2011 you were great, really truly you were, and I can't say goodbye to your twelve months of travel, friendship, and change without a sentimental trip down memory lane. Here's to you deux mille onze!
Turkish Delights Parts I, II, and IIII'm sad to see you go 2011, but deux mille douze has that promise of a fresh start that I just can't pass up!
See you next year mes amis!
P.S. Stay tuned for a round up on our Bavarian eating bonanza--hopefully I can entice you to stick around and keep reading with some photos of King Kong sized pretzels.
If the Nuremberg Christmas Markets were any closer to resembling the North Pole, Santa would have to find new real estate for his workshop. Seriously, the Germans know how to put on an impressive display for Christmas. Mother Nature also worked her magic and ordered a sprinkling of snow for our one day whirlwind tour of the markets. And by tour, I mean we ate our weight in gingerbread and sausage and walked around in a daze of hot wine for twelve hours--we arrived at 10am and didn't head back to our home base in Munich until 10pm. It takes a lot of glühwein to stay warm that long. ..Since we had quite a few hours to get our fill of the markets, we did an initial walk through without consuming a single thing. But rounds two, three, four, five...I lost count...involved eating lebkuchen (gingerbread--the city's specialty) in all of its shapes and forms, drinking a mug of glühwein, buying an ornament (or two), and repeating the process all over again. We only mixed things up twice: around lunch time and in the evening when the red wine and rum flowing through our veins couldn't quite match the dropping temperature.
And this is what happens when you stop for lunch in a town known not only for its gingerbread, but for its little fried sausages: you get a menu with only one option and that option is SAUSAGE in quantities of 6, 8, 10, or 12. Mon mari went ahead and ordered us each a plate of 8 which means I ate 5 and he ate 11. I'm sort of proud and disgusted at the same time. Full and warm, we hit the markets again and picked up some special ornaments for our family. Amongst piles of angels, stars, and glittery globe ornaments, we found two gems--a leg of ham for my sister (the girl's first love is pork) and piece of cheese for my mom (she works at a store called The Mouse Trap). We even picked up a ceramic prune for our future Christmas trees. Delightful, right? The Nuremberg Christmas Markets are world renowned for prune people. Several market stalls displayed little figures made up of dried prunes, other fruit, and nuts. We just had to have a prune for ourselves. I'm imagining a future "find the prune" ornament hunt in our household. Prunes are the new pickles. Despite making eating the focus of our visit in Nuremberg, we did manage to peek in a few churches and walk around the castle. With the Christmas decorations and light snowfall, we really couldn't have asked for a more beautiful visit and more than once mon mari asked to stay there forever. But that may have been the sausage talking...
We're getting ready to head back to good old Paris now, but since I'm sort of dreading the end of Christmas fun, there are going to be a few more holidayish posts. I just can't quit Christmas cold turkey! P.S. How can you not love a city with not one, but five Santas?!
Hope you and your families are having a happy holiday! My family and I just arrived in Salzburg, Austria after a short train ride over the border from Munich and we've already stuffed ourselves silly at the city's Christmas Market. In just a bit, we're heading to our hotel's lobby for a Christmas tree lighting ceremony and champagne toast--I think I could get used to Christmas abroad!
I'll be rolling around in Christmas pajamas the next few days and trying to soak up as much of Mozart's hometown as possible so check back after the 25th for new posts on eating sausage, sausage, and more sausage, drinking glühwein by the mug full, and channeling Maria von Trapp on a Sound of Music tour.
Hope Santa is good to you!
I made my list and checked it twice! We're headed to Munich for a very German Christmas! Our suitcases are about to bust, but luckily we're traveling by train so we don't have to worry ourselves with weight limits, phew!
Our bags are stuffed to the brim with Christmas presents along with everything we need to turn our hotel room into the North Pole. We've got a Santa hat or two, a set of reindeer ears, pretty stockings, holiday poppers to rip open on Christmas Eve, and, of course, tasty French treats to share with our family. With all of these goodies, I barely had room to pack my sneakers, but I know with all that sausage and schnitzel in my future I'll need to hit the English Gardens for at least one good long run...or maybe two. I really like schnitzel.
See you in Bavaria!
2 weeks ago...
It's 3AM and I'm sound asleep in my cozy little bed when I hear the chain across our apartment door rattling and something (or someone?) quite forcefully trying to open the door. Instantly, images of someone breaking in run across my mind and a slow paralysis creeps from my fingers to my toes until I'm laying there completely still with fear. Of course, that's when I do what every sensible wife does. I woke up mon mari using that classic loud whispering voice that really isn't whispering.
Me: Maaaaaaaaaaaaaatt, are you up?
Mon mari: Now I am. (Typical...we've got an attempted break-in on our hands and he's upset I disturbed his shut eye!)
Me: I think someone is trying to get in our apartment. Do you hear that noise?
Mon mari: What noise? I don't hear anything.
Of course now there's zero noise and I sound like a crazy fool.
Me (still using fake whispering/muffled panicking that's clearly not conveying his need to investigate the situation): Keep listening! I heard someone pushing on the door. The chain lock was definitely making noise!
Mon mari: I think it's OK. It's the people upstairs or the wind.(Really? What happened to jumping out of bed with a baseball bat?) Go back to sleep.
Me: How am I supposed to sleep now?
I spend the rest of the night analyzing every creaky apartment noise and don't get an ounce of rest. The next morning I'm still convinced we had a would be intruder trying to creep in. We've had some issues with squatters in the building, and I was sure one of them got a bit confused and decided they'd tuck in with us for the night. Someone, ahem mon mari, isn't at all concerned and carries on like we almost didn't almost have to fend off a burglar. Gosh.
I skip out the door early to go for a run, and quickly peek around the hallway for any evidence of the previous night's noise. Half expecting to see someone snoozing on the stairs, I was even more startled to see a fat, black cat perching on the landing leading up to the next floor. At 7AM in a dark hallway that cat was all about sending shivers down my spine. I immediately decide it belongs to one of the squatters and hustle into the elevator so I don't disturb the sleeping squatter on the floor above. For the next few days I check for the cat and listen for night time knocking, but there's not a peep!
Fast forward to two nights ago when mon mari and I are sitting on the couch...
Mon mari: Do you hear that?
Me: What? (I listen and then quickly begin to freak out...) It's the noise, it's the noise!!!! I'm not crazy!!! YAY!!! It's the noise from when I woke you up the other night!! GO CHECK NOW!!!!
Mon mari is apparently concerned (where was he last time????) and gets up to go to the door. And what to his wondering eyes should appear? Not Santa (disappointment...), but a BIG BLACK CAT. A big ol' kitty throwing its weight against the door stirring up quite a racket, creating enough noise that some might say it sounded like an attempted break-in...
We've got quite the cat burglar on our hands. Sneaky felines...
Lock your doors folks! There's a cat on the prowl!
I am allergic to gluten. My taste buds just writhed in pain as I wrote that. They're protesting to keep the Parisian pastry parade marching down my gullet. My taste buds want the constant stream of candy and Berko cupcakes to continue making its way into my mouth. And I tend to agree with them, except, except...my favorite pastries, sweets, and gluten filled products are making me sick. Up until a month ago, I never suspected gluten was the culprit causing my anemia. But after doing some research, gluten started to seem like the bad guy. While I don't have any of the digestive problems that plague people with a gluten intolerance, the other symptoms I read about began to match up--unexplained anemia, weird skin rashes, anxiety, fatigue, and tingling in my feet. While these maladies could stem from a number of things, I knew something wasn't quite right. I couldn't be that tired from walking up a flight of stairs...my skin couldn't be that sensitive for no good reason...so I convinced the doctor to order gluten tests. She wasn't so convinced herself, but I proved that M.D. wrong (or rather, gluten did). All three lab tests came back positive and just like that gluten is guilty. On the one hand, I'm happy I have an answer and can move forward with getting my body healthy. On the other hand--HOLY MOLY, I need to stop eating gluten! It's now been two weeks since I've confirmed gluten is the enemy and I haven't come any closer to making significant changes to my diet. I actually at three cupcakes on Friday. Three. It's possible I'm in denial. Very possible. No gluten means no croissants (real ones at least...) and that means serious business. I need to rally the strength to walk by a bakery without stopping (a new route to work is clearly in order) and get into the kitchen to start whipping up my own creations or pastry withdrawal is imminent. I can't imagine that would be very pretty. At least the gluten gods have enough sense to keep dairy safe. I can eat stinky, scrumptious French cheeses to my heart's content. Oh, and macarons too! Hallelujah!
Off to read David Lebovitz's gluten-free guide to Paris and perhaps cry into a bowl of Christmas jelly beans.
I've told you how much I love candy, but have I ever told you how much I love horses? My love for horses is probably greater than my love for Haribo alas it's much easier (and cheaper) to buy a package of gold bears than find a horse to ride in Paris. However, instead of being a sad sack about this sorry fact, I get my hindquarters to every horsey event in the city, including last weekend's jumping competition sponsored by Gucci. Held in conjunction with the Salon du Cheval, the Gucci Masters brings together the world's highest ranked equestrians to compete at the most difficult level of show jumping. We're talking about the crème de la crème of horses and athletes--riders who have graced Olympic rosters and horses who have Breyer products modeled after them. The riders and their mounts compete for over 800,000 euros in prize money over three days worth of classes concluding with Sunday's Gucci Grand Prix. While there are other events scattered throughout the schedule, including a pony race, nothing beats watching world class riders speed through a course of 1.6 meter high jumps. You can literally hear the crowd gasping for breath as they will every horse and rider combination to have a fault free round and move on to the jump off. You can't help but ooh and aah watching a horse clear an enormous obstacle and then spin and turn only to do it again in the next few steps. It's both breathtaking and thrilling. Even for someone like mon mari, who barely considers horseback riding a sport, the Grand Prix had him on the edge of his seat cheering loud and clear for the riders. While we wished the American riders had taken first place (they came in 3rd and 6th), Pénélope Leprevost took home the grand prize for France, woo hoo! Despite seeing a lack of French crowd enthusiasm at the past few football events I've attended, the French really came out and supported their equestrians. Loud music, synchronized clapping, and whooping came from the stands after every rider. Based on the final results it's obvious this is a sport where the French excel and the fans clearly know it! Happy Trails!
P.S. I tried to take action shots at the horse show, but trust me when I say the photo of me from my university riding team days is much better! All of my photos were a blurry mess minus the ring shot from last year's competition.
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