Little Taste of Heaven

Never coming home. Our little Agritourismo, the working vineyard where we are staying, has to be the closest thing to Heaven possible. (Okay—Hawaii may be in the running too.) This may have just replaced Tanner’s Apple Orchard with my Happy Place. Again---I am never, ever, and I mean ever coming home.

Lake Garda

(Written Thurs. July 24.) Destination number two on the Hulsen’s Tour de Italia: Lake Garda. Thinking that this is the largest of the lakes in the “Lake Region,” but honestly that may be malarkey. No idea where I read that or who told me that. Not even sure what all the “Lake Region” entails, but there you have it anyway. (I do know that we’re still pretty far north up on the ole Boot, geographically speaking.) As I write, I’m sitting on a plastic lawn chair that I rented for 3.50 Euros. (I know, big spender.) My parents have booted me out of the car and are driving (hopefully not crashing) Tim’s car along the east coast of the lake (aka The Olive Riviera) toward the mountains.

My view here: Directly in front of me is the most adorable older Italian couple basking in the sun (I’ll come back to them in a sec.) Beyond Mr. and Mrs. Spaghetti, spanning almost the whole range of my peripheral vision is the most beautiful, crystal blue lake I have ever seen. A clear ocean-blue, dotted with bright white boats and an occasional sail. Not to mention, to my right are the tips of the Italian Alps. So I’ve got sun, mountains, a stunning lake, comfy chair, a good book…all I need right now is my husband and some French fries and I would be set!

The people watching here is exceptional. Looking dead ahead is the old Italian gentleman—lets call him Mario. Mario: head to toe. White hair. HUGE sunglasses. Gold cross on his leather chest. Olive-green checkered Bermuda shorts--he is honestly an exception here to his Speedo-wearing brethren. Not to mention dark socks pulled halfway up his calves. Completing the ensemble with some beige orthotics of some kind. Very practical.

Aaah, my ADHD just kicked in. A large Dutch family just set up shop just about on top of me. That reminds me that Lake Garda is a very popular destination for Germans and Dutch. I’ve heard plenty of both languages with some Italian sprinkled in. I’m doing much better communicating in German here than in English.

Oooh, missed my chance! Now my Italian couple just moved on (probably in search of gelato.) Boogers. Can’t quite remember what Mrs. Mario was wearing, but I will tell you that there seems to be 2 types of Italian women, from what I can surmise. Type 1: young, gorgeous, teeny-tiny, leggy beauties with dark eyes and always, always high-heels. Or…type 2: grandmas with huge, puffy, cotton-candy-like, brightly colored hair and even bigger sunglasses, wearing housedresses with horrible 80s floral print on them that look like tents. I will say that Mrs. Mario was unfortunately not belonging to the first category.

Have yet to mention where we are staying, mostly because we haven’t spent much time there thus far. We’re on a working vineyard. (Yep, thought my dad would be pleased to be so close to the grapes. Just taking out the middleman!) All I know so far is that we’ve been drinking coffee out of a bowl. Quite good, but gets cold fast. I’ll keep you posted…

Ah...Venice

Last time I was in Venice, my boyfriend (now my husband) and I spent some serious time searching for the library building featured in Indiana Jones, the Last Crusade. Picture Marcus Brody saying, “It looks like a converted church.” (Funny, the things that drive your travel experience.)

This time around, I believe the point was just to get as lost as possible. (Total Success.) Mom, Dad and I LOVED the wandering. After all, we’re on an island—how far can we really go? Strolling through all the little back streets, over something like 400 bridges, was just about as charming as you can get. Not to mention, sailing down the Grand Canal in a water taxi reading the history of the city and palaces along the way. My dad-being the eternal boater that he is-was quite happy.

For me, and this I can’t quite explain, but there is just something very New Orleans-esk about Venice. Both places seem to be…well…kinda…rotting. It’s not so much that the city is sinking (as is the common thought), but more that the water--due to things that a dance teacher doesn’t get (i.e. wind off the coast of Africa, the barometric pressure of the Adriatic sea, and throw in a little global warming)--is rising. So the first floor of most of the buildings here floods something like 100 times a year. Not to mention that the facades of the buildings are peeling and crumbling off. Unfortunately, Venetians aren’t allowed to fix them due to codes for historical preservation. Depressing on one hand, but fascinating on the other. Not to mention that every other little store here sells Carnival masks. Mardi Gras, anyone? What is it with my fascination with these corroding towns?

Anyway, we liked Venice, but two days was just enough. Time to find the source of the wine…

Neglect

I haven’t written in so long, not even sure I remember how. Hi Computer. It’s Me, Heather. Member me??? Tall, blond, crazy hair? Oh, say that reminds me. I got told by the Bulgarian guy in my class that I had ‘golden ringlets,’ which of course I ate up like a double dip of strawberry gelato. I took a moment to picture myself as Goldilocks, or maybe even Rapunzel. Ah… BUT, no fear, no need to knock my ego off its high horse. My German teacher took care of that in no time. She happened to mention that Germans also call curls like mine “snails.” Great, so I have snail hair. Moving to Bulgaria where I sound prettier.

So, my Mom and Dad arrived about 2 weeks ago. Yeah-scray! Thus, I’ve been so busy playing tour guide that I haven’t kept up the blog with what we’ve been doing. For starters, we just got back from 9 days in Northern Italy. Goodbye beer, Hello red vino! I kept some notes (wouldn’t even go as far to call it journaling) along our journey. They may be a little scatterbrained since I can’t read my own handwriting. Anyway…enjoy.

Bruges

What does anybody know about Belgium? Not much, is my guess. All I knew was that it neighbors Germany and that they brew good beer. That, my friends, was the extent of my knowledge. So last week, Tim and I had the opportunity to do some investigation. We came up with a theory. We think Belgium is doing something really horrible, like smuggling drugs or selling small children or ripping tags off of mattresses because it falls just a little under the radar. Even here in Germany, no one seems to know much about their neighbor. For example: Tim found out they have a King. Did you know that? How come he isn’t painted all over the tabloids like Chuck and QE’s fam? Curious, I say.

Anyway, Tim was working most of the week south of Brussels, which is in the French speaking part of Belgium. (Belgium Random Fact: They speak French in the south and Flemish in the north, which is essentially Dutch, although neither the Flemish nor the Dutch will claim the other’s language.) So I picked him up on Friday there and we drove on to Bruges. What an absolutely beautiful city! Belgium, like the Netherlands, is considered a “Low Country” so picture a lot of canals, not to mention absolutely beautiful gothic buildings from the Middle Ages.

Quick history on Bruges. Back in the 12-1500s Bruges was a big trade city due to its proximity to the North Sea. But in the middle 1500s, their Queen-type person fell off a horse and died at about the same time the canal to the sea filled up with silt. Not so good for the Bruggian economy. Thus, the town got pretty much wiped off the map for a few hundred years. They were so poor that they couldn’t even afford to tear down the old buildings to build new. But, that misfortune later became their good fortune. Because they had no money, the town got kinda pickled in the Middle Ages and now enjoys a pretty kickin' tourist industry. (Yippee--Happy Ending.)

Tim and I got in on Friday evening and stopped first at our Bed and Breakfast. Just perfect. It’s an old leather mill turned into a home right in the middle of the Old City. The woman that runs it lost her husband a few years ago and essentially takes you into her house to enjoy your company. Saturday we spent the day sight seeing: cruising on the canal, checking out the Gothic Cathedrals, climbing the Belfry, and perhaps tasting the Belgian beer.

At dinner that night, I left our table for absolutely no longer than 2 minutes, came back to find that my husband had befriended an entire Scottish family of 10. Before we knew it, we had been adopted and spend the evening with Gram and his wife Gail, his 2 small children, his Aunt Doreen and Uncle Billie (who live in Malaysia,) his cousins, his dad-Papa David and his mother, which he lovingly referred to as “the Dragon.” The Scottish drinking songs entertained the whole restaurant and the Guinness and whisky flowed like water. So apparently, when in Bruges…do as the Scots do!

A truly wonderful weekend.

Filtering

Quote for the day. Heck, quote for the past 10 months. Tim and I were trying to sum up our Ex-pat experience the other day as we sat in this beautiful garden on a canal in Bruges (more on that later). I mentioned that for me, learning this language and culture has been 80% amazing and 20% “Oh Dear God, What Did I Get Myself Into.” I’m finding that right now I’m doing a lot of filtering, unfortunately, when I can’t quite understand the people around me. Yep, pretty sure I have the vocabulary of about a 5-year-old. (But a really bright 5-year-old, dad-burn-it!) Not sure if you remember being that age, but there’s a heck of a lot that you just don’t get. Thus, one method to deal with your unsure-ity (is this a word?) is to completely tune out. This is what Tim and I lovingly call, "Screen Savor Mode." I know this place well.

Tim, as usual, put it a lot more eloquently. He said, “It’s like trying to get a drink out of a fire hose.” Amen. Welcome to our world.