Crazy Naked Germans

This past week was spent in Italy on the yearly Breuer Family Ski Holiday. And unfortunately, this is my attempt at combining two seeming less different stories into one blog. My apologies for the ADHD; after this past busy season, the brain is officially fried.

To clarify, the family ski holiday involves cross country skiing, not downhill skiing, so it was not exactly a relaxing, laid back trip…especially since the extent of my exercise for the previous 8 weeks consisted only of sitting in my chair and walking to the office fridge for a diet coke. To make things even worse, I was cross country skiing with the Crazy Breuer Family.

To most, or at least me, a 5km run would be sufficient exercise for the week. And while skiing is slightly easier in theory, it is still pretty impressive. So I was quite proud of myself for skiing the “easy” loop of 5km not just once, but every day of the vacation. However in comparison, I was the slacker in the group. Martin and his family, including his 70 year old mom, all completed at least 2 loops of the harder and longer 11km version each morning which included a monster hill and baby monster hill. And each afternoon, instead of heading to bed for a much needed nap, which is what I did every day, they would all go out and complete an additional loop that afternoon fueled only by their lunches of cake, strudel and coffee.

Thankfully Martin and his family acknowledge the fact that they are a bit extreme (I was beginning to think that all German’s were like this) and jokingly they refer to themselves as the Crazy Breuer Family – as Martin so delicately put it “most people think you should push yourself to their limits every once in a while; the Breuer’s think it is good to puke over that limit.” (On a side note – on the drive back to Germany Martin’s dad was able to point out the various, daunting mountain peaks in the distance that the family had previously climbed.)

And now on to the second story – although I am sure you can already guess where this one is heading – yes, it involves naked Europeans…

For better or worse, the idea of travelling to Europe no longer has the same butterflies-in-the-stomach, must-prepare-for-weeks effect on me. Maybe it has something to do with the 5 trips I took there in 2010 alone. Instead, flying to Europe provides me a level of comfort in a vacation, similar to heading to the Lake or SLO. So when I told people I was heading to Italy for the family ski holiday, I countered their amazed and excited responses with a casual “yeah, it should be great but it really isn’t that different than going skiing in Tahoe” And to some extent that is correct – I mean it is really just a small ski town with like minded people all out enjoying the snow. However everything is starkly different once the skiing is over and you go to sooth your muscles in the hot tub and/or spa. Stark naked that is…Italy is quite different from Tahoe given the number of naked Europeans running around the spa and in the saunas. If my American accent and shoes didn’t give me away while skiing and during the meals, my black bikini definitely identified me as an American during the spa sessions. Gotta love my modest, if not prude American upbringing as compared to the European nakedness!

Karma’s a Bitch!

It was bound to happen; really it was only a matter of time…after taking off a little over 3 months in 2008 and a five month sabbatical in 2009, good old uncle Pete figured it was time to settle up. And so, like all deals made with the devil, the payment hurt.

This busy season, officially January and February, was the worst busy season I have ever experienced, clocking in just shy of 300 hours in February alone and approximately 500 in just 8 weeks. For those who love math, that is around 12 hour days, every day, including Saturday and Sundays.

The good news, it ended on February 25th and I am back to doing the things I love: writing, traveling and hanging out with Martin, friends and family.

The silence is finally over!

The Aunties Throw a Party

I am not an expert in child care and would not even pretend to know a thing or two about what is or is not appropriate for a one year old. However, I do know a thing or two about parties and the need to properly celebrate birthdays. So in the fall, when discussing our plans for the winter, it only seemed natural for Ange and the aunties to start planning Cohen’s first birthday party, to be held that January. And like all things we do, this one involved plenty of liquor, glitter, glue guns and sombreros. Yup, it was Cohen’s first birthday, fiesta style, in Tahoe in winter complete with ponchos, a taco bar, lime flavored cupcakes and margaritas…

It was only a minor detail that he slept through most of it. He will thank us later for the experience.

The proud parents and the birthday boy!

Ah, True Love

How would you define or describe true love? Hollywood shows us that true love is two people running towards each other in slo-motion, possibly in an airport or field of poppies. De Beers would have us believe that true love is a flawless 4 carat, colorless diamond in a cushion setting. And some consider true love the act of coming home to a hot meal and open arms after a long day at work. I guess these are all valid definitions. However I have learned that true love can be as simple as the act of sledding.

This past week, I flew to Germany to spend the week (and New Years) with Martin and his family. With a direct flight from San Francisco to Frankfurt, I expected the 10 hour flight to, well, fly by…And things went surprisingly well until I tried to get some sleep in preparation for the inevitable coffee and cake upon my arrival. Unfortunately for me, the 3 year old girl across the aisle decided to learn her alphabet on her iPad – without headphones – at that exact moment…Hours 5-7 of the 10 hour flight were spent listening to the alphabet song, sung to the tune of Three Blind Mice (A goes ah, A goes ah, this is the alphabet and A goes ah).

And just when things started to improve (her batteries died), I was hit by a wave of nausea and a very unexpected bout of motion sickness requiring an emergency trip to the bathroom, a false alarm during landing (thank god for the bags) a painful bus ride to the main terminal with threats of puking on someone’s bag and another mad dash to the terminal bathroom after meeting Martin (“hi Martin, Merry Christmas, now hold my purse while I run to revisit my dinner”).

After finally pulling myself together, we drove to the village of Loessel, home of the Breuer Family, and upon arrival I had just enough time to brush my teeth before lunch with Martin’s Mom, Dad, Sister and Sister’s boyfriend. Lunch was followed immediately by coffee and after coffee it was decided that the “Kids” were going to go sledding within the hour… Apparently it was the most snow the area had had in almost 20 years and it was expected to melt within days so we had to go that afternoon/evening. Martin was really excited to go and had the whole outing planned down to the packing of the gluh-wein and hot tea.

Although warned the previous week about going sledding, I was not fully prepared; it was colder than I had ever experienced. So, with the -5 degree weather and slight wind chill, I put on every article of clothing I had (and even borrowed some of Martin’s), put on a smile, packed my best attitude and ventured out into the elements. A 10 hour flight, 2 hour drive, 2 hour lunch and coffee, no sleep, no shower and no food in my stomach, and yet I still managed to pull myself together to make Martin happy.

I enjoyed 3 quick, fast runs down the hill (giggling like a little school girl the whole way down), followed by 3 longer, slower walks back up the hill (grunting and gasping for air like an 80 year old smoker). But it didn’t matter, Martin was happy and in return, I was happy too.

After “we”, meaning Martin, had gotten our fill of both the sledding and the wine we returned home where I was finally able to take a hot shower and fall asleep.