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In North America, United States on
April 17, 2013

We’ll Put A Boot In Your Rear: It’s The American Way

 

When you are an American living overseas you start to view the things that go on in your homeland a little differently. You have other standards to compare the American way.
In America, we often like to think we are the standard of excellence. I’m sure many countries believe the same. But with only 30 percent of Americans owning passports, how much expose to other ways of life do we get?   Do Americans understand that there are countries that exist were women can walk down the street, intoxicated, at night, alone without fear of attack? Do they realize there are schools that are not locked down and checking students for weapons?  Do Americans consider, that, in some countries, if they leave their front door wide open while on a long weekend get away, their belongings will be safe and secure when they return home four days later?  I have seen all of those scenarios play out here in Germany and each time I thought,  Man, if that was in America, things may not have turned out the same way. Safety is part of the way of life here in Germany.  I left my designer purse on a train with my credit card and cash and do you know the finder tracked me down on Facebook to get the purse back to me.  I’ve had a busted window for two weeks, and no one broke into my home.  I travel alone.
I was once on a train when I met a Nigerian Universität student who was getting his graduate degree in mathematics. I will never understand why people will pay to get a degree in math but that is beside the point. He said something that was so profoundly simple: 

 

You will never do things excellently if you have never been exposed to excellent ways of doing things.”

 

When I sit here, saddened and feeling helpless by all the terrible tragic news spawning out of my country, I wonder if Americans are aware that there is a better, safer way. Now, media sensationalism is an issue on its own, but just the fact that terrible tragedies and massacres happen for the news to report on is a concerning issue. Americans are quick to believe that bad, crazy things like the Boston Marathon bombing happens everywhere, we just don’t hear about them.  As if it somehow makes the regular occurrence of violence in America more normal.  I just don’t think most American have been  exposed to a non-violent way of life.

I hear those who oppose gun control. The moment they hear the phrase, “gun control” they know they are opposed without hearing how guns will be controlled. I hear the common argument from gun enthusiast, “guns don’t kill people, people kill people”; “Guns causing deaths is like saying a fork causes obesity” ; “Gun laws only are only followed by law abidding citizens.”  I get it. But I wonder if those people would change their tune if they were the ones frantically calling their teenager who went to the movies on a Friday night with friends that got shot up.  I wonder if they’d change their argument if they were standing in the lobby of that movie theater surrounded by dead, brace-faced teens with phones going off in their pockets.

 

Photograph by Nick Ut/AP Photo

I am a southern girl who believes no civilian needs to own an AK-47 or an AR-15. The purpose of these guns is to stop battalions of approaching, adversary armies equipped with equally deadly weapons.  And what American, with the except on of the less than 1% in the military, will ever be faced with a situation where they need to protect themselves with a machine gun? No one shoots a deer or a dove with a machine gun! So why have one? So really the only reason for one is to use on humans. A machine gun is overkill (excuse the pun) for self defense.  And how can one even practice shooting with one? What gun range allows such weapons? If you are not in the war fighting industry, in the profession of arms, protecting your country against an enemy army, what right do you have to won a military weapon? We often confuse rights with privileges.  And Americans have abused the privilege of legally owning military-style weapons.  If a zombie apocalypse happens let the U.S. Military handle it. They are trained and equipped far better than the paranoid folks down home who are storing up arsenals for it. Besides, 40% of the military comes from the south. They will defend their homes first, no doubt.

Some argue the simple point that gun control is unconstitutional. They argue prohibiting them infringes on their constitutional rights.  Really? Every American has the right to own a weapon of major destruction? Americans have the right to bear arms. No one is taking away our right to own a gun. But just because someone is American does not give him the right to spray bullets at anyone.  And concerned Americans should not wait and punish such people after they do. They should make it more difficult to allow it to happen in the first place.  I’m pretty sure when Thomas J and his buds wrote up the constitution they had no idea America would be turned into a vigilante, child-killing state.

Yes there will always be ways to kill. But hitting 20 kindergarteners to death with a baseball bat will take more effort than hosing them down with an AK-47. The National Rifle Association released an advertisement hours before Obama spoke on gun control that accused him of hypocrisy for accepting armed Secret Service protection for his daughters. The White House only called the ad “repugnant” and didn’t dignify it with any other response, but allow me to state the obvious— the secret service does not carry machine guns to protect little Sasha and Malia! Besides, those two little girls are targets for evil doers. Most Americans are not. I’d bet most who own or lobby for semi-automatic rifles are not high interest targets for attacks.

So how should Americans prevent violent massacres from becoming common place? Americans do not want their rights to own whatever guns they want taken away. They do not want limits on violent media — that would be censorship and a violation of freedom of speech and expression. What do we do when it is our liberties that breed our violence? Some say stop shielding kids from disappointment so they learn they don’t always get their way, put God back in public schools, parents need to know what’s going on in their kid’s lives, better yet, and women should stop working so they can focus more on their family.  I do think families are key. But not everyone has good a good family. How do you enforce parental responsibility? Just shrug our shoulders and say it’s not our problem…until someone comes to our children’s school, mall, or movie theater?

When do we get tired of having to set out memorials?

Since I’ve lived in Germany I’ve watched a list of shootings happen: Tucson Shooting, Portland mall holiday shooting, Aurora, Colorado Movie Theater Shooting, Sandy Hook shooting, and now the Boston Marathon bomb. But nothing of the sort has happened in Germany during that time. In fact, I can only find three school shootings in German history on in 2002, 2009, and one before I was born in 1964. The most recent ones, committed by teenagers just as American shootings are usually committed by young people. The Washington Post and New York Times reported that America’s homicide rate is 20 times more than any other developed country. No other developed country has this problem! Are we leading or trailing? America is on par with war-torn, poverty-stricken, developing (or formally third world) countries. Violence is becoming a common part of our culture like Gaza, Syria, Iraq, Afghanistan and Iran.  And yet we pride ourselves at being world leaders and the standard of excellence. If I were from a developing country with America’s crime rate, I wouldn’t be out of line to file asylum and get to stay in Germany as a refugee.

The European political science students I run into just don’t understand our need to balance our constitutional right to own arms. “Why does your country allow crazy people to have guns and kill children,”  Hugo, a Political science student at Valencia Universidad in Spain asked. I had the same conversation with a French guy in a bar. It’s so difficult defending our politics to Europeans.

We’ve got to try something. Some politician has got to be confident enough to try to do what’s right  without regards to what is going to keep his nice pay check flowing. In Germany, only sportsmen can have guns after getting a license and testing. Either we acknowledge that access to the most deadly weapons are part of the problem or we just shrug our shoulders and chalk it up to our culture. We just accept that school shootings, and killings in public places are just a part of the American way just as those in Gaza, Yemen, Iraq, and Pakistan have adjusted to life with bombs constantly going off around their homes. I say let’s try the president’s plan out. Let’s be concerned with mental health. Let’s do more to keep guns out of the hands of unstable people. Let’s do more than just sit around talking about the travesties then oppose every idea to prevent future tragedies. If we care let’s just try to put laws in place. If they don’t work we can re-evaluate later. Otherwise, let’s just accept violence as an inherent part of our liberties.

In Destinations, Europe, Greece on
April 13, 2013

I Love Greece In The Spring Time

Lauren and I met in school and amazingly both ended up living on this content at the same time, She in England and me in Germany. Although we were both criss crossing the country we never crossed paths until one day in February, I announced that I was looking for a travel buddy for a Mediterranean cruise. Minutes later Lauren is giving me the number to her travel agent for a cruise she and a roommate had just booked. within the hour she and I were set for a spring break cruise in the Med leaving out of Italy and ending in Athens. This would be Lauren’s final European adventure before she’d make her way back to The States.

Although it’s April, this lush green in Olympia was a sight for sore eyes. Stuttgart and England were still battling cold, gloomy winter.

 

Springtime in full bloom in Olympia.

 

 

We got to the location where the first Olympic games were hosted before the big crowds of tourists.

 

Greek gardens were simply gorgeous this time of year.

I love that the Greek Islands are full of vibrant colors this time of year.

 

Cheaters during the olympics would get their names inscribed in stone for their shady character to be remembered for all times! Maybe we should consider that for our cheater pro athletes of today.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Loren looking silly…but really she’s using her artistic talents to capture the simple beauty of the purple flowers.

So much more than gyros. Greek Food, where have you been all my life!

Zorbas…as in the restaurant in My Big Fat Greek Wedding!

The food devoured on this trip needs its own blog entry. Delish!

 

Looks like it should be a post card. We arrived to Mykonos two weeks before the tourist season so it was quiet but most shops, restaurants, and hotels were not open for business.

 

We are at the starting block of the original track and field events for the Olympics! How cool is that? How cool is that for a runner?

 

And I’m losing cus I wasn’t ready!

Vogue spread?

It’s all Greek to me.

Los tres Amigas peering into antiquity.

In Destinations, Europe, Greece on
April 11, 2013

Walking In Athens

I can’t believe I’ve really been here!

It is only fitting that our epic European adventure would come to an epic end in a city equally as epic… Athens, Greece. Lauren, Angie and I would spend a day in Greece before parting ways after a week of adventure after adventure. Quit the bitter sweet end.

 

Athens is a big city and the ancient wonders are such a small part of it. The three of us paid a small fee to enter the historic section. We strolled around paths that millions had walked for centuries, taking note of the ancient ruins and statues of the men we read about in history books. That Hadrian sure got around by the way. I had just seen his villa outside of Rome and Lauren had visited his wall in the UK. And here he is again in Greece.

We climbed a slippery, huge rock overlooking the rest of the city with a 360 degree view to realize that the ancient city, although grand in its own right, was only a small but insignificant part of Athens. There was so much more that we would no way get to see and experience during our short stay.

 

There’s nothing quite like walking around ancient Greece to make one feel so insignificant in the grand scale of the world.  Of all the people who once lived, worked, and loved here… I could only name a few by name. And out of those few, most of them are factitious Greek Gods. Aesop, Aristotle, Euclid, Homer, Plato, Sokrates, Thucydides, all the guys that inspired Raphael’s School of Athens…did they wander around these gardens. Did they recline on the Parthenon steps like us?

Yet the unknown lives of the past were still significant and made a difference…even if it wasn’t recorded for thousands of years. People mourned of these unremembered deaths and yet they were only a few generations removed from being forgotten. Souls connect for a brief moment in time then wither away without witness and without memory as if their epic love story never existed.  I wondered what the pillars holding up these temples would say if they could talk.

Perhaps lovers and best friends have been walking nervously down the same paths I strolled since before Jesus came.  Perhaps three chica friends dressed in their white Grecian robes and gold sandals from 500 BC laughed and told jokes with one another in the very space Lauren, Angie, and I posed taking selfies. Perhaps they dished the dirt on guys, discussed their worries, and gushed about their awesome weekend.
While touring the Acropolis, a group of photographers, in Athens for a photography convention, stumbled upon us trying to take selfies with my iPad. They did us a favor and took some pics of us with their cameras.

Although I’m sure I could have learned more from having a guide, so much of what I saw in Athens I had studied from high school arts and humanities, world civ, or college history classes. So many images from moves were brought to life where I could say, “Hey! I recognize that.” Like the Caryatid (female sculpture serving as a column) Porch of the Erecheion… I recognized them most from the women singing in the intro to Disney’s animated film, Hercules.

 

Athens is a city that you feel. Like Marc Cohn felt about Memphis, Tennessee, Athens is a city that changes you. When you leave, you leave a different person.  I would love to return and explore with more time here; next time with my parents who I know would get a kick out of Greece.  It’s relatively cheap in comparison to the rest of Europe. You can eat gyros and other street food for a euro. Trains and mopeds will get you around town for next to nothing. It’s warm enough to peel the skin in early April while it’s still snowing in Stuttgart.  The islands are beautiful and lush. The big city is captivating. Tourist season is certainly summertime and the islands are shut down and activity on them is sparse before then.  I didn’t see much evidence of the unemployment and economic hardships emphasized in the media but I will say Athens was a bit grimier than Germany but heck, what part of Europe isn’t? The further east of Germany one travels in Europe, the grimier the big cities get with litter and graffiti  it gets. Athens was no different than say Budapest, Budva, Tirana, from what I saw.

 

Greek Olives

 

 

If I returned I’d probably start in Athens, take about five days to really explore the history and enjoy the contemporary then take tourist ferry trips to the other islands.  I bought tons of junk the first time around.  I’d enjoy the night life and delve further into the city to see the real Athens apart from the tourist Athens. I’d channel my inner Athena and charm locals while taking part in the active night life. Next time, like I always say, I’d save more money on gifts!

 

 

Here’s me, trying to model

 

My time in Athens was short. I didn’t even scratch the surface. I got the tourist view — Not an insight to Greek culture or an insider’s view. But that small 56 hour snap shot of the archeological playground certainly left a lasting impression on my perspective of time and on my curiosity just as its left a lasting impression on the world.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Eating 1 euro gyros on the streets of Athens

 

 

Our little photographer

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The model

 

The photographer

 

 

 

 

 

 

Awe striking Athens by night

 

 

We’re just goofing around. The photos below remind me of a Gap advertisement.

 

In Destinations, Europe, France on
January 16, 2013

Living The Dream: MLK, Jr. Day In Portes Du Soleil, France

Beautiful snowy Alps views taken from the top of the French Alps in Portes Du Soliel
clBonjour y’all!  Dr. MLK, Jr. Weekend is always the Annual Black Ski Weekend. Even for those who cannot attend official events, the extended holiday weekend draws African-Americans to the slopes for fellowship and camaraderie.  Living in Germany doesn’t pause tradition.  For the four-day Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Day weekend, I went on a trip to  Portes du Soleil, a ski community on the Swiss-French border.  
 
With 13 Ski resorts (8 French, 5 Swiss), 307 runs, 200 chair lifts, cute villages spanning 372 miles (650KM) of Ski Community, and two mountain cultures all under one ski pass —  Portes du Soleil is an Ultimate Winter Sports Wonderland. You cannot say you’re an avid skier without making Portes du Soleil your winter holiday destination at least once. But, I guarantee once you get there, you will want to keep returning.   Here are all the reasons why I love skiing in Portes du Soleil.
 
 

The Alps

I absolutely adore spending time in the Alps! They take my breath away no matter the season or the country I view them. 
 
 
 
You can ski over to the Swiss side, but make sure you spend your money on the French side…it’ll go further that way.
 

TARIFS-DU-13-AU-21-AVRIL-2024-1.pdf (portesdusoleil.com)

 

Charming French Towns

Unfortunately, I had to spend most of this weekend hotel-bound writing a gosh-darn research paper for the final class of my Master’s program while everyone else hit the slopes.  However, La Chapelle is the perfect, quiet place in the Alps to post up in a coffee shop and write all day. 

My ski extraordinaire pal, Lucia
The Church in which the ski town was named after.
Fondu party in the Apres Ski

French and Swiss Après-ski Culture

Après-ski is one of the most memorable parts of a ski vacation. During the day, everyone disperses based on their skill level, but in the evening, when the slopes, close friends can all come together to hash out the day’s most memorable events over food and drinks.  We had a fondue night where we made a meal out of dipping pieces of bread, veggies, and meats in warm cheese. Wine flowed freely as wine should when you’re in France, and the laughter got louder with crazy plans to take a photo in the blizzard in our bathing suits. this crazy plan never manifested but it sure was fun to discuss.

The name of the town

The Chapple that the town was named after…Which, by the way, is the comedian Dave Chapple’s name…it’s French!

These photos were taken on the day I stayed in a coffee shop to write my paper. Of course it was a beautiful clear sky day.

La Chapelle

This is one of my favorite ski resorts because it had a variety of slopes for all skill levels. One green run was four kilometers long with gentle back and fourth curves perfect for practicing. Not only that, there were several green runs for me to practice on.

The sun shines bright against a blue ski in French Alps  in  Portes du Soleil. evergreen strees on the snowy slopes.

I pretty much decided I graduated from the basic ski instruction. I don’t need to spend 60 euro for someone to tell me how to  “pizza” and  “french fry” anymore. I just want to practice on my own. I was bored and I felt like it wasted a whole day when I could have been doing trial and error an finding by own way on longer runs.

French Alps in Portes du Soleil
I just can’t get enough of the Alps, Spring, Summer, fall, or snow-capped winter. They are just breath-taking.
Sunny blue Sky views of the wintery French Alps during the ski season from on top of the mountains.

More Apres Ski, or After Ski, going on in the bed and breakfast hot tub.

Of course, we’ve got Alabama men and Kentucky men trying to stream football games!
Me doing homework as I wait for the dinner festivities to commence.
Oh the goofy men I associate with.
Students in French Alps in Portes du Soleil
This guy was working on his PhD in engineering and took a day off from skiing as well.
I don’t know what it is but it was delish!
New friends, cute couple from Bama.
 

This ski town is joined with the city of Evian. You know, like the water. In fact, Evian water comes out of the tap here. It’s so fresh, so ean!

Life is but a dream. I am so glad I have the opportunity to celebrate Martin Luther King Day in such a beautiful place with great friends.

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!

 

 

 

 
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.

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!

 

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.

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.

 

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?