Missing America

I've been back in the good ol' USA for the past two weeks. It was certainly a nice reprieve from the long, German winter.

This was my second time going home in the almost year-and-a-half I've been here. Homesickness always sets in unexpectedly, like when you're sitting on the runway at JFK on a plane bound for Europe. A few days before, my two-week visit seemed almost too long but I found myself wishing I could have one last lunch with my mom, pet our dogs one more time, and have one more night's rest in my bed at home.

The first couple times I was on an international flight, hearing all of the foreign languages spoken around me was exciting. This time it was a reminder that I was going back to Germany, a place that can sometimes seem perpetually dismal and dreary and a little less friendly (and a lot less sunny) than charming Deep South America.

I found myself wondering when I would return to the home of the brave. When will I be able to exchange pleasantries with my favorite cashier at the grocery store again? From here on out it will be a curt and perfunctory "Danke" to the cashier at Rewe as I frantically collect my items and shove them haphazardly into a bag while simultaneously trying to get out of the next person's way.

Gone are palm trees and complimentary drink refills, ice cubes and my favorite Chinese buffet. I'll miss the sound of country music and the taste of boiled peanuts. An ocean away, I'm six hours ahead of my family, my best friend, and my beloved East Coast.

I felt a strong surge of patriotism for my country as I soared over New York City and thought about everything. No matter where I go in the world, and for how long and far away, I am fortunate because there's a place that always takes me back with open arms. It's worth it to leave for a while just to hear the person at passport control say, "Welcome back home."

Arrivederci, Milano!

Milanese Breakfast

The streets of Milan were quiet and deserted on New Year's morning. Our luck ran out with the pleasant weather on New Year's Eve and it was foggy and rainy with a biting wind. We managed to find a small cafe open for 'breakfast.' It's really too bad we overslept and missed our hotel's complimentary coffee and pastry selection because we paid 20 Euros for two coffees, a small piece of apple streudel, and some cookies. Did I mention how expensive Milan is?

Fashion District

After our 'breakfast' we strolled through the Quadrilatero della Moda, Milan's famous fashion district. I'm not obsessed with Gucci, Prada, Versace, and the like but it was still interesting to walk through and window shop. Although I imagine if I had 75,000 Euros at my disposal I probably wouldn't spend it all on an Armani dress.

Unfortunately all of the shops were closed until January 7th. I guess wealthy people need a really long New Year's vacation. I think it would be fun to visit when the shops are open and the beautiful, fabulous people are shopping. On one of the side streets we saw an older woman with perfectly coiffed hair, chic sunglasses, and wearing a snowy-white ensemble right down to her stark white shoes, which were somehow in pristine condition even though the streets were wet and grimy. She was walking purposefully toward an ornate apartment building and as she passed I got a whiff of her expensive perfume. I wanted to follow her and find out who she was but that would have been wrong. And creepy. It was like she had walked off a glamorous movie set from the 1950s.

The architecture was beautiful. Graceful mansions tower over streets that are lined with immaculately-manicured shrubbery. Even if you aren't absorbed by fashion and wealth, it's a very pleasant walk through the Quadrilatero della Moda. And who knows? Maybe you'll run into the woman in white and she'll invite you into her palatial apartment for some wine and divulge her secret about how she keeps her clothing so immaculate.

We were off to a late start on New Year's Day and we were well into the afternoon when the skies finally opened up into an earnest downpour. We decided to go back to the hotel and try again later. Later turned to evening because of the bad weather. We ended up walking several blocks to find a cafe that was open. We ate some paninis (by now our go-to food choice) and went to sleep early so we could take full advantage of our last day in Milan.

We'd heard about the 'canal district' so we decided to trek it over to Naviglio the next morning. The weather was still abysmal but at least it wasn't raining. Naviglio is an up-and-coming area that feels very local. We didn't have the opportunity to see it during the evening but it's known for its nightlife. In recent years it has also become a haven for artists due to low rent costs.

Naviglio, Canal District

The canals weren't as grand as Amsterdam's or as charming as Bruges' but I think those are pretty tall orders to fill. I wasn't too impressed but I think I need to reserve my opinion because we didn't see the district at night when the trendy cafes and pubs are bustling, and the weather certainly put a damper on our spirits. So if I went back to Milan, I would go to the Naviglio district for dinner to experience it the way it deserves.

Santa Maria delle Grazie

We still had a lot of time to waste because of our late flight so we decided to check in at the Santa Maria delle Grazie and see if there were any last-minute cancellations for tickets to view "The Last Supper." Since we ended up in Milan because of Blind Booking, we didn't have enough time to secure tickets. A limited number of tickets are sold per day and it's advisable to order them at least three months in advance. As suspected, we were out of luck.

Santa Maria delle Grazie is worth seeing on its own. The interior is dominated by breathtaking frescoes and we were still able to see some of da Vinci's work in the lunette in the portico.

Biblioteca Ambrosiana
courtyard, flanked by
Santa Maria delle Grazie

Located beside Santa Maria delle Grazie is the Biblioteca Ambrosiana, current home to the Atlantic Codex. It's the largest collection  of da Vinci's drawings, bound by a sculptor in the late sixteenth century. The content encompasses his thoughts of more than 40 years, from 1478 to 1519. It was really intriguing to see the pages in person. Leonardo da Vinci had an incredible mind, advanced far beyond his time. We saw drawings of everything from weather patterns to mythological monsters. The collection was impressive and thought-provoking, and I'm glad we happened upon it.

Our  next stop was the Sempione Park. Its origins go back to the 14th century. The land was originally used as a hunting ground for the Visconti. Today it's a pleasant retreat in the middle of urban sprawl. Sforza Castle flanks it on one side, and on the other is the Arco della Pace (Arch of Peace). It was built in the early 19th century to celebrate Napoleon's victories. The view from the park is impressive, even through the fog.

Arco della Pace

Sforza Castle was saved from demolition at the start of the 20th century. Today it houses art and history museums. The castle was originally constructed as a fortress. It's easy to see because of its layout: four walls with square towers at each corner. It was rebuilt in 1447 after a razing and eventually transformed into a residence.

Sforza Castle

Milan was nice. I think three days is more than enough time to see everything if you make some plans in advance. If I had it to do over again, I would make sure to get tickets for "The Last Supper," have dinner and drinks in the Naviglio district, and participate in Aperitivo.

Aperitivo is my biggest regret from our adventure in Milan. As I mentioned before, it's a very expensive city. We had a difficult time finding filling meals that were reasonably-priced. Aperitivo is basically a happy hour accompanied by lots of appetizers. It's a very Milanese thing to do and most neighborhood cafes host them. We accidentally happened in on one after we'd already had dinner. There were cheeses, olives, bruschetta, meats, potatoes, and vegetables. They typically begin around 6 or 7pm and last until 9. The atmosphere is jovial and energetic. And here's the best part: the only money you must spend to make your way around the buffet is for one drink. ONE! I definitely felt cheated for missing out on this wallet-friendly experience.

So, Milan. I don't know if we'll ever meet again and I don't think I will be too disappointed if this turns out to be the case. I must admit that I wasn't terribly impressed with the food. I think a different region of Italy might be on the menu for next time. People, in general, were kind. I loved hearing all of the Italians speaking. It really is how you imagine; lots of "Pregos!" and "Bonjournos!" Milan certainly feels like a lived-in city. Lots of tourists abound but there are also many people dressed in suits, carrying briefcases, and going to work in large, concrete buildings that smell like money.

Arrivederci, Milano!

Rooftops of Milan, from the Duomo

New Year's Eve in Milan

This year, we allowed Blind Booking to choose our destination for New Year's. I was very excited when Milan flashed up on the screen. This was my first time in Italy and I couldn't wait to try the food and see the Duomo.

Antica Locanda Leonardo courtyard.

We took a late flight in and then hopped aboard the Malpensa Express to reach our hotel. Antica Locanda Leonardo is right beside the Santa Maria delle Grazie (home to da Vinci's "The Last Supper) and a pleasant 15-minute walk to the city's center. The hotel shares a 19th century building with private apartments surrounding lovely courtyards. It was one of our best finds to date because of its price, location, and ambience.



New Year's Eve was a beautiful, sunny day. We set out to see as much as we could since many points of interest would be closed on New Year's. Milan certainly gives off a business/commerce sort of vibe. The urban streets are bustling with busy people dressed in suits, banks from every country flank the streets, and the scent of wealth and power is strong in the air. It was a refreshing change of scenery to see the grand Duomo.

Construction of the cathedral began in 1386. The building carried on throughout several centuries until its completion in 1965. Today, it's the third-largest church in Europe. The interior is breathtaking, filled with the light from stained-glass windows bouncing off intricately-designed floors. After a long gander inside, we took the stairs to the top of the Duomo. By now we've had the privilege to stand atop several churches in Europe but this was the most unique experience so far because there were no restrictions; we were literally standing on top of the rooftop spires. Unbelievable.

The Duomo sits upon the Piazza del Duomo. It's Milan's main square and is filled with tourists, peddlers, and pickpockets. We walked with our heads down, bags close, and were still surprised by how aggressively people tried to sell us bracelets and birdseed.

Galleria Vittorio Emanuele

The Gallerio Vittorio Emanuele is a magnificent glass-domed gallery filled with luxury shops. A majestic arch beckons you in from the Piazza del Duomo. Even if you aren't planning on purchasing anything or stopping for food at one of the many cafes, it's worth your time to stroll through and admire the stunning architecture. You must also take a spin on the bull's balls.

Beneath the dome, various coats of arms are depicted as a symbol of unification. There is a wolf for Rome, lily for Florence, a flag for Milan, and a bull for Turin. The tradition goes that you must put your heel on the bull's testicles and perform one spin on top of them for good luck. It isn't just a tourist trap. If you stand long enough, you'll see lots of people doing it-- including the Milanese. I was taking a photo and suddenly an older, distinguished-looking Italian gentleman stepped upon the bull, caught my eye, and spun. Then he spread his arms wide and said, "Prego!" to me. He watched as I performed the spin and, nodding satisfactorily, rejoined his wife.

Take a spin!

Milan's Christmas market was still operating and it was fun to see all of the different items for sale. It's interesting how each country's interpretation differs. I guess it's in ways you would expect. Germany has lots of bratwursts and gluhwein, Brussels provides the beer, and Italy went heavy on cheese, antipasti, and paninis. We picked up some olives and a bottle of wine to whet our appetite ahead of our New Year's Eve dinner.

Boccondivino

Reservations for dinner were difficult to come by, even almost three months in advance. We finally found a place close to our hotel, a charming restaurant with excellent reviews. Boccondivino is in a quiet area on a side street. We were the first to arrive and we received a warm welcome from the manager and a sparking glass of Prosecco. The first of many courses was the pinzimonio: a large offering of fresh vegetables dipped in olive oil, balsamic vinegar, and salt and pepper.

Pinzimonio

Soon the restaurant began filling with lots of other couples and large groups of boisterous Italians toasting each other and laughing raucously. The atmosphere was electric!

I've been to many different dinners with wine pairings. The formula is pretty standard: A glass of wine accompanies each course and it's presented by a knowledgeable sommelier who enthusiastically speaks about the flavor of the wine, its origin, and why it's the best accompaniment to the dish. The course is finished, along with the glass of wine, and the tasting moves forward with the next plate.

At Boccondivino, the process is a little different. There was still a sommelier (a delightful man with a passion for wine and a twinkle to his eyes) and there was still a pairing for every course. But instead of a glass, it was a bottle. Yes, I mean that the ENTIRE bottle of wine was left on the table for refills. We didn't really notice it with the first course but by the second one, we realized that two bottles of wine were sitting in front of us, opened and waiting to be emptied.

"That's weird," said my husband. "Do you think they mean to do that?'

We looked around and noticed that the rest of the patrons were also amassing their own stashes.

"Well, they can't possibly continue to do this for every course," I said. "Maybe you're meant to just have a couple bottles for the whole duration."

That guess was wrong. Course after course continued to arrive at our table. We had everything from cheese and pate to lard and gnocchi (not together). At some point our friendly sommelier stopped giving his eloquent speeches and just eased the next bottle in front of us along with another glass. We became great friends with the couple seated next to us and I think we were shouting in Italian by the end of everything. It wasn't a tasting; it was a downright sloshing.

Suddenly the room darkened and shouts of "Buon anno!" flooded the restaurant. Bottles of champagne were popped open and we ate lentils for good luck. The manager, who by now was red-faced and extra-jovial, shook hands with each patron and wished them a happy new year. Dessert was still on the way and it was accompanied by port or sherry. I can't remember which because I had ceased imbibing about three glasses before that.

Lentils for luck.

By the time our thousand-course dinner was finished, we realized we'd spent almost five hours at Boccondivino. It was certainly a New Year's dinner to remember. As we left, we marveled at the number of bottles and glasses decorating each table. It was surreal and gluttonous. But I suppose the chances of me ever being in Milan for New Year's again are slim, so I guess it's best to do it right the first time. And if 'right' means devouring endless cheese platters, gulping down sparkling whites and ruby reds, shouting with happy Italians, and breaking a wine glass (oops), then yes-- we achieved something.

I don't remember much about our stroll back to the hotel other than it wasn't as cold as it could have been due to our wine coats, we laughed a lot and took many ridiculous photos, and the people in the room next to us were shouting, "Happy New Year!" at the tops of their lungs for several hours into 2013.

Needless to say, we missed the hotel breakfast the next morning but we did manage to make it back out into Milan for another day of sightseeing. But I think I'll save that story for later. Just the memory of Boccondovino has made me woozy.

One Year Later: Essen Beer Festival

We've been very busy the past few weeks! We visited Antwerp again. It was the same as I remember: bustling, slightly gritty, and interesting. We've had some really good luck with restaurants during our visits to Antwerp. This time we had dinner at El Warda, a Moroccan restaurant. The atmosphere was relaxed and jovial, service was excellent, and our food was delicious. We began with a sampler of twelve dips for bread. Each one was unique and it was fun to experience all of the different flavors. We both had tagines for our main courses and then finished off with traditional mint tea and a small dessert.

Moroccan Sampler Dish

We spent the next day slogging through Antwerp's rainy streets. We were mainly just wasting time until our afternoon train to Essen, home of the annual Kerstbierfestival. We attended last year (Antwerp and a Beer Festival) and it remains one of the highlights of our travels. We stopped at two of Antwerp's Christmas markets and then settled at a cafe to get a jump-start on our Belgian beer tasting and fill our stomachs with a nice cushion of spaghetti bolognese.

Taking the train from Antwerp Central Station was fun. The station is beautiful and the regional train we took was a classic style that brought to mind scenes of Harry Potter and the Hogwarts Express. After a pleasant 40-minute ride through picturesque Belgian villages, we arrived in Essen and boarded the charter bus to take us to the high school gymnasium that houses the beer festival. 

Pulling into the parking lot was nostalgic and I thought of us at this time last year, fresh to Europe and still confused about lots of things. My sister was visiting and we had a great time sampling beers we'd never heard of and making friends with other festival attendees. 

O.B.E.R. Festival in Essen, Belgium

Our experience this year was mostly the same although we were more informed about the beers this time. Last year was more of a free-for-all because we hadn't had the time to cultivate our repertoire of Belgian beers yet. After getting our first samples, we wandered around searching for a place to sit among the long tables in the center of the gym. Finally someone left and we snagged a prime people-watching position. Before long, we were joined by a Dutchman and several of his friends on one side, and a Belgian and Englishman on the other. 

The usual questions were asked of us: "Are you here on holiday?" "Will you be staying long?" "What brings you to Europe?" "How did you find this festival in the middle of nowhere?"

With undisguised pride, we informed all of them, "Oh, you know, we were here last year. We're staying in Antwerp tonight. Lovely city. Good food."

Beer and cheese. Yes, please.

Once we established that we could hold our own (ground and beer), the conversation shifted easily between topics including other worthy beer festivals in the region, American television, Dutch and Belgian languages, marriage, and American gun laws. Where else but a beer festival in a high school gym could complete strangers discuss such riveting subjects? 

Last year we met some people who lived in the area. They were very kind and invited us to sit with them at their table. We spent several hours talking and laughing. One of the reasons we were excited to return this year is because of the possibility of seeing them again. We were disappointed when we didn't find them at their usual table as soon as we arrived. 

A few hours into it, my husband got up to retrieve a some more beers and he returned with some winter ales and one of our old friends. He had approached my husband and asked if we were the Americans who sat with him and his friends the past year. We were so happy to see him and he immediately joined us. We quickly noticed that he was without his group so we asked about his good friend and their wives. His expression darkened and he said, "Well, that's a very sad thing. He died a few months ago. Heart attack, completely unexpected." His eyes briefly filled with tears and he wiped them away quickly before taking a sip of his beer. 

It was a very sad thing to hear. We couldn't believe such a vibrant man had been taken before his time. It was almost absurd that he was there last year, in the same room, sitting with us and enjoying life and now he was gone. His friend told us it was too painful for their wives to attend this year because it's something they always did together. He had come to honor his memory and have a few beers in his name. It was a sobering reminder of how short life really is, of how you can be here one minute and gone the next. But it wasn't really his style to be mournful. He was soon telling us about his new grandson and how happy he is to be a grandfather-- another reminder, this time of how life goes on and there is joy for every sorrow. I was very happy to see our old friend, and very moved as well.

Soon it was time to bid adieu to the Objective Beer Drinkers of the Essen Region. We shook hands with our friend and told him we'll see him next year. Then we took the train back to Antwerp but this time we weren't alone, as our Belgian and English friends joined us. The ride back went by much faster and we were a little sad to part ways at Antwerp Central. 

We had a wonderful time in Antwerp and at the beer festival. I want to return every year because there are always new beers to try, new friends to meet, and old friends to see. 

You won't hear from me for several days but I hope you have a very Happy New Year! We'll begin 2013 Italian-style, in Milan! 

Frohes Neues Jahr!

Liege Christmas Village

We visited Liege earlier this year ('How do I describe you, Liege?'). We decided to return for the Christmas Village, the oldest and largest in Belgium.

It was a very frigid day. The sun never shone and the wind was biting but all sorts of food and beverage vendors were on hand to warm the cockles of our hearts. In fact, the lasting impression I have of Liege's Christmas Village is the food and drink. We've come to expect delicious vittles and amazing beer when we go to Belgium and we certainly weren't disappointed. There were stalls touting bratwurst, pommes frites slathered in mayonnaise, hot chocolate made with the finest Belgian varieties, foie gras, and delicious winter ales and fruit beers.

Some stalls were conveniently set up outside of the parking garage, on the route to the main Christmas village. The vendors at these stalls were a little more aggressive since they were off the beaten path. My husband's new obsession these days is sausage. He spends a lot of time wending his way from stall to stall, happily plucking samples off the tips of knives and always offering appreciative, "Mmmmms" and, "Wow, this is the best sausage I've ever tasted." After these endorsements, I see the sausage sellers' eyes grow large and they look at us expectantly, practically bursting at the seams and waiting to shout, "The whole lot can be yours! For a million Euros!"

Most of the time we just walk away, leaving behind very disappointed people who probably don't understand why we were so enthusiastic but didn't purchase anything.

So I wasn't surprised when my husband wandered off and tasted a sample from a boisterous man who insisted I also try some. "Yum," I said, as I prepared to continue our stroll. But it was too late. My husband had already began nodding his head enthusiastically and exclaiming, "Delicious! Incredible!"

The salesman quickly began his pitch in rapid-fire French. I could make out a few words but then had to politely say, "Je ne comprends pas." He only slightly paused before he said, "Ahhhhh... d'accord." Then he continued to speak in French as he described the different kinds of meat used to make his sausages. When we failed to nod or feign competency, he resorted to making animal noises. He pointed at one bundle. "Heehaw, heehaw!" he brayed. "Donkey!" I shouted. "Oui, oui!" he said, even though I'm not sure he understood the word donkey. "Baaaah, baaaaah," he yelled. "Sheep!" we cried in unison.

It went on like this for a few more animals before my husband pointed to one and the man said, "Originale!"

"Ok!" exclaimed my husband. "We'll take it!"

I whipped my head toward him and motioned to the sign clearly stating: 37.75 Euros per kilo. I saw the fear pass quickly on his face and he motioned to Monsieur Sausage that we only wanted a small portion of the log.

"Ahhhh... non, non, monsieur. Demi?" I knew demi meant half and I realized that the sausage could only be purchased as a whole or a half.

"That's fine!" said my husband.
I furtively whispered, "Look at it! Half of that is still going to be almost a kilo. This will be nearly 30 Euros."
"Nah, it won't be that much," he said assuredly.

After a lot of fancy cutting, folding, wrapping, and tying with twine, Monsieur produced our package of sausage and the receipt. 27 Euros.

I saw my husband cringe as he handed over 30 Euros. "Au revoir!" called the man, as he gave us our whopping 3 Euros in change.

We vowed to be more conservative with our money for the rest of the day.

A pleasant 5-minute walk brought us to the Christmas Village. It looked much the same as all of the other markets we've been to in the past month. Rows of stalls lined the Place Saint-Lambert. Wafts of street food filled the air and small bands marched through the village blaring holiday tunes from their trumpets and clarinets.

Liege Christmas Village Band

All the sausage talk had whet our appetites and our first snacks were crusty baguettes with four different melted goat cheeses, and homemade garlic pesto topped with sliced tomatoes. It was absolutely divine and provided the perfect cushion for our first beers.

We chose wisely with a sampler from the Brasserie des Geants. My favorite was the Ducassis, a fruity beer made from real blackcurrant berries. I'm not typically a big fan of fruit beers because they're usually too sweet but Ducassis is an exception. This is the best fruit beer I've ever had.

The perfect snack and most delicious fruit beer!

After quenching our appetites and thirst, we made our way around the village. All of the usual suspects were for sale. Candies, ornaments, wind chimes, scarves, and hats beckoned to us as we passed. It was all interesting but I must admit, we were mostly taken by the food and beer. We took a few more cursory laps to justify another stop. This time it was for chocolate-covered marshmallows.

We came to terms with the fact that we were just going to spend the rest of our time in Liege being gluttons. I think the sausage is what started it.

From the chocolate we moved onto more beer. Val-Dieu is an Abbey beer. I enjoyed the brown while my husband had the Christmas beer. We certainly needed them to wash down the cheesy concoction we ordered from the monk inside the Val-Dieu stall. The best way I can describe it is scalloped potatoes with chunks of ham slathered with gooey swiss-type cheese. Healthy, it was not. But we were already long past the point of return.

The sun sets early here during the winter and we only had time for one more stop at the Brasseri des Geants stall for another Ducassis. Why not?

So what did we take away from the Christmas Village in Liege? Full bellies and a nice, clean buzz from all of the delicious Belgian beer. It's certainly worth the trip.

Nearly a week later, we've only managed to make a small dent in that 30-Euro sausage. C'est la vie, as I'm sure Monsieur Sausage would say.

On the menu at the 'American Trip' stall.

Saga of the Snowmen

Winter is officially upon us! Last year it didn't snow here until very late in the season and even then it was just a dusting. I was very surprised when it began snowing last week! I was even more surprised when the snow stayed on the ground and piled up enough to build a snowman!

My husband grew up in the Midwest so he's an expert at skiing, shoveling, and snowmen. I spent all of my life (before Germany) in the South where I became an expert at swatting mosquitoes, driving Four Wheelers, and eating boiled peanuts. To make up for lost time, I was determined to build my first snowman on my own. My husband stood back on the sidewalk and shouted helpful instructions and encouraging words. We even had carrots and coal handy for the nose, eyes, and mouth. I named him Maxwell.

Maxwell, My First Snowman

I was very proud of the finished product and I posed beside it in a photo shoot in front of the house. I patted myself on the back for a job well done and went inside to warm up and email all of my family and friends back home to brag about my accomplishment.

Less than ten minutes later, my husband opened the curtains facing the front yard to look out at Maxwell. He gasped and said in a low voice, "Someone knocked him over."

I thought he was joking and I was still smiling when I reached the window. Then I saw it: a crumpled, snowy mass with the imprint of the perpetrators' boots. Luckily his face was still mostly intact. I was able to identify Maxwell by his carrot.

Maxwell's Crumpled Face

We stood at the window, our shocked faces reflecting back at us. Ridiculously, I felt the urge to cry since I'd waited so long to build my first snowman and it had been viciously murdered in a few moments. My husband comfortingly put his arm around me and said, "Let's rebuild it."

"No," I almost sobbed. "I've already gotten warm and my toes almost fell off the first time because it's so cold. I can't... I don't have the strength."

He nodded sympathetically and turned back to the sight of the massacre. Suddenly his gaze turned from solemnity to anger and he raised one fist in the air and yelled, "WE SHALL REBUILD HIM!!!" Okay, those weren't his exact words but it was definitely a rallying cry.

He bolted from the room, threw on his coat and gloves, and marched outside to begin Maxwell 2.0. It all happened so fast and I was still standing at the window when I saw him emerge from a corner of the house, pushing a huge pile of snow that was quickly becoming the size of a boulder. I got dressed and stepped outside gingerly as he passed me again, the base growing larger and larger. After another push he turned to me and said gravely, "Get another carrot."

I chose the best carrot we had. By the time I made it back outside, the base was up and it was mighty. He was already working on the middle and colorfully narrating.
"Those little punks will learn not to mess with us! They're amateurs! They don't know I grew up in Chicago!!"

We were huffing and puffing with such gusto that several of our neighbors slowed their cars to watch the spectacle. As each car passed, we eyed them suspiciously and wondered if they (or their punk kids) were the culprits.

I cheered and clapped when Maxwell 2.0 was finally finished. My husband wiped a snowy, gloved hand across his sweating brow and said, "I'm not done yet."

Maxwell 2.0

He erected a "pedestal" beside the new snowman and placed Maxwell's head on top of it. As he hoisted the head on top, he said, "When they walk by, I want to make sure they see what they've done!"

As a final touch, he sprinkled everything with water and declared, "I want this to be here when everything else has melted. It will be a testament to our perseverance in this neighborhood!"

We kept vigil for the remainder of the evening. My husband had his running shoes ready at the door and he was prepared to chase down anyone who attempted to sabotage our snowmen. The night passed uneventfully, except for all of the cars slowing down so the passengers could stare.

After living here for over a year, most of our neighbors will acknowledge us. I wouldn't say they're particularly friendly but at least most of them nod as we pass each other while walking or driving. It took over half a year to even reach this point. Everyone keeps their yards meticulously trimmed and landscaped, and we really do try our best. I don't sweep the sidewalks or wash the windows like a good German hausfrau but our little corner of the neighborhood is presentable.

Oftentimes, people allow their dogs to relieve themselves in our yard and we also discover trash tossed into our yard and on the pathway leading to our door. We try to tell ourselves that it isn't because we're American but sometimes it's hard to think of any other reason  because no one else's yard is disrespected in those ways.

I treasure the experience we have in this country and I feel very fortunate to call Germany my host home. But  I know that even if we lived here forever, we would always be "the Americans" in the neighborhood. I must admit that it felt amazing to finally have a way to say, "You can let your dogs poop in our yard and you can even throw your candy wrappers in front of our door, but you WILL NOT tear down our snowman!"

The spirit of America is alive and well within us!

Incidentally, the original Maxwell fell off the pedestal on his own the next day. All of the snow melted a few days later but Maxwell 2.0 lorded over the yard, tall and white... in a blanket of verdant grass.

Perhaps this little stand will put an end to the dogs and litter in our yard. At the very least, the rest of the neighborhood now thinks we're crazy and that kind of thinking can inspire a kind of fear of its own. All I know is that there will now be a dark spot on that grass and it will forever remind us of December 7, 2012: The day the Americans took back their yard.

Christmas Market Madness

Christmas market season is upon us! I love everything about the markets: the lights, decorations, food, and gluhwein. In fact, I was so excited about the markets that I somehow convinced myself (and then my husband) that the market in Aachen opened Thanksgiving weekend. That Sunday, we drove over to Aachen with visions of sugarplums dancing in our heads.

The streets were mostly empty and we passed a lone vendor selling roasted chestnuts before we came upon the city center. All of the booths were in position but we were a week early. Oops. We stood there in the cold rain as I sheepishly looked at the ground. Suddenly I remembered another market!

"Okay, so maybe I got Aachen wrong. But I know the Valkenburg markets opened today!" I exclaimed proudly.
"What makes you so sure? Did you read about that one, just like you supposedly read about this one?" asked my husband.
"Yes... well, I'm about 78% sure. I was 100% sure but now I don't feel comfortable with my odds. Anyway, we have to pass by the exit on the way home so we might as well check."

With renewed optimism (on my part), we hopped back into the car and made our way to Valkenburg. Signs on the highway pointed toward the Kerstmarkt and I felt as if I'd saved the day!

Peter Pan and Captain Hook made their
way into the decorations.
Inexplicably.

The tiny village's streets were difficult to navigate because of all of the people. At least we knew we were in the right place. After we finally found parking, we paid admission to go into the first cave market. We'd been in the caves before for the guided tours but it was really interesting to see the marlstone walls lit up by Christmas lights and festooned with decorations. I must be honest and admit I wasn't very impressed with most of the wares. I expected handmade Christmas ornaments and unique Dutch items. Instead, there were a lot of vendors offering kitschy jewelry and overpriced (and imported) scarves and hats. Compared to the German markets, it was a little disappointing but the unique setting was a fair compensation.

I certainly never thought I'd be drinking gluhwein in a cave.

Cafe in a cave.

There are two caves in Valkenburg and both have markets for Christmas. We paid to go into the second one to make sure we experienced everything. The second market boasted the same vendors as the first. My advice would be to choose one cave and stick with it, especially since both charge admission. Unless of course you want to continue drinking gluhwein among the marlstone. It's not a bad idea.

The next weekend was the opening of the Aachen Christmas market-- I checked and double-checked to be absolutely sure. We decided to go on Saturday and fight our way through the throngs of people.

Aachen Christmas Market

Everything was exactly as I remembered. The Aachener Dom provided a breathtaking backdrop for the colorful stalls. Handmade ornaments and children's toys, wooden boxes and leather wallets, lace doilies and dainty earrings, a partridge in a pear tree... anything you could possibly imagine was for sale. We spent several hours wandering around and warming ourselves with gluhwein.

Aachen

Even after a year, Aachen is still one of my favorite cities here.

Before we knew it, the next weekend (this past one) was upon us. Because of my market hysteria, I can't let a weekend pass without visiting one. We loved Monschau so much that we decided to return for its market. We were enthralled once again by the half-timbered houses and gurgling creeks. This is what a German village is supposed to look like.

Monschau

We managed to complete most of our Christmas shopping in Monschau. The wares were basically the same as in Aachen-- except for the mustard. I'm not ashamed to say that we greedily re-stocked our supply of Monschau mustard. We bought with abandon, as if we expect a mustard shortage and can't bear the thought of naked bratwursts. Speaking of bratwurst, we stopped at a tiny station with just one man at the helm of the grill. With fanfare, he produced two perfectly-grilled bratwursts carefully decorated with mustard and said, "This is the best bratwurst at the market!" It was the best bratwurst I've ever tasted. Bratwurst are typically served inside a brotchen (roll). I usually don't like the brotchen because it's too hard and difficult to gnaw through, but this brotchen was slightly heated and it crumbled deliciously. That bratwurst alone is almost reason enough to go to the Monschau market.

Roasted Chestnuts!

I also ate my first roasted chestnuts! They were very meaty. Jack Frost was nipping at my nose as I nibbled on the chestnuts roasting on an open fire. My visions of a Bing Crosby Christmas have been fulfilled.

Our next stop on the whirlwind Christmas market tour will be somewhere in Belgium. I feel the need to experience Christmas in the tri-border area thoroughly. And now that we are well into December, I know for sure that all of the markets will be open.

We had our first dusting of snow here on Monday. It didn't stick but it was lovely as it fell. This week the weather has been mostly unpleasant: freezing rain, dark clouds, and cold wind. Fortunately the Christmas markets are lovely despite rain, snow, and clouds. By the end of the season I'll have had my fill of bratwurst and gluhwein. Until then, onto the next market!

Monschau Market, from above.