City Night Line to Prague

After learning my work was to be extended through the middle of November, in a moment of irrational exuberance we booked overnight train tickets to Prague for the long weekend of Armistice Day (November 11). Planning over a month in advance certainly made it financially possible, but a few hiccups at work left me concerned that I would be sent home early, to return at a later date but missing the scheduled trip. Fortunately, all my concerns proved unfounded and we eagerly boarded the local train on Friday afternoon from Mons to Brussles, then cruised at speeds of 270kph/170mph from Brussles to Cologne, Germany on the ICE (Inter City Express) before transferring to the CNL (City Night Line) from Cologne to Prague.


At least that was the plan.

Mons to Cologne was easy, but the CNL train originated in Amsterdam and was delayed three hours before leaving for Cologne. Because of the length of the delay, the train was re-routed and would not stop in Cologne, but instead would stop in the small town of Wuppertal more directly located between Amsterdam and Prague. After waiting a few hours at Cologne, with its large and comfortable terminal, we hopped a local train to Wuppertal to wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Now I'm sure Wuppertal is a wonderful place but standing on a freezing platform at a tiny local train station for the two hours before midnight with little to no information on the expected arrival time and no open restrooms would try the patience of a saint, not to mention the handful of children and hundreds of adults sharing the platform. To their credit, the children behaved admirably, most making a bed from a pile of luggage. We pitied the poor Deutsche Bahn representative that was working the information booth – J's German did well in digesting the slivers of available information announced over the loudspeaker, and she didn't feel the need to harass the rep with questions. The Germans on the platform felt the need and did so at high volume...

Finally at just after 1am the train arrived and relieved, we rushed aboard before making a way to our berth. Cold and tired, we felt increasingly smug about our decision to get a private sleeper car as we trudged by compartment after compartment filled with backpackers avoiding eye-contact and spreading out their bags as much as possible.

There was a silver lining to the delay: the train was originally scheduled to leave Cologne around 6PM, and arrive in Prague in the early morning. With the late departing, we looked forward to sleeping in and watching the Czech countryside pass by over breakfast. We brushed our teeth at the tiny sink in the room and fell asleep as the train clacked down the tracks.


In the middle of the night the train stopped, waking J and she woke me up and requested I accompany her on an excursion to the small restroom located at the end of the car. A bit grumpy and only half-awake, I agreed and stumbled down the hall. Ever chivalrous, I tried the facilities first to make sure everything was in proper working order. Then, while waiting for J, I stood staring out the back door of the train car. Oddly, I noticed our car was now the last in the train—the cars behind us had evidently been separated off to join another train going to Warsaw or some other eastern city. As I looked around I could see the train was under the covering of a station. Then, with a small jolt, it started moving forward.

Watching the station recede felt like a dream. Then, with the train out from under the cover of the station, I noticed a point appear above the outline of the roof. I stood and watched the TV tower rise hypnotically over the Berlin Hauptbahnhof (main train station) and found myself surprised by the realization that I knew exactly where I was. We had been in Berlin in September 2007 for a computer conference and the Fernsehturm (TV tower) is a distinguishing feature of the city skyline. A magical moment.

J reappeared and it was back to the bunks until the conductor woke us for breakfast. I had to try the shower in the bathroom at the end of the hall under the theory you haven't lived until you've tried to shower in a moving train (rest assured, a stout support bar drops in place across the open side of the shower stall). Freshly scrubbed and without readily apparent bruises I rejoined J for a breakfast of bread, cheese, juice, coffee and the Czech staple, liverwurst (after a dutiful tasting, liverwurst was judged an “acquired taste”).


We were awake for the last hour of the ride as the train followed along a river valley dotted with picturesque towns and rocky crags, punctuated by grotesque Soviet-era housing projects. Finally, with a light rain falling, the train pulled into Prague and we bundled out to take a streetcar into the heart of the city.

The Golden City - Day 1

I had studied in Vienna, Austria when I was in college and was blessed with the opportunity to travel during that time. I roamed north to Copenhagen, west to London, south to Rome and east to Warsaw but I never made it to Prague and had deeply regretted it. I had mentioned to D sometime over the last 9 years that if we ever got the opportunity, Prague is a place that I would really like to visit. So, when we discovered that we were coming to Belgium to stay for a bit, I “strongly mentioned” my desire to visit the golden city, the city of a hundred spires, the mother of cities.


We had planned several of our adventures before we left (most notably Paris and Amsterdam) but I was a bit overwhelmed by the prospect of taking on the Czech Republic. The language is decidedly foreign. The distance is substantially further than other trips. The fear of screwing it up and being disappointed after building it up for a good 12-14 years was considerable. Once we arrived in Belgium and discovered that Prague was a tad more expensive of a trip than originally planned, we were close to abandoning the effort. Thankfully, we were extended and had additional time to figure out what to do. D wisely counseled that I would regret not taking the trip, regardless of the expense. I was not so sure of that, and again, gratefully, with the extension, we could plan further out, which brought down the price – both of travel and hotel – which made the bargain hunter in me thrill. [Side note: I guess it had never occurred to me that, like airplane travel in the State, train travel here becomes more expensive the closer to departure you book. Since I used the Eurorail Pass as a student, I had not discovered some of these finer points of train travel. Live and learn.]


Air travel was a possibility, but we decided instead on the overnight train – but instead of doing it like I did as a student, cramped and crowded, we did it like proper employed adults and book a sleeping car. We were both quite excited about that, but I promised that I would let D tell that part of the story, so I will skip ahead to our arrival in Prague.


Prague is an ancient city, having been settled in 200 BC. The first castle was built there in the 10th century but it was in the 14th and 15th centuries that Prague's history took on greater political and religious significance. Under the reign of Charles IV (1346-1378), Prague became the capital of the Holy Roman Empire, and therefore, the center of the European world. Some of the majesty brought by Charles to Prague include the Charles Bridge and St. Vitus Cathedral, which is the oldest cathedral in eastern Europe. One sees evidence of the majesty of Charles' reign all over the city. Prague is blessed with having been spared the complete devastation brought to most of Europe by World War II. There was some bombing there but very little in comparison to other major cities. This means that there is a remarkable panorama of architectural styles in every direction including: Gothic, Baroque, Art Nouveau, Renaissance, Neo-Classical and others. This is a huge reason as to why I really wanted to visit this city, a chance at seeing history in the buildings as well as the monuments.


After checking into our hotel, we needed to eat and wanted to start orienting ourselves with the city. I was glad to be visiting in November because we were able to get a better hotel more cost effectively and closer into the heart of the city. Also, we knew that it would be less crowded than during the height of tourist season. The hotel was great, overlooking the Vltava river and the Charles Bridge, we were a short walk from the heart of Old Town and the Castle.



We found a lovely restaurant not far away and enjoyed some local fare. Knowing that the Czech Republic has a long and distinguished history of beer production, we were eager to try the original Pilsner, the Urquell Pilsner. We weren't disappointed. It was a light beer with good character, but not bitter. It was very refreshing and well complemented to the meal of traditional knedliky (like dumplings), goulash and sliced meats with gravy (a very tasty, filling meal on a chilly November day.) After fortifying ourselves we started our mp3 tour of Prague.

I had been doing research on Tripadvisor.com (upon the good advise of friends who swear by the reports posted there by real people) and it had mentioned walking tours that one could purchase in mp3 format. I decided that this was the place to try it out. D and I have really enjoyed walking tours before, but we both loved the flexibility of having them at our command and both being able to stop and discuss at anytime, or just pausing for the day and picking it up again the next. It also gave us the chance to get the lay of the land without committing hours on end, which we both liked. We saw the astronomical clock perform with thousands of our nearest and dearest and enjoyed the ambiance of Old Town Square. The contrast of the gothic Tyn Cathedral and the Baroque St. Nicholas Church is remarkable. Franz Kafka's former residence is also on display with a substantial monument to Jan Hus, the 15th Century church reformer burned at the stake, occupying the center of the square. A cornucopia of visuals to occupy one's attention.


The astronomical clock, or Orloj in Czech, is a extraordinary piece of machinery. Dating back to 1410, the Orloj is composed of three main components: the astronomical dial, representing the position of the sun and moon in the sky and displaying various astronomical details; "The Walk of the Apostles", a clockwork hourly show of figures of the Apostles and other moving sculptures; and a calendar dial with medallions representing the months. I don't pretend to understand how this clock actually tells time, but to read about the different components all work together in what is a mechanical astrolabe, a medieval astronomy device, is fascinating. I particularly like the visual appeal of the the combination of Schwabacher numerals, representing old Czech time, as well Roman numerals, showing “modern time” – overlapped then with the Zodiacal ring to show the phases of the sun and moon. What I love most about history is the reminder of how clever and brilliant the minds were of those that came before us. To determine time they used the knowledge they had of the earth (local latitude), sun, moon and stars to pin point and predict. Wow. And after 600 years and countless wars, it is still running and providing us with the time.


The “Walk of the Apostles” and other moving figures were added in the 1800's but add a social history component to the clock. The wooden figures of the 12 apostles come out from windows in the structure just above the clock face and move in a circle. The figures down below, next to the calendar dial are a bit more interesting in their social commentary. On either side of the calendar face are 2 figures back to back that symbolize 4 things hated at the time of the clocks creation. On the left side is a man admiring himself with a mirror representing Vanity; next to him is a Jew holding a bag of gold representing greed or usury. On the right side is a skeleton that shakes his bell every hour, announcing death and reminding all of their ultimate date with it; and finally there is a figure of a Turk in a turban representing infidels. Prague was one of the most accepting and culturally diverse cities of its time, which is why these statues are so interesting, almost contradictory. There is a Jewish Synagogue in Prague dating back to 1270. Telling glimpse back in time.


After taking in the clock, we moved on over to the Jewish Quarter. As I mentioned, this is one of the few places where Jewish synagogues survived World War II – and there are several. We decided against the ticket that purchased entry into the various buildings (and cemeteries) and instead pleased ourselves with enjoying the beauty of the exterior. My favorite was the Spanish synagogue. The interior has a Moorish style that makes it wholly unique.

We had exhausted ourselves and the daylight fairly well by this time and decided to pick up the tour first thing the next morning.

Medieval Beauty

One of our friends, a colleague of D's, is THE person to ask if you want to know where to visit, when and then what to eat. He has been just about everywhere, eaten it all (good, bad and the ugly) and is a brilliant resource when planning side trips. He had recently discovered a fantastic little town just over the Belgian border in Germany and so we booked him for our next available weekend.


So, off we went to Monschau, Germany. Monschau is a picturesque town situated in the hills of the Eifel, a narrow valley of the Rur river (no, I didn't misspell it - the Rur river is a tributary to the Meuse River and runs through Germany, Belgium and the Netherlands). Having escaped the devastation of World War II, it has become a popular tourist attraction because of the old world charm and character eminated from winding, cobblestone streets and quaint houses over 300 years old. The town dates back to 1198 and proved to be fairly highly contested, moving from French to German control multiple times. The ruins of the castle (what medieval town is complete without a castle?) preside on top of the hill overlooking the town and the winding avenues charm one from the beginning. We climbed up the steep hillside (into the Eifel National Park) in order to get a better view of the town and perspective on how horizontal the slope is next to town. (I have delusions of being in good shape until we have such excursions.) It was breathtaking (in several meanings of the word).

All this hard work needed to be rewarded by a fantastic lunch, and we weren't disappointed. We were greeted with a sparsely crowded dining room that was warm and with a beautiful view. We enjoyed our local beer (with a ridiculously perfect head) as we watched the light rain fall into the river as it bubbled through town. We were all three sharers, which was good, since we each ordered different entrees, each swimming in delicious gravy and mushroom sauces, and they all tasted fabulous. Feeling quite satisfied, we wandered around this wonderful town and appreciated the majesty of fall all around us and the sweet decorations displayed by the townspeople. The rain almost gave it a "Brigadoon" unreal like quality. Eventually, we had to leave, but it was with remorse. This was a fantastic place to visit and well worth the drive to get there.

The Adventure Continues...

For those that don’t know yet, D and I have been home and come back again (over the past few weeks) and are now looking forward to our next chapter in this grand adventure. We, however, feel obligated to talk about the side trips we took at the end of last time before moving on. We got sidetracked with packing and preparing for our time at home and didn’t blog about them and want to give them their time in the sun. Therefore, the next 2 or 3 entries are going to finish old business, but I think you will enjoy the effort.

Going native...

I have been wanting to do this post for weeks now.  D and I have admired European fashion the entire time we have been here. I sincerely appreciate the great variety we see in the Grand Place daily.  Truly, it is very difficult to stick out, there are just so many different styles, colors, piercings, etc.  I see winter clothes on warm days, summer clothes on cold days and all different colors in the clothes.  My favorite clothing items have been orange plaid pants (most recently seen, therefore leaving an impression), lederhosen (a perennial favorite), and costumes seen at the Cologne train station (we happened to be there on 11/11, which is the beginning of their Carnival and people dress up - and they go all out, we saw cows, cowboys, monkey suits, hippies, lady bugs, you name it).

D and I have made some observations regarding general Euro fashion - or more appropriately said, Belgian fashion.  Por homme we see that white shoes are ALWAYS available and popular. The rules about no white shoes after Labor Day are not in effect here.  Por femme we see a lot of the 80's style boots - just above ankle with a pie wedge toe and heel.  We also see a lot of spike boots - 2-4 inch heels that are ridiculous on cobble stone roads.  I truly don't know how they don't twist an ankle.

Scarves are THE thing to wear.  They have beautiful and warm scarves, weird and eccentric scarves - and they are worn all year round.  Since Belgium is so close to the ocean, the temperature can fluctuate quite a bit.  Rain and sun and clouds all in the same day is normal here.  Therefore, warm and cool clothes somewhat mix - and a scarf is about perfect to keep you warm when it is chilly on the warm day, but also wonderfully warm on a cold day.  People wouldn't necessarily wear a jacket but we rarely see people without scarves.

Furthermore, the sizing on clothes is a bit off  - at least by American standards.  The arms (in jackets, shirts, sweaters) seem a bit short.  This is more uncomfortable than a problem - the US is going toward longer sleeves (which I LOVE) but that can even go to excess.  However, if given the choice, the longer sleeves are preferable.  But the more concerning bit is that pants, shirts, sweaters, etc are worn quite tight - for both men and women.  We are used to seeing young ladies wear tight clothes in the US (at least teenagers) and there is a move for guys to do the same.  I know that there are teenage boys doing this in the US as well, but then there is the addition of the pants only going up as far as the middle to lower portion of the rear end, never up to the waist.  Here, I see very little of that, as a matter of fact, when I see it I think they are American.  

Fridays are our favorite days because D gets off work early and we have a couple of hours to go shopping together on the Grand Place.  Usually I will do some advance work to find stores with good prices and the items we are interested in looking at or buying.  They have some wicked expensive stuff (G Star Raw is a brand that we see a lot of ads for here that we have found in the store - 55 Euro T-Shirt!!  The jeans are 200+.  That is ridiculous) as well as cheap stuff.  Both are interesting.  We had the idea that D couldn't possibly go back to the US without an outfit that showed his more sensitive Euro side.   

Now I really like this outfit - really! The sweater is warm and attractive (no Mr. Rogers here) and the shoes are actually Le Cox Sportif knock-offs (LCS is a serious brand that has the French rooster, the Cox part, as its logo and is expensive) which makes them that much more endearing to us. The scarf is warm and attractive, with a jacket or not.

D has a slightly tacky crinkle shirt and manpri's that I haven't been able to get modeled for me yet (he is looking for the right shirt for the manpri's - Renee, you suggested it months ago and when we saw them on sale, we really couldn't resist. I am frightened because I actually like the way they look on D.) If we can find something this afternoon, I may have an update with the manpris.

This then leaves me with the thought - are we going native? Have we lost our US fashion chops? Will we need to detox when we get home by spending hours of rehab in the malls? Frightening, I know. Thankfully, I already have a date with a girlfriend to hit the thrift stores in the good old USA upon my return. I will keep you posted as to our recovery.

True Champagne

On another beautiful crisp and clear autumn day, we left at daybreak--pausing briefly at the local bakery for un petit dejuner au porte--and drove south for a taste of Champagne. After exiting the main freeway through the French countryside, a small two-lane road curved up into the forested hills leading to the summit. Across the ridge, the road began a gradual left turn and the Valleé de la Marne blanketed in precious vineyards unfolded before us. If ever a road was laid to dramatically reveal landscape, that was it. We continued to Épernay, home of the biggest producers (called "Houses") of Champagne, including the world-famous House of Möet & Chandon, makers of Dom Perignon.


The largest Champagne Houses are all situated along the Rue de Champagne in central Épernay in extravagant buildings more reminiscent of a row of embassies than the production facilities of the most highly prized sparkling wines in the world. On second thought, the embassy analogy is quite appropriate as the large Houses are selling image as much as the contents of the bottle (and in some cases more). With yearly sales of over thirty million bottles and an aging period measured in years, the Möet operation is remarkable in its size, scope and history.


Like the tip of a stone iceberg, the stylish House of Möet only hints at what lies below ground level. The building sits over three levels of wine cellars housing over two hundred million bottles of champagne in over eighteen miles of cellar caves. Napoleon Bonaparte was a friend of the Möet family and is known to have visited the cellars often and the cellar tour covers an area he was known to visit. The ground in the Champagne region is composed of limestone and chalk which naturally regulate temperature and humidity throughout the year making underground cellars throughout the region an ideal place to age wines, sparkling or otherwise.


The tour gave quite a bit of information about the sparkling wine industry: Möet & Chandon require 4000 hectares of grape production to meet their market demands, but they only own 1000 hectares. The Champagne region is strictly regulated, and only approved land is allowed for use in the making of wine. Each field, or Cru, is rated based on the quality of the soil, exposure to the sun, temperature variance and moisture conditions. The lowest level is simply a Cru. The First Cru is a higher quality plot, and the Grand Cru rating is reserved for the highest quality vineyards available. As worldwide demand has grown in the last 20 years, Champagne production has become limited by the supply of certified arable land and the constrained supply has led to a predictable spike in prices of grapes as well as the land itself.

The Möet tour concluded with a glass of bubbly and an exit through a gift shop (which had the feel of a duty-free boutique in some modern airport) and we wandered over to the Épernay tourist office to avail ourselves of a free list of smaller Houses which might have product available for purchase without the marketing overhead of Möet & Chandon. A break for lunch gave my liver any opportunity it needed to catch up, we selected an address from a lo-tech photocopied brochure and the GPS led us to the small town of Aÿ at the base of the vineyard hills north of Épernay. On the way, we both had a feeling of déjà vu as I rolled down the window to feel the air and agreed we could have been driving east from the ocean toward the pass over the costal California hills near Watsonville (berry capitol of the world).


No corporate edifices in Aÿ, just small and well kept streets, buildings and houses bearing the names of small familial Champagne Houses, often ending with & fils (and sons). We arrived at 1:30PM and walked the nearly deserted streets in search of local flavor. As we quickly learned, the independent producers close from 1:00PM to 2:00PM for lunch. We realized this after misreading a sign and wandering through an open gate into what turned out to be the backyard of an elderly couple who came out to see who had tromped in. After a laugh, we returned to our original destination, the dual brands of Richard Fliniaux and J.J. Richard & Fils.


With the time now a few minutes past 2:00PM, we found the previously closed gate had since been opened and we poked our heads in where a friendly Frenchman in his 30s waved us in and seated us at a small table. Although he disagreed with our assessment, his English was quite good and we began chatting as he poured up a pair of flutes. He fetched his post-lunch coffee and we sat and talked for at least an hour about his family's business, beginning in 1905 through today. James Jacques, our host, is a fifth generation winemaker having learned from his parents, inheriting their business along with five hectares of Grand Cru vineyards. James was very candid about the wine business discussing the difficulties (2003 was a bad year and most of the region's crop was lost), along with the temptations of modern wealth (current market rate for one hectare of Grand Cru vineyard: €1.5M). Also, because of the increasing demand for Champagne, the raw materials for winemaking--the grapes themselves--had become so valuable that the cost of turning his grapes into wine was such that he might make more money just by selling the harvest to a bigger House.

The contrast between the large, commercial, glossy Houses and the small family operations was quite stark. The bottling machine was visible in the garage next to the tasting room attached to the house. Easily selling the 100,000 bottles a year he produces, James explained he and most of the other small Houses have to close several months a year, as there is no product to sell and nothing to do except wait for the contents of their cellars to mature. James did rue the market conditions which forced the champagne from the cellars to the store shelves too quickly ("most champagnes I taste are too young, too dry"). Through all the talk of the difficulties of failed crops and increasing demand, tight finances and bank loans, Euro exchange rates and unfathomable land values, James would smile and shrug, never actually saying "but what would this family do if we sold out?" but the thought was almost tangible in the room. He vocalized the blessing of his inherited land and through it, had a connection to family I had never before encountered. If anything, his contentment was the most remarkable thing of the time we shared. In the face of swirling economic uncertainty, he acknowledged his industry is driven by the wealthy with a hopeful attitude that he and his family will continue on the land they have worked for over 100 years.

In the footsteps of Constantine

To finish up our Mosel River valley weekend we enjoyed the Roman ruins left by Emperor Constantine in the oldest city in Germnay, Trier. Interestingly, Trier has the distinction of being one of the few cities of Europe to have been capital to the Roman Empire. We started at the Porta Nigra or "Black Gate" which was built in grey sandstone between 180 and 200 AD. In Roman times, the Porta Nigra was part of a system of four city gates, one of which stood at each side of the roughly rectangular Roman city. The Porta Nigra guarded the northern entry to the Roman city, while the Porta Alba (White Gate) was built in the east, the Porta Media (Middle Gate) in the south, and the Porta Inclyta (Famous Gate) in the west, next to the Roman Bridge crossing the Mosel River. The gates stood at the ends of the two main streets of the Roman Trier, one of which led north-south and the other east-west. Of these gates, only the Porta Nigra still exists today. It is an impressive introduction to the city and it provided a lovely view of the city as the mist was slowly burned off.


Next we made it over to the church that Constantine built. The architectural style was really interesting since a much newer church (16th Century) was built abutting it.  The Roman and French Gothic styles right next to each other were a study in contrast.  One is quite blunt and functional and the other is ornate and imposing.  It housed the most beautiful organ I have ever seen. Since we were there on a Sunday, we had the pleasure of hearing it play. I especially appreciate how it seems to float up above everyone. (The picture doesn't do it justice.)


Continuing in our Roman tradition, we saw the building that had once been the throne room for emperor Constantine (it was now an evangelical church - I thought that was appropriate, from one king's throne to honoring the King of Kings) and then to the ruins of the Roman baths. Apparently there were 3 and they comprised the largest roman baths north of the Alps.


We were particularly fond of the foot in front. They made a cast of the remains of a statue, a foot, found in Trier and were good enough to mount it out in front of the baths.  This statue is believed to be of emperor Constantine and is one of the largest known sculptures made in roman times, if the size of the foot is evidence to the overall size of the statue.  (I liked D's being hammy...)


We had clearly seen the highlights of Trier after the foot, so we continued our tour of the Mosel River up to its confluence with the Rhine in the city of Koblenz. Again, it was a beautiful city and a beautiful day and we really just enjoyed being out in it.



We took in the view of the fantastic castle across the way...



and as you can see, we enjoyed our trip.  (A very nice German man was willing to take our picture.  I like our self-portraits, but the ones taken by others allow such a nicer view of the surroundings.)

A Fest in Oktober

I had found that there was going to be an Oktoberfest in Palzem/Kreuzweiler, Germany (just a town or so over from where we were staying in Perl, Germany) on Saturday night. I have never been to an Oktoberfest, and as appealing as the thought might be to try and catch the extremely well known Munich Oktoberfest, I am really not into crowds and public drunkenness so I think that one is off the list. (Side note, we actually had the opportunity to go on this trip, but for the above stated reasons as well as the substantial expense, we decided to pass. No regrets.) That means, that I was really excited about the prospect of taking in a genuine local fest.

The Internet is fantastic and that is where I had found info on fests near us. My one complaint was that the well published info (telling date and giving a good schedule) didn’t actually tell the time or location within town where the fest would take place. This was a little concerning. We rolled through town early (9am) in hopes of finding evidence but didn’t have any luck. We went about our day and then decided to take a chance and come back around dinner time – 6-6:30pm. [We had heard excellent things from our friends here about fest food and were excited to experience it.]


On the edge of town, in the field next to the church, we saw tents erected that hadn’t been there earlier, so we were encouraged. We noticed, however, that there wasn’t any activity or cars parked in the roped off area. This is when D said that I needed to go and ask the pertinent info that we needed and couldn’t find. After pumping myself up (chants of “you can do it, you can do it” as well as trying to formulate how to ask the questions) I ventured over to what turned out to be the kitchen tent and studied the poster on the door (gave a time for the start the night before, but nothing for Saturday – meaning I still had to ask someone, darn.) So, I gathering my courage I politely interrupted their bretzel-making (no typo, Brezel is the German for those fantastic big soft pretzels that are NEVER as good in the US) and asked the obvious: “so, is this where the Oktoberfest I read about online is going to be?” Answer, “yes.” Question:
“So does it start at 8pm like the sign says it started last night?” Answer, “yes.” Question: “So we should just come back then…” “yes” I got the info needed but did feel a bit stupid. It was clear that they were not anticipating (or trying to draw) the tourist crowd. The important thing is that we got our needed intel and knew that we had 2 hours to kill. So, we had noticed a sign in Mettlach earlier (this was where we enjoyed the Villeroy and Boch outlet) that had a “fest” there at 7pm, a fall fest. Off to Mettlach we went to kill some time and enjoy as much fall celebration as the area could offer.

Again, German signage is fantastic for roads, but not good for giving important fest information. We went back and knew what time the fest was and that it was at the local gym – but we had not idea where the local gym was! We went to town hall because we had remembered that there was a map on the door. Strike one – it didn’t have the “Sporthalle” on there. It was dead quiet, but then a man with a grocery bag walked by. I naturally accosted him and asked if he could direct us to the gym. Strike two – he was from eastern Europe and spoke only English (noooo problem there) but didn’t know where anything was. Then, just as we were feeling hopeless, a Mercedes pulled up and an older couple exited their home right next to city hall (attached to it, like a row house – how weird would that be?) As casually as I could, I rushed over and asked them for directions. Home run! They gave us directions and off we went.

It was a bit of an adventure finding it, but we triumphed and found the gym. It was packed and we seemed to walk right into a uniformed contingent – strange. We skirted around them and walked in the main hall. It was filled with people and tables and all were facing a stage with what looked to be a set up for a large band or orchestra. Curiously we looked around for clues as to what was going on: there was a program by another door and being the brave German speaker that I am, I sent D to go and get it. So, it turns out that we had stumbled upon a fall concert of the local orchestra. It was free (which was surprising since nothing is free) so we decided to hang out for a bit. It was remarkably good, although we had to chuckle when they played Whitney Houston’s “The Greatest Love of All” and again when the encore was Queen’s “We Will Rock You.” Ah, there is nothing so fun in life as “We will Rock you” with a German accent.

After the encore, another group (there were 3 bands in total performing in the concert) switched with our youth orchestra. D and I had decided that we had had enough culture and made a swift exit and drove back to Kreuzweiler, the location of our Oktoberfest.

Upon arrival, we were about the 30 and 31st persons in attendance, so there was no problem getting a seat (we WERE very early, the fest had only been going on for about 30 minutes.) There was a very reasonable entry fee and the drink cards (necessary for buying any drinks at all – no cash at the bar) were refundable at the end of the night if we didn’t purchase all the drinks possible. We were so hungry, but I had to use the restroom first – I knew that it was going to be clean and I am particular about my WCs. Later in the night would be a different matter, so I wanted to use it early. I digress.
I was on my way back to the kitchen tent (I knew well were it was since I had bothered them earlier for information) to get D and I some bratwurst rolls (which is a delicious German brat in a short but delicious German roll –yummy) when I saw a huge plate full of food that I KNEW D would want. I did an about-face and went back to get him. I told him that I saw what he would want. When we spied the plate on the way back to the kitchen, D’s salivation became evident and I knew I had been right. D got a Haxen mit sauerkraut und pueree which, in English is a leg of pork (slow roasted and very tender) with a pile of sauerkraut and mashed potatoes. The food was fantastic! I ate my brat (we were off the veggie bandwagon today, just no veggie options - we weren’t all that disappointed about it) and then we both shared D’s plate of gloriousness and drank a beer to wash it all down.

Now, as my Oktoberfest expert informed me, beer at the northern German fests is all Pils, which is a “Pilsner”, a light colored beer resulting from lightly toasted malt. I do not particularly like Pils beers – they are light but generally bitter or sharp tasting, and I prefer the darker beers that are sweeter, richer and with more character. (Not Guinness, that is a class all in itself – that is a meal, not a beer.) So, since we were technically in northern Germany, when I tried to order a dark beer, they gave me a non-alcoholic root-beer like substance. You can imagine the surprise on my face when I tasted it. A precious moment. I liked it, but was a touch disappointed that they didn’t have any dark beer. We soaked in the environment and enjoyed our food. We were there early enough to catch the committee up front thanking everyone for making it possible and then even benefited (this is why it pays to go early) from a free glass of beer so that everyone in the hall could toast and sing a good round of Ein Prosit (A Toast) which made my heart go soft and sentimental. I remember learning German drinking songs in College – when the regular (responsible) German professor was out of town, the Dean, who used to be a German teacher before going into management, would sub and he would teach us drinking songs. Sadly, I still remember them. Left an impression I guess. Finally got to put them to good use. But, and I hate to say this, the beer in Belgium is soooo much better. I never would have thought I would abandon my Teutonic friends in their beer tradition, but the Belgian beers seem to suit my taste better. Again our Oktoberfest pro said that I would prefer the fests down south.


The band was really really good – naturally dressed in traditional tracht which for the men is lederhosen with wool socks and linen shirts. (We did catch one guy cheating – he had on these bizarre wool leg warmers that looked right – if you were drunk or didn’t look closely. But to be fair, this guy wasn’t in the band, he was just dressed up for the fest.) The thing that surprised me about the band was that they sang a fairly untraditional set – I heard them sing songs in Italian and Spanish in addition to German. The Spanish one was the funniest, because the tuba was just so German and the song was so Spanish. The tuba player was good and fantastic to watch, but it seemed surreal at times. My favorite, though, was when they sang the Statler Brothers song, “Hello Mary Lou” in German. I knew the chorus, but not the verses. Ahh, all those years of watching “Hee-Haw” finally came in handy. D, naturally didn’t know what I was talking about, but I was thrilled to pick out the American music for the second time in the evening.

We were amazed at what a family atmosphere it was - there were plenty of children running around, and after a bit, the teenagers all filed in – so the whole family was there. There was this one 2 year old that was in the traditional dress running around and he was so cute. I tried to get a pic, but he just wouldn’t hold still for long enough. Very very sweet. We didn’t stay for too long – we had to drive to the hotel, and although not far away, we are lightweights and can’t drink more than a 1 for me or 2 for D. So, we made our way to the front again and I decided that I wanted to purchase our mugs – this is likely the closest I am going to get to a real Oktoberfest and I wanted the cup to prove it. So, I asked about purchasing it while getting my refund for the card, and she did what I had hoped, which was to take the card, give me the glasses and call it square. A good deal for both and I was happy to take my glasses home. Now, the real trick is that I need to get them back to the US without breaking them. What a fun night.

A Roman holiday...

(the picture isn't out of focus, there was a beautiful mist over everything...very picturesque)

God blessed us with another glorious weekend and we spent it in the Mosel river valley. We didn’t have a well developed plan other than to enjoy the wine country, which proved to be relaxing and enjoyable.  I was able to do a little intel before we left and found a couple of fests as possible attractions, as well as a few historical and cultural stops.


We started the day at the Villeroy and Boch outlet in Mettlach, Germany. (I think this would go under the “cultural” stop category. ☺) I was thrilled to be there simply because I had crossed over the border into understanding – my German is excellent in its functionality and I can ask and answer everything we would want to do as tourists. I have come to really appreciate my German (I am quick to downplay it especially when compared to truly fluent individuals, but I don't want to put it in the same category as my French, or lack thereof) since I have been trying to learn French. My vocabulary is growing in French, but I am hopeless in trying to put a sentence together, other than asking if they can speak English. We got breakfast at a lovely German bakery and I couldn’t stop grinning because I got us breakfast, coffee to go and even directions to the WC without the slightest problem. So glorious. But I digress. The Villeroy and Boch outlet was fun – totally crowded, and we were there early. After some enjoyment of lovely porcelain, crystal and various knickknacks, (wouldn’t mind going back there, some good deals as well as discounts on regular items) we decided to take in art of another kind, a fantastic Roman mosaic.


In Nennig, Germany, a fantastic mosaic was discovered in 1852 by a farmer plowing his fields. Excavations on the site soon led to the unearthing of the foundations and ruins of a palatial Roman villa whose size and appointments make it one of the most opulent of its kind in the provinces of the Roman Empire. The plans we saw of the villa were really enormous; they estimated that the property would have been over 600 meters. Truly, whoever lived in this villa was extremely wealthy (the Warren Buffet of Roman times) and influential. It makes me curious about Nennig - it is a small town at the corner of Germany, France and Luxembourg. I would never have guessed that it may have had serious roman importance.


The mosaic floor, measuring roughly 160 meters squared, was in the center of the large reception room hall. Integrated in the floor’s design was a fountain faced with marble slabs. The rigorously restructured mosaic extends like a carpet over black and white marble tiles. Diamond stars, rectangles, trapezes and squares, which are adorned with both floral and geometric patterns, provide the ornamental frame. The central motif is the square depiction of a gladiator and the six octagonal medallions presenting further scenes from the world of the amphitheatre. The mosaic was dated to the beginning of the 3rd century AD. We were both impressed with the quality of the mosaic – I can hardly believe something 1800 years old could survive in such wonderful condition. I know that it had to be reconstructed, but the tiles were all there, they just had to put the puzzle together. I can’t help but marvel at the talent and ability of the artisans who created it.

After getting up early to drive down and then soaking in shopping, history and culture, we were exhausted. Thankfully D had found a fantastic hotel that we checked into (radiant floor heating in the bathroom – I had no idea how decadent it was!) and took a rest before heading out to our small town Oktoberfest. (coming next...a picture preview here...)

Local Football

After taking in a top-tier match in Amsterdam, we decided to walk 10 minutes to the local stadium to take in a game of R.A.E.C. Mons. The top Belgian domestic league is sponsored by Jupiler, the Budweiser of Belgium, and the Mons team has been playing in the Jupiler League for a couple years after winning promotion from the lower league. The Jupiler League seems odd since some of the teams play in 30,000+ seat stadiums, while others play in stadiums with a total capacity in the 10,000-15,000 range.


Mons officially seats under 10,000 but total capacity is boosted by standing room only seating behind one of the goals. The night was cool and crisp and we wandered down through a residential neighborhood and past a couple local pubs to the tiny stadium. I successfully procured tickets and we found our seats next to the team's fan club, complete with a bass drum and a song coordinator who spent the entire game in front of the fan section, leading the group in chants and songs through a bullhorn.


All in all, a good night. The home team won 2-0 and we had a great view of the first goal, a diving header off a corner kick. In all, it was a nice counterpoint to the size and scope of the top-flight Dutch game.

A day at the beach

Once D and I realized that we would be on the continent for awhile, we knew that we wanted to visit the WWII site of Normandy. For those that don’t know, Normandy is the location where allied troops started the campaign to take back Western Europe from the Nazis with an amphibious attack across the channel from England to France. After our time in Ypres (the WWI site of first conflict between the British and Germans) we knew that it would be an unforgettable experience.

A brief history lesson: During the Second World War, the Allies coordinated a massive build-up of troops and supplies, to support a large-scale invasion of Normandy in the D-Day landings under the code name Operation Overlord. Germans were dug into fortified emplacements above the beaches. Caen, Cherbourg, Carentan, Falaise and other Norman towns endured many casualties in the Battle of Normandy, which continued until the closing of the so-called Falaise gap between Chambois and Montormel, then liberation of Le Havre. This led to the restoration of the French Republic, and a significant turning point in the war.

The five beaches chosen for the invasion – dubbed Utah, Omaha, Gold, Juno, and Sword – are along the Calvados Coast, to either side of the french city Arromanches. Preparations started in mid-1943, and British shipyards worked furiously through the following winter and spring building two artificial harbors (called Mulberries), boats, and landing equipment. The operation was originally scheduled to take place on June 5, but poor weather caused it to be postponed for a day. The British troops that landed on Sword, Juno, and Gold quickly pushed inland and joined with parachute regiments that had been dropped behind the German lines. US forces met with far tougher opposition on Omaha and Utah beaches, however, and it took them six days to secure their positions and meet the other Allied forces.


The day was gorgeous and we started at the American Cemetary just on the cliffs overlooking Omaha beach. Again, the beauty of the beaches and the surrounding countryside stood in stark relief to the horror that had taken place here. We walked down to the beach and couldn’t help but see the comparison with the Outer Banks in North Carolina. Very surreal.

Next we ventured out to Pointe du Hoc, which is a truly remarkable place. The site was given to the Americans in the 1970’s to be preserved as a memorial site and was dedicated by President Reagan on the 40th anniversary in 1983. What makes it so special is that it has been virtually untouched since the end of the war. Pointe du Hoc was important to the Germans because they had built, as part of the Atlantic Wall, six casemates to house a battery of captured French 155mm guns. With Pointe Du Hoc situated between Utah Beach to the west and Omaha Beach to the east, these guns threatened Allied landings on both beaches, risking heavy casualties in the landing forces.

The Army Rangers from the 2nd Ranger Battalion were responsible for taking this strategic position, which required scaling the steep cliffs, only to discover once they reached the top that the guns they came to destroy had been moved inland 2 days earlier. They quickly discovered their location and destroyed them. The most costly part of the mission was holding the position for an additional 2 days before reinforcements could come.

It was eerie walking in, around and through German built fortifications at this location. I was grateful to do it because it was a chance to reach back into history and have a taste of what this place meant to both sides in their struggle to hold it – seeing what the conditions might have been like. The absolute darkness of the casements was too spooky. Again, the stunning beauty was jarring. D and I talked about how important places like this are to help us remember what is important and the price paid to achieve it. D wondered aloud if people would still come and remember the brave men who died here (and why they died) in 50 years when there wouldn’t be a person (grandfather) that they knew personally. I hope so. It is a moving place. The impact it had on us is difficult to put into words. We are grateful to have had the opportunity to visit this place and proud of our country and the part we played in serving freedom and justice.