If you’ll be in Munich this Saturday, February 11th, please stop by and see some of my paintings at Munich Creative Group’s pop-up gallery. In addition to artwork from a variety of artists, there will be drinks, snacks, and live music. And door prizes! And entry is free! And it’s all indoors where there’s heat! (This last point is actually pretty key given the crazy cold snap we’re having here in Munich.)

I hope to see you there.

A typical ski day for a Münchner starts with a painfully early wake up. Well before dawn, you toss on your ski clothes and haul your gear to the ski bus, or if you’re lucky, the car. Grab some coffee and a pretzel from your nearest bakery (the only thing open at this predawn hour) and hit the road. 

About an hour into the drive you hit Austria, and the sun starts to come up. A stop at the large gas station at the border is often a must, so you can purchase a sticker to put on your car that lets you drive on the Austrian highways (we were once with friends who forgot to buy such a sticker, and the fine was a hefty one).

Sometime between 1 and 3 hours after your departure, you arrive at your ski resort of choice. This past weekend it happened to be Mayrhofen for us, in 3 hours due to traffic and bad weather. And then it’s time to put on those horrible boots.

Saturday was the stormiest ski day I think I’ve ever had, with the low point coming when we were some of the last skiers loaded on a lift that then had to be shut down due to high winds. We were stuck on a bobbing, stopped-more-than-it-was-moving chair lift for half an hour, after which we got to ski down in high winds and white-outs.

For some reason I have started this story with all the worst parts. You’d get the impression that I had a dreadful weekend, when in fact it was quite the opposite. Despite all its bothersome bits, skiing is awfully wonderful. I can’t think of a place on earth that holds more charm for me than a snowy Alp.

The ski area itself was quite agreeable – plenty of blue slopes with good lifts for me, plenty of off-piste powder for the more advanced among us.

In Mayrhofen we found some pleasant last-minute rooms (via the tourist info office) at Hotel Ländenhof. The charming bartender convinced us to have dinner at the hotel’s restaurant, and we were not disappointed (this is pretty high praise from me, as I often find Tyrollean food disappointing).

As a bit of an aside, this is what beds in Austrian hotels often look like: big square squishy pillows, two single mattresses shoved together, and no top sheets or blankets – just giant duvets which were surely designed for Arctic temperatures, because they make me sweat even on the coldest Austrian winter’s night. But that’s ok, because the next day I get to go out and play in the snow again.

And now for something completely different.

Tiring of our glamorous European lifestyle, we decided to hop across the pond for Christmas in the Deep South. It’s possible that our decision was swayed by the generous invitation of my parents to join them there, but in the end we found Charleston to be a most pleasant place to spend a few days (lack of appropriate Christmas weather notwithstanding).

We stayed at the Vendue Inn, which turned out to be one of those rare hotels with charm and attention to detail. Our room had one of the biggest, fluffiest beds I’ve ever seen, as well as a gas fireplace. (Even in December, we had to turn on the air conditioning to make the room cold enough to use said fireplace. Viva America!)

We arrived on Christmas Eve to weather in the 70s and snow machines sprinkling part of the sidewalk. Scott swears he heard some tourists debating whether the foamy whiteness was real snow.

Charleston’s old town is full of historic buildings, restaurants, cafes, and shops. Our cultural agenda for this trip was a bit short (we managed to miss out on everything from gullah lessons to the scary historical hooker tour), but at least I enjoyed some gallery hopping around the French Quarter. The art on display ranged from amateurish to excellent, and I discovered several new artists whose careers I’m keen to follow.

The only time we left the old town was to go visit a plantation. There are several open to tourists in the area, in various states of historical accuracy. We ended up at Magnolia Plantation & Gardens. My favorite part was the swamp.

We got quite acquainted with southern cuisine on this trip, from modern to traditional. Fried green tomatoes, grits, collard greens, and macaroni and cheese were featured on almost every menu we encountered. Situated on the ocean as it is, Charleston also specializes in seafood.

Our first dinner (we were a little tired for it) was at The Library, part of the Vendue Inn. Despite the slow and buggy cocktails that lead the meal, the rest of the dinner was delightful. Fried green tomatoes, seared scallops with crispy artichoke ravioli.

Christmas dinner was at Magnolias, where we stuffed ourselves on pan-seared scallops, blue crab bisque, shrimp & grits, pork chops, and giant side dishes of macaroni and cheese and sweet potatoes with marshmallows.

Another dinner was at Hank’s, a seafood place with a strangely NYC feel. Muscles in white wine and garlic, she-crab soup, scallops, pecan pie.

Lunch one afternoon was at Poogan’s Porch (pimiento cheese fritters, blackened flounder, crab cakes, okra, hoppin’ johns); another day it was Southend Brewery for crab cakes and pale ale.

The Rooftop Cocktail Bar offered lovely sunset views and mint juleps that went down ever so easy. The Gin Joint dazzled us with its creative cocktails, fresh eggnog, and giant balls of ice.

Seriously, I loved that ball of ice.

Ever since we did the flying fox across Munich’s Olympic Stadium, I’ve wanted to do another zip line. I mean, what’s not to love? It’s got all of the outdoorsy fun of an adventure sport without any of that pesky physical exertion.

Scott found Adrenaline X-treme Adventures in the Dolomites, offering ‘the biggest zip-line park in Europe,’ less than 30 minutes away from Brunico. We reserved our zip line spots online a couple days in advance.

We arrived early for our schedule zip-line departure, which was a good thing, since their website had directed us to the wrong meeting point (their office in the valley, which was closed). After a worried phone call, we managed to make our way up the gondola to the actual departure point.

We were strapped into harnesses, and then it was a short walk to the first zip line. There were around 12 zip lines in all, of varying lengths and inclines (ie, speeds). Some of the lines were far above the treetops looking down; others ran right through the forest or over the ski slopes.

We meant to bring an old camera along for the ride but forgot it at the last minute, leaving us with only an iphone to document the adventure. It mostly got used while we were on the platforms between zip lines, waiting for the rest of the group to go (there were about eight people in the group, plus two guides who hooked and unhooked us at either end each time). I made sure it was tightly zipped away in a pocket before each zip line (why don’t iphones have wrist straps?).

At €50 per person (plus lift ticket), this zip line wasn’t the kind of activity that we’ll be doing every weekend, but it was certainly a memorable way to spend an afternoon.

On our drive back to Munich we visited our favorite last-stop-in-Italy town, Bressanone. Like Brunico, it was all decked out for the Christmas season. The cozy main square was full of Christmas market stalls. Mugs of white glühwein and hot chocolate warmed our bellies. Ah, I miss Christmas market season already.

Ah, here we are back in Germany after spending the holidays in the US. We’ve made the transatlantic journey dozens of times by now, and while I still dread the long flights, at least I’ve gotten pretty good at dealing with jet lag (although people who have repeatedly watched me fall asleep in my first-night-in-the-US dinner might disagree). Given that I’ve never been good with sleep deprivation (even in college I couldn’t swing all-nighters), I’m feeling rather accomplished.

There are many approaches to jet lag, but mine is a simple one: you need to be overtired going into your first night in the new time zone. That way, when you finally fall into bed, you’ll sleep for a a good solid night and wake up at a reasonable time the next morning. After that first night, you’re most of the way home.

Traveling from Europe to the US is the easier direction. Flights usually depart Germany in the morning and arrive in the US in the afternoon, giving you a day that’s six hours longer than normal (to the East Coast). Napping on the flight is fine, if you can manage to sleep in such conditions. Once you arrive in your destination, stay up! It’s probably just a few hours more before a reasonable bedtime rolls around. We usually end up crashing around 9 or 10 pm, and then waking up at 5 or 6 am. Usually I’m a night person, so I actually enjoy the novelty of the first couple days of being an early riser in the US. We use this as a rare chance to enjoy the sunrise or go out for an early-morning walk or run. Just don’t plan any late dinners for your first couple evenings in the US, and you’re fine (but if you do need to be alert for late nights, try to hold out for a later bedtime that first night to aid your adjustment).

Traveling from the US to Europe is a little more painful, but by following my own rules I can at least limit the pain to a single day. Flights in this direction are usually overnight, arriving in Germany in the morning. Sleep as much as you can on the plane, but if you’re not a plane-sleeper (as I am not), don’t torture yourself with neck pains and dry mouth – enjoy a book or a movie instead.

What you do after you land is the important part: stay awake! If you absolutely must nap, do it for no more than 1-2 hours in the morning. Then get up and stay active – distract yourself from how tired you are. When we have visitors arriving from the US, I take them out for a walk around the city on their first day, keeping them away from the temptations of bed. For myself, I try to stay active with tasks that don’t require too much brain power: unpacking, getting groceries, organizing my studio, etc. Reading (or any other activity that involves sitting on the couch) is verboten, as the temptation to sleep is too great. I turn on all the lights in the apartment and listen to music or podcasts to help convince myself that now is the time to be awake. Then around 9 pm I allow myself to crawl into bed for the most anticipated night of sleep of the year. If I’ve done it right, I’ll sleep all night and be able to wake up the next morning without too much difficulty (although I’m often groggier than usual – to be expected given that wake-up is occurring 6 hours before my body expects it to). That’s another key – wake up to an alarm the first few days back in Europe, rather than letting yourself sleep in. Otherwise the temptation to become nocturnal can be overwhelming.

Another tip I follow is trying to avoid carbohydrates as much as possible during and after the trip, as they tend to enhance drowsiness. I drink coffee strategically and try not to overdo it, as feeling overtired and jittery is even worse than just plain overtired. Water is your friend – drink lots of it before, during, and after the flight.

What’s your approach to jet lag?

When in doubt, go to Italy for the weekend. The Dolomites are just a few hours away from Munich by car, so you really have no excuse not to. Last weekend we set out for Brunico (Bruneck in German), a small town in the Puster Valley. Normally the drive should have taken less than three hours, but thanks to the weather it was closer to four. I didn’t mind at all, given the snowy paradise that presented itself upon our arrival.

We stayed at the Hotel Corso, which we would easily recommend to others looking to explore Brunico. The rooms were clean and attractive, the staff was friendly, and the Christmas market was just outside the door.

Brunico is basically a tiny medieval city center at the foot of a castle on a hill. We enjoyed the scenic walk up to and around the castle, but decided to skip the museum inside (which had some sort of ‘mountain-people-of-the-world’ theme) in favor of snowman-building.

Behind the castle, one can cross a footbridge and head up a pine-covered hill to a World War I cemetery full of wooden grave markers.

I found myself quite envious of their view.

Back down in the town, we explored the bustling old city center and the Christmas market. We also found a couple decent Italian restaurants – not always easy to do in a region specializing in Tyrolean cuisine.

The cheesy atmosphere at Tabula almost drove us away (“I just called to say I love you” performed by a guy with a synthesizer, anyone?), but we were pleasantly surprised with their southern Italian fare (cannoli! vongole! buffalo mozzarella!). The pizzeria at Hotel Corso was a good place to get a meal after our later-than-expected arrival the first night.

We discovered that the desserts from Acherer tasted as good as they looked.

The torrone from the Christmas market stands also held its own. There are a handful of towns in South Tirol (like Brunico) that have German-style Christmas markets; in other parts of Italy the markets tend to be less important and have a completely different vibe.

Just outside of Brunico there’s a giant grocery store (Interspar), perfect for stocking up on Italian cheeses and other goodies before the drive back to Munich.

It’s time for my annual I-love-Christmas-in-Germany post. The Christmas markets opened last week, looking much as they do every year. I’ve noticed a couple new stands here and there, but for the most part everything is in its place. Now if we could just have some snow to make them even cuter, I’d be in heaven.

I’ve written several posts about the markets over the years, such as this one about the best Munich Christmas markets for pretty much everything (or you could just view all my posts about Christmas markets). One stop I haven’t talked about yet (but is worth a mention) is the Alpen Wahn, a cozy little stand outside Der Pschorr serving red and white glühwein until 11pm each night (which is later than most of the other markets are open). Look for it at the north end of the Schrannenhalle, just off the Viktualienmarkt. 

Recently I’ve even started painting the Christmas markets. Which reminds me – if you will be in Munich on Sunday and would like to see my artwork in person, please consider swinging by my Open Studio.

What’s your favorite thing about Christmastime where you live?

Recently I had the opportunity to go on a press trip with Creative Tourism Austria. We spent the first day in the lovely little town of Schlierbach. I am pretty familiar with the Alpy part of Austria, and the Viennese part of Austria, but I think this was my first visit to the gently-hilly part of Upper Austria. We were assured that the landscapes and views are lovely in this part of the world, but alas, heavy fog kept us from enjoying them with our own eyes. No matter, as we found plenty to do indoors at Stift Schlierbach, a monastery full of activities that don’t require the least bit of chastity or charity. 

Our first stop was the Stiftskeller restaurant for a very cheesy lunch: three types of local cheese, wrapped in breading and molten in the middle. Mmmm.

Next it was time for a tour of the monastery, which included a beautiful ornate old library, a modern art gallery, and a stained glass workshop. The tour concluded with a look at the dairy, where we were able to observe cheese-making in all its steps. Lower elevation parts of Austria, such as this one, tend to specialize in soft cheeses, while up in the mountains they produce harder cheeses (Bergkäse).

Next it was time for the main event: cheese making! Which, incidentally, is called selber käsen, a phrase that made me giggle myself silly (or, to coin a phrase, it almost caused me to cheese myself). But I digress! Before we could enter the cheese-making area, we each donned protective booties, coats, and hats, thus ensuring that all our photos of the process were extra comical.

We used big metal rackets to slice semi-solidified (thanks to cheese cultures) milk into cheese curds, and then poured the curds into little round cheese forms (it all seemed a bit familiar, thanks to lots of Sesame Street watching back in my formative years). The whey drained out, the forms were off for a dunk in the salt baths, while we were off to the next activity: cheese tasting.

You’d have thought we’d have been a bit sick of cheese by this point, but you’d be wrong. We gobbled it up while listening to a presentation about the local producers who have come together (under the label Genussland = pleasure land) to find ways to promote their artisanal, traditionally-made foods and beverages (everything from frankincense chocolate to fish salami). We finished up with some tasty local liquors – a pear schnapps and a nuss geist (which tasted like liquid ginger bread).

There was still one more stop on our little Genussland tour – we said goodbye to the monastery and headed next door to SPES Hotel Schlierbach for a chocolate tasting with a twist. We sampled several kinds of local Bachhalm chocolate while sitting in the Dunkelgenussraum, a dark restaurant similar to the Blinde Kuh in Zurich. Our waitress (a local blind woman who runs the dark restaurant) made us guess what flavors of chocolate we were tasting, and we were surprisingly bad at it. At least we could tell milk from dark.

This song captures that dynamic for me, and the video makes me miss Berlin.

I translated the lyrics from the original German into English, trying to maintain the intentionally stilted grammar. 

“Ich bin Ausländer (leider zum Glück)”

by Torpedo Boyz (Warning: link has sound the plays automatically)

A short time ago, children all over Bavaria headed back to school for the fall term. Some of them (specifically, the first graders) were carrying unwieldy cardboard cones that were almost as big as the children themselves. I asked my friend eNVie, who recently made a Schultüte (literally: “school cone”) herself, to explain what these things are all about. Parents in Germany, take note. Here’s what she has to say:

Living in Germany for a little over 3 years now, I’ve been struck by the obsession with organic, locally grown food and healthy lifestyles, especially when it comes to raising children. My daughter’s kindergarten only serves organic food, and they monitor what you give your children as snacks. I get yogurts sent back home all the time because of the high sugar content. And don’t even think about sending your kid to school with birthday cupcakes.

So it was a major surprise for me to learn about the German tradition of giving children a 3-foot-tall cone full of candy and presents on their first day of school. I tried to find non-candy fillers for my daughter’s cone that she’d be equally excited about, but seriously what could possibly be more exciting than 3 feet of pure sugar? The mommy in me got her some lame fillers – a coloring book, stickers, a magazine that comes with a sparkly pen and miniature flying horse. These, she more than happily shared with her younger sister. The footlong bar of chocolate never left her side. I think I may have to hide that when she’s not looking, for the sake of her teeth. I did manage to leave my mommy-comfort-zone and buy a family size bag of gummi bears, random fruit flavored candies, candy that comes in plastic eggs with barbie on the cover, more chocolate and yes, even some gum (which my son had to pick out for me – apparently Juicy Fruit isn’t as trendy as it was back in my day).

That was the easy part. Next came the construction of the darned thing. Luckily any art store over here sells the pre-cut, pre-folded cardboard sheet that easily pops into the cone shape. You just have to drive around town to get the specific color your kid wants, because if you’re like me, and don’t plan a year in advance like most good Germans, every store in a 20 mile radius will be out of whatever color your kid decides she has to have. They also sell fully decorated cones that you just have to fill, and kits where you just cut and paste the decorations on, but no, I have to do it the hard way. Thank goodness I didn’t talk myself into trying to make the cone shape from a flat piece of construction paper – oh wait, I did. But that was for my son when we were still living in the US, and I was under the impression my husband, the German, was going to help me.

My daughter got it into her head that she wanted to have the same exact schultuete her cousin had a couple years ago: dark blue wavy construction paper with a grey and white cat (the same exact kind that was in the picture), pink and light blue flowers, but with no kangaroo, and with light blue and white crepe paper on top instead of pink and blue. I only had to go back for supplies about 5 times. I couldn’t tell from the picture that the cat had to be made from that puffy foamy paper they call Moosgummi, or that the cat indeed has four legs (luckily I found enough scraps of the Moosgummi to construct the last leg before my youngest daughter performed her daily paper shredding ritual on it).

12 hours and 4 hot glue gun burns later, I was satisfied. I added her name to personalize it, glued down the white paper on the top so the whole thing didn’t resemble the Statue of Liberty torch so much, and I filled it with over 30 euros worth of fructose, glucose, dextrose and a couple other -ose’s. It was so heavy, we all had to take turns carrying it to the school in the morning. And what did she say when she first saw it in the morning? “And where are the flowers?” Crap. I didn’t think she’d notice.

The tradition of giving a child a Schultüte on her first day of school goes back to the early 1800s. Children were told that school teachers grew Schultüten-trees in the schoolyard, and when the Schultüte were large enough and ready to be plucked, it would be time for school to begin. The sugary sweetness part of the tradition possibly comes from the Jewish community that would start a child’s school career with letter-shaped cookies as a way to remind them of Psalm 119:103, “How sweet are thy words unto my taste, yea sweeter than honey to my mouth.”

The Schultüte’s popularity first spread to larger cities in the early 1900s in Germany, and with the advent of television quickly spread throughout the country in the 1950s. Now, the idea is more to make the first day of school an exciting and memorable experience for the child, and to instill the idea that learning can be fun. Now that I know there was an actual thought process behind these 3-foot bags of sugar, it almost makes my 3rd degree glue gun burns worthwhile.