Transitioning

Where to begin? I've been in the US for over a month now, yet it seems like a year since I was bumbling around Europe.

Evan has moved into our apartment in Boston and is waiting for me to arrive to really make it our own. After a year apart, it's hard to believe that this is actually happening. Not to mention graduate school.

There have been several trips that sadly did not make it to this blog. Towards the end I became quite derelict in my blogging. For now, I am posting one picture from my trip to Edinburgh. It was a beautiful sunset that turned the clouds into torches. How I felt that night, I still feel today: unsure of what will happen in the coming year, but optimistic, mostly confident and incredibly lucky about everything that I've been given the chance to do.

I promise that one day I will actually get around to writing about my last months in Europe--especially before it all fades to foggy memory.

Eating Locally: Nothing New in Freiburg

In America, a movement is growing to develop better eating habits. I'm not just talking about Michelle Obama's efforts to combat obesity--I'm talking more about the White House vegetable garden. More people are trying to eat locally (and organically) to support their local farmers, eat fresh foods, cut down the costs of transportation and, more simply, to understand where their food comes from. Eating locally creates choices and sometimes asks us to make small sacrifices. If it's not natural for strawberries to grow in December, opt for mandarines in your salad instead of paying for the fossil fuels used to ship them from Spain. Then, when strawberry season rolls around, you'll be excited. You won't take the juicy sweetness for granted. You'll savor every bite while supporting your neighbor.

In Germany, there is great support for small farmers. You can see evidence of this in Freiburg's Münsterplatz. Local farmers bring their crops and goods for people who prefer fresh, local crops (and have a few extra cents to spare).

Wednesdays and Saturdays are the big market days. The place is bustling with people making their way through a maze of vegetables, fruit, flowers, locally-prepared foods and handicrafts. There are also several different wurst stands, where the most popular fast food is the Freiburger Lange Rote (Long Red). It looks just like it sounds--a long, red wurst extending from a small Brötchen and often smothered in ketchup, mustard and onions. I can't deny that it smells good, but being the devoted vegetarian that I am, but the cheese, olive and dried fruit stands are ore tempting to me. When I'm short on cash, I usually opt for the Studentenfutter (student's feed), a mixture of cashews, walnuts, hazelnuts and dates.

Noemi with a Lange Rote

Bags of tea

"Aladdin's Magic Balls": all-natural, fruity and filling

Hot chestnuts

Ye olde meat truck

Perhaps it is the cobblestone square, the old, colorful buildings or the majestic Münsterturm reaching into the sky. It is a scene that seems quaint and typically European to the American visitor, but it is not necessarily something foreign.

course, there are farmer's markets in many American cities and towns. The market in Lancaster was open two days a week and had an impressive sprawl of almost everything. I loved taking the kids there, watching them ooh and ahh over the delicious variety (and sometimes over the Amish merchants). Although I've never been, I've heard the Charlottesville, VA farmer's market is something special, considering the local food movement there and the many nearby farms, including Joel Salatin's famous Polyface Farms. In Williamsburg, VA--my home for four years--the farmer's market was held every Saturday. In 2009, it was voted the best mid-sized farmer's market in the nation and the 5th best farmer's market overall. On Saturdays not preceded by eventful Fridays, we would walk down Duke of Gloucester Street in Merchant's Square and sample creamy spreads, pumpkin bread, Greek food and cheese. Sometimes we'd even buy something--although never the bison meat, even when it was attractively sold to us as the healthiest, leanest meat there is.

Williamsburg Farmer's Market

When I have the money, I hope to live in a place with a great farmer's market where I can buy delicious things every week. Until then, I will be happy just to browse the seemingly endless culinary possibilities, letting my eyes feed on the colors and the crowds.

Kölle Alaaf!

Imagine the biggest frat party you've ever been to. Perhaps it was on Halloween? Now imagine it 1,000x bigger and filled with old people, children and countless 20somethings, and add a whole lotta candy. That's Karneval in Köln!

It's a circus, and everyone's got an act. You've got monks and nuns, leagues of pirates, plenty of cross-dressing, animals and many politically incorrect costumes (turbans? come on). What's really amazing is how quickly the mess is cleaned up. Directly after the parade, people were collecting old beer bottles for money before the street cleaners could get to them ten minutes later. Likewise, Kölners went back to work the next day.

Puts my paper mache to shame.

During the parade, mass was sparsely attended.

Katie with Lars and Siggy, our gracious hosts

The parade drew Bavarian pirates with pink poodles...

...and world leaders.

In October, I was told that Halloween wasn't the big deal in Germany that it is in the U.S.--mostly it's just an excuse to buy candy. Everyone told me, "just wait until March. Karneval will blow Halloween out of the water."

Personally though, comparing Karneval to Halloween is like comparing apples to oranges. Karneval (or Fasching, as it's called in southern Germany) is a huge celebration leading to Lent. Halloween, on the other hand, is All-Hallows-Eve--the celebration of the dead. It's full of creepy, supernatural stuff. Karneval is mostly filled with creepy old guys. It's Mardi Gras, without the beads but with lots of shenanigans and candy. The candy is decidedly better than at Halloween--whole bars of quality chocolate were thrown at me after simply shouting, "Karmelle!" I will always remember it as the time of year in which otherwise serious German adults morph into children, pushing for candy and partying in the street.

"Liebchen, vergiss mich nicht..."

Evie the Marienkäfer

Jake the sailor

Blonder version of me

Thanks to Karneval, I have a new collection of Ohrworms in my head--made even more frustrating by the strange Kölnisch dialect:

Denn wenn et Trömmelche jeht,

dann stonn mer all parat

un mer trecke durch die Stadt

un jeder hätt jesaat

Kölle Alaaf, Alaaf - Kölle Alaaf.

A Note on Nudity--and German Gyms

In November, as the harsh German winter descended on us spoiled pseudo-southerners, Melissa and I decided to join the gym. The thought of cracking skin, 8 measly hours of sunlight and no working heater (which I didn't have at the time) made the move necessary. We joined a sleek place which has since tried to sell us everything, from men's dandruff shampoo to chalky protein drinks and strange sugar squares filled with "energy." The classes are pretty fun (except those by a certain instructor who probably attended seminars with Richard Simmons) and our bodies have thanked us with increased flexibility and energy, occasional so-good-it-hurts pains and, last but not least, increased socialization with other bodies.

That does not mean what it sounds like it means.

I remember the first time we saw the dressing room. "Ooh, a sauna! nice lockers! nice...wow..."

We were surrounded by breasts, cheeks of both sorts and other anatomical bits and pieces from all angles imaginable. Melissa and I looked at each other and hesitated, but not in horror. Not exactly. We had been expecting this moment--how can you really live and Europe and be a prude?

I thought back to the college days. Instead of going to the dressing room, I would just peel off my layers, stuff them in a cubby and sometimes I would ask Alison to hold my shorts up while I took of my yoga pants, as they often attempted a sneaky escape across the border. I remembered when Alison and I shared a room (all four years, thank you) and we would tell the other: "Don't look! Underwear is coming off!" I remembered the discomfort felt by my compadres as we sat on the beach in South Beach, Miami and were surrounded by free, unsheltered European breasts. The suggestion to bond by bearing our own was merely meant for the thrill of watching eyes pop and faces turn bright red.

Suddenly, however, Melissa and I were going to become very close friends. The clothes came off quickly and were replaced just as speedily by new clothes. We did it! I saw your nipples, teehee!

Now, we are veterans of the process and we don't bat an eyelash when we enter the dressing room and are greeted by cheeks. One thing is still noticeable, however. Surprise: naked women compare themselves to other naked women. Shocking!

Some bitties just like to show off. They stand there, stretch, talk on the phone, lotion up, catch a glimpse (or 20) of themselves in the mirror. Yes, you've got a nice body. But you should really get a mirror at home. Most irritating are the clouds of Fa, a German spray deodorant for ladies comparable to Axe.

All in all though, the experience has allowed me to bond with my body. We're partners for life, after all--I shouldn't be ashamed of her.

Bonsoir.

Having been to Paris twice now--once in summer and once in winter--I think I can safely say that it is a city that shines despite the season. Seeing Paris with a good friend makes the city even more interesting. It brings to light the diversity of the city, the (mostly) harmonious coming together of people and time. By yourself, you can miss the evolution of Paris. If you're like me and prefer the winding old-world neighborhood of Montmartre to the Haussmannization of the elegant downtown, it might be easy to overlook recent transformations. When I was backpacking in 2008, I visited the Louvre and the Musee d'Orsay and overlooked the Centre Pompidou. This time, I greeted the modern, sprawling building with ambivalence as I wondered whether it was always meant to look under construction. Long ago, my appreciation for modern art surpassed my desire to see halls and halls of medieval madonnas; still, Carla's fascination with modern architecture offered me an entirely new way to see Paris.

Carla has been my close friend since middle school, and boy have we come a long way from offering nickels for friendship. (Yes, that was me.) We have also come a long way from Emporia. I can still remember how badass it felt as juniors and seniors to ride in our own cars to Carla's house for lunch, because GSHS food wasn't particularly appetizing (Chuckwagons, anyone?). Or how we would walk toward the parking lot after school to drive away. The parking lot was the place to see and be seen. What a good feeling it was at the time! The preoccupation with the future, college and a world we were eager to discover. A world we felt like we'd earned.

Since then, Carla and I have changed a lot. For instance, we don't spend nearly as much time getting ready (perhaps partly because we also have less acne to contend with). Most importantly, we are just more comfortable with ourselves. What do we have to prove to each other, to anyone else? We're here, Paris. Challenge us--we dare you.

First challenge: you might know German now--maybe a little Spanish--

but French will conquer you.

Getting around Paris and the suburbs with only a torn map and a French phrase book is tough. Sure, people may understand your butchered French, but you probably will not understand their answers. This is particularly true when people resort to clapping in rhythm to explain the bus system to you. I even convinced Carla that I knew the language, responding with my own dialect of rhythmic nods.

Second challenge: Which side is the Left Bank and which is the Right?

It is extremely important to know which side the Left Bank is on, considering that most guidebooks will simply say, "it can be found right across the bridge on the Left Bank. Basically, the Seine breaks Paris into a frowny face (I could make a comment here, but it wouldn't be original) and the Left Bank is the chin of the frown. This is where most artists and notable literary figures spent their time (again, I could comment here).

Third challenge: How can I afford to eat?

Eat bread! Pastries! Crepes! Most restaurants will be in the $15-$20 range. If you are like me, you probably can't afford to eat that way every night. Go to a supermarket and buy some French goods. There are also nice places to get French cuisine on-the-go. I got Ratatoille, stuffed tomatoes and delicious green beans this way. Note: if you get a cheesy crepe and enjoy your arteries, ask them to go light on the cheese. If you are a vegetarian, learn your French meat words. The French love meat even more than the Germans.

College reunion: Mahmoud, Lenore, Carla and me

Centre Pompidou

Inside the Centre Pompidou

Me in 2008 in Cafe des 2 Moulins, where Amelie was filmed. Carla and I ate here the first night we arrived. They serve delicious popcorn in the evening!

Musee d'Orsay: former train station until the train system was expanded. It houses 19th century masterpieces like Toulouse Lautrec, Van Gogh, Monet, Manet, Degas, Renoir--everyone formerly considered not worthy for the Louvre.

The winding streets of Montmartre

Sacre Cour on the Butte Montmartre (Summer 2008)

I have a hard time deciding which church I appreciate more: The Sacre Cour or Notre Dame. Both were remarkable for their times, but having been exposed to medieval cathedrals for a while now, I have to give the Sacre Cour credit for being totally different.

Clock in the Musee d'Orsay

Notre Dame

The bridge over the Seine

Versailles

Hall of Mirrors in Versailles

Marie Antoinette's "getaway": she liked to live like the peasants. Well, if this is how the peasants in France live, I want their welfare system.

Shakespeare & Co. is an amazing bookstore across from Notre Dame on the Left Bank. This is the bookstore's second location--the first closed during WWI and reopened at this site. The first Shakespeare & Co. was frequented by Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, James Joyce and Gertrude Stein, to name a few. The post-war store was a favorite among bohemians and cultural icons, like Allen Ginsberg (perhaps explaining why there is a whole section dedicated to the Beat Generation). There are so many books, it is impossible to know where to start. The floors creak, it smells a bit dusty and you could easily spend hours searching through piles of new and used books before you find the one you want to befriend. Upstairs, there is a reading room where you can read for hours. The most exciting part for me was seeing where Jesse reunited with Celine in one of my favorite movies of all time, Before Sunset.

The Louvre

Arc de Triomphe

Carla outside of the Villa Savoye, designed by the famous architect Le Corbusier.

Paris invites chic head-tosses at every turn.

Looking for ways to deepen your friendship? Take it international! Although I have to warn you: be careful who you travel with. A trip can make or break a friendship, believe me. Lucky for us, we knew exactly what we were getting into!