Before the month of April gets away from me, I want to make sure to finish writing about our friends’ visit from earlier this month.  Their trip started with watching the Ronde van Vlaanderen and continued with a visit to Luxembourg and Paris.  We rounded out their week here with a trip to watch Paris Roubaix, but we spent the two days before the race doing a little sightseeing in Brugge, Belgium, and Lille, France.

We arrived home from Paris on Thursday night, so we had two days to take advantage of before the race in Roubaix on Sunday.  Jordan was staying in Brugge, Belgium for work on Friday night, so we opted to drive a little out of our way and stay in Brugge that night as well.  It worked out well because we got to see Jordan again, and we got to see Brugge.  I had heard Brugge was a neat city, so I was interested in exploring.  We got there around lunch time and were able to spend the afternoon and evening wandering the city.

The focal point of Brugge is the large clock tower that soars over the town square.  The square itself is lined with beautiful old buildings and has a central plaza.

We had lunch at a very Belgium pub called Bierbrasserie Cambrinus and were treated to local specialties, like frites, croquetttes, and Belgian beer.  The food was good, and the service was great, but the menu itself was amazing.  It was about an inch thick with a few pages set aside for food and the rest dedicated to all the beer choices.  Even a person who doesn’t like beer (*ahem*) should be able to find a beer she likes at this place!

Dumon Chocolatier

After our meal, we headed out to find a good chocolate shop.  Brugge is famous for their chocolates with dozens of local chocolatiers having shops throughout the city center.  In order to narrow in on the best one, I did some online research and went with my good standby, Rick Steves.  He recommended the Dumon Chocolatier.  I had to laugh because when we got there, there was another American and his son already in the shop, and the employee who helped us asked us if we were referred by Rick Steves.  Clearly that guy is very popular for travel recommendations.  We appreciated the recommendation.  The chocolate was delicious, and the employees were very friendly and helpful.

More sites in Brugge.

We walked around the city a bit more and then found a place to have dinner before heading back to our hotel and calling it a night.

In the morning, we headed to Roubaix, France for the Paris Roubaix Challenge.  The Paris Roubaix Challenge is a ride that lets recreational cyclists ride the same roads that the professionals ride during the race.  Our friends had signed up for the ride, so I dropped them off near the Roubaix velodrome where the ride started and wished them luck.  Then I drove a few miles to Lille, France to do some sightseeing on my own.

Beautiful buildings in Lille, France.

I only had a few hours, so I probably didn’t really see all that the city had to offer, but I had time to walk around and see a lot of the notable landmarks.  I also did a bit of window shopping.

I walked down narrow streets, Admired gorgeous cakes in a bakery, and found a nice lunch that balanced all the heavy Belgian food we had eaten the day before.

After a few hours in Lille, it was time to head back to Roubaix to see how our friends had fared against the Roubaix cobbles.  They reported that the cobbles were unlike anything they had even imagined – extremely difficult and bone-jarring, but they did the whole ride and didn’t look any worse for the wear, so I’d say they did awesome.  Next up it was off to Compiègne, France to settle in to our hotel for the night and prepare for the last leg of the journey: spectating the Paris Roubaix race.

It’s always really nice to have friends come to visit.  I had a really great time hanging out with them and exploring new places.  I feel like we did a good job of maximizing their time here, and we got to see a lot of cool things and have a lot of unforgettable experiences.

Their first night in Luxembourg, we stayed home and cooked dinner.  Not the most exciting option, but I figured a break from dining out would be nice.  Plus, that was Jordan’s only night home, so we were all able to catch up together without having to worry about talking over crowded restaurant noise.  The next day we kept busy with a dog walk in the forest near our house, a walking tour of downtown Luxembourg, and a bike ride to the Mosel.  It was nice to be able to show some friends from home what our life is like here.

The next day, we were up early and headed to the train station to go to Paris.  We arrived in Paris with time to check into our hotel and drop off our bags before having an early lunch.  I put together a walking route of the city that would hit all the major Paris landmarks, and I sprinkled in gastronomy stops along the way at places where I’d never been but wanted to try.

Clockwise from top left: Eiffel Tower, sweets at La Grade Epicerie de Paris, Mexican food in Paris, Croque Monsieur at Le Nemrod.

The first food stop was lunch at Le Nemrod for Croque Monsieurs, based on a recommendation from Expat Edna.  The service there was great – they even brought is a carafe of tap water! – and the cost was reasonable.  I never had a Croque Monsieur before, but it was basically a piece of bread with a slice of ham on top and a bunch of cheese melted on top of that.  I guess I was expecting something less simple than that, but nonetheless, it tasted good, and it filled us up.

Next we walked to the Eiffel Tower and Trocadero, then we hiked over to the Arc de Triomphe.  Then we walked down the Champs Elysees, past the Grand Palais, and to the Seine.  We walked along the river to Place de la Concorde, and then up through the Tuileries to the Louvre.  By then we were all good and tired and more than ready for our next gastronomy stop, Angelina.

Chocolat Chaud and a dessert at Angelina.  Luckily for us, this was the line when we left the restaurant; it was considerably shorter when we arrived.

Angelina is right on the Rue de Rivoli, so I probably walked by it at least half a dozen times in previous visits to Paris.  I remember walking by and seeing the picture-perfect desserts in the window and figuring it was something too hoity-toity for me.  But since then, I’ve read in several different places that their chocolat chaud is an iconic Parisien experience that is not to be missed, so I decided we needed to try it.  When we got there, there was a short line to wait for seating, but it moved quickly, and when we got a table, we were tremendously relieved to be able to take a load off our feet for a while.  We all ordered Chocolat Chauds and a dessert, and they were indeed delicious.  I think I have to add this to my normal list of places I take people when we go to Paris.

After a good rest and healthy jolt of sugar, we were ready to finish off our walking tour which took us down Rue de Rivoli then along the Seine to Notre Dame.  There was a line to get into Notre Dame, but like always, it moved quickly.  By that time, we had walked over 10 km on the hard concrete/cobbled streets of Paris, so after walking through the church, we were more than ready to head back to our hotel and recombobulate before dinner.

Some Paris landmarks: Eiffel Tower, Arc de Triomphe, Sacre Coeur, Notre Dame.  Notre Dame was celebrating its 150th anniversary, so there were bleachers set up in front of the cathedral.

For dinner, I was thrilled that our guests humored me and agreed to go out for Mexican food.  I found a restaurant close to our hotel that is owned by a couple; the wife is originally from the U.S., and the husband, who is the chef, is originally from Mexico.  The restaurant is called Fajitas.  The food was delicious, although I have to admin the burrito kicked my butt.  I could only eat about half of it before I was too full to even look at it.  It seems that my burrito-eating ability has atrophied since living here.  Very sad! :(

My idea with Day 1 was to give my friends a good idea of the city so that they could decide what they wanted to sink their teeth into on Day 2.  They decided to spend the morning at the Louvre and then in the afternoon, we headed to Sacre Coeur.  It’s interesting to hear different people’s opinions of the ‘best aerial view of the city,’ but in my opinion, for the price (free) and the time (no waiting in line), you can’t beat Sacre Coeur.  Unfortunately, it was a cloudy day, so the view wasn’t as beautiful as normal, but it was still nice.

After a stroll through Montmartre, it was back to the hotel to pick up our suitcases and onto the train station.  Then back to Luxembourg to reset for the last leg of their trip.

Rewind to the end of March.  Ronde van Vlaanderen, or Tour of Flanders (in English), another one of the famous Spring Classics was on the bike racing schedule.  This race rivals Paris Roubaix for notoriety.  I’m sure you could easily get an animated debate going among cycling fans over which race is the ‘best’ Spring Classic, but suffice it to say, they are both easily in the top-2.

Ronde van Vlaanderen is held in Belgium.  Like Paris-Roubaix, it is also known for its cobbled roads, but it’s cobbled roads are steep short climbs.  The climbs vary in length from less than half a kilometer to 2.2 kilometers, some with gradients up to 20%* (for the non-initiated, that’s reeeeally steep).  It is these short-steep-punchy climbs coming at the riders over and over and over again that make the race difficult.

I wasn’t planning on going to watch Ronde van Vlaanderen.  I didn’t want to put Willow in the kennel for those extra days, and I didn’t want to drive all the way there and back all by myself.  But then a couple of weeks before the race, I was talking with my friend Will and found out he was interested in going to the race.  Plus, his wife could watch Willow.  Perfect!  So a plan was hatched, and on Sunday morning, we set out bright and early for the heart of Belgium.

I’d never been to this race before, so we didn’t know what the best viewing strategy would be. Since the race was 256 kilometers long and climbed several bergs (berg means hill in Flemish), we had a couple of options.  We could try to hop from place to place during the race and see the riders at various points, or we could pick one point and camp out for the day.  We decided on the latter option, and we chose the Oude Kwaremont for our viewing location. We chose it for a few reasons.  First, it was the longest berg, so we figured there would be room for all the spectators to spread out and get a good view of the race. Second, the race course routed the riders up the Oude Kwaremont three times, so we’d get to see them come by 3 times without having to move.  Third, we had been told there would be beer stands and food stands set up on the hill, so we’d have easy access to lunch.

We weren’t exactly sure where we were going, how to get there, or how early we needed to arrive.  We chose our arrival time based on a very simple fact: I’m not willing to wake up before 6am except in extreme circumstances.  With Sunday being the day we changed our clocks in Europe, that meant 7am felt like 6am, so I decided that we could try to be on the road by 8am.

For driving directions, we again followed the advice of Pedal Dancer.  We got a little confused and had a hard time following the directions to a tee, but using the river and the nuclear plant as a guide got us close enough that we started to see groups of fans walking in one direction, so we figured we should start looking for a parking spot and did not have a hard time finding one.

We ended up getting to the race 2 hours before the women came through (the professional women cyclists also had a race on this course on the same day) and 3 hours before the men first came through.  That was plenty of time.  We had enough time to walk to the course from our parking spot, find the food stands, find the bathrooms, and walk up and down part of the hill to check out the viewing options.  Then we returned to the car to get all of our provisions, walked back to the hill, and were still able to stake out a nice viewing location where we set up camp.

Some views of the Oude Kwaremont.  As you can see, it was not very crowded 3 hours before the men’s race came through.

My friends from Wisconsin Dave and Kristin had just arrived in Brussels the day before and were staying at a hotel near the course, so they walked over and met us, and we spent our time waiting for the riders by drinking beer, eating grillables, chatting, and taking in the atmosphere.  The two hours flew by, and before we knew it the women racers came by.  The next hour went by equally as quickly, and then the men came around for the first time.  We found that the course got significantly more crowded as the afternoon wore on.  But our spot was elevated from the road by about 6 feet, so we had no trouble seeing the race even as the crowd thickened.

Clockwise from top-left: Women’s World Champion Marianne Vos leads the women’s field up the climb; when the men came by, you can see that the crowd had thickened considerably; last lap: Fabian accelerates through the field with a dangerous hanger-on; one of the many animated Flanders fans.

After the riders came up the hill for the second time, a significant amount of the crowd got the heck out of dodge.  We figured they were trying to get to the finishing town to watch the end of the race in person.  We, on the other had stuck it out for the riders’ third time up the climb because a little birdie told us there might be “fireworks.”  And fireworks there were.  There had been two riders off the front for a significant portion of the race, and they were just getting caught on this last time up the Oude Kwaremont.  The eventual race winner, Fabian Cancellara was making his move.  He was about 20 riders back, and he accelerated and started ascending through the field as if he were a helium balloon amongst lead weights.  It was pretty awesome to watch. After the riders passed by for the third time, we headed to the top of the hill where there was a jumbotron set up in a wide open field.  There was also a frites stand, so we were able to eat Belgian Frites and watch the finish of the race unfold.  In the end, the rider we were cheering for, Fabian Cancellara broke away from all the other riders and crossed the line solo for a hard-earned win.

Clockwise from left: Enjoying frites and watching the end of the race on the jumbotron; high-fives for Fabian’s win; crowds of people walking up the hill to watch the race on the jumbotron after the riders went by.

All in all, considering we didn’t really know what we were doing, I’d say it turned out to be a pretty great day.  Mmm.  Now my tummy is growling.  More Belgian Frites, please!

- Bakker Bugle photos thanks to the Bakker Bugle Blog,

*http://www.climbbybike.com/climb.asp?qryMountainID=720

http://www.climbbybike.com/climb.asp?Col=Paterberg&qryMountainID=942

This past week, friends of ours from Wisconsin came to visit.  We kept busy the whole week spectating bike races and sightseeing in several cities.  The dates for their trip were guided by two major bike races in Europe, one in Belgium called Ronde van Vlaanderen and one in France called Paris-Roubaix. These races are the most famous in a series of races called the Spring Classics.  I’d say next to the Tour de France, these races are the next most popular for a cycling fan to want to come and watch.

Even though it was the last thing we did, I’m starting my series of blog posts about their visit with Paris-Roubaix–partly because it is the freshest in my memory and partly because it was so awesome.  Paris-Roubaix  is the Spring Classic that is the most known for its cobbled roads.  It has 50 sections of cobbled roads ranging in length from 300 meters to 3.7 kilometers long throughout the 260 kilometer race.*

Unlike many of the other classics races which are filled with short-punchy climbs, Paris-Roubaix is very flat.  You’d think this would make the race easier, but so many sections of cobbled roads really take a toll on the riders.  Their hands ache from gripping the bars, their muscles ache from being slapped against their bones, their forearms are fatigued from acting as shock absorbers for the bumpiness; and the course offers no protection from the wind, which becomes another force to battle against during the race.

If you watched the race on TV this year and saw Stijn Vandenbergh’s crash, you probably felt bad for him and accosted the fan for getting in the way but also wondered why he wasn’t riding in the center of the road a safe distance from all the spectators.  That is how energy-sapping, momentum-sucking, and bone-jarring the cobbles are–sometimes the rider’s best chance of keeping up with the rest of the riders is to ride off to the side of the road where the surface is smoother – even if that means getting really close to the fans.

The night before the race, Dave, Kristin, and I stayed in Compiègne, which is the town where the race starts.  Our plan for the day was to go to the start to see the riders before the race, then jump in the car and head to one of the most (in)famous cobbled sections of the race, the Arenberg, and then drive to the finish in Roubaix, France.

We didn’t really know what the heck we were doing, so we followed the team vehicles from the hotel to the start of the race and actually had an easy time finding a parking spot.  We were able to get special access wrist bands, so we walked right into the start area where all the team vehicles were parked.  We walked around there for a while ogling at team bikes, busses, vehicles, and riders, and then we headed back to the car to drive out to the Arenberg.

It was pretty surreal to be inside the barricades looking out at the crowds of people waiting to see the race start.

We decided to go to the Arenberg despite warnings that it would be overly crowded with fans, difficult to find a parking spot, hard to get in and out of, and that we would only see the riders for an instant as they sped by us at race speed.  But the thing is, when you think of Paris Roubaix, you think of the Arenberg cobbled section that runs through the Arenberg forest, and if you’ve come all the way across the ocean to watch Paris Roubaix, you’re pilgrimage isn’t complete without a trip to the Arenberg forest.  So despite warnings against it, we headed to the forest.  We had a map of the area (remember those things that are made of paper and fold open and have several different colored squiggly lines on them?) and the instructions in this blog post to guide us, and we went for it.

Although we had to be a bit creative in finding a parking spot, we had no troubles getting to the Arenberg.  We parked in a small parking lot at a trail head.  The trail led about 1 mile through the forest and dumped us off at the beginning of the cobbled section.  We got there about an hour before the riders came through, and at that time, it was crowded, but not packed.  We were able to find an empty section along the road and claim our spot to watch the riders come by.  Then we chatted, ate the lunches we brought and just generally took in the scene.

When the riders came by, it was like the running of the bulls (I’d imagine, though I’ve never seen the running of the bulls).  A giant dust cloud swirled up, the sound of bikes wheels bumping up and down over cobbles mixed with the cheers of the crowd, and the ground vibrated under our feet.  And, indeed, it was all over within a few seconds, and the riders went by so quickly that we could barely identify who anyone was, but that is beside the point.  The fun was in the whole experience – the finding a parking spot, walking through the forest, hanging out at the side of the road chatting, eating lunch.  The riders coming by was of course the most important part, but it was still just one part of the whole experience.

Clockwise from left: Walking through the forest to get to the cobbled road, cobbles in the Arenberg, spectators lining the Arenberg.

Okay, I hope you’re still with me because my favorite part of the day is yet to come.  After the riders passed by on the Arenberg, we booked it back through the forest to our car to drive to Roubaix for the finish of the race.  We had thought our wrist bands that got us into the start area would get us into the velodrome, which is where the race finishes, but alas, we were not so lucky.  Things still worked out okay as Dave and Kristin found a grassy hill overlooking the velodrome that afforded them a view of the finish line and a large jumbotron showing the race.  I met up with Jordan and watched the race with him on the TV in the team bus.

Now I haven’t mentioned this yet, but the cyclist who was the favorite to win the race is on the team that Jordan works with, so we were all cheering for him on the bus.  By the end of the race, he was alone in the lead with one other rider.  It was nail-biting to watch the two riders try to outrace each other to reach the velodrome first.  In the end, they both entered the velodrome together, so it was a man-to-man sprint for the finish, and our rider pulled off the win.  The bus was filled with cheers and hugs and high-fives.  I was high-fiving some french guy who I’d never met before, but we were brought together by a mutual pride, relief, and excitement that ‘our guy’ won.

When I got off the bus, the celebration was still happening outside.  Team mechanics, directors, and other staff were all ecstatic, giving each other congratulatory hugs, handshakes, and kisses.  It was so cool because I truly experienced how it isn’t just one rider who wins a race; it’s a large team of people including riders, staff, and mechanics all working together toward a common goal.  This win did not just belong to one rider; it belonged to everyone involved in the team.  If that feeling wasn’t strong enough directly after the race was over, it was reinforced when the winner returned to the bus after his post-race interviews.  The first thing he did was thank his mechanic.  Then he went on to thank every staff person and rider at the bus.  It was so cool to witness the excitement and pride of the whole team, and the gratitude and happiness of the rider who crossed the line first.

Clockwise from top-left: The hands that built the winning bike, Jordan escorts the winning bike, the champion’s trophy, Fabian thanks his mechanic, the crowds gather round for a glimpse of their hero.

I’m not a football fan, but I imagine this is what the camaraderie of watching a game when the team you’re cheering for wins–only this isn’t just any game, it’s like the Super Bowl, and after the “game,” you get to be within a few feet of the athlete you were cheering for the whole time.  It was awesome.

*http://www.roadcycling.co.nz/RaceTalk/paris-roubaix-cancellara-is-king.html
*http://www.cyclingnews.com/paris-roubaix

The Vosges Mountains are a small range of mountains in France.  Well, according to my research, they aren’t officially mountains, but seeing as how they are called mountains, and they are higher than any hills we have around here, I’ll continue to call them mountains.  Their altitude is relatively low, with the highest peak at only 1424 m (4,700 ft), so they are no spectacle of grandeur like the Alps.  Their appeal to me lies in their proximity.  Within less than a 3 hours’ drive, I can be in the heart of the Vosges.  Every time I’ve driven through France, I’ve passed by the Vosges and wanted to stop to explore a little.  Alas, the opportunity never arose until last weekend.

A friend of mine also wanted to visit the Vosges, so she got a group of us together, rented a cabin, and planned the trip.  She happened to choose a weekend when Jordan was actually home, but since I’d really wanted to visit the Vosges, I decided to let Jordan fend for himself for one night, and I accepted my friend’s invitation.  There were 4 of us girls who made the trip.

Since it was already mid-March, I packed my bag with thoughts of hiking on leaf-covered muddy trails.  In the prior few days, it had been warm enough to melt all the snow in Luxembourg, so I figured the same would be true for the Vosges.  I figured an altitude of 4,700 feet wasn’t high enough to create a significant climate change.  Boy, was I wrong.

The whole drive to our cabin, it rained, but lo and behold, as soon as we started ascending into the Vosges, the rain gradually turned to snow. Snow!? I was not prepared for snow!  It seemed like the municipal workers were also not prepared for snow–the roads didn’t seem to be getting any attention from salt trucks or plows, so it was extremely slippery on the winding mountain route.  Eventually, we made it to our cabin safe and sound – but not without getting temporarily stuck in the parking lot of the check-in area.  I put my good ol’ Wisconsin snow driving skills to work and got my car free.

Lots of snow!

Even if I didn’t expect snow, I should have been prepared anyway.  Well, I was prepared for rain, so I had my gaiters and rain pants, and with some layering, those worked just fine for a couple of short snowy hikes.

The trails were completely snow-covered, but the dog certainly enjoyed it.

Despite our lack pf preparedness for the snow, we still had a nice time.  My friend who planned the trip put together menus for all of our meals and coordinated who should bring what, so we cooked and prepared all our meals in the cabin.  We even traipsed back up to the main office and bought some fire wood for a nice fire in the cabin’s wood burning stove.

Some shots of the cabin where we stayed.

All in all, it was a nice trip.  I wouldn’t say I got to explore the Vosges as much as I had hoped to, but now I know how to get there and where to stay if I’d come back.  The scenery on the drive through the mountains to get to our cabin was gorgeous, so I’d definitely like to come back in the summer or fall and check it out some more.

The next day when it was time to leave, the plows had done their work, and the drive out of the mountains was much less treacherous than the day before.  And, not surprisingly, there was rain when we reached lower altitude.  But the rain quickly stopped, and it left a gorgeous rainbow.  I can’t help thinking that the Vosges were thanking us for coming and welcoming us to come back any time ;)

Rainbow as seen from the car window.

I don’t think the riders felt happy about it; riding in the rain isn’t very fun.  The first day of their race was a team time trial, which meant instead of the racers starting the race in one large group all together, each individual team of riders would start together, and the team who made it to the finish line in the least amount of time would win the stage.

Riders in a team time trial work together to get to the finish line with the fastest time.

Luckily for me, the race went ride by our hotel, so I popped outside to watch for a little while, but the weather was so nasty (a heavy wind had picked up and was throwing the rain fiercely sideways), I did not stay to see all of the teams ride by.  Since that stage of the race and the next day’s stage were close to our hotel, we stayed there for one more night.  In the morning, we followed the caravan of team cars to the start of the next stage and saw the riders off.

We had one more night in Italy, and we were invited to spend it at the villa in Lucca.  When we got to Lucca, we first stopped at the city center to walk around and check out the city.

The most predominant feature of Lucca is the city wall.  I had noticed a lot of the cities in Italy seemed to have a wall built around them, but Lucca’s city wall was either larger or just more well-preserved than any of the others I had seen.  You wouldn’t know it from looking at it from ground level, but the wall is very thick.  You can actually walk up any of several ramps to the top of the wall.  The top of the wall is wide enough for a car to travel on it, and it is paved all the way around.  Many of the locals use the wall as their running track.  If someone in Lucca tells you they’re going to ‘run the wall,’ you will know what they’re talking about.  The Wall is even surrounded by a moat.  However, these securities didn’t seem to stop Napoleon, who it is said conquered this city and gifted it to his sister in 1805.*

Clockwise from top left: A view of the wall from outside, one of the official entryways in the wall, a view from on top of the wall looking into the city, a view of the pathway atop the wall.

The inside of the city was full of narrow stone-covered streets lined with store fronts, apartments, churches, and other historic buildings.

Some photos from within Lucca’s walls.

We spent the rest of our afternoon and evening with our gracious hosts in Lucca, complete with another Italian-style dinner that brought almost 2 dozen friends and guests together to share good food, good wine, and good stories.

The next day, we left Lucca.  Jordan dropped me off at the airport in Milan; I flew home, and he continued his journey.  The work of a cycling team liaison is never done.

Until next time, thanks for reading.

*http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lucca#Napoleonic_conquest

Beauty

This week, I went along with Jordan to a couple of bike races in Italy. The first one is a race in Siena, Italy called Strade Bianche. The town of Siena is in the Tuscany region of Italy, and the route is made up of alternating paved road sections and gravel road sections. It’s the gravel road sections that make the race unique; in fact the race was named after them. “Strade bianche” literally means “white road” in Italian. The gravel roads are white in color due to the type of rock that they are covered with.

The race was on Saturday, and on Friday, Jordan and I had some time to take our bikes out and check out part of the course. We rode one of the gravel sections, and it was actually not so bad – the gravel was pretty well-packed, so the road was pretty smooth. There were several potholes, but they were easy enough to avoid. However, if you were riding in a pack of over a hundred riders, I imagine this wouldn’t be the case. If you are in the line of a pothole, surrounded by other riders, I imagine you just have to brace yourself and take it head-on. That coupled with the grade of the terrain – it kept going uphill and downhill at severely steep pitches – surely contribute to the what makes this race so epic.

On the morning of the race, we woke to blue sunny skies; however, it was really windy with temps in the upper 40′s/lower 50′s (Fahrenheit), so the wind made it a pretty cold day for spectators and a brutal extra challenge for the racers since much of the course runs across open hilltops that are very exposed to the wind. The night before the race, the team gave Jordan his assignment, and he and I, along with another of his coworkers, were to go to kilometer 92 and then kilometer 142 to give the riders feeds. These points in the race were both right after gravel sections, so the idea was that if any of the bumps and holes in the gravel section jarred the riders’ water bottles out of the bottle holders on their bikes, they could get replacement bottles from us.

We followed the team caravan to the start of the race, met up with Jordan’s coworker, and then headed out towards kilometer 92. We had some time before the riders would make it to that point, so we stopped in a small town on the way for a snack. We found a great little Italian bakery that had delicious pastries. I wanted one of everything! (I managed to narrow my selection down to 3 treats.)

Top to bottom, clock-wise: Italian bakery, narrow road in the town with the bakery, clock tower in same town, view of bakery town from afar.

Then we continued on to our designated feed area and waited for the racers to come by. When they did, some of them took bottles, so it was helpful that we were there. After the riders passed, we high-tailed it to our next assigned location, and again some of the riders took bottles from us.

Here’s what it looks like to hand off a bottle to a rider.

The race was 200 kilometers in total, so we went straight from kilometer 142 to the finish line. The race finished in the city center of Siena. The hotel where we were staying was a bit outside the city of Siena, so this was my first time actually seeing the city. It was quite spectacular. I figured one old European city was just like the next one, but Siena was definitely different than any European city I’ve visited so far. It was surrounded by a wall and built on a hill.The roads were narrow and steep and the architecture was different than what you’d see in northern Europe. The race finished right in the main plaza, which was a pretty amazing backdrop for a finish line.

Top left to bottom right: The city’s clock tower hovered over the finish line, the “strade bianche” and its white dust, another view of the plaza where the race finished, a view of Siena from outside the city center.

That night, we were staying in a different hotel in a different city closer to the Mediterranean coast, so after the race, we drove there. On the way, we made a stop in a town called Lucca where we had dinner at the villa of one someone who Jordan knew through work. It was my first experience of what I’d consider a traditional Italian family-style meal. With the owner of the Villa, his tenants, and his guests, we numbered 13. We all sat around a large long table, passed heaping plates of food and shared good stories and deep laughs. Although no one at the table was actually Italian, I felt like we really captured the essence of the Italian culture coming together like that.

Our new base for the trip was near Castegneto Carducci. It was about 5 km’s from the Mediterranean coast at the foot of some substantial hills. The first day we were there, the weather was in the 50′s and sunny, so Jordan and I took advantage by taking a short flat bike ride along the coast. The next day brought similar weather, and I wanted to explore the hills at my own pace, so I headed out by myself. I found some really gorgeous roads that twisted and turned up and down and around and took my time enjoying the beautiful scenery.

Clockwise from top-left: A view of Castegneto Carducci from our hotel, a small town that I came across on my bike ride, a view of same town from afar, cactus and orange trees on the grounds of our hotel.

The next day brought clouds plus wind and rain, so I pretty much lazed around the hotel most of the day. By the afternoon, I was getting pretty stir-crazy, and Jordan was able to take a break from his work, so we jumped into the car and headed to Pisa. It was only 60 km away, so we thought, why not see the Leaning Tower of Pisa? I wouldn’t have made a special trip to Italy just to see it; I mean, it’s a Tower, it leans, how exciting could it be? But we figured since we were so close, we might as well go.

Well, it was actually cooler than I expected – I still wouldn’t recommend taking a special trip to Italy just to see it, but if you’re in the neighborhood… It REALLY leans A LOT! I figured it would have a slight lean, but it’s quite a significant lean, and it’s quite cool to see it in person.

Several views of the Leaning Tower of Pisa (we just had to be tourists and take a photo holding up the Tower).

With that, I’ll wrap up Part 1. I’ll write about the rest of our trip soon. Until then, thank for reading!

Today was my first day of school. When we decided to move abroad, I made it one of my goals was to learn a local language. Last year I sank my teeth into French with Rosetta Stone and an informal French conversation class once a week.  That lasted for about 6 months until summer visitors and travels stole my attention. I wanted to start studying a language again, and I was really craving some structure and accountability in my schedule, so I signed up for a class at the national language school.

I had already learned enough French to be dangerous.  I can understand quite a bit of what people say, but I still get things wrong a lot (like the time we were eating in a restaurant, and we had Willow with us, and I thought I asked the server for a glass of water for me, but she came back with a bowl of water for Willow).  I have gotten to the point where I can listen to French and pick out words and sounds, and it no longer sounds like the adults in the Peanuts cartoon talking.

So clearly, I have a lot more to learn when it comes to French, but I decided to sign up for German.  Why?  2013 is the year of German.  French is so 2012.  In all seriousness, I have a lot of reasons.

1. I absolutely suck at pronouncing French.  My accent sucks.  I can’t say the ‘r’ sound to save my life.  Whenever I try to say anything in French, no one understands me.
2. Jordan speaks French.  He speaks it very well.  Even if I concentrated on learning French for the next two years, I wouldn’t surpass his knowledge, so I’m going to leave the French to him.  If I can learn German, we will be quite a team in our European travels.
3. Luxembourgers speak German from a young age.  When they begin school, all of their subjects are taught in German.  It is not until 7-years-old that they begin to learn French, and English comes later than that.  So German is just as useful if not more useful than French in conversing with Luxembergers.
4. I’ve been told that if you know German, you can understand some Luxembourgish.  I don’t know if this is true, but if it is, it sure would be nice to be able to get the gist of the conversation when I’m in the middle of a group of people speaking Luxembourgish.
5. I’d love to be able to speak German well enough to take Willow to a dog training class here.  Willow’s kennel is in Germany, and they have dog training classes there that seem like they would be fun for both of us.

And to the folks that say: Why learn German, all Germans speak English?  Well, first of all, I’m not sure if that’s true, and second of all, when you are in America, you expect people to speak English, even if you can speak another language.  I think the same should be true in other countries as well.  I’d like to be able to speak one of the local languages.

My first day of class was pretty cool.  There are 18 of us, 3 guys and the rest women, and I’m pretty sure I’m the only American.  I might even be the only native-English speaker.  We had to break into small groups, and one of my groupmates was from Columbia, and one was from Turkey.  It was cool to be in such a diverse group of people.  Since we had no common language, when the teacher wanted to give us instructions, she’d say them in German, then in French, and then in English, so I still got to work on my French a bit — I listened to her French to see if I can tell what she said, and then I got to hear it in English to see if I was right.

So far we learned how to introduce ourselves and say the alphabet.  I need to do a bit of studying before our next class because I’ve already forgotten most of it, but I was expecting that I’d need to do a lot of studying to make this stick.  The semester lasts until July, so hopefully I can speak a lot of German by this summer.  If I pass the class, I will have to reward myself with the trip to Berlin I’ve been wanting to take!

So there I was, walking down the street in a small village wielding a burning torch in a group of at least 50 other people who each had their own burning torch.  Our destination was a hill-top outside of town upon which had been built a large pile of dried hay, twigs, and wood, topped with a giant cross.  Our objective: to burn it down.  We’re definitely not in Wisconsin anymore!

Jordan and I went to Luxembourg City’s Buergbrennen last year, and it was basically a big bonfire with some food booths set up around it where one could buy a glass of hot mulled wine and bask in the heat of the fire.  What more could one want on a cold winter’s night?  Since we enjoyed it last year, we planned to go again this year, but the big Buergbrennen in the city was canceled.  No worries, it turns out many of the small towns in Luxembourg have their own Buergbrennen celebrations.  In fact, I did a short bike ride on Sunday afternoon, and at least half of the towns I passed through were in the process of setting up their Buergbrennen festivals.  Even our own small town had a Buergbrennen.  We probably would have just gone to that one, except our friends from a few towns over invited us to go with them.  They said their house was right on the ‘parade route,’ so it would be a convenient place to meet.  Hmmm.  A parade route!?  It seemed that this city took their Buergbrennen to a higher level.

I imagined us standing outside of their house and watching the parade go by, but as soon as we got there, we were walking up the street to the parade’s starting point.  We were going to be in the parade!  When we got to the school where the parade started, some people were handing out torches.  Everyone who came got a torch. (To be fair, it was more of a procession than a parade.  And apparently this is the common practice; we just missed it last year because we showed up late.)

My very own torch!

There was a tree stump where a small fire had been lit, and when it was time to start the parade, everyone lit their torches there.

Lighting the torches for Buergbrennen

Then we carried our burning torches through town and up to the top of a hill overlooking the town.

Buergbrennen Torch Parade

When we got to the fire pit, we made a circle around the towering structure of wood and hay that awaited us, and after a countdown in Luxembourgish, everyone threw their torches into the fire:

As the fire burned hot, we enjoyed some Mettwurst (basically, Luxembourgish brats) and glühwein (hot mulled wine).

The fire got quite large!

Buergbrennen is a tradition celebrated on the Sunday after Ash Wednesday.  It literally means “burn the fort” (so I’m not sure why a cross is burned).  It is a celebration of the end of winter and welcome spring.  I think it’s a nice tradition that brings the whole community together, especially the Buergbrennens that are celebrated in small towns.  I’m not sure how effective it actually is at dismissing winter and bringing in Spring, but I gotta say, for the second year in a row, the days following Buergbrennen have been warmer.  I’ve even been hearing cheerful birds in the forest on my morning walks with Willow.  It definitely feels, sounds, and smells like Spring is on it’s way.

It seems like February is a month for fire-related celebrations in Europe.  At the beginning of the month, there was Liichtmëssdag, then last week was the Burning of Böögg in Switzerland, and now Buergbrennen.  I guess the winter doldrums that I would always feel living in Wisconsin is a universal thing.  Only here they combat the feeling with a celebration that involves getting outside and staying warm by a large fire.  Not a bad way to do it, if you ask me. Although part of the reason this tradition is so fascinating to me is because we would never do something like this in the U.S.  Why?

1. A large group of people of all ages from children to older adults wielding open flames at the end of a stick!?  In the U.S., they’d see that as a liability and a giant safety hazard.
2. An organized group of people marching with torches?  Um, we’ve been their back in the 1860′s in the South, and it wasn’t pretty.  No need to remind anyone of that ugly portion of the nation’s history.
3. Burning a giant cross?  I believe a lot of Christians in the U.S. would be very offended by that.

Anyway, I’m happy to say no one was injured or offended in the celebration of this year’s Buergbrennen, and I hope I can say the same about this blog post.

Last thing: I have to give credit to our friends at the Bakker Bugle Blog for providing the video and some of the photos in this blog post.  Thanks!

Jordan’s meeting was on Tuesday morning in a town near the east side of Lake Geneva, so we headed down on Monday evening, and stayed in a town called Montreux, which was right on the east coast of the lake.  It snowed the whole way down, so it was a pretty exhausting drive, but we made it safely. (Props to Jordan for driving the whole way.)

On Tuesday, I went out to explore the town.  It was still snowing and really cloudy, so the views were not very good.  Looking over the lake, I could see the faint shadows of mountains, so I knew they were there, but I couldn’t really see them.  The town seemed like it would be full of people in the summer, but at this time of the year, it was pretty quiet.

The weather was pretty cloudy on Tuesday. It started to clear up on Wednesday morning (last photo).

We had brought our hiking boots, gaiters, and hiking poles, so we wanted to do some hiking while we were there.  We asked the lady at the front desk of our hotel where we could find hiking trails, and she said there was none we could do without having snow shoes.  We didn’t really believe her, so we got in the car and started driving up.  As we got higher, the snow got deeper.  We kept driving until we saw a trail-head and a little turnout in the road for parking.  By this time it was getting pretty late in the afternoon, so we just had time to head out onto the path for half an hour and then we turned back, but we still had fun.  The snow was about a foot deep, give or take, so it really wasn’t so deep that we needed snowshoes, but it was deep enough that we were glad to have our gaiters to keep the snow out of our hiking boots.  It had been a long time since any of us got to play in snow more than an inch or two deep, so we were like kids in a toy store.

Willow loved the snow too.

That night we had a relaxing evening.  We stayed in our hotel room and had take-out pizza for dinner.  Perfect after a day of being outside in the cold weather.

On Wednesday morning, we drove to Solothurn, Switzerland to see our friend who was visiting her family from the States.  She was staying with an uncle in a smaller town nearby and recommended we meet in Solothurn because it was a larger town with lots of neat buildings and shopping and good restaurants.

Some views of the city. (1) View from outside the old wall, (2) clock tower, (3) a lookout in the wall, (4) one of the many fountains that adorned the streets.

Solothurn reminded me a little bit of Berne, mostly because it had the same kind of ornate fountains periodically throughout the city center.  It was picturesque, and at most other times of the year, it probably would have been a quiet town, but this was the week of Carnaval.  We didn’t realize it before coming, but Solothurn has quite a lot going on for Carnaval.  The day before we came was Fat Tuesday, so there was confetti lining the ground everywhere as a reminder of the partiers of the previous night.

(1) Confetti was everywhere, (2) one band survived the previous evenings festivities and continued to play, (3) Carnaval masks decorated people’s houses and shops.

We figured we had missed all of the events, but as we were wandering back to our hotel after and afternoon of sightseeing, eating, and shopping, we saw a giant effigy being hung in the city square.

Since my friend speaks fluent Swiss German in the dialect of the Solothurn region, she was able to strike up a conversation with another onlooker to find out that this giant paper-mache devil creature would be burned at 8:00 that evening.

So of course we had to check it out.  After dinner, we headed back to the square to see what would happen.  We debated whether to bring Willow, but since she has been to other events with lots of people and noises, we figured she’d be okay.  We arrived about 15 minutes early, and we were just in time to get a good viewing spot.  We stood there waiting, and at 8:00pm, we heard a boom of a bass drum, and the narrow street leading to the church lit up.  The bands of the city were bringing the fire to the square.

Delivering the fire to burn the effigy.

As all of this was happening, the bands started filtering into the circle; the bells and drums were getting louder, and the people we getting thicker.  A women squeezed right up to us and pushed her two young children in front of us, so they could get a better view.  In the process, she wedged herself next to Willow who then got wedged between the strange woman and a brick wall.  Willow was not thrilled about this, and she started backing up trying to slip out of her collar.  So, not wanting to lose our dog in the crowd of people, and not wanting to traumatize her any longer, she and I left.  Jordan stayed to keep taking pictures though, so the rest of the account is from what he described to me.

The effigy seemed to have some sort of fireworks inside him because he sparked and banged and pyrotechnics erupted from his head and nose.  After that, they set him completely on fire.

When he was pretty much burned up, the firemen standing at the ready put him out with their firehoses.  Then they chopped the rope he was hanging from, and the townspeople dragged him to the river and threw him over the bridge.  Very dramatic!

I was curious about the history and meaning behind this ritual, so I turned to Google.  Each year the people of Solothurn construct a giant figure to burn on the evening of Ash Wednesday.  The effigy is called Böögg and can be male or female and burning it represents the end to the fun and revelry of Carnaval season.*

Big thanks to our friend Yvonne for showing us around Solothurn and being our translator. We had a great time!

The next day, we drove home, and Willow proceeded to sleep for the next 24 hours.

Sleeping in the car. (You can see that despite thoroughly cleaning the car prior to our trip, she already had the back seat coated with dog hair.)

So, the verdict on taking Willow with us?  I’d say overall we’re glad we took her.  Having her had its pros and cons, but seeing how much fun she had pouncing around in the snow during our hike on Tuesday made us glad we brought her.

*http://www.swissinfo.ch/eng/archive/Aloha_to_Solothurn_Fasnacht.html?cid=3183280