Triumphant Return

Ryan Air Nightmare - The Sequel.  At 4:45am on Tuesday, LB and I roused ourselves from a restless slumber to catch a bus to Memmingen airport to fly to Edinburgh.  Just another charming feature with Ryan Air - they never land in major cities as would be convenient; they use smaller airports in neighboring towns.  Our flight ended up being delayed by several hours because the plane coming from Edinburgh was unable to take off.  It was literally sitting and waiting for the temperature to rise from -16 degrees to -14 so the de-icing fluid would work.  Can you imagine if Canadians couldn't travel in weather colder than -14?!  (I don't mean to imply that the Scots are not as stout and hardy a folk as Mel Gibson has led you to believe.  In most cases, the Scots are enduring the same temperatures indoors as they are outdoors due to the lack of central heating.)  At any rate, the sun finally came out to warm Scotland up the necessary 2 degrees and our plane made it to Memmingen.  That's when Ryan Air really won my heart.  Through security and passport control and sitting at our gate, which was just a plain room without even a vending machine in sight, the gate agent handed out vouchers for 5 euro to spend at the airport of issue... on the OTHER side of security and passport control.  Just before boarding?  Are you kidding me?  "Here's some money, but you can't spend it! Ha ha. We are so generous and kind.  You're welcome."  Whatever.  I'm over it.  I'm done with Ryan Air and, after all, I'm in Scotland again at last!

There have been some changes in my beloved Edinburgh over the last 2 years.  Construction on the tram line down Princes Street seems to be completed, although I have yet to see a tram.  Some new stores and pubs are open that I don't recognize.  And everything is covered with snow.  For the most part though, it's the same old Edinburgh and I am pleased as punch to be back.  To make things even better, Emy arrived to join us Thursday afternoon!  Since then, the three of us have had steak and ale pie (some of us have had more of these than others), beef stew, haggis, hob nobs, magners, cider black shortbread, and cranachan.  What more can I ask from life?  I guess since I'm feeling greedy, I'd ask for more cranachan and a butterbeer.

Flam and I also went to see HPATDHP1- Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 1.  HP is NOT as cool over here as it is at home.  Weird.  Maybe Margaret Lawrence and Farley Mowat are cool over here...

Um, obviously kirsch means cherry... Didn't you know that?

Besides the transportation hassles that have plagued us regardless of where we are, Germany has treated us well.  I think I would be less enamoured if it was February right now, but in December it is the next best thing to visiting Santa's Workshop.  The food has really won me over- Flammanator and I have tried to pick up a few words of Spanish, Portuguese and German along the way.  However, a reflection of our acquired German vocabulary has revealed a particular tendency.  We only know German words for food: kirsch, dampfnudel, currywurst, gluhwein, kartoffelsuppe, lebkuchen, rittersport... Speaking of rittersport, there has been a coup d'etat in the flavour rankings.  Hazelnuss has been dethroned by Nuss in Nougatcreme.  I know.  I know.  No one thought this was possible, but it's new on the scene and it's making headlines.  Another surprise for us was discovering the existence of a Christmas Market food that is not delicious.  It's some kind of sauerkraut/noodle dish, which I disliked for the sauerkraut and Larissa disliked for the noodles.  In the tasty beverage category, kinderpunsch now has apfelpunsch to keep it company.  And we also sampled the beer favoured by the current pope, Edelstoff.  I think it would be very refreshing after a long, hard day of pope-ing.

I'll leave food and the Xmas markets aside (just for the moment) to look at Munich itself: A+ for intrigue.  It has historical sites and museums which make it as interesting as Berlin, without being as cold.  Munich was particularly significant in the time leading up to and during the Second World War.  It is the city where Hitler first came to power in the Nazi party, and the location of events such as the Beer Hall Putsch and several assassination attempts.  Larissa and I took a tour to Dachau one day - having been to Auschwitz before, it was really interesting to see the difference between a death camp and a work camp.  Although choosing to see Dachau meant that we were not able to make it to Neuschwanstein Castle, I think LB and I made the right decision... even if our tour guide was from Minnesota and preferred to speak to the two of us in a Newfie accent.

Our stay in Munich also presents an excellent example of the highs and lows of traveling.  We've found that things seem to either go wrong all day, or all right.  The day of the yogurt explosion was an All Wrong day: for the first time so far, we slept in and missed breakfast and the walking tour we wanted to be on.  It poured all day long, soaking and freezing our feet and causing us to cut out, for the first time ever, on the walking tour we did catch.  That tour was terrible anyway.  To complete the afternoon, LB and I missed the last entry to the Residenz by 10 measly minutes.  The Residenz was Megan's top recommendation and the one thing I really wanted to see.  Finally, there was a hearstopping hour when we thought there was no possible way to get to the Memmingen airport as early as we needed to be there - luckily that one turned out to be an error.  We paid our dues though, and the next day couldn't be more different.  This was Dachau Day, and we caught every bus and train we aimed for, were handed free crepes at a grocery store, found a bank right when we needed one, had an excellent tour in the glorious sunshine, and feasted on the Pope's beer and sausages at the Augustina Brewhouse.

We definitely ran out of time in Munich.  I guess that just leaves something for my next trip!

The Great Explosion

Really, I’m very surprised that we haven’t had any yogurt related incidences before now.  The Flammanator and I play fast and loose with the laws of yogurt refrigeration.  Don’t judge us- that’s just how it goes when you stay in hostels without a kitchen in countries with such scrumptious flavours of yogurt.  And we do what we can to keep them by windows.  Coconut is my favourite, but even over here it’s as rare as a four leaf clover.  Larissa really goes for a nice peach and passion fruit.  Anyway, the disaster had nothing to do with our failure to follow proper chilling etiquette and everything to do with the fact that we carry these flimsy containers in our bags which get a bit tossed around.  YOGURT EVERYWHERE!!!  It was one of the little guys with the foil lids that work excellently as a makeshift spoon but not so well as an impenetrable barrier against the stem of an apple.  It was, ironically, apple cinnamon yogurt that ended up all over the contents of Flam’s bag.  Although, a stroke of luck kept her camera safe from harm.  If you think this misfortune is going to convince us to change our ways, you are incorrect.  The worst part was the waste of a perfectly good yogurt.

It's Not Always the Journey That Counts

Getting to Augsberg was certainly an adventure!  I’m really quite surprised that we made it – 4 hours late, but we made it.  The obstacles began popping up in Berlin, where we waited for a half hour for the bus that should come every 5 minutes.  I assumed the Germans were better prepared for snow.  We thought it was a stroke of luck then that our train was delayed, so we caught it even though we were late… But the train was full, so we made our own seats out of our baggage: 

and the toilets didn’t work so everyone was kicked off the train at Leipzig with no further instructions.  We found the platform for another train to Munich until the destination board changed abruptly and people started running around wildly.  After nearly losing 3 of my favourite toes to frostbite standing in the cold, we did get on a train and bullied our way into two open seats.  I cannot even begin to describe how glad I was to have a real seat once the German girl beside me translated one of the announcements: a tree had fallen over the tracks so the train had to take the long way around.  I’m pretty sure the condructor was making up the route as he went along because everyone seemed surprised each time the next station was announced.  The one fantastic thing about this arduous journey was how helpful some of the other travelers were.  They tried to explain all the delays the changes to us and made sure we got off at the right stop.  And in Augsberg itself, a local girl saw us looking lost outside the station, took us along with her on the tram and dropped us off right at the hostel door.  After a long and hectic day, that was a fantastic way to renew my faith in Germany.

*I realize that I’ve been complaining about train travel a lot.  I still generally like them, and even on a day like today, German trains kick French trains in the head.

Badass Berlin

Germany takes credit for creating one of the greatest chocolate bars in history: Ritter Sport.  I’m always surprised when I come across someone who hasn’t experienced the joy of a Ritter Sport for themselves, because everyone really should!  We get these in Canada, but only in a fraction of the flavour spectrum available in Germany.  Obviously, LB and I willingly traded valuable museum time (and museums in Berlin are seriously The Business) to make 3 visits to the Schokowelt.  Here you can learn all about Ritter Sport, create your own flavour, drink melted RS hot chocolate, and buy stacks of chocolate bars to help insulate against the chill of Berlin in late November.  It was mostly the glorious marzipan hot chocolate that had us under its spell.  I also have the Berlin Christmas Markets to thank for bringing Kinderpunsch into my life.  Hot alcoholic bevs are all the rage around here and I do not care for them.  The fumes coming off a steaming mug of gluhwein are like a boozy slap across the face.  Kinderpunsch is just what it sounds like: kid's punch.  But I suspect that it is stirred with a magic wand, because it is like drinking a rainbow.

Luckily, we did the 3 hour walking tour on one of the early days before the temperature plummeted and the snow swept in.  After this, it required solid mental prep to work up the motivation to venture outdoors.  Our new Australian friend, Jess, had never seen snow before or experienced sub-zero temperatures – she liked it for about 3 minutes before the novelty wore off.  We decided to break form in Berlin and talked to some outsiders (I KNOW!), and ended up forming a little Commonwealth Club.  It was quite nice except for the moments when it was terrifying.  For example, anytime Lady Scot opened her mouth, LB, Jess and I froze in horror with the potential for what was about to come tumbling out.  I’m trying really hard to forget a few particular memories.

Now, it is true that I have skin so fluorescently white that it may cause severe retinal damage when viewed in direct sunlight.  But before meeting Ross and Mike, no one had ever asked me if, without a shirt, it was possible to see my organs through my skin.  Through the record: no, but it is such a comfort to know what people are thinking when they first meet me.

Summary

Favourite Food: Mustafa’s Durums

Favourite Museum: Jewish History

Favourite Ritter Sport (so far): Hazelsnuss

Worst Activity in Cold Weather: East Side Gallery

Biggest Regret: Not making it to the Currywurst Museum

Biggest Regret (Subcategory- Food): Not getting pumpkin soup when I had the chance

It Doesn't Get Much Better Than Amsterdam

Spotted: The Madrid Trio, Reunited in Racy Amsterdam.

To all parentals, rest easy.  If you know me at all, then you’re aware that I am as close to being an 89 year old man with a walker and rheumatism as a 24 year old girl can be.  Nothing was destined to get out of control with me anchoring the party.  There was no time anyway- Amsterdam is chock-a-block full of A+ museums, restaurants, history and endless canals to explore.  LB and I arrived in the city the night before Steven, and we started things off by veering a bit off script.  From the central station, we had directions to take a tram and then walk to our hostel.  We found the right tram and Larissa, looking something like this:





steps up, trying her best not to take out any small children or the elderly.  The second Larissa is on the tram, the doors slams shut and rolls off down the line, leaving me behind.  Problem #1: Since meeting up in Paris, Larissa and I have hardly been out of each other’s line of sight.  I immediately started suffering from separation anxiety.  Problem #2: I had the directions and wasn’t sure that Larissa had any idea where she was going.  And Problem #3: Larissa hadn’t seemed to notice that I wasn’t on the tram with her.  Solution: I go hustling after the tram with my pack swinging merrily, looking ridiculous and laughing like an idiot.  Obviously I didn’t catch up, but LB did see me and realized what was going on, and it all turned out just fine.  Unlike my own, Larissa’s memory is not a black hole where information disappears into never to be heard from again – She remembered the directions, having read them aloud to me to write down, and soon we were together again.

Before Steven arrived the next morning, LB and I laid the groundwork by discovering the greatest hidden deal in Amsterdam.  There were ads everywhere for the “I Amsterdam” card, but we ended up getting the much lesser known, but way sweeter Museumkaart.  This baby is an annual pass for all of the museums in the Netherlands and paid for itself several times over for us.  Admission costs here are steeeeep.  When Steven arrived at the hostel, he was allowed a brief rest period before we took him out to be introduced to the glories of the Christmas Market.  (Not quite as awesome outside of Germany, but better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick.)  After an afternoon of acing the children’s treasure hunt at the Van Gogh Museum and touring the Heineken Experience, I think it’s safe to say that all three of us were smitten with the Dutch.  These people know that they’re the bombdiggity and are enthusiastic about sharing their splendour with visitors.  In my opinion, the French could use a good strong dose of Dutch.

Day 2 – The early bird got the worm.  At the Anne Frank House for opening, we waltzed right in and avoided the 1.5 hour wait that is exists during the day.  We went straight from the museum to the free walking tour, and then had a quick warm up at the hostel before seeing the Rijksmuseum.  Larissa and Steven barely survived the 3 hours of the tour out in the “dreadful cold.”  Larissa has gone soft after 9 months in the African sun, and Steven’s coat was more for fashion than warmth.  Our dinner that night was an epic quest to find stumpot.  With something like 170 different nationalities living in Amsterdam, it is easy to find any type of food you like, other than Dutch.  But we did find it, and for Larissa’s feet it was not a moment too soon.  The stumpot that I tried was called Hotchpotch.  It is a bounty of carrots, potatoes, sausages, meatballs and pickles.  Best of all, the featured ingredient in mine was not sauerkraut.

Our last day, we toured the Jewish Historical Museum and were given directions by the most helpful woman I have ever met to a good place to eat pancakes.  The only thing that I demanded happen in Amsterdam was a pancake feast.  I had the 3 greatest pancakes of my life in Amsterdam with Rachel.  Collectively, they hold 4^th place on my “Top 5 Greatest Things to Happen in 2009.”  There are no words to describe my disappointment with both the pancake I was served, and the grouchy B1 who served it to me this time.  (This hag must have a touch of French Flu- she’s the only grumpy Dutchman we came across.)  At home, my pancake would have been just fine, but in a city where everything else is spectacular, good becomes subpar.

Before we knew it, it was time for LB and me to get on the train to Berlin and for Steven to return to the UK.

How Much is Too Much?

Life crisis resolved!  I have decided what I am going to do with my life.  If I can't be a pilot, and the Edmonton branch of the Museo de Jamon doesn't pan out, I am going to make candy and chocolate.  Mostly, I want to make the little hard candies with tiny shapes of fruit in the cross sections.  I figure this is the safest because I don't really like to eat those, which would reduce the chance of me getting enormously fat.  Doesn't this look like fun?!  (Don't bother with sound.)

That is not really what's important though.  I've reached Germany and it's November.  That means one thing, and one thing only: Christmas Markets.  In Cologne, only 4 of the 7 markets have opened now, but that is enough for all of the other attractions in Europe to have lost their appeal.  I don't care if the Dom in Cologne has the largest free-swinging bell in the world.  All I want to do is sing along with christmas carols, eat a currywurst and have the Angel of Neumarkt sprinkle fairy dust in my hair.  I want to go from booth to booth sampling breads, cookies, stews and sausages. I want to try on wooly hats and look at cookies cutters, ornaments and gnomes.  We spent our first day (market opening day) going from market to market and it was a rare moment when I wasn't stuffing some sort of delectable into my gob.  I think the only place on earth that could possibly be more magical is Hogwarts itself.  If I was the ruler of the world, I would declare Christmas all year long and move to Germany. 

I was able to tear myself away from the markets to visit the Schokoladenmuseum.  This was okay, although it was disappointing as I had been lead to believe that it was Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory brought to life.  There was a serious lack of schokolad gratis happening.  After the museum, we made our way to the Cathedral because this is a big deal in Cologne and it was our duty as tourists to see it, even though there is nothing to eat there.  I did not climb the 502 steps to see St. Peter's bell - that was asking too much.  502 is a lot of steps after eating my own weight in chocolate and brats.  I get the feeling that Cologne wouldn't have a lot to offer for the other 11 months of the year, but from November 22 until December 25, it's pretty hard to beat.  Cologne has laid down the gauntlet for the rest of Germany. 

Which market will reign supreme?  I intend to find out.

Now I remember why none of my pants fit the last time I got home from Europe... Worth it.

Brussels - Don't Blow it This Time

Brussels was the last stop on my European adventure 2 years ago with Rachel.  We did not get along.  I believe I dubbed the city "The Toilet of Europe."  Needless to say, I was somewhat apprehensive at the prospect of returning.  I am doing my best to take Steven's advice and am going into it with a positive attitude, but Brussels is just not a city that is easy to love.  First, there was the odyssey of getting from Charlesroi airport to Brussels itself late at night.  Then, riffling through our pockets for ages at the metro stration for coins that the ticket machine liked the taste of.  The hostel itself was a bit of a gamble, as my conversation with the lady at reception to book our beds went like this:

Hostel Broad: Name please?
Allie: Allie Pellatt.  A-L-L-I-E P-E-L-L-A-T-T
HB: <mumble mumble> L-L-E-T?
Allie: No, P-E-L-L-A-T-T
HB: <mumble mumble french mumblings>?
Allie: Sure.

Result - In Bohdan Somchinsky's History 100 class, I was Aylee Plat.  At the Oops Hostel in Paris, they called me Balice.  Here in Brussels, I am Tellatt.  So, we did have a room when we arrived, once they looked for my reservation under T instead of P.  This might be one of the weirdest hostels I've stayed at.  Some highlights... There is a a sort of loft area in our room with beds on platforms, ourlets stuck to walls with nothing else going on behind them, a bathroom door which neither shuts entirely nor locks, and a shower with no curtain.  My favourite was when we left our room in the morning to go to the main building for breakfast and ended up locked out of our room for an hour in our pjs because someone had left a key in the inside of the lock.  It was beginning to seem like Brussels had a vendetta against me.

Then it happened.  The Chocolate Square.  I don't even love chocolate as much as I should, what with McCaskill blood running through my veins.  But this turned things around in a big way.  Imagine Cote D'Or, Leonidas, Neuhaus, Marcolini, Godiva and Wittamer all clustered in one square for your sampling pleasure.  larissa and I did a round through all of them once and then went back for seconds at our favourites.  After the chocolate tasting, we dove head first into Belgian frites and waffles.  I think maybe Brussels and I will come to an understanding after all.  I've even managed to try a couple of beers here and live to tell the tale.  We've moved from the wine region to beer mecca and I figure it's worth the risk.

Now, step into my time machine and let's look back at the outfit Mannekin Pis was rocking in June 2009 and compare it to his present duds:



June 2009



November 2010



Personally, I prefer the first hat but the second outfit.

Chaotic Nightmare

Dear Ryan Air,

I recently flew with your airline from Seville to Brussels and I wanted to thank you for taking what I cherish most in the world and crushing it under the heel of your boot like a cigarette butt.  Nowhere else have I found such a bizarre combination of strict rules and guidelines (ie: baggage restrictions) and total anarchy (ie: everything else). 

Let's begin with the cattle run you refer to as "boarding the plane."  How much of a bother could it be for you to assign each passenger to a seat?  I was horrified by the blocking techniques I found myself using against the ladies trying to budge past me in line!  My friend and I finally elbowed our way onto the plane and got two seats together.  I plopped into my seat with reflief - with most airlines, this is when the tension of air travel releases and you can settle in.  Not so with Ryan Air.  Europeans seem to like using hard suitcases, and to avoid paying for checked luggage, they try to stuff these things in spaces where they just don't fit.  I sweat that by the time the carry-on luggage situation was sorted out, the man across the aisle from me had grown a full beard.  Next, I experienced something for the very first time in my life.  A flight attendant read out a list of ten names; people who were supposed to be on a flight to Paris but were suspected to actually be on our plane.  Please explain to me how this could possibly have happened!  Step 1) Check baggage at ticket counter for flight to Paris.  Step 2) General Security  Step 3) Proceed to gate for flight to Paris.  Step 4) Gate agent checks boarding pass and id as you pass through gate for flight to Paris.  Step 5) Board flight to Brussels.  30 minutes dragged by while these idiots were sorted out.

Finally, on to the flight itself.  How comforting it is to spend two and a half hours with a stranger's thigh pressed up against my own!  I don't give a rat's ass if her hard suitcase is too large for the overhead bin and is now taking up all her available leg room.  She can't have mine.  I paid for an entire seat; I would like to have it all.  And I understand that you're a budget airlie and make most of your profits via additional costs, but I am never going to buy the Ryan Air Flight Attendant's 2010-2011 Calendar.  Please stop making announcements every 15 minutes trying to sell it to me.

How very different the last few years of my life would have been if I'd grown up flying Ryan Air.  I'll give you this: the price is right.  But did we really just conclude the journey by playing a fanfare and self-congratulatory announcement for arriving at our destination on time?  I was surprised that we landed at the correct destination at all.

Keep up the good work,

Allie

Seville – Olé!

Sadly, we couldn’t stay in Lagos forever.  Larissa and I had to make iour way to Seville in time for a flight we’d booked to Brussels.  There are no trains that run along that routs, so we took what felt like an endless bus ride back to Spain.  Our activities in Seville mostly involved eating tapas and wandering aimlessly through the streets.  Along with one Australian boy and our guide, Alejandra, we made up the party for the free walking tour one afternoon.   By far, the least official tour so far, but we had a fun time.  The bull fighting season is already over in Spain and I’m not sure I would have wanted to go to a fight anyway, but we saw the bull fighting ring.  We also saw the 3^rd largest cathedral in Europe, which is also the home of Columbus’ remains.  Due to the steep cost of admission, we chose not to pay our respects to Colon, although I think I did that back with my grade 9 posse.  There is a building in Seville that was used as the setting for Naboo in Star Wars – pretty awesome!  (Arrival on Naboo)  Much went unseen, however, because Larissa and I had a very slow moving second day, although for different reasons.  I’m still operating at about 65% (I’ve decided somehow France is to blame) and Larissa was feeling the effects of a late night with our roommates.

It was an unexpected surprise when our Australian friends from Madrid popped up again at our hostel.  While Larissa and I were in Portugal, they’d ventured into Morocco.  Of all the travelers I’ve met so far, they are definitely my favourite because they A) are friendly B) are quiet at night C) are not super weird and D) shared their milkduds with me one night in Madrid after Steven and Larissa fell asleep.  Instant friendship, obviously.