I know it sounds like a cliche but

it really is possible to have too much fun. Poor Ms. Cheeks proved that last night after a wonderful day at the water park, shopping in the afternoon, and dinner at a fantastic Italian restaurant. (As in, the food was so good I was planning on marrying my ravioli halfway through dinner.) Dear husband and I were eating and encouraging Cheeks to eat her spaghetti, which she adamantly refused to do.

Clearly we were completely oblivous to the issue at hand because upon arriving back to our hotel, Cheeks threw up everywhere. (And why, oh why, do my kids always throw up on me and not my husband?)

But on the whole, despite having a sick little person, I had a fantastic weekend. It had been too long since our little family had an adventure together, and Great Wolf Lodge was just the right speed for the girls.

Lost and Found

When I travel I like to buy souvenirs that I will use on a regular basis. I like things that remind me of the places I have been, yet have a function.

As a result of my peripatetic life, I have a stack of thick wool blankets from Guatemala, hand carved wooden spoons from Latvia, and table linens from Romania. I also have a pair of prized woolen mittens from Estonia.

The Estonians, they know cold. They also know their sheep and how to spin a thick, soft wool unlike any I have ever found anywhere else in the world. On a trip to Tallinn way back in the winter of 2005, I bought a pair of double lined wool gray mittens at an outdoor market . They sustained me through -30 Fahrenheit weather in Riga and weeks of snow in Bucharest.

Last Friday I emerged from the metro and my regular "it's Friday and I really need something to get me going" trip to Starbucks. (This rationale actually works quite well for every day of the week.) I reached into my purse to put on my mittens and only found one.

You know that child's poem about the three little kittens? Well, I spent the rest of the weekend meowing and searching for my lost mitten. It was ridiculous really, a small unimportant thing in the grand scale of things. But since I have had children I feel like I have lost entire continents without knowing. And that really irks me.

And thinking back to that now long ago trip to Estonia, I remembered driving back from Tallinn with my husband, in the no-man's-land on the border between Estonia and Latvia. It was there, on a long gray road tended by surly border guards that I came to the decision that I was ready to become a mother. Why there, I don't know. Maybe the car trip was just too uneventful with just two adults. But after that trip we decided to have a baby and I had Miss Bee and the mittens were somehow inextricably wrapped up in all that.

But then I found the missing mitten today, in the restroom at work. Miraculously, or maybe not so miraculously, the cleaning crew did not throw it away over the weekend, and some helpful person placed it right on the mirror where I would find it. And I am embarrassed to admit that I rejoiced.

It is the little things, you know? A lost mitten found; a handmade card from my daughter; a dinner alone with my husband . . . There are just so many small joys in life that are too easily overlooked.

Weekend Escape

This is where I spent yesterday afternoon:


As a Christmas gift, my in-laws got us a night away at a bed and breakfast in Maryland called Antrim 1844.

It has been two years since we have gone away by ourselves. The last time was to the ice hotel where there was no roaring fire to warm my toes, only the ominous threat of hypothermia.

This was much, much, better.

Two heartbeats

Cheeks McGoo is growing up and I can hardly stand it. My little precious baby, the daughter who at this time last year was cleaved to my body at least 15 hours a day, that little baby is now driving a car. And it's a red one. And she will periodically attempt to stand on top of it, just to show me that she can.

Thank goodness the car in question is only a small ride on toy as opposed to our family station wagon. If her legs were long enough, I'm certain that she would commandeer that one as well.

McGoo went from crawling and taking just a few tentative steps to reeling around the living room like a wild drunken sailor in the space of a week. Turn your back from 15 seconds, and she will try her best to climb the stairs. If I sit her down in the middle of my bed, she races to the edge, peers over, and . . . laughs.

I don't know what to make of her daring behavior. Miss Bee was a cautious toddler, and I hovered over her in the way that most first time parents do, waiting to steady any potential wobble.

I am not a daring person. I think I have done exactly one daring thing in my life--cliff jumping at Lake Atitlan in Guatemala. I wanted to impress my husband, so after he had taken the plunge, and a number of our other acquaintances had done so as well, I scrambled up the rough-hewn trail at the edge of the cliff.

Climbing barefoot over the sharp rocks and spiny weeds was a struggle. At the precipice, at the literal edge of sheer rock and nothingness, I looked down and saw the water sparkling almost 30 feet below. I made the decision then and there that I wasn't going to jump, and that I would try to go back down the way I had come.

But then, I looked down at my legs, and realized they were covered, just covered, in a swarm mosquitos and other biting insects. So I stepped out. I remembered to take a big step forward, away from the edge, as opposed to merely jumping into the air. (Jumping didn't get you enough distance away from the rocks.)

It was two heartbeats from the cliff to the water.

I closed my eyes as I fell. In doing so, I made a crucial mistake. When I closed my eyes, I tipped my head back and my whole body landed in the water as if I were sitting in an office chair. Feet, thighs and bottom. (I still flinch when I think the sound I made entering the water.) My dear husband swum over to rescue me; I was in complete shock.

The next day, the price of my daring would be revealed, in dark purple bruises from my heels to my back. Even the spaces between my fingers were not spared. I watched in fascination over the course of a week and a half as the bruises slowly faded from purple, to green, to yellow.

Someday McGoo and Bee will take their own big leaps, but hopefully not from a mosquito infested cliff-side in Guatemala. I am savoring these early years before independence.

My daughters, they fill the space between my heartbeats. I don't know how I can ever let them go.

Last but not least: Tonga and Air New Zealand

On my way home, I spent an hour layover in Tonga. Tonga is a country in the South Pacific. I would really like to go back someday. It's a kingdom, with a King and nobles, yet the King just decided to try out the whole democracy thing, allowing the people to elect their representatives. And it seems to be going well.




Finally, a word about Air New Zealand. They are the best airline ever. I would rather fly coach class on Air New Zealand over business class on ANY U.S. carrier. Why is that? The service. Smiling, caring, competent flight attendants who actually try to make you feel comfortable and at home. Plus, what other airline has a safety briefing that causes the passengers on the plane to laugh and cheer?

South Pacific Christmas

I came across this tropical themed Nativity while in Samoa:


Instead of straw and snow, palm fronds and leis decorated the stable.

Samoa Samoa

Samoa was wonderful. The country is beautiful and verdant, just like you would imagine a tropical island paradise in the South Pacific to be (The Polynesian hotel at Disney kinda got it right!):

The little beach at my resort. Unfortunately, I went to Samoa for work and didn't have a chance to spend much time here.

The ocean seemed to change color depending on the time of day.

The walkway leading to my room.

Coconut trees were everywhere. What's more, over 100 different kinds of bananas grow on Samoa. And oh yeah, there is also lots of fresh pineapple, Samoan lobster, and giant shrimp. Speaking of pineapple. . .

My virgin pina colada, and a toast to my dear husband on our 8th anniversary. Hopefully next year we won't be apart!

Hiking in Tawa

Earlier in the week, I had the chance to go hiking in one of Wellington's suburbs, called Tawa. Never mind that I have had a horrible cough for the past two weeks, I wasn't going to let a virus stand in my way of getting out and seeing New Zealand's famous countryside. And it was well worth the windy trek.


We hiked through a dense forest, so filled with primeval ferns and plants and trees that the air seemed positively charged with oxygen. Finally, after close to a hour of uphill trudging, we emerged into the light.


There were foxgloves blooming everywhere.


Standing at the top of the hill, the wind was blowing so strongly, you could almost lean against it.


Did you know that New Zealand has no poisonous spiders or snakes? (Truly my version of heaven!) Above, the fearsome nettle lies in wait for unsuspecting passerby.


There was a 360 degrees perfect panorama and I could not stop taking photographs.


Finally, no trip to New Zealand would be complete without an encounter with the ubiquitous sheep. New Zealand has a population of about 4 million people. However, it can boast of a population of 40 million sheep. That's ten sheep per person. These two were so cute, I'm sure the Kiwis wouldn't mind if I brought them back to the United States with me.

I am currently in airport purgatory waiting for my 12 hour flight from Auckland to Los Angeles. It has been a long day--I started my morning in Samoa and had an hour layover in Tonga on my way back to NZ. I bet you'd have a tough time finding those countries on a map!

This has been an amazing trip; but I have missed my family so very, very, VERY much. I am aching to hug my sweet little girls. All I want is to be home with them and my dear husband.

Wellington, New Zealand

Wellington harbor on a beautiful Saturday morning. The water was as smooth as glass.


There were snippets of prose hidden in the most unlikely of places, delighting my English major soul.



I thought about commandeering a boat, but knew the police would be on me in a second.

I'm dreaming of white Christmas, but around here, folks are hoping for warm temperatures and plenty of sunshine.

A Universal Truth:

Eating lots of food at a pot luck luncheon is certain to end badly.

I don't know whether it was just too much randomness (brownie and mini meatballs sharing the same plate!) or the fact that the food was sitting out in the hot, hot, sun (baby shrimp in that pasta salad!) or just general overindulgence (Cheeks slept the whole time freeing up my hands) but whatever it was, I feel gross.

My upset stomach might also have something to do with the fact that the packers are coming to our apartment tomorrow to put all my worldly possessions in boxes and put them on a boat to America.

It also might be the fact that my dear husband will be supervising these movers alone while I embark on a monumental hopefully never to be repeated day long journey with both my girls back home. Unassisted. This is high level parenting, people.

Home. With a capital H. I cannot wait. (Although it won't really be Home until my husband gets there too.)

You can't go home again

If you're me--you can't go home for another WEEK. (My flight tomorrow from Bucharest was canceled and that was the soonest date available..)

I will be flying steerage IN A WEEK with an awful layover in Frankfurt. Oh. What. Fun.

(I won't even go into detail about my husband's experience with United airline's telephone agents. It might better be called customer disservice.)

I am going to try not to complain, though. I am thankful I have a home to stay in; there are so many people stuck in hotels and sleeping on the floors of airports.

The sun here is shining, the weather is beautiful, and I think Bee and Cheeks and I will spend the afternoon enjoying the park.

Postscript -- Now we are going on Monday, through Munich My dear husband consulted with our local travel agent and bravely called United airlines again. Monday is better than Wednesday, at least!

Stuck stuck stuck like a duck in the muck

So my bags are packed, I have said my goodbyes, Bee is prepped for her airplane adventure, and, well, a volcano erupted in Iceland and there are literally no flights going anywhere in Europe because of a slow moving cloud of dangerous ash.

It's annoying: The governments of almost every country in Europe are closing their airports and airspace in 12 hour increments. Right before they are set to reopen, they call up the weather service for confirmation that "yep, the dangerous invisible ash cloud is still there" and then they close for another 12 hours. They don't know what to do. I guess there is nothing else they can do.

Airlines in the United States have canceled nearly all of their transatlantic flights. They are not coping well with this disaster either--but I wouldn't expect anything else from them. United Airlines finally officially canceled my flight Sunday afternoon. We called to rebook. Unknown to us, we were accidentally routed to domestic bookings. We spent about 20 minutes on hold before a surly representative transferred us to the international department where we spent two hours on hold before Skype disconnected our call. Whoops. We called every European reservations line for United Airlines with no success. We couldn't reach anyone, not even in Finland. We called back to the US and heard the following, "Your estimated wait time to speak with a customer service representative is 180 minutes."

*&*#%!*&#!!!

Then we were disconnected again.

However, on our third try with US reservations, a small miracle occurred--we were immediately connected to an agent who was able to change our flight. And she was nice. But we were exhausted and overwrought from an afternoon spent on the phone. My flight home today was moved to Thursday.

I really hope that something will be figured out by Thursday. Most countries in the region are facing a near-revolt from their airlines. Lufthansa has been angrily repositioning its planes around Germany. KLM and Air France have sent up test flights. These have all returned safely. This would point to the Europeans perhaps being a bit overcautious, but, at the same time, safety is paramount.

S'no-w Joke

On Sunday, still digging out from "Snowpocalypse," we saw the forecast for today and preemptively changed our flights to Thursday. And it was a good thing too. Today's evening flights out of Dulles airport were canceled.

So--I should be flying to Romania right now but instead I am happily ensconced in my bedroom. Instead of sitting in an airport terminal I am watching American Idol. Bee is asleep and so is Babycakes--hubby is downstairs ironing (!!) and snow is just pouring out of the sky like laundry detergent from a box.

I really am not entirely sure our flight on Thursday won't be canceled as well. The weatherman is predicting blizzard conditions tomorrow. That's just fine by me. I am in no real hurry to return. Just need to make sure that my husband can be back at work next Tuesday.

Vienna Still Life

I stayed at the Le Meridien Vienna, and despite its overly modern decor, it was a good choice. There was free in room internet and a mini fridge filled with juice, water, soda. The hotel even placed a welcome apple (if there is such a thing) on my nightstand. I couldn't decide whether the severed hand was supposed to be inviting or frightening.



I loved the statues. Vienna has a really unique flavor, as far as cities go. Old and modern seamlessly meld, and around every corner there was something interesting, surprising, or beautiful.


Rhapsody on a kasekrainer.



St. Stephen's church, the architectural heart of the city.


Well behaved cherubs.


Naughty child stuck atop a lamppost.


Peace.

What I like about Sibiu

Sibiu is the the anti-Bucharest, what with its orderly city center, restored historic churches and restaurants, and unique architecture. Plus, the buildings are always watching you.


I quite liked our hotel, Casa Luxemberg. It's the pink building on the far right and it has the honor of being dubbed the cleanest and most spacious three star hotel I have ever stayed in.


The best part of Sibiu, however, is the chance to stroll from one cafe to another and eat pizza and gelato and other sweets until you can't walk anymore. In the photo below, my dear husband and sweet Bee are moving with purpose toward our pizza lunch.


It being a Saturday, the square was filled with brides taking their wedding photographs. There were young and pretty ones, and others not so much of either, but all (with the exception of one angry smoking bride) happy and smiling. The grooms mostly trailed behind their new wives looking slightly stunned.


Unfortunately, I could have also titled this post "plague and flood" because we all had terrible colds and it rained on and off Saturday and all of Sunday. But despite these slightly negative factors, I can still taste the walnut chocolate gelato and would do it all again just to have another plate of perfectly fried calamari.

Fixer upper

Two weekends ago, we took a trip to the Danube Delta, which comprises the vast wetlands where the Danube river meets the Black Sea. We had planned a weekend of boating and birdwatching, but unfortunately unseasonably cold temperatures and intermittent rain called for a change of plans.

Instead of going out into the nature preserve, we drove and visited some of the monasteries in the region. We happened by the above church on our way from one monastery to the other and I had to stop and take a picture; It looked like something from a horror movie. The windows were boarded up, the towers disintegrating into crumbled masonry, the walls supported by ancient scaffolding--I have never seen a church in such disrepair.

Ancient villas, mouldering mansions, and vine covered manor houses still manage to have a sense of dignity. An abandoned church, however, is a complete tragedy.

I went to the Ukraine

and all I took was this one lousy photograph.

I was in Kyiv last week for a work conference. I think that Europeans have a special love of the conference format. They relish the opportunity to sit around and drink bottled water. I, on the other hand, could be found doodling madly on many sheets of notepaper.

I really didn't see much of the city at all, unless you count my driver taking me from the airport to the hotel. The first night we all went out to the above restaurant, O'Panas, which served traditional Ukrainian fare. They served delicious meat stuffed pancakes and some of the most perfectly roasted mushrooms I have ever tasted.

Back in my hotel room, I enjoyed spending my late night hours watching the Discovery channel, one of the three channels broadcasting in English. I watched so many episodes of Miami Ink, La Ink, and Jon and Kate plus eight, I am now on a first name basis with all the characters.

The trip was a bit of a whirlwind and it wore me out. I have spent this past week catching up at work and getting ready for this weekend's adventure--a trip to the Danube delta, where the Danube river meets its end at the Black sea.

Gone country

As today was my sister's last full day in Romania, we took the opportunity to do a little bit of traveling, to the foothills of the Carpathian mountains, to a royal town called Court of Arges. 

Our plan was to visit the famous, supposedly fantastically beautiful, 14th century church in the center of town.  Everything went as planned: traffic was light, this morning's snow gave way to sunny skies, and David's new GPS navigated us without any detours.  We found the church and deemed it to be, well, quite ordinary.

To make matters worse, it was locked.  We all took turns peering through the keyhole.  It did look beautiful inside.

Afterward, we went across the street to the town museum.  Bee found it fascinating, especially the religious icon with the "grumpy Virgin Mary."  Mary did look grumpy and I remarked on it--but I really do have to learn to be more careful about what I say. Bee's like a sponge and she spent the rest of the day telling me about Grumpy Mary and Grumpy Jesus.  My wonderful baby daughter seems to have a slightly sacrilegious bent to her personality.  

We were finished visiting the otherwise unremarkable museum in less than 20 minutes. After walking down the town's main street for about as long as it took for my fingers to become numb, we settled on a restaurant ironically named "No Comment."  As in, "How was your meal?"

Fortunately for all of us, the pizzas were actually pretty good.  

Fortunately, after lunch, my sister saved the day.  While consulting our guidebook, she discovered that the town actually is home to two 14th century churches.  The second one, situated in an ancient orthodox monastery, is fantastical indeed.

This church is home to one of the country's most famous legends, that of Manole the builder. He aspired to build the most beautiful church in the entire world. While building the church's foundation, Manole decided that a woman must be bricked up inside the walls in order to ensure that the edifice would be everlasting.  Manole told his laborers that the first woman to come to the work site the next day would be the victim.  All the laborers went home that evening and, wisely, told their wives to stay at home.  The next day, the only woman who came to the church was Manole's wife.  Forced to keep his word, he put her into the wall and sealed her in, as a living sacrifice.  

Manole's luck only continued to deteriorate.  The prideful owner of the church decided to make sure that no other church would ever be as beautiful as his own.  While Manole was finishing the roof, the owner ordered the scaffolding taken down, stranding Manole on the highest spire.

  

In an attempt to escape, Manole fashioned himself a pair of wings and flew from the top of the church.  He crashed to earth.  On the spot where he landed, a natural spring of water appeared. To this day, Manole's fountain still burbles, a short distance from the church.

There is something about the countryside, despite the many trappings of burgeoning modernity and communist era industry, that belies the 21st century and continually looks backward. Whenever I leave the capital I feel that I travel back in time.  Horses pulling carts still ply the country's biggest highway. Conical haystacks dot the landscape, formed in the style of centuries past.  And everyone slows down for sheep crossings.

After the sheep, shepherds, sheepdogs, and donkeys had cleared the road, we headed another 15 miles north, into the mountains to visit Vlad Tepes's (better known as Dracula) mountaintop citadel.  It was haunting.  I read that there are over 1,000 steps to reach the fortress.  The few flights that we could see were covered in ice.  That combined with the thought of carrying Bee, well, this is as close as we got:

Every time I leave the city I tell myself that I have to do it more often.  Despite the bad roads and frustrating traffic--we have to get out more.  There is so much to see.