tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-59260609643139779792024-02-06T21:57:32.833-08:00Bangerts Round the WorldWe are a family of four from the suburbs of Cincinnati who left our jobs, sold a car, rented our house out and launched the adventure of a lifetime. We are taking a year to explore the world together and bond over the adventure as a family. We are Bill and Annie, parents of 12 year old twins Marley and Ben. Home-schooling them on the road, we hope to create memories of a lifetime. Follow along!!Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10992767582998476713noreply@blogger.comBlogger78125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5926060964313977979.post-45093151566586313022013-12-12T18:36:00.000-08:002014-07-21T08:24:32.788-07:00One year after getting home and two years after leaving....<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">December 12th has been a significant date in my life since 1986. That's when my sister Shari had her first child, Becky. Becky came into the world 14 weeks early (her mother and others who know her well might be of the opinion that it's the last time she was early for anything!) and weighed just two pounds six ounces and her weight dropped to as low as one pound 14 ounces. That was in the dark ages of preemie care, and it was a miracle that she survived and has become the beautiful woman she is today, as she celebrates her birthday with her husband Logan. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">12/12 took on additional significance in 2011 and again in 2012. In 2011, it was the date that we left our suburban lives in Madeira to take our then 11-year old twins on a year-long trip around the world. The experiences we shared over the subsequent twelve months have been well-documented in the various posts of this blog, and I thank everyone who has read them and everyone who has shared some kind words about them. The trip was amazing in every sense of the word, and gave the four of us lifetimes worth of memories. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">We didn't necessarily have it planned this way, but our return back to Cincinnati happened on December 12, 2012. As we tried to figure out when to come home from the South American part of the trip, the one thing we knew was that we wanted to be home in time to enjoy the holidays. So getting home at least a week before Christmas was a goal. We wound up deciding to leave La Paz, Bolivia on December 11th, flying through Lima, Peru to Atlanta where we would catch our 44th flight of the trip, a relatively brief one to Cincinnati, landing at CVG on the morning of the 12th day of the 12th month of 2012. 12/12/12. But you probably figured that out on your own. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Being back home was great, and it was fantastic to see our family and friends again. We were bombarded by questions about the trip. The most frequent: favorite place and best food. Answer to both, at least for me: San Sebastian, Spain. Annie agreed the best food was San Sebastian, but her favorite place was Cambodia. We never EVER got tired of talking about the trip. It was fun to run into people who had followed the trip on this blog or through Facebook or both and talk in person about our experiences. One of my favorite early encounters upon our return was at Kroger in Madeira. Annie and I went there together one weekday morning and were stopped by a woman wearing a Madeira hat and a Madeira pullover and she said it was great to see us, and what a great time she had following the trip and she went on and on, which was very enjoyable. That continued for about five or ten minutes and then she said, "well I'll let you two go, great to see you!" We said "thanks, great to see you too!" and as we turned the corner and walked down another aisle Annie and I looked at each other and each said we had no idea who that was! But we enjoyed our momentary pseudo-celebrity status.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Over the next few months as we settled back into life in the suburbs, we got to tell our story over and over again. And now, a year later, it has become this fantastic thing we did. We are, and (at least to us) forever will be, the Family That Took A Trip Around The World. It's something of which Annie and I and the kids are pretty proud. At the same time, we try to be as humble as possible about it, and I still feel very fortunate that we were able to do it. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">December 12th
will also always carry some sadness with it. It was on December 12,
2012 that Annie's step-brother Hank Muehlenkamp died after a battle with
cancer that lasted about a year and a half, much longer than anyone
expected. He was only 51 when he died, (the same age as Annie and I at
the time) and his diagnosis, which came before we took the trip, is one
of the reasons we decided to launch the adventure that we did. We were
glad we got home in time to make it to his funeral and see his family
and share so many wonderful memories of Hank. </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">But here we are on December 12, 2013. I find myself with extremely mixed emotions. It's great to be back in familiar territory, and be able to part of the lives of family and friends and be in our house with our stuff. A year on the road is an unbelievable adventure filled with so many different once-in-a-lifetime experiences. But at the same time it wears on you. We stayed in over one hundred different apartments, hotels, houses, aparthotels, condos etc. and after all that time and changes of location, you get a little weary of trying to find the things you need to get through the day. No whining here, I would do it again if I could. However, familiarity is something you really miss when you don't have it for as long as we did.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Once this December 12th is behind us, there will be a little emptiness that I think Annie and I and the kids (to a lesser degree) will feel. For the past year, almost every day we have thought back to what we were doing a year ago. We have a calendar we picked up early in the trip in New Zealand where we kept track of what we were doing along the way. It was fun in April of this year to look at the date in 2012 and say "Oh, this is the day we went to Great Wall of China," or "Look it's that date in May that we took the ferry from Croatia to Italy," or "Hey, it's that day in September that we wound up going to see Bayern Munich play at Allianz Arena!" That calendar will always be a part of our lives, and we can forever recall that we were in Croatia on my birthday for instance, but there was something really special this year looking back to what was going on 365 days earlier.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">One of my (minor) fears about leaving my job on the radio and being gone for that year was that people would forget the name Bill Bangert. Before we took the trip, when mentioning my name to, say, a stranger at a store or on the phone after being on the radio in Cincinnati for 17 years, I would occasionally get a hint of recognition. Gotta say, I enjoyed that. I was afraid that one year away might erase that. Turns out that hasn't been the case. In the past twelve months I've come across a lot of people who in some instances think I'm still on either WEBN or WLW. Others have mentioned hearing some of the reports I phoned in to WLW during our time on the road and saying they enjoyed being able to be part of the experience. I'm thankful for that, and love hearing that.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The most recent example of that happened today. I happened to be home when a UPS truck pulled up to the end of our driveway this afternoon. Our dog Sophie was out, and while she barked away, I opened the door and got her inside. As the driver stepped from the driveway to the walk leading to the front door he said "Are you THE Bill Bangert?" I said "I'm not sure there is a "THE" Bill Bangert, but if there is, I guess that's me." He said, "I loved your trip and hearing your reports on WLW. You guys were very brave to do what you did." </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Wow. Hearing that from a total stranger is mind-boggling. To think that what we did starting two years ago today had an impact on anyone's lives other than our own is difficult to comprehend. We did what we did because we wanted to do something adventurous with our children while we had the health and money to do it. Plus the kids, who turned 12 a month into the trip, were at the perfect age. It makes me so happy and fills me with such wonder to have people say they were inspired by our trip. That includes a woman who was battling a recurrence of breast cancer in her life early in our trip, as well as a family that is right now doing their own Round The World trip after hearing us talk about it on the radio. I never ever imagined that sort of thing being something that came out of our trip. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The envelope that the UPS driver delivered today contained something that would take us on our next adventure: Tickets to the Bengals/Steelers game Sunday night in Pittsburgh. Over the years of going to Bengals games in Cincinnati, I envied the hordes of Steelers fans who would invade our town waving those damn Terrible Towels. This past Sunday I saw the end of the Steelers game in Pittsburgh, (a loss!) and noticed there were plenty of empty seats at Heinz Field, or as my niece Jenni calls it, Ketchup Stadium. I got curious and checked out ticket prices on StubHub for the Bengals game there this weekend and found more that 4700 tickets being sold for as low as $30. After talking it over with Annie, we decided to take the plunge and make the trip on Sunday with our son Ben. Some people have told us that showing up at Ketchup Stadium in Orange and Black might be more dangerous than going around the world, but we feel we're up for the challenge. It doesn't hurt that the Bengals are 9-4 and the Steelers are 5-8. Not sure we would be making the trip if those records were reversed. One thing we've learned is that life is all about timing.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Being willing to take on a challenge is probably the one thing I hope that we come away with as I think back to what began two years ago today and ended 365 days ago. I'm proud that we were able to make the decision to take a chance with our lives and do something different that all of us would remember and would impact us forever. We wanted our kids (and ourselves) to see that there are a lot of different ways that people live their lives and that we have so much more than so many other people in other parts of the world. And we learned (as cheesy as it sounds) that having "stuff" doesn't equate with happiness. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">All four of us are different people than we were on December 12, 2011. We are certainly different people than we were on December 12, 2012. What will we be like on December 12, 2014? Who knows? Not me. But I'm looking forward to finding out.</span></b></div>
Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10992767582998476713noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5926060964313977979.post-81486864526243520802012-12-11T14:47:00.001-08:002012-12-11T16:39:04.968-08:00La Paz - The Ultimate South American Field Trip<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Yes...it's our last stop. 357 days into our adventure...these world travelers are tired. We have seen so much. We booked Bolivia on recommendation of some other savvy explorers we had met along the way. La Paz is spread out before us in a surreal landscape as we venture in from the airport. Holy Crap. This city is HUGE! Its' immensity seems like perhaps too much to conquer in the final days of our adventure. How do we see all of THAT while also dealing with the effects of oxygen deprivation? Perhaps a visit to Wikipedia and Trip Advisor would help us eat this elephant a bite at a time. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEYsXYst4X-sA8tO2qmg2bTlh7XIvZ1NZeVFbkiUcd0-vx1H5xSDZbx5bQsheo6zs_jpLDIYuO5FYtVibFVWMIHUINUOQ6aprjudo5xxLKsjyuhaun9rMQ0SzcgSRKF_GikdCj9fl_Bx0/s1600/IMG_1506.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="137" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEYsXYst4X-sA8tO2qmg2bTlh7XIvZ1NZeVFbkiUcd0-vx1H5xSDZbx5bQsheo6zs_jpLDIYuO5FYtVibFVWMIHUINUOQ6aprjudo5xxLKsjyuhaun9rMQ0SzcgSRKF_GikdCj9fl_Bx0/s640/IMG_1506.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Fun facts on La Paz:<br />
<ul>
<li>La Paz is the highest seat of government city in the world</li>
<li>El Alto International Airport is the highest international airport
in the world (13,325 feet above mean sea level). Passengers may notice
the drop in pressure when the aircraft doors are opened.</li>
<li>Water boils in La Paz at <span style="white-space: nowrap;">88 °C</span> <span style="white-space: nowrap;">(190 °F)</span></li>
<li>La Paz has the highest certified Olympic stadium. <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/FIFA" title="FIFA">FIFA</a> issued a rule forbidding the organization of official matches in
stadiums with an altitude of more than 2,500 metres because players may
be at greater health risk due to decreased oxygen pressure, but excluded
La Paz's Hernando Siles Stadium from that regulation after intense
lobbying by Bolivian authorities </li>
<li>The La Paz central bus station was designed by <a class="mw-redirect" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gustav_Eiffel" title="Gustav Eiffel">Gustav Eiffel</a> who also built the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eiffel_Tower" title="Eiffel Tower">Eiffel Tower</a></li>
</ul>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">LaPaz bus station</td></tr>
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Inhale. Well, inhale really deeply because the air is so thin up here! It is so dramatic that they even have a health rescue station at customs when you come into the airport. Speaking of customs....we are on our 29th country and somehow we missed the Visa requirement for Bolivia. Fail, Bangert's! No worries, we aren't getting sent back to Chile...all we need to do is fill out some forms and pay...What? Que? What? Que? Did we hear that right??... $540US in fees! Ah caray! (I got this word on my Spanish app...means "Oh WOW!")<br />
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The customs agent kindly directs Bill into the airport in search of a bank machine. Show me the Money, Gringo! (It is all in response to reciprocal fees the US charges Bolivians to get into the States).<br />
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After several failed attempt to withdraw cash, a woman explains to Bill in Spanish that many of the machines are out of money and directs him to a good one. Thank you, travel Angel and High School Spanish! We believe we are in business and Bill arrives back to customs with his Boliviano Pesos in hand. Uhhh....not so fast, Gringo....the Bolivian officials need US cash. Heavy sigh. More deep breaths trying to avoid the emergency rescue station....Bill heads back into the terminal looking for Cambio. (change/conversion) So after 30-40 minutes of unexpected drama, we are on our way. We have learned that problems happen and they get resolved. Just go with the flow. And breath...in La Paz....really deep!!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mario our taxi driver...spoke no English but we learned a lot from him. And his dashboard was really fuzzy.</td></tr>
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We grab a taxi and head into La Paz. I cannot even begin to describe the scale of this city and how it blankets the mountains as far as the eye can see. It was too hard to get pictures from the cab and frankly I was obsessed with absorbing the sites. Travel fatigue is sucking us all in and the scene before us starts to look like an unconquerable destiny. Conquistadors we are not, today.<br />
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We get to a very nice aparthotel in the central district and spend two days venturing out around the hotel...we visit one of the main squares...get out of breath easily and battle headaches. Bill and I are a bit baffled and intimidated with how to tackle this beast. I can't convince any of my peeps to mountain bike with me on the El Camino de Muerte (the road of death) so we dig into our beloved TripAdvisor and we find Ben Montevilla of Banjo Tours. We had no idea,...we were heading on the Ultimate South American Field Trip.<br />
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Ben specializes in taking people to the "non-tourist" places. This is RIGHT up our alley and we feel like we aren't going to fail La Paz after all. We are contacting him late on Thursday and figure we won't get in quickly. However, he ends up being available Friday afternoon...once again the travel God/Goddess smiles down on us and off we go. Ben picks us up at 1:30p Friday afternoon. He does not have his own vehicle...we are going to ride like the locals ride. Yea!!<br />
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We had been intrigued by the 1000's of mini-vans that fill the streets stuffed with locals jumping on and off and usually, the fare taker would be leaning out the side door yelling out their destinations. It was too daunting to tackle on our own but with our guide, Ben, we were set. For about .22 cents a person you could get from a point A to a point B. With Ben picking the vans going in our desired direction, we were set. What a great start to our experience.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ben is on the right in glasses. You can see our Canadian companion's head in the right corner.</td></tr>
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Ben walked us by some of the major local sites like San Francisco square and the government buildings. He even showed us a building marked with bullet holes from a civil war that took place less than 10 years ago in 2003. They now proudly have their first Indigenous (Native Indian) President and things seem to have settled down.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGq81m0O09VK-fElmUAzC_pzxn8flB70FBpYEnHUPrQZbHAAQohjn2u4gZ57gS6DVSSrkygyl3vs8PDdgudA0N0mUk3E2m81mTTzCru6rSxv_grQb3Xc3GTYh04Qagbyzif3zlfVNaKC8/s1600/IMG_1595.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGq81m0O09VK-fElmUAzC_pzxn8flB70FBpYEnHUPrQZbHAAQohjn2u4gZ57gS6DVSSrkygyl3vs8PDdgudA0N0mUk3E2m81mTTzCru6rSxv_grQb3Xc3GTYh04Qagbyzif3zlfVNaKC8/s320/IMG_1595.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Parliament Building</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Government Building with bullet holes from 2003</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj3CpSFmTBVraQU_b4oMYblNzSCF1c1ZPHSe60WcQF9sC5KIDsaU9PzEvGYuXjDm7EPCrCSZ4JTZ9awq0liQH72jktJZoQxQn8DmEMnK9flo7CKvwzr5IzpVZp_6hKvDiWsTQls8PSVB8/s1600/IMG_1491.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj3CpSFmTBVraQU_b4oMYblNzSCF1c1ZPHSe60WcQF9sC5KIDsaU9PzEvGYuXjDm7EPCrCSZ4JTZ9awq0liQH72jktJZoQxQn8DmEMnK9flo7CKvwzr5IzpVZp_6hKvDiWsTQls8PSVB8/s400/IMG_1491.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">La Paz street view</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSkqYfXVucg7-Ur89xpKW6qbtsQ-mJuUfdX_VUuvR4QuLHJaFLiNNiPRU1PwWzyk3IKeWogIb6MvP6T3esC1T-Otq98SYE0oIXrG1OMRa9wVNcpSeSOPAzJmcicIpw6VplwYBcqIxIIJs/s1600/IMG_1495.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSkqYfXVucg7-Ur89xpKW6qbtsQ-mJuUfdX_VUuvR4QuLHJaFLiNNiPRU1PwWzyk3IKeWogIb6MvP6T3esC1T-Otq98SYE0oIXrG1OMRa9wVNcpSeSOPAzJmcicIpw6VplwYBcqIxIIJs/s400/IMG_1495.jpg" width="268" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Indigenous woman...love the local clothing!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8NPOZhgOrnKuy7ND2s3dNxTA2r6mur9oQp8bBEG1J5xC4AleUl4OisLhkEAguA3LOE-XOtw3lmcmZU5TkPqHXB9dV6uKPuF8cCMcl3_9V7mRVObmHhP9C2LUEG7fOC7tk_QG1GGwbZE0/s1600/IMG_1592.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8NPOZhgOrnKuy7ND2s3dNxTA2r6mur9oQp8bBEG1J5xC4AleUl4OisLhkEAguA3LOE-XOtw3lmcmZU5TkPqHXB9dV6uKPuF8cCMcl3_9V7mRVObmHhP9C2LUEG7fOC7tk_QG1GGwbZE0/s400/IMG_1592.JPG" width="397" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Indigenous women enjoying an ice cream on the square</td></tr>
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OK...we've seen some of the normal tourist things...great warm up, now off for the real adventure. We hop in another van snuggled in with the locals and head off to see the largest coca leaf warehouse in Bolivia. Literally. The heart and soul of the Bolivian coca distribution network. Can you say Scarface? It is the second largest provider of coca behind Peru. Welcome to our field trip, children...do you want to see where cocaine comes from? <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g2wD5TaMf2k" target="_blank">"Say hello to my little friend."</a> It offered us great opportunities for discussion. That's what parents should do, right?<br />
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Coca is utilized for many products within Bolivia, however, our local fixer, Ben, shared that 40% of it ends up with the drug trade. The other 60% goes into medicinal products. He strolls into the warehouse with his Gringos in tow. I am expecting armed Latinos to rush us and start an immediate strip search. Instead we see rooms full of huge bags of coca leaves with the coca farmers and their children hanging out. I got one picture before I felt it was prudent to ask if it was OK to take them....answer...from Ben our guide....not such a good idea. So here is my one and only pic of the warehouse. It is just one room and certainly wasn't the best as far as quantity of coca leaves:<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO9Uv9WdA-fSnQJz7PkzbxcUKeU05P5PfUcezUIHw-9nX0T73b3EEfIPZ58V6lyPbayf7V8lRbUO-LeLwiRdOcX8rxjGH0_65Dr9jsadLYKfgzq7DGuDkHCvqpxIBm1k1EJMx3yuNbUOA/s1600/IMG_1585.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO9Uv9WdA-fSnQJz7PkzbxcUKeU05P5PfUcezUIHw-9nX0T73b3EEfIPZ58V6lyPbayf7V8lRbUO-LeLwiRdOcX8rxjGH0_65Dr9jsadLYKfgzq7DGuDkHCvqpxIBm1k1EJMx3yuNbUOA/s640/IMG_1585.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Each village/area had a room..this was sparse in quantity compared to others.<br />
Notice the TV for when hanging out with the kids and your fellow farmers. </td></tr>
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It is fascinating to see the work of these farmers and to watch the women sorting through the leaves by size and quality. I spy a child laying on a large sack of leaves taking a nap. Ben, our guide not our son, negotiates with a woman to buy a small sack of coca leaves. She offers to sell him the whole 50lb bag (see pic above...one of those sacks) and he moves on to another woman who is willing to sell him a small amount. Our son, Ben, has been really struggling with altitude sickness and we are hoping to make some coca tea to help him. <br />
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We venture out of the warehouse and pass many of the locals selling produce along the street and come upon the guy selling coca products. Coca is used for all types of medicinal purposes - headaches, hemorrhoids, stomach aches, ED (I think anyone who watches commercials at a football game knows what ED is). We buy some coca tea and coca candy from him and some of the ash the locals use to put between the leaves when chewing them from a woman close by. The ash is from a particular tree that they have been using for this purpose for over 1000 years.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXg_NWyHrDD_EJeWxF0JMHdHuJSKLAWhm_-FRouSz2uiDW-8Kv0_nspIXd1BADdbZKIsKhU-POKFZkDlwvb6rYHoU50q_uJdYmE7HqLEiBupsDCYJ4dQSiyCIDMNc-eEVKu4a26z1uXHg/s1600/IMG_1584.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="352" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXg_NWyHrDD_EJeWxF0JMHdHuJSKLAWhm_-FRouSz2uiDW-8Kv0_nspIXd1BADdbZKIsKhU-POKFZkDlwvb6rYHoU50q_uJdYmE7HqLEiBupsDCYJ4dQSiyCIDMNc-eEVKu4a26z1uXHg/s400/IMG_1584.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Bolivian woman selling the ash you use when chewing coca leaves</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguoNmzhCNrcECYmq6kg6V77yvqL1sjJrlK6bfSnFntiLjR52Df0UMBZdAu0IiQyBBHJVE6HlixfMS_341B7NzGbqF6RTifzbvh_9lapv8fBDMjYHGkJHhfKeMcX7Os7O-yoRnBEXeVtVU/s1600/IMG_1610.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="375" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguoNmzhCNrcECYmq6kg6V77yvqL1sjJrlK6bfSnFntiLjR52Df0UMBZdAu0IiQyBBHJVE6HlixfMS_341B7NzGbqF6RTifzbvh_9lapv8fBDMjYHGkJHhfKeMcX7Os7O-yoRnBEXeVtVU/s400/IMG_1610.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The fruits of our shopping at the Coca Market. A bag of coca leaves, coca caramels, coca tea and the ash for chewing.</td></tr>
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Ben shares with us how the warehouse works and shows us where the trucks come to pick up the coca before traveling to towns and villages all over the country where they will go into production. The government actually regulates the warehouse in an effort to have some control over the distribution of coca leaves. Wow. Interesting experience to share with your 12 year old twins.<br />
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After the coca warehouse it is off to an exclusive view. The taxis and vans do not go up this route so Ben has his father, Javier, pick us up in his taxi. We all pile in and begin the climb up the mountain. This road is so steep! Javier approaches most of it slowly and in first gear. We see many of the indigenous children out playing next to their houses that cling to the bedrock. Ben shares that when the rains come, these homes are often destroyed. The higher up you live, the poorer you are. Just the opposite of how we live in the States...where the views bring the premium prices and prestige.<br />
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Irregardless of the social implications, the views were unbelievable. To see how they have built up this town high into the mountains is a site to behold. It looks surreal.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXlVrmLV_-Ch8Ou_nTvukxwSUK-z1W-BKim5_CT1iVuY25mF0PV8qX5fQk_Q5YORu_cLGe4MMxse_JxcDsYK0l5mv6iEphd2DLssf89OGb4pMuXrfwS_AAiGLZ15MVMSAEaPJuaCPrzMY/s1600/IMG_1578.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXlVrmLV_-Ch8Ou_nTvukxwSUK-z1W-BKim5_CT1iVuY25mF0PV8qX5fQk_Q5YORu_cLGe4MMxse_JxcDsYK0l5mv6iEphd2DLssf89OGb4pMuXrfwS_AAiGLZ15MVMSAEaPJuaCPrzMY/s640/IMG_1578.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Probably one of our last family picks on our RTW adventure.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9ora4iPYPpEqzqcF5FOBY1VZr3Ukl6emALG-3ZSzthWczRLMBLUXdbdPPX6wYrA5dXrOai0X__ewIgWA4hS0YdV_fHD_P9NdhFpzoKXEqAxDvg2moRwUrhM-y_MuOwGBhs2okvcij1iY/s1600/IMG_1581.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9ora4iPYPpEqzqcF5FOBY1VZr3Ukl6emALG-3ZSzthWczRLMBLUXdbdPPX6wYrA5dXrOai0X__ewIgWA4hS0YdV_fHD_P9NdhFpzoKXEqAxDvg2moRwUrhM-y_MuOwGBhs2okvcij1iY/s640/IMG_1581.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look at the sky scrapers in the bottom left to get perspective. Crazy!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1jReORbNnNstQ5hrCF0miaW6BSj5hMxjbKsDa2cBSDq3DzH5G8-30hSbtpFODFfRRKeGFeTtgYuYHW9Dy8egppp70pjqLvRVH1N8HSFxL-nRUUenHQnIet3Sr3w5hxQ4vJLHru21Hzak/s1600/IMG_1582.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1jReORbNnNstQ5hrCF0miaW6BSj5hMxjbKsDa2cBSDq3DzH5G8-30hSbtpFODFfRRKeGFeTtgYuYHW9Dy8egppp70pjqLvRVH1N8HSFxL-nRUUenHQnIet3Sr3w5hxQ4vJLHru21Hzak/s640/IMG_1582.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Homes barely clinging to the mountain side.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgobnDUK_3Gr0B1q6JV1Wa4aZEqzEu0m3NHpZh5oOOBQUP3OvrDWPIdBcfSTCdd96iXJJdCipiV_L6HhN61LHD57lp6VzOWGzJ0P-rWOLf94dy6MtXU4oiOIkOA-pteedoHTRYIrL-VvW4/s1600/IMG_1515.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgobnDUK_3Gr0B1q6JV1Wa4aZEqzEu0m3NHpZh5oOOBQUP3OvrDWPIdBcfSTCdd96iXJJdCipiV_L6HhN61LHD57lp6VzOWGzJ0P-rWOLf94dy6MtXU4oiOIkOA-pteedoHTRYIrL-VvW4/s640/IMG_1515.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You would think with the cross and the view the tourists would be here. Very profound space. </td></tr>
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So we keep breathing deep. Son, Ben, is hanging in there with his altitude sickness. We all head back into Javier's taxi for the continued ascent to the city known as El Alto. They might as well call it "Planet El Alto" or maybe even "Middle Earth". This place is like nothing we have ever seen. It is a fully Indigenous town at the top of the mountain covering a large flat area. They are all dressed in their traditional Indigenous wear with their wide skirts, braids and bowler hats. Many of them live here yet many others come in on treacherous bus rides from the jungle to bring their goods to market.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHqfawT5Aq9j0N3zy5D8T73Wbs6-H6UaolaKT-Rlw1oLZLI_tMdBPgQeepKSGYDeQ-ID2NU1TZn6djoIy364IP_uLfZ4DxCWVuaIemHlkfzGWBe76iHiYwlZg8Zwqnjuba7z7efXOu2gY/s1600/IMG_1566.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHqfawT5Aq9j0N3zy5D8T73Wbs6-H6UaolaKT-Rlw1oLZLI_tMdBPgQeepKSGYDeQ-ID2NU1TZn6djoIy364IP_uLfZ4DxCWVuaIemHlkfzGWBe76iHiYwlZg8Zwqnjuba7z7efXOu2gY/s400/IMG_1566.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Walking through the market</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8YU4zQ0ZYRbyk7v4zCZQBzWin0x1LXoaRnIYmsb1duB7vnvdPB_wDvLkx3_7vFonI_8XPxPT424gJFAHJyKt8Bf-hHB1vB5LdQtYhCm5UOEkTvB1ZfaSD37aAqfhCWekeoMmW5B6GGA0/s1600/IMG_1572.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8YU4zQ0ZYRbyk7v4zCZQBzWin0x1LXoaRnIYmsb1duB7vnvdPB_wDvLkx3_7vFonI_8XPxPT424gJFAHJyKt8Bf-hHB1vB5LdQtYhCm5UOEkTvB1ZfaSD37aAqfhCWekeoMmW5B6GGA0/s400/IMG_1572.JPG" width="356" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Love the skirts and bowler hats</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNsysTKW8EEBMGKUTicZ3aheqc6t8RuHUvpTXdTc8UZ2bxxFvgLNYCFLIVy6Rcv3rvdeod-r1L5p4_cnAwAyaYk5AYasVUnIRWxY5hGjd0HWt4ZCJ4QLBTyKyRjQHQtvEjSEkYtHnuVro/s1600/IMG_1575.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNsysTKW8EEBMGKUTicZ3aheqc6t8RuHUvpTXdTc8UZ2bxxFvgLNYCFLIVy6Rcv3rvdeod-r1L5p4_cnAwAyaYk5AYasVUnIRWxY5hGjd0HWt4ZCJ4QLBTyKyRjQHQtvEjSEkYtHnuVro/s400/IMG_1575.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The loads the women carry on their backs are daunting.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgldOlGTVNbdxN_sJIoUlfolKHr9kn3b3KdbHK_helH76l10ByCIqydaV_eqn19HIbjWzcGqlbDUkwyox8TH7_eeNP48vqAVB3MUjD2aajl2e2QqvcZQ0sP4GS0aYev5Z-ii0c-3xgUoPs/s1600/IMG_1571.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgldOlGTVNbdxN_sJIoUlfolKHr9kn3b3KdbHK_helH76l10ByCIqydaV_eqn19HIbjWzcGqlbDUkwyox8TH7_eeNP48vqAVB3MUjD2aajl2e2QqvcZQ0sP4GS0aYev5Z-ii0c-3xgUoPs/s400/IMG_1571.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Meandering through the markets we receive some scrutiny from the locals as this is not a place that tourists visit. Ben introduces us to two new fruits one of which is called "Tuna". It is spikey and fleshy and has seeds similar to a pomegranate. The other looks like an angular banana and is a favorite of mine...it has a taste like a pear/banana combination. It has seeds in it that you actually don't eat. They are large and purple and brown in color. The market is fascinating to experience and we are thrilled with our day.<br />
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Who knew Ben had another surprise up his sleeve. The next stop in our stroll is to the Mercado de Brujas. The Market of Witches. We are learning that the Indigenous are very superstitious and work hard to please Pachamama (Mother Earth) as well as to bring good fortune to their lives while warding off evil. The stalls of the witches market are filled with a variety of candles, incense, llama fetuses (yes - lots of them) and an assortment of other "goodies" to influence the spirit in their lives.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFx4_nDs11NLdMM102WbKfHquaCD8okKsMQbS-rV7OO6SgXVHXtBFR9WgXFzt-l04KzTgCRXvDhyta2jaYe_8d5_oW3N6tw3unal2-H8cT0BrDg53HsiB4YpLJR3KJEM3cdL_-JkNXD14/s1600/IMG_1554.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFx4_nDs11NLdMM102WbKfHquaCD8okKsMQbS-rV7OO6SgXVHXtBFR9WgXFzt-l04KzTgCRXvDhyta2jaYe_8d5_oW3N6tw3unal2-H8cT0BrDg53HsiB4YpLJR3KJEM3cdL_-JkNXD14/s640/IMG_1554.JPG" width="478" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Llama fetuses - to be burned in a fire and then buried on site before building a home. </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglg2dlqiTU1r2plXIVqXiwv7tP_dQFQg2fzBP6lxehRLbGBm1WG98vmO4VvMsbJvGmXTnu4ehqjtDgVKkcrARN8ndvFWONwdX1ENjWhkn-DJqKvM3rvaLDNPGPlaEt46JImPuAN3ahI9g/s1600/IMG_1556.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglg2dlqiTU1r2plXIVqXiwv7tP_dQFQg2fzBP6lxehRLbGBm1WG98vmO4VvMsbJvGmXTnu4ehqjtDgVKkcrARN8ndvFWONwdX1ENjWhkn-DJqKvM3rvaLDNPGPlaEt46JImPuAN3ahI9g/s640/IMG_1556.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An assortment of candles, incense, candies and other notions to honor Pachamama at the Witches Market.</td></tr>
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This is very interesting to absorb. Our guide's intimate knowledge of the customs really brings this to life for us. The offerings to Pachamama are created for various events in life. Birth, death, marriage, building a home, etc. I end up buying one for "Trabajo".....work. I will bring this home to our fire pit in the states and offer it up to Pachamama in prayer for good jobs to come our way in support of our family.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The offering is full of candy, wax pieces, salt and one nut you are supposed to crack before burning.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You arrange the pieces on top of a fire on a slab of round cardboard in a pleasing circle. Got it!</td></tr>
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Next stop, the Shaman area which looks a bit like what I would dub: Shaman Row. The road is bordered by two rows of buildings housing small sheds where each Shaman sets up shop. There appear to be over 100 of them in business which is a tribute to their importance in the Indigenous culture. Our guide Ben worked very hard to find the "right" shaman. One of his favorites was occupied so he continued until he felt we had the "right" one.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shaman Row. Notice the small fire pits for offerings to Pachamama/God.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ben Montevilla looking for the "right" Shaman.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shaman Marketing - Amauta was engaged when we went by her place.</td></tr>
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Ben asks us if we would like our coca leaves read. SURE! How many people do we know will ever have their coca leaves read by an Indigenous Shaman in the mountains of Bolivia? Our Shaman was in room 101...good number, right? He is quite a nice gentleman. Bill and the kids and I step into his small quarters to experience what the Shaman has to say. The walls are a soft green adorned with pictures of Jesus and Mary. He takes a handful of coca leaves and has each of us blow on his hands. He then slowly lets them fall to his table.<br />
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All in all things are looking good for the Bangert's. We have had some good luck he says. Well, no disrespect, Mr. Shaman but the fact we have traveled the world together for a year took a bit of suerte. (luck) Just saying. He also read in the leaves to give me direction on which job of the two I have under consideration I would be best suited for. We will see if I agree after formal interviews in a few weeks. ;-) We also asked him if the kids' current school was the best choice for them and he advised that the leaves said otherwise. Perhaps Walnut Hills is in their future?? Again...we will see how that shakes out when we get home. Ben would be mortified to leave Madeira. All in all it was a fabulous adventure.<br />
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Lo and behold after our reading, he asked us if we would like to see the secret in his back room. Well, SURE, why not...he seemed like a nice enough guy and we didn't suspect we were going to be fed to the natives. We stepped into a very small back room that had a simple mattress and a door in the back. Our guide reaches out and opens the door and we are blown away with a collective GASP! The back door drops right off the mountain in a view that looks like something you would find in a Tim Burton movie.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Holy Pachamama!!</td></tr>
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It was amazing to say the least. With the rainy season upon them, I will pray that our dear Shaman stays rooted to the side of the mountain. Wow...what a wonderful, out of the ordinary day.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The buses lined up for the trip back to the jungle.</td></tr>
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Off we go towards the vans that will take us back to town. We pass the buses lined up to take the farmers back to their villages...on the road down the treacherous back side of the mountain to the jungle. We will hop in our van with half a dozen Pacenas and pay our twenty two cents each to return to the city of La Paz.<br />
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Unexpectedly on our drive down the hill, much to my delight, we are passing the local cemetery. I get the added thrill of seeing the style of the local cemetery.....without having the kids roll their eyes at me. Muh-hahahah. Bonus!<br />
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We breath deeply with a sigh of satisfaction, La Paz all around us...knowing we have just had the Ultimate South American Field Trip. <br />
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Annie Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10877390854445471317noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5926060964313977979.post-149979892670495532012-12-09T15:49:00.002-08:002012-12-10T12:30:12.545-08:00Buenos Aires-More than just the "Paris" of South America<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>It was late in 2004 and early in 2005 that Annie and I first thought of living somewhere other than the United States. Nothing against the land of the free and the home of the brave, we have just had a serious case of wanderlust for quite some time. Our kids were just about to turn five, and we'd been living in Madeira for almost five years, so we hadn't met many other Madeira parents as is the case when your kids get involved in school and sports once they hit six or seven. I did some research on the best places for ex-pats and at the top of the list: Buenos Aires, Argentina. It took us about eight years to get there but we finally did. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>When planning our South American portion of our trip, Buenos Aires was pretty much the only definite destination we had on that continent. The most common description of Buenos Aires is that it's the Paris of South America. We definitely felt some of that almost immediately upon our arrival. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>It didn't take us long to see evidence of the European influence in the architecture of Buenos Aires. We were staying in the fairly well-known area of Recoleta, which supposedly has the best example of French architecture of any area of the city.</b></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Buenos Aires street near our apartment</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Buenos Aires is a large cosmopolitan city, with a strong European vibe thanks to the many wide boulevards and plazas shaded by sycamore trees and palm trees. It's a great look that I highly recommend for more cities. Like Cincinnati for example. Let's take advantage of this opportunity and plant some palm trees around the Banks. It would be like we were somewhere else, and isn't that what we all really want in Cincinnati?</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Buenos Aires is a very walkable city, and we did plenty of that during our week there. The weather was spectacular, with low humidity and comfortable temperatures as spring started to be nudged aside by summer. It gave Annie the chance to take some beautiful photos.</b></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Springtime in Buenos Aires</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>The beauty of Buenos Aires was in full bloom as we strolled along Avenida Presidente Figueroa Alcorta, close to where it intersects with Brigadier General Juan Facundo Quiroga. You see a lot of streets in South America named after political figures, including their entire names, as well as military heroes, using their entire names as well. There are also a lot of streets named after significant dates in South American history. We saw that trend first in Cuenca Ecuador as we frequently walked down Avenida 3 de Noviembre, and it continued in Buenos Aires as we took a taxi along Avenida 9 de Julio. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>7/9 Avenue as it might be called in the States, is a magnificent, sprawling boulevard that is home to a giant obelisk in the heart of town. The comparisons that have been made to the Champs Elysees in Paris are valid, as both are the carotid artery of the cities they call home. I couldn't take a photo to do justice to the splendor of the avenue, so I borrowed one from the internet. Thanks World Wide Web! And of course, Al Gore!</b></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Avenida 9 De Julio at dusk</td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">It's really something to see, especially at night, which we did once by taxi. As much as Buenos Aires definitely has a European feel at times, Annie and I both thought it also felt a lot like New York City. The area where we stayed, Recoleta, definitely felt like one of the great residential areas of Manhattan, like those around Soho or Midtown. Cafes and shops crowd the shady sidewalks, as pedestrians stroll by and occasionally duck into one of the establishments, freeing up much-needed space on the pavement for other <i>peatones</i>. </span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Just to the right of the obelisk in the photo above are some pedestrian walkways, which are a pleasure to take in. The Argentinians are well-known for their ravenous love of meat, and it was hard to walk very far without seeing a parilla. <br />Parillas are basically steakhouses which served up all kinds of grilled meat, including lamb, pork and chicken.</b></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMDSSH_abGkb-YoYrS_StESgVKFL9GoQjTvdLvkeqivEbVAogjUE6qkjBp4HB-U3OdP2DAw73qdCNOHsU2AFBe_bQycMsZhwb1znMSKiGTSoSmcNGizl-JGdu5hd_heW6HkXw9zs-jiC4/s1600/img_1140.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMDSSH_abGkb-YoYrS_StESgVKFL9GoQjTvdLvkeqivEbVAogjUE6qkjBp4HB-U3OdP2DAw73qdCNOHsU2AFBe_bQycMsZhwb1znMSKiGTSoSmcNGizl-JGdu5hd_heW6HkXw9zs-jiC4/s320/img_1140.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the many Parrillas in Buenos Aires</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>The walkway definitely echoed some of the places we had visited earlier on the trip, especially some cities in Europe. The atmosphere was very enjoyable and part of it was not feeling like outsiders, as we had in Cuenca, where it was clear that you were either a local or a Gringo. </b></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZkueh2u4PTqzd-GGHIQEvFeLq1t-BbxyJN2tWD0Y4yFTECqH7r3tEgGKc10T9Pa2pbKQkxMTBr1jXFko9MuJOWqeJQR0TaQRUXLgWnVMIU27BXngOF67Gz7jjcRWgWRwk-u9bDF9tb6s/s1600/img_1139(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZkueh2u4PTqzd-GGHIQEvFeLq1t-BbxyJN2tWD0Y4yFTECqH7r3tEgGKc10T9Pa2pbKQkxMTBr1jXFko9MuJOWqeJQR0TaQRUXLgWnVMIU27BXngOF67Gz7jjcRWgWRwk-u9bDF9tb6s/s320/img_1139(1).jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Strolling down Calle Lavalle</td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">One of the major attractions that was within walking distance of our cozy apartment was the Recoleta Cemetery. It covers 14 acres, with almost 4700 graves (all above ground), 94 of which are notable enough to be protected by the government. Annie's a bit whacky for cemeteries and we've seen our share in the course of the past 11 months. This one, however, was probably the most impressive we've visited.</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>The place is fascinating and overwhelming at the same time. Row after
row of crypts stretch out, seemingly without end, each carrying the
story of the person or persons interred there</b></span>. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyp1aRoy6inciigIX0hzpxBFQId-yT5zXEr-SAY5zeQfNQdgCAsRiS2kzakZYsye8OoCx7mwv_kTgGTA-OO81R_isl7WBey2sGhSfSoCZmOuhfzsftuVBR-xWTqPtuZM-ooDAw4d5XeXs/s1600/img_1055.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyp1aRoy6inciigIX0hzpxBFQId-yT5zXEr-SAY5zeQfNQdgCAsRiS2kzakZYsye8OoCx7mwv_kTgGTA-OO81R_isl7WBey2sGhSfSoCZmOuhfzsftuVBR-xWTqPtuZM-ooDAw4d5XeXs/s320/img_1055.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crypts at Recoleta Cemetery</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">It's extremely tempting to stop and study each of the thousands of monuments, many of which have elaborate carvings on them. Of course, if you actually did that, you would probably be there long enough to qualify for your own eye-catching crypt.</span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiptRjNUhMlhOL0q66WZFdVsmwNpbAfP6LZYKf6ePx4moeVdEnObDoPg0Iw_FXbKmsVpjIHd-htBDmdkVmVNe8r5zmmf3-GmD9LnLvfDY_zrRPWYnYGpnLt0Qr6Sj_Bx-6G_ml7jEayAi4/s1600/img_1052.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiptRjNUhMlhOL0q66WZFdVsmwNpbAfP6LZYKf6ePx4moeVdEnObDoPg0Iw_FXbKmsVpjIHd-htBDmdkVmVNe8r5zmmf3-GmD9LnLvfDY_zrRPWYnYGpnLt0Qr6Sj_Bx-6G_ml7jEayAi4/s320/img_1052.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Too many to take in!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>The most notable person interred there is the former Argentinian First Lady, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eva_Per%C3%B3n" target="_blank">Eva Peron</a>, or Evita as she is known and celebrated among the locals. It took us a while to find her gravesite, as there are no signs pointing it out. A quick question of a security guard at the cemetery didn't provide much help, but we found some other people from the US who pointed us in the right direction.</b></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzqgVq1pInAc9J9-TzA2BwQd-FKuUfzIUv_dNaVYi8i6bsG6-pPRoQMaOXBRkEkHk1ws2j1B5CjZxG_LaP91PAYyS9nTW4avDV3daqPYh7mrSX8fz1g2JgSMz-Nz7SajR8vhhICdDQAAg/s1600/img_1076.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzqgVq1pInAc9J9-TzA2BwQd-FKuUfzIUv_dNaVYi8i6bsG6-pPRoQMaOXBRkEkHk1ws2j1B5CjZxG_LaP91PAYyS9nTW4avDV3daqPYh7mrSX8fz1g2JgSMz-Nz7SajR8vhhICdDQAAg/s320/img_1076.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The resting place of Evita</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">As graves of famous people go, it's a pretty humble presentation. I personally had to fight back the urge to break out some mad dance moves and sing "Material Girl" or "Get Into the Groove" in honor of Madonna who of course starred in Evita and apparently did a pretty good job in the title role. But we have always had a policy of not ticking off the dead, because that's one group you don't want angry at you.</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Two events on the late November calendar would have us feeling a little homesick during our stay in Buenos Aires. The Thursday we were there happened to be Thanksgiving. A little research online showed a couple of places that served a traditional turkey dinner targeting ex-pats on Thanksgiving. One was a pub within walking distance of our apartment that had gotten good reviews for its Turkey Day offerings over the past three or four years. Another was a restaurant named Kansas that had three locations in Buenos Aires, all requiring a taxi cab ride, so I dialed up the pub first.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>The woman who answered the phone at the pub didn't speak any English, and my Spanish was so pathetic she quickly handed the phone over to the owner. He was a very friendly man from the States who explained that we were welcome to come by, but he was done with the Thanksgiving Dinner plan. He said that inflation had gotten so out of hand that it just didn't make any financial sense to take a big loss, so after four years, he was keeping the turkey and gravy in the fridge and putting the green bean casserole away for good.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>That pretty much made the decision for our plans for the day. I called the closest of the three Kansas locations and asked if they were doing a Thanksgiving dinner, and the woman speaking in Spanish, assured me they were. She also assured me that yes, they would be showing futbol Americano.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>A cab ride of about 20 minutes had us in front of the Kansas restaurant, which was a sprawling, North American-looking establishment. It was almost three pm local time, but we were able to be seated right away in one of the last remaining booths. The only problem was that it was immediately clear we weren't going to be seeing any futbol Americano because there was only one TV in the place, and it was at the bar on the other side of the restaurant and it was showing futbol sud americano. Goofy kickball! Use your thumbs, pick it up already!</b></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0wDHUdsl1-OuBdgojilcRW9cNRdmXwyMtkJImNZoUFGL6MKzvvvPACmFSKggP7yfRg1P8zgSh5-lH0mfcVgpCwm4bhDUGkseqQ_WllxVdObKrkl4WD34ex6OoKtzznaV5m4w5ym8_exo/s1600/img_1107.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0wDHUdsl1-OuBdgojilcRW9cNRdmXwyMtkJImNZoUFGL6MKzvvvPACmFSKggP7yfRg1P8zgSh5-lH0mfcVgpCwm4bhDUGkseqQ_WllxVdObKrkl4WD34ex6OoKtzznaV5m4w5ym8_exo/s320/img_1107.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thanksgiving menu at Kansas</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The restaurant did live up to one of the two promises made to me on the phone as they were, indeed, serving up a traditional Thanksgiving dinner. It was a little pricey and we could see from other diners' tables that the portions were pretty big, so among us only Annie ordered the turkey. (The price you see at the bottom of the menu in the picture above is in Argentinian Pesos, not US Dollars, so it was about $25 US.)</span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioEesyvY6fCXhfj7FDGLNulRfIZaaa3A2ELrQuIM_zLeZPFmtyAhGIJ7MYNEhf9XiPvLN1GjAkHtuRO7htBv1pTOgLfLqzTCObbaJhcfn5Ewp4h_P0xenvFvgf-2HyDCdeDCTEQKq0wWo/s1600/img_1108.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioEesyvY6fCXhfj7FDGLNulRfIZaaa3A2ELrQuIM_zLeZPFmtyAhGIJ7MYNEhf9XiPvLN1GjAkHtuRO7htBv1pTOgLfLqzTCObbaJhcfn5Ewp4h_P0xenvFvgf-2HyDCdeDCTEQKq0wWo/s320/img_1108.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Turkey dinner in Buenos Aires</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>I had a decent steak, Ben ordered the ribs and Marley of course had a plate of pasta. It wasn't quite the experience we were looking for, but we still enjoyed it as a family. And that's what Thanksgiving is all about, right? We managed to do an on-camera Facebook chat later that day with Annie's family gathered for the holiday, so that helped douse some of the homesickness we felt.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Two days later, we searched out another ex-pat spot in Buenos Aires, a "resto-bar" called Shoeless Joe's Alamo. It was one of two places in BA that advertised showing NFL football on Sundays, so we figured it was a pretty good bet they would be showing a fairly important NCAA college football game on a Saturday afternoon. Not just any game mind you, but The Game.</b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>I was raised a Buckeyes football fan by my parents, neither of whom went to Ohio State but lived in Ohio most of their lives. My dad was a big Reds, Bengals and Buckeyes fan like I have become, and my mom liked the fact that Dad and I shared our love of sports together. (<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b_wnD6jxREU" target="_blank">"Hey.....Dad....ya wanna have a catch?"</a>) When Dad and I watched our favorite teams on TV togerther, Mom would usually be somewhere close by watching passively. Even with all those hours of televised sports, the only time I ever saw her get upset was when something bad happened to the Buckeyes football team. A good example is when they lost to Jim Plunkett and Stanford in the Rose Bowl in 1971, costing them a chance at the national title. Seeing my mom upset about the Buckeyes losing, after not having much emotion in reaction to the Bengals playoff loss to the Colts just a week earlier and the Reds loss to the Orioles in the World Series a couple of months before that had a big impact on me. It embedded in me the distinct impression that would stay with me for the rest of my life: According to my mom, there's Buckeyes football and there's EVERYTHING ELSE.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Allow me to digress for just one more paragraph, I promise! Imagine how great that was for me as a 9-year old boy, my first year seriously following sports about 12 months after we had moved to Cincinnati from Youngstown. My baseball team makes it to the World Series, my pro football team wins its' final seven games to make the playoffs in only their third year in existence, (at the time, the fastest any expansion team had made the post-season), and my college football team goes undefeated in the regular season and plays for the National Title. What a horrid sports childhood I would have had if we hadn't moved from Youngstown, as I would have been rooting for the Indians (one of the worst teams in baseball in the 70s while the Reds had the best record in all of baseball for that decade) and the Browns. Ugh. At least we still would have had the Buckeyes. O-H!!</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>So all those memories and electrical impulses are surging through and around my brain as we walk toward El Alamo. As we get there, we see three or four guys standing outside smoking cigarettes, the majority of which are wearing that awful maize and blue color combination. They seemed harmless enough, so I approached them and said, pointing toward their shirts and nodding toward the bar "Is everyone inside wearing this, or will I find some Scarlet and Gray in there?" They laughed and a guy just emerging from El Alamo was wearing the OSU colors and said, "There's plenty more of this inside!"</b></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnjGPaNmzoEws1FA0e8fvcKjbjKUXdl0KbPVKIOVD2tTMFTq9De7SPYScR08acD1pn6wauBtuAbpkPW7J8zzcf8NexdeAH55M3DUEohiYEPDXjztO_CbtoTeqO03eat6Bk3XlI_cY3ejA/s1600/Michigan+guys.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnjGPaNmzoEws1FA0e8fvcKjbjKUXdl0KbPVKIOVD2tTMFTq9De7SPYScR08acD1pn6wauBtuAbpkPW7J8zzcf8NexdeAH55M3DUEohiYEPDXjztO_CbtoTeqO03eat6Bk3XlI_cY3ejA/s320/Michigan+guys.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wolverine fans at El Alamo</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>It was pretty much a fifty/fifty split between UM and OSU fans inside
and there was some good-natured ribbing going on as the game went back
and forth. The Game came down to the fourth quarter and the Bucks made enough key plays to hold on for a glorious 26-21 victory, completing a perfect 12-0 season, much to the delight of the Buckeye contingent at El Alamo.</b></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3v_dMimdNnVJB-k9kCSqqNxkRgkI_KTd06dzt6_U5U2lpBjrVr6CGLON5C1daMcYtRSzhkWADbBR7jtJg5f_X5ruDzInwYMDBKiIPv841AqWUr1J7uXq172Lky2o9n3mkzUBH_l8st68/s1600/img_1166.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3v_dMimdNnVJB-k9kCSqqNxkRgkI_KTd06dzt6_U5U2lpBjrVr6CGLON5C1daMcYtRSzhkWADbBR7jtJg5f_X5ruDzInwYMDBKiIPv841AqWUr1J7uXq172Lky2o9n3mkzUBH_l8st68/s320/img_1166.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">12-0!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>You can argue until you're maize and blue in the face that the perfect season is diminished by the Buckeyes probationary status, but Urban Meyer and his players couldn't control any of that. All they could do was line up and play every team on the schedule, which they did finishing each game with a win. To complete a perfect season with a win over Michigan made it all the more special, and for my family of Buckeye fans, including my wife-an OSU grad, it was a result that would ensure that we would always remember El Alamo. And Buenos Aires.</b></span><br />
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Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10992767582998476713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5926060964313977979.post-73518396292657991642012-12-08T06:00:00.002-08:002012-12-08T06:33:44.578-08:00South Africa<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Here's another disturbing example (at least to me and some members of my family) of how my brain works. Before taking this trip, when I thought of South Africa, I either thought of Gary Player and Ernie Els (two world-famous golfers who are natives of SA) or a scene from Lethal Weapon 2. In the scene Joe Pesci is </span></b><b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">with Danny Glover</span></b> at the South African Consulate in Los Angeles and the worker there is stunned that Glover would want to go to South Africa because of his race. It's a pretty<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9v4CFjrjBxc" target="_blank"> funny clip</a>. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">A lot has changed about South Africa since Lethal Weapon 2 was released. For one thing, there have been two more Lethal Weapon films, each more hideous than the one before. More importantly, Nelson Mandela was president of South Africa from 1994-1999. Don't know if you've noticed this, but he's, like they say in the Lethal Weapon 2 clip, "blek." </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">In planning the trip, South Africa was high on our list of destinations mostly because of friends we knew who had either visited there or lived there. It's not an easy place to get to, but we felt pretty confident it would be worth the effort. And it definitely took some effort to get there.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">With our 90 days in the Schengen Agreement burned through, it was time to get out of Europe. We left Munich at about 4:30pm local time and arrived in Doha, Qatar at around 11:15pm. We spent the night in the airport, not sleeping much, doing what we could to find power outlets to get some juice in our devices. It was very interesting to watch the ebbs and flows of the airport during the overnight hours, as flights came and went from and to all around the world at all different times of the morning.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Our departure from Doha was at 7:15am, with a direct flight to Cape Town that arrived at 5:40pm. It added up to around 25 hours of travel, our longest travel segment of the trip (so far). It wasn't quite as much of an ordeal as I expected for whatever reason. We did get to see the sun come up in Qatar, which was a first for us.</span></b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBzElbShK8XqNEb03F6hZNAwQtkMNYH4-_O20o2CFENIjlYDrLDo79-V-6aeRiNjTuGr358M9xxyz6eYJ6VEUG6Oc2QCQt1k0gnbqUTDVz9RK8rZYprHOW583bNkZaYGAGRbzKoaCN0u0/s1600/IMG_2032.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBzElbShK8XqNEb03F6hZNAwQtkMNYH4-_O20o2CFENIjlYDrLDo79-V-6aeRiNjTuGr358M9xxyz6eYJ6VEUG6Oc2QCQt1k0gnbqUTDVz9RK8rZYprHOW583bNkZaYGAGRbzKoaCN0u0/s320/IMG_2032.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">People we talked to about South Africa raved about its natural beauty and we saw evidence of that before we even set foot on the soil of that country. As our plane approached the airport at Cape Town, the coastline spread out below us in all its' beauty.</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>We got to experience even more of that beauty first hand with the waterfront condo that I found online at a good price that I managed to negotiate even lower for our stay there. It was in an area called Mouille Point, and was almost literally in the shadow of the stadium where the World Cup games were played in Cape Town in 2010. If you listened closely and the wind was coming from just the right direction, you could almost hear the echoes of the vuvuzelas, those horns that were blown constantly during the competition. In case you forgot what they sounded like there is a website that plays the vuvuzela, 24/7-365: http://www.vuvuzela.fm/ You're welcome!</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>The weather wasn't perfect while we were in Cape Town, but it was good enough for us to get to explore some of what was quite possibly the most beautiful urban setting we had seen on the trip. There were vuvuzelas for sale on the streets of Cape Town, along with all kinds of other trinkets and souvenirs and clothing and hats, etc., etc.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>We've tried to avoid doing "touristy" things along the way, but one of the activities that brands you as a tourist has turned out to be a great way to see an area that you are unfamiliar with, especially if you don't have a car: the double decker open-top bus. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>We first heard of the bus tours which operate in several major cities when we were staying just outside Paris. That's when we really started to plan the South African part of the trip and a friend of ours who is from SA recommended taking the tour as a great way to see the city in a short amount of time for not a lot of money. We took her advice and did the bus tours in both Dublin and Edinburgh, and really enjoyed it. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>That enjoyment continued in Cape Town, and it really was a fantastic way to see the city. You can get on the bus at any of its' many stops and get back off again anywhere you want. And it's really a great ride in Cape Town, especially if you listen to the recorded commentary that describes the different parts of town the bus goes through and some of the sights along the way.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>The water front area of Cape Town became one of our favorite spots. With Table Mountain in the background, the water shimmered with the reflection of buildings and ships and boats and a gigantic red Lego figure.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>One of the stops that the bus took was to the top of Table Mountain, where you could pay a fee and ride a cable car up to the top of the mountain for an even better view. We were running out of time to catch the last bus of the day, so we skipped the cable car ride and settled for a beautiful view of the bay.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>What a spectacular view it was! Those views continued as we took the bus south from Table Mountain towards Camps Bay and Bantry Bay. The road hugs the twisting shoreline around some secluded coves that are home to pristine beaches. Seeing the ocean, beaches and mountains as part of a singular landscape was stunning.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>The bus route went right by the apartment we rented, and even though there wasn't an assigned stop there the driver was kind enough to pull over and let us out, avoiding a pretty long walk from the closest stop. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>We took that long walk into town the next good weather day to take the ferry to <a href="http://www.robben-island.org.za/" target="_blank">Robben Island</a>. Despite it's beautiful setting, Robben Island has been a place where unwanted members of society have been sent for about 400 years. Home to political prisoners and even lepers over the years, Robben Island is best known for being where Nelson Mandela was imprisoned for 18 years. A ferry runs a few times a day, taking passengers over to see where the prisoners called home.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>The island is about four miles off the mainland and was also used as a military fortification during World War II when the locals became concerned about the Japanese invading. Tour buses take people to a few stops on the island, and the most compelling one is the prison where Mandela was held.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Mandela's cell is closed off and preserved as it was when he was there. Most of the guides are former prisoners who tell some pretty chilling tales of what life was like, especially while Mandela was there.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>It's fascinating to get a first-hand look at the place where the future President of South Africa was held, and released just 22 years ago.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>One thing I liked about the guide who led our group through the facility was that he seemed to have no bitterness about the half-dozen our so years he was held there as a political prisoner, and it was obvious he had great pride to have shared time there with Mandela. And we were fulfilled to have been able to see a powerful part of South African history in person.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>After five days, it was time to leave Cape Town and head east, along what's called the Garden Route. The route through the southern part of South Africa is filled with even more beauty. After seeing so much amazing scenery around Cape Town, you kind of figure that the beauty bucket would be empty. Not quite. We rented a car in CT and hit the N2, with the town of Mossel Bay being our destination for a couple of nights. As we headed east, we were bombarded with non stop mountain views to our left. This went on literally for hours, and as we got close to Mossel Bay, the scenery got even more beautiful as the view from the road would occasionally include the ocean to our right.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>The place we booked in Mossel Bay was the lower portion of a house that had a great view over the bay and nature provided us a welcoming gift of a gorgeous sunset our first night there. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>The owners were a very interesting couple. He was from Switzerland and she was a Brit and they had been living in South Africa for several years, having moved to Mossel Bay from Durban. They were still searching for just the right spot and were thinking of South America and gave us some interesting reading materials, including several copies of International Living magazine. Those articles got our brains spinning about living somewhere else for a while.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>The location of Mossel Bay made it perfect for a day trip to see an ostrich farm and a nearby animal sanctuary. Both were near the town of Oudtshoorn, so we got in our rental car for the 90-minute drive to see some more wildlife. Unfortunately, for us and more so for the birds, some sort of bird flu had the ostrich farms shut down. But that didn't stop us from getting a close-up look at those amazing creatures. We pulled off at the entrance to one of the farms, where some of the large, prehistoric looking birds were gathered.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>They seemed to like the attention, and were not shy about us approaching them. Up close, the birds are absolute freaks of nature. These huge bodies on spindly legs with those long necks that don't look like they should be able to support their heads. When they open their wings, you can see how the feathers are connected and it looks skeletal. Very weird. And while we were disappointed the ostrich farms were not open, it was great just to have the chance to see them separated only by the wires of a fence.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Fortunately, the ostrich farm wasn't our only desired destination of the day. Not too far away was the <a href="http://www.cango.co.za/" target="_blank">Cango Wildlife Ranch</a>, offering a "hands-on" experience to check out some wildlife. You never know about the quality of these places and how the animals are being taken care of, but we had a good feeling from the moment we pulled into the parking lot.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>The wildlife ranch is sort of a glorified zoo, with the main attractions being large cats. The cats had the appropriate large spaces to in which to move around, and seemed pretty happy with their surroundings.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>There was an option, for a price of course, to have an intimate encounter with lemurs. Ben and Annie were the most into it, so to economize as much as possible, we paid for just those two to have a personal tour with the lemurs. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>That proved to be some of the best money we spent on the trip, if for no other reason than the pictures we got of Ben with the lemurs. He's something of an animal whisperer and animals totally take to him. He's got such a great heart that one time on vacation when he was about seven we were out to eat, and he ordered just plain fish and wanted to make sure it didn't have any spicy seasonings on it. Turns out he wanted to take some from the restaurant to give to some stray cats he had seen as we walked to dinner from our rental condo. Apparently word has spread since then among the animal kingdom, because animals of all varieties just seem to love him, including lemurs.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>And the feeling is definitely mutual.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Annie got into the act as well, showing off her own animal magnetism.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>If nothing else, our visit made me appreciate the animators of movies like Madagascar, who really capture the essence of animals such as the lemur and the meerkat.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>On our way out of Mossel Bay we took the advice of the owners of the place where we were staying and went across the bay to try to spot some whales. It didn't take long at all to see the graceful beasts swimming a few hundred yards off the coast. We tried to take some pictures but we don't have a telephoto lens on our camera and they didn't come out, so we'll just have to rely on our photographic memories to recall the majesty of the half-dozen or so whales we saw that day.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Our final stop on the Garden Route was for a few days in a seaside area known as Nature's Valley. We had to be in Port Elizabeth in four days for our flight to Johannesburg and the start of our three-day safari in Kruger National Park. Nature's Valley was comprised of a few hundred vacation homes spread out among about a half dozen streets that ran parallel to a really pretty beach. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>We jumped on a good weather day and had a great time hanging in the sand and creating our own little village. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Our house was fairly typical of many of the homes in Nature's Valley. It was on a decent-sized lot and we loved the a-frame construction and the big glass sliding doors that opened up to a nice deck. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>There was only one restaurant in Nature's Valley and we ate there pretty much everyday, making friends with one of the servers there. He had dreams of going to the States, joining a friend in Texas for a while working as a welder and saving up some money, hoping to return to South Africa with a bunch of money a few years later. We wished him well on that.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Nature beckoned again as it does so often in South Africa, and just a short drive away was <a href="http://www.plettenbergbayinfo.co.za/plett/monkeyland.html" target="_blank">Monkeyland and Birds of Eden</a>. The two adjoining nature parks had a decent package deal and exposed us to even more wildlife. As fellow primates, we decided to save the monkeys for last and began with the birds. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Birds of Eden is described as the world's largest free-flight aviary, covering more than five and a half acres, with more than 3,500 specimens of almost 300 species. They are enclosed in a massive netting system that rises about 150 feet into the sky, giving the birds plenty of space to fly around. We walked along the more than mile and a half of boardwalks, and were amazed at all the different types of birds we saw. I can't possibly describe everything we saw as well as pictures can, so enjoy!</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>We had a blast at Birds of Eden, but you know what's even more fun than birds? Monkeys!!</b></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b> Monkeyland was just a short walk away from the bird sanctuary, and Lots and lots of monkeys called Monkeyland home, and it was just a short walk from one place to the other.</b></span>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>To get into the primate world of Monkeyland, it's necessary to go through a double gate, to keep the monkeys from getting out. Most of the monkeys at Monkeyland come from zoos that have gotten overcrowded or from people who thought it would be a great idea to have a monkey as a pet. And it does sound like a great idea, until they start flinging poo at you at the dinner table or demonstrating inappropriate and distracting behavior while you're trying to watch America's Got Talent, which I'm guessing is a pretty popular show in the world of monkeys.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>The monkeys at Monkeyland have free reign of the place and seem pretty content. They were clearly accustomed to human visitors and it was great to have them scamper about on the ground and in the trees coming very close to us several times.</b></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">They're fed a diet of fruit and hover around the feeding stations, especially when tour groups come through. It was fun to watch them eat the orange slices, some of them carefully studying them before deciding which one to devour.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">One of our favorites was a Lar Gibbon, who unlike most of the other monkeys, hung out by himself most of the time. He made a few brief appearances on the periphery of the other monkey activities.</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>The closest and most frequent encounters we had came with the lemurs. They darted in and out of the trees and along the paths that we walked along, some of them carrying adorable little lemur babies.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>There were monkeys beside us, around us and above us, and we enjoyed it as much as we could considering the 15 or so members of the group we were with. We did have a very good guide who did a great job of patiently answering questions and explaining the different species of monkeys we were seeing.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>We had a great time seeing all the different kinds of monkeys prowling around Monkeyland, and they seemed to enjoy our visit just about as much. That taste of wildlife was just an appetizer for the seven-course meal of wildlife awaiting us at our next stop.</b></span><br />
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Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10992767582998476713noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5926060964313977979.post-19263831960889202362012-11-28T06:14:00.002-08:002012-11-28T06:18:43.180-08:00Ecuador<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>After three weeks back home in Cincinnati, it was pretty weird to be packing up and hitting the road again. The time we spent at our house provided us with a great sense of familiarity, which we soaked up after ten months of staying in more than one hundred different places in 24 countries. The familiar became exotic for us, as we got to see family and friends and places we had missed in more than 300 days on the road. The challenge of routine everyday activities was gone, replaced by a welcoming ease of language and setting, which was very relaxing. Now, it was time to leave that comfort level behind and dive back into the daily experience of living with a different language and culture.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Travel is enticing, however, and it took less than 24 hours for the thrill of the road to get us in its grips once again. Our first stop was Quito, Ecuador. We were on our way to a house-sitting assignment for 20 days in Cuenca, a 45-minute plane ride from Quito. Our flight arrived in Quito at ten at night, so we booked a hotel for the night and would head for Cuenca the next day. The Hotel Antinea was adorable, with great architecture and a welcoming feel, that started right in the cozy lobby.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>My expectation upon traveling after being home for three weeks was that I wouldn't want to be living in unfamiliar surroundings and getting clothes out of a suitcase each day once again. But those feelings faded away, replaced by the sense of adventure of communicating with people in a different land and also by the sense of unity that we felt as a family. Our ten months on the road from December of 2011 until early October of 2012 had created an unspoken bond that we all felt, even as we were seated apart on the flight from Atlanta to Quito. It's what we'd done for almost a year now, and we really enjoyed it.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>One of the more enjoyable parts of the trip was landing house sitting gigs. We got the twenty-day house sitting job in Cuenca through <a href="http://trustedhousesitters.com/">trustedhousesitters.com</a>, the site we used to take care of 5 labradoodle puppies in France back in July. Our quality care of the property and pets there resulted in getting a glowing reference from that homeowner and paved the way for our next job through that website.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>When we saw the listing for the house sitting job in Ecuador, we were immediately intrigued. It was from a couple in a condo who needed someone to take care of their two older cats, plus it also featured Direct TV and wireless internet. As much as we like to experience the local culture, it's also a nice perk to be able to have a bit of a taste of home, so the satellite TV and internet helped trigger our applying for the job.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Kathy and Maik, the cat owners and condo people, were originally uneasy about the whole house sitting concept, but Annie exchanged a couple of messages through the website and convinced them to do a video chat session to try to help seal the deal. We chatted for about 15 minutes with them while we were in South Africa, and agreed to head to Cuenca at the start of the South American phase of the trip.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>After a comfortable night in Quito, we headed for Cuenca on a Wednesday afternoon. A 45-minute flight landed us in the capital of the Azuay province of Ecuador in the southern highlands of the small nation on the western coast of South America. It's nestled among the sierra of the Andes mountains, with an altitude of about 8200 feet, or roughly three thousand feet higher than Denver. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>The condo where we lived with
Whiskers and Spirit was part of a multi-family building on the western
edge of town. On the ground floor of the complex were some shops,
including a hair dresser, fish place, a couple of clothing shops and a
mini-market. There was only one woman who worked there the entire
duration of our stay, and her name was, predictably enough, Maria. She
spoke exactly no English, but we had a great time chatting with her
during our nearly daily visits to her shop. It was a fun experience to
converse with her in our "gorilla" Spanish and her patient toddler-level
Spanish. (Me in Spanish: "Me like eat food. Me like Cuenca and those
beer!" Her: Esta Bien!") </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>One of the more appealing aspects of life in Cuenca is the large ex-pat population. Cuenca is considered one of the top spots for foreigners in all of South America. It's a city of about 500,000 people and the locals are friendly to gringos, plus there is a very well-organized gringo culture that meshes well with the Cuencanos. Annie signed up for a daily email from a service called the Gringo Tree, which contains a handful of notices about activities in the community, along with a classified ad or two, sort of a Craigslist type of thing.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Taxis are very affordable, costing only about $2 to get into the center of town, but most of the time we headed into Cuenca, we chose to walk. With no major hills in the way, the stroll was fairly easy. We made that walk pretty much every day at least one way. Three times a week, we took Spanish lessons at a bookstore in town where the people we are house sitting for took lessons and we slid into their two-hour spot while they were back home in Chicago. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Maria Elena, our instructor, was very patient with us, especially with Ben and Marley. Annie and I had some lingering Spanish knowledge tucked back in the distant recesses of what's left of our brains and some of that actually bubbled back to life. The kids caught on reasonably quickly, and it was fun to put our limited but increasing knowledge of Spanish to use on the streets and in shops and restaurants.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>We also put it to use during our second week in Cuenca, during the tres dias de fiestas the city was having as part of it's Independence Day Celebrations. Vendors were selling a wide variety of wares in tents set up in locations all across the city. Annie jumped on the chance to buy some alpaca blankets at a good price but most of the time we just tent-shopped, enjoying being among the crowds who filled the city from all around Ecuador. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>One of the highlights of the three days of celebrations was a parade held on the middle day, which we watched from the central square in town, Calderon. The parade participants included a wide variety, with some sporting wild outfits and putting on a brief performance in front of the reviewing stand just to our left.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>My favorite was some girls dressed in indigenous outfits who danced their way down the street. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>The parade and festival were great ways for us to really get into the local culture as well as feel tall. One thing that really stood out as we walked around the streets of Cuenca for almost three weeks was how much taller we were than most of the locals. Gotta admit, that at the height of 5'8", I enjoyed that aspect of life in Ecuador.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Annie's daily email from the Daily Gringo updated us on the events that were happening in Cuenca, especially those targeted at Gringos such as us. Various restaurants had "gringo" nights during the week, and we checked a few of those out during our stay. One of the first we tried was a bit of a dud, as the food wasn't very good and the prices were high. Plus, at the table next to us, what looked to be a first date was going on. They both looked to be in their 60s, with the woman at the table talking quite loudly, and the man trying to act patient while at the same time having a look on his face like he couldn't wait to get out of there. Then at the end of their evening at the restaurant, he whipped out some dental floss and started digging into his teeth like he was starving and wanted every last morsel of food wedged between his pearly whites. I don't know if he did that to try to make sure that he would never have to sit through a dinner with this woman again or not. Turns out that we ran into him a few other times around town in our three weeks there, and he chatted us up once at lunch and turned out to be a very nice guy. He was a Texan who had just moved to Cuenca a few months before. As we were wrapping up our meal that day, I was tempted to ask him if he had any dental floss that I could use, but I managed to restrain myself. </b></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">A more enjoyable Gringo night was our second Friday night there when a cute restaurant where we had breakfast once early in our stay was having a Mexican night. That's one food group that we all enjoy, so we got in a cab and told the driver where we wanted to go and he headed in that direction. As we got to where the restaurant was, I wanted to say something along the lines of "here is fine" which in gorilla Spanish would have been "aqui is bien" but instead I gestured and said "Estoy aqui!", which is "I am here!" I realized my mistake and tried to correct myself, much to the amusement of the driver and my family. </span> </b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Another popular gringo hangout that appealed to us was at a place called the Inca Lounge. On Sundays, they showed NFL football games. We stopped in there three of the four Sundays we spent in Cuenca, making some new friends and enjoying hearing from people who had decided to take the plunge and move from the U.S. to Ecuador. It was a fun atmosphere, and one of the best things was that we only saw one Steelers fan our entire time there.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>One of our inspirations for this trip is Anthony Bourdain and his TV show, No Reservations. He has one of the best gigs in the business as he travels the world, going to locations of his choosing and eating the local food and drinking the local drinks. His show has been an influence on some of the locations we have picked, especially San Sebastian, Spain. In his shows, he frequently has what he calls a local "fixer." That's someone who can guide him to some unique places to go and help him avoid unsavory spots. We had a fixer in Cuenca: Gladys the cleaning lady.</b></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Gladys worked for Kathy and Maik, the Chicagoans we were house-sitting for. She comes in once a week and cleans their condo and does a great job. She also speaks pretty good English, it's certainly better than our Spanish. We got to know her a bit and talked to her some and she offered to take us to some Inca ruins about two hours outside of Cuenca called Ingapirca. She had just gotten a new car and was excited to take us for a drive in it. She even said she knew of some places to get cuy (pronounced coo-ee), the local delicacy better known north of the border as guinea pig. We'd seen Anthony Bourdain eat some cuy in one of his shows and he seemed to enjoy it, so we just had to give it a try.</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>The first two-thirds of the drive were on a nicely maintained highway, called an Autopista. Gladys was an excellent driver and we enjoyed the smooth ride. Things got a little bumpier once we took the turn-off at the decrepit sign that pointed in the direction of Ingapirca. There were as many potholes as there were turns on this winding road, and Gladys did a fearless job of guiding her new Chevy Sail around the suspension-bending obstacles while somehow not losing any of that new car smell. </b></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Ingapirca is well known among the locals, apparently so well known that the government decided there was no need to put up signs saying, "hey gringo, Ingapirca this away!" Gladys patiently stopped and asked directions from time to time. At least that's what we thought she was asking. She could have been saying, "hey, I've got a carload of gringos, and they must be loaded! They've been traveling the world for almost a year, and you should see all the Apple devices in the condo they're staying in. I think their last names must really be Jobs, can you help me find some people to tie them up?" Okay, maybe she wasn't saying that, or maybe she couldn't find anyone to help carry out her evil plans. Whatever the real story is, we made it safely to the ruins, which are supposedly the best-preserved pre-Spanish Inca ruins in Ecuador. </span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>The ancient walls and pathways at Ingapirca aren't exactly Macchu Picchu, but they were impressive nonetheless. The complex was originally built by the local people called the Canaris, and the Incas came along and did something that rarely happens when two differing groups of people collide: they co-existed peacefully. The Incas adopted some of the Canaris traditions, while the Canaris accepted some of the ideas and customs that the Incas brought with them. What a concept!</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>After about forty-five minutes or so, we had seen enough ruins and were ready to check out a couple of restaurants open near the entrance that we had spotted on the way in. But before we could get to those, we noticed a small one-story white building with some tables out front and a sign listing some food offerings. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>At the top of the list: cuy! Turns out one of the little buggers is enough to feed three people, so we knew that would be just right for Annie, Gladys and me.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>The restaurant was run by an indigenous woman who was very friendly, and served up a local cheese that Marley had grown fond of, while frying up a fish that Ben just loved. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>As for the guinea pig, Annie liked it, probably more for the experience than the actual taste. Gladys happily took the head of the guinea pig saying that was her favorite part, including the brain. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>For me, the effort it took to get what little meat there was off the bones was not quite worth it. It tasted a little gamey to me. I can eat chicken until the cows come home mooing your praises for not eating them. I like big juicy hunks of animal flesh, not little slivers. Still it was a great experience, and a testament to having the services of a local fixer. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>The route back to Cuenca happened to go through the home town of Gladys, Canar. She was very proud of her birthplace, and even stopped to show us her adorable grand daughter. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>It was a display of grandmotherly love that needed no translation. </b></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Another discovery we made in Ecuador is that Cuenca is actually the birthplace of the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Panama_hat" target="_blank">Panama hat</a>. The hats, which are hand-woven, gained popularity in the late 1800s and early 1900s. They were shipped to other parts of the world through the isthmus of Panama and since that's where they were first purchased they became known as Panama hats. Stores, or tiendas, all across Cuenca sell the hats, but we decided to go directly to the source: The Panama Hat Museum. Inside were tables filled with Panama hats of all shapes and sizes, and they would take special orders for the regular retail price of $25. I actually had to get an XXL for my big American noggin and Marley got an XL in a very pretty purple. We picked them up the next day and had fun wearing them around town, while also enjoying their protective nature from the equatorial sun.</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Our Spanish instructor Maria Elena wound up being a great resource for us on life in Ecuador. She was very enthusiastic about showing us and the kids how the locals lived. One Saturday, she took Ben and Marley on a half-day field trip to a couple of small towns outside of Cuenca. Marley bought a beautiful locally made guitar for a fraction of what a similar guitar would cost in the States. Our daughter looked adorable with the guitar strap over her shoulder, like she was ready to hit the streets and do some busking to help us afford to get back home. </b></span>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>On our final Saturday in Cuenca, we got together with Maria Elena and her two children at what had become our favorite restaurant in Ecuador.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Chitople featured some great burritos and tacos and quesadillas, with fresh ingredients and a fun atmosphere. It was great to see Maria Elena with her children, who were very well-behaved, especially considering we took about two hours to eat lunch. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>As has been the case with so many of our stops in more than two dozen countries, our best memories of Ecuador will be the people we met along the way. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>I came across a quote in the beginning of a book called Let the Great World Spin, by Colum McCann that sums it up pretty well. It is attributed to Aleksandar Hemon in The Lazarus Project who wrote: "All the lives we could live, all the people we will never know, never will be, they are everywhere. That is what the world is.</b></span>"</div>
Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10992767582998476713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5926060964313977979.post-38762300314702060452012-11-15T13:14:00.000-08:002012-11-15T13:15:26.435-08:00Vienna/Munich-Living on Schengen time<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">A quick show of hands please, and no using your Google machines: How many of you have heard of a Schengen Visa? We hadn't heard of it either until Marley and Annie went to London in July during our 30-day house sitting job outside Paris. As the girls headed from France to the U.K., they were grilled by a border officer about how much time they had spent in Europe. It seems that, thanks to the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Schengen_Agreement" target="_blank">Schengen Agreement</a> which dates back to 1985, citizens of the United States can spend 90 days in the 25 countries that are Schengen members in a 180-day period. Annie frantically emailed me and I started doing some research and some math (multi-tasking baby!) and figured out that from when we entered Europe in May from when we were scheduled to leave Paris in August, we would have about six or seven days to play with without violating the Schengen Agreement.</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Our research showed that the penalties for violating the Schengen agreement varied wildly. Annie found a site that talked of fines of over $1000, with others reporting a ban from the Schengen countries for a six-month period, and we heard unsubstantiated reports of having to change your last name to Schengen for a violation. We were relieved to find out that the two countries where we would be going after leaving France (Ireland and Scotland) were not part of the Schengen Agreement. And we were scheduled to go to South Africa in late September, so we had a little less than a week to hit two more locations before being targets of Interpol or whoever monitors this whole Schengen thing.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>After much deliberation, we decided to spend three days in Vienna and four in Munich prior to heading to South Africa, which would be our final stop before heading back to the United States for about three weeks for a wedding in Cincinnati. That wasn't nearly as much time as we had hoped, but it beat being branded as international criminals or making reservations in the last name of Schengen for the rest of our lives.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>It was in Istanbul Turkey where Ben started to develop his love of schnitzel. We had just gotten into town and were strolling around on a nice sunny day in early May when we came across a cafe with outdoor seating and a menu that had something for everyone in our family. The schnitzel they had there was unexpectedly delicious, and withstood the challenge of every other piece of schnitzel that Ben and I tried over the next several months throughout several spots across Europe and the United Kingdom. But the ultimate test would come in the home of schnitzel: Austria.</b></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The apartment we rented in Vienna was on a busy street called
Lasallestrasse, just outside the city center. When we arrived in town and
got a cab, I told the driver the name of the street, pronouncing it like
any good Cincinnatian like the high school in the Queen City, Lah-SAL.
The driver looked very puzzled so I showed the name of the street on
the confirmation email, and he said with a look of recognition and
slight annoyance, "ahh, La-zell-strassa". Okay, Arnold, whatEVer, drop
the attitude and just get us to the apartment! </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">From the moment we arrived in Vienna following our flight from Dublin we saw large advertisements in the airport for a restaurant that apparently specialized in Schnitzel, judging from the photos of ginormous servings of Schnitzel. Seeing as how there were no restaurants that looked that appealing near our apartment in Vienna, we decided to get on the U-Bahn and find our way into town and hopefully eat at <a href="http://www.figlmueller.at/en/" target="_blank">Figlmullers</a> for our first meal in Austria.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">We weren't all that optimistic about being able to get a seat right at lunchtime, but as fortune would have it, a table opened up just as we got there and we happily slid onto the wooden benches in the crowded but cozy room. I had seen online some pictures of the schnitzel offered up by Figlmullers, which looked massive. I thought that they couldn't possibly be that big in person. Wow was I wrong!</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">As we sat at our table waiting to order, we looked on in amazement as plates of schnitzel were brought out to diners around us. They were the size of manhole covers!</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>We ordered two for us and we probably could have gotten by with one they were so huge. The schnitzel was as good as advertised and our timing turned out to be pretty good, too, as there was a long line waiting to get into the restaurant as we walked out. I slyly advised those queued up to "try the schnitzel, it's really good." Not sure they get my subtle humor in Vienna, but my family got a smile from that one.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>For one of the few instances in our trip, the weather didn't cooperate during our time in Vienna. The fairly steady rain washed some of the beauty away from what we had been told was a very beautiful city. Fortunately in a city such as Vienna, there are plenty of things to do to get out of the weather. Plus, it has a very clean and efficient subway system called the U-Bahn. Our stop was at Praterstern which was about a block away from our apartment.</b></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Being underground for a good portion of our short time in Vienna was a good way to stay out of the weather. We took the U-Bahn into the city center and spent a very interesting few hours at the Hofburg Palace, looking at the imperial apartments and the Sisi museum. It was a fascinating look back in time at both an era and the story of a very captivating woman, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Empress_Elisabeth_of_Austria" target="_blank">Elizabeth</a>. Thanks to her marriage to Franz Josef I, Sisi became both the Empress of Austria and the Queen of Hungary. She had grown up as a free spirit, and didn't deal well with the structure of a royal lifestyle. She also lost a daughter, Sophie at a young age, which triggered a life-long struggle with depression. It was a good lesson in how some people who seem to have everything may actually be miserable while others who seem to be lacking of material possessions we spend so much time collecting wouldn't have their lives be any other way.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Even with our limited time in Vienna and the less than chamber of commerce weather, we enjoyed the atmosphere of the city. It's definitely on the list of places that would make for a good return visit.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">With the Schengen clock ticking loudly in our heads, we headed for Munich after only two nights in Vienna. And just like we did in our first few hours in Austria with our trip to Figmullers', our first half-day in Munich included a stop at a well-known restaurant, the Hofbrauhaus. Obviously it's a massive tourist attraction, the type of which we've tried to avoid during the trip, but for us, it was a "can't miss." Annie and I both have a German heritage, plus we wanted to see if it could somehow live up to the Hofbrauhaus in Newport, Kentucky across the river from our hometown of Cincinnati.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">We arrived at the Hofbrauhaus on a Friday night around 7pm, so it was packed. As we waded into the crowd, it became apparent that it was a "seat yourself" set up. There were no signs informing customers of that, and the servers had absolutely no interest in aiding our navigation of the massive seating area. Guests squeeze onto benches on both sides of what basically are picnic tables. The main aisle was crowded with others such as ourselves looking for the elusive empty bench, so we decided to try to get off the main drag a bit, and that strategy paid off. Just as we turned the corner, we saw four people arise as one from a bench, so we sliced through the crowds like German tanks through the Maginot line advancing on France.</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Our excitement about getting a seat slowly eroded away as we were repeatedly ignored by our "server." She was a very attractive pony-tailed red-head whose appeal was aided by her adorable<a href="http://www.google.com.ec/imgres?imgurl=http://www.wiesntrachten.de/pics_tracht/tracht_dirndl10.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.wiesntrachten.de/&h=200&w=200&sz=13&tbnid=U6jFQb--ecBRlM:&tbnh=91&tbnw=91&zoom=1&usg=__NT9PDlP83XaqaMrvDcfta0ENfdk=&docid=4rwC6FKewdByGM&sa=X&ei=4nKeULGdGZS-9gST3oCoDg&ved=0CDkQ9QEwBQ&dur=979" target="_blank"> drindle</a>. It was a very busy night and clearly she was a bit overwhelmed. We did manage to flag down one of the women strolling around selling massive pretzels that were very good and controlled our hunger until we finally got our food.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>We chatted up some people sitting next to us, sharing our story with them and hearing about their travels as well. Our red-headed server ended up actually smiling at us as things calmed down a bit and we wound up enjoying our visit to the Hofbrauhaus.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Munich is a great city for a stroll around town, with plenty of picturesque streets that welcome visitors. To get from our location, about 15-20 minutes out of town, we took the above-ground tram which gave us a good look at the city. The tram works well in conjunction with the underground U-Bahn to get travelers pretty much anywhere they could want to go around the former capitol of Bavaria.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Our second day in Munich became quite possibly the best example of "going with the flow" of the entire trip. We left our apartment in the morning and got on the U-Bahn with the intention of heading to the Olympic Village. A tower there provides a nice view of the city, and taking our kids to the site of the 1972 Olympic Massacre would be consistent with our practice of exposing them to some of the more depressing moments in human history.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>To get to the Olympic Village, we had to change trains at a station that carried lines on a north/south route. As we waited at the station, we started to notice a lot of people wearing scarves and jerseys of the Bayern Munich football team. As a family that was pretty into European Football, in part having really enjoyed the UEFA Championship earlier in the summer as we followed our favorite, the German National Team, (Der Duetscher Fussball Bund!) we were aware of the Bayern Munich team. They play in the Bundesliga with other teams from Germany.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Two different U-Bahn lines ran on the track that we were waiting by. The yellow line, which was due by in about 6 minutes went in the direction of the Olympic Village after taking a left turn shortly after leaving the station. The blue line, which was due to come by in about 8 minutes went straight north, and I noticed on the message board that about six stops away there was a big soccer ball. That led us to the conclusion that there must be a home game for Bayern Munich that day.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>We waited and watched as the yellow line train came and went and two minutes later we got on the blue line and headed toward the big soccer ball stop. The train was filled with people all geared out in Bayern Munich logos. It was right about then that I wished I had brought my Bayern Munich jersey that someone had given me a few years back but that I left behind in Cincinnati. I didn't follow the team, I just liked their jersey, and it was one of about a half-dozen European Football jerseys I had in my closet back home. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>The next question was whether or not we would be able to get tickets. We had no idea who they were playing and if it was a sellout or not or how much tickets were. As we got off the train once it arrived at the Frottmaning stop, we followed the crowds toward the massive arena. It was a mostly gray day with a slight threat of rain, and we weren't really dressed for that but we decided to go ahead and give it a try anyway.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>We came across a few guys selling tickets, but no one had four together. As we continued the long walk from the train station toward the stadium, I was trying to figure out if I knew which players from the German National team were on Bayern Munich. Some of the blank spots were filled in by the names on the backs of jerseys worn by fans walking along with us. There was Gomez, and Thomas Muller, who Ben had a jersey of. Plus, there was Schweinsteiger. Jawohl, Schweinsteiger!</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Over the course of watching the UEFA championship earlier in the summer during our time in Croatia, Italy and Spain, Bastian Schweinsteiger became my favorite player. He was the protypical German, with strong angular facial features, a shock of blonde hair, with a precise yet aggressive playing style. Plus, as we watched the UEFA games in three different countries, it was fun to hear announcers in Italian or Spanish be describing the action (which of course we couldn't understand) and hear them say the name Schweinsteiger. The Italian announcer in particular seemed to really enjoy saying the name, and we equally enjoyed hearing him say it. I was really hoping that if we got tickets and got to see the game that we would be rewarded with a goal from Schweinsteiger.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>A few hundred meters away from the stadium were some ticket windows and sure enough, people were in line. Annie and Marley hung back while Ben and I made our way to the front of the line. The most expensive tickets were $60 a piece, and Annie and I made a quick decision to go for the top of the line in what would probably be a once in a lifetime experience.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>I used what little German I knew to ask the fraulein cashier for four tickets. She took a look at Ben and asked how old he was, and when I told her he was 12, she informed me that his ticket would be half-price. Ach du Leiber! Our day kept getting better! Can you imagine going to the ticket window at an NFL game and being informed that you child's ticket would be half price??</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>The game didn't start for about another hour, so we hung around outside a bit enjoying the atmosphere. We got Bayern Munich scarves for the kids and decided against a jersey thanks to the pricey on-site prices.</b></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The atmosphere inside the stadium was electric. And smoky. Cigarette smoking is not only <i>not</i> banned like it is at sports facilities all across the U.S., it's actually encouraged. When I was out on the concourse at one point, I spotted a concession worker pushing a wooden cart around offering cigarettes, cigars and lighters for sale. Took me back to the days of Crosley Field and Riverfront Stadium when men would smoke cigars at Reds games and for years, the smell of cigar smoke would take me back to those days.</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Once we got inside the stadium and found our seats, we discovered we had lucked out and got seats on the sunny side of the seating bowl, which really helped since it was a cool day in the 50s and having some Vitamin D splashed on us from time to time made a big difference in our comfort level. As we settled into our seats, the teams were on the field warming up and I started to notice that I recognized several of the Bayern Munich players from the German National team. Eventually they posted the roster of the entire team up on the scoreboard.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Ach. Du. Leiber. Bayern Munich had SEVEN players from Der Deutscher Fussball-Bund on the team. (Another name for the German National team is the NationalMannschaft. Talk about some testosterone on the field!) Among those seven was the captain of DDFB, Philip Lahm. Ben and I couldn't believe it, in part because we had really hoped to see Germany play in the UEFA Championship during our time in Europe, but we just couldn't make it happen. This was like seeing the national team with great seats in a great atmosphere. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>A couple of factors helped add excitement to the match-up between Bayern Munich and the team from Mainz. One was the fans themselves, especially the ones in the end zone to the left of where we were sitting. These would be ones that might be described as hooligans at first glance. About four sections of seats were filled with crazies who jumped up and down and chanted and sang the entire game. They were led by one guy who stood on some sort of stand in front of the first row and they enthusiastically followed his lead without a break.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Another aspect of the experience that was unforgettable and that I had never experienced in any sporting event anywhere was the way player introductions were handled. The announcer would say the player's first name, and then the entire crowd would shout the players last name. For example--Announcer: "Achtundzwanzig (Number 28) Holger---" 70,000 Germans: "BADSTUBER!!" It gave us chills! That process got even more dramatic during the game once Germany started to score, which didn't take long.</b></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Soccer games aren't known for being high-scoring affairs and it's pretty common to go an entire 45-minute half with no goals scored by either side. So it was surprising and exhilirating to have Mario Mandzukic score for BM with less than two minutes played. The crowd went crazy assisted by the PA announcer--Him: "Mario!" Crowd: "MANDZUKIC!!" Him: "MARIO!!" Crowd: "MANDZUKIC!!!" And for a third time: Him: "MARIO!!!" Crowd: "MANDZUKIC!!!!!" It was bedlam--glorious, unrestrained German frenzy, which admittedly has led to some ugliness in the past, but this was just pure Bavarian joy!</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I've watched a lot of soccer games over the past seven years or so since I started following international football and I can't remember seeing a goal scored so quickly at the start of a game. At this point I'm thinking that we're going to see a 7-0 blowout or something as Mainz seemed to be awestruck at facing mostly players from the German national team of which they had exactly none. They did have a player with the last name of Bungert, which is a form of my last name in parts of Germany. He didn't score, but did get a yellow card, displaying the Bangert/Bungert temper for which we are sometimes known.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">With such a quick score, the mood among the fans was festive to say the least. Figuring that a victory was pretty much assured, I was just hoping to have a goal from Bastian Schweinsteiger, especially now that we had heard how they celebrated goals by the home squad at Allianz Arena. Plus, the scarf we bought for Ben featured Schweinsteiger's likeness and last name. It didn't take long for Bastian to come through.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Only about ten minutes after the first goal, Bastian took a pass from the left side of the field and headed the ball into the goal from just in front of the net in a play that developed with blitzkreig-esque speed. Gooooooal! PA: "Bastian!" Us: "Schweinsteiger!" PA: "BASTIAN!!" Us: "SCHWEINSTEIGER!!" PA: "BASTIAN!!!" Us: "SCHWEINSTEIGERRRRR!!!!!!" Total Bavarian bedlam, absolute chaos, but with German-like precision. I've been to some big-time sporting events in my time, including a World Series (Game 3 1975, the Armbrister bunt) and a Super Bowl (XXIII) and I've never felt anything like it. I half expected a fly-over from the Luftwaffe it was so exhilarating</span></b>.<br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">After those two quick goals, the game settled down as Bayern Munich went into something of a defensive mode and it was still 2-0 at half-time. Then something disturbing happened about 15 minutes into the second half: Mainz actually scored. Ach Du F-ing Lieber!! Das is nicht gut!! That was NOT supposed to happen. What had been a relaxing, rollicking affair like a stroll through Oktoberfest with a stein of beer in each fist and a fraulein in a drindle on each arm was suddenly a tight game. And it stayed that way right up until the end of full time at 90 minutes, with extra time to come.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Considering that there is an abundant amount of flopping by soccer/football players who collapse as if they were shot by a sniper after the mildest of collisions, extra time is almost always added on to the end of the game. In this case, an extra two minutes would be played with Bayern Munich clinging to a 2-1 lead. Can you say precarious? It would be a major letdown to have the game end in a tie after those two speedy goals in the first 13 minutes.</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Fortunately for the assembled masses at Allianz Arena, Bayern Munich picked up its game playing confidently yet cautiously, not allowing Mainz to do much on offense. They seemed to be waiting for just the right moment to strike and strike they did with only about 30 seconds left in extra time as Toni Kroos blasted in a pass from the right side to put the game away at 3-1. The crowd deliriously shouted "KROOS!!" three times in answer to the PA announcers call of "TONI!" What a fantastic ending to what was just an <a href="http://www.dailymotion.com/video/xtmmvs_bayern-munich-3-1-mainz-05_sport" target="_blank">unforgettable day</a>.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Over the course of more than 9 months on the road, our extemporaneous decision to follow the fans to Allianz Arena was one of the best ones of the entire trip. Our afternoon watching Bayern Munich and experiencing the passion of German football fans was possibly my favorite moment of our entire adventure. There are a couple of reasons for that. As someone of German heritage, it's sometimes difficult to be proud of that considering the not-so-distant horrible past of the Hitler years. I get emotional watching the NationalMannschaft mostly because I love to see the German fans so proudly wearing the national colors and I love to fly our German flag from the front of our house in Madeira.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Another factor that made the afternoon so memorable that it was shared as a family and especially between me and Ben. German football is the one sport that we both get into the most. He shares my love of the Reds, Bengals, Bearcats and Buckeyes, just as I did with my dad. But for whatever reason, the one team we enjoy following together the most is Der Deutscher Fussball-Bund. And to see that in person in such a great environment is a bond we will share for the rest of our lives.</b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAOw7Ii3CyIVaU7LrTcCj67yDXIk4h4-DL__HeccasEERsPc917EBasgwHVQdOj9sBhsf-Qj-iyL39rT67iJKvzCYLTNE4lPL5Iu4wtf07dMkxCpcXaMNTDNL1ftbyNbmrJAu6SrDmBQQ/s1600/IMG_1872.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAOw7Ii3CyIVaU7LrTcCj67yDXIk4h4-DL__HeccasEERsPc917EBasgwHVQdOj9sBhsf-Qj-iyL39rT67iJKvzCYLTNE4lPL5Iu4wtf07dMkxCpcXaMNTDNL1ftbyNbmrJAu6SrDmBQQ/s320/IMG_1872.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>After the glorious Bayern Munich victory, our day wasn't done. Some friends of ours in Madeira had introduced us through Facebook to a Madeira grad who lived in Munich, and we made arrangements to meet him in one of the many outdoor beer gardens that dot the landscape of Munich.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Robert lived close enough to the one we agreed to meet at that he could ride his bike there. The beer garden featured many picnic tables and a two-story gazebo from where a band played traditional Bavarian music. It was a festive atmosphere, enhanced by a group of guys celebrating what we hoped was a bachelor party. Or perhaps it was just embracing an alternative lifestyle.</b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmkrR5UDR4lnRHiHsNg8jkwiSy76LvF33oL1HvtcjVz56_WkbX2TJulfmHFubnckwUGR3W5mFhboHMrlvcWOccSRaJ4dimPYdo3SK7h2RMJYror1EJO24JfpCTtBSEcEwKzswC8cZZuHs/s1600/IMG_1847.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmkrR5UDR4lnRHiHsNg8jkwiSy76LvF33oL1HvtcjVz56_WkbX2TJulfmHFubnckwUGR3W5mFhboHMrlvcWOccSRaJ4dimPYdo3SK7h2RMJYror1EJO24JfpCTtBSEcEwKzswC8cZZuHs/s320/IMG_1847.JPG" width="220" /></a></div>
<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">At any rate, they were having a great harmless time and providing every one around them some quality entertainment. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">After a short wait, Robert showed up and we hit it off right away. He had some great stories to tell about being an American living in a foreign country and it gave him a unique perspective about our trip that we really appreciated, having been on the road for ten months. We shared with him our stories of traveling as a family, including some of the movies we had watched with the kids, as the German band played in the background.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">It was great to meet a former Cincinnatian who was loving living in Munich and who could personally appreciate the adventure we were on as a family. Robert traveled abroad as a pre-teen and he had some great words of experience to share with Ben and Marley about the impact that their travels would have on them as they went through their teen years and grew into adults. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The next day was our last full one in Munich before leaving for South Africa, and we knew it would have a tough act to follow after the Bayern Munich game and meeting our new friend Robert in the beer garden. We got up in the morning having no firm plans, which is pretty unusual for us. Annie did some research on the internet and discovered that for a decent price for the four of us, we could take a train to Salzburg, and still be home the same day before it got too late. So that's what we did.</span></b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy0Glr1SK0w8CkY7MGOShvtooWgELbcWYsZkMK0r-HWwgpX5Z-W4krJYL1_EARyta_6yfN_Fth-ZWwYIxEtaoHKqhDS4W3bu07kBGKl3XVagRN-uWaQzO8XSDxdMV4ze98urcDbGqSTb8/s1600/IMG_2025.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy0Glr1SK0w8CkY7MGOShvtooWgELbcWYsZkMK0r-HWwgpX5Z-W4krJYL1_EARyta_6yfN_Fth-ZWwYIxEtaoHKqhDS4W3bu07kBGKl3XVagRN-uWaQzO8XSDxdMV4ze98urcDbGqSTb8/s320/IMG_2025.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The train ride to Salzburg was around two hours long, through some
beautiful Bavarian countryside. The beauty of the Austrian city lived
up to the many rave reviews we had heard from friends and relatives who
had been there.</span></b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid_HOoRrOIvJ6Hk-gDMYVwc8OI55uRfgxAW-BLcenAVBoOaa0qU4tEcgx3ysKEgwOqKY4L9ZLIXcPQvyFyMVEdCPKl96Des6zIRyEraUTxb9H93tmaL4WeS-UVYhp9fWeHkUaW_S9hbA0/s1600/IMG_1858.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid_HOoRrOIvJ6Hk-gDMYVwc8OI55uRfgxAW-BLcenAVBoOaa0qU4tEcgx3ysKEgwOqKY4L9ZLIXcPQvyFyMVEdCPKl96Des6zIRyEraUTxb9H93tmaL4WeS-UVYhp9fWeHkUaW_S9hbA0/s320/IMG_1858.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>After a yummy lunch we decided to take the tram up to the castle overlooking the city to take advantage of the gorgeous day we had gotten. </b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV7jK6mIS7Phn96st9nsuIGmUvyh5jCCTZ8UgiCVoEBoJrVWfgEZD3zekBePQUWOL-SFN8HyGcx60b1a5FSPyTcgQw08FYmJbIeKLIkH85qXGqZo4CEtD-6jZCq991YW9ANgsnhzlIX9w/s1600/IMG_1853.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV7jK6mIS7Phn96st9nsuIGmUvyh5jCCTZ8UgiCVoEBoJrVWfgEZD3zekBePQUWOL-SFN8HyGcx60b1a5FSPyTcgQw08FYmJbIeKLIkH85qXGqZo4CEtD-6jZCq991YW9ANgsnhzlIX9w/s320/IMG_1853.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The view in every direction was spectacular, especially looking to the north into the Alps. There is so much history to be absorbed in a few hours in Salzburg, but we did the best we could. Before long, it was time to get back on the train for the ride back to Munich, accompanied by some locals dressed in the traditional Bavarian garb.</span></b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis45O7vmG2FTEXNPguo-4YHagRBReCpecRb9bvE5K0COtPF41IG2uSoyVIFScKN4oqXjPSiyvgdC63joKIFPiq-61DVx1DMAQ-Id40v9mCcjw8HGCLfTEeq15Z0W2V2Vglqm_QXsYROmk/s1600/IMG_1852.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis45O7vmG2FTEXNPguo-4YHagRBReCpecRb9bvE5K0COtPF41IG2uSoyVIFScKN4oqXjPSiyvgdC63joKIFPiq-61DVx1DMAQ-Id40v9mCcjw8HGCLfTEeq15Z0W2V2Vglqm_QXsYROmk/s320/IMG_1852.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">We were sad to see our time in Europe come to a close. There was still more to see that we couldn't get to in our 90 days there. But as we've said all along, part of the purpose of the trip was to find places we we would to return to for longer periods of time. And we definitely found more than one of those.</span></b><br />
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Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10992767582998476713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5926060964313977979.post-81838174915231051862012-10-30T16:06:00.000-07:002012-11-06T16:00:41.512-08:00Fifty Shades of Green:Ireland<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>The last thing we expected when we arrived in Dublin was to
feel like we were in South Bend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We got
to Dublin the day of the Notre Dame/Navy football game that was being played
there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That became painfully evident
when we got to the airport and were waiting for the van to take us to the
rental car office and the van unloaded a handful of people wearing Notre Dame
hats and sweatshirts and jackets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
driver of the rental car van informed us that an estimated 35,000 Americans
were in Dublin for the game.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m
guessing about 34,500 or more were for Notre Dame.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ugh.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>I have an unnatural dislike for Notre Dame football whose
origin is difficult to precisely pinpoint.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I was raised Lutheran and Lutherans have an ugly and unfortunate history
with Catholics that goes back about 5 centuries.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Something about the Reformation and all
that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, the girl I dated in college
who crushed my heart was Catholic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then,
for some unexplained reason, I married a Catholic, (remember an earlier blog
post about a woman we called Mulligan?) which ended in divorce a few years
later, something the Catholic church didn’t like <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">at all</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That impacted my
second marriage to a woman who also was a Catholic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She claims I led her away from that religion,
while I prefer to say I just pointed out a few inconsistencies I came across
from time to time. </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>But the true genesis of my disdain for the Fighting Irish
came in the late 70s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My family had just
moved from Lexington Kentucky, back to Cincinnati.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Being an Ohio State fan in Lexington was a
lonely existence, trying to live a Scarlet and Gray lifestyle in the land of
the Big Blue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I understood that,
since UK was a huge presence in Lexington.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Makes sense.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Moving to Cincinnati, OHIO, I expected a
decent amount of Ohio State football coverage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>What drove me crazy was the amount of coverage devoted by TV stations
and especially the newspaper to Notre Dame football.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>It only got worse when the football coach at the wildly
successful Moeller High School football program, Gerry Faust, was hired to take
over at Notre Dame.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Cincinnati media
breathlessly covered his every move in South Bend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He turned out to be as qualified to be the
coach at Notre Dame as David Shula was to coach the Bengals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I really didn’t mind it as much, because
Notre Dame was terrible during the Faustian era, much to my delight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, they had to go hire Lou Holtz, who
restored the echoes, blah blah blah blah, won a national title and just became
really annoying to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> And who is now one of the worst football analysts on TV.</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>That level of annoyance has remained with me for the two
ensuing decades so it was with a great deal of dismay that I saw all those
Irish fans in, of all places, Ireland.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was so prevalent, that walking around the streets of Dublin and even
the city of Cork a few hundred kilometers away felt like being at the St.
Gerties’ festival in Madeira each June.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Okay, I get it--you like Notre Dame.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Great.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do you really have to wear
a ND hat, a ND jacket over a ND sweatshirt while walking around in ND sneakers?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I said earlier, ugh.</b></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b> </b></span> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>The proliferation of Notre Dame fanatics continued, somewhat
surprisingly at our first stop in Ireland, Cork.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We drove the few hundred kilometers to Cork
the day of our arrival in Dublin, getting into Cork in the early evening
hours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The reason we chose Cork as a
destination was pretty simple:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Costigan’s Pub was located there</b></span>.</div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>My wife, Annie, the keeper spouse, is Irish and her middle
name is Costigan. It's also the middle name we gave to our son Ben.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s the last name
of some of her ancestors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I was
doing research on where to go in Ireland, I did a search on Costigan + Ireland
and Costigan’s Pub in Cork came up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Well, we just HAD to go there, so Cork became our first stop in Ireland.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Cork is in southern Ireland, and is known as the food
capital of Ireland.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had some good
meals there and enjoyed exploring the city.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It just so happened that the apartment we booked was just a block or so
away from Costigan’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Annie and I
checked it out one evening there, getting to know some of the locals who were
very interested in our adventure, the details of which we were happy to share over a Guinness or Kilkenny or two.</b><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><b> </b> </span></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Cork is also fairly close to the Blarney Castle, one of
Ireland’s most famous landmarks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was
about a 20-minute drive from our apartment on the west side of Cork, and we had
a beautiful day to enjoy the Castle, even if the line to get in was populated
by many people wearing Notre Dame gear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Visitors to the Castle work their way through various
hallways and rooms inside, and it’s a fascinating look back in time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The culmination of course, is kissing the
Blarney Stone, which is supposed to give the smoocher the gift of
conversation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It also occurred to me
that kissing the stone that so many others had kissed might give the smoocher
something else.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Something that an
ointment or antibiotic might need to clear up, so I just strolled on by after
both Ben and Annie went through the somewhat uncomfortable process that Blarney
Stone kissers have to go through.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">To kiss the Stone, you have to lay down on your back, then
lean down a foot or so to get your lips on the stone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is a worker who keeps traffic moving
through very quickly, and then someone who takes pictures that you can buy in
the gift shop afterwards.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most of the
photos come out somewhat awkwardly, with shots of peoples bellies or arms as
they get into and then out of kissing position.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The Castle is situated on some very scenic grounds and there
are pathways through some well-manicured gardens.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It gave us an opportunity to get away from
the huddles of people wearing Notre Dame stuff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">We saw even more Notre Dame gear at our next stop, in the
village of Dingle on the Dingle Peninsula on Ireland's western coast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>In searching out advice on where to go and what to see in Ireland,
several people had mentioned the Ring of Kerry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That’s a scenic drive along the western coast of Ireland in County
Kerry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unfortunately, the day we headed to
Dingle by way of the Ring of Kerry, it was rainy and drizzly, so visibility was
very bad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That takes a lot of the luster
out of a “scenic drive” so we packed it in a bit early and headed to the house
we had booked near Dingle.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span> </span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>The house was about 5 kilometers north of Dingle, situated
in some beautiful rolling hills.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was surrounded by farmland, and we had several sheep as neighbors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had a great time going outside the house,
and shouting across the fence at the sheep on a regular basis, “Hey,
Sheep!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s Bill!!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That would prompt a great reaction from the
sheep as every time I did that, the sheep would jerk their heads around in
unison and look at me with their ears cocked.</b></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>The sheep and I developed something of a relationship, which
was enhanced, I think, when I took the laptop outside and fired up iTunes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The song I had chosen was by one of our favorite
bands-Cake, who had a popular tune in the mid-90s called Sheep Go To Heaven,
Goats Go To Hell.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After getting through
the chorus a couple of times, I was confident the sheep felt good about their
prospects about the afterlife while being able to mock any goats they might
encounter in the future.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>One reason I played Sheep Go To Heaven, Goats Go To Hell for
my herd of friends was as a sort of “make good” (radio term when a commercial is
missed on the air) for what had happened the previous night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I love to grill out and have only been able
to do it once our twice on the entire trip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The house outside Dingle had great outdoor space and the store in town
had one of those one-time-use only charcoal grills that cost about 5
euros, or roughly<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>$6.50.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was willing to spend that to have the
chance to play with fire while I cook.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>One of my favorite things to grill out is lamb chops and the store in
Dingle had some tasty-looking ones, so we bought those and headed back to
the house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wasn’t until I lit the
grill, and went back into the kitchen and unwrapped the chops and started to
season them that I realized the uncomfortable juxtaposition that was about to
happen.</b></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Sure enough, my newly-friended herd was eyeing me
suspiciously as I cooked the chops.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Fortunately the weather was a too chilly and windy to eat outside with
the herd just a few feet away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The chops
were great, just hoped we weren’t having anyone the sheep knew.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The house we had in Dingle became one of our favorites of
the entire trip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It had three bedrooms
on the first floor, along with a large living room and a big kitchen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were also two bedrooms on the second
floor, each with their own bathroom, so the upstairs became the kids wing,
which they really enjoyed, as did Annie and I.</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The nightly rate for the house, which was already very
affordable, became even more so when the owner offered to let us stay two extra
nights for free, since it wasn’t booked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We quickly accepted that and took advantage of the time to explore the
Dingle Peninsula.</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I never pictured Ireland having dramatic landscapes, but I
was pleasantly surprised as we took a drive on a gorgeous sunny day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After only about 25 minutes in the car
driving along some gently winding roads, we came to the northern coast of the
peninsula.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The panorama that unfolded in
front of us was stunning!</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The scenery was magical, and the drive around the peninsula
was very enjoyable. There were spots, like ones we encountered in Scotland where
there was only room for one vehicle at a time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Unlike the narrow roads we drove on in the Scottish Highlands where
drivers would yield based on who was closest to a passing bay, the encounters
in Ireland seemed to be decided based on size.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That led to more than one instance of giving way to a busload of
tourists.</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Being in one place for five nights gave us time to do some
time-consuming things that we weren’t able to do when getting in the car and
driving to our next destination.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For
Annie and Ben, that meant going fishing.</b></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The two of them have a history of fishing in Canada on our
vacations there, and they really enjoyed the two-hour excursion they went on. My Irish wife will take over from here:</span></b><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">What a joy it was to spend the day in Dingle Bay with my favorite angling buddy, Ben. We were fortunate to be accompanied by a great couple from Canada, Karen and Scott. They were rendezvousing in Ireland while Scott was completing a tour in Afghanistan. It was a blustery yet fairly sunny day and the swells were running 6-8 feet so it made for a challenging balancing act while we pursued the pollock deep in the sea. </span></b> <br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>We have only fished for bass before so going after the pollock was a completely unique experience. The water was about 80-100 feet deep and you drop your line to the bottom and slowly work it up. Once you get a bite and reel them in, since they are so deep, the change in pressure takes all of the fight right out of them. Although they are large, unlike with feisty bass, there is no netting required boat side...you can just lift them in. This little guy Ben brought up had his eyeballs pop out due to the pressure change...poor little buddy.</b></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">We ended up with about 8 large pollock which we were allowed to keep. We chose to have the Captain clean two of them for the Canadians and the Bangert's and we took them to a local pub where they cooked them up for us for a mere 10 Euro a plate. Not quite a bargain but who could resist!! We hope the Captain had himself a good dinner that night and perhaps made a few extra dollars at the local market.</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Fishing with Ben, in the country where our Costigan relatives once roamed, was an experience of a lifetime that we will forever treasure. I don't think the pollock will feel the same way. ~ Annie</span></b>.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>While Annie and Ben were doing their version of Deadliest Catch, Marley and I had a very nice
lunch and then took a drive to scout out a horseback riding place we had seen cruising around the peninsula.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When
we got there and met the woman who led the riding expeditions, we noticed hooks
on the wall with the names of the horses right above them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two of the names that stood out to us were
Marley and Annie and their hooks were right next to each other!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That was definitely an omen, so we booked a
session for Annie and Marley hopefully on Annie and Marley the following day.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Annie takes control of the keyboard again: It was Marley's first time horse back riding and what a better way to do it than in Ireland, on the Dingle Peninsula on a horse named, Marley, with her Main-Momma! It was an overcast and windy day which is pretty typical of Ireland. We had decided to pick the tour that took you along the beach while surrounded by the hillsides. Marley, the horse, needed a bit of direction and was led by our tour leader on a lead. This method of control may come in handy with our daughter, Marley, someday. Duly noted.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>It was a magical adventure surrounded by the greenery of her majesty, Ireland. And Bill will be glad to know we didn't see one Notre Dame fan in sight. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>With the girls off riding horses, Ben and I played a quick
18 holes of golf at a pitch and putt course.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I thought when we had driven by it that there were only 9 holes, but
it turns out that there were twice that many and about four of those ran down
to the water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We got some great views
across the bay of Dingle and had a great time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I was glad to see Ben hit some really good shots, especially considering
he hadn’t swung a golf club in about a year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Plus, one of my major goals heading into 2013 and our life back home was
to have Ben and I play a lot of golf together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>One of my dreams is to have Ben and I become golfing buddies and have us
take golfing trips together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our outing
at the Dingle Pitch-n-Putt may have been a small step in that direction.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>The person I love playing golf with more than any other is
my wife, Annie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had a great time
playing together in Scotland, and we both really wanted to play golf together
in Ireland.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ireland is home to many
great, famous courses, but none of those really fit into our travel
schedule.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fortunately, Dingle Peninsula
is home to a golf course that was only about a 20 minute drive from the house
we were renting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>The day we picked to play Dingle Golf Club couldn’t have
been better from a weather perspective.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There were just a few clouds dotting the blue skies as we teed off in
the late afternoon to take advantage of reduced rates that kicked in after
4pm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The guy working in the pro shop
kindly only charged us for one set of rental clubs and off we went at about
one-fifth of the cost of what we would have spent had we gone to one of the
big-name courses we were thinking of.</b></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Even though Dingle Golf Club was not of the caliber of Royal
Dornoch, Annie and I both said we enjoyed it more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A big part of it was it just the two of
us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No distractions from other players
and we could hit second shots if we didn’t like the shot we had just hit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was great fun and the course was very
enjoyable, with some great views and memorable holes.</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Just as in Scotland, one of our favorite things about
Ireland was the people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everywhere we
went, people were very friendly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every
single taxi driver was engaging and talkative, and when the topic of our trip
came up, they all had a great deal of interest in the details.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">One of our favorite people in Ireland was the server we found
at a restaurant in Dublin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was the
date of the hurling finals which were being held in Dublin between Galway and
Kilkenny. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We could feel the excitement
as we walked from our apartment near the Guinness Brewery and grabbed a cab to
the Temple Bar district.</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>We did some research at our apartment, finding out that
hurling is an ancient Gaelic sport that dates back centuries.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s played on a field that looks to be about
the size of a football field, with players using long sticks that look like a bit
like ones used in field hockey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s a
very entertaining and physical game, with plenty of action.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>We found a great spot in the second floor of a restaurant
with seating areas that provided a comfortable and cozy spot to watch the
championship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our server was great, a
guy in his late 20s who was very friendly but in a gruff sort of way,
especially with the kids.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He got a big
kick out of giving them a hard time in a good- natured manner.</b></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">He gave us some background on the rules as well as the two
teams involved in the championship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Kilkenny was a regular in the championship, having won a few titles,
while Galway was the underdog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The crowd
got excited when Galway took the lead into halftime.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the momentum shifted, and Kilkenny
rallied to surge ahead in the second half making it look like they were going
to win it all once again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>However, Galway didn’t give up and got a dramatic score in
the closing seconds to tie the game.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
announcers were saying how this was the first tie in the title game since
1959.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were all excited about the
prospect of the championship being decided in overtime or a shootout or a
dance-off Riverdance style or something.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But then we heard the announcers talking about a replay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A what?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Replay?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What’s that?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Turns out instead of settling the matter right then and
there, they get the two teams together again in three weeks and play the game
over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A re-play.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That was a serious letdown, but it’s just
the way they do it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> And that has been one of the bigger lessons of the trip. </span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">The world is a massive place, and as Americans, it's easy to fall into the line of thinking that it revolves around the United States. We discovered early on that most people in other countries don't really care about what's going on in the U.S. nearly as much as we might think they do. Every nation and their people are very unique, and very proud of their homeland. And the Irish have much of which to be proud.</span></b></span></div>
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Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10992767582998476713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5926060964313977979.post-87023039514475040452012-09-27T12:59:00.002-07:002012-09-27T12:59:54.055-07:00Scotland<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>The first real experience Annie and I had with Scottish people came in of all places, the Canary Islands. In 1997, to celebrate Annie getting her MBA at Xavier, we took a trip to the islands that belong to Spain but are closer to Morocco. (Good deal for me I must admit, she studies her butt off for 18 months, I get a nice trip! I'm boss that way.) We were there in May, and the Memorial Golf Tournament outside Columbus was going on at that time. I was hoping to catch some of the action and a Scottish pub ran an ad in a local paper saying they had Sky Sports-PGA golf.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>We made our way to the pub and inquired about the golf coverage and the woman working there had no idea what I was talking about. Annie and I were the only people in the place in the early evening hours, so she patiently tried to find the PGA golf coverage on TV, but came up empty. Slowly, but steadily the pace began to fill with Scots and before long, we were playing card games and singing songs, including for some reason, the theme to the Monkees. When the time came for us to leave, the Scots said farewell to "Bill and Annie, our American friends!" Some of them had even scribbled their home addresses on pieces of paper and offered to put us up in their places if we ever made it to Scotland. It was a stunning displaying of friendliness and one we remembered for a long, long time.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Those memories stayed with us as we planned our visit to Scotland after our month-long stay in Garches, just outside Paris. It was good to get back into our on-the-move-groove again after being settled in the townhouse in Garches for 30 days. That was exactly double the longest time we had stayed anywhere previously on the trip. Our first stop in Scotland was Edinburgh.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>The friendliness that we remembered from our time with the Scots in the Canary Islands continued seamlessly when we arrived in Edinburgh and checked into the apartment we had booked. The owner of the flat we booked, Alan, could not have been nicer. He gave us some suggestions for places to eat and spots to get the most out of the Fringe Fest.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>In another instance of right place/right time timing on our trip, <a href="http://www.edfringe.com/" target="_blank">Fringe Fest</a> happened to be going on when we arrived in Edinburgh. It's a major event that lasts for almost the entire month of August, and features performers of all types, some doing free shows on the street, while others perform for anywhere from 7 to 20 pounds typically at a wide variety of venues around Edinburgh.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>With the weather being good our first day there, we decided to check out some of the street performers. The first one was a woman dressed in a gaudy red outfit who had enlisted the assistance of a "volunteer" from the audience, (he didn't seem to be very enthusiastic about his duties) to help her get on a ladder and juggle some flaming torches.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>As we learned over the next few days, this was a pretty common theme among the performers at this particular spot in Edinburgh. The street performers would attempt to get upright on a ladder or step stool or in one case a unicycle, engage the audience by enlisting some of its members as assistants and then try to juggle torches or knives or even a chain saw.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>We were very entertained and impressed by all of the performers we watched. They were very funny and great at getting the crowd involved, even if it took stripping down to their underwear.</b></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The streets were filled with people everywhere you looked, with a great vibe buzzing in each and every block.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Our most enjoyable time at Fringe Fest came when we finally took the plunge and bought tickets for an indoor performance. Lights, Camera, Improvise! is a troupe made up of a half-dozen performers and they focus on movies. The director comes out, chats up the crowd and with input from the audience, comes up with the premise for a movie.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The performers were hilarious, and Marley and Ben enjoyed it as much as we did, if not more. We were very glad we checked them out.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Checking out Fringe Fest was one of the many suggestions we got from people who had been to Edinburgh when we put out the call on Facebook about what to do in this great Scottish city. Another frequent recommendation was to go to the Military Tattoo.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I had never heard of such a thing, but it turns out the displays of military marching bands are held in cities all around the world. Arguably the most famous is the one held in Edinburgh. It dates back to 1950 and is staged at a stadium built next to the Castle.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">We bought our tickets online while we were staying in Paris and hoped the unpredictable and ever-changing Scottish weather would be good the night we went.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The weather had been a bit dodgy from time to time during our stay in Edinburgh, in other words a typical Scottish summer. Fortunately, despite some ominous looking clouds earlier in the day, the rain stayed away as we were wowed by the performance.</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Marching bands from all across the globe, including the United States, performed during the concert. The best part was when the floor of the stadium was filled with bagpipers, who filled the air with a dramatic and emotional sound.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>After a few days in Edinburgh, we were ready to hit the road and head north to explore the Highlands. Our destination was Dornoch, a village on the northeastern coast of Scotland that is home to Royal Dornoch Golf Club, which was the main reason we were heading there. More on that in a bit.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Renting a car in Scotland meant driving on the left side of the road, something I had done in New Zealand and Australia so I was fairly familiar with the process. As I maneuvered the car from the rental car parking garage out onto the streets of Edinburgh, <span style="background-color: white;">I realized I was familiar with driving on the left side of the road but I was not familiar with shifting with my left hand. It's not the position of the car on the road that makes driving a stick-shift challenging, it's having to change gears with your left hand. </span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>To get out of Edinburgh heading to the north, we had to drive right through the heart of town. Due in part to my unfamiliarity with using a stick-shift with my left hand, I managed to stall out our Skoda sedan on Waverly Street, which is in the heart of the tourist district, right by the train station. After a few menacing honks from the horn of the taxi on my rear bumper, I managed to get the car fired back up again and safely guided us out of town.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>We were not heading straight to Dornoch, which was about 5 hours to the north. Instead, we took a slight detour to the north and west to stop at the William Wallace Monument. It's in the village of Stirling, and focuses on the famous exploits of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Wallace" target="_blank">William Wallace</a>.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>This stop was another one that qualified as personal for Annie. She's a descendant of Wallace, who was a Scottish knight and landowner who led the fight in the wars of Scottish independence against the British. The movie Braveheart was loosely based on his life. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>The William Wallace Monument looks out over the town of Stirling, one of the main focal points of a key battle against the Brits. The monument has several displays about the life and times of William Wallace, including (spoiler alert!) his execution. Executions were pretty popular back in the day. One of the main squares in Edinburgh was a popular spot for executions, which drew big crowds. Good thing the internet came along and gave people things to do so we stopped killing each other. Good job humanity! Oh, and Al Gore, too!</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Dornoch was about three hours away, so we got back in our Skoda and enjoyed the ride through the Scottish countryside to the quaint seaside town. Just north of Dornoch is the Dunrobin Castle. It was the not so modest home for the Sutherland clan, dating back to the 1300s.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>It towers impressively over large gardens that sprawl out to the sea.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Most afternoons, including the one we choose to visit Dunrobin, a falconry display is put on. The falcon handler was great, running several birds through a variety of flights, typically flying the birds right over the heads of the crowd that had gathered to watch.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Toward the end of the performance, the falconer designated Ben as his young volunteer for the day. He had an owl land on Ben's head, bringing a huge smile to Ben's face.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>He also gave Ben a chance to feed the owl, wearing the proper protective glove of course.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>It was great to have Ben be the co-star of the show, and a bonus not to have his face clawed off.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Our main reason for visiting Dornoch was the golf course there. It's over 100 years old and was laid out by Old Tom Morris, the first great golf champion. It's better known for being the training ground for Donald Ross. He's a native of Scotland who served his apprenticeship as a golf-course architect at Royal Dornoch before moving to the United States in 1899. Ross became the head pro at Pinehurst and wound up designing several courses there, including the famed Pinehurst #2.</b></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I became familiar with his work when I lived in the Carolinas and loved his natural use of the land he was working with. This came at a time in the late 80s when people like Jack Nicklaus designed courses that had huge contrived mounds and required a lot of forced-carry shots. Ross designs are about subtlety which I really grew to appreciate and as I learned more about him, I dreamed of someday going to Dornoch to see where his inspiration came from. Sometimes dreams come true.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Tee times online for Royal Dornoch were hard to come by, but we managed to get one at three o'clock on a Sunday afternoon. The weather during our time thus far in Scotland had been a bit dicey, but we started our round under brilliant blue skies and got paired up with a guy from just north of London and his friend from Sydney, Australia. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">We also enjoyed the services of the first caddy that Annie has ever had, other than me of course. Harry showed up when we were half-way through the first hole, and was an instant help. He told us over the course of our round that he had played the course for 50 years and had been a member there for 20 some years, and a caddy for about ten. On a course such as Royal Dornoch, you need all the local knowledge you can get, and he was our own Google machine.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">At first he focused on just helping Annie, but as the holes went by, he would give us all advice. He was a HUGE help as we tried to navigate the mysteries of Royal Dornoch.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The golf course itself was the kind I just love. It looks like it just oozed out of the sand dunes and took shape over the centuries. It's the most natural-looking course I've ever played, and it's certainly the most beautiful.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I</span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">t's also a unique course among links courses in that it has elevation changes. Most links courses are very flat, but Dornoch is situated on a ridge that overlooks the ocean that has several holes running along it. The setting provides gorgeous views of the ocean and the holes that run along it.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Royal Dornoch certainly lived up to very high expectations. I was in heaven strolling the fairways and admiring the bunkering and picturing Donald Ross courses that I had played and seeing the influence that RD had on him. It was truly magical, even if I wasn't playing that well.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">From the very start of the trip, I had been carrying with me a personalized Titleist golf ball. Starting in Fiji, then in New Zealand and Australia and again in Singapore and then in Spain, I had managed to keep the ball with BANGERT printed in blue letters from finding a watery grave or getting lost in dense undergrowth. The original plan was for me to try to take the ball all the way around the world and bring it back home with me. But as we got close to the end of the round, I told Annie I had a change of plans. I wanted to leave a piece of me there at Royal Dornoch.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">So, as we walked off the 18th green in the fading daylight, (the round took over 5 hours!), I noticed some deep rough and decided that looked like a place where a golf ball could remain untouched for quite some time. I turned and gave the ball my best Jay Bruce throw and watched it sail into the tall grass. Someday, someone will find it and wonder what BANGERT is or signifies.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">We exchanged pleasantries with our playing partners, knowing (thankfully) that we would never see them again. (The guy from Australia was an annoyingly slow player who wasn't good enough to take as much time lining up his shots as he did.) Our parting with Harry included some genuine heartfelt feelings, we really enjoyed having him as a caddy. He made a wonderful golf experience even better for Annie and me.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Dornoch is perfectly situated for exploration of the Scottish Highlands. And that's what we did after our time there.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Our goal was to get to the northwestern coast of Scotland, and have lunch in the town of Lochinver. The drive there was fascinating. The landscape was much hillier than I imagined and was very barren. It was a reminder of just how far north we were.</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Lochinver was the farthest north any of us had ever been. The roads getting there were basically one-and-a half lane roads that would have frequent spots to pull off to the side to let cars coming the other way pass by. That set-up led to the occasional situation where two cars would be heading into a one-lane stretch with no passing bays between them. One of the cars would stop, put it in reverse and back up to the nearest passing bay, hoping no one was coming up quickly behind them. Surprisingly enough, the system worked well.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Lochinver proved to be worth the effort it took to get there. It's a quaint little village on the banks of Loch Inver with a few restaurants along the waterfront.</b></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">There was also a playground that the kids enjoyed checking out, it's always great to see them get off their devices (laptops, iPads) and just be children for a while. The drive out of Lochinver continued to expose us to some beautiful landscape as well as the occasional rainbow.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The frequency with which we saw rainbows triggered a family concept based on the Discovery Channel show, Storm Chasers. That's where teams of meteorologists chase down tornadoes each spring in a show that's very interesting. We decided that we were Rainbow Chasers, and I was the head-strong emotionally driven leader of the team named Beau Hunter. It was fun to drive along, pretending to be the Rainbow Chasers.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Marley recorded some videos of our team in action and we had a great time as a family chasing rainbows. It was a pursuit that would continue into our time in Ireland.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Our final stop in Scotland was just outside of Glasgow. The best part of our stay there was that the apartment we found, which had three bedrooms so the kids didn't have to share a room, was that it was a short walk to the train station at Bishopton. One of my favorite parts of the trip has been traveling by train whether it's an overnight train from Hanoi to Sa Pa in Vietnam, or traveling through Italy or Spain on the rails or just taking the local tram system like we did in Melbourne Australia.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The train into Glasgow was one of our favorites of the trip, in part because the main train station in town was beautiful.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">It was clean and busy and filled with people going to a wide variety of destinations and really everything we were looking for when we decided to take this trip.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Glasgow is, like many European cities, very walkable. There is a pedestrian walkway through the heart of the central city area, with shops and restaurants and cafes.</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>It's also the home to Charles Mackintosh, an influential designer in the Arts and Crafts movement of the early 20th century. We really like his style and it was great to see elements of his influence in several parts of town.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>After ten days in Scotland, we were happy to find that our initial experience with Scottish people 15 years earlier was a true indication of what we would encounter in 2012. They were definitely the most friendly people we met during our nearly 9 months on the road. Now it was time to compare the Scots and their land with the people and places in our next destination: Ireland.</b></span><br />
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Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10992767582998476713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5926060964313977979.post-33700017527778796182012-09-11T14:12:00.000-07:002012-09-11T14:12:33.021-07:00Paris , part deux! (MBDPSW edition)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>When one thinks of getting around in Paris, driving a massive, Mercedes-Benz diesel-powered station wagon (MBDPSW) probably isn't the first thing that comes to mind. The Metro system in Paris is one of the best in the world. The lines run everywhere you need to go, you rarely have to wait more than three minutes for a train, and they are for the most part, clean, safe and affordable. Plus there are taxi stands everywhere and the cab fare isn't that bad. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>The house where we were staying in Garches, outside Paris, gave us access to a MBDPSW, and we took advantage of said access to make a day trip to the American Cemetary at Belleau Wood. Belleau Wood is the site of a major battle in World War I. The Germans were advancing on Paris, and the French were in trouble. US troops were called in, many of them Marines. Retreating French forces urged the Americans to do the same, when a Marine commander said "Retreat? Hell, we just got here." The Marines helped beat back the Germans and it became a seminal moment in U.S. Marine history.</b></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Annie has a fascination with cemeteries and we have stopped at random cemeteries in various countries over the past eight months or so, but this trip was personal. Her great uncle, James Wallace Costigan, died at the age of 19 in the battle of Belleau Wood. The American Legion Post in Newport Kentucky is named for him, and Annie actually stopped in there once. She has some relatives who have made the trek to the memorial which is about an hour and a half northeast of Paris. So we piled the kids and the yellow lab we were watching, Lucy, into the MBDPSW and dove into Paris traffic on a sunny Tuesday, July 31.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Traffic on the freeway that runs just south of Paris was busier than we expected and the Garmin we had was a little slow in keeping up-something that would be a major factor in a later foray into Paris. Once we got on the A4 heading out of town, it was a smooth ride through the pleasant French countryside. It was difficult to imagine a bloody battle playing out in such beautiful surroundings.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.abmc.gov/memorials/memorials/bw.php" target="_blank">The Belleau Wood Monument</a> is part of the American Battle Monuments Commission, and is quite impressive. The ABMC is a government agency, funded by US taxpayer money. After what we saw during our brief stop at the Belleau Wood Monument we all felt it's money well spent, which you can't always say when it comes to government spending. From the moment you drive in, it's apparent that the people taking care of the grounds take their responsibility very seriously.</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>The visitor's center includes background information on the battle and also has a notebook where you can look up the gravesite of individual soldiers. It didn't take us long to find the listing for James Wallace Costigan.</b></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">There was also a page that listed when each soldier died.</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>The young Costigan soldier from Kentucky died on July 31, 1918. It took us a moment, but Annie and I quickly realized that we were there, purely by coincidence, on July 31, 2012. That added even more meaning to an already emotional visit. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>We left the visitor center, searching for Row 3, grave 46, which was situated in the series of graves to the left of a central grassy area with a flag pole flying the Stars and Stripes. </b></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">As we walked down the third row, we read the names of the other soldiers who had died in this battle. They were from all across the U.S. and most died in June or July of 1918. Some had special notices of bravery or heroism, while most just silently listed their name, rank, home state and date of their death.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Finally, we found what we were looking for. The white cross with the name James Wallace Costigan, a private with the 6th regiment of the U.S.M.C., 2nd Division, who was from Kentucky.</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Annie and I both teared up, thinking of what it must have been like, (but really having no idea) being so far from home seeing your fellow soldiers wounded and dying by your side every single day. It was a good history lesson for us and for the kids and for them, personalized what was at one time called the Great War. Talk about an oxymoron.</b></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">We took our time strolling around the grounds, reading some of the other names etched into the crosses, wondering what it was like for the families back home to get the bad news about their loved one who wouldn't be coming home.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Annie had been carrying around some of the ashes of her step-dad Tom, whose death in 2010 helped trigger us taking this trip. She found a spot up on a hill overlooking the graves, and left some of Tom behind, knowing he would appreciate the history of the spot.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The following weekend, Annie and Marley hopped on the Eurostar train and took a trip to London. We have friends of friends from back home in Cincinnati who live about an hour north of London in Northampton and they offered to put the girls up for three nights. It would be the first time on the trip that all four of us would not be together, so that would be interesting to see how we felt about that.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Ben and I accompanied the girls to the train station to make sure they got there okay, (they are delicate flowers you know!) and then we made plans to find super cars for Ben to see. Our first attempt at that didn't turn out so well.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">On the day after the girls left for London, Ben and I got up, grabbed the SCNF train in Garches to the La Defense station which was only three stops away, about a 15-minute ride. La Defense is where we could get the Metro into Paris and the area of town where Ben had discovered several dealerships selling supercars, including Lamborghini and McLarens. The problem came when we arrived and discovered that like much of Paris, the car dealers took two-hour lunch breaks. The sign on the dealership door said that they would be open the following day, Saturday, until 12:30, so we made plans to get an earlier start the next day and get there in time to see if we would see the cars.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">We still had much of Friday afternoon ahead of us, so we walked a few blocks to another Metro stop which would connect us with a line that would take us to the Franklin Roosevelt station. That's within walking distance to the Palais De la Decouverte, or Palace of Discovery. Ben is into science and astronomy and cosmology and I thought it would be something fun and educational for us to do. It was either that or an afternoon show at the Moulin Rouge, and I'm not sure Ben is ready for that at the tender age of 12.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The only thing that we really discovered at the Palace of Discovery was that it was a mistake to buy a ticket for a planetarium show that you think is going to last a half an hour when actually it's 45 minutes. We also discovered that my mastery of the French language was much more limited than I thought and that the lunch at the cafe at the Palace was barely edible. The cafe did have wi-fi, but all that did was allow us to see all the Facebook postings that Annie was making about what a great time the girls were having in London. Made us feel kind of like losers.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Ben and I drowned our sorrows in our disappointing day with some really good homemade cheeseburgers that I whipped up at the house back in Garches. He liked so much he requested them again the next night. And that would help finish off what would turn out to be a great day for the guys.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Our day on Saturday started out a bit earlier than what we did on Friday, making sure we got to the part of Paris where we hoped to be able to see Lamborghinis and McLarens. We had the routine down pretty well when it came to the timing of the train from Garches to La Defense. That familiarity got us to Boulevard St. Cyr about 45 minutes before the 12:30 closing time for the day.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">As we walked down the street, we passed the showrooms displaying a couple of Lamborghinis, but there was no sign of any salesmen or women around. In the next showroom, there they were: McLarens. They looked gorgeous and fast even standing still. The door closest to where the cars were was closed, but we could see through the window that there was an opening that led into a larger showroom. As we walked down the sidewalk in that showroom's direction, we found that there were about three Rolls Royce cars on display.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The doors to the showroom were locked, but we could see some salesmen inside. I wasn't sure what sort of reaction we would get, but I went ahead and pressed a silver button by the side of the door. One of the salesman looked in our direction and we heard a click and the world of luxury cars was ours.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I approached a salesman, explaining that my son just wanted to see the McLarens and he motioned toward the cars and told us to go right ahead and take a look. They were stunning.</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>We carefully circled the cars, showing them the proper respect under the watchful eye of a very friendly salesman. Ben and I discussed the cars with him, and I think he was impressed with Ben's knowledge of the super car world. That may have been why he invited Ben to sit inside one of the cars. Ben did that with a smile as big as the car's price tag, which was about 238,000 Euros.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>We made sure not to overstay our welcome and walked back out onto the streets of Paris, happy to accomplish one of the major goals of the trip for Ben.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>He doesn't say much very often about how he's feeling about things, but as we made our way through the Metropolitan toward the Rue Cler area for lunch, he said "I'm happy." For him, that's like jumping up and down and shaking me by the shoulders in glee. That made my day to have him say that, and our good moods continued after a nice lunch on what was becoming our favorite area of Paris.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Rue Cler is in the 7th arrondissement, not too far from the Eiffel Tower, and the street becomes a pedestrian walkway on Saturdays, with a market that gets going early in the morning. Most of the market activity had wrapped up by the time we got there for lunch, but it still had a great vibe on a beautiful day in Paris. I had gotten tipped off to the area by a former co-worker who had traveled pretty extensively in Europe and he is an "off the beaten path" kind of guy.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>After lunch, Ben and I strolled through the streets toward the Eiffel Tower, passing by markets and shops and cafes. As we got ready to cross the Avenue Bosquet on Rue Grenelle, Ben spotted a man sitting in a window seat of a cafe drinking a Dr. Pepper. Ben LOVES Dr. Pepper and it was a fairly rare occurrence to find it in the course of our trip. So we walked over to the cafe and went inside. </b></span> <br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>The McCoy Cafe was filled with drinks and snacks and food items that we hadn't seen since we left the States almost eight months earlier. We happily bought Ben a Dr. Pepper and continued our walk toward the Eiffel Tower.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>The approach to the tower from the south and east as we were going is great because the buildings on the surrounding streets are about six stories tall and there are a lot of trees in the neighborhood, so you don't really see the tower until you get to the wide park that spreads south like an inviting green blanket.</b></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">It was the kind of summer afternoon in Paris that keeps postcard companies in business and we really enjoyed strolling through the park, seeing locals having lunch with baguettes and cheese and wine, while tourists bustled about, getting on and off buses to capture the moment digitally.</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>While we had seen the Tower from afar in the couple of weeks we had been staying in Paris, we hadn't gotten up close and personal with it. It's an amazingly graceful and delicate structure for its size. The supports seem to sprout from the ground like a tree, and rise elegantly into the sky.</b></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The lines of people waiting to go up inside the Tower were very long, probably meaning a wait of an hour or more at least, so we kept walking toward the Seine on the north side of the Tower. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">We were just soaking it all in, taking in the vibe when Ben heard a super car. He has a great ear for them, and when we turned toward Quai Branly, sure enough, there was a McLaren. We had never seen one in action on the street and fortunately for us, it had to stop at a traffic light. I told Ben to go stand by the car on the sidewalk as we sprinted through the tourists to get a photo.</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>The color of the car even matched the Dr. Pepper can Ben had in his hand! What a day we were having!</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>By this time, it was only about 2:15 and I wasn't ready to head back to the house in Garches, so I decided to have us do some reconnaissance. Annie's mom was coming to stay with us for a week or so in a little over a week, and we had purchased tickets to see Vivaldi's Four Seasons performed at Sainte Chapelle while she was there. I wanted to see what it would be like to have her navigate the Metro with us because I really had no desire to drive the MBDPSW into the heart of Paris. Plus I love the Metro system and this gave me an excuse to try out a couple of different lines we hadn't been on. The metro stops are all different and in some of the busier stations where there are frequent transfers, musicians will gather and play music that echoes through the long hallways.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Sainte Chapelle is located on Il de Cite, the same island in the Seine that is home to Notre Dame. Ben and I determined that Annie's mom should be able to make it there on the night of the concert without too much trouble. She's 81 and gets around pretty well for someone of that age, but we didn't want her to have to walk too far and the Metro stop by Sainte Chapelle was short walk away, plus there was an elevator to exit the depths of the subway system. We felt pretty good about her being able to do that without too much effort.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Annie's mom, Janet or Mimi as we all call her, arrived in Paris early one Monday morning, about half-way through our month-long stay in Garches. We drove the MBDPSW all the way out to Charles De Gaulle airport, about a 40-minute drive. Fortunately, a family that lives three houses down from us in Madeira was on the same flight and we asked them to look for Mimi and help make sure she got to the right place, which they did. It was great to see her for the first time in about 8 months.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>She enjoyed spending time with us at the house in Garches, and we passed a lot of time watching the Olympics from London. We laid low the first couple of nights, then came time for our big trip into Paris to see the concert at Sainte Chapelle.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Annie wasn't completely comfortable with the idea of having her mom try to navigate the train and Metro combination to get into Paris, so we decided to drive the MBDPSW to the train station in Garches and catch a taxi. I figured the main challenge would be getting a taxi big enough for five people, but Garches is a fairly major stop and we had seen taxis there in our frequent trips into Paris.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>The concert started at 7 and the website where we bought the tickets advised us to get there around 6:15, so we figured if we got a taxi around 5:30 we would have plenty of time to get to Saint Chapelle. However, when we got to the train station, it was <i>sans</i> taxi. Not a cab anywhere in sight. The train really wasn't an option as one had just left the station and another one wasn't due for a half an hour, which would most likely get us into Paris around 6:45 or so and that's not taking into account taking longer to go at Mimi's pace through the Metro.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>We waited around for a few minutes, trying to decide what to do and hoping a taxi would magically appear. Annie finally said was I was afraid she would say: "We could always drive in." Meaning I would be driving the MBDPSW into the depths of Paris on a Thursday evening at rush hour. It was the second-to-last thing I wanted to to, the last being missing the concert. I really wanted to hear that beautiful music in that gorgeous setting knowing it would be something we would all remember the rest of our lives.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>It was with a minimum of grumbling that I got back behind the wheel of the MBDPSW and we punched the address of Sainte Chapelle into the Garmin and started toward Paris. The ETA on the Garmin was about 6:17 so I figured with a missed turn or two which seemed inevitable, we would probably get there around 6:30 or so. Not ideal, but not bad and we would still see the concert.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Traffic wasn't bad and the ETA didn't changed much as we cruised along the main highway that takes traffic south of the central part of Paris, and I knew we would be making a left at some point. The highway had exits on top of exits and the Garmin was having trouble keeping up and sure enough, we missed our turn. Recalculating. Okay, all we have to do is make a turn where the Garmin says, oh wait we just drove by that! The Garmin continued to have trouble keeping pace with the MBDPSW, and the next thing we knew, we were heading on the highway towards the Orly Airport, which is well south of Paris and in the opposite direction of Sainte Chapelle. Super!</b></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The ETA on the Garmin was now saying 6:47 and that included the effort of turning around at some point. Unfortunately, there is only one exit between where we got on that highway and the airport and it lead through a gas station which didn't look like an exit to me as I sped by. After about six or seven miles we made it to Orly, and considered abandoning the car and flying somewhere just because we were at Orly. We let those thoughts pass and made it through the arrival and departure zones and got back on the highway, heading for Paris and Sainte Chapelle. We hoped. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Once we got back into Paris and got off the highway onto the surface streets, traffic slowed to a crawl. The Garmin ETA continued to inch it's way toward 7, (what is it with us and 7pm deadlines in Paris?) and there was some discussion of doing the French thing and giving up. I had visions of anytime I heard Vivaldi's Four Seasons for the rest of my life collapsing in a pool of tears, so I was determined to forge ahead at least until we were still not at Sainte Chapelle and it was after 7.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Fortunately traffic cleared up some just in time and we managed to get to Sainte Chapelle at 6:55 without breaking many traffic laws or social customs of Paris. Let's just say no pedestrians were seriously wounded in arriving at our destination. Annie and Marley and Mimi got out of the car while Ben and I went and parked it in the garage right across the street. It's a healthy walk from where you enter the complex where Sainte Chapelle is located to the chapel itself. For whatever reason, the French Supreme Court is located there, so there are gates to go through and stairs to climb, but we made the walk and the climb and saw a woman urgently directing people down one final hallway. Right at 7pm. </span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>I figured we would make it just in time when the girls decided they just had to go to the bathroom. Really? After nearly leaving the country and making it here <i>just</i> in time, it's time to powder your noses?? Following what seemed like an eternity, the ladies emerged from the restroom and we got to the lobby just outside the chapel just in time to hear the familiar opening strains of the first movement of the Four Seasons.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>A staff member patiently ushered us inside and motioned for us to stay standing for a bit. We had purchased tickets in the medium price range, fairly close to the front and after the first movement was over, we made it up the aisle and to our seats. That's when I finally exhaled and tried to put the tension of the ride into Paris and the prospect of missing the concert behind me and just soak in the sights and sounds. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Sainte Chapelle is world-renowned for its spectacular stained-glass windows that are currently undergoing a restoration project. It was still light out, so the brilliant colors of the glass lit the cathedral with a warming, soothing glow.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>The music being played was up to the challenge of matching the beauty of the setting. Six musicians were led by a violinist who had a very charismatic way of playing. He would make facial expressions implying that he was not in control of the music, that it was just coming from his instrument of it's own volition and he was simply along for the ride. The musicianship was stellar and the other players were fun to watch as they reacted to the flamboyant style of their leader.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>I had forgotten how much of the Four Seasons I was familiar with and how much I loved it. The quality of the music and the fantastic setting made it the highlight of our time in Paris with Annie's mom and one of the highlights of our entire time in France.</b></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>After the concert we had a decent dinner at a restaurant right across the street from Sainte Chapelle. Normally we try to get a bit more off the beaten path, but convenience won out and we accomplished our goal of getting done with dinner before it got dark for the drive home. Driving in Paris was enough of a challenge in the daylight, I didn't want to add darkness to the equation, which is pretty much a 365/24/7 policy for me.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>The Garmin in the MBDPSW had a "home" feature which conveniently calculated the route back to Garches and we punched those directions in as we emerged from the parking garage in the twilight. As we followed the guidance of the GPS, I realized it was taking us toward possibly the most famous street in the world. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>It was thrilling to make the right hand turn and start up the Champs Elysees, which by that time of the day was lit up by lights strung on the trees and lamp posts on both sides of the road. At the top of the Champs Elysees, there is a tunnel that takes you under the roundabout circling the Arc De Triomph, but after having made it to the concert barely on time and being rewarded with one of the best musical experiences of my life, I wasn't about to cheat myself and my family of the thrill of driving around the Arc. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>I had noticed on two previous visits to the Arc, that when there is open space, drivers hit the gas hard, trying to beat the traffic feeding in from the other spokes funneling traffic into the roundabout. When the traffic light on the Champs Elysees at the Arc turned green, I had some open space and I gunned it. I made it past about five feeder spokes with no interference, but as I spotted the street that would take us back toward Garches, a line of traffic started to enter the circle from the right.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>It was right about then a line from Ferris Bueller's Day Off popped into my head. It's from the scene when Ferris, Cameron and Sloane are leaving the fancy restaurant after lunch and they run into Ferris' dad, who somehow doesn't realize who he has almost literally bumped into. Cameron says, "we're pinched for sure!" to which Ferris replies, "Only the meek get pinched, the bold survive!" With that cinematic inspiration in my head, I boldly hit the gas and raced past the oncoming traffic, and sped down Avenue Victor Hugo toward the safety and serenity of the suburbs.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>In the days following the departure of Annie's mom from our home away from home in Garches, we made a few more trips into Paris. Our final one was on the day before our departure to Scotland. We re-traced the trip Ben and I made on our boy's day, having lunch on Rue Cler, meeting a former co-worker's of Annie's who lives just outside Paris.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>After that, we took a final stroll through the picturesque streets and spent some time enjoying the ambiance of the Eiffel Tower. We were graced with a spectacular summer Saturday in Paris, drawing a picture-perfect conclusion to our time in a magical place.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>We're certainly not the first people to fall under the spell of Paris and we won't be the last. Plenty has been written about the city, much of it by far more talented writers than me. With that in mind, I thank you for your patience in reading this long entry and close with the words of Harlan Coben from <u>Long Lost</u>.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b><i>But more than that, Paris makes you feel alive.<br />
Makes you want to feel alive.<br />
You want to do and be and savor when you are here<br />
You want to feel, simply feel, and it doesn’t matter what.<br />
All sensation is heightened<br />
Paris makes you want to cry and laugh and fall in love and write a poem and make love and compose a symphony</i></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>We left Paris with a symphony of memories in our hearts, dreaming of the next time we would be fortunate enough to experience it's many delights. </b></span><i><br /></i></div>
Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10992767582998476713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5926060964313977979.post-77004513256345171372012-09-02T10:42:00.001-07:002012-09-04T01:34:06.945-07:00Paris, part un! (Ricky Bobby edition)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b>The timing of our stops in various places along the way has thrust us into some interesting scenarios, and most of the time unexpectedly. We spent New Year's Eve in Auckland, New Zealand, one of the first major cities to mark the changing of the calendar every year. Seeing as it happens every year, we knew we would have that experience while in the land of the Kiwis.</b></div>
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<b>Our first surprise was being in Australia during the celebration of Australia Day. At first, we thought all the decorations and banners on display and festivities being held were to welcome us on our trip. We had heard Australians like people from the States and we <u>are</u> a pretty big deal. But no, it turns out the Australians like any excuse to have a party and they threw one, which we enjoyed being part of in Melbourne. That's also where we got to enjoy the vibe of the Australian Open tennis tournament. We didn't go to any matches, but soaked in the excitement on the streets as well as cafes and restaurants.</b></div>
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<b>When we were in Sydney, we happened to book a place in Manly Beach just north of the city , having no idea that the <a href="http://australianopenofsurfing.com/manly12/" target="_blank">Australian Open of Surfing</a> was going on right there. We loved checking out the surfing action and being part of that excitement. Then, when we got to Paris in late July, we arrived just in time for the end of one of the best-known sporting events in the world. </b></div>
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<b>The timing of our trip to Paris was based entirely on the availability of a house-sitting gig through a friend of a friend. The homeowners needed someone starting July 20th, which just happened to be two days ahead of the final stage of the Tour De France, which concludes with the competitors doing a few laps on the Champs Elysees.</b></div>
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<b>I've paid little if any attention to the Tour De France over the years, even when Lance Armstrong was winning 56 in a row. Wait, that was Joe DiMaggio, wasn't it? Or not. Anyway, my apathy about the TDF was worn away by the constant coverage on TV while we were in the south of France and on a few of the drives we took around there, we saw road signs with dates and times of the TDF, apparently when the bikers would be coming through where we saw the signs. The closest town of any significance to our puppypalooza in the Pyrenees was Foix, and the TDF was coming through there two days after we left there, and preparations were being made as we headed out of that area.</b></div>
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<b>When the bikers hit Foix, we were in Biarittz and watched some of the TV coverage of that stage, enjoying recognizing some of the places shown. So as we headed toward Paris, we thought maybe we would try to check out the final stage on Sunday afternoon, in part because the weather forecast looked great. </b></div>
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<b>Kristin, who we would be house-sitting for, said that the racers would be hitting Paris around 4:30 Sunday afternoon and suggested going into town a couple of hours before that, getting a bite to eat while drinking in the atmosphere. So, as per her recommendation, we made plans to check out the action on Sunday.</b></div>
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<b>We arrived in Garches, just outside Paris on a Thursday evening. Our travel that day began around 10am as we left the new love of our life San Sebastian, Spain. The rental car office where I was going to drop the car off was open until 7, and when I had researched the drive online, it said it would take about 8 and a half hours give or take, and I figured with stops, traffic etc. the more likely scenario was that we would drive to the house in Garches that evening and I would take the car to the office the next day.</b></div>
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<b>When we got in the car and punched in the destination in the GPS in the car, it said the drive would only take about 7 and a half hours, putting us in the Paris area around 6pm. Hmmmm, maybe we could take the car back that night and not have to mess with it the following day. Sounded like a good plan.</b></div>
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<b>The GPS estimate of our arrival in Garches was hovering around 6:15pm for the first two or three hours of the trip. It was a smooth ride on a well-maintained major highway for most of the way. The road had tolls, which put a little bit of a hitch in our giddy-up at one point.</b></div>
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<b>I had noticed in the first two or three trips through a toll plaza, or peage as they are called in French, one or two lanes had the image of a card with a strip on it and the word Cartes above it. I figured instead of having to dig out the right amount of money, the next time I hit a peage, I would use a card.</b></div>
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<b>It didn't take long to reach another peage and I confidently pulled into a lane with the sign of what looked to be a credit card and again the word Cartes. When I got to where you pay, there were two stickers of what I think was thought was the European version of a MasterCard and the other was a some other symbol I didn't recognize, and both had a red X marked through them. I thought maybe my Capital One MasterCard would work, but it got denied. I fumbled for another card that I never use on the trip because it has international transaction fees, and it also got denied.</b></div>
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<b>By this time, two cars had pulled up behind me and I also happened to drop the ticket that you insert to find out how much you have to pay. I was in the process of pondering the possibility of changing my name to Clark Griswold as I grabbed the ticket off the ground before it could be blown across the French countryside, which was very scenic by the way.</b></div>
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<b>I clearly had no choice at this point but to do something very French: admit defeat and turn around. So I held up my ticket, gestured toward the car reading machine and shook my head and motioned to the drivers to back up. I expected to be greeted with a hail of croissants and foie gras and shaking fists, but instead, both drivers calmly backed up, almost like it was something in their DNA.</b></div>
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<b>I did get an angry glare from a man in an adjacent lane that took cash who had let a little bit of room get between his car and the car in front of him as he got his money together. I just wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible, so I somewhat aggressively took advantage of that opening and happily gave my cash to the attendant and sped north toward Paris. We had a quick family meeting in the car and decided from that point forward, any encounter with a peage would be a cash-only affair.</b></div>
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<b>That episode pushed the estimated time of our arrival back to about 6:30pm which I still figured would give us enough time to stop for gas when we got close to fill the tank up and get to the rental car office by 7pm.</b></div>
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<b>Being the largest city in Europe, Paris has it's share of traffic and we ran into some of that as we got closer to the city. It slowed down enough that the ETA on the GPS was getting closer and closer to 7pm. It wouldn't have been the worst thing to happen on the trip if we got to the rental car office and it was closed, but we had invested enough energy and we were so close to making it that we really wanted to beat the deadline.</b></div>
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<b>The address we had for the rental car office was near a major roundabout southwest of the city and the GPS was going to at least get us to the roundabout. Which it did. At about 6:55 after fighting through the traffic in Paris. We put the kids on alert for the yellow Hertz sign as we eased around the roundabout, and before we had made one complete circuit, Marley spotted the sign we were looking for. At about 6:57.</b></div>
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<b>Of course, there was no big yellow arrow saying "return cars here" and the only drive I could find had an arrow pointing out. As I pulled in, the kids said, "dad, that's an exit" to which I replied I was making it an entrance for now. Just a temporary thing, you know. I jumped out of the car, (at 6:59) and saw a woman behind the counter inside the office. She saw where I had parked the car and said I couldn't do that, and I said I need to return the car and wanted to know where I could do that. She said it was behind us, just in front of the entrance to the gas station that was right before the Hertz office.</b></div>
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<b>Fortunately in the course of our trip driving a car in New Zealand, Australia and Greece, I've become skilled at making illegal u-turns. That experience translated well on to the streets of Paris, as I turned the car around, and got to where the Hertz clerk described going into a driveway and down a ramp where I could return the car. Mind you, no where was there ANY signage of this being the place to return a rental car. And that trend continued once we got inside the garage. At 7:00pm.</b></div>
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<b>I stopped the car and asked a man who seemed to be doing some repair work on a car, and he pointed me back in the direction we came in. That's where there was an office, not for Hertz but for something else and a man there, pointed me in the direction of the very end of the garage and then made a swirling motion in a downward direction. Kind of like a flushing toilet, which is how I was starting to feel about this entire escapade.</b></div>
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<b>I finally noticed the small Hertz sign with an arrow pointing to the left, that led to another pointing to a down ramp. At 7:03. We get to where there are some Hertz signs hanging over filled parking spaces and I see that there seems to be some sort of drop-off box, where you can leave your rental agreement at the keys to the car. At 7:05, or two in the morning it doesn't matter. You get a ticket from the parking garage automated machine when you enter, and that has a time stamp on it and you leave that with the keys and the paperwork, so they know when you returned the car.</b></div>
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<b>At that point, it was pretty much like the scene from Stripes, when Bill Murray and Harold Ramis are going to the Army recruitment center ("we're not homosexuals, but we <i>are</i> willing to learn!) and they park their car in a no-parking zone. Someone says, "you can't park that car there!", to which Murray replies, "We're not parking it, we're abandoning it." I just wanted done with that car and that garage. And at about 7:15pm, I was.</b></div>
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<b>On our first Saturday night in Paris, a former co-worker of Annie's contacted her on Facebook and said she was doing a stop over in Paris. Jennifer had never been there, so we offered up our limited experience in the City of Lights to show her around. We met her at the Pompidou Center, and briefly talked about going inside and checking it out. But I thought if you're doing a layover in a great city like Paris and haven't seen the sights, spending time inside on a beautiful evening would be a waste. What better place to start than the Eiffel Tower?</b></div>
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<b>One of the most impressive ways to see the Eiffel Tower, especially for the first time ever is to view it from across the Seine just to the north. We got out of the Metro at Trocadero, and walked toward the Tower which was not yet in view due to the height of the surrounding buildings. As we got close to the area of the Palais de Chaillot, I told Annie to have Jennifer close her eyes before we turned the corner to see the Tower. I got that from a tour guide we had at the Taj Mahal who took Ben and Marley separately to view the Taj and the did the same thing with Annie and I.</b></div>
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<b>We got Jennifer in position and when she looked up, she literally gasped. I was standing between her and the Tower so I hope she gasped at seeing the Tower and not me. I have that effect on women, you know. The smile that broke out on her face was one of pure joy and wonderment and gave me chills.</b></div>
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<b>Jennifer kept saying how much she loved the city and she had only been there a few hours. After getting the appropriate number of pictures with arguably the most recognizable man made structure in the world in the background, Jennifer was ready to see the Arc de Triomphe.</b></div>
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<b>One of the many great things about Paris is that the Eiffel Tower and the Arc De Triomph are fairly close to one another. From the viewing point of the Palais do Chaillot north of the Seine, it's only about a 15-minute walk to the Arc.</b></div>
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<b>The roundabout that swirls around the Arc is amazing to watch. There are no painted lanes and the Arc is the hub of traffic from ten spokes coming in from all directions. I'd never had the chance to drive it, but I'm afraid I would put on a <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iAgX6qlJEMc&feature=related" target="_blank">Clark Griswold-like performance</a>. Little did I know that due to a wide variety of random circumstances, I would get the chance to test my driving skills in that very roundabout before we left Paris.</b></div>
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<b>Among the hundreds of cars we saw spinning through the roundabout was a white Lamborghini Gallardo. That made Ben's night and set the stage for what we would do on our "boy's days" when the girls took their weekend trip to London the following weekend.</b></div>
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<b>After checking out the Eiffel Tower and the Arc, we found a cozy sidewalk cafe and enjoyed a prototypical Parisian dinner. It was great to be with Jennifer and see her excitement over being in one of the greatest cities in the world. She, like us and millions of others, was smitten.</b></div>
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<b>The following day was Sunday, the final day of the Tour De France and the weather was perfect as we headed into Paris to be there around two hours before the cyclists arrived on the Champs Elysees. Emerging from the Metro, we were met with bright sunshine, blue skies and the sidewalks alive with people. </b></div>
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<b>We certainly weren't the only non-Parisians taking in the action. People from many different countries were sporting their native colors in support of cyclists from their homeland. Norway had an especially noticeable contingent on hand as we grabbed a tasty lunch as we waited for the herd of bikes to fly down the Champs Elysees.</b></div>
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<b>Some of the support teams were making their tours of the Champs Elysees, with their cars and vans adorned with the logos of whatever their team sponsor was. Many of them had people on top of their vehicles, clapping and dancing to the music they had blaring from loudspeaker systems.</b></div>
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<b>Before too much longer, we joined in the crush of people up against the barricades as the cyclists drew near. We could see the overhead TV cameras moving into position and finally, they were here! A stunning splash of color sped by as the cyclists hit the home stretch and the crowds welcomed them with enthusiastic cheers.</b></div>
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<b>We couldn't tell who was winning and honestly didn't care. It was just a blast to be part of the experience and the excitement.</b></div>
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<b>The urge to buy a Tour De France souvenir was quickly squelched when I strolled to a nearby van that was selling all kinds of things related to the TDF. It was the color scheme that sealed the deal for my decision to not buy anything.</b></div>
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<b>Everything--every single item, every t-shirt, hat, wrist band, key chain, booklet, even the set of playing cards had the awful combination of black and yellow. Ugh. Steelers colors. I could never ever wear anything with that horrible duo. I once bought a golf bag for 20 dollars from a friend that was yellow with black highlights. I played two rounds with it before ditching it and giving it away. I've thought recently that if I get to the point (hopefully much later in life) where I know the end is near, I want to be wearing a Steelers jersey, listening to country music and eating Lima beans so I will welcome the arrival of the Grim Reaper.</b></div>
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<b>So anyway, we left the Tour De France with no paraphernalia, but great memories, which is all you really need anyway, isn't it?</b></div>
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<b>The house where we were staying in Garches, just outside Paris, featured a Mercedes-Benz station wagon. I had never driven a Mercedes before and I was honestly a bit relieved when Kristin, the homeowner, showed me the healthy scratch that was over the rear wheel well on the passenger side. This car had patina, it was broken in and not in pristine condition. I was not a big fan of driving a large vehicle through Paris and didn't really plan to, considering the ease of getting into town by way of train.</b></div>
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<b>We did take a couple of trips outside of Paris using the diesel-powered MB. The Palace of Versailles is only about 20 minutes southwest of Garches by way of some backroads. The palace is beyond spectacular, with a thick coating of gold on almost every surface.</b></div>
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<b>After walking down hallway after hallway into room after room, filled with sparkling glass and gold, you kind of get a nagging urge to revolt. I'm not saying anyone necessarily needed to be beheaded, but it's just so over the top.</b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>It just goes on and on and on. The opulence is a bit nauseating after a while, and the only part I actually liked was the outside. The gardens are beautiful and at least the area provides a home for wildlife.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>The day we were at Versailles was close to 100 degrees Fahrenheit, one of the hottest days of the summer in Paris and much to our chagrin, (that's a French word for parched throats), there was no water for sale on the grounds of the palace. Turns out there was a selling bottles of water from a cooler outside the gates, much like at Reds and Bengals games, but we didn't see him before going inside and he was gone once we got done. So we decided to try to make a quick stop on the way back to Garches for some water.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>After about ten or fifteen minutes of driving in the big blue MB diesel-powered station wagon (maybe I'll shorten that to MBDPSW the rest of the way), we spotted what looked like a supermarket to the right of the road. The parking lot was very small, only about twelve spots and not much room between the cars on both sides. I drove to the end of the lot searching for a spot, and couldn't find any. I noticed the white reverse lights come on on a car to our right, so I decided to put myself in position to grab that spot, but it was clear that the driver somehow didn't see the MBDPSW and was heading right for us! I put the MBDPSW in reverse and hit the gas, which turned out to be a short trip as I backed right into a mini-van with a fairly loud collision. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Sacre Bleu! I've managed to crash a car that I don't own in a country where I don't speak the language. Super! I got out of the car and was confronted by the driver of the mini-van, a fairly large man with shoulder-length kinky hair and two or three poodles, (probably of the French variety since we were in France), who were barking their little kinky-haired heads off. The driver started barking something at me in French, so we had quite the tableau unfolding: Three or four kinky-haired animals barking things at me which I didn't understand. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Fortunately the bumper of the MBDPSW and the bumper of the mini-van were at exactly the same height, so there was no damage to either vehicle. I know the phrase for "I'm sorry" in French is something like "Je suis desolee" but all I could come up with in this time of crisis was a string of French gibberish, something like "parle vous Inglais, au revoir, merci, croissant, foie gras" which i repeated over and over as I quickly got back in the car and on the road back to Garches. A major international incident narrowly avoided. That would be just the first of a few adventures in and around Paris in the MBDPSW.</b></span><br />
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Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10992767582998476713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5926060964313977979.post-75938667464643078032012-08-25T10:12:00.001-07:002012-08-25T10:12:34.974-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b>In the course of visiting 18 countries and more than 60 cities, we've encountered a wide variety of food. We've had some great meals, some good meals and some lousy meals. We've had some cheap meals, mostly in Asia, and some expensive meals, mostly in New Zealand and Australia. One of the best meals we had was in Valencia, Spain, which would be a taste (sorry) of things to come in our final stop in another Spanish city before heading for Paris.</b></div>
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<b>San Sebastian was at the top of my list of places I wanted to visit on the trip. I think I first noticed it in an episode of Anthony Bourdain's No Reservations when we were obsessively watching pretty much every travel show on TV. It's on the northwestern coast of Spain, in the Basque region. </b></div>
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<b>During our time ensconced in labradoodle puppies on a house-sit in the Pyrenees, we spent much of our time (when we weren't scooping poop) planning our next stop. A house-sitting job outside of Paris began on July 20th, giving us about eight days between the pups and Paris. The high cost of flying from anywhere in the south of France or northern Spain to Paris resulted in the decision to keep our rental car and drive to Paris, especially since the cost of returning the car to where we picked it up was the same as dropping it in Paris. So we said so long to the dogs and the cat (au revoir!) and drove east toward the Atlantic Coast and the town of Biarritz.</b></div>
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<b>Biarritz is an old-school French holiday destination. It dates back to the 12th century where it flourished as a fishing village. It was also the site of some important battles in the Napoleonic Wars in the early 1800s, but gained prominence about fifty years later when Empress Eugenie, wife of Napoleon III, built a palace on the beautiful beach there. Biarritz has also been a favorite vacation spot of the British Royal family. Plus it's got some great waves and attracts a lot of surfers, so it's got an interesting mix of haute couture and hippy.</b></div>
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<b>It was definitely more on the hippy side of things our first couple of days there as we stumbled onto a surfing competition. The weather wasn't cooperating from a spectator standpoint as a strong wind was coming in off the Atlantic, and the gray skies did nothing to ease the chill.</b></div>
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<b>Plus, when the tide comes in, the water goes all the way to the rock walls, making it unsuitable for surfers to surf, so the competition was timed to the tide being out. We had seen surfers compete when we stayed in Manly Beach, just north of Sydney and really enjoyed that. So, we hoped to catch some of the action in Biarritz.</b></div>
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<b>The apartment we booked was in a decent location, about a ten-minute walk to the beach and a fifteen-minute walk into the part of town teeming with restaurants and shops. The second day of our stay happened to come on Bastille Day, July 14th. We expected to be awash in a sea of French flags and banners, much like you see nothing but the Stars and Stripes in the US around July 4th, but we saw nothing of that. There were some impressive sounding fireworks shot off at eleven that night, but that was about it. Seems outside of Paris, where a military parade is held on the Champs Elysees, La Fete National is not that big of a deal.</b></div>
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<b>The biggest attraction for us was the strikingly beautiful coastline. The city sits on a series of rocky bluffs, with a peninsula of stone knifing into the ocean and separating the two beaches. The one closest to our apartment was accessible by some steep stairs.</b></div>
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<b>The beach on the other side of the rocky peninsula is the one that is famously depicted in paintings and on postcards. It's where Napoleon's wife built her palace and you can see why. The beach is gorgeous and long. Unlike her husband apparently.</b></div>
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<b>Most of our stops along the way have not been in resort-areas, so it was kind of fun to soak in the "we're on a holiday" vibe of the people on the streets of Biarritz. </b></div>
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<b>By the time we figured out that the surfing competition ended on Saturday, it was Sunday, so we missed out on that. Just like in Australia, the buzz from the surfers washed well ashore, with cafes and bars filled with surfers and their followers.</b></div>
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<b>Some of our time in Biarritz was spent trying to figure out how to fill in the four or five days we had before we headed to Paris. My first attempt at finding a place to stay in San Sebastian had come up empty. Everything seemed to be booked up. So we briefly thought of heading there for lunch one day, before turning back around and driving north to some city on the way to Paris for a couple of days. That didn't seem like a very exciting plan so I dug a little more deeply into the interwebs, and finally found what turned out to be a great place in a great city.</b></div>
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<b>The location of the apartment we rented was perfect. Like many European cities, San Sebastian has an "old town", and our place was on a tree-lined plaza in the old town. The front windows of the apartment overlooked the plaza, which was also lined with restaurants and cafes. It could get a little noisy at times, but for our four nights there, we were fine with the atmosphere and the noise died down by the time we were ready to call it a night. </b></div>
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<b>One evening, we heard what those of us over the age of 50 would call a ruckus. People started gathering in the square, banging pots and pans and blowing whistles. There were well over one hundred of them, and some local TV stations showed up to cover the protest.</b></div>
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<b>The signs and banners they carried were all written in Basque, and the best I could tell was that they were upset over the governments financial policies. (Occupy Madrid anyone?) The protests attracted demonstrators of all ages, including a few kids in strollers who were very happy to be encouraged to make noise for a change.</b></div>
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<b>The protestors certainly couldn't have been upset over the food in San Sebastian. <a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=pintxos&hl=en&client=firefox-a&hs=vd7&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&prmd=imvnsl&tbm=isch&tbo=u&source=univ&sa=X&ei=njQhUK37JtPY0QX44oDgBw&ved=0CHEQsAQ&biw=1212&bih=644" target="_blank">Pintxos</a> are the local specialty. They are basically tapas, small servings that can be down in a bite or two, and pretty much every restaurant we saw offered up a menu of pintxos. </b></div>
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<b>It took us one brave attempt at lunch our second day there to get the handle of how the ordering process goes. In some places, you order off the chalk board menu on the wall, while in others you grab a plate off the bar and just pick something from the different offerings and show the server who keeps track of what you've taken.</b></div>
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<b>The first place we had pintxos was very creative in its presentation. One of the items we ordered was a dish involving rabbit, and the chef had formed something possibly out of a turnip or rice paper in the shape of a Playboy bunny head. It didn't add anything to the flavor but did add something to the key ingredient in the experience: fun, and you can't get enough of that, can you?</b></div>
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<b>Once the trepidation about being unfamiliar with the ordering process was eliminated, we dove in head-first. We couldn't get enough of pintxos and the entire experience.</b></div>
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<b>Luckily, our apartment was within walking distance of dozens of restaurants featuring pintxos, so we left the kids at home with some pasta and wi-fi our final night there and Annie and I went on a pintxos crawl. Most of the places were fairly crowded, but that just gave us a better chance to get to meet some people and share some fantastic food!</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkFJojrbFy0yHUHqybl-KB4aO2Ec0IgPEHq2FwlOfjYLgDqRdLm_yOC2frSUv_80fUbeAUaVgMRC-8iiIKmvXGmw3BKhvd-q9uaIhPZ6scBjD8qec3bLvL6uvCArND-NIKC3Ge1FAVHeE/s1600/IMG_0960.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkFJojrbFy0yHUHqybl-KB4aO2Ec0IgPEHq2FwlOfjYLgDqRdLm_yOC2frSUv_80fUbeAUaVgMRC-8iiIKmvXGmw3BKhvd-q9uaIhPZ6scBjD8qec3bLvL6uvCArND-NIKC3Ge1FAVHeE/s320/IMG_0960.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b>As we stood elbow-to-elbow with other pintxos enthusiasts at the bar, we struck up a conversation with a woman from Japan. Hitomi was traveling by herself, on something of a foodie tour. She left her husband at home and was traveling for a few weeks, just sampling the local food offerings along the way.</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia0Fnv3i0CXBFf2m72jg98r3w5eSCaWZUedpjIIM2u2V5L8LpSpTPY2CNgSAyMAyVvPB5MzwyA5eeNjj9yV2IXelU7fkk9H9acCRqu407enhNdxUkbUeIPVpo8vczm_d0Xb5L0ttsf0sM/s1600/IMG_0968.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia0Fnv3i0CXBFf2m72jg98r3w5eSCaWZUedpjIIM2u2V5L8LpSpTPY2CNgSAyMAyVvPB5MzwyA5eeNjj9yV2IXelU7fkk9H9acCRqu407enhNdxUkbUeIPVpo8vczm_d0Xb5L0ttsf0sM/s320/IMG_0968.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b>We shared travel stories and chatted about food of course. Plus Annie and I now have an awesome photo to enter into a Biggest Noses Contest (couple's division).</b></div>
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<b>The atmosphere in the cafes and bars selling pintxos was electric and eclectic, with people enjoying the food and drink and the experience. </b></div>
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<b>Besides great food, San Sebastian also offers a nice menu of natural beauty. The older part of the city sits on a peninsula that has two bays on either side. Those bays both feature gorgeous beaches. </b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6Uv5ToVfZMk3UG3ji500V-OdOUYiy0TJlm2J_fnWgdqY_g4oMqrJzgOtq_FToejLlt5xH_iIjl2nAuUw33oP9SERNwCV56oUaDNKegmKSIm3_-fSTPUksIJ68kjMe23WNj9S5n_OD8t4/s1600/IMG_0946.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6Uv5ToVfZMk3UG3ji500V-OdOUYiy0TJlm2J_fnWgdqY_g4oMqrJzgOtq_FToejLlt5xH_iIjl2nAuUw33oP9SERNwCV56oUaDNKegmKSIm3_-fSTPUksIJ68kjMe23WNj9S5n_OD8t4/s320/IMG_0946.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The sand is beautiful enough to distract a male observer from staring too long at the many women who sunbathe topless. It's a pretty good bet that in the picture above there are at least a dozen or so women with their tops off. Being a healthy red-blooded male from the States unaccustomed to seeing such displays on a public beach, at first the spectacle really grabs one's, shall we say, attention. But after a while, uncovered breasts are so commonplace that they just blend in with the rest of the bronzed skin and colorful swimwear. And I ensure you that the prevalence of topless sunbathing has NOTHING to do with the fact that I agreed with Annie as we headed north toward Paris that San Sebastian was our favorite stop thus far in the trip. It's just another delightful ingredient in the many delicacies that the city has to offer!</b><br />
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Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10992767582998476713noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5926060964313977979.post-82318384677476844132012-08-11T08:00:00.003-07:002012-08-15T09:18:44.049-07:00Puppypalooza<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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</style> <b style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">About six
months before leaving on our journey in December of 2011, I signed up for a website called
<a href="http://www.caretaker.org/" target="_blank">Caretakers Gazette</a>. It featured
ads from people looking for house-sitters, usually to take care of a variety of
pets/animals. That site sent out weekly
emails showing available house-sitting jobs, and each time the email arrived, I scoured it for something that might fit with our schedule and needs, but nothing really ever came close.</b><br />
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<b>Once we launched the trip and started sharing tales of
adventure with other world travelers, (we’re not the only ones!) we found out
about a site called <a href="http://trustedhousesitters.com/">trustedhousesitters.com</a>. It had a much greater variety of house sitting gigs, mostly
in the UK and Australia and New Zealand, but also some in Europe.</b></div>
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<b>We applied for a few jobs starting around mid-May, and got a
few nibbles but no serious offers.
Then when we were in Greece in late May, a listing really caught our
eye. It was a <a href="http://www.ownersdirect.co.uk/france/FR4337.htm" target="_blank">property in theFrench Pyrenees</a> just across the border from Spain that needed someone to
house-sit for a cat and 7 labradoodle puppies and their mother for a week in
Early July. The property featured a
pool, wi-fi and plenty of space along with gorgeous landscape. I applied and was very excited to get an email back that we
were one of two finalists. </b></div>
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<b>Our excitement was due to a number of factors. We loved the idea of being around so
many dogs, plus it was a couple of weeks away from a month-long house-sitting
assignment we had lined up outside Paris, and it was free accommodation for a
week. Being on the road with two
12-year olds for six months was very expensive and we needed to save cash wherever and when ever possible. If we got this job, we would
have a period of five out of six weeks where we would be staying for free. That would be big as this stage of the trip.</b></div>
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<b>I exchanged emails with the owner of the puppy property and
we set up a time to talk on the phone one night. Doing my best to display my responsible nature, (I was after all, president of Luther League at my church in high school for an unprecedented<i> two</i> terms!) I called him precisely at the appointed time and we had a nice chat
for about ten minutes. He asked
some basic questions and I told him our story, and how we had pets back in the
states, plus a house with a pool, so we were experienced in handling those
duties. We had posted a profile on
the website, with pictures of us and the four Pomeranians we spent time with in
Thailand, plus a couple of references from back home. As we ended the call, he promised to have a decision within
an hour or so and would be sending me an email informing me of his decision.</b></div>
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<b>In part because I’m pretty competitive, I really wanted to
win, and beat out who ever else the owner of the puppy property was
considering. It was with great
disappointment that I read the email that said they were going with the other
candidates, in part because they had been to the area a few times and knew the
lay of the land better than we did.
The news hit me harder than I thought it would. I really, really wanted that job, and
was crushed that we didn’t get it and concerned about the financial
implications of what it meant to the trip. In addition, the house-sitting jobs on
trustedhousesitter.com rely a lot on referrals, so to get more jobs down the
road, we needed to get our first and do a good job.</b></div>
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<b>We continued on our trip, checking the house-sitting website on a daily
basis, but had no other offers as we went through Hungary and then into
Croatia. Then, a few days into our
stay in Croatia, I got an email from the owner of the puppy property with Change of Plans in the subject line. Turns
out the people they had chosen over us had gone dark on them, and they hadn’t
heard from them for more than a week despite several phone calls and
emails. The owner said he was
thinking we had already made plans for early July, but if we hadn’t he was
hoping we could be their house sitters.
We were thrilled and wagged our little pet-loving tails at the prospect
of being ensconced in puppiness for a week!</b></div>
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<b>After more than a week in Valencia and Barcelona, we left
Spain on a Renfe regional train that took us from Barcelona just across the
border into France to a town called Latour De Carol. We had to change trains there because the regional trains in
France run on a different sized track than the regional trains in Spain. </b></div>
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<b>Our train trip from Barcelona to the town of Foix in France
was the first time we had taken a major train trip by buying tickets the day
of. I don’t like leaving things to
chance or the last minute when we have a major location change, and always bought tickets ahead of
time and printed out the tickets, usually at an internet café. In our final full day in Barcelona, we
went to the train station where we would be taking the train the next day and
learned that we didn’t need to buy tickets ahead of time, we could buy them when we got there shortly before the train was due to depart. I also found out through
a very good website on traveling by rail in Europe that you didn’t need to buy
tickets ahead of time on the segment of our trip in France, either. </b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW_-fHZIM_e34ipG0Tj-1001BHeWPbO7XwVVFi4fOxznIo-YhTPvRgPYYpA-krHxaGrZbcoz3Z0R-1t2G2RkfxRdOFBgbPz_Ip2NyiKtXB-ZKLCOuIsM9ojFyxaxuRFk5iod_8zHCtmr0/s1600/100_5757.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW_-fHZIM_e34ipG0Tj-1001BHeWPbO7XwVVFi4fOxznIo-YhTPvRgPYYpA-krHxaGrZbcoz3Z0R-1t2G2RkfxRdOFBgbPz_Ip2NyiKtXB-ZKLCOuIsM9ojFyxaxuRFk5iod_8zHCtmr0/s320/100_5757.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<b>Everything went as smoothly as I could have hoped as we left
Barcelona to head to France. We
got to the train station in plenty of time and got decent if somewhat
uncomfortable seats on the train for the first of our two segments. We left Barcelona around 9:45 and got
to LaTour de Carol around 12:30.
The train from there to our destination of Foix didn’t leave until 1:21,
giving us plenty of time to buy tickets at the train station there. </b></div>
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<b>It’s interesting that if you go to the
French rail website for their train system, SCNF, you get a variety of options
for stating your home country. If you
choose the USA, you get re-directed to the Rail Europe website, where fares are
almost always more expensive than if you try to navigate the <a href="http://www.sncf.com/fr/" target="_blank">SCNF website</a> as
someone who says they are from Europe.
For instance, the trip we were taking from LaTour De Carol was 18
Euros a person on the Rail Europe website, but only 13 Euros a person on the
SCNF website. And by purchasing
our tickets at the train station in LaTour De Carol, we paid the local rate of
13 Euro. So know you now. You’re welcome. </b></div>
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<b>The SNCF train was very nice, with
comfortable seats, much more so than the Renfe train from Barcelona. When we got on the train in Barcelona,
we had plenty of room and the pick of where to sit. We chose to go to the left and up a couple of steps into an
unoccupied section of about 24 seats, that led to a similar-sized area that was
separated from the rest of the train car by a sliding glass door. It was a very peaceful and pleasant experience, at least for the first half hour or so.</b></div>
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<b>After a couple of stops, several people who seemed to be
traveling together got on board and headed into the enclosed area. They were armed with a decent amount of
beer and seemed to be enjoying themselves and for the most part were not
annoying. One guy in a white
t-shirt that clung to his belly which was clearly a safe haven for beer, seemed to be
enjoying himself just a bit more than the dozen or so other people who were in the
enclosed area. He would emerge
through the sliding glass door every fifteen minutes or so, apparently heading to the bathroom. </b></div>
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<b>Annie and the kids were in a four-seat area with a table in
between them, and I was across the aisle in a similar area, using the table to
do some writing and look at the map and try to follow the progress of the train
as we headed north from Spain through the Pyrenees. On what was probably his third excursion from the drinking cabin,
white t-shirt guy (WTG) paused as he headed out, and barked something at me
in French. I had no idea what he was saying, even when he repeated it. So I cleverly responded with a brusque
“bonjour!” which he repeated back to me with a minimum of menace and then
stumbled toward the bathroom. WTG
paused before he went down the stairs and barked the same words to a teenage
boy who was traveling by himself and clearly had no more of an idea of what
this guy was saying than I did. He
then moved on to complete whatever task he felt he needed to complete. </b></div>
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<b>At one stop toward the end of the trip, several of the
people from the drinking cabin got off the train and took advantage of the
five-minute pause in the trip to have a smoke. Which was fine with me, but I was looking forward to getting
to Foix as the group was giving off something of a weird vibe. They would occasionally exchange some
loud words and the sliding door kept being opened as traffic in and out of the
drinking cabin increased.</b></div>
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<b>As we got into Foix and were about five minutes from
the station, things had gotten oddly quiet in the drinking cabin. That quiet was shattered by a woman who
burst through the sliding door, coughing as though she wanted to find out how
her lungs would function outside of her body. There was a cacophony of voices and coughing from the
drinking cabin and a chemical smell.
Annie said she saw one man holding a small canister and saying something
that sounded like Le Securitad! Perhaps they were re-creating a scene from a traveling show of Les Miserables, but
things were escalating at that point to an uncomfortable level.
Fortunately, right then the train was pulling into the station, and your faithful
world travelers deftly grabbed their backpacks and pulled their luggage down from the
racks above them and positioned them by the doors. We made a speedy exit, and informed one of the workers outside the train what had happened. The train pulled out of the station before anyone in a position of authority could get on board, but she said they would call ahead to have someone waiting at the next stop. </b><br />
<br />
<b>After that weirdness, it was great to get to the peaceful house near the village of Nescus and have a tail-wagging welcome. Sean and Laura were the homeowners who were leaving the next day on a holiday to Spain, and they had a Labradoodle, Polly who had given birth to seven puppies. Two of them had already found homes, but we still had five to take care of and enjoy.</b><br />
<br />
<b>Sean and Laura were from Sheffield, England and had decided about five years ago that they were looking for something different and they found it in the French Pyrenees. It was a large old house that they had renovated about a third of into living quarters for themselves and their two kids.</b><br />
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<b>A separate part of the building was converted into what's called a gite, which is pronounced "jeet". They are vacation getaways that Europeans rent out on holidays. Sean is a professional remodeler and had done a nice job of making a very nice two-bedroom gite, with a modern kitchen and large living area. </b> </div>
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<b>The puppies were kept in the barn, and one of our first duties of the day was to get up by around 7:30 and feed them and let them run around. Ben and/or Marley did that most of the days and they will have more to report in their own blog posting.</b></div>
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<b>The puppies were the highlight of our stay in the south of France, but not the only aspect of our time there that we enjoyed. We arrived on a Thursday and Sean and Laura had told us about a weekly market on Saturday in the town of St. Girons. The picturesque village was about a 20-minute drive away. We got there around mid-day and some of the vendors were winding down their activity, but there was still plenty to see. </b><br />
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<b>The market attracts an interesting variety of people. Sean had said before we went that it would be like visiting middle earth, and he was spot on. A group of traveling troubadours had put on a show earlier in the day and some of them were still hanging around in costume that they seemed to be on no hurry to get out of.</b><br />
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<b>It was a great atmosphere and the most unique open-air market we had been to on the trip.</b></div>
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<b>The drive to St. Girons and back also gave us the chance to see some of the gorgeous countryside in the region. The Pyrenees are beautiful, rising as high as 11,100 feet. Even a few weeks into summer, some of the peaks had snow remaining in the higher valleys. </b><br />
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<b>On Sean's recommendation, we took a drive into the mountains just south of his property. The narrow, twisty road brought to an overlook that gave us a view that went for miles. </b><br />
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<b>Two days before the end of our stay, we took a slightly longer but easier drive to see the castle at <a href="http://www.creme-de-languedoc.com/Languedoc/city-guides/carcassonne.php" target="_blank">Carcassonne</a>. We had heard and read a lot about it, and having a few days on our hands, plus a rental car we decided to make the 90-minute drive to see the ancient walled city. </b><br />
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<b>The ancient castle towers about the even older city below, perched on the hill giving a sense of protection. And for your benefit, I'll cut to the chase. We didn't like it all that much. It's impressive and beautiful, but once inside, it's elbow-to-elbow tourists. </b><br />
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<b>The streets are crowded with all kinds of shops and restaurants and there wasn't much room to move around. It's kind of like Gatlinburg in July but without the fudge shops. We walked around a bit, decided not to stand in the long lines to get access to some of the areas of the castle, grabbed some gelato and a meringue and hit the road. </b><br />
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<b>That was the best part of the day: the drive. The road takes you through the foothills of the Pyrenees which happen to feature field after field of sunflowers. Annie became Van Gogh like in her obsession with them, and we stopped to take several pictures.</b><br />
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<b>They are beautiful, especially when you see this many spread out over so many fields and hillsides. </b><br />
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<b>On our last day, Sean and Laura returned home and the following day two more of the puppies were taken to their new homes. We were sad to see them go, but it was time to say goodbye to them and say hello to the Basque region of France and Spain as we continued our trek toward Paris. </b><br />
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</div>Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10992767582998476713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5926060964313977979.post-20523107964518404322012-07-26T16:45:00.003-07:002012-07-26T16:45:40.379-07:00Barcelona<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b>As we made Spain a major target in planning the trip, I had forgotten that my arrival in
Barcelona would be 20 years later than first planned. The 1992 Summer Olympics were held in the capital of
Catalunya, and the radio station I was working for at the time told me a few
months ahead of the games that I would be going. I’m not sure why I got the call, perhaps because I had
proven myself as an international traveler in 1989 when I got to go to Paris
for about five days. That was my
first time in Europe and just like the first time I had a tater tot, I was in
love immediately. </b></div>
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<b>I’ll never forget how I found out I was going to Paris. The program director at Magic 96 in
Charlotte, Don Schaeffer, was also the morning man, and I was the morning news
guy/side kick. It was on my birthday,
June 9<sup>th</sup>, that he told me live on the air. American Airlines had just started up a non-stop flight to Paris from
Raleigh-Durham and to help promote the flight, they sent radio shows from
around the region to Paris for a few days, to broadcast back to the states the
magic and allure of the City of Lights.
I would be going with another air personality, Bill Young, (who had the on-air nickname Magic Man) and we
each got to take our significant other.
I was just about speechless on the air, it took me completely by
surprise, and I had been watching the French Open on TV and thinking about how
wonderful Paris looked. </b></div>
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<b>Then came the hard part. My first wife (we’ll call her Mulligan) and I needed passports within about two weeks. That meant going through the expediting process, which added to the cost and the stress of not knowing if we would get them in time. We got them with about a day to
spare, took the trip and had a great time in Paris.
The dates of the trip included Mulligan’s birthday, June 27<sup>th</sup>,
so for the rest of our time together I could say, "hey I took you to Paris for your
birthday, now leave me alone and let me watch the golf!"</b></div>
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<b>I’m not exactly sure what happened three years later, but
about a month ahead of the trip, all of the sudden I wasn’t going to Barcelona
anymore. I think someone
complained/whined that Bangert already got a free trip to Paris, how come he
gets to Barcelona? So for me it
was Paris oui, Barcelona no!
(That’s the Spanish “no” by the way in case you couldn’t tell.)</b></div>
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<b>My next trip to Europe would be to Spain in 1997 with my
keeper wife Annie. To celebrate
her graduating from the MBA program at Xavier, we decided to take a trip, using
our newly-acquired time share. It
was May and all the resorts in the Carribean were booked up. However, the time-share company offered
us a deal—if we booked one week in the Canary Islands, we would get a second
week for free. Having no children
at the time, we decided to jump at the chance for two weeks in the islands that
belong to Spain but are close to the coast of Morocco. We enjoyed our two weeks there and were
on our way back to the States when we got our first taste of Spain. </b></div>
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<b>When we got to the airport in Madrid on the way back home,
the flight to Cincinnati was over-booked.
The airline offered to put us up for the night, buy us dinner, and give
us 400 Delta Dollars a piece if we would change our plans. Again, not having children, we jumped
at the chance. We only spent about
18 hours there, but really enjoyed the city of Madrid, and pretending for some reason that we
were Basque Separatists. I think
that helped plant the seed of attraction to Spain that took root in my head,
and contributed to my desire to go to Spain with my wife and kids in 2012. </b></div>
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<b>The pain of leaving my favorite city so far on the trip was
eased a bit by departing from the gorgeous Estacio De Nord in Valencia. Three hours later, we were getting off
the train at the main station in Barcelona, and taking a taxi to our
apartment. </b></div>
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<b>After being in the periphery of the action in Bologna, we
decided to stay right in the heart of things in both Valencia and
Barcelona. In Barcelona, that
meant booking a surprisingly affordable place a half a block away from Sagrada Familia. That’s the iconic church designed by
Antoni Gaudi. Seeing photos of the
tall spires gave me the impression that we would see them from quite a distance
away. But due to the congested
nature of the city, we didn’t see the amazing structure until our taxi turned
the corner and there it was!</b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">We had all seen plenty of photos of Sagrada Familia, but
those didn’t come close to preparing us for how breathtaking it is in
person. Construction started in
1882 and is still going on and is scheduled to continue until 2026. The tallest towers have the appearance
of the kind of sand castle you make in wet sand on the beach when you let the
soggy grains drip out of your hand at a slow pace. </span></b> </div>
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<b>Up close, you can really see the details of the complex
design which has been continued by other architects following the general plans
of Gaudi, who knew he would not live long enough to see his masterpiece
completed. You could stand and
look at it for days from every direction and see something new every minute. </b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">We enjoyed taking in the exterior view our first day and
night there, and didn’t waste any time the following day by going inside.</span></b> </div>
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<b>The interior of Sagrada Familia is stunning. The outside appears somewhat dark and imposing, but the inside is filled with light that splash over very welcoming wide-open spaces. Gaudi's primary design principle is to incorporate nature into his architecture, and as you can see, the main columns on the inside rise to the ceiling and branch out like trees. </b></div>
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<b>Some of the windows are filled with stained glass, while many others are not, evidence of the ongoing work inside and outside of the building. The work is being continued by architects who are trying to be truthful to Gaudi's vision while leaving their own design styles. One of the most distinct examples of that is the exterior portion of the church depicting the crucifixion of Jesus Christ.</b></div>
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<b>The sharp angles and edges and non-traditional image of Jesus have created a certain amount of controversy. But I think that's what the best art does--it challenges conventional wisdom and ideas, and makes the viewer think, perhaps in ways they never imagined. Sagrada Familia certainly had our complete attention for the three or four days we were around it. I've put it at the top of the list of man-made things we have seen on the trip. I just absolutely love it.</b></div>
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<b>The work of Antoni Gaudi is prevalent throughout Barcelona. A handful of buildings display his distinctive style.</b></div>
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<b>Guell Park which provides a gorgeous view of the city is also home to several works of Gaudi. It's actually a failed housing development from the early 20th Century that is now a park. And yes, I borrowed this photo from the internet because for some reason the ones we took disappeared from our camera.</b></div>
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<b>If the only personal items we lost in Barcelona were some digital photos, that's probably not a bad thing. We had gotten more than one warning about pickpockets targeting tourists but never saw any in action and never felt threatened at all. And we walked around plenty.</b></div>
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<b>Like Valencia, Barcelona has great
architecture, with many buildings featuring beautiful iron work on balconies
everywhere you look. We saw a lot
of the city on foot, as we had to visit the property management office on
Monday and sign a contract and arrange payment since we arrived on Saturday
when the office was closed. </b></div>
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<b>Barcelona is very pedestrian-friendly, with wide sidewalks
leading to plazas and boulevards. The city's bull-fighting ring is beautiful on the outside, giving no hint of the carnage that goes on inside.</b></div>
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<b>While strolling the streets, we saw several posters advertising concerts coming in the coming weeks and months. They must have the same booking agent as Riverbend, with exciting acts like the Beach Boys on the way!</b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">We finished off our stay in Barcelona in style by taking a
Segway tour. We had seen them
offered in other cities and did some research and found that in some places,
like Rome, they were more than 100 Euros a piece. That was a little steep for our tastes, so when we got to
Barcelona and found the Segway tour there cost less than 60 Euro a piece, we
took the plunge. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">We had originally planned to take the tour on Monday, but some miscommunication between us and the tour company resulted is going two nights later. It worked out quite nicely that we did the Segway tour on
our final night in Barcelona. It
happened to be July 4</span><sup style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">th</sup><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">, and we hadn’t made any plans to celebrate
the 236</span><sup style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">th</sup><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> birthday of our homeland. And in keeping with the true “melting pot” nature of the USA,
we rode Segways in Barcelona with a German tour guide. </span></b> </div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Vincent
was from Hanover, Germany and had lived in Barcelona for about two years. He was patient with us as we spent
about 20 minutes getting the feel for controlling the Segways. They are a product of how you move your
center of gravity. Lean forward,
and you go forward. Lean backward,
and you go in the other direction. </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The machines are very intuitive and after about 15 minutes it's really like walking. You learn to lean in the direction you want to turn, you can speed up and most importantly slow down exactly the way you want to. </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The route that Vincent took us on was perfect, hitting areas of the city we hadn't seen yet. We wound through some of the older parts of town, which meant navigating some crowded, narrow streets. All four of us managed to do that without incident or injury to ourselves or anyone else. </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It was a bit of a relief to get to a less crowded area along the water front. By this point, about a half an hour into the 90-minute tour, we all felt confident enough on our Segways to do a little manuevering, which was a blast. </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Docked on the waterfront was the largest yacht we had ever seen, on this trip or anywhere else. Victor informed us that it was owned by <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roman_Abramovich" target="_blank">Roman Abramovich</a>, a Russian tycoon (who also owns the Chelsea football club) who made his billions like many of the other super-wealthy: through illegal and shady business dealings. We didn't get close enough to get a good photo of the boat, but it was impressive to see even as far away as we were. </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The Segway tour was a blast and a perfect ending to a great stay in a great city. As much as we loved Barcelona, we had smiles on our faces as we boarded the train heading toward our next destination the next day and for five good reasons: Puppies! </span></b>
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</div>Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10992767582998476713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5926060964313977979.post-6281219486160214112012-07-21T14:09:00.001-07:002012-07-21T14:09:05.329-07:00Great Expectations<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b>Enjoying the moment is one thing I'm not very good at (among many things, including like right there, grammar). I'm always thinking ahead to whatever event is coming up, and my expectations of that event impact my enjoyment of it. Too many times I get really amped up about something and it doesn't live up to what I hoped it would be and I come away disappointed. On the other hand, if I go into something with low expectations and have a great time, the enjoyment of that event is greatly heightened. I had really been looking forward to getting to Spain almost throughout the entire seven months leading to our arrival there, and I was hoping it would live up to my great expectations. </b></div>
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<b>In the winter of 2011, when we first started planning the trip, Marley wrote all our names on a white board and made columns under our names, listing the five places we each wanted to go. Over the next few months, after doing some research on the internet or seeing something on TV about a particular spot, the list of desired destinations would change some. One of the constants on my list was Spain. I felt a very strong draw towards the Iberian Peninsula and wanted to make sure we spent some time there.</b></div>
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<b>In researching where to go next from Bologna, we found that one of the cheapest places to fly to was Valencia, Spain. Valencia is on the southeastern coast of Spain, and is about a three-hour train ride to Barcelona, which is not that far from the French border. We had a house-sitting obligation in the French Pyrenees which separate France from Spain, so it seemed like a logical progression to hit Valencia for a few days, then head toward Barcelona leading up to our much-anticipated stay with seven labradoodle puppies.</b></div>
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<b>The trip from Italy to Spain would be our first experience with Ryan Air. That's a somewhat infamous low-cost airline based in Ireland that offers what look like at first unbelievably low fares, like 20 dollars to fly to Paris. That's before you add on fees for luggage (15 Euros per person for one bag each). There's a 40 Euro fee for online booking, there are fees for choosing your seat ahead of time. I think they even have a fee for all the fees you ring up. By the time you get through all that, the fare winds up being about double what the initial advertised price was. Still, it's more affordable than any other airline.</b></div>
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<b>We had also heard complaints about rude service and constant selling of products once the plane was airborne. The flight attendants did try to pitch a few items, including smokeless cigarettes, but it wasn't annoying at all. The plane was clean, the flight crew friendly enough, and we got there at a decent price. Our expectations were low and we ended up being pleasantly surprised.</b></div>
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<b>The only thing I really knew about Valencia before we got there was that it was the site of a <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iGaBwtvhF3w" target="_blank">Franz Ferdinand concert</a> from 2009 that MTV would show from time to time. Not that I watch MTV much if at all, but I like live shows and Franz Ferdinand has some good tunes, plus the setting for the concert was at the City of Arts and Sciences complex. It's a very modernistic series of buildings and gave the show a very unique backdrop. </b></div>
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<b>Our love affair with Valencia started pretty much from the moment we arrived at our apartment. It helped that the place we booked had some great spaces inside, and was overlooking the Plaza de Napole y Sicilia.</b></div>
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<b>The apartment was located inside the old city, giving us another experience of being taken back in time. One of our discoveries on our first walk around the city on foot was the Mercat Central. It's a gorgeous building that dates back to 1914, but is in fantastic condition, and roomy and airy inside.</b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The market stalls offer up a wide variety of meats, fish, cheeses, vegetables, bread--pretty much anything you want to eat.</span></b> <br />
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<b>The atmosphere is buzzing with chatter between customers and merchants, and gives you a great feel of what local life is like. We've tried to check out the local markets in our various stops along the way, and this was by far our favorite.</b></div>
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<b>Our apartment was in a great location, just a short walk away from a broad plaza called the Plaza de la Reina, or Plaza of the Queen. That just happens to be Annie's nickname, so she was feeling appropriately regal as we checked out some of the shops and restaurants and cafes that ring the perimeter of the square.</b></div>
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<b>One thing we didn't notice anywhere there was a place to watch the upcoming Germany/Italy game outside. Watching the football on TVs placed outside at restaurants was something we really enjoyed in Perugia and we wanted to re-create that there in Valencia. Another thing we needed to do was go to the train station to buy tickets for our next travel segment, going to Barcelona in a few days.</b></div>
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<b>As we headed south from the Plaza de la Reina toward the train station, we started to see a little more evidence of excitement for the football game. More cafes and restaurants had chalkboard signs out front advertising the game, and we found one spot that already had a TV outside, and offered a menu that would suit everyone's appetite, including Marley's.</b></div>
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<b>There were more bars along this stretch of the street leading to the train station, and a few were flying the German and Italian colors.</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8gPNSV9bzvHhF3VlDgEv_MtdMjV4dO4AeJ4wCq74IrMrU_4wmwOTFGLOYSM4KZ5zeu3PfoUcZCmWZkWVbfMVW1fAWv4sNRAhP6yffikcCO2ngixgLlfvce-nB4pcb0k9WlWRGRhyphenhyphenxl3s/s1600/100_5530.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8gPNSV9bzvHhF3VlDgEv_MtdMjV4dO4AeJ4wCq74IrMrU_4wmwOTFGLOYSM4KZ5zeu3PfoUcZCmWZkWVbfMVW1fAWv4sNRAhP6yffikcCO2ngixgLlfvce-nB4pcb0k9WlWRGRhyphenhyphenxl3s/s320/100_5530.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<b>After a walk of about 30 minutes, we made it to Estacio Nord, the main train station in Valencia. Besides having the most beautiful market we've seen so far on the trip, Valencia also has the prettiest train station of the handful we've seen.</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfU3qjtxiV9UpDTOj2mNOuSqHn5UgSU_bwiQoPfmSugIqSyPyAQaGUCPq5WnVcT2JBG_J97fGuzuOFqo1rush1CNBacpZwyNv6JixmV4bzWx4ysFKOP4fA9bFXKJ6bLyJJ5JIEh0RV1As/s1600/100_5541.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="281" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfU3qjtxiV9UpDTOj2mNOuSqHn5UgSU_bwiQoPfmSugIqSyPyAQaGUCPq5WnVcT2JBG_J97fGuzuOFqo1rush1CNBacpZwyNv6JixmV4bzWx4ysFKOP4fA9bFXKJ6bLyJJ5JIEh0RV1As/s320/100_5541.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<b>Just like with the market, it's beautiful on the outside, and clean, light and airy on the inside. The architectural details are fabulous, and evoke elements of Art Nouveau, as well as the Arts and Crafts movement, especially the design work of <a href="http://www.crmsociety.com/" target="_blank">Charles Mackintosh</a>.</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCrknONsmrQTrODTxDO0xmnjSZYQb8_2XqPQz7smxSSmQiTFFzEY3kSPq3hVxK2TDUgQNEmZNwKMimUqI-SgeJ96LEG3W2XFRCs1Lw6lr7hyugqrIKror33alNdYKmYIWBbucWoHqKjNs/s1600/100_5550.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCrknONsmrQTrODTxDO0xmnjSZYQb8_2XqPQz7smxSSmQiTFFzEY3kSPq3hVxK2TDUgQNEmZNwKMimUqI-SgeJ96LEG3W2XFRCs1Lw6lr7hyugqrIKror33alNdYKmYIWBbucWoHqKjNs/s320/100_5550.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<b>It doesn't quite have the hustle and bustle of some of the other train stations we've been in, but that's kind of the way Valencia is as a whole. The streets between Plaza Del Reina and the train station are lined by buildings that are about five or six stories tall and the majority have wonderful ironwork on the sides.</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAW3IndX_1C6s1mllM7FMOo78pB-XU_Z5wCqxOg4PF7awOSJXLKUSPLhKAG9KqOxbP6yW0v48EdL-EAlVbgLNfDvuBfvzD_WCDAazkoqxhHWIwoqbjlF-D7yQRMK0eA6gITxTZSx7ZSbA/s1600/100_5543.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAW3IndX_1C6s1mllM7FMOo78pB-XU_Z5wCqxOg4PF7awOSJXLKUSPLhKAG9KqOxbP6yW0v48EdL-EAlVbgLNfDvuBfvzD_WCDAazkoqxhHWIwoqbjlF-D7yQRMK0eA6gITxTZSx7ZSbA/s320/100_5543.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<b>One other thing we liked about Valencia is that it's not stuck in the past. It became the first European city to host the America's Cup in 2007, and apparently did a good enough job that the Cup races returned in 2010. </b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<b>Partially as the result of hosting the Cup twice, the harbor area was revitalized and is home to an impressive stretch of sand, and a long line of restaurants. The harbor area is also home to the course where a Formula 1 race is held each year and we missed it by just a couple of days.</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDe2Amk1YlzQKGG8E9SYozRL_1Qf8dTIE_3e1X6QLtBmsnR_j56XNqzNWHzSoIM6KSJolqdhxrbfsvK5H9-og_9GuDJiedyv4qEaxvz-2IB6pyogpdpfG84LmnSsB4JzLgMw_eF0NdyyA/s1600/100_5516.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDe2Amk1YlzQKGG8E9SYozRL_1Qf8dTIE_3e1X6QLtBmsnR_j56XNqzNWHzSoIM6KSJolqdhxrbfsvK5H9-og_9GuDJiedyv4qEaxvz-2IB6pyogpdpfG84LmnSsB4JzLgMw_eF0NdyyA/s320/100_5516.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<b>Crews were still in the process of tearing down stands and concessions from the race, but you could still see where the cars came through, making a very sharp turn right by the port.</b></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<b>We spent an entire afternoon at the aforementioned Ciudad de La Artes y Ciancias. The complex was built in the mid 90s by a pair of architects who certainly weren't shy about making bold design statements. </b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWHI2Zszzu5YSGGzZz2lFW6uQqusq9TsXW6ujIcA0vmajyvPuUoe1ApHjwplIwGDSWJLi_-hLayfoor1IDwcHcQF9AivIqo3ogafRWpPUooKJqV9XR_fQBbyrSBlkxhYE3WqAFJ7sCGrA/s1600/100_5589.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWHI2Zszzu5YSGGzZz2lFW6uQqusq9TsXW6ujIcA0vmajyvPuUoe1ApHjwplIwGDSWJLi_-hLayfoor1IDwcHcQF9AivIqo3ogafRWpPUooKJqV9XR_fQBbyrSBlkxhYE3WqAFJ7sCGrA/s320/100_5589.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<b>The Science Museum was our first stop and was very engaging for both adults and children. It featured a wide variety of hands-on displays, some of which tested your balance and equilibrium, while others tested how far and how high you could jump. There were also displays on weather, including a machine that made a mini-tornado.</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhEc16ZYcRuVSW609T56rBBoKN3VvVRiUgRd4eghv5gQElQ8yeytLL21TGLQY0UPL2aDtLTYLXqmfymJ6nJwBmruZaIz_gC8a4IfKqaxjWIFWFcL_4j9VgicDiRuni0HcSZ3uDxHWtVdQ/s1600/100_5625.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhEc16ZYcRuVSW609T56rBBoKN3VvVRiUgRd4eghv5gQElQ8yeytLL21TGLQY0UPL2aDtLTYLXqmfymJ6nJwBmruZaIz_gC8a4IfKqaxjWIFWFcL_4j9VgicDiRuni0HcSZ3uDxHWtVdQ/s320/100_5625.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<b>There truly was something for everyone, including those who wanted to see baby chicks hatch live, and really who doesn't want to see that? </b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiShXPFmfGhaEhVMw8Gc7z1XVbObmC3PkStqyh7GQKg_1nMSyu8ZZ-mlnJkqycLXv8QNn1E11PfFTLY-cNfcd2TIpV2EPVpVkGUDmkh3a0umSYLBytEwHpz2GDhduSZXdEOs6x6Ne9Aank/s1600/100_5632.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiShXPFmfGhaEhVMw8Gc7z1XVbObmC3PkStqyh7GQKg_1nMSyu8ZZ-mlnJkqycLXv8QNn1E11PfFTLY-cNfcd2TIpV2EPVpVkGUDmkh3a0umSYLBytEwHpz2GDhduSZXdEOs6x6Ne9Aank/s320/100_5632.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<b>The complex also includes the Oceanografic, which is described as the
largest aquarium in Europe. The design reminded us of the science
museum we had seen in Singapore, as well as a temple in India and the
Sydney Opera House.</b></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh52WzRD5sRhQ8R1SWHGo5bxSDkEAMyAMEFijf33bj6KlD8pS7N8mA_B4uCiiTHQwlz84rkpnH7MUsfTMI6Xjb2Nv22AXQ3EuTNiBI-GkqSaBgkC8ZfAxI1vUnBWM-z2ADFWsIITOI81Ao/s1600/100_5646.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh52WzRD5sRhQ8R1SWHGo5bxSDkEAMyAMEFijf33bj6KlD8pS7N8mA_B4uCiiTHQwlz84rkpnH7MUsfTMI6Xjb2Nv22AXQ3EuTNiBI-GkqSaBgkC8ZfAxI1vUnBWM-z2ADFWsIITOI81Ao/s320/100_5646.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<b>The Lotus Flower design seems to be something of a worldwide trend, so we're hoping that by the time we get back to Cincinnati, there will be a restaurant or hotel at The Banks with this type of architecture.</b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<b>After a few hours of getting our Arts and Sciences fix, we were ready for some football! When we got to the restaurant we had scouted out earlier, there was only one table left outside with a view of the TV. Just after sitting down right before the start of the Germany-Italy game, we looked around to see if there were any other German fans. That's when we noticed some people wearing Italy's team colors. And that's when we realized we were watching the Germany-Italy game at an ITALIAN restaurant. Ach Du Lieber!</b></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<b>The situation deteriorated quickly when Italy scored a goal and people at all the other tables jumped up and cheered, with a view chairs knocked over and forks and knives scattered about. A few minutes later, that distasteful scene was repeated when Italy scored a second goal. Fortunately, we finished our meal right about halftime, so we paid our bill and quietly slipped away toward our apartment, hoping to avoid any jeers from the Italians.</b></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<b>Germany was unable to rally in the second half, scoring a fairly meaningless goal very late in the game, which ended in a 2-1 win for Italy. The German players seemed to lose their focus and patience when they got behind and played their worst game of the Euro 2012 tournament. But after seeing what Spain did to Italy in the title game a few nights later, (a 4-0 win for Spain) maybe going out in a one-goal loss in the semi-finals wasn't such a bad thing. </b></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<b>Our expectations of Valencia were exceeded by our fabulous experience there. The next stop was Barcelona and we had high expectations there, especially after finding a reasonably priced apartment a half a block away from the most iconic structure in the entire city. Let's go!</b></div>
</div>Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10992767582998476713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5926060964313977979.post-468760890138884982012-07-14T06:02:00.002-07:002012-07-14T06:04:00.189-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<b>I started liking sports cars when I was ten and went to an ice skating rink with my friend Will. He already liked sports cars and he saw a Porsche in the parking lot of the
ice rink, and I thought it was cool too. I also had a lot of racing video games
and I really liked the cars they had in the games. Then I started to
watch Top Gear on TV (top gear is a show that sort of reviews/test
sports cars and they do cool challenges) and I thought all the cars were
really fascinating.</b></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<b>There was one sports car company that I really liked and still do, it
is <a href="http://www.paganiautomobili.it/" target="_blank">Pagani</a>. They have always made amazing cars and they are all made by
hand, unlike Ferrari and Lamborghini which are partly made by machine.
Also they aren't as big as a company as Ferrari or Lamborghini.</b></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<b>One thing I was really looking forward to on this trip was seeing
exotic super cars all over the world. During the trip, I have seen many cars that I have
never seen before like: many Ferraris, a Bugatti Veyron, two Mclaren
Mp4-12c's, Maseratis, a Lamborghini Aventador and other Lamborghinis, a
few Bentleys and a Pagani Zonda F, Zonda R, and Huayra. I still would
like to see cars like: a Gumpert Apollo, a Bugatti Veyron SS (the
world's fastest/most expensive production car), an SSC Ultimate aero
and Tuatara, and a Pagani Zonda Cinque.</b></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<b>I saw many sports cars during the very first stop on our trip when we were in Los Angeles for a few days, then some in other countries. I
would usually see them in showrooms but every once in a while I would
see one driving on the street.</b></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<b>One day during the trip I searched "Pagani factory tour" on Google and I saw one that
was from a company called Motorstars and they also do Ferrari and
Lamborghini factory tours. So when we were in Italy (where
Paganis/Ferraris/Lamborghinis are made) we booked a tour that would take
us to the Pagani factory, Ferrari factory and museum and a Lamborghini
collection (a collection of the first cars Lamborghini made). I was
pretty excited.</b></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<b>On the day of the tour my mom and I went to the Bologna Central
Railway Station and met a man named Francesco, and the other people
who where taking the tour. Francesco was really nice and I got to sit up
front with my mom (there were 3 seats in the front of the van). On the
drive there when we got near the Ferrari factory we saw a few Ferraris
driving down the road, I was really excited to see them, then when we
got there we saw several of Ferraris and 2 Lamborghinis in a parking lot
of a place where you could test drive Ferraris and Lamborghinis.</b></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<b>When
we were dropped of I went to look at the Ferraris and Lamborghinis. They
asked if I wanted look inside one of the cars and I chose the
Lamborghini Aventador, so Francesco asked someone to open the door.</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3qPtweFHCY1rah-5W2ZxTZKzsOSXYJhhCWFU5HjoDOrDdSI5C9PbXu5pozqhmm3hxVv_aXb9OYjwjJDUom1MTiGwFBck6A-jpYLoNUsKnvW_WafJJaUxVVsQCzNLz_BQxIwvoB4s__nI/s1600/100_5407.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3qPtweFHCY1rah-5W2ZxTZKzsOSXYJhhCWFU5HjoDOrDdSI5C9PbXu5pozqhmm3hxVv_aXb9OYjwjJDUom1MTiGwFBck6A-jpYLoNUsKnvW_WafJJaUxVVsQCzNLz_BQxIwvoB4s__nI/s320/100_5407.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<b>After a while they opened it but Francesco told me to go to him and he
was standing next to a Ferrari California and he asked if I have ever
sat in one and I said no. Then he pulled my mom aside and he asked her
quietly if it was ok if someone could take me for a ride in the Ferrari!
I couldn't hear them but I was already pretty sure they would, but then
he asked if I ever heard the noise of a Ferrari engine starting up,
which I have just not while sitting in one. I was so excited.</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3QkpND3n6tFhYMFIK7NIe4h5_1Wu4jxmpubLfvCA9Py2dl3TMAhMBE-efrJrQu4dnf_qeqiSbmQC-kkntHnCQkxjyYtcXKZJhgxCKm4je8UWna0US3uLeqBpNHThhwojyv_GJql6w8m4/s1600/100_5401.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3QkpND3n6tFhYMFIK7NIe4h5_1Wu4jxmpubLfvCA9Py2dl3TMAhMBE-efrJrQu4dnf_qeqiSbmQC-kkntHnCQkxjyYtcXKZJhgxCKm4je8UWna0US3uLeqBpNHThhwojyv_GJql6w8m4/s320/100_5401.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<b>The driver
started up the engine and it roared. He took me on a 3 minute ride on a
freeway, which was awesome!! I still can't believe that I got to ride
in a Ferrari.</b></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<b> </b></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<b>Then we looked in the gift shop next door and they had a wide range
of diecast model cars, but we got some post cards. Then we went to the
Ferrari museum and we learned a lot about the history of Ferrari. We saw
the first cars they made and that they were owned by Fiat, and that the
factory was bombed in WW2 then repaired at the end of the war. </b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnyGiidDwjJrTsfhi1Wj-GghkM4NICzTEhEDcy35iNmVlcC-WHPpM_13m3ib0awyM4-Hr1QMwIbfYINj8q00OAHFmUBE6lHG6PjLlUHrjJrdwjTnsN5TU2cqPhOk-L4zTdURHBP0vUyjA/s1600/100_5410.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnyGiidDwjJrTsfhi1Wj-GghkM4NICzTEhEDcy35iNmVlcC-WHPpM_13m3ib0awyM4-Hr1QMwIbfYINj8q00OAHFmUBE6lHG6PjLlUHrjJrdwjTnsN5TU2cqPhOk-L4zTdURHBP0vUyjA/s320/100_5410.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<b>We saw a
lot of F1 cars and also learned that the current F1 engine ways as much
as me 80 lbs (42 kilos). We saw many trophies that Ferrari won in F1
races. </b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_qBCTjldmLTALI_F14vDCn4ZzcbFnryMRTZ85KR5hlrCTtJkPqBksjPd97cWfnNSuPzrOxYAv_ooR61cseCte9fwkyNqPFhYkr3ROhYMb-g07rRMkowDtq4S_StfL5oY0XRZ76PJgAGk/s1600/100_5425.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="205" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_qBCTjldmLTALI_F14vDCn4ZzcbFnryMRTZ85KR5hlrCTtJkPqBksjPd97cWfnNSuPzrOxYAv_ooR61cseCte9fwkyNqPFhYkr3ROhYMb-g07rRMkowDtq4S_StfL5oY0XRZ76PJgAGk/s320/100_5425.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<b>My favorite F1 driver (Micheal Schumacher, who actually is the
guy who races cars on Top Gear's track they call him the Stig) used to
race for Ferrari and won the most races out of any Ferrari driver ever.</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEierEr31H0yAUfPWhWPANa1oyOJsLsykZsLw8pHZl44riXk7wJZ8CB3gLfmBR76rWSUox3z8_c6IPA53psChjunzZ-abqY0OvN7jEV2sIP0T6Ubn0iVP-8rzKikFOFPHRxt73mpknZGjJ0/s1600/100_5427.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="82" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEierEr31H0yAUfPWhWPANa1oyOJsLsykZsLw8pHZl44riXk7wJZ8CB3gLfmBR76rWSUox3z8_c6IPA53psChjunzZ-abqY0OvN7jEV2sIP0T6Ubn0iVP-8rzKikFOFPHRxt73mpknZGjJ0/s320/100_5427.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<b>Then we were waiting outside the museum for Francesco and we saw three
Ferraris drive by in about 5 minutes! After Francesco picked us and the
rest of the group up he drove us over to a place to eat lunch, which
was only okay but still food is food. After we ate lunch we went to the Ferrari factory which I saw several Ferraris on the way there, we
weren't able to go in the factory we only saw the outside if it, we did
see the test track and a red plane (which was the plane that a Ferrari
beat in a race and it was the first time a car was faster than a jet, the
Italian air force donated it to Ferrari then Ferrari painted it red).
Then we went to the place where I wish I lived, the Pagani factory which
is a two story about 7 roomed building and when we went inside there
was a Pagani Zonda R in the showroom!</b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOth-dYcnCoPfl5BdV0lx4t5xNPIjOEy7fINirfu-M3s4Dhj7dLtZAHlEzlpwe0WPJCi9wGyS6yHElpj10YImEi8QSzJ_0FOLcbUh40pwd5mesJsviJ0bEhf4kVwNfP1X_u26Uc_bxdO4/s1600/100_5443.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOth-dYcnCoPfl5BdV0lx4t5xNPIjOEy7fINirfu-M3s4Dhj7dLtZAHlEzlpwe0WPJCi9wGyS6yHElpj10YImEi8QSzJ_0FOLcbUh40pwd5mesJsviJ0bEhf4kVwNfP1X_u26Uc_bxdO4/s320/100_5443.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<b>We saw some drawings Horacio
Pagani (the founder of Pagani) drew of some sports cars. Then we saw the
first model cars he made when he was only my age (12 years old)! We
also saw the first race car he made when he was 20, it was more like a
go-cart. Then we went into the factory which is only three rooms! I
don't want to give too much information about the factory but I saw, for
the first time ever, a Pagani Huayra!</b></div>
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<br /></div>
<b style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I was out of my head at this
point. I also got to feel some carbon fiber, and I learned that every
Pagani is made completely by hand. I bought a Pagani shirt. Next we
walked outside and I heard the noise of an engine, but it sounded like a
powerful engine. I turned my head and I saw a Pagani Huayra driving
down the road!!! </b><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilJ4nTaFBJ2aJBPWI-0EqbuPMMgf_v05JndNZaL3HHIipsnyjJ_DAUxe0BHSnOkfCMmuzzTkAmyiSMBTXpyAkP4eEy8BfvJWafa4p3egMPUvE0dJUtnA_Awed8ReA7KS0LMAbKcmroXIE/s1600/100_5459.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilJ4nTaFBJ2aJBPWI-0EqbuPMMgf_v05JndNZaL3HHIipsnyjJ_DAUxe0BHSnOkfCMmuzzTkAmyiSMBTXpyAkP4eEy8BfvJWafa4p3egMPUvE0dJUtnA_Awed8ReA7KS0LMAbKcmroXIE/s320/100_5459.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<b>I got a quick video, then it drove off and turned around
and stopped right in front of us to get into the gate to get to the
garage of the factory. I got pictures and a video, and also admired the
car a lot--I can't explain how awesome it was to be there in front of a
Pagani Huayra, in front of the Pagani factory.</b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<b>After we got some drinks we went to the Lamborghini collection which
had over 1,000 pictures of Lamborghini's history. I saw the legendary
cars, the Countach and Miura, the Miura is considered the world's first
supercar.</b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6TGrMImeo_7G-UbbAoSNkkiiy_-SnrKUYWSW2Oc4GUySyWdmCCQGpaTyJx28QXdbRSbgeqypT6HLxBmkE-YQeTsFhcF9HTm3C3l5B5jsqXTqxkvGvyB4PzQcdUl635q28-tvjr7x_-ZA/s1600/100_5465.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6TGrMImeo_7G-UbbAoSNkkiiy_-SnrKUYWSW2Oc4GUySyWdmCCQGpaTyJx28QXdbRSbgeqypT6HLxBmkE-YQeTsFhcF9HTm3C3l5B5jsqXTqxkvGvyB4PzQcdUl635q28-tvjr7x_-ZA/s320/100_5465.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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</div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<b>I also got to see some old concept cars, and learned that
Lamborghini was a tractor company before they were a car company. </b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0HcrSJsXTLHfGUKDN259SFVrqQI6yIjirmFCauNluxln4yP5BezLPDgpkaHYIx3HBfhidePVY7golIa-k_mJcoS4HTNQKTDJUBLnbzpoaVrVhEo2eHAM495trudsqNQ6ufpnTX2X0T4Q/s1600/100_5496.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0HcrSJsXTLHfGUKDN259SFVrqQI6yIjirmFCauNluxln4yP5BezLPDgpkaHYIx3HBfhidePVY7golIa-k_mJcoS4HTNQKTDJUBLnbzpoaVrVhEo2eHAM495trudsqNQ6ufpnTX2X0T4Q/s320/100_5496.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<b style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I met
the nephew of the founder of Lamborghini, the nephew's name is Fabio
Lamborghini.</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVdLKA4CC8s57CHXIrEky185I9iWbDEeUSkYZ51Yn0KQQKVe80R8tcILO3ZXSaiTtOuMDOS97m-bkhTr5pKs2D3W9T5TTyPbQP1K3XsKCNRw_9xDU_KK77tSy3TKZfZRYQWMPNBz0E4MI/s1600/100_5489.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVdLKA4CC8s57CHXIrEky185I9iWbDEeUSkYZ51Yn0KQQKVe80R8tcILO3ZXSaiTtOuMDOS97m-bkhTr5pKs2D3W9T5TTyPbQP1K3XsKCNRw_9xDU_KK77tSy3TKZfZRYQWMPNBz0E4MI/s320/100_5489.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<b>There was a helicopter that Lamborghini made and it
actually flew, which is hard to believe once you take a look at it.</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRtFzZd1j1_PjZbiMlfykUxChBFdZn_FXh9xB8kqH3G7I7zyrh_1FFuhH5GmUpFg8ONa6HKKruhxlIsfb7Rm2QeUsXlGe2bCAVoSlXyP9CfTFKvojk4guh7eR9XbI-VabH1tDky_WwsHw/s1600/100_5493.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRtFzZd1j1_PjZbiMlfykUxChBFdZn_FXh9xB8kqH3G7I7zyrh_1FFuhH5GmUpFg8ONa6HKKruhxlIsfb7Rm2QeUsXlGe2bCAVoSlXyP9CfTFKvojk4guh7eR9XbI-VabH1tDky_WwsHw/s320/100_5493.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<b>On the way home we stopped at the Ducati store, but we didn't get anything
because we aren't into motorcycles. We were heading home and Francesco
dropped everyone off except for my mom and me because we didn't get to
our apartment yet. Francesco was about to drop us off at the railway
station but we reached our apartment first and it was just sort of cool
'cause we didn't think we would. At the end of the day I was really
happy to see so many amazing cars and would do the tour again.</b></div>
</div>Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10992767582998476713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5926060964313977979.post-70771624197365403052012-07-10T06:18:00.002-07:002012-07-10T06:22:43.525-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
<b>Money has been <u>the</u> deciding factor in a lot of choices we’ve
made on the trip. It has been the biggest influence on deciding where we go next.
After Rome, we weren’t sure what our next stop would be. Ben had his eyes on Modena, because it
was the home to a tour of several “super car” factories and museums, including
Pagani, Lamborghini and Ferrari.
The tour website suggested staying in Bologna, so we started
investigating that as a destination.</b></div>
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<b>When we were in Tortoreto, Ida, the cousin of a friend of
ours from Cincinnati, suggested several possible places to stop in Italy. Our goal was to experience the true
Italian lifestyle, and not just go visit famous sites. After a lot of research, we settled on
Perugia, an Umbrian town known for it’s university and classic Italian
architecture. </b></div>
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<b>Frequently, where we decide to stay in our next stop is
influenced by elements of our current accommodations. In Rome, for some reason the wi-fi there only worked on one
device at a time, sometimes two.
That makes it difficult for Ben and Marley to do online schooling
through the Khan Academy and also difficult to do research for the next stage
of the trip. </b></div>
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<b>I found a nice place in Perugia in the heart of the old
town, but when I asked the owner about internet access, she said it was
broadband via a key that you plug into the USB slot of a laptop. That doesn’t work for us, but it turned out she had another
apartment that was smaller and not as nice, but it had wi-fi and was a lot
cheaper. Plus it had three
bedrooms, not two, and the kids enjoy the rare occasions where they get their
own rooms. So we decided to go
that route. </b></div>
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<b>Our time in Perugia was enhanced by the ongoing UEFA Euro
2012 championship. Almost every
restaurant we walked by advertised that they would be showing the game that
night and would list the teams that were playing. Many restaurants set up tables and chairs outside, and at
night would bring TVs out to follow the football festitivies. </b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV23NBNeindBEo5IAzoIWgmwn81AV0lYiqwvmcAfNTFzJFxfdPin1owB8D-A1VIlYcpOLupRwphZ1I2mVT3iHr69bg7l_cxDdcrpdoePohegs835h17GDdE9QbGcbEExM_FgApPrEfBXk/s1600/100_5323.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV23NBNeindBEo5IAzoIWgmwn81AV0lYiqwvmcAfNTFzJFxfdPin1owB8D-A1VIlYcpOLupRwphZ1I2mVT3iHr69bg7l_cxDdcrpdoePohegs835h17GDdE9QbGcbEExM_FgApPrEfBXk/s320/100_5323.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b>On the night that Germany played the Netherlands we
completely lucked out. We
underestimated the level of interest Italians and visitors to Perugia would have in the
contest that night, and most tables with prime viewing location to see the
action were taken. That was until
we walked by a place where we had lunch our first day in Perugia. There, front and center, right in front
of the TV, was a table that had just been vacated. We were more than happy to sit there and wait for it to be
cleaned off.</b></div>
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<b>Unlike when we were in Asia or even Turkey, it was difficult
to detect the nationality of the people we saw in Italy. The evening of the
Germany/Netherlands game, Ben and Annie were
the only people wearing anything with the Germany colors or logo. But when Germany scored, most of the
people at the other tables cheered, so we knew we were in friendly
territory. It was a lot of fun to
share the passion of the football fans.
Portugal and Holland were also playing that night, and some of the other
restaurants were showing that game and whenever something dramatic happened in
that game, you could hear the shouts from the people watching. </b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_bua-AuYPPS3zUrBEfFFGoESRhJXyVwZN6H7LeZb2A51pr_F1lDNmYqno_hFR0PKSI_4Pb0fev7z7tEcm-GIAoPJ4oK4BvJN0fJ878oGY4s9b2Kujo3lIT850Kmw8CbkYBa_qkJQ6zwk/s1600/IMG_1782.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_bua-AuYPPS3zUrBEfFFGoESRhJXyVwZN6H7LeZb2A51pr_F1lDNmYqno_hFR0PKSI_4Pb0fev7z7tEcm-GIAoPJ4oK4BvJN0fJ878oGY4s9b2Kujo3lIT850Kmw8CbkYBa_qkJQ6zwk/s320/IMG_1782.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<b>It was a great atmosphere and made for
a very enjoyable time, enhanced by the fact that with their win, the Germans
advanced to the knockout round as one of the eight teams moving on past the
group stage. Having the football
to follow really helped us feel part of the European community. And that’s one thing I love most about
in sports: how it brings people together.</b></div>
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<b>Perugia is the prototypical Italian village, perched on a
hill with gorgeous views of the Umbrian countryside. The streets are charming and romantic, mostly cobblestone, weaving their way gently through the old stone buildings.</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsrzfEg3MyQ77WAQf6bn2mi4gDjiQyJ0dBcyA27vIuG0x4w8C3FcrZJr2CCVgGzZbG3CFbAJbK5Gewtw6uLESOmubYQ0pIwV7lV_EmYc_Q9LJVHD29QYy1rTAiRYtWUE3cx4sE1ltoAxs/s1600/IMG_1786.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsrzfEg3MyQ77WAQf6bn2mi4gDjiQyJ0dBcyA27vIuG0x4w8C3FcrZJr2CCVgGzZbG3CFbAJbK5Gewtw6uLESOmubYQ0pIwV7lV_EmYc_Q9LJVHD29QYy1rTAiRYtWUE3cx4sE1ltoAxs/s320/IMG_1786.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<b>One sunny afternoon, Annie and I left the kids back at the
apartment to do some schoolwork online while we did some exploring. One thing we wanted to do was to see if
there was a place to watch the football that wasn’t out in the middle of the
town, hoping to possibly escape the somewhat touristy feel that had. While we came up empty on that front,
we scored big time when we found a café with fantastic views that offered some
antipasti and some tasty wine. The
view was better than the food, but we didn’t mind at all. It was great to just relax there on a
rare parents-only moment and soak up the fabulous tableau surrounding us, and
comment about what a wonderful adventure we were on. </b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUg5MHeXTddK5enEmntehG3JG-89PWgrhXmk87fCfesGIUMwYE2Q9ljMzeMmDtAg3ER8dmLh0lIrYinR57infkQy4_F-DyP7nRYLSS8p7YooMFXlUYk9WPeg7zw5Bpa1esUc8Gf-JMstY/s1600/IMG_0709.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUg5MHeXTddK5enEmntehG3JG-89PWgrhXmk87fCfesGIUMwYE2Q9ljMzeMmDtAg3ER8dmLh0lIrYinR57infkQy4_F-DyP7nRYLSS8p7YooMFXlUYk9WPeg7zw5Bpa1esUc8Gf-JMstY/s320/IMG_0709.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<b>A couple of days into our four-day stop in Perugia, someone
mentioned on Annie’s Facebook page something about the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amanda_Knox" target="_blank">Amanda Knox</a> case. It had completely escaped both of us
that Perugia was where that media circus unfolded. During my days at WLW, I totally ignored the story that
for some reason TV networks in the US were obsessed with. I did some research and found that
there was a picture of the house where so and so was found murdered, and it was
apparently in the old village, but we never found it. I did find out that the courthouse where the trial was held
was a massive gray stone building that we walked by everyday. </b></div>
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<b>We made the most of the internet access we had in our tiny
apartment in Perugia. The kids got
caught up on some of their schoolwork, and I made good progress in researching
the next few stops of our trip. A
house-sitting assignment awaits us in the French Pyrenees starting July 5<sup>th</sup>,
and we were trying to figure out where to go before then. Bologna was a must-see because we
really wanted Ben to have the chance to see the birthplace of so many of the
super cars that he loves. The plan
to hit Bologna right after Perugia and move on from there after a day or two
was killed when we discovered the tour was booked up on the day we wanted to
go, but was available a few days later.
</b></div>
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<b>In a reactionary move to the tight quarters we had in
Perugia, I found a place just outside of the old walls of Bologna that boasted
a big living room and two bedrooms, plus a wrap around balcony. That would be a nice change from
Perugia, where the only non-bedroom place to sit was in the cramped kitchen. </b></div>
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<b>The train ride from Perugia to Bologna was another enjoyable
one, exposing us to more beautiful Italian landscape. The train station in Bologna was a short taxi ride away from
the apartment and we met Mattia from the property management company outside
the modern-looking building that was in sight of one of the remains of the 12
gates that used to provide an opening in the walled city. </b></div>
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<b>We got to Bologna a little earlier than expected and Mattia
was just a little late, but we managed to find some shade as we waited, hoping
to hide from the relentless rays of the sun. Italy was experiencing something of a late-spring/early
summer heat wave, with temperatures well into the 30s, even threatening the
40s. That’s nearing 100 in
Farenheit and we were looking forward to spreading out and catching up on some
sleep after another day of travel.</b></div>
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<b>As Mattia and I went over the particulars of the apartment,
Annie started fiddling with what looked to be a thermostat or temperature
control on the wall, hoping to bring a chill to the stuffy room. When we asked about how to turn on the
air conditioning, Mattia paused, and shook his head vigorously enough to cause
his sweat-drenched black bangs to quiver to and fro on his glistening
forehead. “No AC” he said,
gesturing toward the large glass doors leading out to the balcony. It never occurred to me to ask about AC
when I was booking the apartment.
I mostly wanted wi-fi and easy access to the city. Every place we’ve stayed with the exception of Fiji had air
conditioning. This place looked
modern and new, nicely appointed with two bathrooms, a washing machine,
decent-sized kitchen. Of course
they would have AC. Wrong, wrong,
wrong.</b></div>
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<b>By opening the exterior door in the kitchen that led out to
a small balcony overlooking a courtyard and opening the large glass doors to
led to the larger balcony overlooking the street, we got a decent breeze going through living room and kitchen in the apartment. But the bedrooms
were to the side of that wind flow so the air in them remained as still and
steamy as a sauna. That led to me
waking up our first night there after about five hours of sleep drenched in
sweat.</b></div>
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<b>I hate being sweaty when I sleep, and always prefer some air
moving around the room. At home, I
turn on our ceiling fan and a floor fan to keep a breeze going. I’ve always been a pretty solid sweater,
something my son seems to have acquired.
Plus, now that I’m more than a year into my 50s, I’m fostering a healthy
amount of hair on the backs of my upper arms as well as my back. In another ten years, I’ll be able to
go to Star Wars parties as Chewbacca without having to wear a costume. </b><br />
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<b>Despite being a bit sleep-deprived and sweaty, we managed to enjoy Bologna. The architecture is fabulous, dating back centuries. The reddish stone buildings of the main square take you back in time.</b><br />
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<b>The Piazza Maggiore is dominated by a statue of Neptune, who happens to be naked and fairly well-endowed which has caused a touch of controversy over the years. Bologna is a very easy city to walk around in, and in some ways more enjoyable than Rome. There aren't as many iconic sights to take in, but it's more compact and has a less hectic air then Rome. </b><br />
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<b>Bologna is also considered to be the food capitol of Italy, and we had some delicious meals there. We had possibly the best pasta we've ever tasted at a restaurant that someone on Facebook recommended to us. It was at a classic Italian restaurant with photos of Italian celebrities on the wall, documenting visits they had made to <a href="http://www.trattoriannamaria.com/" target="_blank">Trattoria Anna Maria</a> over the years. And we had to sample Bolognese sauce while in Bologna and that did not disappoint. </b><br />
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<b>The main reason we were in Bologna certainly didn't disappoint either. And you can read all it about it in Ben's blog about his super trip to see super cars.</b></div>
</div>Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10992767582998476713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5926060964313977979.post-15101118386065389032012-07-06T13:28:00.001-07:002012-07-06T13:28:47.839-07:00Tri, due, uno...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b>In the course of traveling for almost seven months into and out of 16 countries, we have encountered about a dozen different languages. In most countries, we try to at least master the basic greetings and numbers up to ten or twenty in each language. That process has given us some favorite numbers in foreign tongues. My favorite is the word for two in Italian, which is due. It's pronounced due-way and the great thing about Italian is with the way inflection is used in that language, you can drag "due" out to about six syllables if you work at it. </b></div>
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<b>The language certainly isn't the only thing we love about Italy. There's the fabulous food and wine and scenery and people--and trains. The train system is fantastic--clean, efficient, on-time and very affordable. We traveled from Ancona to Tortoreto to Rome for less than 100 Euro for all four of us.</b></div>
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<b>In the picture above you can see us all safely standing a decent distance away from the yellow line as the train that took us from Tortoreto to Rome approached. Part of the reason for that is about three minutes before this train arrived slightly behind schedule, another train came speeding toward the station. Thinking it might be ours, we edged up toward the yellow line so we could get all our luggage on board and get some decent seats. Much to our surprise, that train was not stopping at Tortoreto and went flying through the station about a foot and a half away from us. Annie did what any normal person would do and screamed bloody murder. Just another moment in the lives of world travelers.</b></div>
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<b>Another positive about train travel in Italy is that the <a href="http://www.trenitalia.com/" target="_blank">Trenitalia website</a> is easy to use and you get a confirmation email to print out your tickets almost immediately after booking your ticket. The seats are roomier than what you get on a commercial airliner. Plus there is the element of romance as you haul your stuff onto the train, settle into your seats and watch the landscape roll by.</b></div>
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<b>The ride from Tortoreto to Rome went through some gorgeous scenery in Abruzzo. The late spring sun splashed over the various shades of green on the hillsides, and the terracotta-tiles of the roofs of the villages added just the right amount of contrasting color. If only Thomas Kinkade and that <a href="http://answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20080121213935AAuXceZ" target="_blank">guy with the afro who painted on cable TV back in the day</a> were still around to appreciate it and perhaps re-create it in their own unique styles. (Silent pause to remember their special talents.) Thank you. </b></div>
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<b>We first visited Rome in November of 2010, on the trip that planted the seeds for our current journey. During that visit, we saw the Colisseum, the Trevi Fountain, the Spanish Steps and a few other "sights". This time around we wanted to experience Rome from more of a locals perspective. </b><br />
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<b>We loved the feel of the Testaccio neighborhood we stayed in, and in particular a great little pizza place called Remo's. The food was so good and the service so friendly and the atmosphere so enjoyable, we ate there twice the first time in Rome and did the same thing the second time around.</b></div>
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<b>It was the first time we had ever had a true thin crust, wood-fired pizza and we were smitten. I even attempted with varying degrees of success to make pizza in our fireplace at home in Cincinnati. I couldn't get the dough as paper thin as they guys in the picture above, but getting that burned wood flavoring was great. It was with great anticipation that we returned there our very first night in Rome.</b></div>
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<b>The train from Tortoreto got us to Rome right around six o'clock in the evening and the UEFA Euro 2012 game between Italy against Croatia was just getting underway. Our taxi driver was glued to the radio as he sped from the train station to our apartment in Testaccio.</b></div>
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<b>The radio announcers were of course speaking Italian, so it was a little hard to understand what was going on. But we didn't need a translation app to know that Italy scored, triggering a flurry of joyous horn honking by our driver, which was echoed by many other drivers.</b></div>
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<b>We had a little hitch in our giddy up on arrival in Rome. That morning in Tortoreto, some construction work at the hotel we were staying in meant the power was turned off. That meant no internet, so I couldn't update my email and make sure I had all the arrangements finalized for the apartment we had booked in Rome. I remembered from the owner's email that she said she would most likely leave the keys at a Chinese Restaurant downstairs. </b><br />
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<b>When we got to the Testaccio apartment there was no Chinese restaurant anywhere in sight. After asking several people and being pointed to a place about eight blocks away I finally found a Chinese restaurant that was closed. By now, I'm about a half-hour into the search, and I don't have the phone number of the owner who had said she was going to a play or exhibition of some sort until 7pm. </b><br />
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<b>I managed to find a laundromat that also offered internet access so I got into my email and saw that the apartment owner had said the keys would be left at the Chinese <i>store</i> by the apartment. I walked back to the apartment, finding Annie and the kids waiting somewhat patiently, although we were all a bit annoyed by the delay in our plans to eat pizza at Remo's after a wait of more than a year and a half. Sure enough, a couple of doors down there was a store with a Chinese couple as proprietors. </b><br />
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<b>Neither one spoke any English, or at least didn't want to speak any to me. They did apparently speak some Italian and a customer helped interpret my predicament. Turns out the woman did have the apartment keys but refused to give them to me! She finally got the apartment owner on the phone but wouldn't let me talk to her. I called her on my phone and was informed that her cleaning lady was in the apartment waiting for us. Why the cleaning lady didn't occasionally look out the window and notice a family with suitcases and backpacks standing on the sidewalk will remain one of life's great mysteries. </b><br />
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<b>We were relieved and happy to at last get into the apartment, get settled in and head over to Remo's. Walking back into a place that we had talked about for going back to for so long. The dining room is almost like a living organism, always moving and shifting as the servers work their way among the patrons who sit elbow to elbow at adjacent tables. </b></div>
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<b>The food did not disappoint us, and after more than a year and a half of waiting, it was great to taste the pizza that we spent so much time talking about back home in Ohio.</b></div>
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<b>One of our main goals of returning to Rome, besides having Remo's pizza, was to experience it as a true city, not just a place with a bunch of tourist attractions. That's why we stayed in Testaccio, which happens to be home to a great covered market that opens early every day and is closed by mid-afternoon. We could see the market from the windows of our apartment and enjoyed checking it out and buying a few items from the vendors inside. I always tried to buy two of whatever I was purchasing, just so I could say "due, per favore!"</b></div>
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<b>Thinking back our first visit to Rome, we remembered liking the area around Trevi Fountain and the Spanish Steps, so we spent our first full day exploring that area. We got there by way of the Metro which for whatever reason we didn't use on our previous time there. The stations are clean, but the train cars are almost aggressively grungy, at least on the outside. Almost all of them are covered in graffiti, but it just ads to the experience.</b></div>
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<b>While walking around the streets that surround the Trevi Fountain and Spanish Steps, we soaked up the atmosphere of the area. The architecture of some of the buildings around there is very impressive, with great details and ironwork.</b></div>
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<b>The Trevi Fountain and Spanish Steps were both alive with people, and the energy was infectious. We walked near the Colisseum the next day as we just explored the city on foot, but didn't stop and go inside this time around. Instead we visited a place that was mentioned in a Frommer's guide book that we found at our apartment.</b></div>
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<b>The <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Capuchin_Crypt" target="_blank">Carpuchin Crypt</a> is a series of tiny chapels located underneath the church of Santa Maria della Concenzione dei Cappucini on the Via Veneto near Piazza Barberini. Like many things in Europe, it's closed for a few hours in the middle of the day, and re-opens at 3pm. We got there about 15 minutes early and there was already a line to get in. After about a ten minute wait, we made our way inside to one of the most unusual displays we've seen on the trip.</b></div>
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<b>Each of the tiny chapels is decorated with the bones of monks who died over the years. Every bone is used and attached to the walls and ceilings in very creative patterns. In one spot, hip bones are used to create the appearance of wings. Once you get past the fact, if you can, that this is all made of bones, it's beautiful. And unforgettable. Just like Rome itself.</b><br />
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</div>Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10992767582998476713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5926060964313977979.post-63543142403274650382012-07-01T05:53:00.001-07:002012-07-01T05:53:43.287-07:00Football and sore feet<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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</style> <b style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Our arrival in Europe was fortuitously yet unintentionally
timed with the <a href="http://www.uefa.com/" target="_blank">UEFA Euro 2012 championship</a>. It’s held every four years, two years opposite of the World
Cup. As we planned our trip, we knew the championship was coming up but didn’t
know for sure if we would be in Europe by the time it started in early
June. As our schedule unfolded once we emerged from Asia in late April, we realized that, yes, we would be in Europe in time for the UEFA 2012 and
even toyed with the idea of taking a trip to the Ukraine or Poland in hopes of
seeing our favorite team, Germany, play live. </b></div>
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<b>Some research into that quickly ended those plans. Germany was scheduled to play in Lviv and Kiev, and getting to those Ukranian cities wasn’t going to
be easy or cheap. Plus lodging and tickets were pricey as well. It would have been an unforgettable
experience to see the Germans play their first game on June 9<sup>th</sup>,
which happens to be my birthday.
But the expense of taking a trip like this and then adding on a side journey like that was something we just couldn’t afford. So we settled for watching the German
victory in Croatia live on TV and the Germans gave me a nice birthday present with a victory over Portugal. </b></div>
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<b>The excitement surrounding the football followed us on the overnight ferry that took us from Croatia to Ancona
Italy as we watched Croatia beat Ireland on TV in one of the lounges of the ferry. It was an interesting mix of people,
some with a obvious interest in the football, while others were more occupied
in some of the gambling games in another section of the lounge. There was also a guy playing an
electric organ who was ignored at first, but as the evening wore on, the dance
floor in front of his spot became more and more crowded with people. They wound up doing some sort of
Italian/Croatian version of a group dance, a type of Electric Slide. It was extremely tempting
to totally embarrass our kids and join in, but we managed to control ourselves
and keep focused on the football.</b></div>
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<b>Our chosen destination in Italy was influenced by the fact that a
friend of ours from Cincinnati had relatives living along the Adriatic
Coast. We thought it sounded like
a good idea to see some of the coast and also spend time with a local. Our friends cousin, Ida (pronounced
ee-da) lived in a town called Giulianova and offered to meet us for dinner.</b></div>
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<b>The ferry arrived in Ancona around 8am, and the train station was about a 20-minute walk. We were all a bit tired by the time we got to the train station, but we had about three hours to kill before our train left for Tortoreto. So we grabbed a table at a small cafe at the station and enjoyed some tasty pastries and sandwiches and watched the passengers come and go. It was an interesting mix of travelers, from business people to college age kids with their massive backpacks. </b><br />
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<b>I couldn't find any accommodation in Giulianova that met our parameters and price range, so we settled on a place in the nearby town of Tortoreto. One factor was that it boasts a very nice white sandy beach and we hadn't had any beach time for months. Online, I found a two-bedroom apartment
at a place that looked to be right on the beach. The website said that it was 1.5 km from the train station,
so I figured that worst case, we could walk that in about a half an hour, but I expected to get a taxi either at the station or right in town. A map online gave me a good idea of the
location and I was confident that finding our home for the next four nights
wouldn’t be much of a challenge.</b></div>
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<b>To say that I was wrong would be like saying Facebook is a safe haven for expressing your political opinions. The train ride from Ancona gave us about three hours to rest our weary legs, fatigued from walking from the ferry to the train station about six hours earlier. The Tortoreto stop on the rail line
doesn’t have a train station, just a platform with a cement ramp leading into
the village. We are quite
accustomed to trudging along with our luggage through a variety of conditions
and it was no big deal for us to start walking in the bright sun of
mid-afternoon, keeping an eye out for a taxi. </b></div>
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<b>After walking for about 15 minutes with no signs whatsoever of a taxi or the
Residencia Playa Sirena, I stopped at a restaurant and asked for
directions. The woman working
there didn’t speak much if any English, so she summoned someone from the
kitchen. He pointed back in the direction
we had just come from and indicated it was about four blocks down on the left. Meaning we would have walked right by
it. I was skeptical but decided to
follow the locals advice and we turned around and trudged on.</b><b> </b> </div>
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<b>A walk of more than four blocks had me going into another
restaurant and asking workers there for help. One man assured me it was
something like 500 meters back toward the train station. That turned out not to be the case either, so we parked ourselves for a moment to catch our breath and try to figure out what to do next.</b></div>
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<b>Our backpacks and suitcases were getting heavier by the
minute as we had been walking for well over a half an hour. I tried the phone number for the hotel
on the reservation email I received but all I got was a recording in Italian that I couldn’t understand. The address was 448 Via De Something or
Other and I didn’t know if that was a side street or on the road that fronted
the beach. Plus the address
numbers jumped from the 300s down to 60 then into the 400s. The last time we felt like this was on the rare occasion where we ventured to the west side of Cincinnati.</b></div>
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<b>Like any youngest child raised by a tiny over-protective
mother who was determined to never have any ill happen to her baby boy, I rarely
talk to strangers. But as our
search neared an hour, and with absolutely no idea where to go next, and all the taxis sucked into some sort of vortex, I ignored my
mother’s advice and shouted a “ciao!” to a man on the second floor balcony of
what looked to be an apartment building.
He said he didn’t speak much English but made hand gestures that someone
in the apartment did and he would be right down with them. </b></div>
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<b>About 5 minutes later, the man who looked to be in his 60s,
appeared with a big smile on his face and what looked like his 10 year old
granddaughter with him. I showed
him the name of the place we were looking for, and he looked it up on his smart
phone and then jumped on a bike while his young companion pedaled along with
him on her bicycle. Using a
mapping app, he led us down the street a few blocks, PAST the first place I
stopped for directions. We got to
a spot where the map app showed it to be, but there was no Residencia Playa
Sirena to be found. </b></div>
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<b>A picture of the place on their website showed it to be five
or six stories tall, so I didn’t think finding it would be such an ordeal.
Fortunately our Italian friend stubbornly refused to give up and headed
south along the bike path, instructing us to wait right where we were. About
five minutes later, he came back toward us, pedaling furiously and
triumphantly-he had found it! Soggily, we picked up our backpacks and
suitcases and walked about another five minutes and were happy to see
what at that point looked like the Four Seasons to us.</b></div>
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<b>The hotel was nice enough, although not as close to the beach as I expected and hoped. We chose Tortoreto for the chance to meet our friend's cousin and for the chance to experience some of the Italian Adriatic Coast. As it turned out, it was a lot like the Florida Atlantic Coast. Nice wide, white sandy beaches. Fewer high rises than you see in Southeast Florida and fewer people with New York accents. We spent one afternoon lounging on the beach, enjoying the sun and sand and salty air.</b></div>
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<b>One thing, or rather four things that made the rather remote location of our hotel more acceptable were bicycles. For what added up to about a Euro a day a piece, we could pedal our bikes along a very nice bike path that ran between the north-south road and the beach. The path was perfectly flat and curved gently along the coast, twisting its way between palm trees and restaurants and gelaterias. </b></div>
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<b>It became painfully apparent on our first night there, after our Bataan Death March from the train station to our apartment, that there is no such thing as late afternoon dining in Tortoreto. We were well aware of the European and especially Italian habit of dining after eight, but figured with it being such a beachy and touristy area, there would be at least one place or two offering up some version of their menu at about 4:30pm. Wrong Yankee! </b></div>
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<b>Since we were all pretty hungry and didn't want to wait another three and a half hours or so to eat, we pedaled over to a supermarket and loaded up on some tasty-looking local pasta and sauce and enjoyed a yummy home cooked pasta meal at the apartment. </b></div>
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<b>After our day at the beach the following day, we made arrangements to meet up with Ida for dinner. We picked a spot in Giulianova, which turned out somewhat unexpectedly to be about a twenty-minute bike ride from our apartment. Ida's brother Marcello joined us along with her daughter Roberta, who was twelve, the same age as Ben and Marley.</b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Those of us from the other side of the Atlantic were perfectly happy with the pizza and pasta we got at the restaurant that Roberta picked out. But Ida was perfectly unhappy. She wanted us to experience some true local food and the next night we met up in the old village of Tortoreto, high on the hill overlooking the beach and the ocean.</span></b> </div>
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<b>The old village is a perfect example of the many hill towns, or hillages that you see dotting the Italian landscape. A quick but twisty taxi ride took us up into the village which was as charming as any we had seen during our travels which had reached the six month point.</b></div>
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<b>Ida chose the restaurant at which we met because it specialized in a local delicacy: arrosticini. Arrosticini is bite-sized pieces of lamb grilled on a skewer, then served up hit in a clay pot. Ida impressed on us the importance of eating them as soon as they were brought to the table while they were still warm from the grill. So when the first pot arrived, we devoured them like contestants on Survivor who win a food reward challenge.</b></div>
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<b style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The first batch of skewers were disposed of in olympic-qualifying time, so it was time for a second round. Those didn't last long either, and the final count showed Ben ate the most, and said it was one of his favorite meals of the trip. </b><br />
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<b style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Marley and Roberta enjoyed making friends by talking about their handheld devices. We truly enjoyed their company and getting to hear about what their lives, so far away from ours, are like.</b></div>
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<b style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Our experience in
Tortoreto with Ida, Roberta and Marcello reinforced the idea that the best
times we've had traveling haven't involved places, but rather people.</b><b style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> You don't make friendships and truly get the local flavor by visiting museums or iconic spots featured in the top travel destinations of 2012 on TripAdvisor. It's the sort of strategy that we hoped to employ for the rest of our time in Italy, especially as we headed toward Rome.</b></div>
</div>Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10992767582998476713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5926060964313977979.post-78895674926028415102012-06-23T11:52:00.003-07:002012-06-24T00:40:48.545-07:00Planes, trains, ferries, more trains, another ferry and some rental cars.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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</style><b> Traveling through sixteen countries over six months has
meant using several different modes of travel. Airplanes got us from the US to Fiji and then New Zealand. From the North Island of New Zealand we
took a ferry to get to the South Island as we drove almost every one of our 27 days there.
We flew from New Zealand to Australia and rented a car for our 35 days
there. We flew from Australia to
Singapore and then to Vietnam.
Trains got us from Hanoi to the village of Sapa and back, and then to
the city of Hue in central Vietnam.
We flew again from Hoi An to Saigon, then took a bus to Phnom Penh. We got around there by tuk-tuk, which
we also used frequently in Siem Reap in Northern Cambodia which we got to by
way of bus. A bus/van combo got us
to Bangkok, and then we took a long train ride to Krabi, Thailand. Another long travel day in a van got us
to Penang in Malaysia. We spent
the next few weeks getting to and around China by plane, which was also how we
got to India. </b></div>
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<b>In India, we had a driver with a van for our week
there. Then Etihad Airlines got us
from Delhi to Abu Dhabi to Istanbul.
A ferry took us from Istanbul to Bandirma where we caught a bus to
Ayvalik. We took another ferry
from the town of Dikili, not far from Ayvalik, to the Greek island of
Lesvos. We flew from there through
Athens to Istanbul. From Istanbul,
we took a train to Zagreb where we got on an overnight train to Split. We left Croatia on an overnight ferry
to Ancona Italy, and we’ve been taking trains around Italy, which have been
efficient and affordable. We got
from Ancona to Tortoreto to Rome for less than 100 Euros for all four of
us. </b></div>
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<b>The overnight trips have been mostly enjoyable, we’ve had
about four by train and one by ferry along with an overnight plane ride from Delhi to Abu Dhabi.
The overnight train from Zagreb to Istanbul was a bit different because
we had two separate two-person bunks.
The girls slept in one while Ben and I were next door. </b><br />
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<b>We all got a pretty good nights sleep, although I
was having trouble keeping the thoughts in my head to a dull roar as the train headed south toward Split. Shortly before we got on the train in Zagreb I got an email letting me know that I would be filling
in for Paul Daugherty on the Cincinnati Enquirer website for one of his daily
columns coming up in a little less than two weeks. While the train chugged along, column ideas somersaults in my head. Still, it was
a great way to travel, and unlike a couple of overnight trains that we took in
Vietnam that arrived at their destination at five or six in the morning, this
one arrived in Split at eight am.</b><br />
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<b>Split was an important domino in our plans to get to Italy. Flying into and out of Croatia is for some reason very expensive. But the ferry could get us from Split to Ancona Italy for less than 300 euro for all four of us, while flying was going to cost about five times that. </b><br />
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<b>Split sounded a bit busy for our tastes after spending a lot of time in Budapest seeing as much as we could in our four days there. We wanted to adjust our pace some, so we decided to head for Trogir, which is about 25 kilometers up the coast from Split. Interestingly, the oldest part of the city is on an island between the mainland and a larger island of Ciovo.</b><br />
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<b>The apartment we booked was on Ciovo, just across the bridge from the old city and gave us a great view of the marina. </b></div>
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<b>We got into a routine in our week in Trogir of checking out the activity in the marina each morning. It's always fun to get a peek of a lifestyle you know you'll never be able to afford.</b><br />
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<b>Inside the old walled city narrow cobblestone streets wind their way past shops and restaurants, giving it a very unique European flair. The remains of an old castle dominate the far end of the waterfront and a fairly easy climb provides a great view of the city.</b><br />
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<b>Trogir attracts a fair amount of tourists and many restaurants, especially the ones on the waterfront cater to those. We did what we could to find ones that weren't targeting tourists as much and had some pretty good meals. The basic dish was a grilled fish</b> <b>that was very tasty, especially served up at a restaurant near our apartment down an alley away from the waterfront. </b> <br />
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<b>We made friends with a waiter who spoke pretty good English, and ate there twice, including on the opening night of action in the UEFA Euro 2012 championship. Teams from 16 countries across Europe qualified for the tournament, and were divided into groups of four. Two games would be played each night for the first few nights, and every evening every restaurant in Trogir that had a TV had the game on. We also saw TVs being purchased and carried to restaurants to satisfy customers appetites for food and football. </b></div>
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<b>The intensity of the football frenzy in Trogir was heightened by the fact that Croatia was one of the 16 teams that qualified. Their Purina-esque color scheme was on display at many stores and markets.</b></div>
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<b>I like the looks of a lot of European football jerseys, and own more than a couple, but I resisted the temptation to buy a Croatia jersey. I didn't want to be wearing it at the Madeira Kroger and have people asking me what aisle the Dog Chow was in.</b></div>
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<b>As we are finding more and more during our travels, meeting people and making friends is the most enjoyable aspect of the trip. Our apartment in Trogir was located above a couple of cafes and about halfway through our stay we had made friends with a woman named Vinka who frequented one of those establishments. We got to know her pretty well, enough so that she invited us to her house on the night of my birthday for a home-cooked meal, and of course, some football. </b> </div>
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<b>Vinka and her mom lived close to our apartment, and their house had a terrace with a great view of Trogir. What was even better than the view was the food and friendship. Sylvana served up some home made pasta with home grown vegetables that were delicious. It was one of the best birthday meals I ever had.</b></div>
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<b>We also made friends with Boscho, a man who drove a van for a living and who offered to take us on the half-hour drive to Split on the day of our departure by way of ferry. He's the one on the left in the picture above. Our cab ride from Split to Trogir cost about 60 Euros and we offered to pay Boscho 50 Euros, but he refused saying it was his favor to his American family. </b></div>
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<b>Coming into Split by way of the highway provides a very unattractive view of seemingly endless condos and office buildings, kind of like the skyline of Deerfield Beach Florida. But once you get down to the harbor and head into the old town of Split, you can't help but be smitten by the charm of the centuries-old city. </b></div>
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<b>Our ferry didn't leave until 8:30 at night, and we got to Split around 11:00am, so we had all afternoon to explore. It's a great city to wander around, which we did until around 3 or so, just in time to see the start of the French Open men's finals between Rafael Nadal and Novak Djokovic in Paris as we grabbed a bite to eat. Cafes had TVs set up outside to show the football later that night between Croatia and Ireland. </b></div>
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<b>Croatia jerseys of every variety were being worn and put on display in shop windows. You could feel the excitement building as game time approached. Croatia/Ireland was the late game and we had to get on the ferry in the midst of the Italy/Spain game. The ferry was populated by it's fair share of Italians as Italy was the destination the following morning and the TVs on the restaurant deck showed the battle with the Spaniards which would end in a 1-1 tie.</b></div>
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<b>Marley didn't have much if any interest in the football, so she hung out in our cabin while Annie, Ben and I sat amongst some enthusiastic Croatians to watch them take on Ireland. Annie's got some Irish on her side of the family, but the excitement of the Croatians had us happy to seem them pull out a fairly easy 3-1 win over the Irish. </b></div>
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<b>Our quarters on the ferry were cozy, but it was fun to get settled in as a family on another overnight journey.</b></div>
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<b style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">One aspect of traveling by ferry compared to trying to sleep overnight on a train is that there are no stops for the ferry to make crossing the Adriatic. That allows for a better chance of uninterrupted sleep plus there is not the sensation of the train hurtling along with the wheels on one side barely touching the rails as it rounds a bend. Plus we knew when we woke up, we would be at one of the destinations we were looking forward to as much as, if not more than any other: Italy!</b><br />
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</div>Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10992767582998476713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5926060964313977979.post-16146563269973071362012-06-12T09:04:00.003-07:002012-06-24T00:40:48.538-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b>Planning a year-long trip around the world involved a lot of thought when it came to what we would take with us and just as important, what we would NOT take with us. All four of us enjoy reading, but we knew we couldn't lug a library of books with us. So, we invested in three Kindles, plus we had an iPad, and I have discovered that my iPhone despite its small screen works pretty well as an e-reader. We left Cincinnati in mid-December, just after The Hunger Games was released, and had it downloaded on our various devices. Annie and the kids all had the book read by the time we reached Australia by the end of January. That led to a lot of discussions of the book between the three of them, so I thought I would give it a read.</b></div>
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<b>I liked the first book, tolerated the second one, and by the third one just wanted it to be over. I simply didn't care anymore, and I gave up about half way through. The best thing that The Hunger Games did for me was remind me of a book I read in high school as part of an American Literature class. It was one of my favorite classes because the teacher had us read some very interesting books. One of those was <i>A Canticle for Leibowitz</i> by Walter Miller. The book had been in print for about 20 years, and was classified as Science Fiction as it dealt with the world 600 years in the future after a nuclear holocaust. It's very well-written, with a sly sense of humor and a easy to read prose.</b></div>
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<b>I was disappointed to discover that there were <u>no</u> electronic versions of the book-not on Amazon for the Kindle or through the iTunes book store. So, finding a hard copy of that became my Holy Grail. We were in Merimbula, Australia at the time, and there were a couple of book stores there that I went into and came out of empty-handed. Along the rest of the way in Australia, I would occasionally investigate a book store and have the same result.</b></div>
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<b>The search hit a long pause during our more than two months in Asia. When we got to the airport in Athens on our way to Budapest, there was a decent selection of books in English, but none by Walter Miller. Just a couple of days after arriving in Budapest, Annie and I and the kids were walking through the Castle District on the Buda side of the Danube. It was late morning and our primary goal was to find a place for lunch before exploring the castles. The Budapest guide book we were using mapped out a walking tour, and we kinda sorta followed it as we made our way through the narrow cobblestone streets.</b></div>
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<b>As we headed toward what looked like a couple of possible spots for lunch, we walked by a small book store that advertised second hand books in English for sale. Annie and the kids were walking slightly ahead of me and just as we passed it, I said I was going to duck into the store just to see if by any chance they would have it, expecting the same results that I had gotten from all the other book stores I had stopped in over the previous three months.</b></div>
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<b>I asked the shop keeper if he had <i>A Canticle for Leibowitz</i> by Walter Miller and he smiled and shook his head, shrugging his shoulders. He pointed toward the bottom section of one of his book shelves, where there were about a dozen books under a label "Science Fiction". They were mostly paperbacks, with some Isaac Azimov and Arthur Clark selections. But second from the bottom in the second of the two stacks of books, there it was: a hard-cover copy of <i>A Canticle for Leibowitz</i> by Walter Miller. I was stunned. Finding that book in a tiny bookstore in the castle district of Budapest was one of the highlights of the trip up to that point. </b></div>
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<b>I happily toted that book around with me the rest of the day, remarking several times to Annie and the kids how I couldn't believe that I could make such a discovery in a small book store in Budapest.</b></div>
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<b>We had gotten to Budapest from Turkey by way of Greece. In planning the trip, we had no definitive plans to stop in Greece. Athens was in some degree of turmoil as we plotted our route around the world, and ruins aren't at the top of our to-do list. But as we plotted our way into Europe with an eye on Budapest and Croatia, Greece became a convenient stopping point on our way west., so we booked a few days on the island of Lesvos.</b></div>
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<b>Leaving Ayvalik was the most difficult departure we've had since we left Cincinnati back in December. We just loved it there for a bunch of reasons laid out in my previous blog. Still, the idea of adding another country to our list gave us some motivation to get on the ferry in the town of Dikili and make the 90-minute journey west into the Aegean Sea.</b></div>
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<b>We booked a two-bedroom apartment on the water about 25 kilometers north of the main port on Lesbos, Mytilene. We would be flying out of Mytilene around 8:30 in the morning of our departure to Budapest, so we didn't want to be too far away from the airport there in order to avoid an early morning wake up call.</b></div>
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<b>The woman we rented the house from said she had an associate who could
get us a car for a few days and he would have one waiting for us when we got off the
ferry from Turkey.</b></div>
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<b>Sure enough, Stratis greeted us with a sign as we walked out of the ferry terminal. Turns out he wanted Euros for payment for the car, and all I had was Turkish Lira. I offered to try to find an ATM nearby, but he said it was no problem, I could just pay for the car in Euros when we were done with our stay a few days later. With that, he took off and so did we. </b></div>
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<b>The location of our beach house was quiet. Very quiet. Morgue-in-the-middle-of-the-night quiet. Seems Skala Mistegnon isn't exactly a must-see location for vacationing Greeks. </b></div>
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<b>The beach house was one of four connected units with a nice view of the Aegean Sea looking toward Turkey to the east. The beach itself was pretty rocky and not very inviting from a standpoint of throwing down a towel and chilling for a while.</b></div>
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<b>With all that, it was a beautiful spot that we had all to ourselves. I mean, entirely to ourselves. Annie and I took a walk down the beach past three or four restaurants that were deserted in the early afternoon hours.</b></div>
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<b>One thing that kept us entertained was the herd of cats that appeared once word got out through Kitter (the cat version of Twitter) that people had moved in who were feline friendly. Ben and Marley were generous in their feeding of the cats and we had regular visits from about a half dozen or so.</b></div>
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<b>The cats weren't allowed in the house, but we spent plenty of time on the patio with them and really liked one of the orange tabbies we named Joel. He got that name because we all love the song Uptown Girl and sing it every time we cross a border. Actually, no, it's because he looked like one of our cats at home named Romeo, and the kids at first named her Juliet. But then Ben noticed that Juliet had nuggets, so she/he became Joel. </b></div>
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<b>Joel and the rest of the cat contingent stayed behind as we ventured out to explore the island a day after a 15-hour storm. The deluge kept us house-bound most of the day and caused some flooding to the south of where we were, in the major port town of Mytilene.</b></div>
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<b>Our desired destination was a coastal town about an hour's drive to the north where the owner of the house we were renting had a restaurant and another rental property. Mithymna sits on a very pretty bay, and has some great waterfront dining and shopping. We had a great lunch at our landlord's restaurant and enjoyed strolling around the town, wishing the place we were renting was closer to a more active community.</b></div>
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<b>Four days among Lesbians was plenty for us and we were looking forward to heading for Budapest, even though it meant a long travel day. The cheapest airfare we could find from Mytilene to Budapest called for an eight-hour layover in Athens. Our luggage was checked through, so we only had our backpacks with us, giving us the possibility of exploring the ancient Greek capitol if only just for a few hours.</b></div>
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<b>A woman working at an information desk at the Athens airport told us that it was about a 45-minute train ride into the city. Since it was just before 11am, we decided to hop on the train and head into the city for some lunch and time looking around. The metro stop was right in the old city of Athens, basically at the foot of the Acropolis.</b></div>
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<b>The area is filled with ancient buildings or what's left of them, as well as an intriguing mix of restaurants and shops, including a flea market. It's probably a good thing we couldn't buy anything since we're traveling for so long, as we came across some very interesting items, including an old manual typewriter with the keys in the Greek alphabet.</b></div>
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<b>I never belonged to a fraternity in college and didn't date many sorority chicks, so the letters were, well, Greek to me.</b></div>
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<b>Much to the dismay of our adorable twin twelve-year olds, Annie and I decided that since it was a gorgeous day and the Acropolis was right there, we would make the climb to the top. That turned out to be one of the best decisions we had made in a while, as the view was spectacular.</b></div>
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<b>The partly cloudy skies were clear enough to give us great view in every direction. The Acropolis itself is undergoing a fairly major renovation, so construction equipment and scaffolding obscured some of the structure.</b></div>
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<b>Marley and Ben were actually glad that we made the climb to the top, which really wasn't all that dramatic or draining of a trek. Plus it brought to life another piece of history in a way that a classroom just can't equal.</b></div>
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<b>Ben and Marley were not disappointed to discover that the area was closing down to visitors less than an hour after we arrived. That still gave us enough time to get enough of a taste of Athens and get back on the train to head to the airport for our 6pm flight to Budapest.</b></div>
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<b>Conveniently enough, Budapest was a featured destination in the Aegean Airlines in-flight magazine and it beautiful and did not disappoint in person. There's a lot to see and do there and the apartment we rented for our five days there was in a perfect location. We stayed on the Buda side of the Danube, which is more residential than Pest. Pest on the east side of the river, has more bars and restaurants and is home to the striking Parliament building on the eastern banks of the river.</b></div>
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<b>Our home in Budapest was a five-minute walk to the tram, which came by in both directions about every five minutes. </b></div>
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<b>From there, the tram ran north and then east across the Danube, or south in the direction of one of the busier tram/train station stops, Szell Kallman Ter. That's where the number 2 Metro line connects and heads east under the Danube River to Pest. We took that route our first day in part to research the overnight train we planned to take to Split, Croatia in a few days.</b></div>
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<b>That's one of the major challenges of traveling for several months: we spend a good amount of time in our current location figuring out how and when and where our next stop will be. We couldn't find a definitive answer online about booking the overnight train to Croatia, so we decided to take a trip to the train station that we thought that train departed from.</b></div>
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<b>The tram/train system in Budapest is very efficient and there is very little time spent standing around waiting. From the time we left our apartment, caught the tram, got on the metro and got to the train station to ask about the overnight train, it took only about 20 minutes. It's the second oldest subway system in Europe, and the oldest on the continent, but it's clean and quick.</b></div>
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<b>The Keleti train station is on the Pest side of the river and is one of those classic old European train stations. The exterior is imposing and lends an air of importance to the edifice.</b></div>
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<b>After a couple of false starts we found the International Ticket office and learned that the overnight train left from the Western Train station over in Buda, but that worked because it was much closer to our apartment and much easier to get to.</b></div>
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<b>Getting to the Castle section of Budapest meant taking the tram to the train station and then catching a bus for the quick ride up the hill. We spent some time around St. Matthias church near the Fisherman's Bastion. Both are steeped in history and are in remarkable condition for dating as far back as they do. The tiles on the roof of the church looked like they had been installed a couple of weeks ago, not a couple of centuries ago.</b></div>
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<b>The church sits adjacent to the turrets of the Fisherman's Bastion, which was first built in the early part of the 20th century, and then restored in the late 1940s after being heavily damaged during World War II. The views from the Bastion are spectacular, as Buda and Pest hug the waters of the Danube River.</b></div>
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<b>It's one of the prettiest cities I've ever seen, with grand architecture and the Parliament Building facing the Danube highlighted by the Fisherman's Bastion and Buda Castle looking back in the other direction. Five bridges cross the Danube in Budapest, with the most striking being the Chain Bridge. It was also rebuilt after being destroyed along with all the other bridges during the Second World War.</b></div>
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<b>It's even more attractive at night with the waters of the river reflecting the lights from the buildings on both sides as well as the Chain Bridge uniting the two ancient cities.</b></div>
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<b>All this beauty helps offset the city's ugly history. It's been the battleground between a wide variety of peoples dating back centuries. Conditions got extremely violent toward the end of World War II when the Pearl of the Danube became one of <a href="http://www.historynet.com/world-war-ii-siege-of-budapest.htm" target="_blank">Adolf Hitler's last-gasp targets</a>. Much of the city was destroyed in the early months of 1945. Then in the 1950s it was caught up fighting Soviet-influenced Communistic policies that led to the revolution of 1956. A lot of the action on the streets during those years happened in and around where we stayed and the places we went to catch the trams and trains. </b><br />
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<b>Having such history, both of the recent and ancient variety, is one of the great allures of European cities. We saw both in Athens and Budapest, and can't wait to see and experience more as we add Rome, Paris and many places in between to our travel itinerary.</b></div>
</div>Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10992767582998476713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5926060964313977979.post-61302637186777712682012-05-29T14:22:00.001-07:002012-06-24T00:40:48.541-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b>If I were a letter in the alphabet and wanted to feel popular, I would probably be the letter K in the Turkish language. That or Y. Both those letters happen to be in the name of the town that was our next destination after Istanbul. How we chose Ayvalik is fairly random. We knew we wanted to spent time in Turkey somewhere in addition to Istanbul. Antalya sounded attractive, being on the Mediterranean Coast, but a long way from Istanbul. Ayvalik, on the Aegean Coast, and about five hours by ferry and bus from Istanbul, looked more doable, so that became our next target.</b></div>
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<b>Getting to Ayvalik meant getting a taxi to take us to the ferry to cross the Maramara Sea to the town of Bandirma. There, we could get a taxi to go to the bus station to catch a bus to Ayvalik, which was three or four hours away. However, as we've found out more than once, there are the plans you make, and then there is reality.</b></div>
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<b>The ferry to Bandirma didn't leave until 12:30, so we didn't have to worry about an early up and at 'em as we've had a few times on the trip. We got to the feribot port in plenty of time, and grabbed a bite to eat after getting our tickets. We had two sets of two tickets in separate rows. Annie and Marley were seated next to a Turkish woman who spoke little, if any English, but thanks to written notes and hand gestures and a little help from a Turkish-English translation app they managed to have a conversation about our trip. </b></div>
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<b>The ferry ride was fast and smooth, just like I like my soft serve ice cream. (What?) It took about two and a half hours to cross from Istanbul to Bandirma, arriving there at around 3pm. Supposedly the bus to Ayvalik left at 4pm, so we ideally had almost an hour to make it to the bus station. Our confidence in that happening faded somewhat when a cab driver at the feribot port who didn't speak much English shook his head when I mentioned the bus to Ayvalik which gave me the idea that it had already left.</b></div>
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<b>Turns out that was indeed the case when we got to the bus station and went up to the ticket counter. The clerk, who spoke virtually no English, conveyed to us the message that the bus had left an hour earlier. You would think they might want to coordinate the bus and ferry schedules a little better to have more ferry customers buy tickets for their buses, but I guess not. Our next option was to catch a bus to Balikesir, which left in about 90 minutes and then catch a bus from there to Ayvalik.</b></div>
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<b>That process went fairly smoothly, and we actually got to Balikesir a little earlier than expected, which allowed us to catch an earlier bus to Ayvalik. It still took almost three hours before we made it to our destination, thanks in part to the number of what seemed to be random stops to let a passenger or two off around five or six times along the way.</b></div>
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<b>Tara, our host in Ayvalik was very gracious on our arrival, sending a taxi driver to the bus station to take us on the ten minute drive to what would be our home for at least the next week. Tara, the same age as Annie and me, is a native of the U.S. but has lived and worked in Turkey for around 20 years, and loves the place and fits in very well.</b></div>
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<b>One of the attractions about the place we booked with Tara in Ayvalik was the fact that it had cats. We left/abandoned six cats several litter boxes back home in Cincinnati and it's always been a treat for us whenever we've encountered some cats or dogs during our trip. </b></div>
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<b>We were all thrilled at the presence of the felines in our latest home away from home. Ben and Marley were especially fond of having some furriness to keep them company and they both made blog entries expressing that.</b></div>
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<b>My favorite was one named Daddy-O. That happens to be what Annie and the kids call me frequently, but that's not why I liked him. Despite having three legs, an oozing sore on his one remaining front leg, various scars and an overall disheveled appearance, he had a great purr, and was very friendly.</b></div>
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<b>Daddy-O and the other cats seemed pretty happy to have some company and the feeling was definitely mutual.</b></div>
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<b>Adding to our mutual contentment was the village of Ayvalik itself. We had read where it was a popular vacation destination for people from Istanbul and Ankara and Izmir in southwestern Turkey. That conveyed images of gelato stands and shops selling trinkets and t-shirts, and maybe miniature turkeys with a fez sporting the red flag with a white C and star that make up the Turkish flag.</b></div>
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<b>Turns out, Ayvalik is nothing like that at all. Our house, which shares a wall with that of the owner, Tara, is on a hillside in the old part of town. The house is near the top of the hill, giving a nice view of the harbor and marina. On clear days, the Greek island of Lesvos is visible to the west and provides some beautiful sunsets.</b></div>
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<b>The climb up and down the cobblestone street wasn't too bad, and helped burn off some of the delicious bread and bagel-like simits we were enjoying. </b></div>
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<b>One of my favorite things to do first thing in the morning was to get up, take a stroll down the cobblestone street, and find a bakery. A freshly-baked loaf of bread cost the equivalent of a US quarter, and timed right, the purchased bread would still be warm enough to melt butter when sliced open back at the house.</b></div>
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<b>As we returned to the house after eating dinner out one night, we were strolling down an alley when a woman standing outside her shop heard Marley speaking English. She spoke to us, asked us where we were from and struck up a conversation. Her name was Asu, (USA backwards, which we got a kick out of) and cooked food out of a tiny little restaurant that had two tables inside and two or three outside basically in the narrow. She offered to cook us some food sometime during our stay, an offer we promised we would take her up on.</b></div>
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<b>Getting to know Asu, enjoying spending time with Tara and the cats, and immersing ourselves in the Ayvalik life prompted us to stay past our initial plan of one week. The village is beyond charming, and is safe and very friendly, especially if you throw out the occasional tessekur edemir for thank you and merhaba for hello.</b></div>
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<b>Each Thursday, a massive market springs up in the narrow streets of Ayvalik. Our first Thursday there was our third morning, and I got up and hit the streets, confident I would go back to the same bakery for the third straight day. However, about five blocks from our house, I turned left to head to the street where I thought I would easily be able to get to the bakery, I ran right into part of the market.</b></div>
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<b>It's a series of stalls and tables and tarps offering up all kinds of clothing, shoes, food, you name it-you can buy it. All I wanted to buy that morning was some bread and with all the vendors in place obscuring the familiar guideposts that I needed to navigate, I had no idea where the baker was.</b></div>
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<b>I managed to wander the streets and find my freshly-baked bread and take it back to the house. Later that day, we returned to the market after meeting some fellow world travelers who we met through Facebook. Pete and Dalene, who are from Canada, have a slightly different game plan than us. They have been on the road for three years now, going from one house-sitting job to another.</b></div>
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<b>After sharing some travel tales and picking up some great information
from them, we dove into the market. They were nearing the end of a
three-month house-sitting assignment in a town about an hour away, and
had been to the Thursday market in Ayvalik before, so they knew the lay
of the land. We especially enjoyed the wide variety of all kinds of fresh fruits and vegetables. </b></div>
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<b>It's an engineering marvel that the vendors can somehow come into the skinny streets and set up the vast amount of merchandise that they bring to sell each Thursday. And then they tear it all down each time. </b></div>
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<b>A major allure of Ayvalik is the location on the waters of the Aegean Sea. There are no modern hotels or resorts, and no building taller than four or five stories. It's probably a little more touristy during the high season months of the summer, but we really enjoyed the feel of a walk along the waterfront and seeing the small fishing boats docked there.</b></div>
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<b>Enjoying the company of the cats, we did our best to make sure they were rewarded for their friendship. Being so close to the water, Ayvalik has an abundance of fish shops, and every other day or so, we would make a quick stop to get something yummy for the cats.</b></div>
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<b>There were no major supermarkets within easy walking distance of our house, but there are several small shops offering a variety of drinks, snacks, beer, some wine-pretty much the normal choices found at a convenience store in the States. One thing I had trouble finding is butter.</b></div>
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<b>Butter was a key ingredient to enjoying the freshly-baked bread, and one morning I set out with Ben in search of butter. Marley had burned through our initial supply by making popcorn in a pan the night before. I figured it couldn't be THAT hard to find butter at 9:30 in the morning. Oh yes it can! I walked past the bakery on my way into town, knowing that with the market not operating, I would be able to find it again on my way back to the house. </b></div>
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<b>Part of the difficulty was that I neglected to look up the Turkish word for butter before setting out on our mission. Several times when I asked about "butter" I was pointed to water. Thanks, no I'm good there. We must have checked into a half-dozen stores or more and still had no butter. What do these people do if there's a waffle outbreak? I couldn't even find a tub of margarine. You would think I was looking for a kilo of saffron in a platinum-coated diamond-encrusted urn or something.</b></div>
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<b>Finally I decided that since the bakery was located on something of a busy square, maybe there would be a store there selling the exotic delicacy of butter. Sure enough, when we turned the corner, two doors down from the bakery was a store, and inside: BUTTER!! My hands trembling with anticipation like when Indiana Jones finds the Lost Ark, I managed to give the clerk the right amount of Lira and still have enough to by some bread, returning home with my bounty after a 45-minute mission.</b></div>
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<b>A few days later, needing butter again, I returned to the same store only to find they didn't have the same foil-covered slabs of butter. I hadn't looked up the word for butter (it's tereyagi in case you need that bit of knowledge) because I didn't think I would need it. I bought something similar, stopped for bread and discovered when I got back to the house that I was in proud possession of cream cheese. At least Marley likes that on her toast, so it wasn't a total loss. It wasn't like I came back with a tub of vegetables. I did manage later in the day to find a market that had some of the basics, including butter that came in the form of the rock formation from Close Encounters of the Third Kind.</b></div>
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<b>Ayvalik is a truly ancient city, and not too far away are ruins dating back centuries. The ones that get the most attention and visitors are found at Ephesus, which was about three and a half hours away from our cozy cottage. Located only about 45 minutes away, are some ruins at Bergama, so we arranged for a taxi driver that Tara uses a lot to take us there one morning.</b></div>
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<b>Hakkan showed up at our house to find something of a groggy group. I was tired after spending a couple of nights staying up with Daddy-O. His condition was deteriorating and his breathing was getting pretty labored and he wasn't purring like he did when we first arrived.</b></div>
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<b>He still seemed to enjoy our company, and would occasionally sprint (as much as a three-legged cat could) into the house and plop down on some cushions on the floor. Sometimes he would try to get up on the couch and snuggle up against one of us, as he is doing next to my leg in the photo above. He reminded me very much of <a href="http://www.rcgroups.com/forums/attachment.php?attachmentid=3173100" target="_blank">Bill the Cat from Bloom County</a>, and I was really hoping at some point he would give me a good "ACK!!" but that never happened.</b></div>
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<b>It felt good to be with Daddy-O through the night for a couple of nights, and he would wake up from time to time and seemed comforted when I would let him know I was there. He made it through both nights and his breathing even got a little better and his purr would return now and then. I still expected to just find him not breathing at some point, but he was still of this earth when we left with Hakkan for our trip to Bergama. Tara had a cleaning woman coming to her house, so we felt better leaving knowing at least someone was going to be around Daddy-O who we put back outside on the patio we shared with Taras' house.</b></div>
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<b>The drive to Bergama was easy, with the roads in pretty good shape along the way. The main attraction is the Akropoli at the top of the hill over looking the city, but there are other remnants of the ancient and powerful society on the way there. The first stop was at the Red Basilica, or what was left of it.</b></div>
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<b>One structure that's still fairly intact is a tall rotunda that has an opening in the top, allowing a round shaft of sunlight to illuminate the interior. Some parts of the basilica facade are on display there, with a description detailing what makes the carvings unique.</b></div>
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<b>A half hour or so was all we needed there, so we made the short drive up the hill to check out the Akropoli. Just getting out of the cab there literally took our breath away. Not because of any stunning view, but because the wind was howling! Once we managed to get our balance and get to a place where we could anchor ourselves against the wind, the view was, well, breath-taking.</b></div>
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<b>It was easy to see why this spot was chosen, it's the classic king-of-the-hill move. The view goes on for miles in every direction, and when the massive structures were in full bloom, the structure must have been imposing and intimidating for any would-be attackers.</b></div>
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<b>There are informational signs at various points throughout the ruins describing how they were built and how they looked when they were first erected. The signs also provided us something to hold on to as we got buffeted by the strong winds. One of the signs said that there was no definitive knowledge of how the ruins were destroyed. An earthquake is mentioned as a possibility, but my immediate thought as I clutched the sign to keep from being blown to Ankara was maybe they were taken down by high winds. But I'm no expert on that.</b></div>
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<b>We hadn't felt winds like this since the remnants of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Effects_of_Hurricane_Ike_in_inland_North_America" target="_blank">Hurricane Ike hit Cincinnati</a> a few years ago. We managed to not get blown away and return safely to Hakkan, who drove us back to Ayvalik and our house and the handful of cats who shared it with us.</b></div>
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<b>Our original plan was to stay in Ayvalik for a week. Two factors extended that amount of time. One was how much we were enjoying our life in the village. For the first time on our trip, we were really getting to know a place and its' people. Tara was proving to be a great host, helping us with her fluent Turkish to negotiate some transactions that would have been difficult for us gringos to do. We were enjoying regular stops at Asu's cozy cafe, where she would cook Turkish food for Annie and me and Ben, and serve up some home made tomato soup for Marley.</b></div>
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<b>One of the local dishes in Turkey is a pasta called manti. We first heard about it in Istanbul, but didn't get the chance to try it there. We bought some pre-packaged manti at the market in Ayvalik and as we walked by Asus' place that afternoon, she offered to cook it up for us later that day. Her home-made manti is only available on Wednesdays, but the sauce she made for the bagged manti we bought was delicious. The key ingredient seems to be a garlic yogurt that combined quite nicely with the tomatoes she dished up. The following Wednesday, we had a first-hand taste of the difference in the packaged manti and the home made kind. The dish that Asu served up was some of the best food we had on the entire trip.</b></div>
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<b>One grim reality that was unfolding was the condition of Daddy-O. Despite our constant care and attention, he wasn't getting any better. Most of the time he would just lie on the cushions on the floor, or hang out in the back terrace area. We kept a close watch on him, making sure that he was still breathing. About once a day, he would make a major move, sometimes hurrying into the house on his three legs, and collapse onto the cushions. It was almost as if he knew he didn't have many moves left and he was making the most of them.</b></div>
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<b>Tara said she had never had to put a cat down, and asked us about the unfortunate experience we've had doing that with cats we've had over the years. We told her that it's never an easy thing to do, but it is better than watching an animal you love suffer. Daddy-O was quickly getting to the point where he had no quality of life, and it was difficult to watch him basically sleep all day. Plus, the life had gone out of his eyes, we even thought he might have lost his sight.</b></div>
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<b style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">So the decision was made one morning to take him to a veterinarian. After I got the chance to give Daddy-O one final scratching around his
ears, Tara and Annie and the kids gingerly picked up our failing feline
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<b>As we expected the veterinarian decided to do the humane thing and put Daddy-O down. Annie and the kids and Tara brought him back to Tara's house where we had a brief tearful burial ceremony. Tara picked a spot where her turtles like to crawl around, and get fed and watered every day.</b></div>
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<b>The loss we felt with the death of Daddy-O was more than made up by the friendship we gained from Tara and her collection of cats. Plus, she's living proof that it is possible to herd cats! </b></div>
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<b>A second possibly sad development that was developing involved Asu. We walked by her cafe almost everyday, and one day, it was locked up. As we at lunch at a cafe around the corner, Tara managed to talk with some of the locals and find out that Asu was sick. We had about five days left in Ayvalik and really wanted to at least have the chance to say goodbye and hopefully another tasty meal.</b></div>
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<b>The next three days as we walked through town, we would glance at Asu's spot and there was no sign of her. Finally, on our second-to-last day there, I spotted the man who helped her out at her place. He didn't speak much English, but let me know that Asu was fine and she was at her cafe. I went over, gave her a hug and she said she was over her illness and ready to cook for us again. </b></div>
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<b>But instead of sitting on some plastic chairs in the alley sipping beer out of paper cups because we were a few hundred meters from the mosque, she would be serving up food and drinks at a new place near the water. She gave me the directions to her cafe and that night, we all happily walked over to the Komshu Cafe and Pub. </b></div>
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<b>It was a massive improvement over her previous spot, which had two tables jammed into a small interior space and some chairs and a couple of tables outside. Her new cafe and pub had a half dozen tables, plus four barstools at the bar. The interior was freshly painted, with new tile floors and a TV over the door. You could tell how proud she was of her new surroundings. She wasn't up to full speed in the new spot, so we just had Ayvalik Tost and french fries, with promises from her to fire up some manti for lunch the following day, our final day in Ayvalik.</b></div>
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<b>The thought of leaving Ayvalik stirred up in all of us the strongest emotions we had felt since that day back in late fall when we got on a plane and launched our trip. We had gotten very attached to so many different people and places in Ayvalik. The various people we bought bread and eggs and beer and wine from. The guy near Asu's first cafe who made frequent trips around the village on foot, delivering orders of the very popular Chai, or tea. </b></div>
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<b>Asu became a true friend during our stay there, and at the end of another delicious meal on our final day in Ayvalik, Annie cried as we said our goodbyes. </b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg2VRgIDkUssko7bYx5Wiun2J1Y44yvuHpPdiNWROeHd4wO2legb3V6dibbZ9RLdJP33_Aadm3vtq9EjIcEm4OyBrTKuJXIFyZ0SyxjFVQc5TxgXiNQN9Mtn6WEbmJAYswpWQM71gV2x8/s1600/IMG_1676.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg2VRgIDkUssko7bYx5Wiun2J1Y44yvuHpPdiNWROeHd4wO2legb3V6dibbZ9RLdJP33_Aadm3vtq9EjIcEm4OyBrTKuJXIFyZ0SyxjFVQc5TxgXiNQN9Mtn6WEbmJAYswpWQM71gV2x8/s320/IMG_1676.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b>She also teared up as we packed up and left Taras' cottage after 15 days there. We were all sad to leave the cats and the cottage behind, but the holes in our hearts were filled somewhat by the love we acquired for a very special place that we hadn't even heard of a few weeks earlier.</b></div>
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<b>Ayvalik is for us, the epitome of what we want this experience to be about. It's great to see magnificent works of nature, like the 12 Apostles along Great Ocean Road in Australia, or Milford Sound in New Zealand, or the beauty of the mountain village of Sapa in northern Vietnam. And we've all gotten chills seeing amazing man-made sights, like the Great Wall of China and the Taj Mahal. And we'll all remember those experiences for the rest of our lives. But what we really want for this trip is to live like locals. To go to the small markets and restaurants, meet people like Asu and get to know them. Even if it's a guy in a Bengals shirt.</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOmGx6RcN1dRTtEz-SoJmMLYbEY_VHNSNCceoUQYzK00gr9xCO-oSh3Xkci_SM7UURk15dahS2RdPYz5CaHoxQrffmcnjL1o70DB3LCuBeQ_UAP7VKD7qNrcplHjbNNXyOeRMFHUucIiA/s1600/100_4975.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOmGx6RcN1dRTtEz-SoJmMLYbEY_VHNSNCceoUQYzK00gr9xCO-oSh3Xkci_SM7UURk15dahS2RdPYz5CaHoxQrffmcnjL1o70DB3LCuBeQ_UAP7VKD7qNrcplHjbNNXyOeRMFHUucIiA/s320/100_4975.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b>Ayvalik really gave us a sense of what it's like to live in a different part of the world. And for the first time, we now all have the same "favorite spot" on the trip.</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWpU-Hjd970sqqKwjmsg9l7TUkSug4cyj-e9BAvSkv2PQKujvH28dpyV-bONg7zQ0GcZvTKJVGQlpN-9b1GiJiUFo7r3L2FqIzFhAVA4xBQcXlzw-nE3aEdwsw3ORRfH3zzApGY9PlpPU/s1600/IMG_0538.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWpU-Hjd970sqqKwjmsg9l7TUkSug4cyj-e9BAvSkv2PQKujvH28dpyV-bONg7zQ0GcZvTKJVGQlpN-9b1GiJiUFo7r3L2FqIzFhAVA4xBQcXlzw-nE3aEdwsw3ORRfH3zzApGY9PlpPU/s320/IMG_0538.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b>Ayvalik really taught us a lesson: that sometimes seeing less is living more. Hopefully we are good students and we put that lesson to work in our lives over the next few weeks and months.</b><br />
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</div>Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10992767582998476713noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5926060964313977979.post-76217116999470585642012-05-16T08:02:00.001-07:002012-06-24T00:40:48.543-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Cats in Ayvalik</b></span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>I love cats, so I like it here in Ayvalik, Turkey because, there are
cats everywhere. Like when you walk out of your house there is a cat.
Then you walk down the street you see a lot of cats. They usually hang
out near places that have food, such as dumpsters and fish markets. They
are usually pretty skittish because some of the people here don't like
them and think of them as pests, so they don't always like humans. Some
of them are nice and they let you pet them. They are usually dirty but
some times they clean them selves and are clean and softer. I like how
some cats know what cat is there friend because we go to one restaraunt
and you see the same two cats together every time.</b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>We have cats at the house we are staying in. We have about 6 cats here
but sometimes we have 7 or 8 because we have some that hang around
often. The cats we have are: Valerie who is a white cat with some black
on her head, she is Marley's favorite. </b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikG2Jt88EMuigi-IIx1Nu5pTYhkWK69l-xD9ul3tCrNED6NXbplaD1g8y8QhhIZIwhMtj8SFob53gpmGVkl8ze9zH0X-60yXitC3F6hrrxmGwEB9bJdxQlebVNYzqG_qLbY4GJCIqfJ98/s1600/IMG_0459.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikG2Jt88EMuigi-IIx1Nu5pTYhkWK69l-xD9ul3tCrNED6NXbplaD1g8y8QhhIZIwhMtj8SFob53gpmGVkl8ze9zH0X-60yXitC3F6hrrxmGwEB9bJdxQlebVNYzqG_qLbY4GJCIqfJ98/s320/IMG_0459.jpg" width="240" /></b></span></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Then there's Weasel, who is my
favorite, he is orange on top and white on the bottom.</b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtqISYKb_MYUCsB83Wa57L6xX_UZp2is-RBVBDvOtNBi-WYkd0YPGU9vuRLwziqrtldYJaQFxlvbvGm5QHq7hu13bWDzT62Zy7z4HZHlvFf-K9JR_UGEzXuMeHb3JUV2JlUaI0wMXvRUU/s1600/IMG_0468.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtqISYKb_MYUCsB83Wa57L6xX_UZp2is-RBVBDvOtNBi-WYkd0YPGU9vuRLwziqrtldYJaQFxlvbvGm5QHq7hu13bWDzT62Zy7z4HZHlvFf-K9JR_UGEzXuMeHb3JUV2JlUaI0wMXvRUU/s320/IMG_0468.JPG" width="320" /></b></span></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b> Also Salvatory
who everyone likes he is just black with some white on his chest and
belly.</b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh643Jf_40E87EDgJRp1OtNk9dCsJfzsWIXMkuT9TXKKGWMQqsH7bN7NGpQFSPXT_5XpbNN370tItO0H_VU99pDUXXaZeuh1FPYCjglc9XegzrPqsJCVfsWw3tw_D74QlHO_yWyuLZGNsE/s1600/100_4793.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh643Jf_40E87EDgJRp1OtNk9dCsJfzsWIXMkuT9TXKKGWMQqsH7bN7NGpQFSPXT_5XpbNN370tItO0H_VU99pDUXXaZeuh1FPYCjglc9XegzrPqsJCVfsWw3tw_D74QlHO_yWyuLZGNsE/s320/100_4793.JPG" width="320" /></b></span></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b> There's Cow Cat who is black and white and everyone likes her a
lot.</b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-HTKC6x9eZNFFWFNalWqdk2z7SxNoMiK64NM-rynd0C0Jivp-hK0IaNXnmzfQnnI3rXKKcWpnIWThJ5H4hMpWmr3oJVSdqxQmBGnXq7Fhq0EnB5cKJWTbqTlPEulHDWJVnl_TVx8xxLk/s1600/100_4792.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-HTKC6x9eZNFFWFNalWqdk2z7SxNoMiK64NM-rynd0C0Jivp-hK0IaNXnmzfQnnI3rXKKcWpnIWThJ5H4hMpWmr3oJVSdqxQmBGnXq7Fhq0EnB5cKJWTbqTlPEulHDWJVnl_TVx8xxLk/s320/100_4792.JPG" width="320" /></b></span></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b> Then Yonja who is calico on top and white on the bottom. She is
pretty skittish but I like her a lot.</b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOjXhv2jN02oXrsQdxKAWF7KFNgCeaIMGrPwWjBhqyR2bSQRbu1h6vnzj9-eFC_yWAn_WI_Lw3SfLWflB2qmfSZCv1KvhhV-Tq47fBKU93jhPMtAghW9GWE0bdW67VxaUutpQQT8rqWnw/s1600/100_4794.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOjXhv2jN02oXrsQdxKAWF7KFNgCeaIMGrPwWjBhqyR2bSQRbu1h6vnzj9-eFC_yWAn_WI_Lw3SfLWflB2qmfSZCv1KvhhV-Tq47fBKU93jhPMtAghW9GWE0bdW67VxaUutpQQT8rqWnw/s320/100_4794.JPG" width="320" /></b></span></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b> Then one three legged old boy cat
who everyone loves so much. We call him Daddy-o, he is orange and pretty
dirty but he still cleans himself a bit. He isn't doing so well so we
take care of him a lot.</b></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLB-kku62o4MQLGeLx7mczWKkRsfilTNqJW70u60ySUAvPFVjQUhRE_s4POH54_2YKq_eKyy-aIbvctKkMkZeYpZbAt7bZsKFz9A3esDnfZUv01FBTjl8mG96a6_k3lNKbFAU6LkK55LU/s1600/100_4824.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLB-kku62o4MQLGeLx7mczWKkRsfilTNqJW70u60ySUAvPFVjQUhRE_s4POH54_2YKq_eKyy-aIbvctKkMkZeYpZbAt7bZsKFz9A3esDnfZUv01FBTjl8mG96a6_k3lNKbFAU6LkK55LU/s320/100_4824.JPG" width="320" /></b></span></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b> They are all pretty chubby except for Weasel and
Daddy-o.</b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>We feed the cats a lot with fish and chicken. They all love it and always want more.</b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>There is also a mean orange and white cat with no tail. We always have
to shoo him away because he is not nice. Other than him I love all the
cats here.</b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Weasel likes to sleep with me and is usually playful but sometimes bites
you really hard, like he wants to eat you. We try to train him not to
bite but it just makes him angrier. I still love him though.</b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>The woman that owns the house we are staying in has a shop with six cats in it. Here are some of them.</b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkoTRKxwCz0MUhz7aFme31zG71DVDP3aL2pUgh-siH50Y3wuYf-08W3A5tEEbkHkUiWVUseJTiOXjOirP7x5sDwpQakQ3M4q73lzC_FTZNTiTRz_xbx5gRWEmCU0oktNWh5dbMxL7_gS8/s1600/100_4843.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkoTRKxwCz0MUhz7aFme31zG71DVDP3aL2pUgh-siH50Y3wuYf-08W3A5tEEbkHkUiWVUseJTiOXjOirP7x5sDwpQakQ3M4q73lzC_FTZNTiTRz_xbx5gRWEmCU0oktNWh5dbMxL7_gS8/s320/100_4843.JPG" width="320" /></b></span></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSsRfsGM3bzAbUORUtWQW77knAwoWUYvGIkWTMGmCxBMIrVu_ARXYmjNZ8dmpBgaFRNcilqZkJXxJyRSn3Px3qCQbaENzDI6MRswiqLGJ9hOLpfjFCrF73Zb2T5Xa8ec7try_xAz85hXo/s1600/100_4845.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSsRfsGM3bzAbUORUtWQW77knAwoWUYvGIkWTMGmCxBMIrVu_ARXYmjNZ8dmpBgaFRNcilqZkJXxJyRSn3Px3qCQbaENzDI6MRswiqLGJ9hOLpfjFCrF73Zb2T5Xa8ec7try_xAz85hXo/s320/100_4845.JPG" width="320" /></b></span></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>There was also a cat who loved me so much this happened:</b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtncq5Xx-BHlJ8Xhh-Y-IN60Fidr8YcECJoe88sRk1plubSZFht_AlGQdGWEuP-JMfxMbBju7lIIleDjSF5U9nRm_yq2W13K01wf2g_5wW9JOoUDrHmdkXT_FbWuTJgKB6KHYUx4SWm14/s1600/100_4837.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtncq5Xx-BHlJ8Xhh-Y-IN60Fidr8YcECJoe88sRk1plubSZFht_AlGQdGWEuP-JMfxMbBju7lIIleDjSF5U9nRm_yq2W13K01wf2g_5wW9JOoUDrHmdkXT_FbWuTJgKB6KHYUx4SWm14/s320/100_4837.JPG" width="320" /></b></span></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Sadly, we had to take Daddy-o to the vet and put him down.</b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix5YFxh5_diDHUciAEkAguKkdxtiC4Y-ifNXkFqX4c1aWicV57Bp7NRsFChq-bLtHy0GVQ88b_lPySpuYa7EI-AQ7F2Jhdj6eaP2fYJA3e9j9zHT61wn7M-erSXA8aFz8vC-1FlGTS_VI/s1600/100_4915.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix5YFxh5_diDHUciAEkAguKkdxtiC4Y-ifNXkFqX4c1aWicV57Bp7NRsFChq-bLtHy0GVQ88b_lPySpuYa7EI-AQ7F2Jhdj6eaP2fYJA3e9j9zHT61wn7M-erSXA8aFz8vC-1FlGTS_VI/s320/100_4915.JPG" width="320" /></b></span></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>We all miss and love him a lot. He was a great cat.</b></span><br />
<br /></div>Benji Bangerthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03396648405600121886noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5926060964313977979.post-51489098692685458912012-05-15T11:12:00.003-07:002012-05-15T13:09:48.002-07:00Europe-Asia, Asia-Europe: Enthralling Istanbul<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<b>Of all the languages we've encountered in our travels through twelve countries so far, Turkish has been the most interesting. We had NO chance with Vietnamese, Thai, Cambodian, Malaysian or Chinese. The characters made it impossible to decipher printed words. We managed to pick up a few words and phrases at each location, and at least attempting to speak the local lingo would usually go a long way toward helping complete whatever transaction we were attempting to make.</b></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<b>Turkish is something of a dichotomy in that some words are wonderfully economical while others make your eyes spin. Like polis (police) and ofis (office). Then some other words attempt to use as many letters as possible. Such as teşekkür ederim for</b><b> thank you. Really? I mean that looks like the sound you make when you sneeze.</b></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<b>We first encountered the Turkish language when we arrived in Istanbul from our stopover for four days in Abu Dhabi. Leaving Abu Dhabi didn't involve much sorrow. We were ready to get into Europe, and thrilled to get to Istanbul. The flight there was interesting if for no other reason than we flew over directly over Iraq for much of the trip. I wish I could report some fascinating image that we saw but from 38,000 feet all that was visible was sand. In golf terms, it was a big waste area. Local rules probably provide a lot of free drops. And I imagine you can ground your club pretty much anywhere.</b></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<br />
<b>We did get a good view of Istanbul as we prepared for landing. The city is literally on the Asia/Europe border, with the Bosphorus River providing a watery dividing line.</b><br />
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<b>Our first night in Istanbul was spent in the Old City, near an area called Sultanahmet. I had found a place online that we really liked but it wasn't available until our second night in Istanbul. Our apartment for night one turned out to be in walking distance to some of the most iconic buildings in the ancient city, including the Grand Bazaar and the Blue Mosque. </b><br />
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<b>Some things don't live up to their names. Like Great American Ballpark. I love the Reds and GABP is a definite improvement over Riverfront, but a more accurately descriptive name would be Pretty Good Ballpark That Should Have Been Built Turned Around So You Can See The Skyline. But the Grand Bazaar doesn't disappoint.</b></div>
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<b>It's a sprawling complex of shops, almost all of which are inside of a building that dates back centuries. On our way there, I was thinking it might be like the Ben Thanh Market in Ho Chi Minh City, which was fascinating but also a bit annoying thanks to the aggressiveness of the vendors. That wasn't the case here at all. Occasionally you would have someone invite you into his shop as you passed by, but a friendly "no thank you" was all that was necessary to keep moving along.</b><br />
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<b>The shops featured all kinds of products, from watches and jewelry to clothing to rugs. The Bazaar covers about sixty city blocks and features about five thousand shops. Almost like an outlet mall back in the States but without all the RVs in the parking lot.</b></div>
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<b>The neighborhood surrounding the Grand Bazaar just oozes with character and history. There are no US-based fast food restaurants that we've seen so much of on the trip in other parts of the world. </b></div>
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<b>A stroll up the hill from where we were staying the first night led us to a restaurant with some outdoor seating, called the Why Not cafe. A sign boasted of Pizza and Pasta and Kebaps so we figured we would find something to meet all our culinary needs.</b><br />
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<b>Our server, Omar, set a good precedent for the friendliness of the Turkish people we would encounter in our first foray into Europe. He was very kind and courteous, and took time to show off his mad skills of making a rose out of a napkin. Marley happily sported it in her hair the rest of our first day in Istanbul. </b></div>
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<b>Day two in Istanbul presented us with some time on our hands since we couldn't check into the next place we were staying until five in the afternoon. Cemal, who ran the 4-unit apartment we stayed in the first night, was kind enough to let us keep our luggage at his place all day so we could check out some nearby sights without lugging our bags around.</b></div>
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<b>The Blue Mosque was about a fifteen-minute stroll from our apartment, and the weather was perfect. Mosques are the most distinctive part of the urban landscape in Istanbul, with their minarets dotting the hillsides.</b><br />
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<b>The Blue Mosque was a quick visit, at least for us. It was built around 1610, which is about 25 years before the Taj Mahal was erected. It got me to thinking, did these sultans, kings and other emperors know about other massive temples and mosques being built in other parts of the world at roughly the same time? It's not like Sultan Ahmet I who had the Blue Mosque built was tweeting about it.</b></div>
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<b>If he had been and including some pics in that tweet, other sultans, kings and emperors would probably have had mosque envy. It's gorgeous, with blue tiles that give the mosque it's name lining the interior walls.</b></div>
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<b>As spectacular as some of the sights to be viewed inside buildings in Istanbul are, it's magic for me is out on the streets. We discovered that more on day three in Istanbul when we headed to the apartment we had booked for four nights. It was in the Nisantasi neighborhood, about a twenty-minute cab ride from our first place.</b></div>
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<b>It's a more modern neighborhood, but still has a great feel, with shops and restaurants lining the streets. The experience was pretty much exactly what I hoped would happen once we got into Europe. I wanted to have a bakery to go to every morning to get still steaming hot bread and croissants. There are certainly plenty to choose from in the area around the Osmanbey Metro stop where our apartment was.</b></div>
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<b>The roomy apartment was on a narrow street lined with textile (tekstil in Turkish) shops, so on the weekdays while we were there the sounds of Turks getting on with their day would waft through the windows with the early morning sun.</b><br />
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<b>For much of our time heading into Istanbul and also while we were there I had the song <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=czb7Jkz9XnU&feature=related" target="_blank">"Wheels"</a> by Cake in my head. In the song, John McCrea sings about a seedy Karaoke bar by the banks of the mighty Bosphorus. I didn't see any such establishment as we took a 90 minute boat ride up the river dividing Europe and Asia.</b><br />
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<b>The boat was filled pretty much to capacity as it headed north, certainly the two or three row closest to both sides. One of the more interesting aspects of the trip was that the boat seemed to be filled mostly with locals. There were a few people like ourselves who obviously were not locals, but not as many as I thought there would be.</b><br />
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<b>In her best "when in Istanbul..." mode, Annie went along with the Turkish tradition of drinking some tea, which is served with a sugar cube. Everywhere you look on the streets you see men carrying trays of tea at all times of the day. It added to the flavor of our river ride.</b><br />
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<b>The only mistake we made was getting on the side of the boat that was furthest from the opposite banks of the mighty Bosphorous. We still had a good time cruising along looking at the ancient city and marveling at being able to see both Europe and Asia at the same time. It's a little more exciting than sitting outside at Don Pablo's on the river in Newport and marveling at the Ohio side of the river. Although, actually, some nachos and salsa would have been a nice addition to the cruise.</b><br />
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<b>Once we disembarked (I like writing that word and love saying it!) we took a stroll across a bridge lined with men fishing. The bustling crowds on a sunny afternoon made for a fantastic stroll toward where we would catch a cab back to Nisantasi. We first had to check out a market teeming with freshly caught fish, and then walk down an alleyway which featured some hardware and paint, including a store that had the pigment out on the sidewalk in cans.</b><br />
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<b>The energy of the people on the streets of Istanbul was contagious and we enjoyed just walking along, soaking in the atmosphere. The colors and the aromas combined with the intensity of the Turkish language made for a fascinating experience.</b></div>
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<b>We managed to strike a comfortable balance of seeing and doing things and just enjoying our apartment and the neighborhood. Having good internet helped us plan for the next part of our journey, plus allowed for Ben and Marley to catch up on some school work through Khan Academy and help plan the next part of the trip as we head deeper into Europe. </b><br />
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<b>As much we like to immerse ourselves in local culture, having good internet and a nice flat screen TV with some satellite channels was enjoyable as well. Three of the four nights we were there, the Fox Sports Channel carried the PGA Tour golf event from Quail Hollow in Charlotte, which is where I saw my first live professional golf back in the late 80s when a Senior Tour event was played there. It came on at 11pm, so the kids were done watching what they wanted to see, and I could kick back and enjoy what turned out to be a very competitive tournament.</b></div>
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<b>It's always good to get some local knowledge in unfamiliar surroundings, and we got that in friends of friends of ours from back home. They were a married couple with a seven-month old son, and gave us some great options for meeting for lunch. The one we chose was on the banks of the Mighty Bosphorus near the base of the Bosphorus Bridge. The setting and company was spectacular and the food wasn't bad either.</b></div>
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<b>After an enjoyable mid-day meal, Nuray and Can (pronounced John) were generous enough with their time to meet back up with us about an hour later at a restaurant near the Galata Tower that provided a spectacular view of Istanbul, looking east toward the Asian side of things. It was down an alley off an alley off an alley that we never would have found had it not been for the help of a local.</b></div>
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<b>When we were planning our trip, probably the overall highlight for me was getting into Europe. I love the feel and the history of the place and Istanbul met both of those requirements. </b></div>
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<b>We got a serious taste of the local fervor for football as we walked down a caddesi called Istiklal. It's supposedly the busiest pedestrian street in Turkey. The feeling was electric, in part because it was just a couple of hours ahead of a big match between Galatasaray and Bestikas at the football stadium close by in Istanbul. </b><br />
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<b>Fans decked out in the local colors strolled along, singing songs. They politely ignored my attempts at getting a Who-Dey cheer going, and we were happy to see later that evening that the Galatasaray squad was victorious.</b><br />
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<b>After spending five days in Istanbul, the other cities we will be visiting in Europe have a major challenge ahead of them. It's going to be difficult to surpass the atmosphere of this ancient city. The feeling on the streets was truly magical and the people were very friendly and the food fantastic. The only drawback was the occasional mish-mash of architectural styles. </b><br />
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<b>Wonderful old buildings dripping with character would be neighbors to some modern monstrosity. It would be like building</b><b> <a href="http://www.onelytle.com/" target="_blank">One Lytle Place</a> in Cincinnati right next to <a href="http://cincinnatiarts.org/musichall" target="_blank">Music Hall</a>. </b><br />
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<b>Istanbul is the perfect place to make the transition from Asia to Europe. Our few days there truly whetted our appetite for more experiences in Europe, and as Anthony Bourdain likes to say, I'm hungry for more!</b><br />
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</div>Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10992767582998476713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5926060964313977979.post-7741545315616843402012-05-13T11:52:00.001-07:002012-05-13T11:52:18.963-07:00Cats are a way of life<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">During my entire life if someone wants to come to my house for the first time I have to ask,”Are you allergic cats or dogs?” Their answer has always been no but you might understand now that we are animal people. Let me explain. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Cats: </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Marvin</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Leon</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Romeo</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Abby</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Ellie</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">J-Ro</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">That’s 6 cats. In one house. Taken care of by one family. Normal? No...Different? Yes...Crazy? Well, maybe just a bit. I am also going to take this time to mention that we have one dog named Sophie. And we miss her a lot and all but....we like cats more though. (Sorry Sophie) </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Ok so now you are like “Umm What does this have to do with anything?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Well I am going to tell you!”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So with our cat obsession we were really excited to get to Turkey (NOT the food) because we heard rumors that they are EVERYWHERE! And they ARE! Which is awesome. So once we got to Ayvalik and we got to the house we are renting we were stunned! Right once you walk out of the cab they are everywhere. I mean everywhere. On the corners, in the middle of the road, hanging in window. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Cat people paradise</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMJsJtTJ_6Ztu8MzeROsNJ3ZHwHXZwzzioPASITSH5KlcUdGaabcpqfnwcy7GUDuSaq4vJiqaxZCoJ9oyYces5EgpTPql0cRaFQNuH1TZDCodrDMMwrbxg6herDo4dgsktzNLtrkBVASI/s1600/100_4791.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMJsJtTJ_6Ztu8MzeROsNJ3ZHwHXZwzzioPASITSH5KlcUdGaabcpqfnwcy7GUDuSaq4vJiqaxZCoJ9oyYces5EgpTPql0cRaFQNuH1TZDCodrDMMwrbxg6herDo4dgsktzNLtrkBVASI/s320/100_4791.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Left: Salvtori Right: Cow Cat</td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">WARNING DO NOT GO TO AYVALIK IF YOU ARE ALLERGIC TO CATS! YOU WILL MOST LIKELY DIE FROM A BAD REACTION</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Sorry just I didn’t know if maybe you were thinking about coming here but you were allergic cats so I thought I might warn you. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">There are 6 cats that our neighbor (the one who owns the houses) likes and feeds. So we have taken over them and we cook them fish and chicken for dinner. (Yes we are that cat crazy) The cats are Valerie(my favorite)</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"> Cow Cat (The Oldest)</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"> Daddy-O (He only has 3 legs and doesn’t have much time left) </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Salvatori (He is a very handsome black Cat)</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"> Weasel (he is Orange and White)</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">(NO PHOTO SORRY)</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"> Yonja (He is a calico) And if there are more i forgot. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">On a side note they have 3 turtles that LOVE strawberries. And you can feed them them. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Valerie loves to sleep all day and cuddle. And she is very serious about her food (No one else will touch it)! So that is why I love her.There is a lot of her too (I will NOT be calling her fat. It is mean) </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Cats are really a thing we love and it will be great to get home to see ours</span></div>
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</div>Marley Boss Bangerthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02033917203187604683noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5926060964313977979.post-31397742904412752892012-05-13T08:05:00.002-07:002012-05-13T08:05:32.083-07:00Abu Dhabi<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b>At no point anywhere in planning our trip did we for one moment consider stopping in Abu Dhabi. The planning began in some form back in January of 2011, and we thought about several places that so far haven't made it on our itinerary. Japan and Hong Kong didn't make the cut for a variety of reasons. We pondered Moscow but it's a not really on the way to or from anywhere we wanted to go. So the capitol city of the United Arab Emirates was something of a last-minute addition to our itinerary. Istanbul had been in the plans for quite some time because of its location as a gateway from Asia to Europe. Abu Dhabi worked its way into the conversation after Annie got an email from Etihad Airlines offering a special "stop-over" deal going from New Delhi to Istanbul if we spent at least two nights in Abu Dhabi. That seemed attractive enough for us so we decided to add the Arabian Peninsula to tour ever-growing list of destinations.</b></div>
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<b>There were two main attractions for us in Abu Dhabi. One was an amusement park called Ferrari World. Ben is nuts about Ferraris and other exotic cars, so spending some time in a place dedicated to those fabulous machines had a definite appeal.</b></div>
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<b>Ferrari World had all kinds of displays and attractions that were Ferrari-themed, including plenty of vintage and classic models as well as the newest designs.</b><br />
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<b>There are also attractions and rides, </b><b>one of which was what was billed as the world's fastest roller coaster. All four of us climbed on board, not exactly sure what to expect other than speed.</b></div>
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<b>I thought that perhaps they would gently ease you into the ride, possibly take you up to 150km or so and then get to the top speed of 242km on a straightaway. Oh, you hit top speed on a straightaway alright--the first straightaway right when the coaster starts. From a standing start, you reach 242km or about 150 mph in less than five seconds. After that it's a series of high-speed twists and turns that leave you breathless. Luckily the ride doesn't last very long, so the terror ends fairly quickly. Annie screamed almost the entire time. Ben and Marley did pretty well with it, and as I said right when I got off the ride: I'm glad I did it--I wouldn't want to do it again.</b></div>
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<b>One thing I would do again is the racing simulator. You got strapped into a car seat and competed against other players on a simulation of the nearby Yas Island Marina Circuit road course. It was a blast, and my enjoyment was increased some by the fact that I was the winner in a race that included a 1-2-3 finish by myself, my son and my wife. What can I say, I've got mad driving skills!</b><br />
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<b>Even with all the high-tech things to enjoy, the kids had the most fun racing Formula 1 (or for Talledega Nights fans, Formula Un) cars on a slot car track. We almost literally had to physically remove them from the racing layout when it was time to leave. </b></div>
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<b>The other allure of Abu Dhabi was golf. The Etihad Stopover deal included a discounted round of golf at a variety of courses. I wound up playing the Abu Dhabi Golf Club, having chosen that one that unbeknownst to me was the site of a European Tour event every winter. The 2012 version was won by Robert Rock, who beat a pretty good field of players, including Tiger Woods. </b></div>
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<b>I had a solo tee time, but by the second hole had joined up with Mauritio from Northern Italy. We had an enjoyable round on a very nice course. Not much in the way of any "oh wow!" holes, but a solid well-conditioned and very playable track. </b></div>
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<b>It's a beautiful place, but will never be entered in a subtlety competition. It just reeks of opulence and wealth and makes one wonder what's truly being worshiped. </b><br />
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<b>In another case of what a tiny little world we are taking a year to circumnavigate, we played through a threesome on the twelfth hole. They didn't look like locals and when we got up to them on the tee, from their conversation, I could tell they were from the States. When I asked them where they were from, they said "Cincinnati." I cleverly replied, "Me too!". A quick conversation revealed they were somewhat familiar with my work on the radio in Cincinnati. How cool is that? They were on a business assignment for a couple of years in Abu Dhabi and taking advantage of a rare day off to hit the links. It was amazing to meet some guys from my hometown on a golf course more than half-way around the world. Abu Dhabi is also home to a massive mosque that most visitors see on the ride into town from the airport. The numbers are staggering: The mosque is large enough to accommodate over 40,000 worshipers with the main prayer hall having a capacity of over 7,000 worshipers. Plus, there are two smaller prayer halls, with a 1,500 capacity a piece.</b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 19px; line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b> </b></span><sup class="reference" id="cite_ref-3" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1em;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sheikh_Zayed_Mosque#cite_note-3" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0645ad; text-decoration: none; white-space: nowrap;"></a></sup></span><br />
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<b>To enter the mosque, visitors need to be wearing long-sleeved shirts
and long pants. For those who show up in short-sleeved shirts and shorts
like us, appropriate clothing is provided. The females are given black
shawls that cover pretty much the entire body, including the head.
Males are provided with white robes that go to the floor. Once we had
all the right garb on, I suggested to my family that we go get some pork
chops. The kids didn't get it, and Annie rolled her eyes as we headed
inside.</b></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>It's a beautiful place, but will never be entered in a subtlety
competition. It just reeks of opulence and wealth and makes one wonder
what's truly being worshiped. I know there are plenty of other churches, temples and mosques around the world that cost a lot to build, I've just never seen any like this.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Not being part of the local culture, society or religion, there were
plenty of things about Abu Dhabi that I didn't understand. Like why
hotels charged almost a dollar an hour for internet access. How about
taking a small chunk of the $545 million spent on the mosque to create
some free wi-fi hot spots. They didn't even have free wi-fi at the
Starbucks at the mall near our hotel. Uhh, not that we went there, we
heard that from, uh, other guests at the hotel, yeah that's where we
heard that!</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Being a last minute stop over, Abu Dhabi served its purpose. It gave us a taste of Arabian life and didn't come with the inherent pressure to see and to things that some of our other stops have come with. We definitely would be ready to see and do things as we eased from Asia to Europe in our next stop: Istanbul.</b></span></div>
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<span class="editsection" style="float: right; font-size: 13px; margin-left: 5px;">[<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Sheikh_Zayed_Mosque&action=edit&section=3" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0645ad; text-decoration: none;" title="Edit section: Some key architectural features">edit</a>]</span></h2>
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</div>Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10992767582998476713noreply@blogger.com1