Roots

I’m a little late in posting this blog, seeing as the events you’re about to see took place two weeks before we moved back stateside. So if you would, please rewind yourselves back to mid-March. Picture Tim and I frantically trying to tie up loose ends before exiting our European adventure. (And by tying up loose ends, I mean squeezing out every bit of fun and travel humanly possible.) As I was entertaining two of my girlfriends with a weekend getaway in London, Tim took himself on an adventure all his own.

Background: Before Tim and I moved to Germany in August 2007, his great-aunt Dorothy had given him copies of old letters sent from long lost relatives in the Czech Republic to his great-grandpa Frank many years ago. Frank Pavlik had immigrated to the US (Nebraska to be specific) in 1914, but honestly, we didn’t really know much else.

So, wanting to be able to show Grandma her roots, Tim decided to see if he could find these addresses and maybe take some pictures along the way.

Without giving too much away, let’s just say he had a very lucrative journey indeed. (Please be forwarned, it's a 23 min long video. Grab some popcorn for your viewing pleasure.)

Travel 101 Continuing Education, with Heather H. Klaus

Tip #462—buy a good guidebook. (Have I said this before?) They can be costly, around 25 or 30 dollars, but this is money well spent. I am in love, I repeat LOVE with the Rick Steve’s Guidebooks. He is my travel god, and guide. Completely nerdy guy, but man, does he make traveling easy! His books are little tidbits of history and culture that make you feel exceptionally smart, like you’re getting some insider information about the town and people you’re experiencing. Not to mention that he has free podcasts on itunes of historic walks in quite a few European cities. We downloaded his guided walk through Paris as well as his museum tours for both the Louvre and the Orsay. He rocks.

Tip #573—Your perception about a city you’re visiting is hugely based on something so simple as how you feel that day. Yes, this town you are borrowing is a new and vibrant place, something that has its very own feel and story. But...you are taking it in through your eyes, filtering it through your mind your own story. It can’t help but be colored by what is going on in your own life at that very moment.

I offer up our trip to Istanbul. Amazing town, but that weekend Tim was at a stalemate between two job offers in two completely different places. Unfortunately, both of us were probably pretty darn distracted. Not to mention that it rained from start until the day we left, which always makes things more difficult. (The weather has the same affect on me as being hungry--sheesh, can I be a monster!) The opposite happened in Paris. We didn’t have a major life decision to wrestle with, and this time around, the weather was beautiful. Thus, a great trip. We’ve read (probably in Rick) that traveling requires you to be insanely optimistic. Couldn’t agree more. When we approach a city with a free and open mind, it always seems to go surprisingly well. If you come in with a lot of baggage (both literally and figuratively) it'll weigh you down and you're probably gonna miss an awful lot. Of course, as with most things…easier said than done.

Gay Par-Oui!

We valentined in Paris. (Go ahead I’ll hold while you either sigh if you’re a chick or barf if you’re a dude.) Before you all decide that you wanna trade in your hubbies for Tim, let me assure you that, yes-he is indeed exceedingly romantic, but actually I booked this trip back in September. That, and we took friend Kristi. So…perhaps not the romantic getaway that you all were picturing. Note: we’ve taken to calling Kristi ‘wife’ since we travel with her so much. (Sweden, Istanbul, skiing in both Switzerland and Italy.) She will rank WAY up there for one of the things we will miss most about living in Europe. We love traveling with her. Wife, come visit us…often!

I absolutely loved Paris this time around, this being my third adventure here. The first was with my mother in 2002, amidst my quarter-life-crisis-frolic through Europe. Mom and I had a great time celebrating Bastille Day on the grass under the Eiffel Tower with millions of our closest friends. The second, well, it just wasn’t as much fun. Tim and I decided to skip Thanksgiving in 2006 (before we moved to Germany) and be thankful eating crepes instead turkey. It was completely crummy weather—literally raining sideways. Not too mention that we came across a rash of not-so-friendly people. It was fine, but honestly, not our favorite trip.

Well, third time must be the charm. Paris was fantastic! The weather was chilly, but for the most part, clear-blue skies (which knocked the socks off rain blasting you in the face that we had the time before.) We wandered all day and night through museums and neighborhoods soaking in the history and culture. (Seriously how much coffee can I put in my body?) Parisians were out of their way friendly. (I know!) And the people watching was fan-freaking-tastic! I totally got this city. I can completely see why artists, writers, dancers, sculptors, and really anyone creative has been drawn here to Paris for decades. There is just something there. Unexplainable. I would move here tomorrow. Except for all the dog poop on the street. That stunk—literally.

Istanbul or Constantinople?

(written Tues Feb 3rd)

Yep. We may truly be crazy people. Just got back from a weekend in Istanbul, Turkey that we booked, oh about 10 days before we left. I have no idea how to form my thoughts into any kind of a coherent story about this place. What a collision between Europe and the Middle East! (Which actually it truly is, since it’s the only city to sit both on the European and Asian continents.) Our days were filled with wandering through the bazaars, going into the historic mosques, putting our feet on Asian soil, eating Doner Kebabs, and truly taking in the major historical events that have happened here.

Things that astounded me:
The Muslim call to prayer five times a day. Wow, it’s loud and a little frankly a little frightening. (Why is a lot of religious music written in a minor key?) There are mosques literally every few blocks (guess they gotta be if you need to get there that often) and the call to worship echoed throughout the city from what seemed like warring mosques vying for your attention. Made my brain rattle a little.

Being blond in this area of the world just doesn’t happen. Kristi and I stood out like sore thumbs in the land of dark hair and head scarves.

The Haggia Sofia. Once Greek Orthodox church, then mosque, now museum. It contains golden mosaics of the apostles that had been plastered over to plain walls with Arabic writing from the Qur'an. Again, collision of Eastern and Western. I could have spent all day here.

The sheer population. We read somewhere between 12-19 million people live here. Holy cow! There were seriously buildings as far as the eye could see. Some of them beautiful, some falling apart…and both standing right next to each other. There was no rational that could explain this city. So interesting.

As much as I enjoyed seeing something so completely out of my frame of knowledge, a couple of things got in the way of truly loving this city. One being, we had to make a decision while we were there of where we were gonna move next (read Big News) and I felt very distracted. Another was that it was cold and rainy. Does everyone feel depressed in January? Think I needed a little sunshine. It truly is an intriguing city with great little alleys to get lost in and beautiful architecture to study. I did happen to read “Murder on the Orient Express” which Agatha Christie wrote while living in a hotel here. Great trip, but glad to be home.

Big News

We’re moving back to the US! There I said it. I’ll wait just a little until that sinks in to explain how we got here. (Pause.)

Due to the economic down-turn (understatement of the century) Caterpillar notified us a couple weeks ago, that we needed to head stateside. The good news is that thanks to a lot of the managers that took the buy-out package, there are some great jobs available. And luckily Tim’s secured something that he’s really excited about and will be taking us to Aurora, IL (right outside of Chicago.) The bad news is that we’re just not quite ready to leave Germany. We’ve loved it here and as Tim said, it’s like watching the first half of a really great movie. But, we’re truly thankful that Tim still has a job and we’ll be seeing a lot more of friends and family. Oh…did I mention we’ll be home by April 1st? Yeah…it’s all happening at lightning speed.

So there it is…Aurora. Chicago-land here we come! On to the next adventure...

Bad Karma

I should start this tale by saying that I love to watch people fall. I am usually a very nice person in most other areas of my life, but watching people eat-it tickles me so deeply that I should know I would have to pay for it later. I will, of course, make sure no one’s hurt. But soon after, the cackling begins. Kristi and I sat in Davos one afternoon in full view of a drag lift (T-bar) and watched the mayhem unfold. I would offer that activity up to anyone that needs to find some joy in their life. Note to self…what goes around, comes around. You cannot laugh at someone else’s expense without paying the piper at a later date. My later date was Sunday. And poor Steve, just got caught in the crossfire.

It was the end of our Italian ski adventure. We had conquered nearly all of the that mountain we could. It was time to make our way back down to the car and head off on our merry way. At this point, Kristi, Jen and little Ella were already on the road homeward bound. (With a debacle all of their own involving a snowy street, 8 muscular Italians (one of which driving her car,) and a near collision.) So, the four of us that were left hopped on a 4-person chair lift. From right to left: Bryan (with snowboard), Steve, me, then Tim. Well, I was a little exhausted after trying to keep up with the boys and somehow as I sat down on the seat, I dropped one of my ski poles. I said, “My Pole!” and reached forward, hoping to grab it before the lift scooped us off the ground. (It’s also perhaps important to note that the pole was laying across my right ski and Steve’s left.) Being the nice guy that Steve is, he also reached for the pole (picture us both leaning forward) and before we knew it…both Steve and I were under the lift. Me, getting all jumbled up in Tim’s skis and getting dragged about 25 feet. Yep, we fell off a chair lift.

As soon as I came too, I looked up and noticed that I was, indeed, under the chairlift. Still, I’m not entirely sure what all had to happen for me to get there. I just remember a lot of metal. I glance behind me, and Steve was sitting up looking at me in sheer disbelief. At this point the lift dude runs over (after he stops the lift before we could get clocked in the head with more metal.) He starts rattling off German, making sure we were both ok (which thankfully we were.) Picks us up and plops us onto the next chair. I was still in some sort of shock. It took until Steve turned to look at me (I should also note here that Steve is an amazing, advanced skier) and says, “Heather in all my years, I have never, never, EVER fallen off of a skilift.” And I started to laugh. I laughed the entire way up the lift. I could see Tim and Bryan’s chair up ahead also shaking with their laughter. Steve, in between cursing me, started laughing too. You know what they say about paybacks.

Alpine Dreams

Tim and I in the Dolomites, Italy

Bryan, Steve, Jen, me and Tim

Davos, Switzerland

Davos

Tim asks for very little in life. Indian food once in a while. A to-go-cup-a-joe in the mornin’. A little football on the telly. (He does get a touch high-maintenance if he steps in water with his socks on.) But truly, his only major request whilst we live here in Europeland is this: Ski in every country that has Alps. I am happy to report, we can check this one off the list.

Last year we skied in Austria with Maarten and Heidi, France with B.Lo and Ewan, and Germany at the Zugspitze. A couple weeks ago we took Bryan and Kristi to Davos, Switzerland (two days before the World Economic Forum—no wonder it was hard to find a room.) And then this weekend, we rounded out our quest with amazing Italy. And oh my goodness, was it a grand finale.

These mountains were like nothing I’d ever seen. They’re called the Dolomites, which somehow refers (maybe in French??) to the carbonate rock that makes up these majestic and severe looking mountains. When the sun came out and the snow stopped pelting you in the face (free microderm-abrasion anyone?) it made for some of the most beautiful scenery we’ve ever seen.

Of course the trip didn’t quite go off without a hitch. Securing a room was a touch challenging, seeing as how we had 6 adults, a two year old, and a dog. (We took Steve & Jennifer with little Ella, Bryan, Kristi and Kristi’s dog Jax.) But Thursday morning, after at least 40 e-mails, a hotel with a vacation apartment came through, so we could all stay together. I will say, hotels in Europe are not anything like American ones. Furniture definitely from the 70s, twin beds pushed together like my Grandparents had, and towels that you and I would probably designate for the garage. But, it was clean and big enough for everybody to have their own space, and perfect for our needs.

So...my husband is a very happy camper...err..skier, and we had a truly amazing time. That was, until I nearly killed myself and Steve. (Read on.)

Selective Memory

The title of my last entry, I have just learned, may need to be revised. This is something that I thought I remembered my mother saying when we’d come home from our family adventures. (Like driving to Florida, or New England, or Yellowstone…3 times.) I’m sure it had to come from a riddle or rhyme or song, but I couldn’t quite place it. I spouted it off to Tim once early in our relationship, expecting that everyone said that as they pull in the drive. He looked at me like I had three eyeballs. What? You don’t say that? Huh. At that moment, I shrugged it off. Perhaps it was just one of the quirky things that the Hulsens did. Like singing songs from The Muppet Show.

I vowed to ask my mother later, which I plum forgot for a good long while. Finally, I remembered not that long ago (after so many years of saying this to Tim that it now sounds completely logical to both of us.) My mom had no idea what on earth I was talking about. Huh. Oh well. Fast forward to last week. As I was searching for the title to my last blog, I thought, what would be more perfect? I did, however, send a quick text to my big brother who remembers everything. “Um..Thomas, where the heck did I get this?” To which I had this reply. (I may take some liberties here with what he was implying in tone.)

Dear Little Sister,
You are a moron and confused…again. Think you’re thinking of this nursery rhyme.

To market, to market, to buy a fat pig,
Home again, home again, jiggety-jig.
To market, to market, to buy a fat hog,
Home again, home again, jiggety-jog.
To market, to market, to buy a plum bun,
Home again, home again, market is done.

Huh. I sit corrected. And then he lovingly noted, “'Clickety-clack' would only work if it was Thomas the Tank Engine’s trip to the market." Huh again. My world was kinda rocked. Home again, home again, jiggety-jig? Really? Why would one need both a pig and a hog? And what, pray tell, is a plum bun? Is that what happens when sledding goes horribly wrong?

In all honestly, this is not the first time that I’ve “remembered” things from my childhood that I find out later to be completely off. For example, I may have thought that my Grandfather was part Indian (and have proceeded to tell people I was part Cherokee) because he had redish skin and collected Native American artifacts. Not so much. Or figuring out a few years ago that Bon Jovi’s “Living on a Prayer” was ‘prayer’ not ‘prairie.’ (Totally had this image of Jon and Richie in cowboy hats riding horses over the plains.) Anyhoo—thought I’d set the record straight. However embarrassing it might be.

Home Again, Home Again, Clickety-Clack

We’re home. And by ‘home’ I mean Germany. Of course, the word “home” is kinda like “smurf” or “marklar”—it can mean any number of things. Quincy, Peoria, Germany, Van Down by the River…whatever. Guess that’s what happens when you’re a nomad.

Anyway, the flight was good except for the first hour, which was a teensy bit turbulent. I may have double- (read: triple) checked for the barf bag. (How long does it take Dramamine to kick in?) Got our luggage without any problem, which was a festivous miracle. You would not believe what Tim and I brought back. Let’s just say that this was a very lucrative Christmas for the Klaus Haus. We were under the assumption that the gift-giving portion of the holiday would be reigned in a little. But, no. Pretty sure our families are going to single-handedly pull the U.S. right outta recession. May I also note that everyone gave us great and thoughtful gifts, but perhaps a little on the bulky/heavy side. Trying to pack a cookie jar, leaded china, a ski helmet, about 6 hard-back books and a golf club got a little interesting. (Also interesting, we had asked for most of it. Duh.) I will say, nearly all made it here. Except the golf club. Apparently, the airlines think it warrants “weapon” status. (Little do they know, I’m a heck of a lot better with a high heeled shoe. More wieldy. In college, I used a black pump as a hammer more than once.)

We walked in the door to our house and were immediately pounced on by two very excited and attention-starved kitties, whom have been gorilla-glued to us ever since. They seemed to do pretty darn well for being left alone for three weeks. (Yes, we did have someone coming in to check on them.) There was a small sign of rebellion though. Think they set off a cat-hair bomb. No joke, cat-hair everywhere! Our rugs look like they’re wearing fur coats. How could this much hair come off of two rather small creatures? Unbelievable. Isn’t it winter? Shouldn’t they being putting on their heavy coats? Then why in all things seasonal, is it all over my floor, couch, bed, carpet...

Other things that greeted us? Some goodies that got left in the fridge to decay (always fun) and a very sad looking Christmas tree. To begin with, our tree was not quite as manicured as the ones in the states. A little pear-shaped to be honest. Now its saddlebags are sagging, the garland is drooping, and the ornaments closer to the ground are now actually on the ground. Charlie Brown would have loved it. Home Sweet home.

My dork Brother

Fun with Dave! (This time captions courtesy of my husband.) Had a truly exceptional time. We hit Regensburg, Nurnberg, Cesky Krumlov in the Czech Republic and Munich. Not bad for 5 days, huh.

Fotos de Espana

(Notice there aren't any of our hellhole, I mean B&B. Choosing to remember only the good.)

Fall

Fall is here, but may not last much longer. One last shot of my garden. The trees are almost done changing here, but they've been beautiful. I love Fall. Sigh.

Well, we're off to Munich for the weekend. I'm taking a Yoga workshop with Seane Corn (very, very excited, hope I can walk afterward!) and Tim's coming with. No doubt we'll find trouble along the way...

Dance 10, Looks 3

Our 5th Anniversary was at the beginning of the month, so we decided to celebrate with a trip to Barcelona. I’d booked the trip a little while ago, but I had maybe waited until the last minute to find accommodations. (First mistake.) In my defense, I was waiting for the guidebook I had ordered from amazon.de which never came, and never came, and honestly, never came.

Tim’s and Heather’s Plan for Traveling: Pick a destination. Book a flight. Do not do any research ahead of time, but consider “planning ahead,” buying a guidebook. Bust it open for the first time on the plane to your destination.

Well, a couple of days before we left, I had realized that perhaps I shouldn’t dally forever and I started to look into a Bed and Breakfast. So far, we’ve had a wonderful experience with B&Bs. The place in Bruges felt like we were visiting long lost relative. One in Interlaken was a working farm overlooking the lake. Not to mention the vineyard in Italy. So, I took my chances, hopped onto a few B&B sites and sent out a bunch of e-mails.

Uncle Georg’s Wine/Life Tip: When I was traveling around Europe in 2002, my uncle Georg gave me truly wonderful advice. We (with my aunt Sue, of course) were at a German Winefest on the Mosel River trying to decide what wine to sample. His rationale was, “Never get the cheapest wine. You'll always be disappointed. The best deal is always the second least expensive.” Good theory, I thought. And this man knows his wine.

So I heard back from a few B&Bs and a lot of them were full. Panick set in a little. I e-mailed a few more, without really checking into them fully. (Second mistake). Good news, I heard back from a couple that had some openings. So, did I head Georg’s advice? Did I take the second from the bottom in price? Nope. Went for El Cheapo. (Fatal mistake.)

So we arrive in Spain, really without too much problem, show up to the address and look around. The street in front of us is lined with Pawn Shops. (Not a good sign.) We ring the bell and this little Spanish lady comes down to get us. We go up the narrowest steps ever on the planet to the apartment. We walk in and are hit over the head with a smell of, well not quite body odor, but maybe body oil. Instantly know this is gonna be a long stay. Not to mention all of this is happening as the women is freely bashing America because she thinks we’re German. That’s always fun.

I tell you what, whoever took the pictures for the website was a magician! He couldda made Quasimodo’s headshots look like Brad Pitt. The place was actually an apartment that this lady lets to students, but was free at the moment. (Can’t imagine why.) Come to learn later that she actually runs a Bed and Breakfast, but this is not it. There was a kitchen (ette) with water that tasted like sulfur and an overall smell of natural gas. The towels in the bathroom were as soft as sandpaper and put off an overpowering musty scent when wet. (I actually gagged once while toweling off. No joke.) The living room was about 3 feel wide, with an old futon parading as a couch. Not to mention the bedroom which had two single beds donned in orangy-brown spreads from the 70s and a wad of something that was supposed to be a pillow.

But the kicker was that over the headboards, in between the two Ozzie and Harriett beds was a rather large, extremely graphic and dark and honestly terrifying picture of the Crucifixion. I hope God forgives me for my next statement, but if that isn’t a mood killer, I don’t know what is. So…welcome to Barcelona!

The good news is that we’re never in our hotel rooms very much anyway, so this was just further inspiration to get out on the town. And, we did have free Internet, which was nice.

We did a ton of wandering the city, as we always do, taking in tourist cites as well as trying to be somewhat Spanish. Highlights: Friday night, Tim and I took ourselves on a Tapas and Pub Crawl. Pretty sure we ate (and perhaps drank) at every tapas restaurant, ever. (Warning: Spanish wine goes straight to your noodle!) Saturday we took a Spanish cooking class through Cook and Taste http://www.cookandtaste.net/ led by the amazing Bego. Learned how to make Spanish Omelets and Paella, among other things. Met another American couple and a couple from Australia. (Tim and I are convinced that Australians might just be the coolest people on earth. Every Aussie we’ve met totally rocks.) Sunday night we hit Cirque de Soleil, which was absolutely unreal. So, overall, amazing trip. Great Anniversary. And guess what was on the doorstep when we arrived home---guidebook. Perfect timing.

Oktoberfest!!!

We came. We saw. We fested. We have now been to the biggest party on the planet. And no, I'm not joking, with over 6 million people in attendence, it is truly the biggest party. Ever.

And now for just a little hint of trivia. Oktoberfest is a 16 day festival honoring the 1810 marriage of King Ludwig (the first, not the crazy dude) with Princess Theresa of Saxe-Hildburghausen. (Take his married name, sweetie.) It looks like the party was so killer, they decided to make it an annual occasion. (I heart Bavarians!) Aside from the years when Germany was at war or battling cholera (sorry to bring you down), the party’s been going on ever since, although comically it’s been moved to September to avoid the sketchy October weather. Guess Septemberfest didn’t have the same ring.

I can't find the exact data for 2008, but came across the numbers for 2003
6.3 million visitors
6.2 million liters of beer (well, someone wasn't quite pulling their weight.)
36,000 liters of wine
487, 400 roast chickens
190,635 pairs of grilled sausages
56, 036 pork knuckles
91 oxen, whole on the spit.

I repeat biggest party on the planet!

More Jungfrau pics

These from their guide Krister. Unreal. Makes me nauseous just thinking about it!

Q. Why Did The Nun Cross the Road? --To Get To The Other Tithe!

I don’t want you kids going around thinking that all of my days are like today. Lemme just share with you my day on Tuesday to give you some context. It was the first day of my new class. I awoke late, as I always seem to do on first days, catapulted myself out of bed, into the shower and out the door in under 20 minutes. (Impressive, huh.) As I was nearing my school, what do I notice out my passenger window up ahead to the right? But of course, my daily nun. I was still down the road a stretch, so I took a moment to offer up a little prayer, as I do everyday when a sister crosses my path. In the meantime, what I believe to have happened, was that she had started to cross the street but decided midstream that the speeding car in front of me might just take her out. She must have been very busy that Tuesday morning and needed to get somewhere to further nun, because by the time I got to her she was spitting nails. I mean mad as H-E-double-hockeysticks. Now, I’m pretty sure she wasn’t actually cursing at Speedy Gonzales, but she was at least praying very loudly. And with a very angry face. So, a tad unnerving.

I get to class and settle in. (More on my new class later.) The first part of the lesson goes off without a hitch. But then disaster strikes just after our first break, right after I’d gotten a coffee out of the machine. (Can see what’s coming, huh.) Luckily, I was able to finish most of it before we jumped back into our discussion of Heinrich Steinweg (Henry Steinway.) Isa, my teacher, was explaining the german word for grand piano is “Fluegel”—aka a wing, as in a bird. Well I just didn’t get this the first go-round. So I’d asked for a second explanation, after which the light bulb went on and I got that the “wing” is the lid propped open. “Wing,” I say, “like the wing of a plane." And at that moment, I decided to gesture rather loudly imitating a crocodile’s mouth chomping and bump my notebook, which hits my water bottle, which I swear picked my little plastic coffee cup and sent it a-splattering.

At this moment, I try to jump into clean-up mode (probably before the damn thing had even overturned) but I’m sitting yoga-like with my legs in Indian-style (is that the P.C. term?) like I always do, which sometimes makes my feet go to sleep. So as I’m trying to unravel my 4-foot long giraffe legs, Isa and my new neighbor from the Ukraine have pretty much gotten things under control. Luckily, no coffee got on anyone’s books or clothing, so maybe the nun was blessing Senor Volvo and me...just maybe had a toothache.

After class I roped Laura into running with me to Ikea so I could return a carpet I had bought. (Which incidentally felt like you were walking on sandpaper.) But, of course, no gas. So I pull into a gas station but ended up with the pump on the wrong side of the car. This is not that big of a deal because normally you can just yank the hosey-thing around the back. Of course today, that didn’t quite work. So I pull into another spot. Get out again. Open the gas tank again. But for some reason the nozzle won’t go in my car. I try, try again, and again. Close the whole thing and reopen. Nope. No can do. Cannot figure out what’s going on. I finally call Laura out of the car and she takes two seconds to say, "This says ‘gas.’ Isn’t your car ‘diesel?’"

Thank you Lord (or maybe Sister Mary Curses-Sometimes) and even BMW for putting that feature on my car. Crises averted.

After I fed meines Auto, I go inside to pay the nice man behind the counter who’s been getting a kick outta my performance thus far. So I pay with my debit card, put in my pin number and we start to laugh and joke in German with the extremely classy and (naturally) handsome guy in a suit in line behind me about my brilliance at the gas pump. Mr. Benzine hands me my receipt and I go immediately for the pen on the counter and look for where to sign. He gives me a second, hoping I’ll get a grip, then gently puts his hand on mine in a not-at-all-sexual way and says is absolutely perfect English, “I don’t need your signature, you’ve already put in your pin number.”

Tshus and Danke. Got outta there as fast as I could. It appears that “Idiot” is spelled with a capitol ‘ME” after all.

I heart Europe

Our anniversary is coming up pretty soon here. 5 years. (Cannot believe Tim's put up with me for this long.) I think that's a pretty major feat and rather worthy of a celebration. So...today I kinda booked us a little weekend getaway to Barcelona. Ole! Yo quiero tapas!

As if that wasn't enough for one day, I got wind from Sarah, another expat (see http://www.regensblog.com/) that Air France was having a killer one-day sale on flights to Paris. So, whoopsie, I accidentally booked that too. Giggle. Barcelona AND Paris. Ah, good day. Very good day.

New Digs

Happy Anniversary Us and Germany

We’ll kids, we’ve been here one full calendar year. Does it feel like it? Do you still miss us at home? (Rhetorical question-there is clearly a correct answer here.) I feel that when you hit these mile markers in life, it’s a good time to glance back (I’m getting nostalgic, cue “Auld Lang Syne”) to see where all you’ve been and hopefully how far you’ve come.

So how far have we come? How do you measure a year? (Change music. “Season’s of Love” from Rent please.) Let’s try a quick list.

Year in Numbers:
Countries Visited—13
Number of Guests who’ve graced the Klaus Haus—30
Hours spent learning German—450 for Heather. 200ish for Tim. (And just so you know folks, he’s still kicking my kiester here!)
Weekends on the Road—24 (This number actually down from last year when we lived in Peoria. Shame on us.)
Kilometers driven—65,000 (No idea what that is in miles. You do the math.)
Calls home—Oh dear God, no idea. Thousands.
Tears shed—Quite a few.
Belly laughs—Twice the number of tears shed, without a doubt.

Nope, although interesting, the list doesn’t quite do it justice. I can honestly tell you that the ride so far has been a roller coaster. On the downside (grab your tissue) I wasn’t quite prepared for how difficult this was gonna be for me. I’ve struggled more than I thought I would with redefining myself over here. Next time I do this, someone please get me a few bottles of Prozac to take the edge off! On the up side, and wow, there are sooo many upsides. The travel, the meeting of new and exceptional people, the time I get to spend with my husband (which was normally spent at the dance studio), the great visits from our family and friends. The list goes on and on. I feel somehow like a new teacher freshly out of college. That first year is usually u-g-l-y, you ain’t got no alibi, defined a lot more by the mistakes you made (and learned from) and the very few, but hugely gratifying successes.

Anyway, long story short, so far, so good. And we can now say that we’ve got a year under our belt. Hopefully, my blunders through Europe now can be a little more graceful. Graceful…yeah, right. Shouldda spent more time in ballet class.

Tim's little Swiss climb

Tim and our friend Brian climb the Jungfrau Mountain in the Swiss Alps.