New Orleans - Fun Activities, Part 1

I'm going to take us on a trip via the "wayback" machine to March 2014 (not so way back, but work with me here). My wife and I, with our friend Amy, decided to take a trip to New Orleans (henceforth to be known by the acronym: NOLA). Among the activities, we had to participate in a cooking class. Oh, but taking a cooking class in NOLA is like going through the drive-thru at McDonald's, only 100x more expensive, right? Wrong.

It all depends upon what kind of experience you want to have.

I'm all about experience, and not about price--although I trend to the cheap side. Here's where my absolute thumbs up cooking school and culinary entertainment provider comes into play: Langlois. Caveat:  Because my experience is nearly three years old, the method of delivery (going to their own brick-and-mortar establishment in the Marigny district) has since changed. They now provide various entertainment offers, many of which take place at established, well-regarded restaurants in the city, or at a private home. Therefore, the charm of a small, former corner grocery located outside the bounds of tourist-thick French Quarter, is no longer an option. But like I said: EXPERIENCE, and Langlois mixes culinary know-how with storytelling like no other!

Ours was an intimate class of 7, and, while time has taken away memories of the exact dishes that we learned to prepare (chicken was involved, as were fat pasta noodles made from scratch), but we did come away with stories of how NOLA and Creole cuisine came to be. Needless to say, NOLA's culinary history is a melange of various cultures and comes together in the modern day in a bodacious taste experience! And the cooking school provided us with wonderful recipes that I use to this day (especially Cured Smoked Pompano--although I prefer to use salmon and trout for this one).

And if you don't believe me, try these reviews for size.

Give Langlois a go. If you're in the mood to call them, they can be reached at 504-934-1010, or try the contact form at this link. 

Bon appetit et laissez les bontemps roulez!!

Tips to Create a Memorable Villa Rental Experience, Part 2 - The "What"

I admit to a lack of consistency on doing Part 2 from my September entry, but if you read the entry "New Beginnings" you'll get a pretty good idea about why I haven't entered Part 2... until now.

For those who don't recall Part 1, in that post, I discussed the WHO, WHERE and HOW of this kind of venture. Now, we address the "WHAT".

What? OK, it revolves around "What kind of property do I choose?" And this is largely a function of 1) personal taste; 2) sense of adventure; 3) income and/or net worth; and 4) budget and willingness to go well over said budget.

For the Nifty 50 adventure, we thought in terms of practicality and honed in on the cheapest accommodations for maybe 15 persons. But here's the catch:  Europeans are not accustomed to something as rule-breaking as a "you fly, we buy" kind of proposition. Europeans are, to their credit, very serious about planning their holidays, and will do so well in advance of the date. So, here are my best practices:

1. Have a location or at least a region in mind. We were a bit loosey-goosey about this: anywhere in Europe as long as it's near the ocean or sea. Result? WIDE OPEN OPTIONS! If you have a drop-dead, must-have, nowhere else will do locale in mind, then stick with it. And then open up your options a bit further. If you are focused on the Côte d’Azur in France, expand your horizons:  The Italian Riviera is just as lovely; the hamlet of Menton is a stone's throw from the Italian border, and well within 60-90 minutes by train to Nice, Languedoc and Luberon are awesomely charming and have much to offer. It took us a little while to narrow in on Italy, but the key moment was when Vivian said, "I've never been to Italy before." This, and my spouse's Italian heritage made it an easy choice.

2. Search well in advance (start 12 months ahead), but the real shopping doesn't start until 7-8 months before the event. My early inquiries were met with teaser price points and nebulous descriptions, no matter what the website:  Airbnb.com, Homeaway.com, VRBO.com, etc. As we grew close to that 7 month point, we started narrowing down choices. But NEVER discount the "must have" parts of the rental property. And be prepared to bust your budget, especially if it's a once-in-a-lifetime event. More on that later. After numerous properties that were anywhere from 30-100 km from the beach, and toying with properties on freshwater lakes in the middle of Italy, I decided to do a "what the hell" search and stumbled upon this little gem (click on link). It was well outside our budget, but it was RIGHT. ON. THE. BEACH!! And in retrospect, it was the absolute perfect venue for our celebration.

3, Always maintain a sense of flexibility regarding the "must-have's." And be prepared to compromise with yourself and your partners in crime.

4. Search in Google for more obscure rental websites. They may not pan out for you, but you may
gather ideas about a property, about which you never before thought.

5. If sticking within a budget is key, you may have to compromise on the country. But let that be part of the adventure! There are affordable and beautiful venues in Eastern Europe, and in Portugal. Not everyone has the wherewithall to plant their flag on a Mediterranean beachhead, so keep those options open!

6. Be sure to research costs that are beyond the property itself! We found it necessary to rent a car, and that is a pricey thing. So if you don't want to rent a vehicle (they are always quite pricey in Europe--and that's because fuel is much more expensive there than in the USA), then focus on locales within a comfortable walking/busing distance from the property. But this will undoubtedly narrow the choices quite a bit, unless you are open to an urban vacation. Get an idea about how much basic groceries cost in your area of focus. Again, Google will be your best friend for this.

7. Develop a preliminary budget including the cost of the property, and then tack on 20%. Believe me, that's not an exaggeration. In fact, you may want to consider 30% above the budget to be more realistic.

8. If you are not willing to be adventurous in renting from an "untested" landlord, then look exclusively for rated properties. The one we rented outside of Terracina had several reviews, which was a source of comfort.

There it is. Best practices for "The What" of renting a villa. Well there is No. 9: KEEP AN OPEN MIND. I expected our villa to be a stand-alone property. It was, in fact, shared with another family (a wall seperated us and we barely interacted, outside of the prerequisite "Buongiorno" and "Buona Sera!" In addition, the property as advertised did not disclose that the kitchen was separate from the house, but that was actually a cool perk: breakfast, lunch and dinner in the great outdoors (with a roof over our heads). This is one of the things that made this experience one-of-a-kind.

If you have questions or need clarification on best practices, please leave a comment. I promise to answer you when I can! Happy house hunting!!

Displaced: Empathy for the Homeland-less

I'm taking a departure from the joys and weirdness of travel and 50-dom, to share some reflection. About two months ago, I and a small contingent of relatives attended the funeral of my mother's cousin, Albina. This was a particularly heartbreaking episode of life, as I had accompanied my mother, Albina's only surviving relative of their generation, and observed her before, during and after the funeral.

My mother, 88 years old, with fading hearing and some fading memories, didn't have extensive contact or conversations with Albina in the last few years; dementia took those opportunities for conversation away. But I could see in her eyes and her expressions some of the memories that she held of her and her other departed family members, spanning from childhood in Lithuania, to displacement to refugee camps, to resettlement in Germany, and, finally, emigration and settlement in Chicago, before other life events took my part of the family north to Wisconsin. 

But what struck me as particularly insightful was the observation by the minister who was presiding over the funeral service. The minister, a woman who, as it turned out, was of Lithuanian heritage (and spoke it fluently), actually was born and raised in Germany. German was her native language (and, I'll say as well, she spoke with a really clear, fluent South Side Chicago accent!). She spoke to our small congregation of mourners of Albina (and, indeed, all of my Lithuanian relatives of that generation) being "displaced persons". 

Imagine, the tragedy of feeling compelled to leave behind all that you've known, the native soil that was part of the fiber of your very being--in your DNA, leaving behind worldly possessions that could not be carried away in a small sack or on your back, leaving behind your beloved pets (my mother still cries to this day, thinking about her little dog left behind to fend for itself). Being displaced is not some temporary condition. It's commitment that is foisted upon you by circumstances beyond your control. And it is the difference between life and the promise of a new prosperity, and death and the suffering of being a persona non grata in your own homeland.

The minister tied this together with something that has been very real and very discomfiting for a good portion of the Western world: the flood of refugees from the Middle East and Africa pouring into Europe. I make no judgement on those pro- or anti-refugee. Both sides have legitimized their opinions to become nearly hard as granite. And I have my own opinions formed by my parents and my experiences that have caused me to push the bounds of my own experience. We also have had an election in my home country that was influenced in part by visceral reactions to an perceived influx of unsavory displaced persons.  No matter where you are, there is one thing that seems to be overlooked: How does that person, who is giving up their home and their national identity, feel? Where are they emotionally? And what impact will that have on the generations in their families that follow?

Think about it from this perspective: Albina told the tale of when she cut her knee and there was some soil that never was washed out of the wound. She proudly stated that she had Lithuanian soil in her and took it with her when the wound healed. Proud. But the only soil of her homeland that she touched as an adult, was the soil within her healed wound. She never went back to her homeland. The same goes for my mother: she never went back, and with 100% surety, she never will.

So what's the moral? Step outside of yourselves for a moment. Give a friendly smile to someone with a strange accent and, perhaps, a different skin tone than yourselves. As a matter of fact, try talking and having a conversation without an agenda or a response in mind. More understanding and commonality has been discovered when we move to be more extemporaneous in our interactions. In a highly divided society made moreso in the last few weeks, we desperately need to set aside our own agendas and our own silos of existence, and we need to open ourselves up to new people, experiences, places and things. We need to return to a more humane and more social existence. 

If we don't, the displacement may well be visited upon us before too long. Thank you for your indulgence with my introspection.

*****

Be well and be at peace during this season of holy days for various faiths. If this has moved you, please let me know (in the comments), and pass it on. Post this in Facebook or Twitter or any other social media method you use to share.

New Beginnings

I haven't posted on this blog for several weeks, and the primary reason has been due to some added pressure being placed on me at my day-job, or, more appropriately, what is now my FORMER day-job.

So it is a new beginning, as of 1 December. And I'd like to use this as my processing point because it is difficult to process the feeling of freedom and the feeling of feeling absolutely lost. As is the purpose of this blog, it is about life and how to live it (and sometimes how not to live it), so if this resonates with you, please comment and tell me.

I won't go into detail. Ultimately, being set free is a good thing. What matters is that I no longer have a structure set upon me vs. developed by me for my optimal purpose.

So here are the circumstances: no steady income stream; my insurance runs out at the end of the month (Merry Christmas!); my wife left her job at the end of September and we are both living an unstructured existence, and at times, we are at each others' throats. 

So, what to do? First, EVERYONE needs structure in their lives. Its what get things done. I've developed a duration-based schedule for now, to ensure I'm doing things that need to be done each day (e.g. Work on the blog for 2 hours each day, housekeeping for 2 hours each day, working out for 1 hour each day, etc.), which gives flexibility to fudge blocks of time to deduct from one day and apply it to another day. That has helped. But now I am deciding that I need more structure (and imagine that! I HATED being structured and yearned for a non-structured existence. But the reality is that I hated having a structure foisted on me without my full cooperation and participation). 

I've decided to make my apparent unemployment my job, complete with time to get up, shower, drink tea or coffee, etc. There is a comfort in knowing that neither my subconscious nor my wife have to ask me "what's your plan for the day?" I have it all in hand, and I will share a sample daily plan in a later entry.

There is the obligatory search for work--to seek out de minimis a part-time, benefits-laden gig to help me gain more traction in making this blog work monetarily and in a self-actualizing way. My career is that of a writer, and very few have a comfortable life relying solely on their craft. But I'm not too proud to work a "menial" job if the benefits are there. In my humble opinion, the front-line, the laborers, the line cooks, the gardeners, the ditch diggers, all who make the final product or do the actual service are the most honorable of anyone in business. They should be compensated accordingly, but that is an issue best addressed by the masses. Once the unemployment funds run out, then its time to scramble for more disposable income (of course Uber and Lyft come to mind for that, for flexibility and quick earnings).

And there is time to dedicate to blogging--to learn, to grow, to network. So I have my work cut out for me for now. It's been 2 weeks since I "left the business" (as my former employer so liked to position departures). But before I end this entry, here are the things I reflect on to keep me motivated: 1. My former direct-report team so loved and respected me that they didn't pull any punches with the leaders who announced my departure, and they pooled their resources to give me a really sweet, heart-warming gift that told me that everything (and I mean EVERYTHING) that I did as their leader was the right thing and the good thing; 2. Sleep is really, really good. And having 8 hours of sleep each day makes me feel truly ready to conquer the coming day; 3. Catching up on reading that doesn't involve the latest flavor of management self-help--right now I'm re-reading the Autobiography of Henry VIII. It's really as good as it was when I first read it 20 years ago; 4. No excuses to NOT work out and /get some sweat going. After all, my calendar is pretty clear.

More to come, everyone. This is an evolving existence midway through my life.

Tips to Create a Memorable Villa Rental Experience, Part 1

A couple of weeks ago, I returned from an extended vacation in Europe. Included in this was what I could only describe as a YOLO (You Only Live Once)/ "You Fly, We Buy," one-of-a-kind milestone birthday experience: From July 30th to August 15th, my wife and I, and my dear college friend and her family, pooled our resources and hosted family and friends to "crash" our rented villa. The catch here was that the villa was smack-dab on one of the most beautiful beaches in the world: Lido Circeo near Terracina, Italy. There were some growing pains and stressful moments along the way, but in the end, the success factor was judged by the unsolicited comments of those who made it to the villa (the judgement factors: 1. without any prompting whatsoever, the words "best idea ever" and "the best trip ever" were stated numerous times by different parties; and 2. the number of tears shed by both adults and children upon departure).  Although the experience was not picture perfect, it was much better than expected. Over a series of posts, I'd like to share my tips on how to identify, book and enjoy your YOLO experience to celebrate whatever milestone you choose, to make it truly a one-of-a-kind experience.

Part 1:  Choose Wisely

A little backstory for you:  I had initially thought of this as a fantasy--as unattainable as my middle class existence would dictate: for my 50th birthday, I wanted to rent a big, fancy villa (or a castle), and invite my family and friends to fly over and crash at our temporary home. It was a "You Fly. We Buy" concept, but of course, the catch was that I was dead set on renting something in Europe. My wife, ever the pragmatic Gemini, suggested that to keep it more reasonable and attainable, we rent a cabin in northern Wisconsin or at least host it at a place on the North American continent. 

Of course, I dismissed this right away--and thus it remained a fantasy.

Fast forward to February 2015 and a surprise visit by my college friend, Vivian, who came to my town to attend a mutual friend's 50th birthday party. As it turned out, the party was a blast, we both had fun, we both had a quick lesson in curling (go figure!) and the weekend was to end as uneventfully as it started. Mother Nature had other plans. And so the impromptu, "short" overnight stay turned into an extended 4 day visit--complete with blizzard and unadvisable driving adventure (in a blinding snowstorm) to get frozen custard. During this extended weekend visit, I revealed my fantasy "you fly, we buy" event, and we started searching for villas for kicks. One thing led to another, and we both decided that this was not such a hare-brained idea (no offense to creatures of the lapin variety). In fact, the more we searched, the more attainable it appeared to be, if we shared our resources. Vivian shared her viewpoint (she's a cancer survivor and knew people who never made it to magic number 50), and I legitimized it on my end by relating the story of a high school acquaintance who had terminal cancer, had planned to make a last visit to my home town, and passed away prior to it--never reaching 50. And we both, being first generation Americans, whose parents were from the European continent, were dead set on having a shin-dig in Europe: no ifs, ands or buts.

And thus the crazy fantasy of mine grew wings.

As time flew by and stress grew stronger, and more plans were made, we had basic logistics to decide: WHEN, WHERE, WHO, and WHAT. We already had the WHY. Being a childless couple, my wife and I preferred a shoulder-season event, but Vivian (a schoolteacher and mother of a pre-teen daughter) could only venture during the summer hiatus. Fine. We have a time... ish.

Where? Vivian wanted to accommodate her fair-skinned husband and suggested somewhere where mountains could be hiked, but within reasonable driving distance of a beach. I thought, "Fine. Doable." But secretly, I wanted to be as close to salt water as possible. And Vivian admitted that this was her desire as well.

But where? Croatia (my wish; but Vivian had been there a couple of years prior)? Italy (ooh... Vivian was never in Italy, but I had been there)? Greece? Spain? Portugal (outside chance--we were both pretty set on the Mediterranean)? Hmmm.... to be determined....

WHO? Ah hah! Do a Facebook invite! Nuf said! (Well, there are other ways to invite, and in retrospect, because a good portion of my relatives in Germany are not active on Facebook, this ended up a point of criticism). But you have to invite those you desire to be there,... And maybe those you're not quite sure of, but like based upon past experience.

WHAT? Ah, that's a good one.  Our search focused on Airbnb.com and HomeAway.com (with the occasional VRBO.com and TripAdvisor.com visit, as well as outside searches of European villa rental firms). This is what we'll focus on below.

Before we focus on the WHAT, let's go over best practices for the WHO, WHERE, and WHEN. So here goes....

WHO: you can try the FB event invite, and, for the most part, it worked, but I did receive a lot of "feedback" (criticism) from relatives who have better things to do than hang out on FB. So my suggestion is to put together a list of primary, secondary and even tertiary invitees. Gather their emails (and if they still believe in 1950's era communication methods, try snail mail and telephone). Keep a good record of who you invite, because you will find that there is a point where you attain a critical mass of YES attendees, and may have to engage in some creative accommodating.

WHERE: nail this down as quickly as possible. We started out with "I don't care, as long as it's near the sea." Well, this still creates a wide-open option: how far from the sea? And the qualifier "near the sea" includes approximately 26 European countries, ranging from Norway to Malta, from Portugal to Turkey. Choose wisely. Be specific in your desires. And--most importantly for the WHAT portion--what are your "nice to haves" and your "must have or no go" needs for a venue? If you are truly open, then you have the option of either making your partner be specific on the country (which, if I depended solely on my wife, would end up being an endless lesson in geography and why Sweden is not located near the Greek isles). BE SPECIFIC of your intended country to visit. Then nail down how far you are willing to drive to do some of your favorite activities. In other words, what are you willing to go through hell and back for, and what are you not willing to do?  This is very important. You will find that driving customs in other countries are "unique" and at some point you will find a "F@*k it" point of no return--whether you don't care or you just won't venture past the front door. Do some creative research here: if you're traveling to Scandinavia, you'll find the drivers are courteous and law-abiding... and the petrol is outrageously priced, even for European standards (and if you drink any alcohol, you'll find a rude awakening from the sin taxes applied to any alcoholic beverage there). If you're traveling to Italy, the petrol is pretty pricey for European standards AND (as a Scottish travel once remarked when we were in Sicily), "the Italian are quite nice, once you get them out of their automobiles." But the food is quite reasonably priced AND fresh!

WHEN:  Nail this down too. Shoulder season will definitely be cheaper. And if you go in high season (June through early September, for Europe), KNOW THE MAJOR HOLIDAYS in your destination country! Example: we chose to rent from July 31 to August 15 in Terracina, Italy. Here's the rub: August 15 is Ferragosto--and all of Italy almost literally shuts down for Ferragosto (and most of Italy goes on vacation for a couple of weeks after Ferragosto). If cost is your foremost concern, knowledge is power. Summer is expensive. Period. Just deal with that. Otherwise, if you have friends and family who are more flexible, then shoulder season might just be the ticket!

Now for the WHAT.... That is what Part 2 is for. 

Oh, come on! You didn't think I would just spill my guts in one posting, did you? Besides, there's more to come! Now do your homework. This type of thing is attainable. It's also attainable if you intend on staying on the North American continent or in the Western Hemisphere.

Stay tuned for Part 2. And while you're waiting, here's a link to use for your Airbnb.com experience: https://www.airbnb.com/c/paulh136?s=41

For Us Childless Folks - Back to School?

Just for fun, everyone! Enjoy and pass it on!

  

The Non-Native German Speaker's Conundrum

I'm borrowing this one, so here's the link for the original post, courtesy of thelocal.at (Austria's News in English). 

My own personal bugaboo and one that I understand at the gut level has to do with verb structure--especially verbs in a subordinate clause: you always trail off at the end of sentences and never really finish your statements, because by the time you get to the verb at the end of the subordinate clause, you’ve forgotten what you were talking about to start with. So when the kindly native German-speaking person you’re chatting with helpfully adds in the verb on your behalf, you breathe a sigh of relief. I can't count the number of times this happened while talking with family members in Bamberg and Rhaunen!

You German speakers know it's true! If you have a long drawn out explanation, if you're not careful you'll forget the crux of the tale you're telling because of the freaking verb being at the end of the sentence!! And God forbid it's a past tense with a double infinitive!!

And don't get me started on multiple verbs in a row describing a past tense conditional statement in SUBJECTIVE!! If ever you find yourself in a lecture in Germany (Vorlesung, literally meaning "reading before an audience"), the lecturer might just take it at face value and READ IN FRONT OF THE AUDIENCE. The tell-tale sign (as I experienced in Freiburg, Germany as a student): 5 verbs in a row at the very end of a sentence. A conditional, subjective, indirect sentence with a double infinitive. Wow! 

Here's the text of the original post from thelocal.at:

15 tell-tale signs you’ll never quite master German

From stressing over the subjunctive to blagging your way through adjective endings, there are several subtle signs which reveal you’ll never become a true Meister of the German language

1. Der, die or das?

Your teacher probably taught you tips and tricks to help you remember the gender of a word, for example the rule that words ending in “chen” are generally neuter.

But when push comes to shove, all those pearls of wisdom fly straight out the window and let’s face it, when confronted with using the language in real life, it’s pretty much a random toss-up between “der”, “die” and “das”.

2. Subjunctive

Reported speech is a complete nightmare to you, because the full extent of your knowledge of Konjunktiv 1 is “sei” and anything else totally mystifies you.

Embarking on a sentence involving K1 is a recipe for disaster - it’ll suddenly dawn on you that you’ve bitten off far more than you can chew.

Cue desperate backtracking and resolving never to use reported speech ever again.

3. What was that again?

After asking “wie bitte?” three times in a row and failing to understand the person’s response every time, you resign yourself to just nodding and saying “Ja, natürlich!”, even though you don’t have a clue what they’re on about.

It’s all about blagging your way through it, you tell yourself.

4. Verb at the end

You always trail off at the end of sentences and never really finish your statements, because by the time you get to the verb at the end of the subordinate clause, you’ve forgotten what you were talking about to start with.

So when the kindly Austrian person you’re chatting to helpfully adds in the verb on your behalf, you breathe a sigh of relief. 

5. Numbers and letters

Taking someone’s number and spelling out their name is an absolute nightmare for you.

The German A sounds like the English R, the German E is similar to the English A, and the German I is the same as the English E.

Tying yourself in knots whilst writing down someone’s name, you angrily think that whoever created the language was deliberately trying to trip you up.

And numbers completely stump you every time. After asking the person to repeat their number about twenty times, you finally get down the correct sequence of digits. Phew!

6. Passive or active?

The passive is a total minefield to you.

By the time you’ve wrestled with tenses and conjugations and finally worked out how to say “The apple was eaten by the man”, it’s practically midnight.

But you’re wise to this conundrum, so whenever an opportunity to use the passive rears its head, you just slam it down with “man” followed by the active. Bingo.

7. Prepositions and Contractions

Although you were taught that “von dem” can be shortened to “vom”, and “zu der” can be shortened to “zur”, you have a hard enough time remembering which case to use after these prepositions, let alone managing to use contractions on top of that!

Oh German grammar, how we love you.

8. Slang

You’ve always secretly longed to try out a few pieces of slang and fit right in with your Austrian mates, but when the time comes, you can never quite pluck up the courage to exclaim “bist du deppert!” or "urleiwand".

Maybe just leave that to the locals.

9. Duzen and Siezen

You think you’re pretty hot on the rules for when to use “du” and when to use “Sie”. But for some reason you still say “Entschuldigung Sie bitte” in a bizarre display of formality to everyone you meet, even your best pals.

10. Whaaat?

At school you learnt all the stock phrases like “wie bitte?”, “könnten Sie das bitte wiederholen?” and “könnten Sie bitte ein bisschen langsamer sprechen?” to trot out and buy you some more time if all things German suddenly became Greek to you.

But when the chips are down, your brain turns to toffee and you just blurt out the first thing that comes into your head: “Was?”

11. Adjective endings

Although you learnt the table of adjective endings until you could say it standing on your head when you were in school, you don’t have the foggiest about it now.

Anything goes, as you randomly stick an “en” on the end of one word and arbitrarily pop an “em” on the end of another, clutching at straws in the faint hope that one of those endings might just be correct.

Just fake it til you make it, hey?

12. Phone calls

Just the thought of initiating a phone conversation with a native Austrian speaker makes you want to run a mile in the opposite direction.

You never realise how much you rely on lip-reading until you’re confronted with a Vorarlberg accent on the other end of a very crackly phone line. You’re left wondering how on earth you’re going to even understand what the person is saying, let alone respond in any vaguely coherent way.

13. Umlauts are pesky little buggers.

You know that you’ll never quite master the difference in pronunciation between the regular “u” and the umlauted “ü”.

“Kuchen” and “Küche” will nearly always sound the same in your accent, causing utter confusion with whoever you’re speaking to!

14. Double infinitive

When you manage to correctly use the double infinitive in modal sentences about the past, such as “Ich habe Deutsch lernen können”, you feel like a total winner at life.

But then your friend reminds you that you could save yourself a lot of hassle by using the much easier alternative “Ich konnte Deutsch lernen”, and bam! You get knocked straight off your high horse with a jolt.

15. Spelling your own name

Even though the alphabet is probably the first thing you learnt at school, it all goes to pot when you’re under pressure.

When you finally get your coffee cup, there’s a completely unintelligible selection of letters on the side that looks like the random mish-mash of letters produced by the cat walking over your keyboard.

Travel Improv 2, or Whatever Doesn't Kill You, Makes You Stronger

Time to finally document the story for generations (and maybe some time later I'll tell you how I almost died falling down the side of a mountain in Morocco while trying to change a flat tire). This is Murphy's Law, only turbo-charged.

I begin our story benignly, with the wife and I being the last of the Terracina Villa inhabitants to exit. All was well, just a little scratchiness in my throat, which I thought was from the combination of swallowing sea water the day before and the Ferragosto Eve revelry that had me up until at least 1:30am. As I exit the entire complex and within moments of hitting Via Pontina for the drive to Lido di Ostia and our last hurrah in Italia, I have a coughing fit and start sneezing. Oh shit.... And... My body has decided that two-plus years of planning this spectacular success of a celebration has run its course,.... In other words, my body said: "Peace out, yo!"

It wasn't a struggle driving to Ostia, but, I thought of other things I could be doing instead of driving, like ogling young, lithe Italian bathing beauties on the beach in Terracina. But I digress.... After much ennui in the Audi A1, a pee break, and an annoyingly slow negotiation of a beach traffic-congested main drag leading right into Ostia, we finally made it. We parked our car near the closest commuter rail station (in what seemed like a legit parking space), trudged to where our B&B would be, and... Waited... And waited... And,..oh an email: "Be there in 30 minutes..." Swell. The street is deserted. Ferragosto in full bloom. It's true! Italy DOES do a quick exit at Ferragosto! Well,... doesn't that just beat all!

OK, we finally made it to the the B&B, checked in, and I am overcome with a dreaded sense of exhaustion. Just a short nap, I pleaded. Then I'll get the rest of the bags and make sure the car is all secure.  Three hours, and a severe case of discombobulation later, I finally get the bags, move the car, and high-tail it back to the B&B. It is at this time that my malaise has become a full-blown nasty-ass head cold.

I plead with the Mrs. to head around the corner for some pizza take-out and hunker down into bed for some much needed rest. As I peruse the satellite TV channels, I notice that there is a curious over-abundance (my estimate was approximately 500 channels--no exaggeration) of Islamic channels emanating from every possible "-Istan" in the world. OK, BBC World News will be our companion tonight!

Let's fast forward to our exit from Italy. In the meantime, a suggestion by my friend, Tini, on a cure for my malaise (consisting of lots of vodka and a hot shower) seemed to do the trick! Yay me! Yay Tini! The night before we were to leave, I decided to check the Air Canada website for the status of our flight number on today's flight and the prior two days (I'm a numbers guy; if there's a trend of relatively on-time departure, we're as good as gold). Alas....

Today's flight left after 5pm.... Nearly SIX HOURS after scheduled departure. WTF!?!?!?!? I then checked the scheduled departure for tomorrow's flight AC891: DELAYED... 1pm. OK. Not too bad.... We can still catch our connecting flight.... Rest easy.... As the packing is completed and we settle in for the night, I decide to check on the status of our flight the next morning. DELAYED UNTIL 2pm! Hmmm.... This is a statistical trend that is not trending in a positive direction. But for the sake of positivity, I spin it to the Mrs. that there's good news! We can get up 90 minutes later than we had planned! Hey! At least we KNOW it's delayed for 2.5 hours!

Morning of departure: check the website... DELAYED.... 2:40pm departure! OK,... Positive POV here: at least it' s not 5pm! Oh wait, there's more: a message from Air Canada: We have rebooked your connecting flight for 8:30pm to Chicago.

OK, positivity: Air Canada is being proactive. Good on you, folks! And now the morning can be a little bit more leisurely. We'll, hop on the airport bus and do what we need to do.

Fast forward to Fiumicino Airport.  We are winding our way through the maze, and the Air Canada check in is ALL THE WAY at the end of Terminal 3 opposite of where we are standing (harrumph!), and so we trudge down to the butt end of Terminal 3 departures. And lo and behold! A line snaking through the terminal that seems to end up at... Wait for it.... Air Canada!  This is not happening like in the movies!

The upside to this is that I was fed up with the relative slowness of the line and that there were multiple banks open, but only this line was going to one particular representative. So, after a quick inquiry with the ennui-rich other representatives, I pulled the wife, dragged the bags and checked in for our flight. Our bags were overweight, but luckily the rep was new and distracted, so we dodged that bullet. They even bought us lunch (and as it turned out, it was on the cheap, with plenty of restrictions, in a cafeteria style food court, not in a restaurant)! But I digress....

After a slight blow-up at the cafeteria, trying to convince the cashier-tron that the beer and wine that we had on our trays was not an attempt to sneak around the restrictions that Air Canada cheaply foisted upon it's weary passengers; we were going to PURCHASE the items. (Minor, I know, but at this point, I was completely saturated in sweat and frustration). And attempting to cool down from my boiling point, we had a leisurely lunch. Then head to the gate for the corral-like human experience... And... Wait... Wait.... OK, now we're at boarding time...and we...wait....and wait...now we are at departure time...and...ok, NOW the line is moving...good! Wife and I had to book separate seats, so we're on our separate journeys within the fuselage. Home free!

[SCREEEEEEECH!]

Me: Sir?
Old Crotchety Italian Gentleman--a.k.a. OCIG: [no response]
Me: Mi scusa. Signore?
OCIG: Eh?
Me: My seat. You are sitting in my assigned seat. Are you in this row?
OCIG: I no move.
Me: It's ok. If you are assigned next to me, I can accommodate you. Can I see your boarding pass?
OCIG: I pay extra for leg room. I no move. YOU move!

...and at this point, the traffic in the aisle and the other passengers' impatience has facilitated some interference by the attendants...

OCIG: I no move!
Me: [obviously at wits end] FINE! Where do you sit? I'll take your goddamned seat! I paid good money for an exit row, but sure, let me pile on more wasted money. JUST GET ME THE HELL OUT OF YOUR GODDAMNED COUNTRY!
[crickets...and stares....]

I've seen the ugly American, and it is me. [sigh]

Attendant A: Sir, thank you for doing that. It's an aisle seat, two rows back.
Me: Let's just make sure we're taking off soon.

I skulk off to a middle four seat on the aisle, easing my German-American male frame into an economy section seat two rows behind the beloved exit row seat I had won fair and square in the lottery called "seat reservations".  All this time, three different attendants are speaking to the OCIG in Italian, pleading with him to leave the seat he squatted so deftly. Five minutes later, a fourth attendant (Attendant D) taps me on the shoulder: "Sir, excuse me, is that your seat?"
Me: No
Attendant D: Then you're going to have to go to your assigned seat.
Me: See those three attendants conversing with that elderly gentleman there?
Attendant D: Yes?
Me: That's my assigned seat. You convince him of the error of his ways and get him to plant his derrière here--HIS assigned seat--and I promise you as God is my witness, I'll go to my assigned seat, with a smile on my face and a tap in my toes.
Attendant D: No need for dancing. We'll see about getting him somewhere else.
Me: Thank you.

And so 40 minutes of negotiation later, he still didn't go to his assigned seat. I did, and he caused another American mope to give up his Premium Economy seat for the OCIG.

Bene! Andiamo!  And around 3.5 hours after our originally scheduled takeoff time, we are bound for Toronto! Hallelujah!!

Now, normally I'd fast forward through this part, because it has little to do with Travel Improv, but I will have to add one small bit of advice for those of us broad of shoulder: aisle seats in the exit row are fine, but the window would be better. I was jostled around by lavatory-bound passengers and meal and snack-slinging attendants.  The Xanax pill I had taken did have one desired effect: I was relaxed and not anywhere near the ugly American I was an hour earlier. But in the nine hours in the air, only one was spent in a state of unconsciousness.

Now, landing... Good stuff. Immigration. Good stuff. Automated. Not bad. Then "pre-customs" for entering the USA. I think a number of American agents were hired for this, because just as our sizeable group of USA-bound passengers were piling onto the pre-customs snake, three of the agents went on break. I don't think Canadians would do this, or at least they'd announce their profound regrets about going on break and offer a Tim Horton's gift certificate or something like that.

The line is moving slowly, and we are approaching H-hour for the connecting flight to Chicago. The sweat is again pouring down my back. We get rushed through and begin to make our way to the gate, which is--you guessed it--ALL THE WAY AT THE END OF THE TERMINAL! The missus and I are hoofing it with 3 bags in tow (the other two are still somewhere en route to Chicago). The last moving sidewalk is in sight and we are less than 10 minutes from boarding time. I see the gate ahead of me. And I also see three teenage boys, with luggage in tow, finding the challenge of going the WRONG WAY on the moving sidewalk too irresistible.

Me:  YOU'RE GOING THE WRONG WAY.

Two of the teenagers immediately see the error of their ways, and exit the sidewalk, choosing the old-school method of non-confrontation.

The third--whom I'll call Gordie Howe, for reasons that will soon become clear--bellows toward me, "I'm well aware of that."

Hmmm.... OK, then. So he's well aware that he's coming up on an adult male walking toward a gate where his last flight connection to Chicago is about to board, increasing his velocity to that comparable to a mama Hippo about to defend it's calf from being attacked by a hyena. How did Newton's Law go?

[BOOM!] Gordie Howe was body-checked.

A voice from the side goes: "HEY! HE'S ONLY A TEENAGER!"

Me: I'm well aware of that! And considering that this young man was well aware of his running in the wrong direction on a moving sidewalk with an adult male walking hurried toward him, I'm confident he was well aware of the consequences of him being a jerk-off!

We move forward. We're at the gate. [huff, puff]

The wife gives me some words of admonishment about body-checking a jerk-off teenager, and I quickly translate her words to Charley Brown-esque "Wha-Wha-Wha".

And then it happens. "Attention all passengers of Air Canada flight 375. We are experiencing a delay in our originally scheduled takeoff time of 8:50pm. We cannot announce when we will begin boarding because there are a number of passengers still going through U.S. Immigration pre-screening. When U.S. Immigration officially closes at 9pm, we will then be able to announce our boarding time."

And my head begins to pound mercilessly against a nearest wall. I would suspect that I would receive a bill from the Toronto airport authority for repairs to one concrete column in Terminal 2.

Eventually we board--with the wife sequestering herself in a row without any neighbors. I am hoping against all hope that there is some sort of nitrogen gas injector available in the engines of the plan to cut some 40 minutes off of flight time. I guess that's not the case.

Last bus headed for home:  10:45pm
AC375 arrives at the gate in Chicago-O'Hare: 10:44pm

The only redeeming part of this portion of the homecoming is that, while the wife and I took some time to find a restroom and relieve ourselves, someone at the baggage claim did ourselves a proper and lifted the behemoths from the carousel onto the floor. They were the only sentinels left at the carousel when we got there.

Booking.com--my best friend in the whole wide world at this point--advised me that the O'Hare Hilton--just steps from where we were--was a mere $380. I opted for the Holiday Inn & Suites in Des Plaines, with a shuttle that arrived every 30 minutes, and a cost of only $170. Good choice on my part: two queen size beds in the suite, and each bed in it's own separate room. The wife was pleased at her good fortune of having sleep uninterrupted by my snoring. And I took the bed with the television nearby. Finally, a win-win outcome!

The next morning, we opt to take a bus relatively early. At least we could arrive at home before Noon, only a mere 18 hours later than we had intended! At the bus terminal, we were not so much greeted but rather accosted by a surly bus driver. Compound this with my inability to pull out an official ticket (I only had the payment receipt), and he was a treat. Then I pulled the "sorry--we've been in transit for 36 hours" card. He chilled out and accepted the payment receipt as proof of purchase.

Whew!

Things are looking up!

We are leaving. This is a good sign. Then, one mile outside of Kenosha, WI, the bus driver announces, "Uh,... There is a check engine light that just came on. For safety, I will need to pull over and take a look at what's going on."

I thanked the bus driver for his openness.

I then laughed hysterically.  The wife smiled with a toothy grin that I hadn't seen in a long time. It was just too true to be good!!

Ten minutes later--it was a false alarm--and we were off.  One hour later we were at our stop, and called our friend Doug to pick us up. Great! We're almost home!

[ring]
Me: What's up?
Doug: Anna's car won't start.
Me: What?
Doug: Anna's car won't start. It's dead.
Me: Um.... OK, what about my car?
Doug: Right. OK.

[ring]
Me: Hello?
Doug: You're car won't start. It's dead too.
Me: What the...?
Doug: Yeah....
Me: Can you pick us up in your Wranger? I can wait while Anna gets taken home.
Doug: We'll get this done.
Me: Great. See you soon.

We stuffed five bags and three grown humans (including our driver) into a 2004 Jeep Wrangler. We come home. Home sweet home.

Bags are dropped inside. And I head to the cars. Doug volunteers to leave his car for jumping the batteries.

Three hours later--3pm CDT--the cars are charged and I head straight to bed for a brief nap.

It was, after all, my reward for a king size edition of Travel Improv.

As we say at work: Whatever doesn't kill you, makes you stronger.  Amen to that!

Magical Moments and Groggy Bliss

Tough morning. I stayed up until 1AM chatting away with Margaret and David, who came in from London to stay with us, and Dan, who has been here in Terracina at the villa for the whole time. It was kind of sleepless, or more of a period of insomnia interrupted by brief fits of sleep, punctuated by the early AM departure of one couple (which, in my state of grogginess, sounded somewhat like tiptoeing elephants), and snoring of the men-folk.

At 5:30AM, I decided to take advantage of the silence and solitude, stepped out in my shirt and sleep shorts and walked the beach toward the town of Terracina in the east. 

What glorious colors awaited me in the eastern horizon! This was a magic moment! This was what the entire trip was about. The moment to stare at the wonder and beauty of the universe's creation and soak it all in. The beach was empty, except for a forest of closed umbrellas and flat tanning beds, with the occasional group of teens wrapping up their all-night bonding sessions (or make-out sessions, in some cases), and a few of the die-hard shore fishermen casting their last lines into the sea after spending the hours since the dying of the previous day.

Amazing. Words fail me to describe it. And they couldn't do justice to what I saw and what I felt. So maybe I can share a sliver of it with you in pictures. 

Enjoy. Savor the moment. 

Just know that I had something magical that can never be taken away.

Terracina: The land of radiant smiles and endless laughter. This fits it to a "T".

One more thing: Terracina

I just want to add that Terracina and environs have been a most delightful and extraordinarily pleasant way to spend a vacation.  The beach head north of the town of Terracina, going all the way past Porto Badino and toward San Felice Cercio is a sandy paradise, peppered with both private (paid) and public (free) beaches.  If you are looking to get away from it all, go camping. But if you want to get away from your English-speaking compatriots, this is a fabulous getaway.

By the way, as far as swimming in the ocean, I was most pleasantly surprised by the combination of sand and CRYSTAL clear water (no lie, folks!). In the area where I stayed (Lido Circeo), there is a gradual steepness in the water, that approximately 30 meters out, I was over my head. But then, you swim another 80-100 meters out, and you're back on your feet. Really cool!! The August weather was absolutely hot but the breeze made life tolerable on the beach.

There is an old part of Terracina uphill from the main town, filled with medieval buildings built atop Roman ruins, and a portion of the Via Appia evident within the Town Hall Square.  It's a great Roman scavenger hunt for the family! Combine this with the Temple of Jove in Anxur at the top of the hill, and you have a delightful mini day trip.

Now about transport:  The closest train station is in Priverno-Fossanova, a 30-45 minute drive from Terracina, through back roads and regional highways. The fare for a one-way trip to Rome Termini Station is €5.00--a bargain. The fare for a one-way trip to Naples is higher, depending on the type of train and number of transfers. But there are opportunities for day trips if you want to combine a several hour trip with a late afternoon beach excursion in Terracina.

So, if you are considering a casual vacation--I stress CASUAL, not the stereotypical "Europe in seven days" excursion--I highly recommend Terracina, Italy, as the place to plant your flag (and beach umbrella) and give the area some of your tourist Dollars and Euros. You will NEVER regret it!

The Best Idea: It Doesn't Suck

I'm sitting on a chair on the Lido de Circeo somewhere between Terracina and San Felice de Circeo, on the beautiful Tyrrhenian Sea.



My thoughts go back a couple of days to when my erstwhile and new friends--Lori and Brian--commented on their experience with this little fantasy come true called my 50th birthday celebration. The comment was: This was an absolutely brilliant idea and the most memorable experience we've had. And the thought bubble that popped in my head was, "Yeah. It doesn't suck!"

I guess it was the greatest source of stress for this entire trip: what if everything falls apart and it turns into the greatest fiasco? You can plan and plan and plan for your plans to be planned, and it could, at the drop of a hat, all just "plotz" with a resounding thud.

Luckily, my friend and co-host, Vivian--also a newly minted 50-something--read my thought bubble and voiced the exact words. And so the motto of this little adventure was born: It Doesn't Suck.

Now, let's not get ahead of ourselves and think that this didn't run picture perfectly. It hasn't. The promised WiFi is wonky at best--adding to the cost, because I have to constantly buy day passes on my Skyroam hotspot. The TV satellite reception is out for an unknown reason, and the reboot trick, demonstrated by the Italian caretaker (with only a slight modicum of English language knowledge to match my slight modicum of Italian language knowledge) hasn't worked. Thus we don't get to see the Rio Olympic Games, which seems to be the most engaging games in several Olympiads. But it's all good--the only vice we seem to have here is an addiction to data and a need to download offline google maps for our day trips. The villa we rented is  off the beaten path, making for a trial-and-error method of helping guests find this little corner of paradise (and we got it right, just in time for the last family to arrive last night).

All in all, it's been a great week so far, and a great week is yet to come. I can safely attest to the YOLO trend, that despite the initial expense outside of my budget, and the subsequent impacts of "travel improv," currently at $1,000 and counting, this has been a great idea, and the epitome of vacation/holiday. I haven't felt this relaxed in years, and neither has my wife.

It sure doesn't suck.

The Art of Travel Improv

A bit of time has elapsed since our last posting. So, let's begin with highlights.

I began my trek into Italy one week ago, looking forward to a leisurely train ride and an overnight sleeper car taking me straight to Rome. Well, this is where we stop with organized travel, and begin with "Travel Improv". The truth is, you truly have to be willing to be fluid and roll with the punches when traveling. Organization is nice (although it is a bit daunting for me due to ADD), and the benefit to organization is that you have options to choose from, when the poop hits the fan. 

Travel Improv, as defined by yours truly, is the art of taking an "oh, shit!" moment, swallowing hard, coughing up whatever cash is needed to make it through, holding your head up high and proceeding to have an enjoyable trip. Travel Improv has the added benefit of granting you access to people, places and things that you never would have seen had the plan gone through flawlessly.  It's also God's little joke on truly organized people. Allow me to explain with an example.

The train that I was supposed to catch in Bolzano--planned as merely a transit point for me on this journey--was cancelled. Not delayed, but CANCELLED.

I exited my delightful train from Munich in Bolzano, went to the main hallway to check on things, and saw the dreaded Italian word "annullato" [cue element of surprise music here].

When I asked the lady behind the ticket window (who appeared to be dying of ennui brought on by the rigors of a state job), her eyes lit up and she said (in German--this is the capital of Alto Adige/Süd Tirol, after all--and this brings up a tangential point, that wherever in Europe I go, I am CONSTANTLY mistaken for a German), her eyes lit up, as if I were to receive a secret prize! In her glee of Schadenfreude, she confirmed to my horror that the train was, indeed, cancelled, due to a strike. She also enthusiastically said that there were no more trains to Rome scheduled for today. Adding insult to injury, the earliest train to Rome, where I was to meet my wife, was at 5:16am and get me into Fiumicino airport approximately 7 minutes after her scheduled landing. BUT [cue element of surprise music here], and cost me an extra 90 Euros (of course, I could always attempt to get a refund from Deutsche Bahn for the unfortunate Bolzano-Fiumicino stretch that was purchased in ol' Germany, but of course, the Italians didn't bother sending a memo about said strike).

And so, after a brief self-pity party, I set out to check my German cell phone for available hotels and grabbed the two suitcases (because the wife thought it practical that I play pack mule, since I was going to Europe first), and hoofed it, to one hotel (no go) and then to Hotel Regina--my saving grace. They had a one bed room (a little bigger than a closet). And it was wonderful! After securing accommodations, I ventured into the center of the town, and came across a brew pub (go figure--in the German speaking part of Italy). So, out of lemons, lemonade was made. It still required me to get up at the butt-crack of pre-dawn, but that was minor compared with what I could have dealt with had I not had a room to sleep in.

Travel improv: it keeps one's blood pumping.

Swinging Bridges Generally... Y'Know... Swing

The cousin mutual admiration society continues.  

Wednesday, it was the physically active tour of Hunsrück. Not that I minded (I enjoyed it), of course, it just happened to be the hottest day in the region in years. At one point, I even checked the temperature in Terracina, where I will be spending the lion's share of my vacation. It was THE SAME TEMPERATURE!!! Holy sheep dip!

Lesson number one: if you get a chance to experience "Africa" hot temperatures before you actually go to the "Africa" hot place, take it. It's called "acclimatization".

One of the activities on this day of German adventure was to visit a hanging bridge near the town of Mörsdorf. It's not an old thing. Actually, it was built in 2015. And it can be found amongst fields of clover and barley--two kilometers away from the nearest town... on the hottest day of the year. Now...why I didn't quite make the connection between "hanging bridge" and a thing that most hanging bridges do--swing in a breeze and swing when many people of diverse sizes and walking cadences stroll and or clutch the sides in a fit of survival instinct times 2--I will never know. Call it a momentary lapse of reason. I think it finally dawned on me when vertigo set in as I saw some guy wires go slack. Were they supposed to do that? I don't think that's supposed to happen.... Oh well... (and this is where the German in me kicks in) everyone's doing it... I don't want to stand out like a sore thumb!  

Lesson number two: hanging bridges swing. They're supposed to do that. It's secure, despite the numerous signs saying "auf eigene Gefahr" (at your own risk).  But is a bridge supposed to dip that far down like that? But steel is pretty strong, right? Why are those children running?!? Stop it, damnit! Why are so many people walking toward me? Don't they know I have to get to the other side without falling into a canyon some 300-plus feet?!?

I made it. No problem. So did my niece, albeit with a skinned knee that was incurred before the trek onto the bridge. In fact, most of my cousins, including my 62-year-old cousin, made it across.  So,... No problem, right?

Right. And now we go to the Mosel Adventure Forest Mont Royal, for some "klettern" and some "schlitterbahn". Oh, goody.

I really am in the mood. That is until they put the harness on me, which squeezes my "Knirpse" like nobody's business. But it's all good. It's all for family fun. Except for the four people who stay behind smoking cigarettes, of course.

It was kind of a rush. In fact, we all went straight for the intermediate course. No problem, right? Right! The final step was the zip line across the grounds, and as I let loose, a mighty "Chachuca!" emerged from my lips. And for you playing at home, "chachuca" is a **ahem** colorful word that is the indigenous Costa Rican equivalent of that other "c" word that could start nuclear winter between a man and his female companion. It is also the word that we were encouraged to yell during a half-mile zip-line leg when I was there in 2013. Don't shoot the messenger!

Having conquered the medium grade course, I opted for a little lighter fare, namely the (drumroll please) BEGINNER'S COURSE! Yes, a mighty course all of a whopping 1.8 meters above ground level.  Never mind the fact that despite being open to all age ranges, it was undoubtedly created with 10-year-olds in mind.  I chugged along, like the little big man-train that could, until the obstacle that could not be crossed... And how the mighty had fallen (or was just hanging there by the ball-crushing harness--safety first, you know!). To the best of my ability I tried climbing back up, but opted for unhooking the carabiners holding my body in place, all the while holding a steel cable with my right hand--my BARE right hand. One... Two... Three.... Chachuca!!!! OWWWWWWWW..... And thus the big-ass broken blister was born.

And that was that. No more climbing. No more dreams of Everest and K2 in a day. But that was salved over by a wonderful family dinner in Traben-Trarbach at a place called Alte Zunftscheune--with original interiors and tools, old wine cellars that temporarily took the heat from my melting body with its natural coolness. It's a place for those looking to enjoy the Moselle valley and I highly recommend it for the atmosphere and the dish. I just hope you get a more friendly waitress than who we had available.

Happiness at 49 degrees 51'48" N 7 degrees 20'20" E

My niece and I have arrived in a small town in western Germany, Rhaunen, located in a beautiful hilly agricultural region called Hunsrück, and only a couple of miles away from Hahn airport, which is a major hub of the low-cost carrier Ryan Air.  Coming in, relying on my trusty Garmin Nüvi, I realize that it still seems a world away from the hustle and bustle of the rest of Germany. You just have to take it easy and NOT be in a hurry when driving these back roads. The practicality of calmness lends itself to both safety and being awestruck by how truly lovely and charming the landscape is.

Waking up in the morning after a family barbecue with my cousin, Manfred, and a portion of his large family (three daughters and several grandchildren), I catch a whiff of the cool morning air and recognize the absolute freshness and vitality that is also a hallmark of this region. Kurorte (spas) pepper the landscape, and in the current decade, the region has become one of the largest onshore wind farm regions and home to a new national park. The hills are dotted with houses whose walls and roofs are rich in slate tile. In fact, charming does a disservice to this awe-inspiring region.

So, why happiness? Why not! Speaking with Manfred yesterday, it all dawned on me what this elusive word "happiness" is all about. The man was absolutely the definition of vitality, underscoring his nearly 63 years of age. He came alive to see family coming from across the ocean, his dry wit was completely on point, but the sparkle in his eyes when interacting with his grandchildren was brighter than the mid-day sun.

During the course of the evening, he would explain about little things that, put together like a jigsaw puzzle, define happiness. It definitely cannot be defined as the absence of sadness or fear, as he also added a story about a recent bout of claustrophobia that arose with an injury to his shoulder. It was in recognizing that happiness is about quality, not quantity.

Manfred and his wife, Renate, have lived in the same flat for well over 40 years. It is small and organized in a way that, should one misplace one of the many things collected over their marriage, the time-space continuum could be permanently upset. But, as he explained, there is a reason for everything. A dear friend of the family, Erna, lives in the house that they actually purchased on the Mosel River. She lives there, he checks in on her (Erna is the widow of "Onkel" Willi, who was the closest friend of Manfred's father and my uncle, Johnny), and when the day comes that she is no longer with us, he and Renate will give up the flat and move to the Mosel and begin renovations there. 

Happiness is simplicity. Steve Jobs knew it. Happiness is having a plan, but recognizing that life happens. Happiness is quality of life, having family around and knowing that when time moves forward, and you see the children become young adults, you also recognize the need to step back and allow things to unfold in their lives, just as you saw them unfold in your own. As you see the same mistakes and missteps coming into clarity with the younger generation, you provide that warning, but also keep a hands-off approach,knowing that this is the most effective way to learn life's lessons. Manfred explained: "Look at Rhaunen. It's a small village. But here I have everything I need: we have bakeries, a grocery store, gas stations and butchers; and I can see hills and valleys, and take a nice long walk to be in nature. Birds sing, the sun comes up, the rain falls down. My beloved family is nearby. All is well here and it's really all I need."

Contrast this with the paternal side of my family and the talk about who's doing what and how well they're doing materially, and it becomes abundantly clear.

There are many things to learn yet. 

But for now, I will enjoy reconnecting with my older cousin, enjoy his dry wit and soak in the joie de vivre that oozes out of his pores. It's great to be alive. Simply alive.

Zombie Traveler

The day has arrived. At this moment, I'm sitting in a bulkhead seat of an Embraer 175, heading toward Montreal, where I will be transiting for the next flight to Frankfurt.

But, good God am I tired! The whole day was spent running last-minute errands and generally being in a tizzy because, Lord knows, something has to go wrong!

So, this is an entry that could clearly be filed under: How NOT to live life.

So, what are the steps to being sane and not sleep-deprived? Let's start from the top:

1. Make a checklist. ADD folks like me have a hard time doing this because there is always something that' showing to be thrown in at the last minute. And besides, we're not exactly known for our keen eyes for organization.

2. Under no circumstances should you lollygag when it comes to the last month before the trip. Do one thing for the trip each day that results in a completed and decisive action.

3. Drink absolutely no alcoholic beverages the entire day before the trip. This has nothing to do with hydration and well-being, but it does have everything to do with being on top of your game and not ending up a zombie trying to pack everything at 3:00 AM the day of your flight. Beer, wine, vodka, etc. only exacerbate and inflate the ADD issue. They also piss off your significant other who is trying to help you....

...not that I would know anything about that, mind you!

***

...and we are on the approach to land, so I'll interrupt this post and resume somewhere over the Atlantic--that is, unless the Xanax has taken effect.

***

Well... Here I am, approaching landing in Frankfurt, and here's the damage so far: a mild headache from air pressure, dehydration, some wine and the sleep deprivation I had on Thursday into Friday. But I was upgraded to Business Class. YES!

So here's another rule to travel by: whenever possible, buy a premium economy ticket. It may not guarantee an upgrade, but you'll stand a better chance of getting bumped up to Business Class if the flight is oversold in Economy. Either way, you will be more comfortable than if you did economy all the way.

***

...and now, it's July 17, I've had a night to sleep (and beer and wine to drink the night before), and the day is young. More to come!

Counting Down...

T-minus 6 days until I do what no American dare do: take a vacation that is so long, it would make a French citoyen green with envy. Five weeks. OK, maybe not envious, but there are plenty of friends and co-workers who tell me how jealous they are.  Guys, it's simple: save your vacation and don't give a damn what the boss might say. Nike put it best, and so simply: JUST DO IT!

But what led up to this? Well, the true inspiration for this blog, and a "who knows?" career path... if there's demand for it:  a dream of a 50th birthday celebration.  Come with me to the "way back" machine, to 2014.  I thought about what kind of vacation I'd like to take, and how. I thought about how cool it would be to simply rent a house and day trip in the region. I thought about the trip my partner, Anna, and I took to Provence in 2011, and how much more fulfilling it might have been to rent an ancient Provençal farmhouse and just drive around, or just be a part of village life. Call it an "Under the Tuscan Sun" daydream of sorts.

Anna, ever the practical person, said, "What about for your 50th birthday?" Oohh..... Bad move! That got my wheels turning. I just needed a little axle grease, but the wheels were definitely turning. Of course, it was just a fantasy, right? I mean, I could never in my life afford something so grandiose. I thought about castles and big old mansions sitting on the Mediterranean coast, with the warm sea waves lapping up against the pebble beach just outside of the garden walls. But, no, that could never happen,... right?

Fast forward to early February 2015: My college friend, Vivian, was staying with us for the purpose of celebrating mutual friends' 50th birthdays. We were talking and thinking about how both of us knew people who never made it to the half century mark. Vivian is also a cancer survivor, so 50 should be something to celebrate. I mentioned my far-fetched idea about renting a villa or castle and inviting all my friends and family to fly themselves over to the, as yet, undisclosed location, and they would have a place to stay all on my dime. Vivian, much to my surprise (she is quite the practical person) thought it was not only a fantastic idea, but a do-able idea and, damnit, we HAVE to do this! 

We?

"Yes. Dan and I can go halvsies with you and Anna."

So much for far-fetched fantasy. This shit's getting real now!

...and that's the teaser for now. This trip is based upon a foolish idea in my head. Another foolish idea in my head would be to parlay this one into a kind of "event whisperer" profession. I could serve as a consultant to help others make some foolish celebration idea become reality. But there are so many things to consider. And a decent chunk of this blog will cover the logistics, and struggle to find a location, decisions, decisions, decisions... and the frustration of this ADD guy to want to "get it all right" and please all parties involved, that it becomes a torturous research game with little progress until the moment of "Fuckitall! Time to make an executive decision."

But until the next entry, enjoy this little ditty.

Welcome Back, My Friends (To the Show That Never Ends--I Hope)!

First, an introduction: My name is Paul (or Paulie to those who are my closest friends), and I'm a chronic late bloomer with dash of ADD thrown in for spice. At this time, I'm on the downward slope of one career, and seeking my way into another adventure to start the next half-century of my earthly existence.

The idea for this blog has been bouncing around my cranial cavity for a while. It was originally supposed to be a travel blog, but there's more out there than you can shake a stick at. So, I decided to throw in some other passions of mine: urban agriculture, organic living, philosophy and diet and exercise (although I'm not an exercise fanatic, I do believe that the human body--and all living beings--has an inherent ability to heal itself, as long as the mind and emotions accommodate). I may also throw in some politics, but I hope that is a rare option, considering how divisive it can be.

So, this is about life and how to live it (and in some cases, how not to live it), ESPECIALLY if you feel like life is just beginning!

Like I said: I'm a chronic late bloomer. But if you're like me, you're tired of saying, "if I knew then, what I know now...."  So come and join me in the comfy, cozy, and slightly cluttered world of Planet Paulie!