Life: Idiotropic

I've found in Europe more than anywhere else, that something strange is about to happen.  Really.  No day is really complete without a good chuckle or shake of the head.  Like the man last month with a real life rabbit riding on his shoulder.  I've found since that he's a bit off his rocker, but still, it takes some talent to train a rabbit, bonkers or not and it does qualify in my book as something a bit odd and rather entertaining.  Yes, I'm easy to entertain.

So, today with a bit of time, I took my newly arrived visitor to Port Soplaya for a quick snack before picking up the girls.  My normal place was closed forcing us to eat elsewhere, but that was fine because we had a good show.


First:  The wedding photo shoot. 

Blue skies.  Aqua Valencian beaches.  Sand.  Palm trees.  Could be amazing and you're picturing it, right?  Ok.  Now move the lovely couple with the handsome man in his nicest clothes and the bride in her long white gown with the train trailing after her.

Got it?  Ok... she has a train trailing after her as she walks and poses all over the beach.  And this is a Valencian beach in November which means that no one has looked at it or thought to clean or take care of it since August because once September first hits Spain, beaches are abandoned except for the occasional pale tourist.  The beach was the dirtiest I've seen it and the sand was wet.

They aren't even posing in the middle of the beach with the sea behind them or near the palm trees growing out from the sand.  No, they are huddled together kissing on a rock sitting among a pile of ugly rocks next to the pier.  Add some large red metal equipment of some sort floating in the sea beyond and the waves not splashing up majestically, but lapping up just enough behind the rock to wet the beautiful silk gown with the buttons up the back.  Photographers gather behind them where they can get her shoulder tattoo and her bra strap and tag as well.  A woman directs, but doesn't think to tuck in that tag.  The poor bride is walking awkwardly in her heels.  We watch them on and off for a good 40 minutes.  The final photo.  Sitting in the surf.  Yes.  Every bride's dream.  I'm going to wear my beautiful $1000 + bridal gown to the beach and then sit in the wet sand and let the waves wash over me.  Oh yes, that's romantic.  Hope she knows a good dry cleaner.



Second and third:  Valencia in not and has never been known for surfing.  To try, well, is like trying to build an igloo in Tahiti.  Not likely to work.  And, thanks to these two men, I think we have proof.  Don't go to Valencia for a surfing vacation.

Guy on the left decided to paddle out past the waves and wait.  May be those itty bitty 2' waves were too big?  Guess it takes real talent to surf the flat.

Or a paddle.  Guy on right decided to use his surf board as a raft standing there proudly with his little paddle working his way out to sea.  I'm not sure why.  Again, notice the waves?  Nope.  I didn't either.

Sometimes hiding in a normal day of errands there is a little bit of oddity to brighten the day.  This was a guitar day and a hectic one, but as we were walking the girls to their classes, one draw my attention to what was walking just three feet in front of me:  a man with a rabbit riding quite calmly on his shoulder.

We followed him for 3 blocks before turning off to the Casa de la Cultura here in Puzol and the little black and bunny just sat there.  Yes, it's a real bunny.  He did turn around once.  Next time... if I am that lucky, I will get out my big camera and get a good close up.  :)

Two things I wouldn't choose.  Both I saw today in Valencia.


1.  At Llinares, a well loved local ice cream shop, you can choose the creamy light gray anchovie ice cream.  And, if you get lucky, you might even get the real fishy that sits on top.  Not in the fish mood?  There are also Gazpacho, Potato and Egg,  Ostrich Egg, and Aphrodiasic Herb flavors.


2.  Local fashion is known to be a bit strange.  Here's one that isn't quite as loud as normal and it isn't covered in ruffles, but... well, probably not the best choice on a windy day.  Click to enlarge.  This is one croqueted full body jumpsuit.  Undergarments to be chosen with care.

This afternoon, once the most forboding clouds gave way to spots of blue thus raising our hopes of a somewhat dry afternoon, we hopped in the van and made our way to Maastricht for a day of shopping and playing tourist. A perfect day to enjoy the July sales and walk the historic streets, we saw our share of strange today. Here's a photo montage of the fun...

I was editing a Lisbon entry on my other blog... but got distracted.

I think it's safe to say that Germany won. The air horn started up about 15 minutes ago followed by a few screaming teenagers yelling as they walked down the street. Now we have a parade of vehicles traveling in both directions blaring their horns (hand firmly pressed onto horn without release), driving with large German flags waving jubilantly from the open car windows and arms waving just as exuberantly from windows and convertible roofs, emergency lights blinking on and off, and one with the side doors of the car open clearly revealing the boys sitting inside with their open beer bottles in hand. How drunk do you have to be to 1) forget to close the door of your van, 2) not realize that it's open as you're driving down the B56 at non-legal speeds, and 3) don't really care that you're sitting next to a huge gaping hole in the car. I saw the open bottle of beer in his hand. Was too astonished at the rest of it to notice if he was wearing his seat belt. Dangerous, no? That's gotta top the list of something strange today.

It's almost 11 - too dark for photos... otherwise, I'd be posting one of four bicyclists riding together... the leader wearing the German flag like a cape, and the three others with large German flags held high in their hands waving in the wind.

Ok, seriously... the horns, I can handle, but airhorn boy has GOT to stop. It's making me cranky. I am so thankful that I live surrounded by old people. I can hear a constant drone of drunken yelling in the distance. Grateful it's in the distance and Tinny isn't whooping it up next door.

Just when I think it's quiet... it all starts up again. We were warned by the Turkish Embassies that if Turkey won that the party would last a while. I think this one may last a bit too. There is, well, without going into it, a bit of tension between the Turkish and the Germans. After all, there are scads of Turkish living here and when a non-indigenous population reaches certain levels, there are tensions. So, this was the big game. Let's get out the venom on the field. Good place.

My girls thrown off by summer break, a sleepless sun, and a friend over (Hattie's parents went to see the game with friends), just fell asleep literally about 4 minutes before the noise started. Good thing or they'd still be sneaking out of bed for water. Ever notice that the sneakier a kid is trying to be, the noisier they walk? Anyway... back to Lisbon...

Oh... and P.S. I did see something kind of strange yesterday too! Well, may be not so strange as irritating. I was out all day, came home a little after 4 and noticed two amorous middle aged folks showing affection leaning against what I later found out was the girl's vehicle. I stood and chatted with my friend for a long time. The couple stayed there, uh, um, enjoying each other's company. My friend didn't want to go to the bank there because she'd have to walk by them. Well... I didn't stand at my window all evening, but at 8:20 (a full 4 hours after I first saw them), I walked into my office and there they were STILL at her car in the same exact location, STILL not wanting to say goodbye - or to get a room for that matter. So the strange: 1) They weren't teenagers. One was quite gray haired. They both looked late 30's to mid+ 40's. (I'm not saying that teenagers are the only ones who can be amorous, but am just saying that I would expect the lack of control and indescretion from a younger crowd) 2)They weren't in a quiet area. They were leaning on the street side of the car right on a main road and next to a very busy ATM/banking facility and 3) They were there for at least FOUR HOURS!!! Really, my feet would hurt by then. And they both had cars! They could have sat down. Odd.

'Cause I see something strange almost every day...

Yesterday I was driving down the back road towards Brunssum to drop Tiara off at the bus. (She left for a one-week beach trip in Italy) I was in a rush and driving quickly weaving in and out of these annoying artificial s curves in the road that narrows an already narrow road into a definite one-laner when I saw a middle aged women walking on the sidewalk just ahead. She was probably in her 50's, had on leprechaun green sweat pants on and a top that was quite tan. Or at least that's what I thought at first. I got closer. Her top was wrinkled. Closer. She wasn't wearing a top. Nothing from the waist up. And stupid me had to make the mistake of turning around. Ugh. Yep... definitely topless strolling along a well travelled road towards the Netherlands. I'm glad they have nudity laws in the states.

Today I was cleaning my kitchen and heard what sounded like yodeling coming from those tinny old-fashioned speakers... so I looked out my window. There was an tiny old tractor painted in bright red and green pulling a bubbly 60's style small camper in the same colors. There were 4 German flags attached to the tractor waving in the air as the tractor moved slowly down the street with a parade of traffic stuck behind it. I didn't see the radio, but there were definitely speakers in there somewhere because that old oompa music was loud. That was a camera moment. Couldn't get to it in time. But funny sight.

Springter - meaning, spring and winter, or, this strange time of year when we are walking with one foot in each.

All the daffodil bulbs in the medians and roundabouts in the area are blooming. And, we've actually had sun. But even with the sun shining and the flowers blooming in the trees and traffic circles, it's cold. Painfully cold - so much so that yesterday it snowed 20 whole flakes while I was walking through the Geilenkirchen centrum.

It felt like someone was playing a trick on us. Macaira asked - what was that? I didn't know what she was talking about, but then I felt it too. Huh? What was that? Couldn't be snow. But it was. And then I started mentally counting them. One, two, three.... 20 flakes in about 10 minutes of walking.

South of us near Spangdahlem the snow came down much heavier. They actually had real snow. Still, we can claim a small bit here and it compliments the daffodils quite nicely.

So, springter in and of itself is strange which seems to fit here where nothing is normal - at least by my ever dwindling definition of the word.

Today I was leaving my Spanish morning where my friends were all talking in warp speed making comprehension more of a task and the ability to jump into the conversation near impossible. Kind of like taking a walk in a tornado. Interjected comments into rapid conversations are gone before even getting out there.

Anyway... I turned the corner out of my friends' street to see a woman in her late 70's standing on the sidewalk facing her fence. She was wearing black wellie boots, a knee length blue skirt, a jacket, and a little knit cap. In her hand was a flimsy looking electric saw on a long extension stick "thingie" (we had a conversation about this at Spanish morning - they don't have words like "whatchamacolit" and thingie - instead they point and say this, that, or there). This little gray haired German lady was reaching as high as she could with her long saw, leaning into the fence, and pruning the upper branches of the tree in her yard. Amazing what meticulous workers the old generation here is. The younger generation is not the same. The do not work as hard. The ethic is not the same. They want to relax and drink the beer or eat the cake. But Tante Tinny works first. She spent three hours on Tuesday making the yard "shoene sauber." Beautifully clean.

The radio: This afternoon on the way to Schinnen I was flipping through my radio stations. The first was in Dutch. The second, a Belgian station in French. The third was a German station playing a classic American 50's tune (the title eludes me), traslated horribly into German and sung by a less than stellar singer. It was a bit odd. Kind of like The Lion Sleeps Tonight that I heard once in French, but at least that one sounded pretty good. It's hard to find consistent good music here. The stations play too much variety. More American music than local and the local German is, well, exactly what you'd expect at a tacky Octoberfest celebration with the old folksie OomPaPa music. I did hear a modern German tune recently, but it was a ballad to cake as far as I could tell. The entire song described different German desserts in detail. That's strange. One fun thing that has happened in this tri-border, multi-tongued world I live in, is that I can hear the differences between languages that I could never hear before and even in French - a language that is still really foreign to me, I can now hear where one word stops and the next one begins. It's fun.

The oddest thing: Today, post Schinnen, I stepped outside my front door onto the busy main street in my tiny little village to see not one, but two gaggles of German conscripts in full uniform with the German flag patch on their shoulders, their drab green packs full on their backs, and their big scary weapons swinging in one arm. I see them walking with their packs quite often here, but this was the first time I've seen a big group. When the second group got closer I could see feet. Each group carried a man laying in a sling - may be the squad leader? Who knows. In any country, seeing uniformed soldiers with weapons strikes me. Here, they just struck me as being very young. Their cheeks were all ruddy and full. Service in the Bundeswehr is obligatory for young men of age here. I've even seen an occasional female marching with them, but not today. They looked different than what I would expect though. Germany still holds onto a fleeting reputation. A hold over from wounds not yet healed. And with some Germans - the older generation and the police here, there is still that respectful fear. With these boys, there was none of that. They were children in green. Youth without even a glint of that which makes makes most of Europe still hold onto a general distrust of Germans and their Vaterland.

busiata
gnoccoli

arnacini
cuscusiera


it's poetic, isn't it? And I feel just a little bit prettier when I say them. Italian. As delicious to say as it is to eat. Which will be put to the test tomorrow when I cook up my busiata e gnoccoli for my famigia.

My amazing Italian friend just taught me to make two beautiful Sicilian pastas by hand this evening and in exchange, I taught her to make pancakes - half plain and half with chocolate chips which her daughter devoured. I also sent her away with maple syrup which she'd never tasted.

Doesn't sound like a fair exchange, does it? Sicilian pasta versus pancakes? And pancake isn't as fun to say unless you're Italian and you can say it with just the hint of an e on the end that makes it sing. But she was as excited about the pancake as I was about the pasta.

So to 600 grams of durum semolina flour - a very fine pale yellow flour, we put in 1.5t of salt and probably a cup or so of water... kneaded it, then let it rest under a bowl for about 30 minutes. [At this time it would be appropriate to sit with a strong Italian espresso and some tiny round crunchy almond flavored Italian cookie whose name currently escapes me. It would also be an appropriate time to sip a large glass of aromatic Italian red wine.] We rolled it to 1/4" thickness, cut strips, then rolled those strips thin. For the busiata, you place a skewer on one end of the pasta, then roll the skewer so that the pasta spirals onto it. Then you slide it off and you're onto the next one. If you make gnoccoli, you take that same strip rolled thin, then quickly pinch down on the edges of it with your fingertips rolling it slightly towards you. Marilena could do this absolutely effortlessly pinching, tearing into smaller strips, setting aside, then starting over on another strand. I, on the other hand, couldn't get mine to look remotely like hers. Not even close. So, busiata it will be at my house. If you want gnoccoli, go to Trapani. The pasta can be cooked right away in boiling water with a little salt and a little olive oil for 4 minutes, or you can dust it with flour so it doesn't stick together and let it sit under a towel until the next day. She says it's delicious with sauteed eggplant and fresh tomatoes. Mmmm.

On my Friday after a busy week, I was almost hoping that she couldn't come and cook today, but now I feel lighter and refreshed. So much so that if I had more flour now, I'd spend the rest of the evening rolling out and twisting up tiny busiatas until my fingers ached. Spending time with Marilena is fun anyway. We laugh at silly words as we try to communicate. She speaks English well and the words she doesn't know, I can usually figure out via Spanish. And every Italian word I have to repeat a few times, savoring slowly each syllable and slight inflection like a connoisseur would taste a fine wine.

Next time I will learn to make arancini which, I'm sure will taste just like they sound - delicious balls of rice stuffed with meats, ragus, or spinach, then fried. Can't be bad. Nothing she makes is bad. Marilena owned and ran a pasta shop when she lived in Italy. She can do anything!

Oooh, oooh.... and today... I went to Aachen with a friend and enjoyed a fabulously relaxing non-obligatory day when I didn't really have to do anything and tossed any sort of must buy or must see lists that I would normally have in hand when going to Aachen. I only knew I must sit and infuse myself with Starbucks- the coffee and the comfy chairs. So I had a triple Venti caramel latte (I think) non-fat, with whip... and it was good, though a bit sweet. It's been too long. I used to rattle off tongue twister coffee orders with pride. Every specification had a place and the rattling of those words were in cadence - almost poetic in it's own caffinated way.

ANYWAY... that is where Holly pointed out our oddest visual of the day: A beautiful raspberry marbled cheesecake looking thing sitting, all by it's lonesome, on a large dingy black cart - you know those big carts that you would use in a Costco to move heavy boxes? Yep. One big cart and one cheesecake. May be the cart is for the one who eats the cake.

Oh... that, and the wind-up sushi that I was oh-so-tempted to buy for Kirk just for a chuckle. I thought, how funny. I'll make up some sushi and then let this little one roll right off his plate.

The high for the day aside from the coffee and the delicious gruenkohl mit mettwurst I had for lunch, was finding a pair of jeans that not only fit, but were also on sale. Yippee! And, to watch a woman go from absolute stony coldness to slightly friendly and almost warm just by switching my words from English to German was really quite funny and sadly typical. Still... I got jeans, a cultural oddity, and a half smile all in one store!

Found a really cool French table at an equally cool Dutch chocolate shop - the Chocolate Company - where I again managed to salivate over everything and not buy one eensie weensie item. Am I nuts? Yeah! This is just not right. Next time, I'm buying chocolate... and may be one of those cookie cream things with the raspberries on top and a ring of marzipan holding it all together... mmmm...

You'd have photos, but I forgot the camera. :( Left it at the school on Wednesday after a yearbook meeting and there it sits. Now I have to go an entire weekend without a camera... don't know if I can make it... withdrawal is imminent.

A friend sent me this quote not to long ago... I don't remember if I've posted it here before or not, but it pretty much sums up living here where my days almost always include at least one odd thing like the man in the jogging suit with two little terriers walking by with a ginormous parrot on his shoulder, or the man riding a recumbent bicycle past my house while walking his dog, or the chicken handing out shots of Bailey's at the carnival parade, or the boy riding a bicycle and "walking" his horse.

Today I found an egg on my stairs. I suspect that my 20-year old cat must have laid it for there is no other explanation. We were out of eggs. I had just come home from the store with a new batch, then after putting the groceries away, I went to walk up stairs and found a warm, hard-boiled, brown egg sitting on the bottom stair. Tiara had no idea how it got there. Arianna looked just as clueless. Luci had been shopping with me and was also completely befuddled. Elise told me that someone was trying to get into the house and put that egg there. I did check my new eggs and none were missing. There were no miscellaneous eggs rolling around my fridge. Which leaves me to the cat unless some stranger did somehow sneak into our house unseen or heard by anyone other than Elise, and put an egg on our bottom stair. Either way, it's strange.