Does anyone read (or write) blogs anymore?

Well now we're home. I managed to blog about the first five days of our month-long vacation, and now we're home. Is it too late to blog about it? It feels weird to blog about travel when you're not doing it anymore. I'm a little disappointed in myself for not keeping up, for not blithely tossing off witty or poignant little missives as we went, sharing sweet little glimpses of how big and wide and weird the world is out there to me. But also, it was a vacation after all, whaddya want from me?

We got home Friday night and have spent the whole weekend getting used to being home and in this time zone. A seven-hour time difference is no joke. The circadian rhythm does not just switch, no matter our location under the sun or our most determined intentions. I stayed awake on the plane, watching four movies, (a little movie called Linoleum is a charming little gem that had me crying big gloppy tears all over my Delta blanket and pillow) and then did all my unpacking that night, determined not to sleep until 10 pm Minnesota time.  Saturday morning I woke up early, like 4:30, redesigning our kitchen to make as efficient use of space as the people of Berlin and Paris do. I laid there doing that until 5:30, then gave in and got up. The first half of the day I was full of energy, thrilled to be home, making plans to reorganize everything in our lives to be more like Europe, more like vacation. We biked to the farmer's market, and stopped at the Lowertown bike shop to get me a better seat and lock because I'm going to bike every day everywhere and I'm going to eat nothing but vegetables until I lose all this patisserie and charcuterie weight.

And then I went to two different grocery stores on my bicycle with its new seat and its new lock but I couldn't find that damn friseè (also known as curly endive) Robert needed for the Melissa Clark recipe he wanted to make. Fucking United States, dominated by boring lettuces. That was the thought where all my energetic exuberance to be home turned. By the time I got home, I was mad at everything and everyone. And my joints all hurt. And I noticed my ankles were still swollen from the plane ride. Or are they just fat now? As I put my bike away in the garage below our apartment, I could hear Robert yelling at something. He does that sometimes, usually when he spills something. But this sounded extra bad.

Putting away groceries Robert told the story of how many asshole American motorists he encountered getting to Trader Joes and the co-op and back. I asked if that was what he was yelling about, and he didn't even remember yelling. And then we both stomped around the apartment being mad and frustrated about things and people and politics and this stupid country and being old and being tired. And then we grilled some vegetables on the barbecue (because we're taking a break from meat after all that meat, wow we ate so much meat on this vacation) but I burned the corn because I fell asleep on the couch outside while I was supposed to be watching it. And then we ate a beautiful meal outside on the deck on a beautiful day and I could literally barely hold my head up to eat and notice the sky.

I washed the dishes while Robert yelled at me from the other room "What are you doing? I said I'd wash those tomorrow!" I yelled back, "I'm just rinsing, and you can't get mad at me for washing the dishes!" And he yelled back, "I"m not mad!" We just kept yelling for a while like angry geese.

We tried to watch a movie to keep ourselves up until bedtime this timezone, but we both just kept falling asleep and waking up and saying, "No I'm awake!"

And then we slept like 12 hours. Which is what we did the second night we were in Germany. I guess it's just what you have to do. Sunday I liked the world again and all the people in it and this wonderful place we live, Minnesota, which if I squint just right, looks a little European, a little socialist. It's also green as hell here and the birds and bunnies now believe the backyard is theirs, which I'm not inclined to debate, as long as they let me visit. 

So now it's Monday morning and it's back to work with me. I didn't miss working, but I did miss all the people I work with and all the cool things we do, so I'm a little excited. A little nervous I'll get overwhelmed by all the tasks waiting for me. A little determined not to let that happen. 

Sorry, this travel blog didn't keep up with real time at all. I don't know if it's because I was more interested in staying present to the moment than writing or because my sharing energy got used up on social media. Now I'm wondering if I've got the energy or inclination to fill in all the details from the rest of the trip here. I'm not under the illusion anyone's reading or waiting anyway. Presumably anyone interested got more than enough of my sharing energy on social media. 

I really loved blogging from the five-month trip to Central America I took 15 years ago, and it seemed like a lot of people enjoyed reading it. What's changed? Our attention spans? Our habits? I still like the blog better than social media because it gives space for the awkward details outside the frame of the carefully chosen photograph. It's a chance to process the whole experience beyond the perfect little moments when I had a camera in hand. There are so many more perfect little moments than those, like yelling like angry geese then cuddling for 12 hours and feeling better. Maybe I'll come here a little more often and write about perfect little moments in everyday life too. I don't know. We'll see how it goes not getting overwhelmed with work.

OK, photos just for fun.

One of my favorite photos from vacation.
This was when we first got to the Louvre,
long before we were so annoyed by the crowds
we said, "I don't ever need to come back here again."

This was an awkward attempt to photograph
lightning bugs in our backyard last night.
They're just so pretty. You're going to have to take my word for that.

Final days in Hannover

 I'm going to have to move along a little faster if I ever hope for this blog to catch up to realtime! Today is Tuesday July 11th, and we are in our final week, just the two of us now, in Paris, but let me tell you more about Germany!

So, just to finish up about our time in Hannover, in the morning after our special concert, Martina has to go to work, but we get to spend a little more time with Rosalie before she has to go, including some lively games of fußball (yes, foosball, the game with all the soccer players on rods you control with handles). They are both quite good at it, so the game goes best when Robert and are each paired with one of them. The fußball table is down in the basement next to the music room. It appears to be where Hartmut keeps his diverse collection of treasures - concert posters like Patty Smith, a rock collection from when he worked as an assistant to a geologist, an old tube radio from 1949 that belonged to his parents and still works. After Rosalie leaves, we spend the day with Hartmut - he gets many many texts and phone calls wishing him a happy birthday. Many people love this man.

We went bicycling again - I can't begin to tell you the joy of bicycling around this beautiful town that has made bicycling as much a priority as driving or walking - through the enormous forest again, but this time also along the rail tracks, through a vast network of gardens called Schrebergärten or Kleingarten or, as a group, kleingartenkolonie. At first I thought this was a unique treasure of Hannover, but Hartmut explained that these are all over Germany, and sure enough, we'd see them later on our various train rides. 

They were introduced in the 1860s, named after a German physician, Moritz Schreber, and also known as gardens of the poor. They were meant to give poor people living in urban, dense communities a green space to grow food and get respite from the city. They became quite a necessity after each of the World Wars for growing food. And now, they are very popular among all ages as a place to get away, relax, and reconnect to nature. Some we saw were designed mostly to grow food, but many - more, I'd say - looked to me like a weekend getaway, with a structure one could sleep over in, flower gardens, comfortable furniture, little barbecues, hedges, bird feeders. Tiny oases just outside the city. A great use of land along rail lines, and apparently quite affordable and popular. I wonder if we could adopt these in places like Eastside St. Paul.

We also biked to a Tiergarten, which I kept thinking Hartmut and Robert were calling a deer garden because it was full of deer. But tier means animal, so tiergarten usually means zoo. The one in Hannover was founded in 1679 by Duke Johan Friedric as hunting grounds for deer, but the Duke died a year later on a trip to Italy and never got to hunt the deer. Anyway, the deer are still there (or rather, their descendants), and a bunch of boar (kept in their own pen) and lots of birds. We had a lovely long walk, and then bicycled back through town. 

Hartmut insisted on a stop at a little shop where he went inside and came out with a surprise for us, he had purchased these cute little ice cubes we'd admired in the Aperol Spritz drinks Martina repeatedly made for us. What a fabulous souvenir. There were plenty of things in town to comment upon, a very old church with surprisingly modern architecture attached (something I'd continue to notice all over Germany and France too), all the funny old cars and different names for cars I know.

The days we spent with Hartmut and Martina blur together a little, as our stay extended longer than expected while we waited for our luggage that kept not arriving despite many phone calls by Robert and Martina to the Hannover airport. Eventually, we just drove back to the airport, and while Hartmut and I enjoyed yet another delicious cafe and kuchel, Robert and Martina navigated an understaffed bureaucracy to find our suitcase languishing amongst many more undelivered suitcases, and despite being told we must wait for it to be delivered, they simply took it. Phew, reunited with the rest of our clothes at last, we enjoyed one more dinner and evening together - eating delicious leftovers, discussing politics, sociology, writing, and whether we can be optimistic about the future or not, and finally watching a YouTube video of an old British movie called "Dinner for One" that is apparently a tradition to watch in Germany (or maybe just among their family, I'm not sure), but it was hilarious.

In the morning, they took us to the train station and we all had a tearful goodbye with lots of hugs and waves. They stayed and smiled at us through the window until we left, waving as our train pulled away. It is clear that Robert will miss them deeply, as will I. What an amazing family. I wish we lived in the same town. As our train speeds up, taking us to Berlin, we are already fantasizing about persuading them to meet up for a vacation somewhere in the future.

This time in Hannover has been such a brilliant and beautiful introduction to Germany, a place I'd never imagined visiting, and obviously had very little understanding of. I'm so surprised to find myself a little in love with it already. Who would have thought?

The kleingartens:

Old car, never rusts, because it's made mostly of plastic

Modern car, different name

An old church with a modern extension

I forgot to mention this.
Every town has these memorials acknowledging the crimes of World War II.
This is not a memorial nor a monument. It is called a "mahnmal."
Translated, it means "a monument that serves as a reminder of
a tragic event and a warning that the event should not be allowed to occur again."

I know the French and the British and others
have the reputation for delicious baked treats,
but I have to tell you, the Germans have their own
delicious things too. Yummmmm. 

Hanging out in a biergarten - these are everywhere,
shaded by tall trees, filled with people enjoying beer,a snack, time together.
I think this was already the second time I had curry wurst,
something Robert told me about but I never imagined
I'd love so much as I did. More yummmmm.

They stayed and waved goodbye until the train pulled out of the station.

Spargel und Die Schlegls

I thought I'd keep this blog realtime and chronological, but I'm going to have to let go of that idea for sure. Today is Saturday July 8th, more than three weeks in, and we are in St. Malo, France, but I'm still writing about our first few days of this long trip when we were still in Hannover, Germany. The social media feed is closer to realtime, though usually a couple days behind too. It's nice to come here and share the longer thoughts, though, at the very least to supplement my memory for later.

Sunday after our trip to the castle - a phrase I haven't used much in life but I will end up using a lot on this trip - we enjoyed dinner with the whole family, joined by Hartmut and Martina's children, Rosalie and Elias, two young adults as charming, intelligent, and friendly as their parents. 

It was Hartmut's birthday and it was also Spargelzeit - white asparagus time - a very exciting harvest moment in Germany, so dinner centered around these enormous, velvety smooth white asparagus stalks, served with potatoes, cured ham, and a light hollandaise sauce. I was so excited to eat it I forgot to photograph it, but trust me, it's a sight to behold, and delicious. I loved hearing everyone gleefully say, "Spargel" again and again, as it sounds a little like shparrgle, or like someone trying to say "sparkle" while gargling champagne. Here's a link to all you might like to know about the German love of fat white asparagus.

After dinner, Hartmut, Rosalie, and Elias, snuck down to the basement to "prepare a surprise."

About half an hour later we were invited downstairs to discover Hartmut's music studio, outfitted with instruments, microphones, and swirling colored lights. To our great and happy surprise, they invited us to listen to a concert they had prepared for us. I had been told Hartmut was really into music, and I'd noticed musical instruments here and there all around the apartment, but I had no idea that he and his kids had formed a band. 

They were wonderful - truly, not just like, "Oh, how sweet," - they were REALLY GOOD. We enjoyed several cover songs, both American and German, old and new, plus one original song by Rosalie she's written for another band that she's in. Photos and video, for your enjoyment, below. You can see a super cool painting of the band behind them. They haven't played professionally enough to have bothered coming up with a band name, but they played a while back at an outdoor concert and were surprised to see in the promotional poster they had been named after their family name "Die Schlegls," which is a pretty cute name.

Here they are playing "Blackbird" by the Beatles
and Elias is holding up this nifty thing that makes the
sound of a bird singing, just like in the original song.

Hartmut seems as proud as a father
can be of his talented, thoughtful kids.

Rosalie is a wonderful vocalist with a
magical stage presence.

At Martina's request, Elias played an old love
ballad that Elias first played when he was 12.

After the concert, we sang happy birthday to Hartmut - who to my utter shock is apparently 68, this man who wore us out again and again with all of his enthusiasm and energy. We had a lovely dessert, yet again, miraculously lactose free, and mine was topped with my new favorite liqueur, a Dutch drink called Advocaat, made from egg, sugar and brandy. We somehow stayed up until 1:30 a.m. and finally crashed, happy, full, and tired.