We have decided not to find out the gender of our unborn child. Despite my OCD-like tendencies and anal retentive need to plan and organize, I really like surprises. And what better surprise than the identity of your child? Jon has been on board with this plan from the beginning, although I think his motivation is that he is convinced that whatever the ultrasound revealed would be wrong.
Most people have been very supportive of our decision to be surprised. And several friends/family members have gone this route lately, so it doesn't seem that strange to us. But, there are a few people who seem shocked. How will we know what to buy?!? Well, my answer to that is simple. Even if we knew the gender, we wouldn't go overboard with pink princess gear or blue truck apparel. From an economical standpoint, since we envision having more than one child (although we'll see how #1 goes first), we would like to use as much of this ridiculously expensive stuff again as possible.
And from a philosophical point of view, I feel that just because society wants to dictate our gender roles doesn't mean we have to follow them. If Baby Luigi is a girl, she can wear pink and purple dresses to her heart's content if she wants to. Likewise, she can wear baggy jeans, sneakers, and a baseball cap if she feels like it. But we're not going to force it, at least not all the time (some of those little dresses are pretty cute!). Sadly, there is a bit of a double-standard when it comes to boys and traditionally "girl" attire. Girls can wear boy clothes, but boys can't wear girl clothes. At any rate, what I'm getting at is that we would still have just as much green and yellow as we would blue or pink. And now I'm done with my feminist tangent.
Regardless, it's not like anyone knows anyway. I haven't had an ultrasound since about week 12, so there is no way that anyone could spill the beans (a not-so-secret fear of mine). I know it's a cliché , but we're really just hoping for a healthy baby. I've envisioned both scenarios--boy or girl--in my head and feel like it could go either way. While I initially thought Baby Luigi was a boy, lately, everyone else seems to think girl.
Yup, everyone else.
Because what we've discovered is that not finding out has turned every friend, acquaintance, and even stranger into Miss Cleo of 1-900 infamy. It's actually pretty fun to hear these guesses, as well as the reasoning behind them. And really, with the exception of the recent rash of girl predictions, it's been a pretty even boy/girl split...which is actually statistically accurate.
Some of our favorite reasons follow:
*It's a boy because I just know. -co-worker
*It's a girl because my mom had a girl first. -6-year-old writer (Here's how this conversation went: "What do you have already?" "Neither--this is our first baby." "Oh, then's a girl because I'm the oldest and I'm a girl.")
*It's a girl because your nose isn't getting bigger. And you haven't changed (ie, you aren't irritated all the time). -high school writer
*It's a boy/girl because you're carrying high/low. -multiple armchair doctors (The tricky thing with this one is that no one can seem to decide if carrying low--which I think I am--means boy or girl.)
*It's a boy because your brother has girls. -my mom
So, there you go. Like I told the dentist yesterday, we just hope it's one or the other.
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
Skillet Cookies
The only way to run a marathon is to do so with four friends. Not in a training group so you can encourage one another through the arduous miles. Literally. Like splitting up the race into five pieces.
Jon and I recently ran in the St. Jude Memphis Marathon Relay, the first time this particular event was held. Due to our involvement in a weekly running group, we heard that a relay was to be added to the wildly popular full marathon, half-marathon, and 5K distances. I instantly wanted in. Jon and I had tried unsuccessfully to sign up for the half-marathon for the past two years, as the race filled up before we could register (mere days prior in 2011). The relay seemed like the perfect alternative to run in a race whose starting line is a short walk from our apartment. Plus, it seemed like a heck of a lot more fun than running 26.2 or even 13.1 miles.
Since 2012 was the inaugural relay, it took a bit longer for logistics to be worked out for the race, delaying the registration period. But we were ready. (It didn't hurt that one of the teammates we recruited works for St. Jude on the fundraising side and had insider information about when sign-ups would officially begin.) We were able to convince some friends to run with us, and once they were on board, the most important decision became our team name.
Due to our mutual love of a dessert served at a near-by restaurant, we decided to call ourselves the Skillet Cookies (the skillet cookie is exactly what it sounds like: a chocolate chip cookie baked in a cast iron skillet topped with vanilla ice cream). Since we signed up in the summer for a race run at the beginning of December, once this crucial decision was made, our preparations relaxed a bit until the fall.
It just so happened that our St. Jude fundraiser teammate also knows the owner of the skillet cookie establishment and was able to convince the owner to sponsor our team. Thus, we had shirts made with our nicknames, as well as the name of the restaurant, of course, on the back. Oh, and a picture of a skillet and some cookies.
But choosing those nicknames was not as easy as determining a team name. After some intense e-mailing, each member of our team--including our "team mom"/#1 cheerleader--was christened with a new name. You can't pick our your own nickname, you know. Most nicknames ended up being portmanteaus (two or more blended words) related to our own names, personal interests, college affiliations, favorite foods, ethnicities, etc.
As we neared race day, the flurry of e-mails picked up once again as we established our relay order. Rather than split the 26.2 mile distance evenly amongst five runners, the race director divided the legs into different distances. In order, the distances were as follows: 5K (3.1 miles), 10K (6.2 miles), 6K (3.8 miles), and two halves of a half-marathon (6.55 miles a piece).
I was chosen to lead off with the 5K distance due to my present "condition." This was fine by me as I didn't want the pregnant lady slowing the team down either. Jon ran the 4th leg for a 6.55 mile distance. Even though my pace has slowed a bit lately, I still felt confident in my ability to run 3.1 miles without a lot of additional training, although Jon definitely tried to push himself a bit harder in the weeks leading up to race day.
On the morning of the race, we gathered with our team prior to going to our respective relay exchange areas. The weather was warm and the mood was light. We hung out and chatted for a bit until it was time for me to head to the starting line. In a race the size of St. Jude, start times are staggered based on each individual's pace. Race experience has taught me that runners are an optimistic bunch, so it's always a good idea to begin with a group that is a bit faster than you expect to run. I chose the approrpriate group, as my overall pace was spot-on with the specified time, although if I were to start the relay again, I would choose a faster group since I didn't actually start the race until about ten minutes after the elite runners took off.
Prior to the race, the consensus attitude on our team was that we were all just running for fun. However, when I was in the crush of other runners at the starting line, my competitiveness kicked in. It was definitely "go time." Everyone else on our team echoed a similar sentiment once we reunited. And it paid off.
I was lucky enough to have the "fun" part of the course, mostly taking me through downtown and throngs of cheering fans. I was feeling good; it was nice to push myself (within reason, of course) again. I did feel kind of like a jerk, however, when I neared the end of my 3.1 mile distance because I had the luxury of stopping. Most of the people around me had 10-23.1 more miles to go and probably resented the runner who was trying desperately to pass them. I didn't feel too guilty, though, and definitely ran the final stretch with my elbows out.
I passed our belt and team number (the marathon relay equivalent of a baton) to Runner #2 who went on to run her 6.2 miles in an excellent time. In fact, everyone on our team ran really well. Thanks to technology, we were able to keep up with our team's progress via the Internet. After I finished my portion of the race, I had a lot of waiting to do. I hung out with the various members of our team who had either finished or were yet to run and got to cheer along with our "team mom" (the wife of Runner #3).
The four of us who were finished were able to cheer on our anchor--a last-minute substitute--as he crossed the finish line. We were bummed that our original anchor wasn't able to run with us; he "deployed" to New Jersey for Hurricane Sandy. However, his replacement did a fine job, and we are so grateful for his willingness to run with us. In fact, his effort (along with everyone else's, of course) earned us a 3rd place finish! Not too shabby for a group of people fond of cookie desserts who were just running for fun.
Marathon relays: the only way to conquer 26.2 miles.
Jon and I recently ran in the St. Jude Memphis Marathon Relay, the first time this particular event was held. Due to our involvement in a weekly running group, we heard that a relay was to be added to the wildly popular full marathon, half-marathon, and 5K distances. I instantly wanted in. Jon and I had tried unsuccessfully to sign up for the half-marathon for the past two years, as the race filled up before we could register (mere days prior in 2011). The relay seemed like the perfect alternative to run in a race whose starting line is a short walk from our apartment. Plus, it seemed like a heck of a lot more fun than running 26.2 or even 13.1 miles.
Since 2012 was the inaugural relay, it took a bit longer for logistics to be worked out for the race, delaying the registration period. But we were ready. (It didn't hurt that one of the teammates we recruited works for St. Jude on the fundraising side and had insider information about when sign-ups would officially begin.) We were able to convince some friends to run with us, and once they were on board, the most important decision became our team name.
Due to our mutual love of a dessert served at a near-by restaurant, we decided to call ourselves the Skillet Cookies (the skillet cookie is exactly what it sounds like: a chocolate chip cookie baked in a cast iron skillet topped with vanilla ice cream). Since we signed up in the summer for a race run at the beginning of December, once this crucial decision was made, our preparations relaxed a bit until the fall.
It just so happened that our St. Jude fundraiser teammate also knows the owner of the skillet cookie establishment and was able to convince the owner to sponsor our team. Thus, we had shirts made with our nicknames, as well as the name of the restaurant, of course, on the back. Oh, and a picture of a skillet and some cookies.
But choosing those nicknames was not as easy as determining a team name. After some intense e-mailing, each member of our team--including our "team mom"/#1 cheerleader--was christened with a new name. You can't pick our your own nickname, you know. Most nicknames ended up being portmanteaus (two or more blended words) related to our own names, personal interests, college affiliations, favorite foods, ethnicities, etc.
 |
| Owleyesonu, Recovering Eataholic, Kornhustler, Hoppsenjoggin, and Flantastic (not pictured: Naganseemi--no pun intended) |
As we neared race day, the flurry of e-mails picked up once again as we established our relay order. Rather than split the 26.2 mile distance evenly amongst five runners, the race director divided the legs into different distances. In order, the distances were as follows: 5K (3.1 miles), 10K (6.2 miles), 6K (3.8 miles), and two halves of a half-marathon (6.55 miles a piece).
I was chosen to lead off with the 5K distance due to my present "condition." This was fine by me as I didn't want the pregnant lady slowing the team down either. Jon ran the 4th leg for a 6.55 mile distance. Even though my pace has slowed a bit lately, I still felt confident in my ability to run 3.1 miles without a lot of additional training, although Jon definitely tried to push himself a bit harder in the weeks leading up to race day.
On the morning of the race, we gathered with our team prior to going to our respective relay exchange areas. The weather was warm and the mood was light. We hung out and chatted for a bit until it was time for me to head to the starting line. In a race the size of St. Jude, start times are staggered based on each individual's pace. Race experience has taught me that runners are an optimistic bunch, so it's always a good idea to begin with a group that is a bit faster than you expect to run. I chose the approrpriate group, as my overall pace was spot-on with the specified time, although if I were to start the relay again, I would choose a faster group since I didn't actually start the race until about ten minutes after the elite runners took off.
Prior to the race, the consensus attitude on our team was that we were all just running for fun. However, when I was in the crush of other runners at the starting line, my competitiveness kicked in. It was definitely "go time." Everyone else on our team echoed a similar sentiment once we reunited. And it paid off.
I was lucky enough to have the "fun" part of the course, mostly taking me through downtown and throngs of cheering fans. I was feeling good; it was nice to push myself (within reason, of course) again. I did feel kind of like a jerk, however, when I neared the end of my 3.1 mile distance because I had the luxury of stopping. Most of the people around me had 10-23.1 more miles to go and probably resented the runner who was trying desperately to pass them. I didn't feel too guilty, though, and definitely ran the final stretch with my elbows out.
I passed our belt and team number (the marathon relay equivalent of a baton) to Runner #2 who went on to run her 6.2 miles in an excellent time. In fact, everyone on our team ran really well. Thanks to technology, we were able to keep up with our team's progress via the Internet. After I finished my portion of the race, I had a lot of waiting to do. I hung out with the various members of our team who had either finished or were yet to run and got to cheer along with our "team mom" (the wife of Runner #3).
The four of us who were finished were able to cheer on our anchor--a last-minute substitute--as he crossed the finish line. We were bummed that our original anchor wasn't able to run with us; he "deployed" to New Jersey for Hurricane Sandy. However, his replacement did a fine job, and we are so grateful for his willingness to run with us. In fact, his effort (along with everyone else's, of course) earned us a 3rd place finish! Not too shabby for a group of people fond of cookie desserts who were just running for fun.
Marathon relays: the only way to conquer 26.2 miles.
We're Having a Baby!
This post is admittedly a bit anti-climactic considering how the few people who read this blog have known for a while that Jon and I are expecting. That being said, however, now that we have reached the halfway point (it's all downhill from here, right?), it's time for some reflection.
In no particular order...Things I Have Learned From Being Pregnant (So Far):
1. Much to my disappointment, not drinking and not feeling like eating big meals did not equate into any sort of initial weight loss. A permanent feeling of bloat took care of that pipe dream. I am, however, liking what is happening to my body. As a natural "spoon" shape, I have always had somewhat of a pregnant physique. Now, it's to be celebrated. That being said, I feel weird sharing our weekly "baby bump" photos (in fact, Jon has pretty much banned that term), so if you want to know how things are progressing, you'll just have to come visit...or wait for us to visit you.
2. This baby has a sense of irony already. We live in the #2 BBQ city in the country (following Kansas City, of course), and barbecue is one of the few foods I can't stomach. My eating habits have changed, and I feel like a person who just had gastric by-pass surgery. I'm hungry more often, but my stomach can't seem to hold as much, meaning I feel full much faster. Also, I am not craving foods that I expected to, like guacamole and Mexican food in general, although I did eat Fruit Roll-ups for the first time in about 15 years. However, I've never wanted to eat sushi more than I do right now. Or a turkey sandwich. Or stinky cheese. Or a hot dog...
3. It was fun to keep the pregnancy a secret for a while, yet coming up with (what we think are creative) ways to share the news has been enjoyable as well. The two most popular questions are "Do you know/are you going to find out the gender?" (no--we love surprises and can't think of a better one) and "Have you thought of any names?" (no--but something short to go with our ridiculously long last name). We do, however, have a name for Baby in utero, thanks to my grandpa: Luigi. Where he came up with that, I have no idea, as it's a far cry from his usual suggestion of Smedley Hoover.
4. A former night owl, I have now officially become a morning person, much to my chagrin. I have a lot more energy to accomplish things in the morning, often waking up before the alarm, while I'm pretty much useless in the evenings.
5. Creepy, alien-baby sonogram pictures carry much more meaning when they are of your child...although s/he still looks like a prehistoric bird.
6. Maternity pants are extremely comfortable. I may never go back to regular pants again. Nonetheless, many of my shirts and dresses will most likely work throughout my pregnancy, which is a bit revealing about my sense of fashion. And all of the padded bras I had to buy for dance costumes are coming in handy since they're really the only ones that fit now.
7. Not drinking has not been as difficult as I thought it might be, although having a husband who brews his own beer is a bit tempting. Watered-down Sprite is a poor--albeit acceptable--substitute at Happy Hour.
8. It is possible to run a half-marathon when 11 weeks pregnant (especially when the race was registered and paid for months in advance), although said pregnancy is an excellentexcuse reason to skip speed training. I'm going to keep jogging as long as I can, although it's hard not to be competitive at our running group. I have to keep telling myself that it's okay to go slower than normal.
9. For some reason, I continue to be surprised at how many textbook symptoms I have experienced; it's like going down a checklist. Runny nose? Check. Bleeding gums? Yup. Heartburn? You betcha. I have been very fortunate, however, and really can't complain. I've felt mostly good most of the time. I'm not surprised that I haven't really had any morning sickness, as throwing up has always been a rare occurrence for me...although there have been lots of times that I'd wished I could have just vomited, as the frequent evening nausea seemed just as bad.
10. Even though I'm about to embark on what I imagine to be the most selfless endeavor of my life, I have never felt more selfish. Since I haven't felt any (definitive) movements from Baby, it's still really hard to believe that there is a human being growing inside of me. Right now, I'm mostly focused on how I feel and how I look. I recently read a quote in a pregnancy book that made me feel less guilty about that (just as hearing the heartbeat at my last doctor's appointment made me feel more reassured that indeed there is something going on in there): "I feel like my body is preparing me for motherhood by reminding me what it's like to be a child. I eat every three hours, want things I don't need, cry because I'm tired, and I've become a bit of a narcissist."
So, that's where we're at. I'm excited and nervous and anxious for all of the changes that the next 20 weeks (and beyond) will bring, particularly as this whole baby thing becomes increasingly more real.
In no particular order...Things I Have Learned From Being Pregnant (So Far):
1. Much to my disappointment, not drinking and not feeling like eating big meals did not equate into any sort of initial weight loss. A permanent feeling of bloat took care of that pipe dream. I am, however, liking what is happening to my body. As a natural "spoon" shape, I have always had somewhat of a pregnant physique. Now, it's to be celebrated. That being said, I feel weird sharing our weekly "baby bump" photos (in fact, Jon has pretty much banned that term), so if you want to know how things are progressing, you'll just have to come visit...or wait for us to visit you.
2. This baby has a sense of irony already. We live in the #2 BBQ city in the country (following Kansas City, of course), and barbecue is one of the few foods I can't stomach. My eating habits have changed, and I feel like a person who just had gastric by-pass surgery. I'm hungry more often, but my stomach can't seem to hold as much, meaning I feel full much faster. Also, I am not craving foods that I expected to, like guacamole and Mexican food in general, although I did eat Fruit Roll-ups for the first time in about 15 years. However, I've never wanted to eat sushi more than I do right now. Or a turkey sandwich. Or stinky cheese. Or a hot dog...
3. It was fun to keep the pregnancy a secret for a while, yet coming up with (what we think are creative) ways to share the news has been enjoyable as well. The two most popular questions are "Do you know/are you going to find out the gender?" (no--we love surprises and can't think of a better one) and "Have you thought of any names?" (no--but something short to go with our ridiculously long last name). We do, however, have a name for Baby in utero, thanks to my grandpa: Luigi. Where he came up with that, I have no idea, as it's a far cry from his usual suggestion of Smedley Hoover.
4. A former night owl, I have now officially become a morning person, much to my chagrin. I have a lot more energy to accomplish things in the morning, often waking up before the alarm, while I'm pretty much useless in the evenings.
5. Creepy, alien-baby sonogram pictures carry much more meaning when they are of your child...although s/he still looks like a prehistoric bird.
6. Maternity pants are extremely comfortable. I may never go back to regular pants again. Nonetheless, many of my shirts and dresses will most likely work throughout my pregnancy, which is a bit revealing about my sense of fashion. And all of the padded bras I had to buy for dance costumes are coming in handy since they're really the only ones that fit now.
7. Not drinking has not been as difficult as I thought it might be, although having a husband who brews his own beer is a bit tempting. Watered-down Sprite is a poor--albeit acceptable--substitute at Happy Hour.
8. It is possible to run a half-marathon when 11 weeks pregnant (especially when the race was registered and paid for months in advance), although said pregnancy is an excellent
9. For some reason, I continue to be surprised at how many textbook symptoms I have experienced; it's like going down a checklist. Runny nose? Check. Bleeding gums? Yup. Heartburn? You betcha. I have been very fortunate, however, and really can't complain. I've felt mostly good most of the time. I'm not surprised that I haven't really had any morning sickness, as throwing up has always been a rare occurrence for me...although there have been lots of times that I'd wished I could have just vomited, as the frequent evening nausea seemed just as bad.
10. Even though I'm about to embark on what I imagine to be the most selfless endeavor of my life, I have never felt more selfish. Since I haven't felt any (definitive) movements from Baby, it's still really hard to believe that there is a human being growing inside of me. Right now, I'm mostly focused on how I feel and how I look. I recently read a quote in a pregnancy book that made me feel less guilty about that (just as hearing the heartbeat at my last doctor's appointment made me feel more reassured that indeed there is something going on in there): "I feel like my body is preparing me for motherhood by reminding me what it's like to be a child. I eat every three hours, want things I don't need, cry because I'm tired, and I've become a bit of a narcissist."
So, that's where we're at. I'm excited and nervous and anxious for all of the changes that the next 20 weeks (and beyond) will bring, particularly as this whole baby thing becomes increasingly more real.
Sunday, November 4, 2012
Weekend in the Wilderness
Serendipity is discussing Moldovan farming with Mark Twain until 2am.
But I'm getting ahead of myself.
Last weekend, Jon and I decided to head out of town for a fall getaway. It had been weeks since we'd left the greater Memphis area (tragedy of all tragedies!), and we had Jon's birthday on October 24th and our 5th first anniversary on November 3rd to celebrate.
When discussing where to go, we quickly realized that we didn't necessarily want to do anything--we just wanted to relax. We thought about rural Arkansas, but we went there a couple of years ago. Northwest Kentucky was a possibility, but not too serious of one. The Smoky Mountains in eastern Tennessee/western North Carolina were too far away. So, when Jon suggested a lodge in Lesterville, Missouri, I was all ears.
Jon had mentioned Wilderness Lodge when he first heard of it several months ago from one of the farmers in southeast Missouri affected by the 2011 Mississippi River flood. This farmer, who Jon has gotten to know through his work in the Birds Point/New Madrid Floodway, owns it, along with his family, and of course, highly recommended it.
I didn't want to get my hopes too high because by the time the decision was made to check it out, it was already Wednesday and we wanted to leave that Friday. Luckily for us, however, there was a cabin available, so after work on Friday, we hit the road for Lesterville.
Four hours in a car isn't bad, although it isn't exactly fun, either. Nevertheless, our stay started off on a great note as the staff packed up the dinner we had missed earlier in the evening so we could still eat a delicious home-cooked meal of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and salad. We snuggled into bed shortly thereafter without worrying about an alarm clock on the other end.
The next morning we awoke with the sun streaming through our window, along with the promise of breakfast. We bundled up for the walk to the dining lodge--fall had finally decided to show up--and made it just in time for fruit, french toast, and bacon. Despite the chill in the air, we took advantage of the nice weather and took a walk down to the Black River and along one of the hiking trails.
When dinnertime rolled around, we headed back to the dining lodge, with a detour at the bar in the adjoining room. The aforementioned owner/farmer is known to tend bar on the weekends, and Jon had hoped to see him and say hi. But, alas, he wasn't there. Fortunately, this did not distract us from beverages and the bar's "stinky cheese night."
After a drink, we wandered next door for another delicious dinner, this time consisting of pork steak, grilled vegetables, and chocolate pie. Oh, and the evening's entertainment of voting in the pumpkin-carving contest on pumpkins created during the afternoon activity.
Just as we were finishing up, an older man with crazy white walked through the dining room with a sense of authority. Jon quickly identified him as the owner. What happened next was a site to behold. When Jon caught his attention, he spun around and gave Jon a great, big bear hug. I liked him instantly.
Lester was indeed on bar duty, although he was just getting into town and starting a bit later than normal. It turns out that he had stayed in Cape Girardeau, where he lived during the week, an extra night for an event at Southeast Missouri State University where he portrayed Mark Twain. It was not difficult to imagine him in this role. Just like the legendary Missouri author, Lester turned out to be quite the storyteller.
Not forgetting the importance of his job, Lester brought us some drinks and launched into the story of how a farmer became owner of Wilderness Lodge. To sum up, his wife is both a) extremely hard-working and b) very persuasive. While Lester was initially resistant to the idea, even he acknowledged the significance of a man named Lester owning a lodge in Lesterville. Talk about fate.
This topic was one of many discussed sitting cozily by the fire until the wee hours of the morning. Jon and Lester talked a lot of shop: floods, levees, and the river. Just as it was clear that each man greatly respected the other (even though Jon blew up the levy that flooded Lester's farm), it was also clear how important the Mississippi River is to Lester. He poetically described it as being part of his soul. Mark Twain, remember?
The conversation took lots of twists and turns, though throughout remained lively (glasses just kept getting refilled). At one point we were discussing politics, whereas a few minutes prior, Lester had been telling us about his Peace Corps service. Later, we were comparing college alma maters. Teaching came up, as did family. And of course, Lester's time in the former Soviet state of Moldova advising farmers. Normally, I would have found a conversation about Moldova interesting in and of itself, but since I had just read an entire chapter on Moldova in the book I had read all afternoon, The Geography of Bliss (spoiler: Moldova is not exactly happy), I recognized this story as the cosmic connection that it was. Maybe I was just really tired.
But it was totally worth the late night for some fascinating company. What a wonderfully unexpected surprise. Our lazy afternoon suddenly seemed like the perfect preparation for staying up until 2am.
Needless to say, we went to bed immediately upon returning to our cabin. We made it back to the dining lodge just in time for breakfast casserole the next morning, and then sadly had to leave our cabin.
All in all, it was a wonderfully relaxing weekend, and one that we would like to repeat. We wholeheartedly recommend Wilderness Lodge to all, but particularly those in Missouri (especially St. Louis since it's only a couple of hours away). Great accomodations, great food, great personality.
Sunday, September 9, 2012
Visiting a Swiss Miss
Since we have family and friends all over the place, we like to maximize each and every travel opportunity to see as many people as humanly possible. So, when I learned that a good college friend had recently re-located to Zurich, we included Switzerland in our European travel plans.
It was so nice to see my friend, her husband, and brand-new baby girl, and it was also very nice to not have to stay in a hotel after nearly two weeks of traveling. Our hosts graciously opened their home to us, sharing their adventures of the past several months living in a new country (as well as having a new baby!).
Seeing a familiar face was the perfect way to conclude our trip, particularly when our train arrived in Zurich slightly later than expected. After dropping off our belongings at the apartment, we headed back into town for a brief tour of Zurich.
As much as we had enjoyed all of the restaurants we'd experienced throughout our travels, it was nice to be able to stay in for dinner. Our hosts prepared some traditional Swiss food, including raclette (special grilled cheese) and fondue. I was so proud of Jon for eating--and enjoying--fondue; he even admitted that it didn't smell like burning hair as he always claims.
After swapping travel stories and catching up on Olympics action, it was time for bed. The following morning was leisurely as well, as we waited for my friend's husband to return from work so we could all go hiking. The guys had chosen our hiking route the night before (I was engrossed in Team USA's exploits and had no idea where we were going), so once our lunch was packed and hiking boots were on, we caught the train toward Felsenegg.
We were more interested in an enjoyable hike than a work-out, so we rode the cable car to the top before hiking, where we encountered the infamous lone tree.
The hike to Uetliberg wound through the woods and afforded some incredible views of both Zurich and the countryside. The panorama was even more expansive once we reached the top of the look-out tower.
After breathing in the clear Swiss air for a while (and enjoying the fact that it was way cooler than Italy), we took the train back down and returned to the apartment to clean up for dinner. Since we'd already had fondue, I was content with my Swiss eating experience, although Jon's ears perked up when he heard that hot stone cooking was fairly common in Switzerland. Luckily we found a place that wasn't too crowded for a weekend night (and not any more expensive than everything in Switzerland seems to be) and each selected a different kind of meat to cook on a stone. Most of us stuck with safe choices, like beef, pork, and lamb. Jon, on the other hand, opted for horse (which we all had to try). It wasn't bad, although a bit gamier like venison.
No reason to stop the eating there, so we walked through town on a quest for ice cream before turning in for the night. I'm sure I wasn't the only one who didn't want the trip to end, so I was all for another excursion. However, we had an early flight to catch, so after indulging in dessert, it was time for just a couple of hours of sleep prior to the long trip back to Memphis.
I am incredibly thankful for all aspects of our trip. I am thankful for the opportunity to visit (and stay with) good friends, the opportunity to see new places, and the opportunity to eat and drink my way through Europe. I'm also very thankful for uneventful travels with mostly on-time transportation and all of our luggage intact and with us (no risk of jinxing it now). Most of all, I'm thankful for a pretty incredible husband to share it all with. Barf.
It was so nice to see my friend, her husband, and brand-new baby girl, and it was also very nice to not have to stay in a hotel after nearly two weeks of traveling. Our hosts graciously opened their home to us, sharing their adventures of the past several months living in a new country (as well as having a new baby!).
Seeing a familiar face was the perfect way to conclude our trip, particularly when our train arrived in Zurich slightly later than expected. After dropping off our belongings at the apartment, we headed back into town for a brief tour of Zurich.
 |
| Old Town Zurich across Zurichsee |
After swapping travel stories and catching up on Olympics action, it was time for bed. The following morning was leisurely as well, as we waited for my friend's husband to return from work so we could all go hiking. The guys had chosen our hiking route the night before (I was engrossed in Team USA's exploits and had no idea where we were going), so once our lunch was packed and hiking boots were on, we caught the train toward Felsenegg.
We were more interested in an enjoyable hike than a work-out, so we rode the cable car to the top before hiking, where we encountered the infamous lone tree.
 |
| As promised, it looks like a computer background |
After breathing in the clear Swiss air for a while (and enjoying the fact that it was way cooler than Italy), we took the train back down and returned to the apartment to clean up for dinner. Since we'd already had fondue, I was content with my Swiss eating experience, although Jon's ears perked up when he heard that hot stone cooking was fairly common in Switzerland. Luckily we found a place that wasn't too crowded for a weekend night (and not any more expensive than everything in Switzerland seems to be) and each selected a different kind of meat to cook on a stone. Most of us stuck with safe choices, like beef, pork, and lamb. Jon, on the other hand, opted for horse (which we all had to try). It wasn't bad, although a bit gamier like venison.
 |
| I was actually quite thankful for the bib as hot stones cause splatter |
I am incredibly thankful for all aspects of our trip. I am thankful for the opportunity to visit (and stay with) good friends, the opportunity to see new places, and the opportunity to eat and drink my way through Europe. I'm also very thankful for uneventful travels with mostly on-time transportation and all of our luggage intact and with us (no risk of jinxing it now). Most of all, I'm thankful for a pretty incredible husband to share it all with. Barf.
Five Times the Fun
When Jon was in high school, he came across an article in the travel section of The Seattle Times. He was intrigued by the Italian locale described, and as he clipped the article, vowed to one day visit.
Fast-forward to 2005. One of his good friends--who pretty much knows everything there is to know about food and wine--asked if Jon would like to accompany him on a trip to Italy (important side-note: said friend is Italian-American). Jon wisely jumped at the chance and his dream of visiting the Cinque Terre was realized.
The Cinque Terre consists of five coastal towns on the Italian Riviera. Due to the rugged landscape, buildings have been constructed very creatively and carefully into the hills.
The area is not very accessible by automobile, instead relying on boats, trains, and good old hiking boots for transportation. Despite this (and thanks to Rick Steves), the area is very popular for tourists. For good reason. Not only is it beautiful, it is also home to some amazing white wines and is the birthplace of both pesto and sciacchetrà dessert wine. We indulged extensively in all three.
Because I missed the 2005 trip (I was invited but instead went to Paris with a dear friend--totally a first-world problem), I knew that I wanted to visit someday. And someday was this summer.
Jon did an excellent job planning our time in Cinque Terre, both relying on his memories from last time and some additional research. We stayed in the town of Manarola, which is the second-most southern town. If for no other reason than because it was "our town," it quickly became our favorite.
After checking into our hotel, we walked around town (which took an entire five minutes) and climbed up into the vineyards a bit before heading to a sunset dinner. I am definitely a fan of the three-hour dinner tradition, and since the wine kept flowing, we ate pesto through sunset and well after dark. At which point taking a dip in the Mediterranean seemed like an excellent idea.
The next day, we settled into a comfortable routine of hiking, eating, hiking, drinking, hiking, swimming, eating, and drinking. What else do you really need?
We first walked the leisurely Via del' Amore to the southernmost town, Riomaggiore. After strolling through town, we caught a boat that took us past Manarola, past the center town Corniglia, and into Vernazza. We were, of course, famished by this time, so stopped for lunch before hiking for real.
Jon was so excited to see the Mediterranean again that he walked into the water, only to quickly realize that his rash decision led to soaked shoes that had no intention of drying. A true problem-solver, he remedied the situation by becoming "that guy" who hiked from Vernazza down to Corniglia barefoot.
Very thirsty after our hike, it was imperative that we find some wine. This was not a difficult task.
It was lovely to sit on a bench overlooking the Mediterranean, drinking wine from the bottle (we're classy people). Being too soon for dinner, we decided to go swimming, so we headed back to Manarola. When I say swimming, I really mean float around. While I can swim just fine, I was content to float in the bay watching people jump from one of the rocks jutting out of the sea.
By the time we rinsed all the salt off, it was time for dinner, so we caught a train to Monterosso (if you're keeping track, we visited all five towns in the first day) for a delicious dinner of risotto del mare. If you've known me long, you would be shocked to see all the fishy (double entendre) things I ate, and even more shocked to know I enjoyed them.
The following day was a much more serious hiking adventure. We once again began in Vernazza but this time headed north into Monterosso. I am so thankful that our luggage arrived with us (as opposed to last year's vacation) so I was well-equipped with my hiking boots and Italian-tourist-cliché floppy hat. The sun was hot and the climbs were at times steep, but with views like this, it was totally worth it.
Once we arrived in the next town, we stopped for some much-needed (and deserved) lunch. We needed to fuel up for an even more challenging hike in the afternoon. Thus far, we had hiked on the picturesque seaside trails. It was time to take it into the mountains.
I felt like I was either justifying or making amends for all of the delicious food and drink I had enjoyed by hiking up some pretty steep hills. As we hiked through the hillside vineyards, we got to meet close up some of what would become that amazing wine.
We finally returned to Manarola sweaty and tired, yet triumphant. We rewarded ourselves with yet another swim in the Mediterranean before dinner in Riomaggiore.
On our final day in the Cinque Terre, we skipped the hiking to take care of some travel business. We had one leg of the trip remaining, so we headed into the larger town of La Spezia to purchase tickets for Switzerland on the following day. After all of our errands were completed, we returned to Corniglia for lunch, which was pesto, of course.
We knew that we wanted to take some Cinque Terre wine home with us, so while in Corniglia, we went to do some wine tasting at an enoteca we had stopped at earlier in our stay. The proprietor was so kind as to not only describe what wines we were tasting in English, but she also wrote everything down so we would have a record to take home. It should come as no surprise that a bottle from her shop came home with us. In fact, we purchased two, one of which was the incredible dessert wine sciacchetrà that the region is known for.
We capped off our trip to the Cinque Terre with an amazing multi-course dinner event, reflecting on the lovely time we'd had. Several glasses of wine will have anyone waxing poetic. It truly is a beautiful place, and I'm glad that Jon not only fulfilled his dream of visiting the Cinque Terre but also fulfilled mine by returning.
Fast-forward to 2005. One of his good friends--who pretty much knows everything there is to know about food and wine--asked if Jon would like to accompany him on a trip to Italy (important side-note: said friend is Italian-American). Jon wisely jumped at the chance and his dream of visiting the Cinque Terre was realized.
The Cinque Terre consists of five coastal towns on the Italian Riviera. Due to the rugged landscape, buildings have been constructed very creatively and carefully into the hills.
The area is not very accessible by automobile, instead relying on boats, trains, and good old hiking boots for transportation. Despite this (and thanks to Rick Steves), the area is very popular for tourists. For good reason. Not only is it beautiful, it is also home to some amazing white wines and is the birthplace of both pesto and sciacchetrà dessert wine. We indulged extensively in all three.
Because I missed the 2005 trip (I was invited but instead went to Paris with a dear friend--totally a first-world problem), I knew that I wanted to visit someday. And someday was this summer.
Jon did an excellent job planning our time in Cinque Terre, both relying on his memories from last time and some additional research. We stayed in the town of Manarola, which is the second-most southern town. If for no other reason than because it was "our town," it quickly became our favorite.
After checking into our hotel, we walked around town (which took an entire five minutes) and climbed up into the vineyards a bit before heading to a sunset dinner. I am definitely a fan of the three-hour dinner tradition, and since the wine kept flowing, we ate pesto through sunset and well after dark. At which point taking a dip in the Mediterranean seemed like an excellent idea.
The next day, we settled into a comfortable routine of hiking, eating, hiking, drinking, hiking, swimming, eating, and drinking. What else do you really need?
We first walked the leisurely Via del' Amore to the southernmost town, Riomaggiore. After strolling through town, we caught a boat that took us past Manarola, past the center town Corniglia, and into Vernazza. We were, of course, famished by this time, so stopped for lunch before hiking for real.
Jon was so excited to see the Mediterranean again that he walked into the water, only to quickly realize that his rash decision led to soaked shoes that had no intention of drying. A true problem-solver, he remedied the situation by becoming "that guy" who hiked from Vernazza down to Corniglia barefoot.
 |
| I think he did it just as much for the reaction as anything else |
It was lovely to sit on a bench overlooking the Mediterranean, drinking wine from the bottle (we're classy people). Being too soon for dinner, we decided to go swimming, so we headed back to Manarola. When I say swimming, I really mean float around. While I can swim just fine, I was content to float in the bay watching people jump from one of the rocks jutting out of the sea.
By the time we rinsed all the salt off, it was time for dinner, so we caught a train to Monterosso (if you're keeping track, we visited all five towns in the first day) for a delicious dinner of risotto del mare. If you've known me long, you would be shocked to see all the fishy (double entendre) things I ate, and even more shocked to know I enjoyed them.
The following day was a much more serious hiking adventure. We once again began in Vernazza but this time headed north into Monterosso. I am so thankful that our luggage arrived with us (as opposed to last year's vacation) so I was well-equipped with my hiking boots and Italian-tourist-cliché floppy hat. The sun was hot and the climbs were at times steep, but with views like this, it was totally worth it.
 |
| Added bonus: stopping for pictures allowed us time to rest |
I felt like I was either justifying or making amends for all of the delicious food and drink I had enjoyed by hiking up some pretty steep hills. As we hiked through the hillside vineyards, we got to meet close up some of what would become that amazing wine.
We finally returned to Manarola sweaty and tired, yet triumphant. We rewarded ourselves with yet another swim in the Mediterranean before dinner in Riomaggiore.
On our final day in the Cinque Terre, we skipped the hiking to take care of some travel business. We had one leg of the trip remaining, so we headed into the larger town of La Spezia to purchase tickets for Switzerland on the following day. After all of our errands were completed, we returned to Corniglia for lunch, which was pesto, of course.
We knew that we wanted to take some Cinque Terre wine home with us, so while in Corniglia, we went to do some wine tasting at an enoteca we had stopped at earlier in our stay. The proprietor was so kind as to not only describe what wines we were tasting in English, but she also wrote everything down so we would have a record to take home. It should come as no surprise that a bottle from her shop came home with us. In fact, we purchased two, one of which was the incredible dessert wine sciacchetrà that the region is known for.
We capped off our trip to the Cinque Terre with an amazing multi-course dinner event, reflecting on the lovely time we'd had. Several glasses of wine will have anyone waxing poetic. It truly is a beautiful place, and I'm glad that Jon not only fulfilled his dream of visiting the Cinque Terre but also fulfilled mine by returning.
Veni, Vidi, Vici...Venice and Verona
I love the efficiency of overnight travel. Even if the quality of sleep is hit or miss, I really like going to bed in one location and waking up in a totally different one. After our visit to Munich and Garmisch, we hopped on an overnight train bound for Venice.
Venice was purely a stop-over location for us. I had spent several days there in 2005, and while Jon had never been, he was content with our half-day visit. Rather than try to cram in as many sights as possible, we spent the morning through early afternoon strolling through the city.
It was in Venice that we got our first taste of an Italian summer. Yes, we live in Memphis now, but we had spent nearly a week in Germany and were just getting used to a more temperate climate. That party ended in Venice.
We joined throngs of other sweaty tourists as we walked over canals and through tiny side streets. Too cheap for a gondola, we rode a water bus instead and traveled to the Venetian island of Murano, known for its glasswork.
Glass shops are an excellent way to escape the heat and bum some air conditioning. When we weren't wandering in and out of shops, we walked around the island admiring the many pieces of public art.
After some lunch and our return boat ride, it was time to return to the train station. We caught a train to Verona, Italy, where I promptly began to geek out in a big way.
When Jon and a friend went to Italy in 2005, they drove through Verona en route to the Cinque Terre. As Jon was excitedly telling me about the trip, he made the mistake of asking me, "Did you know Romeo & Juliet takes place in Verona?"
Do I know Romeo & Juliet takes place in Verona? What a ridiculous question.
Of course, I know that! For pete's sake, Shakespeare made sure you do when he writes in the prologue:
"Two households, both alike in dignity,
In fair Verona, where we lay our scene..."
When Jon asked his silly question in 2005, I was in the middle of teaching this play to 9th graders. Since then, I have probably read the play an additional twelve times, plus watched numerous film and stage versions. So, yes, I was and am very aware of the connection between Romeo & Juliet and Verona.
One thing I hadn't planned to see was the opera. As we walked past the Arena di Verona (the Roman coliseum in the center of town), we noticed lots of people streaming through the gates. We knew from our guide book that, unlike the Coliseum in Rome, this Arena was still in use for shows and special events. Upon investigation, we discovered that the opera Turandot was being performed that very night. Always keen to seize each and every opportunity, we snagged some tickets in the upper deck and headed to the opera.
We do not know opera or any of the stories. We do not speak Italian. We were not prepared for the stone bleachers to be as hot as they were. But despite all of these things, we had a lovely time, recognizing that we were participating in a very cool thing. The production was glorious with elaborate sets and costumes and the music was incredible. When the lead male sang what we later learned was one of the most famous tenor solos in opera, the audience went crazy and demanded an encore, right in the middle of the show. And when we also later learned what was happening in the storyline (thanks to Wikipedia), we were even more impressed with the experience.
What a wonderful welcome to Italy.
Venice was purely a stop-over location for us. I had spent several days there in 2005, and while Jon had never been, he was content with our half-day visit. Rather than try to cram in as many sights as possible, we spent the morning through early afternoon strolling through the city.
It was in Venice that we got our first taste of an Italian summer. Yes, we live in Memphis now, but we had spent nearly a week in Germany and were just getting used to a more temperate climate. That party ended in Venice.
We joined throngs of other sweaty tourists as we walked over canals and through tiny side streets. Too cheap for a gondola, we rode a water bus instead and traveled to the Venetian island of Murano, known for its glasswork.
 |
| Look but don't ride |
Glass shops are an excellent way to escape the heat and bum some air conditioning. When we weren't wandering in and out of shops, we walked around the island admiring the many pieces of public art.
After some lunch and our return boat ride, it was time to return to the train station. We caught a train to Verona, Italy, where I promptly began to geek out in a big way.
When Jon and a friend went to Italy in 2005, they drove through Verona en route to the Cinque Terre. As Jon was excitedly telling me about the trip, he made the mistake of asking me, "Did you know Romeo & Juliet takes place in Verona?"
Do I know Romeo & Juliet takes place in Verona? What a ridiculous question.
Of course, I know that! For pete's sake, Shakespeare made sure you do when he writes in the prologue:
"Two households, both alike in dignity,
In fair Verona, where we lay our scene..."
When Jon asked his silly question in 2005, I was in the middle of teaching this play to 9th graders. Since then, I have probably read the play an additional twelve times, plus watched numerous film and stage versions. So, yes, I was and am very aware of the connection between Romeo & Juliet and Verona.
However, unlike many (particularly young) people, I do NOT think Romeo & Juliet is a love story. I think it is a tragic story of hasty decisions, miscommunication, and the danger of hatred and revenge. Therefore, while I was interested in seeing all things R&J, I did not get caught up in the foolish romance. (That fanaticism was reserved for Anne of Green Gables and Prince Edward Island, Canada.)
Like Venice, we had a limited time in Verona, so I made a short agenda of R&J sights, including both Juliet's balcony and tomb. For a more or less made-up story, there sure were a lot of "authentic" locations.
We do not know opera or any of the stories. We do not speak Italian. We were not prepared for the stone bleachers to be as hot as they were. But despite all of these things, we had a lovely time, recognizing that we were participating in a very cool thing. The production was glorious with elaborate sets and costumes and the music was incredible. When the lead male sang what we later learned was one of the most famous tenor solos in opera, the audience went crazy and demanded an encore, right in the middle of the show. And when we also later learned what was happening in the storyline (thanks to Wikipedia), we were even more impressed with the experience.
 |
| Turandot |
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)