At home

It has been really nice to take a couple days off this week. For once, I'm not staying home because of a sick child, half trying to manage pressing work concerns while dealing with fever or flu.

It's a double edged sword for me, though: Staying home makes me realize just how much needs to be done around the house. Men everywhere may laugh, but home keeping (don't even mention child rearing or I'll cry) is a full time job.

Never mind the cooking and general cleaning--these past few days have been a chance to catch up on all the chores that have been languishing--

I beat back the laundry pile, rotated the girls' wardrobes so they have weather appropriate clothing to wear to school, and ordered fall/winter clothes for Miss Bee because she evidently grew about three feet this year! (I finally broke down and bought poor Cheeks McGoo a sweater so she would have something that wasn't a hand me down from her older sister.)

Sorted through endless paper: artwork, advertisements, statements , magazines, newspapers--I think I could heat my home for the winter on junk mail alone.

Swapping out Miss Bee's book stand with fall books and fall animals. (Okay, not really a serious chore but she gets so excited when I put out her "new" books.)

Having the upstairs carpets professionally cleaned. Because they were filthy.

Having the furnace serviced. (The man who came today ominously told me it was time to have the furnace replaced. Dear husband will be so excited because he loves shopping for that sort of things.)

Baking bread. It's not really a chore, but something that if I could stay home full time--I would do it every day. Cheeks and Bee helped me make bread yesterday and despite a few fraught moments, it was largely a success.

Do I really have to go back to the office tomorrow?

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.

Transported

Yes, this is where we'd all rather be. . .transported back in time by a few weeks to the beach . . . my sister still here, watching the World Cup, eating the best donuts for breakfast (two days in a row!), making sand turtles under the beach umbrella, and teaching Bee how to fly her first kite.

I can't believe it's August already. I need more melty ice cream with extra sprinkles. A an early morning jog in the sand. More time to just be a family--not a three ring daycare metro commuting circus of a family. . .

We're going to have make it back to the beach sometime this summer, before the leaves turn and autumn creeps in.

Making Friends in Aachen

It was a dark and stormy vacation . . .

The sun does shine on the Netherlands periodically, but somehow I only managed to take pictures when it was either dawn, dusk, or about to rain.


Chateau St. Gerlach in the Maastricht region of the Netherlands: My dear husband picked the hotel on a whim. "It looks really nice; I want to go there," he declared. Never mind that zee Chateau is a two and a half hour drive from Amsterdam. "We'll rent a car," he explained. I continued to protest, but the man had an answer for everything.

So I gave up arguing, because I had no better suggestion, and we booked a hotel in the south of the Netherlands because it looked pretty with no other plans than to make our way there and see it for ourselves. And you know what?


It was a very good idea. A very, very, complete with indoor swimming pool and rustic bistro, good idea.


We were upgraded to a senior suite, located in one of the gables of the chateau. I had my own couch on which to lounge in the evenings. I read magazines and ate chocolates.


They had a wonderfully ancient lobby and a bar with character. And when we asked the bartender for some Dutch cheese, he said, "Coming right up!" The cheese came with a little pot of mustard. No bread. Just cheese. It was delicious.

The Chateau was set on a beautiful park, filled with interesting statues and walking paths. Unfortunately, as I set out to take pictures on our last morning there, it started to rain. But really, rain or no rain, I could live in the Netherlands.

Bringing down the sheep

One of the pleasures of driving through the Romanian countryside this time of year is watching the shepherds bring their flocks of sheep (or goats) down from their high summer pastures. A shepherd's life, while much romanticized in folklore, is lonely and hard. I think they must be glad to be headed home.

London

Last weekend Bee, David, and I spent three wonderful nights in London.

Upon arriving, I experienced a bit of reverse culture shock. Everything there was so organized and clean in comparison to my current Eastern European residence. I stood captivated in the produce section of the "to go" food Marks and Spencer store, marveling at the perfect imported fruit: weighed, wrapped, and unblemished. Yeah, it was definitely time for a vacation.'

D and I were a bit nervous about how Miss Bee would handle the trip. Some people might say that traveling with a two and a half year old is asking for disaster, but we are blessed to have a mostly easy going little girl. In preparation, we spent several weeks talking about going on the airplane, staying in a hotel and eating out at restaurants (one of Bee's favorite things that we seldom do here; she is fascinated with the concept of ordering food).

I decided that this trip would involve a little more organization that usual. That meant deciding in advance on some activities that we would all enjoy. We settled on one "event" per day, leaving plenty of time for eating, shopping (oh can we say Waterstone's bookstore!), and visiting every available playground in a three mile radius of our hotel.

We booked a hotel in a very central location, right behind Buckingham palace, called Rubens at the Palace. The rooms were nice, reasonably priced for London (and that means less than $300 USD, per night, unfortunately) and included a full English breakast. Breakfast, to my surprise, ended up being, for me, the best part of the hotel (although D might tell you that it was Guiness on tap at the hotel bar, yes he took my daughter there and she had a chocolate milk while he drank his beer).

Saturday: We had a mid morning flight but gosh, three hours is a long time on the plane with a little one. Bee loved the in flight meal service, although the only thing she wanted to do with it was practice smearing butter on her roll. Those little butter packets, who knew that they would captivate a two year old? We planned on taking the metro (the tube) from the airport to our hotel, and we did, but this was not a smart choice. The tube in London is cheap and very efficient, but it does not typically have elevators in the stations and we were dragging our luggage and Bee and her stroller up multiple flights of stairs. After checking in, we splurged on a taxi to the London Eye. The Eye is essentially an enormous Ferris wheel, taking 30 minutes to rotate each car 360 degrees. We had bought tickets and assumed that would mean that we would have a short wait, but ended up waiting almost a hour. It was that crowded. Bee was reasonably well behaved, but we were relieved to finally board our flight. The views were lovely. We were lucky to have a clear and sunny day in which to view all of London.


Sunday: Our trip to the London zoo was probably the highlight of the trip for me. We arrived early, the weather was perfect, the animals perky, and Bee was absolutely in her element. This is a modern zoo, full of interesting exhibits, a focus on conservation, and a wonderful children's section (which had a whole play fountain section for the kids, and yes, the European kids were just getting naked and jumping right in; us prudish Americans steered Bee on to the next exhibit, although she was very interested in joining the others). There was even a special section where the kids could pet sheep and goats. In the center of the zoo was a carousel, cafe, and moon bounce (which prompted the one meltdown of the day; Bee wouldn't get off when her five minutes were up). We spent the rest of the day going to the playground and walking around until it was time to meet a dear friend for dinner. London's Chinatown, while small, more than met my craving for "real" (as in, American style) Chinese food. I cannot remember the last time I ate that much food, but I can tell you I will be dreaming about the crispy duck with plum sauce for quite some time.


Monday: our last full day in London. D made reservations for us to have tea at the Ritz hotel, to belatedly celebrate my birthday. It was wonderful, although I spent most of it on edge that Bee would break something or otherwise misbehave. Fortunately, she was very well behaved. I ate a lot of scones. Bee danced to the piano music in the lobby. However, as we ducked out of there, I couldn't help but feeling that we had escaped some kind of embarrassing disaster; I would not recommend bringing a toddler to tea. Monday also meant shopping at Fortnum and Mason and Harrods. Bee actually fell asleep in her stroller and slept through all of Harrods, giving D and I a quiet hour of browsing. You could spend an entire day at Harrods. The upper floors contain a coffee shop, a children's bookstore, even an American style diner. Monday night was the best meal of our entire stay, dinner at Quilon, an Indian restaurant a few blocks from our hotel. Our concierge recommended it, and I was skeptical, as he claimed it was the best Indian restaurant in all of London. However, it ranks as one of the top ten meals I have had. . . in my life. Their crab cakes were crisp perfect. The jumbo prawns were enormous and served with an onion chutney. The service was warm yet impeccable. The cook prepared a special dinner for Bee, since they didn't have a children's menu. We were served an amuse bouche of tomato soup that still haunts me. It was a wonderful way to end a very relaxing and happy family vacation.

Tuesday: We headed to the airport after breakfast, torn on whether to take a taxi or brave the subway again. We settled on the bus. This would have worked great, except that the bus station was a lot further away than we anticipated and arrived just as it was ready to pull away. We needn't have rushed though; our flight was delayed an hour, but this meant that we actually had time for a nice lunch at an pizza restaurant in the terminal. Even the airport food in London is good! (Or maybe I am just really deprived. . . ) But it was worth it to see just how much pizza Bee can eat when she puts her mind to it. And psst, don't tell anyone, but after the long flight and late arrival in Bucharest, we went to McDonalds for dinner.

One more post about Paris

My weekend in Paris was too short. I need to go back and spend a week. Bring David and Bee. Rent an apartment off of one of the winding streets in the Jewish quarter. Eat more croissants. Spend more time in Notre Dame. Say my confession to a French priest who speaks four languages. Visit the crypts.


I want to go back to the Louvre. Ponder the pyramids with "The Da Vinci Code" tucked under my arm. Become lost in the galleries.




I want to wander down the Champs de Elysees, window shop,
drink hot chocolate, soak up the city life.



Someday, I suppose.

The women in Paris...

In Notre Dame I met the brave and virtuous St. Joan of Arc. Keep praying for us, Joan.

This lady is fierce. Nike is not to be trifled with, even without a head.

What can I say about the Mona Lisa?
Even behind bulletproof glass her eyes follow you around the room.

Here she is surrounded by the paparazzi.

My hands down favorite, though, was meeting Venus de Milo.

She is perfection.

If I lived in Paris

I would have a pretty apartment with a window box for flowers.


I would shop for cheese at a fromagerie.



On the weekend, I would take long walks along the river.



And I would never want for fresh bread.

Icon

What's that up there?



See something through the trees?




Oh! It's beautiful.



I *heart* Paris.
More pictures to come.

Iasi

It's hard to believe that a week ago tonight, I was on a business trip in the far north of Romania, eating a really tasty chimichanga for dinner. The hotel/restaurant where I spent my second evening in Iasi was called Little Texas. True to its name, they served up delicious Tex-Mex food at about one third of the price in the US. The owners are allegedly Texan, or at least visited Texas at some point in their lives.

My first night's dinner in Iasi was not nearly as good, mainly because I arrived after 8 pm and didn't feel like venturing out into the city. I joined fellow solo business travelers in the hotel dining room. Each of us sat with a magazine or book at a large table by ourselves, the loneliest crowd of restaurant-goers you could ever imagine. In an attempt to cover up the awkwardness, the owners blared hip-hop music. This was in an Italian restaurant. Very incogruous, but I was too tired to care.

My main entertainment for the evening was when a crowd of French businessmen and their Romanian translator showed up for dinner and all demanded French fries and salad. That was all they wanted and I don't think the wait staff could quite believe it.

I have discovered that I really like the concept of business travel but the fun wears off after about three hours. I am just not used to being by myself. I did a little sightseeing, but mostly spent my down time reading through the big stack of magazines I squeezed in my suitcase and polishing off two more novels.

I didn't take very many pictures in Iasi. Most of the city seems to be under construction.


St. Nicholas church was lovingly cared for.


The Culture Palace was very big and undergoing an even bigger renovation.

Mostly though, when I wasn't working, I was thinking about the upcoming weekend--in Paris!

Pot of gold

I wish I could take credit for this photo, but it was snapped by David during his father-daughter trip to the mountains this weekend. Romania can be so heart-breakingly beautiful.

Like being inside a snow cone (Ice Hotel: Part III)

After we checked in and reserved our seven course ice hotel dinner extravaganza, David and I headed back out into the snow to visit the ice complex. I was most impressed by the ice church. Inside, there were a few day visitors snapping photographs, but they quickly left, headed for to take one of the last cable cars down the mountain. After their departure, the silence was incredible. The igloo we were standing it muffled the noise of the wind outside. It's hard to explain, but the silence felt thick, viscous, and filled my ears. I think I could have spent the evening there, just absorbing the silence of the ice church, but for the fact that my feet were becoming numb.


I cannot imagine carving "The Last Supper" into a wall of ice, I really can't. The ice church is used more often for baptisms than weddings, believe it or not. I have no idea why anyone would even consider bringing a newborn baby to the top of a mountain, into below freezing temperatures, and then pouring water on it. But evidently some people do.

After warming up in the lodge, we headed back into the blizzard toward our multi-course dinner extravaganza. This is a view of the entry to the ice hotel, as seen through the snow. Lovely, isn't it?



I was more impressed with the vaulted ceiling inside. It looked very solid. The bartender explained to me that they cut ice from Lake Balea to build the hotel. He said that it takes between 10-20 workers about a month to build the entire structure. This year they actually had to make the hotel twice. They started in December, but right before Christmas, temperatures rose to above 40F and the whole thing melted. He said that if temperatures rise above 40F and stay there for more than a day or two, the hotel will close for the season.



To the right you can see the ice bar, where David was able to fulfill his birthday wish and have a shot of vodka in a glass carved from ice. To the left is the table where we were served a very ambitious seven course meal. As it turned out, we were the only guests in the ice hotel restaurant that evening. Everyone else elected to eat in the hotel. Smart of them.

Our meal rapidly deteriorated into an absurd ballet. One waiter woud run from the main hotel, through the blizzard, to the ice hotel. By the time he arrived, the entree would be stone cold. Huddled together, the waiters would attempt to revive it in a small microwave and rush it to our table. However, everything, with the exception of the delicious homemade bread, was served lukewarm. I give the waiters credit for trying hard, as we were likewise trying hard to eat our meal with our mittens on, avoid shivering in front of the wait staff, and to generally give the impression that we were enjoying our meal. It was akin to eating in a freezer. Fortunately, the waiters finally took pity on us and served the sixth and seventh courses together.

The blizzard continued to rage outside, and we prepared to trek to the cable car building to get brush our teeth and get ready for bed. The ice hotel had no bathroom facilities. This was probably the worst part of the entire trip. The bathroom had been visited by several hundred tourists over the course of the weekend and most definitely had not been cleaned. No toilet paper, no toilet seat, and only a trickle of running water. Yuck.

Once we waded back to the ice hotel, we immediately climbed into our ice bed. The unfortunate thing was that the sleeping bags the hotel provided were not quite warm enough, although they did leave us a pile of sheepskins. The sheepskins were warm, but smelled rather strongly of, well, sheep.

After wriggling, shifting, piling, and positioning myself, for what seemed like an hour, I finally was able to lie comfortably and enjoy the creeping sensation of warmth. My feet however, were frozen, and would stay that way for most of the night. I woke up, cold, throughout the night, but at one point had the good sense to put my North Face coat on top of the sleeping bag. By 6 AM, I felt as though I had survived a war. I turned to my sleeping husband and grimly said, "Time to get up." Both relieved, we fled the ice hotel, waded through the foot of snow that had fallen overnight and broke a trail to the main hotel.

The rest of the morning was spent sitting in the hotel's deliciously warm dining room, drinking hot tea, eating eggs and toast, and contemplating the long drive back to Bucharest. We left on the first cable car of the morning. If I ever go back to Balea Lake, it will only be in the summertime. And for my 30th birthday, we are going to Mexico!

Blizzard on a mountaintop (Ice Hotel: Part II)

Step right this way, ladies and gentleman . . .

After six hours in the car, no lunch (unless you count goldfish crackers and lemon cake), but a lot of beautiful scenery, we finally arrived at the base of the mountain and set off to find the cable car that would take us the rest of the way.

After wading though deep snow, we arrived in the cable car building and entered a room full of about 70 people , all allegedly waiting in line. There were two cable cars, each one arriving every 15 minutes or so, holding ten people apiece. We settled in for a long wait, made even longer by the fact that cutting in line is a cultural norm. After 20 minutes, ten more people had arrived, yet we were still the last in line. Another half an hour later, I had fought my way far enough ahead in the line to read the sign on the wall that said guests of the hotel had priority boarding. You should have seen the glares, but revenge was sweet.


We filed into the cable car. As it began its upward trajectory, the surrounding scenery vanished into a cloud of white mist and snow. Visibility was completely zero. Everyone became very quiet. The only sound was the grinding of the wheels on the wires as we headed for the top of the mountain. It was a long ride, evidently the longest cable car in Europe, and it took about 15 minutes. A Frenchman began quietly chatting in broken Romanian with the cable car operator about the avalanche conditions on the mountain. Today was evidently were at level 4, which is the second highest possible rating. The cable car operator drew on the fogged up glass with his finger, showing some of the safer lines and general hot spots for avalanches in the area. Incredibly, the skier seemed satisfied with the explanation and seemed determined to continue with his plan, despite the impending blizzard. I don't know what that says about Frenchman, extreme skiers, or extreme skiing Frenchman, but I had to resist the urge to give him my opinion on the matter.

Finally, the gears ground to a halt and we arrived at the resort. We walked out of the cable car building into complete whiteness. It was as if someone had drawn a sheet over my eyes. There was nothing but snow and a few very hazy shapes. To the left, a very tall hill of snow which we recognized as the ice hotel. Directly in front of us were a number of stakes on a line, marking the path. We began following the path and could gradually see the blurry outline of a building in the distance. Sights set on the resort, we began walking. I had the distinct feeling that it would be all too easy to become lost, to wander onto the frozen lake or over the edge of a cliff.


Fortunately we found our way.

In the next installment: praying in the ice church and a seven course ice dinner.

I can finally feel my toes again (Ice Hotel: Part I)

I think the highlight of my weekend getaway with David was this morning, at breakfast, when we decided that we both smelled like chain smoking sheep.

Prior to this discussion, we had just survived a night sleeping in a hotel made entirely out of ice, in the middle of a blizzard. The outside temperature was 5 degrees Celsius, which should have made the inside temperature of 28 degrees seem positively balmy, but it didn't, because 28 degrees, any way you spin it, is really very cold.

This trip was a 30th birthday present to my dear husband, who had wanted, (more than any other possible present, including a whole host of really nice ones I could order on Amazon.com) to toast his 30th birthday at an ice bar, with an ice glass. He even went so far as to threaten me that my 30th birthday wish (and at that time I hadn't even considered what that would be) was contingent upon his ice bar wish coming true.

I began researching traveling to Sweden. The ice hotel there sounds amazing: the arctic circle, northern lights, dog sled rides, and lots of pickled herring. Unfortunately, the price tag and travel time made it all too impossible. How lucky we were to discover that my wild Eastern European country has its very own ice hotel. In fact, it's the only ice hotel in all of Eastern Europe. Imagine that.

The hotel is located at a very interesting resort, located at the top of a mountain. A number of years ago, Romania's former dictator decided that it would be a fun idea to build a road that traverses a particular mountain range. Instead of the round about, meandering set of switch backs that usually characterize a mountain road, he decided on the straight up and over variety. Balea lake is located at the very zenith of this marvel (some might say insanity) of engineering.

Due to the altitude, there is snow year round. In the winter, there is a lot of snow. Heli-skiers and the adventurous snowboarding types come to Balea for some extreme skiing. Balea lake freezes. Back in 2006, someone got the idea to use some of that nice, sturdy lake ice to build an ice hotel. It has since become a local tourist attraction.

Getting to Balea lake in winter, however, is not easy. Parts of the access road close in winter, meaning that we had to drive around to the opposite side of the Fagaras mountain range to access the lake.

We left early Sunday morning, wearing a lot of warm clothing and having packed two pieces of lemon cake as emergency rations. Bee stayed in the comfort of our apartment in the capable hands of her babysitter. Despite the sadness over leaving our daughter for the night, David and I were looking forward to some time alone.

I enjoy the countryside in Romania very much, even at high speed. There is so much to see: bossy roosters strutting about; women drawing water from wells; men wearing sheepskin hats chatting with other men wearing much the same; massive heavy industry including oil drills (they look like dinosaurs), coal plants, and hydroelectric dams; even a gentleman selling what looked like fat, cuddly, St. Bernard puppies on the side of the road. The puppies were nestled in the trunk of his car, snug in a pile of straw and David had the very good sense not to stop.

The journey took about six hours. Finally, we reached the end of the road. We were hungry (having found nowhere to stop for lunch, we had long since eaten the lemon cake) but in good spirits. We could travel no further by car.

To be continued tomorrow. (Right now, I am off to sleep, with much new found appreciation for a warm bed that is not made out of ice!)

"The sun poured in like butterscotch"

I saw rainbows twice while on vacation.  The photo above was taken from the balcony of our stateroom while on our Disney Cruise.  David and I were both excited and apprehensive about our trip.  We need not have been worried, as it was wonderful. The rainbow over the water is just one example of the magic of Disney.  They even control the weather!

The second time I saw a rainbow was on my last day at home.  Our flight was later that evening (little did I know that I would leave on Saturday and not arrive home until Monday morning) and both my Mom and I were feeling despondent at my and David's and Bee's imminent departure. So, we went and did what all good women do in the face of stress: we went shopping.  Bee was having her afternoon nap so we made our escape, just the two of us.  We were driving to the mall when a double rainbow appeared the the sky.  I'm not sure whether it was just a good shopping omen or a fitting end to a perfect vacation.

But really, of all the days that we were home, the very best day of vacation was the first full day. Waking up in my house, in my childhood bedroom, sitting at the kitchen table, jet-lagged at 5 am, drinking hot tea, eating scrambled eggs that my Mom cooked, my father wandering in with a cup of coffee in hand, Bee playing on the kitchen floor, David reading the paper, the sun rising, and the love of my family "stuck to all my senses."