5 hours for our table, which is absolutely insane, but I think that was an abnormal occurrence and we just happened to go on a night where the waitlist was royally messed up. Still, totally worth it, and they give you free champagne while you wait (so we had a lot of champagne)!

So to summarize our Hamburg experience, I would say it was a hit! The city itself is super walkable, friendly, filled with great food, and has a neighborhood-y/small-city charm that some of the big, sprawling cities we visited later on lacked. If you’re looking for a place to pass through on your way to Berlin or other cities in northern/central Europe, Hamburg is the perfect place!

[allenmendezsr]

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[lastminutemolnars-blog]

4. Perogies in Poland

Ok it is only blog number four and we are already getting slack with them. Our aim was one a week..

We spent a relaxing four nights in Prague where we chilled out, ate some food, drank some beers and didn’t really do anything else. From Prague we went back into Germany to a small town where we spent two nights before driving to Dusseldorf and FINALLY PICKING UP THE CAMPERVAN. For those of you that know your geography, yes, we know, we have driven around in circles. Guess sometimes a bit of forward planning pays off.

THE CAMPERVAN IS AWESOME!!! Spent the first night on a lake in a town called Magdeburg, which funnily enough was the exact same place we stayed last time we hired a campervan in Europe.

Woke up the next day and into Poland we went. Poland - where the roads are worse, the English-speaking people harder to find, the money goes further and the vodka is a plenty!!! 

First stop in Poland was a forest which was full of crooked trees. Our limited research brought on some differences in opinions as to why the trees are crooked. Andre thought it was the works of a UFO and I thought the native people genetically modified them as the shape is better for building boats. Pretty sure neither of us are correct.

Next, we went up North to the Polish coast. Although the weather wasn’t very good, it was nice to be back on the beach. 

Ate an AMAZING smoked/cured fillet of salmon from a local fisherman in Chlopy and continued onto Leba which is where the Slowinski National Park is. The key attraction of the park is the sand dunes and to get there it is an 8km walk/bike ride/buggy through a pine forest. When we checked into the place the guy offered us some bikes to borrow so we opted for the bike ride. 

Unfortunately, about three quarters of the way the chain came off one of the bikes. Regardless, we made it to the sand dunes, had a wander round and when it was time to go remembered the chain issue. After multiple attempts at putting it back on we decided it was best if Andre just towed me the whole 8km back (winning!)  

Leba is known for its seafood so after a bit of research we found ourselves at a restaurant where we ate a delicious dinner which consisted of herring, cheese and fish soup, deep fried cabbage pancake rolls and a fillet of fish with potatoes and salad. The meal coupled with a beer, a wine and a few vodkas came to only 40 AUD. I must add it was the best meal we have eaten yet.    

The next day we spent chilling out, unpacking our bags and buying ourselves a bicycle each before watching a beautiful sunset on the beach.  

So in our frantic rush to pack and leave Melbourne, we were bound to have packed badly. Few strange things that we found in our bags:

-          A wine aerator

-          One glove (unsure where the other one is)

-          A fair few odd socks

-          An ALESSI coffee percolator – wait… we purposely brought this

-          A bottle of Hendricks (again – winning!)

We opted to do the big drive from Leba to Krakow (700km) in a day so we can be in Krakow for my 30th birthday!!!! Got a restaurant booked for dinner and will spend the day exploring the city. 

Oh, and we booked our flights to Rio. 22 November, we will return the campervan and SOUTH AMERICA HERE WE COME!

Kilometers driven so far: 3,705 

[retirementchronicles]

Paris: The city of Love, lights, Art or what? My first visit to Paris was in 1976. Returned in 1999 and my last visit was earlier this year February 2019. I guess you can say I visit about every 20 years. That would make me 78 the next time I take a trip to Paris. Chances are I won’t be around so I don’t think I’ll wait another 20 years to go back, Lol! I remember my first visit to Paris. I was 15 years old and it was the first stop of a 10-week bike tour of Europe. I remember seeing the Mona Lisa, Eiffel Tower, Arch of Triumph and very little more. It would be fair to say I was too young to appreciate all Paris had to offer. My second visit was exactly 238 days prior to the millennium. My wife and I took a picture in front of the Eiffel Tower as the tower displayed a countdown of the number of days until the new millennium. It just happened to be my wife’s birthday, “Cinco de Mayo 1999” (the 5th of May). Annually Mexico honors the heroism and courage of the Mexican Army who defeated the larger more powerful French Army on May 5,1862 at the Battle of Puebla. I thought it ironic being from Mexican decent in Paris France on Cinco de Mayo. So, I did what any warm-blooded Mexican-American does on Cinco de Mayo, I celebrated kicking some French ass in Paris (lol). I’m glad nobody around me knew what hell I was celebrating, “Qué Viva Mexico!” My last visit to Paris occurred during Valentines’ Day 2019. My wife adores Paris. The museums, history, culinary feasts, fashion, romance and iconic sights frequently pull at her heart. I couldn’t think of a better place to be with her on Valentines Day 2019. We originally booked an Airbnb, but when we arrived at the unit I was stressfully uncomfortable. I didn’t feel safe from a fire safety perspective. The spiral stairwell was extremely narrow, no sprinklers, no fire escape or secondary egress, holes in the walls and exposed electrical wires and wood. I thought to myself if a fire were to occur the stairwell would act as a chimney and force the smoke and flames directly to the fourth floor and our only exit would be blocked (our unit was on the fourth floor). Have you ever heard of a death trap? If not you have now. No thank you! We lost over a few dollars not staying there but we wanted to enjoy our time in Paris and not worry about our survival. If I ever use Airbnb again I’ll ask the right questions regarding Fire Safety. Subsequently, we used Hotels.com to book a room at the Hotel Pont Royal. The Hotel Pont Royal was a life saver (no pun intended). I wish I had booked this place from the start. Excellent location, incredible friendly staff, concierge, big clean room, elevators, bar lounge, close to the metro, affordable and Safe, Perfect! We made sure to revisit our favorite places in Paris but we also tried a few new things. We took a crepe making class and French liquor master class. The Crepe making class was nice. We were the only people in the class so we had the instructor to ourselves. We learned how to make simple dessert and breakfast crepes. The French liquor master class was a different story. There were about six couples in the class and the group dynamics were a riot. We met people from Canada, Germany, New Orleans, Kansas and the Ukraine. We learned about French liquors and how to mix a couple Paris favorites like a “Gin Basil Smash” and a “Cosmo is not dead.” After the class we joined our instructor at one of his favorite bars the “Experimental Cocktail Club.” It had a nice vibe, pleasant crowd and lively music. We took a different approach for revisiting the Louvre and the Orsay Museums. We had guided tours for each and what a difference it made. Although we still have not seen it all, we got the most of what we did see. Our friends recommended a couple restaurants to visit and we tried both. I had lunch at the restaurant Chez Janou. I ordered the fish fry and veggies with a glass of chardonnay, tasty. One particular evening Norma and I had dinner at Le Bouledogue Restaurant Café & Brasserie. Norma had the Filet de boeuf and I had the Pan-fried Cod. The waiters were extremely helpful and the food was delicious. Be it was Valentines we decided to do something a little risqué, so we took in a show at the Moulin Rouge. The show was very entertaining and put us in that Valentines spirit, if you know what I mean ;-}. We had a great trip to the City of Love, Lights or Art. Call it what you want, to us it’s “Paris.”  AMDG      

[katiebruce]

adieu, 2019.

Here we are at the beginning of not only a new year, but a new decade. This past year went by so quickly (why are they always going by so much faster? Is this the true curse of aging?) that sometimes I had to hold my breath in an attempt to secure a quick moment for myself amidst it all. That is, I’m not trying to complain, nor say that 2019 wasn’t so incredibly fantastic to me; I digress. It’s just that I’m finding that the older that I get, the more challenging it becomes to live the life I want to live and still have time for myself at the close of the day, let alone to sit down and write about it. I am still deep in the throes of my Saturn Return, and so I know this is to be expected—and again, I don’t wish to complain about how bountiful my life was the past year. I simply state this in a moment of honest reflection, in hopes that in recapping my year, I can learn from it and make the new year ahead of me adopt a pace that isn’t so exhausting and altogether overwhelming. (It’s ironic that I wrote this pledge to myself a full week ago and have just now found the time to sit down and finish this silly, old little tradition I have for myself).

So, here it is, 2019. A final dance for you and I:

It started in the dark, with very loud soul music. My first NYE with a guaranteed kiss—my sweet prince Taylor. A New Year’s Day hangover dinner with some of the greatest at Parson’s, aka negroni slushies and fried chicken heaven.

My sister and Mom visited; the annual trip. Except this year something was different—Kelly’s hand was adorned with a newly acquired diamond weight. The engagement excitement had officially begun, and our usual visit of shopping, eating, drinking and comedy was suddenly buzzing with the anticipation of a wedding lurking somewhere around the new year’s corner.

I braced for the transition into my thirties—and the week it came couldn’t have been any sweeter. I’d just begun my seventh year as a flight attendant and was ready for a celebration of my twenties, and the journey they had taken me on. Taylor took me out for sushi and Shakespeare and we ended up sitting by the fire at a bar near my apartment when the clock struck midnight, and my twenties officially ended. The next day brought with it the promise of my best friend, Kris, and to my surprise, my best friend Nicole—a surprise trip that Lauren, Taylor, Kris and she had been in cahoots about without my knowledge. I returned home from target (of course) to a decorated apartment, loads of tears, and a hug so loving only your best friend could be the one giving it to you.

We played games, drank, ate, and stressed (something somewhat new to me, at least on my birthday) about the weekend’s plans ahead of us.

What was supposed to be a big night out, ended with me too drunk to finish a single drink at the bar. An impromptu house party and some drugs of choice (as well as the now famous Mom’s Whiteclaw—a combination of vodka and whiteclaw) saw me panicking in the bar bathroom and pulling an Irish exit. Feeling overwhelmed by social obligations, as well as celebrations where I am the center of attention, was new to me—I’d always loved it. But with the start of a new decade of my life, and the new chapter that came along with it, I realized that perhaps this wasn’t the person I was anymore, and instead of making myself feel guilty about it, I should perhaps try and embrace it, and learn from my experience instead.

This was the first of many changes within me that occurred in 2019.

Like, for example, when I fell out of love with eyeliner. Silly as it may sound, my densely winged look had become my signature style for so many years and suddenly it had started to feel more like a costume than a form of honest self-expression. Then it was my hair, my style—an identity crisis in the finest of forms—and still, at the close of this year I find myself uncertain of where I define myself stylistically—a minor problem, all things considered—but the uncertainty that comes along with it makes me lack my sense of direction, my sense of self, and my sense of expression. How can I still not know who I am, and who I want to be? How can it be possible to wake up one day, and suddenly feel so entirely disconnected to yourself, and the life you have so carefully curated for yourself—so separate from your desires, aspirations, and goals? What happens to a person that causes this change to occur so seamlessly? And do we all experience it? How are we supposed to find the time to cope?

I felt plagued by this question and still do. Just because a year ends, doesn’t mean everything has a specific ending. Correct punctation. Symmetrical narrative. Cohesive closure.

So it goes.

Spring came and along with it, Taylor’s first trip to Europe: Germany, Austria, and the Czech Republic. We drank beer, ate sweets, and visited some of the finest bars Europe has to offer (seriously—Prague has the best nightlife ever. I cannot wait to return and be haunted again by a glorious bartender who changes into the get up of a tarot card-bearing alchemist when a certain drink is ordered).

Our feet hurt and our jetlagged worsened but we were both eager with wanderlust, drunk on the idea that the interview Taylor had had the day before we left might just be the final one he went on, the ending to our nearly year-length long-distance woes, and the start of a new future together residing in the same city again, the stress of visitation no longer so troubling.

Turns out, it was.

A few weeks later, I took a trip to Maui on a whim. I spent the weekend at the beach, eating pineapples and drinking craft beer. I saw the oldest tree in the nation and felt deeply rooted in this new person I was becoming—am becoming—and felt inspired by her many offspring and how they’d all taken root themselves, baring their own identities, spawning off of one nucleus, off one single stump. I felt I was beginning to spawn, myself, and felt comforted in the seemingless infinite possibilities I would have to re-root, myself, in my own lifetime.

May came and I watched as my Kristopher turned thirty, his own new journey beginning, and celebrated sweetly amongst friends in his new apartment in Denver.

Taylor and I flew to Sweden on a whim—through London, of course—and spent an entire week with the flu falling in love with Stockholm… even though over-the-counter cold medicines are illegal country-wide. Taurus season being what it is, we argued, didn’t sleep, and flew home feeling worse than we had when we arrived. But, despite all that it didn’t spoil our trip. Instead it made us both realize that there are things worth fighting for in life, and that our relationship was one of them—we truly fought for it on that trip, and we both threw punches only to immediately tend to each others wounds, embarrassed we’d been so bold as to injure one another in the first place. I felt a sense of peace in this discovery; a sense of honesty that isn’t always pleasant but is, regardless, helpful.

It’s also worth noting that I ate the best veggie lasagna ever created and drank loads of loads of Meade—seriously—Sweden is the fucking coolest.

Summer came and went, and with the temperature hardly rising above eighty degrees in the city, I felt relieved. I helped Taylor move cross-country over the weekend of the Fourth of July and felt both excited and scared about our new adventure in the same city—hoping he’d love it but allowing him room to adjust and make his own judgements, without my influence.

We decorated his apartment, dealt with a lot of issues that come along with settling into a new city, and still we managed to grow stronger.

And then the wedding chaos began.

I planned a bachelorette trip for my sister in Nashville, and as her maid of honor, the stress was real. We planned surprises, arranged flights and travel plans, and found an Airbnb large enough to play home for all of us. I was dreading the trip until it actually came. We spent four days having fun, celebrating love, and listening to lots of emo music. I was incredibly proud of my sister, and excited for her marital bliss to final arrive that she has waited so long for.

Before I could even process it all, the wedding weekend came, and I watched as my sister took the hand of the man who is now my brother. I have never seen a bride more beautiful or had a celebration more perfect. But windy. Oh boy, was it windy.

Riot fest approached, and with it, Taylor and I’s one-year anniversary. In many ways, it was our year and a half anniversary, but that’s a story for another time. We started a tradition of finding gifts for each other at the Renegade craft fair and then ate our weight in Indian food on what was a particularly cool day in September.

October came, and with it the promise of a long-awaited trip to South Korea. What I initially called “Taylor’s pick” (as a form of explanation, when people asked why we were going there) quickly became one of my favorite places I’ve ever been to. We spent eight days learning the culture, seeing the immensely large city, revisiting the tragic history and eating the most delicious food I’ve ever eaten, day in and day out. I seriously cannot express how much I loved Seoul so simply; it was an experience I will cherish for the rest of my life. We visited the border of North Korea and felt the tragedy of a country at war firsthand and then visited the beautiful rural island of Nami and reveled in the fiery, changing, vibrant fall leaves. We played with meerkats and cooked our own barbeque and visited the birth site of the infamous Gangnam style. I drank a sweet potato latte and ate snow cheese. I cried as we spent our final morning walking Namdemoon market, feeling that a great change had come along with that experience, and that I’d never quite get that specific feeling back again.

My birthday was revisited again, in the form of receiving my present: two tickets to see Harry Potter and the Cursed Child on Broadway in NYC. Taylor had got us first row balcony seats for the two-part play, and we spent an entire weekend running around (picture me showing him all of the settings of scenes from Catcher in the Rye—it was his first time in the city!) and crying during what was a breathtaking, phenomenal stage production. We ate chocolate frogs and drank wine and I felt truly in love with man sitting beside me, who was generous enough to make one of my dreams come true just to see me smile.

In November, we traveled to Brussels (I know—so many trips this year—I’m tired just typing about them all) to see Vampire Weekend and explore. We ended up drinking our way through the city, eating chocolate, meatballs and waffles everywhere we went. We discovered our new favorite beer—a kriek—and drank more of it than we did water for an entire weekend. I felt young on this trip, and though tired, excited for the busy weeks that lay just ahead of us.

Thanksgiving came so fast, it hardly felt real. And then, like clockwork, Christmas arrived. Time at home is always so relaxing, but also so stressful—old toxicities arise and are hard to combat in the moment. I guess part of growing is also realizing that facing these problems head on may not be pleasant, but is ultimately best for both your mental health and the experience of those around you, and that some demons never go away but instead just become tamed in the back of our minds, and we need to accept that.

I watched as Nicole, my Nicole, turned thirty and simultaneously dealt with some particularly hard times. It can be so hard to want to keep our friends safe in our arms, away from the rest of the world and its harms, without realizing that we each have to face certain things alone and experience the growth that that process allows. Adulthood really is tragic, and I want to be—you guessed it—the catcher in the rye, saving all my friends from succumbing to it, falling of the ledge of adolescence, and all the woes adulthood brings along with it.

So here we are, on January 8th, and I’ve finally found the time to draw this to a close. At the end of this particular year, it’s hard not to only reflect on the 365 days passed, but at the decade as a whole. In 2009, I was a horribly depressed twenty-year-old who suffered from terrible insomnia and a heartache I wasn’t sure I’d ever recover from. The past decade has seen me both drop out of and return to college and then get into grad school. I have watched so many around me fall in love, get married and even have children, and even more break up, fall apart and divide themselves. I moved to Chicago and began flying, and though I’m tired of it now, I can truly say the experience of it all changed my life and who I am entirely. I traveled to over twenty countries, some even by myself. I fell in love—three times, to be exact. One is now married, one lives over 4,000 miles away, and one is sleeping next to me, forever snoring his way into my heart and wherever the future may take it. I struggled to deal with who I was, who I had been, and who I was becoming. I grew. I grew so much, sometimes I’m not sure I would even recognize the former version of myself, though I’ve left her pressed between the pages of certain books, in certain countries, to be forever immortalized in her own glory over time—even if that specific glory is no longer my own.

2020 has started rough—a long week of work, and six days in, a mental break down that took a fistful of medication and a bucket full of tears to properly silence. In twelve days, the first chunk of my novel has to be written, and in all honesty, I’m struggling. By the end of March, half of it will be complete, and come August, I will not only have my MFA, but the manuscript to a novel in my possession. If this doesn’t produce anxiety in you than I’m not sure what will—we’re talking 80k+ words in eight short months... but I’m trying to focus on a daily word count, and see what I can accomplish on a smaller scale, rather than get swept away by the big, looming picture as I did just a few days ago.

This year I will visit Israel and Egypt—and who knows where even else—I haven’t had the time to think about it. I will fly my eighth year, and hopefully be able to hang my wings in retirement at the close of it.

In a few short weeks, I will be 31 and I will struggle to accept that fact. Where does time go? Why does it seem to go by so fast anymore—and will it ever slow down? I’m looking forward to a more relaxing year but know that I’m lying to myself in even simply hoping for it. I will feel lost, defeated, and at times, hopeless. And I need to be okay with that.

I know one thing for sure, and it is this: I will write. This year, I will write so much, it actually terrifies me. But that’s what life is all about, and what I want to conquer more of in my thirties: my fears. I will cry, and sing, and fight, and fuck and be tired as I do it all, surely. I will explore, I will stay in, and I may even get a taste of some of that sweet, sweet, legal marijuana Chicago now offers.

I look forward to a year full of uncertainties, and I look forward to looking back on it in a short amount of time and seeing how much I’ve grown from where I currently am now.

Happy New Year, friends—and remember—just because a year has a specific expiration, we don’t have to align our hopes and aspirations along with it. Grow for yourself, and bloom when you can. Who cares if it’s in the middle of winter, or the first week of June. Symmetry isn’t natures strong suit, and we should stop forcing our expectations to line up with a silly calendar. Live how you want to live for you, and the rest is just decoration. This is my resolution for the new year—not to set expectations—and to instead let each chapter unfold naturally, to let each page feel crisp and unread under my eager, oily fingertips. Cheers.

[its-abroad-world]

Adventure #11: June 20-22 - Nuremberg, Rothenburg ob der Tauber, Würzberg, Nuremberg (again), Ausburg: Pastries, Nazis, and Courtrooms

June 20 - Prague to Nuremberg

We made good time on the road from Prague to Nuremberg, enough time that we were too early to check into our Airbnb at 6 pm, so instead, we went into town to see what was there. For the first time on the trip, the weather was actually cold and gloomy. When we walked into the main square, the first thing that we saw was Schöner Brunnen, a golden fountain from the 14th century. There were levers all around the fountain and if you pulled on them hard, water from the fountain would flow out; a lot of the little kids were playing with it. We were just strolling through the square when it started to rain, getting harder and harder every second. We sought shelter in one of the shopping areas and stayed there until we could hightail it to the car. 

By the time the rain stopped pouring, we could already check into our Airbnb which was a bit of an ordeal. My cousin had to climb on top of a dryer to retrieve the key to the building. When we finally got inside the building, we realized that we had to climb four flights of stairs because there was no elevator. Having become grumpy from having to haul tons of suitcases up, we were even more displeased to find that the place was dirty and in need of repair. Some of the light switches did not have socket covers, the kitchen sink only operated at a slow trickle, the hot water in the shower was sketchy at best and was connected to an electric water heater that did the opposite of what it said, the “beds” were basically couch cushions pushed together, the bed frames were broken, and the bedding did not look or smell like it had been changed from whoever stayed there last. We were not happy. 

We rested a bit and then went to buy groceries for dinner, and stayed in for the rest of the night, glad to get some rest after our marathon in Prague.

June 21 - Rothenburg ob der Tauber, Würzburg

We woke up bright and early after having the worst night of sleep of the whole trip, backs aching and complaining about our less than satisfactory “beds”. Our first destination of the day was Rothenburg ob der Tauber, Germany’s best-preserved wall town. Rick Steves describes this city as “Germany’s fairy-tale dream town” with its enchanting medieval look and feel which was once the second-largest city in Germany during the Middle Ages. When my mom and aunt had planned this trip, they really only wanted to go because they saw it on an episode of Rick Steves but outside of that, we didn’t really know much of the place and were content strolling through the city and wandering in and out of buildings. This was truly the cutest town.

We walked into a lot of bakeries and got something at each place. My favorite was a giant slice of raspberry pie from a small family-owned bakery where we also tried the town specialty, schneeballs, which were basically fried balls of pastry dough coated in different sweet toppings. They weren’t all that special, but the pie was delicious.

There wasn’t anything particularly amazing about the city or anything special that we saw but my whole family just seemed to be enchanted by the city and we were all just having a good time. My favorite part was freaking my sister out when we climbed the city wall. When we told my dad that she was sweaty and freaking out from the heights and us purposely scaring her so he thought that he’d take it a little further and actually swung his leg over the railing and us three girls all screamed out in alarm; he thought it was hilarious.

From Rothenburg, we drove to Würzburg at the recommendation of my aunt. We had no idea what there was to see there, just that it was a pretty town, so instead of actually going to look or go inside anywhere, we walked around the town bought ice cream, and then left. The ice cream was the best part of that stop. We headed back to the Airbnb after that.

June 22 - Nuremberg

On our last day in Nuremberg, we had an early checkout at 9 am and since we were in the city best known for the trails after WWII set out to see where history was made. Our first stop was the Nazi Party Rally Grounds.

In 1933, the rally grounds were built after Hitler had declared that Nuremberg was the city of Nazi Party rallies after reasoning that the party was a continuation of German history and Nuremberg was the city that was the most centered on those German “ideals” that Hitler was “continuing”. The building was meant to intimidate but also impress and was also a form of propaganda and while the plans of the building were extensive, not all of the plans were carried out fully. At the end of the war, the City of Nuremberg took over ownership and in 1985, the building became a museum, open to the public as a place to learn about German history and the Nazi Party. 

As we walked through the building, reading over the main officers of the Party and the ideas and ideals that the Party encouraged and perpetuated, I grew angry and felt immensely sad, as if there was this weight pressing down on me by thinking about the inhumanity and barbarism of terrible men and women. At the end of the museum, there was a small tribute to the Jews that were killed, their names printed on cards and scattered over a portion of train tracks that were taken from one of the concentration camps. 

After the Nazi Party building, we headed to the Nuremberg Palace of Justice where the famous Nuremberg Trials were held to try the Nazi war criminals (Nazi Party officials, high-ranking military officers, German industrialists, lawyers, doctors, and more) of World War II. It was a series of 13 trials carried out from 1945-1949 and they were tried for crimes against peace and humanity. These trials would later set the stage for an international court to deal with future crimes against humanity. Holding the trials in the same city as the headquarters for the Nazi Party was the world’s symbolic ending of the Third Reich. The actual trials were a mix of legal traditions according to British and American law but the actual sentences were given by a panel of judges.

Many of the men that were indicted for war crimes and sentenced to death committed suicide before they could be killed, while some of those who were indicted were sentenced to prison were let out early on good behavior. While reading the panels that dictated what happened to the war criminals, I couldn’t help but think that this was God punishing them.

As we were leaving the city to head to our next destination, we saw a street fair that was being held in celebration of the summer solstice. There were food stands, carnival games, small rides, and tons of people. We decided to stop by and have lunch there; I had a crepe with mushroom, ham, and cheese with a pint of beer and a crepe with strawberries, banana, Nutella, and amaretto. It was so so so good. 

We were forced to eat our food fast because all of a sudden it got windy and seemed as if the it was going to start raining. Our next stop was Ausburg, another city we knew nothing about and just walked around before going to our next Airbnb in Burgau.

That Airbnb was a God-send. After bad beds that were making our backs hurt and an apartment that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in months, this place seemed pristine. It was spacious, clean, the beds were plush, and the bathroom had a rain shower. That was one of the best nights of sleep that I had ever had.

[puneetbharill]

Rashmi..Rohit..Rajasthan!

Earlier this year, my mom got transferred to a small town called ‘Gangapur City’. I surprised her by visiting and decided to spend a few weeks with her. Michael, my really good friend from Germany was traveling around the globe as usual and was by chance in the neighbourhood in Burma. As soon as he found out that I am in India, he decided to spend some weeks with us as well.

Gangapur City is no New Delhi or Mumbai….in fact the word ‘City’ is extremely misleading. We spent our days walking around in the vegetable markets, drinking sugarcane juice and strolling around having a good time doing...well hardly nothing. In a small village an hour away was the festival/fair of goddess Kaila or Kaila devi. You can read more about it here. A 15 day festival in a remote village which I heard about while growing up but never attended.

Now let me immerse you in the atmosphere of this fair! This is not a fair an upper, middle or lower middle class urban Indian family usually attends. It is a village affair with mostly farmers buying and selling cattle; walking from miles away to get their blessings fulfilled, praying night and day and all this while eating great street food.

The shops and stalls at the fair

Kids enjoy rides, people buy some useful but mostly useless things and everyone is having a good time. Alcohol is strictly forbidden in these festivals and so after arriving and sipping on some delicious chai, Michael and me decided to stroll around passing never ending rows of colorful shops and visiting the famous temple.

Our tea stall..not the best picture

At the temple compound

Michael saw a guy sitting on the street with a machine and asked me a bit surprised if it was a tattoo artist…I nodded in agreement but disagreed with the ‘artist’ part. I explained it to him how in these fairs, these ‘tattoo artists’ are a common sight mostly printing the initials or full names on the arms of people who usually cannot read or write. And doing so in a very bad handwriting. The aim is not to get something very artistic and beautiful although that is something subjective I guess.

’It would be funny to get a tattoo here with you’ Michael said with a smirk on his face. I laughed saying ‘indeed…that would be funny’. Just like that, the seed was planted in our crazy heads. ‘What would you get as a tattoo?’ He asked. ‘I have no idea’ I said. I had never thought about getting one so far but the brain started churning ideas and funny discussions followed. The evening passed and we laughed off the idea. It was night time and we needed to go back. ‘How about that tattoo though’ we both asked each other and decided to take a closer look if the artist was still there. We passed the spot and he was gone. We both took a sigh of relief! We walked a few minutes only to realise that we confused the spot and our guy was still sitting there!

I went to the guy and asked in Hindi how much a tattoo was? ’50 rupees’ he said. I said ‘OK, take 100 and change the needle please’. Micheal understood from my Hindi that I was negotiating price and screamed ‘Whaaat? are you getting one?’ I nodded in agreement again. ‘Then I have to get one too!’ Just then I decided to get the letter R and the number 17 tattooed around my ankle in Hindi. The letter R as an Initial for my brother Rohit, my mom Rashmi and the region I come from, Rajasthan! The guy changed his needle and started butchering around my ankle in the worst handwriting ever and I couldn’t stop laughing inside when I saw the result!

The tattoo parlour

Only source of light

The masterpiece!

It was now Michael’s turn and we decided to get a circle and number 17 tattooed on his leg. Just when Michael settled in his seat, our tattoo artist now suddenly nervous said ‘Sir, could you please draw it on your friend’s leg with a pen first so that I don’t ruin it?’ I look at him shocked and then look at my leg amazed that he came up with this brilliant idea after gifting me this beautiful masterpiece of his handwriting. I didn’t know he had a pen! I explained the deal to Michael and we laughed uncontrollably! and soon after Micheal too got his first tattoo in a much better handwriting. The damage: 100 rupees all together.

We arrived home and I asked my mother ‘guess what we did at the fair?’ ‘must have gotten a tattoo’ she said confidently. I was shocked at her reply and asked ‘How did you know?’ ‘What else would stupid people like you do in a fair like that’. We all laughed and after sharing our story, we eventually went to bed. I really love my beautiful ugly tattoo!!