Hm.

Feb. 12th, 2011 11:00 am
mer: (Default)
I can't decide if the time for long, introspective blog posts is at an end for me, or if it's just a phase. I vote phase. I've been doing this for eleven years, seven on this platform. It'd be weird to stop, wouldn't it?

Wouldn't it?

Maybe I'm leaving more of it on the page. You know--more actual writing. And that wouldn't be a bad thing, now would it?

Let's go with phase for now.
mer: (Default)
Have I posted this before? There is no way to explain their awesomeness. These cookies JUST WORK.

Chocolate Chili Cookies

Kristina says: "This recipe is from Maida Heatter’s Book of Great Chocolate
Desserts. I tried to give the cookbook away to a friend who loves
to make chocolate desserts but he forgot to take it home. Then I
discovered the Chocolate Chili recipe, and this book’s not going
anywhere now. I was in search of the perfect chocolate/lime
combination in a dessert, and by adding lime juice to the
cookies, I think I’ve found it."

Sift together the flour, cocoa, salt, pepper, cayenne, and
cinnamon and set aside. In the large bowl of an electric
mixer cream the butter. Add the vanilla and sugar and
beat to mix thoroughly. Beat in the egg, then on low
speed gradually add the sifted dry ingredients,
scraping the bowl with a rubber spatula and beating
only until mixed.

Shape the dough into a cylinder about 10 inches long and
about 2 inches in diameter.

Wrap the dough in wax paper and place it in the freezer
until firm. Or it may be kept frozen.

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. With a sharp, heavy knife
cut it into slices 1/4 inch thick.

Bake 10 or 11 minutes, reversing the sheets once during
baking. Watch them carefully to make sure they do not
burn.

Let them cool for a few seconds on the sheets until firm
enough to be moved. Then, with a wide spatula, transfer
cookies to racks to cool.

Rub the top of each cookie with lime juice.

1 1/2 cups flour
3/4 cup cocoa powder
1/4 tsp salt
Pinch ground black pepper
Pinch cayenne pepper
3/4 tsp cinnamon
1 1/2 sticks sweet butter
1 1/2 tsp vanilla
1 cup sugar
1 egg
Lime

It's the lime that makes the magic happen--it ties the chili and the chocolate together in a way that I find lacking in every other combo of chili and chocolate (with one exception: the Cacao Royale at Espresso Royale--that doesn't need lime).
mer: (Default)
I've been up and down the Rhine four? five? times this weekend. In pictures, in Wikipedia entries, in bad Google translations from German, in tourist brochures, in maps hoarded from my Germany trip, in maps discovered online...

I very nearly have a working map for my novel. I would even call it "largely accurate." It is more likely to be missing places than to have wrong places added in, I think, so that's cool. So, from Bonn to Bingen, I know my 1133 Rhine valley. Woo. Hoo.

In addition to the map, I have index cards for each place along the way, including founding dates and important happenings and my best etymologies. I have not yet decided if I'm using German names or evocative English translations of German names or some of each. (The problem is that for every "Cloud Castle" there's an untranslatable word like "the Wied River." Wied, apparently, goes back to the beginning of time or something. Because no one anywhere I can find knows what it means. Possibly if I were fluent in German I could find an etymology.... But I'm not. How on earth was Romanian easier?)

And so, that's what I did with my weekend.
mer: (Writing (Dark and Stormy Night))
Seems like I'm supposed to have something to say, but I can't quite think of what.

So, a meandering about writing.

My book is going. It is not going as fast as I would like, but I'm getting bogged down in research on occasion. Which sounds maybe not ideal, but it's actually part of my process. There are certain things I could just leave as a blank and fill in later; writers do that, I'm told. But it never works for me, because those little details end up being the foundations of theme, foreshadowing, and all the je ne sais quois that adds up to having a tapestry of detail and texture. If I can't feel the texture as I go, it's just no fun to write. And if it's no fun to write, I don't keep going. And there's my process--or, that piece of it.

The other side of the piece is picking and choosing which textures to focus on. I think it was on Jordan Castillo-Price's podcast I heard this, where she talked about taking a cue from visual arts in learning how to focus detail in writing. It's like depth of field on a photograph. You foreground the important stuff, keep it sharp and in focus, highlight the details... and blur out the background, so it's there in general, but not the thing in the picture that the eye will return to.

Something I'm reminding myself as I go.

First drafts are my favorite thing about writing, but that doesn't make them easy.
mer: (Default)
1. What did you do in 2010 that you'd never done before?
Well, I sold a book.

Read more... )
mer: (Tiara (DDD))
Happy New Year, folks! I plan to ring in the occasion with writing and sleep--I woke up with a grumbling sore throat and a powerful tiredness, and I won't be crawling far from my computer unless it's to bed.

It is very handy, therefore, that I decided not to throw a party this year. Between my stepdaughter's upcoming sweet sixteen, and the eventual book launch party in October (yes, I have a launch month, though not yet a date, have I mentioned?), I decided to dial back the partying.

As for the rest of New Year's activities, I did go so far as to chill the bottle of champagne I had purchased for the occasion, which I may have tonight if I'm feeling up to it, or perhaps mixed with OJ tomorrow. And as for resolutions? Nah. Further ratcheting around of some life-style changes, perhaps, and I want to settle in with a good solid writing schedule for the new year, but I think calling them resolutions perhaps... puts a karmic hit out on them.

See you in 2011!
mer: (Awkward (Scrubs))
Dann and I were listening to a podcast we both enjoy on the way to dinner last night, and there was a mention of adding a TV show to a bucket list.

I pointed out I have no TV bucket list. In fact, there is no TV on any bucket list I have. There is nothing I can't live without watching. (This is not a dis on TV, because TV is a fundamental source of pleasure in my life, and frankly, a lot of it is quite good these days. I could live without TV, but I don't have to, so why would I?) But in my world view, bucket lists are about learning and doing and experiencing authentically, for oneself, not through the lens of someone else's eye and experience.

There are no books on my bucket list, by the same token, nor do I have a book bucket list. I read for the same reasons I watch TV, plus research. There are books I need to read to keep up with my genres and to write what I need to write, plus books I want to read for pleasure, so putting some musts and shoulds down on top of that just to say I've read them is no longer a possibility. I did stuff like that when I was younger. I'm over it.

I'll be 40 in 4.5 years. I'm starting to think about things I'll want to experience before then. There are things I've been trying to do for a few years that I'd like to get to: See Niagara Falls. Get back to the Grand Canyon and ride a mule down into it. Attain fluency in Spanish, at least to my French levels.

Add to that, visit South and Central America. Actually learn how to play chess, instead of poking at it. (If there were flowcharts for chess, I'd learn it a lot faster.)

But the goals are kind of nebulous, and a lot of things that were once on my life bucket list (that I wrote when I was 14) are either accomplished, or I learned enough to know I don't actually want to do them. And then there's writing research. I do so many things based on writing research, that it almost seems moot to have a list. I'll get to everything I need to get to, eventually. Right? Maybe?
mer: (Cat reading Newspaper)
Diabetic Cat looked at us as we walked out the door today, lifting her head from the fuzzy blanket she was using as a pillow, and blinked prettily at us.

"You know where I have to be today guys? Right here."

Head down, contented sigh.

Jerk. She's a princess, but she's a jerk princess.
mer: (Mystery Solver (30 Rock))
Okay, not really lost. I remember the green-blue sky and dim sun of the world I wormholed to; I remember the thought processes and conversations ("We call it a wormhole, because that's a convenient term, but it's not one," and "Well, if this weren't a safe enough world with a breathable atmosphere and liveable pressure, we'd be too dead to notice.")

It was one of those magical dreams where your subconscious far outpaces your conscious imagination. The humidity, the slightly off air pressure, the over-saturated colors, the techno-babble of the other people (someone I was with, someone who came through the wormhole with me, which we had activated in an Indiana Jones/Stargate-style shuffling of stone mechanisms somewhere in either Germany or Ireland--that someone was an astronomer, and he was convinced he knew what star we were orbiting, and that sisters to the planet we were on had been discovered and named by humanity)...

The inhabitants of the planet were humans living in stone edifices somewhat between Mycenaean palace and Norman castle. And they spoke English. So that's where my imagination failed--or did it? They spoke English because they fell through the wormhole at some point in the past, right?

Anyway, I woke up before I could do something plot-like. But it was a great travelogue until then.

Easily the best dream I've had in a year. Better than the lost fairy tale, even.

Sorry to make you suffer through a dream report, but you know. I never promised not to.

Meh and meh

Dec. 5th, 2010 05:21 pm
mer: (Not Amused (Bones))
My memory card is corrupt. The one with all the pictures of Europe. Now, fortunately, I loaded 997 pictures (yes, really) onto Flickr in Romania when I had a good net connection and a long evening on my hands, but there are about a hundred, hundred-fifty lost pictures of Christmas markets and decorations that I would kinda like to have. (Also, getting all the pics onto my computer from Flickr would be a time-consuming hassle.)

On the other hand, paying to get the data off the card is also probably not really worth it.

Probably.

Meh!!

Synthesis

Dec. 3rd, 2010 04:32 am
mer: (Eclipse)
Okay, no, no synthesis. I got up at 3:30AM local because I was just done sleeping, and that's wall there was to it. Maybe tomorrow I'll make it to 5AM.

I feel like there was something I learned on this trip--maybe many somethings--but I'm not going to be able to articulate them in a blog entry.

As it is, I've been working on my book like mad, so maybe the synthesis will all be there, in the spaces between the words. Actually, I'd count on it.

In short, some non-detail things (because I learned a lot of details) I learned from my late autumn vacation to Europe:
  • I feel like I connected in new ways with my (deceased) German grandmother on this trip. I've summoned my inner hausfrau. We'll see how that goes, but I have this itch for cleanliness I have not previously really had.
  • As usual upon returning from a vacation, I feel a slower pace of life would be in order. We'll see if I find it.
  • I don't think I'll ever go anywhere on such short notice again unless I've already been there once. I really needed six months to plan this trip, not three. Also, they were not three months of easy living; I had rewrites and copyedits plus over-the-top dayjob. The biggest issues were languages: I wish I'd spent more time acquiring languages for this trip, even though I obviously muddled through.


I have voyage vertigo. I feel like if I turn my head to the right, I'll see Sibiu spread below me. I think I'm a little tired, still, even though I can't sleep.

oh, snow!

Dec. 1st, 2010 04:56 pm
mer: (Doctor Who - 10 in snow)
warning: German keyboard. This may get wonky, as I am a touch typist.

I left Rothenburg after a nice walk through town this morning and some shopping. Tat: acquired. I blame Jaine Fenn and the rest of the Milford '05 crew for making me lust for tat now. I used to not buy silly little touristy items until they made me see the glory in them. I did not buy a cuckoo clock magnet, though, which I may regret. Nor did I buy a cuckoo clock at all, even though I thought about it very hard, to the point of pricing them and then actually looking at them all in earnest.

The thing is, a tasteful cuckoo clock just seems pointless.

I dropped my luggage at my hotel and then drove the stupid summer tire car off to the airport, where I left it with Hertz. Then I had lunch at a, believe it or not, taco stand. The other choice was McDonald's. Nice vegetarian tacos of dubious Mexicanness, indeed.

While I was eating, a man pointed at my other chair and asked if he could have it (in English, accented). (I was tweeting at the time, which on my old school phone is like a 6-minute chore, minimum.) At first I thought he wanted the chair for another table because he had a large group, but no group was forthcoming, and he sat down instead of taking the chair. Cue uncomfortableness. I continued my tweet rather than make conversation.

The fellow looked increasingly agitated, finally stood up and said, "I go now."

"Uh, sure, bye."

"It's better for me. It's better for you, too, maybe... I don't cheat you."

Say what?

I had that brief spurt of fear, wondering if he'd managed to take something from me and I didn't even notice. But everything I owned was back at the hotel or buried under three layers of clothing, except for a handful of euros in my pocket and the phone in my hand. And my tacos. GOOD LUCK, BUDDY. I'm not that easy a mark. Which was clearly what he was telling me, so maybe I won. I know I'll be extra careful at the airport with all my stuff tomorrow.

I finished up, called the hotel shuttle, waited inside on super alert for more criminal activity for ten minutes... waited outside in the SO COLD OMG for ten minutes after that, and came back to my still unclean hotel room. I'd checked in early, and my room was not cleaned, but I thought, "Hey, I checked in early." But it was still not clean more than two hours later. I went down to use the free internet... and here we are.
mer: (Default)
I was supposed to go to Munich today and spend the day there before training to Frankfurt tomorrow, but when I really started thinking about walking a 3/4s of a mile from the train station to my hotel with my giant suitcase in the slush and the cold, I thought, "You know what would be great? If I just rented a car and went back to Rothenburg ob der Tauber and got that place out of my system. I really didn't get to stay long enough last time."

I don't think I'll regret missing Munich simply from a logistical point of view--I'm not backpacking through Europe here, and pretending like I am was a huge disconnect. Of course, from a "when am I going to be in Munich again?" point of view, I'm a little sad, but all things considered, it's far more worth my while to be in Rothenburg.

Germany is restful compared to Romania. Or maybe the phrase is actually "more like America." I'm sure it is. On the other hand, it is not as nice because it's colder and snowier. In point of fact, when I went to pick up my car today at the airport (which I reserved before I left Germany, which is when I made the decision about my last day in Germany), they said, "Oh, we don't have any cars with winter tires, so it will be a two hour wait."

Uhm, what?

I went to a few other counters, and everyone was out of winter tires. What the hell were they doing, one might wonder? After having a rather lengthy conversation with my original reservation holder again, I asked what the difference between summer and winter tires was, you know, from an American's standpoint. Because quite frankly, I live in a snowy state, and I don't swap out my tires seasonally. The counter person didn't really know, but she assured me that the summer tires were completely not up to the task of any sort of snow, while I'm standing there wondering if the difference is snow tires and regular tires, and growing more frustrated and doing everything I can not to show I'm frustrated, because obviously, this is just stupid, not evil, that they have these absurd(ish) rules about tires and yet the rental companies are not swapping tires as cars come in when the season turns.

Finally, once I agreed that I wasn't going to Austria--because it's illegal to drive with summer tires in Austria now--and once I discussed the predicted amounts of precipitation and made my peace with God, I took a summer-tire car, and headed out of the freaking airport. There's a 20% chance of snow tomorrow until I get to Frankfurt, where it goes up to 40%; then I'm in for the night and there's an overnight chance of 70% ish... and then I have to drive 5 minutes to the airport the following morning. I'll risk it. Let's hope these are not all famous last words, eh?

So, frustrations aside, I have a mint green something. A Corsa? I don't know. It's more fancy than I'm used to, with all these 1 touch controls, and a hugging seat, but it's okay. I kind of liked the crappy little thing I was driving before better.

---

Just got back from dinner. Verdict: spatzle with cheese is just mac and cheese. German food names are exotic sounding lies. Lies! And you know what schnitzle is? The foulest lie: it's veal.

Anyway, the waitress was concerned that I wasn't having beer or wine with dinner. This is not the first time I've frustrated and confused my waitstaff this trip, but frankly, drinking alone is not something I want to do in a foreign country; I'm a social drinker at best, and take no real joy out of beer or wine on its own merits 85% of the time, so trying new beers or wines is actually more like torture than fun.

But I did want some gluhwein after dinner, but the waitress misunderstood/misheard/thought I was crazy, and brought me what I suspect was a Riesling with my spatzle. Also, my plate of food was enormous, was nothing like anything I'd gotten in Germany before, and certainly nothing like what I'd gotten in Romania. It was even gigantic for America. I ate about a third of it (salad and spatzle) before having to cry wimp and getting it taken away.

In the meantime, I had discovered that the Christmas carol playing in the restaurant--which I had enjoyed at first, and was at least partially a round of "Gaudete" plus something else mixed with it--was on infinite repeat.

Plus, half way through the glass of wine, I remember that, appearances aside, I'm a lightweight in the realm of alcohol. The world started to blur around me. I started humming along to the "Gaudete" parts of the song, then outright singing them, before remembering where I was, and just cramming more spatzle into my mouth. "Gaudete, gaudete, Christus est natus, oh, crap, I'm singing. Again."

So, as I confronted this enormous plate of food--and let me just say, eating a third of what was presented was like winning a food challenge, and I was not picking at the food--and the endless loop of music and my own inability to process alcohol like a normal person, I began to consider that I was in Jolly German Christmas Hell. Especially when the waitress came by to ask me for the third time how I liked the spatzle.

Fortunately, at that point, I realized I had to stop eating and just get away from the music. Which I did.

----

The only other thing to note about today is that at 6:30 AM Romania time, I locked the night manager out of his hotel. He had carried my luggage down to my cab, you see, and left the door ajar; I so helpfully closed it. As I was closing it, but too late to stop: "No, no, don't close it!" But it was done. "I don't have a key," he said. (WHY? I didn't say.) He stopped and stared. "It's all right," he said. And then, "OH, GOD!" under his breath. I expressed concern. "No, it's all right, I can call," he said philosophically, and waved my cab over.

Me and that hotel's main entrance: doomed from the start.
mer: (Dark Tower)
...to say.

What's the thing where you're so far out the other side of culture shock that you just stop being, well, surprised? Is that really acculturation or just fatigue?

I'm pretty sure what I have is the fatigue. I also have "I'm going home in 4/3/2 days (depending on how you count)." (You can't count today. You can't count the day you leave. So it's 2 days, right? Except it's 4.)

Sitting with my window open. Hearing the wind moan and rush over the rooftops, the laughter of people in the square, the squeak of some window or sign's hinges, and distant motors doing who knows what (midnight renovation projects seem to be big; don't know why). Doors slam. I'm afraid of sleeping through my alarm tomorrow but that doesn't put me to sleep. There's writing to be done, and breezes to be felt.

I'll say this about touring in winter: old cities don't stink. There's no post-rain cobblestone stench to rise up and remind you of the last hundred years of feces that have sunk between the stones. Or is that just France?

I'm tired. I miss my husband, my cats. This chapter I'm writing is boring. Something has to change. My character has been happy for almost 300 words. That has to end.

I'm grumpy like this man:

P1030139

Click through for more. I can't promise more grumpy men, but pigeons, yes.

Good night, see you in Germany...
mer: (Anthropology (Binford))
I spent the day tromping around an open air museum--or should I say, the open air museum, since this is considered the pinnacle of open air museums in this country, and was a large part of the reason I came to Sibiu.

(The other parts were: I needed an airport, I didn't want to do Bucharest, I needed a place I might set The Queen of Thonos or parts thereof, and the city itself had to have a lot to offer. Unfortunately, if I'd known how much harder it is to get around inside the country (well, okay, let's say I knew, but I was in denial, which is pretty much the truth), I'd have chosen somewhere else--somewhere closer to my cousin's sister, and with better rail service. But--bygones. I have a feeling this won't be my only trip to Romania.)

I can't really guess how far I walked today but it must be further than I've done since being in Europe, since el bone spur is unhappy with the distance I walked for the first time in months--and let's recall that three miles does not really bug it--and my legs were tired coming up the stairs to my room. Note that I was not winded, but that my legs were tired, straight up three flights. (Guess what? I get to come in the front door of the hotel now. But not before I took pictures of the whole process of the labyrinthine way.)

The museum was fascinating. They've moved dozens of different types of buildings into this park and reconstructed them just as they were in situ. Presumably they only removed things that were going to be destroyed anyway, but I don't actually know... Anyway, these things range from a beekeepers' family compound (charmingly described as "beeskeepers" on the trilingual sign), to Danube delta fishermen's cottages, to wooden churches, to inns, to small shrines. Lots of fulling mills--wool-processing--aka houses of fullers. And windmills!

Links to:

the bare bones Romania pics at Facebook

the full Germany (thus far) album at Flickr (but no descriptions or titles yet)
mer: (Default)
* travel days are almost always a bust
* stop inserting so many travel days in your trips, Mer
* two weeks is not enough time to put in four major travel days (besides your arrival and departure days, I might add), I'm just saying
* four is okay for for a 3 week trip, but not two
* three travel days in a row is dumb, btw

So, I was a bit of an idiot when figuring out where I wanted to go on this trip. I foolishly thought: "Germany's one of those small countries, not as small as Britain, but they have less windy roads and higher speeds so it's probably easier to get from place A to place B."

And that was how I ended up driving five hundred kilometers over the previous two days and eating the hearts out of said days so completely and making them touristically non-viable. (Rothenburg was a little saved by the fact that it has a night tour, so arriving at 3PM wasn't such a kick in the pants.) Likewise, I flew to Romania today, pretty much getting here too late to do anything but snap a few pics out my hotel window. And then, I'll have the travel day back to Germany, which will not be as busted because I have to catch the plane at 8 AM and the time change is in my favor in that case.

When everything closes by 4 (tourist spots, not shops) and it's dark by 4:30... well, that's the penalty of traveling in the low season. I suppose the other penalty is that I'm not really willing to do a lot of travel in the dark, either, when traveling in the dark means me driving down unfamiliar roads in the dark in a foreign country ALONE. So, there is me, hampered by my own rules and by traveling in the off season.

Every trip, I learn something more, I guess.

On the other hand, the internet makes things better. Better/worse. I don't know. should I be so reliant on contact from back home? Well, it kind of doesn't matter, because I *am*. And I don't think any travelers from long ago would have done anything any differently if they could have. Eh? Eh. Thinking about all the long letters that people wrote to each other when they could afford to--is that really any different than our internet access, in intention, anyway?

I had a lot of anxiety about coming to Romania alone, in part because I knew it would be SO different from what I'm used to. But it's actually not that different after all. I had a pidgin conversation with my cab driver about cauliflower. I've been pounding vocab lists like mad in Romanian, and they're sticking because there are so many cognates with Spanish and French. I don't even know what to think. I'll have to let the culture shock bowl me over, and see how I come out when I can stand again.

My FB album is here. I don't have many pics yet because I arrived shortly before dark, and didn't take any pics on my cab ride from the airport. I exited passport control shortly after 4PM, and walked immediately into a branch of the tourist's office, who told me where to find an ATM ("to the left") and suggested I take a bus to town and then walk a kilometer. I asked if a taxi were doable, and she said sure, don't let them charge you more than 5 euros...

I walked around a bit and couldn't find an ATM, and finally, a kindly looking man was standing there watching me, so I asked him where the ATM was in what I would like to believe was very convincing Romanian--so convincing that he started in with a whole spate of Romanian and I had to back off and say that I didn't actually understand the language very well. This happens to me a lot. I am better at learning to speak and smoothing out my accent than I am at cognition for the first parts of language learning. Sometimes, a little too good at smoothing out the accent, I think, because like I said, this happens to me a lot.

Anyway, I caught the gist of what he said, which was that he was offering to drive me wherever I liked in his taxi. Yes, please--once I confirmed he'd take Euros because the darn ATM wasn't "to the left." I got into the car, and we drove--to the left. For quite some ways. And pulled up in front of an ATM. Where I laughed, got out, got money, got back in, and he drove me off toward the city center. He asked if I'd come from Munich. "Yes, but I'm American." Yay, vocabulary! Oh, America? Did I know Arizona? And so on.

People do tend to know Arizona. Or Florida or California. Because they're warm?

I plopped out of the cab at Piatsa Mica, spotted my hotel immediately, paid the driver, all that... and couldn't figure out how to get IN to my hotel, since there was someone tiling what would be the entrance. We stared at each other, the tiler and the tourist. My Romanian deserted me, or rather, I never learned the words for "Why are you tiling the hotel entrance when I want to go in there?" I stuttered along with "hotel" and "where is" and some other words in random order, and thankfully, a woman showed up who assessed the situation on the spot, conversed with both the tiler and the tourist, and told me I might have to enter through the grocery store.

The... Grocery store?

The tiler flipped open his cell phone and started talking into it. Then, without a word, he picked up my suitcase and led me and the other woman down a tiny alley, onto a street, into a door next to a grocery store, up a flight of stairs, down a corridor, up another flight of stairs, through a door, possibly through someone's house, through another door, down a flight of stairs, around a corner, through some doors and... into a hotel reception area, where he dropped my suitcase and disappeared.

The other woman--blonde and beautiful, I might add, also disappared--a guest? A hotel worker? Don't know! And a man and a woman appeared, discerned I was a guest, explained the breakfast hours, had me fill out a form, and took me up two more flights of stairs to a cozy hotel room, where I took a picture out my window, used the bathroom, and lo, the sun had set, so I attempted the internet, and found it was working.

Well. There you go. My first two hours in Romania.

Oh, did I mention I drove through a snowstorm to get to the airport this morning, and had to scrape ice off my window? No, I did not mention it. It is positively balmy in Sibiu in comparison.
mer: (Default)
Last night was my last night in the Rhine Valley. I'm slowly making my way towards Munich so I can catch my flight to Romania. (I'm stopped over in Rothenberg ob der Tauber tonight, and going to take off in an hour for dinner, then take the Night Watchman's Tour.)

While I miss the Rhine already, there is something very pleasant about being in a town that caters to tourists. No, hear me out. More people speak English. There is English AND German on the menus. There are cafes every three feet, and they aren't hidden. The stores in Germany as a whole always seem, well, closed, until you try the door and find out if they are or not. But here, the stores are well lit and welcoming to folks trained in American retail psychology. No wait, that's not fair: it was not this hard to tell if a store or restaurant was open or closed in France or Britain, either...

My camera's upstairs, so I'll have to load pictures later. They're on Facebook in case you are impatient to see what I did yesterday (I drove up the Rhine to St. Goar and visited a castle or two). (I also went to a pharmacy and got some frikin' help for this cold.)

Right now, I'm sitting in the cafe that's part of the hotel I'm in (it's super-duper quaint and taverny, and I totally love it), listening to church bells while I debate with myself over where to eat. (While I sip tea and snack on "Oma's Kaisekuchen"--i.e., a nice cheesecake. Also, all black tea here is Earl Grey. Well, not really. But most of it.) It's a bit cold out there, though at least at one point on the drive here I thought it was easily 10 degrees warmer than here/now and Bingen where I was. I must've been in a valley, and we've since climbed higher again. Going south here is no guarantee of warmth, between distance from the sea and higher elevations. Things to remember.

My layering plan has mostly worked (I have up to five layers available for my torso and two for my legs, should it become necessary, plus wool socks and winter shoes). However, no hat! Doh. I may have to buy a hat. The hood to my sweatshirt is not enough.

Uhm. This has been a very pedestrian update. I did see the Crime Museum (aka, the medieval torture museum). I learned some... things. It was actually less creepy than I feared. Mostly. I spent less time in the torture sections and more in the jurisprudence sections, looking at papal bulls from the 1300s and big wax seals all danglifying from different kinds of documents. And in relation to my book, I got the win picture of all time: iron shoes.

Okay, time to go find dins.
mer: (Herbalist's Apprentice)
Doing well in Germany. Finally have found a rhythm to the tourist life--it helped that I did not succumb to sleepiness, but rather scurried out of the hotel as soon as protein was ingested and clothes were on.

I spent two hours driving about 25 miles--well, no. I took two hours to get to a destination 25 miles from here, but in fact, I probably drove 70 or 80 miles of back roads and crap, getting "lost" in my own special way. I only had to backtrack about 5 miles; I kept forging on through, down cowpaths if I had to (and if I saw a sign that had words on it I thought I recognized). I did spend about 10 minutes trying to find a MediaMarkt to buy a camera cord and an ipod output cable for the car, but the sign was deceptive and no MediaMarkt was found. (As it turns out, I don't need the camera cord, and I'm rocking out to Armed Forces Radio stations so much I don't know if I care if I get the ipod cord. How is it that "the Eagle" or whatever is better than 99% of all stations in America?

I also spent about 10 minutes snapping pics at a scenic overlook, and maybe another 15 minutes wandering a German grocery store, buying candy for home. So, 1.5 hours to go 25 miles. Not as bad now, huh?



You can click on that pic to go through to the Facebook album. By far not the full suite of pictures, though I must say my pic rate is slower than I'd've expected. I still have room for 2500 more on my memory card. Pshaw.

The ruins pictured above are Disibodenberg, where Hildegard of Bingen spent her life from age 8 to about 42 or so. Before she founded her abbeys. I really liked it--possibly because moss-covered ruins are kind of a Thing for me. I'm pretty sure that's where the opening chapters of the next book take place. To that end, I came back to a cafe and rewrote the opening chapters of my book so that they take place there. Haha!

Also, it took me only 25 minutes to get back from Disibodenberg, but a large chunk of it was on highways with speedlimits of 130 km/hr. So. That helps. Cowpaths: not so fast. Though there are some fun slower roads. The country roads in the valleys here curve and twist, but not too much. So you can see about five miles ahead and know if you can really start speeding (because they are narrow country roads, in spite of everything). Those are fun.

Other than drinking a super decadent hot chocolate, writing a whole bunch, and actually eating dinner for the first time since I've been in the country, not much else to report for the day! I've gotten used to being a crap German speaker. My biggest problem is that French tries to horn in on almost every conversation. I literally have to shut my mouth on it.

Oh, yes, my sore throat has dwindled to a soreish throat, and sniffles. And I have a lump under my tongue. Possibly a blocked salivary gland brought on by the dehydration of the flight. Oh, joy. This led to some midnight googling and all sorts of weird stories about squeezing out the little salt nubbin. "Rice krispie shaped" (I don't know why "rice shaped" never shows up in these discussions) is the very vivid descriptor of extruded salt lumps. I am passing on extrusion. However, the lump is rice krispie (or just rice) shaped.

Swell.

More than you wanted to know, I'm sure!
mer: (Default)
...sometimes change for their own good.

I managed to catch a cold. So far, it's a medium-mild sore throat. So maybe half my exhaustion isn't so much jet lag as cold-catchingness. In any case, my innkeeper's mother and sister gave me menthol drops and found me an apotheke open on Sundays, and I'm going to take it pretty easy today, writing and resting and studying enough German to have a nice dinner somewhere tonight.

I extended my stay in Bingen for two days, and am ditching Aachen. Aachen was a nice idea (thermal springs! Charlemagne!) but realistically, it was already going to be a haul to get up there and then back down to Rothenburg ob der Tauber two days later, and my book probably isn't going to go there anyway. (People in my book go there, but off screen, so. Thin thread at best.) Rothenburg is a "medieval paradise," and on my way to Munich, which is where I catch my flight to Romania. So it's still on the list.

There's so much to see in the Rhine valley, I will embrace another two days, and the hoteliers here are just fantastic. The owner's little sister is K's age, and a voracious YA fantasy reader, so we chatted books after breakfast. In the meantime, I will be able to catch that lunch at the Hildegard Forum, and get to all of Hildegard's sites, including looking up her reliquary. And hopefully, manage to keep this cold as low-grade as possible.
mer: (Default)
Anxiety: gone. I seem to have settled in to this. Maybe there's an increased amount of time for "are we doing this? ARE WE DOING THIS?" that happens when you get older, or when it's been a long time since you've done [this]. Who knows?

As with everything, I've figured out how to put that in a story.

Long rambly travelogue; still no pics. )

May 2024

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