Jeanine found, on an Italian webpage, an image of us on the set where we were interviewed Friday. Thanks for the beach party (and prosciutto-between-fried-potato sandwiches) Rimini Street Food.Tuesday, March 5, 2013
Quick Addendum to Friday
Jeanine found, on an Italian webpage, an image of us on the set where we were interviewed Friday. Thanks for the beach party (and prosciutto-between-fried-potato sandwiches) Rimini Street Food.
Monday, March 4, 2013
WC Day 2, Friday, aka Who Says Liberals Don't Wave the Flag?
Sorry to not post over the weekend. Apparently the Hotel Erica's router could not keep up with the Estonian Team's demands, and Sunday was a long travel day.
Friday was very fun. We took it easy in the morning at the hotel's gym-less "wellness center" (thanks to the concierge for opening it especially for us, as the normal opening time is 3 p.m. Why be well before 3?). The only event this day was the Men's 4 x 10K relay, historically the granddaddy of all the events at a World Championships. And you could tell as much from the ratcheted-up buzz in the stadium compared to the day before (um, I think European fans are a bit sexist despite their progressive family policies). Luckily we had better than yesterday's general-admission seats, which allowed us to sit in a grandstands around the final bend with a great view of a lot of the course. What could be better than sitting here with one of these?
I offer none of my own pictures from today -- it was only when we'd settled in and I tried to take the first picture of the sun-splashed Dolomites that I realized I'd left my memory card in the universal card reader I'm forced to use because my camera is from 2003. But no worries; this was quickly forgotten during not Dance Time, but Karaoke Time -- to Mama Mia.
The race was unbelievable and exciting and excruciating all at once. (Skip to next paragraph if you don't care about race details.) After Andy Newell kept us in the lead pack on the first leg, veteran Kris Freeman, the second skier, kept with the lead group and actually took the lead leaving the stadium for his final time, two-thirds of the way into his leg (each of the 4 skiers skied 3 x 3.3K). The U.S. women medal regularly nowadays, sure, but the men aren't as good as a whole, so this was a remarkable development. Freeman has not had a good year, and he's not getting any younger, and it was a bit Rocky-esque when the quad-lingual and hilarious announcer calling the race pointed out that he had finished 4th in a race at this same venue during the 2003 World Championships. But unfortunately he then proceeded to blow up rather dramatically the final 3.3K. Frankly, it was hard to watch: Freeman is one of my favorite athletes, and maintaining the lead would have been an especially satisfying moment for all involved -- and put the U.S. in good shape to do something special. After Noah Hoffman maintained our position (about a minute back) with a very solid third leg, anchor Tad Elliott produced what was definitely the most exciting few minutes of the events we went to. Amazingly, like something out of a cheesy, feel-good, Hoosiers-like Nordic movie (if they made Nordic movies), Elliott caught up to the lead pack after his first lap. True, he was aided by the cat and mouse games at the front, which prompted the announcer to note the "holiday train" the leaders were riding, but c'mon, we're talking about the U.S. men being in medal contention with two laps to go. Here's Elliott at the back of the lead back, behind the German skier with the terrible yellow-only-in-the-middle-of-the-legs outfit (photo credit: Fasterskier.com)
I didn't think it could last -- we'd be talking one of the biggest upsets in history, Tom Watson at the 2009 British Open kind of stuff -- but it was still fun as hell, and man I wish we'd had an American flag. Elliott faded, but all in all the U.S. obviously had a fantastic race. We also got to see an iconic moment for the sport: Norway's Peter Northug sprinting past a Swede in the final 200 meters right on cue to win a race, complete with a second to spare for a cocky gesture at the end. If you go to about 1:27 of this video, the camera is capturing our vantage point from the stands right as the skiers round the last bend. Then watch the next 30 seconds ... and notice how the Swede knows he's beat.
After the race we took a city bus up to Tesero from past the parking lots instead of fighting for a shuttle (having learned our lesson about the stadium logistics), but then proceeded to wait 1 hour in Tesero for the bus to Cavalese, where the main events were held this night. The problem was that I was still thinking like an American -- assuming that if the party was in Cavalese, then surely they would run lots of extra buses to Cavalese on this particular night. But luckily we started thinking like Italians, making limoncello out of lemons by making friends at the bus station with the Finnish couple we had seen at breakfast: Kari and Maijastïïna. See you at the 2017 Championships in Lahti, Finland! We all rode together to Cavalese, and then, after a festive couple of Forsts somewhere or other, we watched the fan parade.
Then we headed down to the main square to get ready for the medal ceremony, which meant glüwein and street food served by a woman from Manchester, England of all places -- didn't even make it to the area with all of the food booths from the regions of Italy ... Pictures of the scene at the square to come. Completely exasperated by all the Norwegian ones, the four of us bought Finnish and American flags respectively. So here Jeanine and I are waving a large American flag -- the only American flag -- through a throng of drunk Europeans ... and, about 5 minutes later, the novelty of this landed us on Italian TV (we think), at which point I mumbled something about how the US would win lots of medals in Sochi. We watched one of the medal ceremonies (the painful one for the women's relay that should have included the Americans), the highlight of which was definitely the interpretive dance preceding it, and the stuffed mascot squirrel that the athletes got in lieu of flowers. I was convinced that the guy who told us to lower our flag, claiming that it was blocking a camera, was simply anti-American, but in fairness he did ask other flag-bearers to do the same. Really, if you've seen one medal ceremony at these kind of events, you've seen them all (and we've now seen one), so we called a cab and miraculously it came and the four of us all went back and happily ate touristical food at the hotel. Apparently the cab companies in South Tyrol here understand Finnish better than English.
Friday was very fun. We took it easy in the morning at the hotel's gym-less "wellness center" (thanks to the concierge for opening it especially for us, as the normal opening time is 3 p.m. Why be well before 3?). The only event this day was the Men's 4 x 10K relay, historically the granddaddy of all the events at a World Championships. And you could tell as much from the ratcheted-up buzz in the stadium compared to the day before (um, I think European fans are a bit sexist despite their progressive family policies). Luckily we had better than yesterday's general-admission seats, which allowed us to sit in a grandstands around the final bend with a great view of a lot of the course. What could be better than sitting here with one of these?
I offer none of my own pictures from today -- it was only when we'd settled in and I tried to take the first picture of the sun-splashed Dolomites that I realized I'd left my memory card in the universal card reader I'm forced to use because my camera is from 2003. But no worries; this was quickly forgotten during not Dance Time, but Karaoke Time -- to Mama Mia.
The race was unbelievable and exciting and excruciating all at once. (Skip to next paragraph if you don't care about race details.) After Andy Newell kept us in the lead pack on the first leg, veteran Kris Freeman, the second skier, kept with the lead group and actually took the lead leaving the stadium for his final time, two-thirds of the way into his leg (each of the 4 skiers skied 3 x 3.3K). The U.S. women medal regularly nowadays, sure, but the men aren't as good as a whole, so this was a remarkable development. Freeman has not had a good year, and he's not getting any younger, and it was a bit Rocky-esque when the quad-lingual and hilarious announcer calling the race pointed out that he had finished 4th in a race at this same venue during the 2003 World Championships. But unfortunately he then proceeded to blow up rather dramatically the final 3.3K. Frankly, it was hard to watch: Freeman is one of my favorite athletes, and maintaining the lead would have been an especially satisfying moment for all involved -- and put the U.S. in good shape to do something special. After Noah Hoffman maintained our position (about a minute back) with a very solid third leg, anchor Tad Elliott produced what was definitely the most exciting few minutes of the events we went to. Amazingly, like something out of a cheesy, feel-good, Hoosiers-like Nordic movie (if they made Nordic movies), Elliott caught up to the lead pack after his first lap. True, he was aided by the cat and mouse games at the front, which prompted the announcer to note the "holiday train" the leaders were riding, but c'mon, we're talking about the U.S. men being in medal contention with two laps to go. Here's Elliott at the back of the lead back, behind the German skier with the terrible yellow-only-in-the-middle-of-the-legs outfit (photo credit: Fasterskier.com)
I didn't think it could last -- we'd be talking one of the biggest upsets in history, Tom Watson at the 2009 British Open kind of stuff -- but it was still fun as hell, and man I wish we'd had an American flag. Elliott faded, but all in all the U.S. obviously had a fantastic race. We also got to see an iconic moment for the sport: Norway's Peter Northug sprinting past a Swede in the final 200 meters right on cue to win a race, complete with a second to spare for a cocky gesture at the end. If you go to about 1:27 of this video, the camera is capturing our vantage point from the stands right as the skiers round the last bend. Then watch the next 30 seconds ... and notice how the Swede knows he's beat.
After the race we took a city bus up to Tesero from past the parking lots instead of fighting for a shuttle (having learned our lesson about the stadium logistics), but then proceeded to wait 1 hour in Tesero for the bus to Cavalese, where the main events were held this night. The problem was that I was still thinking like an American -- assuming that if the party was in Cavalese, then surely they would run lots of extra buses to Cavalese on this particular night. But luckily we started thinking like Italians, making limoncello out of lemons by making friends at the bus station with the Finnish couple we had seen at breakfast: Kari and Maijastïïna. See you at the 2017 Championships in Lahti, Finland! We all rode together to Cavalese, and then, after a festive couple of Forsts somewhere or other, we watched the fan parade.
Then we headed down to the main square to get ready for the medal ceremony, which meant glüwein and street food served by a woman from Manchester, England of all places -- didn't even make it to the area with all of the food booths from the regions of Italy ... Pictures of the scene at the square to come. Completely exasperated by all the Norwegian ones, the four of us bought Finnish and American flags respectively. So here Jeanine and I are waving a large American flag -- the only American flag -- through a throng of drunk Europeans ... and, about 5 minutes later, the novelty of this landed us on Italian TV (we think), at which point I mumbled something about how the US would win lots of medals in Sochi. We watched one of the medal ceremonies (the painful one for the women's relay that should have included the Americans), the highlight of which was definitely the interpretive dance preceding it, and the stuffed mascot squirrel that the athletes got in lieu of flowers. I was convinced that the guy who told us to lower our flag, claiming that it was blocking a camera, was simply anti-American, but in fairness he did ask other flag-bearers to do the same. Really, if you've seen one medal ceremony at these kind of events, you've seen them all (and we've now seen one), so we called a cab and miraculously it came and the four of us all went back and happily ate touristical food at the hotel. Apparently the cab companies in South Tyrol here understand Finnish better than English.
Friday, March 1, 2013
WC Day 1, Thursday, aka Oslo Süd and Dance Time Tesero
All is well from Stava, a hamlet above the small village of Tesero, Italy. I write Friday night, but I'll recap Thursday here.
I think there's a good reason, why, in the estimation of US Olympian Liz Stephen, Jeanine and I are the only non-team-affiliated American fans here. That sounds too crazy to be true -- surely there is some huge xc fan ex-pat fan living in Munich -- but I can understand it because Val de Fiemme is impossible to get to without a car and the logistics of a World Championships spread out over three cities -- with us staying in the fourth -- are over the top.
From Bolzano it only took a train to Ora (here's Jeanine already thinking, "How did I get myself into this?")
and then a harrowing bus ride up and around mountain cliffs (with small vineyards everywhere) to Cavalese, the first main town in the valley, and then another bus ride to Tesero, and then, because yours truly managed to not book a room in one of the three main towns where the events are (!), we took another bus 2.7 k up into the mountains to our hotel in Stava, which doesn't even make most maps, but anyway these should help you make sense of it:
Out hotel is great and has a classic view of the Dolomites, which are pretty much in all directions. The Estonians are in our hotel, and next door is the German team hotel. They keep driving by in their "German Ski Team" Audis. We took the bus down the hill to the women's relay, the race in which the Americans had the best chance of medaling.
Our first stop was the merchandise tent, of course. We looked for an American flag, but none for sale.
I'll spare you the boring details of the race (or the perplexing question of why Holly Brooks was left off the relay squad), but in a nutshell, the American women did great, and finished fourth, and probably would have won the bronze if their best skier had not had an off day. It was very exciting and would have been especially gripping had those damn Russians not pulled away from us in the last leg. Here are a few shots of us watching near the finish line (that's me with a Forst), the start, and our new Norwegian friend.
I promise better sun-splashed photos of the stadium from better seats soon. After the race, Norwegian Oktoberfest broke out in the big tent (of course). In case you hadn't noticed from the title of this entry and the photos, we were essentially in Norway: probably 70 percent of the fans here at WC are Norwegian. Suffice it to say they like their skiing. Here are a few parading in the beer hall.
And here's some video (not sure if it will play):
After the beer hall we went into the stands (all Nordic Combined events are free!), where the Italians entertained us with Dance Time. I mean, I'm not making that up. It said Dance Time on the big screen, and a bunch of high school girls, and boys, for that matter, came out to dance in the stands. This was accidental video, including some of Skiri, the official mascot:
The Americans didn't do very well in this Nordic Combined race (an individual 10K) because of their poor jumping in the morning. Here's our view from the stands of the course as it weaves through the stadium in multiple places:
We'd been joking ever since Bolzano about when we were going to see the crowds, but suffice it to say that we finally found them leaving the stadium.The post-race buses to Predazzo, the location of the jumping stadium (sort of) and also the US hotel, were an absolute disaster, and after waiting half an hour we jammed into a bus Mumbai style and nearly got crushed en route. We got off near the center of Predazzo, not the jumping stadium 1k down the road, so we could pick up a poster US skier Noah Hoffman had nicely left for me. We missed him given the absurd bus situation, but we did meet Andy Newell (the best US sprinter) and also Liz Stephen, who absolutely crushed it in the relay, moving from 9th to 4th in her leg. Here's the requisite photo with an Olympian (Liz) in their hotel:
Happily blowing off the jumping, we then took the US Ski team's advice and went to this amazing pizzaria down a hidden street. Look at this place: amazing oven and Nordic figurines all in one.
Needless to say, sitting at the table next to us were the US team doctor, team photographer, and publicist. For the record, she would not go on the record about Tiger Woods and Lindsey Vonn. And of course two of the Nordic Combined athletes, the Fletcher brothers, were also eating. (We had thought that their father was a true non-team-affiliated American when we met him at the race, but not so!). Then we headed to the main square in Predazzo for the evening's festival and fan parade. Seems as if the organizers asked, "what should we do about throngs of Norwegians parading through the streets?", and the intern answered, "let's call it fan parade." You can't make this stuff up; the shirts actually read "Official Fan Club":
And best of all, here's Jeanine with Skiri, the official mascot of the championships. We were only partially successful getting the strange unnamed secondary mascot (a bird?) out of the way:
To me that photo was worth the 30 minutes we then had to wait for the bus to Tesero (really, "all services are enhanced for World Championships"?). And then we found ourselves stranded in Tesero because the bus up the hill stops at night. After a couple of unsuccessful calls to cab companies, we went into a bar and -- of course, this being Italy -- the bartender called his friend who drove us up the hill for a mere 10 euros. Here ends Day 1. Day 2 gets even better.
I think there's a good reason, why, in the estimation of US Olympian Liz Stephen, Jeanine and I are the only non-team-affiliated American fans here. That sounds too crazy to be true -- surely there is some huge xc fan ex-pat fan living in Munich -- but I can understand it because Val de Fiemme is impossible to get to without a car and the logistics of a World Championships spread out over three cities -- with us staying in the fourth -- are over the top.
From Bolzano it only took a train to Ora (here's Jeanine already thinking, "How did I get myself into this?")
and then a harrowing bus ride up and around mountain cliffs (with small vineyards everywhere) to Cavalese, the first main town in the valley, and then another bus ride to Tesero, and then, because yours truly managed to not book a room in one of the three main towns where the events are (!), we took another bus 2.7 k up into the mountains to our hotel in Stava, which doesn't even make most maps, but anyway these should help you make sense of it:
Out hotel is great and has a classic view of the Dolomites, which are pretty much in all directions. The Estonians are in our hotel, and next door is the German team hotel. They keep driving by in their "German Ski Team" Audis. We took the bus down the hill to the women's relay, the race in which the Americans had the best chance of medaling.
Our first stop was the merchandise tent, of course. We looked for an American flag, but none for sale.
I'll spare you the boring details of the race (or the perplexing question of why Holly Brooks was left off the relay squad), but in a nutshell, the American women did great, and finished fourth, and probably would have won the bronze if their best skier had not had an off day. It was very exciting and would have been especially gripping had those damn Russians not pulled away from us in the last leg. Here are a few shots of us watching near the finish line (that's me with a Forst), the start, and our new Norwegian friend.
I promise better sun-splashed photos of the stadium from better seats soon. After the race, Norwegian Oktoberfest broke out in the big tent (of course). In case you hadn't noticed from the title of this entry and the photos, we were essentially in Norway: probably 70 percent of the fans here at WC are Norwegian. Suffice it to say they like their skiing. Here are a few parading in the beer hall.
And here's some video (not sure if it will play):
After the beer hall we went into the stands (all Nordic Combined events are free!), where the Italians entertained us with Dance Time. I mean, I'm not making that up. It said Dance Time on the big screen, and a bunch of high school girls, and boys, for that matter, came out to dance in the stands. This was accidental video, including some of Skiri, the official mascot:
The Americans didn't do very well in this Nordic Combined race (an individual 10K) because of their poor jumping in the morning. Here's our view from the stands of the course as it weaves through the stadium in multiple places:
We'd been joking ever since Bolzano about when we were going to see the crowds, but suffice it to say that we finally found them leaving the stadium.The post-race buses to Predazzo, the location of the jumping stadium (sort of) and also the US hotel, were an absolute disaster, and after waiting half an hour we jammed into a bus Mumbai style and nearly got crushed en route. We got off near the center of Predazzo, not the jumping stadium 1k down the road, so we could pick up a poster US skier Noah Hoffman had nicely left for me. We missed him given the absurd bus situation, but we did meet Andy Newell (the best US sprinter) and also Liz Stephen, who absolutely crushed it in the relay, moving from 9th to 4th in her leg. Here's the requisite photo with an Olympian (Liz) in their hotel:
Happily blowing off the jumping, we then took the US Ski team's advice and went to this amazing pizzaria down a hidden street. Look at this place: amazing oven and Nordic figurines all in one.
Needless to say, sitting at the table next to us were the US team doctor, team photographer, and publicist. For the record, she would not go on the record about Tiger Woods and Lindsey Vonn. And of course two of the Nordic Combined athletes, the Fletcher brothers, were also eating. (We had thought that their father was a true non-team-affiliated American when we met him at the race, but not so!). Then we headed to the main square in Predazzo for the evening's festival and fan parade. Seems as if the organizers asked, "what should we do about throngs of Norwegians parading through the streets?", and the intern answered, "let's call it fan parade." You can't make this stuff up; the shirts actually read "Official Fan Club":
And best of all, here's Jeanine with Skiri, the official mascot of the championships. We were only partially successful getting the strange unnamed secondary mascot (a bird?) out of the way:
To me that photo was worth the 30 minutes we then had to wait for the bus to Tesero (really, "all services are enhanced for World Championships"?). And then we found ourselves stranded in Tesero because the bus up the hill stops at night. After a couple of unsuccessful calls to cab companies, we went into a bar and -- of course, this being Italy -- the bartender called his friend who drove us up the hill for a mere 10 euros. Here ends Day 1. Day 2 gets even better.
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
8 Minute Entry from Bolzano
Tonight (Wednesday) we're in Bolzano, the northern gateway to the Dolomites and our entry point to the Nordic World Championships This place is absolutely crazy. There are hordes of drunk Nordic fans parading threw the streets waving flags, getting into fights about the relative merits of their classic sprinters, etc. Ok well maybe not. But this is a great town, a South Tyrolinian mix of Germany and Italy.
The day started out comically again because I managed to forget the German Bahn discount card I had bought (you'd think I would have learned). But this was a welcome sight in the Munich train station (look, you can only buy so many espressos) ...
and the ride south of Innsbruck was beautiful. We got into Bolzano in time to tour their domo and also see Ötzi the Ice Man (the 5,500-year-old guy discovered in the Alps in 1991).
The restaurant we went to did not open until 7 (of course), so we killed some time at a book store. Jim, you get a mention two entries in a row. Your Manhattan edition of this series is going to have some serious competition.
We ended the night with this:
Check back for World Championship updates. Thursday is the women's relay and the Americans have a great chance to medal. I'd rather be watching in the 50-degree sunshine with a limoncello than trying to figure out the wax.
The day started out comically again because I managed to forget the German Bahn discount card I had bought (you'd think I would have learned). But this was a welcome sight in the Munich train station (look, you can only buy so many espressos) ...
and the ride south of Innsbruck was beautiful. We got into Bolzano in time to tour their domo and also see Ötzi the Ice Man (the 5,500-year-old guy discovered in the Alps in 1991).
The restaurant we went to did not open until 7 (of course), so we killed some time at a book store. Jim, you get a mention two entries in a row. Your Manhattan edition of this series is going to have some serious competition.
We ended the night with this:
Check back for World Championship updates. Thursday is the women's relay and the Americans have a great chance to medal. I'd rather be watching in the 50-degree sunshine with a limoncello than trying to figure out the wax.
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
(Not Completely) Unlimited Skiing Amusement
Over the weekend we went to Oberstdorf, at the very southern tip of Germany and the northern tip of the Alps. The tourist board, in one of the German-translated-into English descriptions of such things that cause me to wake up laughing at 3 a.m., promised "unlimited skiing amusement," wrapping up its case by concluding, "You’ve just got to admit that the attributes of this ski area are almost unbelievable!" Now, obviously it goes without saying that one would have to be a complete &^%$ to actually complain about a ski weekend in the Alps, but in the spirit of ironic blogging, I must report that we did not have unlimited skiing amusement.
Our first omen, which came Friday morning about 40 minutes before our first train, was when I banged my head on our stairs after leaning down to put something in the recycling bin under them (remind me to be the ugly American and not recycle). After twenty minutes discussing whether the bleeding gash on my head warranted cancellation (was there a doctor in Oberstdorf available at 5:30 on Friday afternoon?; did I need stitches now?; would stitches work if I waited until Monday?), we fearlessly struck out for the train station, with time to spare to buy a 6 Euro bottle of antibacterial spray.
The first two trains were pleasant enough, and perhaps we should have realized that the third was too pleasantly empty for one going to a ski resort during the German holidays on a Friday afternoon. But surely we were on the right train. We had the visual evidence to prove it (dramatization: photo taken on return trip):
About 20 minutes after our train was supposed to arrive in Oberstdorf, neither of us was forced to cry uncle in our game of who-can-prove-that-he-or-she-isn't-Type A-by-not-expressing-worry -- the train simply stopped. We soon learned from the very kind conductor that the train had split in Immenstadt and obviously we were in the wrong half. (Ah, so that digital display in every car with the city name means something?). We were way West in Wangen, or, as you can clearly see here in the lower right corner, back in Baden-Württemberg, not in Bavaria (Bayern), the state Oberstdorf is in.
Our first omen, which came Friday morning about 40 minutes before our first train, was when I banged my head on our stairs after leaning down to put something in the recycling bin under them (remind me to be the ugly American and not recycle). After twenty minutes discussing whether the bleeding gash on my head warranted cancellation (was there a doctor in Oberstdorf available at 5:30 on Friday afternoon?; did I need stitches now?; would stitches work if I waited until Monday?), we fearlessly struck out for the train station, with time to spare to buy a 6 Euro bottle of antibacterial spray.
The first two trains were pleasant enough, and perhaps we should have realized that the third was too pleasantly empty for one going to a ski resort during the German holidays on a Friday afternoon. But surely we were on the right train. We had the visual evidence to prove it (dramatization: photo taken on return trip):
About 20 minutes after our train was supposed to arrive in Oberstdorf, neither of us was forced to cry uncle in our game of who-can-prove-that-he-or-she-isn't-Type A-by-not-expressing-worry -- the train simply stopped. We soon learned from the very kind conductor that the train had split in Immenstadt and obviously we were in the wrong half. (Ah, so that digital display in every car with the city name means something?). We were way West in Wangen, or, as you can clearly see here in the lower right corner, back in Baden-Württemberg, not in Bavaria (Bayern), the state Oberstdorf is in.
It then wasn't clear which was worse: our excruciating "German" conversation with the innkeeper in Oberstdorf, trying to explain that we'd be late, or waiting an hour and then taking the same train back to Immenstadt just to wait for another connection. Jeanine seemed a little frustrated that we were going to lose three
and a half hours and not have a nice dinner in our resort town. But I
pointed out that the train station has a Foodys, which I prefer when in
Immenstadt. The gyrosteller was excellent.
Our hotel in Oberstdorf was a classic pension with a view of the mountains. The "rich and extended breakfast," as promised by Google translate from the innkeeper's e-mail, was just that. But it was a bit disconcerting that the innkeeper's skin was bright orange (apparently tanning is big in the Alps), and Jim, the pillows were the apotheosis of German bedding. Please, would someone tell me what I'm supposed to do with the combination of a folded-over brick and a mini down pillow?
The skiing? Well, here it is in a nutshell: the beauty to terrain ratio was completely skewed. I mean, look at these photos:
But what they don't show is that the mountain (we skied the Fellhorn area) doesn't have very many trails and is seriously poorly designed. We skied down to Austria on one side (no passport required), and then took a gondola up. Very cool, and the best runs of the day. But seriously, only one run for all the terrain covered by a gondola? There is also only one piste (to be honest, that word still annoys me; just say "run" already damn it!) all the way down to the base, so the last run of the day was an icy, crowded mess. Actually, the crowds were by far the worst part, like downtown Mumbai in the snow. It would be a nice mountain on a Tuesday powder day, but on this occasion, the Germans we met confirmed it was brutally overcrowded (the Herr taking our picture: "Vee are giving up and having ein beer"). But hey, I guess we should have done as the Germans do. When the skiing gets crowded, and the temperature hits 20, it's time to sunbathe at the summit:
Things picked up back in the Guest Haus after I explained to the innkeeper's wife (also orange) that I wished to pay for the beer that I had liberated from the breakfast room fridge the night before (look, I was medicating the gash, and I figured since health care is free in Germany ...). She didn't understand me, of course, so instead of me paying her, she produced another beer on the house, which we proudly drank walking downtown in the manner of American undergraduates. [For the record, the frei beer was an Allegäuer Brauhaus Urtyp Export, much better than the medicinal Zötler Gold.]
Jeanine has a way of knowing when we need an especially good meal (I mean, crowded skiing in the Alps takes a lot out of you), and somehow she managed to find the Copper Onion of Oberstdorf.
This is becoming an exceedingly long entry, so I'll just say in brief that I found my own little slice of heaven on Sunday: the langlaufen trails one block from our hotel that culminated in the Erdlinger Arena (a World Cup venue) sandwiched at the base of several Alps. It was one of the prettiest spots we’ve ever seen, and no picture online does it justice (Jeanine's camera dies after about 4 pictures). The only thing missing was Erdlinger on tap at the arena, but luckily we found some amazing Käsespätzle on the edge of the trails and watched in astonishment as the locals downed beers and cake in between Nordic sessions.
On the first train back, the nice German women we were sitting next to seemed to say that the prison we were passing was the one in which Hitler wrote Mein Kampf, but a later Google proved this to be incorrect. Not sure if they were having fun with their new American friends or really didn't know. Said train also ran late and forced us to miss a connection ... which resulted in a bookending Turkish dinner in the Plochingen station. I've got to admit that the attributes of the doner with flatbrot were almost unbelievable!
The skiing? Well, here it is in a nutshell: the beauty to terrain ratio was completely skewed. I mean, look at these photos:
But what they don't show is that the mountain (we skied the Fellhorn area) doesn't have very many trails and is seriously poorly designed. We skied down to Austria on one side (no passport required), and then took a gondola up. Very cool, and the best runs of the day. But seriously, only one run for all the terrain covered by a gondola? There is also only one piste (to be honest, that word still annoys me; just say "run" already damn it!) all the way down to the base, so the last run of the day was an icy, crowded mess. Actually, the crowds were by far the worst part, like downtown Mumbai in the snow. It would be a nice mountain on a Tuesday powder day, but on this occasion, the Germans we met confirmed it was brutally overcrowded (the Herr taking our picture: "Vee are giving up and having ein beer"). But hey, I guess we should have done as the Germans do. When the skiing gets crowded, and the temperature hits 20, it's time to sunbathe at the summit:
Things picked up back in the Guest Haus after I explained to the innkeeper's wife (also orange) that I wished to pay for the beer that I had liberated from the breakfast room fridge the night before (look, I was medicating the gash, and I figured since health care is free in Germany ...). She didn't understand me, of course, so instead of me paying her, she produced another beer on the house, which we proudly drank walking downtown in the manner of American undergraduates. [For the record, the frei beer was an Allegäuer Brauhaus Urtyp Export, much better than the medicinal Zötler Gold.]
This is becoming an exceedingly long entry, so I'll just say in brief that I found my own little slice of heaven on Sunday: the langlaufen trails one block from our hotel that culminated in the Erdlinger Arena (a World Cup venue) sandwiched at the base of several Alps. It was one of the prettiest spots we’ve ever seen, and no picture online does it justice (Jeanine's camera dies after about 4 pictures). The only thing missing was Erdlinger on tap at the arena, but luckily we found some amazing Käsespätzle on the edge of the trails and watched in astonishment as the locals downed beers and cake in between Nordic sessions.
On the first train back, the nice German women we were sitting next to seemed to say that the prison we were passing was the one in which Hitler wrote Mein Kampf, but a later Google proved this to be incorrect. Not sure if they were having fun with their new American friends or really didn't know. Said train also ran late and forced us to miss a connection ... which resulted in a bookending Turkish dinner in the Plochingen station. I've got to admit that the attributes of the doner with flatbrot were almost unbelievable!
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
No Place Like German Homes
We spent a quiet last weekend in the Max Plank Guest Haus. For the first time in my life, I may have overdosed on watching televised skiing (God bless you EuroSport Germany). Here's a shameless plug for (and image of) up and coming American skier Noah Hoffman, who happens to write a great blog if you like skiing and European-dessert porn. His images of cream-filled concoctions are truly inspiring. I should tell you that it is very difficult to capture American skiers on the screen because the global feed blatantly discriminates against them.
On Friday we went to our first MPI happy hour, also Eric and Jessica's going away party. This being Germany (and a graphics lab with a large flat screen TV) a dance party courtesy of Dance Central for XBOX Kinect broke out. Someone actually brought big pretzels! Ha. And after a few beers loosened everyone's guard, we ordered pizza from Joey's Tubingen. Better for Joey to stay here than try to sell his pizza in the Bronx. Below are the two beers I had at the party, both of which are fantastic.
Today (just hours before our first joint German class), we moved to our (semi)permanent apartment down the hill. We got enormously lucky, considering this is a boom town and most leases in Germany run for two years -- thanks again Eric and Jessica. We're only about an 8-minute walk to Old Town, but our street and apartment are quiet.** Come see us: we have two floors-ish (a loft), two bathrooms (you can almost fully stand up in one of the two showers), and the requisite horrible German pillows. But we have a fantastic view of a quintessential German street, iconic European windows, and a balcony just waiting for spring so we can hang flowers from it.
** Quiet except for the fact that we hear church bells ring every 15 minutes. Look, I love their central-casting-ness, but the show seems to last from 7 a.m. until 6 p.m.; where can we lobby to make that 8 a.m. to 7 p.m. so that we can sleep like professors on leave without harming the overall chime quota?
On Friday we went to our first MPI happy hour, also Eric and Jessica's going away party. This being Germany (and a graphics lab with a large flat screen TV) a dance party courtesy of Dance Central for XBOX Kinect broke out. Someone actually brought big pretzels! Ha. And after a few beers loosened everyone's guard, we ordered pizza from Joey's Tubingen. Better for Joey to stay here than try to sell his pizza in the Bronx. Below are the two beers I had at the party, both of which are fantastic.
The one on the left brings us to no small matter. German beer consumption is declining, spurring one blogger to identify a "German beer malaise," and there is currently a debate here about whether the beer law (that's right, folks, the famous 1516 Reinheitsgebot) stifles innovation. For reasons I don't understand -- perhaps my brewing friends can chime in -- making an American-style IPA is hard under the law, so brewers have to get creative. But Crew seems to have pulled it off.
Man I will miss the Guest Haus's subsidized cafeteria, where all was known and the amazing creme-of-the-day desserts were 80 cents.
But even if Jeanine will, I won't miss the German his and her comforters and horrible German pillows
Today (just hours before our first joint German class), we moved to our (semi)permanent apartment down the hill. We got enormously lucky, considering this is a boom town and most leases in Germany run for two years -- thanks again Eric and Jessica. We're only about an 8-minute walk to Old Town, but our street and apartment are quiet.** Come see us: we have two floors-ish (a loft), two bathrooms (you can almost fully stand up in one of the two showers), and the requisite horrible German pillows. But we have a fantastic view of a quintessential German street, iconic European windows, and a balcony just waiting for spring so we can hang flowers from it.
** Quiet except for the fact that we hear church bells ring every 15 minutes. Look, I love their central-casting-ness, but the show seems to last from 7 a.m. until 6 p.m.; where can we lobby to make that 8 a.m. to 7 p.m. so that we can sleep like professors on leave without harming the overall chime quota?
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