Spilling problems

In addition to the usual tourist destinations, sometimes I like to go out in search of a bakery or a lunch spot in a random part of town, just to see something off the beaten path. It's usually nice to be among regular people, instead of mostly tourists.

I'd asked Simon if he wanted to go with me to Riva Reno, an acclaimed gelateria in a distant part of town, but he opted for more soccer. So, I set off on the tram, and then on foot, to see a new corner of Milan.

Seeking out the best gelato in Milan is kind of ridiculous, because everywhere we tried had terrific gelato flavors and textures. I was also looking for a good neighborhood for us to hang out in that night for the soccer match, so I figured it would be a productive and potentially transcendent excursion. The pictures on the website looked awesome, anyway:



After about 20 minutes on foot in the hot afternoon sun, I was relieved to find Riva Reno. It was popular, as predicted by the internet, and I watched for a while as Italians ordered cone after cone of gelato. I dithered and finally chose two kinds, especially curious about one the flavor of balsamic vinegar and basil.

Now, my Italian is pretty weak, but generally I got by at gelaterias with a few key words: coppa (cup), piccolo (little), and grazie (thank you). The lady at Riva Reno seemed peeved as I ordered, but I proceeded, paid, and then was tapped gently on the shoulder. The lady behind me pointed: the "balsamic" part of my ice cream was a drizzle of balsamic vinegar, and I had dropped a tiny bit on my map, and an even tinier smudge landed on the counter.

Now, if you know me very well, you know that this spill is a minor inconvenience at best in the context of my life. I regularly spilled entire milk cartons in my lap at the school lunch table, I dropped an entire cake into my refrigerator (breaking a glass shelf), and I once tipped an entire mug of beer into my friend Scott's lap. Spilling is a common thing for me to do, and I'm pretty good about shrugging, cleaning it up, and moving on.

Italians apparently do not have an equivalent expression for "no use crying over spilled milk." The sales clerk completely freaked out at me. With one swipe of her napkin she cleaned up the mess, and for the next 90 seconds, she berated me in enraged Italian. I put my head down and scurried out of the shop.

I don't know if it was the embarrassment or the flavors I chose, but the gelato did not live up to the hype. I threw most of it away and took the train back to Peck, the best deli in town, and treated myself to a sure thing, their perfect, refreshing pear gelato. Mmm. Nerves settled, I bought another coppa for Simon and hurried back to our hotel before it melted.

Eliminé!

I can't decide if France's utter failure at the World Cup, earning just one point, should anger of please the Irish. On the one hand, it's nice to see the French fail so miserably after Henry's handball-goal earned them entrance into the competition in the first place. On the other, they wasted the opportunity, surely the Irish believe they would have better used the place in the finals than the French.

More from the top of Europe

As promised, more photos from the top of the Jungfraujoch in the Swiss Alps:

On the way to the top of the world

The train ride in Switzerland was wonderfully scenic, as we went from our hotel in Basel to Interlaken, up the mountain to Grindelwald, Kleine Scheidegg, and back down through Lauterbrunnen. At Kleine Scheidegg, we took another train up to the highest elevation in Europe, the Jungfraujoch.

To get all the way up to the top, you take a cogwheel railway up to Kleine Scheidegg. Then you buy a ticket for another train that goes through the Eiger mountain tunnel to two stations at Eigerwand and Eismeer, with a five minute stop at each. On a beautiful day, there is spectacular sightseeing through large observation windows cut into the rock. The day we were there, we saw a white out. We feared the 80euro charge to get to the top would be a waste, but once we got to the top, there was no doubt of its worth.

The Aletsch Glacier, at 22 km the longest ice-stream in the Alps, begins on the Jungfraujoch. There are several restaurants and shops, and indoor and outdoor viewpoints.

We shared the train down the mountain with a local. We had to stop at one station for 20 minutes, and he seemed to have arranged a meeting with a friend and had a nice chat while we waited.

at the top of Europe

 

Just a quick preview of what we saw at the top of Europe, Jungfraujoch, more to come later.

Falling on my face

 

In the ice palace at Jungfraujoch, the floor is slippery, as you might imagine (being ice and all). Surprisingly, only one of us (pictured above) managed to avoid falling on her face. I fared less well. As always when I fall on ice, it is much harder than I think it will be. Fortunately, my face hit a rubber mat, rather than the much less forgiving ice. Undaunted (or only slightly daunted), we ventured further into the sky...

Thoughts on the cup

Thus far, a droll World Cup. It is showing signs of life, with Cameroon and Denmark entertaining, and then the US and Slovakia also providing good value. But otherwise, it's been very physical, and only flashes, moments of brilliance rather than a sustained drama. That said, not every team has played two matches, and the final round of group stage games is full of intrigue.

Booktime, featuring Dachau

half of Dachau, 1945

We visited Dachau, the concentration camp just outside Munich. The expanse of the place and its proximity to such a large city boggled my mind. About 3,000 prisoners occupied the camp at a time, crammed into 32 barracks with a large boulevard running between two rows. All but 2 of the barracks have been torn down but the 32 foundations remain.



I commented to Simon that I'd be curious to read some books about WWII or see a movie involving a concentration camp, now that I could better imagine the setting. Not knowing much about either book, I downloaded The Book Thief and The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society onto the Kindle my friend Mollie so generously lent to me. I knew they were set in Europe, but I had no idea during which time period or in which country.


The Book Thief takes place in Nazi Germany and follows a young girl living with a foster family on a poor street in Munich. Her foster father teaches her to read, the mayor's wife allows her into her vast library, and a Jew the family is hiding in their basement writes two books for her. In contrast with Mollie's kindle and millions of books available on it, the young girl has a precious collection of 5 books stolen or bartered for her foster father's tobacco rations.

From her window on Himmel Street in Munich, she watches a parade of Jews brought through on their way to Dachau. Her foster father and the Jew they are hiding suffer terribly when the foster father impulsively shares a piece of bread with one of the prisoners.


The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society takes place on the British island of Guernsey during the WWII German occupation, and is comprised of letters written between the characters. Caught out after curfew, a few of the residents claim to have been at the local Literary society meeting to escape brutal punishment. The Germans check up on their alibi, so they have to make their literary society seem legit.

The format of the literary society was for one member to argue on behalf of his/her chosen novel, and once he/she managed to convince another member to read the selection, the pair would debate its merits at a subsequent meeting. Incredible relationships were forged as these previously unacquainted neighbors were forced to discuss and argue about the books they'd read, while the Nazi occupiers looked on skeptically.

Eventually, a sweet young member of the society is caught hiding a Jew and sent to Dachau, where she witnessed and experienced atrocities. The literary society members care for her daughter while she is missing.

I heartily recommend both novels; they are warm-hearted for the most part and involve Dachau only peripherally. They humanize the suffering and bravery of many ordinary people during WWII, including Germans. The power of literature to inspire, despite its scarcity, is a humbling reminder of the wealth available to me on the kindle, at the library, or at the bookstore. If anyone has similar books to recommend, I'm all ears.

Sunset in Basel

Simon and I climbed a steep hillside for a better vantage point for the sunset, with some success! Our hotel was next to a giant waterpark and sauna world / gym. We were too busy riding trains through the Berner Oberland to take advantage.

Snack options

Our second stop in Belgium proved to be a good choice for my roadtrip chocolate stash. I passed up plenty of ordinary looking chocolate shops until I'd found two genius spots.

At the first one, Neuhaus, I spent about 1 euro and got 3 pieces of chocolate. The two I chose were delicious, and the proprietor's suggestion was the most delicious candy I've ever tasted. It was "very fresh cream" in a delicate butter cookie coated in dark chocolate. I went back the next day for 2 more and a box of dark chocolate, which has been traveling around Europe with me. A few tastes go a long way with rich pieces like these!

At the other shop, The Chocolate Line, the rather uppity clerk chose 100 grams for me, about 8 pieces. Most were delicious and interesting, but the best by far was the strangest. Inside dark chocolate were 3 layers - black olive, tomato, and basil marziapan. It was shocking and delicious. Unfortunately I was long gone in Heidelberg by the time I realized there were plenty more herb combinations to be had at that shop.

I brought 2 1/2 bags of kettle corn with me, and ran out yesterday. It's nice to free up some packing space, I suppose.

Scoping out Munich

Our first night in Munich I left Simon to watch his soccer game and went off to scope out central Munich.

It was raining but I took the underground train a few stops to Marienplatz and bustled along with many other people through the streets. I visited two cathedrals and the Nationaltheater (where they stage operas). Mass had just started at Frauenkirche, and the echo of the voices was a pleasure to experience.

I decided to swing by Hofbrauhaus for the end of the USA Slovenia game and came upon a 50/50 mix of Americans and Slovenians crammed into a room, screaming like mad. The Slovenians sang their country song whenever it was their turn to make noise, but the American frat boys merely chanted USA! USA! I walked out of there with ringing in my ears - I'm sure Simon was better off in our comfortable hotel room.

As I was leaving after the game a little band of men starting playing German polka on clarinets and brass instruments - after drinking some beer. The food smelled wonderful but I held out and had a pretzel sandwich and raspberry chocolate cake from a popular cafe overlooking Marienplatz.

The Nationaltheatre (I cheated for this photo because of the rain, but Simon takes most of the other beautiful pictures).

Boat ride on the Neckar River

In Heidelberg, we took a boat up and down the Neckar River. We passed the spot where Brahms wrote one of my favorite symphonies, his first, so that was a highlight. The homes along the river were stunning, with many balconies meeting with Simon's approval. Four castles were well fortified on the hills at the end of our route, the result of a family feud.

Heidelberg

The view was great from our balcony in Heidelberg.

We went to the old town and ate in a brewery - meat and potatoes; my grandpa would've been thrilled. It was all delicious and worth the indulgence. Luckily the hotel lounge had cut up seedless watermelon, pineapple, and apricots waiting for me later. The lounges have been a true bounty of fruits and veggies- that night we had vegetable lasagna too.

On Bruges

 
 
Bruges, an old Belgian town spared the destruction World War II wrought on most of Europe, is not without charm. It's churches and cobblestone streets, barely wide enough for cars speak to an older time in Europe. It's squares are large and filled with merchants and surrounded by buildings centuries old.
For all its charm, Bruges did seem content to capitalize on its status as a tourist destination. As such, beyond its historic beauty there is little to the city. Worth a visit, it's certainly not a final destination for travelers, and though pleasant, I'm not sure it's a destination to which I will return.

Train Picnic