On roads, castles, dragons, and towers.

To make up for all those words in my last post, I'm making this one pretty much photo-only. Also, words don't always make sense to me or line up the way they should, so when they decide to play puppies-in-a-box like they have today, I have to let them be. 

This is a path called The Long Walk. It's at Windsor Castle and it's lovely.

Coming from the other direction, you see this: 

One thing I often forget to do when I'm in a beautiful place is turn around. It doesn't matter where I am or what the setting is. If I have a camera in hand, I have to look backwards as often as forwards. For some reason this is difficult for me to remember. I am always moving.

Speaking of turning around: I had a wonderful long reminiscence with my old college roommate today, and it was exactly what I needed. My whole day has taken on a much nicer spirit since our chat. 

And speaking of looking forward: I like this picture because the Shard looks like it's right next door to the Tower of London rather than across and down the river. I don't think I realised how truly big it was until I took this. I can't wait for it to open. 

Until next time,

Big hugs and lots of love, 

Esss

Freedom never looked so free.

See what I'm doing here? That's right. ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. Because I SURVIVED MY SEMESTER PROJECTS! And my world--for the next two precious, precious weeks--is all about The Nothing. My book stack a mile high? I'm gonna SMASH that thing. It's going to be so beautiful being able to read without feeling guilty about The Things That I Should Be Doing that I may just explode into bliss-pieces. My coffee cup is bottomless, my flat is clean, and my biggest source of stress will be about whether or not I want to tackle that new mega-recipe today or tomorrow. Even my LAUNDRY is caught up--that's how I rewarded myself on Saturday for a job well done. Hours and hours of delightful laundry and watching the overflowing hamper gradually empty like so many rain barrels in a drought. I feel like a million bucks.

I'm not going to lie, though--the work on these latest projects was actually...okay. It felt GOOD. Was it because the projects were far more difficult than anything we were expected to do last year, so were therefore more rewarding? Was it because the work I produced is something that doesn't make me want to crawl into a hole with embarrassment, maybe just hide under the bed? Or was it because Aya stayed over for a week and we worked from 8 a.m. to 11:30 p.m. every day and survived on a diet of energy drinks, wasabi peas, and Japanese pop music? I don't know! But not once did I think, 'I can't do this.' 

Of course, it's hard NOT to have fun when we have Aya playing yeejay (that's my new term for a youtube-deejay). We played the below song at least ten times a day. It's awesome. You have to at least watch the first half of this video. It is SO. FUNNY. I can't decide my favourite part. It is in the first fifteen seconds, when the second singer leaps into the frame in slow motion, her hair floating in the breeze? Is it at 0:58 when the main singer swirls and her outfit changes? It's really impossible to say. But oh it makes me belly laugh every time:

Aya also taught me about Japanese Radio Exercises (or Radio Taiso), which is something every person in Japan knows. That's right. Every person. That's what Aya told me and Aya doesn't lie. She says they grow up doing this before school every day. Families do it together in the morning. 'To wake up,' she says. I'm not surprised. The mornings we did it, the injuries I sustained were enough to get my blood flowing:

And I know what you're thinking, because you only watched the first twenty seconds: Rona, this looks EASY. Any stretching done to piano music canNOT hurt you. Well. You certainly didn't see Part Two, designed for the younger Japanese set. When Aya and I would get to this half of the exercises, she'd be swooping around like a tiny, graceful ballerina, all stretchy and petite, while a half-beat behind, my giantess arms swung around like so many gorillas in the jungle, my floor-scraping knuckles knocking things from their shelves with every twirl.

It was awesome. I still like to do them. 

Alright, off I go! It's time to READ! I may even indulge in a THIRD cup of coffee. I KNOW! Someone slow me down, I'm on a crazy train! 

Big hugs and lots of love,

Essss

It turns out German rest stops look a lot like American rest stops.

Okay, so you know how sometimes you get on a plane and you think, 'This plane will land in the location I chose and paid for!' and so even though the plane may be delayed two hours before taking off, that's okay! You're going where you want to go!

Except for now. The gig is up, people. It turns out airlines can take you ANYWHERE THEY WANT TO. Like say you board a flight and you think it's going to Munich. That's the ticket you bought, after all. It says it right there, on the ticket! Munich! And everybody else around you is ALSO going to Munich, so you are definitely not boarding the wrong plane.

So you're feeling pretty gosh darn confident you are on your way to the city of your choosing until about ten minutes into the flight, when an announcement is made. 'Hey! We're not going to Munich. We don't really feel like it. But look, since you bought tickets to Germany, we'll at least drop you off in Cologne! Cheers!' This is like getting dropped off in LA when you need to be in San Francisco. Or Memphis when you're aiming for Tulsa. 

This is exactly what happened last night. You can only imagine the uproar. But it's okay, they say! There are arrangements on the other side to get everyone to Munich! Sure, they aren't FLIGHT arrangements, but come on! You'll still get there! Plains, trains, or automobiles, you should get there anyTIME this week!  

I know. I KNOW. 

So we all get off the plane a short while later, bleary-eyed, disoriented, and not a little upset. We're shuffling around an empty deserted airport at one a.m. in the middle of nowhere and still not sure exactly how it happened. We are then gathered round the luggage conveyor belt and given our options: take a bus now and be at Munich in five or six hours, or take a train at 3:30 and arrive in Munich by 8. They strongly encourage the bus option for anybody who wants to get to Munich early. 

In hindsight, this was a trick. They just wanted us to leave as soon as possible and quit hassling them with our thousands of interjected questions. Tricksy Germans!

So we all shamble on to the bus, like so much brain-dead zombie cattle totally confused and just wanting to be moving in the right direction. Or any direction, really. 

We wake less than an hour later to the smell of burning. SMELLS LIKE BURNING! We aren't sure what it is--plastic? rubber? our bus's soul?--but it's rank and it's bad and it's clearly not going to survive the autobahn and we have to pull over and shut it off before it turns into a giant ball of fire. It will not be coming back to life.

OH YES. THE BUS HAS BROKEN DOWN. 

Our night has officially gone from bad to THIS HAS TO BE A JOKE WHERE ARE THE CAMERAS? Everyone is laughing with hysterical delirium. We are never getting to Munich. We are all becoming friends in our shared disaster. One girl is pretending we are on a desert island together and fighting for survival and every human moment becomes part of the montage in the future movie about us. 

The driver calls a second bus to come pick us up. It arrives nearly an hour later. But we aren't allowed to change buses yet. It seems the local police that have pulled over to watch the show want to make the second bus tow our bus off the highway due to some regulation that said passengers couldn't disembark on the autobahn.  Eventually they give this up as it is clear we are all thisclose to throwing ourselves into traffic, anyway, in a mad attempt to find some other route--any other route!--to Munich so they finally let us get on the second bus. It is now around 3:30 in the morning.

The second bus is more modern than our current bus--maybe 25 years old instead of 30--and significantly more compact. My knees are up around my chin to fit into the seat. But it will get us there. Albeit slowly. Our new driver is a grumpy old man who likes to take a lot of breaks. 30 minutes here, 20 there, 10 there. We see all of Germany in rest stops. Our driver also likes to yell a lot, but the direction of his ire isn't clear. His honking at other vehicles wakes me on a number of occasions but eventually it becomes a soothing background because at least it means we are not pulled over taking a break. 

We finally arrive in Munich at 10 this morning. Roughly twelve. hours. late. I nearly kissed the pavement.

On the bright side, the charming city of Munich appears to be pulling out all the stops as an apology for their airline and bus failings. Snow is falling from the heavens in great plump white swirls of plump swirly whiteness, the shops are all twinkling away, and every two feet is a stall selling sausages or sweets or gluwein or pretzels or dark baked bread. It's a lovely Christmas wonderland. 

And just in case you wondered what Santa is up to this week:

I must take a bit of a nap now--soon two friends are arriving and we'll be off to dinner and more market fun times! Word on the street (actually, word from one of my new German friends from the bus this morning) there's a tiny market in the courtyard of the old palace that's excellent, and a medieval market where they actually dress in costume and serve your drinks in goblets, and a romantic market that's all super duper twinkly at night, and also an art market, and a charity market, and a * on and on and on *!  I really can't wait. So much to do, so little time! And off to Salzburg for a day trip tomorrow! 

I hope you're all having a good week and staying away from all major airlines! 

Big hugs and lots of love, 

Essss

Now to find my mittens.

It's a big day! Notably, my last day at my computer for some time. Right now I should be packing for a night-time flight to Munich-town. This doesn't seem urgent, though. I mean, what do I need? Jeans, boots, coat? I can WEAR all that.

I'm really hoping the Christmas markets will be like that awesome one in Chicago that I went to years ago on my road trip (I still have my mug in the shape of a boot!) or the fantastic one I went to here in London a couple weeks ago, Winter Wonderland (motto: 'We look just like a German Christmas market, if you don't look too closely'). 

These are GERMAN crepes. Don't be so uptight.

They even had curry sausages. Also of German origin.

This is Anna. She is awesome. She is not German, but she totally could be with her rockin' Bavarian style.

Bratwurst. By far the best part of Winter Wonderland, other than Anna's hat.  My love, my heart, get in my belly.  

I can't wait for the shopping. I clearly need a wooden Santa that smokes when you light incense inside him and maybe an elf to sit on my shelf but one that doesn't report to Santa because he's gone rogue and also I think I'd like to try and find a snowflake ornament that's tucked inside a snow globe ornament inside a reindeer ornament all dangling from a sprig of holly in a wreath around the neck of a bigger reindeer ornament. That would be perfect.

I look forward to seeing you soon! I hope you have a very merry Christmas!

Love and hugs,
Esssss

That's right. Another post about hot dogs.

"Stay hungry. Stay foolish." - Steve Jobs

I like to think that I follow Steve Jobs's advice every time I travel. The first thing I plan whenever I'm travelling to any given city is where I need to eat. If I'm lucky, my travelling companion will be interested in museums, boat cruises, and walks in famous parks, and our two lists will come together like magic. If that's not the case...well, I can't be held responsible. Now open up!

In Chicago, this food-centric tour took the form of donuts, hot dogs, and other such healthy, hip-loving delights. The Doughnut Vault being no exception. Everyone warned about the lines that stretch around the block and also how they close as soon as they sell out, but I got lucky--arriving at eleven, I was able to walk straight up to that tiny, tiny counter in that tiny, tiny hallway and load up. I can only assume there was nobody waiting because they all thought the Vault would be sold out and closed by that time. But there were four whole donuts left! A chocolate AND a gingerbread stack, all of which I bought and promptly devoured. That's right. I closed the place DOWN.

(This is what bliss looks like.)

This is also what bliss looks like: pig face at The Girl and the Goat. Imagine a maple breakfast sausage covered in shoestring fries and a perfectly fried egg: basically, all you could ever want in a meal. Also, GOAT CARPACCIO. I know! There was SOMUCHDELICIOUSGOAT on that menu. And not ONE was a curry, thank you very much. It was like I died and went to bleating heaven. 

 

The next day I took my classy, ever-expanding self across town to wait in line for what was to become the best hot dog experience of my life: Hot Doug's. And I actually MET Hot Doug because he WORKS there and I made him take a PICTURE with me. And waiting 45 minutes was ABSOLUTELY WORTH IT. We went on Duck-Fat-Fries Saturday and while they were fantastic, the real star of the show was The Dog--I ordered the Bacon Cheeseburger Dog with Coca Cola BBQ sauce and maple-smoked cheddar cheese and I kid you not, IT REALLY TASTED LIKE A BACON CHEESEBURGER. IN A DOG. There was bacon and cheese INSIDE the sausage. INSIDE THE SAUSAGE! With every bite, cheese gooed out. SERIOUSLY. And if that doesn't make you realize you haven't lived, nothing will. It was, hands-down, the best hot dog I've ever had in my life. That is, until I tried my friend's Chicago Dog. Then THAT became the best hot dog I've ever had in my life. Which makes me think they're ALL the best hot dog I've ever had in my life. EVER.

I actually want to try every single item on this menu. Don't judge me.

And lest you think all I did was eat (uh), check out this architectural boat cruise! It went through the rivers/canals/allthosewaterways and a lovely old lady told us who designed all those gorgeous buildings and I learned a LOT.* 

Like did you know one of the Batman movies was filmed here? I know! I remember all the good stuff. It is SO Gotham City. Look at that fog over the top of the tower. I didn't even photoshop that in.

I'll release you all from my Chicago tour now--two posts on it far surpasses how I usually cover a city. But I couldn't resist storing my food memories somewhere, and here is a much safer place than my head.*

Until we meet again,

Big hugs and lots of love,

Essss

*Mostly that I have zero capacity for remembering names. Which you may have already suspected if you've ever met me at a party.