Ich bin zuruck...

In other words, I am back. From the blogging dead, from Europe, from a two and a half week vacation and, frankly, there is no possible way of cataloging in my normal detail the events and pictures of those weeks. It would take me at least a week to catch up on that which means I would be a week behind on my normal-life blogging. And the amount that I am behind would only slightly diminish each day until I threw up my hands, washed them of the project, and devoted their typing fingers to others tasks. So, I shall go ahead and throw and wash and summarize the best I can.

After all, one can view and download gigabytes of beautiful pictures of all the places I went. One can read the books, the history, the captions without help from me. It's my personal spin that I would like to share. Therefore, I shall whip out a selection of my personal souvenirs--my new postcards to add to my collection!

We begin our journey in Budapest, Hungary. Pronouced BOO-da-pesht by those in the know or by those who speak Hungarian, who number only 14 million worldwide making the language rank #52 most common. A very difficult tongue that takes years to master and months to even be able to correctly pronounce most of the street names, so I'm told. Phrases I learned (spelled phonetically, of course):

• KUR-sur-nurm = thank you
• KAY-rehm = please
• EDGE = one
• KA-tur = two
• SI-ya = hi/bye
• FEE-zo-tek = the check

A beautiful city that ranks among any of Europe's capitols--an echoing parliament, gilded and balconied opera house, bustling pedestrian malls, palaces, funiculars, and bath houses with dedicated old men who play chess on water-proof boards. We caught the tail end of the Spring Music Festival, saw Puccini's La Boheme. Only got caught cheating the transit system once. And the good value of the dollar to the Forint is a bonus as well. In fact, in the outskirting city of Eger, we sampled local wine for less than $.50 a glass. And stumbled, merry and loud, to the train back to town. I believe that Budapest is a must-see European city. For us, however, it was made even more enjoyable by the company of so many resident friends--Balag, Anna, Brandon, Sonja. Thank you so much for taking us to all the good restaurants and being our kindly compass to the city.

From there, it was off by train to German-speaking lands where I am a little more confident with the language. I kick myself over and over for allowing myself to forget so much over time! This card, though, reads:

Good girls go to heaven,
Bad girls go everywhere.

We went off to Vienna but, sadly yet more cheaply, were only able to spend one day. Hotels of any decent price filled up fast for Easter. (My fault, I suppose, as I was the one who wanted to "wing it.") So we arrived at 9 in the morning. We emerged from the subway into the shadow of the soaring cathedral, brilliantly lit with cold, crisp sunlight. The Boyfriend loves Gothic architecture. Rode the tram along the old city wall, stopping to take pictures and read our history. We then decided to devote most of our time to the Hapsburg's Schonbrunn palace. This so-called "hunting lodge" (a.k.a. sprawling villa dripping with luxury where the servants ran around, out of sight, in hidden hallways) peaked our interest the most with it's garden. We dined on Wienerschnitzel in style with a local white wine, visited a cellar bar for strudel and slept out on the midnight train to...

Munich, Germany. We arrived rumpled and cramped at 6:30 a.m. to a thin blanket of slushy snow on the ground. We toured the city center before the vendors emerged, the stores opened, or the Tourist Office set up shop. I love the open air markets! I drank hot meade, ate a Bavarian pretzel, and, strangely, saw what looked like the contestants of the Asian Amazing Race reality show stream by. Very frenetic group. Lost almost two hours getting lost on our way to the art museum thanks to closures and an out-dated guidebook. But the Pinokothek Moderne was definitely worth it. We both love modern art and this museum ran the gamut from early stages to current, wild and whacked out experiments. We both agreed that the above picture, Volumi Orizzonali by Boccioni, was among our favorite. A classic beer hall Am Dom for dinner and, I tell you, a hotel bed and shower never looked so good.

The BMW Museum is also in Munich, near the tragic site of the 1972 Olympic Games Pavillion. A small museum that The Boyfriend was disappointed in. He idolizes his BMW motorcycle and wished there was a larger collection. But interesting history of BMW and WWII--building the engines of the Luftwaffe, being disarmed and forced to produce pots/pans/hand carts, having to pay about 30% of Bavaria's war reparations and almost selling out to Daimler Benz. That afternoon we spent a gloomy but educationally and emotionally necessary afternoon touring Dachau, Germany's first and longest-running Concentration Camp. What amazed me was the cute and bustling city of Dachau, with houses backing right up to the monument's grounds. I remember feeling odd about a local dealership who license-plated all their cars with "Renault of Dachau." To me, that word can only mean one thing.

We then traversed Germany to Stuttgart to visit other resident friends. It's so lovely to have people in town that know where to go, speak the language so well, and keep you up until 4 a.m. at local clubs. The first weekend was spent in the baths and the bars (Hi Fares, Ruba!). We spent our only day of rain (I know! Amazing for Europe, especially this time of year) in Ludwigsburg, home of the Wurtenburg Schloss. Everyone kept translating Schloss as "castle" yet the yellow, molding enriched facade blatantly said "palace." A great English tour and a fashion museum that even the Boyfriend found interesting. How much fashion, and therefore social interaction and everyday life, changed just as a result of the French Revoltion! Too little time with Angela--and we forgot to get your picture, darling! And our last real day of vacation was in Tubingham, an adorable but touristy hamlet where we saw a real castle and got sick on Marzipan and Maultauschen.

Now, three days later--Munich flight back to Budapest, overnight, flight to London, flight to Chicago, schedule changed, free hotel room overnight, flight to Phoenix, whew--we are finally back home. Home always smells so nice. You never smell it when you are emersed in it everyday but it envelopes you like a soft powder after a long trip. I'm still waiting for my darn grad schools--except Johns Hopkins, who put me on their waiting list, an excellent thing considering they only accept 6 fiction writers a year. What validation! But for now, a nap and back to normal tomorrow with Flash Fiction Friday. Normal, except for the massive amount of laundry.