holiday record 2009: innsbruck, part 2

watching speed skating from the winter olympics this morning, tally notes, "i bet the austrians are good at that." it's been exactly a year since we were on ski holiday in innsbruck, and she actually remembers! hurrah!

when we go back to the states for visits, we find ourselves regularly shrugging out non-answers to this question/comment, "your kids are so young...do you think they'll remember/get anything out of your experience?" so now i think to myself "well done tal... great connection!" and then of course she immediately follows this astute comment with "that was a great country. it's where i got my favorite party skirt." sigh. cultural connections tossed aside. (but it IS a fabulous party skirt- red red and very flouncy from the no less than SEVEN layers of ruffles.)

tal and i did our fair share of shopping in innsbruck after my failed attempts on the slopes. we spent hours in the bookstores, giggling as we tried to piece together some spotty german with the illustrations to come up with a semblance of story (cheeky little girl enjoyed choosing picturebooks with LOTS of text, drat her). then we found this fabulous children's clothing store with a child-sized door, straight out of a grimm's fairy tale. and of course we spent loads of time in the market.

tally is a market girl. she knows how to work the stallkeepers for freebies. on tuesdays and fridays (market days) in breda, i never fed her a regular meal. so innsbruck proved no different and she came away with hard-boiled eggs, a giant pretzel and chocolates.

the best bit for me was seeing a shopper dressed in his traditional lederhosen. i squeeze-my-eyes-shut-wish for these kind of sights in europe - images that match what i read in, even then, outdated (read stereotypical) stories during my childhood. i still half-think, half-hope that when we visit switzerland someday i will see men blowing on long horns on the mountainsides (please please please...)

but, i suppose it's the things that are surprising, not storybook stereotypical, that keep our interests piqued on holidays. like ice skating at the olympic rink amidst the townspeople dressed for carnaval (yes, that's how it's spelled there). the costumes were amazing - how could the caterpillar keep from falling for 1 1/2 hours?!- and the burgermeester himself, rotund and sporting a moustache that curls at the ends (!), handing out prizes to the winners as we made laps to oompah music. yep, those are things we'll remember, after the party skirt is long gone.

holiday record 2009: the inevitable ski holiday, february in innsbruck, part 1

until this february, i had been skiing exactly once- madriver mountain, bellefontaine ohio. i hated it. i couldn't even get my balance on the t-bar. okay, maybe i had had one too many g & ts mustering courage, but...ugh, it was a dreadful experience.

so now i've been skiing twice. i didn't fare any better this go-round.

chris enrolls joe and me in a beginner's course on the baby hill. my instructor informs me that i'm only the second adult to be permitted upon this incline. "the other was just last week - he was a 65-year-old man. we were worried to send him any higher." i cut my eyes at chris, who is basically supporting all of my weight so he can't intercept the look i'm shooting him. what did he say to this guy for him to make an exception for me?

i fall on every "run" but two during our three-hour lesson. joe looks on worriedly at first, in between his little whizzes down the slope, but then he basically waves me off with a "bah."

afterwards, we meet chris and our friends, david and jessica, in the lodge. i assume that this is my reward, the bit where we will all sit on deep sofas in front of roaring fires sipping frothy mugs of cocoa. this is not the case. we queue up with dozens of other much more successful skiers in a buffet line. everyone clomps around with bits of snow and ice falling from their boots and big drafts swoosh through the vast dining hall as more and more skiers make their way inside. this is not cosy or picturesque or in any way like i envisioned it, courtesy of soap operas and sit-coms and movies. "i just want a beer," i moan. "a big one."

so we sit around and everyone makes over joe and his success, and david and jessica and chris dissect their brilliant runs and discuss the quality of the snow while i pray for a swift ride back to the hotel and a scalding hot bath.

on our way back to the hotel, we can see the ski jump used in the olympics. everyone wants to check it out and david and chris want to try the bobsled run. next day, they do. they return with loads of fotos of them on the run, wide grins on their faces, beers in hand and talking about how they "thought it would be faster" and "it definitely isn't the same kind of thrill as jumping out of a plane" and i look on incredulously and think that this definitely isn't a holiday

for me...

european obsessions: the circus

i love the circus.

i love being fooled and know i am being fooled and playing right along with it.

we take joe to his first circus at age three.  "isn't he a bit young?" chris asks.  "no!" i snap a little too quickly.  "um, he'll enjoy the, um, overall fanfare, the animals, the music---" i begin, ticking off the features on my fingers.  "one word," chris replies, "clowns."  i say, "clowns, schmowns.  we're going."

the richmond (virginia) coliseum is a large venue for a circus.  from our seats, we can't even see the facial features of the clowns.  i inwardly sigh with relief  (can't be blamed for that phobia later in life!)  this means nothing else is in clear view, either.  i scan the floor for the ring-master.  but in place of the proper, top-hatted ringmaster is a crowd-cajoling emcee.  "everybody dance!" he orders us, waving his sequin-shirted arms above his head in time to the music.  duh-duh-dududududu-duh-duh.   no tinkling calliope.  no exotic bongo drums. just regular sporting event music, including "charge!"  it's probably the same tape used in the previous night's hockey match.  

this is not a circus.

cut to europe...

circus 1: robert renz, breda, the netherlands  

the robert renz circus hails from germany and it feels a bit like a cabaret.  small venue featuring burgundy velvet curtains, chandeliers lining the perimeter, a neat little orchestra suspended above the stage.  a divine setting.  in the first half, we see dancing poodles, seals balancing balls on their noses, trapeze artists. the story-book works.  this is one classy circus.  

intermission.  joe turns to me.  "that was great.  let's go."  "but we still have another hour," i reply.  joe levels his eyes at me, then casually cuts them to the vending ladies.  he's got me.  i count my euros, and then load up accordingly on sweet popcorn, bags of haribo, lollies so big they will last at least another hour, and two of those unwieldy spinning light-up wands which are certain to be dropped and domino the popcorn, the haribo, and the stain-threatening red and blue slushies joe and tally balance between their wobbly little knees.... it pretty much all turns out like that two minutes into the unicycle on the high wire act, and no amount of "paper" napkins can salvage the carnage.  and it then takes me two days to wash all of the lolly out of tally's hair.

circus 2:  unidentified circus, same location in breda

i can tell by trailers encircling the market's car park that the circus is back.  i can barely contain my glee.  

the kids and i go on the first day and score seats in the second row.  "now we can see all the good bits," i tell them.  they are nonplussed until an entire group of school children file into the row behind us.  

they immediately turn around to catch that action, and i focus my attention on the ring.  two phrases: politically incorrect -- "here come the fire-eaters straight from the heart of the deepest Congo!" and low-rent.  from my position i see the tears dripping down the face of the man walking on glass and the daggers the woman on the wheel of death shoots from her eyes as her partner barely misses her with his very real and very sharp daggers.  and i hear the strongman swear as he drops a weight too close to his toes.  oh the humanity of it all!  i watch with my hands over my eyes -- but fingers spread.  

right before the karaily brothers from kahzakstan attempt to create a human pyramid with about 16 family members using JUST THEIR ARMS, the clown makes his appearance.  he is sad and wants some cheers.  he begins to cry...the kids are ogling the kids behind them so they aren't prepared when he spews REAL WATER and A LOT of it from his clenched fists.  and since we're in the second row...

circus 3:  chiswick, london

i book tickets on a weekend so chris can join us.  "no way am i missing the unicycle on the high wire OR the act where two brothers balance an ENTIRE family on JUST THEIR ARMS" i tell him, "so if  joe and tally start crying or get bored, i'll just meet ya'll at home."  he looks at me in disbelief.

zippos turns out to be a nice family circus.  a little of this.  some of that.  yes a unicycle on a high wire.   no human pyramid.   yes a proper ringmaster who enthralls with a deep voice and slightly sinister blue eyes.  no wheel of death involving knives, but yes one involving the "crazy columbians" who basically log-roll on a giant hamster wheel which in turn circles like a ferris wheel.  at one point brother eduardo slips and clings for his life from the uppermost point of the rotation.  i gasp,  "he's going to die!"  chris laughs and says "it's all part of the act. they're just building suspense."  i purse my lips and shake my head.  be gone, you non-believer.  

i can't wait til next time.

remembering sunshine: beach holiday, june 08

the ritual is: when in rains, revisit the sun.  some way.  any way.  and it rains here.  a lot.  like today.  

here are my sun pictures.  ahhh.

we plan our 08 beach holiday for the end of june.  we know it will rain.  it always rains in holland in june.  and june in the rain just isn't right.  

so, we travel to crete for week.  the travel agency nearly guarantees us sun.  and we do end up receiving it, in abundance, at the GERMAN resort at which we are booked.  when our agent recommends the resort to us, she does inform us it is german, but we assume it is more international, given that she is putting a family of american non-german speakers there.  we should KNOW better than to assume these things by now...

we learn it really doesn't matter that we can't understand one word because we get SUN.  every day.  the first morning, chris and i drop joe and tally at "club roby" -- the kinderclub -- so we can get maximum absorption.  we watch them hang back initially in the crowd of little german children.  i envision joe thinking "you've got to be freakin' kidding me -- they put me in yet another place where i don't speak the language," but it turns out to be fine because one of the counselors is from holland, so she not only speaks dutch, but perfect british english.  the kids love her.  we pull out his netherlands football jersey and send him to club roby in it the next day, which effectively seals his status as "pet."  we've learned what works.

so the kids do their thing in the mornings with club roby and we take them into the pool for the afternoons, from 1-3, because the capacity crowd deserts the pool at this time every day.  there is NO ONE in any of the pools at this time. EVER.  everyone eats meals at the same time, swims at the same time, naps at the same time.  chris and i are amazed by this regimentation.  but we take advantage of it.  besides, this is the only time we can get a lounge chair by the pool.  we become convinced that our fellow holidayers towel-secure their spots in the dead of night because as anyone knows who knows this family, we are up with joe at DAWN.  and the deck is already, well, be-decked with towels -- before first light.

we all enjoy our holiday.  euro 2008 (the european football tournament) is on every night and because germany is doing well, everyone is happy.  the kids end up requesting more time at club roby, which allows chris and me a couple of days to ourselves.   we consider checking out the island, but decide "why go anywhere when we have what we need right here?"  ahhh.  the sun.

when we saw the soldiers by guest blogger joe

we went to windsor.  we got there at night and the castle was big and scary in the dark.  tally started crying.  the queen was there!  i think the queen heard her cry.  the soldiers were there.  they protect her from the baddies.  but how do they know who is a goodie or a baddie?  can you tell me?

in lieu of a proper birthday cake...

for tally's fourth birthday, we eat molded chocolate pumps.  

for her 2nd birthday, in holland, we eat traditional dutch taart, layers of whipped cream and filling in a type of pie shell.  

for her 3rd birthday, also in holland, i make a 45-minute train journey to utrecht, where a baker promises to create a traditional north-american style birthday cake with buttercream frosting.  i learn from that experience that canadian cakes differ from american cakes.  and cost 43 euros.   

i ask tally what type of dessert she would like for her fourth birthday here in england and she replies, "i would like chocolate flamenco shoes."    ???!!!!!!   i explain to her that i fear these may be difficult to come by, and she counters, "just check the chocolatier."  lo and behold, the local chocolate shop DOES carry molded chocolate pumps.  close enough.  but..."it's english chocolate, tally, not belgian."  the first time she tried cadbury, she leveled her eyes at me and proclaimed, "this is NOT chocolate."  but..."i can wear these, though."  i explain all the reasons why wearing the chocolate shoe will be impossible, especially after i see they cost 10 pounds apiece, but tally is nothing if not a girl who knows herself.  so we grimace through white molded chocolate pumps for tally's fourth birthday and she's supremely content, even if she can't walk in them.

remembering sunshine: beach holiday, march/april 07

winter in western europe.  rain, sleet, more rain, snow (!), slush.  november til may.  i find myself frequently clicking thru fotos with sun in the backdrop...  

we take our first european beach holiday with fellow american expats in england, the terrells. we think we find a house online which seems suitable for two sets of parents; an au pair; boys ages 2, 3, 4; girl age 2:  pool, five bedrooms, short walk to the beach, yet in a private neighborhood...

for future home rentals we know now to ask...  

1.  not if swimming is possible all year, but if the pool is heated.  

2.  not if the pool is enclosed, but if it includes a safety cover.

3.  not if we need central heating, but if there is a continual alternative fuel supply (i.e. wood, gas, etc.)

so...

after two nights we pack our bags and migrate to a perfectly suitable hotel which still reeks of the 70s (wood paneling on the walls, modular furniture, orange/olive/turquoise color scheme-- real, not retro-- and fantastic) with ocean views.  and sugared almonds available in enormous glass jars in the lobby.

chris immediately purchases a portugal football jersey for joe with christiano ronaldo's number on the back and which joe wears every day, much to the delight of EVERY local.  smart evertson.  the portuguese people with which we interact are charmed and in turn, turn on their incredible charm.  

we worship the sun as never before.  

we dig in the sand.  

the boys go whale-watching and actually see a whale, but "daddy forgot the camera!!!"  

after receiving reproachful looks from the staff from my copious almond-picking, i pull joe's jersey over his head and drag him to the lobby with me a few times a day to support my new habit and the staff begins to just offer me the jar.

i love this place.

and then we eat out.  

and i love this place even more.

a shack on the beach.  the owner sizes us up and hands us a menu including BEANS ON TOAST.   (foreshadowing, i know now).  chad loves to eat good food more than anyone i know, and he pulls the lady aside and tells her we want to eat what she would feed her family, not what she feeds the british tourists.  she shows us another menu, written in portuguese, with entrees especially for the easter holiday.  we tell her to make us what she likes.  she seems dubious, but complies.  and thus we eat fabulously.  baccala, green wine, fish stew, green wine, roasted squid, green wine, pork, green wine.  a portuguese "big night."

a restaurant under the railroad tracks.  dogs on leashes, babies in laps, football on the big screen.  whole fish, green wine, fish stew, green wine, you get the picture.

portuguese food is like the best country cooking, liberal on meat grease, but with the addition of seafood.  it is divine.

lasting results?  chris and i still have our local wines shop order us bottles of green wine.  the kids watch football just to hear the announcers yell "and ronaldo scores!"  then they cheer like crazy.