Grimm Magic

(Circa December 2009, Germany. A notebook excerpt).

It's been a year since I ran through these woods, a regular afternoon pastime to ingest fresh air and stay fit. My old route was instinctive and it seemed to run under me instead of the other way around. The woods were exactly as I remembered them, populated with naked giants, their black bones reaching up to shake their fists at the cold. Their roots were hidden under forgotten leaves, piling and piling and piling up. I jogged around a tree and dragged my gloved fingers across its bark, continuing an old habit from 2008 and conveying the same secret message, "Hello again, tree."

The same mud patches were patched in mud and I laughed as usual as I gracelessly hopped around the worst of it. The halfway-hill was just as steep and I adopted the same restrained job to keep myself from flying forward.

But the thin streams that ran along the last leg home were dry and I wondered what became of the school of freshwater mermaids that would swim alongside me as my heart thumped my feet forward. I was the only half-breed in the woods that day, but the magic of the German forest was in infinite supply.

I dared not spit near the trees as I still believed that they had the power to absorb my DNA and transform into my duplicate. It's the way these trees moved on to their second life, and they wait in earnest for one of us to give them the opportunity.

Every path had a story and every run created more. The woods were no longer a conglomeration of flora, but instead, a living storybook where each corner was synonymous with the turning of pages. As I neared the end of my route, I already knew that running would never get any better than this.

Chronological and Numerical Form

I know this is a severely inadequate representation of the past two weeks, but due to the fact that I had no electricity for the first week, and no internet for the better half of the second, I think it's safe to say that I'm allowed such a hasty post.

The general rundown in chronological and numerical form is as follows:

1. I packed my things and left Germany.
2. I moved to Italy and unpacked my things where I experienced a five day blackout and three days of internet abstinence. I also made some friends, picked up on Italian, figured out public transportation, went shopping, bought a camera, had gelato (twice), got lost and was subsequently overwhelmed by the consistency of beautiful architecture that has come to define the country. Though I have seen only the mere hem of Italy, is has already swooned me every day that I have left my apartment.
   
3. My grandma had a stroke.
4. My grandma slipped into a coma.
5. I bought a ticket home and leave for Milan, New York, San Fransisco and then Hawaii tomorrow morning at 4am. It will be thirty hours thereafter before I arrive.
6. I will spend roughly a week with my family, mourning and remembering and loving, as we have all learned that we should do more of it while we have the time.

See you in Hawaii.

Of saying goodbye and entering new places.

I looked outside of my aerial porthole and the blackness of an early morning atmosphere looked back. I had lost sight of the country a long time ago, but I knew it was beneath me in the way I know it is within me. Germany has immortalized itself within my heart. The last twelve hours had happened so fast and I cried so often in the seclusion of my room that it's impossible to remember how I got myself to move forward. Have I survived the long string of goodbyes?

When the kids came home the day before, I ran upstairs and cried when they hugged me hello. Everything stood still, except for my heart which was slowly breaking apart. At night before bed, I hugged them goodbye trying not to look at their smiling faces. They didn't understand that I was leaving for good and it was that innocence that tore me apart. Like a dog, I ran away to my empty room and curled up in ball, nursing my wounds by letting out tears.

Saying goodbye to Hong was much more emotional. How do you part with the person who personifies your strength, your courage, your endurance and faith? My backbone, my fortune cookie, my mother figure, my foundation, it's been the one loss that I can't bear to relive.

The Dad hugged me goodbye and left me with three suggestions: "Practice, practice, practice."

It should have been harder to say goodbye to Kate - the very best friend I could have made abroad - but 2am wake up calls deter the heart from mourning. Instead, like the amazing person she is, she packed me a banana and a homemade muffin, hailed me a taxi and hugged me a hug that didn't feel like the last. We would meet again, and that was the only thing that made letting go of her possible.

Being a Western girl, I naturally packed half of what I owned when relocating to Germany. Being a Western girl, I naturally spent half of what I earned on clothes. The consequence of this is having to kart around three 50-pound suitcases and one large purse all by myself through empty train stations, bus stops and airports. I may be tiny, but I was determined to have every single skirt and panty by my side when I arrived in Italy. Unfortunately, the price of this is equal to 7€ per every kilo over the 23 kilo (50 lbs) limit. I ended up paying 182€ for the luxury of every skirt and panty, teaching me the hard lesson that Western mentality is an expensive one.

The upside to being robbed by the airlines is that my excess baggage had earned me a new friend - a German fashion model named Julia who helped to drag my luggage off the train. Coincidentally, we also had the same early flight into Milan where she was scheduled for a photo shoot. Being three hours early for a 6:45am flight, we naturally stuck together and wandered around the airport, talked over coffee (twice), dealt with complications during check-in, created our own two-person cafe right before security (as we both suddenly realized we had unconsumed food and beverages aboard), got patted down and searched after setting off the metal detectors, and discussed zoos, male models and exboyfriends before boarding. The early morning trek, and parting with Germany in general, was made that much more bearable with the gift of sudden friendship.

Once in Italy, we waited for each other as we exited the plane and helped the other fish for luggage as it came around the conveyor belt. Together, we navigated the new terminal, acting as a pillow of security in a time of sudden newness. Before we parted, we hugged and kissed goodbye in that endearing European way before rushing off in opposite directions for buses that were heading towards opposite towns. I continue to hope that she and I will meet again, and in a world full of wanderers, I wouldn't be surprised if we did.

My bus seemed to be waiting just for me as we pulled out the minute I stepped in. Nestled near a window seat, I polished off my first book of February while the Italian countryside sped by. The weather was dismal, but it was nice to know that I was arriving past winters midpoint. Spring would push its way through in sooner time than it would take for winter to leave. True to form, it was the last cloudy day I have seen.

As we entered the city, I stared in longing at the lengthy, shuttered windows and the elaborate metal fencing that enclosed roman balconies. Green and white stripped awnings jutted out and draped in semi-circle fringes, flapping in the drizzle. I imagined a balcony garden on summer days. I imagined old friends paying homage to a traveling comrade. Cafes and pasta, wine and gorgeous nights out in Italy, a country of possibilities.

I hold on to the faith that it all has happened for a reason. I have survived my first week in Torino.

A post about snow and sub-zero temperatures.

I returned home to Germany in the middle of a cold front. -10C in the morning, -20C at night. They said it was the coldest it had ever dropped in eighteen years, and the girl from Hawaii was there to feel it all.

The next day, it started to snow. It snowed all night and the morning thereafter, which is a sight that always brings a peace to my soul. You couldn't pull me away from the window at times like those.

The trees dropped their leaves and grew crystals in their places, like perfect science experiments that involve sugar and jars and water and solid crystal formations that you can eat. When the sun came up, the world sparkled and I felt new.

The fields, as vast as usual, were were suffocated in white. They stretched out until they reached the sun and when it didn't look like a desert, it looked like the sea. "I've never seen anything like it before," I whispered upon windows, the secret of my ignorance puffed across its pane. I wiped my sleeve across it.

It was important that we took advantage of the snow. It was everywhere and it lasted for days, piling up against curbs and compacting beneath feet. We grabbed our sleds and went to the lake.

There are few things that terrify me, and it wasn't until I moved to Germany that I realized that walking on lakes was one of them. Winter, in fact, scares me in the same way that fresh water does. My only explanation is that I was raised on an island that has an over-abundant supply of salt water and a yearly average of 72.2 degrees F (23.3 degrees C). In every regard, I am not in my element.

So when The Parents ran out onto the lake with The Kids on sleds trailing behind, you could bet that the little Asian girl you saw creeping at an awkward angle away from the shore was me. I didn't confess the extent of my terror until the afternoon when we were indoors and warm, sipping hot chocolate. It's not likely that I'll do it again.

It took about a half hour for me to resume walking like my homies, the homoerectus, but after that it was more like a rollercoaster ride; thrilling, but only because my brain expected me to die.

Exiting the lake was an absolute nightmare as the ice before the dock was melted. We're talking bonafide slush to the point where my feet sank and my body rejected all commands of movement. In fact, my brain did not even grant me the gift of watching my life flash before my eyes, which is source of deep and continual resentment. Eventually, The Parents ordered me to continue walking or I would literally sink and be doomed to never write another post again. After passionately kissing dry land, I noticed a plethora of paper printouts that read, "Aufenthalt vor dem See," or "Stay off the lake."

The following day, we replaced sleds with ice skates and headed to the local ice skating arena. The five of us were a sight. The Mom had never been on ice skates, The Dad hadn't been skating in twenty years, and the meek au pair who grew up on a tropical island was strangely better than either of them. Still, with our powers combined, we took two kids on laps upon 30-minute-long laps. It was slow and messy going, but I relished the blue skies that looked down upon me. I was in the open air, looking at the trees and the sun and gliding along on layers of frozen water.



After a few hours, the kids were exhausted and we took it as an opportunity to transition to our next activity. In a few minutes we were at the door of a log cabin imported from Russia to visit a family friend. What mysteriously unfolded is an event that I like to refer to as, "redneck sledding."

In the backyard of this Russian cabin is a tractor, and mounted to this tractor is a baby seat. Hitched behind the tractor is a wagon, and propped on top the wagon is a bench, and trailing behind the wagon are two ropes that are attached to two sleds which would later carry two five year old boys through he town of Wickberg.

The most ridiculous event by far.

ps. The Russian Cabin is a house of death. I've never seen so much taxidermy in my life.

The frustrations of obtaining German language courses

The day I discovered that I would be moving to Germany was the day that I began researching ways on how to obtain free versions of Rosetta Stone and Pilmsleur (expensive, computer-based and audio programs that help you to learn another language). One of the greatest benefits to living abroad is the gift of total immersion. Language and my ability to learn it would affect the quality of life in that country. In itself, this would encourage me to absorb all that I could, resulting in a hopeful fluency.

So I was rather disappointed to learn that I had arrived in Germany in the middle of the language semester, and would have to wait until the new year for my class to begin. I managed, and time flew by to accommodate my impatience. In January, the plan was to take morning classes in Neuss, a city in which the kids go to school. And yet as great plans go, this one failed. My German class didn't have enough registered students which caused the school to retract the program and refund our fees.

As it happened, there was another school about a thirty minute bus ride away in a town called Erkelenz. The classes would start at 7:30pm and finish at 9, which cuts into the last minutes of dinner, but was still something we could accommodate. I showed up on the first day of class and left feeling gigantically defeated. I was sitting in with students who had already taken four semesters of German studies. My peers were fluent and I was in the wrong class.

Thankfully there existed a beginning level which would start at 6pm. This meant that I would be missing out on dinner entirely as well as part of the play time that I had with my kids. There couldn’t have been a more inconvenient time slot, but it was all that was left and we were out of ideas. Under the Au Pair visa, German law states that it is mandatory for the Au Pair to enroll in a German language class. We really did have no other choice.

So, I abandoned my kids at 5:20 and paid €2.90 for bus fare each way, listened to an hour and a half of German and walked away feeling ridiculous. Not only was I the farthest behind (I had to join the second semester class) but I was learning my German with a Russian accent. I think you can guess where my teacher was from.

It was irony who decided that as soon as we got things settled, we'd get the news that I'd have to leave. I dropped out of language school.

Video Postcards for Mom and Dad

This is a video assemblage of my winter travels in ode and thanks to my family.

I'd also like to thank the dozens of new friends and strangers who indulged my peculiar requests and consented to be uploaded onto YouTube. You made this trip (and this video) more important and memorable to me than we ever realized at the time.

(Don't forget to watch in high quality!)

If you can't view the video, click here!

The Shift

The sad news of the day is written within this post. Though daunting and sudden, we are all trying to be optimistic and supportive towards everyone's losses. Indeed, we all have lost something.

I am moving. Not now, not tomorrow, but soon. It's as unexpected as it is shocking, and our hearts are all the more broken for it. The news was delivered to us on Wednesday. I was in the kitchen eating raisins, waiting for The Mom to return home with the gift of promised pizza. The garage went up, her car pulled in, she opened the door and said, "Nicole, we have to talk."

The truth is that the economic crisis in the US has managed to indirectly affect me here in Germany. The Mom's sister lost her job last week, leaving her with no alternative to pay for her Manhattan apartment. With no one to work for and no other family to take her in, The Mom's sister phoned Wassenberg and asked for refuge.

When it comes to family, nothing else comes first. In essence, I've simply been displaced.

I cried. Not because I, too, was losing my job, but because I was leaving my family. Hong, my backbone; Kate, my best friend; Vincent and Gracie, the two souls that taught me patience and encouraged me to love. Just yesterday I was walking down the stairs thinking, "this is my home." I am leaving that as well.

But faith has never left, and when everything in front of me falls away, something larger comes into view from the debris. New experiences, valuable lessons, chances to grow in different directions. I am adopting a new setting, that's all. Chin up, heart strong, breath deeply.

Nix is moving again, and she's aiming for Italy

Oh, hail no.

I had just returned from my daily run (which was extra dangerous on this particular day for the high winds and sporadic weather left me with a small bump on my head and a leaf in my mouth) when The Mom sat me down to have our daily lunch. Our habitual seating arrangement has me facing the window, so when abnormal looking rain drops began to fall I was the first to jump up and declare that it was hailing!

"Girl, the sun is shining. It don't hail when the sun is out."

"Mal-func-tion. I don't know anything about hail," I told her, "tropical island, remember?"

A little disappointed, I sat back down to finish my meal. Ten minutes later, after nearly giving The Mom a heart attack, I was screaming and dancing in ice cubes. (Even robots can tell when rain is frozen).

Wassenberg by Bike

This is a brief introduction to my neighborhood by bicycle. I'm sorry it couldn't be longer, but I was having frustrating camera problems. In fact, I did this run multiples times. This means that after riding a minute downhill and realizing I only had three seconds of footage, I had to ride BACK up and do it again. Unfortunately, what you see is the best that I could do with my continuous malfunctions, which isn't bad, but sadly incomplete. Hopefully you can get a rough idea of the area in which I live, so enjoy!

Introducing: Wassenberg (Va-sen-beg... German's like to ignore their R's).

Current State of Things

Snow

When in Rome, party like a German!

This past Friday night was spent chillin' in Dusseldorf with Kate and Sebastian. Due to our absolute overload of picture taking on this night, we'll upgrade this baby into a one day photo diary.

We kicked off the night with glühwein, a Christmastime specialty wine here in Germany that is meant to be served hot. Although there are probably more classy ways to prepare and serve this traditional beverage, we made do with what we had, which was whatever a 26 year old college male has in his dorm room: cheap pots and plastic cups.

No matter, the wine did it's job and before long we were singing to Sebastian's guitar as he played songs by The Beatles.

Shortly after, Sebastian's BFF (best friend forever, for the uh, older readers) in Germany arrived. Meet Ivan, friend #3 from Ecuador.
After polishing off a bottle of wine and our secret stash of lime beer, we put on our heavy duty coats (the temperature has recently plummeted) and headed over to a little international party located in... the basement. Let it be known that it is legal to drink, smoke and party on university property. This is a very backwards concept compared to the strict regulations back home, but hey, when in Rome, party like a German!
No one actually informed us that this was a masquerade shindig, but we lived it up. Here is a very creepy German college student in a woman's blouse. Heck yes I was going to take a photo with him!
All in all, it was a good night. It's always nice for me to escape to the city, and Kate has been nice enough to offer me her apartment floor for whenever those times arise. (ps. Those are community pretzels. Under other non-inebriated circumstances, I would not have had them in my mouth).

The only goof in the woods

Over the course of four weeks, I have gained a very unwelcomed five pounds. In attempt to remedy this budding issue, I have been taking leisurely jogs in the backyard forest. I've come ill equipped, but The Mom has been nice enough to give me her thermal gear. Yes, I do go running in under wear.

No matter, I'm kept warm. Besides, it's the woods, it has a thousand paths of pine snaking through its trees and over its streams. I could run and see no one.

No one.

It was during my first run when that idea bubble lit up above my head. I have the woods all to myself, I could do anything!

This kind of freedom does not stop at skipping over bridges or twirling around trees, no way. With my iPod cranked way high, I choose to dance like a goof.

Kölner Dom

I live about an hour away from Köln, a large and liberal city known for housing the Kölner Dom, otherwise known as the Cologne Cathedral. We took a day trip into the city where I was able to bear witness to this awe inspiring architectural monument.

As soon as we rounded the corner, the twin spires of the Dom sucked me in. The utter complexity of the building left me overwhelmed, it was too much to take in. Focus on the height, remember how the atmosphere interfered with its clarity. The color, blackend with age. 600 years between it's birth and completion, 760 years of bearing witness to wars and suffering, growth and revolution. Have I ever been presented before something so old and so wise?

For the first time in my adult life, I stood before something not knowing how to comprehend its magnificence. The Cathedral conveyed another language altogether, speaking of history and triumph, longevity and preservation. I strained my ears to listen, begged my mind to comprehend. Take it in, take it in, take it in.


The main entrance was lined with stone statues serving as a mere embellishment to the whole. They were astounding on their own! Like stoic guardians, they watched as every man entered their domain. Large blank eyes, all the better the see me with.

The inside of the Dom was lined with extremely large and intricate stained glass windows, each one telling a different story in turn as the sun rose and later set. Despite the gloomy day, these windows let light in from all corners of the cathedral, telling their stories yet again for another full church.

I couldn't stand their long enough, I wanted my eyes to linger over every detail, to remember every pane. The air felt different just because it was air housed in history. The three wise men, were they to spring to life from their golden sarcophagi, would share the same air with me. I was on pilgrimage.

Karnival calls for a pub crawl.

November 11th at 11:11 marks the start of a three month soiree. Introducing: Karnival. Karnival is a prelude celebration to Ash Wednesday, otherwise known as the beginning of Lent. So, what Germans and many other Europeans do is take advantage of every moment before their 40 days of spiritual fasting. The real parties don't kick up until the last minute and the biggest party of all isn't until Fat Tuesday. Still, we have to begin celebrating sooner or later, which is why Germans have deemed November 11th as an honorable starting point.

A family friend threw a party for children at her home in Dusseldorf which my kids and I gladly attended. A common tradition during Karnival festivities is to dress up in costumes that are similar to those worn on Halloween, but less spooky and more jovial. In this house we had more pirates than I have toes and enough Spidermen to last a lifetime. We stuffed those kids with so much sweet that even I, a renowned sweet tooth, was disgusted. Gummi Bear cake, Sweetie pie, banana chocolate muffins, strawberry lolly pops, sugar infused juices and cream cheese pizza. Diabetes was on a roll tonight.

When 6 o' clock came around and parents returned for their kids, the house was a wreck and I was freed from my duties. The party we attended was also thrown by the family my new friend Kate au pairs for. The Mom had suggested I go out for a change and spend the night there, so I packed my bags and prepared for a slumber afterparty.

Kate called up Sebastian, new friend #2, and we hit the town with our sights set on a pub crawl. First stop, Uerige, a traditional brewery that sells alt bier, the beer common and known to Dusseldorf. We made our way through the maze of the bar and into a private room in which we imbibed our first of many drinks that night.

Immediately ready for more, we wandered the streets of Old Town (the older part of the city) looking for a particular Spaniard who works in a bar that wasn't open that night. Instead, we flipped around to spot Stutton's Irish Pub where "everyone speaks English." We ordered a round of Hefinwizen and discussed morals and principles under the ebb of inebriation. Our waitress was wearing the latest in green-bottle fashions, so I politely asked her name (Laura) and took her picture. Heineken represent!

We later migrated to The Red Lounge where I was promised extremely good looking young men to which there were none. Kate managed to accidentally flirt with our British server, but that was the extent of it. We discussed viewpoints on Stella vs. Heineken and decided to settle for a Heine. I traveled all the way to Germany to order a beer that is invasive in the Pacific, it's heresy. Later, Sebastian and Kate took a shot the Romanian way:

We wrapped up our crawl with a place called The Pretty Vacant Club. As you can see, the sign above the door reads:

"Never mind the VIP
Here is the

PRETTY VACANT CLUB
Happy New Year"

Sebastian ordered us a nameless beer with lime (delicious) and we blatently stared at the only good looking guy in Germany. Unfortunately, he wasn't nearly as good looking up close. So, we downed our glasses and ran for falafels. Luckily, we also caught the last tram and made it home in one piece.

International Day

International Day is a special day put aside for my kids' international private school. Each grade transforms their area into another country full of fun facts, activities and crafts. Lunch was comprised of ethnic dishes that correspond to the countries that were represented. All the proceeds to the meals were donated to a school in Kenya, so eating was encouraged! (I had an amazing Ethiopian stew with a sourdough pancake, plus dessert from Turkey and tropical drinks from the Caribbean).

The Boys' grade transformed the classroom into a Kenyan safari. There was wild animal face painting, a Mancala game station, massive stuffed animals and zebras in every corner. Most importantly, it was in Kenya that I made my first friend in Germany.

Leave it to The Mom to shout introductions across a crowded room. "NICOLE!!! THAT'S KATE! KATE, THAT'S NICOLE!!" Bewildered, I scanned the class for some girl named Kate, assuming I needed to take her to the bathroom. It took a few minutes for true clarity to apparate (there are no spelling suggestions for that word, so does that mean I just quoted Harry Potter?) but after that we were gold.

This is indeed a momentous occasion. A friend, my age, finally, after three weeks in Germany. We did the whole exchanging numbers tidbit, which was a first for me and my new digits (I have recently been given a German simcard). We met again later in the Caribbean where the preschoolers threw a pirate party.

It was the most beautiful day since I've arrived and without the thought of a coat, I sat outside in my sundress and sweater. The massive sandbox was transformed into a treasure hunting spot full of shovels and chocolate coins. Some parent holding the chocolate money refused to give me one as the rules stated you had to find a voucher in the sand first. Rich people, I swear.

So fine, I grabbed a plastic shovel and jumped in that sandbox full of three year olds and dug a pit any pirate would have been proud of. Did I unearth anything? No. Was this not a game for toddlers? Some guy felt sorry for me and planted a coin to my right, which I immediately dug up and had to give to my kid. The game had potential, but man, that was too much work for very little/NO payoff. So, instead, my ingenuity took me to volunteer at the tattoo station where I freely stole chocolate coins when no one was looking. Take that, regulators of wealth.

Eventually it was just Kate and I immersed in talk of Germany and world travel. When we returned our watchful eye to the tattoos (which were actually a plethora of rubber stamps) the kids had gotten multiple colors of ink ALL OVER THEM! Shoot me now. Luckily, they did not belong to me, so I shooed them away and then relocated myself to the playgrounds.

Saint Martin's Day

This is a Catholic holiday that is celebrated throughout Germany the way non-Christians would celebrate Christmas (to a lesser degree). The story goes that good old Saint Martin was traveling the city on horseback one late autumns night when he came across a beggar. It was terribly cold out, and the beggar had very little clothing. So, Saint Martin (who I'm sure was just plain old 'Martin' at this time) cut his cape in half and gave it to the old man. So, his kindness not only turned him into a saint, but THE saint of generosity.

Why he didn't give the old man the whole coat is beyond me.

The tradition gets carried on through Saint Martins Day, which is November 7th, and the entire town gathers with their children to parade through the streets. This isn't what makes the holiday interesting. The best part is that the children all carry handmade lanternen, or lanterns, of all shapes, sizes, colors and creativity while singing the accompanying lanterne song.

In the front and rear of the parade are small matching bands, followed by a 72 year old man dressed up as Saint Martin riding the most majestic horse you've ever seen. At the finishing point of the parade is an incredibly massive bonfire where everyone gathers around to watch a mock performance of the fateful Saint Martin's Night, beggar, ripped coat and all.

When the performance is over, the children are given a bag full of goodies, which reinforce the idea of generosity, and varies in treats depending on the town. There is one commonality, however, and that is the weckmann. A weckmann is a sweet German bread that is shaped like a man, complete with the signature piece that defines this type of loaf - a pipe.

At this point, the kids are so happy with their treats that the parents are forced to carry the lanterns home. I made The Boy's lantern, a roboter, or robot. We ended up referring to it as Optimus Prime. Whatever, 5 year old boys can do what they like.
Optimus Prime and me (notice that even robots have hearts?... AND BRAINS!)

To sum it up gently

These are small tidbits of information that I've been slowly picking up about typical German lifestyles. For those of you who have never lived in Germany, you may find this interesting. For those of you who are from Germany, you may find everything I have to say pretty tacky.


Germans:

- Follow rules. They cross only when the walking man is lit and they will report your license plate if you drive poorly.

- Eat only one hot meal a day: Lunch. Breakfast and dinner are comprised of bread and cheese. And for the hot meals that Germans do eat, you guessed it, is a lot of sausage and sauerkraut.

- Have this weird contraption built into their house that causes all the windows and doors to be boarded up. It's like how a store in the mall closes by rolling down a garage-like gate. So, at night, Germans close up shop on their homes. Introducing, The Rolladen:


- Ride bicycles at all ages.

- Are extremely environmentally conscious. Garbage gets separated into compartments: Plastic, paper and general trash. You must pay for how much you dispose, which discourages needless consumption and purchasing. Water is heavily taxed to encourage conservation. There are wind turbines scattered across the countryside and gas is like $14 a gallon. Don't even think about littering.

- Actually do wear those leather britches that you see on yodelers.


Germany:

- Shuts down on Sundays. The law states that no shop is allowed to be open on this day and to be open requires special and regulated government permissions. Some stores that are open: Bakeries (though only special licensed bakeries and then only during certain hours nationwide), churches and breweries (Bread, God and beer. It's all a German needs).

- Is primarily Catholic (thus the observation of doing nothing on Sundays) and they celebrate events such as All Saints day and Names Day, Ash Wednesday and Easter.

- Like, invented Christmas. And gummy bears.

- Has a different kind of beer for each town. So, while Wassenberg is knows for a beer that is dark and has a heavier taste, Koln, a neighboring city, has something lighter with less hops. Also, beer brewed in Germany are only allowed 4 general ingredients. This means no preservatives. What you drink is as fresh as you can get.

German Halloween

Germans, generally, don't participate in Halloween. It is originally an Irish custom that leaked into America where it got shot up with commercial steroids and became loosely known around the rest of the world. The Kids attend an international school that decided to participate in Halloween by throwing multiple parties for different grades.

First, The Mom and I attended a small underwhelming party for kindergartners. After eating a delicate meal of sugar, cupcakes, brownies, cookies, chips and juice, the little monsters had a dance party in the middle of the room instigated by The Mom (she's a riot). This was followed by a game of Pin-the-wart-on-the-witch and a craft of glitter-facing mini pumpkins.

The cafeteria party was a mixture of everyone up to third grade full of streamers and wild spider webs that attack innocent au pairs. Because this is a private school, the snack food included things like capri sun (don't even mention a community barrel of fruit punch, these kids are individuals!), high-end pastries, rich chocolate displays, and an over abundance of FRUITS which nobody ate.

The whole time, I snacked. In fact, I was snacking before I even the left the house, rummaging through our bowl of trick-or-treat candy and picking out the ones I had never seen (and even the ones I had). "Cultural experience," I said, justifying my unhealthy consumptions.

The party ended after pumpkin bowling, mummy wrap, a dance party, a snack fest, and a boy threw up. We took the leftovers ("It's candy shopping!" I told The Girl, and this pleased her very much, so we went around the cafeteria grabbing candy from bowls and putting it in her bag) and booked it.

But wait. The Mom brought 5 giant bales of hay to the party that needed to be returned to the farm the next day. SO, after The Kids went home with The Dad, The Mom and I loaded up the same 5 giant bales of hay back into her car and drove off. As we were halfway home, The Mom sniffed around and asked is I could smell something burning. So I take a whiff of the air, ignoring the pungent fumes of barnyard animal stink, and agree that there seemed to be a hint of smoke. Not sure if it was coming from the inside or out, The Mom rolled both our windows down. Before we could even get a good smell of the air, she screamed, "HAY, HAY, HAY, HAYYY!!!!" Although the hay was in bales, most of it was still lose and with the torrent of fresh air streaming currents through the back, it all kicked up and went flying. I ducked, I closed my eyes, I held my breath. Hay was spinning like a tornado throughout the car and the windows would not roll up fast enough. When all was settled, we had hay in our hair and hay on our clothes. Just a little hint of smoke caused so much chaos.

Anyway, at home, I completely abandoned The Mom by staying home and leaving her with 12 trick-or-treating children. I'm sorry, but I am barely able to withstand the walk from the parking lot to the school and so I will definitely not walk a loop around the neighborhood for one hour. Instead, I stayed home, cleaned up and passed out candy to about eight rounds of children. I even started to crochet.

So, Surprise, it's just standard Halloween procedure. There's nothing different about Halloween in Germany, except that it's lesser known and scarcely participated. I'm almost sorry to disappoint.

Happy Halloween.

The Wild Park

This past Saturday, the family and I went to the Wild Park. It's like the zoo in that animals are caged in and separated by species, but it is done in their natural habitat. They have extremely large spaces in which to roam which is the biggest differentiating factor between the wild park and the zoo.

We had the option of purchasing a bag of little food pellets which we could feed to certain animals. It doesn't seem safe in my head, but if thousands of kids do it than surely I could too (of course, I do blame the US for their overabundance of rules, regulations and restrictions. Now I'm afraid that everything will hurt me). So to the left is a picture of me and a mountain goat and, needless to say, I had never touched a mountain goat before. They pretty munch inhaled the pellets while dropping loads of spit onto my palm. The look of disgust on my face should just give you an idea of how that felt.

Some animals left me unimpressed (like the bear. A bear's a bear) but the moose was another story. I had never seen a moose before and to have one so close was a surprise. I expected all large animals to be weary of humans and choosing to graze at the farthest edge of the fence (like the bear). Yet, there was the moose, gentle and unafraid. I was in love with its large body and awkward legs. It just struck me as such a humble creature. So, naturally, moose became my favorite animal.

One of the more interesting creatures were the albino deer. For one, they were deer and I never see deer, and then for two, they were freaks of nature with no pigmentation. Of course I'm going to adore them. As you can see by the pictures, the animals tend to follow you around, especially if they are hungry and no one else is in the park. It's common for the alpha male of any animal species to push the females and babies aside and hog all the food. In fact, the male ram would actually headbutt the bodies of any other ram that was being fed. This immature and selfish behavior ensured that no males got fed by me. Take that, testosterone.

All in all it was a great experience. I have a tendency to realize the extent of my ignorance once I'm placed in new situations. The family thought I was a riot to go nuts over squirrels and raccoons (which were just as cute as my stuffed animals!!!) I suppose I'd better live this momentary fascination up before garden pests and cold weather become jaded.

Au Pairs meet famous people too.

Today we drove again into Dusseldorf where H and I took some time to walk around the city. We split a Belgium waffle which is actually eaten like bread. Syrup would only mask the decadence of a true Belgium waffle: soft, with pockets of sweet and covered in powdered sugar. As we pass Kings Ally ("Why is it called Kings Ally?" "Because the stores here are so expensive that only Kings could afford it") and into the center part of town. My jaw drops. There in the front of my eyes is the largest H&M I have ever seen. It was three stories at least of highly fashionable and extremely affordable clothing. "Girl, this is a European brand. You're going to find them everywhere." With that said, I have come to two conclusions. 1) I foresee where my paychecks are going and 2) I may never leave Europe again.

Then we walked over to a sushi restaurant (which is common being that Dusseldorf has the largest population of Japanese in Europe) to wait for her husband and a few business contacts. Apparently, the largest golfing magazine in Japan wanted to do an 11 page spread on her husbands company that would circulate throughout Japan, Europe and the US. I suppose with something that juicy resting on a silver platter, the least you could do is entertain. ("It's really just a bunch of bull shit," he confessed). There was a few German businessmen, the golfing journalist, the head of a leather golf bag company and a high profile fashion photographer who shot for places like GQ, Esquire, Marie Claire and the New York Post. I should also mention that his clientele ranges from popular fashion models to Giorgio Armani.

I actually thought this job might be remotely predictable. Set hours, clean this, play with that... but the truth is that I could end up in the Netherlands by 6 o'clock or shaking the hand of a man who has captured it all. That's actually overwhelming.

I've already fallen in love with German bread, Belgium waffles and Irish butter. I suppose this is the year of living it up. Tomorrow: Friday. I have no idea what we're doing beside eating eis (ice cream!! I know German).