November 9, 1989 The Fall of the Wall
Twenty years ago tomorrow, and I still hold my breath in wonder.
I was doing a very untypical thing for me – I was headed for the Czech border with three military-wife friends, to buy crystal. There was an unusual amount of traffic, all coming from the border, and the cars – not the normal beautiful cars you find on the German autobahns, but the fiberglass cars coming out of the Soviet Union and Eastern Bloc – miles and miles and miles on end, all headed West.
When it happened, we didn’t have a clue. There had been rising signs of unrest in the East, but that happens, and has always been ruthlessly put down.
The US had been in Germany forty years. In the most recent years, all the posts and all the military housing had undergone significant updatings – significant and expensive. If you asked anyone about the possibility of the wall coming down (Berlin Wall, for those of you who were not alive) they would just laugh.
“We’ll be here forever,” they would say.
So too, would Germans say.
“We’ve been divided for too long. We think differently,” they would say “We could never be re-united.”
In one joyful night, that all changed. As we reached our stop and went for dinner in our Gasthaus, the television showed the cars flowing over the borders, and the young dancing on the wall in Berlin. It was one of those rare occasions when the world held it’s breath in wonder and amazement; we did not know this was a possibility. Such joy!
Germany has struggled to make the reunification work. Even now, in the west, Germans will gripe about how all their tax monies are going to the east, and those from the east are taking their jobs, but in essence, the reunification has been a success, and the greater Germany is an amazing fact-of-life I never thought I would see in my life.
I still celebrate November 9th in my heart. Twenty years! It seems like yesterday.
The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society
I don’t know why I didn’t read this book sooner! First, I saw people like me reading it in airports, and it certainly has a memorable title. The people reading looked totally engrossed. I’m not one to strike up conversations in airports, but on occasion, when I see people reading a book I don’t know about and it is the size of the books that book groups usually read, I will ask, and write it down, and bother the person no further.
I had ordered it on amazon.com when my son’s wife’s father’s wife (and you thought Gulf relationships were complicated!) mentioned to me in an e-mail that she was reading it and that she could barely tear herself away. She and I often pass really good books and/or recommendations back and forth, so that bumped it up a few notches in priority. When it got here, I had just finished Rutherfurd’s London (oops, I thought I had reviewed it, and I haven’t, so I will,) and I thought it was a southern book, like The Ya-Ya Sisterhood or Sweet Potato Queens, no, you are right, I hadn’t read anything about it, just trusted from all the people I saw reading it that it was good, but because of the name, I thought it would be light.
Wrong!
It isn’t depressingly heavy, like The Little Prisoner was heavy, and it had some totally wonderful laugh-out-loud moments, but the subject matter was the German occupation of the island of Guernsey, in the English Channel, and an author in search of a book topic in post-war London, and a little girl born outside of marriage and cared for by a village of caring people. It is spiced up by a dashing romance, and the process of relationship building that happens in the novel, unlikely relationships, aren’t those the very best kind for spice? 😉
The entire story is told in letters. The primary voice, that of Juliet, a thirty-something author, ties all the letters together, but not all letters are to her or from her. It is a great technique for allowing many different voices and many different perspectives. From the first page, you are captivated. Right now, Guernsey is more real to me than the boxes I need to unpack, and there is a part of me that yearns to flee to Guernsey and find a house near a cliff where I can watch the sun set in the west and the clouds turn colors . . .
Here is one sample of the kind of letters you will find when you read The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society. Don’t wait! This is an unforgettable book!
1st May 1946
Dear Mark,
I didn’t refuse, you know. I said I wanted to think about it. You were so busy ranting about Sidney and Guernsey that perhaps you didn’t notice – I only said I wanted time. I’ve known you two months. It’s not long enough for me to be certain that we should spend the rest of our lives together, even if you are. I once made a terrible mistake and almost married a man I hardly knew (perhaps you read about it in the papers) – and at least in that case, the war was an extenuating circumstance. I won’t be such a fool again.
Think of it: I’ve never seen you home – I don’t even know where it is, really. New York, but which street? What does it look like? What color are your walls? Your sofa? Do you arrange books alphabetically? (I hope not.) Are your drawers tidy or messy? Do you ever hum, and if so, what? Do you prefer cats or dogs? Or fish? What on earth do you eat for breakfast – or do you have a cook?
You see? I don’t know you well enough to marry you.
I have one other piece of news that may interest you: Sidney is not your rival. I am not now nor have I ever been in love with Sidney, nor he with me. Nor will I ever marry him. Is that decisive enough for you?
Are you absolutely certain you wouldn’t rather be married to someone more tractable than I?
Juliet
Written by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows, the book will challenge your ideas, will inform you of an obscure episode in World War II, will make your heart sorrow at the inhumanity of which we human beings are capable towards one another, and make your heart sing at the goodness in the human soul. That’s pretty amazing for one book.
Beaten Because of High Asparagus Prices
BitJockey, I love your eye for the eccentric. This is an article from
Woman beaten up over asparagus prices Reuters News Service
BERLIN (Reuters) – German police are searching for a motorist who beat a 24-year-old woman selling white asparagus because he was upset about her asking price for the coveted springtime vegetable, police said on Monday.
The prices for white asparagus, sometimes called “edible ivory” in Germany, fluctuate wildly during the short springtime season, peaking early in the season at 10 euros per kilo.
The man screamed at the woman that her asparagus was overpriced. He then punched her in the face and threatened to unleash his attack dog at her. She fled and called police.
“The motorist said her prices were totally over the top,” said Dietmar Keck, police spokesman in the Havelland district west of Berlin, without saying how much she was asking.
Prices for asparagus now range from 1 to 5 euros per kilo, he said. Some 55,000 tons valued at 175 million euros are harvested annually.
(Writing by Jacob Comenetz; Editing by Louise Ireland)
Neuleiningen Castle and the BurgSchanke
For many many years, we have been going back to the BurgSchanke in Neuleiningen. We would see the ruins of the old castle, high on a hill, as we would be driving by on Autobahn A6 between the Heidelberg area and France. When AdventureMan got his company command (it was a big deal) I saved up my money and treated him to dinner at the BurgSchanke.
This is where we sat:
The menu doesn’t change much. Most of these entrees were the same ones on the menu many many years ago:
Here is what AdventureMan likes to have – Franzosiche Entenbrust, or French Duck Breast (I think the French part is all the vegetables)
I don’t eat meat very often, but when I do – this is what I had – the Knoblouchsteak (garlic steak)
It used to be served on a wooden platter. I am guessing that health and sanitation standards now require porcelain or something less porous and prone to bacteria than wood.
And here is what we had for dessert. We totally hate the presentation, but it never fails to make us laugh, long and loud, and in spite of how it looks, the mousse is truly delicious.
We talked about all the years we had been coming to this restaurant, all the guests and friends we had brought with us, where we had been sitting with different people – including, more than once, my parents, coming back for their own sentimental journey. Ahhh . . . sweet memories. 🙂
One time, my youngest sister and her family came for a visit, and their son also tried the duck, and thoroughly enjoyed it. His father ordered the Eisbecher Burg Neuleiningen, and we didn’t tell him . . . we waited to see his face when they brought him a bowl the size of a punch bowl, filled with fifty scoops of ice-cream. 🙂 Oh, what fun!
We stayed in a truly darling hotel, and felt very lucky to get the last room. “Two hours ago, we had four vacancies,” the very nice manager said, “but now, we have just one!” In a heartbeat, we took it. The view from the Burggraf was amazing.
Breakfast in Schwetzingen
German breakfasts are anything but light. There wasn’t a piece of fruit to be found! We were lucky to be guests at the hotel, because most of the tables were reserved, and people were turned away, even at nine in the morning, the breakfasts at the hotel Cafe Journal are so good.
You could have smoked ham, cold cuts and cheese, too, but we chose not.
Breakfast bread basket:
Yummy condiments:
Fresh orange juice:
Herb and cheese omelettes:
We were astonished – in Germany and in France – that there is absolutely NO SMOKING in any of the restaurants. If you are sitting outside, you can smoke, but we could not believe how well enforced this law is. We had heard about it, but frankly – the French not smoke in restaurants? We would not have believed it possible! Germans are very law-obeying peoples, but the French??? Never, not once, did we see a person smoking in a restaurant. It was amazing.
Revisiting Romance in Schwetzingen
When we met, AdventureMan and I, we didn’t date for very long. We knew, almost as soon as we met, that we were going to be married.
We met in Heidelberg, one of the most romantic cities in the entire world. My sister was getting married in the Heidelberg castle. It was a grand wedding, and AdventureMan and I were both supporting characters.
One of our first dates was going to the castle in nearby Schwetzingen. Schwetzingen has a beautiful castle, but it is not as famous for the castle as it is for its white asparagus, called spargel. It may sound funny to you, but this is a great delicacy, only served from mid-April to early June.
Schwetzingen really celebrates their white asparagus; this is a statue in the city square of an older woman teaching younger ones how to sort spargel:
Spargel is served a hundred different ways, in soups, in salads, and in big bunches, with vinaigrette sauce, hollandaise sauce, bernaise sauce, or sometimes with just butter. You can have it with schnitzle, with ham, or just with new spring potatoes. Who would believe asparagus could taste SO good?
So here is the story. We were so young, and had so little money. AdventureMan had taken me to the Schwetzingen Castle to walk, and as we walked and talked, I could tell he was really talking about getting married. He had planned on having enough money that we could sit afterwards, in a little cafe, and have a glass of wine, but we were both hungry. We dug into our wallets, and between the two of us, we came up with just enough for two glasses of wine, one bunch of spargel and one tiny little schnitzle. It was enough. We were in love.
That night, he asked me to marry him.
We go back to Schwetzingen and eat spargel every chance we get – and we have been blessed, through the years, to have lived nearby, or not so far away, and the thrill of our memories there never wears off.
OK Ok, enough of the mush gush stuff. On with the spargel!
This is my spargel with hollandaise. I just had it with potatoes, because I knew I also wanted dessert. 😉
AdventureMan had his with schnitzle. He had spargel with hollandaise and potatoes for lunch, too, and he didn’t plan to have any dessert.
While we were waiting for our spargel, we had a little sunshine, and watched the brides as they came out, every thirty minutes, from their weddings at the Schwetzingen castle:
Here comes the bride:
And here is my dessert, called Heiss Und Eis. As soon as I saw it on the menu, I had to make a decision – whether to start with the spargel or to start with the Heiss und Eis. The Eis part is the vanilla ice cream, and the Heiss part (hot) is a hot raspberry sauce poured over the cold vanilla ice cream. Oh YUMMMMMM.
We stayed at the ErbPrinzen, where we stayed before once when we were going to a ball in Heidelberg. It was wonderful. We were right across from the Schwetzingen castle, they have a fabulous restaurant and we ate all our meals right at the hotel, sometimes outside, sometimes in.
I had tried, unsuccessfully, to make reservations online. Good thing AdventureMan said “just run in and ask! What have we got to lose?” They had a room, it was a wonderful room, and parking was FREE! That’s our room, at the top right corner. We were on the no-smoking floor, which meant hauling our bags up two long floors. I guess the put the non-smokers on top because they don’t worry so much about us having a heart attack.
Here is one view from our corner room:
And here is another view, towards sunset, with some weather drama going on in the background:
Breaking all the rules
I’m breaking all the rules I made for myself. I didn’t know how to tell you I was leaving, but I thought I would tell you after I left.
Actually, I am not gone yet. My husband and I just grabbed an opportunity for a quick Mother’s Day getaway (Americans celebrate Mother’s Day this coming Sunday) and I am in France, drowning my sorrows 🙂 and walking and eating really delicious salads and pretending I am not up to my ears in boxes.
There are lilacs blooming everywhere, and wisteria. There are still some tulips. There are hydrangea. It is a riot of new life, color and growth. I am enjoying myself immensely. Very soon, it will be over and I will be back in Kuwait, packing boxes.
I will tell you more later, and even share some photos with you.
You are all so dear to me. I can’t tell you how much it hurts to move on. Usually, I cope by not thinking about it, just doing it. Somehow, in this situation, I don’t think that’s going to work very well.
Thank you for all your sweet thoughts. I haven’t decided if I will keep blogging; circumstances change . . . I will have to see if I even have anything to blog about!
Horseback Riding Camp
“Whatever you might have heard from your kids” the camp director started, and AdventureMan and I looked at one another with concern, “it is just rumors. The counselors did not have a big drunken party, and we have the situation under control.”
We hadn’t heard anything. We were there to pick up our son and his best friend from Horseback Riding Camp. They were eight years old and this was their first time away. We had dropped them off a mere week before, at the clean clean little chalet camp in Southern Germany, where they would learn to ride and take care of their horses.
“So, son,” AdventureMan starts with that casual voice grown-ups use with their children when about to launch an interrogation, “tell us about the camp!”
We were driving back, and wanted to get a campers-eye-view of the week. Our eight-year-old son was exhausted and not very talkative; it was only during the following week that most of the details came out.
He hated horseback riding. He hated taking care of horses. The instruction they got was minimal to non-existent. Most days they missed their horse riding lessons because the counselor overslept. The kids got up and got their own breakfast – cereal – until the milk ran out, and then they ate it dry.
Horrors. We had done everything right. We had checked the camp references, had visited and inspected the camp before deciding to send him there, had met the counselors – horrors! In fact, our son enjoyed the week, but mostly because they had a TV, and no supervision. They spent most of the week watching TV.
In the following years, he went to other camps – adventure training camp, karate camps, Space Camp (that was the best organized) and then became a camp counselor himself, teaching karate. Our most graphic memories as parents, however, are of picking him up at horseback riding camp and learning how loosely organized and supervised it was, compared to what the brochure said and the inspection visit promised.
Qatteri Cat Gets Crazy
A windy night plays havok with getting a good night’s sleep, if you have a cat. It is just the way God made cats – any little strange noise and watch what happens – their ears go straight up, their eyes go on high alert and their posture is ready-for-action.
We had one cat, a cat born wild in Tunisia, and on a windy night in Germany, she would make us totally crazy. “I must go out! I must go out!” she would cry as the wind blew leaves fluttering across the patio and tree branches made strange motions in the shadows. I would struggle half-awake down the stairs, let her out the patio door, and 15 minutes later she would be crying down under my window “I’ve made a big mistake! It’s cold out here! Please come down and let me in!” and I would struggle down the stairs and let her in and tell her to settle down, that I wasn’t going to let her out again.
Her little brain can’t remember all that. An hour later, she would forget “cold” and was crazy with desire to be out where all the action was, once again. And the cycle continued. She had me trained. I was her door opener.
The Qatteri Cat doesn’t go out, but he gets wound up by the wind, as any cat will. AdventureMan calmed him down last night, and he curled up and went back to sleep. Guess AdventureMan will always be the favorite with the Qatteri Cat.
This is what Weather Underground Kuwait calls a “light haze.”
My windows are streaked with dust and humidity.
The Most Memorable Present of 2008
You look, and all you see is a candle.
It came with a tag that said “You can burn this candle any time you want.” We laughed until we cried.
When our son was seven, his class took a field trip to a Christmas Market in the German town where we lived. He had saved his money, and bought us Christmas presents there. One present he bought was wonderful – little beeswax candles.
We were delighted. They were beautiful, and they smelled so good! To honor him, we lit one right away.
Big mistake. When he walked into the room, his smiling face turned to utter horror!
“What are you doing??” he cried!
“We are burning your Christmas candle!” we said, proudly.
“No! No! You are not supposed to burn it!” he said, his eyes big and sorrowful! (Bad Mommy! Bad Daddy!)
We quickly snuffed the candle, and saved it, using it only for decoration for many years. I probably still have it, with our Christmas boxes, in storage.
We told this story when we were all together for Thanksgiving, and we all had a good laugh. The laugh was even better when we got this candle, with its note, telling us we could burn it any time we wanted. 🙂
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