Cheese heals, for reals

Bonjour my friends!

I wish I was involved with someone who loved France. Someone who would make me live in France, who would "drag" me abroad every 2 or 3 years for "research" in France. Why? because we traveled there this past weekend (I needed to be in a real Catholic country for Holy Week) and France healed my stomach problems with her bountiful and stinky wine and cheeses. And her artfully subtitled movies. And her morning crepes. And people who might actually smile at you.

There was no work on Friday or Monday so for Erik's birthday, we boarded the train on Saturday headed towards the cultural capital of Alsace-Lorraine and the political capital of Europe, Strasbourg. This was Erik's first time, but a return trip for me. I was in Strasbourg 13 (!!!) years ago to visit my brother who was, at the time, doing a semester there. It was actually the first place I ever went to in Europe, and all I remember was going to Lafayette with my mom. Strasbourg is thus a very important city for Soucherays as it is where Andy met his wife Janell, and without her we wouldn't really be complete or have Mr. and Mrs., the two most beautiful children in the world (with Alice and Monster, of course).

Anyway, Strasbourg has it all: Dramatic history*, important waterways, cafes where C.B.S.** has sipped wine and a pretty impressive cathedral. We walked the cobblestones and went to church and ate about 5 crepes a piece. We also did a rockin' boat tour.

There are two words that epitomize urban vacation for me: BOAT TOUR. Nothing is better than being guided on a river or lake while someone describes architectural feats to you. Besides that, the only other thing I require when traveling is good food and wine. No beaches for me, no organized activities (besides the boat tour) just lots and lots of pre-travel reading of restaurant reviews and many, many glasses of Riesling.

Through my research, I decided we had to eat at Chez Yvonne for our splurge meal. It is a small cafe north of the cathedral which Jacques Chirac used to frequent. It was good, but the atmosphere was stuffy. I had coq a vin cooked in Riesling with special French sauerkraut. Erik had a smoked cheese and tomato pie with spring herbs. Our other must was a late-night visit to La Cloche a Fromage, or the cheese bell. This place might me worth a plane ticket to France alone. Cheese masters work with over 100 types of cheeses housed in a huge glass bell (the size of a VW big) and prepare cheese plates for the customers' palates. Bread and wine are the only other things on the menu. Some of the 15 cheese I sampled were awesome, heavenly creamy specimens. There were a few that actually died in my mouth, and a few that inspired Erik to start stage whispering "Cheddar is Better!"

I enjoyed the trip, and the cheese, a little more than Erik, who was a bit preoccupied with choosing our hometown for the next 5-7 years. After some aggressive hounding (did you know they offer grad students "signing bonuses"? Like baseball players?) we decided on North Carolina. So maybe this blog will become When Midwest meets Southeast. Or When Midwest Starts Going to Dangerous Lacrosse Parties. Or if I have my way and spend my last months in Europe correctly, When Midwest Meets a Guy from Eastern France and they Run Away Together to Eat Cheese.

*This part of France was once independent, then swallowed by France in 1681, then annexed by Germany in 1871, then back to France in 1918, then back to Germany in 1940, then back to France in 1945. Another way to look at it; that's the Franco-Prussian War, WWI and WWII.
** C.B.S. CARLA BRUNI-SARKOZY. I love her.

72 and sunny

Every single day this week! I left Frankfurt last week and it was 50, gray and rainy and the trees were naked and damp and now -- poof! -- spring is here. Everything is in bloom, pink and yellow buds line the river and the Germans have once again resumed their seasonal lunchtime ice cream habit with a vengeance. This is our first spring in Sachsenhausen and all the street life, cafes, apple wine taverns and gelato stores are taking over the sidewalks. Suddenly the city seems more populated even with the Holy Week holidays that have given us a half week of work.

Unfortunately I have only just begun to enjoy the weather because I returned to the 'Furt on Sunday and on Monday morning got a nasty stomach illness, one worthy of a trip to the hospital and then a very trustworthy German-Jewish doctor (an anomaly!).* As I laid on his table I looked up and saw a large wooden Star of David on his wall, next to his degrees. I said, "Happy Passover!" (we were speaking English, I don't do German if I'm sick) and he glared at me and said, "How do you know I'm Jewish?" I just pointed to the wall and he laughed and then said, "Oh you are American, you must know many Jews!" I just smiled, he was pressing on my spleen and I didn't really have the chance to enjoy the weirdness of the exchange.

I'm on the mend, enough so that I took a walk outside to get a vanilla shake at McDonald's. I saw three fashion forward European men in skinny colored capris. Spring has sprung.

* It's a bit more normal here to go the hospital and then get referred to a specialist if you're sick. This is mostly because doctors here are often alone in practice and keep very old fashioned hours, say 9:30 a.m.- 1 p.m., then 3 p.m.- 5 p.m.

Ciao for now, Fatherland

If you thought I was abducted, sorry, I'm here and ok. But tomorrow I am flying back for a quick visit home and the last week I have been working overtime so I can take this impromptu break. And I also got a crazy fever/cold- thing which required many trips to the pharmacy, or Apotheke.

Germans are notorious for being health freaks and are adamantly against using non-natural medication unless someone is on a deathbed. So far, I've been "prescribed" eucalyptus oil, thyme tea and some gel capsules of anis oil. As you probably guessed, these measures haven't really done much. I think I smell good, but it still feels like there is a hammer pounding my cheek if I bend my head to read a book.

This is a lame update, so I'll just sign off with a quick piece of advice I learned last night. When cooking your own pizza crust, don't place the dough on foil to bake. The dough and the foil bake together and you have to peel the foil off in little strips that burn you like a mother.

Paranoid android

Either I'm being administered drugs in my sleep or strange things have been happening to me this week in the 'Furt. Now, I'll admit that as a romantic given to hyperbole, I have a tendency to get swept into conspiracy theory. But even with that recognized tendency, I've been observing some very interesting movements and frequencies around me. I feel a little bit like Liz Lemon in the episode from season 1 of "30 Rock" when she thinks her Middle Eastern neighbors are terrorists and calls them in to homeland security. Turns out, the neighbors were making an audition tape for "The Amazing Race." Ha ha ha... but wait: There IS no "Amazing Race" in Germany. Hmmm.

1. Last Monday I was waiting for the subway at Hauptwache, a busy station in the center of the 'Furt. It was about 9 a.m. I see two men in suits snapping digital pictures of the empty train tracks. Now they were either curious engineers marveling at some German ingenuity and efficiency, or they were plotting...something big. The train came. Surprise, they didn't get on, choosing instead to exit the station. Suspicious?

2. On Wednesdays I have a break from 1 p.m. to 3 p.m. and I usually come home to check my email and make myself some eggs for lunch. For the past two weeks, my doorbell rings at 2 p.m. I don't answer it because I'm afraid it's the German officials who make you pay taxes if you have a TV. But there's a catch here: The doorbell rings once, and I swear to God I hear no footsteps (and remember are apartment is a creaky wooden pre-war thing).

3. This one is the worst. On Friday I was going to work at about 7:45 a.m. and as I was getting on the down escalator, two policemen get on with me and ask if I saw anything strange that morning. I asked them to repeat it again, just to make sure I was getting my German right, and they asked again. I said no, and then asked why. They just shrugged me off and walked quickly away from me on the platform.

If I don't post again, you can all assume it's because I'm otherwise disposed...

Frankfurt's Little Children

This post will either make my mom happy because it's more salacious or it will worry her. We'll see.

To supplement my income in trying economic times (and because I'm on an almost 3-month long break in between Winter and Summer Semesters at University) I've started babysitting for a family in the 'Furts Westend.

The Westend is by far the toniest neighborhood in the 'Furt. It's bordered by the University to the west and the Palmengarten, a gorgeous botanical park, to the north and the financial district to the south. The streets are wide and tree-lined, 80% residential and 80% Altbau (pre-war construction). It is such a beautiful area, that the American occupation forces chose this neighborhood to set-up shop for the last half of the 20th century. Everyone who lives here now is employed in the banking sector, including the family I work for. The Westend is shockingly white, blissfully unaware of a failing market and one of the only neighborhoods in the city where the strollers are as nice as the cars. These three factors make for one certainty: Amazing playgrounds.

Throughout Westend there are maybe five, six, black-iron gated playgrounds, sandy and full of wooden caterpillar slides and lime-green monkey bars. The playgrounds appear like mirages, nestled in between apartment houses and shaded by trees. Yesterday, it was sunny and 55, I took my charges to the playground nearest to their home and was amazed at the flirtations taking place between moms and dads on the swings. It was just like the movie/book "Little Children," except these Germans were better looking (don't get me started on how good the moms looked, it was 10 am on a Saturday and they were wearing the typical "off-day" uniform of rich German ladies: skinny jeans, riding boots, Burberry trench. I was wearing some New Balances and old Gap jeans with baby puke on the thigh.)* and had way more money than the characters in Tom Perotta's work.

One couple was so into each other, sitting side by side on the swings, babies in lap, that I thought they were the proud parents of fraternal twins. But they were not. They left at different times, with different strollers, but not before planning to meet again after afternoon naps. Emotional affair!

I can't wait to go back.

*One thing about German rich moms, they are OLD. You think they're not, but then you get up close and it is wrinkle city. And they have the old lady skinny thing which makes them all sinewy.

I am so happy right now...

... because I am watching "Germany's Next Top Model" with Heidi Klum. The girls just landed in L.A., and they are having walking lessons with an ex-Israeli military officer. The man is yelling at them in English (and these are 17 year-old Germans with very imperfect English). He just told Marie, my early favorite, "You are beautiful. But you bore me."

Heidi told the girls that they have to start speaking English, because the fashion houses in Italy and USA don't speak Germany. THEN, she told them she's having English lessons. There was an uproar.

A must read

Here is an article you MUST read from the New York Times. It's a mystery, combining my favorite topics: war criminals and gynecological anomalies.

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/02/23/world/americas/23twins.html?_r=2