A Short Clip from the Wilco Concert

Mcplorers

Pisa, etc., originally uploaded by roncoia.

Taken in the Pisa train station.

One of these explorers just doesn't belong. If your name ends with "the Hun," chances are you aren't look for mere trade routes.

Aslan's Backpack

Aslan's Backpack, originally uploaded by roncoia.

Aslan got a new backpack for Christmas. There are two cans of olives inside for weight.

It seems to focus her on walks. The Dog Whisperer taught us this trick.

I like it because of the resemblance to a superhero.

Cinque Terra Pictures

May this be yet another reason to visit Europe (we should, of course, be your primary reason!). Cinque Terra is perhaps the most unique, interesting, and beautiful place we have visited thus far in Europe.

See the Cinque Terra Pictures

Trouble in Monterosso

We went to a small trattoria in Monterosso for a drink and a bite after arriving. This place was half full, so it wasn't a problem getting a table. They advertised , "No Cuperto," a silly cover charge of about $3 each that most places in Italy charge. We sat asnd I ordered three glasses of wine for us. I asked how big the pizza was ("Che cosa e la dimenzione per la pizza?"), and she showed me with her hands. I ordered the margherita. She asked, "Three?" I said, "No, solo uno." "Only for you?" Kristie answered, "To share." The waitress clicked and tsked her tongue the way a nun does in Catholic school when she finds a boy hiding a girlie magazine. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. No, you must order all." She walked away without more discussion on the matter. The three of us sat and stared at each other. We got up and left feeling embarrassed and angry. I wished that I had least knocked a glass over in my rage. That would have showed her.

If I knew more Italian, I'd go back to express my displeasure at her treatment of us. Then, I'd throw a glass and run quickly towards to sea.

Wedding Vows

In Corneglia, Cinque Terra.

We had three macchiatos and three paninis. Kristie got mad at me because I unknowingly took the best part of her panini.

I guess "to have and to hold" in the wedding vows do not apply to a sandwich.

Lunch at Vecchio Firenza

It's a grand room with colorful paintings. It must be listed in an Asian guidebook, because we are one of the few Anglos in here. Asians kept coming out of what seemed like the kitchen area like clowns from a circus car.

At a Florence Cafe

I'm standing at a bar having a cappuccino and croissant like a real Italian. The men come in for a shot of espresso (they order a "cafe"). The barista is a 40-year-old man, quite different from the Starbucks teenagers manning an espresso machine. The first woman since I've been in here walks in dressed in black to match her dark hair and dark eyes. The men fawn over her and she smiles. She carefully sips instead of the usual gulping I've seen. Two of the men talk in elevated tones, and it sounds like rhythmic arguing. The place is full of morning people seeking fuel and a quick social interaction. Perhaps this is the Italian equivalent to Cheers, only if Norm gulped his beer in two quick sips.

We all are standing at the bar, even though there are tables. Why is this such a standing culture? The barista asks if I'd like another, and I say yes, although it seems like I am the only one doubling up on a drink. A few more women come in, but they don't create the same fanfare that the dark-haired one did.

While the constant stream of patrons continue, the same man talks to Mario or Luigi at the dolci bar. Each seems to be in a good mood, although it's difficult to see how one could be in a sour mood with opera-like cadence, wide smiles, and caffeine.

I'm back to thinking that I want to move to Italy. I know the tourist experience is different than the resident one, but I do love this experience.

The name of this place is Cafe Porta Rossa. I want to ask the barista's name, but that could sound strange.

I think that it's time to go, as I'm only taking up space, both at the bar and in this entry.

My Favorite Florence Picture

Florence 2007
Originally uploaded by macron

A picture from the Ponte Vecchio. I think this rivals Kristie's photos, but don't tell her that I said that!

More of my photos from Florence can be found HERE

Living (and Dying) in America

In 1985, James Brown had a bizarre appearance in Rocky IV. Today, he died.

Imagine if someone told him in 1985 that he would die on the opening weekend of Rocky VI. He would have laughed at the possibility of two more sequels.

Coincidence is almost as humorous as irony.

Christmas Eve

We drove up the Rhine on a castle tour. Unfortunately, most everything was closed. We went up to Koblenz, then further on to Cologne to attend the Christmas Eve service at the Cathedral. It turned out that we missed the Mass, but we were there for the bell ringing service.

Monastery in Eltville:


Wine Tasting in Ruddesheim:
We tasted German wines in a cellar owned by Japanese folks, and there we met a Singapore woman who is visiting Germany from England, but is on her way to New York.


Lorelye:



Marksburg:


Cologne:

The Cathedral
Kristie in Starbucks.

Christmas Eve Eve

Katrina arrived today, and we went to the Christmas markets in both Wiesbaden and Mainz. I suggest that you avoid the gluwein at these markets. It's disgusting, yet potent. Katrina and I winced after each sip, yet we finished it. Memories of high school...

We ended the night by watching Ed Burns's The Groomsmen. I'd suggest that you skip that. And Ed Burns, in case you are compulsively reading my blog, what happened to your career? I'll still watch all of your movies, though.

Aslan and Nemo

Aslan and Nemo, originally uploaded by roncoia.

Nemo is Aslan's German friend. He's a yellow Lab who lives a few houses down. Ollie and Kirsten bring him over often, so this is his second home. He's peed and puked in our house. Adorable...

Aslan had no friends in Korea, so she welcomes Nemo. Over Christmas while we are in Italy, Aslan will stay with Nemo. By then, she'll know more German than we do.

Ollie and Kirsten

He Can See Itself and Can Talk, But Doesn't Bite

Here's an interesting exchange that I had with a new kennel place that we are considering taking Aslan to this week. I'm not sure that I have my questions answered. Her responses are in blue.

----- Original Message -----
From: Coia, Ron
To: info@tierpension-huttner.de
Cc: Kristie Coia
Sent: Thursday, November 30, 2006 11:23 AM
Subject: Dog Kennel Boarding December 2-9


Hello. We'd like to make reservations for your kennel from Saturday, December 2 through Saturday, December 9.

Do you have an opening?
Yes, we have! Please, have a look at our website www.tierpension-huttner.de . There you will find our businesshours, some informations and the directions.

How much does it cost for our 24 Kg Labrador?
12,00 EU and 0,50 EU for head = total 12,50 EU per Calenderday

Will she have a chance to run and play with other dogs?
Each dog has his own outflow with us. If you wish an extra big-outflow, so this costs 2,50 per hour.

In order to exclude the danger of the bites, we hold all dogs separated of each other.

He can see itself and can talk, but doesn't bite.

Until now, all dogs have felt very well with us. Ask and/or according to your american fellow Citizen, that was already with us, at your animal-clinic however once.

Are the sleeping areas heated?
Obvious is heated with us.

Thank you for your help.
Like to happen. Have us please known whether you would like to reserve.

Until then nice greetings

Claudia Huttner

Venice and Thanksgiving

Italy 2006, originally uploaded by roncoia.

One of our favorite trips so far has been Venice. We went with Eric and Maria over Thanksgiving.

See our Venice photoset on Flickr.

The Keane Concert

Kristie and I went to our first concert in Germany, Keane. We bought the tickets in August, but we were tired and didn't feel like going yesterday. We drove to Offenbach (near Frankfurt) hoping to find an eager-yet-ticketless fan with a few euro. There were a dozen folks trying to sell tickets. They didn't look as innocent as Kristie, though.

I think I've been to that same venue years ago when I lived here in the Air Force. I dragged youth group kids with me to see any Christian band traveling in country. I jumped on stage with Whitecross, peeked into Petra's dressing room, and went to the bathroom with DC Talk. Fortunately, Sandy Patti never came, or else I would have been willing to share a tender moment with her.

The concert was fine. At one point during a song, the auditorium waved lighters in the air. We do this today to be ironic; Germans seem to do it to express sentimentality. They seem to be stuck in 1980s America. I felt like I was in Motley Crue's "Home Sweet Home" video. Touching.

I resisted the urge to jump on stage. Playing those keyboards really make a guy sweat, and I didn't want to touch anybody.

What I Learned in German Class

We went to German class tonight. I wasn't paying attention to the teacher, and, instead, looked up strange words in my dictionary.

1. Blutspender means "blood donor." Blood spender...Graphic.

2. The German word for "soon" is bald. Is this a cruel joke that the Teutonic vernacular is playing on me, someone who is thinning on top? Don't I have enough to deal with without the cruelty and mocking of a language when nature's course is completed? In Italian, "soon" is translated presto. I like the sound of that better. It's has a magical feel to it.

3. The word for "thick" and "fat" would make junior high boys--and me--giggle with forbidden delight.

My Name in Paris

Paris by the Numbers

Here’s the cost in dollars of our Paris trip in October:

$230 Airline tickets
$279 Hotel room

Friday
$59.97 Aslan’s Boarding
It seems like a lot to pay for jail time. Bettina, the owner of the kennel, greets us each visit with a cigarette in one hand and indifference in the other.

$18.11 Train from Wiesbaden to Frankfurt Airport and back again
We are a five-minute walk to the train station, and then it’s a 40-minute ride to the airport. It’s pretty convenient.

$19.46 Two Paninis and bottled water at an airport kiosk

$60.81 Taxi from Paris airport to our hotel in the Latin quarter
The Lebanese driver blasted French hip-hop in our ears. A blending of many cultures in one cab.

$10.14 Went to a Quickstop near the hotel to buy snacks. The place reeked of mildew. We bought cookies and water.

Saturday
$23.92 Our first French breakfast
We were expecting little men with stereotyped accents serving us soufflés and omelets shaped as the Eiffel Tower. Rather, we had a Cambodian young man who served us runny, undercooked eggs congealing like blood. I slurped the eggs from my fork and tried to think of better days.

$6.35 Pastries on the way to Notre Dame.
We bought them and stopped on the street to eat, and a couple asked us for directions to an ATM. I could tell that he was from New England, and I asked him where he is from. He is from Pawtucket, Rhode Island, like me. We left and had chowda togetha.

$22.97 Louvre Museum
Worth it all, except for a minor scuffle I had with the coat room attendant. The Louvre is the only reason that I would return to Paris.

$13.51 Audio Tour
These were not nearly as good as we thought they’d be. They explained minor pieces in great detail, but had nothing on many others. And, we looked silly with them on our lids for four hours.

$36.35 Café Richelieu for lunch
We ate at the Louvre’s café for lunch, certainly not the smartest move. “Richelieu” is a slant rhyme to “screwed.” Whatever I had was forgettable.

$13.51 Wine and Crème Brule
We left the Louvre and stopped in a parkside outdoor café. I had the wine; Kristie had the crème brule. I only like the hard, crusty top.

$3.78 Metro tickets to Arch de Triumph.


$1.35 Bounty Bar in the candy machine in the Metro

$65.54 Dinner with a glass of wine



After much walking around looking for a perfect French café, we came to this one. It seemed fine, and we started with two glasses of wine. Our waiter was young and seemed inexperienced, but he was friendly. The tables were quite close together, and, as he was delivering the plates to our neighbors, his tray clipped my wine glass and knocked it over. It was a deluge of red wine in my lap. He was apologetic, and told me he would pay for the dry cleaning. I wasn’t too upset, as I felt that it was accidental and he was properly remorseful. I put my jacket on, and we continued the meal. After the meal, they still wanted payment. I talked to the manager and showed her my ruined clothes, and she told me to wash it. This did not help my attitude towards Parisians. I was the friendly, acquiescing American, and she was the cold, cold French. I said that I will only return for the Louvre, but, at this point, even that is in question. I took my clothes to the dry cleaner, but they were closed on both Sunday and Monday. I brought them to the cleaners here in Wiesbaden, but the stain never came out.

$7.57 Metro tickets

Sunday
$37.16 Breakfast in America
The best restaurant we ate in Paris was a place called Breakfast in America. It had glowing reviews from Frommer’s, and I thought it was tasty. It had a touch of movie memorabilia kitsch, and that didn’t hurt any. And, the eggs were delightfully cooked today. It was one of the best breakfasts that I’ve had abroad. This is always a difficult meal to find outside of the States, as Americans are the best at breakfast. We seem to require more than a croissant and coffee to get through the day. My guess is that the Atkins diet is not so popular outside of our borders.

$5.34 Starbucks
I had way too much coffee at breakfast to drink anymore. Kristie had one.

$19.73 Metro Pass
We bought a two-day Metro pass.

$47.30 Metro Painting
We went to an artist market (like Saturday Market in Portland), and bought this. It’s a discarded Metro ticket with a drawn picture of the old Metro signs on the back. Perhaps this sounds strange, but we like it. The artist was nice. He was from Germany, and told us that he saw Kennedy give his “Ich bin ein Berliner” speech in 1963. We also found a little carnival with a horse named Ronadoudou, but that has nothing to do with the artist or Kennedy.

$12.16 Model of the Eiffel Tower
I was surprised that Kristie wanted one of these. I wonder if they would have prevented us from taking it in our carry-on baggage. That’s pointy.

$6.35 Drinks

$18.24 Lunch at a Focaccia shop

$113.24 Dinner at Swann et Vincent


In contrast to last night, this meal and experience was excellent. The only problem was a family from Hong Kong seated next to us. The boy was spread out on the booth, and the mom moved him. Then, the waiter tried to seat a couple near them again, and the woman screamed at the waiter to have them sit elsewhere in all of these open tables. The waiter and host were both gracious amidst her rudeness. So much for the Rude American stereotype. How about those Hong Kongians? I was far more cautious with my wine tonight.

Monday
$4.46 Café
I went here alone in the morning waiting for a dry cleaning shop to open (it never did). I had a croissant and a coffee, but not the good kind. We are losing hope in coffee drinking in Europe. There’s a different taste to it, and it’s bitter or sour. There’s a woman sitting next to me writing in an identical book as this one. I wonder what her book says. When I arrived, she was with a man and they both were cuddled around coffee and bread. They looked like they were telling Paris secrets to one another, teeth shining with new love. They looked like two teenagers I have to chase away from the romantic nooks in a school. These weren’t teens, though. Rather, she was 40-ish and he was 50-ish. It’s Monday, so everyone is dressed professionally and hurrying to work (except, as it seems, the dry cleaner I am waiting for). Evidently, the man had to leave earlier than she, so he left waving through the store front glass. He unlocked his motorcycle and pushed it while sitting on it, the way a kid does with a bicycle that’s too big for him. He kept waving to her and she waved back. He continued to scoot and wave, and I was embarrassed to be around this Cupidic gesturing. It was like I was at the airport and he was headed to war. His eyes smiled at her and I’m sure his mouth did as well, but it was hidden behind his candy-apple red helmet too large for his noggin. He left the sidewalk and motored into the boulevard. She watched his trail of muffler fumes, and then unwrapped a set of blueprints. She smoked while writing in her book. Is she writing a love poem? Or about the new house they are having built on the Seine, one that has a partial view of the Eiffel Tower and spare bedrooms for the adult children they have from previous marriages? Or could she be writing ways to murder him, how she thinks it juvenile to be a grown man who still rides his motorbike to his job of selling tickets for a ride to the top of the Arch de Triumph? She met this stalker on the internet (ParisLove4Me.com) and now must concoct an “accident.”
Maybe this is too complex. She could have been writing that she is upset that she couldn’t see her love leave because some guy’s at the next table bulbous head obstructed her view, and that it is curious that he is writing in a book just like hers.

$45.27 Subway ticket to the airport

$24.32 Café de Flore


This was the only thing that I wanted to go to. It was the café that Albert Camus and Sartre spent the time discussion existentialism. I felt smarter simply by paying for my ten-dollar croissant. Talk about an existential dilemma.

$35.14 Casa Italiano
Yet another Italian restaurant in Paris.

$25.68 Picasso Museum
Dull. Unorganized. Crowed.

$4.73 Drinks

$11.89 Drinks at the Viaduct
The waitress asked me if I wanted fresh wine. I didn’t know what that meant, but it sounded like it would be Kool-Aid. She tried to explain, I didn’t understand. The restaurant was nice. It was a strip of trendy shops and cafes build into a restored viaduct.

$28.51 “Dinner” at the Airport
Sandwiches were served in plastic. I listened to Jerry Seinfeld in my iPod, so that made it better.

$3.38 Torte

$1316.09 Total cost for the trip
I can’t say that it was worth every euro cent.

Amsterdam's Coffee Shop

We went to a coffee shop in Amsterdam with some friends from Korea. I was curious to see how those drug houses work, and it was much different than I imagined it would be. We ordered at the bar (I had water, Kristie had cappucinno, just in case you wondered), and ther six of us went upstairs to watch. There were menus around tempting customers with hash or weed with strange names of flavors (Bubble Gum Weed wouldn't sound appealling to me even if I did smoke). We sat and talked, while the guy at the bar bought two mushrooms neatly packaged as casually as one would buy a cheeseburger.

There was no Pink Floyd or Led Zepplin or any other drug-addled rock music coming from the sound system. Rather, "Freeway of Love" by Aretha Franklin serenated the customers, hardly the trippy music one would think would be played. I told this to Carl, and he replied, "I know, but to be honest, I kind of like it." He was high at the time.

Perhaps we should have smoked a joint for true understanding, much like my theory that Pink Floyd's The Wall move would be clearer if I watched it stoned. As Aretha sings, "I'm riding in a freeway of love in a pink cadillac." Maybe she is onto something there.

Please tell me that this song playing is not the Pointer Sisters...

What Would Anne Frank Do?

As we were waiting in line in front of the Anne Frank Museum house, a boat of ten women on some sort of bacholerette party or an escape-from-our-husbands weekend trip floated by as they danced to "Copacabana" by Barry Manilow blasting on the stereo. Another boat with college boys went past. For reasons unknown, one of the guys had a clown wig on.

Juxtaposition.

I quietly hummed that Manilow song as I walked through the cramped hiding spaces.

Caught Shoplifting at the Wal-Mart

Of all the places to practice my sleight-of-hand movements, Wal-Mart would not be on the top of my list. I’ve resisted the temptation at the Apple Store, Toys-R-Us, and Old Navy. Don’t misunderstand me: I’m good enough to steal if I really wanted to. Card tricks and larceny are close cousins because they both involve misdirection (I’ll leave out the details of the time my brother David and I were caught stealing Star Wars guys at Zayre, the offense that had my mother forcing us on our knees reciting Hail Marys and Our Fathers to avoid eternal damnation). No criminal behavior for me, and I limited my powers to actions that end with the phrase, “Is this your card?” So to be accused of a crime I didn’t commit chaps me.

Kristie and I have been riding around on our bikes. Wiesbaden is a great biking city, and we are learning our way around. However, we do not have a bike lock here because our house shipment still has not arrived. We decided to go to the German Wal-Mart to buy one. Kristie stayed outside with the bikes and I went in. While in the bike aisle, I bought a front light for Kristie’s bike, as it is the law here to have a light on both sides of the bike. The very unhappy cashier checked me out and handed me my goods (I remember the clerks in the stateside Wal-Marts to be a bit more chipper). I asked her if she had scissors to cut the binding on the lock so we can use it. She looked at me strangely, and said no. I said goodbye in german (one of the ten phrases I know), and put them in my backpack and left. Outside, we locked the bikes and went back inside so Kristie could see what it looks like in the store. She bought a few things, and we checked out again, this time to a different clerk. As we left the checkstand, Kristie set off the alarm. Our clerk made Kristie remove the bag and go through again, and realized it was something in the bag. We removed the light and receipt, and showed her. She looked skeptical. She called the first clerk on the phone (her name was on the receipt) and asked, what I can assume to be something like:

“Did you sell this guy a bike light?”
“Who?”
“Him. This guy in tight bike shorts and helmet hair.” (At this point, I waved to her sitting three aisles away. Surely my cheesy grin would resurrect her memory.)
“No!”
“OK, thanks for your help. He is a filthy American thief.”

Our clerk turns to me, takes the light and receipt, and calls the manager. She has us wait to the side. The manager comes and those two get in a rapid discussion of my crime. I am helpless. He says that he doesn’t speak much english, so we go to another person. They talk and decide that we are free to go. I was angry, and wanted to lodge a complaint about the rudeness of that woman. Unfortunately, I didn’t know the german word for 1.) Rudeness 2.) Complaint 3.) Lodge. The best I could do is say, “Das voman ist bad” (using my heavily stereotyped accent). He said, “Yes, she is stressed.”

I realize right now that bad in german means water or pool. Hardly the insult that I was looking for.

Can the Size of One's Language Be Measured?

Earlier today, I tried to ask one of the gate guards a question about the whereabouts of an office on base. He smiled and said, “I’m sorry, my english is very small.”

My First German Conversation

I’m sitting at a cafe in the downtown area. I’ve just had my first conversation in German. Here it is:

(waitress approaches)

Me: Guten Tag.
Her: Hallo.
Me: Ein cappuccino, bitte.
Her: Ja.
Me: Danke.

(waitress leaves)

It’s 7 pm, and a bit late for an espresso drink. However, my german cannot grasp how to order a decaf double short latte. I’ll be up all night, so at least I’ll have the time to learn it.

Arriving in Wiesbaden

On the way here, some kid on the plane from Portland to Chicago spilled peanut butter sauce on my pants. I tried to scrub it off in the teeny bathroom, but it only made it look MORE like I peed in my pants.

On the long flight from Chicago to Frankfurt, I was in Business Class, the place without awkward teenagers and peanut butter. There was an anomaly there, though. All three of the flight attendants were men. It wasn’t a bad thing, just something worth noticing. One of the men looked exactly like one of my Bible professors at Multnomah Bible College, Rex Koivisto. I kept thinking that he would ask me who Habakkuk was or what happened to Joshua’s missing day in order to get a refill on my coffee.

After a quick entry in the European Union [sidenote: why is it so much more difficult to enter Korea than the EU? Those Korea immigration guards looked at me and my papers up and down as though I was trying to live a lifelong dream of sneaking into the country unnoticed. Those EU guards flipped through my passport as if it was one of those cartoons of a dog running, and handed it back with a smile.], I checked into my hotel, and had my first meal in the downtown plaza in Wiesbaden. First meal: Hefeweizen and chicken pho at a Vietnamese place. Perhaps I can’t run from Asia as quickly as I thought. Or hoped.