Okra Über Alles …

I’ll be back in Deutschland on Saturday, January 5th.

I hope that I’ll be able to stay awake for the UofL vs. UK basketball game that night. It will be on late there and I'm sure I will be quite jet-lagged, so it is not guaranteed but I'll try.



Go Cards!!!

I'm up!

I've been knocked down for a little while, but I'm OK now!



Sheesh! Even I was getting tired of seeing that damn supinated port-o-let.

I know I've been remiss in updating and answering comments but ... there you go.

I just wanted to wish all the Havenites and Havenettes out there a Merry Christmas now, because in all likelihood I will not be posting again before then. The plan right now is for me to be head back to Deutschland on the 13th of January. I have enjoyed the little time I've had here, but I am also looking forward to getting back to the German Bier und Wurst.

With any luck I will soon be posting on a more regular basis, and about things that are much more interesting than searching for decent BBQ.

However, it is not yet that time. So here are a couple of cheery pictures to put you in the Christmas spirit...

Surviving Noel and Searching for Q …

Tropical Storm Noel blew past Virginia overnight last week and let me assure you that it definitely left some wreckage along its path. I was staying in a hotel on the beach that week. I checked in Friday night just a little bit ahead of the storm. I thought I’d have a birds-eye view of the storm, and planned to watch it from my 6th floor beachfront room. It turned out to be a whole lot of wind, not much rain, and a lot of blowing sand. Needless to say I went inside after about a minute.

I went across the street for a calzone and then listened to the wind inside my room all night. In the morning I woke up to see the following devastation…



OK, so it might not seem bad, but this is directly outside my room. Yes it is 6 floors below, but that’s not the point… This is a Tropical Storm that killed at least 100 people in the Dominican Republic, and all I get out of it is a Port-O-Let laying on its side in front of the boardwalk.

What am I to do? I’m certainly not going to set it upright. Not by myself anyway. And nobody else seems to care. There is only one thing I could think of to do in a case such as this…

That’s right. I drove to North Carolina for some Barbecue! I checked out Chowhound.com and found a place about an hour away that is supposed to have some pretty good “Q”.

The slaw was cut into small squares instead of shredded (not the greatest). The hush puppies were pretty good and the pork barbecue was excellent. I had the North Carolina style vinegar based sauce with it, but brought home two different sauces with more Q. The sweet tea was not very sweet, which was OK with me because I’m not a huge sweet tea fan anyway (but … when in Rome). The banana pudding was OK, but it was too fresh. It would’ve been better given a day or two in the fridge. I got a pint of BBQ to go.

Afterwards I headed down to the Weeping Radish Farm/Brewery. I tried a selection of their beers and brought back a mixed case of the Helles and Weise style beers. They also had a Kolsch, an Alt, a Fest, and a Schwarzbier (Black Lager). All were decent, although the Alt was a little run-of-the-mill, and the Kolsch was nothing special (but then I haven’t had one that was).

They will soon open a butchery there complete with a German butcher. I can only hope that they will have Blutwurst, because everyone I know here is dying to try some (nudge nudge).

Definitely a worthwhile trip.

This past weekend Pete and I went to the West Point vs. Rutgers football game. It was miserable. Pete made me walk up - what felt like - every step at West Point … in the rain.

Once at the stadium we were confronted with a dilemma. You see, we had a flask full of bourbon … and at the stadium entrance were security guards. Everyone going into the stadium had to go past said guards. Now, being a veteran of 15 Kentucky Derbys, I know a thing or two about smuggling alcohol into large events. However, I usually have a bit more time to plot a strategy. And I’ve never been up against metal detectors with a pewter flask on my person. I’m thinking that I should’ve just stuck it in Pete’s coat while he wasn’t looking…

So we are sitting in our seats passing a flask of bourbon back and forth, and it is still raining. And it keeps raining. And it’s cold. Not real cold, but cold enough so that sitting in the rain makes one miserable.

People were still streaming into the stadium at the end of the first half. It seems like after one good year, everyone in Jersey is a Rutgers fan. Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s great that people are finally getting behind them, and I’m happy to see them do well. It’s just kind of funny going to a game and everything that says Rutgers on it is new. I think I saw one hat that may have been more than two years old.

Pictures from the Fest

I've put some more pictures from Oktoberfest up on my Flickr page.

Click on the picture below to get there...

Pardon the Interruption…

Sorry for the lack of posting, but I didn’t want to give up my location due to a planned surprise of sorts.

Right now I am back in Virginia. The opportunity arose to come back for 60 to 90 days. I might have balked at it had my mother not been scheduled for a little operation around the same time. She pulled through like a champ, and although she’ll be sore for a while we’re all hoping for the best.

The blogging will probably be pretty light for the next couple of months. I’ll be traveling back to PA every other weekend and won’t have time for a lot of travel adventures (other than between the Commonwealths). I also will not have access to Blutwurst for further gastrointestinal adventures.

So until I do…

p.s. I’ll get some more pictures from Oktoberfest up one of these days.

... notes from the fest

Oh...



Oh my...



Oh my God!

Bringing our A-Game…

Tomorrow morning will start with a four to five hour long drive for some guys from work and myself. We are not required to leave at dawn, but we are hoping to get an early start nonetheless. Tomorrow also happens to be German Unification Day, so we are hoping for light traffic. All we really have scheduled for Wednesday is the drive, dinner, some light training, and maybe taking in some sights.

I’m not afraid to say that each of us is a little nervous. We’ve all heard tales of misery and woe from some of those who have gone before us. The ones who made it back.

“Watch out for ‘these’ people“, some say.

Others tell us to beware of the corners, “That’s where it gets bad.”

“Just keep your wits about you!” was another bit of advice.

“Have any of you been there before?”

“No Sir, first time.”

“I can’t believe they are letting a bunch of rookies go there alone. Things are really going to hell around here! How did you get into this?”

“We volunteered, Sir. Saw the application on the internet and just signed up. We thought we were lucky to get in on it.”

“LUCKY?” he screamed. He was practically spitting in my face, he was so enraged. “Do you see this scar?”

“Uh … yes Sir.” I had seen it before, but everyone told me that he was pretty sensitive about it and I’d be better off not to bring it up.

“Guess where I got it?”

“Uh … I’m sorry Sir, I didn’t know.”

Maybe he looked at us and realized that we weren’t just some punk kids like some of the others had been. Maybe he knew it was already too late to back out. I don’t know why, but for some reason his demeanor changed. I thought maybe he was just trying to put a good face on for us. His “Game Face” is what the others called it.

“Well, you boys just be careful. Be a team. Keep your eye on your buddies, watch their backs. I’m sure you’ll all make it back fine.”

“Make it back?” I had never considered NOT making it back. It didn’t seem that dangerous on the web-page. Almost everybody in the pictures was smiling, and there are girls there, and even they’re smiling. How bad could it be?

In the weeks leading up to this, a couple of people told me that they wish they could go too. However, when I told them that there were six slots and only four of us going, the excuses would start. They suddenly seemed to have all manner of reasons why they couldn’t join us.

“Should I be doing this?” I thought. “At this stage of my life, I’m not in the greatest of shape. And what if something does happen to me? What if I go down? Will I drag the whole team with me? Is it fair to them?”

I spoke with a couple of them. They assured me that they wanted me to come. “Hell, it was YOUR dumb idea in the first place!”

“Well maybe so, but that doesn’t mean that it’s too late to back out, does it?”

“Yeah, it pretty much does” was the reply.

Well O.K. then, damn it! If that’s the way it’s going to be, I need to get ready for this thing. Luckily it was not too late to try and get my sorry ass into some sort of condition. I was determined not to be the guy who goes down. I was also going to need some extra strength and stamina, in case one of the others went down. Who would carry their loads? I looked around and didn’t see any likely volunteers.

Well then it’s got to be me. This will be my team. I will take the lead, help out the ones who fall behind. And I will make damned sure that everyone comes back! It felt pretty good when I made the decision. From that point on, whenever anyone would come to me with a warning about certain types of people, or what to look out for, I’d tell them, “We’ll be ready, and we’re all coming back!”

When we did, it would be our turn to laugh, and tell the next group of ‘boys’ what to look out for. And maybe that was all I was ever after. The feeling that I’ve done something that not everyone can claim to have done. To survive what only a comparative few have survived. To be part of a brotherhood. Something I’ve never had, growing up with only sisters. I always wanted a brother so badly, perhaps that was it all along. It was my way of coping. Is it dangerous? Sure, but what isn’t?

I’d been sore a few times since I’ve been here. I had been training a little bit while here, but nothing intensive. Now I’d have to go at my training with reckless abandon. I would allow nothing to stand in my way. I had decided to do it, and I would have experience the pain and fight my way through it.

Sometimes I trained alone, but I needed someone’s help. Someone needed to ‘spot’ me. My teammates would help me if it became too much, one of them would be there to catch me if I started to fall. I needed someone to push me past the point of failure and to keep going, and they provided that push. We pushed each other. Drove each other.

I am happy to say I think we’ve coalesced as a team. We’ve worked out together, and I feel good about us. We are still only four, and we will still need to do the work of six; however, after a solid month of training I believe that we are ready. But it’s more than that, I believe that I’m ready. I feel that I am at the top of my game right now.

It is now Tuesday night, and I will just be doing a few light reps tonight, nothing heavy. It will probably be the same tomorrow, although we will have a good meal tomorrow night so we have a strong foundation. None of that carbo-loading crap, I’m talking the necessary protein and fat to see us through the strenuous hours of what could be a long Thursday.

We’ll try to get a good night sleep Wednesday, but it’ll be tough. Everyone will be thinking about Thursday. In the morning we will enter the arena, and the noise of the crowd will be deafening. That’s alright; we’ve been training with artificial crowd noise all along. Piping it in through the loud speakers. We can’t even hear one another during these sessions, and have learned to communicate with hand signals. They’re nothing that Bill Belichick would be interested in, just simple communications among teammates.

Thursday morning I’ll turn my fellow Gladiators and say, “Gentleman, I hope you’ve brought you’re A-Game!” I feel like I’ve been training for this since the seventh grade, and in a way I guess I have. This is the day I’ve dreamed about, we’ve all been dreaming about since we were little kids. A dream that had been all but given up on, but now is about to come true.

“Eye of the Tiger”, I’ll tell them. “We’ve got to have the Eye of the Tiger”. I know we will all be humming the Theme to Rocky, when we walk into the tent for our very first Oktoberfest …

Treating the Symptoms …

On Thursday, I had the distinct pleasure of attending what was probably the worst meeting of my entire life. This was a review meeting for the 95% design submittal of a project for a different agency. We had 3 or 4 different project managers (PMs) there, along with a bunch of other people, most of whom didn’t say enough to require their presence. I would’ve liked to be somewhere else myself for this day long debacle.

No one was in charge of the meeting; or rather the person who should have taken charge did not do so. This resulted in much bickering and needless arguing back and forth between the parties. It was bad enough that my part wasn’t until right before lunch (and was interrupted by lunch), but to make matters worse most of the meeting was conducted in German.

Now I don’t have a problem with that, seeing as how most of the reviewers and the reviewees were Germans. It only makes sense for them to discuss their issues in the language with which they are most comfortable. What this did; however, was basically shut me out of most of the conversations. And I don’t have a problem with that either, as most of the stuff they were talking about really doesn’t have anything to do with me, and really wouldn’t interest me in any language. However, not being able to understand anything that is being said brings a meeting to a whole different level of sucking.

Luckily I had purchased a copy of the Stars & Stripes that morning so I was able to leave the room at times and go read the paper. I know that it was not the most professional of behaviors, but neither is slouching in your chair with your head dangling over the back, open-mouthed, and snoring like a Harley in need of a valve job.

It wasn't until late in the afternoon when I began to think that if I had access to a firearm, I would have been able to go into the adjacent room and shoot myself in the head. At the very least the barrel would have some teeth prints in it as a result my deliberations. This is what I view as a symptom.

It became clear to me why the Germans have such tough gun control laws. The governments of this fine country (much like that of my own country) has chosen to treat symptoms instead of diseases. So instead of reducing the meeting length (the disease) they chose to reduce the number of firearms at the meetings, thus reducing the number of engineers committing suicide.

I can almost see the following events ...

... it's late in the afternoon.

PM1 - "Why are the finishes in this hallway teal?"

Architect - "You specifically required the color scheme to match that of the adjacent existing building"

PM2- "I don't like teal either. Can't we change it to melon?"

From the adjoining room - ***BANG!***

Archtiect - "Shit ... I think we just lost another engineer ..."

PM2 - "We should stop those guys from carrying guns"

They are only fooling themselves though, because that will only work for so long. Lttle did anyone know ... I had brought a pocket knife with me and had begun to whittle a chair leg to a point that was definitely sharp enough to break the skin. If that meeting would’ve lasted another half an hour, I’m certain that I would have thrown myself onto that chair leg, and drove that stake right through my heart.

Of course they would probably just require plastic chairs in future meetings.

Fried Blutwurst & Happy Eggs

That's Sriracha they're smiling with and that makes me smile too!

Caution - this post may not be suitable for young children, vegetarians, or wussies in general

I had a slight change of plans and decided not to head down to Gibraltar. I just thought it would be too much for one trip. So the day after the wedding I went to walk around in and ended up staying in Sevilla. And all I can say about that place is … “Holy Shit Batman, this is a beautiful town!” I just walked around a small part of it for one afternoon, and was absolutely floored by the beauty of the place. The Cathedral is incredible as is the Real Alcazar palace.





The place I stayed in Sevilla was a dump, but it had a bed and a roof and that’s all I was looking for. When I left the next morning I stopped by the bridge for some nice toasted bread with olive oil, tomatoes, and Serrano ham. I‘m really digging this Spanish food.



When I got to the hotel in Madrid, I found that the guy didn’t have a reservation for me. He had a room, but there seemed to be a question of how it was to be paid for. I told him that I had already paid over the internet, but he didn’t have the paperwork. He didn’t speak English, I don’t speak Spanish. He finally just gave me the key for the room.

I dropped my stuff in the room and headed for the Plaza de Toros. I had asked for directions from some girl on the street earlier while looking for the hotel. She told me that the bullring was on the other side of town. This I could not understand because I know I saw it on the way in, and I picked this hotel because it was close by. But not knowing which direction to head in, and now how far away it was I took a taxi. After a ten minute ride (at least five of which was spent stopped in traffic) we were there. Great! It was less than a mile from the hotel. The cab driver told me that there were two bullrings in Madrid, so the girl must have been thinking of the other one. Either that or she figured I was a stupid American who didn’t know his geography.

At the ticket window of the Plaza de Toros, the girl asked me where I wanted seats the shade or the sun. Apparently, since the fights are held late in the day, the sun can get really bad when you are facing it. It had been cloudy all day so I replied, “What sun?” She agreed and gave me third row seats on the “sunny” side. The sun never did break through the clouds, so I ended up with excellent seats.



Let me tell you something about a bullfight, for those who have never been to one. It has got to be the most grisly, barbarous, surreal, cruel, bloodthirsty, brutal, vicious, sadistic, gory, and inhumane spectacle I have ever witnessed in my entire life. And I loved every minute of it! I had just finished a short story by Hemingway about a bullfight, so I had some idea of what they were doing. But I still was not prepared for actually witnessing it. The pageantry of it is really something, and these guys that are out there with the bulls have some really big, brass, huevos.

Here is the cast of characters in a bullfight:

The Peones - These guys handle the bull when he first gets into the ring, distract him, and tire him out with the capes and do other things as needed.

The Picadors - These guys are on horseback and stick the bull in the neck and shoulder with a long lance and pole.

The Bandilleros - These are sometimes the Peones or it can be the Matador, but they stick the bull in the neck and shoulders with banderillas (basically 2 foot spears with a sharp barbed tip with a swivel).

The Matador - The Main Dude in this attraction.

At the moment the bull enters the ring he seems a bit disoriented, but as soon as he sees one of the Peones with the bright pink and yellow capes he charges. These huge animals are so aggressive; they just run around the ring trying to get someone. There are about four of these Peones with the capes, and their job is to get the fresh bull to charge so that the Matador can see how aggressive he is and what his tendencies are. They also distract the bull when the gate is opened to allow the picadors on horseback into the ring, or if something happens to someone or something in the ring. There are barricades placed around the ring that the Peones can duck behind when the bull charges. You should see the expression on their faces when the bull is bearing down on them and they are running for this barricade. Some of them are quite funny.



After a little time is spent teasing the bulls, a horn sounds and it is time for the Picadors to enter the ring on horseback. There are two of them at opposite sides of the ring. The horses are well armored with some type of blankets that protect them from being disemboweled. They are also blindfolded so they can’t see what is coming at them or what is about to happen. The Peones or the Matador will play with the bull until he sees a horse. Once he sees the horse he will charge it. When the bull gets close enough the Picador puts a long lance into the back of the bull’s neck, and leans on it with all of his weight. This is meant to tire the bull, to get some blood out of him, and to prevent him from getting his head under the horse. The horses were upended a couple of times this evening, but the horses were OK. The bull meets the Picador two times during the fight. It may be the same Picador twice or each Picador once, depending on where the bull goes.



After this another horn will blow and it’s time for the banderillas. The banderillas are basically spears, about 2 feet long with colourful wrappings and sharp barbs at the end. The Matador or his Peones may act as the Banderilleros (the person charged with sticking the banderillas into the bull). They are alone in the ring at this time, holding the banderillas overt their heads and calling to the bull. When they get close enough they stick the banderillas into the back of the bull’s neck, and run like hell. This is repeated three times, with different Peones or sometimes the Matador will do it all. After the third attempt by the Banderillos, the horn sounds again.



Now with the bull being sufficiently tired from the teasing and loss of blood, the Matador enters the ring with a small red cape and a sword. The Matador will now try to get the bull to do a series of charges, much shorter and closer to the Matador. He will constantly try to get the bull lower, sometimes bringing him to his knees. After a couple of these the Matador may turn his back on the bull and face the crowd posing as if in triumph. After a little more than five minutes of this, the bull is extremely tired, and his movements become easier for the Matador to control.



The Matador then heads to the side of the ring and exchanges swords. This is the killing sword. He lines up the bull and when the bull makes a charge, the Matador leaps to one side and thrusts the sword between the shoulder blades of the bull. If he does it right, the sword will go all the way in and puncture the lungs and other organs. If the sword doesn’t go all the way in, he may get a long hook and pull it out and try again. The Peones will distract the bull during his final throws until he lies down on his side. One of the Peones will then stab the bull in the base of the skull with a dagger to makes sure he is dead.



After the bull is dead, the Matador accepts his applause and may walk around the ring accepting the accolades from the crowd. The bull has a rope harness wrapped around his horns and the carcass is drug out of the ring by a team of donkeys and down a passageway under the stands. (I was told by a friend that they butcher the bulls nearby and that the meat is considered a delicacy, but I have not verified that.)



After the bull is dragged out a couple of guys rake out the blood filled sand and in a couple of minutes another bull enters the ring and the entire thing starts again. The whole fight lasts about 20-30 minutes, and three Matadors do two fights each per night.

It really is quite a spectacle. The last Matador was gored by the bull on his killing thrust, but the batteries on my camera had already died by that time. The bull got him on his thigh. He walked out of the ring on his own, but that’s gonna leave a mark.

After the fight I decided to walk back to the hotel and stopped in a café/bar/restaurant along the way. I had a couple of small sandwiches, one with Chorizo and one with Morcilla de Arroz (blood sausage made with rice). Both were very good as were the two glasses of Rioja.

The next morning I found out from the main desk at the hotel that my credit card had been denied, and that is why the guy at the desk was unable to find out what was going on. Upon my return, I discovered that the Credit Union in Kentucky doesn’t accept charges from Spain because they have a lot of fraud coming from that area. In fact they hardly accept charges from any European countries. I asked them about fraud in the U.S., and she said that if they didn’t accept charges from the U.S. there would be no reason to have the card (which is funny, because that was just what I was thinking).

So I paid the hotel and headed downtown to see if I could get into the Van Gogh exhibit. Alas I was too late, 15 minutes after the museum had opened and they were selling tickets for 2.5 hours later. I knew I needed to leave time to get to the airport. With the way Daphne and I were getting along, I was wondering if she would even tell me where it was. So I wandered around a bit in Madrid and took some pictures.







Then I decided to head back to the airport. Trust me there was much wailing and gnashing of teeth during this trip, but I made it there on time, and landed in Frankfurt after a rather uneventful flight.

In Frankfort it was a bit chillier than it was in Spain, and I got on the train dressed in shorts and a short sleeve dress shirt. This guy was sitting across from me on the train and was just looking at me and shaking his head. He had jeans and a jacket on and here is this guy sitting across from him in shorts. I think I really upset him. He gave me a look of disdain that I usually only get from women.

When I finally got home to Hattenheim all I wanted to do was drop my bags and drink a good German beer, which I did several times (I only dropped the bags once though). I woke up Tuesday morning to find that I had no hot water in my apartment. So I went back to bed. I woke up an hour and a half later and called in ‘dirty’ to work. I told them, I have no hot water and I’m too dirty to come to work. I also called my landlord, and then made a pot of coffee. A guy finally came by to fix it, and after a shower I drove into town and ran some errands. I finally made it to the office about 15:00 or so. I took the whole day as a sick day, and just checked my mail, my email, and talked to the boss about a future deployment.

The trip to Africa never happened and another trip that was supposed to happen next week has also been cancelled. I think I’ve got a longer term trip coming up, but I’m not going to say where for fear of jinxing it. If it happens you should know in about two weeks.

The Reign in Spain Falls Mainly on … well ... me

I arrived in Madrid, Spain on the evening of September 5th after a rather uneventful flight. I had brought Daphne* along with me to act as a guide, and we got to the hotel without incident. It was about midnight, so I grabbed a beer from the bar and headed up to my room.

In the morning I checked out of the hotel and drove into downtown Madrid. I had just this week seen a picture on the internet of this place called Museo del Jamon, and I had to go!





Yes it was worth driving 10 miles out of my way!

After a nice breakfast of some coffee and Jamon on a baguette, I headed out for Cordoba. While driving south, listening RadiOle, I was feeling a little saucy as I drank a diet coke and ate little slices of cured chorizo that were turning my fingertips red. While driving, I was almost brought to tears by a poignant and gripping song. A young girl was singing about how her father was seeking revenge on her lover. She was underage and was carrying the love child that had resulted from some unholy union with Soupy Sales. At least that’s what I got out of it, but I don’t know Spanish.

I stayed in the ‘Jewish Quarter’ in Cordoba. It’s a really nice area, but is a little touristy. It’s a very pretty area though.







That night in Cordoba I had a nice sausage platter with a beer and later had some Sangria …



I met a nice English couple at dinner, who invited me to stay with them in Wales. We argued a bit about gun control. They were for it … so I shot them.

Actually, we agreed to disagree as we each knew we weren’t going to change the other’s mind.

Drove down to Lebrija on Friday for the wedding. I saw this town in the distance, on a hill to the left, and swung off the highway to take a look. It was sitting by itself up on the hillside and looked like it was very well protected at one time. The town is called Carmona, and they were preparing for some kind of festival that weekend. It was a really neat little place, and it is basically out in the middle of nowhere. It seemed pretty isolated, although there were plenty of people and traffic.





I arrived at the Hostel in Lebrija around 15:00 or so, checked in and met a few people who were in town for the wedding. They were an older couple, their daughter (Dianne), and her 2.5 year old son. We decided that we would meet downstairs around 18:30 and go to the church together.

The wedding was great, the church was ornate as hell, but had these stark wooden pews and kneelers. Nancy looked radiant. The whole thing was in Spanish, but my years of training as an altar boy kicked in. I was able to make believe that I was singing the responses just as if the mass were in English.

In reality, I was quietly singing Marty Robbins’ “El Paso”. I think the only time people noticed was when I belted out the last verse…

"From out of nowhere Felina has found me,
Kissing my cheek as she kneels by my side.
Cradled by two loving arms that I'll die for,
One little kiss and Felina, good-bye."

But by that time, the ceremony was over, and they were walking past me down the aisle.

The reception was a lot of fun. Cocktails were served outside, and this was the man of the hour …



At least I viewed him as the “Best Man”. People just kept giving me drinks and feeding me pork products. I was in heaven!

I'm pretty sure that Nancy’s Godmother was trying to fix me up with Dianne. When we were ready to sit down for dinner, she grabs me and says, “You sit with her!”

“Uh … ok.”

Truth is, I had already kind of taking a shining to Dianne. And she didn’t give me the derisive look that I usually get from women. Her son was supposed to sit with her parents, but he ended up at our table anyway. He didn’t scare me off though, because I don’t care how much of a “big boy” he is, I knew I could ‘take’ him. He was really a good kid, but was tired and Dianne had to leave early.

Now when I say early, I mean it was probably around midnight or so. I got out of there and caught a ride with Dianne’s parents around 02:30. I think the die-hards got back after 05:00.

This old man can’t do that anymore!

I'll have more on the rest of the trip soon...

* P.S. - Daphne is the name I have given my Global Positioning System (GPS)

Lamentations, Hallucinations and Fermentations

It’s Tuesday evening and I just finished packing my clothes, &c. for my trip. Tomorrow, after work I will head down to the Bahnhoff (train station) and take the train to Frankfurt. Once there I will board a plane that will take me to Madrid, Spain. I will stay in Madrid tomorrow evening. Thursday morning I will drive the rental car south to Cordoba, where I will spend the night Thursday. Friday I will head down to a small town called Lebrija in the province of Sevilla. There I will do my very best to help celebrate the exchanging of vows between my friend Nancy and her new husband Nathan.

Nancy said that she would introduce me to plenty of Senoritas, and I told her that I would be willing to forgo aesthetics for a certain moral ambiguity…

Friday night will be spent in Lebrija, and from that point on it’s anyone’s guess as to what will happen. I wanted to head toward Gibraltar, but I don’t know if I will have enough time. I want to get back to Madrid by Sunday morning so I can check out a Van Gogh exhibit at a Museum there, and then go to a Bullfight Sunday evening.

I think there is the need for some spur of the moment time, and I’ve scheduled it for Saturday.

Seeing as how Spain is the home of some of the world’s greatest hams, the awesome spicy chorizo sausage, and the ultimate rice dish … Paella, I think I’ll need some time to savor the flavors. Add some Spanish wine to the mix and I may not get out of Lebrija.

I am scheduled to arrive back in Frankfurt on Monday evening around 8:00 PM. This translates into not getting into my bed until at least 10:30 Monday night. Tuesday morning I may be heading to Africa for work. I won’t find out until tomorrow morning (Wednesday) and I’ll be all packed for Spain by then, as I am leaving directly from work.

The thing is that if I am going to Africa next week I need to start taking malaria pills … well … yesterday. I’m cool with picking them up tomorrow and starting the regimen immediately; however, the particular regimen of pills that I would be placed on … sometimes cause … well … hallucinations. Now don’t get me wrong, I’d normally be all for this type of thing. However, seeing as how I’ll be in Spain, I’m a little worried about the effect of the Sangria on the malaria pills. I am also hoping that it doesn’t start to kick in during the Bullfight.

Can you spell inturnashunal insadint?

I’m not sure yet if I will be taking my laptop, but I’ll take notes and lots of pictures wherever I end up. Just hang tight for a while, because I’m not sure when the next update will be. So for now, I’ll leave you with two pictures of recent meals.

The first one is my Labor Day Breakfast …



Waffles, Blutwurst, eggs, and a tomato. Delicious

Next we have tonight’s dinner …



A couple of hot dogs with cheese, kimchi, and a Schneiderweisse. Of course both the dogs and the kimchi were from jars, so it was not as good as it could have been. But I believe that this combination has the possibility of being something special.

When I opened the jar of kimchi, bubbles started coming up inside it. Oh how I love that sweet smell of fermentation!

Vision Quest

It’s Sunday and I’m out walking in the vineyards. I’m taking some pictures of the grapes. Just walking along, eating the occasional blackberries that I pick off of the bushes that border the vineyard. Yes, all is well with the world.

The sun’s out, but it’s not too hot. I had some bluty hash and eggs several hours ago. Did some cleaning, some laundry, and now I’m out for a leisurely walk. I’m communing with the grapes, and it looks like it may be a good year.

Exiting the vineyards, I amble down into the bucolic town of Hattenheim. I am admiring the half-timbered houses, and the stonework of the walls. I pass by the Weinpunkt, and wave to the Weinfrau inside.

Around the corner is a narrow passageway, barely wide enough for a car. Its eight foot stone walls are in remarkable condition, and the cobblestones under my feet provide a strange comfort to my steps. Yes, all is right in Hattenheim this fine day.

At the intersection, I turn left towards the Rhein. The stone walls are in turn replaced by the concrete abutments of the bridge that leads me under the highway. A child on a bicycle passes me. He’s racing his father through the tunnel. I smile.

Exiting from under the highway, I come up into the riverfront area. It’s a large field, with an occasional table and some benches along the river. There are many people out enjoying the day, some on blankets, some on lawn chairs, others just standing around talking as their dogs roll in the grass. Life is good here on the banks of the Rhein.

I turn to the left and there is a rather large group of people, not unwieldy mind you but significant in size, near the Weinprobierstand. I stroll over to the stand and, after waiting my turn, order a Trocken (dry) Riesling, a pretzel, and a piece of cheese. This particular Riesling comes from the Wisselbrunnen, a celebrated vineyard very close to where I started my little excursion today. I sit down at a bench nearby and begin to eat the warm, soft pretzel. I unwrap the cheese and take a bite. It’s delicious. A sip of the wein and I’m practically delirious in my contentment.

Invigorated from the walk, the cool breeze coming in off the river feels fantastic. There are children playing, pretty girls riding bicycles, elderly people sitting on benches. A glass of wein in one hand, I pet a chocolate Labrador Retriever with the other. Someone is painting a picture near the riverbank. I am feeling downright good, and quite possibly religious. With all that is right with the world, I am ready to believe in some heavenly power. At this very instant I want, more than anything, to believe in the divine majesty of the creator. With all the beauty I am surrounded by, how could anyone … uh … wait just one cotton pickin’ minute.

Just what in the name of all that is holy is that?

Once again, my faith was shattered. When I regained my vision, I slowly walked home a trembling, broken, almost lifeless, shell of a man.

Sunday Bluty Sunday

About a month ago I broke a filling in one of my back teeth. It didn’t hurt, but I knew it was going to at some point. I got the name of a dentist from a guy at work, but never made an appointment. Early this week I break another part of a filling out of the same tooth. The tooth itself is still not painful, but it is scratching the bejesus out of my tongue. So I finally call the dentist.

“I think I need a tooth pulled” I tell the girl.

“Are you having pain?” she asks.

“Not yet” I tell her, “but it’s coming”.

They give me an appointment the next day. The hole feels like it’s the size of my thumb, and I’ve got one on the other side that feels like it’s the size of my index finger. This tooth is coming out. There can’t be anything left to fill. The roots probably aren’t worth a shit anymore either.

I can’t afford a root canal, seeing as how I let the time period slip by when I could’ve got dental insurance. I’ll just tell him to pull it, and I’ll save up for some adamantium screws that they can mount a crown on.

I don’t make any plans for the weekend because I know I’ll be laid up with pain and hopefully pain medication. I wonder if “hillbilly heroin” is legal in Germany? I’m having flashes of a weekend of listening to Bodeco CDs in an OxyContin induced coma that is just exacerbated by copious amounts of hefeweizen. Will I snap out of it in time for college football season or Oktoberfest? These are really my only concerns.

It is with these thoughts swirling in my head that I enter the dentist’s office. I am early so I fill out the new patient paperwork. The girl at the desk is kind of cute. She’s older, probably about my sister’s age, but she’s held up pretty well. I’m getting a strange vibe from her. I think she kind of likes me. Well screw her! Let her get her own OxyContin! I ain’t sharing mine!

I get in to see the dentist, and he tells me that it could be worse.

“Worse how could it be worse?” I ask.

“It could be raining”

Turns out that it’s not quite as bad as I had imagined. I did crack the filling. He removed the loose part, did some superficial drilling, and refilled the tooth. He said the tooth looked fine. There was no decay. He didn’t even give me Novocaine.

No Novocaine means no OxyContin. No OxyContin means the girl at the front will no longer be interested. I was just starting to like her.

When I go to the front to get the bill, I realize that she was never interested. Well that’s OK because she’s starting to look a lot older now. I guess I had OxyGoggles on when I came in.

Actually it went very well, and it was not outrageously expensive. So I went back to the office and made plans with a friend to go to Frankfurt this Saturday. I drove into Wiesbaden and we took the train into Frankfurt. They were having a big Museumfest or something like that. We never actually went into a museum, but we did have some biers, some food, listened to some bands, watched a couple of “Viking Boat” or “Dragon Boat” races, and generally had a pretty good time.






The only real difference between these festivals in Germany and in the States is they have better food and bier here. Look at this grill…



Is that beautiful or what? And that wasn’t even the place we ate! I blew it by not getting pictures there.


Sunday I decided to make an honest to goodness breakfast. So I started it the way all good things start … with onions!



Added some potatoes, salt and pepper …



And then added the blutwurst (blood sausage)!



Let it cook for a while, scraped the pan occasionally (can’t let any scabs form, you know) until all of the flavors were married and the blutwurst was falling apart tender (or was it just falling apart? Is there a difference?).



Scooped it into a bowl, and covered it with some sunny side (down) eggs and hit it with a little Sriracha, and it was ready to serve.



Later I cleaned up the apartment a bit and then went for a walk to commune with the grapes. I’ll post some more pics within a couple of days.