Alsace and Lorraine: From Potty to Shining Potty (and lots of fun in between)

For the long Memorial weekend, we decided to visit the neighbors. France. The border is an hour and a half from our house, so it makes a good place to go for a short vacation.

We always used to joke that my mama knew every rest stop across the U.S.A. Our first stop in France was at a rest stop just inside the border. I wonder what Mama would think of this one? My kids were amazed. They had never experienced squat toilets before. For those blissfully ignorant of these little contraptions, let me see if I can explain. Ever hear of a hole in the floor? Yep. That’s it. Oh, they do have little foot rests for your comfort and convenience. I had to hold poor Claire around the waist and hold her dress tail so she wouldn’t fall backwards. Luke just thought of it as a huge urinal. What fun!

We drove into Lorraine, down to Lunéville (which we called Looney-ville just for fun) and were lured into town by a sign that said the town was known for pottery. We never did find that, but we found a neat palace and garden to run around in. And the old town was beautiful. Our old Mitsubishi didn’t know it could squeeze through those narrow ancient streets.

Then we went on to Nancy, Lorraine and walked around Place Stanislas, a gorgeous square with two churches facing each other and museums on the other two sides. There are little shops and outdoor cafés along the edges, and in the middle is a huge statue of some famous dude that did some stuff once. In the corners are golden gates and fountains. We sat beside one of the fountains and ate some sandwiches we had made before we left (we had American bottled tea with German sandwiches on a French square and took photos of the whole thing on our Japanese camera). They have cool red bicycles on the square that tourists can borrow free to travel around the town. When the kids are bigger we might try that sometime. I know several European cities offer the same.

We visited the Musée des Beaux-Arts de Nancy on Place Stan (which the locals call it). It had wonderful pieces from Picasso, Matisse, and more. There was art from many periods, which mixed it up a bit for the kids. But I have to say, I hate how trusting Europeans can be with their art. Huge 500-year-old paintings hang floor to ceiling with no rails to keep little kids away. I can’t tell you how many times I panicked that one of mine would accidentally brush up against one. Because I am the meanest mom ever, I told them that if we had to pay to repair one of those paintings, it would cost so much money we’d have to sell all of their toys (and probably our house) to pay for it. That helped a bit.

We checked into our hotel, which was a funky modern Suite-Hotel with trundle beds, sliding Japanese straw panels, and a TV that had shows in Italian, French, English, German and Spanish. We cleaned up and walked back into town for dinner. We had forgotten that the French restaurants don’t open before 7:00 p.m. So we walked around for an hour and a half looking for food. We stopped in a little grocery store and bought some wine and yummy bergamot hard candies, a specialty of the town. They taste a bit like hard marmalade with black pepper in it. Claire especially loves them. We sat at the café square, but the waiter kept telling us he’d be right with us. We believed him for forty minutes, sitting and waiting for menus, and then got mad (or smart) and left. We walked along the Meurthe River, looking at the boats and made it to a family restaurant by the hotel instead. We ate three hours after we intended to, which made all of us cranky. But the kids got their ice cream inside plastic cow toys that they could take home, so that was a mood-saver.

The next day we walked to the square for a breakfast of bread, croissants, café au lait and jus d’orange. Then we walked to the aquarium and zoological museum, which the kids really liked. The coolest thing there was a huge digital clock powered by electric eels. We had to watch our step with all of that walking. There are stray dogs, and thus their leavings, all over the town. More piles than I care to recall had footprints through them. We dodged that bullet and none of us stepped in it, but we did have a good talk about not putting our shoes on seats or beds. Or in mouths (never assume anything with kids, you know).

It was Sunday, but it happened to be Mother’s Day in France so the flower shops and candy shops were full of lovely treats. We stopped at a patisserie/chocolaterie to pick up some tiny quiches (what Lorraine is known for), pain chocolat, and an éclair for Claire. It was a teaching moment. I explained to her that éclairs are so named because the word means “lightning” in French, and the icing pattern on them is usually a zigzag like lightning. Her name means “light” in French. She liked that image of sweet, bright and powerful being both a pastry and a girl. C’est parfait, non?

Oh yeah, Dave and I got to oil up our rusty old college French and we did pretty well. I was impressed. We understood nearly everything we read or heard, which was a nice change after being in Germany where we understand only about a tenth of what we read or hear. Sometimes we would forget and answer in German (“Ja, I mean, oui!”) Once, Dave answered a guy in Spanish by mistake (a leftover from his days living in Panama). I pointed it out and he said, “Wow, I didn’t know my Spanish was so good!”

So after that we went to Musée de l’Ecole de Nancy, which is a house full of gorgeous Art Nouveau furniture and art. This is Dave’s favorite kind of art and architecture, along with American craftsman style. I enjoyed it, but the kids were completely underwhelmed. But they did like running amok in the rose garden afterward.

We drove down into Baccarat, famous for its crystal. Yes, we took two bulls into crystal shops, and I once again had to panic as my kids walked too fast past 7,000-euro vases. Claire wanted her souvenir from that town. Yeah, but...no. Not if she hopes for us to help pay for college. Luke did get his souvenir there, though: a big owie from doing a face-plant in the parking lot. He has had souvenir facial scars from nearly all of our vacations. There is the scar between his eyes that he got tripping over a rock in Mesa Verde, Colorado. He's had a black eye and a concussion from two different visits to Mississippi. He has a scrape on his leg from a biergarten playground in Stuttgart. And now he has a lovely strawberry on his forehead to remember France. Ah, France.

Then we drove into Chenevieres, where we bought some eau de vie, which is a strong colorless brandy that the region is famous for. We got the kirsch (cherry) kind but it is not sweet. It is so strong that it will truly knock you on your derriere. I think it’s cool that eau de vie means “water of life” in French and that vodka means “little water” in Russian. Euphemisms. Gotta love ‘em.

We drove into Les Vosges mountains, which looked a little like the Smokies back home. They were lush and green with bright yellow forsythia growing everywhere. We made it to an adorable little town called Ste. Marie-aux-Mines, which is known for silver mining. All of the buildings were old. The beautiful St. George Church was built in 1220. We spent the night at a 412-year-old winstub. The room was 55 euros for a double bed, a single bed that the kids shared, and a baby bed that neither would touch because “it’s for babies”. It had a bathroom in the room, so we didn’t have to share a hall bath like we have other times in Europe. We had all we needed except for washcloths, which the first hotel didn’t have either. What’s up with that, France?

The inn had a resident dog that came and went as she pleased and did her business –yep, you guessed it—in a pile on the cobblestone sidewalk just outside the front door. The inn was decorated with little witches everywhere. The innkeeper explained that they were bonne chance (good luck) to the silver miners. Claire thought the witches were creepy, and what’s more, they didn’t have a POOL (quel horreur) and that made her mad. But she changed her mind about the place after the yummy dinner, and that stay ended up being her favorite part of the trip.

The inn served wonderful Alsatian cuisine. Dave had baeckoffa (roasted lamb, beef and pork cooked in a clay pot with wine, potatoes, carrots, and juniper berries). Luke had wonderful ham. Claire and I had Coq au Riesling. For dessert we had apple sorbet and some kind of ice cream cake. After dinner the innkeeper asked in French whether or not we wanted coffee. I said no. Then she said something about a port. I thought that sounded good after dinner. But instead of a wine, she brought over a piece of paper with a five-digit number on it. Dave and I looked at each other, perplexed. The dinner could not have been more than 50 or 60 euro. What was this 241 euros? Was the port that expensive? Then I noticed that there was no decimal point. I told the lady, “Je ne comprends pas cet numero.” It turned out to be the code to get in the door. She was talking about the porte (door) not port that you drink. Duh. We had a good laugh about that.

The next morning we got up and we were the only people in the whole building. The innkeeper had never asked for money for the room or the food the night before. Nor did we get a key. There were only about five rooms, which they left unlocked. But I think we were the only ones there that night. We waited around. We then wrote a note and were prepared to leave it with money to cover the bill, when the lady finally walked in. She asked if we wanted breakfast. We sat down to bread, coffee, juice, and some sort of cheese that smelled like the old high school band hall after marching practice. In the summer. We paid our bill and everything was really reasonable except that breakfast. It was 24 euros! That is $36 for bread, stinky feet cheese and drinks. Ah, well.

We drove on along the Alsatian Wine Route ("whine" route for the kids since it was more of an adult’s idea of fun). We tasted wine in St. Pierre (they completely fill the glasses, more than just a taste, so we didn’t try too many) and bought some bottles of the local bubbly and a Riesling. The lady there gave me a little Alsatian cookbook, which was a thrill for me. Alsatian food is a lovely mixture of the best of French and German cuisine. Dave pointed out that you get the hearty meats and potatoes of the Germans with the wines and light flaky breads of the French. So wonderful. It’s rich, though. I seriously need to detox after all of that pork and butter.

We drove past several beautiful old castles, which brought to mind Monty Python with the French soldiers in the castle (“Your father was a hamstah and your mother smelled of elderberrrries!” You either love or hate British humor. I love it.) There were irises blooming everywhere and the rolling fields were green. It was pretty. Would have made a great honeymoon trip.

We drove through Selestat and on into Strasbourg, Alsace that at one time was part of Germany. Then France. Then Germany. Then France. And so on. We went to the old town, an eye-shaped island called Petit France. It is attached to the main land by a series of beautiful so-called covered bridges (they have not been covered since the 1700s). We took a glass-top boat tour along the Rhine, which was made more interesting by an audio tour in English on our headphones. We learned that Gutenburg printed the first newspaper in Strasbourg. And though they didn’t mention it, we learned later that the Nazis had burned the town’s gorgeous synagogue during the war and that in 2000, Islamic extremists tried to blow up the cathedral. So sad.

From there we went to that amazing Strasbourg Cathedral, which in the 1400s was the world’s tallest building. We ate sandwiches on the steps beneath the watchful eyes of carved saints. Then inside we stood for a moment at a monument honoring American soldiers who had died in the war (a fitting tribute on Memorial Day) and then watched an old astrological clock chime the hour. Cloaked figures spun around while a skeleton representing death ominously tolled the gong. The cathedral is where the kids finally found little souvenirs they wanted. Luke got a prayer card with a medal of St. Christopher embedded in it. He liked it because St. Christopher is the patron saint of travelers and there were pictures of planes and boats and trains on the card. Claire got a silver cross pendant with purple and pink stained glass in it.

I really liked that in Strasbourg we could speak either German or French and be understood. That is how we communicated best. We filled in with words we knew in one language but not the other. I asked at an ice cream shop, “Pardonnez-moi. Avez-vous des glaces mitnehmen?” I knew ice cream in French, but “to go” in German. It worked. I got it across. But we still decided to go inside to sit. We had the best peach melba I’ve ever had (I should hope so for 6 euro). Then we piled into the car, tired and satisfied, and headed back to Germany.

The closer we got to Germany, the cleaner and neater things got. And since I started this entry with a mention of French potties, I will end with one about German potties. We stopped at an Esso station that took the American gas coupons (so we could pay 4 euro instead of 8 per gallon) and went inside to use the restroom. This one let kids in free (what a bargain!) through a little kid-shaped cut-out in the wall, but adults had to pay 50 euro cents (75 American cents) to go through the turnstile to get to the bathrooms. They were so fancy and clean. Everything was automatic, including the little arm that came out and wiped your seat (the toilet seat, that is, not yours) all around with sanitizer after you flushed. And it occurred to me that the potty metaphor fit pretty well with my impressions of France and Germany. France makes for a fun and exciting experience, if not always clean. And Germany is pristine and inviting but very expensive. I love them both, and I feel pretty darn blessed to live within a stone’s throw of adventure any day of the week.

Now I Know How Not to Flip My Tank

Well, y’all, we are really connected now! We just hooked up our AFN box that we bought used from a deploying soldier. That’s the cable box that allows us to receive American Family Network free on our TV. We get twenty-something channels of U.S. shows mixed from cable and public networks and aimed specifically at military families overseas. I think they air it in Europe, Korea, Iraq and Afghanistan.

But of course, as with everything, AFN has a catch. There are no commercials at all, but in their place are cheesy and often depressing PSAs. Between guests on Leno we learned not to drink and drive, not to beat our children, how to report sexual abuse, how to defeat a gambling addiction, how to use our right to free speech responsibly, and to drive our tanks slowly so they won’t flip over. Sound advice. I’ll try to remember that. There is also plenty of patriotic propaganda, just in case we forget to love our country. (No risk of that from me, even though I am very much aware of its foibles. It’s kind of like I feel about the Church and family – I love it, even though I don’t always love all of its choices).

After two months away from American TV, Dave and I sat transfixed until late last night. We watched old reruns of Friends and Seinfeld, caught a bit of Desperate Housewives (which neither of us had ever seen), some of Jay Leno, John Stewart, and Stephen Colbert. We are now saturated. We had gotten used to not having TV, and frankly I prefer the quiet. Although, it was neat to see some familiar faces and hear jokes in a language I understand.

At the Marriott we had German TV, and I sort of miss that because it really helped my language. Kids’ programming was about the level of German I could understand. I think we can still get German TV somehow, but it is expensive.

So without German TV we may not know what is going on with Spongebob Schwammkopf or Thomas und Seine Freunde. And without regular commercials we may not know what kind of toilet cleanser works best on those tough stains or which shampoo will evoke ecstatic reactions in the shower. But I guess we will get by. And at least we won’t flip over any tanks.

Book Learning, Hoopdydoo, and All That Jazz

I have had emails from several of you asking me the same questions, so I want to take a moment to address them.

1. Are the kids attending German schools or American?

Claire started at the elementary school on Patch Barracks while we lived at the Marriott. Our new house is outside that assigned zone (see previous blog entries all about that) but she is allowed to finish out her year where she started, so that is what she is doing. Next year she could attend the elementary school on Panzer, which is in our zone. Or, if she gets accepted into the German Immersion Program on Patch (which we wouldn't find out until the Friday before school starts), she could be exempt from the zone rules and continue going to Patch. That would require that she continue to ride the high school bus 45 minutes each way as she does now, which I don’t really like. Also, Luke would be with her at the kindergarten so he would ride too.

The third option, and the one that seems most appealing right now, is to put both kids in the German schools near our house. Claire has met three kids in our neighborhood who would be in her class, and they are very nice. She is scared about not speaking German, but I have met one of the teachers, who is the best friend of my wonderful neighbor Steffi. She has agreed to assess her informally and address any questions she has. She would sort of mentor her in the school. She said that Claire’s class would be a good group of kids. Since German schools start more slowly than US schools, they are behind academically the first couple of years. That is good for Claire since it will allow her to focus on learning the language. She is already really advanced in her reading in English, so that is good.

Luke could attend the kindergarten three blocks from our house. We visited and nobody spoke any English, but again, my wonderful neighbor Steffi rescued me. She went with me the next time to translate. Luke’s German is coming fast, so I think he will have no trouble.

Both of the kids’ German schools would go only half days year-round. They get tons of German holidays off, as well as several weeks over the summer and at Christmas. Although instruction is in German at both schools, the Americans I have spoken with say that if kids can hang tough through four or five months of awful tearful days, they will be rewarded with complete fluency and lifelong friendships. I will just have to hide in the closets so the kids won’t see me cry. Oh, wait, we’re in Germany…we don’t have closets. I guess I’d better toughen up, then.

My one concern is that in German schools parents are not encouraged to volunteer. I fear not having any way to observe or give help to my kids if they need me. This, compounded by the fact that my German is still of the “me-Tarzan-you-Jane” variety, makes me scared I might miss an important rule, announcement, or assignment. My second fear is that I’ve heard from many Americans that the German style of classroom management is very hands off, meaning that if a bully runs amok, kids are expected to work it out themselves. And unfortunately, American kids often fall at the bottom of the pecking order because the language barrier. I can’t stand the thought of my babies being picked on. It brings out the angry mama bear in me. I’m scared I might have to open a can of ugly American whoop-bootie if that happens. But we’ll cross that bridge if we get there.

2. How is the hula hoop business going?

Well, this one is painful (darn, where IS that closet when I need it?). I started Hoopdydoo in October, making custom hoops out of irrigation pipe, connectors, water, marbles, beads, ribbons and designer tapes. They were so much fun! Already by February I had hoops in six toy stores, had done numerous parties and school events, had mailed hoops all over the world, and was looking into corporate and recreational events for the coming months. I had already made and sold hundreds of hoops and I was especially excited about getting to experience the busy summer market with fairs and shows and lots of outdoor fun. Hoopdydoo was doing great! Ah, the potential.

But then suddenly we had a chance to realize our 15-year dream of moving to Europe. I had to make a choice between the happiness of my family and pursuing my own creative ambition. It was easy. Hoopdydoo would have to die.

It was kind of like sitting down at a big feast and having the plate taken away after the first bite. But at least I had tasted sweet success. And I guess it’s better to have it go while it was still hot than after it had gone stale.

So why can’t I do the biz here in Germany? The reason is that the rules about spouses of US government owning businesses here are so restrictive that it could never work for me. Here are some of the rules: Because the government paid for our car to be shipped over, I could not use it for deliveries. I could never buy supplies or gas on post to use for the business. I could not use my house as a home base because the government pays our rent. I could not ever advertise or sell on base. I could not use my APO address to ship hoops. And I haven’t even touched on the issue of German taxes, which would have meant doubling my prices just to make it worthwhile. So what does that leave me? There was one loophole where I could sell at craft shows on post if the government did all of my advertising and got 20% of all sales. But that sounded weird to me. I like to represent my work my own way.

To rub a little salt in, before I left the US, another hoop seller across the country had already lifted verbiage straight off of my website for use on hers. She even stole names of some of my designs (I found my hoops sold much better when I named them things like “Neopolitan” or “Raspberry Swirl” or “Tree Hugger” or “Citrus Squeeze”). My first response was a very unladylike desire to throttle her. I had worked so hard on my first attempt at a website, on all of my marketing and design ideas. But my next, more sane response was to let it go. What could I do? I had some great marketing ideas and I wouldn’t be able to use them anymore. Why shouldn’t she gain from them? It hurt like Hades, but I figured if my words made someone else successful, that was okay. After all, I am first and foremost a teacher, and helping others succeed is supposed to be my mission in life. Still made me &*#$ mad, though.

Oh, and by the way, my German neighbors won’t try hooping with me. Occasionally they will joke about it, but they are too dignified to make fools of themselves like I enjoy doing. They think I’m crazy. Maybe I am. But that is what makes life so much fun. Life’s too short to worry about what everyone thinks.

3. Have you and Dave had any dates since you have been there?

One. They had a parents night out on post where the kids were watched for five hours. So Dave and I went to an amazing old Jazz Hall in downtown Stuttgart and acted like real-live grown-ups. We dressed up, had drinks, and remembered what it was like to get through an entire dinner without someone spilling milk or whining about the vegetables (in other words, I was on my best behavior). It was so cool to see a 20-piece big band blaring the best of American jazz and big band standards to a packed room of enthusiastic listeners. Here is how the MC sounded: “Damen und herren, German word German word German word “Girl from Ipanema” German word German word.” It was great. I was really proud to sit and listen to music so uniquely American that my country contributed to the world. It was American entertainment that didn’t involve car chases, hoochie mamas or blowing things up. Just good old Cole Porter, Satchmo and Sinatra. It made me tear up a little with patriotic pride. And this time I didn’t even think about needing a closet.

Elephant bites: Beer, Roman soldiers, bugles, evacuations, and biking bliss (and we never did make it to the castle).

Hey y’all. I am finally back online after a couple of weeks of waiting for our connection in our new house (which I will blog about later). I have been buried under boxes without phone, computer, TV, newspapers or radio. I couldn’t have told you what was going on in the world to save my life until a few days ago. It’s so depressing, though, that I kind of want to crawl back in my hole and be ignorant of earthquakes, elections, and war. But other than that life is pretty good around here.

I have so much to tell you. It’s like that old joke: “How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time.” I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed because I have so much I want to write about from the past few weeks and so little time. But if you will hang with me, I’ll try to take a few small bites of this big ole elephant.

I’ll start with today and catch you up on the rest later. Dave returned yesterday from Virginia (his second US trip since we’ve been here). We got up and I made crepes with fresh hot strawberry and peach filling and whipped cream. Then we set out to tour the Schloss (castle) in Ludwigsburg.

We drove to Ludwigsburg and stopped at a biergarten on the Neckar River where had a very European lunch of beer, coffee, champagne, roasted mushrooms, pizza toast, and an assortment of cheeses, breads, and sliced meats. The kids ran back and forth between the table and the playground. Their favorite part was the sculpture of a naked rear end that supported a drain pipe that emptied from…well, you know.

Then we went downtown, intending to go on an English-language tour of the Schloss but instead got sidetracked by a very cool Pferd Markt (horse market) and parade. It was so neat! The parade featured the history of Ludwigsburg marching in chronological order. We caught it beginning with the Romans. The people were in amazing authentic-looking costumes. There were centurions, medieval monks, a king in an ermine robe, men in powdered wigs, women in bustles, horses in full regalia, and all the way to modern times with ballroom dancers and even an American square dancing team!

Instead of passing out candy to kids, the marchers handed out cups of beer and wine from old casks and glass yards to the adults. Some people got souvenir glasses and others got plastic cups. We got neither because we were too far back. But after beer and champagne at lunch that was probably a good thing.

My favorite part was the marching bands. I always tear up when the horns and drums pass by. I can’t help it. I loved marching in bands when I was younger. I didn’t see any of my beloved French horns, but I did see wonderful drums, bugles (you have to respect marching while playing without valves!) and fancy scrolled vertical bells. The uniforms were incredibly ornate. And I really loved the multi-generational aspect. These were not high school bands. There were young people marching next to seniors and they were so precise and professional-sounding. Gave me goose bumps. But then, so did the rain, which came in buckets and drove us running, diving under awnings and splashing through puddles all the way back to the car.

Then we went to Panzer Kaserne to the PX since on Sundays all the German stores are closed. While we were there an alarm sounded and we had to evacuate the building while the MPs looked around. Nobody ever said why. So Dave drove the kids and me home where I roasted chicken for dinner, which is harder than it sounds given that I have to get used to low altitude cooking, converting Fahrenheit to Celcius, the martian symbols on German ovens (and the user’s manual is in German of course) and electric versus gas. How many people do you know who cook with an oven mitt on one hand and an English-German dictionary in the other?

Meanwhile, Dave drove back to the PX to pick up (oh I’m so excited I can’t stand it) MY NEW BIKE! I have not ridden a bicycle since I was 12 years old (that's 24 years ago, y'all). When he got home I jumped on that sucker in my sandals and in the rain, throwing caution to the wind, not even stopping to put on my helmet and pads. It was so energizing! I rode and rode along the bike trails, past the mustard fields and apple orchards, totally exhilarated. I’d have whooped and hollered if not for the German quiet laws on Sundays. The kids joined me when I returned home and we did a few loops around the neighborhood together. Then I parked, stirred my rice, and ate a nice dinner with my family. And my dear hubby is now getting kids to sleep so that I can write this to you. You gotta love that.

So, we never did make it to the castle, but it was a truly great day.