Mazamitla, Mexico...somewhere you've probably never heard of but should seriously consider checking out

Ah, Mazamitla...It would be as foreign to me as any other small town (it has roughly 15,000 full-time inhabitants but it's fairly close to Guadalajara so there are quite a few of the wealthy set from Guadalajara who spend weekends and summers there away from the city) in Mexico had it not been for the fact that my mother's neighbor, Amelia, up and built an amazing house there and invited my mum and I to visit, relentlessly. Obviously, her perseverance paid off and we went for a week and it was AMAZING!

Getting there: The easiest way to get there is to fly into the Guadalajara airport and take a bus or rent a car to drive head south to Mazamitla, around the shores of Lake Chapala (the largest lake in Mexico and a worthy site to see in it's own right).

Lake Chapala

It is ill-advised for women to travel alone in Mexico (still, unfortunately) so rustle up a motley crew and head on out! Mazamitla is a relatively small town that's also relatively remote, like, no wi-fi remote but you'll likely get mobile phone service (I did) and, aside from the lack of wi-fi, that's pretty much the only modern convenience you'll be missing out on but you won't miss it. Trust me. There is far too much to see and adventures to have for you to be glued to your phone or catching up on your emails anyway. If you're really that desperate for internets, bring a mi-fi or use your phone as a hot spot. Problem solved. 

Mazamitla is hilly terrain covered in forests and avocado trees as far as the eye can see. That's my mum in the left foreground of the photo, also taking a photo.

It's ideal if you're the hiking, camping sort or person and, if you're not, there's still plenty of other things to do. Like stroll through town....

And check out the local architecture...

Or go to one of the many markets...

Or stop for a beer in a shaded courtyard... (Say "hola" to mi abuela)

Or see the oldest shop in town, which is owned by a 98-year-old man who purportedly contributes his good health and old age to the shot of mezcal he has every morning. His daughter runs the shop now but he still shows up every day to hang out and chat with everyone who comes in.

They also sell freshly made butter there that they grab out of the refrigerator, cut a slab off, weigh it, roll it in wax paper and hand to you for about $1/lb. The baker is around the corner and you know he's baking bread when the door is open so you have to drive/walk by to figure it out and grab your bread when he's open and baking. Did I mention that, when traveling, unless it's because of some health-threatening issue, it's absolutely necessary to suspend all eating restrictions and just go for it? EAT THE BREAD and slather on that freshly made butter. Denying yourself these simple pleasures, especially while traveling, rather negates the point of traveling anyway. Since we're on the topic of food, here's what breakfast typically looked like:

So you have plenty of options, including nopales, fresh tortillas, fresh eggs, loads of different fruits and vegetables, and fresh cheese. That's tea with local honey in my cup but everyone else was drinking coffee made the traditional way, which involves bringing water and freshly-ground local coffee to a boil on the stove with a cinnamon stick and a chunk of sugar from a disc of unprocessed cane sugar infused with molasses. Then the whole lot of that is strained through a cheesecloth-like drip strainer into your cup. It made me want to be a coffee drinker, it smelled THAT good. Moving right along...

If you're not being served up platefuls of food by gracious hostesses/hosts such as mine, don't worry. There are plenty of great restaurants all over town and on the outskirts as well where you can get your fill of local cuisine (drooling right now at the thought). 

In an effort to work off breakfast (or lunch or dinner, for that matter), we had the chance to take a stroll around one of Amelia's neighbor's incredible aquaponics farm. 

It was acres and acres of well-maintained land, dotted with ponds that were teeming with different fish (primarily tilapia but also trout) at various stages of their lives. The nutrients created from their waste watered the abundant gardens all around and even supplied his much larger farm up the mountain. I fell in love with all the wild orchids...

So, if you want to check out somewhere in Mexico that's slightly off the beaten path but still provides plenty of modern comforts mixed with a truly Mexican experience, check out Mazamitla. And no post about Jalisco (the state/province where Mazamitla is located, famed for being THE tequila region) would be complete without some mention of mariachi so here's a photo I took of a mariachi band gearing up to serenade anyone within earshot:

Until next time, no matter where you go, enjoy the journey just as much as the destination!

*As usual, all photography is mine and I encourage you to share it if you like but don't be a jerk. At least, give me credit! Thanks!

An Introduction to Copenhagen: Part One

Earlier this evening, I got admonished/advised by mi abuela (not my actual grandmother but, if you could choose your family, I totally would've chosen her to be a part of mine so I'm super stoked that she is in my life and has chosen to take an interest in my life and has challenged me to take hold of my life. I hope I can do the same for you! We can't choose our family but we can choose the people to surround ourselves with that can help to encourage us, make us better at being alive, and to push us, even if we resist out of fear, to move along our own path, to take our own journey for the sake of ourselves.) to write about the amazing life I live. And it truly is amazing. I travel all over the world. I get the opportunity to meet amazing people. I have learned enough of several different languages to be able to find the restroom, order another drink, and find a place to sleep.

I've eaten street food and dined in Michelin-star restaurants. I've slept in a tent on a mountain, in a bed in a five-star American hotel, in a mosquito-infested room in Amsterdam, and been rocked to sleep on many a cruise ship. I once got lost in Luxembourg for three hours, looking for a hostel and rapidly running out of weed in the meantime but that's a different story for a different time. Remind me to tell you about it because it's a pretty good story. But I digress, as I usually do.

So, Copenhagen (which the locals actually pronounce as "Ko-pen-hay-gen," not "Ko-pen-ha-gen," like the rest of us who do) has quickly become one of my favorite cities thus far. It's truly a cosmopolitan city, much like Amsterdam, London, Barcelona, or Berlin. One of the defining characteristics of Copenhagen is that you can walk around the entire city, including Christiania, in the span of a couple of hours and that's at a leisurely pace. Denmark, and Copenhagen in particular, get mad bonus points for being super liberal in their politics, very supportive of their population, and being home to more Michelin-star restaurants than anywhere in the world (again, more on that later...this is just an intro).

Copenhagen is the kind of city that makes you smile so hard it makes it look like your face is going to break. A couple from Indiana took this photo of us after we had done the plane travel and, very jet-lagged found our way to for bevvies and snacks, my mum (on the right) and me (on the left, sunglasses hiding our travel-weary eyeballs). It's on Nyhavn (street, avenue, strasse??), which is one of the oldest paths in the city, on a canal, and, apparently, where all tourists end up when they first get to Copenhagen. So that happened. It also happens to be the place to be on a beautiful Friday late-afternoon when the weather is amazing and the average Copenhagen citizen goes to watch the people walking by, laugh at the silly tourists (see above photo), and enjoy the view. Boats line the canal and droves of people walk by in all states of dress or undress (we just so happened to be there at that time during The Distortion (Thank you, Wikipedia!). If you can manage to make it to Copenhagen during The Distortion, I highly recommend it and I also highly recommend taking part in the festivities (something I aim to do in the future for sure).

The average Copenhagen citizens seemed to be doing what we were doing but according to their own rituals, like these guys:

Perfect summer evening so the perfect opportunity to hang out of the canal with beers, bud, and friends after work. And let's not even get into the architecture or the boats or the chill vibe of the whole place while we're at it. There's a word to describe it and that word is "magical." Take your first stroll down Nyhavn and take it all in and go from there because this city is your oyster, a pearl to be found in every part of the city, in every step you take, in every person you see. Drink it in and savor the flavor of a culture of people who understand how you can truly experience life. 

And now for a very brief presentation of the average snack you'll get in Copenhagen. The place is surrounded by water so fish of all sorts is very heavy on any menu. Despite my Dutch heritage, I'm not actually that big on fish consumption and I usually rebel against it in favor of my comfort food choices (which usually include anything involving the revered potato, some sort of cream-based soup, and anything involving cheese). That being said, while you can get one of the best vegan/vegetarian meals of your life (again, more on that later) in Copenhagen, and especially Christiania, EAT THE FISH!! It's truly incredible what the Danes can do with the freshly caught, totally sustainable (they are WAY into that sort of thing....yet another cool thing about the place) fish and they have cultivated, over the centuries of their existence there, more ways to make fish delectable than anywhere I've been so far. I haven't been to Japan yet and had a real sashimi experience but, at this point, I'd put them head to head with the Danes for fish preparation, presentation, and eating experience. (And, again, I'm Dutch so that's saying a lot.) 

Enjoy this first look at Copenhagen. I have about eleventy-billion photos of this city and I plan to share more of them. You totally need to see the rustic-urban-rebellion that is Christiania, which I will offer you shortly. For now, feast your eyes and challenge your senses to the idea of adding this place and everything it has to offer (wait 'til you see the Opera House!!) to you list of places to spend more than a minute in because it deserves your time and attention.

To wrap up this post, here's a photo that I think is rad:

It's just a photo I took of ropes coiled on the back of one of the boats in the canal of Nyhavn. The beauty and magic of travel isn't always in the big sites, the big destinations, but in the details, the little things that constitute the lives of the populous. And in Copenhagen, you'd best bone up on your boating skills because that can't hurt, right? Humans are about 80% water so it's better to learn how to navigate and understand the tides and go with the flow. Travel on, .my loves!

More to come....and please leave comments regarding your own experiences in Copenhagen or anywhere else that you would recommend I visit. Follow me on IG for more adventure photos and/or tell me where to go for more of this life. 

*With the exception of the photo that the couple from Indiana took of me and mum, I took all of the photos with my phone. You're welcome to use them, share them, etc., as long as you cite you source. And please, PLEASE, travel and have that experience. You deserve it. 

Gettin' Funky, Y'all...

So, I've totally been in a funk lately...stuck in the doldrums between spring and summer, in a sort of purgatory where it's not so bad and it's not so great either. But, the thing is, it is actually pretty great, when I sit and reflect on it. Sure, there are plenty of things in my life that I'm angling to change and making steps toward doing that but sometimes it feels like that's not enough, y'know? I blame it on the weather, the planets, my hormones, my energy levels, whatever else I can think of as a reasonable excuse, plausible deniability when, in fact, it's just me. It always is...isn't it? Just when you want to turn the blame on someone else, you have to shake the shit out of yourself and realize that it's really you who is self-sabotaging. We really are in control of our own destiny but it's really challenging to accept that responsibility because it's A LOT. The overriding fear of failure, of disappointing someone else, of...of...of...the list of excuses gets longer the longer you wait to do something. I spent the better part of last weekend holed up in a blanket fort, hiding out from the world, drinking whiskey and feeling miserable about my life situation and feeling miserable in general. I blamed it on the weather and my relationships with certain people in my life but all I was doing was perpetuating the whole thing. My inactivity led to just that...nothing. Nothing changed. Nothing got better. My body continued to hurt. My mind continued to run roughshod over itself, blaming myself for doing nothing and then, on the other hand, congratulating myself for taking some me time and giving myself a break.

The thing is...as exhausted as I feel by my day-to-day life, none of that will change unless I actually do something about it. So today, instead of retreating from the sticky, cloying heat of the Florida summer setting in and settling into my joints where it likes to wreak havoc, I heaved my mass of bones out of bed and crossed a few things off my list, like sitting in front of my computer and writing a blog post and working on some other writing projects and purging myself of some stuff (fingers crossed that people want to buy what I'm selling!) and I, by putting it into writing here and now, intend to maintain the forward momentum. Do you want to join me? Do you want to get out of the funk and into the fun with me? Here's what I've got so far (feel free to add your own suggestions to the list!):

1) Do just one thing, or even part of one thing, on your to-do list every day. Today, I wrote a blog post and listed my engagement ring set on Ebay because I no longer want to carry the burden of the past that the rings carry with them. Plus, they are a consolation prize for giving up my life for a thinly veiled lie that I was too naive to recognize at the time. Why hang on to those reminders? Why keep them around to punish myself?
2) Say out loud at least one thing you are grateful for today. I know that there are a lot of advocates out there who say that you should say at least three things you are grateful for every day but, honestly, for me, sometimes, that seems challenging or redundant. Every day, I'm grateful for a roof over my head, a comfortable bed to sleep in, my beautiful cats, my wonderful and supportive friends, my loving family so, while they are all certainly included in my daily gratitude, I do my best to show my gratitude for something new, something different, every day. Today, I am grateful that I found a wash-and-fold right down the road for me that has reasonable prices and will use my organic detergent to wash my sheets so I don't have to be a laundry opportunist (though I'm extremely grateful to everyone who gives me open usage of their washer and dryer!) and I can support and small, local business. Plus, I get the chance to improve my Spanish, at least wherein matters of laundry are concerned. Limpia = clean
3) Eavesdrop. Seriously. Sit somewhere mildly public and just listen to the people talking around you and consider what they're talking about. It might make you laugh because it's silly or funny or ridiculous. It might make you feel something like gratitude for your own state of being. It might bring about a sense of compassion for them or for yourself. It will definitely remind you that you are not alone in this world and that you are part of a shared human experience, even if it's not your own current journey. The point is...just listen. For once, shut up and listen. It'll make you a better person. Listening is becoming a lost art. Don't let it die with you. If you need to talk, let me know. I'm here to listen. And I'll do my best not to give you unsolicited advice or to fix your problem.

That's it for now, loves. I look forward to your suggestions, comments, and your thoughts. You are important and you can do anything you want to do. I want you to succeed and live a life that is meaningful, just as much as I want to do the same for myself. So, if you're in, take my hand and let's run off into the sunset together and wind off into the great beyond.

Don't Bring Me Down!

I'm going to wager a guess and say that we probably have a lot more in common than you might initially anticipate. For example, I'm fairly certain that you, like me, probably get down on yourself for all the things that you've got on your to-do list, some of which have been on there since 2009 (I really, really need to clean out my closet...sheesh!). Like me, you probably have a tendency to say "Yes" to everything, piling on commitments and responsibilities, instead of saying "No" or politely declining instead. That might upset someone and, as a consummate people pleaser, the very thought of that isn't possible. I've been promising myself and others that I would get to this blog post for two weeks now and today, it's finally happening. And here's why: I love to do it but, when I put it on the to-do list with all the other mundane and/or seemingly insurmountable tasks (Anyone wanna buy a 1994 Mercedes SL320, because I've got one for sale and have no clue what I'm doing??), it turns into something that joins the list of chores, like cleaning out the litter box or taking out the recycling. It feels good to get those things done (and the house doesn't smell like dirty cat litter) but those things really aren't high up on my list of significant accomplishments, like sitting down and devoting myself to writing a blog post. When I finish this post, I'll hit "Publish" and walk away, knowing that I did something that makes me happy and I can cross it off of my to-do list for today. So that's why I hauled my butt out of the comfort of my Sunday bed, put down the silly book I'm reading, and cracked open my computer to tell you a story. Here it is:

When I was 16 years old, I got my driving license and my mum scraped together, unbeknownst to me as I thought there was never any shortage of available funds coming from my single mother, enough money to buy me a car, a 1986 Suzuki Samurai. In retrospect, upon examination of said vehicle's safety ratings and performance ratings, this probably wasn't the best choice for ANYONE, let alone a 16-year-old girl with a fresh driving license, but it was beach-proof and I could take the top off (and, subsequently, struggle in the dark when I came home to snap the damn thing back on or I'd end up with an inch of water on my floorboards from the frequent, almost nightly, thunderstorms that are common in Florida). I suppose it was a good thing that the Samurai wasn't anything close to what would be considered high-performance because it probably kept me out of trouble throughout it's tenure in my driving life, especially on the highway, where I was lucky to hit 60mph, going downhill, with the wind pushing me. Unfortunately, because of it's substandard safety ratings, it made it a less-than-ideal vehicle to be in an accident whilst driving. This happened twice, within three months of each other, and they were exactly the same kind of accidents, the first more serious than the second.

I was edged out into traffic in the right-hand turn lane, about to make the leap from side road to main thoroughfare when the opportunity for me to do so got taken up by a car sliding from one lane to another into my spot. I stopped and, unfortunately, the woman driving a much newer, much more solid car, rammed pretty solid into the back of my little Samurai, pushing it perpendicular to oncoming traffic. My foot had slipped off the clutch so there I was, stalled out and scared to pieces, while I looked out the driver's side window and watched cars coming directly at me. I jammed my foot on the clutch, started the car, put it in gear, and pulled the fastest U-turn I could to get onto the shoulder of the road. I got out of the car, shaking and nauseous. The woman who had hit me had already pulled over and witnessed the whole thing with me momentarily paralyzed in the middle of a fairly busy highway during rush-hour traffic. She apologized and we walked to the nearest payphone (for my younger audience, a payphone was a public telephone that demanded a quarter and then allowed you to make a phone call. They often had phone books attached to them, which listed everyone's name and phone number and at least part of their address. Yes, this was a real thing.). She called 911 and relayed what happened and told the police that we were physically fine so there was no need for an ambulance or fire trucks or any of that other nonsense, just the police officer to record the accident and make sure we exchanged insurance information.

He showed up less than an hour later, did what he had to do and left. She got in her car, I got in mine and we drove our separate ways home. I felt shaken but mostly fine at the time when I called my mother to let her know what happened and that I was home. She immediately told me to go take a hot bath and lay down. I did that and still felt okay, even when I was going to bed a little later that night. When I woke up the next morning, it was all I could do to move my legs, the pain was relentless and seemingly everywhere.

And that, my friends, was the beginning of a life sentence of chronic pain, which I mitigate with yoga, nutritional supplements, hydration, massage, and happy thoughts. Some days are much better than others and some days aren't. Today was one of the not so great day, which is why it was all the more important for me to sit down and  do this, write this, share it, and let you know that you're not alone. Don't let it bring you down and, if you do, don't let that bring you down further. It's okay to be down sometimes. It's okay to say "No" to things, to decline an invitation, to set boundaries for yourself. It's okay, and probably necessary, for you to have a day that's just for you, where you can enjoy your surroundings and inspire yourself to do something you enjoy.

Baby, please don't go!

I've contemplated writing about this for many reasons. Who is willing to bare their heart and soul? But it's something I have to get out. To let go of. To release so I can sleep better at night. Here is goes...A  preface: I can write about anything and nothing because I can research the hell out of anything. That's one thing my very expensive grad school education taught me how to do and how to do well. What any education doesn't teach you is how to let it go, how to cope, how to accept that your life is no longer what you thought, or envisioned it to be. And now I sit, in front of my computer, wondering, wishing, praying, how to do just that. Companies ask for writing samples and I get it...you want professional writing samples of work but, in the end, what really matters is how well you can speak to the human condition of life. Being a human is really challenging work and translating that is even more challenging.
If I were to begin writing my own story, there are incidents that I could relate that amount to nothing more than trauma-bonding. Yes, I was in NYC during 9-11. Yes, I was a Hurricane Katrina refugee. Yes, I went through Hurricane Wilma and Irma. Yes, I can go #metoo. But I won't do that at this point. Maybe some point in the future when I know you and you know me, we'll talk. All of these events that I've lived through have contributed to making me a stronger, more resilient human being, not one to crumble, walk away from the challenges of existence. My story goes like this: I was there. I survived. And, at this point, I took advantage of all the tools available to me to be stronger. You have that power in you as well. Trust me. I know from experience....lots and lots of experience. There aren't enough photos to articulate my point. There aren't enough ways for me to say, "I've got you." But there are enough shared experiences for me to say, "I understand you and we can do the thing together." Because we can. Because we are stronger together than we are apart. Because, with the right network of friends, family, and unexpected alliances, we can DO the thing. It's because of you that I know better days are ahead, that I can breathe through it, that I have faith in humanity as a whole. WE can do this and don't you forget it. Don't give up on You because the essential you still resides there. Grieve if that's what is part of your life right now. Celebrate every aspect of your being because it is worth celebrating. Do You because You a worthwhile endeavor. You are a worthwhile endeavor. And, if you need measurement that you are beautiful, kind, worthwhile, and a cause for celebration, please let me know. I'm not a licensed therapist but I am ready, willing, and able to bolster you. Let's not trauma-bond. Let's just bond, on a real human level. I'll tell you the whole of my story, warts and all, later. You deserve to know me and I want to know you.

Is it something I said?

Let's face it: Communication is a freakin' struggle and can be a huge stumbling block to any interpersonal relationship you have, especially if you haven't mastered the art of communication like me (HA! That's a joke...there's no such thing as a communication master. We all have things to learn and a long way to go to learn it.). What seems innocuous to one person is a major slight or insult to the receiver or another, especially without context. Rereading some of the text message conversations I've had with people is a perfect example of this. So much is lost without the inflection, tone of voice, facial gestures (emojis totally do not count as stand-ins for facial expressions, by the way), body language...I think you know where I'm going with this. Anyway. Back to rereading text message conversations (or emails or digital communication of pretty much any sort), and you end up hoping and praying that the receiver is picking up what you're putting down and vice versa. It totally sucks when something goes completely sideways because your text message was woefully inadequate in communicating your desired message. There's no quick and easy solution to the whole communication problem (sadly) but it definitely helps to practice a lot and to emphasize the positive. These are things I'm learning every day, with every interaction that I have with people. Also, there is nothing better than speaking with someone face-to-face or, at least, on the phone. And please, for the love of all that is good and holy, do not use the method of communicating with someone using solely emojis. We have evolved from a pictograph language. Let's collectively attempt to maintain our forward momentum wherein this is concerned.

So now I'll tell you a story:
I was living in Germany and had just finished training for the language school where I was starting to work. They had ponied up for the training and the travel to Leipzig, which was about an hour and a half by train from where I lived. It's a beautiful little city that I highly recommend checking out, if you have the opportunity. I finished my last day in training and had a couple of hours to knock around Leipzig before my train left. I found myself wandering around one of the many parks that proliferate Europe in general and Germany in particular. I had my backpack on and was, by all outward appearances, clearly American. There's something very distinct about Americans abroad but I guess you could say that about any nationality. Seriously, how hard is it to pick out the German guy on the beach in Florida?
So, there I am, wandering around in no particular fashion (the very definition of wandering, I suppose), and this guy in a black jacket and jeans starts wandering sorta close to me. I eyed him sideways a few times and stood up a little straighter but didn't think much about it. We were, after all, the only ones in the park so why should I be concerned? Did I mention that I was 22 at the time and totally fearless? So, black jacket and jeans gets closer to me and strikes up what could be considered a conversation if his English was better or my German was passable. Instead, it was a rather stilted exchange that left me horrified and him humiliated. He opened with the usual "Hello" and, as I mentioned before, had already pegged me as an American. I politely said, "Hi" and was planning on leaving it at that. He asked, "How are you?" I replied that I was good and stopped wandering. This was clearly not a place to continue wandering. Then he posed a really interesting question. He asked, "Do you love?" How poignant, I thought! How wondrously thoughtful and interesting and insightful for starting a discussion with a complete stranger from another culture in a deserted park! I nodded wholeheartedly and quickly said, "Yes! I love! I love my friends. I love my family! I love my cat! I love the earth! I love Germany!" This went on for longer than it should of and he cut me off before I could start naming species of plants and animals or shades of colors or individual shapes that I had a particular affinity for over another. He shook his head a little bit and then he asked, "Do you love...for money?" This struck me as a peculiar idea until it hit me. Black jacket and jeans had just asked me if I was a prostitute! The nerve! Really?!? I was wearing a backpack! What kind of streetwalker wanders around deserted parks all alone while wearing a backpack? I failed, utterly and completely, to hide my horror. I'm not sure which one of us fled the scene faster but, the next thing I knew, I was hightailing it out of the park and he disappeared from wherever he came from.
When I got home later that evening, I called my boyfriend at the time, full of righteous indignation that someone would mistake me, ME!, for a prostitute. When he laughed at the whole thing, I was agog at his response. How in the hell could he think any of this was funny? His girlfriend was mistaken as a prostitute! A lady of the evening! A hooker! Despite all of these exclamations, he laughed harder and explained the ways of German culture to me. "It's not a thing here," he said. "It's not like America where people are really uptight and weird about that sort of thing. You were alone in a park, just wandering around. If you were German or any other nationality, there's a good chance that you would have responded much differently to his question and made some extra cash on the side." Needless to say, I was speechless and it took me more than a few minutes to recover after his explanation. Today I can laugh about it and chalk it up to a cultural and social miscommunication, thankfully. And I can tell you the story about the time some guy in Germany asked me if I loved...for money.

Until next time, keep up your end of the communication.

Baby Steps

I had the completely obvious realization (to everyone else but me, apparently) that you can't just talk about doing the thing. You have to actually do the thing. And, evidently, even just pretending or thinking about doing the thing gets you one step closer to doing it. So here I am, doing the thing, writing the words, transcribing thoughts into words on the canvas of Blogger. I talk about being a writer all the time but what, really, do I have to show for it other than really (and I mean REALLY) boring marketing copy and a handful of bits and bobs that don't account for much in the end. Sure, the marketing copy is useful and helping people make more informed decisions about their office products but, in the end, does that really matter to me? Honestly, nope, not one bit. So here I sit, at the job I don't love, doing something that I do love, writing. When the boss is away, the worker bees will play. Ha!

I'll tell you a funny story:
I lived in Germany for a couple of years when I was in my early twenties. Moving off to foreign countries on a whim is something that people in their early twenties do, although, I must say, I highly recommend it for people of any age because it's a super fun, mind-blowing thing to do for yourself. I moved to a small town in the center of Germany called Erfurt. It's everything you're imagining right now...an idyllic little German town with a town square, a load of cathedral churches everywhere, and farmers coming into town during the summer with truckloads of strawberries, selling them in the town square and permeating the air with the scent of strawberries. Who wouldn't love that? I sure as hell did. But this isn't the funny part. I'm getting there. Bear with me. So, when I took off to a foreign country, I did what most people who do that sort of thing do: I taught English as a foreign language. All the German I knew I learned thanks to Wayne Newton (Danke Shoen and Auf Wiedesen, respectively) and the school where I taught believed in the immersion method so, thankfully, that was not a hindrance to my career opportunities. I mostly taught adults who needed to add English to their skillset in order to make them more appealing in the job market. Erfurt is a former East German town, you see, so most of the grown-ups there spoke perfectly serviceable German and Russian but very little English so I was a hot commodity with my English-speaking skills. My students and I had any number of absolutely amazing, and usually hilarious, conversations that were so completely off-curriculum it's an total wonder that I managed to stay gainfully employed for as long as I did.

My students, after I moved up in the transportation world from walking to biking thanks to a birthday present from my then boyfriend, informed me that I wasn't truly living the German experience or doing the whole Germany-thing until I had a drunken wreck on my new bicycle. I'd like to digress just slightly here and let you know that I didn't actually learn how to ride a bike until I was 10 or 11 and it's not really one of those things that I consider high up there in my skill set, like reading or my typing speed or my ability to make a long story even longer thanks to digressions, asides, and parenthetical bits of info. Suffice to say, I could easily get into a sober bike wreck (and have, many times, usually resulting in some part of one of my limbs broken or fractured) just as easily as I could get into a drunken bike wreck but, apparently, that is just a normal-human experience and not a now-you-actually-live-in-Germany experience. I assured my students that if and when the drunken wreck happened, I would inform them forthwith. I think that was on a Wednesday. Fast forward to Friday night because nothing of note happened between that Wednesday and the following Friday. Imagine an energetic and happy me, heading out on my new-to-me bicycle to meet some new-to-me friends for drinks for the evening (I think you can see where this is going). The thing about Germans and their relationship to alcohol that you should know if you're not aware of it already is that, well, it's different from Americans and their relationship to alcohol. For one thing, Germans are accustomed to consuming really (and I mean REALLY) high content alcohol beer, which, while getting easier, is still relatively difficult to find in the USA. The Germans are also used to consuming large quantities of said high-alcohol beer with a level of grace and sophistication the likes of which I had not experienced before nor have I seen it since (except when I hang out with my German friends, obvs.)

After an evening of carousing and general mirth-making, all while consuming vast quantities of high-alcohol content beer (REALLY good beer...they sorta have a thing about that in Germany), I mounted my trusty steed and rode off into the great beyond before turning around and heading to my flat since I wanted to go to bed. On the way back to my flat, a large shrub suddenly got ten times its usual size and consumed me wholly and completely. I laid in the belly of the shrub, entangled not only with it but my bicycle as well, for a full five minutes before gaining an understanding of how to escape the innards of the shrub and extract my bicycle as well. After all, I wanted to sleep in my bed, not in the hollow center of the giant shrub that had tackled me while I was placidly riding my bicycle down the sidewalk. I caught the shrub monster unawares as I stealthily made my escape, wrangling my bicycle as well. I decided to take my bicycle for a little walk that constituted the rest of the way home, wherein I deposited said bicycle in the entryway of my flat and promptly went to bed. The following Monday, I was proudly able to report to my students that I now truly lived in Germany and had the German experience.

End of story. Stay tuned for further antics that are mostly written when I'm supposed to be doing something else.