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In Austria, Destinations, Europe on
December 13, 2012

Southern Belle On Skis

I don’t know a single Southerner who grew up on skis. In fact, I can only name two Southern folks who claim to participate in any type of outdoor winter sport be it skating, hockey, skiing, snowboarding or that weird Olympic sport were you push a rock around on ice. The south has two professional hockey teams (in Nashville and Atlanta) and I’m willing to bet all the players come from outside the south. When it’s cold in the south, we just prefer to stay in doors. But for some reason, when passing by a ski shop while on a holiday gift shopping excursion prompted my best buddy to ask, “Do you want to go skiing tomorrow?” I said yes.

Everyone in Europe seems to be a skier or snowboarder so such a question is commonplace in Stuttgart.  The Austrian and Swiss Alps are two driving hours away so spur of the moment ski trips happen all winter. Back home, skiing is quite a planning undertaking which requires plane tickets, requested time off from work, and hotel reservations. My family talked about skiing at Paoli Peaks one winter. That’s about as far as it went. So here I am, closer to turning 30 than I am 20 and I am making decisive measures to strap on skis for the first time in my life.

Getting the Gear
According to my avid skier beau, who grew up skiing in Utah, Wyoming, and Colorado, nothing can ruin a great ski day faster than being improperly dressed.  So we stepped into the discount ski shop to buy pants and a jacket. It was then that I learned that maybe I hated the snow so much because I just haven’t been properly taught to stay warm.  I was reared by a Kentucky mama and an Alabama daddy so when it snowed we hunkered down and rode out the treacherous storm in the house by the fire place or kerosene heaters! If we did venture out, my parents would have my sister and I wearing so many layers of clothes that we waddled like the Michelin man and our limbs stood out away from our bodies like a gingerbread man cookie.

Amazing after centuries of inhabiting inclement weather regions, humans have unlocked the mystery of o the art and science of staying warm and dry in the snow.  I never knew such a thing was possible! And get this… it can be done in only need three layers!

1. Do long johns (thermal) or under armor for your first layer.
2. Next do an over layer like a turtle neck, sweater, or sweatshirt.
3. Your final layer includes your water proof ski pants and ski jacket.
Viola! You’ll stay warm and you can still move around.

Tips: If you get wet, head to the lodge because you have no chance of staying warm. You don’t want to wear jeans either. They allow you to get wet and restrict you from movement. I never guessed you could also get hot while skiing. Skiing is a work out, you can sweat so you need to be able to open and vent your ski pants or jacket.

Thin socks are a Godsend. Your ski boots will keep you warm enough. If you layer socks or wear think wool ones you risk cutting off circulation and getting cold.  You’ve got to be able to wriggle your toes. Some ski socks come with padding on the shins to protect you while you lean against the boots.   Ski gloves, goggles, face mask to keep your cheeks and chin warm on cold windy days.  Just like when you ride a bike, wear a helmet! This can save your life no matter how good you get.

So, after mixing and matching colorful pants with different jackets I settled on the first jacket I tried on, a bright, sunny one with white pants.  This unplanned purchase was justified by my lack of winter clothing and their versatility of being able to wear them off the slopes.

Getting to the Slopes

So Sunday rolled around and we journeyed two hours south to Oberjoch for my first go on skies ever. The ride to Oberjoch was one I had made several times in the summer but it was absolutely gorgeous with snow gracing the evergreens and mountains.  The GPS claimed we were at our destination at the bottom of the mountain but we had to continue up the curvy roads to the resort.  In The States, ski resorts are all inclusive where you can lodge, buy your lift tickets, and rent your gear all in one place. Not so in Germany.  There’s a company that rents ski gear, then another company that owns lifts, and you have to find your own hotel and restaurant.  We’d come one week too early for the season opening. No lessons were available at the ski school.  There were no lifts, most of the runs were not open, but amazingly, the mountains were active and I was eager to add to the activity. Expectation Management 

While I was being strapped in my boots by the ski rental employee, I watched this adorable little tot who couldn’t have been any older than three years and whose parents were calling her Cassandra, pick up her mini skis and toss them over her shoulder and strut out the door like a pro.  We handed the Kasse (Cashier) 18 euros to rent the skis, poles, and a helmet and headed out behind little Cassie.  If this little tot could confidently go onto the slopes I was sure I could do the same. To me, being an adult on the bunny hill is about as ego bruising as having to play “Twinkle twinkle” as an adult at piano recital. I’d rather skip the right hand only songs and jump straight to Chopin’s Opus 64 No.1 “Petit Chien” or, in ski terms, skip the bunny hill and head straight toward the Black Diamond run. I envision myself as a super woman who, with a little time, can conquer anything.  I realized as soon as I put my skis on that that goal was a serious optimism.  Probably the most humbling of experiences. Skiing encouraged expectation management. Let me tell you what you can expect within your first 15 minutes on the runs:

  • You will not be skipping the bunny hill.
  • Even tough, coordinated, athletic Belles will fall down. A lot.
  • It takes a lot of energy to get up. It’s worse than falling in ice skates.
  • Six-year-olds will show off cool karate kicks in their skies while you are still trying to get off the ground.
  • You will be embarrassed, frustrated, leaning toward self doubt and start thinking skiing is a terrible lame sport that you will never get into.
  • You only have two speeds as a beginner, “too slow” and “too fast.”
  • Good news is, it doesn’t take long to get straightened out and gain confidence. Just like riding a bike, you’ll fall off a few times but soon you’ll be riding with no hands!

How to Have a Good First Ski Experience
I was fortunate to have an expert skier as a friend willing to give me private, focused lessons. And fortunate that most slopes were closed so he had no choice but to pay attention to me rather than running off to the Black Diamond runs. A patient, free instructor who doesn’t take it for granted that you know anything is a plus. Make sure you are appropriately dressed because skiing is no fun when you’re miserable.

First, I had to learn the most basic of the basics: how to snap in and out of the skis and walk in the boots.  Then it was just being able to stand up on flat ground that became a challenge. It’s like when you first learn to drive a stick shift, you become very aware when the ground is not flat because you’ll roll backward. Same of the skis. Every little incline, inclines your mind wouldn’t readily notice, I was sliding— sometimes backward, or sideways.  Then after a seminar about keeping my skies parallel like French fries to move fast and turned in like a pizza wedge to slow down I took my first downhill adventure. It went a little something like this:
BFF: French Fry!
Me: I’m doin’ it! I’m doin’ it!
BFF: Good!
Me: Whooa, Whoa! Too fast! Too Fast!
BFF: You’re not going to fast
Me: Too fast!
BFF: Pizza wedge! Pizza Wedge!
Me: Ahhh!
Crash! I hurl myself into a pile of snow to slow myself down as a German two year-old bundled up in a florescent striped onesie parka waves at me as she slides by on a pink toboggan sled.

 

This went on for a few more times.  It was frustrating. It was then that I thought to myself, I don’t foresee myself ever being good at this sport and no one likes something they’re not good at.  I spent time accidentally sliding backwards, accidentally skiing up hill, and learning that trying to get up after falling takes a lot of energy.  I started to resent the preteens that whizzed past doing kung fu moves in the air and landing on their feet and envied the toddlers who made it all the way down a slope on their parent’s leash. One little girl in particular was fussing in German at her parents who held on to a leash behind her.  I imagined she was saying, “I can do it all by myself!”

 

A kind German man offered his words of encouragement to me, “Next week you’ll be up there” he pointed up the mountains. He explained how he was just like me five years ago.  That was encouraging and I appreciated his words (I should have let him know that).  Everyone starts at the bottom.  Even Jimi Hendrix sounded like a hopeless child when he started playing the guitar. The challenge of gliding down steep mountains like a pro seemed overwhelming but even pros started on the bunny hill. In the future there will be powder, bumps, and steep drops but for now, I just need to learn how to maintain control of myself on skies. I also realized that without the ski lifts running, I needed to learn to conserve energy.  Being physically fit is important because this sport is deceivingly active.  It looks so simple.  Having to march back up snowy hills kinda detracted from the incentive of going down.

Toward the end of the day I slowly gained more confidence and control and skiing slowly became more fun.  I could stop when I wanted to and turn the direction I wanted. I certainly don’t foresee skiing becoming popular among southern folks any time soon but I will be returning to the slopes this weekend with a professional instructor and with operational ski lifts for round two of Southern Belle’s skiing adventures! Tell you more about it later! Tschüss!

 

 

 

 
 
 
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In North America, United States on
December 6, 2012

Where Are Your People From?

 

People in the U.S. are generally less mobile than those in Europe.  Certainly, you can point out a few exceptions: President Barack Obama, singer Amerie, basketball player Kobe Bryant, actor Boris Kodjoe, missionaries, and military members, and so on who have had experiences living long-term abroad. But for most Americans, the biggest move they will ever experience is the one they make when they leave home to attend college.  Or perhaps they move across town, across the state, or in more rare occasions across the country.  Some estimates say only  30 percent of Americans own a passport, thus even less than that have been out of the country, and even fewer have ventured outside of the North American continent. The concept of remaining in one’s own country is simply unheard of in Europe.  Why?  Because the European countries are small enough that a two hour drive can launch you across international borders into neighboring countries with different languages and varied cultures.
I believe it is because of our lack of travel experiences that we Americans are particularly comfortable putting simplified labels on other people in an attempt to categorize their background and make assumptions of their beliefs and upbringing. It bothers us when we cannot readily categorize someone — in essence, simplify our understanding of their being.  I am not saying Europeans do not do the same thing as well, however, I do believe they are more aware that simple labels do not adequately classify people because they have the opportunity to come across a diversity of people every day.  You may say, “America is very diverse! We have so many different ethnic backgrounds that make up Americans.” But that’s just it…at the end of the day we are all Americans with the same primary culture.
In Europe, these simplified categorizations become, well, not so simplified.  When you ask a person where he is from, you can expect a variety of answers.  Truly, what does that question mean?  In the U.S. you will either get a response that articulates where a person was born, where that person grew up, or where that person identifies as home. On rare occasions you may get an answer that deals with lineage to another country. Recently at a Mexican restaurant in Stuttgart-Vaihingen, the owner had the strangest accent that I could not place.  My friends and I asked where he was from.
“I’ll give you your meal on the house if you can guess,” he said, “But you’ll never guess.”
I guessed he was a Brit. I would say I was closest, but was I really?  He was born and reared in South Africa by parents of English decent.  He served in the United States Military, lived in southern California where he learned how to cook Mexican food, and then he moved to Germany for, what else, love. So how is a white South African of English decent who served in the United States military and has lived in Germany for a large portion of his life identified?  He didn’t grow up with the same experiences as a British child.  He’s kind of South African…but not a Dutch South-African, as he made certain we were aware.  According to the article, “Black, White – or South African”, 82 percent of white South Africans identify themselves as South African as opposed to only 44 percent of the black majority of residents there. Yet only 5 percent of white South Africans consider themselves as African. Seems inconsistent right? How can one be South African but not African?

The South-Africa-with-English-lineage-Mexican-restaurant-owner asked how I’d describe where I was from.

That’s been the kicker since I have lived in Germany.  Do these people want to assume I’m a tourist and desire to know where in the United States I am from, or do they want to know where in Germany I live, or do they want to know about the origins of my European last name?  During a visit to France, a man refused to call me an American. I told him my German & Scottish heritage. African was the only label he would accept. African — as if that label is not complex enough in itself. The Mexican Restaurant owner talked about how he’s called folks back in the United States “African American”, and they corrected him with more accurate labels which influenced him to no longer label people, or to live by the labels incorrectly adhered to him.
The discussion with the restaurant owner led me to recall a student in one of my undergraduate courses who discussed her dilemma whereby she was encouraged to apply for an African-American scholarship.  The problem?  She was actually only “African”.  She emphasized that there was a big difference between African, African-American, and Black American. The cultures, heritage, and traditions are different. That same year, a white South African who earned his American citizenship applied for that same scholarship, causing a stir when it was awarded to him. Some claimed he was more representative of the title “African American” than the intended scholarship target group who were actually black American students who had never been to the continent; yet some refused to accept this pale-skinned man as African even though he lived in Africa for the majority of his life.  Perhaps South Africans do not consider themselves as African since others on the outside have a hard time accepting them as such. Is saying that a white person cannot be an African equal to saying that a black person cannot be American or European? How is it different?  That was the year I no longer considered myself African American but a Black American.
Then there’s the concept of the Black American vice the American Black which stems from the consciousness of how one self identifies.  The differences lie in the distinction of meaning when the words “Black” and “American” are used as an adjective or noun.  Is one a Black (noun) who identifies with the world’s collective Black population and you happen to be the American (adjective) representation of Black?  Or is one an American (noun) who identifies with America as a whole and happens to be a brown-skinned (adjective) representation of “American-ness”? My college roommate said she thought all the
Jews of the world were united as one until she made a pilgrimage to Israel.  She then realized she is certainly a Jewish American and not an American Jew.
I have two friends whose identities are a patchwork of beautiful culture, birth, and residence.  Annie is a first Generation American from Ghana. Bibi is a first generation American from Nigeria.  They speak to their parents in Twi and Yoruba respectively.   They grew up with African dress, manners, music, family gatherings, and seemed to know everyone from their countries within a 100 mile radius.  Annie had both a traditional southern debutant ball as well as a Ghanaian event where she was introduced to society.  I have had classmates who were first generation Americans from Senegal and Sierra Leone, they seemed more representative of the term “African American” than me. I identify more with the “Black American” whose roots are so deeply embedded in America’s history that I cannot claim a particular country in Africa, but could certainly lay legitimate claim to origin from countries on the European continent.
 In Europe I find more and more intriguing stories of identity like this.  Just recently in the Canary Islands someone approached my beau and I. “American Accents!” he exclaimed before asking where we were from.  He called himself a native Virginian (but didn’t call himself a Southerner, though he did label me as such.)  He said he left a lucrative job as an attorney after being disgusted when he discovered that justice was dependent on income.  Instead, he chose a profession as a videographer recording whales and sea life in Spain. His mother was from Tenerife in the Canary Islands, and he held dual citizenship in Spain and the U.S. He spoke with quite a strange accent.  He almost sounded British, which made me wonder if he developed his dialect while hanging around the Brits who inhabit the islands, or perhaps his mother was a British Canary Island dweller or a native Spaniard.  There he was, a fellow southerner with a complex identity.  I wonder if he ever reflects on his unique identity.
One of the most intriguing conversations of my life was with someone with an unclassifiable identity.  My beau and I were dining in a fancy French restaurant in downtown Stuttgart (Le Cassoulet you’ve got to try it if you’re ever in the area).  Our interest was inexplicably drawn to a party of four at a nearby table. They flowed smoothly in conversation switching back and forth from French to German.  My Beau, a mildly talented French speaker, eavesdropped to see what he could understand. Finally, the most verbose of the group had enough wine to break the ice with us. We asked if he was French or German. The three men and one woman in the party chuckled. “Where are we from?” the lady pondered, buying time until she could decide how she would tell the story.  The lively man’s German-Jewish parents knew something was heating up in Germany before WWII, they fled to Shanghai just before he was born.
“Why Shanghai?,” I asked.
“Why not?,” was her response.
The West had restrictions on immigration at that time. So the only place to go was east, “and who wants to go to Poland?” the man joked (or so I think). So his family, like many others, went Far East where he spent the first seven years of his life in China. When it was safe to return to Europe, his family settled in France.  His first European home was France. Now he is a well-traveled business man who frequents Stuttgart. So where is he truly from, and how does a one-city or one-country response to “where are you from” adequately articulate anything about this man’s experiences?

 

In The South you’ll often times hear, “Where are your people from?” as if the answer will validate your existence and shed light on your character and what is to be expected of you. Sometimes people will proudly tell you the county or state they hail from or even what schools they attended as if that should tell you all you need to know of them. It’s not uncommon for folks in The South to live on the same family land for generations, so perhaps that question was appropriate many years ago. But since WWII, people have been set in motion and are constantly on the go.  Among the hundreds of discoveries I’ve made about myself and the world through my European experience, I am learning that it is less apt to try to define people by where they are from than to get to know their story. Accents, bone structure, skin color, eye shape, language, teeth, and mannerisms can help gauge where a person is from but you’ll miss out on their amazing story if you stop there and don’t get to know them.  Although our history forms the building blocks of our collective societal foundation, it’s our personal experiences that completes the construction of the individuals we truly are.

I challenge my readers to venture out and get to know someone’s story; even someone you think you know quite well (like a family member or co-worker with whom you sit beside every day). You may have to build relationships up or break barriers down to get past the “What are your hobbies, how many kids do you have” type questions. Wonderful soul-revealing conversations include discussions of what drives and motivates a person or how they overcome conflict.  You might be delightfully surprised to find that your unassuming aunt has stories that offer a depth to who she is, and that could inspire you for years to come.

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In Local Guides, Take Notes on
December 4, 2012

Southern Belle’s Take On New Holiday Traditions

Photo from O.com
In the South, like most places around world, the dinner table takes center stage during the holidays. Thanksgiving with my oversized southern family is incredible.  First of all, you must understand that my Alabama Grandma, Lula Mae, has seven children, 23 grandchildren, and something around 20 great grand-children. Such a troop only begs me to wonder what Abraham’s holidays must have looked like. My dad and his brothers try to outdo one another with their cooking skills. My dad will herb roast a turkey according to some recipe he saw on Emeril and Uncle #2 will deep fry a Turkey while Uncle #1 and Uncle #3 will came up with pulled pork or some sort of sugary, sweet ham. Even when we set a menu we still end up with dinner yeast rolls, corn bread, buttermilk biscuits, banana nut bread, and muffins. We always seem to have food for days… duplicates of everything…a whole pie, cake, cobbler, or other sweet concoction for every family to take home after the first helpings are demolished. There’s always an assortment of new twists on traditional holiday favorites. My cousin Karla, bless her heart, just couldn’t seem to perfect homemade mac & cheese two years in a row and did not escape the light-hearted teasing.  She didn’t even attempt it the third year although we were eagerly waiting to see if she nailed the recipe. Now, I am not so proud to admit it, but I also flubbed the homemade mashed potato recipe two years in a row. Let me tell you, if you burn the bottom the pot, that nasty burnt taste will permeate through the entire batch.  But these are memories that make up the holidays. Although we stress about prep and it takes a week to sort out the mess after wards, we are so fortunate to have such a storehouse of food and those to share it with.
Me on Thanksgiving.
This year I spent all Thanksgiving week in a bikini in the Canary Islands. It was beautiful, sunny, and warm! But back home in Kentucky, Uncle #2 pulled out all the stops for the family Day of Thanks. A long table trimmed in red stretched from the living room, through the dining room, and into the kitchen. There was the now-annual family flag football game while the final preparations were made in the kitchen. My dad’s birthday, which is usually an afterthought to all the holiday festivities, was celebrated with a bakery designed cake. The fests continued into the next morning with a breakfast buffet and Black Friday shopping. It just looked like a grandest of times in pictures.  My little cousins came home from their first and second years in college; some with sweethearts. My two newlywed cousins came with their husbands. The military service members in the family were able to attend. Everyone was there except me.
My Aunt & Uncle’s home
When I moved to Germany I made it my stand that I would not return to The States for two years. That way I’d save money on plane fare and embrace the European culture as long as I could. However, the pictures of my family shared this past Thanksgiving did make me long for home just a tad.  As I’ve gotten older I find myself longing for yesteryear when we use to go to the movies (and watch Home Alone) after dinner or when my cousins and I tried acting out the Nativity Story using my only younger male cousin at the time as the baby Jesus (he was not having it!). Over the past few years family members have gone to be with the Lord, join their new spouses’ family for the holidays, or experience heath problems; family leadership has shifted and traditions seemed to die out. I just wasn’t feeling the holiday spirit anymore.  We just kept trying to do the same things we did when Granny/Aunt Ollie/Grandma were around and they just turn out to be poor substitutes for the original.

 

It’s taken being over here and peering in on my family from the outside for me to notice that, just as my family experienced  new births and growth, the traditions were not dying out — they were transforming and being born.  Even thought my family experienced deaths, we are no where close to dieing out. Families evolve like the culture around us.  It’s silly for me to wish that we stays the same.  I mean, I know it sounds so trite & cliche —“Embrace new tradition while honoring the past,” but this is the first time that I’ve actually seen those ideas in action. Each year we seem to welcome new members to our family. Each year we indoctrinate the little ones who were born into the family on the pieces of us that make us unique.   Those who unite with us from other families incorporate fresh ideas and introduce new family recipes to our ever evolving traditions. The bulk of my family members are Generation Y-ers.  We’ve all grown up and are accomplishing goal after goal and realizing new dreams.  Instead of there being two separate dinner conversation being split between the adults and children we can all participate and have meaningful discussions about our amazing experiences, and stories, and opinions. And what a wonderful new tradition we’ve started of actually being active and playing football instead of watching it on TV!  It’s bonding, team-building, and making memories wrapped in a cleverly disguised package.  Of course we couldn’t have had a good game when we were a bunch of 7-year-old girls, but now, let the trash talkin’ begin!
My favorite photo of me & most of my Belle cousins a few years back.
When I return to the holiday dinner table next year, I’ll return with new Schwäbisch dishes to enhance the menu. I’ll get to see which one of my cousins becomes the mac and cheese queen (or king). I’ll have stories of my adventures abroad to tell and new traditions of my own. I’ll have the opportunity to get to know my sister and cousins as the adults they’ve grown to be and not only remember them as the children they once were and speak to my aunts and uncles as an adult.  And lastly I’ll come home with a greater appreciation of my family and, as wild and loud as we may be when we all get together, I’ll enjoy the time I have with them and the the way we are right now.
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In Destinations, Europe, Spain on
November 26, 2012

White After Labor Day: Thanksgiving In The Canary Islands

Does the no white after Labor Day fashion rule still apply when you’re outside the States?

Canary Islands

When Americans go to the beach they go to Florida or California, maybe even the Jersey Shore, the Hamptons…Texans stay in Texas. Maybe a few adventurous souls hit the Caribbean Islands or Mexico.  When Americans go to Europe they go to see old buildings — The Coliseum, The Louvre, the castles.  Typical Americans do not go to Europe to go to the beach.  But it’s just that typical American omission is what adds to the allure of European beaches and more specifically European islands.So embracing my new holiday traditions of traveling during breaks instead of only eating, I left Stuttgart’s frigid, gloomy weather and headed south, off the south-west coast of Morocco to Tenerife, Spain, the largest of the Canary Islands.

zip zip zipped around curvy mountain roads in a cute little fiat!

We left Stuttgart bundled up in gloves and coats and when we arrived to the islands six hours later, it was spring time again! It was cool in the evenings but warm all day.  I found out that it rained for the first time all year the week before we arrived so the locals kept saying “You’re so lucky to have planned you holiday when it’s so green.”  That’s where the idea of relativity comes into play.  I was actually expecting a tropical oasis of green like in Mallorca but Tenerife was surprisingly very brown. The islands are closer to desert islands and also have volcanic
origins which make the sand black.  Aside from the year-round fabulous weather, the 3718 meter high volcano, Mount Teide, is its most popular tourist attraction.  Bananas and tomato plantations along with cacti were the only green to be seen.  There is one highway that will give you a three-hour tour around the entire coast of the island.

 

Expectation management

I didn’t know what to expect, see, or do in the Canary Islands and that was part of the adventure.

We spent our time greeting sunrises, exploring, and chasing sunsets around the islands. One evening we wanted to watch a sunset however, it fell behind Grand Canaria and we couldn’t see it drop below the horizon. I got seasick during a whale watching excursion. I learned that nude beaches are no the same as nude spas and I will never be returning to one again (ew!).  We went into a building that said “Night club” hoping to dance. Turned out to be brothel – a place for activities other than dancing. There’s a Tony Romas which isn’t such a big deal unless you’re an American living in Europe without American food chains. We ended up not eating there however.
Although I usually don’t, I booked through a German travel agency who advertised a great deal. They promised a four night stay in a four star hotel with drinks and food all included, plus the flight all included for just under €400.
What we got was that the hotel was about an hour away from the airport and nearly every rental car company was sold out. I’m not sure what rating scale was used but the hotel where we stayed could in no way be described as four star.  Four star holds the expectation of a degree of luxury. This includes the services provided, decor, equipment, and catering to the needs of the payee. The restaurant will demonstrate a serious approach to its cuisine.  A highway-side Holiday Inn back home would put this place to shame. Blue Sea Lagos de Cesar hotel had night shift workers who slept on the lobby sofas. The rooms were clean and spacious like a small apartment but with 1980s decor.  The food was cafeteria style food and was the same every day. And additionally, it was not in a very lively area… Los Santiagos. Playa de las Americas and Los Cristianos among the best hot spots on the island.
So we stayed in a good enough hotel for the price but not for the four star rating.  I looked on trip adviser and saw the terrible ratings the hotel got.  We ended up only eating there for breakfast and we did make use of the ice cream cups they offered by the pool but other than that, the “all inclusive” board was wasted.

 

Again, relativity kicks. The hotel was okay and good enough until we learned that friends from Stuttgart booked through the same travel company and got a better hotel (called Best Tenerife which also got similar complaints that my hotel got on tripadvisor.co.uk). They had not complaints in terms of food, location or accommodations.
It is in in Los Americanas so they didn’t have to drive 30 minutes for entertainment.  We did visit Abama Hotel and Spa which was undoubtedly a four star hotel and wished we would have stayed just one night there. It may have been more expensive but worth it.  If I go back to Tenerife, that’s where I’ll stay.  It still sits alone away from the beach, shopping and other entrainment but there’s plenty to keep you entertained right there. I know that I am incredibly blessed to be able to go to such a paradise and how dare I even complain about good enough accommodations when others do not even have homes as nice as the hotel room I stayed. i know, it’s all relative.

If you’re traveling during the off season, I’d suggest not booking a room for the whole week until you get there and can scope out where you want to be. There were also Hotels called the Princess and Emerald in the heart of Los Americanas that looked appealing.

I couldn’t help to compare the Canary islands to Spain’s other islands in the Med.  The Canaries are populated by British Expats so Spanish lessons are less necessary here than it was in Mallorca. I can’t say I saw a lot of Spanish culture like Mallorca. I had to hunt for Paella. There were no major monuments no sense of history. Just beaches, resorts, and tourist traps like any other beach town. Mallorca was breathtakingly beautiful and refreshing with history, culture, and music. Tenerife is a desert tourist destination.  Two million people live in the Canary Islands and the islands attract six million tourist each year.  we were there during the off season and it was highly populated by viejitos (endearing senior citizens).  It wasn’t the party atmosphere I was expecting and secretly hoping for and I didn’t have historical landmarks to fall back on as entertainment. When compared to Mallorca, Tenerife just doesn’t have the same allure but when judged on its own merit there is plenty to like about the Canaries. You have to like the islands for what they are and not for what they have over other similar locations.  Mallorca is the Carmen to Tenerife’s candy face, Cindy Lou.
Overall, I would not dissuade anyone from going to the Islands. Tenerife is the biggest but not the best. I can’t wait to spend another winter holiday in the Canaries but next time I’ll try a different island and book without a travel agent.  My beau swears by only emphasizing the best of towns to make people believe you had the most rockin’ time ever even when you didn’t. And his company and the weather was probably the bets part of the trip.

 

After watching a sun rise the first morning, Idaho Beau and I followed a trail of white crosses up a mountain.

 

I thought something scary was moving behind this wall then I realized…Puppies!

 

The gorgeous golf course at the resort we didn’t stay at, Abama

 

Cacti close up

 

Black volcanic sand beach

 

How I spent my time whale watching. 🙁

 

More Cacti

 

 

White skinny jeans after Labor Day

 

Vibrant colors in November

 

Why are sunrises so much softer than sunsets?

 

I’m fascinated with the different types of Cati in Spain.

 

 

We got all gussied up to have a nice dinner out on the last night.

 

Lush garden & me in My Senegal attire.

 

Chasing sunsets around the Island.

 

This statue fascinates me.

 

That it is

 

Trying to get my Victoria Secret Beach sexy on.

 

Abama hotel and spa

 

Beautiful sunset

 

I decided to knock out as many pullups as I could every time I walked near the fitness closet of the hotel. Got up to 3 in four days.

 

Gorgeous.

 

Me & Crash!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Paella

 

You always gota get a photo jumping off of things!

 

 

 

 

You can go on a pirate ship excursion to whale watch!

 

 

 

 

 

almost out of sight!

 

Being silly

 

Last one!

 

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In Fitness, Globelle Home on
November 6, 2012

Staying Fit While Traveling In A Tasty World

Two things the American South and the Deutcshland Sud have in common: Colorful culture, distinctive from the rest of the country and delicious, fattening, fried foods that this southern girl has a hard time resisting.
Model, entrepreneur, leader, nutrition snob, friend, and Belle

Now that I’ve committed to a healthy lifestyle and made winning a figure competition my new goal, I’m amazed at all the yummy vices that seem to spontaneously appear begging me to take just a tiny taste. Let’s face it, no matter how committed you are to clean-eating life style, chicken strips just taste better when twice-battered, deep-fried, and dunked in a bowl of creamy, rich ranch dressing rather than grilled. Plus here in Deutchland, ice cream and gelato stands on every corner, sauce-drenched spätzle, schnitzel, pommes, pork, schweinshaxe…all of it delicious yet counterproductive to my fitness goals. What’s worse are the limited healthy options I have when I travel.  One travel weekend can blow all the hard work I’ve put in at the gym and the self-control I’ve displayed in the kitchen.

I have some amazingly fit friends who have long been part of this clean eating tend. My favorite Texan, Suze, studied dietetics at her university in Texas and just started her own clothing line that suits her cute, athletic style: Nutrition Snob. I’ve always known her to be very knowledgeable about the effects different foods have on our bodies. I go to her for food guidance all the time. She stressed the importance of pre-planning when traveling. When I plan to travel, food is usually a minor detail on the itinerary if part of the plan at all. Eating shouldn’t be an afterthought!  That only leads to me switching into the “critically hungry” mode and ready to vaporize anyone who gets between me and whatever will stop the pangs in my belly!My super fit friend, Natalie, who is a physical therapist (PT) and ran cross country for her university in Kentucky.  I was out of my element when I went on a beach vacation with her and her new PT friends. They were super particular about what they allowed in their bodies. They chose turkey over ham, low fat snacks and drank water. I was craving cookies, chips, dips, ham sandwiches and wild cherry Pepsi.  But even Natalie admitted that she slacked on fitness when she was on the road. Of course, she isn’t training for a competition any more and doesn’t travel every weekend like me either.  I just cannot afford to go without a workout or proper diet for an entire weekend every weekend. What she is committed on is maintaining her runs regardless. So I have several challenges to address. I can work out all day no problem but it is a challenge to make the deliberate, conscious effort to eat well. Both become difficult when constantly on the go. It’s easy to make excuses to blow off the work out and healthy diet while on the road (or rails, or in the air). Yes it takes effort in planning and prepping for food. But, like Suze always reminds me, if it was easy everyone would be walking around with a six pack. 

Here’s the Advice I’ve collected from my most fit Southern Belle friends:

1. Get a climate control lunch bag with an ice pack and take your own lunch for the road.

On the road in Germany your three fast food options are McDonald, Subway, Burger King, and KFC and those are few and far between. You’re almost forced to go to a sit-down dinner off the autobahn and as Americans, we do not like to waste time. Even so, if we went to a dinner, you are relegated to chose from whatever they are serving which could mean choosing between deep fried pork or deep fried beef. Try these as on-the road meals (I don’t do lettuce so I’m skip over the obvious choice of packing a salad but if you are a salad girl, by all means, find some creative recipes and pack that salad):

 

  • Cold pasta salads
  • Bean, tomato, cheese and corn salad (mix in some cilantro)
  • Grilled chicken/Turkey sandwich on whole grain bread
  • Lean meat, low fat cheese quesadillas
  • Spinach or Tomato Wraps: spinach, feta cheese, turkey bacon and grilled chicken or try a combo with hard boiled eggs, shredded carrots, chicken  and avocado yum!
  • Tuna and hard boiled egg sandwiches/wraps without the salad dressing

     

2. Although going for chips, cookies, and candies are my habitual travel grabs, I’ll plan head for those travel muchies and make this my snack-food shopping list:

 

  • Water
  • Granola
  • Nuts
  • Granola, cereal, protein bars
  • Fresh fruit & veggies
  • Dried fruit
  • Pumpkin seeds, cashews, pecans, almonds
  • Hard boiled eggs
  • Sharp cheddar cheese chunks
  • Wheat thins or other whole grain crackers and hummus
  • Yogurt
  • Apple sauce
  • Peanut butter sandwiches
  • Almond butter sandwiches
  • Tuna
  • Smoked Salmon with dill
  • Dark chocolate is okay (just don’t bring the entire bag)

 

3. Microwaves and refrigerators in European hotels are rare.  Instead of staying in a hotel which forces you to eat every meal in restaurants, try staying in a vacation rental where you’ll have a kitchen.  The costs are usually competitive with hotels but of course, it takes pre-booking (i.e. pre-planning).  Once you’re there can you hit the local grocery and whip up kitchen miracles just as you would at home.
4. If you stay in a hotel consider meals that do not need to be heated or see what wonders can be worked with a coffee pot.  For example your coffee pot can be used to bring water to a boil to make oatmeal, soft boiled eggs, rice, noodles, or steam vegetables.Countless meals can be started with steamed veggies, rice, pasta, eggs and boiling water.
5.You’re on vacation! By all means, eat out. Just chose leaner options and don’t get carried away on the portions. Luckily, the restaurants in Europe post their menus outside the restaurant. After translating the meals on the menu, chose the restaurant with the most healthy options.
6. Not having workout clothes can hinder your will to work out. Of course, you can do pushups, dips, and crunches wearing nothing but your underwear in your hotel room but without the gear you’re less likely to do it. Besides, you’ll miss out on some beautiful scenery on morning runs or hikes.
7. If you are flying to your location, you’re obviously going to be weight contentious about your luggage. However, if you’re road tripping, consider bringing your hand-held weights along. While you’re at it, why not bring a hot plate to save you the trouble of cooking in a coffee pot.  If these are not options for you, once you arrive at your destination find a 1.5 liter bottle of water to use as weights.
What a beautiful sunrise run.
8. Chose a hotel with a gym and use it!

9. Dancing, circuit training, jogs, dips, crunches, push-up do not require fitness centers.  Commit to a minimum of  a set of push ups and sit-ups first thing in the morning to get the blood flowing then right before bed to tire you out.  that way you won’t forget or not have time.

What other advice do you have on staying fit while traveling in a tasty world?
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In Destinations, Europe, Germany on
November 1, 2012

Deutschland’s Haunted Halloween Castles

Holidays are celebrated differently here in Germany and living here, one must  learn to get accustomed to doing things differently. You have to improvise with your mini European-sized oven when it comes to roasting a Thanksgiving turkey. Christmas season does not come with an over commercialized, Whoville-style endorsement of spending on gifts and trinkets.  Valentine’s Day comes and goes without restaurants being over packed and florists selling out.  This year, Halloween will pass without the streets being engulfed with little spidermen, bumble bees, or cowboys showing up on doorsteps expecting candy on the last day of this month.Trick-or-treating is slowly becoming a trend in Germany. But it’s more the exception to participate than the rule.  You have to do some work to find costumes in shops. Instead of trick-or-treating, the Germans use their historical landscape to celebrate this terrifying holiday, giving this American girl a unique approach to the holiday.  I never knew, until recently, that the creepy locations that inspire many of America’s thriller novels turn sci-fi hallmarks are located right here in Europe. Germany boasts two Frankenstein Castles: the one that inspired Mary Shelly’s novel and the other in the village of Frankenstein.  Additionally, for the same amount I’d spend on a formal gown or discount Italian footwear, I can catch a flight to Bucharest and travel the Romanian country side to the home of the Count Dracula Castle.

 

Outside the Burg Frankenstein

So, last Saturday, after running a 10K Pumpkin Run then playing tennis, I tossed my gym bag in my best friend’s red pick-up and headed two hours up north toward Darmstadt to the castle that inspired Mary Shelly’s Frankenstein. What I was expecting was an old castle decked in spider web decor with scary ghouls jumping out to scare and thrill the crowed. What I got was a Halloween festival.

 

After parking, we were shuttled up the mountain giving an eery, exciting yet foreboding anticipation to what we’d witness. Once on the mountain top, theatrical  nuns greeted us off the shuttle by shouting in German. Now I must say, German often already sounds scary when it’s being shouted at you. Angry French shouting makes me giggle but German shouting is nothing to giggle about.  For some reason, the nuns picked us out of the crowd.We smiled and did our typical American greeting phrase: “Sprechen sie English?” The screaming nun promptly switched her shouting into English, “Eat this and you will not die!” she instructed. “

“And if you do not die, you will get a ….a…how do you say gummy bear in English?” She shouted to the crowed.

“Gummie bear!” we helped her out.

She doled out the round communion bread.  My partner in crime, Idaho Boy, tapped into his own theatrical side and pretended to choke. The nun called out to two of her comrades who carried this huge black cauldron of supposed holy water in which they hosed us.

 

After passing through the turnstiles and handing over our tickets we were amidst the Halloween fanfare. German’s don’t play around with their costumes. You will find no princesses, kittens, bunnies, and fairies here.  Their costumes are really scary. I knew it was for pretend, but the costumes still unearthed me. This is a perfect place for adrenalin junkies. Ladies, here’s a hint: Do not make eye contact with the spirits! It will only provoke them to haunt you.  I smiled at a scary fellow and he started following me with a strangling device. Another one that I made eye contact with started following me to tickle me. I tickled back darn it!  Then I just started giving hugs cus scary creatures need love too.

 

wasn’t expecting him to touch me. I just wanted a buddy pic.

 

 

Six days until Halloween, I was bummed that I couldn’t  find a cape or wing to complete my Storm super hero custom because there are no Halloween costume stores and no Wal-mart with a Halloween aisle.  So I waited for my costume to arrive from Amazon.com to my parent’s home and then for them to ship it to me because this particular retailer does not deliver overseas. It’s a good thing I didn’t just show up to Burg Frankenstein looking like a super hero.  It would have only attracted unwanted attention from the frightful creatures.

 

 

Bring on the dancing zombies
This Frau’s costume was scary.
Performers
Halloween at Burg Frankenstein isn’t so much like the haunted houses in America. The actors are more hands on. The goblins grab girls and stuff them into coffins. The scary swamp monster tries to pull a girl into the swamp and the boyfriend, after allowing the scare factor sink in, comes to her rescue. The participants control the outcome. This wouldn’t fly in The States. I think Americans would likely be violent in order to preserve their macho.  The Germans are just here to be frightened and have a good time.  Of course with any German festival are fest tents offering typical German fest food like pizza and sausages.The castle‘s enticement message states: “We will make your nightmares come true! BEWARE: We can not guarantee your well being when 99 lively monsters roam the spooky castle.”

I couldn’t agree more.

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In Destinations, Europe, Germany on
October 29, 2012

A Long Autumn

There was a time in my life when the mere thought of autumn triggered severe turning in my stomach.  I was simply repulsed by the inevitable end of summer. Pangs of sorrow and disappointment plagued my mind.  No matter how hard I tried to deny the days of basking in the sultry summer glow would soon come to an end, the my season was over. My shorts, sundresses, tank tops, and sandals would have to hibernate.  I mentally braced myself for the worst winter storm southern Alabama has ever seen. Its inevitable promise of winter was my primary aversion to fall.  The fall in Stuttgart, however, is really quite lovely. There is just no other way to describe it. Stuttgart’s Autumn has a beautiful peace and calm about it.  The vineyards on the hills are covered in fall’s signature colors. And the people really seem to celebrate the change of the season.


Fall Favorites in The American South

Fall fashion for aesthetics’ sake
Apple picking
Pumpkin picking

Corn Mazes
College Football
The Apple festival
Outdoor concerts
Hayrides
Bonfires
Cross country season
Marching bands
Bourbon Apple cider, apple pie, apple butter

sweet potato pie, pecan pie
marshmallow roasts

 

 

 

 

 

German Signs of the Seasons

Fall fashion has function as well as style
Fußball  season
Ludwigsburg Pumpkin festival
Oktoberfest
Volksfest
Almfest cattle drives
Halloween festival
Gluh wein (warm, mulled red wine) 
Opening of ski season
Traveling to warmer climates

Living in Germany has taught me not to detest the winter and thus, not to dread fall. Now I just take the seasons as they come. Each season has something wonderful to offer and I cannot write a season off. I cannot spend time dreading fall least I miss out on all the wonderful things it offers. Germany gives me more to love about fall.  The winter in Germany means the opening of ski season.  It means cute winter wear and traveling down south to the Med once the tourists flee the continent. Being an American in Stuttgart gives me even more to look forward to because, in addition to embracing traditional German fall activities I can still maintain my American fall traditions.

 

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In Destinations, Europe, Germany on
October 29, 2012

Why Is It Snowing In Stuttgart Already?!

I don’t do snow. It’s beautiful inside a souvenir. It’s nice to look at on a post card. It’s even nice if I can fly to it for a couple of days then fly back to a nice warm climate home but over all…I’m against snow. Yes, I did a snow dances as a child in Kentucky…primarily with the hopes of getting out of school and sliding down the hill in my back yard but nowadays, it’s just a cold, miserable mess and class’s rarely get cancelled and work doesn’t either.  In fact, now that I think about it…If I was back in Alabama, work would be cancelled.
In the suburb of Böblingen just outside of Stuttgart today
The buzz that snow was on the way made me cringe more than the thought of the statistics final I’ve been putting off.  Folks I came across talked about praying for snow. I prayed that the good Lord would do the opposite of their prayers. I was just now accepting that fall was among us. I was even welcoming the idea of embracing the beautiful autumn.
Got to act quickly to photograph the fall before the snow.

The Idaho beau and I went up to Bruges, Belgium for the weekend. Part of the way there it was a wet, messy drive but soon we were in the clear and the rest of the weekend was chilly but pleasant.  On the long drive back home I looked over the embankment thinking, man, that full moon is shinning bright over there…hold up…that’s not bright, that’s white. Holy smack, it snowed in Badden-Württemberg! It’s not even Halloween!  Why is it snowing in Stuttgart?!

I expressed concerns that the snow could put a damper on our plans to visit Prague next weekend. People may not be on Charles Bridge due to the cold weather.  My beau from Idaho disagreed.
Street corner near my work. I  love how pretty the

“The only reason this is a problem for you is because you’re from the south. We have to get you some gear,” He says.

I guess that’s true. I came to Stuttgart two July’s ago with a suitcase full of sundresses, halter tops and sandals and froze my tail end off. When winter came, the little sweaters I had from back in Bama were not doing the trick.  With a shrunk full of clothes, I had nothing to wear. But it was only bone chilling cold for about two weeks last year so I suffered through. Does this first snow forebode a long rough winter to come? If so, I will have to go shopping.
Last February I contemplated traveling to Budapest. It’s too cold, I thought; I might as well stay inside and stay warm. Then I reasoned, if I wait until ideal weather in Europe, I’m never going to see or do anything.  So I went on my trip. The frost covered trip snowballed into a whirlwind of travel adventures.  The Germans don’t let foul weather slow them down and neither will I. But my goodness, couldn’t we have eased into winter instead of this abrupt sneak attack?
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In Destinations, Europe, Germany on
October 29, 2012

More On Culturally Appropriate Nudity

Living in Stuttgart has afforded me some pretty spectacular international exposure that a southern girl from a one-horse town usually doesn’t have the opportunity to experience. To date, I’ve been embraced like I was next of kin by a big Greek family with four generations of love spewing from the kitchen; I’ve been part of a debate on political ideology with the French, and shared the most intriguing historical and cultural revelations with a German Jew whose family fled to Shanghai, just before things kicked off here in Germany.
Every one of these wonderful events has taken place around a dinner table. But some of the more dramatic and revealing (sort of speak) cultural experiences happen in the sauna. I have concluded that the best a culture has to offer is experienced around a dinner table.  However, if you really want insight on different levels of a country’s culture, more specifically on its morality and health culture, get naked and visit a sauna.
My mom, niece, and I went to a spa over the summer.  Mama Belle, being the middle-aged, southern, conservative prude that she is was not ready to do as the Germans do and wore her black and bright striped one piece bathing suit into a tiled steam room. Everyone silently and nakedly braced themselves for the heated pain that was to one except one obviously non-native man who started pointing and shouting at us in German. We looked at him. He kept on. The other native Germans looked our way but didn’t say a word. I looked around. “Is he yelling at us?” I asked loud enough to let him know we didn’t speak his language. “Maybe he’s saying that Audrey is too young to be in here.” My mom responded. “Maybe it’s because you’re not naked,” I offered. I mean, it’s really not fair for everyone else to be naked and then there’s one person not willing to make one’s self vulnerable.  Having clothes on certainly gives the clothed an upper hand.  The man fumed and stormed out of the room, presumably to find an employee who could translate.  Audrey started getting antsy in the heat so we left before the angry patron returned.
Photo from www.saunascape.com taken in a Badden-Wuttemburg town near Karlsruhe.

Understandably I’d get yelled at for taking photos in a naked sauna. and no one ever looks this good.
Now, it is important to note that I get yelled at by angry Germans all the time so this occasion was really not unique.  Every non-German I know has a similar angry German tale to share. Headlights turned off at sunset, make a U-turn even when no one is coming, switch lanes without a signal, or cross a crosswalk when the little man on the sign is red and just expect a firestorm of angry Germans to emerge from all directions and shout at you.  Heaven forbid a plastic bottle end up in your cardboard recycle bin. You will have a neighbor knocking at your door, handing it back to you while providing a lecture in German. Leave your car running to warm up as you run back into the house to collect some last minute items and a local will be standing right by your car when you come out of the house waiting to let you have it.  Cut your grass at 1145 on a Tuesday, expect neighbors to congregate to observe what you’re doing as if you are making a spectacle, then brace yourself to be yelled at. If you walk in the woods with your dog and come across a no dogs allowed sign… a German wood gnome will pop out of the forest and you will get yelled at. There’s no time to explain, “Well I’m sorry, I’m already here, there was not a sign at the entrance and I’m trying to leave the area.”  There are no excuses. You will get harangued.  Once, the driving lane I was in suddenly turned into the taxi lane. I was stopped at a red light with a car to my left, sidewalk to my right, and a car, that happened to be a taxi, behind me. There was nothing I could do about it. The taxi driver beeped furiously. Sorry bub, the light is red. I’m not going anywhere. The driver, who was actually Turkish, not German, gets out of his car, starts beating on my window to yell at me as if I know what on earth he’s saying. Now this would have ended very badly for him if he was in the south in America. Its times like that I wish mace wasn’t illegal in this country.  It was also the day I started carrying a mini can of bug spray in my purse.  Has the same affect. It does It’s not like he could do anything either…the light was red! Then he drove with road rage. Oh, once, someone swerved his little car and abruptly stopped in front of my beau causing him to slam on the breaks in the cross walk…the the light turned red and he couldn’t move. Then my beau got yelled at, and his truck smacked by Germans crossing the street.  Goodness people, get over yourself. Sometimes stuff happens and there is nothing you can do about it. And usually it’s not that serious!  Unless someone’s life, eyesight, or limbs are seriously in jeopardy or they are going to score a goal in Fußball, there is never a real reason to yell at them. Well, apparently it’s the sauna, a place for relaxation and tranquility, is not off limits to yelling either.
Fast forward about four months — my beau and I go to an indoor pool.  Everyone in the pool area is wearing swimsuits. After a few laps and splashes we decide to check out the “wellness” section which includes saunas, foot soaks, whirlpools, and lounge chairs.  The whole floor is ours alone. I go sit in the least hot Sauna wearing my bikini. No more than 15 seconds after I entered the wooden box — the door had not even had a chance to close all the way — and here comes the spa monitor looking like Megan from Bridesmaids in long red shorts and two layers of tee shirts yelling at me in German. Now, in most occasions when I get yelled at in Deutsch I respond by smiling and using my “you’re such a cute little baby” voice while saying things like “I don’t understand you. Do I look like I know what you’re saying,” while shaking my head. This time, instead of my baby voice, I simply respond by maintaining  eye contact with her while undressing. Why does she get to yell at me for not being naked in an empty sauna when she’s tromping around in layers galore?  Why does it matter if you are naked or not? Why is nakedness not an option?  I imagine if this was a movie it might be funny. Someone yells at you in German, you take your clothes off.  What if my response to getting yelled at was removing my garments every time?  Would that incite more anger? Amusement? Would the yelling stop? What if that became the standard American response to German yelling? Could we condition Germans to stop yelling at us least they see us naked, or would they do it even more? Instead of Americans asking, “Wanna watch me make this German flip the heck out?” then proceed to toss a plastic bottle in the trash, would the Germans then ask each other, “Wollen sie diesen Amerikanerin nanackt sehen?”  (Want to see this American naked?) then start speaking to us in a raised voice.
Working with international partners I get the chance to meet a diversity of people doing the same computer work as me. One such event was an international computer geek conference where I met a Finnish Army officer. Saunas are so much apart of Finnish culture that when the Fins deploy into war, they deploy with tactical saunas. And men and women soldiers sit in this tent-like sauna naked together. Once, one of the Finish soliders went to the U.S. to visit his sister who lives in Indiana. He got a similar shock of American Sauna culture. He explained, “There they were, the Americas sitting in a Sauna with their hot, sweaty, wet clothes and I go in naked like you are suppose to and they screamed. There were screamers!  And the workers asked me to leave.” He was not welcome to return.  Years later he was still upset. I laughed.
One last experience that I must share that still made me shake my head.  I was in my private little dressing cabin in a spa putting on my swim suit. When I came out there he was, my beau, smiling ear to ear, naked as a jay bird. I gasp. We had just seen everyone fully dressed in the swimming pools down below. “You are not supposed to be naked,” I hollered a whisper. “Why not,” he whispered back.  “No one else is naked,” I said.  Seconds later an accented voice came from the cabin next to us, “Excuse me,” she said. “This is a sauna. It is ok to be naked.” She cleared up the situation. Sure enough we turned a corner of the locker room and there was a bare butt naked lady greeting a fully dressed man in a business suit. They smiled shook hands and carried on a lengthy, friendly conversation.  In America there would be so much wrong with this scene.  She’s naked. He’s not. They’re in a co-ed locker room, laughing and joking and just shooting the breeze.  But all the patrons dressed only in flip flops walked right passed them and into the wellness center without concern.
When living abroad it is expected to feel the sting of a cultural sanction at least once in a while. However, there are few cultural shocks so jilting than getting socially sanctioned while in the buff. Our approach to nakedness, health, and family is a paradox salad.  America, a nation founded by puritans, has endorsed the Daisy Duke Shorts and bras that push our breast in low cut tops where you can see everything but the color. Yet we can get violently upset if we see another adult completely undressed in a controlled environment with heat climbing over 100 degrees centigrade. In Germany, you’re hard-pressed to see a girl in cut off jeans and ta-tas spewing out walking through the shopping district but plenty of naked bodies are found in every sauna and every beach is at least topless.  In America we have laws against being naked in front of children. In Europe, families go to the Sauna together.  It’s no big deal for an eight year old girl to be walking around bare butt naked with her daddy and every other middle aged man in a spa.  The Germans don’t allow clothing in the sauna due to sanitary reasons as if it’s more sanitary to have someone’s sweaty genitals sitting nude on a wooden bench.  It seems that Americans do not allow nudity for sanitary and moral reasons. Usually saunas in America are found in gender segregated locker rooms.  In Europe those are hard to find and Finland and Germany families are close enough to be naked and unashamed together.  In America the same act is a perversion.
My favorite Spa in Stuttgart, The Dormero, has a fantastic atmosphere.
I must say I enjoy the Sauna experience and it has become a part of my lifestyle while living here in Germany. I think culturally appropriate nudity warrants deeper exploration.  We all know that every region of the world has culturally regulated guidelines on what a female can expose, whether it’s her belly button, legs, ankles, cleavage or what have you.  But why do two similarly developed western societies have such drastically different attitudes toward nudity in general? And what are the affects? In Germany there are still child molesters, rapist and general perverts. There are still occurrences of eating disorders. I can’t say if there is a difference between frequency rates of any offense or if there is heightened awareness and discovery in either country.  Perhaps Germany has a healthier body image understanding that there is no shame associated with your naked form. Maybe I’ll make this a thesis topic at a later date, I certainly have enough field research to get started.
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In Austria, Destinations, Europe on
October 13, 2012

Partying ‘Til The Cows Come Home

Mayrhofen im Zillertal Almabtriebfest

As the trees adorn their branches with classic fall hues, thousands of visitors flock to one little Bavarian town or another signaling the time that the cows come home!  I know watching cows come home from the mountain sounds pretty hokie, a little backwoods even. However, in Mayrhofen, Austria, cows walking down from the Alps make a pretty valid reason to throw a big street party.

During the summer, farmers send their cattle to graze in the alpine meadows. When the leaves start to change, farmers drive their cattle, dressed in show-girl style headdress, garlands, and clanging bells down to the valley where they return home, stopping to rest at various pastures on the way.

Almabtrieb (Alm-ubtreeb) or Viehscheid (Vee-shide) fests are what American southern girls recognize as a cattle drive festival.   Thousands of visitors come to the cattle drive every year, and celebrate German style with traditional, accordion-lased mountain music, dancing, beer tents and more modern bands wooing crowds live!  It goes on most of September and through October (depending on the weather). It’s a great family activity, fun for friends, a place to for fantastic photos of German culture, or just have some fun.

Mayrhofen is a little mountain town right across the border in Austria with no major tourist attractions aside from its nature and slopes that are perfect for skiing. The Alps are a devastating beauty that takes my breath away and replaces it with clear fresh air every time I’m amongst them.  I can understand Marie spinning around and singing praises of sounds of the Mountains even more having been inspired to run, skip, sing, and prance myself.

Mayrhofen’s Almabtreibfest had this Kentucky country girl taking photos of cows!  Never, in all my years in Kentucky or Alabama, have I ever photographed a cow until I moved to Germany.   Just makes me think that my little Kentucky town, with all its cows, should certainly incorporate a cattle drive into our fall festivals.  The town of Obertsdorf in Germany has a larger cattle drive, (totaling over 1000 animals) is well down into the Allgäu region (the low mountainous area before the Alps) and is about 2.5 hours from Stuttgart. Some Cattle drive fests are much closer.

My experience with Almabtreibeibfest actually started in Munich for Oktoberfest. I couldn’t convince my party friends to make the hour and a half journey south to Austria to watch this cultural event. But just like Oktoberfest, Almabtriebfest is just one of those events that you must experience at least once if you live in Germany.

 

    

Activities start early in the day like 0930.   You’ll want to be dressed in your native German attire (dirndl and Liderhosen). If you don’t have it, shops will be open. The shops in the Bavarian Alps have a much wider variety of cute, authentic accessories for your native attire than places in Stuttgart. It’s easy to blow 400 euro.  Be sure to check out my buying guide before you go.Sip your cappuccino and have some strudel drenched in vanilla cream in one of the lesser populated coffee shops and watch the first few parades of cows go by. As the day warms up, shop, walk up and down the streets, dance to the accordion mountain music, buy from the local venders, watch out for the drool, blood, and poop in the road. When you stop in a little restaurant for lunch, try the putenschnitzle.  Coming from the Shwabish area, where every meal includes pork, I had never had jager puten schnitzel until I traveled Bavaria.  It’s healthier and delish!  Spend the afternoon taking the train to the top of the mountains or gliding through the mountains.  Better do this before 4 pm.  As the sun starts to set…and it’ll set early these days… it’s time to check into a quaint little gasthaus for the night. The cows will be finished with their parade but the party is just getting started.  I actually went back to Munich for the Oktoberfest but, if that’s not on your to-do list,  I suggest staying in Mayrhofen or moving on to another charming Alpine town like Innsbruck or Fussen for the night.

 

    
When I returned to Stuttgart this Cattle drive is all people were raving about.
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